part07-第1章

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　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　A　Ramble　Among　the　Hills。



　　I　USED　frequently　to　amuse　myself　towards　the　close　of　the　day；　when

the　heat　had　subsided；　with　taking　long　rambles　about　the

neighboring　hills　and　the　deep　umbrageous　valleys；　accompanied　by　my

historiographic　squire；　Mateo；　to　whose　passion　for　gossiping　I　on

such　occasions　gave　the　most　unbounded　license；　and　there　was　scarce　a

rock；　or　ruin；　or　broken　fountain；　or　lonely　glen；　about　which　he

had　not　some　marvellous　story；　or；　above　all；　some　golden　legend；

for　never　was　poor　devil　so　munificent　in　dispensing　hidden　treasures。

　　In　the　course　of　one　of　these　strolls　Mateo　was　more　than　usually

communicative。　It　was　toward　sunset　that　we　sallied　forth　from　the

great　Gate　of　Justice；　and　ascended　an　alley　of　trees　until　we　came　to

a　clump　of　figs　and　pomegranates　at　the　foot　of　the　Tower　of　the　Seven

Floors　（de　los　Siete　Suelos）；　the　identical　tower　whence　Boabdil　is

said　to　have　issued；　when　he　surrendered　his　capital。　Here；　pointing

to　a　low　archway　in　the　foundation；　Mateo　informed　me　of　a　monstrous

sprite　or　hobgoblin；　said　to　infest　this　tower；　ever　since　the　time　of

the　Moors；　and　to　guard　the　treasures　of　a　Moslem　king。　Sometimes　it

issues　forth　in　the　dead　of　the　night；　and　scours　the　avenues　of　the

Alhambra；　and　the　streets　of　Granada；　in　the　shape　of　a　headless

horse；　pursued　by　six　dogs　with　terrible　yells　and　howlings。

　　〃But　have　you　ever　met　with　it　yourself；　Mateo；　in　any　of　your

rambles？〃　demanded　I。

　　〃No；　senor；　God　be　thanked！　but　my　grandfather；　the　tailor；　knew

several　persons　that　had　seen　it；　for　it　went　about　much　oftener　in

his　time　than　at　present；　sometimes　in　one　shape；　sometimes　in

another。　Every　body　in　Granada　has　heard　of　the　Belludo；　for　the　old

women　and　the　nurses　frighten　the　children　with　it　when　they　cry。　Some

say　it　is　the　spirit　of　a　cruel　Moorish　king；　who　killed　his　six

sons　and　buried　them　in　these　vaults；　and　that　they　hunt　him　at　nights

in　revenge。〃

　　I　forbear　to　dwell　upon　the　marvellous　details　given　by　the

simple…minded　Mateo　about　this　redoubtable　phantom；　which　has；　in

fact；　been　time　out　of　mind　a　favorite　theme　of　nursery　tales　and

popular　tradition　in　Granada；　and　of　which　honorable　mention　is　made

by　an　ancient　and　learned　historian　and　topographer　of　the　place。

　　Leaving　this　eventful　pile；　we　continued　our　course；　skirting　the

fruitful　orchards　of　the　Generalife；　in　which　two　or　three

nightingales　were　pouring　forth　a　rich　strain　of　melody。　Behind

these　orchards　we　passed　a　number　of　Moorish　tanks；　with　a　door　cut

into　the　rocky　bosom　of　the　hill；　but　closed　up。　These　tanks；　Mateo

informed　me；　were　favorite　bathing…places　of　himself　and　his

comrades　in　boyhood；　until　frightened　away　by　a　story　of　a　hideous

Moor；　who　used　to　issue　forth　from　the　door　in　the　rock　to　entrap

unwary　bathers。

　　Leaving　these　haunted　tanks　behind　us；　we　pursued　our　ramble　up　a

solitary　mule…path　winding　among　the　hills；　and　soon　found　ourselves

amidst　wild　and　melancholy　mountains；　destitute　of　trees；　and　here　and

there　tinted　with　scanty　verdure。　Every　thing　within　sight　was

severe　and　sterile；　and　it　was　scarcely　possible　to　realize　the　idea

that　but　a　short　distance　behind　us　was　the　Generalife；　with　its

blooming　orchards　and　terraced　gardens；　and　that　we　were　in　the

vicinity　of　delicious　Granada；　that　city　of　groves　and　fountains。

But　such　is　the　nature　of　Spain；　wild　and　stern　the　moment　it

escapes　from　cultivation；　the　desert　and　the　garden　are　ever　side　by

side。

　　The　narrow　defile　up　which　we　were　passing　is　called；　according　to

Mateo；　el　Barranco　de　la　tinaja；　or　the　ravine　of　the　jar；　because　a

jar　full　of　Moorish　gold　was　found　here　in　old　times。　The　brain　of

poor　Mateo　was　continually　running　upon　these　golden　legends。

　　〃But　what　is　the　meaning　of　the　cross　I　see　yonder　upon　a　heap　of

stones；　in　that　narrow　part　of　the　ravine？〃

　　〃Oh；　that's　nothing…　a　muleteer　was　murdered　there　some　years

since。〃


　　〃So　then；　Mateo；　you　have　robbers　and　murderers　even　at　the　gates　of

the　Alhambra？〃

　　〃Not　at　present；　senor；　that　was　formerly；　when　there　used　to　be

many　loose　fellows　about　the　fortress；　but　they've　all　been　weeded

out。　Not　but　that　the　gipsies　who　live　in　caves　in　the　hillsides；　just

out　of　the　fortress；　are　many　of　them　fit　for　any　thing；　but　we　have

had　no　murder　about　here　for　a　long　time　past。　The　man　who　murdered

the　muleteer　was　hanged　in　the　fortress。〃

　　Our　path　continued　up　the　barranco；　with　a　bold；　rugged　height　to

our　left；　called　the　〃Silla　del　Moro；〃　or　Chair　of　the　Moor；　from

the　tradition　already　alluded　to；　that　the　unfortunate　Boabdil　fled

thither　during　a　popular　insurrection；　and　remained　all　day　seated

on　the　rocky　summit；　looking　mournfully　down　on　his　factious　city。

　　We　at　length　arrived　on　the　highest　part　of　the　promontory　above

Granada；　called　the　mountain　of　the　sun。　The　evening　was

approaching；　the　setting　sun　just　gilded　the　loftiest　heights。　Here

and　there　a　solitary　shepherd　might　be　descried　driving　his　flock　down

the　declivities；　to　be　folded　for　the　night；　or　a　muleteer　and　his

lagging　animals；　threading　some　mountain　path；　to　arrive　at　the　city

gates　before　nightfall。

　　Presently　the　deep　tones　of　the　cathedral　bell　came　swelling　up

the　defiles；　proclaiming　the　hour　of　〃oration〃　or　prayer。　The　note　was

responded　to　from　the　belfry　of　every　church；　and　from　the　sweet　bells

of　the　convents　among　the　mountains。　The　shepherd　paused　on　the　fold

of　the　hill；　the　muleteer　in　the　midst　of　the　road；　each　took　off

his　hat　and　remained　motionless　for　a　time；　murmuring　his　evening

prayer。　There　is　always　something　pleasingly　solemn　in　this　custom；　by

which；　at　a　melodious　signal；　every　human　being　throughout　the　land

unites　at　the　same　moment　in　a　tribute　of　thanks　to　God　for　the

mercies　of　the　day。　It　spreads　a　transient　sanctity　over　the　land；　and

the　sight　of　the　sun　sinking　in　all　his　glory；　adds　not　a　little　to

the　solemnity　of　the　scene。

　　In　the　present　instance　the　effect　was　heightened　by　the　wild　and

lonely　nature　of　the　place。　We　were　on　the　naked　and　broken　summit

of　the　haunted　mountain　of　the　sun；　where　ruined　tanks　and　cisterns；

and　the　mouldering　foundations　of　extensive　buildings；　spoke　of　former

populousness；　but　where　all　was　now　silent　and　desolate。

　　As　we　were　wandering　about　among　these　traces　of　old　times；　we

came　to　a　circular　pit；　penetrating　deep　into　the　bosom　of　the

mountain；　which　Mateo　pointed　out　as　one　of　the　wonders　and

mysteries　of　the　place。　I　supposed　it　to　be　a　well　dug　by　the

indefatigable　Moors；　to　obtain　their　favorite　element　in　its

greatest　purity。　Mateo；　however；　had　a　different　story；　and　one　much

more　to　his　humor。　According　to　a　tradition；　in　which　his　father　and

grandfather　firmly　believed；　this　was　an　entrance　to　the

subterranean　caverns　of　the　mountain；　in　which　Boabdil　and　his　court

lay　bound　in　magic　spell；　and　whence　they　sallied　forth　at　night；　at

allotted　times；　to　revisit　their　ancient　abodes。

　　〃Ah；　senor；　this　mountain　is　full　of　wonders　of　the　kind。　In　another

place　there　was　a　hole　somewhat　like　this；　and　just　within　it　hung

an　iron　pot　by　a　chain；　nobody　knew　what　was　in　that　pot；　for　it　was

always　covered　up；　but　every　body　supposed　it　full　of　Moorish　gold。

Many　tried　to　draw　it　forth；　for　it　seemed　just　within　reach；　but

the　moment　it　was　touched　it　would　sink　far；　far　down；　and　not　come　up

again　for　some　time。　At　last　one　who　thought　it　must　be　enchanted

touched　it　with　the　cross；　by　way　of　breaking　the　charm；　and　faith

he　did　break　it；　for　the　pot　sank　out　of　sight　and　never　was　seen

any　more。

　　〃All　this　is　fact；　senor；　for　my　grandfather　was　an　eye…witness。〃

　　〃What！　Mateo；　did　he　see　the　pot？〃

　　〃No；　senor；　but　he　saw　the　hole　where　the　pot　had　hung。〃

　　〃It's　the　same　thing；　Mateo。〃

　　The　deepening　twilight；　which；　in　this　climate；　is　of　short

duration；　admonished　u