The Alhambra 15

The Alhambra 15

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 clangor of drum and trumpet.

 

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 forever in

the memory of man.”--But let us sit down on this parapet, and I will

relate the anecdote.

 

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 Alfonso 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 neighboring 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.

 

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 honorably 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

honor, and the Christian captives were assembled to pray around it.

 

In the mean time, 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 honorably received and entertained by Ismael, and, on their

departure with the body, the guard of honor of Moslem cavaliers escorted

the funeral train to the frontier.

 

But enough;--the sun is high above the mountains, and pours his full

fervor 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.

 

 

 

 

THE TRUANT

 

 

We have had a scene of a petty tribulation in the Alhambra, which has

thrown a cloud over the sunny countenance of Dolores. This little damsel

has a female passion for pets of all kinds; and from the superabundant

kindness of her disposition, one of the ruined courts of the Alhambra is

thronged with her favorites. A stately peacock and his hen seem to hold

regal sway here, over pompous turkeys, querulous guinea-fowls, and a

rabble rout of common cocks and hens. The great delight of Dolores,

however, has for some time past been centred in a youthful pair of

pigeons, who have lately entered into the holy state of wedlock, and

even supplanted a tortoise-shell cat and kittens in her affections.

 

As a tenement for them wherein to commence house-keeping, she had fitted

up a small chamber adjacent to the kitchen, the window of which looked

into one of the quiet Moorish courts. Here they lived in happy ignorance

of any world beyond the court and its sunny roofs. Never had they

aspired to soar above the battlements, or to mount to the summit of the

towers. Their virtuous union was at length crowned by two spotless and

milk-white eggs, to the great joy of their cherishing little mistress.

Nothing could be more praiseworthy than the conduct of the young married

folks on this interesting occasion. They took turns to sit upon the nest

until the eggs were hatched, and while their callow progeny required

warmth and shelter;--while one thus stayed at home, the other foraged

abroad for food, and brought home abundant supplies.

 

This scene of conjugal felicity has suddenly met with a reverse. Early

this morning, as Dolores was feeding the male pigeon, she took a fancy

to give him a peep at the great world. Opening a window, therefore,

which looks down upon the valley of the Darro, she launched him at once

beyond the walls of the Alhambra. For the first time in his life the

astonished bird had to try the full vigor of his wings. He swept down

into the valley, and then rising upwards with a surge, soared almost to

the clouds. Never before had he risen to such a height, or experienced

such delight in flying; and, like a young spendthrift just come to his

estate, he seemed giddy with excess of liberty, and with the boundless

field of action suddenly opened to him. For the whole day he has been

circling about in capricious flights, from tower to tower, and tree to

tree. Every attempt has been vain to lure him back by scattering grain

upon the roofs; he seems to have lost all thought of home, of his tender

helpmate, and his callow young. To add to the anxiety of Dolores, he has

been joined by two _palomas ladrones_, or robber pigeons, whose instinct

it is to entice wandering pigeons to their own dove-cotes. The fugitive,

like many other thoughtless youths on their first launching upon the

world, seems quite fascinated with these knowing but graceless

companions, who have undertaken to show him life, and introduce him to

society. He has been soaring with them over all the roofs and steeples

of Granada. A thunder-storm has passed over the city, but he has not

sought his home; night has closed in, and still he comes not. To deepen

the pathos of the affair, the female pigeon, after remaining several

hours on the nest without being relieved, at length went forth to seek

her recreant mate; but stayed away so long that the young ones perished

for want of the warmth and shelter of the parent bosom. At a late hour

in the evening, word was brought to Dolores that the truant bird had

been seen upon the towers of the Generalife. Now it happens that the

_Administrador_ of that ancient palace has likewise a dove-cote, among

the inmates of which are said to be two or three of these inveigling

birds, the terror of all neighboring pigeon-fanciers. Dolores

immediately concluded that the two feathered sharpers who had been seen

with her fugitive were these bloods of the Generalife. A council of war

was forthwith held in the chamber of Tia Antonia. The Generalife is a

distinct jurisdiction from the Alhambra, and of course some punctilio,

if not jealousy, exists between their custodians. It was determined,

therefore, to send Pèpe, the stuttering lad of the gardens, as

ambassador to the Administrador, requesting that if such fugitive should

be found in his dominions, he might be given up as a subject of the

Alhambra. Pèpe departed accordingly, on his diplomatic expedition,

through the moonlit groves and avenues, but returned in an hour with the

afflicting intelligence that no such bird was to be found in the

dove-cote of the Generalife. The Administrador, however, pledged his

sovereign word that if such vagrant should appear there, even at

midnight, he should instantly be arrested and sent back prisoner to his

little black-eyed mistress.

 

Thus stands the melancholy affair, which has occasioned much distress

throughout the palace, and has sent the inconsolable Dolores to a

sleepless pillow.

 

---- “Sorrow endureth for a night,” says the proverb, “but joy cometh in

the morning.” The first object that met my eyes, on leaving my room this

morning, was Dolores, with the truant pigeon in her hands, and her eyes

sparkling with joy. He had appeared at an early hour on the battlements,

hovering shyly about from roof to roof, but at length entered the

window, and surrendered himself prisoner. He gained but little credit,

however, by his return; for the ravenous manner in which he devoured the

food set before him showed that, like the prodigal son, he had been

driven home by sheer famine. Dolores upbraided him for his faithless

conduct, calling him all manners of vagrant names, though, womanlike,

she fondled him at the same time to her bosom, and covered him with

kisses. I observed, however, that she had taken care to clip his wings

to prevent all future soarings;--a precaution which I mention for the

benefit of all those who have truant lovers or wandering husbands. More

than one valuable moral might be drawn from the story of Dolores and her

pigeon.

 

 

 

 

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