“From the middle window of the Sala de Ambajadores the señor will find himself able to see very well,” she answered. “And there is still another patio, into which there is a better [pg 308]view from the gardens of the Generalife. Certainly the gardens are very high and far; but if the señor has a spy-glass of some sort? And if he chooses I can try to tell the young lady that he will be first in one place, then in the other, hoping for a sight of her. Let us say, in the afternoon between four and six at the Alhambra; after that, at the Generalife, till the sun is gone.”
This neat plan was worth an extra twenty-five peseta note, and I gave it. Afterwards, having no other personal affairs to distract my attention, I wandered through the streets of Granada and into the chill cathedral before going up to make acquaintance with the Carmen de Mata Moros.
When I had seen the villa, with its enchanting terraced garden, hanging on the hillside high above the Vega, a wild hope blazed within me that I might snatch Monica, persuade the English Consul to marry us, and keep her here for the honeymoon, flaunting my happiness in Carmona's face. Of course the idea was fantastic, but it gave me a few moments of happiness.
I lunched in the garden under the thick shade of nisperos trees, and before the time agreed upon I started to walk to the Alhambra.
Not for worlds would I have taken a guide to show the way. All my life, since the days when my mother told me legends of treasure hidden and Moorish warriors enchanted, the Alhambra had been a fairy dream to me. There was no one in the world, save only Monica, whose company I would have craved for this expedition. Other people's thoughts and impressions of the place might be better than mine, but I did not want to hear them; I wanted only my own.
Under the huge leaning elms, which people who trust guide-books attribute to Wellington, I wandered until I came to a great red tower, with a horseshoe arch for entrance. There on the keystone was the carved hand; beyond, over the arch within, the key; and remembering the legend that never would disaster come until the Hand had grasped the Key, I knew that this must be the Gate of Justice.
[pg 309] Now, a spell fell upon me. It was as if the Hand had come down to touch me on the shoulder, and give the Key to hidden wonders, which only I might be allowed to see. That was the fiction with which I pleased myself; for he who comes to the most famous of places is as truly a discoverer as he who finds a new world. No matter how much he has read, how many faithful photographs seen, he must discover everything anew, since it is certain that nowhere will he find anything more than he has within himself. The picture he sees will fit the frame his mind can give, and no one ever has, no one ever will, see there exactly what he sees. If a man's mind cannot create a beautiful frame, then the picture must have but a poor effect for him, and he will go away belittling it.
Now, I believed that I had been making a fine jewelled frame for this picture of the Alhambra, and I hoped that I deserved the Key which the Hand had lent.
Inside the gateway, when I had climbed a winding lane, I found myself in the great Place of the Cisterns, which, with the vast incongruous palace half finished by Charles the Fifth, I recognized from many pictures; but not yet would I look down over Granada and the Vega. I would wait until I could stand at a window in the Hall of the Ambassadors and see what I had been promised. So, without a glance over the parapet, I walked on to an open door, where stood two or three men in gold-laced hats. One moved resignedly forward to act as guide, but a word and a piece of silver convinced him that I was a person who might be trusted alone, though I lacked a student's ticket.
I passed through the room devoted to officialdom, and then—the time had come to use the key, for I was already in fairyland; the covers of the “Arabian Nights” had closed on me, and shut me in between the pages.