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It was the summer of the year 1491, and the armies of Ferdinand and
Isabel invested the city of Granada.
The night was not far advanced; and the moon, which broke through thetransparent air of Andalusia, shone calmly over the immense and murmuringencampment of the Spanish foe, and touched with a hazy light the snow-capped summits of the Sierra Nevada, contrasting the verdure andluxuriance which no devastation of man could utterly sweep from thebeautiful vale below.
In the streets of the Moorish city many a group still lingered. Some, asif unconscious of the beleaguering war without, were listening in quietindolence to the strings of the Moorish lute, or the lively tale of anArabian improrvisatore; others were conversing with such eager andanimated gestures, as no ordinary excitement could wring from the statelycalm habitual to every oriental people. But the more public places inwhich gathered these different groups, only the more impressivelyheightened the desolate and solemn repose that brooded over the rest ofthe city.
At this time, a man, with downcast eyes, and arms folded within thesweeping gown which descended to his feet, was seen passing through thestreets, alone, and apparently unobservent of all around him. Yet thisindifference was by no means shared by the struggling crowds throughwhich, from time to time, he musingly swept.
"God is great!" said one man; "it is the Enchanter Almamen."
"He hath locked up the manhood of Boabdil el Chico with the key of hisspells," quoth another, stroking his beard; "I would curse him, if Idared."
"But they say that he hath promised that when man fails, the genii willfight for Granada," observed a third, doubtingly.
"Allah Akbar! what is, is! what shall be, shall be!" said a fourth, withall the solemn sagacity of a prophet. Whatever their feelings, whetherof awe or execration, terror or hope, each group gave way as Almamenpassed, and hushed the murmurs not intended for his ear. Passing throughthe Zacatin (the street which traversed the Great Bazaar), the reputedenchanter ascended a narrow and winding street, and arrived at lastbefore the walls that encircled the palace and fortress of the Alhambra.
The sentry at the gate saluted and admitted him in silence; and in a fewmoments his form was lost in the solitude of groves, amidst which, atfrequent openings, the spray of Arabian fountains glittered in themoonlight; while, above, rose the castled heights of the Alhambra; and onthe right those Vermilion Towers, whose origin veils itself in thefurthest ages of Phoenician enterprise.
Almamen paused, and surveyed the scene. "Was Aden more lovely?" hemuttered; "and shall so fair a spot be trodden by the victor Nazerene?What matters? creed chases creed—race, race—until time comes back toits starting-place, and behol