s. A string of superlatives can do no more
than tire the reader, an exact description can only confuse; nor is the
painter able to give more than a suggestion of the bewildering charm.
The effect is too emotional to be conveyed from man to man, and each
must feel it for himself. Charles V. called him unhappy who had lost
such treasure--_desgraciado el que tal perdio_--and showed his own
appreciation by demolishing a part to build a Renaissance palace for
himself! It appears that kings have not received from heaven with their
right divine to govern wrong the inestimable gift of good taste; and for
them possibly it is fortunate, since when, perchance, a sovereign has
the artistic temperament, a discerning people--cuts off his head.

XXXIV

[Sidenote: Boabdil the Unlucky]

He was indeed unhappy who lost such treasure. The plain of Granada
smiles with luxuriant crops, a beautiful country, gay with a hundred
colours, and in summer when the corn is ripe it burns with vivid gold.
The sun shines with fiery rays from the blue sky, and from the
snow-capped mountains cool breezes temper the heat.

But from his cradle Boabdil was unfortunate; soothsayers prophesied that
his reign would see the downfall of the Moorish power, and his every
step tended to that end. Never in human existence was more evident the
mysterious power of the three sisters, the daughters of Night; the Fates
had spun his destiny, they placed the pitfalls before his feet and
closed his eyes that he might not see; they hid from him the way of
escape. _Allah Achbar!_ It was destiny. In no other way can be explained
the madness which sped the victims of that tragedy to their ruin; for
with the enemy at their very gates, the Muslims set up and displaced
kings, plotted and counterplotted. Boabdil was twice deposed and twice
regained the throne. Even when the Christian kingdoms had united to
consume the remnant of Moorish sovereignty the Moors could not cease
their quarrelling. Boabdil looked on with satisfaction while the
territory of the rival claimant to his crown was wrested from him, and
did not understand that his turn must inevitably follow. Verily, the
gods, wishing to destroy him, had deranged his mind. It is a pitiful
history of treachery and folly that was enacted while the Catholic
Sovereigns devoured the pomegranate, seed by seed.

To me history, with its hopes bound to be frustrated and its useless
efforts, sometimes is so terrible that I ca