University of Virginia Library

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 Vega.
At length we are upon 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 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 fountain,
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 breast you mountain, among
pompous groves and hanging gardens, is the Generaliffe,
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 we have
frightened from his nest. This old tower is a complete
brooding-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 ruins above the Generaliffe.

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 the 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 watch-tower, mounted on
some lofty point, and looking down as if 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 bald 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; the city of Santa Fe, 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 on 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 treasury 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.

These 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 town is hot beneath
our feet; let us abandon it, and descend and refresh
ourselves under the arcades by the fountain
of the Lions.