the renowned court of Lions. No part of the edifice gives a more complete
idea of its original beauty than this, for none has suffered so little
from the ravages of time. In the centre stands the fountain famous in
song and story. The alabaster basins still shed their diamond drops; the
twelve lions which support them, and give the court its name, still cast
forth crystal streams as in the days of Boabdil. The lions, however, are
unworthy of their fame, being of miserable sculpture, the work probably of
some Christian captive. The court is laid out in flower-beds, instead of
its ancient and appropriate pavement of tiles or marble; the alteration,
an instance of bad taste was made by the French when in possession of
Granada. Round the four sides of the court are light Arabian arcades of
open filigree work, supported by slender pillars of white marble, which
it is supposed were originally gilded. The architecture, like that in
most parts of the interior of the palace, is characterised by elegance
rather than grandeur, bespeaking a delicate and graceful taste, and a
disposition to indolent enjoyment. When one looks upon the fairy traces
of the peristyles, and the apparently fragile fretwork of the walls, it
is difficult to believe that so much has survived the wear and tear of
centuries, the shocks of earthquakes, the violence of war, and the quiet,
though no less baneful, pilferings of the tasteful traveller: it is almost
sufficient to excuse the popular tradition, that the whole is protected
by a magic charm.
[Illustration: _Tower of Comares._]
[Illustration: _The Court of Myrtles._]
On one side of the court a rich portal opens into the Hall of the
Abencerrages: so called from the gallant cavaliers of that illustrious
line who were here perfidiously massacred. There are some who doubt the
whole story, but our humble cicerone Mateo pointed out the very wicket of
the portal through which they were introduced one by one into the court
of Lions, and the white marble fountain in the centre of the hall beside
which they were beheaded. He showed us also certain broad ruddy stains on
the pavement, traces of their blood, which, according to popular belief,
can never be effaced.
[Illustration: _Alhambra from Mountain of the Sun._]
[Illustration]
Finding we listened to him apparently with easy faith, he added, that
there was often heard at night, in the court of Lions, a low confused
sound, resembling the murmuring of a multitude, and now and then a faint
tinkling, like the distant clank of chains. These sounds were made by the
spirits of the murdered Abencerrages, who nightly haunt the scene of their
suffering and invoke the vengeance of Heaven on their destroyer.
[Illustration]
The sounds in question had no doubt been produced, as I had afterwards an
opportunity of ascertaining, by the bubbling currents and tinkling falls
of water conducted under the pavement through pipes and channels to supply
the fountains; but I was too considerate to intimate such an idea to the
humble chronicler of the Alhambra.
[Illustration: _Entrance to Hall of Abencerrages._]
Encouraged by my easy credulity, Mateo gave me the following as an
undoubted fact, which he had from his grandfather:--
There was once an invalid soldier, who had charge of the Alhambra to show
it to strangers; as he was one evening, about twilight, passing through
the court of Lions, he heard footsteps on the hall of the Abencerrages;
supposing some strangers to be lingering there, he advanced to attend
upon them, when to his astonishment he beheld four Moors richly dressed,
with gilded cuirasses and cimeters, and poniards glittering with precious
stones. They were walking to and fro, with solemn pace; but paused and
beckoned to him. The old soldier, however, took to flight, and could never
afterwards be prevailed upon to enter the Alhambra. Thus it is that men
sometimes turn their backs upon fortune; for it is the firm opinion of
Mateo, that the Moors intended to reveal the place where their treasures
lay buried. A successor to the invalid soldier was more knowing; he came
to the Alhambra poor; but at the end of a year went off to Malaga, bought
houses, set up a carriage, and still lives there, one of the richest as
well as oldest men of the place; all which, Mateo sagely surmised, was in
consequence of his finding out the golden secret of these phantom Moors.
[Illustration: _Court of Lions._]
I now perceived I had made an invaluable acquaintance in this son of the
Alhambra, one who knew all the apocryphal history of the place and firmly
believed in it, and whose memory was stuffed with a kind of knowledge
for which I have a lurking fancy, but which is too apt to be considered
rubbish by less indulgent philosophers. I determined to cultivate the
acquaintance of this learned Theban.
[Illustration: _Fountain of Abencerrages._]
Immediately opposite the hall of the Abencerrages, a portal, richly
adorned, leads into a hall of less tragical associations. It is light
and lofty, exquisitely graceful in its architecture, paved with white
marble, and bears the suggestive name of the Hall of the Two Sisters. Some
destroy the romance of the name by attributing it to two enormous slabs of
alabaster which lie side by side, and form a great part of the pavement:
an opinion strongly supported by Mateo Ximenes. Others are disposed to
give the name a more poetical significance, as the vague memorial of
Moorish beauties who once graced this hall, which was evidently a part
of the royal harem. This opinion I was happy to find entertained by
our little bright-eyed guide, Dolores, who pointed to a balcony over an
inner porch, which gallery, she had been told, belonged to the women's
apartment. "You see, _señor_," said she, "it is all grated and latticed,
like the gallery in a convent chapel where the nuns hear mass; for the
Moorish kings," added she, indignantly, "shut up their wives just like
nuns."
[Illustration]
The latticed _jalousies_, in fact, still remain, whence the dark-eyed
beauties of the harem might gaze unseen upon the _zambras_ and other
dances and entertainments of the hall below.
[Illustration]
On each side of this hall are recesses or alcoves for ottomans and
couches, on which the voluptuous lords of the Alhambra indulged in that
dreamy repose so dear to the Orientalists. A cupola or lantern admits a
tempered light from above and a free circulation of air; while on one
side is heard the refreshing sound of waters from the fountain of the
lions, and on the other side the soft plash from the basin in the garden
of Lindaraxa.
[Illustration: _Alcove, Hall of Two Sisters._]
It is impossible to contemplate this scene, so perfectly Oriental, without
feeling the early associations of Arabian romance, and almost expecting to
see the white arm of some mysterious princess beckoning from the gallery,
or some dark eye sparkling through the lattice. The abode of beauty is
here as if it had been inhabited but yesterday; but where are the two
sisters, where the Zoraydas and Lindaraxas!
An abundant supply of water, brought from the mountains by old Moorish
aqueducts, circulates throughout the palace, supplying its baths and
fish-pools, sparkling in jets within its halls or murmuring in channels
along the marble pavements. When it has paid its tribute to the royal
pile, and visited its gardens and parterres, it flows down the long
avenue leading to the city, tinkling in rills, gushing in fountains, and
maintaining a perpetual verdure in those groves that embower and beautify
the whole hill of the Alhambra.
[Illustration]
Those only who have sojourned in the ardent climates of the South can
appreciate the delights of an abode combining the breezy coolness of
the mountain with the freshness and verdure of the valley. While the
city below pants with the noontide heat, and the parched Vega trembles
to the eye, the delicate airs from the Sierra Nevada play through these
lofty halls, bringing with them the sweetness of the surrounding gardens.
Everything invites to that indolent repose, the bliss of southern climes;
and while the half-shut eye looks out from shaded balconies upon the
glittering landscape, the ear is lulled by the rustling of groves and the
murmur of running streams.
I forbear for the present, however, to describe the other delightful
apartments of the palace. My object is merely to give the reader a general
introduction into an abode where, if so disposed, he may linger and
loiter with me day by day until we gradually become familiar with all its
localities.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: _Cabra._]
IMPORTANT NEGOTIATIONS.--THE AUTHOR SUCCEEDS TO THE THRONE OF BOABDIL
The day was nearly spent before we could tear ourselves from this region
of poetry and romance to descend to the city and return to the forlorn
realities of a Spanish _posada_. In a visit of ceremony to the Governor of
the Alhambra, to whom we had brought letters, we dwelt with enthusiasm on
the scenes we had witnessed, and could not but express surprise that he
should reside in the city when he had such a paradise at his command. He
pleaded the inconvenience of a residence in the palace from its situation
on the crest of a hill, distant from the seat of business and the resorts
of social intercourse. It did very well for monarchs, who often had need
of castle walls to defend them from their own subjects. "But, _señors_,"
added he, smiling, "if you think a residence there so desirable, my
apartments in the Alhambra are at your service."
It is a common and almost indispensable point of politeness in a Spaniard,
to tell you his house is yours.--"_Esta casa es siempre à la disposicion
de Vm._"--"This house is always at the command of your Grace." In fact,
anything of his which you admire, is immediately offered to you. It is
equally a mark of good breeding in you not to accept it; so we merely
bowed our acknowledgments of the courtesy of the Governor in offering us
a royal palace. We were mistaken, however. The Governor was in earnest.
"You will find a rambling set of empty, unfurnished rooms," said he; "but
Tia Antonia, who has charge of the palace, may be able to put them in
some kind of order, and to take care of you while you are there. If you
can make any arrangement with her for your accommodation, and are content
with scanty fare in a royal abode, the palace of King Chico is at your
service."
[Illustration]
We took the Governor at his word, and hastened up the steep Calle de los
Gomeres, and through the Great Gate of Justice, to negotiate with Dame
Antonia,--doubting at times if this were not a dream, and fearing at times
that the sage _Dueña_ of the fortress might be slow to capitulate. We knew
we had one friend at least in the garrison, who would be in our favour,
the bright-eyed little Dolores, whose good graces we had propitiated
on our first visit; and who hailed our return to the palace with her
brightest looks.
All, however, went smoothly. The good Tia Antonia had a little furniture
to put in the rooms, but it was of the commonest kind. We assured her
we could bivouac on the floor. She could supply our table, but only in
her own simple way;--we wanted nothing better. Her niece, Dolores, would
wait upon us; and at the word we threw up our hats and the bargain was
complete.
[Illustration]
The very next day we took up our abode in the palace, and never did
sovereigns share a divided throne with more perfect harmony. Several days
passed by like a dream, when my worthy associate, being summoned to Madrid
on diplomatic duties, was compelled to abdicate, leaving me sole monarch
of this shadowy realm. For myself, being in a manner a haphazard loiterer
about the world, and prone to linger in its pleasant places, here have I
been suffering day by day to steal away unheeded, spell-bound, for aught
I know, in this old enchanted pile. Having always a companionable feeling
for my reader, and being prone to live with him on confidential terms, I
shall make it a point to communicate to him my reveries and researches
during this state of delicious thraldom. If they have the power of
imparting to his imagination any of the witching charms of the place, he
will not repine at lingering with me for a season in the legendary halls
of the Alhambra.
[Illustration: _Gate of the Alhambra_]
And first it is proper to give him some idea of my domestic arrangements:
they are rather of a simple kind for the occupant of a regal palace; but
I trust they will be less liable to disastrous reverses than those of my
royal predecessors.
[Illustration]
My quarters are at one end of the Governor's apartment, a suite of
empty chambers, in front of the palace, looking out upon the great
esplanade called _la plaza de los algibes_ (the place of the cisterns);
the apartment is modern, but the end opposite to my sleeping-room
communicates with a cluster of little chambers, partly Moorish, partly
Spanish, allotted to the _châtelaine_ Doña Antonia and her family. In
consideration of keeping the palace in order, the good dame is allowed
all the perquisites received from visitors, and all the produce of the
gardens; excepting that she is expected to pay an occasional tribute of
fruits and flowers to the Governor. Her family consists of a nephew and
niece, the children of two different brothers. The nephew, Manuel Molina,
is a young man of sterling worth and Spanish gravity. He had served in the
army, both in Spain and the West Indies, but is now studying medicine in
the hope of one day or other becoming physician to the fortress, a post
worth at least one hundred and forty dollars a year. The niece is the
plump little black-eyed Dolores already mentioned; and who, it is said,
will one day inherit all her aunt's possessions, consisting of certain
petty tenements in the fortress, in a somewhat ruinous condition it is
true, but which, I am privately assured by Mateo Ximenes, yield a revenue
of nearly one hundred and fifty dollars; so that she is quite an heiress
in the eyes of the ragged son of the Alhambra. I am also informed by the
same observant and authentic personage, that a quiet courtship is going on
between the discreet Manuel and his bright-eyed cousin, and that nothing
is wanting to enable them to join their hands and expectations but his
doctor's diploma, and a dispensation from the Pope on account of their
consanguinity.
[Illustration]
The good dame Antonia fulfils faithfully her contract in regard to my
board and lodging; and as I am easily pleased, I find my fare excellent;
while the merry-hearted little Dolores keeps my apartment in order, and
officiates as handmaid at meal-times. I have also at my command a tall,
stuttering, yellow-haired lad, named Pépe, who works in the gardens, and
would fain have acted as valet; but in this he was forestalled by Mateo
Ximenes, the "son of the Alhambra." This alert and officious wight has
managed, somehow or other, to stick by me ever since I first encountered
him at the outer gate of the fortress, and to weave himself into all my
plans, until he has fairly appointed and installed himself my valet,
cicerone, guide, guard, and historiographic squire; and I have been
obliged to improve the state of his wardrobe, that he may not disgrace his
various functions; so that he has cast his old brown mantle, as a snake
does his skin, and now appears about the fortress with a smart Andalusian
hat and jacket, to his infinite satisfaction, and the great astonishment
of his comrades. The chief fault of honest Mateo is an over-anxiety to
be useful. Conscious of having foisted himself into my employ, and that
my simple and quiet habits render his situation a sinecure, he is at his
wits' ends to devise modes of making himself important to my welfare. I
am in a manner the victim of his officiousness; I cannot put my foot over
the threshold of the palace to stroll about the fortress, but he is at
my elbow, to explain everything I see; and if I venture to ramble among
the surrounding hills, he insists upon attending me as a guard, though I
vehemently suspect he would be more apt to trust to the length of his legs
than the strength of his arms, in case of attack. After all, however, the
poor fellow is at times an amusing companion; he is simple-minded and of
infinite good humour, with the loquacity and gossip of a village barber,
and knows all the small-talk of the place and its environs; but what he
chiefly values himself on, is his stock of local information, having the
most marvellous stories to relate of every tower, and vault, and gateway
of the fortress, in all of which he places the most implicit faith.
[Illustration]
Most of these he has derived, according to his own account, from his
grandfather, a little legendary tailor, who lived to the age of nearly
a hundred years, during which he made but two migrations beyond the
precincts of the fortress. His shop, for the greater part of a century,
was the resort of a knot of venerable gossips, where they would pass half
the night talking about old times, and the wonderful events and hidden
secrets of the place. The whole living, moving, thinking, and acting of
this historical little tailor had thus been bounded by the walls of the
Alhambra; within them he had been born, within them he lived, breathed,
and had his being; within them he died and was buried. Fortunately for
posterity his traditionary lore died not with him. The authentic Mateo,
when an urchin, used to be an attentive listener to the narratives of his
grandfather, and of the gossiping group assembled round the shop-board,
and is thus possessed of a stock of valuable knowledge concerning the
Alhambra, not to be found in books, and well worthy the attention of every
curious traveller.
[Illustration: _The Surrounding Hills._]
Such are the personages that constitute my regal household; and I question
whether any of the potentates, Moslem or Christian, who have preceded me
in the palace, have been waited upon with greater fidelity, or enjoyed a
serener sway.
When I rise in the morning, Pépe, the stuttering lad from the gardens,
brings me a tribute of fresh-culled flowers, which are afterwards arranged
in vases by the skilful hand of Dolores, who takes a feminine pride in the
decoration of my chambers. My meals are made wherever caprice dictates;
sometimes in one of the Moorish halls, sometimes under the arcades of the
court of Lions, surrounded by flowers and fountains: and when I walk out,
I am conducted by the assiduous Mateo to the most romantic retreats of
the mountains, and delicious haunts of the adjacent valleys, not one of
which but is the scene of some wonderful tale.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Though fond of passing the greater part of my day alone, yet I
occasionally repair in the evenings to the little domestic circle of
Doña Antonia. This is generally held in an old Moorish chamber, which
serves the good dame for parlour, kitchen, and hall of audience, and
which must have boasted of some splendour in the time of the Moors, if
we may judge from the traces yet remaining; but a rude fireplace has been
made in modern times in one corner, the smoke from which has discoloured
the walls, and almost obliterated the ancient arabesques. A window,
with a balcony overhanging the valley of the Darro, lets in the cool
evening breeze; and here I take my frugal supper of fruit and milk, and
mingle with the conversation of the family. There is a natural talent
or mother-wit, as it is called, about the Spaniards, which renders them
intellectual and agreeable companions, whatever may be their condition in
life, or however imperfect may have been their education: add to this,
they are never vulgar; nature has endowed them with an inherent dignity
of spirit. The good Tia Antonia is a woman of strong and intelligent,
though uncultivated mind; and the bright-eyed Dolores, though she has read
but three or four books in the whole course of her life, has an engaging
mixture of naïveté and good sense, and often surprises me by the pungency
of her artless sallies. Sometimes the nephew entertains us by reading some
old comedy of Calderon or Lope de Vega, to which he is evidently prompted
by a desire to improve as well as amuse his cousin Dolores; though, to
his great mortification, the little damsel generally falls asleep before
the first act is completed. Sometimes Tia Antonia has a little levée of
humble friends and dependants, the inhabitants of the adjacent hamlet,
or the wives of the invalid soldiers. These look up to her with great
deference, as the custodian of the palace, and pay their court to her by
bringing the news of the place, or the rumours that may have straggled
up from Granada. In listening to these evening gossipings I have picked
up many curious facts illustrative of the manners of the people and the
peculiarities of the neighbourhood.
These are simple details of simple pleasures; it is the nature of the
place alone that gives them interest and importance. I tread haunted
ground, and am surrounded by romantic associations. From earliest boyhood,
when, on the banks of the Hudson, I first pored over the pages of old
Gines Perez de Hytas's apocryphal but chivalresque history of the civil
wars of Granada, and the feuds of its gallant cavaliers, Zegries and
Abencerrages, that city has ever been a subject of my waking dreams; and
often have I trod in fancy the romantic halls of the Alhambra. Behold
for once a day-dream realised; yet I can scarce credit my senses, or
believe that I do indeed inhabit the palace of Boabdil, and look down
from its balconies upon chivalric Granada. As I loiter through these
Oriental chambers, and hear the murmur of fountains and the song of the
nightingale; as I inhale the odour of the rose, and feel the influence of
the balmy climate, I am almost tempted to fancy myself in the paradise
of Mahomet, and that the plump little Dolores is one of the bright-eyed
houris, destined to administer to the happiness of true believers.
[Illustration: _Alcandite._]
[Illustration: _A Moorish Mill._]
INHABITANTS OF THE ALHAMBRA
I have often observed that the more proudly a mansion has been tenanted
in the day of its prosperity, the humbler are its inhabitants in the day
of its decline, and that the palace of a king commonly ends in being the
nestling-place of the beggar.
The Alhambra is in a rapid state of similar transition. Whenever a
tower falls to decay, it is seized upon by some tatterdemalion family,
who become joint-tenants, with the bats and owls, of its gilded halls;
and hang their rags, those standards of poverty, out of its windows and
loopholes.
I have amused myself with remarking some of the motley characters that
have thus usurped the ancient abode of royalty, and who seem as if placed
here to give a farcical termination to the drama of human pride. One of
these even bears the mockery of a regal title. It is a little old woman
named Maria Antonia Sabonea, but who goes by the appellation of _la Reyna
Coquina_, or the Cockle-queen. She is small enough to be a fairy; and a
fairy she may be for aught I can find out, for no one seems to know her
origin. Her habitation is in a kind of closet under the outer staircase
of the palace, and she sits in the cool stone corridor, plying her needle
and singing from morning till night, with a ready joke for every one that
passes; for though one of the poorest, she is one of the merriest little
women breathing. Her great merit is a gift for story-telling, having,
I verily believe, as many stories at her command as the inexhaustible
Scheherezade of the Thousand and One Nights. Some of these I have heard
her relate in the evening tertulias of Dame Antonia, at which she is
occasionally a humble attendant.
[Illustration]
That there must be some fairy gift about this mysterious little old
woman, would appear from her extraordinary luck, since, notwithstanding
her being very little, very ugly, and very poor, she has had, according
to her own account, five husbands and a half, reckoning as a half one a
young dragoon, who died during courtship. A rival personage to this little
fairy queen is a portly old fellow with a bottle-nose, who goes about in
a rusty garb, with a cocked hat of oil-skin and a red cockade. He is one
of the legitimate sons of the Alhambra, and has lived here all his life,
filling various offices, such as deputy alguazil, sexton of the parochial
church, and marker of a fives-court, established at the foot of one of the
towers. He is as poor as a rat, but as proud as he is ragged, boasting
of his descent from the illustrious house of Aguilar, from which sprang
Gonzalvo of Cordova, the grand captain. Nay, he actually bears the name
of Alonzo de Aguilar, so renowned in the history of the Conquest; though
the graceless wags of the fortress have given him the title of _el padre
santo_, or the holy father, the usual appellation of the Pope, which I had
thought too sacred in the eyes of true Catholics to be thus ludicrously
applied. It is a whimsical caprice of fortune to present, in the grotesque
person of this tatterdemalion, a namesake and descendant of the proud
Alonzo de Aguilar, the mirror of Andalusian chivalry, leading an almost
mendicant existence about this once haughty fortress, which his ancestor
aided to reduce; yet such might have been the lot of the descendants of
Agamemnon and Achilles, had they lingered about the ruins of Troy!
[Illustration]