have ascribed it to the thoughts of robbers awakened by the evening's
conversation, but I felt it was something more unreal and absurd. The
long-buried superstitions of the nursery were reviving, and asserting
their power over my imagination. Everything began to be affected by the
working of my mind. The whispering of the wind among the citron-trees
beneath my window had something sinister. I cast my eyes into the garden
of Lindaraxa; the groves presented a gulf of shadows; the thickets,
indistinct and ghastly shapes. I was glad to close the window, but
my chamber itself became infected. There was a slight rustling noise
overhead; a bat suddenly emerged from a broken panel of the ceiling,
flitting about the room and athwart my solitary lamp; and as the fateful
bird almost flouted my face with his noiseless wing, the grotesque faces
carved in high relief in the cedar ceiling, whence he had emerged, seemed
to mope and mow at me.
[Illustration]
Rousing myself, and half smiling at this temporary weakness, I resolved
to brave it out in the true spirit of the hero of the enchanted house;
so, taking lamp in hand, I sallied forth to make a tour of the palace.
Notwithstanding every mental exertion the task was a severe one. I had
to traverse waste halls and mysterious galleries, where the rays of the
lamp extended but a short distance around me. I walked, as it were, in
a mere halo of light, walled in by impenetrable darkness. The vaulted
corridors were as caverns; the ceilings of the halls were lost in gloom.
I recalled all that had been said of the danger from interlopers in these
remote and ruined apartments. Might not some vagrant foe be lurking before
or behind me, in the outer darkness? My own shadow, cast upon the wall,
began to disturb me. The echoes of my own footsteps along the corridors
made me pause and look around. I was traversing scenes fraught with dismal
recollections. One dark passage led down to the mosque where Yusef, the
Moorish monarch, the finisher of the Alhambra, had been basely murdered.
In another place I trod the gallery where another monarch had been struck
down by the poniard of a relative whom he had thwarted in his love.
A low murmuring sound, as of stifled voices and clanking chains, now
reached me. It seemed to come from the Hall of the Abencerrages. I knew
it to be the rush of water through subterranean channels, but it sounded
strangely in the night, and reminded me of the dismal stories to which it
had given rise.
Soon, however, my ear was assailed by sounds too fearfully real to be
the work of fancy. As I was crossing the Hall of Ambassadors, low moans
and broken ejaculations rose, as it were, from beneath my feet. I paused
and listened. They then appeared to be outside of the tower--then again
within. Then broke forth howlings as of an animal--then stifled shrieks
and inarticulate ravings. Heard in that dead hour and singular place,
the effect was thrilling. I had no desire for further perambulation; but
returned to my chamber with infinitely more alacrity than I had sallied
forth, and drew my breath more freely when once more within its walls
and the door bolted behind me. When I awoke in the morning, with the sun
shining in at my window and lighting up every part of the building with
his cheerful and truth-telling beams, I could scarcely recall the shadows
and fancies conjured up by the gloom of the preceding night; or believe
that the scenes around me, so naked and apparent, could have been clothed
with such imaginary horrors.
Still, the dismal howlings and ejaculations I had heard were not ideal;
they were soon accounted for, however, by my handmaid Dolores: being
the ravings of a poor maniac, a brother of her aunt, who was subject to
violent paroxysms, during which he was confined in a vaulted room beneath
the Hall of Ambassadors.
In the course of a few evenings a thorough change took place in the scene
and its associations. The moon, which when I took possession of my new
apartments was invisible, gradually gained each evening upon the darkness
of the night, and at length rolled in full splendour above the towers,
pouring a flood of tempered light into every court and hall. The garden
beneath my window, before wrapped in gloom, was gently lighted up; the
orange and citron trees were tipped with silver; the fountain sparkled in
the moonbeams, and even the blush of the rose was faintly visible.
I now felt the poetic merit of the Arabic inscription on the walls,--"How
beauteous is this garden; where the flowers of the earth vie with the
stars of heaven. What can compare with the vase of yon alabaster fountain
filled with crystal water? nothing but the moon in her fulness, shining
in the midst of an unclouded sky!"
[Illustration]
On such heavenly nights I would sit for hours at my window inhaling the
sweetness of the garden, and musing on the chequered fortunes of those
whose history was dimly shadowed out in the elegant memorials around.
Sometimes, when all was quiet, and the clock from the distant cathedral of
Granada struck the midnight hour, I have sallied out on another tour and
wandered over the whole building; but how different from my first tour!
No longer dark and mysterious; no longer peopled with shadowy foes; no
longer recalling scenes of violence and murder; all was open, spacious,
beautiful; everything called up pleasing and romantic fancies; Lindaraxa
once more walked in her garden; the gay chivalry of Moslem Granada once
more glittered about the Court of Lions! Who can do justice to a moonlight
night in such a climate and such a place? The temperature of a summer
midnight in Andalusia is perfectly ethereal. We seem lifted up into a
purer atmosphere; we feel a serenity of soul, a buoyancy of spirits,
an elasticity of frame, which render mere existence happiness. But when
moonlight is added to all this, the effect is like enchantment. Under its
plastic sway the Alhambra seems to regain its pristine glories. Every rent
and chasm of time; every mouldering tint and weather-stain is gone; the
marble resumes its original whiteness; the long colonnades brighten in the
moonbeams; the halls are illuminated with a softened radiance,--we tread
the enchanted palace of an Arabian tale!
[Illustration: _El Tocador de la Reyna._]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
What a delight, at such a time, to ascend to the little airy pavilion of
the queen's toilette (_el tocador de la reyna_), which, like a bird-cage,
overhangs the valley of the Darro, and gaze from its light arcades upon
the moonlight prospect! To the right, the swelling mountains of the Sierra
Nevada, robbed of their ruggedness and softened into a fairy land, with
their snowy summits gleaming like silver clouds against the deep blue
sky. And then to lean over the parapet of the Tocador and gaze down upon
Granada and the Albaycin spread out like a map below; all buried in deep
repose; the white palaces and convents sleeping in the moonshine, and
beyond all these the vapoury Vega fading away like a dreamland in the
distance.
[Illustration: _House of the Grand Captain._]
Sometimes the faint click of castanets rise from the Alameda, where some
gay Andalusians are dancing away the summer night. Sometimes the dubious
tones of a guitar and the notes of an amorous voice, tell perchance the
whereabout of some moonstruck lover serenading his lady's window.
Such is a faint picture of the moonlight nights I have passed loitering
about the courts and halls and balconies of this most suggestive pile;
"feeding my fancy with sugared suppositions," and enjoying that mixture
of reverie and sensation which steal away existence in a southern climate;
so that it has been almost morning before I have retired to bed, and been
lulled to sleep by the falling waters of the fountain of Lindaraxa.
[Illustration: _Tower of Iron_]
FOOTNOTES
[3] Una de las cosas en que tienen precisa intervencion los Reyes
Moros as en el matrimonio de sus grandes: de aqui nace que todos
los señores llegadas à la persona real si casan en palacio, y
siempre huvo su quarto destinado para esta ceremonia.
One of the things in which the Moorish kings interfered was in
the marriage of their nobles: hence it came that all the señors
attached to the royal person were married in the palace; and
there was always a chamber destined for the ceremony.--_Paseos
por Granada_, Paseo XXI.
[Illustration]
PANORAMA FROM THE TOWER OF COMARES
It is a serene and beautiful morning: the sun has not gained sufficient
power to destroy the freshness of the night. What a morning to mount to
the summit of the Tower of Comares, and take a bird's-eye view of Granada
and its environs!
Come then, worthy reader and comrade, follow my steps into this vestibule,
ornamented with rich tracery, which opens into the Hall of Ambassadors. We
will not enter the hall, however, but turn to this small door opening into
the wall. Have a care! here are steep winding steps and but scanty light;
yet up this narrow, obscure, and spiral staircase, the proud monarchs
of Granada and their queens have often ascended to the battlements to
watch the approach of invading armies, or gaze with anxious hearts on the
battles in the Vega.
At length we have reached the terraced roof, and may take breath for a
moment, while we cast a general eye over the splendid panorama of city and
country; of rocky mountain, verdant valley, and fertile plain; of castle,
cathedral, Moorish towers, and Gothic domes, crumbling ruins, and blooming
groves. Let us approach the battlements, and cast our eyes immediately
below. See, on this side we have the whole plain of the Alhambra laid
open to us, and can look down into its courts and gardens. At the foot of
the tower is the Court of the Alberca, with its great tank or fishpool,
bordered with flowers; and yonder is the Court of Lions, with its famous
fountain, and its light Moorish arcades; and in the centre of the pile is
the little garden of Lindaraxa, buried in the heart of the building, with
its roses and citrons and shrubbery of emerald green.
[Illustration]
That belt of battlements, studded with square towers, straggling round
the whole brow of the hill, is the outer boundary of the fortress. Some
of the towers, you may perceive, are in ruins, and their massive fragments
buried among vines, fig-trees, and aloes.
[Illustration]
Let us look on this northern side of the tower. It is a giddy height;
the very foundations of the tower rise above the groves of the steep
hill-side. And see! a long fissure in the massive walls shows that the
tower has been rent by some of the earthquakes which from time to time
have thrown Granada into consternation; and which, sooner or later,
must reduce this crumbling pile to a mere mass of ruin. The deep narrow
glen below us, which gradually widens as it opens from the mountains,
is the valley of the Darro; you see the little river winding its way
under embowered terraces, and among orchards and flower-gardens. It is
a stream famous in old times for yielding gold, and its sands are still
sifted occasionally, in search of the precious ore. Some of those white
pavilions, which here and there gleam from among groves and vineyards,
were rustic retreats of the Moors, to enjoy the refreshment of their
gardens. Well have they been compared by one of their poets to so many
pearls set in a bed of emeralds.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
The airy palace, with its tall white towers and long arcades, which
breasts yon mountain, among pompous groves and hanging gardens, is the
Generalife, a summer palace of the Moorish kings, to which they resorted
during the sultry months to enjoy a still more breezy region than that
of the Alhambra. The naked summit of the height above it, where you
behold some shapeless ruins, is the Silla del Moro, or seat of the Moor,
so called from having been a retreat of the unfortunate Boabdil during
the time of an insurrection, where he seated himself and looked down
mournfully upon his rebellious city.
A murmuring sound of water now and then rises from the valley. It is
from the aqueduct of yon Moorish mill, nearly at the foot of the hill.
The avenue of trees beyond is the Alameda, along the bank of the Darro;
a favourite resort in evenings, and a rendezvous of lovers in the summer
nights, when the guitar may be heard at a late hour from the benches
along its walks. At present you see none but a few loitering monks there,
and a group of water-carriers. The latter are burdened with water-jars
of ancient Oriental construction, such as were used by the Moors. They
have been filled at the cold and limpid spring called the fountain of
Avellanos. Yon mountain path leads to the fountain, a favourite resort
of Moslems as well as Christians; for this is said to be the Adinamar
(_Aynu-l-adamar_), the "Fountain of Tears," mentioned by Ibn Batuta the
traveller, and celebrated in the histories and romances of the Moors.
[Illustration]
You start! 'tis nothing but a hawk that we have frightened from his nest.
This old tower is a complete breeding-place for vagrant birds; the swallow
and martlet abound in every chink and cranny, and circle about it the
whole day long; while at night, when all other birds have gone to rest,
the moping owl comes out of its lurking-place, and utters its boding cry
from the battlements. See how the hawk we have dislodged sweeps away below
us, skimming over the tops of the trees, and sailing up to the ruins above
the Generalife!
[Illustration: _Puente Pinos._]
I see you raise your eyes to the snowy summit of yon pile of mountains,
shining like a white summer cloud in the blue sky. It is the Sierra
Nevada, the pride and delight of Granada; the source of her cooling
breezes and perpetual verdure; of her gushing fountains and perennial
streams. It is this glorious pile of mountains which gives to Granada that
combination of delights so rare in a southern city,--the fresh vegetation
and temperate airs of a northern climate, with the vivifying ardour of a
tropical sun, and the cloudless azure of a southern sky. It is this aërial
treasury of snow, which, melting in proportion to the increase of the
summer heat, sends down rivulets and streams through every glen and gorge
of the Alpuxarras, diffusing emerald verdure and fertility throughout a
chain of happy and sequestered valleys.
Those mountains may be well called the glory of Granada. They dominate the
whole extent of Andalusia, and may be seen from its most distant parts.
The muleteer hails them, as he views their frosty peaks from the sultry
level of the plain; and the Spanish mariner on the deck of his bark,
far, far off on the bosom of the blue Mediterranean, watches them with a
pensive eye, thinks of delightful Granada, and chants, in low voice, some
old romance about the Moors.
[Illustration]
See to the south at the foot of those mountains a line of arid hills,
down which a long train of mules is slowly moving. Here was the closing
scene of Moslem domination. From the summit of one of those hills the
unfortunate Boabdil cast back his last look upon Granada, and gave vent
to the agony of his soul. It is the spot famous in song and story, "The
last sigh of the Moor."
[Illustration: _Santa Fe._]
Further this way these arid hills slope down into the luxurious Vega, from
which he had just emerged: a blooming wilderness of grove and garden,
and teeming orchard, with the Xenil winding through it in silver links,
and feeding innumerable rills; which, conducted through ancient Moorish
channels, maintain the landscape in perpetual verdure. Here were the
beloved bowers and gardens, and rural pavilions, for which the unfortunate
Moors fought with such desperate valour. The very hovels and rude granges,
now inhabited by boors, show, by the remains of arabesques and other
tasteful decoration, that they were elegant residences in the days of the
Moslems. Behold, in the very centre of this eventful plain, a place which
in a manner links the history of the Old World with that of the New. Yon
line of walls and towers gleaming in the morning sun, is the city of Santa
Fe, built by the Catholic sovereigns during the siege of Granada, after a
conflagration had destroyed their camp. It was to these walls Columbus was
called back by the heroic queen, and within them the treaty was concluded
which led to the discovery of the Western World. Behind yon promontory to
the west is the bridge of Pinos, renowned for many a bloody fight between
Moors and Christians. At this bridge the messenger overtook Columbus when,
despairing of success with the Spanish sovereigns, he was departing to
carry his project of discovery to the court of France.
[Illustration: _Pass of Elvira._]
[Illustration: _Alcala._]
Above the bridge a range of mountains bounds the Vega to the west,--the
ancient barrier between Granada and the Christian territories. Among
their heights you may still discern warrior towns; their gray walls and
battlements seeming of a piece with the rocks on which they are built.
Here and there a solitary _atalaya_, or watchtower, perched on a mountain
peak, looks down as it were from the sky into the valley on either side.
How often have these _atalayas_ given notice, by fire at night or smoke
by day, of an approaching foe! It was down a cragged defile of these
mountains, called the Pass of Lope, that the Christian armies descended
into the Vega. Round the base of yon gray and naked mountain (the
mountain of Elvira), stretching its bold rocky promontory into the bosom
of the plain, the invading squadrons would come bursting into view, with
flaunting banners and clangour of drum and trumpet.
[Illustration: _Alcaudete._]
Five hundred years have elapsed since Ismael ben Ferrag, a Moorish king
of Granada, beheld from this very tower an invasion of the kind, and an
insulting ravage of the Vega; on which occasion he displayed an instance
of chivalrous magnanimity, often witnessed in the Moslem princes; "whose
history," says an Arabian writer, "abounds in generous actions and noble
deeds that will last through all succeeding ages, and live for ever in the
memory of man."--But let us sit down on this parapet, and I will relate
the anecdote.
[Illustration: _Illora._]
It was in the year of Grace 1319, that Ismael ben Ferrag beheld from this
tower a Christian camp whitening the skirts of yon mountain of Elvira.
The royal princes, Don Juan and Don Pedro, regents of Castile during
the minority of Alphonso XI., had already laid waste the country from
Alcaudete to Alcalá la Real, capturing the castle of Illora, and setting
fire to its suburbs, and they now carried their insulting ravages to
the very gates of Granada, defying the king to sally forth and give them
battle.
Ismael, though a young and intrepid prince, hesitated to accept the
challenge. He had not sufficient force at hand, and awaited the arrival
of troops summoned from the neighbouring towns. The Christian princes,
mistaking his motives, gave up all hope of drawing him forth, and having
glutted themselves with ravage, struck their tents and began their
homeward march. Don Pedro led the van, and Don Juan brought up the
rear, but their march was confused and irregular, the army being greatly
encumbered by the spoils and captives they had taken.
[Illustration]
By this time King Ismael had received his expected resources, and putting
them under the command of Osmyn, one of the bravest of his generals, sent
them forth in hot pursuit of the enemy. The Christians were overtaken in
the defiles of the mountains. A panic seized them; they were completely
routed, and driven with great slaughter across the borders. Both of the
princes lost their lives. The body of Don Pedro was carried off by his
soldiers, but that of Don Juan was lost in the darkness of the night. His
son wrote to the Moorish king, entreating that the body of his father
might be sought and honourably treated. Ismael forgot in a moment that
Don Juan was an enemy, who had carried ravage and insult to the very gate
of his capital; he only thought of him as a gallant cavalier and a royal
prince. By his command diligent search was made for the body. It was found
in a _barranco_ and brought to Granada. There Ismael caused it to be laid
out in state on a lofty bier, surrounded by torches and tapers, in one of
these halls of the Alhambra. Osmyn and other of the noblest cavaliers were
appointed as a guard of honour, and the Christian captives were assembled
to pray around it.
In the meantime, Ismael wrote to the son of Prince Juan to send a convoy
for the body, assuring him it should be faithfully delivered up. In due
time, a band of Christian cavaliers arrived for the purpose. They were
honourably received and entertained by Ismael, and, on their departure
with the body, the guard of honour of Moslem cavaliers escorted the
funeral train to the frontier.
But enough; the sun is high above the mountains, and pours his full
fervour on our heads. Already the terraced roof is hot beneath our feet;
let us abandon it, and refresh ourselves under the Arcades by the Fountain
of the Lions.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE BALCONY
I have spoken of a balcony of the central window of the Hall of
Ambassadors. It served as a kind of observatory, where I used often to
take my seat, and consider not merely the heaven above but the earth
beneath. Besides the magnificent prospect which it commanded of mountain,
valley, and Vega, there was a little busy scene of human life laid open to
inspection immediately below. At the foot of the hill was an _alameda_,
or public walk, which, though not so fashionable as the more modern and
splendid _paseo_ of the Xenil, still boasted a varied and picturesque
concourse. Hither resorted the small gentry of the suburbs, together with
priests and friars, who walked for appetite and digestion; _majos_ and
_majas_, the beaux and belles of the lower classes, in their Andalusian
dresses; swaggering _contrabandistas_, and sometimes half-muffled and
mysterious loungers of the higher ranks, on some secret assignation.
It was a moving picture of Spanish life and character, which I delighted
to study; and as the astronomer has his grand telescope with which
to sweep the skies, and, as it were, bring the stars nearer for his
inspection, so I had a smaller one, of pocket size, for the use of my
observatory, with which I could sweep the regions below, and bring the
countenances of the motley groups so close as almost, at times, to make
me think I could divine their conversation by the play and expression
of their features. I was thus, in a manner, an invisible observer, and,
without quitting my solitude, could throw myself in an instant into the
midst of society,--a rare advantage to one of somewhat shy and quiet
habits, and fond, like myself, of observing the drama of life without
becoming an actor in the scene.
[Illustration]
There was a considerable suburb lying below the Alhambra, filling the
narrow gorge of the valley, and extending up the opposite hill of the
Albaycin. Many of the houses were built in the Moorish style, round
_patios_, or courts, cooled by fountains and open to the sky; and as the
inhabitants passed much of their time in these courts, and on the terraced
roofs during the summer season, it follows that many a glance of their
domestic life might be obtained by an aërial spectator like myself, who
could look down on them from the clouds.
I enjoyed in some degree the advantages of the student in the famous old
Spanish story, who beheld all Madrid unroofed for his inspection; and my
gossiping squire, Mateo Ximenes, officiated occasionally as my Asmodeus,
to give me anecdotes of the different mansions and their inhabitants.
[Illustration]