the princess and the hermit
Jun. 26th, 2005 12:19 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingbootRight. No more sorrow. Will now tell myself a story and get out of this funk.
This is not one of my stories. It's a tale of the Alhambra, as best I can remember it. It's long so read it when you are bored.
... there lived a king of the moors, in the land of Granada, and he had grown old. He had, in his youth, been the terror of neighbouring potentates, a state of mind which mellowed as his years advanced; he became a man of peace, which was most unfortunate for him, for neither his moorish nor his christian neighbours were similarly inclined; they all had long memories and grown sons, baying for a chance to repay the old intransigent. Sometimes he found himself wishing to retire, for the city had grown just a little too interesting. And it was then that a strange man came to his court.
The man called himself a hermit out of Egypt, and said he could help the monarch find peace, and in return, all he needed was to have a hermitage of his own. As chance would have it, he had found the right place, a cave in the mountainside below the Alhambra. He just needed it furnishing. The king agreed, but folded his hands and waited first. He had been promised splendours by 'scholars' before, everyone of them claiming knowledge unknown by others, and age had taught him to be careful with his treasury.
He did not have long to wait. One morning he woke to find a great tower, new sprung out of the side of the hill. The hermit told him that the magics of Egypt were responsible, and pointed to what looked like a weathervane at the top. But it was no mere weathervane. Its shape was that of a great warrior with a spear. 'Watch each day, where the spear points,' said the hermit, 'And that will be the direction from which your enemies try to attack.'
The monarch was pleased with this marvel, but it was only the beginning; the hermit took him to a room at the top of the tower. In that room lay a great board, like that used in chess, but upon it swarmed tiny carved armies, christian and moorish, and across the board lay a great lance.
'These are the armies of your enemies,' said the hermit. 'If you would have them leave the field in disarray, strike the board with the shaft of the lance, and they will retreat. But if you would have outright bloodshed among their ranks, strike with the blade and show no mercy.'
Alas for good intentions! At so easy a victory, the old tyrant forgot his lately eschewed pacifism, and his beard waggled exultantly. 'I think,' he chuckled, '..It is time for a little blood!' And he struck the board with the blade over and over again! He watched as the tiny figures drew swords and fought amongst themselves, severing and skewering until the board was full of splinters. There were even a few tiny rivulets of darker liquid among the ranks of the wooden chevaliers. The king put his finger in the liquid, lifted it to his lips and tasted, and then laughed. Later, when he heard that a neighbouring king's army had fallen to massacre among themselves even as they were setting out for his borders, he laughed even more.
The hermit's lore did not come cheap. His humble cave was adorned with tapestries of gold and silver, cushions of silk, carpets of richest cloth, lanterns that sparkled like diamonds, and dancing women the like of whom would have graced the richest harems from Sheba to Byzantium. The occasional scroll could indeed be seen looking somewhat lonely among the gems, perfumes, spices, incenses, sweets and delicacies gracing the hermit's simple abode. The king's chancellor groaned, but the King was indulgent; 'This hermit has taken his idea of humble study from inside the pyramids,' he reasoned, 'And we cannot seem to be poorer than the ancient and godless.' So his treasurers complained, but he was happy enough. His new toys endowed him with all the martial endeavour of his youth, and his neighbours paid dearly for their reluctance to parley when he had been in more conciliatory mood. The time came when knights and princes could fight no more, and he went to his tower positively fretful for battle. To no avail. All was still. And then one morning, the spear swung round towards a pass in the mountains well know for trouble. Strangely though, the chess board revealed nothing, only a single queen alone on the board, so he sent his finest scouts to find out what the new danger was.
They came back with a prize indeed; a christian princess of great beauty but cold mien, upon a gleaming white palfrey. At her side, she bore a golden harp. The hermit then shook his head.
'Belike she is a sorceress,' He whispered to the king.
'Belike you are a fool,' replied the king, 'Do you not see how lovely she is?'
The goggling eyes of the hermit suggested that he saw at least as well as his liege.
'That is what makes her so dangerous!' He whispered.
The old king chuckled. 'You may know every scripture and every tome of magic from here to the ends of the earth,' He said, 'But do not presume to teach me of women, Ebben Bonabben' (for this, you see, was the hermit's name).
'Nonetheless, I should examine this more closely, to make sure she is not an enchantment,' persisted the hermit. 'I should take her to my cave...' The king looked surprised.
'Have you not enough delights to sate thee? Enough dancing women to charm thee?'
'Dancing women, yes,' said the hermit, 'But not one singing woman. She has a harp, so she must be able to sing...'
'A truce on thy hermit cravings,' said the king, 'Dancing women, singing women, there's no pleasing you. You cannot have her. She is mine.' And with that, the matter was ended. The hermit retired, sulking, to his cave of riches, and the King took his prisoner to the palace, where he declared his undying love for her and courted her for weeks on end. She responded not at all, and when he seemed on the verge of importuning her, strummed her harp and sang a few notes. Her voice was strangely sweet, and he could not help but listen. Then he would sleep, and forget until the morning came, and begin his hapless wooing all over again.
Such was his entrancement with her beauty, that he ceased to watch the tower, until one morning, when the spear pointed downwards straight at the city. That very night, his armies had to put down insurgents within the streets of Granada. Much blood was shed, and it pained him mightily to think of such matters, when his heart was full of love. He went to his hermit, who by now had ceased resenting and extended his palacial caves deep into the mountain. He gazed up at his monarch with a kind, concerned expression.
'You have neglected your duties as lord of this land,' he said, 'Yet I can help you. Hast not heard of the Gardens of Irem, the place of all earthly paradise and joy?' The king shook his head.
'I thought such things were fables,' he said. The hermit stroked his beard.
'Fables? No. For a frugal price, by such magics as made the tower and the lance, I can bring you to that place, through a wondrous portal. You will live in bliss and pleasure until the end of the world.'
The words filled his ruler with hope and fear. 'Dearly do I approve such a plan' said the monarch, 'And yet I dread your quaintly pharoahonic understanding of frugality. More refurbishment of your caves will beggar the province.'
'Think nothing of that,' interposed the hermit smoothly, 'A wise man is satisfied with simple things. I ask only for the first beast of burden and all it carries, that walks through the magic portal.'
And the king agreed.
On the eve of St Johns, he saw the gate ready on the side of the hill near the Alhambra. On one arch was carved a hand, on a lesser, a key. He saddled up all the riches of his court, as well as the christian lady, and approached, to find the hermit waiting there. They stood before the gate that would lead to the magical gardens of Irem. And then the white horse upon which the princess sat walked straight through it.
'Behold, my price!' Cried the hermit.
The King laughed, thought he jested, grew solemn, and then grew red in the face.
'Have I not told thee, upon pain of death, to cease desiring that which I love?' He said.
'Desire or not, that is the price and you agreed it!' Said the servant, his face darkening now,
'But I shall trouble with you no more, monarch of a molehill!' And with that, the ground cracked and split beneath his feet, the very mountain shuddered, he grabbed the princess off her horse and both fell into the depths of a cavern, while thunder beneath the earth made the old king fall to his knees in fear.
When he rose again, the hermit was gone, the princess was gone, his treasure was gone, and the portal led nowhere. He returned to his palace and found that while sorcery fades, rancour has a habit of returning. His last days were few enough after his adventure at the gates of Irem, and spent in perpetual battle.
But to the lady and the hermit. They have been seen many times, on midsummer night and all hallows eve; for that cave is one of the closest to the Alhambra, and if you would venture into the chasms of the underworld, this is one of the first you will find. If you look down into it, you will see a fine and fair princess strumming on her harp, while a man of moorish aspect nods asleep opposite.
He has her trapped in his enchantment, but himself is trapped in dreams while she plays her harp. She is granted a few minutes spare at certain sacred times, and in that time will give you instruction to help you find safety and treasure. There they will both stay until the gate releases them; when the hand grasps the key and all the treasures and secrets of the Alhambra will be revealed at the world's end. Until that time, she is your friend and helper in the dark places beneath the sierra, but she cannot help you for long, lest her enemy should wake...
This is not one of my stories. It's a tale of the Alhambra, as best I can remember it. It's long so read it when you are bored.
... there lived a king of the moors, in the land of Granada, and he had grown old. He had, in his youth, been the terror of neighbouring potentates, a state of mind which mellowed as his years advanced; he became a man of peace, which was most unfortunate for him, for neither his moorish nor his christian neighbours were similarly inclined; they all had long memories and grown sons, baying for a chance to repay the old intransigent. Sometimes he found himself wishing to retire, for the city had grown just a little too interesting. And it was then that a strange man came to his court.
The man called himself a hermit out of Egypt, and said he could help the monarch find peace, and in return, all he needed was to have a hermitage of his own. As chance would have it, he had found the right place, a cave in the mountainside below the Alhambra. He just needed it furnishing. The king agreed, but folded his hands and waited first. He had been promised splendours by 'scholars' before, everyone of them claiming knowledge unknown by others, and age had taught him to be careful with his treasury.
He did not have long to wait. One morning he woke to find a great tower, new sprung out of the side of the hill. The hermit told him that the magics of Egypt were responsible, and pointed to what looked like a weathervane at the top. But it was no mere weathervane. Its shape was that of a great warrior with a spear. 'Watch each day, where the spear points,' said the hermit, 'And that will be the direction from which your enemies try to attack.'
The monarch was pleased with this marvel, but it was only the beginning; the hermit took him to a room at the top of the tower. In that room lay a great board, like that used in chess, but upon it swarmed tiny carved armies, christian and moorish, and across the board lay a great lance.
'These are the armies of your enemies,' said the hermit. 'If you would have them leave the field in disarray, strike the board with the shaft of the lance, and they will retreat. But if you would have outright bloodshed among their ranks, strike with the blade and show no mercy.'
Alas for good intentions! At so easy a victory, the old tyrant forgot his lately eschewed pacifism, and his beard waggled exultantly. 'I think,' he chuckled, '..It is time for a little blood!' And he struck the board with the blade over and over again! He watched as the tiny figures drew swords and fought amongst themselves, severing and skewering until the board was full of splinters. There were even a few tiny rivulets of darker liquid among the ranks of the wooden chevaliers. The king put his finger in the liquid, lifted it to his lips and tasted, and then laughed. Later, when he heard that a neighbouring king's army had fallen to massacre among themselves even as they were setting out for his borders, he laughed even more.
The hermit's lore did not come cheap. His humble cave was adorned with tapestries of gold and silver, cushions of silk, carpets of richest cloth, lanterns that sparkled like diamonds, and dancing women the like of whom would have graced the richest harems from Sheba to Byzantium. The occasional scroll could indeed be seen looking somewhat lonely among the gems, perfumes, spices, incenses, sweets and delicacies gracing the hermit's simple abode. The king's chancellor groaned, but the King was indulgent; 'This hermit has taken his idea of humble study from inside the pyramids,' he reasoned, 'And we cannot seem to be poorer than the ancient and godless.' So his treasurers complained, but he was happy enough. His new toys endowed him with all the martial endeavour of his youth, and his neighbours paid dearly for their reluctance to parley when he had been in more conciliatory mood. The time came when knights and princes could fight no more, and he went to his tower positively fretful for battle. To no avail. All was still. And then one morning, the spear swung round towards a pass in the mountains well know for trouble. Strangely though, the chess board revealed nothing, only a single queen alone on the board, so he sent his finest scouts to find out what the new danger was.
They came back with a prize indeed; a christian princess of great beauty but cold mien, upon a gleaming white palfrey. At her side, she bore a golden harp. The hermit then shook his head.
'Belike she is a sorceress,' He whispered to the king.
'Belike you are a fool,' replied the king, 'Do you not see how lovely she is?'
The goggling eyes of the hermit suggested that he saw at least as well as his liege.
'That is what makes her so dangerous!' He whispered.
The old king chuckled. 'You may know every scripture and every tome of magic from here to the ends of the earth,' He said, 'But do not presume to teach me of women, Ebben Bonabben' (for this, you see, was the hermit's name).
'Nonetheless, I should examine this more closely, to make sure she is not an enchantment,' persisted the hermit. 'I should take her to my cave...' The king looked surprised.
'Have you not enough delights to sate thee? Enough dancing women to charm thee?'
'Dancing women, yes,' said the hermit, 'But not one singing woman. She has a harp, so she must be able to sing...'
'A truce on thy hermit cravings,' said the king, 'Dancing women, singing women, there's no pleasing you. You cannot have her. She is mine.' And with that, the matter was ended. The hermit retired, sulking, to his cave of riches, and the King took his prisoner to the palace, where he declared his undying love for her and courted her for weeks on end. She responded not at all, and when he seemed on the verge of importuning her, strummed her harp and sang a few notes. Her voice was strangely sweet, and he could not help but listen. Then he would sleep, and forget until the morning came, and begin his hapless wooing all over again.
Such was his entrancement with her beauty, that he ceased to watch the tower, until one morning, when the spear pointed downwards straight at the city. That very night, his armies had to put down insurgents within the streets of Granada. Much blood was shed, and it pained him mightily to think of such matters, when his heart was full of love. He went to his hermit, who by now had ceased resenting and extended his palacial caves deep into the mountain. He gazed up at his monarch with a kind, concerned expression.
'You have neglected your duties as lord of this land,' he said, 'Yet I can help you. Hast not heard of the Gardens of Irem, the place of all earthly paradise and joy?' The king shook his head.
'I thought such things were fables,' he said. The hermit stroked his beard.
'Fables? No. For a frugal price, by such magics as made the tower and the lance, I can bring you to that place, through a wondrous portal. You will live in bliss and pleasure until the end of the world.'
The words filled his ruler with hope and fear. 'Dearly do I approve such a plan' said the monarch, 'And yet I dread your quaintly pharoahonic understanding of frugality. More refurbishment of your caves will beggar the province.'
'Think nothing of that,' interposed the hermit smoothly, 'A wise man is satisfied with simple things. I ask only for the first beast of burden and all it carries, that walks through the magic portal.'
And the king agreed.
On the eve of St Johns, he saw the gate ready on the side of the hill near the Alhambra. On one arch was carved a hand, on a lesser, a key. He saddled up all the riches of his court, as well as the christian lady, and approached, to find the hermit waiting there. They stood before the gate that would lead to the magical gardens of Irem. And then the white horse upon which the princess sat walked straight through it.
'Behold, my price!' Cried the hermit.
The King laughed, thought he jested, grew solemn, and then grew red in the face.
'Have I not told thee, upon pain of death, to cease desiring that which I love?' He said.
'Desire or not, that is the price and you agreed it!' Said the servant, his face darkening now,
'But I shall trouble with you no more, monarch of a molehill!' And with that, the ground cracked and split beneath his feet, the very mountain shuddered, he grabbed the princess off her horse and both fell into the depths of a cavern, while thunder beneath the earth made the old king fall to his knees in fear.
When he rose again, the hermit was gone, the princess was gone, his treasure was gone, and the portal led nowhere. He returned to his palace and found that while sorcery fades, rancour has a habit of returning. His last days were few enough after his adventure at the gates of Irem, and spent in perpetual battle.
But to the lady and the hermit. They have been seen many times, on midsummer night and all hallows eve; for that cave is one of the closest to the Alhambra, and if you would venture into the chasms of the underworld, this is one of the first you will find. If you look down into it, you will see a fine and fair princess strumming on her harp, while a man of moorish aspect nods asleep opposite.
He has her trapped in his enchantment, but himself is trapped in dreams while she plays her harp. She is granted a few minutes spare at certain sacred times, and in that time will give you instruction to help you find safety and treasure. There they will both stay until the gate releases them; when the hand grasps the key and all the treasures and secrets of the Alhambra will be revealed at the world's end. Until that time, she is your friend and helper in the dark places beneath the sierra, but she cannot help you for long, lest her enemy should wake...
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