Part 23 (1/2)

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 a.s.sured 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 pa.s.s 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, a.s.sisted 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 pa.s.sed through the portal.

”Behold!” cried the astrologer. ”Did we not agree that the first animal with its burden which should pa.s.s 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 Adenes' Berte aux grans Pies (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 Adenes, who cast it into literary form.