CHAPTER IV. HOW KING MARSILLUS SAW A VISION.
A SHORT time previous to the foregoing events, Marsillus had a vision at Saragossa.
Come with me now to Spain, my young friends. Do not murmur, for there exists nothing so lovely as Spain, unless it be “the terrestrial paradise,” of which I am not in a position to form an opinion.
There the sandal-wood, the spikenard, the saffron, the ebony, and the clove, the most extraordinary flowers, the most delicious fruits, all grow wild. The streams prattle more gaily there than anywhere else, joyfully sprinkling with dewy drops the ever-verdant banks. On all sides trees, clothed with luxuriant foliage, provide shelter for the most musical birds in the world. The choir numbers the tomtit, the nightingale, the phoenix, the turtle-dove, and a thousand others. Must I, at the risk of making your mouths water, mention a few of the fruits of this marvellous land? What do you say to the fig, the grape, the pomegranate, the almond, the lemon, the pine-apple, the olive, and the orange? And the flowers!—clumps of roses everywhere, lilies, chrysanthemums! Here, grow ox-eyes; there, spring violets; yonder bloom the narcissus and the balsam. The cool brooklets, abundant and limpid as glass, flow over pebbles as bright as crystal and topaz. There are gardens like those of Persia, minarets like those of Bagdad, a blue sky’ like that of no other part of the world. The nights are so delicious, one is sorry to go to sleep. Everywhere are seen wealth, beauty, joy, and plenty! Such is Spain.
All this, however, was ruined by the presence of the Saracens.
Marsillus was taking a nap. He was lying on cushions of priceless material. The pavilion in which he had sought repose was of stained ivory, inlaid with gold. In the midst a joyous fountain diffused coolness around it; while an incense, compounded of musk, ambergris, and camphor, made into a paste with distilled otto of roses, burning in marble bowls, filled the air with sweetness.
All at once the daylight turned sickly pale. A chill like that of the tomb succeeded the agreeable coolness and the perfumes yielded to sickening odours like those of the grave. The flowers faded; all that was brightest became dull and tarnished; and a corpse came and seated itself beside the King of Saragossa. It scarcely retained the human form, being made up of shreds and rags of flesh, and rendered only the more hideous by the gay robes in which it was enveloped.
“My father!” said the corpse, “have you, then, forgotten me?” Marsillus opened his eyes, uttered a shriek, and, after gazing round vainly for some way of escape, sank back motionless, with haggard eyes and bristling locks, and bathed in a cold sweat.