the bands of music ceased to play, and the brilliant crowd dispersed to
their homes. The centre of the square still remained well peopled, and
Mateo assured me that the greater part of the peasantry, men, women, and
children, would pass the night there, sleeping on the bare earth beneath
the open canopy of heaven. Indeed, a summer night requires no shelter in
this favored climate; and a bed is a superfluity which many of the hardy
peasantry of Spain never enjoy, and which some of them affect to
despise. The common Spaniard wraps himself in his brown cloak, stretches
himself on his manta or mule-cloth, and sleeps soundly, luxuriously
accommodated if he can have a saddle for a pillow. In a little while the
words of Mateo were made good; the peasant multitude nestled down on the
ground to their night’s repose, and by midnight the scene on the
Vivarrambla resembled the bivouac of an army.
The next morning, accompanied by Mateo, I revisited the square at
sunrise. It was still strewed with groups of sleepers: some were
reposing from the dance and revel of the evening; others, who had left
their villages after work on the preceding day, having trudged on foot
the greater part of the night, were taking a sound sleep to freshen
themselves for the festivities of the day. Numbers from the mountains,
and the remote villages of the plain, who had set out in the night,
continued to arrive with their wives and children. All were in high
spirits; greeting each other and exchanging jokes and pleasantries. The
gay tumult thickened as the day advanced. Now came pouring in at the
city gates, and parading through the streets, the deputations from the
various villages, destined to swell the grand procession. These village
deputations were headed by their priests, bearing their respective
crosses and banners, and images of the blessed Virgin and of patron
saints; all which were matters of great rivalship and jealousy among the
peasantry. It was like the chivalrous gatherings of ancient days, when
each town and village sent its chiefs, and warriors, and standards, to
defend the capital, or grace its festivities.
At length all these various detachments congregated into one grand
pageant, which slowly paraded round the Vivarrambla, and through the
principal streets, where every window and balcony was hung with
tapestry. In this procession were all the religious orders, the civil
and military authorities, and the chief people of the parishes and
villages: every church and convent had contributed its banners, its
images, its relics, and poured forth its wealth for the occasion. In the
centre of the procession walked the archbishop, under a damask canopy,
and surrounded by inferior dignitaries and their dependants. The whole
moved to the swell and cadence of numerous bands of music, and, passing
through the midst of a countless yet silent multitude, proceeded onward
to the cathedral.
I could not but be struck with the changes of times and customs, as I
saw this monkish pageant passing through the Vivarrambla, the ancient
seat of Moslem pomp and chivalry. The contrast was indeed forced upon
the mind by the decorations of the square. The whole front of the wooden
gallery erected for the procession, extending several hundred feet, was
faced with canvas, on which some humble though patriotic artist had
painted, by contract, a series of the principal scenes and exploits of
the Conquest, as recorded in chronicle and romance. It is thus the
romantic legends of Granada mingle themselves with everything, and are
kept fresh in the public mind.
As we wended our way back to the Alhambra, Mateo was in high glee and
garrulous vein. “Ah, Señor,” exclaimed he, “there is no place in all the
world like Granada for grand ceremonies (_funciones grandes_); a man
need spend nothing on pleasure here, it is all furnished him gratis.”
Pero, el dia de la Toma! Ah, Señor! el dia de la Toma! “But the day of
the Taking! ah, Señor the day of the Taking!”--that was the great day
which crowned Mateo’s notions of perfect felicity. The Dia de la Toma, I
found, was the anniversary of the capture or taking possession of
Granada by the army of Ferdinand and Isabella.
On that day, according to Mateo, the whole city is abandoned to revelry.
The great alarm-bell on the watch-tower of the Alhambra (_la Torre de la
vela_) sends forth its clanging peals from morn till night; the sound
pervades the whole Vega, and echoes along the mountains, summoning the
peasantry from far and near to the festivities of the metropolis. “Happy
the damsel,” says Mateo, “who can get a chance to ring that bell; it is
a charm to insure a husband within the year.”
Throughout the day the Alhambra is thrown open to the public. Its halls
and courts, where the Moorish monarchs once held sway, resound with the
guitar and castanet, and gay groups, in the fanciful dresses of
Andalusia, perform their traditional dances inherited from the Moors.
A grand procession, emblematic of the taking possession of the city,
moves through the principal streets. The banner of Ferdinand and
Isabella, that precious relic of the Conquest, is brought forth from its
depository, and borne in triumph by the Alferez mayor, or grand
standard-bearer. The portable camp-altar, carried about with the
sovereigns in all their campaigns, is transported into the chapel royal
of the cathedral, and placed before their sepulchre, where their
effigies lie in monumental marble. High mass is then performed in memory
of the Conquest; and at a certain part of the ceremony the Alferez mayor
puts on his hat, and waves the standard above the tomb of the
conquerors.
A more whimsical memorial of the Conquest is exhibited in the evening at
the theatre. A popular drama is performed, entitled AVE MARIA, turning
on a famous achievement of Hernando del Pulgar, surnamed “el de las
Hazañas” (he of the exploits), a madcap warrior, the favorite hero of
the populace of Granada. During the time of the siege, the young Moorish
and Spanish cavaliers vied with each other in extravagant bravadoes. On
one occasion this Hernando del Pulgar, at the head of a handful of
followers, made a dash into Granada in the dead of the night, nailed the
inscription of AVE MARIA with his dagger to the gate of the principal
mosque, a token of having consecrated it to the Virgin, and effected his
retreat in safety.[15]
While the Moorish cavaliers admired this daring exploit, they felt bound
to resent it. On the following day, therefore, Tarfé, one of the
stoutest among them, paraded in front of the Christian army, dragging
the tablet bearing the sacred inscription AVE MARIA, at his horse’s
tail. The cause of the Virgin was eagerly vindicated by Garcilaso de la
Vega, who slew the Moor in single combat, and elevated the tablet in
devotion and triumph at the end of his lance.
The drama founded on this exploit is prodigiously popular with the
common people. Although it has been acted time out of mind, it never
fails to draw crowds, who become completely lost in the delusions of
the scene. When their favorite Pulgar strides about with many a mouthy
speech, in the very midst of the Moorish capital, he is cheered with
enthusiastic bravos; and when he nails the tablet to the door of the
mosque, the theatre absolutely shakes with the thunders of applause. On
the other hand, the unlucky actors who figure in the part of the Moors,
have to bear the brunt of popular indignation; which at times equals
that of the Hero of Lamanche, at the puppet-show of Gines de Passamonte;
for, when the infidel Tarfé plucks down the tablet to tie it to his
horse’s tail, some of the audience rise in fury, and are ready to jump
upon the stage to revenge this insult to the Virgin.
By the way, the actual lineal descendant of Hernando del Pulgar was the
Marquis de Salar. As the legitimate representative of that madcap hero,
and in commemoration and reward of this hero’s exploit above mentioned,
he inherited the right to enter the cathedral on certain occasions, on
horseback; to sit within the choir, and to put on his hat at the
elevation of the host, though these privileges were often and
obstinately contested by the clergy. I met him occasionally in society;
he was young, of agreeable appearance and manners, with bright black
eyes, in which appeared to lurk some of the fire of his ancestors. Among
the paintings in the Vivarrambla, on the fête of Corpus Christi, were
some depicting, in vivid style, the exploits of the family hero. An old
gray-headed servant of the Pulgars shed tears on beholding them, and
hurried home to inform the marquis. The eager zeal and enthusiasm of the
old domestic only provoked a light laugh from his young master;
whereupon, turning to the brother of the marquis, with that freedom
allowed in Spain to old family servants, “Come, Señor,” cried he, “you
are more considerate than your brother; come and see your ancestor in
all his glory!”
In emulation of this great _Dia de la Toma_ of Granada, almost every
village and petty town of the mountains has its own anniversary,
commemorating, with rustic pomp and uncouth ceremonial, its deliverance
from the Moorish yoke. On these occasions, according to Mateo, a kind of
resurrection takes place of ancient armor and weapons; great two-handed
swords, ponderous arquebuses with matchlocks, and other warlike relics,
treasured up from generation to generation, since the time of the
Conquest; and happy the community that possesses some old piece of
ordnance, peradventure one of the identical lombards used by the
conquerors; it is kept thundering along the mountains all day long,
provided the community can afford sufficient expenditure of powder.
In the course of the day a kind of warlike drama is enacted. Some of the
populace parade the streets, fitted out with the old armor, as champions
of the faith. Others appear dressed up as Moorish warriors. A tent is
pitched in the public square, inclosing an altar with an image of the
Virgin. The Christian warriors approach to perform their devotions; the
infidels surround the tent to prevent their entrance; a mock fight
ensues; the combatants sometimes forget that they are merely playing a
part, and dry blows of grievous weight are apt to be exchanged. The
contest, however, invariably terminates in favor of the good cause. The
Moors are defeated and taken prisoners. The image of the Virgin, rescued
from thraldom, is elevated in triumph; a grand procession succeeds, in
which the conquerors figure with great applause and vainglory; while
their captives are led in chains, to the evident delight and edification
of the spectators.
These celebrations are heavy drains on the treasuries of these petty
communities, and have sometimes to be suspended for want of funds; but,
when times grow better, or sufficient money has been hoarded for the
purpose, they are resumed with new zeal and prodigality.
Mateo informed me that he had occasionally assisted at these fêtes and
taken a part in the combats; but always on the side of the true faith;
_porque Señor_, added the ragged descendant of the Cardinal Ximenes,
tapping his breast with something of an air,--“_porque Señor, soy
Christiano viejo_.”
LOCAL TRADITIONS
The common people of Spain have an Oriental passion for story-telling,
and are fond of the marvellous. They will gather round the doors of
their cottages in summer evenings, or in the great cavernous
chimney-corners of the ventas in the winter, and listen with insatiable
delight to miraculous legends of saints, perilous adventures of
travellers, and daring exploits of robbers and contrabandistas. The wild
and solitary character of the country, the imperfect diffusion of
knowledge, the scarceness of general topics of conversation, and the
romantic adventurous life that every one leads in a land where
travelling is yet in its primitive state, all contribute to cherish this
love of oral narration, and to produce a strong infusion of the
extravagant and incredible. There is no theme, however, more prevalent
and popular than that of treasures buried by the Moors; it pervades the
whole country. In traversing the wild sierras, the scenes of ancient
foray and exploit, you cannot see a Moorish atalaya, or watch-tower,
perched among the cliffs, or beetling above its rock-built village, but
your muleteer, on being closely questioned, will suspend the smoking of
his cigarillo to tell some tale of Moslem gold buried beneath its
foundations; nor is there a ruined alcazar in a city but has its golden
tradition, handed down from generation to generation among the poor
people of the neighborhood.
These, like most popular fictions, have sprung from some scanty
groundwork of fact. During the wars between Moor and Christian, which
distracted this country for centuries, towns and castles were liable
frequently and suddenly to change owners, and the inhabitants, during
sieges and assaults, were fain to bury their money and jewels in the
earth, or hide them in vaults and wells, as is often done at the present
day in the despotic and belligerent countries of the East. At the time
of the expulsion of the Moors, also, many of them concealed their most
precious effects, hoping that their exile would be but temporary, and
that they would be enabled to return and retrieve their treasures at
some future day. It is certain that from time to time hoards of gold and
silver coin have been accidentally digged up, after a lapse of
centuries, from among the ruins of Moorish fortresses and habitations;
and it requires but a few facts of the kind to give birth to a thousand
fictions.
The stories thus originating have generally something of an Oriental
tinge, and are marked with that mixture of the Arabic and the Gothic
which seems to me to characterize everything in Spain, and especially in
its southern provinces. The hidden wealth is always laid under magic
spell, and secured by charm and talisman. Sometimes it is guarded by
uncouth monsters or fiery dragons, sometimes by enchanted Moors, who sit
by it in armor, with drawn swords, but motionless as statues,
maintaining a sleepless watch for ages.
The Alhambra of course, from the peculiar circumstances of its history,
is a stronghold for popular fictions of the kind; and various relics,
digged up from time to time, have contributed to strengthen them. At one
time an earthen vessel was found containing Moorish coins and the
skeleton of a cock, which, according to the opinion of certain shrewd
inspectors, must have been buried alive. At another time a vessel was
dug up containing a great scarabæus or beetle of baked clay, covered
with Arabic inscriptions, which was pronounced a prodigious amulet of
occult virtues. In this way the wits of the ragged brood who inhabit the
Alhambra have been set wool-gathering, until there is not a hall, nor
tower, nor vault, of the old fortress, that has not been made the scene
of some marvellous tradition. Having, I trust, in the preceding papers
made the reader in some degree familiar with the localities of the
Alhambra, I shall now launch out more largely into the wonderful legends
connected with it, and which I have diligently wrought into shape and
form, from various legendary scraps and hints picked up in the course of
my perambulations,--in the same manner that an antiquary works out a
regular historical document from a few scattered letters of an almost
defaced inscription.
If anything in these legends should shock the faith of the
over-scrupulous reader, he must remember the nature of the place, and
make due allowances. He must not expect here the same laws of
probability that govern commonplace scenes and every-day life; he must
remember that he treads the halls of an enchanted palace and that all is
“haunted ground.”
THE HOUSE OF THE WEATHERCOCK
On the brow of the lofty hill of the Albaycin, the highest part of
Granada, and which rises from the narrow valley of the Darro, directly
opposite to the Alhambra, stands all that is left of what was once a
royal palace of the Moors. It has, in fact, fallen into such obscurity,
that it cost me much trouble to find it, though aided in my researches
by the sagacious and all-knowing Mateo Ximenes. This edifice has borne
for centuries the name of “The House of the Weathercock” (La casa del
Gallo de Viento), from a bronze figure on one of its turrets, in ancient
times, of a warrior on horseback, and turning with every breeze. This
weathercock was considered by the Moslems of Granada a portentous
talisman. According to some traditions, it bore the following Arabic
inscription:
Calet el Bedici Aben Habuz,
Quidat ehahet Lindabuz.
Which has been rendered into Spanish:
Dice el sabio Aben Habuz,
Que asi se defiende el Anduluz.
And into English:
In this way, says Aben Habuz the Wise,
Andaluz guards against surprise.
This Aben Habuz, according to some of the old Moorish chronicles, was a
captain in the invading army of Taric, one of the conquerors of Spain,
who left him as Alcayde of Granada. He is supposed to have intended this
effigy as a perpetual warning to the Moslems of Andaluz, that,
surrounded by foes, their safety depended upon their being always on
their guard and ready for the field.
Others, among whom is the Christian historian Marmol, affirms “Badis
Aben Habus” to have been a Moorish sultan of Granada, and that the
weathercock was intended as a perpetual admonition of the instability of
Moslem power, bearing the following words in Arabic:
“Thus Ibn Habus al badise predicts Andalus shall one day vanish and pass
away.”[16]
Another version of this portentous inscription is given by a Moslem
historian, on the authority of Sidi Hasan, a faquir who flourished about
the time of Ferdinand and Isabella, and who was present at the taking
down of the weathercock, when the old Kassaba was undergoing repairs.
“I saw it,” says the venerable faquir, “with my own eyes; it was of a
heptagonal shape, and had the following inscription in verse:
“The palace at fair Granada presents a talisman.”
“The horseman, though a solid body, turns with every wind.”
“This to a wise man reveals a mystery. In a little while comes a
calamity to ruin both the palace and its owner.”
In effect it was not long after this meddling with the portentous
weathercock that the following event occurred. As old Muley Abul Hassan,
the king of Granada, was seated under a sumptuous pavilion, reviewing
his troops, who paraded before him in armor of polished steel and
gorgeous silken robes, mounted on fleet steeds, and equipped with
swords, spears, and shields embossed with gold and silver,--suddenly a
tempest was seen hurrying from the southwest. In a little while black
clouds overshadowed the heavens and burst forth with a deluge of rain.
Torrents came roaring down from the mountains, bringing with them rocks
and trees; the Darro overflowed its banks; mills were swept away,
bridges destroyed, gardens laid waste; the inundation rushed into the
city, undermining houses, drowning their inhabitants, and overflowing
even the square of the Great Mosque. The people rushed in affright to
the mosques to implore the mercy of Allah, regarding this uproar of the
elements as the harbinger of dreadful calamities; and, indeed, according
to the Arabian historian Al Makkari, it was but a type and prelude of
the direful war which ended in the downfall of the Moslem kingdom of
Granada.
I have thus given historic authorities sufficient to show the portentous
mysteries connected with the House of the Weathercock, and its
talismanic horseman.
I now proceed to relate still more surprising things about Aben Habuz
and his palace; for the truth of which, should any doubt be entertained,
I refer the dubious reader to Mateo Ximenes and his fellow-historiographers
of the Alhambra.
LEGEND OF THE ARABIAN ASTROLOGER
In old times, many hundred years ago, there was a Moorish king named
Aben Habuz, who reigned over the kingdom of Granada. He was a retired
conqueror, that is to say, one who, having in his more youthful days led
a life of constant foray and depredation, now that he was grown feeble
and superannuated, “languished for repose,” and desired nothing more
than to live at peace with all the world, to husband his laurels, and to
enjoy in quiet the possessions he had wrested from his neighbors.
It so happened, however, that this most reasonable and pacific old
monarch had young rivals to deal with; princes full of his early passion
for fame and fighting, and who were disposed to call him to account for
the scores he had run up with their fathers. Certain distant districts
of his own territories, also, which during the days of his vigor he had
treated with a high hand, were prone, now that he languished for repose,
to rise in rebellion and threaten to invest him in his capital. Thus he
had foes on every side; and as Granada is surrounded by wild and craggy
mountains, which hide the approach of an enemy, the unfortunate Aben
Habuz was kept in a constant state of vigilance and alarm, not knowing
in what quarter hostilities might break out.
It was in vain that he built watch-towers on the mountains, and
stationed guards at every pass with orders to make fires by night and
smoke by day, on the approach of an enemy. His alert foes, baffling
every precaution, would break out of some unthought-of defile, ravage
his lands beneath his very nose, and then make off with prisoners and
booty to the mountains. Was ever peaceable and retired conqueror in a
more uncomfortable predicament?
While Aben Habuz was harassed by these perplexities and molestations, an
ancient Arabian physician arrived at his court. His gray beard descended
to his girdle, and he had every mark of extreme age, yet he had
travelled almost the whole way from Egypt on foot, with no other aid
than a staff, marked with hieroglyphics. His fame had preceded him. His
name was Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub; he was said to have lived ever since the
days of Mahomet, and to be son of Abu Ayub; the last of the companions
of the Prophet. He had, when a child, followed the conquering army of
Amru into Egypt, where he had remained many years studying the dark
sciences, and particularly magic, among the Egyptian priests.
It was, moreover, said that he had found out the secret of prolonging
life, by means of which he had arrived to the great age of upwards of
two centuries, though, as he did not discover the secret until well
stricken in years, he could only perpetuate his gray hairs and wrinkles.
This wonderful old man was honorably entertained by the king; who, like
most superannuated monarchs, began to take physicians into great favor.
He would have assigned him an apartment in his palace, but the
astrologer preferred a cave in the side of the hill which rises above
the city of Granada, being the same on which the Alhambra has since been
built. He caused the cave to be enlarged so as to form a spacious and
lofty hall, with a circular hole at the top, through which, as through a
well, he could see the heavens and behold the stars even at mid-day. The
walls of this hall were covered with Egyptian hieroglyphics with
cabalistic symbols, and with the figures of the stars in their signs.
This hall he furnished with many implements, fabricated under his
directions by cunning artificers of Granada, but the occult properties
of which were known only to himself.
In a little while the sage Ibrahim became the bosom counsellor of the
king, who applied to him for advice in every emergency. Aben Habuz was
once inveighing against the injustice of his neighbors, and bewailing
the restless vigilance he had to observe to guard himself against their
invasions; when he had finished, the astrologer remained silent for a
moment, and then replied, “Know, O king, that, when I was in Egypt, I
beheld a great marvel devised by a pagan priestess of old. On a
mountain, above the city of Borsa and overlooking the great valley of
the Nile, was a figure of a ram, and above it a figure of a cock, both
of molten brass, and turning upon a pivot. Whenever the country was
threatened with invasion, the ram would turn in the direction of the
enemy, and the cock would crow; upon this the inhabitants of the city
knew of the danger, and of the quarter from which it was approaching,
and could take timely means to guard against it.”
“God is great!” exclaimed the pacific Aben Habuz, “what a treasure would
be such a ram to keep an eye upon these mountains around me; and then
such a cock, to crow in time of danger! Allah Akbar! how securely I
might sleep in my palace with such sentinels on the top!”
The astrologer waited until the ecstasies of the king had subsided, and
then proceeded.