The evening was very chilly and misty, and but few persons had been tempted to linger late by the river side; the attention, however, of those who had not yet “betaken them home,” was attracted by a steamboat full of passengers, coming from Paimbeuf, which stopped beneath the walls of the castle, and gave a signal apparently understood by a guard of soldiers, which had been loitering on the shore. The arrival of the steamer was immediately communicated to the governor of the castle, and much unwonted movement ensued.
A rumor of something remarkable soon spread throughout the town, and a concourse of people came hurrying over the bridge, in order to be present at the expected landing of prisoners of importance. There was no attempt to repress this curiosity, for no rescue was evidently feared; a double line of soldiers was, however, formed, and in silence and gloom a sad procession was soon formed of no less than eighty-two individuals, men, women and children, all covered with large mantles of white wool, of a fashion unseen in this part of the world since the great Saracen warrior Abd’eraman was driven back from Touraine by Charles Martel; the strangers thus attired took their way from the sandy shore of the Loire to the precipitous ascent of the dark towers before them.
These captives were the Arab chief Abd-’el-Kader, his mother, one of his brothers-in-law, his uncle, a patriarch of ninety, whose long, white beard fell to his girdle, and four of his wives. Following them came a train of attendants, all prisoners, and all sharing their master’s sorrows and mischances.
The heavy gateway closed upon the new guests, and the inhabitants of Amboise, somewhat awe-struck and impressed with pity, returned mournfully to their respective domiciles, no doubt thanking Heaven that they were denizens of free and happy France, generous, valiant, honorable and victorious!—alas, how long to remain so!
From that time a new amusement was provided for the pleasure-loving natives of the pretty but dreary old town, which still wears the characteristics of the past in its acutely pointed roofs, crowned with quaint belfrys, its arches spanning the streets, its antique chapel of St. Florentin, its palais de justice transformed into a barrack, and its little Château du Clos-Lucet, where, tradition says, Leonardo da Vinci, the great painter, passed the last years of his long life, and where he died.
Many a summer evening was henceforth spent by the citizens on the bridge, their pastime being to gaze curiously up toward the walls and windows of the castle; for, wandering along the terraces, which hang in mid air, might then be frequently seen, like a gliding spectre, the majestic form of an Arab, wrapped in a white burnous, with solemn steps pacing to and fro, unobservant and indifferent to the curiosity which he excited.
Compassion for these unfortunate strangers suggested, even amongst those in whose charge their safety was placed, alleviations to their griefs. The Arab servants of the chief were allowed to seek provisions for their repasts in the town itself, accompanied merely by a soldier, who did not molest them. All who applied for permission to behold Abd-’el-Kader were admitted to the castle precincts, and were introduced to his presence. At first he probably felt amused at the novelty of this proceeding, but at length he became annoyed at the persevering curiosity which left him no leisure for reflections, however doleful. His spirits, too, in the course of long months of hopeless anxiety, gave way, and he at length refused to be exhibited as a caged lion, to make sport to the inquisitive.
Not alone in the early stage of his captivity, but ever since he became their neighbor, the ladies of Amboise, with continuous kindness, showed their benevolent feeling both to him and to the females of his suite and their children. Delicacies from their kitchens, and little useful presents were showered upon the poor captives, who received the attentions in the spirit in which they were given.
One instance of consideration gave particular gratification to the Emir. Madame de Villeneuve, the châtellaine of Catherine de Medicis’ lovely castle of Chenonceau, so well-known to tourists, and so often described, sent Abd-’el-Kader a magnificent plant, a native of his own valleys of the Atlas. It is related that the Emir on receiving it burst into tears. He sent back the expression of his gratitude in the following characteristically poetical words:
“Too poor to offer you in return any thing worthy of your acceptance, not possessing even a flower that I can call mine, I will pray to Allah that for the love of his servant he will one day bestow Paradise upon you.”