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THE MYSTERIOUS CHAMBERS
 AS I was rambling one day about the Moorish halls, my attention was, for the first time, attracted to a door in a
remote gallery, communicating apparently with some part of the Alhambra which I had not yet explored. I
attempted to open it, but it was locked. I knocked, but no one answered, and the sound seemed to reverberate
through empty chambers. Here then was a mystery. Here was the haunted wing of the castle. How was I to get at
the dark secrets here shut up from the public eye? Should I come privately at night with lamp and sword,
according to the prying custom of heroes of romance; or should I endeavor to draw the secret from Pépe the
stuttering gardener; or the ingenuous Dolores, or the loquacious Mateo? Or should I go frankly and openly to
Dame Antonia and ask her all about it? I chose the latter course, as being the simplest though the least
romantic; and found, somewhat to my disappointment, that there was no mystery in the case. I was welcome to
explore the apartment, and there was the key.
Thus provided, I returned forthwith to the door. It opened, as I had surmised, to a range of vacant chambers;
but they were quite different from the rest of the palace. The architecture, though rich and antiquated, was
European. There was nothing Moorish about it. The first two rooms were lofty; the ceilings, broken in many
 were of cedar, deeply paneled and skillfully carved with fruits and flowers, intermingled with grotesque masks
The walls had evidently in ancient times been hung with damask; but now were naked, and scrawled over by that
class of aspiring travellers who defile noble monuments with their worthless names. The windows, dismantled,
and open to wind and weather, looked out into a charming little secluded garden, where an alabaster fountain
sparkled among roses and myrtles, and was surrounded by orange and citron trees, some of which flung their
branches into the chambers. Beyond these rooms were two saloons, longer but less lofty, looking also into the
garden. In the compartments of the paneled ceilings were baskets of fruit and garlands of flowers, painted by
no mean hand, and in tolerable preservation. The walls also had been painted in fresco in the Italian style,
but the paintings were nearly obliterated; the windows were in the same shattered state with those of the
other chambers. This fanciful suite of rooms terminated in an open gallery with balustrades, running at right
angles along another side of the garden. The whole apartment, so delicate and elegant in its decorations, so
choice and sequestered in its situation along this retired little garden, and so different in architecture
from the neighboring halls, awakened an interest in its history. I found on inquiry that it was an apartment
fitted up by Italian artists in the early part of the last century, at the time when Philip V. and his second
wife, the beautiful
 Elizabeth of Farnese, were expected at the Alhambra. It was destined for the queen and the ladies of her
train. One of the loftiest chambers had been her sleeping-room. A narrow staircase, now walled up, led up to a
delightful belvedere, which was fitted up as a boudoir for the fair Elizabeth, and still retains the name of
the Queen's Toilet.
One window of the royal sleeping-room commanded a prospect of the Generalife and its embowered terraces;
another looked out into the little secluded garden I have mentioned, which was decidedly Moorish in its
character, and also had its history. It was in fact the garden of Lindaraxa, so often mentioned in
descriptions of the Alhambra, but who this Lindaraxa was I had never heard explained. A little research gave
me the few particulars known about her. She was a Moorish beauty who flourished in the court of Mohamed the
Left-Handed, and was the daughter of his loyal adherent, the governor of Malaga, who sheltered him in his city
when driven from the throne. On regaining his crown, the governor was rewarded for his fidelity. His daughter
had her apartment in the Alhambra, and was given by the king in marriage to Nasar, a young prince descended
from Aben Hud the Just.
Four centuries had elapsed since the fair Lindaraxa passed away, yet how much of the fragile beauty of the
scenes she inhabited remained! The garden still bloomed
 in which she delighted; the fountain still presented the crystal mirror in which her charms may once have been
reflected; the alabaster, it is true, had lost its whiteness; the basin beneath, overrun with weeds, had
become the lurking-place of the lizard, but there was something in the very decay that enhanced the interest
of the scene, speaking as it did of that mutability, the irrevocable lot of man and all his works.
The desolation too of these chambers, once the abode of the proud and elegant Elizabeth, had a more touching
charm for me than if I had beheld them in their pristine splendor, glittering with the pageantry of a court.
When I returned to my quarters, in the governor's apartment, everything seemed tame and commonplace after the
poetic region I had left. The thought suggested itself: Why could I not change my quarters to these vacant
chambers? that would indeed be living in the Alhambra, surrounded by its gardens and fountains, as in the time
of the Moorish sovereigns. I proposed the change to Dame Antonia and her family, and it occasioned vast
surprise. They could not conceive any rational inducement for the choice of an apartment so forlorn, remote,
and solitary. Dolores exclaimed at its frightful loneliness; nothing but bats and owls flitting
about,—and then a fox and wildcat were kept in the vaults of the neighboring baths, and roamed about at
night. The good Tia had more reasonable objections. The neighborhood was infested by vagrants; gipsies swarmed
in the caverns of the adjacent hills; the palace was ruinous and easy to be entered in many places; the rumor
of a stranger quartered alone in one of the remote and ruined
apart-  ments, out of the hearing of the rest of the inhabitants, might tempt unwelcome visitors in the night,
especially as foreigners were always supposed to be well stocked with money. I was not to be diverted from my
humor, however, and my will was law with these good people. So, calling in the assistance of a carpenter, and
the ever officious Mateo Ximenes, the doors and windows were soon placed in a state of tolerable security, and
the sleeping-room of the stately Elizabeth prepared for my reception. Mateo kindly volunteered as a body-guard
to sleep in my antechamber; but I did not think it worth while to put his valor to the proof.
With all the hardihood I had assumed and all the precautions I had taken, I must confess the first night
passed in these quarters was inexpressibly dreary. I do not think it was so much the apprehension of dangers
from without that affected me, as the character of the place itself, with all its strange associations: the
deeds of violence committed there; the tragical ends of many of those who had once reigned there in splendor.
The whole family escorted me to my chamber, and took leave of me as of one engaged on a perilous enterprise;
and when I heard their retreating steps die away along the waste antechambers and echoing galleries, and
turned the key of my door, I was reminded of those stories, where the hero is left to accomplish the adventure
of an enchanted house.
Even the thoughts of the fair Elizabeth, and the beauties of her court, who had once graced these chambers,
now, by a perversion of fancy, added to the gloom. Here was the scene of their transient gayety and
loveliness; here were the very traces of their elegance and
enjoy-  ment; but what and where were they? Dust and ashes! tenants of the tomb! phantoms of the memory!
A vague and indescribable awe was creeping over me. I would fain have ascribed it to the thoughts of robbers
awakened by the evening's conversation, but I felt it was something more unreal and absurd. The long-buried
superstitions of the nursery were reviving, and asserting their power over my imagination. Everything began to
be affected by the working of my mind. I cast my eyes into the garden of Lindaraxa; the groves presented a
gulf of shadows; the thickets, indistinct and ghastly shapes. I was glad to close the window, but my chamber
itself became infected. There was a slight rustling noise overhead; a bat suddenly emerged from a broken panel
of the ceiling, flitting about the room and athwart my solitary lamp; and as the fateful bird almost flouted
my face with his noiseless wing, the grotesque faces carved in high relief in the cedar ceiling, whence he had
emerged, seemed to mope and mow at me.
Rousing myself, and half smiling at this temporary weakness, I resolved to brave it out in the true spirit of
the hero of the enchanted house; so, taking lamp in hand; I sallied forth to make a tour of the palace.
Notwithstanding every mental exertion the task was a severe one. I had to traverse waste halls and mysterious
galleries, where the rays of the lamp extended but a short distance around me. I walked, as it were, in a mere
halo of light, walled in by impenetrable darkness. The vaulted corridors were as caverns; the ceilings of the
halls were lost in gloom. I recalled all that had been said of the danger from interlopers in these remote and
 Might not some vagrant foe be lurking before or behind me, in the outer darkness? My own shadow, cast upon the
wall, began to disturb me. The echoes of my own footsteps along the corridors made me pause and look round. I
was traversing scenes fraught with dismal recollections. One dark passage led down to the mosque where Yusef,
the Moorish monarch, the finisher of the Alhambra, had been basely murdered. In another place I trod the
gallery where another monarch had been struck down by the poniard of a relative whom he had thwarted in his
A low murmuring sound, as of stifled voices and clanking chains, now reached me. I knew it to be the rush of
water through subterranean channels, but it sounded strangely in the night, and reminded me of the dismal
stories to which it had given rise.
I had no desire for further perambulation; but returned to my chamber with infinitely more alacrity than I had
sallied forth, and drew my breath more freely when once more within its walls and the door bolted behind me.
When I awoke in the morning, with the sun shining in at my window and lighting up every part of the building
with his cheerful and truth-telling beams, I could scarcely recall the shadows and fancies conjured up by the
gloom of the preceding night; or believe that the scenes around me, so naked and apparent, could have been
clothed with such imaginary horrors.
In the course of a few evenings a thorough change took place in the scene and its associations. The moon,
which when I took possession of my new apartments was invisible, gradually gained each evening upon the
darkness of the night, and at length rolled in full splendor
 above the towers, pouring a flood of tempered light into every court and hall. The garden beneath my window,
before wrapped in gloom, was gently lighted up; the orange and citron trees were tipped with silver; the
fountain sparkled in the moonbeams, and even the blush of the rose was faintly visible.
I now felt the poetic merit of the Arabic inscription on the walls,—"How beauteous is this garden; where
the flowers of the earth vie with the stars of heaven. What can compare with the vase of yon alabaster
fountain filled with crystal water? nothing but the moon in her fulness, shining in the midst of an unclouded
On such heavenly nights I would sit for hours at my window inhaling the sweetness of the garden, and musing on
the checkered fortunes of those whose history was dimly shadowed out in the elegant memorials around.
Sometimes, when all was quiet, and the clock from the distant cathedral of Granada struck the midnight hour, I
have sallied out on another tour and wandered over the whole building; but how different from my first tour!
No longer dark and mysterious; no longer peopled with shadowy foes; no longer recalling scenes of violence and
murder; all was open, spacious, beautiful; everything called up pleasing and romantic fancies; Lindaraxa once
more walked in her garden; the gay chivalry of Moslem Granada once more glittered about the Court of Lions!
Who can do justice to a moonlight night in such a climate and such a place? The temperature of a summer
midnight in Andalusia is perfectly ethereal. We seem lifted up into a purer atmosphere; we feel a serenity of
soul, a buoyancy of spirits, an elasticity of frame, which render mere existence happiness. But when moonlight
 to all this, the effect is like enchantment. Under its plastic sway the Alhambra seems to regain its pristine
glories. Every rent and chasm of time; every mouldering tint and weather-stain is gone; the marble resumes its
original whiteness; the long colonnades brighten in the moonbeams; the halls are illuminated with a softened
radiance,—we tread the enchanted palace of an Arabian tale!
What a delight, at such a time, to ascend to the little airy pavilion of the Queen's Toilet, which, like a
bird-cage, overhangs the valley of the Darro, and gaze from its light arcades upon the moonlight prospect! To
the right, the swelling mountains of the Sierra Nevada, robbed of their ruggedness and softened into a fairy
land, with their snowy summits gleaming like silver clouds against the deep blue sky. And then to lean over
the parapet and gaze down upon Granada spread out like a map below; all buried in deep repose; the white
palaces and convents sleeping in the moonshine, and beyond all these the vapory Vega fading away like a
dreamland in the distance.
Sometimes the faint click of castanets rises from the public walk, where some gay Andalusians are dancing away
the summer night. Sometimes the dubious tones of a guitar and the notes of an amorous voice, tell perchance
the whereabout of some moonstruck lover serenading his lady's window.
Such is a faint picture of the moonlight nights I have passed loitering about the courts and halls and
balconies of this most suggestive pile; "feeding my fancy with
 sugared suppositions," and enjoying that mixture of reverie and sensation which steal away existence in a
southern climate; so that it has been almost morning before I have retired to bed, and been lulled to sleep by
the falling waters of the fountain of Lindaraxa.