Chapter CXIV: Part 114

"Long hung the contest doubtful; for though a heavy shower of rain,
sent by the 'cloud-compelling Jove,' in some measure cooled their
ardor, as doth a bucket of water thrown on a group of fighting
mastiffs, yet did they but pause for a moment, to return with
tenfold fury to the charge. Just at this juncture a vast and dense
column of smoke was seen slowly rolling toward the scene of battle.
The combatants paused for a moment, gazing in mute astonishment,
until the wind, dispelling the murky cloud, revealed the flaunting
banner of Michael Paw, the Patroon of Communipaw. That valiant
chieftain came fearlessly on at the head of a phalanx of oyster-fed
Pavonians and a corps de reserve of the Van Arsdales and Van
Bummels, who had remained behind to digest the enormous dinner they
had eaten. These now trudged manfully forward, smoking their pipes
with outrageous vigor, so as to raise the awful cloud that has been
mentioned, but marching exceedingly slow, being short of leg, and of
great rotundity in the belt.

"And now the deities who watched over the fortunes of the
Nederlanders having unthinkingly left the field, and stepped into a
neighboring tavern to refresh themselves with a pot of beer, a
direful catastrophe had well-nigh ensued. Scarce had the myrmidons
of Michael Paw attained the front of battle, when the Swedes,
instructed by the cunning Risingh, leveled a shower of blows full at
their tobacco-pipes. Astounded at this assault, and dismayed at the
havoc of their pipes, these ponderous warriors gave way, and like a
drove of frightened elephants broke through the ranks of their own
army. The little Hoppers were borne down in the surge; the sacred
banner emblazoned with the gigantic oyster of Communipaw was
trampled in the dirt; on blundered and thundered the heavy-sterned
fugitives, the Swedes pressing on their rear and applying their feet
a parte poste of the Van Arsdales and the Van Bummels with a vigor
that prodigiously accelerated their movements; nor did the renowned
Michael Paw himself fail to receive divers grievous and dishonorable
visitations of shoe-leather.

"But what, oh Muse! was the rage of Peter Stuyvesant, when from afar
he saw his army giving way! In the transports of his wrath he sent
forth a roar, enough to shake the very hills. The men of the
Manhattoes plucked up new courage at the sound, or, rather, they
rallied at the voice of their leader, of whom they stood more in awe
than of all the Swedes in Christendom. Without waiting for their
aid, the daring Peter dashed, sword in hand, into the thickest of
the foe. Then might be seen achievements worthy of the days of the
giants. Wherever he went the enemy shrank before him; the Swedes
fled to right and left, or were driven, like dogs, into their own
ditch; but as he pushed forward, singly with headlong courage, the
foe closed behind and hung upon his rear. One aimed a blow full at
his heart; but the protecting power which watches over the great and
good turned aside the hostile blade and directed it to a
side-pocket, where reposed an enormous iron tobacco-box, endowed,
like the shield of Achilles, with supernatural powers, doubtless
from bearing the portrait of the blessed St. Nicholas. Peter
Stuyvesant turned like an angry bear upon the foe, and seizing him,
as he fled, by an immeasurable queue, 'Ah, whoreson caterpillar,'
roared he, 'here's what shall make worms' meat of thee!' so saying
he whirled his sword and dealt a blow that would have decapitated
the varlet, but that the pitying steel struck short and shaved the
queue forever from his crown. At this moment an arquebusier
leveled his piece from a neighboring mound, with deadly aim; but
the watchful Minerva, who had just stopped to tie up her garter,
seeing the peril of her favorite hero, sent old Boreas with his
bellows, who, as the match descended to the pan, gave a blast that
blew the priming from the touch-hole.

"Thus waged the fight, when the stout Risingh, surveying the field
from the top of a little ravelin, perceived his troops banged,
beaten, and kicked by the invincible Peter. Drawing his falchion,
and uttering a thousand anathemas, he strode down to the scene of
combat with some such thundering strides as Jupiter is said by
Hesiod to have taken when he strode down the spheres to hurl his
thunder-bolts at the Titans.

"When the rival heroes came face to face, each made a prodigious
start in the style of a veteran stage-champion. Then did they
regard each other for a moment with the bitter aspect of two furious
ram-cats on the point of a clapper-clawing. Then did they throw
themselves into one attitude, then into another, striking their
swords on the ground, first on the right side, then on the left: at
last at it they went with incredible ferocity. Words cannot tell
the prodigies of strength and valor displayed in this direful
encounter,--an encounter compared to which the far-famed battles of
Ajax with Hector, of AEneas with Turnus, Orlando with Rodomont, Guy
of Warwick with Colbrand the Dane, or of that renowned Welsh knight,
Sir Owen of the Mountains, with the giant Guylon, were all gentle
sports and holiday recreations. At length the valiant Peter,
watching his opportunity, aimed a blow enough to cleave his
adversary to the very chine; but Risingh, nimbly raising his sword,
warded it off so narrowly, that, glancing on one side, it shaved
away a huge canteen in which he carried his liquor,--thence pursuing
its trenchant course, it severed off a deep coat-pocket, stored with
bread and cheese,--which provant, rolling among the armies,
occasioned a fearful scrambling between the Swedes and Dutchmen, and
made the general battle to wax more furious than ever.

"Enraged to see his military stores laid waste, the stout Risingh,
collecting all his forces, aimed a mighty blow full at the hero's
crest. In vain did his fierce little cocked hat oppose its course.
The biting steel clove through the stubborn ram beaver, and would
have cracked the crown of any one not endowed with supernatural
hardness of head; but the brittle weapon shivered in pieces on the
skull of Hardkoppig Piet, shedding a thousand sparks, like beams of
glory, round his grizzly visage.

"The good Peter reeled with the blow, and turning up his eyes beheld
a thousand suns, besides moons and stars, dancing about the
firmament; at length, missing his footing, by reason of his wooden
leg, down he came on his seat of honor with a crash which shook the
surrounding hills, and might have wrecked his frame, had he not been
received into a cushion softer than velvet, which Providence, or
Minerva, or St. Nicholas, or some cow, had benevolently prepared for
his reception.

"The furious Risingh, in despite of the maxim, cherished by all true
knights, that 'fair play is a jewel,' hastened to take advantage of
the hero's fall; but, as he stooped to give a fatal blow, Peter
Stuyvesant dealt him a thwack over the sconce with his wooden leg,
which set a chime of bells ringing triple bob-majors in his
cerebellum. The bewildered Swede staggered with the blow, and the
wary Peter seizing a pocket-pistol, which lay hard by, discharged it
full at the head of the reeling Risingh. Let not my reader mistake;
it was not a murderous weapon loaded with powder and ball, but a
little sturdy stone pottle charged to the muzzle with a double dram
of true Dutch courage, which the knowing Antony Van Corlear carried
about him by way of replenishing his valor, and which had dropped
from his wallet during his furious encounter with the drummer. The
hideous weapon sang through the air, and true to its course as was
the fragment of a rock discharged at Hector by bully Ajax,
encountered the head of the gigantic Swede with matchless violence.

"This heaven-directed blow decided the battle. The ponderous
pericranium of General Jan Risingh sank upon his breast; his knees
tottered under him; a deathlike torpor seized upon his frame, and he
tumbled to the earth with such violence that old Pluto started with
affright, lest he should have broken through the roof of his
infernal palace.

"His fall was the signal of defeat and victory: the Swedes gave way,
the Dutch pressed forward; the former took to their heels, the
latter hotly pursued. Some entered with them, pell-mell, through
the sally-port; others stormed the bastion, and others scrambled
over the curtain. Thus in a little while the fortress of Fort
Christina, which, like another Troy, had stood a siege of full ten
hours, was carried by assault, without the loss of a single man on
either side. Victory, in the likeness of a gigantic ox-fly, sat
perched upon the cocked hat of the gallant Stuyvesant; and it was
declared by all the writers whom he hired to write the history of
his expedition that on this memorable day he gained a sufficient
quantity of glory to immortalize a dozen of the greatest heroes in
Christendom!"

In the "Sketch-Book," Irving set a kind of fashion in narrative essays, in brief stories of mingled humor and pathos, which was followed for half a century. He himself worked the same vein in "Bracebridge Hall" and "Tales of a Traveller." And there is no doubt that some of the most fascinating of the minor sketches of Charles Dickens, such as the story of the Bagman's Uncle, are lineal descendants of, if they were not suggested by, Irving's "Adventure of My Uncle," and the "Bold Dragoon."

The taste for the leisurely description and reminiscent essay of the "Sketch-Book" does not characterize the readers of this generation, and we have discovered that the pathos of its elaborated scenes is somewhat "literary." The sketches of "Little Britain," and "Westminster Abbey," and, indeed, that of "Stratford-on-Avon," will for a long time retain their place in selections of "good reading;" but the "Sketch-Book" is only floated, as an original work, by two papers, the "Rip Van Winkle" and the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow;" that is to say by the use of the Dutch material, and the elaboration of the "Knickerbocker Legend," which was the great achievement of Irving's life. This was broadened and deepened and illustrated by the several stories of the "Money Diggers," of "Wolfert Webber" and "Kidd the Pirate," in the "Tales of a Traveller," and by "Dolph Heyliger" in "Bracebridge Hall." Irving was never more successful than in painting the Dutch manners and habits of the early time, and he returned again and again to the task until he not only made the shores of the Hudson and the islands of New York harbor and the East River classic ground, but until his conception of Dutch life in the New World had assumed historical solidity and become a tradition of the highest poetic value. If in the multiplicity of books and the change of taste the bulk of Irving's works shall go out of print, a volume made up of his Knickerbocker history and the legends relating to the region of New York and the Hudson would survive as long as anything that has been produced in this country.

The philosophical student of the origin of New World society may find food for reflection in the "materiality" of the basis of the civilization of New York. The picture of abundance and of enjoyment of animal life is perhaps not overdrawn in Irving's sketch of the home of the Van Tassels, in the "Legend of Sleepy Hollow." It is all the extract we can make room for from that careful study.

"Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each
week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van
Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer.
She was a blooming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge;
ripe and melting and rosy-checked as one of her father's peaches,
and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but her vast
expectations. She was, withal, a little of a coquette, as might be
perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and
modern fashions, as most suited to set off her charms. She wore the
ornaments of pure yellow gold which her great-great-grandmother had
brought over from Saardam; the tempting stomacher of the olden time;
and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest
foot and ankle in the country round.

"Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex; and it
is not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon found favor
in his eyes, more especially after he had visited her in her
paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a
thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true,
sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries of his
own farm; but within those everything was snug, happy, and
well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his wealth, but not proud
of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty abundance rather than the
style in which he lived. His stronghold was situated on the banks
of the Hudson, in one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in
which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A great elm-tree
spread its broad branches over it, at the foot of which bubbled up
a spring, of the softest and sweetest water, in a little well,
formed of a barrel, and then stole sparkling away through the grass
to a neighboring brook, that bubbled along among alders and dwarf
willows. Hard by the farm-house was a vast barn, that might have
served for a church, every window and crevice of which seemed
bursting forth with the treasures of the farm. The flail was
busily resounding within it from morning till night; swallows and
martins skimmed twittering about the eaves; and rows of pigeons,
some with one eye turned up, as if watching the weather, some with
their heads under their wings, or buried in their bosoms, and
others swelling and cooing and bowing about their dames, were
enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek, unwieldy porkers were
grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens, whence sallied
forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the
air. A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining
pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were
gobbling through the farm-yard, and guinea fowls fretting about it,
like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, discontented cry.
Before the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a
husband, a warrior, and a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished
wings, and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart
--sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet, and then generously
calling his ever-hungry family of wives and children to enjoy the
rich morsel which he had discovered.

"The pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked upon this sumptuous
promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind's eye he
pictured to himself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding
in his belly, and an apple in his mouth; the pigeons were snugly put
to bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust;
the geese were swimming in their own gravy, and the ducks pairing
cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent
competency of onion-sauce. In the porkers he saw carved out the
future sleek side of bacon, and juicy, relishing ham; not a turkey
but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing,
and, peradventure, a necklace-of savory sausages; and even bright
chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back, in a side-dish, with
uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter which his chivalrous
spirit disdained to ask while living.

"As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his
great green eyes over the fat meadow-lands, the rich fields of
wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchard
burdened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of Van
Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these
domains, and his imagination expanded with the idea how they might
be readily turned into cash, and the money invested in immense
tracts of wild land and shingle palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his
busy fancy already realized his hopes, and presented to him the
blooming Katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the
top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and kettles
dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare,
with a colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee, or
the Lord knows where.

"When he entered the house, the conquest of his heart was complete.
It was one of those spacious farm-houses, with high-ridged, but
lowly-sloping roofs, built in the style handed down from the first
Dutch settlers; the low projecting eaves forming a piazza along the
front, capable of being closed up in bad weather. Under this were
hung flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for
fishing in the neighboring river. Benches were built along the
sides for summer use; and a great spinning-wheel at one end, and a
churn at the other, showed the various uses to which this important
porch might be devoted. From this piazza the wondering Ichabod
entered the hall, which formed the centre of the mansion and the
place of usual residence. Here, rows of resplendent pewter, ranged
on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner stood a huge bag
of wool ready to be spun; in another a quantity of linsey-woolsey
just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples
and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled with the
gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the
best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables
shone like mirrors; and irons, with their accompanying shovel and
tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges
and conch-shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of various
colored birds' eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was
hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly
left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver and well-mended
china."

It is an abrupt transition from these homely scenes, which humor commends to our liking, to the chivalrous pageant unrolled for us in the "Conquest of Granada." The former are more characteristic and the more enduring of Irving's writings, but as a literary artist his genius lent itself just as readily to oriental and medieval romance as to the Knickerbocker legend; and there is no doubt that the delicate perception he had of chivalric achievements gave a refined tone to his mock heroics, which greatly heightened their effect. It may almost be claimed that Irving did for Granada and the Alhambra what he did, in a totally different way, for New York and its vicinity.

The first passage I take from the "Conquest" is the description of the advent at Cordova of the Lord Scales, Earl of Rivers, who was brother of the queen of Henry VII, a soldier who had fought at Bosworth field, and now volunteered to aid Ferdinand and Isabella in the extermination of the Saracens. The description is put into the mouth of Fray Antonio Agapidda, a fictitious chronicler invented by Irving, an unfortunate intervention which gives to the whole book an air of unveracity:

"'This cavalier [he observes] was from the far island of England,
and brought with him a train of his vassals; men who had been
hardened in certain civil wars which raged in their country. They
were a comely race of men, but too fair and fresh for warriors, not
having the sunburnt, warlike hue of our old Castilian soldiery.
They were huge feeders also, and deep carousers, and could not
accommodate themselves to the sober diet of our troops, but must
fain eat and drink after the manner of their own country. They were
often noisy and unruly, also, in their wassail; and their quarter of
the camp was prone to be a scene of loud revel and sudden brawl.
They were, withal, of great pride, yet it was not like our
inflammable Spanish pride: they stood not much upon the 'pundonor,'
the high punctilio, and rarely drew the stiletto in their disputes;
but their pride was silent and contumelious. Though from a remote
and somewhat barbarous island, they believed themselves the most
perfect men upon earth, and magnified their chieftain, the Lord
Scales, beyond the greatest of their grandees. With all this, it
must be said of them that they were marvelous good men in the field,
dexterous archers, and powerful with the battleaxe. In their great
pride and self-will, they always sought to press in the advance and
take the post of danger, trying to outvie our Spanish chivalry.
They did not rush on fiercely to the fight, nor make a brilliant
onset like the Moorish and Spanish troops, but they went into the
fight deliberately, and persisted obstinately, and were slow to find
out when they were beaten. Withal they were much esteemed yet
little liked by our soldiery, who considered them staunch companions
in the field, yet coveted but little fellowship with them in the
camp.

"'Their commander, the Lord Scales, was an accomplished cavalier, of
gracious and noble presence and fair speech; it was a marvel to see
so much courtesy in a knight brought up so far from our Castilian
court. He was much honored by the king and queen, and found great
favor with the fair dames about the court, who indeed are rather
prone to be pleased with foreign cavaliers. He went always in
costly state, attended by pages and esquires, and accompanied by
noble young cavaliers of his country, who had enrolled themselves
under his banner, to learn the gentle exercise of arms. In all
pageants and festivals, the eyes of the populace were attracted by
the singular bearing and rich array of the English earl and his
train, who prided themselves in always appearing in the garb and
manner of their country-and were indeed something very magnificent,
delectable, and strange to behold.'

"The worthy chronicler is no less elaborate in his description of
the masters of Santiago, Calatrava, and Alcantara, and their valiant
knights, armed at all points, and decorated with the badges of their
orders. These, he affirms, were the flower of Christian chivalry;
being constantly in service they became more steadfast and
accomplished in discipline than the irregular and temporary levies
of feudal nobles. Calm, solemn, and stately, they sat like towers
upon their powerful chargers. On parades they manifested none of
the show and ostentation of the other troops: neither, in battle,
did they endeavor to signalize themselves by any fiery vivacity, or
desperate and vainglorious exploit,--everything, with them, was
measured and sedate; yet it was observed that none were more warlike
in their appearance in the camp, or more terrible for their
achievements in the field.

"The gorgeous magnificence of the Spanish nobles found but little
favor in the eyes of the sovereigns. They saw that it caused a
competition in expense ruinous to cavaliers of moderate fortune; and
they feared that a softness and effeminacy might thus be introduced,
incompatible with the stern nature of the war. They signified their
disapprobation to several of the principal noblemen, and recommended
a more sober and soldier-like display while in actual service.

"'These are rare troops for a tourney, my lord [said Ferdinand to
the Duke of Infantado, as he beheld his retainers glittering in gold
and embroidery]; but gold, though gorgeous, is soft and yielding:
iron is the metal for the field.'

"'Sire replied the duke, if my men parade in gold, your majesty will
find they fight with steel.' The king smiled, but shook his head,
and the duke treasured up his speech in his heart."

Our author excels in such descriptions as that of the progress of Isabella to the camp of Ferdinand after the capture of Loxa, and of the picturesque pageantry which imparted something of gayety to the brutal pastime of war:

"It was in the early part of June that the queen departed from
Cordova, with the Princess Isabella and numerous ladies of her
court. She had a glorious attendance of cavaliers and pages, with
many guards and domestics. There were forty mules for the use of
the queen, the princess, and their train.

"As this courtly cavalcade approached the Rock of the Lovers, on the
banks of the river Yeguas, they beheld a splendid train of knights
advancing to meet them. It was headed by that accomplished cavalier
the Marques Duke de Cadiz, accompanied by the adelantado of
Andalusia. He had left the camp the day after the capture of
Illora, and advanced thus far to receive the queen and escort her
over the borders. The queen received the marques with distinguished
honor, for he was esteemed the mirror of chivalry. His actions in
this war had become the theme of every tongue, and many hesitated
not to compare him in prowess with the immortal Cid.

"Thus gallantly attended, the queen entered the vanquished frontier
of Granada, journeying securely along the pleasant banks of the
Xenel, so lately subject to the scourings of the Moors. She stopped
at Loxa, where she administered aid and consolation to the wounded,
distributing money among them for their support, according to their
rank.

"The king, after the capture of Illora, had removed his camp before
the fortress of Moclin, with an intention of besieging it. Thither
the queen proceeded, still escorted through the mountain roads by
the Marques of Cadiz. As Isabella drew near to the camp, the Duke
del Infantado issued forth a league and a half to receive her,
magnificently arrayed, and followed by all his chivalry in glorious
attire. With him came the standard of Seville, borne by the
men-at-arms of that renowned city, and the Prior of St. Juan, with
his followers. They ranged themselves in order of battle, on the
left of the road by which the queen was to pass.

"The worthy Agapida is loyally minute in his description of the
state and grandeur of the Catholic sovereigns. The queen rode a
chestnut mule, seated in a magnificent saddle-chair, decorated with
silver gilt. The housings of the mule were of fine crimson cloth;
the borders embroidered with gold; the reins and head-piece were of
satin, curiously embossed with needlework of silk, and wrought with
golden letters. The queen wore a brial or regal skirt of velvet,
under which were others of brocade; a scarlet mantle, ornamented in
the Moresco fashion; and a black hat, embroidered round the crown
and brim.

"The infanta was likewise mounted on a chestnut mule, richly
caparisoned. She wore a brial or skirt of black brocade, and a
black mantle ornamented like that of the queen.

"When the royal cavalcade passed by the chivalry of the Duke del
Infantado, which was drawn out in battle array, the queen made a
reverence to the standard of Seville, and ordered it to pass to the
right hand. When she approached the camp, the multitude ran forth
to meet her, with great demonstrations of joy; for she was
universally beloved by her subjects. All the battalions sallied
forth in military array, bearing the various standards and banners
of the camp, which were lowered in salutation as she passed.

"The king now came forth in royal state, mounted on a superb
chestnut horse, and attended by many grandees of Castile. He wore a
jubon or close vest of crimson cloth, with cuisses or short skirts
of yellow satin, a loose cassock of brocade, a rich Moorish
scimiter, and a hat with plumes. The grandees who attended him were
arrayed with wonderful magnificence, each according to his taste and
invention.

"These high and mighty princes [says Antonio Agapida] regarded each
other with great deference, as allied sovereigns rather than with
connubial familiarity, as mere husband and wife. When they
approached each other, therefore, before embracing, they made three
profound reverences, the queen taking off her hat, and remaining in
a silk net or cawl, with her face uncovered. The king then
approached and embraced her, and kissed her respectfully on the
cheek. He also embraced his daughter the princess; and, making the
sign of the cross, he blessed her, and kissed her on the lips.

"The good Agapida seems scarcely to have been more struck with the
appearance of the sovereigns than with that of the English earl. He
followed [says he] immediately after the king, with great pomp, and,
in an extraordinary manner, taking precedence of all the rest. He
was mounted 'a la guisa,' or with long stirrups, on a superb
chestnut horse, with trappings of azure silk which reached to the
ground. The housings were of mulberry, powdered with stars of gold.
He was armed in proof, and wore over his armor a short French mantle
of black brocade; he had a white French hat with plumes, and carried
on his left arm a small round buckler, banded with gold. Five pages
attended him, appareled in silk and brocade, and mounted on horses
sumptuously caparisoned; he had also a train of followers, bravely
attired after the fashion of his country.

"He advanced in a chivalrous and courteous manner, making his
reverences first to the queen and infanta, and afterwards to the
king. Queen Isabella received him graciously, complimenting him on
his courageous conduct at Loxa, and condoling with him on the loss
of his teeth. The earl, however, made light of his disfiguring
wound, saying that your blessed Lord, who had built all that house,
had opened a window there, that he might see more readily what
passed within; whereupon the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida is more
than ever astonished at the pregnant wit of this island cavalier.
The earl continued some little distance by the side of the royal
family, complimenting them all with courteous speeches, his horse
curveting and caracoling, but being managed with great grace and
dexterity, leaving the grandees and the people at large not more
filled with admiration at the strangeness and magnificence of his
state than at the excellence of his horsemanship.

"To testify her sense of the gallantry and services of this noble
English knight, who had come from so far to assist in their wars,
the queen sent him the next day presents of twelve horses, with
stately tents, fine linen, two beds with coverings of gold brocade,
and many other articles of great value."

The protracted siege of the city of Granada was the occasion of feats of arms and hostile courtesies which rival in brilliancy any in the romances of chivalry. Irving's pen is never more congenially employed than in describing these desperate but romantic encounters. One of the most picturesque of these was known as "the queen's skirmish." The royal encampment was situated so far from Granada that only the general aspect of the city could be seen as it rose from the vega, covering the sides of the hills with its palaces and towers. Queen Isabella expressed a desire for a nearer view of the city, whose beauty was renowned throughout the world, and the courteous Marques of Cadiz proposed to give her this perilous gratification.

"On the morning of June the 18th, a magnificent and powerful train
issued from the Christian camp. The advanced guard was composed of
legions of cavalry, heavily armed, looking like moving masses of
polished steel. Then came the king and queen, with the prince and
princesses, and the ladies of the court, surrounded by the royal
bodyguard, sumptuously arrayed, composed of the sons of the most
illustrious houses of Spain; after these was the rearguard, a
powerful force of horse and foot; for the flower of the army sallied
forth that day. The Moors gazed with fearful admiration at this
glorious pageant, wherein the pomp of the court was mingled with the
terrors of the camp. It moved along in radiant line, across the
vega, to the melodious thunders of martial music, while banner and
plume, and silken scarf, and rich brocade, gave a gay and gorgeous
relief to the grim visage of iron war that lurked beneath.

"The army moved towards the hamlet of Zubia, built on the skirts of
the mountain to the left of Granada, and commanding a view of the
Alhambra, and the most beautiful quarter of the city. As they
approached the hamlet, the Marques of Villena, the Count Urena, and
Don Alonzo de Aguilar filed off with their battalions, and were soon
seen glittering along, the side of the mountain above the village.
In the mean time the Marques of Cadiz, the Count de Tendilla, the
Count de Cabra, and Don Alonzo Fernandez, senior of Alcaudrete and
Montemayor, drew up their forges in battle array on the plain below
the hamlet, presenting a living barrier of loyal chivalry between
the sovereigns and the city.

"Thus securely guarded, the royal party alighted, and, entering one
of the houses of the hamlet, which had been prepared for their
reception, enjoyed a full view which the city from its terraced
roof. The ladies of the court gazed with delight at the red towers
of the Alhambra, rising from amid shady groves, anticipating the
time when the Catholic sovereigns should be enthroned within its
walls, and its courts shine with the splendor of Spanish chivalry.
'The reverend prelates and holy friars, who always surrounded the
queen, looked with serene satisfaction,' says Fray Antonio Agapida,
at this modern Babylon, enjoying the triumph that awaited them, when
those mosques and minarets should be converted into churches, and
goodly priests and bishops should succeed to the infidel alfaquis.'

"When the Moors beheld the Christians thus drawn forth in full array
in the plain, they supposed it was to offer battle, and hesitated
not to accept it. In a little while the queen beheld a body of
Moorish cavalry pouring into the vega, the riders managing their
fleet and fiery steeds with admirable address. They were richly
armed, and clothed in the most brilliant colors, and the caparisons
of their steeds flamed with gold and embroidery. This was the
favorite squadron of Muza, composed of the flower of the youthful
cavaliers of Granada. Others succeeded, some heavily armed, others
a la gineta, with lance and buckler; and lastly came the legions of
foot-soldiers, with arquebus and crossbow, and spear and scimiter.

"When the queen saw this army issuing from the city, she sent to the
Marques of Cadiz, and forbade any attack upon the enemy, or the
acceptance of any challenge to a skirmish; for she was loth that her
curiosity should cost the life of a single human being.

"The marques promised to obey, though sorely against his will; and
it grieved the spirit of the Spanish cavaliers to be obliged to
remain with sheathed swords while bearded by the foe. The Moors
could not comprehend the meaning of this inaction of the Christians,
after having apparently invited a battle. They sallied several
times from their ranks, and approached near enough to discharge
their arrows; but the Christians were immovable. Many of the
Moorish horsemen galloped close to the Christian ranks, brandishing
their lances and scimiters, and defying various cavaliers to single
combat; but Ferdinand had rigorously prohibited all duels of this
kind, and they dared not transgress his orders under his very eye.

"Here, however, the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida, in his enthusiasm
for the triumphs of the faith, records the following incident, which
we fear is not sustained by any grave chronicler of the times, but
rests merely on tradition, or the authority of certain poets and
dramatic writers, who have perpetuated the tradition in their works.
While this grim and reluctant tranquillity prevailed along the
Christian line, says Agapida, there rose a mingled shout and sound
of laughter near the gate of the city. A Moorish horseman, armed at
all points, issued forth, followed by a rabble, who drew back as he
approached the scene of danger. The Moor was more robust and brawny
than was common with his countrymen. His visor was closed; he bore
a huge buckler and a ponderous lance; his scimiter was of a Damascus
blade, and his richly ornamented dagger was wrought by an artificer
of Fez. He was known by his device to be Tarfe, the most insolent,
yet valiant, of the Moslem warriors--the same who had hurled into
the royal camp his lance, inscribed to the queen. As he rode slowly
along in front of the army, his very steed, prancing with fiery eye
and distended nostril, seemed to breathe defiance to the Christians.

"But what were the feelings of the Spanish cavaliers when they
beheld, tied to the tail of his steed, and dragged in the dust, the
very inscription, 'AVE MARIA,' which Hernan Perez del Pulgar had
affixed to the door of the mosque! A burst of horror and
indignation broke forth from the army. Hernan was not at hand, to
maintain his previous achievement; but one of his young companions
in arms, Garcilasso de la Vega by name, putting spurs to his horse,
galloped to the hamlet of Zubia, threw himself on his knees before
the king, and besought permission to accept the defiance of this
insolent infidel, and to revenge the insult offered to our Blessed
Lady. The request was too pious to be refused. Garcilasso
remounted his steed, closed his helmet, graced by four sable plumes,
grasped his buckler of Flemish workmanship, and his lance of
matchless temper, and defied the haughty Moor in the midst of his
career. A combat took place in view of the two armies and of the
Castilian court. The Moor was powerful in wielding his weapons, and
dexterous in managing his steed. He was of larger frame than
Garcilasso, and more completely aimed, and the Christians trembled
for their champion. The shock of their encounter was dreadful;
their lances were shivered, and sent up splinters in the air.
Garcilasso was thrown back in his saddle--his horse made a wide
career before he could recover, gather up the reins, and return to
the conflict. They now encountered each other with swords. The
Moor circled round his opponent, as a hawk circles when about to
make a swoop; his steed obeyed his rider with matchless quickness;
at every attack of the infidel, it seemed as if the Christian knight
must sink beneath his flashing scimiter. But if Garcilasso was
inferior to him in power, he was superior in agility; many of his
blows he parried; others he received upon his Flemish shield, which
was proof against the Damascus blade. The blood streamed from
numerous wounds received by either warrior. The Moor, seeing his
antagonist exhausted, availed himself of his superior force, and,
grappling, endeavored to wrest him from his saddle. They both fell
to earth; the Moor placed his knee upon the breast of his victim,
and, brandishing his dagger, aimed a blow at his throat. A cry of
despair was uttered by the Christian warriors, when suddenly they
beheld the Moor rolling lifeless in the dust. Garcilasso had
shortened his sword, and, as his adversary raised his arm to strike,
had pierced him to the heart. It was a singular and miraculous
victory,' says Fray Antonio Agapida; 'but the Christian knight was
armed by the sacred nature of his cause, and the Holy Virgin gave
him strength, like another David, to slay this gigantic champion of
the Gentiles.'

"The laws of chivalry were observed throughout the combat--no one
interfered on either side. Garcilasso now despoiled his adversary;
then, rescuing the holy inscription of 'AVE MARIA' from its
degrading situation, he elevated it on the point of his sword, and
bore it off as a signal of triumph, amidst the rapturous shouts of
the Christian army.

"The sun had now reached the meridian, and the hot blood of the
Moors was inflamed by its rays, and by the sight of the defeat of
their champion. Muza ordered two pieces of ordnance to open a fire
upon the Christians. A confusion was produced in one part of their
ranks: Muza called to the chiefs of the army, 'Let us waste no more
time in empty challenges--let us charge upon the enemy: he who
assaults has always an advantage in the combat.' So saying, he
rushed forward, followed by a large body of horse and foot, and
charged so furiously upon the advance guard of the Christians, that
he drove it in upon the battalion of the Marques of Cadiz.

"The gallant marques now considered himself absolved from all
further obedience to the queen's commands. He gave the signal to
attack. 'Santiago!' was shouted along the line; and he pressed
forward to the encounter, with his battalion of twelve hundred
lances. The other cavaliers followed his example, and the battle
instantly became general.

"When the king and queen beheld the armies thus rushing to the
combat, they threw themselves on their knees, and implored the Holy
Virgin to protect her faithful warriors. The prince and princess,
the ladies of the court, and the prelates and friars who were
present, did the same; and the effect of the prayers of these
illustrious and saintly persons was immediately apparent. The
fierceness with which the Moors had rushed to the attack was
suddenly cooled; they were bold and adroit for a skirmish, but
unequal to the veteran Spaniards in the open field. A panic seized
upon the foot-soldiers--they turned and took to flight. Muza and
his cavaliers in vain endeavored to rally them. Some took refuge in
the mountains; but the greater part fled to the city, in such
confusion that they overturned and trampled upon each other. The
Christians pursued them to the very gates. Upwards of two thousand
were either killed, wounded, or taken prisoners; and the two pieces
of ordnance were brought off as trophies of the victory. Not a
Christian lance but was bathed that day in the blood of an infidel.

"Such was the brief but bloody action which was known among the
Christian warriors by the name of 'The Queen's Skirmish;' for when
the Marques of Cadiz waited upon her majesty to apologize for
breaking her commands, he attributed the victory entirely to her
presence. The queen, however, insisted that it was all owing to her
troops being led on by so valiant a commander. Her majesty had not
yet recovered from her agitation at beholding so terrible a scene of
bloodshed, though certain veterans present pronounced it as gay and
gentle a skirmish as they had ever witnessed."

The charm of the "Alhambra" is largely in the leisurely, loitering, dreamy spirit in which the temporary American resident of the ancient palace-fortress entered into its moldering beauties and romantic associations, and in the artistic skill with which he wove the commonplace daily life of his attendant: there into the more brilliant woof of its past. The book abounds in delightful legends, and yet then are all so touched with the author's airy humor that our credulity is never overtaxed; we imbibe all the romantic interest of the place without for a moment losing our hold upon reality. The enchantment of this Moorish paradise become part of our mental possessions, without the least shock to our common sense. After a few days of residence in the part of the Alhambra occupied by Dame Tia Antonia and her family, of which the handmaid Dolores was the most fascinating member, Irving succeeded in establishing himself in a remote and vacant part of the vast pile, in a suite of delicate and elegant chambers with secluded gardens and fountains, that had once been occupied by the beautiful Elizabeth of Farnese, daughter of the Duke of Parma, and more than four centuries ago by a Moorish beauty named Lindaraxa, who flourished in the court of Muhamed the Left-Handed. These solitary and ruined chambers had their own terrors and enchantments, and for the first nights gave the author little but sinister suggestions and grotesque food for his imagination. But familiarity dispersed the gloom and the superstitious fancies.

"In the course of a few evenings a thorough change took place in the
scene and its associations. The moon, which, when I took possession
of my new apartments, was invisible, gradually gained each evening
upon the darkness of the night, and at length rolled in full
splendor above the towers, pouring a flood of tempered light into
every court and hall. The garden beneath my window, before wrapped
in gloom, was gently lighted up; the orange and citron trees were
tipped with silver; the fountain sparkled in the moonbeams, and even
the blush of the rose was faintly visible.

"I now felt the poetic merit of the Arabic inscription on the walls:
'How beauteous is this garden; where the flowers of the earth vie
with the stars of heaven. What can compare with the vase of yon
alabaster fountain filled with crystal water? nothing but the moon
in her fullness, shining in the midst of an unclouded sky!'

"On such heavenly nights I would sit for hours at my window inhaling
the sweetness of the garden, and musing on the checkered fortunes of
those whose history was dimly shadowed out in the elegant memorials
around. Sometimes, when all was quiet, and the clock from the
distant cathedral of Granada struck the midnight hour, I have
sallied out on another tour and wandered over the whole building;
but how different from my first tour! No longer dark and
mysterious; no longer peopled with shadowy foes; no longer recalling
scenes of violence and murder; all was open, spacious, beautiful;
everything called up pleasing and romantic fancies; Lindaraxa once
more walked in her garden; the gay chivalry of Moslem Granada once
more glittered about the Court of Lions! Who can do justice to a
moonlight night in such a climate and such a place? The temperature
of a summer midnight in Andalusia is perfectly ethereal. We seem
lifted up into a purer atmosphere; we feel a serenity of soul, a
buoyancy of spirits, an elasticity of frame, which render mere
existence happiness. But when moonlight is added to all this, the
effect is like enchantment. Under its plastic sway the Alhambra
seems to regain its pristine glories. Every rent and chasm of time,
every mouldering tint and weather-stain, is gone; the marble resumes
its original whiteness; the long colonnades brighten in the
moonbeams; the halls are illuminated with a softened radiance,
we tread the enchanted palace of an Arabian tale.

"What a delight, at such a time, to ascend to the little airy
pavilion of the queen's toilet (el tocador de la reyna), which, like
a bird-cage, overhangs the valley of the Darro, and gaze from its
light arcades upon the moonlight prospect! To the right, the
swelling mountains of the Sierra Nevada, robbed of their ruggedness
and softened into a fairy land, with their snowy summits gleaming
like silver clouds against the deep blue sky. And then to lean over
the parapet of the Tocador and gaze down upon Granada and the
Albaycin spread out like a map below; all buried in deep repose; the
white palaces and convents sleeping in the moonshine, and beyond all
these the vapory vega fading away like a dreamland in the distance.

"Sometimes the faint click of castanets rises from the Alameda,
where some gay Andalusians are dancing away the summer night.
Sometimes the dubious tones of a guitar and the notes of an amorous
voice, tell perchance the whereabout of some moonstruck lover
serenading his lady's window.

"Such is a faint picture of the moonlight nights I have passed
loitering about the courts and halls and balconies of this most
suggestive pile; 'feeding my fancy with sugared suppositions,' and
enjoying that mixture of reverie and sensation which steals away
existence in a southern climate; so that it has been almost morning
before I have retired to bed, and been lulled to sleep by the
falling waters of the fountain of Lindaraxa."

One of the writer's vantage points of observation was a balcony of the central window of the Hall of Ambassadors, from which he had a magnificent prospect of mountain, valley, and vega, and could look down upon a busy scene of human life in an alameda, or public walk, at the foot of the hill, and the suburb of the city, filling the narrow gorge below. Here the author used to sit for hours, weaving histories out of the casual incidents passing under his eye, and the occupations of the busy mortals below. The following passage exhibits his power in transmuting the commonplace life of the present into material perfectly in keeping with the romantic associations of the place:

"There was scarce a pretty face or a striking figure that I daily
saw, about which I had not thus gradually framed a dramatic story,
though some of my characters would occasionally act in direct
opposition to the part assigned them, and disconcert the whole
drama. Reconnoitring one day with my glass the streets of the
Albaycin, I beheld the procession of a novice about to take the
veil; and remarked several circumstances which excited the strongest
sympathy in the fate of the youthful being thus about to be
consigned to a living tomb. I ascertained to my satisfaction that
she was beautiful, and, from the paleness of her cheek, that she was
a victim rather than a votary. She was arrayed in bridal garments,
and decked with a chaplet of white flowers, but her heart evidently
revolted at this mockery of a spiritual union, and yearned after its
earthly loves. A tall, stern-looking man walked near her in the
procession: it was, of course, the tyrannical father, who, from some
bigoted or sordid motive, had compelled this sacrifice. Amid the
crowd was a dark, handsome youth, in Andalusian garb, who seemed to
fix on her an eye of agony. It was doubtless the secret lover from
whom she was forever to be separated. My indignation rose as I
noted the malignant expression painted on the countenances of the
attendant monks and friars. The procession arrived at the chapel of
the convent; the sun gleamed for the last time upon the chaplet of
the poor novice, as she crossed the fatal threshold and disappeared
within the building. The throng poured in with cowl, and cross, and
minstrelsy; the lover paused for a moment at the door. I could
divine the tumult of his feelings; but he mastered them, and
entered. There was a long interval. I pictured to myself the scene
passing within: the poor novice despoiled of her transient finery,
and clothed in the conventual garb; the bridal chaplet taken from
her brow, and her beautiful head shorn of its long silken tresses.
I heard her murmur the irrevocable vow. I saw her extended on a
bier; the death-pall spread over her; the funeral service performed
that proclaimed her dead to the world; her sighs were drowned in the
deep tones of the organ, and the plaintive requiem of the nuns; the
father looked on, unmoved, without a tear; the lover--no my
imagination refused to portray the anguish of the lover--there the
picture remained a blank.

"After a time the throng again poured forth and dispersed various
ways, to enjoy the light of the sun and mingle with the stirring
scenes of life; but the victim, with her bridal chaplet, was no
longer there. The door of the convent closed that severed her from
the world forever. I saw the father and the lover issue forth; they
were in earnest conversation. The latter was vehement in his
gesticulations; I expected some violent termination to my drama; but
an angle of a building interfered and closed the scene. My eye
afterwards was frequently turned to that convent with painful
interest. I remarked late at night a solitary light twinkling from
a remote lattice of one of its towers. 'There,' said I, the unhappy
nun sits weeping in her cell, while perhaps her lover paces the
street below in unavailing anguish.' . . .

"The officious Mateo interrupted my meditations and destroyed in an
instant the cobweb tissue of my fancy. With his usual zeal he had
gathered facts concerning the scene, which put my fictions all to
flight. The heroine of my romance was neither young nor handsome;
she had no lover; she had entered the convent of her own free will,
as a respectable asylum, and was one of the most cheerful residents
within its walls.