THE TOWER OF COMARES.
The reader has had a sketch of the
interior of the Alhambra, and may be
desirous of a general idea of its vicinity.
The morning is serene and lovely; the
sun has not gained sufficient power to
destroy the freshness of the night; we
will 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 to the Hall of Ambassadors. We
will not enter the hall, however, but turn
to the left, to this small door, opening in
the wall. Have a care! here are steep
winding steps and but scanty light; yet
up this narrow, obscure, and winding
staircase, the proud monarchs of Granada
and their queens have often ascended
to the battlements of the tower,
to watch the approach of Christian
armies; or to gaze on the battles in the
Vegn. At length we are on 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 plan 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 fish-pool,
bordered with flowers; and yonder
is the Court of Lions, with its famous
fountains, 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.
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 are buried among
vines, fig-trees, and aloes.
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.
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 there are
but a few loitering monks to be seen
there, and a group of water-carriers
from the fountain of Avellanos.
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!
Let us leave this side of the tower,
and turn our eyes to the west. Here
you behold in the distance, a range of
mountains bounding the Vega, the ancient
barrier between Moslem Granada
and the land of the Christians. Among
their heights you may still discern warrior
towns, whose gray walls and battlements
seem of a piece with the rocks on
which they are built; while here and
there is a solitary atalaya, or watchtower,
mounted on some lofty point, and
looking down, as it were, from the sky,
into the valleys on either side. It was
down the defiles of these mountains, by
the pass of Lope, that the Christian armies
descended into the Vega. It was
round the base of yon gray and naked
mountain, almost insulated from the rest,
and stretching its bold rocky promontory
into the bosom of the plain, that the
invading squadrons would come bursting
into view, with flaunting banners, and
the clangour of drums and trumpets.
How changed is the scene! Instead of
the glittering line of mailed warriors, we
behold the patient train of the toilful
muleteer, slowly moving along the skirts
of the mountain. Behind that promontory
is the eventful bridge of Pinos, renowned
for many a bloody strife between
Moors and Christians; but still more
renowned as being the place where Columbus
was overtaken and called back
by the messenger of Queen Isabella, just
as he was departing in despair, to carry
his project of discovery to the court of
France.
Behold another place famous in the
history of the discoverer. Yon line of
walls and towers, gleaming in the morning
sun, in the very centre of the Vega,
in the city of Santa Fé, built by the
catholic sovereigns during the siege of
Granada, after a conflagration had destroyed
their camp. It was to these
walls that Columbus was called back by
the heroic queen; and within them the
treaty was concluded, that led to the
discovery of the western world.
Here, towards the south, the eye revels
on the luxuriant beauties of the Vega;
a blooming wilderness of grove and
garden, and teeming orchard, with the
Xenil winding through it in silver links,
and feeding innumerable rills, conducted
through ancient Moorish channels, which
maintain the landscape in perpetual verdure.
Here are the beloved bowers and
gardens and rural retreats, for which the
Moors fought with such desperate valour.
The very farm-houses and hovels
which are now inhabited by the boors,
retain traces of arabesques and other
tasteful decorations, which show them to
have been elegant residences in the days
of the Moslems.
Beyond the embowered region of the
Vega, you behold to the south a line of
arid hills, down which a long train of
mules is slowly moving. It was from
the summit of one of those hills that 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."
Now 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 that gives to Granada that
combination of delights so rare in a
southern city; the fresh vegetation and
the 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 aerial treasure 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 well be 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.
But enough—the sun is high above
the mountains, and is pouring his full
fervour upon our heads. Already the
terraced roof of the tower is hot beneath
our feet: let us abandon it, and descend
and refresh ourselves under the arcades
by the Fountain of the Lions.
