Old Court Life in Spain (Vol.1&2). Frances Minto Elliot
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Название: Old Court Life in Spain (Vol.1&2)
Автор: Frances Minto Elliot
Издательство: Bookwire
Жанр: Документальная литература
isbn: 4064066400361
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Chance or fate had thrown her in his way. She was actually a slave in his harem. There she should remain unless she herself wished otherwise.
Fortunately that tiresome person, the discreet Ayub, knew nothing about her. His reproaches, at all events, were not to be encountered. Possibly!—ah! possibly—a tender project formed itself in his brain. Would she, the wife of the royal Goth, consent to share an Emir’s throne?
But at that moment he was too much overcome and self-diffident to allow himself to pursue so roseate a dream.
Calling together his guards, hidden about the garden, but ever present near his person, Abdul-asis, with a heart torn by conflicting emotions, conducted Egilona through the marble courts to the Patio de las Muñecas.
All that the tenderest love could dictate was showered upon her by the amorous Emir. She lived in the royal apartments, and a special train of slaves, eunuchs, and women attended upon her. Before the gold-embroidered draperies of her door turbaned guards stood day and night, holding naked scimitars. Her table was served with the same luxury as that of a sultana. When she went abroad into the streets of Seville she rode on a beautiful palfrey, caparisoned with silken fringes, a silver bridle and stirrup, and a bit of gold. At the sound of the tinkling bells which hung about the harness, all who met her prostrated themselves to the earth, as though the Emir himself were passing. Even the muezzin, ringing out the hour of prayer from the galleries of the Giralda, was commanded to pronounce a blessing on her head.
Such a complete change in the life of Abdul-asis could not but arouse the wrath of the discreet Ayub. Numberless were the times he tried to waylay him, always ineffectually, however, for the Emir gave orders he was not to be admitted.
One day they did meet in the outer Patio de las Bandieras (where now the superb portal of Don Pedro blazes in the sun), just as Abdul-asis was mounting his horse for the chase.
“Hold, my cousin and lord,” cries Ayub, laying hold of his bridle. “Tarry awhile, I pray you, for the sake of our kinship. Am I a dog, that you should drive me with kicks and imprecations from your door?”
“Far from me be such a thought,” replies Abdul-asis, colouring. “No one thinks better of you than I. But, my cousin, permit me now to depart. Another time we will pursue the subject.”
“Bear with me now awhile rather,” cries Ayub, detaining him by the folds of his embroidered robe. “O Abdul-asis, remember the words of your father: ‘Beware, my son, of the seductions of love. It renders the mighty weak and makes slaves of princes.’ ”
The colour on the face of the Emir deepened into a flush of wrath. He was weary of hearing these words ever repeated—yet he kept silence.
“Time was, my cousin,” continues the discreet Ayub, “when you listened to my words, and all went well. Now, for the sake of a strange woman, a slave, a captive, you are bartering your kingdom.”
At this coarse allusion to the royal Egilona
Moorish Mills in the Guadalquivir, at Cordova.
Abdul-asis could scarcely resist the temptation of enlightening Ayub as to her real condition, but he forebore.
“It is my right, O Ayub, to love whom I choose,” he answers coldly, again preparing to mount his horse.
Again Ayub arrests him, and, forgetting all respect in the heat of his argument, fairly shouts in his ear:
“Yes, O son of the great Mousa, but not like that glorious warrior. Yes, free to love a whole tribe of slaves if you please, gather all the beauties from the corners of the earth, the houris of Paradise, if you can get them, but you have no right to sacrifice your throne and bring ruin on your race.”
To this torrent of reproach Abdul-asis answered not a word. Steadying by his touch and voice the exasperated horse, which had now become restive under the delay, as if sharing in the irritation of his master, Abdul-asis surveyed his cousin as if to demand what more abuse he had in store—a look and manner which only exasperated Ayub all the more.
“What kind of a sovereign are you,” he continued, in the same shrill voice, which echoed round the court and could not fail to reach the ears of the guards and eunuchs, however unmoved their countenances might remain, “who pretend to have no time to administer justice in the Gate as your Moorish ancestors did? Who neglect to review your troops in the great plains about the city and to take counsel upon the affairs of state with the chiefs and counsellors sent hither by the Caliph? Can you expect that he will continue you as governor, when the report of your acts comes to his ears? With you will fall your father Mousa and your brothers in Africa. Who is this witch who has overlooked you? Send her away, or by the name of Allah I will no longer screen you!”
Even the discreet Ayub paused here for lack of breath, and the young Emir, quickly vaulting into the saddle, rode off in a cloud of dust, followed by his attendants.
Yet, spite of these stinging words, his passion for Egilona was so consuming, that although he felt their truth and that he was entering upon a career full of danger, he could neither pause before it was too late, nor turn back altogether.
Day and night her image pursues him. Spite of all the warnings of Ayub, who, having once broken the ice, never ceases his threats and reproaches, every hour is devoted to her. In the shade of the Alcazar gardens, on the river Guadalquivir, where they float in a silver barge with perfumed sails, under canopies of cloth of gold and silver; within the gaudy halls, sculptured with glowing panels of arabesque, painted roofs, and dazzling dados; and in the Baños, full of breezes from the river and currents of free mountain air, planted with such shrubs and herbs as are used to scent the water, he is ever at her side.
So well did Egilona love the Baños, which reminded her of her African home, that she was wont to say to her favourite slave, the same dark-skinned girl from Barbary who had followed her from Toledo, “When I am dead, Zora, bury me here.”
Yet all this time Egilona had never opened her heart to Abdul-asis. Nor, eager as he was to know her history, had he ventured further to urge her, so great was his respect.
At length, of her own accord, she unveiled the mystery.
“Think not, O noblest of Moors,” she said, in a voice so soft it seemed to lull the agitation of his heart, “that I am insensible to your devotion. I dare not question my own heart.”
“My love, my sultana!” is all that he could answer, casting himself on the earth before her. “Happy destiny that I was born to be your slave!”
Egilona at once raised him, and entreated him to sit beside her.
“No, Abdul-asis, it is not within the power of a woman to resist you. My heart has long been yours. But,” and she sighed, and big tears gathered in her mild eyes and dropped one by one upon the hand Abdul-asis held clasped in his, “I fear that with my love I bring you an evil destiny. Remember the end of Roderich. Can I, oh, can I sacrifice you to the chances of the dark fate that pursues all who love me?”
The face of the Emir grew pale as he gazed at her. Spite of himself, an icy hand seemed to touch his heart and chill it into stone. These were the warnings of the discreet Ayub from her own lips.
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