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THE COURT OF LIONS
 THE peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace is its power of calling up vague reveries and picturings of the past,
and thus clothing naked realities with the illusions of the memory and the imagination. As I delight to walk
in these "vain shadows," I am prone to seek those parts of the Alhambra which are most favorable to this
phantasmagoria of the mind; and none are more so than the Court of Lions, and its surrounding halls. Here the
hand of time has fallen the lightest, and the traces of Moorish elegance and splendor exist in almost their
original brilliancy. Earthquakes have shaken the foundations of this pile, and rent its rudest towers; yet
see! not one of those slender columns has been displaced, not an arch of that light and fragile colonnade
given way, and all the fairy fretwork of these domes, apparently as unsubstantial as the crystal fabrics of a
morning's frost, exist after the lapse of centuries, almost as fresh as if from the hand of the Moslem artist.
I write in the midst of these mementos of the past, in the fresh hour of early morning. Everything here
appears calculated to inspire kind and happy feelings, for everything is delicate and beautiful. Through the
ample and fretted arch of the portal I behold the Court of Lions, with brilliant sunshine gleaming along its
 sparkling in its fountains. The lively swallow dives into the court, and, rising with a surge, darts away
twittering over the roofs; the busy bee toils humming among the flower-beds; and painted butterflies hover
from plant to plant, and flutter up and sport with each other in the sunny air.
He, however, who would behold this scene under an aspect more in unison with its fortunes, let him come when
the shadows of evening temper the brightness of the court, and throw a gloom into the surrounding halls. Then
nothing can be more serenely melancholy, or more in harmony with the tale of departed grandeur.
At such times I am apt to seek the Hall of Justice, whose deep shadowy arcades extend across the upper end of
the court. Here was performed, in presence of Ferdinand and Isabella and their triumphant court, the pompous
ceremonial of high mass, on taking possession of the Alhambra. The very cross is still to be seen upon the
wall, where the altar was erected, and where officiated the Grand Cardinal of Spain, and others of the highest
religious dignitaries of the land. I picture to myself the scene when this place was filled with the
conquering host, that mixture of mitred prelate and shaven monk, and steel-clad knight and silken courtier;
when religious standards were mingled with proud armorial ensigns
and the banners of the haughty chiefs of Spain, and flaunted in triumph through these Moslem halls. I picture
to myself Columbus, the future discoverer of a world, taking his modest stand in a remote corner, the humble
and neglected spectator of the pageant. I see in imagination the Catholic
 sovereigns, prostrating themselves before the altar, and pouring forth thanks for their victory; while the
with sacred minstrelsy, and the deep-toned Te Deum.
The transient illusion is over,—the pageant melts from the fancy,—monarch, priest, and warrior
return into oblivion with the poor Moslems over whom they exulted. The hall of their triumph is waste and
desolate. The bat flits about its twilight vault; and the owl hoots from the neighboring tower of Comares.
Entering the Court of the Lions a few evenings since, I was almost startled at beholding a turbaned Moor
quietly seated near the fountain. For a moment one of the fictions of the place seemed realized an enchanted
Moor had broken the spell of centuries, and become visible. He proved, however, to be a mere ordinary mortal:
a native of Barbary, who had a shop in Granada, where he sold rhubarb, trinkets, and perfumes. As he spoke
Spanish fluently, I was enabled to hold conversation with him, and found him shrewd and intelligent. He told
me that he came up the hill occasionally in the summer, to pass a part of the day in the Alhambra, which
reminded him of the old palaces in Barbary, being built and adorned in similar style, though with more
As we walked about the palace, he pointed out several of the Arabic inscriptions, as possessing much poetic
"Ah, seņor," said he, "when the Moors held Granada, they were a gayer people than they are nowadays. They
 thought only of love, music, and poetry. They made stanzas upon every occasion, and set them all to music. He
who could make the best verses, and she who had the most tuneful voice, might be sure of favor and preferment.
In those days if any one asked for bread, the reply was, make me a couplet; and the poorest beggar, if he
begged in rhyme, would often be rewarded with a piece of gold."
"And is the popular feeling for poetry," said I, "entirely lost among you?"
"By no means, seņor; the people of Barbary, even those of the lower classes, still make couplets, and good
ones too, as in old times; but talent is not rewarded as it was then: the rich prefer the jingle of their gold
to the sound of poetry or music."
As he was talking, his eye caught one of the inscriptions which foretold perpetuity to the power and glory of
the Moslem monarchs, the masters of this pile. He shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders, as he
interpreted it. "Such might have been the case," said he; "the Moslems might still have been reigning in the
Alhambra, had not Boabdil been a traitor, and given up his capital to the Christians. The Spanish monarchs
would never have been able to conquer it by open force."
I endeavored to vindicate the memory of the unlucky Boabdil from this aspersion, and to show that the
dissensions which led to the downfall of the Moorish throne originated in the cruelty of his tiger-hearted
father; but the Moor would admit of no palliation.
"Muley Abul Hassan," said he, "might have been
 cruel; but he was brave, vigilant, and patriotic. Had he been properly seconded, Granada would still have been
ours; but his son Boabdil thwarted his plans, crippled his power, sowed treason in his palace and dissension
in his camp. May the curse of God light upon him for his treachery!" With these words the Moor left the
The indignation of my turbaned companion agrees with an anecdote related by a friend who, in the course of a
tour in Barbary, had an interview with the Pacha of Tetuan. The Moorish governor was particular in his
inquiries about Spain, and especially concerning the favored region of Andalusia, the delights of Granada, and
the remains of its royal palace. The replies awakened all those fond recollections, so deeply cherished by the
Moors, of the power and splendor of their ancient empire in Spain. Turning to his Moslem attendants, the Pacha
stroked his beard, and broke forth in passionate lamentations, that such a sceptre should have fallen from the
sway of true believers. He consoled himself, however, with the persuasion that the power and prosperity of the
Spanish nation were on the decline; that a time would come when the Moors would conquer their rightful
domains; and that the day was perhaps not far distant when Mohammedan worship would again be offered up in the
Mosque of Cordova, and a Mohammedan prince sit on his throne in the Alhambra.
Such is the general aspiration and belief among the Moors of Barbary; who consider Spain, or Andaluz, as it
was anciently called, their rightful heritage, of which they have been despoiled by treachery and violence.
These ideas are fostered and perpetuated by the descendants of
 the exiled Moors of Granada, scattered among the cities of Barbary. Several of these reside in Tetuan,
preserving their ancient names, and refraining from intermarriage with any families who cannot claim the same
high origin. Their vaunted lineage is regarded with a degree of popular deference rarely shown in Mohammedan
communities to any hereditary distinction, excepting in the royal line.
These families, it is said, continue to sigh after the terrestrial paradise of their ancestors, and to put up
prayers in their mosques on Fridays, imploring Allah to hasten the time when Granada shall be restored to the
faithful: an event to which they look forward as fondly and confidently as did the Christian crusaders to the
recovery of the Holy Sepulchre. Nay, it is added, that some of them retain the ancient maps and deeds of the
estates and gardens of their ancestors of Granada, and even the keys of the houses; holding them as evidences
of their hereditary claims, to be produced at the anticipated day of restoration.