Juan II., the son of the young Catherine and the boy prince of the
Asturias, died in 1454, and his son Enrique (or Henry) IV. was King of
Castile. When, after some years, Henry was without children, and
with health very infirm, his young sister Isabella unexpectedly found
herself the acknowledged heir to the throne of Castile. She suddenly
became a very important young person. The old King of Portugal was a
suitor for her hand, and a brother of the King of England, and also a
brother of the King of France, were striving for the same honor. But
Isabella had very decided views of her own. Her hero was the young
Ferdinand of Aragon, and heir to that throne. She resisted all her
brother's efforts to coerce her, and finally took the matter into her
own hands by sending an envoy to her handsome young lover to come
to her at Valladolid, with a letter telling him they had better be
married at once.
Accompanied by a few knights disguised as merchants, Ferdinand,
pretending to be their servant, during the entire journey waited on
them at table and took care of their mules. He entered Valladolid,
where he was received by the Archbishop of Toledo, who was in the
conspiracy, and was by him conveyed to Isabella's apartments. We are
told that when he entered someone exclaimed: _Ese-es, Ese-es_ (that
is he); and the escutcheon of the descendants of that knight has ever
since borne a double _S.S._, which sounds like this exclamation.
The marriage was arranged to take place in four days. An embarrassment
then occurred of which no one had before thought. Neither of them had
any money. But someone was found who would lend them enough for
the wedding expenses, and so on the 19th of October, 1469, the
most important marriage ever yet consummated in Spain took place--a
marriage which would forever set at rest the rivalries between Castile
and Aragon, and bring honors undreamed of to a united Spain.
Isabella was fair, intelligent, accomplished, and lovely. She was
eighteen and her boy husband was a year younger. Of course her royal
brother stormed and raged. But, of course, it did no good. In five
years from that time (1474) he died, and Isabella, royally attired,
and seated on a white palfrey, proceeded to the throne prepared
for her, and was there proclaimed "Queen of Castile." At the end
of another five years, Ferdinand came into his inheritance. His
old father, Juan II., King of Aragon and Navarre, died in 1479,
and Castile, Aragon, and Navarre--all of Spain except Portugal and
Granada--had come under the double crown of Ferdinand and Isabella.
The war with Portugal still existed, and their reign began in the
midst of confusion and trouble, but it was brilliant from the outset.
Ferdinand had great abilities and an ambition which matched his
abilities. Isabella, no less ambitious than he, was more far-reaching
in her plans, and always saw more clearly than Ferdinand what was
for the true glory of Spain. With infinite tact she softened his
asperities, and disarmed his jealousy, and ruled her "dear lord," by
making him believe he ruled her.
A joint sovereignty, with a man so grasping of power and so jealous of
his own rights, required self-control and tact in no ordinary measure.
It was agreed at last that in all public acts Ferdinand's name should
precede hers; and although her sanction was necessary, his indignation
at this was abated by her promise of submission to his will. The court
of the new sovereigns was established at Seville, and they took up
their abode in that palace so filled with associations both Moorish
and Castilian--the Alcazar. From the very first Isabella's powerful
mind grappled every public question, and she gave herself heart and
soul to what she believed was her divine mission--the building up of
a great Catholic state. Isabella's devout soul was sorely troubled by
the prevalence of Judaism in her kingdom. She took counsel with her
confessor, and also with the Pope, and by their advice a religious
tribunal was established at Seville in 1483, the object of which was
to inquire of heretics whether they were willing to renounce their
faith and accept Christianity. The head of this tribunal, which was
soon followed by others in all the large cites, was a Dominican
friar called _Torquemada_. He was known as the "Inquisitor General."
Inaccessible to pity, mild in manners, humble in demeanor, yet swayed
only by a sense of duty, this strange being was so cruel that he seems
like an incarnation of the evil principle. At the tribunal in Seville
alone it is said that in thirty-six years four thousand victims were
consigned to the flames, besides the thousands more who endured living
deaths by torture, mutilation, and nameless sufferings.
Humanity shudders at the recital! And yet this monstrous tribunal was
the creation of one of the wisest and gentlest of women, who believed
no rigors could be too great to save people from eternal death! And,
in her misguided zeal, she emptied her kingdom of a people who had
helped to create its prosperity, and drove the most valuable part of
her population into France, Italy, and England, there to disseminate
the seeds of a higher culture and intelligence which they had imbibed
from contact with the Moors, who had treated them with such uniform
tolerance and gentleness.
The kingdom of Granada was now at the height of its splendor. Its
capital city was larger and richer than any city in Spain. Its army
was the best equipped of any in Europe. The Moorish king, a man of
fiery temper, thought the time had come when he might defy his enemy
by refusing to pay an annual tribute to which his father had ten years
before consented. When Ferdinand's messenger, in 1476, came to demand
the accustomed tribute, he said, "Go tell your master the kings
who pay tribute in Granada are all dead. Our mints coin nothing but
sword-blades now."
The cool and crafty Ferdinand prepared his own answer to this
challenge. The infatuated King Abdul-Hassan followed up his insult by
capturing the Christian fortress of Zahara. His temper was not at the
best at this time on account of a war raging in his own household. His
wife Ayesha was fiercely jealous of a Christian captive whom he had
also made his wife. She had become his favorite Sultana, and was
conspiring to have her own son supplant Boabdil, the son of Ayesha,
the heir to the throne. In his championship of Zoraya and her son,
Abdul-Hassan imprisoned Ayesha and Boabdil, whom he threatened to
disinherit. We are shown to-day the window in the Alhambra from which
Ayesha lowered Boabdil in a basket, telling him to come back with an
army and assert his rights. Suddenly, while absorbed by this smaller
war, news came that Alhama, their most impregnable fortress, only six
leagues from the city of Granada, had been captured by Ferdinand's
army. It was the key to Granada. Despair was in every soul. The air
was filled with wailing and lamentation. "Woe, woe is me, Alhama!"
"Ay de mi, Alhama!" Indignant with their old king, who had brought
destruction upon them, when Boabdil came with his army of followers,
they flocked about him--"El Rey Chico!" (the boy king) as they called
him. Abdul Hassan was forced to fly, and Boabdil reigned over the
expiring kingdom. It was a brief and troubled reign.
In the famous "Court of the Lions" in the Alhambra, visitors are
shown to-day the blood-stains left by the celebrated massacre of the
"Abencerrages." The Abencerrages had supported the claim of Ayesha's
rival, Zoraya; and it is said that Boabdil invited the Princes of this
clan, some thirty in number, to a friendly conference in the Alhambra,
and there had them treacherously beheaded at the fountain.
But whether this blood-stain upon his memory is as doubtful as those
upon the stones at the fountain, seems an open question.
[Illustration: From the painting by V. Brozik.
Columbus at the Court of Ferdinand and Isabella.]
So stubborn was the defense, it appeared sometimes as if the reduction
of Granada would have to be abandoned. Isabella's courage and faith
were sorely tried. But the brave Queen infused her own courage into
the flagging spirits of her husband, and kept alive the enthusiasm of
the people; and at last,--on the 2d of January, 1402,--the proud
city capitulated. Boabdil surrendered the keys of the Alhambra to
Ferdinand--the silver cross which had preceded the King throughout the
war gleamed from a high tower; and from the loftiest pinnacle of the
Alhambra waved the banners of Castile and Aragon.
The conflict which had lasted for 781 years was over. The death of
Roderick and the fall of the Goths was avenged, and Christendom, still
weeping for the loss of Constantinople, was consoled and took heart
again.