SEVILLE
ALCAZAR—VIEW OF THE INTERIOR.
for six centuries, changed its original construction in such a degree that it no longer resembles, to-day, the original Oriental monument, although we have covered it with arabesques, and embellished it with mosaics and gilding.”
All that succeeding generations have constructed in the alcazar has contributed to deprive it of its Mohammedan character. Transformed into a lordly mansion of more modern epochs, one no longer sees there the voluptuous saloons of the harem, nor the silent spaces reserved for prayer, nor the baths, nor the fountains, nor the strong ramparts, supporting the galleries, which, by circular paths, communicated with the rich sleeping apartments, situated in the square towers. It is not that Arab art is in a different form here to that seen in other parts of Spain; but while the Moors always built palaces in close proximity to fortified places, they here combined the two, and for that reason they sacrificed the exterior decoration to the works of fortification and defence. On approaching the palace, one finds marks of grandeur, but one must not look for them in the structure, but rather in the numerous reparations and additions which have been made there, and also in the solid walls, dominating the ruins of those castles, which seem to protest eternally against the cold indifference with which so many generations have passed over them. And if, on the one hand, there is no doubt that this is the old wall or the ancient tower, on the other hand, the traveller, greedy for impressions left by a past world, finds nothing but square enclosures, gardens and rectangular saloons of the mansions of the 16th century. Here there is nothing so majestic as the Giralda; nothing so essentially Oriental as the mosque of Cordova; nothing so fantastic and so picturesque as the alcazar of Granada. One only sees here the chronicle of an art, carried out by a thousand artists, obeying different beliefs, and which presents rather the appearance of a game played by children who had invaded the spot where the most valued works of their ancestors were preserved, rather than the passionate conception of the terrible descendants of Hagar, who in fifty years invaded half the globe. But one still catches something of the spirit of an art that was almost a religion, as one lingers in the quiet gardens of the alcazar; the deep impress of the Moor will never be entirely obliterated from the courts and saloons of this palace of dreams. As Mr. W. M. Gallichan writes: “The nightingales still sing among the odorous orange bloom, and in the tangle of roses, birds build their nests. Fountains tinkle beneath gently waving palms; the savour of Orientalism clings to the spot. Here wise men discussed in the cool of summer nights, when the moon stood high over the Giralda, and white beams fell through the spreading boughs of lemon trees, and shivered upon the tiled pavements. In this garden the musicians played, and the tawny dancers writhed and curved their lissom bodies in dramatic Eastern dances.”