"Up, then, ye faithful; leave your women, your children, your kindred, and your goods, and go out to the holy war!
"And thou, God, Lord of this present world and of that which is to come, fight for the armies of those who recognize thy unity! Cast down the unbelievers, the idolaters, and the enemies of thy holy faith! Overwhelm their standards, and give them, with whatever they possess, as a prey to the Mussulman!"
The preacher as he ends his discourse turns toward the congregation and exclaims, "Ask of God!" and begins to pray in silence.
All the faithful, with heads bowed to the ground, follow his example. The mubaliges chant, "Amen! Amen, O Lord of all being!" Burning like the heat which precedes the oncoming tempest, the enthusiasm of the multitude, restrained at first in awful silence, now breaks out into deep murmurs, which rise like the waves and swell through all parts of the temple, until finally the naves, the chapels, and the vaulted roofs resound to the echo of a thousand voices united in a single cry: "There is no God but Allah!"
The mosque of Cordova is even to-day, by universal consent, the most beautiful temple of Islam and one of the most marvellous monuments in the world.
When we left the mosque it was already long past the hour of the siesta, which everybody takes in the cities of Southern Spain, and which is a necessity by reason of the insupportable heat of the noon hours. The streets began to fill with people. "Alas!" said I to my companions, "how badly the silk hat looks in the streets of Cordova! How have you the heart to introduce the fashion-plates in this beautiful Oriental picture? Why do you not adopt the dress of the Moors?" Coxcombs pass, workmen, and girls: I looked at them all with great curiosity, hoping to find one of those fantastic figures which Doré has represented as examples of the Andalusian type, with that dark-brown complexion, those thick lips, and large eyes, but I saw none. Walking toward the centre of the city, I saw the first Andalusian women—ladies, girls and women of the middle classes—almost all small, graceful, and well-formed, some of them beautiful, many attractive in appearance, but the greater part neither one thing nor the other, as is the case in all countries. In their dress, with the exception of the so-called mantilla, they do not differ at all from the French women nor from those of our country—great masses of false hair in plaits, knots, and long curls, short petticoats, long plaited over-skirts, and boots with heels as sharp as daggers. The ancient Andalusian costume has disappeared from the city.
I thought that in the evening the streets would be crowded, but I saw only a few people, and only in the streets of the principal quarters; the others remain as empty as at the hour of the siesta. And one must pass through those deserted streets at night to enjoy Cordova. One sees the light streaming from the patios; one sees in the dark corners fond lovers in close colloquy, the girls usually at the windows, with a hand resting lightly on the iron grating, and the young men close to the wall in poetic attitudes, with watchful eyes, but not so watchful, however, as to make them take their lips from those hands before they discover that some one is passing; and one hears the sound of guitars, the murmur of fountains, sighs, the laughter of children, and mysterious rustlings.
The following morning, still stirred by the Oriental dreams of the night, I again began my wandering through the city. To describe all that is remarkable there one would require a volume: it is a very museum of Roman and Arabian antiquities, and one finds a profusion of martial columns and inscriptions in honor of the emperors; the remains of statues and bas-reliefs; six ancient gates; a great bridge over the Guadalquivir dating from the time of Octavius Augustus and restored by the Arabians; ruins of towers and walls; houses which belonged to the caliphs, and which still contain the columns and the subterranean arches of the bathing apartments; and everywhere there are doors, vestibules, and stairways that would delight a legion of archæologists.
Toward noon, as I was passing through a lonely little street, I saw a sign on the wall of a house beside a Roman inscription, Casa de huespedes. Almuerzos y comidas, and as I read I felt the gnawing, as Giusti says, of such a desperate hunger that I determined to give it a quietus in this little shop upon which I had stumbled. I passed through a little vestibule, and found myself in a patio. It was a poor little patio, without marble floor and without fountains, but white as snow and fresh as a garden. As I saw neither tables nor chairs, I feared I had mistaken the door and started to go out. A little old woman bustled out from I know not where and stopped me.
"Have you anything to eat?" I demanded.