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Page 57
"As the sun declines, there is again a gradual reviving, and when
the vesper bell rings out his sinking knell, all nature seems to
rejoice that the tyrant of the day has fallen. Now begins the
bustle of enjoyment, when the citizens pour forth to breathe the
evening air, and revel away the brief twilight in the walks and
gardens of the Darro and Xenil.
"As night closes, the capricious scene assumes new features. Light
after light gradually twinkles forth; here a taper from a balconied
window; there a votive lamp before the image of a saint. Thus, by
degrees, the city emerges from the pervading gloom, and sparkles
with scattered lights, like the starry firmament. Now break forth
from court and garden, and street and lane, the tinkling of
innumerable guitars, and the clicking of castanets; blending, at
this lofty height, in a faint but general concert. 'Enjoy the
moment' is the creed of the gay and amorous Andalusian, and at no
time does he practice it more zealously than on the balmy nights of
summer, wooing his mistress with the dance, the love-ditty, and
the passionate serenade."
How perfectly is the illusion of departed splendor maintained in the
opening of the chapter on "The Court of Lions."
"The peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace is its power of
calling up vague reveries and picturings of the past, and thus
clothing naked realities with the illusions of the memory and the
imagination. As I delight to walk in these 'vain shadows,' I am
prone to seek those parts of the Alhambra which are most favorable
to this phantasmagoria of the mind; and none are more so than the
Court of Lions, and its surrounding halls. Here the hand of time
has fallen the lightest, and the traces of Moorish elegance and
splendor exist in almost their original brilliancy. Earthquakes
have shaken the foundations of this pile, and rent its rudest
towers; yet see! not one of those slender columns has been
displaced, not an arch of that light and fragile colonnade given
way, and all the fairy fretwork of these domes, apparently as
unsubstantial as the crystal fabrics of a morning's frost, exist
after the lapse of centuries, almost as fresh as if from the hand
of the Moslem artist. I write in the midst of these mementos of the
past, in the fresh hour of early morning, in the fated Hall of the
Abencerrages. The blood-stained fountain, the legendary monument of
their massacre, is before me; the lofty jet almost casts its dew
upon my paper. How difficult to reconcile the ancient tale of
violence and blood with the gentle and peaceful scene around!
Everything here appears calculated to inspire kind and happy
feelings, for everything is delicate and beautiful. The very light
falls tenderly from above, through the lantern of a dome tinted and
wrought as if by fairy hands. Through the ample and fretted arch of
the portal I behold the Court of Lions, with brilliant sunshine
gleaming along its colonnades and sparkling in its fountains. The
lively swallow dives into the court, and, rising with a surge,
darts away twittering over the roofs; the busy bee toils humming
among the flower-beds; and painted butterflies hover from plant to
plant, and flutter up and sport with each other in the sunny air.
It needs but a slight exertion of the fancy to picture some pensive
beauty of the harem loitering in these secluded haunts of Oriental
luxury.
"He, however, who would behold this scene under an aspect more in
unison with its fortunes, let him come when the shadows of evening
temper the brightness of the court, and throw a gloom into the
surrounding halls. Then nothing can be more serenely melancholy, or
more in harmony with the tale of departed grandeur.
"At such times I am apt to seek the Hall of Justice, whose deep
shadowy arcades extend across the upper end of the court. Here was
performed, in presence of Ferdinand and Isabella and their
triumphant court, the pompous ceremonial of high mass, on taking
possession of the Alhambra. The very cross is still to be seen upon
the wall, where the altar was erected, and where officiated the
Grand Cardinal of Spain, and others of the highest religious
dignitaries of the land. I picture to myself the scene when this
place was filled with the conquering host, that mixture of mitred
prelate and shaven monk, and steel-clad knight and silken courtier;
when crosses and crosiers and religious standards were mingled with
proud armorial ensigns and the banners of the haughty chiefs of
Spain, and flaunted in triumph through these Moslem halls. I
picture to myself Columbus, the future discoverer of a world,
taking his modest stand in a remote corner, the humble and
neglected spectator of the pageant. I see in imagination the
Catholic sovereigns prostrating themselves before the altar, and
pouring forth thanks for their victory; while the vaults resound
with sacred minstrelsy and the deep-toned Te Deum.
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