The Alhambra 30

The Alhambra 30

The prince was struck with the wisdom of this advice, and accordingly

bent his course towards Seville. He travelled only in the night, to

accommodate his companion, and lay by during the day in some dark cavern

or mouldering watch-tower, for the owl knew every hiding-hole of the

kind, and had a most antiquarian taste for ruins.

 

At length one morning at daybreak they reached the city of Seville,

where the owl, who hated the glare and bustle of crowded streets,

halted without the gate, and took up his quarters in a hollow tree.

 

The prince entered the gate, and readily found the magic tower, which

rose above the houses of the city, as a palm-tree rises above the shrubs

of the desert; it was in fact the same tower standing at the present

day, and known as the Giralda, the famous Moorish tower of Seville.

 

The prince ascended by a great winding staircase to the summit of the

tower, where he found the cabalistic raven,--an old, mysterious,

gray-headed bird, ragged in feather, with a film over one eye that gave

him the glare of a spectre. He was perched on one leg, with his head

turned on one side, poring with his remaining eye on a diagram described

on the pavement.

 

The prince approached him with the awe and reverence naturally inspired

by his venerable appearance and supernatural wisdom. “Pardon me, most

ancient and darkly wise raven,” exclaimed he, “if for a moment I

interrupt those studies which are the wonder of the world. You behold

before you a votary of love, who would fain seek your counsel how to

obtain the object of his passion.”

 

“In other words,” said the raven, with a significant look, “you seek to

try my skill in palmistry. Come, show me your hand, and let me decipher

the mysterious lines of fortune.”

 

“Excuse me,” said the prince, “I come not to pry into the decrees of

fate, which are hidden by Allah from the eyes of mortals; I am a pilgrim

of love, and seek but to find a clue to the object of my pilgrimage.”

 

“And can you be at any loss for an object in amorous Andalusia?” said

the old raven, leering upon him with his single eye; “above all, can you

be at a loss in wanton Seville, where black-eyed damsels dance the

zambra under every orange grove?”

 

The prince blushed, and was somewhat shocked at hearing an old bird with

one foot in the grave talk thus loosely. “Believe me,” said he, gravely,

“I am on none such light and vagrant errand as thou dost insinuate. The

black-eyed damsels of Andalusia who dance among the orange groves of the

Guadalquivir are as naught to me. I seek one unknown but immaculate

beauty, the original of this picture; and I beseech thee, most potent

raven, if it be within the scope of thy knowledge or the reach of thy

art, inform me where she may be found.”

 

The gray-headed raven was rebuked by the gravity of the prince.

 

“What know I,” replied he, dryly, “of youth and beauty? my visits are to

the old and withered, not the fresh and fair: the harbinger of fate am

I; who croak bodings of death from the chimney-top, and flap my wings at

the sick man’s window. You must seek elsewhere for tidings of your

unknown beauty.”

 

“And where can I seek if not among the sons of wisdom, versed in the

book of destiny? Know that I am a royal prince, fated by the stars, and

sent on a mysterious enterprise on which may hang the destiny of

empires.”

 

When the raven heard that it was a matter of vast moment, in which the

stars took interest, he changed his tone and manner, and listened with

profound attention to the story of the prince. When it was concluded, he

replied, “Touching this princess, I can give thee no information of

myself, for my flight is not among gardens, or around ladies’ bowers;

but hie thee to Cordova, seek the palm-tree of the great Abderahman,

which stands in the court of the principal mosque: at the foot of it

thou wilt find a great traveller who has visited all countries and

courts, and been a favorite with queens and princesses. He will give

thee tidings of the object of thy search.”

 

“Many thanks for this precious information,” said the prince. “Farewell,

most venerable conjurer.”

 

“Farewell, pilgrim of love,” said the raven, dryly, and again fell to

pondering on the diagram.

 

The prince sallied forth from Seville, sought his fellow-traveller the

owl, who was still dozing in the hollow tree, and set off for Cordova.

 

He approached it along hanging gardens, and orange and citron groves,

overlooking the fair valley of the Guadalquivir. When arrived at its

gates the owl flew up to a dark hole in the wall, and the prince

proceeded in quest of the palm-tree planted in days of yore by the great

Abderahman. It stood in the midst of the great court of the mosque,

towering from amidst orange and cypress trees. Dervises and Faquirs were

seated in groups under the cloisters of the court, and many of the

faithful were performing their ablutions at the fountains before

entering the mosque.

 

At the foot of the palm-tree was a crowd listening to the words of one

who appeared to be talking with great volubility. “This,” said the

prince to himself, “must be the great traveller who is to give me

tidings of the unknown princess.” He mingled in the crowd, but was

astonished to perceive that they were all listening to a parrot, who

with his bright-green coat, pragmatical eye, and consequential top-knot,

had the air of a bird on excellent terms with himself.

 

“How is this,” said the prince to one of the bystanders, “that so many

grave persons can be delighted with the garrulity of a chattering bird?”

 

“You know not whom you speak of,” said the other; “this parrot is a

descendant of the famous parrot of Persia, renowned for his

story-telling talent. He has all the learning of the East at the tip of

his tongue, and can quote poetry as fast as he can talk. He has visited

various foreign courts, where he has been considered an oracle of

erudition. He has been a universal favorite also with the fair sex, who

have a vast admiration for erudite parrots that can quote poetry.”

 

“Enough,” said the prince, “I will have some private talk with this

distinguished traveller.”

 

He sought a private interview, and expounded the nature of his errand.

He had scarcely mentioned it when the parrot burst into a fit of dry

rickety laughter, that absolutely brought tears into his eyes. “Excuse

my merriment,” said he, “but the mere mention of love always sets me

laughing.”

 

The prince was shocked at this ill-timed mirth. “Is not love,” said he,

“the great mystery of nature, the secret principle of life, the

universal bond of sympathy?”

 

“A fig’s end!” cried the parrot, interrupting him; “prithee where hast

thou learned this sentimental jargon? trust me, love is quite out of

vogue; one never hears of it in the company of wits and people of

refinement.”

 

The prince sighed as he recalled the different language of his friend

the dove. But this parrot, thought he, has lived about the court, he

affects the wit and the fine gentleman, he knows nothing of the thing

called love. Unwilling to provoke any more ridicule of the sentiment

which filled his heart, he now directed his inquiries to the immediate

purport of his visit.

 

“Tell me,” said he, “most accomplished parrot, thou who hast everywhere

been admitted to the most secret bowers of beauty, hast thou in the

course of thy travels met with the original of this portrait?”

 

The parrot took the picture in his claw, turned his head from side to

side, and examined it curiously with either eye. “Upon my honor,” said

he, “a very pretty face, very pretty; but then one sees so many pretty

women in one’s travels that one can hardly--but hold--bless me! now I

look at it again--sure enough, this is the Princess Aldegonda: how could

I forget one that is so prodigious a favorite with me!”

 

“The Princess Aldegonda!” echoed the prince; “and where is she to be

found?”

 

“Softly, softly,” said the parrot, “easier to be found than gained. She

is the only daughter of the Christian king who reigns at Toledo, and is

shut up from the world until her seventeenth birthday, on account of

some prediction of those meddlesome fellows the astrologers. You’ll not

get a sight of her; no mortal man can see her. I was admitted to her

presence to entertain her, and I assure you, on the word of a parrot who

has seen the world, I have conversed with much sillier princesses in my

time.”

 

“A word in confidence, my dear parrot,” said the prince. “I am heir to a

kingdom, and shall one day sit upon a throne. I see that you are a bird

of parts, and understand the world. Help me to gain possession of this

princess, and I will advance you to some distinguished place about

court.”

 

“With all my heart,” said the parrot; “but let it be a sinecure if

possible, for we wits have a great dislike to labor.”

 

Arrangements were promptly made: the prince sallied forth from Cordova

through the same gate by which he had entered; called the owl down from

the hole in the wall, introduced him to his new travelling companion as

a brother savant, and away they set off on their journey.

 

They travelled much more slowly than accorded with the impatience of the

prince; but the parrot was accustomed to high life, and did not like to

be disturbed early in the morning. The owl, on the other hand, was for

sleeping at mid-day, and lost a great deal of time by his long siestas.

His antiquarian taste also was in the way; for he insisted on pausing

and inspecting every ruin, and had long legendary tales to tell about

every old tower and castle in the country. The prince had supposed that

he and the parrot, being both birds of learning, would delight in each

other’s society, but never had he been more mistaken. They were

eternally bickering. The one was a wit, the other a philosopher. The

parrot quoted poetry, was critical on new readings and eloquent on small

points of erudition; the owl treated all such knowledge as trifling, and

relished nothing but metaphysics. Then the parrot would sing songs and

repeat _bon mots_ and crack jokes upon his solemn neighbor, and laugh

outrageously at his own wit; all which proceedings the owl considered as

a grievous invasion of his dignity, and would scowl and sulk and swell,

and be silent for a whole day together.