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The BalconyThe Balcony
The Balcony
I have spoken of a balcony of the central window of the Hall of
Ambassadors. It served as a kind of observatory, where I used often to take
my seat, and consider not merely the heaven above but the earth beneath.
Besides the magnificent prospect which it commanded of mountain, valley, and
vega, there was a little busy scene of human life laid open to inspection
immediately below. At the foot of the hill was an alameda, or public walk,
which, though not so fashionable as the more modern and splendid paseo of the
Xenil, still boasted a varied and picturesque concourse. Hither resorted the
small gentry of the suburbs, together with priests and friars, who walked
for appetite and digestion; majos and majas, the beaux and belles of the
lower classes, in their Andalusian dresses; swaggering contrabandistas, and
sometimes half-muffled and mysterious loungers of the higher ranks, on some
secret assignation.
It was a moving picture of Spanish life and character, which I delighted
to study; and as the astronomer has his grand telescope with which to sweep
the skies, and, as it were, bring the stars nearer for his inspection, so I
had a smaller one, of pocket size, for the use of my observatory, with which
I could sweep the regions below, and bring the countenances of the motley
groups so close as almost, at times, to make me think I could divine their
conversation by the play and expression of their features. I was thus, in a
manner, an invisible observer, and, without quitting my solitude, could throw
myself in an instant into the midst of society - a rare advantage to one of
somewhat shy and quiet habits, and fond, like myself, of observing the drama
of life without becoming an actor in the scene.
There was a considerable suburb lying below the Alhambra, filling the
narrow gorge of the valley, and extending up the opposite hill of the
Albaycin. Many of the houses were built in the Moorish style, round patios,
or courts, cooled by fountains and open to the sky; and as the inhabitants
passed much of their time in these courts, and on the terraced roofs during
the summer season, it follows that many a glance at their domestic life might
be obtained by an aerial spectator like myself, who could look down on them
from the clouds.
I enjoyed, in some degree, the advantages of the student in the famous
old Spanish story, who beheld all Madrid unroofed for his inspection; and my
gossiping squire, Mateo Ximenes, officiated occasionally as my Asmodeus, to
give me anecdotes of the different mansions and their inhabitants.
I preferred, however, to form conjectural histories for myself, and thus
would sit for hours, weaving, from casual incidents and indications passing
under my eye, a whole tissue of schemes, intrigues, and occupations of the
busy mortals below. There was scarce a pretty face or a striking figure that I
daily saw, about which I had not thus gradually framed a dramatic story,
though some of my characters would occasionally act in direct opposition to
the part assigned them, and disconcert the whole drama. Reconnoitering one
day with my glass the streets of the Albaycin, I beheld the procession of a
novice about to take the veil; and remarked several circumstances which
excited the strongest sympathy in the fate of the youthful being thus about to
be consigned to a living tomb. I ascertained to my satisfaction that she was
beautiful; and, from the paleness of her cheek, that she was a victim, rather
than a votary. She was arrayed in bridal garments, and decked with a chaplet
of white flowers, but her heart evidently revolted at this mockery of a
spiritual union, and yearned after its earthly loves. A tall, stern-looking
man walked near her in the procession; it was, of course, the tyrannical
father, who, from some bigoted or sordid motive, had compelled this sacrifice.
Amid the crowd was a dark handsome youth, in Andalusian garb, who seemed to
fix on her an eye of agony. It was doubtless the secret lover from whom she
was for ever to be separated. My indignation rose as I noted the malignant
expression painted on the countenances of the attendant monks and friars. The
procession arrived at the chapel of the convent; the sun gleamed for the last
time upon the chaplet of the poor novice, as she crossed the fatal threshold,
and disappeared within the building. The throng poured in with cowl, and
cross, and minstrelsy; the lover paused for a moment at the door. I could
divine the tumult of his feelings; but he mastered them, and entered. There
was a long interval-I pictured to myself the scene passing within; the poor
novice despoiled of her transient finery, and clothed in the conventual garb;
the bridal chaplet taken from her brow, and her beautiful head shorn of its
long silken tresses. I heard her murmur the irrevocable vow. I saw her
extended on a bier: the death-pall spread over her, the funeral service
performed that proclaimed her dead to the world; her sighs were drowned in
the deep tones of the organ, and the plaintive requiem of the nuns; the
father looked on, unmoved, without a tear; the lover-no-my imagination refused
to portray the anguish of the lover - there the picture remained a blank.
After a time the throng again poured forth, and dispersed various ways,
to enjoy the light of the sun and mingle with the stirring scenes of life; but
the victim, with her bridal chaplet, was no longer there. The door of the
convent closed that severed her from the world for ever. I saw the father and
the lover issue forth; they were in earnest conversation. The latter was
vehement in his gesticulations; I expected some violent termination to my
drama; but an angle of a building interfered and closed the scene. My eye
afterwards was frequently turned to that convent with painful interest. I
remarked late at night a solitary light twinkling from a remote lattice of
one of its towers. "There," said I, "the unhappy nun sits weeping in her cell,
while perhaps her lover paces the street below in unavailing anguish."
The officious Mateo interrupted my meditations and destroyed in an
instant the cobweb tissue of my fancy. With his usual zeal he had gathered
facts concerning the scene, which put my fictions all to flight. The heroine
of my romance was neither young nor handsome; she had no lover; she had
entered the convent of her own free will, as a respectable asylum, and was one
of the most cheerful residents within its walls.
It was some little while before I could forgive the wrong done me by the
nun in being thus happy in her cell, in contradiction to all the rules of
romance; I diverted my spleen, however, by watching, for a day or two, the
pretty coquetries of a dark-eyed brunette, who, from the covert of a balcony
shrouded with flowering shrubs and a silken awning, was carrying on a
mysterious correspondence with a handsome, dark, well-whiskered cavalier, who
lurked frequently in the street beneath her window. Sometimes I saw him at
an early hour, stealing forth wrapped to the eyes in a mantle. Sometimes he
loitered at a corner, in various disguises, apparently waiting for a private
signal to slip into the house. Then there was the tinkling of a guitar at
night, and a lantern shifted from place to place in the balcony. I imagined
another intrigue like that of Almaviva; but was again disconcerted in all my
suppositions. The supposed lover turned out to be the husband of the lady, and
a noted contrabandista; and all his mysterious signs and movements had
doubtless some smuggling scheme in view.
I occasionally amused myself with noting from this balcony the gradual
changes of the scenes below, according to the different stages of the day.
Scarce has the gray dawn streaked the sky, and the earliest cock crowed
from the cottages of the hill-side, when the suburbs give sign of reviving
animation; for the fresh hours of dawning are precious in the summer season in
a sultry climate. All are anxious to get the start of the sun, in the business
of the day. The muleteer drives forth his loaded train for the journey; the
traveller slings his carbine behind his saddle, and mounts his steed at the
gate of the hostel; the brown peasant from the country urges forward his
loitering beasts, laden with panniers of sunny fruit and fresh dewy
vegetables: for already the thrifty housewives are hastening to the market.
The sun is up and sparkles along the valley, tipping the transparent
foliage of the groves. The matin bells resound melodiously through the pure
bright air, announcing the hour of devotion. The muleteer halts his burdened
animals before the chapel, thrusts his staff through his belt behind, and
enters with hat in hand, smoothing his coal-black hair, to hear a mass, and
put up a prayer for a prosperous wayfaring across the sierra. And now steals
forth on fairy foot the gentle senora, in trim basquina, with restless fan in
hand, and dark eye flashing from beneath the gracefully folded mantilla; she
seeks some well-frequented church to offer up her morning orisons; but the
nicely-adjusted dress, the dainty shoe and cobweb stocking, the raven tresses
exquisitely braided, the fresh plucked rose, gleaming among them like a gem,
show that earth divides with Heaven the empire of her thoughts. Keep an eye
upon her, careful mother, or virgin aunt, or vigilant duenna, whichever you
be, that walk behind!
As the morning advances, the din of labor augments on every side ; the
streets are thronged with man, and steed, and beast of burden, and there is a
hum and murmur, like the surges of the ocean. As the sun ascends to his
meridian the hum and bustle gradually decline; at the height of noon there is
a pause. The panting city sinks into lassitude, and for several hours there is
a general repose. The windows are closed, the curtains drawn; the inhabitants
retired into the coolest recesses of their mansions; the full-fed monk snores
in his dormitory; the brawny porter lies stretched on the pavement beside his
burden; the peasant and the laborer sleep beneath the trees of the Alameda,
lulled by the sultry chirping of the locust. The streets are deserted, except
by the water-carrier, who refreshes the ear by proclaiming the merits of his
sparkling beverage, "colder than the mountain snow (mas fria que la nieve)."
As the sun declines, there is again a gradual reviving, and when the
vesper bell rings out his sinking knell, all nature seems to rejoice that the
tyrant of the day has fallen. Now begins the bustle of enjoyment, when the
citizens pour forth to breathe the evening air, and revel away the brief
twilight in the walks and gardens of the Darro and Xenil.
As night closes, the capricious scene assumes new features. Light after
light gradually twinkles forth; here a taper from a balconied window; there a
votive lamp before the image of a Saint. Thus, by a degrees, the city emerges
from the pervading gloom, and sparkles with scattered lights, like the starry
firmament. Now break forth from court and garden, and street and lane, the
tinkling of innumerable guitars, and the clicking of castanets; blending, at
this lofty height, in a faint but general concert. "Enjoy the moment," is the
creed of the gay and amorous Andalusian, and at no time does he practise it
more zealously than in the balmy nights of summer, wooing his mistress with
the dance, the love ditty, and the passionate serenade.
I was one evening seated in the balcony, enjoying the light breeze that
came rustling along the side of the hill, among the tree-tops, when my humble
historiographer Mateo, who was at my elbow, pointed out a spacious house, in
an obscure street of the Albaycin, about which he related, as nearly as I can
recollect, the following anecdote.
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