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CORDOBA 77
width of the street, and an ell above the ground the
houses are provided with a deep groove to afford space
for the hubs of the wheels. At times the masonry
recedes to offer such a groove, in other places it ap-
pears as if the wagons themselves had worn it down.
In Seville, great mountainous women lean over all
the balconies, while the men fill promenades and
squares with their babble and their idleness; you can
travel about here for hours without seeing anything
more than a starved cat. But lovely views may be
enjoyed on both sides, through the vaulted horse-shoe
portals with their wrought-iron gates, views of marble
courts with green plants and fountains, pillared arcades
and sun. And above, in the sunlight, over the roofs
of the houses, hangs a bit of garden whose almond
trees blossom though it is now the twelfth day of
January.
As we amble along with no hope of ever escaping
from this intricate labyrinth, we are suddenly halted
by a battlemented wall with a marble basin by its side
—the Mosque. In the basin, where a donkey is now
wetting his decayed teeth, true believers once washed
their feet before they disappeared under the horseshoe
entrance.
Behind lies the Orange Court of the Mosque, full of
sunlight and fragrance and splashing waters. You
may sit in the shade of an Arab arch-way, drinking
the stillness of the oranges until you slip into a dazzling
sunlight nap.
But behind the Orange Court is the famous Mosque,
the greatest miracle of the architectural world; it
waits for you.
Entering the Mosque of Córdoba cannot but be an
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