SURRENDER OF GRANADA.
The night preceding the surrender was a night of doleful lamentings
within the walls of the Alhambra, for the household of Boabdil were
preparing to take a last farewell of that delightful abode. All the
royal treasures and most precious effects were hastily packed upon
mules; the beautiful apartments were despoiled, with tears and wailings,
by their own inhabitants. Before the dawn of day a mournful cavalcade
moved obscurely out of a postern gate of the Alhambra and departed
through one of the most retired quarters of the city. It was composed of
the family of the unfortunate Boabdil, which he sent off thus privately,
that they might not be exposed to the eyes of scoffers or the exultation
of the enemy. The mother of Boabdil, the sultana Ayxa la Horra, rode on
in silence, with dejected yet dignified demeanor; but his wife Morayma
and all the females of his household gave way to loud lamentations as
they looked back upon their favorite abode, now a mass of gloomy
towers behind them. They were attended by the ancient domestics of the
household, and by a small guard of veteran Moors loyally attached to the
fallen monarch, and who would have sold their lives dearly in defence of
his family. The city was yet buried in sleep as they passed through its
silent streets. The guards at the gate shed tears as they opened it for
their departure. They paused not, but proceeded along the banks of the
Xenil on the road that leads to the Alpuxarras, until they arrived at
a hamlet at some distance from the city, where they halted and waited
until they should be joined by King Boabdil. The night which had passed
so gloomily in the sumptuous halls of the Alhambra had been one of
joyful anticipation in the Christian camp. In the evening proclamation
had been made that Granada was to be surrendered on the following day,
and the troops were all ordered to assemble at an early hour under their
several banners. The cavaliers, pages, and esquires were all charged
to array themselves in their richest and most splendid style for the
occasion, and even the royal family determined to lay by the mourning
they had recently assumed for the sudden death of the prince of
Portugal, the husband of the princess Isabella. In a clause of the
capitulation it had been stipulated that the troops destined to take
possession should not traverse the city, but should ascend to the
Alhambra by a road opened for the purpose outside of the walls. This was
to spare the feelings of the afflicted inhabitants, and to prevent
any angry collision between them and their conquerors. So rigorous was
Ferdinand in enforcing this precaution that the soldiers were prohibited
under pain of death from leaving the ranks to enter into the city.
The rising sun had scarce shed his rosy beams upon the snowy summits of
the Sierra Nevada when three signal guns boomed heavily from the lofty
fortress of the Alhambra. It was the concerted sign that all was ready
for the surrender. The Christian army forthwith poured out of the city,
or rather camp, of Santa Fe, and advanced across the Vega. The king and
queen, with the prince and princess, the dignitaries and ladies of the
court, took the lead, accompanied by the different orders of monks
and friars, and surrounded by the royal guards splendidly arrayed. The
procession moved slowly forward, and paused at the village of Armilla,
at the distance of half a league from the city.
In the mean time, the grand cardinal of Spain, Don Pedro Gonzalez de
Mendoza, escorted by three thousand foot and a troop of cavalry, and
accompanied by the commander Don Gutierrez de Cardenas and a number of
prelates and hidalgos, crossed the Xenil and proceeded in the advance
to ascend to the Alhambra and take possession of that royal palace and
fortress. The road which had been opened for the purpose led by the
Puerta de los Molinos, or Gate of Mills, up a defile to the esplanade
on the summit of the Hill of Martyrs. At the approach of this detachment
the Moorish king sallied forth from a postern gate of the Alhambra,
having left his vizier, Yusef Aben Comixa, to deliver up the palace. The
gate by which he sallied passed through a lofty tower of the outer
wall, called the Tower of the Seven Floors (de los siete suelos). He
was accompanied by fifty cavaliers, and approached the grand cardinal on
foot. The latter immediately alighted, and advanced to meet him with
the utmost respect. They stepped aside a few paces, and held a brief
conversation in an under tone, when Boabdil, raising his voice,
exclaimed, “Go, senor, and take possession of those fortresses in the
name of the powerful sovereigns to whom God has been pleased to deliver
them in reward of their great merits and in punishment of the sins of
the Moors.” The grand cardinal sought to console him in his reverses,
and offered him the use of his own tent during any time he might sojourn
in the camp. Boabdil thanked him for the courteous offer, adding some
words of melancholy import, and then, taking leave of him gracefully,
passed mournfully on to meet the Catholic sovereigns, descending to the
Vega by the same road by which the cardinal had come. The latter, with
the prelates and cavaliers who attended him, entered the Alhambra, the
gates of which were thrown wide open by the alcayde Aben Comixa. At the
same time the Moorish guards yielded up their arms, and the towers and
battlements were taken possession of by the Christian troops.
While these transactions were passing in the Alhambra and its vicinity
the sovereigns remained with their retinue and guards near the village
of Armilla, their eyes fixed on the towers of the royal fortress,
watching for the appointed signal of possession. The time that had
elapsed since the departure of the detachment seemed to them more than
necessary for the purpose, and the anxious mind of Ferdinand began to
entertain doubts of some commotion in the city. At length they saw the
silver cross, the great standard of this crusade, elevated on the Torre
de la Vela, or Great Watch-tower, and sparkling in the sunbeams. This
was done by Hernando de Talavera, bishop of Avila. Beside it was planted
the pennon of the glorious apostle St. James, and a great shout of
“Santiago! Santiago!” rose throughout the army. Lastly was reared the
royal standard by the king-at-arms, with the shout of “Castile! Castile!
for King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella!” The words were echoed by the
whole army, with acclamations that resounded across the Vega. At sight
of these signals of possession the sovereigns sank upon their knees,
giving thanks to God for this great triumph; the whole assembled host
followed their example, and the choristers of the royal chapel broke
forth into the solemn anthem of “Te Deum laudamus.”
The king now advanced with a splendid escort of cavalry and the sound of
trumpets, until he came to a small mosque near the banks of the Xenil,
and not far from the foot of the Hill of Martyrs, which edifice remains
to the present day consecrated as the hermitage of St. Sebastian. Here
he beheld the unfortunate king of Granada approaching on horseback at
the head of his slender retinue. Boabdil as he drew near made a movement
to dismount, but, as had previously been concerted, Ferdinand prevented
him. He then offered to kiss the king’s hand, which according to
arrangement was likewise declined, whereupon he leaned forward and
kissed the king’s right arm; at the same time he delivered the keys
of the city with an air of mingled melancholy and resignation. “These
keys,” said he, “are the last relics of the Arabian empire in Spain:
thine, O king, are our trophies, our kingdom, and our person. Such is
the will of God! Receive them with the clemency thou hast promised, and
which we look for at thy hands.” *
* Abarca, Anales de Aragon, Rey 30, c. 3.
King Ferdinand restrained his exultation into an air of serene
magnanimity. “Doubt not our promises,” replied he, “nor that thou shalt
regain from our friendship the prosperity of which the fortune of war
has deprived thee.”
Being informed that Don Inigo Lopez de Mendoza, the good count of
Tendilla, was to be governor of the city, Boabdil drew from his finger a
gold ring set with a precious stone and presented it to the count. “With
this ring,” said he, “Granada has been governed; take it and govern with
it, and God make you more fortunate than I!”*
* This ring remained in the possession of the descendants of the
count until the death of the marques Don Inigo, the last male heir,
who died in Malaga, without children, in 1656. The ring was then lost
through inadvertence and ignorance of its value, Dona Maria, the sister
of the marques, being absent in Madrid--“Alcantara,” 1. 4, c.18.
He then proceeded to the village of Armilla, where the queen Isabella
remained with her escort and attendants. The queen, like her husband,
declined all acts of homage, and received him with her accustomed grace
and benignity. She at the same time delivered to him his son, who had
been held as a hostage for the fulfilment of the capitulation. Boabdil
pressed his child to his bosom with tender emotion, and they seemed
mutually endeared to each other by their misfortunes.*
* Zurita, Anales de Aragon, lib. 20, cap. 92.
Having rejoined his family, the unfortunate Boabdil continued on toward
the Alpuxarras, that he might not behold the entrance of the Christians
into his capital. His devoted band of cavaliers followed him in gloomy
silence, but heavy sighs burst from their bosoms as shouts of joy and
strains of triumphant music were borne on the breeze from the victorious
army.
Having rejoined his family, Boabdil set forth with a heavy heart for his
allotted residence in the valley of Purchena. At two leagues’ distance
the cavalcade, winding into the skirts of the Alpuxarras, ascended an
eminence commanding the last view of Granada. As they arrived at this
spot the Moors paused involuntarily to take a farewell gaze at their
beloved city, which a few steps more would shut from their sight for
ever. Never had it appeared so lovely in their eyes. The sunshine, so
bright in that transparent climate, lit up each tower and minaret, and
rested gloriously upon the crowning battlements of the Alhambra, while
the Vega spread its enamelled bosom of verdure below, glistening with
the silver windings of the Xenil. The Moorish cavaliers gazed with a
silent agony of tenderness and grief upon that delicious abode, the
scene of their loves and pleasures. While they yet looked a light
cloud of smoke burst forth from the citadel, and presently a peal of
artillery, faintly heard, told that the city was taken possession of,
and the throne of the Moslem kings was lost for ever. The heart of
Boabdil, softened by misfortunes and overcharged with grief, could no
longer contain itself. “Allah Akbar! God is great!” said he but the
words of resignation died upon his lips and he burst into tears.
The mother, the intrepid Ayxa, was indignant at his weakness. “You do
well,” said she, “to weep like a woman for what you failed to defend
like a man.”
The vizier Aben Comixa endeavored to console his royal master.
“Consider, senor,” said he, “that the most signal misfortunes often
render men as renowned as the most prosperous achievements, provided
they sustain them with magnanimity.”
The unhappy monarch, however, was not to be consoled; his tears
continued to flow. “Allah Akbar!” exclaimed he, “when did misfortune
ever equal mine?”
From this circumstance the hill, which is not far from Padul, took
the name of Feg Allah Akbar, but the point of view commanding the last
prospect of Granada is known among Spaniards by the name of “El ultimo
suspiro del Moro,” or “The last sigh of the Moor.”