The Alhambra 24

The Alhambra 24

They returned with the intelligence that a Christian army had advanced

through the heart of the Sierra, almost within sight of Granada, where a

dissension had broken out among them; they had turned their weapons

against each other, and after much slaughter had retreated over the

border.

 

Aben Habuz was transported with joy on thus proving the efficacy of the

talisman. “At length,” said he, “I shall lead a life of tranquillity,

and have all my enemies in my power. O wise son of Abu Ayub, what can I

bestow on thee in reward for such a blessing?” “The wants of an old man

and a philosopher, O king, are few and simple; grant me but the means of

fitting up my cave as a suitable hermitage, and I am content.”

 

“How noble is the moderation of the truly wise!” exclaimed Aben Habuz,

secretly pleased at the cheapness of the recompense. He summoned his

treasurer, and bade him dispense whatever sums might be required by

Ibrahim to complete and furnish his hermitage.

 

The astrologer now gave orders to have various chambers hewn out of the

solid rock, so as to form ranges of apartments connected with his

astrological hall; these he caused to be furnished with luxurious

ottomans and divans, and the walls to be hung with the richest silks of

Damascus. “I am an old man,” said he, “and can no longer rest my bones

on stone couches, and these damp walls require covering.”

 

He had baths too constructed, and provided with all kinds of perfumes

and aromatic oils. “For a bath,” said he, “is necessary to counteract

the rigidity of age, and to restore freshness and suppleness to the

frame withered by study.”

 

He caused the apartments to be hung with innumerable silver and crystal

lamps, which he filled with a fragrant oil prepared according to a

receipt discovered by him in the tombs of Egypt. This oil was perpetual

in its nature, and diffused a soft radiance like the tempered light of

day. “The light of the sun,” said he, “is too garish and violent for the

eyes of an old man, and the light of the lamp is more congenial to the

studies of a philosopher.”

 

The treasurer of King Aben Habuz groaned at the sums daily demanded to

fit up this hermitage, and he carried his complaints to the king. The

royal word, however, had been given; Aben Habuz shrugged his shoulders:

“We must have patience,” said he; “this old man has taken his idea of a

philosophic retreat from the interior of the pyramids, and of the vast

ruins of Egypt; but all things have an end, and so will the furnishing

of his cavern.”

 

The king was in the right; the hermitage was at length complete, and

formed a sumptuous subterranean palace. The astrologer expressed himself

perfectly content, and, shutting himself up, remained for three whole

days buried in study. At the end of that time he appeared again before

the treasurer. “One thing more is necessary,” said he, “one trifling

solace for the intervals of mental labor.”

 

“O wise Ibrahim, I am bound to furnish everything necessary for thy

solitude; what more dost thou require?”

 

“I would fain have a few dancing-women.”

 

“Dancing-women!” echoed the treasurer, with surprise.

 

“Dancing-women,” replied the sage, gravely; “and let them be young and

fair to look upon; for the sight of youth and beauty is refreshing. A

few will suffice, for I am a philosopher of simple habits and easily

satisfied.”

 

While the philosophic Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub passed his time thus sagely

in his hermitage, the pacific Aben Habuz carried on furious campaigns in

effigy in his tower. It was a glorious thing for an old man, like

himself, of quiet habits, to have war made easy, and to be enabled to

amuse himself in his chamber by brushing away whole armies like so many

swarms of flies.

 

For a time he rioted in the indulgence of his humors, and even taunted

and insulted his neighbors, to induce them to make incursions; but by

degrees they grew wary from repeated disasters, until no one ventured to

invade his territories. For many months the bronze horseman remained on

the peace establishment, with his lance elevated in the air; and the

worthy old monarch began to repine at the want of his accustomed sport,

and to grow peevish at his monotonous tranquillity.

 

At length, one day, the talismanic horseman veered suddenly round, and

lowering his lance, made a dead point towards the mountains of Guadix.

Aben Habuz hastened to his tower, but the magic table in that direction

remained quiet; not a single warrior was in motion. Perplexed at the

circumstance, he sent forth a troop of horse to scour the mountains and

reconnoitre. They returned after three days’ absence.

 

“We have searched every mountain pass,” said they, “but not a helm nor

spear was stirring. All that we have found in the course of our foray,

was a Christian damsel of surpassing beauty, sleeping at noontide beside

a fountain, whom we have brought away captive.”

 

“A damsel of surpassing beauty!” exclaimed Aben Habuz, his eyes gleaming

with animation; “let her be conducted into my presence.”

 

The beautiful damsel was accordingly conducted into his presence. She

was arrayed with all the luxury of ornament that had prevailed among the

Gothic Spaniards at the time of the Arabian conquest. Pearls of dazzling

whiteness were entwined with her raven tresses; and jewels sparkled on

her forehead, rivalling the lustre of her eyes. Around her neck was a

golden chain, to which was suspended a silver lyre, which hung by her

side.

 

The flashes of her dark refulgent eye were like sparks of fire on the

withered yet combustible heart of Aben Habuz; the swimming

voluptuousness of her gait made his senses reel. “Fairest of women,”

cried he, with rapture, “who and what art thou?”

 

“The daughter of one of the Gothic princes, who but lately ruled over

this land. The armies of my father have been destroyed, as if by magic,

among these mountains; he has been driven into exile, and his daughter

is a captive.”

 

“Beware, O king!” whispered Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub, “this may be one of

those northern sorceresses of whom we have heard, who assume the most

seductive forms to beguile the unwary. Methinks I read witchcraft in her

eye, and sorcery in every movement. Doubtless this is the enemy pointed

out by the talisman.”

 

“Son of Abu Ayub,” replied the king, “thou art a wise man, I grant, a

conjuror for aught I know; but thou art little versed in the ways of

woman. In that knowledge will I yield to no man; no, not to the wise

Solomon himself, notwithstanding the number of his wives and concubines.

As to this damsel, I see no harm in her; she is fair to look upon, and

finds favor in my eyes.”

 

“Hearken, O king!” replied the astrologer. “I have given thee many

victories by means of my talisman, but have never shared any of the

spoil. Give me then this stray captive, to solace me in my solitude with

her silver lyre. If she be indeed a sorceress, I have counter spells

that set her charms at defiance.”

 

“What! more women!” cried Aben Habuz. “Hast thou not already

dancing-women enough to solace thee?”

 

“Dancing-women have I, it is true, but no singing-women. I would fain

have a little minstrelsy to refresh my mind when weary with the toils of

study.”

 

“A truce with thy hermit cravings,” said the king, impatiently. “This

damsel have I marked for my own. I see much comfort in her; even such

comfort as David, the father of Solomon the Wise, found in the society

of Abishag the Shunamite.”

 

Further solicitations and remonstrances of the astrologer only provoked

a more peremptory reply from the monarch, and they parted in high

displeasure. The sage shut himself up in his hermitage to brood over

his disappointment; ere he departed, however, he gave the king one more

warning to beware of his dangerous captive. But where is the old man in

love that will listen to counsel? Aben Habuz resigned himself to the

full sway of his passion. His only study was how to render himself

amiable in the eyes of the Gothic beauty. He had not youth to recommend

him, it is true, but then he had riches; and when a lover is old, he is

generally generous. The Zacatin of Granada was ransacked for the most

precious merchandise of the East; silks, jewels, precious gems,

exquisite perfumes, all that Asia and Africa yielded of rich and rare,

were lavished upon the princess. All kinds of spectacles and festivities

were devised for her entertainment; minstrelsy, dancing, tournaments,

bull-fights;--Granada for a time was a scene of perpetual pageant. The

Gothic princess regarded all this splendor with the air of one

accustomed to magnificence. She received everything as a homage due to

her rank, or rather to her beauty; for beauty is more lofty in its

exactions even than rank. Nay, she seemed to take a secret pleasure in

exciting the monarch to expenses that made his treasury shrink, and then

treating his extravagant generosity as a mere matter of course. With all

his assiduity and munificence, also, the venerable lover could not

flatter himself that he had made any impression on her heart. She never

frowned on him, it is true, but then she never smiled. Whenever he began

to plead his passion, she struck her silver lyre. There was a mystic

charm in the sound. In an instant the monarch began to nod; a drowsiness

stole over him, and he gradually sank into a sleep, from which he awoke

wonderfully refreshed, but perfectly cooled for the time of his passion.

This was very baffling to his suit; but then these slumbers were

accompanied by agreeable dreams, which completely inthralled the senses

of the drowsy lover; so he continued to dream on, while all Granada

scoffed at his infatuation, and groaned at the treasures lavished for a

song.

 

At length a danger burst on the head of Aben Habuz, against which his

talisman yielded him no warning. An insurrection broke out in his very

capital; his palace was surrounded by an armed rabble, who menaced his

life and the life of his Christian paramour. A spark of his ancient

warlike spirit was awakened in the breast of the monarch. At the head of

a handful of his guards he sallied forth, put the rebels to flight, and

crushed the insurrection in the bud.

 

When quiet was again restored, he sought the astrologer, who still

remained shut up in his hermitage, chewing the bitter cud of resentment.

 

Aben Habuz approached him with a conciliatory tone. “O wise son of Abu

Ayub,” said he, “well didst thou predict dangers to me from this captive