CHAPTER IV

GRANADA

Over two thousand feet above the sea stands the ancient city of Granada, once the teeming centre of the kingdom of the Moors and now a town of memories eloquent of the grandeur of older days. The province bearing its name is bounded on the north by sterile ranges, while close to the southern seaboard stretch the huge shoulders and serrated peaks of the noble Sierra Nevada, rivalling in height the chief summits of the Pyrenees. Between these ranges spread fertile vegas, or plains, rising here and there to over a thousand feet, a district of vineyards and olive groves, and semi-tropical plants find a favourable habitat.

Granada, though on the verge of an arid territory, is in a strip of great fertility, watered by the Genil and the Darro, the latter--the Hadarro of the Moors--a stream that is heavily taxed by the farmers for purposes of irrigation. Théophile Gautier praised the river of Granada for its beauty, but since his day the stream has shrunk, and nowadays the volume of water is insignificant, especially during a dry summer.

The waters of the Darro have a reputation for their healing qualities, and cattle that drink from it are said to recover quickly from diseases. Hence, in the ancient speech, the river had the title of "The Salutary Bath of Sheep." Under the Moors the environs of Granada were in the highest state of cultivation, and they are still very productive. The land yields plenteous wine and oil. The chief crops are grains of various sorts. Hemp and flax flourish, and oranges, lemons, and figs are a source of income to the agriculturists. Granada is also famed for its mulberry trees, whose leaves provide food for the silk caterpillar, though the silk trade is in a state of sad decay.

The soil around the city never rests. There is no waste of land. Oranges and pomegranates grow profusely. The cactus is cultivated for the production of the cochineal insect. Clovers yield several cuttings each year in this fecund territory.

In the neighbouring mountains there are rich veins of marble, and jasper and amethyst are found. Yet the mining industry in the Sierra Nevada remains to be developed. The Granadines are hardly a commercial population, though numerous crafts are practised in their city. Factories for the production of sugar from beetroot have been erected in recent years, and it is hoped that this industry will increase.

The life of Granada in its lighter aspects can be well studied on the promenade of the Salón, one of the most beautiful parades in Europe. Here, under the shade of luxuriant trees, amid handsome fountains, and by parterres decked richly with many flowers, the people of the city stroll upon summer evenings after the great heat of the day. From the Salón you gain a superb view of the purple Sierra Nevada, which at sunset wears a wealth of changing hues.

A walk along the promenade precedes the evening gathering in the patios of the houses of the upper and middle classes, when to the sound of guitar and the rattle of castanets, young and old dance together. At these tertulia, or evening parties, singing alternates with dancing the bolero and the jota. And later, when the lights are dim, and the watchman tramps slowly through the streets, you see the lovers, the "novios" waiting beneath the windows of the adored fair ones, or lightly strumming serenades on their guitars.

At festival times the city is all animation. The anniversary of the taking of Granada is celebrated on January 2, when a procession is formed and proceeds to the Cathedral. Corpus Christi is another feast day, and there are two fairs during the year, one in June and the other in September.

But it is Granada of the past rather than of the present that holds us during a sojourn in the city of hills and vistas. It is the scene of dreams, a city of meditation. You court serenity rather than hilarity amid these haunted streets and silent ruins. The Arabs had a saying, referring to one who was sad, "He is thinking of Granada." It is this spirit, perhaps, which prevails in the patios of the Alhambra and amid the orange trees of the Generalife Gardens. And yet it is not true depression. It is a sense of the glory that has been, a meditativeness which is induced by the somnolence of the scene, and fostered by the languorous atmosphere of the South.

An ancient legend, often rehearsed by chroniclers, ascribed the founding of the city to certain descendants of Noah. It stated that Tubal settled in Spain and populated the country. There is some evidence that the province of Granada was the first district in Spain peopled by aliens. The founder of a town on the site of modern Granada is alleged to have been the mythical Iberus, who built Illiberis, which has been referred to as the original city. At any rate Illiberis existed in the Roman days, for it was a municipium under the rule of Augustus. The town was also the scene of an ecclesiastical council in the fourth century.

Plundered by the Vandals, and won by the Visigoths, Illiberis was in decay at the time of the coming of the Moors to the Iberian Peninsula. With the conquest of Andalusia, the town of Granada first came into existence.

At this period the Berbers overran the territory, though the Moorish authors relate that settlers from Damascus were the first Eastern colonizers of Granada.

The greatest obscurity shrouds the history of the city. It is strange that the writers of medieval times so rarely allude to Granada. About the year 860, a war raged over Andalusia between the native Moslems and their foreign rulers, the chief leader of the former being Omar Ben Hafsûn. Under his lieutenant, Nabil, an attack was made on Granada, and we read that some exultant verses written by the belligerents were attached to an arrow and propelled over the city wall. In these verses the words _Kalat-al-hamra_ ("the Red Castle") appear. This first reference to Al-Hamra suggests that an edifice for defence stood on the hill now occupied by the Alhambra.

In 886 Omar Ben Hafsûn appears to have wrested Granada from the Khalifa of Cordova. A few years later Omar was conquered, and retiring to the Castle of Bobastro, he embraced the Christian faith, in which he died.

Zawi Ben Ziri, a Berber, first established Granada as a kingdom in 1013. Gayangos, the Spanish historian, states that Illiberis--or Elvira, as it was called at this time--was a dwindling city and that Habus Ibn Makesen, nephew to Zawi Ben Ziri, founded a new town and capital.

Habus was a builder as well as a warrior. He is the putative founder of the old Kasba, or citadel, in the Albaicin quarter, which was added to by his heir, Badis, who succeeded him in rule. The king is also said to have built the Casa del Gallo de Viento, in the same quarter, where he probably resided. Badis proved an ambitious and warlike monarch, for he enlarged his dominions widely, and even subdued the resolute hillfolk of the Alpujarras. He conquered Malaga, and made plans to besiege Seville. But his force was routed at Cabra by the famous Cid Campeador, Ruy Diaz de Bivar, the ally of the sultan of that city. To Badis is attributed a persecution of the Jews, who numbered several thousands in Elvira, and a terrible slaughter decimated their ranks.

At the advent of the Almoravides, a fierce sect of Northern Africa, Granada was captured (1090) by Abd-ul-Aziz. The city now rose in importance. Soon after the Almoravide settlement, the followers of Islam in Granada attacked the Christians of the city and destroyed their church by fire. The unfortunate Christians appealed for help to Alfonso of Aragon, and the king came to their relief at the head of a strong army. In the combat at Anzul the Almoravides were worsted. Alfonso before retiring laid waste the fertile plain, and left the Christians to make the best of their position. His action had little effect upon the Almoravides, for in 1126 numbers of Christians were banished to Barbary and the rest bitterly oppressed.

The doom of the Almoravides came in 1148. A mightier host, the rapacious and fanatical Almohades, surged over the city. The Moorish inhabitants, strengthening their forces with the aid of Christians and Jews, invited Ibrahim Ibn Humushk to lead them to the expulsion of the new sectaries. The invaders took refuge in the Kasba, and sought relief from Africa, whence an army was despatched. This force was beaten by Humushk, and the Granadines secured the assistance of the Sultan of Murcia and Valencia, whose troops attacked the Kasba, which was held by the Almohades. On the arrival of a second army, they made a sally and inflicted severe losses upon the soldiers of the sultan and his Christian allies. After this success, the Almohades endeavoured to pacify the unruly among their neighbours. Their governor, Sidi Abu Abrahim Ishak, was a tactful and benevolent leader. He improved the city, built a palace for himself, and made the Kasba a stronger fortress. The power of the Almohades was, however, insecure. Ben Hud, a potent chieftain, who had gained a strip of territory on the coast, now discerned that the hour was ripe for an assault upon Cordova, Jaen, and Granada. His domination was not permanent. Mohammed al Ahmar, uniting with the foes of Ben Hud, held Seville for a brief space, and then drove his rival to Almeria, where he was murdered in 1237.

Granada now came under the sway of Al Ahmar, and in the hour of his triumph he was proclaimed monarch of a large part of southern Spain. For two hundred and fifty years the State founded by him resisted the Christian hosts. Granada rose to the zenith of power and prosperity. Its first sultan was a man of high character, courteous, dignified, and astute. He reigned long, and spent himself in affairs of government and in military enterprises, though he used every means to maintain peace.

Al Ahmar's last expedition was undertaken against the Spanish forces and the governors of Guadix and Malaga (their allies) when he was eighty years of age, and failing in strength through illness. A fall from his horse brought him to his end. He expired in the arms of his ally, the Infante Don Felipe, and under cover of darkness his body was borne to Granada, where it was entombed in the burial ground of Assabica.

The sovereignty now descended to Al Ahmar's son, named Mohammed II., who ascended the throne in 1273. He was renowned for his wisdom in the law, and during his reign of twenty-nine years he proved a worthy son of a great father.

During his negotiations with Alfonso X. at Seville, Mohammed was the victim of an artifice of Queen Violante. Upon being asked by the queen a favour, he yielded in accordance with the chivalric notions of the time, but his chagrin was deep when he learned that he had agreed to a year's truce to the rebels within his dominion. Smarting under this device, he made plans for the annihilation of his foes. Now the friend of the Spaniards against the African, now the ally of his own co-religionists, Mohammed's career was one of strife. He died in 1302, able to boast that he had not lost a particle of the soil bequeathed to him by his father. Mohammed III. was, like his father, a forceful sovereign. He applied himself rigorously to the government of his territory, often spending the whole twenty-four hours in affairs of State. In 1306 he seized Ceuta, and brought a number of the conquered to Granada. But reverses came when the governor of Almeria rebelled and joined hands with the King of Aragon. Meanwhile the Castilians attacked Algeciras, and Mohammed, between two foes, was brought to bay. He extricated himself from danger by yielding four fortresses and paying a heavy sum. But his troubles were not at an end. Returning to Granada, he was surrounded by conspirators in his palace, and forced to yield the throne to his brother, Abu-l-Juyyush Muley Nasr. Humiliated and defeated, Mohammed retired to Almuñecar, where he lived in seclusion.

Nasr's first coup after seizing the throne was a successful attack upon Don Jaime at Almeria. Unfortunately a conspiracy was fomented by his nephew Abu-l-Walid. Nasr, who seems to have had a fit of apoplexy, was thought to be dead when Mohammed III. was brought back to Granada. He was, however, alive upon the return of the lawful sovereign; and on the authority of some historians he ordered that his rival should be put to death, while other writers assert that Mohammed was again banished to Almuñecar.

Soon after, Nasr was assailed by the followers of Abu-l-Walid, and forced to yield. As a solatium he was allowed to rule over the town of Guadix, whither he retired. Al Khattib relates that Nasr was a philosopher, and versed in the sciences of astronomy and mathematics.

Abu-l-Walid was an implacable foe of the Christians. His assault on Gibraltar was frustrated; but he gained a signal victory over the Castilians in 1319, when the princes Pedro and Juan were killed. Following up this success, he marched upon the towns of Martos and Baza, and ravaged the country. It was at the latter town that artillery was first used in Spain.

Hailed with joy, the victorious Abu-l-Walid returned to Granada bearing the spoils of war. Among the captives was a maiden of unusual beauty, whom he had wrested from an inferior officer. This act so incensed the chieftain that three days after he stabbed his ruler outside the Alhambra. Dying from the wound, Abu-l-Walid exacted an oath of fealty from the eminent and powerful to his eldest son, Mulai Mohammed Ben Ismaïl. This command was fulfilled before the sultan's minister disclosed the death of his royal master.

The boy king, Mohammed IV., was soon busy quelling factions in his State, and repelling the African army, which took in turn Marbella, Algeciras, and Ronda. He also defeated the Castilians in several desperate encounters, but lost the day at Gibraltar.

Mohammed IV., who was assassinated at Gibraltar by his allies the Moroccans, was succeeded in 1333 by his brother Yusuf I. This king was a hater of warfare; he sought the peaceful reform of the community rather than the expansion of his kingdom. Under his rule Granada prospered and the condition of the people was bettered. Yusuf I. was disturbed in the tranquillity of his noble palace at Malaga by the appeals of the African potentates for his aid in reconquering Spain. Compelled to join the invaders, he sustained a severe disaster at the Salado, and was forced to acquire peace at the cost of yielding Algeciras. He was murdered by a madman in 1358.

Mohammed V. was the next sovereign. He was a worthy son of his high-principled father, Yusuf; but fate decreed that his reign should not prove peaceful, for soon after his accession, his younger brother Ismaïl conspired with certain officers of state and made an attempt to gain the throne. Upon a night in August, 1360, about one hundred conspirators climbed the walls of the Kasba and after killing the wizir, proclaimed Ismaïl as sultan. Mohammed, who was without the palace at the time, essayed to enter; but he was received with a flight of arrows, and mounting a horse he galloped away to Guadix. Here he was welcomed, and from this town he sped to Marbella, thence to Africa, where he received the aid of Abu-l-Hasan. With troops lent to him he returned to Spain, hoping to crush the usurper. But Abu-l-Hasan capriciously ordered the return of his soldiers, and Mohammed retreated to Ronda with a few adherents.

Dissension had arisen meanwhile between Ismaïl and Abu Saïd, one of the chief conspirators, who was burning to take the reins of government in his own hands. Ismaïl was besieged by Abu Saïd, and upon venturing out of his palace was slain.

Fresh trouble arose in Granada, for Pedro of Castile came to the assistance of the lawful ruler. But Mohammed, witnessing the ravage of the district by the Christian army, was far from receiving the invader with open arms. "For no empire in the world would I sacrifice my country," cried the sultan. Thereupon the King of Castile retired, and Abu Saïd, mistaking the reason of his return to Seville, went thither to beg his alliance. The story of the sultan's murder, at the instigation of Pedro the Cruel, has often been told. Abu Saïd was done to death at Seville, and the resplendent ruby which was taken from him was presented to the Black Prince of England, and is still preserved among the regalia of England.

Mohammed then returned to his capital. With the exception of a rebellion under Ali Ben Nasr, he passed twenty years of peace. Granada became a more thriving city, and under the sultan's clement administration, it was the resort of traders of all nations and the centre of culture in the south. According to Mendoza, the inhabitants of Granada numbered about 420,000 in the reign of Mohammed V., but it is probable that the number was wildly over-estimated.

Yusuf II. followed Mohammed V. He was suspected of favouring the Christians. He certainly released all the captives of that faith, and restored them to their own country. This act appears to have incited his son Mohammed to rise against the throne. Yusuf was at first disposed to relinquish his sovereignty, for he was a lover of peace; but on the advice of an ambassador from Morocco he raised an army and advanced on Murcia.

At this period the King of Castile was Enrique III., an incapable monarch in defiance of whose orders Don Martin de la Barbuda, the Master of Calatrava, headed an advance into the kingdom of Yusuf. The force was, however, entirely routed by the Moors. Soon after (1395) Yusuf, the pacific sovereign, was dead--the victim, it is said, of a poisoned potion, in the form of a tonic sent him by the Sultan of Fez.

The first exploit of Yusuf's son Mohammed was a visit to Toledo, with twenty-five mounted attendants, where he appeared before Enrique III. and besought a renewal of the truce. The armistice was disregarded by the governor of Andalusia, who invaded the Moorish dominions, till Mohammed, in reprisal, seized the citadel of Ayamonte. At Jijena he was defeated, and was forced to plead for peace. He was at the point of death, when the idea seized him to secure the government of Granada for his son by the assassination of his brother. The governor of Salobreña was commanded to put to death the prince whom he had in his keeping. The doomed man asked leave to finish the game of chess in which he was engaged, and before either player could cry "Checkmate," the news came that the prince's brother was dead and that he had been declared sultan. Yusuf III. was faced with difficulties immediately upon his accession. Antequera fell into the hands of the Castilians, led by the Infante Fernando. The defenders were slain, and only about two thousand of the townsmen outlived the rigours of the siege. The survivors were allowed to settle in Granada, and they gave the name of Antequeruela to the suburb.

When the natives of Gibraltar revolted, and declared allegiance to Fez, the sultan of that State sent his brother Abu Saïd to secure the town. Abu Saïd, being left to the mercy of the enemy, was seized and brought to Granada, where he was shown a letter from the ruler of Fez desiring that he might be despatched. With this request the generous Yusuf refused to comply. He released his captive and furnished him with money and troops with which he left for Africa. The brother who had planned his death was hurled from the throne, and till Abu Saïd's death Granada did not want an ally.

In rapid succession sultans now flit across the lurid page of Granada's history. It is a gloomy tale of incessant civil strife and of unsuccessful warfare with the Christians. Rulers are expelled from their thrones by pretenders who themselves fall victims to the poignards of their partisans. Sovereigns purchase their disputed crowns by selling the honour and independence of their country to the foreigner. To trace the miserable vicissitudes of the careers--we cannot call them reigns--of Mohammed VII., Mohammed VIII., Yusuf IV., and Saïd Ben Ismaïl, would be to weary and disgust you with a nation whose stubborn fight against overwhelming odds should command our respect.

The last act in the protracted drama began with the accession of Mulai Hasan in the year 1465. With his famous reply to the Castilian ambassadors who demanded tribute, "Here we manufacture only iron spear-heads for our enemies," the final campaign began. Every incident of that war has been made familiar to us Anglo-Saxons by the pen of Prescott. In his pages long ago most of us read of the taking of Zahara by the Moors and of the brilliant surprise of the fortress of Alhama by the gallant Marquis of Cadiz. We have not forgotten the wailing of the Moors, "Ay de mi, Alhama!" nor the domestic revolution that followed when the old sultan was hurled from his throne by his son Boabdil. Poor Boabdil, on whom the blame of all his country's disasters has been laid by historians, Christian and Arab! Weak or foolhardy, the "Little King" fought like a Trojan against Ferdinand and Isabella for his country, and against his father and his uncle for his crown, at one and the same time. He was taken prisoner by Ferdinand and is said to have signed a treaty surrendering his dominions to the Catholic Sovereigns. This is rendered improbable by his comparatively generous treatment at the end of the war, when he had resisted the Spaniards to the uttermost, and fought them many times after his release from captivity. Desperate deeds of valour were done on both sides, though the strategy of the Spanish commanders does not appear to have been of a very high order, since, with the whole of Spain at their back, it took them eleven years to conquer a small kingdom distracted by three rival rulers. The old sultan retired from the contest, as finally did his brother, the brave Zaghal. When the Christians were preparing a final assault on the doomed city, Boabdil rode out from the Alhambra, for the last time, on the morning of the memorable 2nd of January, 1492. Ferdinand with a brilliant cavalcade awaited him on the banks of the Genil. The keys were handed over, a hurried exchange of formal courtesies, and the last ruler of the Spanish Moors passed away into exile and obscurity. The rays of the wintry sun glinted on the great silver cross which was hoisted on the Torre de la Vela in token that the reign of Mohammed was for ever at an end in Spain.

Yes, at an end. On that morning, Ferdinand and Isabella accomplished the task begun by Pelayo at Covadonga, seven hundred and seventy-four years before. The Moorish dominion in Spain had endured little short of eight centuries. It was as if the descendants of Harold Godwin were to arise and overthrow the existing English monarchy. But what is most remarkable is that the petty State of Granada had survived the break-up of the great Moorish empire in the west by two hundred and fifty years. Such a race deserved a manlier if not a more beautiful monument than the Alhambra.

What followed the extinction of the Nasrid monarchy is not pleasant reading. The rights and privileges guaranteed the conquered were soon swept aside. The mild Archbishop de Talavera, the humane Tendilla, were superseded in the government of the city by fanatics more after Isabella's heart. Systematic persecution of the luckless Moslems ensued. They revolted, and their revolt was quenched with their own blood. They were intimidated, browbeaten, imprisoned, condemned, and burned. Their language, costume, and creed were banned. They were ordered to embrace Christianity under pain of death, and forbidden to quit the country. They appealed to Egypt, but it is a long way from the banks of the Genil to those of the Nile. Finally (and one hears of it with relief) they were all expelled from the country. As a race they perished utterly. The art, the civilization, which they had learnt on Spanish soil, they left buried in Spanish ground, and it was a long time before it was disinterred.

The price Spain paid for national unity was a heavy one, but it was worth it. When we turn to Turkey, can anyone say that a united Spain would have been possible, with the fairest of her provinces and cities and the whole of her southern seaboard in possession of a people alien in race, tongue and creed?

With Oriental people, the history of the palace is the history of the State. At Granada every traveller turns instinctively towards the Alhambra as the point of supreme interest. The famous pile is to the city what the Mezquita is to Cordova--not quite, perhaps, since Granada contains more than one building of intrinsic interest.

The Alhambra has been so often described (by the present writer among others) that it is not easy to say anything new in regard to it, or even to avoid identity of language with other writers in the description of certain of its parts. Yet it would be impossible to give any account of Granada without some notice of this famous building. To begin with, I must impress on those about to visit it for the first time that the Alhambra is not a single palace, but properly speaking is the name given to a fortified eminence lying to the south-east of the city, and including two palaces, a citadel, and a multitude of private residences. In its nature it may be compared with the Acropolis of Athens and the far-distant Castle of Bamborough. The name, as most people are aware, is derived from _Kalat al hamra_--"the Red Castle," to adopt a translation which I have never seen disputed. (While not pretending to rank as an Arabist, I have not failed to notice that an infinite number of words put forward as Arabic by writers on the Spanish Moors are unintelligible to Syrian and Egyptian Arabs, and, which is more to the point, to many Hindu students of Arabic.) In shape the hill has been cleverly compared by Ford to a grand piano. Rearward it abuts on the Cerro del Sol ("the Mountain of the Sun"), to which Washington Irving alludes so often.

To the south of the Alhambra hill lies another and a narrower spur, which is crowned near the town end by the Vermilion Towers, or Torres Bermejas; on the north-east rises the hill of the Generalife, laid out in gardens. The townward extremity of the Alhambra is washed at the foot by the river Darro, and is crowned by the Torre de la Vela, of which more anon.

To reach the Alhambra you ascend from the Plaza Nueva in the heart of the town by the steep and narrow Calle Gomeres. This street is laid out to attract and cater for tourists, who are greeted here with a civility and cordiality not always conspicuous in the rest of the town. Half-way up the toilsome ascent you will probably be waylaid by a theatrically-attired personage who will accost you in bad French with the information that he is the chief of the gipsies. The costume he wears was given to his father or grandfather by Fortuny--one of the rare examples of artists condescending to manufacture the picturesque. The chief will endeavour to engage you in conversation, and will offer you his photograph at fifty centimes a copy. If you have a camera he will allow you to take his portrait for a consideration. It seems incredible that a human being could be so much of a nuisance and yet remain in good health and spirits.

The dragon having been successfully circumvented, you enter the Hesperides, or in other words, the charming Alamedas of the Alhambra. These groves occupy the deep depression between the famous hill and the Vermilion Towers. They are planted with magnificent elms, sent hither, I believe, from England by the Duke of Wellington. They have thriven well in Spanish soil, and harbour a colony of nightingales and other singing-birds, unusually numerous for this land of passion, where wines are rich and birds are rare. The "bulbul," as certain writers love to call it, sings very sweetly in these leafy retreats, a statement some travellers who persist in coming at the wrong season will not hesitate to contradict. I must admit that the bird is as elusive as the "alpengluh," or as the hunter's moon at Tintern. It is always cool here on the slope of the Alhambra. Even the fierce rays of the Andalusian sun cannot penetrate the thick leafage. Rills bubbling forth from the red sides of the hill, or tumbling over its edge, keep the roots of the trees perennially moist and feed a dense under-growth. On summer afternoons this is the only spot in Granada where you may sit in comfort. Meanwhile, up and down in quick succession pass the sandalled water-carriers hurrying to fill their skins with the precious fluid and to dispense it in the scorched, thirsty town below. "Agua-a-ah!" Their prolonged nasal drawling cry comes back to me as I write, and I seem to hear the rapid patter of their feet and to see the light cutting chequers on the shadow of the trees. A great man is the water-carrier, loved and respected by all the people of southern Spain. We who live in the humid sea-girt North can little understand the longing for clear, cool water, the reverence for its dispensers, that must ever be felt in the South. How constantly wells are referred to in the Bible: "As the hart panteth after the water brooks," "With joy shall ye draw waters from the wells of salvation." How significant are these beautiful passages for those that have journeyed to the South!

Reluctantly withdrawing from this delightful spot, you must climb the hill to the right of the entrance--there is a winding path to the summit. Here you find the Torres Bermejas--a group of exceedingly ancient and not very dilapidated towers, used as a military prison. They date, it is believed, from the days before the Zirite dynasty, but you will not be tempted to examine them attentively, for the purlieus are of the most uninviting description. The adjoining cottages are peopled by rascally-looking men and slatternly women, who would be better, one would think, inside than just outside a gaol.

In ancient days an embattled wall connected these towers with the opposite point of the Alhambra, closing the mouth of the valley, which was not then the pleasaunce it is now, but an arid ravine used as the burial ground of the fortress. The entrance to the valley is now through the Puerta de las Granadas, built by order of Charles V. Taking the path to the left, we soon reach the fountain in the Renaissance style, erected in 1545 by Pedro Machuca, by order of the Conde de Tendilla. It is ornamented with the imperial shield and the heads of the three river-gods, Genil, Darro, and Beiro. The medallions represent Alexander the Great, Hercules slaying the hydra, Phryxus and Helle, and Daphne pursued by Apollo. The laurels growing out of the distressed damsel's head give her the appearance of a Sioux brave. A few steps beyond we reach the famous Puerta de la Justicia, so called because within it the Moorish sultans or their kadis administered justice--or it may have been merely law. This entrance is formed by two towers of reddish brick, placed back to back, and united by an upper storey. We look at once for the hand and key so often referred to by Irving, and distinguish them with difficulty--the first over the outermost horseshoe arch, the latter over the middle arch. Opinion is divided as to the meaning of these symbols. The key is supposed by some to signify the power of God to unlock the gate of Heaven to the true believer, while the hand appears to have been regarded as a talisman against the evil eye. A winding corridor leads through the gate into the citadel, past an inscription celebrating the Conquest in 1492, and an altar now enclosed within a sort of cupboard.

This gate is placed at right angles to the wall which girdles the hill and runs along its edge, following all its inequalities of level. It is in fairly good preservation, but the rampart walk has disappeared here and there. Of the square mural towers a great many remain--some hopelessly ruinous, others inhabited by the guardians of the domain or their widows and relations. The towers on the south-west side, as far as I could judge, were better adapted for defence than those on the north-east, where the width of the windows would have greatly embarrassed the defence. The area enclosed by the outer wall was divided, it seems, by two cross walls into what, in the medieval parlance, we would call the outer, middle and inner wards. To the last corresponded the citadel proper or Kasba (Alcazaba, the Spaniards call it), whose massive walls rise to your left on emerging from the Puerta de la Justicia. This is the oldest part of the fortress. It occupies the extremity of the plateau, which is marked by the tall, square Torre de la Vela, or watch tower, whereon a silver cross was planted by the "Tercer Rey," Cardinal Mendoza, to announce the occupation of the Alhambra by the Spaniards. Here also is a bell which can be heard as far off as Loja, and which, if struck with sufficient force by a maiden, is said to have the faculty of procuring her a husband. The view from the platform is noble. The dazzling white city is spread out beneath, in front stretches the Vega, to the south the eyes rest lovingly on the white streaks of the Sierra Nevada.

Upon this tower I met a French entomologist, who announced that he should not trouble to visit any other part of the Alhambra, and was, in fact, surprised to learn that there was anything more to see. His horizon was bounded by the Lepidoptera, on one side, and the Coleoptera (I think that is the word) on the other. After all, archæologists take no more interest in black beetles than entomologists do in buildings. Incidentally, I should think Granada an admirable place for the intimate study of insects.

From the Torre de las Armas, a road led from the citadel down the declivity to the town, crossing the Darro by the ruined Puente del Cadi. On the inner side the citadel is strengthened by the picturesque Torre del Homenage--a name often given to towers in Spain. The open space before it, where the water-carriers gather round the well, was a comparatively deep ravine in Moorish times, and was not levelled up till after the fall of Boabdil. On the opposite side--facing the Torre del Homenage--it was bounded by what I will call the wall of the middle ward, which ran across from the Torre de las Gallinas to near the Puerta de la Justicia, and of which only the gatehouse, the beautiful Puerta del Vino, remains.

This admitted to the area which contained the palaces and also the little town of the Alhambra--inhabited by persons attached to the court, the ulema, chiefs of such powerful tribes as the Beni Serraj and the Beni Theghri, discarded sultanas, ex-favourites, soldiers of fortune, plenipotentiaries and envoys, and a crowd of parasites and hangers-on. To-day the population is limited chiefly to one little street, composed of pensions, photographers' shops and estancos. The plan of the whole fortress no doubt varied from age to age, but in the main agreed with that according to which most European strongholds were constructed. There was the outer wall with its mural towers and gatehouses; a strong inner ward, in place of a keep shut off by a ditch or ravine; and two or more other enclosures, each defended by a wall with a fortified entrance. It does not seem that the portcullis and drawbridge were used by the Moorish engineers.

While the Kasba is generally attributed to an earlier dynasty, the outer wall and the other Moorish buildings are almost unanimously ascribed to Al Ahmar and his successors of the Nasrid dynasty. To reach the Alhambra Palace, called pre-eminently by foreigners the Alhambra and by the Spaniards the Alcazar, or Palacio Arabe, you pass across the plaza, leaving the unfinished Palace of Charles V. to your right. Behind it you find not an imposing and gorgeous structure, but what appears to be a collection of tile-roofed sheds. A mean, characterless entrance admits you to the far-famed palace.

The building belongs to the last stage of Spanish-Arabic art, when the seed of Mohammedan ideas and culture had long since taken root in the soil and produced a style purely local in many of its features. Some authorities trace the first principles of Arabic architecture back to the Copts; the Spaniards argue that their style is derived from Byzantine works they found before them in Andalusia. The germs of Arabic art are certainly not, if travellers' tales be true, to be found in Arabia. The Saracen conquerors were warriors, not artists, and their ideas of form and ornament were undoubtedly borrowed--like their vaunted culture--from the more civilized nations with which they came in contact. With Morocco just across the strait, it is not safe to claim too much of native genius and refinement for the Moor. Whatever may have been the primitive models of Andalusian architecture, as time went by it lost much of the dignity and simplicity of its earliest examples--such as the Giralda and the Mezquita. The Moors of Granada had wearied of the fanaticism and austerity of Islam. If not precisely decadent, they had lost the fire and enthusiasm of youth, and wanted to enjoy a comfortable old age. If the palace we are about to enter seems in parts more like the bower of an odalisque than the seat of royalty, we must remember that the sultans wanted to enjoy life here, and had no fancy for the stern, military-looking palaces of their Christian rivals. Your Oriental, like the cat, values luxury very highly, and yet, from our point of view, does not seem to secure it. A European would have found himself hopelessly uncomfortable at the court of Al Ahmar and Mohammed V.

Architecturally the Alhambra Palace has little merit. It is impossible to trace any order in the distribution of its parts, which ought not of course to be expected in a building repeatedly added to in the course of two and a half centuries. Moreover, a portion was demolished to make room for the Palace of Charles V. The Moorish builders were fond of conceits which our taste condemns. They liked to conceal the supports of a heavy tower, and to leave it seemingly suspended in the air. There is nothing imposing about the edifice, nothing stately. Its great charm consists in its decoration, which is wonderful and, in its own line, beyond all praise. It is based on the strictest geometrical plan, and every design and pattern may be resolved into a symmetrical arrangement of lines and curves at regular distances. The intersection of lines at various angles is the secret of the system. All these lines flow from a parent stem, and nothing accidental or extraneous is permitted. The same adhesion to sharply-defined principles is conspicuous in the colour-scheme. On the stucco only the primary colours are used; the secondary tints being reserved for the dados of mosaic or tile work. The green seen on the groundwork was originally blue. To-day, when the white parts have assumed the tint of old ivory and time has subdued the vivid colouring, the effect is more harmonious than it could have been originally.

Epigraphy, or long flowing inscriptions, proclaiming the merits of the sultans or of the chambers themselves, enters largely into the decoration. Those who can read these at a glance must find the halls less monotonous than most people are likely to do. The beauty of the ornamentation consists in its exquisite symmetry, and this is not apparent to every comer, who may fail to realize with Mr. Lomas "that the exact relation between the irregular widths of cloistering on the long and short sides of the court [of the Lions] is that of the squares upon the sides of a right-angled triangle"!

The inscription that most frequently recurs in the decoration is the famous "There is no conqueror but God"--the words used by Al Ahmar on his return from the siege of Seville, in deprecation of the acclamations of his subjects. The newer parts are readily recognizable by the yoke and sheaf of arrows, the favourite devices of Ferdinand and Isabella, whose initials, F and Y, are also seen; and by the Pillars of Hercules and the motto "Plus Oultre," denoting work executed by order of Charles V.

The oldest part of the building--by which I mean that which appears to have been the least altered--is round about the Patio de la Mezquita, more properly named "del Mexuar," after the divan or "meshwâr" that held its sittings here. The southern façade of this small court reminds one very much of the front of the Alcazar at Seville. From this you enter the disused chapel, an uninteresting apartment consecrated in 1629. The Moorish decoration has almost completely disappeared, but much of the work in the little apartment adjacent, called the Sultan's Oratory, seems to be original. There never was a mosque here, but there may have been a private praying-place. Yusuf I. is supposed to have been stabbed here. The tragic deed was more probably done at the great mosque outside the palace where the Alhambra parish church now stands. From the Patio del Mexuar a tunnel called the Viaducto leads to the Patio de la Reja, the Baths, and the Garden of Daraxa.

The Court of the Myrtles (Patio de las Arrayanes, or de la Alberca) is the first entered by the visitor. It is an oblong space, the middle of which is occupied by a tank of bright green water. This is bordered by trimly kept hedges of myrtle. The side walls are modern, and do not deserve attention. The front to the right on entering is very beautiful. It is composed of two arcaded galleries, one above the other, with a smaller closed gallery--a sort of triforium--interposed. The arches spring from marble columns, with variously decorated capitals. The central arch of the lowest gallery rises nearly to the cornice, and is decorated in a style which Contreras thought suggestive of Indian architecture. Fine lattice work closes the seven windows of the triforium. The upper gallery is equally graceful, but looks in imminent danger of collapse. Above a similar but single arcade at the opposite end of the court rises the square massive upper storey of the Tower of Comares, with its crenellated summit. To reach its interior we cross the gallery beneath a little dome painted with stars on a blue ground, and a long parallel apartment (Sala de la Barca) gutted by fire in 1890, and enter the spacious Hall of the Ambassadors (Sala de los Embajadores), the largest hall in the Alhambra. Here was held the final council which decided the fate of Islam in Spain. Looking upwards we behold the glorious airy dome of larch-wood with painted stars. The decoration is magnificent--mostly in red and black--and may be divided into four zones: (1) a dado of mosaic tiles or azulejos; (2) stucco work in eight horizontal bands, each of a different design; (3) a row of five windows once filled with stained glass on each side; (4) a carved wooden cornice, supporting the roof. On three sides of the hall are alcoves, each with a window, the one opposite the entrance having been near the Sultan's throne.

The Hall of the Ambassadors probably never looked very different from what it is now. It was never a private apartment. We can imagine it occupied, when no function was proceeding, by a few slaves dozing on mats or reclining dog-like on the richly carpeted floor, ready, however, to spring up and make the lowest of salaams as some bearded dignity entered.

This splendid hall and the other apartments adjacent to the Court of the Myrtles are supposed (I know not on what authority) to have constituted the official or public part of the royal residence, together with the apartments demolished to make room for the Palace of Charles V. The rest of the building, on this supposition, was the private or harem quarter. A narrow passage leads from the Court of the Myrtles to the Court of the Lions. "There is no part of the edifice that gives us a more complete idea of its original beauty and magnificence than this," says Washington Irving, "for none has suffered so little from the ravages of time. In the centre stands the fountain famous in song and story. The alabaster basins still shed their diamond drops; and the twelve lions which support them cast forth their crystal streams as in the days of Boabdil. [The fountain nowadays plays only once a year.] The architecture, like that of all other parts of the palace, is characterized by elegance rather than grandeur; bespeaking a delicate and a graceful taste, and a disposition to indolent enjoyment. When one looks upon the fairy tracery of the peristyles, and the apparently fragile fretwork of the walls, it is difficult to believe that so much has survived the wear and tear of centuries, the shocks of earthquakes, the violence of war, and the quiet though no less baneful pilferings of the tasteful traveller; it is almost sufficient to excuse the popular tradition that the whole is protected by a magic charm."

I fancy that the gifted American was himself responsible for that tradition, for the Spaniards, as Lady Louisa Tenison observed sixty odd years ago, are not an imaginative race, and whatever legends or traditions are current relate almost exclusively to the Virgin and saints. Spanish folk-lore knows nothing of fairies and goblins. The palace which Irving tells us the people regarded as enchanted had been used by them for years as a factory, as store-rooms, as a laundry, as a caravanserai. This hardly suggests that it was looked upon with superstitious awe. The truth is that the palace had enchanted Washington Irving, as it has done many others--not natives--since.

The Court of the Lions is an oblong, surrounded by a gallery formed by 124 marble columns, eleven feet in height and placed irregularly, some in pairs, some single. The arches exhibit a similar variety of curve, and the capitals are of various designs. The tile roofing of the galleries rather mars the effect, but the stucco work within them is of the richest and finest description. In the centre of the short sides are two charming little pavilions, with "half-orange" domes and basins in their marble flooring. The court is gravelled, and derives its name from the twelve marble animals that support the basin of the central fountain. These creatures are called lions, but why I am at a loss to understand. They look more like poodles than any other living quadrupeds. Ford humorously remarks: "Their faces are barbecued, and their manes cut like the scales of a griffin, and their legs like bedposts, while water-pipes stuck in their mouths do not add to their dignity." An Arabic inscription reminds us that nothing need be feared from them, as life is wanting to enable them to show their fury. That fury would no doubt have been directed in the first instance at the sculptor who had made of the unfortunate creatures such grotesque caricatures.

The court is surrounded by four splendid rooms--the halls of the Mocarabes, the Abencerrages, the Two Sisters, and of Justice. The second and third resemble each other, and are covered with the most marvellous specimens of the artesonado or carved wood ceiling. The stalactites or pendants, though in reality following a strict geometrical plan, exhibit complications and varieties that it is impossible for the eye to follow. The style may well have been suggested by the honey-comb. It is confusing, beautiful, glorious--certainly the most remarkable achievement of the art of the Spanish Moor. The walls are covered with lace-work in stucco of the most exquisite pattern, with mosaic dados, and friezes decorated with inscriptions in praise of Mohammed V. At the sides of the rooms are the alcoves characteristic of Oriental domestic architecture.

The Hall of the Two Sisters is so called from a couple of slabs of marble let into the flooring. The other chamber derives its name from the thirty-six chiefs of the Beni Serraj tribe, fabled to have been decapitated within it by order of Boabdil. The story was a pure invention of a Ginés Perez de Hita, a writer who lived in the sixteenth century. It has now spread through all lands, thanks to the version of Chateaubriand. The tribe is supposed in this story to have espoused the "Little King's" cause against his father, Mulai Hasan. Later on their chief, Hamet, was suspected of intriguing with the Castilians; and, what was still more criminal in the eyes of a Moslem, of carrying on a love affair with one of the sultanas. A cypress in the gardens of the Generalife is pointed out as the lovers' trysting-place. The sultan resolved to make an end of this pestilent brood, but Hamet himself, warned at the eleventh hour, escaped the fate of his kinsmen. The frail sultana would have shared their fate, had not four champions presented themselves and vindicated her reputation against all comers in the lists. Thus the affair ended happily--except for the thirty-six chiefs. Thus the story. I hope it will stimulate your imagination. For myself, there is an utter absence of the personal and human note about these gorgeous Moorish halls. It is certainly easier to believe that they sprang into existence at the bidding of an enchanter than that they were ever the scenes of men's loves and hates, hopes and fears.

The Hall of Justice (Sala de la Justicia), at the far side of the Court of Lions, is a long apartment, divided into alcoves specially remarkable for the paintings on its ceiling. These have been the subject of endless controversy. To begin with, it was doubted if a Mohammedan could have painted them, since the representation of living objects is contrary to the injunctions of the Koran. I have it on the authority of a very learned Moslem friend, a recognized authority on Mohammedan law, that the plastic arts are not forbidden by the Prophet, but merely pointed out as a possible snare and stumbling-block in the way of the believer. Painting has been a recognized art in Persia for centuries, and I have seen some pictures from that country which reveal no mean degree of skill. There is therefore no good reason to doubt that these curious works were executed by Moorish artists at the end of the fourteenth century. They are done on leather prepared with gypsum and nailed to the wooden ceiling. The colours (red, green, gold, etc.) are still vivid, but mildew is covering them in parts, and in places the gypsum is peeling off. These valuable specimens of Moorish art ought to have been taken down and placed under glass long ago. The first of the three represents ten bearded, robed, and turbaned personages, who may with some degree of probability be identified with the first sultans of the Nasrid dynasty. According to Oliver, the Moor in the green costume occupying the middle of one side is Al Ahmar, the founder of the race. Then, counting from his right, come Mohammed II., Nasr Abu-l-Juyyush, Mohammed IV., Saïd Ismaïl, Mohammed V. (in the red robe), Yusuf II., Yusuf I., Abu-l-Walid, and Mohammed III. The family likeness between these potentates is striking, and the red beards suggest a liberal use of the dye still largely used by the Oriental man of middle age. The other pictures are more interesting. The first represents hunting scenes. Moors are seen chasing the wild boar, while Spanish knights are in pursuit of the lion and the bear. In another part of the composition the huntsmen are seen returning and offering the spoils of the chase to their ladies. The Moor greets his sultana with a benign and condescending air, the Christian on his knees offers his prize to his lady. In the next picture is another hunting scene, with a page, with sword and shield, leaning against a tree, awaiting his master's return. In another quarter of the picture his master (presumably) is rescuing a distressed damsel from a wild-looking creature who is quite undismayed by the tame lion accompanying his captive. Further on, the same knight is unhorsed and overthrown by a Moorish huntsman, two ladies from a castle in the background most ungratefully applauding the Christian's discomfiture. The pictures evidently were intended to record the incidents of a border warfare not dissimilar to those commemorated in our ballad of Chevy Chase.

In this hall a temporary chapel was set up, and mass was celebrated, on the taking of the city by the Spaniards.

Crossing the Hall of the Two Sisters, we enter the beautiful Mirador de "Lindaraja," the most charming and elegant of all the apartments in the palace. Through three tall windows, once filled with coloured crystals, we look down into the pretty Patio de Daraxa, which, like the chamber, does not derive its name from an imaginary sultana, but from a word meaning "vestibule." It is a delightful garden, where shade is always to be obtained between the closely planted cypresses, orange, and peach trees, rising between twin hedges of box and bushes of rose and myrtle. In the centre is a seventeenth-century fountain. Here you will always find some artist committing to canvas his impressions of one of the fairest gardens men have fashioned for themselves.

The rooms on the other side of the patio were built by Charles V., and include the Tocador de la Reina, or Queen's Boudoir, a prettily decorated belvedere affording an entrancing view. It was in this room that Washington Irving took up his quarters. Théophile Gautier slept sometimes in the hall of the Abencerrages, sometimes in that of the Two Sisters, and was impressed by the eerieness of the palace at night. Yet there is not a manor-house in England or a château in France that is not more suggestive of the spectral and uncanny than these gilded halls and open courts. However, everyone has his own preconceptions of the weird and the picturesque.

From the Patio de Daraxa we enter the very interesting Baths, ably restored by the late Don Rafael Contreras. The Sala de las Camas, or chamber of repose, is among the most brilliantly decorated rooms in the palace, yet, as elsewhere in this neglected pile, the gilding is being suffered to fade and the tiling in the niches, I noticed, is loosening and breaking up. From a gallery running round the chamber, the music of the odalisques was wafted down to the sultan reclining in one of the divans below. He must have been in no hurry to leave this spot, where he dreamily puffed at his hubble-bubble and watched the play of the fountain. The light came from apertures in the superb artesonado ceiling. Without, on a stone seat, the eunuchs mounted guard and preserved their lord's repose from interruption. The actual baths are contained in two adjacent chambers. A staircase ascended to the Hall of the Two Sisters above, for the use, not improbably, of the ladies of the harem. On leaving the baths you may follow the tunnel across the uninteresting Patio de la Reja and beneath the Tower of Comares, to the Patio del Mexuar.

No visitor to the Alhambra must omit to walk round the outer wall or enceinte, and to inspect the towers. The Torre de las Damas, a fortified tower dating from the time of Yusuf I., was inhabited by Ismaïl, the brother of Mohammed V., and marked the palace limits on this side. It contains a tastefully decorated hall. Adjacent to it is a beautiful if gaudy little Mohammedan mihrab or oratory, approached through a private garden. Here was the house of Anastasio de Bracamonte, the esquire of the Conde de Tendilla, to whom was assigned the custody of the Alhambra at the Reconquest. The Puerta de Hierro, a little further on, was restored at the same time, and faces the gate and path leading to the Generalife. Passing the Torre de los Picos, we reach the Torre de la Cautiva, which contains a beautiful chamber, over which a lovely rosy tint is diffused by the tiles and stucco. The Torre de las Infantas, built by Mohammed VII., is a perfect example of an Oriental dwelling-house. Through the usual zigzag vestibule you reach a hall with a fountain in the centre and alcoves in three of the sides. The decoration is perhaps over elaborate. The towers on the other side of the enceinte were, as I have said, intended mainly for defence. Near the ruinous Torre del Agua, at the south-east extremity, a viaduct crosses the ravine from the Generalife, and some of the water precipitates itself over the brow of the hill in a mass of vivid living greenery. Further on, towards the Gate of Justice, is the Torre de los Siete Suelos, through which Boabdil is said to have made his last exit. It is supposed to extend far underground, and to contain much buried treasure. So at least Irving was told by the inhabitants, or possibly told them! Hence issues the Belludo, the spectral pack, which traverses the streets of Granada by night--also according to legend. This story of the Wild Huntsman crops up, in one form or another, in every part of Europe. There are the Dandy Dogs in Cornwall, the Wild Huntsman in Germany, Thibaut le Tricheur in the valley of the Loire, the Chasseur Noir of Fontainebleau, and so on. Folk-lore of this sort is easily fabricated. Foreigners in search of the picturesque ask the natives of such a place as this if ghosts do not haunt the ruins. The guide, anxious to please, says "Doubtless!" The foreigner goes on to tell him of spectres that affect this particular class of building at home; and the guide readily devises a local version of the yarn for the benefit of the next stranger. I have found that the peasantry in most European countries hear of their local traditions and folk-lore first through the medium of books. And these remarks apply with especial force to the people of Latin countries, whom, contrary to the received opinion, I know to be less imaginative and less superstitious than northerners. It is natural that the gloomy forests of Germany and Sweden, rather than the sunlit plains of Andalusia, should generate dark fancies.

Strictly speaking the Generalife, the Trianon of the Moorish kings, is a more beautiful place than the Alhambra, though it has no architectural merit. It became the property at the Reconquest of a Christianized Moor, Don Pedro de Granada, who claimed to be descended from the famous Ben Hud, and from whose family it passed into the possession of the Marquises of Campotejar. The approach lies along a magnificent avenue of cypresses and tall shrubs. Arrived at the entrance you are admitted by a very comely damsel, and allowed to wander about the lovely gardens by yourself and to stay there all day if you like. At the far end of the first court is a poor collection of portraits, among which is one--No. 11--absurdly supposed to be a portrait of Ben Hud (died about 1237), though the person is dressed in the costume of the fifteenth century. This is the portrait which English travellers, and even the usually correct Baedeker, persist in mistaking for Boabdil's.

The gardens of the Generalife are beyond all praise. Water bubbles up everywhere, and moistens the roots of gorgeous oleanders, myrtles, orange trees, cedars, and cypresses--the tallest trees in Spain. Beneath one of these--that to the right as you reach the head of the first flight of steps--the sultana is alleged to have kept her tryst with Hamet, the Abencerrage. Not a bad place, this, for a lovers' meeting. You rise from one flower-laden terrace to another till you reach the ugly belvedere--scribbled all over with idiots' names--whence you obtain a ravishing view of the Alhambra, the city, the Vega, and the mountains. The hours spent in the Generalife Gardens will be remembered as among the pleasantest of one's lifetime.

It may be, as a French writer states, impossible to tickle the surface of Granada without discovering Moorish remains, but certainly, outside the Alhambra, very few are to be seen above ground. The most conspicuous of them in the lower town is, on the whole, the Casa del Carbon, a dilapidated structure with a bold horseshoe archway which confronts you as you cross the Reyes Catolicos near the Post Office. The house is now used as a coal depot, but beneath the thick coating of grime you may discern the traces of graceful decorative work. The building is said to have been a corn exchange in Moorish days. More interesting are the vestiges of the ancient walls that girdled the oldest quarter, _el viejo Albaicin_. They were built in great part by Christian captives--perhaps by those whose chains are hung up on the walls of San Juan de los Reyes at Toledo. The Moors of Granada grew embittered by their reverses, and treated their Christian subjects harshly. The martyrs whom the monument on the Alhambra hill commemorates are not merely the creatures of pious imagination. There is an ugly story, too, of an unfortunate monk accused of heretical doctrines, who took refuge at Granada and was burnt at the stake by the Moslems.

Two of the old gatehouses on this side of the city are still standing. They are massive crenellated towers, pierced with round-headed archways. I do not consider them entrancingly picturesque; they form the northern entrances to the Albaicin quarter, which is now a perplexing congeries of squalid houses, formless convents, and churches tottering to their fall. Whatever interest its antiquity may excite is lost in disgust at its wretchedness. On the outskirts dwell the gipsies--mostly in semi-underground burrows, and left very much to themselves by the local authority. These are the poor creatures who are dragged out to bore visitors with their wearisome dances, the fee charged for which goes almost entirely into the pockets of the guides. The gipsies of Spain are not nomadic. There are people in Granada who wish they were.

In the Albaicin the Zirite sultans had their palaces, one of which was called the House of the Weathercock, from the bronze figure of a horseman that surmounted it and served as a vane. Washington Irving has written a story about it. Fragments of all these ancient buildings are incorporated with modern houses, and may be identified by those who care to take the trouble. Romantic legends (of the precise nature of which I am ignorant) cluster round the Casa de las Tres Estrellas, possibly because it affords ingress to a subterranean passage leading no man knows whither. But I do not think you will be tempted to linger long in this odoriferous, wormeaten quarter. You may be said to have escaped from it when you reach the picturesque Carrera de Darro, the embankment of that narrow stream facing the Alhambra. Here may be seen a Moorish bath at one of the private houses, and--much more delightful to the artist--a broken Moorish bridge, the Puente del Cadi, to which a path led down from the Torre de las Armas. Against the little church near this point you will notice a white corner house with a handsome doorway in the Renaissance style. At the angle of the house is a balcony, bearing the odd inscription, "Esperandola del Cielo" ("Waiting for it from Heaven"). The words are accounted for by the following story: The house was built by Hernando de Zafra, the astute secretary of Ferdinand and Isabella, and the negotiator of the capitulation of Granada. He suspected his daughter of a love affair with an unknown cavalier. To satisfy his doubts he surprised her one day, and found his page assisting the lover to escape by the window. Baulked of his prey the enraged father turned upon the lad. "Mercy," implored the page. "Look for it in Heaven!" answered the Don, as he hurled his daughter's accomplice after her lover into the street below. There are those who say that De Zafra had no daughter, and that he has been libelled in this matter. But the episode is more probable than the foreign-made yarns about the Alhambra.

The rivers of Granada are more spoken of than seen. At the foot of the Alhambra the Darro disappears, its channel through the town having been roofed over at different epochs. Till the middle of the last century the houses of the Zacatin looked at the back upon the stream, as may be seen from a picture by Roberts in the South Kensington Galleries. There was a local proverb which said "Ugly as the back of the Zacatin," an evidence of the persistent confusion of the ugly and the picturesque. This part of the stream is now covered by the Reyes Catolicos Street. The famous Zacatin--a lane-like thoroughfare, like those we have seen in Seville--was once the principal street in Granada, and seems to have been full of animation in Gautier's time. That brilliant Frenchman speaks of meeting there parties of students from Salamanca, playing as they went on the guitar, triangles, and castanets--truly a singular mode of taking one's walks abroad, such as even the Spaniards of the 'thirties and 'forties must have marvelled at exceedingly. Are we to understand by this remarkable passage that the alumni of Salamanca formed processions like those of the Salvation Army, whenever they met by chance in the public street, or that, like the fine lady of Banbury Cross, they were determined to move nowhere without a musical accompaniment? At all events, the Zacatin is quiet enough nowadays. It still contains some of the best shops in the town and is one of the few comparatively shady walks outside the precincts of the Alhambra. It leads you to the far-famed Plaza de Bibarrambla, with the name of which we have been familiarized by Byron's rendering of the Spanish ballad, "Ay de mi, Alhama!" The square, like so much else in Granada, has been so completely modernized that nothing remains to recall the days when the sultans here assisted at pageants and tournaments, wherein Christians often took part. It is edifying to learn that Spanish knights, forbidden in their own country to cut each other's throats, often resorted hither to do so, by gracious permission of his Moorish Majesty.

We are now in the neighbourhood of the second great sight of Granada--the Cathedral with its adjoining buildings. The church called the Sagrario is an eighteenth-century structure immediately adjoining the west front of the Cathedral, on the south side, which served for a time as the metropolitan church of Granada. The interior is sombre, heavy, and Churrigueresque--a style which, it always strikes me, might have been devised by an undertaker accustomed to a high-class business. One of the chapels, however, is interesting. It contains the bones of "the magnificent cavalier, Fernando del Pulgar, Lord of El Salar," as the inscription records. This gallant knight, during the last siege of Granada, penetrated into the city with fifteen horsemen, and nailed a paper bearing the Ave Maria on the door of the mosque. This brave exploit earned for him and his descendants the right of remaining covered in the Cathedral and before the king. In Philip II.'s time the Marqués del Salar, the representative of the family, was fined for appearing covered before the High Court of Granada. He appealed to the king, invoking the privilege conferred on his ancestor. "Not so," replied Philip; "you may wear your bonnet in the presence of the king, but not in the sacred presence of Justice." With the fine was built the staircase in the Audiencia in the Plaza Nueva.

Behind the Sagrario is the mausoleum of Ferdinand and Isabella--the Capilla Real--a temple peculiarly sacred in the eyes of all good Spaniards. The two great sovereigns lie here in the heart of the city which they recovered for Christendom, even as many great soldiers have caused their remains to be buried on the sites of their greatest victories. The chapel, founded in 1504 and completed in 1517, is a noble example of late Gothic. The exterior is very simple, the decoration consisting mainly of two highly ornate balustrades, surmounting each of the two stages. The well-known devices and monograms of the founders are interwoven with the decoration. Through a portal flanked by the figures of heralds we enter the chapel--plain, bright, and airy. The chancel is railed off by a magnificent grille of gilt ironwork, wrought by Maestre Bartolomé of Jaen, in 1522. Between this and the altar are the superb tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella, and of their daughter Joanna and her husband, Philip I. The former is ascribed to a Florentine sculptor, Domenico Fancelli.

The recumbent effigies of the Reyes Catolicos are full of expression and majesty. Both wear their crowns, and Ferdinand is in full armour. At the angles of the tomb are seated figures, and the sides are sculptured with medallions and escutcheons and the figures of angels and saints. The figures of the unhappy Joanna and her Flemish consort are less lifelike, and the decoration is much more florid. It must be admitted that the Renaissance character of these sepulchral monuments contrasts rather oddly with the Gothic surroundings. The kneeling statues of the founders at the sides of the altar are believed to be actual likenesses. The reliefs on the retablo, by Vigarni, represent the surrender of Granada and the subsequent baptism of the Moors. In the former, both the sovereigns are shown, in the company of Cardinal Mendoza, receiving the keys from Boabdil; in the latter, we note that the candidates for baptism are so many that the rite is being administered by means of a syringe.

Beneath the tombs is the vault containing all that was mortal of the makers of Modern Spain. The sacristan thrusts a lighted taper forward into the gloomy abode of death, and you are able to distinguish five coffins--those of Ferdinand and Isabella, Philip, Joanna, and the Infante Miguel. Philip's coffin, it will be remembered, was carried about by his lovesick widow till she had to be parted from it by force. The coffins are rude, bulging, and almost shapeless. One only, that of Ferdinand, can be identified, and this only by the simple letter F upon it. Might not this stand as well for Felipe?

The sacristan next shows you the treasury of the chapel. Among the relics are the crown, sceptre, and mirror of Isabella, her missal beautifully illuminated, and the standard embroidered by her that floated over the city. A casket is shown which was filled with jewels which she pawned to procure funds for Columbus's first voyage of discovery. Few investments have proved more profitable, as far as material wealth is concerned. You may also see Ferdinand's sword, rather interesting to those curious in ancient weapons.

The Royal Chapel is quite independent of the immediately adjacent Cathedral. The chaplains have a right of way across the Cathedral transept to the Puerta del Perdon, a privilege deeply resented by the chapter. Once when the Archbishop wished to visit the chapel, his attendant canons were refused admission. The irate prelate caused the chaplains to be arrested for this affront, and a long lawsuit followed. But all this happened a long time ago, and it is to be hoped that the two bodies of clergy now live upon good terms with each other.

A very beautiful arch, richly and tastefully adorned with statues, admits to the Cathedral. This church, described by Fergusson as one of the finest in Europe, was begun by Diego de Siloe, about 1525, and not completed till 1703. The exterior is far from corresponding to the majesty of the interior, though the Puerto del Perdon, already referred to, on the north side, is a beautiful piece of work. The impression produced on entering the Cathedral is rather similar to that experienced on entering St. Peter's. There is an atmosphere of loftiness, luxury, and cold purity--like that clinging to the finest classical works. This is certainly the triumph of Spanish Renaissance architecture. The effect is, of course, utterly different from that of the grand old Gothic fane of Seville. Like all Renaissance churches, as it seems to me, it lacks the devotional atmosphere. The nave, as usual, is obstructed by the choir--where, by the way, Alonso Cano was buried. The dome above the chancel is sublime, the daring of the arches wonderful. The altar is completely insulated by the ambulatory.

Before it are the grand sculptured heads of Adam and Eve by Cano. His also are seven of the frescoes decorating the upper part of the dome. The others are by his pupils. The Cathedral contains much of this irascible and wayward artist's best work. In the chapel of San Miguel is a "Virgen de la Soledad," in whose human beauty and pathos his genius finds its highest expression. In the chapel of Jesus Nazareno, Cano's "Via Crucis" does not suffer by comparison with three works of Ribera and a "St. Francis" by El Greco. The artist's studio may be seen in one of the towers flanking the west front of the Cathedral. He was a native of Granada, and a lay canon of the chapter. He died in poverty at his house in the Albaicin quarter, aged 66 years, on October 5, 1667. He was a man of hasty but not ungenerous temper, and in some of his phases of character recalls Fuseli. Justice has hardly been done to his great talent, of which he himself seems to have entertained an exaggerated estimate.

The minor churches of Granada are not of very great interest. The church of San Geronimo was built by the Great Captain as a mausoleum for himself and his wife, but such of his remains as escaped the ghoulish spoliation of the French have been transported to Madrid. The church is no longer used as a place of worship. The retablo is remarkable, and in it may be traced the dawning of Siloe's ambition to create a true Spanish Renaissance style. The church of San Juan de Dios, not far off, is filled with tawdry rubbish, petticoated crucifixes, etc. Here is buried the titular saint, a Portuguese, Joao de Robles, who in the seventeenth century devoted himself with so much energy to the sick and suffering that his contemporaries esteemed him mad. You may see the cage in which he was confined at the hospital founded by Isabella the Catholic on the arid, ugly Plaza de Triunfo, near the Bull Ring. A column in the middle of the square marks the spot where Doña Mariana Pineda was publicly garrotted in 1831. This lady is the great heroine of Granada. She perished a victim to the reactionary tendencies then prevalent in Spain. Spaniards were then crying "Hurrah for our chains!" and Doña Mariana's house was known to be a rendezvous of the Liberals of Granada. On raiding her house the police discovered a tricolour flag. This was evidence enough, and in the thirty-first year of her age this beautiful and accomplished woman suffered a shameful death. A few years later, when the nation had recovered its sanity, the magistrate who had condemned her was shot, and her remains were transported with great pomp to the Cathedral, where they have been interred close to Alonso Cano's. A monument has also been raised to her memory in the Campillo Square.

There is another story connected with the Triunfo worth telling, though it is not very well authenticated. The remains of royal personages on their way to the Capilla Real were here identified by the officers of the court. The Duke of Gandia was present on such an occasion, and was so impressed by the evidences of mortality when the coffin was opened that he vowed he would never again serve an earthly master. He entered the Society of Jesus, and after his death was canonized under the name of St. Francis Borgia. The story is a curious and suggestive one, as also is that of the duke praying that his wife might die if it were for his soul's good. St. Francis Borgia has always seemed to me an extreme example of other-worldliness.

A dusty road through most uninviting surroundings leads to the Cartuja, or Charterhouse, founded in 1516 by the Great Captain. The cloisters are painted with scenes of the martyrdom of the Carthusian monks in London by the minions of Henry VIII.

The church is an extraordinary edifice. Its style is damnable, but it is gorgeous and dazzling to a degree which compels admiration. The doors of the choir are exquisitely inlaid with ebony, cedar, mother-of-pearl, and tortoiseshell. The statue of Bruno is by Cano. In the sanctuary behind the altar coloured marbles, twisted and fluted, are combined in extravagant magnificence. Some of the slabs are richly veined with agate, and the hand of nature has traced some semblances of human and animal forms. In the adjoining sacristy are some wonderful inlaid doors and presses. They must surely be the finest works of their kind in the world. It is strange that so much genius for detail and so much costly material should have been combined to produce so tasteless a building.

Outside this church there are not many places in the vicinity of Granada worth a visit. The church of Sacramonte looms rather prominently in the landscape, and you are to some extent rewarded for the trouble of a pilgrimage thither by the fine view of the city. The hill contains some caves in which, in the year 1594, one Hernandez professed to have discovered certain books written in Arabic characters on sheets of lead. The find was reported to the archbishop, Don Pedro Vaca de Castro, who examined the books and declared them to contain the acts of the martyrs, Mesito and Hiscius, Tesiphus and Cecilius, put to death by the Romans and buried in the caves. His grace's pronouncement was not considered final, and theological opinion was sharply divided on the subject for many years. At last the continuance of the controversy was forbidden by Papal decree. It seems that doubt is now thrown even on the existence of the martyrs. The church built over the place of their supposed sepulchre was for a time famous as a shrine of pilgrims. The usual rock worn away by the kisses of the devout is shown. There is a superstition that a person kissing the stone for the first time will be married within the year, if single, and released from the conjugal tie if already married. As divorce does not exist in Spain it is to be hoped that few discontented Benedicts have recourse to this stone.

St. Cecilius, at all events, was known to fame before the alleged discovery of his grave; for in the Antequeruela quarter an oratory dedicated to him existed throughout the Moorish domination, and was the only Christian place of worship within the city. I do not think that any trace of it is to be detected now. In that part of the city is the Casa de los Tiros, where you must apply for tickets for the Generalife; it is worth seeing on its own account, and it is the repository of the sword of Boabdil, which seems to have more claims to authenticity than most of the relics of the Little King. Descending towards the Puerta Real we pass the Cuarto de Santo Domingo, a private villa in which is incorporated all that remains of an Almohade palace. Near by, against the church of Santo Domingo, is an exceedingly picturesque little archway where one can fancy a bravo waiting, stiletto in hand. The Campillo, in the centre of which rises the statue of Mariana Pineda, is a quiet little square enough, referred to (as the Rondilla) by Cervantes as a resort of adventurers and desperadoes. These gentry are now more likely to be found in the immediately adjacent Alameda, outside the hotel of the same name, where the cafés and tables spread in front of them seem exceedingly well patronized.

Following the Genil, and leaving the unimpressive monument of Columbus and Isabella to the left, you reach, after a walk overpoweringly fatiguing in summer, the little Ermita de San Sebastian. This was a Moorish oratory in old days, and outside it took place the surrender of the keys by Boabdil on the memorable 2nd of January, 1492. If you go farther on--and I doubt if you will be tempted to--you will come to a very old Moorish palace called the Alcazar Genil, now the property of the Duke of Gor. Here, says Simonet, were lodged the Christian princes and knights who so often found an asylum at the court of Granada. In the gardens are tanks once used, it is believed, for mimic naval fights. In the same direction, I understand, is Zubia. Here Isabella the Catholic, reconnoitring the city during the siege, narrowly escaped capture by a Moorish patrol. She concealed herself behind a laurel bush, which is still pointed out. Another instance of the small chances that determine the fate of kingdoms! To commemorate her escape the queen built near by a convent, which has long since disappeared.

You may return to the city by the Puerta Verde, near the Bab-en-Neshti or Puerta de los Molinos, through which the Spaniards entered after Boabdil's submission.

Apart from the Alhambra and the Cathedral buildings, it will have been seen that Granada has not many claims on the stranger's interest. Considering the expectations formed of it after reading Prescott and Irving, most English people will pronounce it to be a disappointment. From certain points of view it remains the pleasantest place for a protracted stay in Andalusia during the summer. It is only when you come to it from Seville or Cordova or Cadiz, that you realize how cool, in comparison, is this city on the plateau between the snow-clad mountains. Even before the sun has gone down, you can dine very pleasantly in the open, hearkening to the splash of the fountains, and inhaling the fragrance of the rose. There is no need here, as at Seville, to shut yourself, till nightfall, within walls three feet thick. By night we stroll across the Plaza of the Alhambra, and see the white city gleaming with a shimmer reflected in the luminous sky above. Granada resumes her aspect of an Oriental city beneath the crescent moon riding triumphant over Andalusia.