The Alhambra 27

The Alhambra 27

Understanding from the count that he had some curious relics of the

Conquest, preserved in his family archives, I accompanied him early one

morning down to his palace in Granada to examine them. The most

important of these relics was the sword of the Grand Captain; a weapon

destitute of all ostentatious ornament, as the weapons of great generals

are apt to be, with a plain hilt of ivory and a broad thin blade. It

might furnish a comment on hereditary honors, to see the sword of the

Grand Captain legitimately declined into such feeble hands.

 

The other relics of the Conquest were a number of espingardas or muskets

of unwieldy size and ponderous weight, worthy to rank with those

enormous two-edged swords preserved in old armories, which look like

relics from the days of the giants.

 

Beside other hereditary honors, I found the old count was Alferez mayor,

or grand standard-bearer, in which capacity he was entitled to bear the

ancient standard of Ferdinand and Isabella, on certain high and solemn

occasions, and to wave it over their tombs. I was shown also the

caparisons of velvet, sumptuously embroidered with gold and silver, for

six horses, with which he appeared in state when a new sovereign was to

be proclaimed in Granada and Seville; the count mounting one of the

horses, and the other five being led by lackeys in rich liveries.

 

I had hoped to find among the relics and antiquities of the count’s

palace some specimens of the armor and weapons of the Moors of Granada,

such as I had heard were preserved as trophies by the descendants of the

Conquerors; but in this I was disappointed. I was the more curious in

this particular, because an erroneous idea has been entertained by many,

as to the costumes of the Moors of Spain; supposing them to be of the

usual Oriental type. On the contrary, we have it on the authority of

their own writers, that they adopted in many respects the fashions of

the Christians. The turban, especially, so identified in idea with the

Moslem, was generally abandoned, except in the western provinces, where

it continued in use among people of rank and wealth, and those holding

places under government. A woollen cap, red or green, was commonly worn

as a substitute; probably the same kind originating in Barbary, and

known by the name of Tunis or Fez, which at the present day is worn

throughout the East, though generally under the turban. The Jews were

obliged to wear them of a yellow color.

 

In Murcia, Valencia, and other eastern provinces, men of the highest

rank might be seen in public bare-headed. The warrior king, Aben Hud,

never wore a turban, neither did his rival and competitor Al Hamar, the

founder of the Alhambra. A short cloak called Taylasan, similar to that

seen in Spain in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was worn by

all ranks. It had a hood or cape which people of condition sometimes

drew over the head; but the lower class never.

 

A Moslem cavalier in the thirteenth century, as described by Ibnu Said,

was equipped for war very much in the Christian style. Over a complete

suit of mail he wore a short scarlet tunic. His helmet was of polished

steel; a shield was slung at his back; he wielded a huge spear with a

broad point, sometimes a double point. His saddle was cumbrous,

projecting very much in front and in rear, and he rode with a banner

fluttering behind him.

 

In the time of Al Khattib of Granada, who wrote in the fourteenth

century, the Moslems of Andalus had resumed the Oriental costumes, and

were again clad and armed in Arabic fashion: with light helmet, thin but

well-tempered cuirass, long slender lance, commonly of reed, Arabian

saddle and leathern buckler, made of double folds of the skin of the

antelope. A wonderful luxury prevailed at that time in the arms and

equipments of the Granadian cavaliers. Their armor was inlaid with gold

and silver. Their cimeters were of the keenest Damascus blades, with

sheaths richly wrought and enamelled, and belts of golden filigree

studded with gems. Their daggers of Fez had jewelled hilts, and their

lances were set off with gay banderoles. Their horses were caparisoned

in correspondent style, with velvet and embroidery.

 

All this minute description, given by a contemporary, and an author of

distinction, verifies those gallant pictures in the old Morisco Spanish

ballads which have sometimes been deemed apocryphal, and give a vivid

idea of the brilliant appearance of the chivalry of Granada, when

marshalled forth in warlike array, or when celebrating the chivalrous

fêtes of the Vivarrambla.

 

 

 

 

THE GENERALIFE

 

 

High above the Alhambra, on the breast of the mountain, amidst embowered

gardens and stately terraces, rise the lofty towers and white walls of

the Generalife; a fairy palace, full of storied recollections. Here are

still to be seen the famous cypresses of enormous size which flourished

in the time of the Moors, and which tradition has connected with the

fabulous story of Boabdil and his sultana.

 

Here are preserved the portraits of many who figured in the romantic

drama of the Conquest. Ferdinand and Isabella, Ponce de Leon, the

gallant Marquis of Cadiz, and Garcilaso de la Vega, who slew in

desperate fight Tarfe the Moor, a champion of Herculean strength. Here

too hangs a portrait which has long passed for that of the unfortunate

Boabdil, but

 

[Illustration: THE GENERALIFE FROM THE ALHAMBRA.]

 

which is said to be that of Aben Hud, the Moorish king from whom

descended the princes of Almeria. From one of these princes, who joined

the standard of Ferdinand and Isabella towards the close of the

Conquest, and was christianized by the name of Don Pedro de Granada

Venegas, was descended the present proprietor of the palace, the Marquis

of Campotejar. The proprietor, however, dwells in a foreign land, and

the palace has no longer a princely inhabitant.

 

Yet here is everything to delight a southern voluptuary: fruits,

flowers, fragrance, green arbors and myrtle hedges, delicate air and

gushing waters. Here I had an opportunity of witnessing those scenes

which painters are fond of depicting about southern palaces and gardens.

It was the saint’s day of the count’s daughter, and she had brought up

several of her youthful companions from Granada, to sport away a long

summer’s day among the breezy halls and bowers of the Moorish palaces. A

visit to the Generalife was the morning’s entertainment. Here some of

the gay company dispersed itself in groups about the green walks, the

bright fountains, the flights of Italian steps, the noble terraces and

marble balustrades. Others, among whom I was one, took their seats in an

open gallery or colonnade commanding a vast prospect; with the Alhambra,

the city, and the Vega, far below, and the distant horizon of

mountains--a dreamy world, all glimmering to the eye in summer sunshine.

While thus seated, the all-pervading tinkling of the guitar and click of

the castanets came stealing up from the valley of the Darro, and

half-way down the mountain we descried a festive party under the trees,

enjoying themselves in true Andalusian style; some lying on the grass,

others dancing to the music.

 

All these sights and sounds, together with the princely seclusion of the

place, the sweet quiet which prevailed around, and the delicious

serenity of the weather, had a witching effect upon the mind, and drew

from some of the company, versed in local story, several of the popular

fancies and traditions connected with this old Moorish palace; they were

“such stuff as dreams are made of,” but out of them I have shaped the

following legend, which I hope may have the good fortune to prove

acceptable to the reader.

 

 

 

 

LEGEND OF PRINCE AHMED AL KAMEL

 

OR, THE PILGRIM OF LOVE

 

 

There was once a Moorish king of Granada, who had but one son, whom he

named Ahmed, to which his courtiers added the surname of al Kamel, or

the Perfect, from the indubitable signs of superexcellence which they

perceived in him in his very infancy. The astrologers countenanced them

in their foresight, predicting everything in his favor that could make a

perfect prince and a prosperous sovereign. One cloud only rested upon

his destiny, and even that was of a roseate hue: he would be of an

amorous temperament, and run great perils from the tender passion. If,

however, he could be kept from the allurements of love until of mature

age, these dangers would be averted, and his life thereafter be one

uninterrupted course of felicity.

 

To prevent all danger of the kind, the king wisely determined to rear

the prince in a seclusion where he should never see a female face, nor

hear even the name of love. For this purpose he built a beautiful palace

on the brow of the hill above the Alhambra, in the midst of delightful

gardens, but surrounded by lofty walls, being, in fact, the same palace

known at the present day by the name of the Generalife. In this palace

the youthful prince was shut up, and intrusted to the guardianship and

instruction of Eben Bonabben, one of the wisest and dryest of Arabian

sages, who had passed the greatest part of his life in Egypt, studying

hieroglyphics, and making researches among the tombs and pyramids, and

who saw more charms in an Egyptian mummy than in the most tempting of

living beauties. The sage was ordered to instruct the prince in all

kinds of knowledge but one,--he was to be kept utterly ignorant of love.

“Use every precaution for the purpose you may think proper,” said the

king, “but remember, O Eben Bonabben, if my son learns aught of that

forbidden knowledge while under your care, your head shall answer for

it.” A withered smile came over the dry visage of the wise Bonabben at

the menace. “Let your majesty’s heart be as easy about your son, as mine

is about my head: am I a man likely to give lessons in the idle

passion?”

 

Under the vigilant care of the philosopher, the prince grew up in the

seclusion of the palace and its gardens. He had black slaves to attend

upon him--hideous mutes who knew nothing of love, or if they did, had

not words to communicate it. His mental endowments were the peculiar

care of Eben Bonabben, who sought to initiate him into the abstruse lore

of Egypt; but in this the prince made little progress, and it was soon

evident that he had no turn for philosophy.

 

He was, however, amazingly ductile for a youthful prince, ready to

follow any advice, and always guided by the last counsellor. He

suppressed his yawns, and listened patiently to the long and learned

discourses of Eben Bonabben, from which he imbibed a smattering of

various kinds of knowledge, and thus happily attained his twentieth

year, a miracle of princely wisdom--but totally ignorant of love.