An inquiry here and there took me to the street without much delay. The palace, sacred to memories of Boabdil, his gentle Sultana Zorayda, and his stern mother Ayxa, was to be found on the outskirts of the Albaicín, that part of Granada once favoured by the Moorish aristocracy, now almost given up to the poorer Spaniards, and gypsies rich enough and sophisticated enough to desert their caves. Ferdinand and Isabel had granted the house to a rich Moorish noble who had fore-sworn his religion to help them in their wars, and who became the first Duque de Carmona, owner of many estates and many palaces.
My landlord had not been misinformed. The fine entrance, with its fifteenth century Spanish coat of arms over the Moorish portal, was kept by two civil guards. I walked up, and with the air of a tourist, inquired how soon the palace would be open to visitors. The men could not tell me. Was the Duke ill? They believed so. And as I could get nothing further from them I walked away.
Above, on the hill, clustered the red towers of the Alhambra. I fancied that in those towers there must be windows which overlooked the patio of Boabdil's old palace, and I resolved to prove this presently, but I was not yet ready to leave the Albaicín.
I had brought down my Kodak as an excuse for lingering, and now I began, within sight of Carmona's doors, to take leisurely snapshots. When I had been thus engaged for nearly half an hour, I saw a young woman, evidently a servant, leaving the palace with a small bundle under her arm; and without appearing to notice her, I strolled in the direction she was taking. Once beyond eyeshot of the civil guards, I spoke to the girl, taking off my hat politely.
“You are from the Duke of Carmona's?” I said. “I am an acquaintance of his, and intended to call, but I hear he is seeing no one.”
[pg 306] “That is true, señor,” replied the girl, a handsome creature of the gypsy type, with bold eyes which took in every detail of my features and clothing. “His Grace arrived very fatigued and is obliged to lie in bed; which is inconvenient, as there are foreign guests who must be so constantly entertained by Her Grace the Duchess, that she has no time to nurse her son.”
“I trust he has a clever doctor,” said I.
“Oh, a very clever one,” the girl answered eagerly. “Not an ordinary physician, but a wonderful person. My brother knows him well, and goes into the Sierra to find herbs and flowers for his medicines and balsams.”
Evidently the girl was proud of the acquaintance, and I humoured her.
“Such remedies are good in cases of fever and malaria,” I said.