按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
mas brillante！〃 （〃What a beautiful star！ how clear and lucid… a star
could not be more brilliant！〃）
I have often remarked this sensibility of the common people of Spain
to the charms of natural objects。 The lustre of a star； the beauty
or fragrance of a flower； the crystal purity of a fountain； will
inspire them with a kind of poetical delight； and then； what
euphonious words their magnificent language affords； with which to
give utterance to their transports！
〃But what lights are those； Mateo； which I see twinkling along the
Sierra Nevada； just below the snowy region； and which might be taken
for stars； only that they are ruddy； and against the dark side of
the mountain？〃
〃Those； senor； are fires； made by the men who gather snow and ice
for the supply of Granada。 They go up every afternoon with mules and
asses； and take turns； some to rest and warm themselves by the
fires； while others fill the panniers with ice。 They then set off down
the mountains； so as to reach the gates of Granada before sunrise。
That Sierra Nevada； senor； is a lump of ice in the middle of
Andalusia； to keep it all cool in summer。〃
It was now completely dark； we were passing through the barranco；
where stood the cross of the murdered muleteer； when I beheld a number
of lights moving at a distance； and apparently advancing up the
ravine。 On nearer approach； they proved to be torches borne by a train
of uncouth figures arrayed in black： it would have been a procession
dreary enough at any time； but was peculiarly so in this wild and
solitary place。
Mateo drew near； and told me； in a low voice； that it was a
funeral train bearing a corpse to the burying…ground among the hills。
As the procession passed by； the lugubrious light of the torches；
falling on the rugged features and funeral…weeds of the attendants；
had the most fantastic effect； but was perfectly ghastly； as it
revealed the countenance of the corpse； which； according to the
Spanish custom； was borne uncovered on an open bier。 I remained for
some time gazing after the dreary train as it wound up the dark defile
of the mountain。 It put me in mind of the old story of a procession of
demons bearing the body of a sinner up the crater of Stromboli。
〃Ah！ senor；〃 cried Mateo； 〃I could tell you a story of a
procession once seen among these mountains； but then you'd laugh at
me； and say it was one of the legacies of my grandfather the tailor。〃
〃By no means； Mateo。 There is nothing I relish more than a
marvellous tale。〃
〃Well； senor； it is about one of those very men we have been talking
of； who gather snow on the Sierra Nevada。
〃You must know； that a great many years since； in my grandfather's
time； there was an old fellow； Tio Nicolo （Uncle Nicholas） by name；
who had filled the panniers of his mule with snow and ice； and was
returning down the mountain。 Being very drowsy； he mounted upon the
mule； and soon falling asleep； went with his head nodding and
bobbing about from side to side； while his surefooted old mule stepped
along the edge of precipices； and down steep and broken barrancos；
just as safe and steady as if it had been on plain ground。 At
length； Tio Nicolo awoke； and gazed about him； and rubbed his eyes…
and； in good truth； he had reason。 The moon shone almost as bright
as day； and he saw the city below him； as plain as your hand； and
shining with its white buildings； like a silver platter in the
moonshine； but； Lord！ senor； it was nothing like the city he had
left a few hours before！ Instead of the cathedral； with its great dome
and turrets； and the churches with their spires； and the convents with
their pinnacles； all surmounted with the blessed cross； he saw nothing
but Moorish mosques； and minarets； and cupolas； all topped off with
glittering crescents； such as you see on the Barbary flags。
〃Well； senor； as you may suppose； Tio Nicolo was mightily puzzled at
all this； but while he was gazing down upon the city； a great army
came marching up the mountains； winding along the ravines； sometimes
in the moonshine sometimes in the shade。 As it drew nigh； he saw
that there were horse and foot all in Moorish armor。 Tio Nicolo
tried to scramble out of their way； but his old mule stood stock
still； and refused to budge； trembling； at the same time； like a leaf…
for dumb beasts； senor； are just as much frightened at such things
as human beings。 Well； senor； the hobgoblin army came marching by；
there were men that seemed to blow trumpets； and others to beat
drums and strike cymbals； yet never a sound did they make； they all
moved on without the least noise； just as I have seen painted armies
move across the stage in the theatre of Granada； and all looked as
pale as death。 At last； in the rear of the army； between two black
Moorish horsemen； rode the Grand Inquisitor of Granada； on a mule as
white as snow。 Tio Nicolo wondered to see him in such company； for the
Inquisitor was famous for his hatred of Moors； and indeed； of all
kinds of Infidels； Jews； and Heretics； and used to hunt them out
with fire and scourge。
〃However； Tio Nicolo felt himself safe； now that there was a
priest of such sanctity at hand。 So making the sign of the cross； he
called out for his benediction； when hombre！ he received a blow that
sent him and his old mule over the edge of a steep bank； down which
they rolled； head over heels； to the bottom！ Tio Nicolo did not come
to his senses until long after sunrise； when he found himself at the
bottom of a deep ravine； his mule grazing beside him； and his panniers
of snow completely melted。 He crawled back to Granada sorely bruised
and battered； but was glad to find the city looking as usual； with
Christian churches and crosses。
〃When he told the story of his night's adventure； every one
laughed at him； some said he had dreamed it all； as he dozed on his
mule； others thought it all a fabrication of his own… but what was
strange； senor； and made people afterwards think more seriously of the
matter； was； that the Grand Inquisitor died within the year。 I have
often heard my grandfather； the tailor； say that there was more
meant by that hobgoblin army bearing off the resemblance of the
priest； than folks dared to surmise。〃
〃Then you would insinuate； friend Mateo； that there is a kind of
Moorish limbo； or purgatory； in the bowels of these mountains； to
which the padre Inquisitor was borne off。〃
〃God forbid； senor！ I know nothing of the matter。 I only relate what
I heard from my grandfather。〃
By the time Mateo had finished the tale which I have more succinctly
related； and which was interlarded with many comments； and spun out
with minute details； we reached the gate of the Alhambra。
The marvellous stories hinted at by Mateo； in the early part of
our ramble about the Tower of the Seven Floors； set me as usual upon
my goblin researches。 I found that the redoubtable phantom； the
Belludo； had been time out of mind a favorite theme of nursery tales
and popular traditions in Granada； and that honorable mention had even
been made of it by an ancient historian and topographer of the
place。 The scattered members of one of these popular traditions I have
gathered together； collated them with infinite pains； and digested
them into the following legend； which only wants a number of learned
notes and references at bottom to take its rank among those concrete
productions gravely passed upon the world for Historical Facts。
Legend of the Moor's Legacy。
JUST within the fortress of the Alhambra； in front of the royal
palace； is a broad open esplanade； called the Place or Square of the
Cisterns （la Plaza de los Algibes）； so called from being undermined by
reservoirs of water； hidden from sight； and which have existed from
the time of the Moors。 At one corner of this esplanade is a Moorish
well； cut through the living rock to a great depth； the water of which
is cold as ice and clear as crystal。 The wells made by the Moors are
always in repute； for it is well known what pains they took to
penetrate to the purest and sweetest springs and fountains。 The one of
which we now speak is famous throughout Granada； insomuch that
water…carriers； some bearing great water…jars on their shoulders；
others driving asses before them laden with earthen vessels； are
ascending and descending the steep woody avenues of the Alhambra； from
early dawn until a late hour of the night。
Fountains and wells； ever since the scriptural days； have been noted
gossiping places in hot climates； and at the well in question there is
a kind of perpetual club kept up during the livelong day； by the
invalids； old women； and other curious do…nothing folk of the
fortress； who sit here on the stone benches； under an awning spread
over the well to shelter the toll…gatherer from the sun； and dawdle
over the gossip of the fortress； and question every water…carrier that
arrives about the news of the city