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Page 18
In the silent and deserted halls of the Alhambra; surrounded with the
insignia of regal sway, and the still vivid, though dilapidated traces
of oriental voluptuousness, I was in the strong-hold of Moorish story,
and every thing spoke and breathed of the glorious days of Granada,
when under the dominion of the crescent. When I sat in the hall of the
Abencerrages, I suffered my mind to conjure up all that I had read of
that illustrious line. In the proudest days of Moslem domination, the
Abencerrages were the soul of every thing noble and chivalrous. The
veterans of the family, who sat in the royal council, were the foremost
to devise those heroic enterprises, which carried dismay into the
territories of the Christians; and what the sages of the family devised,
the young men of the name were the foremost to execute. In all services
of hazard; in all adventurous forays, and hair-breadth hazards; the
Abencerrages were sure to win the brightest laurels. In those noble
recreations, too, which bear so close an affinity to war; in the tilt
and tourney, the riding at the ring, and the daring bull-fight; still
the Abencerrages carried off the palm. None could equal them for the
splendor of their array, the gallantry of their devices; for their noble
bearing, and glorious horsemanship. Their open-handed munificence made
them the idols of the populace, while their lofty magnanimity, and
perfect faith, gained them golden opinions from the generous and
high-minded. Never were they known to decry the merits of a rival, or to
betray the confidings of a friend; and the "word of an Abencerrage" was
a guarantee that never admitted of a doubt.
And then their devotion to the fair! Never did Moorish beauty consider
the fame of her charms established, until she had an Abencerrage for a
lover; and never did an Abencerrage prove recreant to his vows. Lovely
Granada! City of delights! Who ever bore the favors of thy dames more
proudly on their casques, or championed them more gallantly in the
chivalrous tilts of the Vivarambla? Or who ever made thy moon-lit
balconies, thy gardens of myrtles and roses, of oranges, citrons, and
pomegranates, respond to more tender serenades?
I speak with enthusiasm on this theme; for it is connected with the
recollection of one of the sweetest evenings and sweetest scenes that
ever I enjoyed in Spain. One of the greatest pleasures of the Spaniards
is, to sit in the beautiful summer evenings, and listen to traditional
ballads, and tales about the wars of the Moors and Christians, and the
"buenas andanzas" and "grandes hechos," the "good fortunes" and "great
exploits" of the hardy warriors of yore. It is worthy of remark, also,
that many of these songs, or romances, as they are called, celebrate
the prowess and magnanimity in war, and the tenderness and, fidelity in
love, of the Moorish cavaliers, once their most formidable and hated
foes. But centuries have elapsed, to extinguish the bigotry of the
zealot; and the once detested warriors of Granada are now held up by
Spanish poets, as the mirrors of chivalric virtue.
Such was the amusement of the evening in question. A number of us were
seated in the Hall of the Abencerrages, listening to one of the most
gifted and fascinating beings that I had ever met with in my wanderings.
She was young and beautiful; and light and ethereal; full of fire, and
spirit, and pure enthusiasm. She wore the fanciful Andalusian dress;
touched the guitar with speaking eloquence; improvised with wonderful
facility; and, as she became excited by her theme, or by the rapt
attention of her auditors, would pour forth, in the richest and
most melodious strains, a succession of couplets, full of striking
description, or stirring narration, and composed, as I was assured, at
the moment. Most of these were suggested by the place, and related to
the ancient glories of Granada, and the prowess of her chivalry. The
Abencerrages were her favorite heroes; she felt a woman's admiration of
their gallant courtesy, and high-souled honor; and it was touching and
inspiring to hear the praises of that generous but devoted race, chanted
in this fated hall of their calamity, by the lips of Spanish beauty.
Among the subjects of which she treated, was a tale of Moslem honor, and
old-fashioned Spanish courtesy, which made a strong impression on me.
She disclaimed all merit of invention, however, and said she had merely
dilated into verse a popular tradition; and, indeed, I have since found
the main facts inserted at the end of Conde's History of the Domination
of the Arabs, and the story itself embodied in the form of an episode in
the Diana of Montemayor. From these sources I have drawn it forth, and
endeavored to shape it according to my recollection of the version of
the beautiful minstrel; but, alas! what can supply the want of that
voice, that look, that form, that action, which gave magical effect to
her chant, and held every one rapt in breathless admiration! Should this
mere travestie of her inspired numbers ever meet her eye, in her stately
abode at Granada, may it meet with that indulgence which belongs to her
benignant nature. Happy should I be, if it could awaken in her bosom
one kind recollection of the lonely stranger and sojourner, for
whose gratification she did not think it beneath her to exert those
fascinating powers which were the delight of brilliant circles; and who
will ever recall with enthusiasm the happy evening passed in listening
to her strains, in the moon-lit halls of the Alhambra.
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