The Alhambra 29

The Alhambra 29

“I begin to understand,” said the prince, sighing; “such a tumult I have

more than once experienced, without knowing the cause; and where should

I seek for an object such as you describe, in this dismal solitude?”

 

A little further conversation ensued, and the first amatory lesson of

the prince was complete.

 

“Alas!” said he, “if love be indeed such a delight, and its interruption

such a misery, Allah forbid that I should mar the joy of any of its

votaries.” He opened the cage, took out the dove, and having fondly

kissed it, carried it to the window. “Go, happy bird,” said he, “rejoice

with the partner of thy heart in the days of youth and spring-time. Why

should I make thee a fellow-prisoner in this dreary tower, where love

can never enter?”

 

The dove flapped its wings in rapture, gave one vault into the air, and

then swooped downward on whistling wings to the blooming bowers of the

Darro.

 

The prince followed him with his eyes, and then gave way to bitter

repining. The singing of the birds, which once delighted him, now added

to his bitterness. Love! love! love! Alas, poor youth! he now understood

the strain.

 

His eyes flashed fire when next he beheld the sage Bonabben. “Why hast

thou kept me in this abject ignorance?” cried he. “Why has the great

mystery and principle of life been withheld from me, in which I find the

meanest insect is so learned? Behold all nature is in a revel of

delight. Every created being rejoices with its mate. This--this is the

love about which I have sought instruction. Why am I alone debarred its

enjoyment? Why has so much of my youth been wasted without a knowledge

of its raptures?”

 

The sage Bonabben saw that all further reserve was useless; for the

prince had acquired the dangerous and forbidden knowledge. He revealed

to him, therefore, the predictions of the astrologers, and the

precautions that had been taken in his education to avert the threatened

evils. “And now, my prince,” added he, “my life is in your hands. Let

the king your father discover that you have learned the passion of love

while under my guardianship, and my head must answer for it.”

 

The prince was as reasonable as most young men of his age, and easily

listened to the remonstrances of his tutor, since nothing pleaded

against them. Besides, he really was attached to Eben Bonabben, and

being as yet but theoretically acquainted with the passion of love, he

consented to confine the knowledge of it to his own bosom, rather than

endanger the head of the philosopher.

 

His discretion was doomed, however, to be put to still further proofs. A

few mornings afterwards, as he was ruminating on the battlements of the

tower, the dove which had been released by him came hovering in the air,

and alighted fearlessly upon his shoulder.

 

The prince fondled it to his heart. “Happy bird,” said he, “who can fly,

as it were, with the wings of the morning to the uttermost parts of the

earth. Where hast thou been since we parted?”

 

“In a far country, my prince, whence I bring you tidings in reward for

my liberty. In the wild compass of my flight, which extends over plain

and mountain, as I was soaring in the air, I beheld below me a

delightful garden with all kinds of fruits and flowers. It was in a

green meadow, on the banks of a wandering stream; and in the centre of

the garden was a stately palace. I alighted in one of the bowers to

repose after my weary flight. On the green bank below me was a youthful

princess, in the very sweetness and bloom of her years. She was

surrounded by female attendants, young like herself, who decked her

with garlands and coronets of flowers; but no flower of field or garden

could compare with her for loveliness. Here, however, she bloomed in

secret, for the garden was surrounded by high walls, and no mortal man

was permitted to enter. When I beheld this beauteous maid, thus young

and innocent and unspotted by the world, I thought, here is the being

formed by heaven to inspire my prince with love.”

 

The description was a spark of fire to the combustible heart of Ahmed;

all the latent amorousness of his temperament had at once found an

object, and he conceived an immeasurable passion for the princess. He

wrote a letter, couched in the most impassioned language, breathing his

fervent devotion, but bewailing the unhappy thraldom of his person,

which prevented him from seeking her out and throwing himself at her

feet. He added couplets of the most tender and moving eloquence, for he

was a poet by nature, and inspired by love. He addressed his letter--“To

the Unknown Beauty, from the captive Prince Ahmed”; then perfuming it

with musk and roses, he gave it to the dove.

 

“Away, trustiest of messengers!” said he. “Fly over mountain, and

valley, and river, and plain; rest not in bower, nor set foot on earth,

until thou hast given this letter to the mistress of my heart.”

 

The dove soared high in air, and taking his course darted away in one

undeviating direction. The prince followed him with his eye until he was

a mere speck on a cloud, and gradually disappeared behind a mountain.

 

Day after day he watched for the return of the messenger of love, but he

watched in vain. He began to accuse him of forgetfulness, when towards

sunset one evening the faithful bird fluttered into his apartment, and

falling at his feet expired. The arrow of some wanton archer had pierced

his breast, yet he had struggled with the lingerings of life to execute

his mission. As the prince bent with grief over this gentle martyr to

fidelity, he beheld a chain of pearls round his neck, attached to which,

beneath his wing, was a small enamelled picture. It represented a lovely

princess in the very flower of her years. It was doubtless the unknown

beauty of the garden; but who and where was she?--how had she received

his letter? and was this picture sent as a token of her approval of his

passion? Unfortunately the death of the faithful dove left everything in

mystery and doubt.

 

The prince gazed on the picture till his eyes swam with tears. He

pressed it to his lips and to his heart; he sat for hours contemplating

it almost in an agony of tenderness. “Beautiful image!” said he, “alas,

thou art but an image! Yet thy dewy eyes beam tenderly upon me; those

rosy lips look as though they would speak encouragement: vain fancies!

Have they not looked the same on some more happy rival? But where in

this wide world shall I hope to find the original? Who knows what

mountains, what realms may separate us; what adverse chances may

intervene? Perhaps now, even now, lovers may be crowding around her,

while I sit here a prisoner in a tower, wasting my time in adoration of

a painted shadow.”

 

The resolution of Prince Ahmed was taken. “I will fly from this palace,”

said he, “which has become an odious prison; and, a pilgrim of love,

will seek this unknown princess throughout the world.” To escape from

the tower in the day, when every one was awake, might be a difficult

matter; but at night the palace was slightly guarded; for no one

apprehended any attempt of the kind from the prince, who had always been

so passive in his captivity. How was he to guide himself, however, in

his darkling flight, being ignorant of the country? He bethought him of

the owl, who was accustomed to roam at night, and must know every

by-lane and secret pass. Seeking him in his hermitage, he questioned him

touching his knowledge of the land. Upon this the owl put on a mighty

self-important look. “You must know, O prince,” said he, “that we owls

are of a very ancient and extensive family, though rather fallen to

decay, and possess ruinous castles and palaces in all parts of Spain.

There is scarcely a tower of the mountains, or a fortress of the plains,

or an old citadel of a city, but has some brother, or uncle, or cousin,

quartered in it; and in going the rounds to visit this my numerous

kindred, I have pried into every nook and corner, and made myself

acquainted with every secret of the land.”

 

The prince was overjoyed to find the owl so deeply versed in topography,

and now informed him, in confidence, of his tender passion and his

intended elopement, urging him to be his companion and counsellor.

 

“Go to!” said the owl, with a look of displeasure; “am I a bird to

engage in a love-affair?--I, whose whole time is devoted to meditation

and the moon?”

 

“Be not offended, most solemn owl,” replied the prince; “abstract

thyself for a time from meditation and the moon, and aid me in my

flight, and thou shalt have whatever heart can wish.”

 

“I have that already,” said the owl: “a few mice are sufficient for my

frugal table, and this hole in the wall is spacious enough for my

studies; and what more does a philosopher like myself desire?”

 

“Bethink thee, most wise owl, that while moping in thy cell and gazing

at the moon, all thy talents are lost to the world. I shall one day be a

sovereign prince, and may advance thee to some post of honor and

dignity.”

 

The owl, though a philosopher and above the ordinary wants of life, was

not above ambition; so he was finally prevailed on to elope with the

prince, and be his guide and mentor in his pilgrimage.

 

The plans of a lover are promptly executed. The prince collected all his

jewels, and concealed them about his person as travelling funds. That

very night he lowered himself by his scarf from a balcony of the tower,

clambered over the outer walls of the Generalife, and, guided by the

owl, made good his escape before morning to the mountains.

 

He now held a council with his mentor as to his future course.

 

“Might I advise,” said the owl, “I would recommend you to repair to

Seville. You must know that many years since I was on a visit to an

uncle, an owl of great dignity and power, who lived in a ruined wing of

the Alcazar of that place. In my hoverings at night over the city I

frequently remarked a light burning in a lonely tower. At length I

alighted on the battlements, and found it to proceed from the lamp of an

Arabian magician: he was surrounded by his magic books, and on his

shoulder was perched his familiar, an ancient raven who had come with

him from Egypt. I am acquainted with that raven, and owe to him a great

part of the knowledge I possess. The magician is since dead, but the

raven still inhabits the tower, for these birds are of wonderful long

life. I would advise you, O prince, to seek that raven, for he is a

soothsayer and a conjurer, and deals in the black art, for which all

ravens, and especially those of Egypt, are renowned.”