To enter the Court of the Fish-pond is to be straightway translated to the palace of Haroun-al-raschid: Granada changes to Damascus. The Moorish arches, springing from slender palm-tree shafts, are of bewildering beauty; the walls, no longer forbidding blocks of stone, but pierced trellises, that turn sunlight and moonlight into patterns resembling so much Venetian filigree. “Surely they are needle-work turned to stone,” says a traveller of long ago; “or some great Sultán has built them with panels cut from caskets of Indian ivory, though the piecing be not seen. The myrtles grow green and glossy round the great marble tank, 150 feet long, which flows with mellow water, in which burnished fish—some apparently red-hot, others of molten silver—steer, flirt, skim, and splash. Never stop to think that the dry, whity-brown, tubular-tiled, sloping roofs
NORTH SIDE OF THE COURT OF THE FISH-POND.
ELEVATION OF AN ALCOVE IN THE COURT OF THE FISH-POND.
