 | VISITORS TO THE ALHAMBRA. The Alhambra |  |
VISITORS TO THE ALHAMBRA.
It is now nearly three months since I took up
my abode in the Alhambra, during which time
the progress of the season has wrought many
changes. When I first arrived every thing was
in the freshness of May; the foliage of the trees
was still tender and transparent; the pomegranate
had not yet shed its brilliant crimson blossoms;
the orchards of the Xenil and the Darro
were in full bloom; the rocks were hung with
wild flowers, and Granada seemed completely
surrounded by a wilderness of roses, among
which innumerable nightingales sang, not merely
in the night, but all day long.
The advance of summer has withered the rose
and silenced the nightingale, and the distant country
begins to look parched and sunburnt; though
city, and in the deep narrow valleys at the foot
of the snow-capped mountains.
The Alhambra possesses retreats graduated to
the heat of the weather, among which the most
peculiar is the almost subterranean apartment of
the baths. This still retains its ancient oriental
character though stamped with the touching traces
of decline. At the entrance, opening into a small
court formerly adorned with flowers, is a hall,
moderate in size, but light and graceful in architecture.
It is overlooked by a small gallery supported
by marble pillars and moresco arches.
An alabaster fountain in the centre of the pavement
still throws up a jet of water to cool the
place. On each side are deep alcoves with raised
platforms, where the bathers after their ablutions
reclined on luxurious cushions, soothed to voluptuous
repose by the fragrance of the perfumed
air and the notes of soft music from the gallery.
Beyond this hall are the interior chambers, still
more private and retired, where no light is admitted
but through small apertures in the vaulted
ceilings. Here was the sanctum sanctorum of
female privacy, where the beauties of the harem
light reigns through the place, the broken
baths are still there, and traces of ancientelegance.
The prevailing silence and obscurity have made
this a favourite resort of bats, who nestle during
the day in the dark nooks and corners, and, on
being disturbed, flit mysteriously about the twilight
chambers, heightening in an indescribable
degree their air of desertion and decay.
In this cool and elegant though dilapidated retreat,
which has the freshness and seclusion of a
grotto, I have of late passed the sultry hours of
the day; emerging toward sunset, and bathing,
or rather swimming, at night in the great reservoir
of the main court. In this way I have been
enabled in a measure to counteract the relaxing
and enervating influence of the climate.
My dream of absolute sovereignty, however, is
at an end: I was roused from it lately by the report
of fire-arms, which reverberated among the
towers as if the castle had been taken by surprise.
On sallying forth I found an old cavalier with a
number of domestics in possession of the hall of
ambassadors. He was an ancient Count, who had
come up from his palace in Granada to pass a
short time in the Alhambra for the benefit of
sportsman, was endeavouring to get an appetite
for his breakfast by shooting at swallows
from the balconies. It was a harmless amusement,
for though, by the alertness of his attendants in
loading his pieces, he was enabled to keep up a
brisk fire, I could not accuse him of the death
of a single swallow. Nay, the birds themselves
seemed to enjoy the sport, and to deride his want
of skill, skimming in circles close to the balconies,
and twittering as they darted by.
The arrival of this old gentleman has in some
measure changed the aspect of affairs, but has
likewise afforded matter for agreeable speculation.
We have tacitly shared the empire between
us, like the last kings of Granada, excepting
that we maintain a most amicable alliance.
He reigns absolute over the court of the
Lions and its adjacent halls, while I maintain
peaceful possession of the region of the baths and
the little garden of Lindaraxa. We take our
meals together under the arcades of the court,
where the fountains cool the air, and bubbling
rills run along the channels of the marble pavement.
In the evening, a domestic circle gathers about
from the city, with a favourite daughter about
sixteen years of age. Then there are the official
dependents of the Count, his chaplain, his
lawyer, his secretary, his steward, and other officers
and agents of his extensive possessions.
Thus he holds a kind of domestic court, where
every person seeks to contribute to his amusement,
without sacrificing his own pleasure or self-respect.
In fact, whatever may be said of Spanish
pride, it certainly does not enter into social
or domestic life. Among no people are the relations
between kindred more cordial, or between
superior and dependent more frank and genial;
in these respects there still remains, in the
provincial life of Spain, much of the vaunted
simplicity of the olden times.
The most interesting member of this family
group, however, is the daughter of the Count,
the charming though almost infantine little Carmen.
Her form has not yet attained its maturity,
but has already the exquisite symmetry and
pliant grace so prevalent in this country. Her
blue eyes, fair complexion and light hair are unusual
in Andalusia, and give a mildness and gentleness
to her demeanour, in contrast to the usual
with the guileless and confiding innocence of her
manners. She has, however, all the innate aptness
and versatility of her fascinating country-women,
and sings, dances, and plays the guitar
and other instruments to admiration. A few
days after taking up his residence in the Alhambra,
the Count gave a domestic fete on his saint's
day, assembling round him the members of his
family and household, while several old servants
came from his distant possessions to pay their reverence
to him, and partake of the good cheer.
This patriarchal spirit which characterized the
Spanish nobility in the days of their opulence
has declined with their fortunes; but some who,
like the Count, still retain their ancient family
possessions, keep up a little of the ancient system,
and have their estates overrun and almost
eaten up by generations of idle retainers. According
to this magnificent old Spanish system,
in which the national pride and generosity bore
equal parts, a superannuated servant was never
turned off, but became a charge for the rest of
his days; nay, his children, and his children's
children, and often their relations, to the right
and left, became gradually entailed upon the
nobility, which have such an air of empty ostentation
from the greatness of their size compared
with the mediocrity and scantiness of their furniture,
were absolutely required in the golden
days of Spain by the patriarchal habits of their
possessors. They were little better than vast
barracks for the hereditary generations of hangers-on
that battened at the expense of a Spanish
noble. The worthy Count, who has estates in
various parts of the kingdom, assures me that
some of them barely feed the hordes of dependents
nestled upon them; who consider themselves
entitled to be maintained upon the place,
rent free, because their forefathers have been so
for generations.
The domestic fete of the Count broke in upon
the usual still life of the Alhambra. Music and
laughter resounded through its late silent halls;
there were groups of the guests amusing themselves
about the galleries and gardens, and officious
servants from town hurrying through the
courts, bearing viands to the ancient kitchen,
which was again alive with the tread of cooks
and scullions, and blazed with unwonted fires.
The feast, for a Spanish set dinner is literally
called “la sala de las dos Hermanas,” (the saloon
of the two sisters;) the table groaned with abundance,
and a joyous conviviality prevailed round
the board; for though the Spaniards are generally
an abstemious people, they are complete revellers
at a banquet.
For my own part, there was something peculiarly
interesting in thus sitting at a feast, in the
royal halls of the Alhambra, given by the representative
of one of its most renowned conquerors;
for the venerable Count, though unwarlike himself,
is the lineal descendant and representative
of the “Great Captain,” the illustrious Gonsalvo
of Cordova, whose sword he guards in the
archives of his palace at Granada.
The banquet ended, the company adjourned
to the hall of ambassadors. Here every one contributed
to the general amusement by exerting
some peculiar talent; singing, improvising, telling
wonderful tales, or dancing to that all pervading
talisman of Spanish pleasure, the guitar.
The life and charm of the whole assemblage,
however, was the gifted little Carmen. She took
her part in two or three scenes from Spanish
comedies, exhibiting a charming dramatic talent:
with singular and whimsical felicity, and a
rare quality of voice; she imitated the dialects,
dances, and ballads of the gipsies and the neighbouring
peasantry, but did every thing with a
facility, a neatness, a grace, and an all-pervading
prettiness, that were perfectly fascinating.
The great charm of her performances, however,
was their being free from all pretension or ambition
of display. She seemed unconscious of the
extent of her own talents, and in fact is accustomed
only to exert them casually, like a child,
for the amusement of the domestic circle. Her
observation and tact must be remarkably quick,
for her life is passed in the bosom of her family,
and she can only have had casual and transient
glances at the various characters and traits,
brought out imprompiu in moments of domestic
hilarity, like the one in question. It is pleasing
to see the fondness and admiration with which
every one of the household regards her: she is
never spoken of, even by the domestics, by any
other appellation than that of La Niña, “the
child,” an appellation which thus applied has
something peculiarly kind and endearing in the
Spanish language.
Never shall I think of the Alhambra without
remembering the lovely little Carmen sporting in
happy and innocent girlhood in its marble halls;
dancing to the sound of the Moorish Castanets,
or mingling the silver warbling of her voice
with the music of the fountains.
On this festive occasion several curious and
amusing legends and traditions were told; many
of which have escaped my memory; but of those
that most struck me, I will endeavour to shape
forth some entertainment for the reader.
| VISITORS TO THE ALHAMBRA. The Alhambra | |