The Vega of Granada is about ten miles long, and seven miles broad; and being subjected to irrigation, is covered with perpetual verdure, with grain of every description, with gardens, with olive plantations, and with orange groves; and it is thickly studded with villages, and country houses, and cottages. This plain is bounded on the south-east, the east, and north-east, by a semi-circular range of high mountains called the Sierra Nevada, the summits of which are always less or more covered with snow; and when we call to mind the latitude of Granada, this informs us, without the assistance of trigonometry, that the elevation of these mountains is great. Upon the outposts of the Sierra stands the city of Granada—for the most part, built upon the gentle acclivities that lie between the mountains and the Vega; but some part of it standing upon the Vega itself. Two rivers, the Xenil and the Daro, flow through the city, and traverse the Vega. Although the mountains seem from the plain to rise directly behind the city, this is not precisely the fact; two ridges, from four hundred to six hundred feet in height, separated from each other by the Daro, lie between the city and the base of the Sierra: these directly overlook the city; and upon one of them is situated the chapel of St. Michael, while the other is entirely covered by the ruins of the Alhambra. Not only are these heights covered with wood and with verdure, but the whole city is intermingled with gardens and orangeries; and, inclosing within it so many monticules, which are mostly occupied by convents and convent gardens, there is a picturesqueness about the city itself, abstracted from its Alhambra or its environs, that is peculiarly its own.
From whatever point Granada may be contemplated, it is a sumptuous city; whether viewed from the plain, or from any of the neighbouring heights: even in walking the streets, vistas of astonishing beauty are occasionally discovered; and from the windows of my apartment in the Fonda del Comercio, I have never seen any thing more gorgeous than sunset upon the city of Granada; nor any thing more beautiful than the moonlight falling upon its gardens, and groves, and convents, and towers, and neighbouring heights, and snow-clad mountains.
The first morning after my arrival, I hastened to the Alhambra. I entered its precincts by the gate of Granada, and found myself in a shrubbery, shewing many marks of the unpardonable neglect with which all the magnificent monuments in Spain are treated, by those who preside over the destinies of that ill-governed country. I was first conducted to the Xeneralife, once the residence of Boabdil el Chico, the last of the Moorish kings. This building stands upon an elevation considerably higher than the Alhambra, and separated from it by a deep ravine. Some modern additions have been made to the Xeneralife; but these may easily be distinguished from the Moorish part of the building. In the palace of Boabdil, there is nothing particularly worthy of observation; but the myrtle groves and terraces are agreeable; and from the latter, there is a charming view over the Alhambra and its gardens.
The Xeneralife, which in the Arabic signifies a pleasure house, is said to have been built by Omar, who, in that delightful seclusion, gave himself entirely up to the enjoyment of music. The inscriptions on every part of the Alhambra, interpret the uses of the different buildings and chambers. These have all been copied and translated,—and, although a record of them would be tedious, I may perhaps be permitted to introduce two or three of the most interesting, as curious relics of Moorish customs. There is only one connected with the Xeneralife, which appears worthy of recording. It is on the arcades around a court.
“Charming palace! splendid art thou, and great as thou art splendid! all is bright around thee. Worthy art thou to be praised, for divinity is in all thy charms: flowers adorn thy garden; they nod upon their stalks, and fill the air with their sweet perfume. A breeze plays with the blossoms of the orange tree, and their delightful fragrance is wafted around. Hark! voluptuous music mingles with the gentle rustling of the leaves,—sweet harmony! and verdure and flowers encompass me. Thou, oh Abulgali! most excellent of kings; guardian of the faithful, and of the law,—thou art the object of my reverence. May God be ever with thee, and may he crown thy hopes! Thy greatness throwest dignity on all that thou doest. This apartment, dedicated to thee, is full of perfection and strength,—its duration will be coeval with our faith,—it is a wonder and a triumph.”
From the Xeneralife, I descended by a steep path shaded by fine elms; and crossing the ravine, entered the precincts of the Alhambra, by what is called the Gate of Iron. The remains of seven gates are passed before reaching the inner court, where Charles V. had the bad taste to project the erection of a palace, which yet remains in an unfinished state: close to this palace stands the Alhambra, the most perfect monument of Moorish magnificence that the world contains. Passing through an oblong court, with a colonnade at each end, I found myself in the Court of Lions, a fine and perfect specimen of Moorish taste. The Court, formerly paved with marble, has been converted into a garden; it is surrounded by a colonnade of one hundred and forty elegant white marble pillars; and in the centre, is a fountain supported by thirteen lions: there, the last of the Moorish kings were doubtless wont to retire from the council, to ruminate upon their misfortunes, and the probable termination of their empire.
Upon the alabaster bowl which the lions support, there is a long inscription,—great part of it is without beauty; and owing to the darkness in which the events of Moorish history are buried, it is for the most part unintelligible. This indeed is an observation which may apply to many of the inscriptions in the Alhambra. The conclusion of the inscription is as follows:—“The purity of the alabaster and of the water may vie with each other. If thou wouldst distinguish the water, look narrowly into the bowl; for both might be liquid, or both solid. The water seems to envy the beauty of the basin where it lies; and the basin is jealous of the crystal water. Beautiful is the stream that issues from my bosom, thrown high into the air by the profuse hand of Mahomed. His generosity excels the strength of the lion!”
From the court of Lions you enter various halls, each of them distinguished by the singularity, and some by the beauty of their walls and roofs, which are of the same materials as those of the Alcazar of Seville, but of better workmanship, and more vivid in colour. Of these halls, the most magnificent is the hall of the ambassadors, or audience chamber. The bed-chamber of the king and queen is a curious sample of Moorish taste, and throws some light, too, upon the customs of these days. There are two alcoves for the separate beds of the king and queen, with pillars before them; and in the middle of the chamber there is a marble fountain: the floor is of porcelain, and the only light is admitted through the door. Immediately adjoining the bed-room, are two baths. The boudoir of the queen is in a more elevated part of the building, in a circular tower, from which a magnificent prospect is enjoyed. Many foolish persons have torn away pieces of the fretwork from the walls, in different parts of the Alhambra; but the old woman who now accompanies the visitor, looks so keenly after her charge, that, unless she be accessible to bribery, I should think it difficult to commit a theft.
One of these gardens was formerly called Lindaraxa; and as an example of the extravagant, I shall quote the inscription which refers to this garden. “The beauty and the excellence that are in me, proceed from Mahomed. His goodness surpasses that of beings that have passed, and that are to come. Among five stars, three turn pale beside his superior brightness; my master gives lightness to the murkiest atmosphere: the stars sicken with love of him; and to them, he communicates the perfume of plants, and the sweet odour of virtues. Their business is to enlighten the firmament, else would they dart from their places, and seek his presence. By his command, stones are firmly rooted: it is his power that communicates to them their delicate workmanship; and by his will do they remain firm. The marble softens at his voice; and the light of his eyes scatters darkness. Where is there a garden like unto this? its verdure and its fragrance excel all others; and its freshness is diffused far around!”
I must not omit to make mention of the Hall of the Abencerrages, so called from an historical fact with which it is connected, and which is probably known to the reader. It was in the year 1491, when Abdali was king, that two great families, the Gomels and the Legris, conspired the ruin of the Abencerrages, the greatest of the Moorish families. To effect this, they invented a tale, by which they fixed dishonour upon the queen, and connected it with Albin Hamet, the chief of the family. The king in his fury, resolved to extirpate the family; and they were sent for to the Alhambra, one by one, and the moment they entered, each was beheaded beside an alabaster vase, which yet stands in the hall, and which is said to have overflowed with their blood. Thirty-five of the family fell victims; but the rest being warned by a page who escaped, they raised the city in their cause, penetrated the palace, and slew many of the Gomels and the Legris, who there defended the king, who took refuge in a neighbouring mosque. The conquest of Granada speedily followed this event.