see his old rival Ez-Zaghal dethroned by their Catholic Majesties:
"Henceforth," he cried to the messenger who brought him the news, "let
no man call me Zogoiby, for my luck has turned:" to which the other made
answer that the wind which blew in one quarter might soon blow in
another, and the king had best reserve his rejoicings for more settled
weather. Boabdil, though he heard his name cursed in the streets of his
capital as a traitor in league with the infidels, indulged in blind
confidence, now that his detested uncle was powerless; as the vassal of
Ferdinand and Isabella he believed that he had nothing to fear. He had
forgotten that when, in his fatuous hatred of Ez-Zaghal, he incited the
Christian sovereigns to subdue his rival's dominions, he had engaged by
treaty that should Ferdinand succeed in reducing Ez-Zaghal's country,
with the cities of Guadix and Almeria, he would on his part surrender
Granada. He was not, however, long left without a spur to his memory.
Ferdinand wrote to inform him that the conditions named in the treaty
had been fulfilled on his side, and demanded the surrender of Granada in
accordance with the terms then laid down. Boabdil in vain implored
delay; the king was determined, and threatened to repeat the example of
Malaga if the capital were not immediately given up. Boabdil did not
know what to reply; but the people of Granada, led by M[=u]sa, a brave and
gallant knight, took the matter into their own hands, and told his
Catholic Majesty that if he wanted their arms he must come and take
them!
When these bold words were said, the beautiful Vega of Granada was
waving with crops and fruit; it had recovered from the devastations
which accompanied the struggle between Ez-Zaghal and Boabdil, and a
splendid harvest was awaiting the sickle. Ferdinand saw his opportunity,
and, adopting his usual tactics, poured his troops, twenty-five thousand
strong, over the Vega, and for thirty days abandoned it to their
destroying hands. When he turned back towards Cordova, the Vega was one
great expanse of desolation. It was enough for one season; yet once more
was the cruel work of destruction carried out in that year of grace
1490.
[Illustration: SWORD OF BOABDIL (_Villaseca Collection, Madrid_).]
Boabdil had at last been roused to a desperate courage. Guided by M[=u]sa,
whose mettle was of the finest, he girded on his armour, and began to
carry the war into the enemy's quarters. The Moors round about, who had
given in their submission to Ferdinand, were heartened by the sight of
the King of Granada once more on the war path, and, hastily consigning
their promises to the winds, rose up and joined him. It really seemed as
if the good old days of Granada were returning; some fortresses were
recovered from the Christians, and the Moorish army ravaged the borders.
It was but the last gleam of light before the final setting of the sun.
In April, 1491, Ferdinand and Isabella set forth upon their annual
crusade, resolved not to return till Granada was in their power. The
king led an army of forty thousand foot and ten thousand horse, with
such commanders as the famous Ponce de Leon, Marquess of Cadiz, the
Marquess of Santiago, the Counts of Tendilla and Cabra, the Marquess of
Villena, and the redoubtable knight, Don Alonzo de Aguilar. Boabdil held
a council in the Alhambra, whence the clouds of dust raised by Christian
horsemen could be seen on the Vega; some urged the futility of
resistance, but M[=u]sa got up and bade them be true to their ancestors and
never despair while they had strong arms to fight and fleet horses
wherewith to foray. The people caught M[=u]sa's enthusiasm, and there was
nothing heard in Granada but the sound of the furbishing of arms and the
tramp of troops.
M[=u]sa was in chief command, and the gates were in his charge. They had
been barred when the Christians came in view; but M[=u]sa threw them open.
"Our bodies," he said, "will bar the gates." The young men were kindled
by such words, and when he told them, "We have nothing to fight for but
the ground we stand on; without that we are without home or country,"
they made ready to die with him. With such a leader, the Moorish
cavaliers performed prodigious feats of valour in the plain which
divided the city from the Christian camp. Single combats were of daily
occurrence; the Moors would ride almost among the tents of the
Spaniards, and tempt some knight to the duel, from which he too often
did not return. Ferdinand found his best warriors were being killed one
by one, and he straitly forbade his knights to accept the Moors'
challenge. It was hard for the Spanish chivalry to sit still within
their tents, while a bold Moorish horseman would ride within hail and
taunt them with cowardice; and when at length one of the Granadinos
waxed so venturesome that he cast a spear almost into the royal
pavilion, Hernando Perez de Pulgar, surnamed "He of the Exploits," could
no longer contain himself, but gathering a small band of followers, rode
in the dead of night to a postern gate in the walls of Granada, and,
surprising the guards, galloped through the streets till he came to the
chief mosque, which he forthwith solemnly dedicated to the Blessed
Virgin, and in token of its conversion nailed a label on the door
inscribed with the words _Ave Maria_. Granada was awake by this time,
and soldiers were gathering in every direction; but Pulgar put spurs to
his horse, and, amid the amazement of the people, plunged furiously
through the crowd, overturning them as he galloped to the gate, and,
fighting his way out, rode back in triumph to the camp. The Pulgars ever
after held the right to sit in the choir of the mosque-church during the
celebration of High Mass.
Such feats of daring, however, did little to advance the siege, nor were
the few engagements conclusive. Ferdinand renewed his old tactics. He
sallied forth from his camp, which had accidentally been burnt to the
ground, and proceeded to lay waste what remained of the fertility of the
Vega. The Moors made a last desperate sally to save their fields and
orchards, and M[=u]sa and Boabdil fought like heroes at the head of their
cavalry; but the foot soldiers, less steadfast, were beaten back to the
gates, whither M[=u]sa sadly followed them, resolved never again to risk a
pitched battle with such men behind him. It was the last fight of the
Granadinos. For ten years they had disputed every inch of ground with
their invaders; wherever their feet could hold they had stood firm
against the enemy. But now there was left to them nothing beyond their
capital, and within its walls they shut themselves up in sullen despair.
To starve them out was an agreeable task for the Catholic king; and
following the precedent of the third Abd-er-Rahm[=a]n in the siege of
Toledo, he built in eighty days a besieging city over against Granada,
and called it Santa Fe, in honour of his "Holy Faith," and there to this
day it stands, a monument of Ferdinand's resolution. Famine did the work
that no mere valour could effect. The people of Granada implored Boabdil
to spare them further torture and make terms with the besiegers, and at
last the unlucky king gave way. M[=u]sa would be no party to the surrender.
He armed himself _cap-a-pie_, and mounting his charger rode forth from
the city never to return. It is said that as he rode he encountered a
party of Christian knights, half a score strong, and, answering their
challenge, slew many of them before he was unhorsed, and then,
disdaining their offers of mercy, fought stubbornly upon his knees, till
he was too weak to continue the struggle: then with a last effort he
cast himself into the river Xenil, and, heavy with armour, sank to the
bottom.
On the 25th of November, 1491, the act of capitulation was signed, and a
term was fixed during which a truce was to be observed, after which,
should no aid come from outside, Granada was to be delivered up to their
Catholic Majesties. In vain the Moors watched for a sign of the help
they had sought from the Sultans of Turkey and Egypt. No aid came, and
at the end of December Boabdil sent a message to Ferdinand to come and
take possession of the city. The Christian army filed out of Santa Fe,
and advanced across the Vega, watched with mournful eyes by the unhappy
Moors. The leading detachment entered the Alhambra, and presently the
great silver cross was seen shining from the summit of the Torre de la
Vela; beside it floated the banner of St. James, while shouts of
"Santiago!" rose from the army in the plain beneath; and lastly, the
standard of Castile and Aragon was planted by the side of the cross.
Ferdinand and Isabella fell on their knees and gave thanks to God; the
whole army of Spain knelt behind them, and the royal choir sang a solemn
_Te Deum_. At the foot of the Hill of Martyrs, Boabdil, attended by a
small band of horsemen, met the royal procession. He gave Ferdinand the
keys of Granada, and, turning his back upon his beloved city, passed on
to the mountains. There, at Padul, on a spur of the Alpuxarras, Boabdil
stood and gazed back upon the kingdom he had lost: the beautiful Vega,
the towers of Alhambra, and the gardens of the Generalife; all the
beauty and magnificence of his lost home. "Allahu Akbar," he said, "God
is most great," as he burst into tears. His mother Ayesha stood beside
him: "You may well weep like a woman," she said, "for what you could not
defend like a man." The spot whence Boabdil took his sad farewell look
at his city from which he was banished for ever, bears to this day the
name of _el ultimo sospiro del Moro_, "the last sigh of the Moor." He
soon crossed over to Africa, where his descendants learned to beg their
daily bread.
There was crying in Granada when the sun was going down;
Some calling on the Trinity--some calling on Mahoun.
Here passed away the Koran--there in the Cross was borne--
And here was heard the Christian bell--and there the Moorish horn:
Te Deum Laudamus! was up the Alcala sung:
Down from the Alhambra's minarets were all the crescents flung;
The arms thereon of Aragon they with Castile display;
One king comes in in triumph--one weeping goes away.
Thus cried the weeper, while his hands his old white beard did tear,
Farewell, farewell, Granada! thou city without peer!
Woe, woe, thou pride of heathendom! seven hundred years and more
Have gone since first the faithful thy royal sceptre bore!
Thou wert the happy mother of a high renowned race;
Within thee dwelt a haughty line that now go from their place;
Within thee fearless knights did dwell, who fought with mickle glee,
The enemies of proud Castile, the bane of Christentie.
Here gallants held it little thing for ladies' sake to die,
Or for the Prophet's honour, and pride of Soldanry;
For here did valour nourish and deeds of warlike might
Ennobled lordly palaces in which was our delight.
The gardens of thy Vega, its fields and blooming bowers--
Woe, woe! I see their beauty gone, and scattered all their flowers!
No reverence can he claim--the king that such a land hath lost--
On charger never can he ride, nor be heard among the host;
But in some dark and dismal place, where none his face may see,
There weeping and lamenting, alone that king should be.[30]
[Illustration]
XIV.
BEARING THE CROSS.
Boabdil's "last sigh" was but the beginning of a long period of mourning
and lamentation for the luckless Moors he had ushered to destruction. At
first, indeed, it seemed as if the equitable terms upon which Granada
had capitulated would be observed, and freedom of worship and the
Mohammedan law would be upheld. The first archbishop, Hernando de
Talavera, was a good and liberal-minded man, and forcible conversion
formed no part of his policy. He strictly respected the rights of the
Moors, and sought to win them over by force of example, by uniform
justice and kindness, and by conforming as far as possible to their
ways. He made his priests learn Arabic, and said his prayers in the same
ungodly tongue, and by such concessions "so wrought on the minds of the
populace that in 1499, when Cardinal Ximenes was sent by the queen to
aid him in the work, it seemed as if the scenes which occurred at
Jerusalem in the infancy of the Faith were about to be reenacted at
Granada. In one day no less than 3,000 persons received baptism at the
hands of the Primate, who sprinkled them with the hyssop of collective
regeneration."[31] Ximenes was little in harmony with the archbishop's
soft ways: he was the apostle of the Church Militant, always most active
when militant meant triumphant, and would have the souls of these
"infidels" saved from hell fire whether they liked it or no. He
insinuated in Isabella's holy mind the pernicious doctrine that to keep
faith with infidels was breaking faith with God; and it is one of the
few blots on the good queen's name that she at length consented to the
persecution of the Moors--or "Moriscos," as they now began to be called.
The first attempt to coerce the Granadinos was a failure. Some of the
straiter Moslems expressed their repugnance to the new conversions to
Christianity, and these malcontents were arrested. A woman being haled
to prison on such a pretext roused the people of the Albaycin; they rose
in arms and rescued her, and Granada was filled with uproar and
barricade-fights. The garrison was hopelessly outnumbered; Ximenes raged
with impotent fury; but the peaceful archbishop went forth, followed
only by his cross-bearer, and, fearlessly entering the Albaycin, was at
once surrounded by the people, who kissed his garments, and laid their
wrongs before him in whom they accepted a just and generous mediator.
Talavera composed the disputes, and the Cardinal had to retire.
Ximenes was, however, not a man to be easily deterred from his purpose.
He induced the queen to promulgate a decree by which the Moors were
given their choice of baptism or exile. They were reminded that their
ancestors had once been Christian, and that by descent they themselves
were born in the Church, and must naturally profess her doctrine. The
mosques were closed, the countless manuscripts that contained the
results of ages of Moorish learning were burnt by the ruthless Cardinal,
and the unhappy "infidels" were threatened and beaten into the Gospel of
Peace and Goodwill after the manner already approved by their Catholic
Majesties in respect of the no less miserable Jews. The majority of
course yielded, finding it easier to spare their religion than their
homes; but a spark of the old Moorish spirit remained burning bright
among the hillmen of the Alpuxarras, who for some time held their snowy
fastnesses against their persecutors. The first effort to suppress the
rebellion ended in disaster. Don Alonzo de Aguilar, whose fame in deeds
of derring-do had been growing for forty years of valiant chivalry, was
sent into the Sierra Bermeja in 1501, and sustained a terrible defeat at
the hands of the Moriscos, who crushed his cavalry with the massive
rocks which they hurled down upon them.
Beyond the sands, between the rocks, where the old cork trees grow,
The path is rough, and mounted men must singly march and slow;
There o'er the path the heathen range their ambuscado's line,
High up they wait for Aguilar, as the day begins to shine.
There naught avails the Eagle eye, the guardian of Castile,
The eye of wisdom, nor the heart that fear might never feel,
The arm of strength that wielded well the strong mace in the fray,
Nor the broad plate from whence the edge of falchion glance away.
Not knightly valour there avails, nor skill of horse and spear;
For rock on rock comes rumbling down from cliff and cavern drear;
Down, down like driving hail they come, and horse and horseman die
Like cattle whose despair is dumb when the fierce lightnings fly.
Alonzo with a handful more escapes into the field,
There like a lion, stands at bay, in vain besought to yield:
A thousand foes around are seen, but none draws near to fight,
Afar with bolt and javelin, they pierce the steadfast knight.
A hundred and a hundred darts are hissing round his head;
Had Aguilar a thousand hearts, their blood had all been shed;
Faint and more faint he staggers upon the slippery sod--
At last his back is to the earth, he gives his soul to God.
Another and more probable legend, however, tells how Aguilar was killed
in fair fight by the commander of the Moors. He was the fifth lord of
his line who died in combat with the infidels.
This temporary success, however, only aggravated the reprisals of the
now exasperated Christians. The Count of Tendilla stormed Guejar; the
Count of Serin "blew up the mosque in which the women and children of a
wide district had been placed for safety," and King Ferdinand himself
seized the key of the passes, the castle of Lanjaron. The remnant of the
rebels fled to Morocco, Egypt, and Turkey, where their skill as
artificers secured them a living. Thus the first revolt in the
Alpuxarras was suppressed.
Half a century of smouldering hatred ensued. The Moriscos grudgingly
fulfilled the minimum of the religious duties imposed on them by their
outward conversion; but they took care to wash off the holy water with
which their children were baptized as soon as they were out of the
priest's sight; they came home from their Christian weddings to be
married again after the Mohammedan rite; and they made the Barbary
corsair at home in their cities, and helped him to kidnap the children
of the Christians. A wise and honest government, respecting its pledges
given at the surrender of Granada, would have been spared the dangers of
this hidden disaffection; but the rulers of Spain were neither wise nor
honest in their dealings with the Moriscos, and as time went on they
became more and more cruel and false. The "infidels" were ordered to
abandon their native and picturesque costume, and to assume the hats and
breeches of the Christians; to give up bathing, and adopt the dirt of
their conquerors; to renounce their language, their customs and
ceremonies, even their very names, and to speak Spanish, behave
Spanishly, and re-name themselves Spaniards. The great Emperor Charles
V. sanctioned this monstrous decree in 1526, but he had the sense not to
enforce it; and his agents used it only as a means of extorting bribes
from the richer Moors as the price of official blindness. The
Inquisition was satisfied for the time with a "traffic in toleration"
which filled the treasury in a highly satisfactory way. It was reserved
for Philip II. to carry into practical effect the tyrannical law which
his father had prudently left alone. In 1567 he enforced the odious
regulations about language, customs, and the like, and, to secure the
validity of the prohibition of cleanliness, began by pulling down the
beautiful baths of the Alhambra. The wholesale denationalization of the
people was more than any folk--much less the descendants of the
Almanzors, the Abd-er-Rahm[=a]ns, and the Abencerrages--could stomach. A
fracas with some plundering tax-gatherers set light to the inflammable
materials which had long been ready to burn up: some soldiers were
murdered by peasants in whose huts they were billeted; a dyer of
Granada, Farax Aben Farax, of the blood of the Abencerrages, gathered
together a band of the disaffected, and escaped to the mountains before
the garrison had made up their minds to pursue him; Hernando de Valor,
of the race of the Khalifs of Cordova, a man of note in Granada, but
brought to disgrace by his dissolute habits, was chosen King of
Andalusia, with the title of Muley Mohammed Aben Omeyya; and in a week
the whole of the Alpuxarras was in arms, and the second Morisco
rebellion had begun (1568).
The district of the Alpuxarras was well fitted to harbour a revolt. The
stretch of high land between the Sierra Nevada and the sea, about
nineteen miles long and eleven broad, is "so rudely broken into rugged
hill and deep ravine, that it would be hard to find in its whole surface
a piece of level ground, except in the small valley of Andarax and on
the belt of plain which intervenes betwixt the mountains and the sea.
Three principal ranges, spurs of the Sierra Nevada, and themselves
spurred with lesser offshoots, intersect it from north to south. Through
the glens thus formed a number of streams--torrents in winter but often
dry in summer--pour the snows of Muleyhacen and the Pic de Valeta into
the Mediterranean. In natural beauty, and in many physical advantages,
this mountain land is one of the most lovely and delightful regions of
Europe. From the tropical heat and luxuriance, the sugar-canes and the
palm-trees, of the lower valleys and of the narrow plain which skirts
the sea like a golden zone, it is but a step, through gardens, steep
cornfields, and olive groves, to fresh Alpine pastures and woods of
pine, above which vegetation expires on the rocks where snow lies long
and deep, and is still found in nooks and hollows in the burning days of
autumn. When thickly peopled with laborious Moors, the narrow glens,
bottomed with rich soil, were terraced and irrigated with a careful
industry which compensated for want of space.[32] The villages, each
nestling in its hollow, or perched on a craggy height, were surrounded
by vineyards and gardens, orange and almond orchards, and plantations of
olive and mulberry, hedged with the cactus and aloe; above, on the rocky
uplands, were heard the bells of sheep and kine; and the wine and fruit,
the silk and oil, the cheese and the wool of the Alpuxarras, were famous
in the markets of Granada and the seaports of Andalusia."[33] It was
this beautiful province that the bigotry of the priest was about to
deliver over to the sword and brand of the soldier.
The great rebellion in the Alpuxarras lasted for two years, and its
repression called forth the utmost energy of the Spaniards. Its records
are full of deeds of reckless bloodshed, of torture, assassination,
treachery, and horrible brutality on both sides; but they are relieved
by acts of heroism and endurance which would do honour to any age and
any nation. The struggle was fierce and desperate: it was the Moors'
last stand; they felt themselves at bay, and they avenged in their
first mad rush of fury a hundred years of insult and persecution.
Village after village rose against its oppressors; churches were
desecrated, Our Lady's picture was made a target, priests were murdered,
and too often horrid torture was used against the Christians, who, for
their part, took refuge in belfries and towers, and valiantly resisted
the sudden assault of the enemy. We read how two women, left alone in a
tower, fastened the door, and armed only with stones which they aimed
from the battlements, wounded by arrows, and supported by nothing save
their own brave hearts, kept out their assailants from dawn till noon,
when relief fortunately came. Another golden deed is told of the advance
of the Christian expedition to put down the revolt. The troops had
arrived at the ravine of Tablete, a grim chasm, a hundred feet deep,
with a roaring torrent at the bottom. The Moriscos had destroyed the
bridge, and only a few tottering planks remained, by which a venturesome
scout might cross if needful. On the other side of these planks Moorish
archers kept their bows at stretch. It is not surprising that the
soldiers recoiled from such a crossing; the dancing plank, the torrent's
roar, and the Moorish arrows, were enough to daunt the bravest. While
the army stood irresolute, a friar came to the front, and calmly led the
way across the plank over the torrent, to the very arrows of the enemy,
who were too much struck with admiration to think of shooting. Two
soldiers sprang after the devoted friar--one reached the other side, the
other fell into the hissing flood beneath. Then the whole army plucked
up heart and crossing as quickly as they could, and mustering on the
other side, charged up the slope, and carried the position. It was a
Thermopylae reversed, with a friar for its Leonidas; a Balaclava galloped
upon quicksands; and it redeems a long catalogue of baseness.