“Not Even the Day of the Mud?”
The King Abit, of Seville, was married to Romaquia, and he loved her better than anything in the world. She was a very virtuous woman, and the Moors recount many of her good acts. But in one thing she did not display much wisdom; this was that she generally had some caprice or other which the King was always willing to gratify.
One day, being in Cordova during the month of February, there happened to be (which was very unusual) a very heavy fall of snow. When Romaquia saw this she began to weep. The King, seeing her so afflicted, desired to know the cause of her grief.
“I weep,” said she, “because I am not permitted to live in a country where we sometimes see snow.”
The King, anxious to gratify her, ordered almond-trees to be planted on all the mountains surrounding Cordova, for, it being a very warm climate, snow is seldom or never seen there. But now, once a year, and that in the month of February, the almond-trees came forth in full blossom, which, from their whiteness, made it appear as if there had been a fall of snow on the mountains, and was a source of great delight to the Queen for a time.
On another occasion Romaquia, being in her apartment, which overlooked the river, saw a woman without shoes or stockings kneading mud on the banks of the river for the purpose of making bricks. When Romaquia saw this she began to cry, which the King observing, begged to know the cause of her grief.
She replied, “It is because I am not free to do as I please; I cannot do as yonder woman is doing.”
Then the King, in order to gratify her, ordered a lake at Cordova to be filled with rose-water in place of ordinary water, and to produce mud he had this filled with sugar, powdered cinnamon and ginger, beautiful stones, amber, musk, and as many other fragrant spices and perfumes as could be procured, and in place of straws he ordered to be placed ready small sugar-canes. Now when this lake was full of such mud, as you may imagine, the King informed Romaquia that now she might take off her shoes and stockings and enjoy herself by making as many bricks as she pleased.
Another day, taking a fancy for something not immediately procurable, she began weeping as before. The King again entreated to know the cause of her grief.
“How can I refrain from tears,” said she, “when you never do anything to please me?”
The King, seeing that so much had been done to please and gratify her caprices, and feeling now at his wits’ end, exclaimed, in Arabic, “Ehu alenahac aten,” which means, “Not even the day of the mud.” That is to say, that, although all the rest had been forgotten, she might at least have remembered the mud he had prepared to humour her.
Don Juan Manuel (d. 1347). Trans. James York.