"- ("Nobody
better; in fact, sir, I am a son of the Alhambra!")
The common Spaniards have certainly a most poetical way of
expressing themselves. "A son of the Alhambra!"- the appellation
caught me at once; the very tattered garb of my new acquaintance
assumed a dignity in my eyes. It was emblematic of the fortunes of the
place, and befitted the progeny of a ruin.
I put some farther questions to him, and found that his title was
legitimate. His family had lived in the fortress from generation to
generation ever since the time of the conquest. His name was Mateo
Ximenes. "Then, perhaps," said I, "you may be a descendant from the
great Cardinal Ximenes?"- "Dios sabe! God knows, senor! It may be
so. We are the oldest family in the Alhambra- Cristianos viejos, old
Christians, without any taint of Moor or Jew. I know we belong to some
great family or other, but I forget whom. My father knows all about
it: he has the coat-of-arms hanging up in his cottage, up in the
fortress."- There is not any Spaniard, however poor, but has some
claim to high pedigree. The first title of this ragged worthy,
however, had completely captivated me, so I gladly accepted the
services of the "son of the Alhambra."
We now found ourselves in a deep narrow ravine, filled with
beautiful groves, with a steep avenue, and various footpaths winding
through it, bordered with stone seats, and ornamented with
fountains.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59