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Panorama From The Tower Of ComaresPanorama From The Tower Of Comares
Panorama From The Tower Of Comares
It is a serene and beautiful morning: the sun has not gained sufficient
power to destroy the freshness of the night. What a morning to amount 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 into the Hall of
Ambassadors. We will not enter the hall, however, but turn to this small door
opening into the wall. Have a care! here are steep winding steps and but
scanty light; yet up this narrow, obscure, and spiral staircase, the proud
monarchs of Granada and their queens have often ascended to the battlements to
watch the approach of invading armies, or gaze with anxious hearts on the
battles in the Vega.
At length we have reached 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 plain 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 fishpool, 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 hear of the building, with its roses an citrons, and
shrubbery of emerald green.
[See Court Of The Alberca]
[See Fountain Of Lions]
[See In The Court Of Lions]
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 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
widensHas it opens from the mountains, is the valley of the Darro; you see the
little river winding its way under imbowered 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. Well have they been compared by one of their poets to so many
pearls set in a bed of emeralds.
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 favorite 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 you
see none but a few loitering monks there, and a group of water-carriers. The
latter are burdened with water jars of ancient Oriental construction, such as
were used by the Moors. They have been filled at the cold and limpid spring
called the fountain of Avellanos. Yon mountains path leads to the fountain, a
favorite resort of Moslems as well as Christians; for this is said to be the
Adinamar (Aynu-l-adamar), the "Fountain of Tears," mentioned by Ibn Batuta the
traveller, and celebrated in the histories and romances of the Moors.
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!
I see you 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 which give to Granada that combination of delights
so rare in a southern city: the fresh vegetation and temperate airs of a
northern climate, with the vivifying ardor 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.
Those mountains may be well 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.
See to the south at the foot of those mountains a line of arid hills,
down which a long train of mules is slowly moving. Here was the closing scene
of Moslem domination. From the summit of one of those hills 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."
Further this way these arid hills slope down into the luxurious Vega,
from which he had just emerged: a blooming wilderness of grove and garden, and
teeming orchard, with the Xenil winding through it in silver links, and
feeding innumerable rills; which, conducted through ancient Moorish channels,
maintain the landscape in perpetual verdure. Here were the beloved bowers and
gardens, and rural pavilions, for which the unfortunate Moors fought with such
desperate valor. The very hovels and rude granges, now inhabited by boors,
show, by the remains of arabesques and other tasteful decoration, that they
were elegant residences in the days of the Moslems. Behold, in the very centre
of this eventful plain, a place which in a manner links the history of the Old
World with that of the New. Yon line of walls and towers gleaming in the
morning sun, is 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 Columbus was called back by the heoric queen, and within them
the treaty was concluded which led to the discovery of the Western World.
Behind yon promontory to the west is the bridge of Pinos, renowned for many a
bloody fight between Moors and Christians. At this bridge the messenger
overtook Columbus when, despairing of success with the Spanish sovereigns, he
was departing to carry his project of discovery to the court of France.
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 alalaya, 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
alalayas 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 for ever 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 Alcala 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 meantime, 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.
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