Chapter X: Part 10

The Hall of the Ambassadors, one of the largest in the Alhambra, fills the whole interior of the tower of Comares. The ceiling, composed of cedar, shows those mathematical combinations so common to the Arabian architect: all the bits are arranged in such a way that all their converging or diverging angles form an infinite variety of designs; the walls disappear under a network of ornaments, so packed together and so inextricably interwoven that I can think of no better comparison than pieces of lace placed one above the other. Gothic architecture, with its stone lace-work and its perforated roses, cannot compare with this. Fish-slices and the paper embroidery cut out with a punch, which the confectioners use to decorate their sweets, can alone give you any idea of it. One of the characteristics of the Moorish style is that it offers very few projections and profiles. All the ornamentation is developed on flat surfaces and is hardly ever more than four or five inches in relief; it is really like a kind of tapestry worked on the wall itself. One feature in particular distinguishes it--the employment of writing as a motive of decoration; it is true that Arabian letters, with their mysteriously winding forms, lend themselves remarkably to this use. The inscriptions, which are almost always _suras_ of the Koran, or eulogies to various princes who have built and decorated these halls, unfold upon the friezes, on the jambs of the doors, and round the arches of the windows interspersed with flowers, boughs, network, and all the wealth of Arabian calligraphy. Those in the Halls of the Ambassadors signify “Glory to God, power and wealth to believers,” or consist of praises to Abu Nazar, who, “if he had been taken into Heaven while living, would have diminished the brightness of the stars and planets,” a hyperbolical assertion which seems to us a little too Oriental.

Other bands are filled with eulogies to Abu Abd Allah, another Sultan who ordered work upon this part of the Palace. The windows are bedizened with verses in honour of the limpid waters of the reservoir, of the freshness of the shrubbery, and the perfume of the flowers which ornament the Court of the _Mezouar_, which in fact is seen, from the Hall of the Ambassadors through the doors and little columns of the gallery.

The loop-holes of the interior balcony, pierced at a great height from the ground, and the ceiling of woodwork, devoid of ornaments except the zig-zags and the interlacings formed by the joining of the pieces, give the Hall of the Ambassadors a more severe aspect than any other halls in the Palace, and more in harmony with its purpose. From the back window you can enjoy a marvellous view over the ravine of the Darro....

From the Hall of the Ambassadors you go down a corridor of relatively modern construction to the _tocador_, or dressing-room of the queen. This is a small pavilion on the top of a tower used by the sultanas as an oratory, and from which you can enjoy a wonderful panorama. You notice at the entrance a slab of white marble perforated with little holes in order to let the smoke of the perfumes burned beneath the floor to pass through. You can still see on the walls the fantastic frescoes of Bartholomew de Ragis, Alonzo Perez, and Juan de la Fuente. Upon the frieze the ciphers of Isabella and Philip V. are intertwined with groups of Cupids. It is difficult to imagine anything more coquettish and charming than this room, with its small Moorish columns and its surbased arches, overhanging an abyss of azure, the bottom of which is studded with the roofs of Grenada and into which the breeze brings the perfumes from the Generalife,--that enormous cluster of oleanders blossoming in the foreground of the nearest hill,--and the plaintive cry of the peacocks walking upon the dismantled walls. How many hours have I passed there in that serene melancholy, so different from the melancholy of the North, with one leg hanging over the precipice and charging my eyes to photograph every form and every outline of this beautiful picture unfolded before them, and which, in all probability, they will never behold again! No description in words, or colours, can give the slightest hint of this brilliancy, this light, and these vivid tints. The most ordinary tones acquire the worth of jewels and everything else is on a corresponding scale. Towards the close of day, when the sun’s rays are oblique, the most inconceivable effects are produced: the mountains sparkle like heaps of rubies, topazes, and carbuncles; a golden dust bathes the ravines; and if, as is frequent in the summer, the labourers are burning stubble in the field, the wreaths of smoke, which rise slowly towards the sky, borrow the most magical reflections from the fires of the setting sun....

The Court of Lions is 120 feet long and 73 feet wide, while the surrounding galleries do not exceed 20 feet in height. These are formed by 128 columns of white marble, arranged in a symmetrical disorder of groups of fours and groups of threes; these columns, whose highly-worked capitals retain traces of gold and colour, support arches of extreme elegance and of a very unique form....

To the left and midway up the long side of the gallery, you come to the Hall of the Two Sisters, the _pendant_ to the Hall of the Abencerrages. The name of _las Dos Hermanas_ is given to it on account of two immense flag-stones of white Macael marble of equal size and exactly alike which you notice at once in the pavement. The vaulted roof, or cupola, which the Spanish very expressively call _media naranja_ (half an orange), is a miracle of work and patience. It is something like a honey-comb, or the stalactites of a grotto, or the soapy grape-bubbles which children blow through a pipe. These myriads of little vaults, or domes, three or four feet high, which grow out of one another, intersecting and constantly breaking their corners, seem rather the product of fortuitous crystallization than the work of human hands; the blue, the red, and the green still shine in the hollows of the mouldings as brilliantly as if they had just been laid on. The walls, like those in the Hall of the Ambassadors, are covered from the frieze to the height of a man with the most delicate embroideries in stucco and of an incredible intricacy. The lower part of the walls is faced with square blocks of glazed clay, whose black, green and yellow angles form a mosaic upon the white background. The centre of the room, according to the invariable custom of the Arabs, whose habitations seem to be nothing but great ornamental fountains, is occupied by a basin and a jet of water. There are four fountains under the Gate of Justice, as many under the entrance-gate, and another in the Hall of the Abencerrages, without counting the _Taza de los Leones_, which, not content with vomiting water through the mouths of its twelve monsters, tosses a jet towards the sky through the mushroom-cap which surmounts it. All this water flows through small trenches in the floors of the hall and pavements of the court to the foot of the Fountain of Lions, where it is swallowed up in a subterranean conduit. Certainly this is a species of dwelling which would never be incommoded with dust, but you ask how could these halls have been tenanted during the winter. Doubtless the large cedar doors were then shut and the marble floors were covered with thick carpets, while the inhabitants lighted fires of fruit-stones and odoriferous woods in the _braseros_, and waited for the return of the fine season, which soon comes in Grenada.

We will not describe the Hall of the Abencerrages, which is precisely like that of the Two Sisters and contains nothing in particular except its antique door of wood, arranged in lozenges, which dates from the time of the Moors. In the Alcazar of Seville you can find another one of exactly the same style.

The _Taza de los Leones_ enjoys a wonderful reputation in Arabian poetry: no eulogy is considered too extravagant for these superb animals. I must confess, however, that it would be hard to find anything which less resembles lions than these productions of Arabian fantasy; the paws are simple stakes like those shapeless pieces of wood which one thrusts into the bellies of pasteboard dogs to make them keep their equilibrium; their muzzles streaked with transverse lines, very likely intended for whiskers, are exactly like the snout of a hippopotamus, and the eyes are so primitive in design that they recall the crude attempts of children. However, if you consider these twelve monsters as chimeræ and not lions, and as a fine caprice in ornamentation, producing in combination with the basin they support a picturesque and elegant effect, you will then understand their reputation and the praises contained in this Arabian inscription of twenty-four verses and twenty-four syllables engraved on the sides of the lower basin into which the waters fall from the upper basin. I ask the reader’s pardon for the rather barbarous fidelity of the translation:

“O thou, who lookest upon the lions fixed in their place! remark
that they only lack life to be perfect. And you to whom will fall
the inheritance of this Alcazar and Kingdom, take them from the
noble hands of those who have governed them without displeasure
and resistance. May God preserve you for the work, which you will
accomplish, and protect you forever from the vengeance of your enemy!
Honour and glory be thine, O Mohammed! our King, endowed with the
high virtues, with whose aid thou hast conquered everything. May God
never permit this beautiful garden, the image of thy virtues, to be
surpassed by any rival. The material which covers the substance of
this basin is like mother-of-pearl beneath the shimmering waters;
this sheet of water is like melted silver, for the limpidity of the
water and the whiteness of the stone are unequalled; it might be
called a drop of transparent essence upon a face of alabaster. It
would be difficult to follow its course. Look at the water and look
at the basin, and you will not be able to tell if it is the water
that is motionless, or the marble which ripples. Like the prisoner of
love whose face is full of trouble and fear when under the gaze of
the envious, so the jealous water is indignant at the marble and the
marble is envious of the water. To this inexhaustible stream we may
compare the hand of our King which is as liberal and generous as the
lion is strong and valiant.”

Into the basin of the Fountain of Lions fell the heads of the thirty-six Abencerrages, drawn there by the stratagem of the Zegris. The other Abencerrages would have shared the same fate if it had not been for the devotion of a little page who, at the risk of his own life, ran to warn the survivors from entering the fatal court. Your attention will be attracted by some large red spots at the bottom of the basin--an indelible accusation left by the victims against the cruelty of their murderers. Unfortunately, the learned declare that neither the Abencerrages nor the Zegris existed. Regarding this fact, I am entirely guided by romances, popular traditions, and Chateaubriand’s novel, and I solemnly believe that these crimson stains are blood and not rust.

We established our headquarters in the Court of the Lions; our furniture consisted of two mattresses which were rolled up in a corner during the day, a copper lamp, an earthenware jar, and a few bottles of sherry which we placed in the fountain to cool. Sometimes we slept in the Hall of the Two Sisters, and sometimes in that of the Abencerrages, and it was not without some slight fear that I, stretched out upon my cloak, looked at the white rays of the moon which fell through the openings of the roof into the water of the basin quite astonished to mingle with the yellow, trembling flame of a lamp.

The popular traditions collected by Washington Irving in his _Tales of the Alhambra_ came into my memory; the story of the _Headless Horse_ and of the _Hairy Phantom_ solemnly related by Father Echeverria seemed very probable to me, especially when the light was out. The truth of legends always appears much greater at night when these dark places are filled with weird reflections which give a fantastic appearance to all objects of a vague outline: Doubt is the son of day, Faith is the daughter of the night, and it astonishes me to think that St. Thomas believed in Christ after having thrust his finger into his wounds. I am not sure that I did not see the Abencerrages walking through the moonlit galleries carrying their heads under their arms: anyhow the shadows of the columns always assumed forms that were diabolically suspicious, and the breeze as it passed through the arches made me wonder if it was not a human breath.

_Voyage en Espagne_ (Paris, new ed., 1865).

FOOTNOTES

[1] The outside of Notre-Dame has been restored since Victor Hugo wrote his famous romance.--E. S.

[2] I scarcely know how to trust myself with the mention of that most appalling, unprecedented, act of a one-third madman and two-thirds rogue--Jonathan Martin by name--who set fire to the choir of York Minster: a fire which was almost miraculously stopt in its progress towards the destruction of the entire Cathedral. This had been a result which Martin would have rejoiced to have seen effected. This horrid deed, at the very thought of which the heart sickens, took place on the 2d of February, 1829.

[3] I gather the following from the abridged English version (1693) of _Dugdale’s Monasticon_ as quoted by Drake. Where is even the Protestant bosom that does not heave heavily as it reads it? “To this Cathedral did belong abundance of jewels, vessels of gold and silver, and other ornaments; rich vestments and books,--amongst which were ten mitres of great value, and one small mitre set with stones for the ‘_Boy Bishop_.’ One silver and gilt pastoral staff, many pastoral rings, amongst which one for the bishop of the boys. Chalices, viols, pots, basons, candlesticks, thuribles, holy-water pots, crosses of silver--one of which weighed eight pounds, six ounces. Images of gold and silver; relicts in cases extremely rich; great bowls of silver; an unicorn’s horn; a table of silver and gilt, with the image of the Virgin enamelled thereon, weighing nine pounds, eight ounces, and a half. Several Gospellaries and Epistolaries, richly adorned with silver, gold, and precious stones. Jewels, affixed to shrines and tombs, of an almost inestimable value. Altar cloths and hangings, very rich; copes of tissue, damask, and velvet, white, red, blue, green, black, and purple. Besides this, there was a great treasure, deposited in the common chest in gold chains, collars of the Order of the Garter, with large sums of old gold and silver.”

[4] The spires of the Cathedral were finished in 1880, and the completion of the edifice was celebrated before the Emperor William I. on October 15th of that year.--E. S.

[5] Remigius was a monk of Fescamp in Normandy, and brought over here by William the Conqueror. He was worthy of all promotion. Brompton tells us that he began to build the Cathedral in 1088, and finished it in 1092, when it was consecrated; but the founder died two days before its consecration.

[6] This must have been “Great Tom,” the _First_, cast in 1610; preceded probably by one or more Great Toms, to the time of Geoffrey Plantagenet. “Great Tom,” the _Second_, was cast by Mr. Mears of Whitechapel in 1834, and was hung in the central tower in 1835. Its weight is 5 tons, 8 cwt.; being one ton heavier than the great bell of St. Paul’s Cathedral.... “Great Tom,” the First, was hung in the north-west tower.

[7] Robert Bloet was a worthy successor of Remigius, the founder. Bloet was thirty years a bishop of this see--largely endowing it with prebendal stalls, and with rich gifts of palls, hoods, and silver crosses. He completed the western front--and, perhaps, finished the Norman portion of the nave, now replaced by the Early English.... Geoffrey Plantagenet was a natural son of Henry II., and was elected in 1173.... The latter years of his life seem to be involved in mystery, for he fled the kingdom five years before his death, which happened at Grosmont, near Rouen, in 1212.

[8] It has been estimated that every stone of these huge Pharaonic temples cost, at least, one human life.

[9] The arms of Cœur were what are called _parlantes_: azure, fess _or_, charged with three shells _or_ (recalling those of St. James his patron), accompanied by three hearts, _gules_, in allusion to his name.

[10] The fortune of Jacques Cœur became proverbial: they said: “_Riche comme Jacques Cœur._”

[11] The word _cœurs_ is indicated by hearts.

[12] Chateaubriand, _La Vie de Rancé_.

[13] Pliny xxxv. 15.

[14] Tac. Ann. xv. 44.

[15] See Rio.

[16] Arnold Boulin, master-joiner (_menuisier_) at Amiens, solicited the enterprise, and obtained it in the first months of the year 1508. A contract was drawn and an agreement made with him for the construction of one hundred and twenty stalls with historical subjects, high backings, crownings, and pyramidal canopies. It was agreed that the principal executor should have seven sous of Tournay (a little less than the son of France) a day, for himself and his apprentice, (threepence a day the two--say a shilling a week the master, and sixpence a week the man,) and for the superintendence of the whole work, twelve crowns a year, at the rate of twenty-four sous the crown; (i. e. twelve shillings a year). The salary of the simple workman was only to be three sous a day. For the sculptures and histories of the seats, the bargain was made separately with Antoine Avernier, image cutter, residing at Amiens, at the rate of thirty-two sous (sixteen pence), the piece. Most of the wood came from Clermont en Beauvoisis, near Amiens; the finest, for the bas-reliefs from Holland, by St. Valery and Abbeville.

[17] The ravages committed by the Calvinists throughout nearly the whole of the towns of Normandy, and especially in the Cathedrals towards the year 1560, afford a melancholy proof of the effects of _religious animosity_. But the Calvinists were bitter and ferocious persecutors. Pommeraye in his quarto volume Histoire de l’Église Cathedrale de Rouen (1686) has devoted nearly one hundred pages to an account of Calvinistic depredations.

[18] M. Licquet says each clustered pillar contains thirty-one columns.

[19] Within three years of writing it, the spire was consumed by lightning. The newspapers of both France and England were full of this melancholy event; and in the year 1823 M. Hyacinthe Langlois of Rouen, published an account of it, together with some views of the progress of the burning.

Transcriber’s Notes

Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left unbalanced.

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