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Legend Of Prince Ahmed Al Kamel; Or, The Pilgrim Of LovePart I
Part I
There was once a Moorish king of Granada who had but one son, whom he
named Ahmed, to which his courtiers added the surname of al Kamel, or the
perfect, from the indubitable signs of superexcellence which they perceived in
him in his very infancy. The astrologers countenanced them in their foresight,
predicting every thing in his favor that could make a perfect prince and a
prosperous sovereign. One cloud only rested upon his destiny, and even that
was of a roseate hue: he would be of an amorous temperament, and run great
perils from the tender passion. If, however, he could be kept from the
allurements of love until of mature age, these dangers would be averted, and
his life thereafter be one uninterrupted course of felicity.
To prevent all danger of the kind, the king wisely determined to rear the
prince in a seclusion where he should never see a female face, nor hear even
the name of love. For this purpose he built a beautiful palace on the brow of
the hill above the Alhambra, in the midst of delightful gardens, but
surrounded by lofty walls, being, in fact, the same palace known at the
present day by the name of the Generalife. In this palace the youthful prince
was shut up, and intrusted to the guardianship and instruction of Eben
Bonabben, one of the wisest and dryest of Arabian sages, who had passed the
greatest part of his life in Egypt, studying hieroglyphics, and making
researches among the tombs and pyramids, and who saw more charms in an
Egyptian mummy than in the most tempting of living beauties. The sage was
ordered to instruct the prince in all kinds of knowledge but one - he was to
be kept utterly ignorant of love.
"Use every precaution for the purpose you may think proper," said the
king; "but remember, O Eben Bonabben, if my son learns aught of that forbidden
knowledge while under your care, your head shall answer for it."
A withered smile came over the dry visage of the wise Bonabben at the
menace. "Let your majesty`s heart be as easy about your son, as mine is about
my head: am I a man likely to give lessons in the idle passion?"
Under the vigilant care of the philosopher, the prince grew up, in the
seclusion of the palace and its gardens. He had black slaves to attend upon
him-hideous mutes who knew nothing of love, or if they did, had not words to
communicate it. His mental endowments were the peculiar care of Eben Bonabben,
who sought to initiate him into the abstruse lore of Egypt; but in this the
prince made little progress, and it was soon evident that he had no turn for
philosophy.
He was, however, amazingly ductile for a youthful prince, ready to follow
any advice, and always guided by the last counsellor. He suppressed his yawns,
and listened patiently to the long and learned discourses of Eben Bonabben,
from which he imbibed a smattering of various kinds of knowledge, and thus
happily attained his twentieth year, a miracle of princely wisdom - but
totally ignorant of love.
About this time, however, a change came over the conduct of the prince.
He completely abandoned his studies, and took to strolling about the gardens,
and musing by the side of the fountains. He had been taught a little music
among his various accomplishments; it now engrossed a great part of his time,
and a turn for poetry became apparent. The sage Eben Bonabben took the alarm,
and endeavored to work these idle humors out of him by a severe course of
algebra; but the prince turned from it with distaste. "I cannot endure
algebra," said he; "it is an abomination to me. I want something that speaks
more to the heart."
The sage Eben Bonabben shook his dry head at the words. "Here is an end
to philosophy," thought he. "The prince has discovered he has a heart!" He now
kept anxious watch upon his pupil, and saw that the latent tenderness of his
nature was in activity, and only wanted an object. He wandered about the
gardens of the Generalife in an intoxication of feelings of which he knew not
the cause. Sometimes he would sit plunged in a delicious reverie; then he
would seize his lute, and draw from it the most touching notes, and then throw
it aside, and break forth into sighs and ejaculations.
By degrees this loving disposition began to extend to inanimate objects;
he had his favorite flowers, which he cherished with tender assiduity; then
he became attached to various trees, and there was one in particular, of a
graceful form and drooping foliage, on which he lavished his amorous devotion,
carving his name on its bark, hanging garlands on its branches, and singing
couplets in its praise, to the accompaniment of his lute.
Eben Bonabben was alarmed at this excited state of his pupil. He saw him
on the very brink of forbidden knowledge - the least hint might reveal to him
the fatal secret. Trembling for the safety of the prince and the security of
his own head, he hastened to draw him from the seductions of the garden, and
shut him up in the highest tower of the Generalife. It contained beautiful
apartments, and commanded an almost boundless prospect, but was elevated far
above that atmosphere of sweets and those witching bowers so dangerous to the
feelings of the too susceptible Ahmed.
What was to be done, however, to reconcile him to this restraint and to
beguile the tedious hours? He had exhausted almost all kinds of agreeable
knowledge; and algebra was not to be mentioned. Fortunately Eben Bonabben had
been instructed, when in Egypt, in the language of birds, by a Jewish Rabbin,
who had received it in lineal transmission from Solomon the wise, who had been
taught it by the queen of Sheba. At the very mention of such a study, the eyes
of the prince sparkled with animation, and he applied himself to it with such
avidity, that he soon became as great an adept as his master.
The tower of the Generalife was no longer a solitude; he had companions
at hand with whom he could converse. The first acquaintance he formed was with
a hawk, who built his nest in a crevice of the lofty battlements, whence he
soared far and wide in quest of prey. The prince, however, found little to
like or esteem in him. He was a mere pirate of the air, swaggering and
boastful, whose talk was all about rapine and carnage, and desperate exploits.
His next acquaintance was an owl, a mighty wise looking bird, with a huge
head and staring eyes, who sat blinking and goggling all day in a hole in the
wall, but roamed forth at night. He had great pretensions to wisdom, talked
something of astrology and the moon, and hinted at the dark sciences; he
was grievously given to metaphysics, and the prince found his prosings even
more ponderous than those of the sage Eben Bonabben.
Then there was a bat, that hung all day by his heels in the dark corner
of a vault, but sallied out in slipshod style at twilight. He, however, had
but twilight ideas on all subjects, derided things of which he had taken but
an imperfect view, and seemed to take delight in nothing.
Besides these there was a swallow, with whom the prince was at first much
taken. He was a smart talker, but restless, bustling, and for ever on the
wing; seldom remaining long enough for any continued conversation. He turned
out in the end to be a mere smatterer, who did but skim over the surface of
things, pretending to know every thing, but knowing nothing thoroughly.
These were the only feathered associates with whom the prince had any
opportunity of exercising his newly acquired language; the tower was too
high for any other birds to frequent it. He soon grew weary of his new
acquaintances, whose conversation spoke so little to the head, and nothing to
the heart; and gradually relapsed into his lonelines. A winter passed away,
spring opened with all its bloom and verdure and breathing sweetness, and the
happy time arrived for birds to pair and build their nests. Suddenly, as it
were, a universal burst of song and melody broke forth from the groves and
gardens of the Generalife, and reached the prince in the solitude of his
tower. From every side he heard the same universal
theme-love-love-love-chanted forth, and responded to in every variety of note
and tone. The prince listened in silence and perplexity. "What can be this
love," thought he, "of which the world seems so full, and of which I know
nothing?" He applied for information to his friend the hawk. The ruffian bird
answered in a tone of scorn: "You must apply," said he, "to the vulgar
peaceable birds of earth, who are made for the prey of us princes of the air.
My trade is war, and fighting my delight. I am a warrior, and know nothing of
this thing called love."
The prince turned from him with disgust, and sought the owl in his
retreat. "This is a bird," said he, "of peaceful habits, and may be able to
slave my question." So he asked the owl to tell him what was this love about
which all the birds in the groves below were singing.
Upon this, the owl put on a look of offended dignity. "My nights," said
he, "are taken up in study and research, and my days in ruminating in my
cell upon all that I have learnt. As to these singing birds of whom you
talk, I never listen to them-I despise them and their themes. Allah be
praised, I cannot sing; I am a philosopher, and know nothing of this thing
called love."
The prince now repaired to the vault, where his friend the bat was
hanging by the heels, and propounded the same question. The bat wrinkled up
his nose into a most snappish expression. "Why do you disturb me in my
morning`s nap with such an idle question?" said he, peevishly. "I only fly by
twilight, when all birds are asleep, and never trouble myself with their
concerns. I am neither bird nor beast, and I thank heaven for it. I have found
out the villany of the whole of them, and hate them one and all. In a word, I
am a misanthrope - and know nothing of this thing called love."
As a last resort, the prince now sought the swallow, and stopped him just
as he was circling about the summit of the tower. The swallow, as usual, was
in a prodigious hurry, and had scarce time to make a reply. "Upon my word,"
said he, "I have so much public business to attend to, and so many pursuits to
follow, that I have had no time to think on the subject. I have every day a
thousand visits to pay; a thousand affairs of importance to examine into, that
leave me not a moment of leisure for these little sing-song matters. In a
word, I am a citizen of the world-I know nothing of this thing called love."
So saying, the swallow dived into the valley, and was out of sight in a
moment.
The prince remained disappointed and perplexed, but with his curiosity
still more piqued by the difficulty of gratifying it. While in this mood, his
ancient guardian entered the tower. The prince advanced eagerly to meet him.
"O Eben Bonabben," cried he, "thou hast revealed to me much of the wisdom of
the earth; but there is one thing of which I remain in utter ignorance, and
would fain be informed."
"My prince has but to make the inquiry, and every thing within the
limited range of his servant`s intellect is at his command."
"Tell me then, O most profound of sages, what is the nature of this thing
called love?"
Eben Bonabben was struck as with a thunderbolt. He trembled and turned
pale, and felt as if his head sat but loosely on his shoulders.
"What could suggest such a question to my prince - where could he have
learnt so idle a word?"
The prince led him to the window of the tower. "Listen, O Eben Bonabben,"
said he. The sage listened. The nightingale sat in a thicket below the tower,
singing to his paramour the rose; from every blossomed spray and tufted grove
rose a strain of melody; and love-love-love-was still the unvarying strain.
"Allah Akbar! God is great! exclaimed the wise Bonabben. "Who shall
pretend to keep this secret from the heart of man, when even the birds of the
air conspire to betray it?"
Then turning to Ahmed - "O my prince," cried he, "shut thine ears to
these seductive strains. Close thy mind against this dangerous knowledge. Know
that this love is the cause of half the ills of wretched mortality. It is this
which produces bitterness and strife between brethren and friends; which
causes treacherous murder and desolating war. Care and sorrow, weary days and
sleepless nights, are its attendants. It withers the bloom and blights the
joys of youth, and brings on the ills and griefs of premature old age. Allah
preserve thee, my prince, in total ignorance of this thing called love!"
The sage Eben Bonabben hastily retired, leaving the prince plunged in
still deeper perplexity. It was in vain he attempted to dismiss the subject
from his mind; it still continued uppermost in his thoughts, and teased and
exhausted him with vain conjectures. Surely, said he to himself, as he
listened to the tuneful strains of the birds, there is no sorrow in those
notes; every thing seems tenderness and joy. If love be a cause of such
wretchedness and strife, why are not these birds drooping in solitude, or
tearing each other in pieces, instead of fluttering cheerfully about the
groves, or sporting with each other among flowers?
He lay one morning on his couch meditating on this inexplicable matter.
The window of his chamber was open to admit the soft morning breeze, which
came laden with the perfume of orange blossoms from the valley of the Darro.
The voice of the nightingale was faintly heard, still chanting the wonted
theme. As the prince was listening and sighing, there was a sudden rushing
noise in the air; a beautiful dove, pursued by a hawk, darted in at the
window, and fell panting on the floor; while the pursuer, balked of his prey,
soared off to the mountains.
The prince took up the gasping bird, smoothed its feathers, and nestled
it in his bosom. When he had soothed it by his caresses, he put it in a
golden cage, and offered it, with his own hands, the whitest and finest of
wheat and the purest of water. The bird, however, refused food, and sat
drooping and pining, and uttering piteous moans.
"What aileth thee?" said Ahmed. "Hast thou not every thing thy heart
can wish?"
"Alas, no!" replied the dove; "am I not separated from the partner of my
heart, and that too in the happy spring-time, the very season of love!"
"Of love!" echoed Ahmed; "I pray thee, my pretty bird, canst thou tell
me what is love?"
"Too well can I, my prince. It is the torment of one, the felicity of
two, the strife and enmity of three. It is a charm which draws two beings
together, and unites them by delicious sympathies, making it happiness to be
with each other, but misery to be apart. Is there no being to whom you are
drawn by these ties of tender affection?"
"I like my old teacher Eben Bonabben better than any other being; but
he is often tedious, and I occasionally feel myself happier without his
society."
"That is not the sympathy I mean. I speak of love, the great mystery and
principle of life: the intoxicating revel of youth; the sober delight of age.
Look forth, my prince, and behold how at this blest season all nature is full
of love. Every created being has its mate; the most insignificant bird sings
to its paramour; the very beetle woos its lady-beetle in the dust, and yon
butterflies which you see fluttering high above the tower, and toying in the
air, are happy in each other`s loves. Alas, my prince! hast thou spent so many
of the precious days of youth without knowing any thing of love? Is there no
gentle being of another sex-no beautiful princess nor lovely damsel who has
ensnared your heart, and filled your bosom with a soft tumult of pleasing
pains and tender wishes?"
"I begin to understand," said the prince, sighing; "such a tumult I have
more than once experienced, without knowing the cause; and where should I
seek for an object such as you describe, in this dismal solitude?"
A little further conversation ensued, and the first amatory lesson of the
prince was complete.
"Alas!" said he, "if love be indeed such a delight, and its interruption
such a misery, Allah forbid that I should mar the joy of any of its votaries."
He opened the cage, took out the dove, and having fondly kissed it, carried
it to the window. "Go, happy bird," said he, "rejoice with the partner of thy
heart in the days of youth and spring-time. Why should I make thee a
fellow-prisoner in this dreary tower, where love can never enter?"
The dove flapped its wings in rapture, gave one vault into the air, and
then swooped downward on whistling wings to the blooming bowers of the Darro.
The prince followed him with his eyes, and then gave way to bitter
repining. The singing of the birds which once delighted him, now added to his
bitterness. Love! love! love! Alas, poor youth! he now understood the strain.
His eyes flashed fire when next he beheld the sage Bonabben. "Why hast
thou kept me in this abject ignorance?" cried he. "Why has the great mystery
and principle of life been withheld from me, in which I find the meanest
insect is so learned? Behold all nature is in a revel of delight. Every
created being rejoices with its mate. This - this is the love about which I
have sought instruction. Why am I alone debarred its enjoyment? Why has so
much of my youth been wasted without a knowledge of its raptures?"
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 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 every thing 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 pryed 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.
[See Seville]
"Might I advise," said the owl, "I would recommend you to repair to
Seville. You must know that many years since I was on a visit to an uncle, an
owl of great dignity and power, who lived in a ruined wing of the Alcazar of
that place. In my hoverings at night over the city I frequently remarked a
light burning in a lonely tower. At length I alighted on the battlements, and
found it to proceed from the lamp of an Arabian magician: he was surrounded by
his magic books, and on his shoulder was perched his familiar, an ancient
raven who had come with him from Egypt. I am acquainted with that raven, and
owe to him a great part of the knowledge I possess. The magician is since
dead, but the raven still inhabits the tower, for these birds are of wonderful
long life. I would advise you, O prince, to seek that raven, for he is a
soothsayer and a conjurer, and deals in the black art, for which all ravens,
and especially those of Egypt, are renowned."
The prince was struck with the wisdom of this advice, and accordingly
bent his course towards Seville. He travelled only in the night, to
accommodate his companion, and lay by during the day in some dark cavern or
mouldering watchtower, 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."
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