Sir Edward George Bulwer-Lytton, 1806-1873, was born in Norfolk County,
England. His father died when he was young; his mother was a woman of
strong literary tastes, and did much to form her son's mind. In 1844, by
royal license, he took the surname of Lytton from his mother's family.
Bulwer graduated at Cambridge. He began to publish in 1826, and his novels
and plays followed rapidly. "Pelham," "The Caxtons," "My Novel," "What
will he do with it?" and "Kenelm Chillingly" are among the best known of
his numerous novels; and "The Lady of Lyons" and "Richelieu" are his most
successful plays. His novels are extensively read on the continent, and
have been translated into most of the languages spoken there. "Leila, or
the Siege of Granada," from which this selection is adapted, was published
in 1840.
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Day dawned upon Granada, and the beams of the winter sun, smiling away the
clouds of the past night, played cheerily on the murmuring waves of the
Xenil and the Darro. Alone, upon a balcony commanding a view of the
beautiful landscape, stood Boabdil, the last of the Moorish kings. He had
sought to bring to his aid all the lessons of the philosophy he had
cultivated.
"What are we," thought the musing prince, "that we should fill the world
with ourselves--we kings? Earth resounds with the crash of my falling
throne; on the ear of races unborn the echo will live prolonged. But what
have I lost? Nothing that was necessary to my happiness, my repose:
nothing save the source of all my wretchedness, the Marah of my life!
Shall I less enjoy heaven and earth, or thought or action, or man's more
material luxuries of food or sleep--the common and the cheap desires of
all? Arouse thee, then, O heart within me! Many and deep emotions of
sorrow or of joy are yet left to break the monotony of existence. . . .
But it is time to depart." So saying, he descended to the court, flung
himself on his barb, and, with a small and saddened train, passed through
the gate which we yet survey, by a blackened and crumbling tower,
overgrown with vines and ivy; thence, amidst gardens now appertaining to
the convent of the victor faith, he took his mournful and unwitnessed way.
When he came to the middle of the hill that rises above those gardens, the
steel of the Spanish armor gleamed upon him, as the detachment sent to
occupy the palace marched over the summit in steady order and profound
silence. At the head of this vanguard, rode, upon a snow-white palfrey,
the Bishop of Avila, followed by a long train of barefooted monks. They
halted as Boabdil approached, and the grave bishop saluted him with the
air of one who addresses an infidel and inferior. With the quick sense of
dignity common to the great, and yet more to the fallen, Boabdil felt, but
resented not, the pride of the ecclesiastic. "Go, Christian," said he,
mildly, "the gates of the Alhambra are open, and Allah has bestowed the
palace and the city upon your king; may his virtues atone the faults of
Boabdil!" So saying, and waiting no answer, he rode on without looking to
the right or the left. The Spaniards also pursued their way.
The sun had fairly risen above the mountains, when Boabdil and his train
beheld, from the eminence on which they were, the whole armament of Spain;
and at the same moment, louder than the tramp of horse or the clash of
arms, was heard distinctly the solemn chant of Te Deum, which preceded the
blaze of the unfurled and lofty standards. Boabdil, himself still silent,
heard the groans and exclamations of his train; he turned to cheer or
chide them, and then saw, from his own watchtower, with the sun shining
full upon its pure and dazzling surface, the silver cross of Spain. His
Alhambra was already in the hands of the foe; while beside that badge of
the holy war waved the gay and flaunting flag of St. Iago, the canonized
Mars of the chivalry of Spain. At that sight the King's voice died within
him; he gave the rein to his barb, impatient to close the fatal
ceremonial, and did not slacken his speed till almost within bowshot of
the first ranks of the army.
Never had Christian war assumed a more splendid and imposing aspect. Far
as the eye could reach, extended the glittering and gorgeous lines of that
goodly power, bristling with sunlit spears and blazoned banners; while
beside, murmured, and glowed, and danced, the silver and laughing Xenil,
careless what lord should possess, for his little day, the banks that
bloomed by its everlasting course. By a small mosque halted the flower of
the army. Surrounded by the archpriests of that mighty hierarchy, the
peers and princes of a court that rivaled the Rolands of Charlemagne, was
seen the kingly form of Ferdinand himself, with Isabel at his right hand,
and the highborn dames of Spain, relieving, with their gay colors and
sparkling gems, the sterner splendor of the crested helmet and polished
mail. Within sight of the royal group, Boabdil halted, composed his aspect
so as best to conceal his soul, and, a little in advance of his scanty
train, but never in mien and majesty more a king, the son of Abdallah met
his haughty conqueror.
At the sight of his princely countenance and golden hair, his comely and
commanding beauty, made more touching by youth, a thrill of compassionate
admiration ran through that assembly of the brave and fair. Ferdinand and
Isabel slowly advanced to meet their late rival,--their new subject; and,
as Boabdil would have dismounted, the Spanish king placed his hand upon
his shoulder. "Brother and prince," said he, "forget thy sorrows; and may
our friendship hereafter console thee for reverses, against which thou
hast contended as a hero and a king--resisting man, but resigned at length
to God."
Boabdil did not affect to return this bitter but unintentional mockery of
compliment, He bowed his head, and remained a moment silent; then
motioning to his train, four of his officers approached, and, kneeling
beside Ferdinand, proffered to him, upon a silver buckler, the keys of the
city. "O king!" then said Boabdil, "accept the keys of the last hold which
has resisted the arms of Spain! The empire of the Moslem is no more. Thine
are the city and the people of Granada; yielding to thy prowess, they yet
confide in thy mercy." "They do well," said the king; "our promises shall
not be broken. But since we know the gallantry of Moorish cavaliers, not
to us, but to gentler hands, shall the keys of Granada be surrendered."
Thus saying, Ferdinand gave the keys to Isabel, who would have addressed
some soothing flatteries to Boabdil, but the emotion and excitement were
too much for her compassionate heart, heroine and queen though she was;
and when she lifted her eyes upon the calm and pale features of the
fallen monarch, the tears gushed from them irresistibly, and her voice
died in murmurs. A faint flush overspread the features of Boabdil, and
there was a momentary pause of embarrassment, which the Moor was the first
to break.
"Fair queen," said he, with mournful and pathetic dignity, "thou canst
read the heart that thy generous sympathy touches and subdues; this is thy
last, nor least glorious conquest. But I detain ye; let not my aspect
cloud your triumph. Suffer me to say farewell." "Farewell, my brother,"
replied Ferdinand, "and may fair fortune go with you! Forget the past!"
Boabdil smiled bitterly, saluted the royal pair with profound and silent
reverence, and rode slowly on, leaving the army below as he ascended the
path that led to his new principality beyond the Alpuxarras. As the trees
snatched the Moorish cavalcade from the view of the king, Ferdinand
ordered the army to recommence its march; and trumpet and cymbal presently
sent their music to the ear of the Moslems.
Boabdil spurred on at full speed, till his panting charger halted at the
little village where his mother, his slaves, and his faithful wife,
Amine--sent on before--awaited him. Joining these, he proceeded without
delay upon his melancholy path. They ascended that eminence which is the
pass into the Alpuxarras. From its height, the vale, the rivers, the
spires, and the towers of Granada broke gloriously upon the view of the
little band. They halted mechanically and abruptly; every eye was turned
to the beloved scene. The proud shame of baffled warriors, the tender
memories of home, of childhood, of fatherland, swelled every heart, and
gushed from every eye.
Suddenly the distant boom of artillery broke from the citadel, and rolled
along the sunlit valley and crystal river. A universal wail burst from the
exiles; it smote,--it overpowered the heart of the ill-starred king, in
vain seeking to wrap himself in Eastern pride or stoical philosophy. The
tears gushed from his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands. The
band wound slowly on through the solitary defiles; and that place where
the king wept is still called The Last Sigh of the Moor.
NOTES.--Granada was the capital of an ancient Moorish kingdom of the same
name, in the southeastern part of Spain. The Darro River flows through it,
emptying into the Xenil (or Jenil) just outside the city walls. King
Ferdinand of Spain drove out the Moors, and captured the city in 1492.
Marah. See Exodus xv. 23.
Avila is an episcopal city in Spain, capital of a province of the same
name.
The Te Deum is an ancient Christian hymn, composed by St. Ambrose; it is
so called from the first Latin words, "Te Deum laudamus," We praise thee,
O God.
Mars, in mythology, the god of war.
The Alhambra is the ancient palace of the Moorish kings, at Granada.
Allah is the Mohammedan name for the Supreme Being.
Roland was a nephew of Charlemagne, or Charles the Great, emperor of the
West and king of France. He was one of the most famous knights of the
chivalric romances.
The Alpuxarras is a mountainous region in the old province of Granada,
where the Moors were allowed to remain some time after their subjugation
by Ferdinand.