"Now speed thee, Count; ride on," quoth he, "a free Frank as For the brave spoil thou leavest me I thank thee from my heart; Still, somewhat, be it mine or thine, thou carriest away." 66 Nay! go in peace for me, my Cid: no more I seek of thee; And thou, I think, for one year's space hast won enough of me." REFLECTIONS ON THE MOSLEM DOMINATION IN SPAIN. BY WASHINGTON IRVING. (From "The Alhambra.") [WASHINGTON IRVING, the distinguished American author, was the son of an Orkney Island emigrant merchant, born in New York city, April 3, 1783. He studied law but found literature more congenial, and after a visit to Europe undertook the publication of Salmagundi, a humorous magazine; and in 1809 he brought out "The History of New York, by Diedrich Knickerbocker," which at once established his literary position. In 1815 he went to Europe, and remained abroad for seventeen years, traveling widely. About 1817 the commercial house in which he was a partner failed, and he was compelled for a time to devote himself to literature for a subsistence. He became secretary of the American embassy (1829); United States minister to Spain (1842); and after his return, four years later, passed the rest of his days at Sunnyside, on the banks of the Hudson river, near Tarrytown, N. Y., where he died Nov. 28, 1859. Among his best-known works are: "The Sketch Book" (1820), "Bracebridge Hall," "Life of Columbus," "Conquest of Granada," "The Alhambra," "Astoria," "Wolfert's Roost," "Life of Washington." ONE of my favorite resorts is the balcony of the central window of the Hall of Ambassadors, in the lofty tower of Comares. I have just been seated there, enjoying the close of a long brilliant day. The sun, as he sank behind the purple mountains of Alhama, sent a stream of effulgence up the valley of the Darro, that spread a melancholy pomp over the ruddy towers of the Alhambra, while the Vega, covered with a slight sultry vapor that caught the setting ray, seemed spread out in the distance like a golden sea. Not a breath of air disturbed the stillness of the hour, and though the faint sound of music and merriment now and then arose from the gardens of the Darro, it but rendered more impressive the monumental silence of the pile which overshadowed me. It was one of those hours and scenes in which memory asserts an almost magical power, and, like the evening sun beaming on these moldering towers, sends back her retrospective rays to light up the glories of the past. As I sat watching the effect of the declining daylight upon this Moorish pile, I was led into a consideration of the light, elegant, and voluptuous character prevalent throughout its internal architecture, and to contrast it with the grand but gloomy solemnity of the Gothic edifices reared by the Spanish conquerors. The very architecture thus bespeaks the opposite and irreconcilable natures of the two warlike peoples who so long battled here for the mastery of the Peninsula. By degrees I fell into a course of musing upon the singular features of the Arabian or Morisco Spaniards, whose whole existence is as a tale that is told, and certainly forms one of the most anomalous yet splendid episodes in history. Potent and durable as was their dominion, we have no one distinct title by which to designate them. They were a nation, as it were, without a legitimate country or a name. A remote wave of the great Arabian inundation, cast upon the shores of Europe, they seemed to have all the impetus of the first rush of the torrent. Their course of conquest from the rock of Gibraltar to the cliffs of the Pyrenees was as rapid and brilliant as the Moslem victories of Syria and Egypt. Nay, had they not been checked on the plains of Tours, all France, all Europe, might have been overrun with the same facility as the empires of the east, and the crescent might at this day have glittered on the fanes of Paris and of London. Repelled within the limits of the Pyrenees, the mixed hordes of Asia and Africa that formed this great irruption gave up the Moslem principles of conquest, and sought to establish in Spain a peaceful and permanent dominion. As conquerors their heroism was only equaled by their moderation; and in both, for a time, they excelled the nations with whom they contended. Severed from their native homes, they loved the land given them, as they supposed, by Allah, and strove to embellish it with everything that could administer to the happiness of man. Laying the foundations of their power in a system of wise and equitable laws, diligently cultivating the arts and sciences, and promoting agriculture, manufactures, and commerce, they gradually formed an empire unrivaled for its prosperity by any of the empires of Christendom; and diligently drawing round them the graces and refinements that marked the Arabian empire in the east at the time of its greatest civilization, they diffused the light of oriental knowledge through the western regions of benighted Europe. The cities of Arabian Spain became the resort of Christian artisans, to instruct themselves in the useful arts. The universities of Toledo, Cordova, Seville, and Granada were sought by the pale student from other lands, to acquaint himself with the sciences of the Arabs, and the treasured lore of antiquity; the lovers of the gay sciences resorted to Cordova and Granada, to imbibe the poetry and music of the east; and the steel-clad warriors of the north hastened thither, to accomplish themselves in the graceful exercises and courteous usages of chivalry. If the Moslem monuments in Spain; if the Mosque of Cordova, the Alcazar of Seville, and the Alhambra of Granada still bear inscriptions fondly boasting of the power and permanency of their dominion, can the boast be derided as arrogant and vain? Generation after generation, century after century, had passed away, and still they maintained possession of the land. A period had elapsed longer than that which has passed since England was subjugated by the Norman conqueror; and the descendants of Musa and Tarik might as little anticipate being driven into exile, across the same straits traversed by their triumphant ancestors, as the descendants of Rollo and William and their victorious peers may dream of being driven back to the shores of Normandy. With all this, however, the Moslem empire in Spain was but a brilliant exotic that took no permanent root in the soil it embellished. Severed from all their neighbors of the west by impassable barriers of faith and manners, and separated by seas and deserts from their kindred of the east, they were an isolated people. Their whole existence was a prolonged though gallant and chivalric struggle for a foothold in a usurped land. They were the outposts and frontiers of Islamism. The peninsula was the great battle ground where the Gothic conquerors of the north and the Moslem conquerors of the east met and strove for mastery; and the fiery courage of the Arab was at length subdued by the obstinate and persevering valor of the Goth. Never was the annihilation of a people more complete than that of the Morisco Spaniards. Where are they? Ask the shores of Barbary and its desert places. The exiled remnant of their once powerful empire disappeared among the barbarians of Africa, and ceased to be a nation. They have not even left a distinct name behind them, though for nearly eight centuries they were a distinct people. The home of their adoption and of their occupation for ages refuses to acknowledge them but as invaders and usurpers. A few broken monuments are all that remain to bear witness to their power and dominion, as solitary rocks left far in the interior bear testimony to the extent of some vast inundation. Such is the Alhambra. A Moslem pile in the midst of a Christian land; an oriental palace amidst the Gothic edifices of the west; an elegant memento of a brave, intelligent, and graceful people, who conquered, ruled, and passed away. ARABIAN POETRY. TRANSLATED BY CHARLES JAMES LYALL. THE COMMON LOT. I SAID to her when she fled in amaze and breathless The Crier of Death proclaims through the Earth his Empire. Cut off in his length of days from all love and kindness; And what for a man is left of delight in living, Past use, flung away, a worthless and worn-out chattel?" A TYPICAL ARAB HERO. A shout rose, and voices cried, "The horsemen have slain a knight!" I said, "Is it Abdallah, the man who ye say is slain? I sprang to his side: the spears had riddled his body through, As weaver on outstretched web plies deftly the sharp-toothed comb. I stood as a camel stands with fear in her heart, and seeks The stuffed skin with eager mouth, and thinks is her young. ling slain? I plied spear above him till the riders had left their prey, I fought as a man who gives his life for his brother's life, Who knows that his time is short, that Death's doom above him hangs. But know ye, if Abdallah be dead, and his place a void, No weakling unsure of hand, and no holder-back was he! Alert, keen, his loins well girt, his legs to the middle bare, Unblemished and clean of limb, a climber to all things high; No wailer before ill luck; one mindful in all he did To think how his work to-day would live in to-morrow's tale; Content to bear hunger's pain though meat lay beneath his handTo labor in ragged shirt that those whom he served might rest. If Death laid her hand on him, and Famine devoured his store, He gave but the gladlier what little to him they spared. He dealt as a youth with Youth, until, when his head grew hoar And age gathered o'er his brow, to Lightness he said-Begone! Yea, somewhat it soothes my souì that never I said to him "Thou liest," nor grudged him aught of mine that he sought of me. AN IDEAL ARAB HEROINE. Alas! Ummu 'Amr set firm her face to depart, and went: ours. Yea, thus in our eyes she dwelt, from morning to noon and eve- No wanton to glance behind-she walked forth with steady tread; Her eyes seek the ground, as though they looked for a thing lost there: She turns not to left or right—her answer is brief and low. She rises before day dawns to carry her supper forth To wives who have need-dear alms, when such gifts are few enow! |