When the day arrived I beheld the old count in patriarchal state,
his family and household around him, with functionaries who mismanaged
his estates at a distance and consumed the proceeds; while numerous
old worn-out servants and pensioners were loitering about the courts
and keeping within smell of the kitchen.
It was a joyous day in the Alhambra. The guests dispersed themselves
about the palace before the hour of dinner, enjoying the luxuries of
its courts and fountains, and embosomed gardens, and music and
laughter resounded through its late silent halls.
The feast, for a set dinner in Spain is literally a feast, was
served in the beautiful Morisco Hall of "Las Dos Hermanas." The
table was loaded with all the luxuries of the season; there was an
almost interminable succession of dishes; showing how truly the
feast at the rich Camacho's wedding in Don Quixote was a picture of
a Spanish banquet. A joyous conviviality prevailed round the board;
for though Spaniards are generally abstemious, they are complete
revellers on occasions like the present, and none more so than the
Andalusians. For my part, there was something peculiarly exciting in
thus sitting at a feast in the royal halls of the Alhambra, given by
one who might claim remote affinity with its Moorish kings, and who
was a lineal representative of Gonsalvo of Cordova, one of the most
distinguished of the Christian conquerors.
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