and the embowered terraces of its gardens stretching along the heights;
but as yet nothing of the kind was to be descried. “That is the mystery
and safeguard of the place,” said the astrologer, “nothing can be
discerned until you have passed the spell-bound gateway, and been put in
possession of the place.”
As they approached the gateway, the astrologer paused, and pointed out
to the king the mystic hand and key carved upon the portal of the arch.
“These,” said he, “are the talismans which guard the entrance to this
paradise. Until yonder hand shall reach down and seize that key, neither
mortal power nor magic artifice can prevail against the lord of this
mountain.”
While Aben Habuz was gazing, with open mouth and silent wonder, at these
mystic talismans, the palfrey of the princess proceeded, and bore her in
at the portal, to the very centre of the barbican.
“Behold,” cried the astrologer, “my promised reward; the first animal
with its burden which should enter the magic gateway.”
Aben Habuz smiled at what he considered a pleasantry of the ancient man;
but when he found him to be in earnest, his gray beard trembled with
indignation.
“Son of Abu Ayub,” said he, sternly, “what equivocation is this? Thou
knowest the meaning of my promise: the first beast of burden, with its
load, that should enter this portal. Take the strongest mule in my
stables, load it with the most precious things of my treasury, and it is
thine; but dare not raise thy thoughts to her who is the delight of my
heart.”
“What need I of wealth?” cried the astrologer, scornfully; “have I not
the book of knowledge of Solomon the Wise, and through it the command of
the secret treasures of the earth? The princess is mine by right; thy
royal word is pledged; I claim her as my own.”
The princess looked down haughtily from her palfrey, and a light smile
of scorn curled her rosy lip at this dispute between two gray-beards for
the possession of youth and beauty. The wrath of the monarch got the
better of his discretion. “Base son of the desert,” cried he, “thou
mayst be master of many arts, but know me for thy master, and presume
not to juggle with thy king.”
“My master! my king!” echoed the astrologer,--“the monarch of a
mole-hill to claim sway over him who possesses the talismans of Solomon!
Farewell, Aben Habuz; reign over thy petty kingdom, and revel in thy
paradise of fools; for me, I will laugh at thee in my philosophic
retirement.”
So saying, he seized the bridle of the palfrey, smote the earth with his
staff, and sank with the Gothic princess through the centre of the
barbican. The earth closed over them, and no trace remained of the
opening by which they had descended.
Aben Habuz was struck dumb for a time with astonishment. Recovering
himself, he ordered a thousand workmen to dig, with pickaxe and spade,
into the ground where the astrologer had disappeared. They digged and
digged, but in vain; the flinty bosom of the hill resisted their
implements; or if they did penetrate a little way, the earth filled in
again as fast as they threw it out. Aben Habuz sought the mouth of the
cavern at the foot of the hill, leading to the subterranean palace of
the astrologer; but it was nowhere to be found. Where once had been an
entrance, was now a solid surface of primeval rock. With the
disappearance of Ibrahim Ebn Abu Ayub ceased the benefit of his
talismans. The bronze horseman remained fixed, with his face turned
toward the hill, and his spear pointed to the spot where the astrologer
had descended, as if there still lurked the deadliest foe of Aben Habuz.
From time to time the sound of music, and the tones of a female voice,
could be faintly heard from the bosom of the hill; and a peasant one day
brought word to the king, that in the preceding night he had found a
fissure in the rock, by which he had crept in, until he looked down into
a subterranean hall, in which sat the astrologer, on a magnificent
divan, slumbering and nodding to the silver lyre of the princess, which
seemed to hold a magic sway over his senses.
Aben Habuz sought the fissure in the rock, but it was again closed. He
renewed the attempt to unearth his rival, but all in vain. The spell of
the hand and key was too potent to be counteracted by human power. As to
the summit of the mountain, the site of the promised palace and garden,
it remained a naked waste; either the boasted elysium was hidden from
sight by enchantment, or was a mere fable of the astrologer. The world
charitably supposed the latter, and some used to call the place “The
King’s Folly”; while others named it “The Fool’s Paradise.”
To add to the chagrin of Aben Habuz, the neighbors whom he had defied
and taunted, and cut up at his leisure while master of the talismanic
horseman, finding him no longer protected by magic spell, made inroads
into his territories from all sides, and the remainder of the life of
the most pacific of monarchs was a tissue of turmoils.
At length Aben Habuz died, and was buried. Ages have since rolled away.
The Alhambra has been built on the eventful mountain, and in some
measure realizes the fabled delights of the garden of Irem. The
spell-bound gateway still exists entire, protected no doubt by the
mystic hand and key, and now forms the Gate of Justice, the grand
entrance to the fortress. Under that gateway, it is said, the old
astrologer remains in his subterranean hall, nodding on his divan,
lulled by the silver lyre of the princess.
The old invalid sentinels who mount guard at the gate hear the strains
occasionally in the summer nights; and, yielding to their soporific
power, doze quietly at their posts. Nay, so drowsy an influence pervades
the place, that even those who watch by day may generally be seen
nodding on the stone benches of the barbican, or sleeping under the
neighboring trees; so that in fact it is the drowsiest military post in
all Christendom. All this, say the ancient legends, will endure from age
to age. The princess will remain captive to the astrologer; and the
astrologer, bound up in magic slumber by the princess, until the last
day, unless the mystic hand shall grasp the fated key, and dispel the
whole charm of this enchanted mountain.
NOTE TO THE ARABIAN ASTROLOGER
Al Makkari, in his history of the Mahommedan Dynasties in Spain,
cites from another Arabian writer an account of a talismanic effigy
somewhat similar to the one in the foregoing legend.
In Cadiz, says he, there formerly stood a square tower upwards of
one hundred cubits high, built of huge blocks of stone, fastened
together with clamps of brass. On the top was the figure of a man,
holding a staff in his right hand, his face turned to the Atlantic,
and pointing with the forefinger of his left hand to the Straits of
Gibraltar. It was said to have been set up in ancient times by the
Gothic kings of Andalus, as a beacon or guide to navigators. The
Moslems of Barbary and Andalus considered it a talisman which
exercised a spell over the seas. Under its guidance, swarms of
piratical people of a nation called Majus, appeared on the coast in
large vessels with a square sail in the bow, and another in the
stern. They came every six or seven years; captured everything they
met with on the sea;--guided by the statue, they passed through the
Straits into the Mediterranean, landed on the coasts of Andalus,
laid everything waste with fire and sword; and sometimes carried
their depredations on the opposite coasts even as far as Syria.
At length it came to pass in the time of the civil wars, a Moslem
Admiral who had taken possession of Cadiz, hearing that the statue
on top of the tower was of pure gold, had it lowered to the ground
and broken to pieces: when it proved to be of gilded brass. With
the destruction of the idol, the spell over the sea was at an end.
From that time forward nothing more was seen of the piratical
people of the ocean excepting that two of their barks were wrecked
on the coast, one at Marsu-l-Majus (the port of the Majus), the
other close to the promontory of Al Aghan.
The maritime invaders above mentioned by Al Makkari must have been
the Northmen.
VISITORS TO THE ALHAMBRA
For nearly three months had I enjoyed undisturbed my dream of
sovereignty in the Alhambra,--a longer term of quiet than had been the
lot of many of my predecessors. During this lapse of time the progress
of the season had wrought the usual change. On my arrival I had found
everything in the freshness of May; the foliage of the trees was still
tender and transparent; the pomegranate had not yet shed its brilliant
crimson blossoms; the orchards of the Xenil and the Darro were in full
bloom; the rocks were hung with wild flowers, and Granada seemed
completely surrounded by a wilderness of roses; among which innumerable
nightingales sang, not merely in the night, but all day long.
Now the advance of summer had withered the rose and silenced the
nightingale, and the distant country began to look parched and sunburnt;
though a perennial verdure reigned immediately round the city and in the
deep narrow valleys at the foot of the snow-capped mountains.
The Alhambra possesses retreats graduated to the heat of the weather,
among which the most peculiar is the almost subterranean apartment of
the baths. This still retains its ancient Oriental character, though
stamped with the touching traces of decline. At the entrance, opening
into a small court formerly adorned with flowers, is a hall, moderate in
size, but light and graceful in architecture. It is overlooked by a
small gallery supported by marble pillars and Moresco arches. An
alabaster fountain in the centre of the pavement still throws up a jet
of water to cool the place. On each side are deep alcoves with raised
platforms, where the bathers, after their ablutions, reclined on
cushions, soothed to voluptuous repose by the fragrance of the perfumed
air and the notes of soft music from the gallery. Beyond this hall are
the interior chambers, still more retired; the _sanctum sanctorum_ of
female privacy; for here the beauties of the Harem indulged in the
luxury of the baths. A soft mysterious light reigns through the place,
admitted through small apertures (lumbreras) in the vaulted ceiling. The
traces of ancient elegance are still to be seen; and the alabaster baths
in which the sultanas once reclined. The prevailing obscurity and
silence have made these vaults a favorite resort of bats, who nestle
during the day in the dark nooks and corners, and on being disturbed,
flit mysteriously about the twilight chambers, heightening, in an
indescribable degree, their air of desertion and decay.
In this cool and elegant, though dilapidated retreat, which had the
freshness and seclusion of a grotto, I passed the sultry hours of the
day as summer advanced, emerging towards sunset; and bathing, or rather
swimming, at night in the great reservoir of the main court. In this way
I was enabled in a measure to counteract the relaxing and enervating
influence of the climate.
My dream of absolute sovereignty, however, came at length to an end. I
was roused one morning by the report of fire-arms, which reverberated
among the towers as if the castle had been taken by surprise. On
sallying forth, I found an old cavalier with a number of domestics in
possession of the Hall of Ambassadors. He was an ancient count who had
come up from his palace in Granada to pass a short time in the Alhambra
for the benefit of purer air; and who, being a veteran and inveterate
sportsman, was endeavoring to get an appetite for his breakfast by
shooting at swallows from the balconies. It was a harmless amusement;
for though, by the alertness of his attendants in loading his pieces, he
was enabled to keep up a brisk fire, I could not accuse him of the death
of a single swallow. Nay, the birds themselves seemed to enjoy the
sport, and to deride his want of skill, skimming in circles close to the
balconies, and twittering as they darted by.
The arrival of this old gentleman changed essentially the aspect of
affairs, but caused no jealousy nor collision. We tacitly shared the
empire between us, like the last kings of Granada, excepting that we
maintained a most amicable alliance. He reigned absolute over the Court
of the Lions and its adjacent halls, while I maintained peaceful
possession of the regions of the baths and the little garden of
Lindaraxa. We took our meals together under the arcades of the court,
where the fountains cooled the air, and bubbling rills ran along the
channels of the marble pavement.
In the evenings a domestic circle would gather about the worthy old
cavalier. The countess, his wife by a second marriage, would come up
from the city accompanied by her step-daughter Carmen, an only child, a
charming little being, still in her girlish years. Then there were
always some of his official dependants, his chaplain, his lawyer, his
secretary, his steward, and other officers and agents of his extensive
possessions, who brought him up the news or gossip of the city, and
formed his evening party of tresillo or ombre. Thus he held a kind of
domestic court, where each one paid him deference, and sought to
contribute to his amusement, without, however, any appearance of
servility, or any sacrifice of self-respect. In fact, nothing of the
kind was exacted by the demeanor of the count; for whatever may be said
of Spanish pride, it rarely chills or constrains the intercourse of
social or domestic life. Among no people are the relations between
kindred more unreserved and cordial, or between superior and dependant
more free from haughtiness on the one side, and obsequiousness on the
other. In these respects there still remains in Spanish life, especially
in the provinces, much of the vaunted simplicity of the olden time.
The most interesting member of this family group, in my eyes, was the
daughter of the count, the lovely little Carmen. She was but about
sixteen years of age, and appeared to be considered a mere child, though
the idol of the family, going generally by the childlike but endearing
appellation of la Niña. Her form had not yet attained full maturity and
development, but possessed already the exquisite symmetry and pliant
grace so prevalent in this country. Her blue eyes, fair complexion, and
light hair were unusual in Andalusia, and gave a mildness and gentleness
to her demeanor in contrast to the usual fire of Spanish beauty, but in
unison with the guileless and confiding innocence of her manners. She
had at the same time the innate aptness and versatility of her
fascinating country-women. Whatever she undertook to do she did well and
apparently without effort. She sang, played the guitar and other
instruments, and danced the picturesque dances of her country to
admiration, but never seemed to seek admiration. Everything was
spontaneous, prompted by her own gay spirits and happy temper.
The presence of this fascinating little being spread a new charm about
the Alhambra, and seemed to be in unison with the place. While the count
and countess, with the chaplain or secretary, were playing their game of
tresillo under the vestibule of the Court of Lions, she, attended by
Dolores, who acted as her maid of honor, would sit by one of the
fountains, and accompanying herself on the guitar, would sing some of
those popular romances which abound in Spain, or, what was still more to
my taste, some traditional ballad about the Moors.
Never shall I think of the Alhambra without remembering this lovely
little being, sporting in happy and innocent girlhood in its marble
halls, dancing to the sound of the Moorish castanets, or mingling the
silver warbling of her voice with the music of its fountains.
RELICS AND GENEALOGIES
If I had been pleased and interested by the count and his family, as
furnishing a picture of a Spanish domestic life, I was still more so
when apprised of historical circumstances which linked them with the
heroic times of Granada. In fact, in this worthy old cavalier, so
totally unwarlike, or whose deeds in arms extended, at most, to a war on
swallows and martlets, I discovered a lineal descendant and actual
representative of Gonsalvo of Cordova, “The Grand Captain,” who won some
of his brightest laurels before the walls of Granada, and was one of the
cavaliers commissioned by Ferdinand and Isabella to negotiate the terms
of surrender; nay, more, the count was entitled, did he choose it, to
claim remote affinity with some of the ancient Moorish princes, through
a scion of his house, Don Pedro Venegas, surnamed the Tornadizo; and by
the same token his daughter, the fascinating little Carmen, might claim
to be rightful representative of the princess Cetimerien or the
beautiful Lindaraxa.[17]
Understanding from the count that he had some curious relics of the
Conquest, preserved in his family archives, I accompanied him early one
morning down to his palace in Granada to examine them. The most
important of these relics was the sword of the Grand Captain; a weapon
destitute of all ostentatious ornament, as the weapons of great generals
are apt to be, with a plain hilt of ivory and a broad thin blade. It
might furnish a comment on hereditary honors, to see the sword of the
Grand Captain legitimately declined into such feeble hands.
The other relics of the Conquest were a number of espingardas or muskets
of unwieldy size and ponderous weight, worthy to rank with those
enormous two-edged swords preserved in old armories, which look like
relics from the days of the giants.
Beside other hereditary honors, I found the old count was Alferez mayor,
or grand standard-bearer, in which capacity he was entitled to bear the
ancient standard of Ferdinand and Isabella, on certain high and solemn
occasions, and to wave it over their tombs. I was shown also the
caparisons of velvet, sumptuously embroidered with gold and silver, for
six horses, with which he appeared in state when a new sovereign was to
be proclaimed in Granada and Seville; the count mounting one of the
horses, and the other five being led by lackeys in rich liveries.
I had hoped to find among the relics and antiquities of the count’s
palace some specimens of the armor and weapons of the Moors of Granada,
such as I had heard were preserved as trophies by the descendants of the
Conquerors; but in this I was disappointed. I was the more curious in
this particular, because an erroneous idea has been entertained by many,
as to the costumes of the Moors of Spain; supposing them to be of the
usual Oriental type. On the contrary, we have it on the authority of
their own writers, that they adopted in many respects the fashions of
the Christians. The turban, especially, so identified in idea with the
Moslem, was generally abandoned, except in the western provinces, where
it continued in use among people of rank and wealth, and those holding
places under government. A woollen cap, red or green, was commonly worn
as a substitute; probably the same kind originating in Barbary, and
known by the name of Tunis or Fez, which at the present day is worn
throughout the East, though generally under the turban. The Jews were
obliged to wear them of a yellow color.
In Murcia, Valencia, and other eastern provinces, men of the highest
rank might be seen in public bare-headed. The warrior king, Aben Hud,
never wore a turban, neither did his rival and competitor Al Hamar, the
founder of the Alhambra. A short cloak called Taylasan, similar to that
seen in Spain in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was worn by
all ranks. It had a hood or cape which people of condition sometimes
drew over the head; but the lower class never.
A Moslem cavalier in the thirteenth century, as described by Ibnu Said,
was equipped for war very much in the Christian style. Over a complete
suit of mail he wore a short scarlet tunic. His helmet was of polished
steel; a shield was slung at his back; he wielded a huge spear with a
broad point, sometimes a double point. His saddle was cumbrous,
projecting very much in front and in rear, and he rode with a banner
fluttering behind him.
In the time of Al Khattib of Granada, who wrote in the fourteenth
century, the Moslems of Andalus had resumed the Oriental costumes, and
were again clad and armed in Arabic fashion: with light helmet, thin but
well-tempered cuirass, long slender lance, commonly of reed, Arabian
saddle and leathern buckler, made of double folds of the skin of the
antelope. A wonderful luxury prevailed at that time in the arms and
equipments of the Granadian cavaliers. Their armor was inlaid with gold
and silver. Their cimeters were of the keenest Damascus blades, with
sheaths richly wrought and enamelled, and belts of golden filigree
studded with gems. Their daggers of Fez had jewelled hilts, and their
lances were set off with gay banderoles. Their horses were caparisoned
in correspondent style, with velvet and embroidery.
All this minute description, given by a contemporary, and an author of
distinction, verifies those gallant pictures in the old Morisco Spanish
ballads which have sometimes been deemed apocryphal, and give a vivid
idea of the brilliant appearance of the chivalry of Granada, when
marshalled forth in warlike array, or when celebrating the chivalrous
fêtes of the Vivarrambla.
THE GENERALIFE
High above the Alhambra, on the breast of the mountain, amidst embowered
gardens and stately terraces, rise the lofty towers and white walls of
the Generalife; a fairy palace, full of storied recollections. Here are
still to be seen the famous cypresses of enormous size which flourished
in the time of the Moors, and which tradition has connected with the
fabulous story of Boabdil and his sultana.
Here are preserved the portraits of many who figured in the romantic
drama of the Conquest. Ferdinand and Isabella, Ponce de Leon, the
gallant Marquis of Cadiz, and Garcilaso de la Vega, who slew in
desperate fight Tarfe the Moor, a champion of Herculean strength. Here
too hangs a portrait which has long passed for that of the unfortunate
Boabdil, but
[Illustration: THE GENERALIFE FROM THE ALHAMBRA.]
which is said to be that of Aben Hud, the Moorish king from whom
descended the princes of Almeria. From one of these princes, who joined
the standard of Ferdinand and Isabella towards the close of the
Conquest, and was christianized by the name of Don Pedro de Granada
Venegas, was descended the present proprietor of the palace, the Marquis
of Campotejar. The proprietor, however, dwells in a foreign land, and
the palace has no longer a princely inhabitant.
Yet here is everything to delight a southern voluptuary: fruits,
flowers, fragrance, green arbors and myrtle hedges, delicate air and
gushing waters. Here I had an opportunity of witnessing those scenes
which painters are fond of depicting about southern palaces and gardens.
It was the saint’s day of the count’s daughter, and she had brought up
several of her youthful companions from Granada, to sport away a long
summer’s day among the breezy halls and bowers of the Moorish palaces. A
visit to the Generalife was the morning’s entertainment. Here some of
the gay company dispersed itself in groups about the green walks, the
bright fountains, the flights of Italian steps, the noble terraces and
marble balustrades. Others, among whom I was one, took their seats in an
open gallery or colonnade commanding a vast prospect; with the Alhambra,
the city, and the Vega, far below, and the distant horizon of
mountains--a dreamy world, all glimmering to the eye in summer sunshine.
While thus seated, the all-pervading tinkling of the guitar and click of
the castanets came stealing up from the valley of the Darro, and
half-way down the mountain we descried a festive party under the trees,
enjoying themselves in true Andalusian style; some lying on the grass,
others dancing to the music.