until some better tenant present, and I will engage to put it in repair,
and to quiet the troubled spirit that disturbs it. I am a good Christian
and a poor man, and am not to be daunted by the Devil himself, even
though he should come in the shape of a big bag of money!’
“The offer of the honest mason was gladly accepted; he moved with his
family into the house, and fulfilled all his engagements. By little and
little he restored it to its former state; the clinking of gold was no
more heard at night in the chamber of the defunct priest, but began to
be heard by day in the pocket of the living mason. In a word, he
increased rapidly in wealth, to the admiration of all his neighbors, and
became one of the richest men in Granada: he gave large sums to the
Church, by way, no doubt, of satisfying his conscience, and never
revealed the secret of the vault until on his death-bed to his son and
heir.”
THE COURT OF LIONS
The peculiar charm of this old dreamy palace is its power of calling up
vague reveries and picturings of the past, and thus clothing naked
realities with the illusions of the memory and the imagination. As I
delight to walk in these “vain shadows,” I am prone to seek those parts
of the Alhambra which are most favorable to this phantasmagoria of the
mind; and none are more so than the Court of Lions, and its surrounding
halls. Here the hand of time has fallen the lightest, and the traces of
Moorish elegance and splendor exist in almost their original brilliancy.
Earthquakes have shaken the foundations of this pile, and rent its
rudest towers; yet see! not one of those slender columns has been
displaced, not an arch of that light and fragile colonnade given way,
and all the fairy fretwork of these domes, apparently as unsubstantial
as the crystal fabrics of a morning’s frost, exist after the lapse of
centuries, almost as fresh as if from the hand of the Moslem artist. I
write in the midst of these mementos of the past, in the fresh hour of
early morning, in the fated Hall of the Abencerrages. The blood-stained
fountain, the legendary monument of their massacre, is before me; the
lofty jet almost casts its dew upon my paper. How difficult to reconcile
the ancient tale of violence and blood with the gentle and peaceful
scene around! Everything here appears calculated to inspire kind and
happy feelings, for everything is delicate and beautiful. The very light
falls tenderly from above, through the lantern of a dome tinted and
wrought as if by fairy hands. Through the ample and fretted arch of the
portal I behold the Court of Lions, with brilliant sunshine gleaming
along its colonnades and sparkling in its fountains. The lively swallow
dives into the court, and, rising with a surge, darts away twittering
over the roofs; the busy bee toils humming among the flower-beds; and
painted butterflies hover from plant to plant, and flutter up and sport
with each other in the sunny air. It needs but a slight exertion of the
fancy to picture some pensive beauty of the harem, loitering in these
secluded haunts of Oriental luxury.
He, however, who would behold this scene under an aspect more in unison
with its fortunes, let him come when the shadows of evening temper the
brightness of the court, and throw a gloom into the surrounding halls.
Then nothing can be more serenely melancholy, or more in harmony with
the tale of departed grandeur.
At such times I am apt to seek the Hall of Justice, whose deep shadowy
arcades extend across the upper end of the court. Here was performed, in
presence of Ferdinand and Isabella and their triumphant court, the
pompous ceremonial of high mass, on taking possession of the Alhambra.
The very cross is still to be seen upon the wall, where the altar was
erected, and where officiated the Grand Cardinal of Spain, and others of
the highest religious dignitaries of the land. I picture to myself the
scene when this place was filled with the conquering host, that mixture
of mitred prelate and shaven monk, and steel-clad knight and silken
[Illustration: FOUNTAIN OF LIONS.]
courtier; when crosses and crosiers and religious standards were mingled
with proud armorial ensigns and the banners of the haughty chiefs of
Spain, and flaunted in triumph through these Moslem halls. I picture to
myself Columbus, the future discoverer of a world, taking his modest
stand in a remote corner, the humble and neglected spectator of the
pageant. I see in imagination the Catholic sovereigns prostrating
themselves before the altar, and pouring forth thanks for their victory;
while the vaults resound with sacred minstrelsy, and the deep-toned Te
Deum.
The transient illusion is over,--the pageant melts from the
fancy,--monarch, priest, and warrior return into oblivion with the poor
Moslems over whom they exulted. The hall of their triumph is waste and
desolate. The bat flits about its twilight vault, and the owl hoots from
the neighboring Tower of Comares.
Entering the Court of the Lions a few evenings since, I was almost
startled at beholding a turbaned Moor quietly seated near the fountain.
For a moment one of the fictions of the place seemed realized: an
enchanted Moor had broken the spell of centuries, and become visible. He
proved, however, to be a mere ordinary mortal: a native of Tetuan in
Barbary, who had a shop in the Zacatin of Granada, where he sold
rhubarb, trinkets, and perfumes. As he spoke Spanish fluently, I was
enabled to hold conversation with him, and found him shrewd and
intelligent. He told me that he came up the hill occasionally in the
summer, to pass a part of the day in the Alhambra, which reminded him of
the old palaces in Barbary, being built and adorned in similar style,
though with more magnificence.
As we walked about the palace, he pointed out several of the Arabic
inscriptions, as possessing much poetic beauty.
“Ah, Señor,” said he, “when the Moors held Granada, they were a gayer
people than they are nowadays. They thought only of love, music, and
poetry. They made stanzas upon every occasion, and set them all to
music. He who could make the best verses, and she who had the most
tuneful voice, might be sure of favor and preferment. In those days, if
any one asked for bread, the reply was, make me a couplet; and the
poorest beggar, if he begged in rhyme, would often be rewarded with a
piece of gold.”
“And is the popular feeling for poetry,” said I, “entirely lost among
you?”
“By no means, Señor; the people of Barbary, even those of the lower
classes, still make couplets, and good ones too, as in old times; but
talent is not rewarded as it was then; the rich prefer the jingle of
their gold to the sound of poetry or music.”
As he was talking, his eye caught one of the inscriptions which foretold
perpetuity to the power and glory of the Moslem monarchs, the masters of
this pile. He shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders, as he
interpreted it. “Such might have been the case,” said he; “the Moslems
might still have been reigning in the Alhambra, had not Boabdil been a
traitor, and given up his capital to the Christians. The Spanish
monarchs would never have been able to conquer it by open force.”
I endeavored to vindicate the memory of the unlucky Boabdil from this
aspersion, and to show that the dissensions which led to the downfall of
the Moorish throne originated in the cruelty of his tiger-hearted
father; but the Moor would admit of no palliation.
“Muley Abul Hassan,” said he, “might have been cruel; but he was brave,
vigilant, and patriotic. Had he been properly seconded, Granada would
still have been ours; but his son Boabdil thwarted his plans, crippled
his power, sowed treason in his palace, and dissension in his camp. May
the curse of God light upon him for his treachery!” With these words
the Moor left the Alhambra.
The indignation of my turbaned companion agrees with an anecdote related
by a friend, who, in the course of a tour in Barbary, had an interview
with the Pacha of Tetuan. The Moorish governor was particular in his
inquiries about Spain, and especially concerning the favored region of
Andalusia, the delights of Granada, and the remains of its royal palace.
The replies awakened all those fond recollections, so deeply cherished
by the Moors, of the power and splendor of their ancient empire in
Spain. Turning to his Moslem attendants, the Pacha stroked his beard,
and broke forth in passionate lamentations, that such a sceptre should
have fallen from the sway of true believers. He consoled himself,
however, with the persuasion, that the power and prosperity of the
Spanish nation were on the decline; that a time would come when the
Moors would conquer their rightful domains; and that the day was perhaps
not far distant when Mohammedan worship would again be offered up in the
Mosque of Cordova, and a Mohammedan prince sit on his throne in the
Alhambra.
Such is the general aspiration and belief among the Moors of Barbary;
who consider Spain, or Andaluz, as it was anciently called, their
rightful heritage, of which they have been despoiled by treachery and
violence. These ideas are fostered and perpetuated by the descendants of
the exiled Moors of Granada, scattered among the cities of Barbary.
Several of these reside in Tetuan, preserving their ancient names, such
as Paez and Medina, and refraining from inter-marriage with any families
who cannot claim the same high origin. Their vaunted lineage is regarded
with a degree of popular deference rarely shown in Mohammedan
communities to any hereditary distinction, excepting in the royal line.
These families, it is said, continue to sigh after the terrestrial
paradise of their ancestors, and to put up prayers in their mosques on
Fridays, imploring Allah to hasten the time when Granada shall be
restored to the faithful: an event to which they look forward as fondly
and confidently as did the Christian crusaders to the recovery of the
Holy Sepulchre. Nay, it is added, that some of them retain the ancient
maps and deeds of the estates and gardens of their ancestors at Granada,
and even the keys of the houses; holding them as evidences of their
hereditary claims, to be produced at the anticipated day of restoration.
My conversation with the Moors set me to musing on the fate of Boabdil.
Never was surname more applicable than that bestowed upon him by his
subjects of el Zogoybi, or the Unlucky. His misfortunes began almost in
his cradle, and ceased not even with his death. If ever he cherished the
desire of leaving an honorable name on the historic page, how cruelly
has he been defrauded of his hopes! Who is there that has turned the
least attention to the romantic history of the Moorish domination in
Spain, without kindling with indignation at the alleged atrocities of
Boabdil? Who has not been touched with the woes of his lovely and gentle
queen, subjected by him to a trial of life and death, on a false charge
of infidelity? Who has not been shocked by his alleged murder of his
sister and her two children, in a transport of passion? Who has not felt
his blood boil at the inhuman massacre of the gallant Abencerrages,
thirty-six of whom, it is affirmed, he ordered to be beheaded in the
Court of Lions? All these charges have been reiterated in various forms;
they have passed into ballads, dramas, and romances, until they have
taken too thorough possession of the public mind to be eradicated. There
is not a foreigner of education that visits the Alhambra, but asks for
the fountain where the Abencerrages were beheaded; and gazes with
horror at the grated gallery where the queen is said to have been
confined; not a peasant of the Vega or the Sierra, but sings the story
in rude couplets, to the accompaniment of his guitar, while his hearers
learn to execrate the very name of Boabdil.
Never, however, was name more foully and unjustly slandered. I have
examined all the authentic chronicles and letters written by Spanish
authors, contemporary with Boabdil; some of whom were in the confidence
of the Catholic sovereigns, and actually present in the camp throughout
the war. I have examined all the Arabian authorities I could get access
to, through the medium of translation, and have found nothing to justify
these dark and hateful accusations. The most of these tales may be
traced to a work commonly called “The Civil Wars of Granada,” containing
a pretended history of the feuds of the Zegries and Abencerrages, during
the last struggle of the Moorish empire. The work appeared originally in
Spanish, and professed to be translated from the Arabic by one Gines
Perez de Hita, an inhabitant of Murcia. It has since passed into various
languages, and Florian has taken from it much of the fable of his
Gonsalvo of Cordova: it has thus, in a great measure, usurped the
authority of real history, and is currently believed by the people, and
especially the peasantry of Granada. The whole of it, however, is a mass
of fiction, mingled with a few disfigured truths, which give it an air
of veracity. It bears internal evidence of its falsity; the manners and
customs of the Moors being extravagantly misrepresented in it, and
scenes depicted totally incompatible with their habits and their faith,
and which never could have been recorded by a Mahometan writer.
I confess there seems to me something almost criminal in the wilful
perversions of this work; great latitude is undoubtedly to be allowed to
romantic fiction, but there are limits which it must not pass; and the
names of the distinguished dead, which belong to history, are no more to
be calumniated than those of the illustrious living. One would have
thought, too, that the unfortunate Boabdil had suffered enough for his
justifiable hostility to the Spaniards, by being stripped of his
kingdom, without having his name thus wantonly traduced, and rendered a
by-word and a theme of infamy in his native land, and in the very
mansion of his fathers!
If the reader is sufficiently interested in these questions to tolerate
a little historical detail, the following facts, gleaned from what
appear to be authentic sources, and tracing the fortunes of the
Abencerrages, may serve to exculpate the unfortunate Boabdil from the
perfidious massacre of that illustrious line so shamelessly charged to
him. It will also serve to throw a proper light upon the alleged
accusation and imprisonment of his queen.
THE ABENCERRAGES
A grand line of distinction existed among the Moslems of Spain, between
those of Oriental origin and those from Western Africa. Among the former
the Arabs considered themselves the purest race, as being descended from
the countrymen of the Prophet, who first raised the standard of Islam;
among the latter, the most warlike and powerful were the Berber tribes
from Mount Atlas and the deserts of Sahara, commonly known as Moors, who
subdued the tribes of the seacoast, founded the city of Morocco, and for
a long time disputed with the Oriental races the control of Moslem
Spain.
Among the Oriental races the Abencerrages held a distinguished rank,
priding themselves on a pure Arab descent from the Beni Seraj, one of
the tribes who were Ansares or Companions of the Prophet. The
Abencerrages flourished for a time at Cordova; but probably repaired to
Granada after the downfall of the Western Caliphat; it was there they
attained their historical and romantic celebrity, being foremost among
the splendid chivalry which graced the court of the Alhambra.
Their highest and most dangerous prosperity was during the precarious
reign of Muhamed Nasar, surnamed El Hayzari, or the Left-handed. That
ill-starred monarch, when he ascended the throne in 1423, lavished his
favors upon this gallant line, making the head of the tribe, Jusef Aben
Zeragh, his vizier, or prime minister, and advancing his relatives and
friends to the most distinguished posts about the court. This gave great
offence to other tribes, and caused intrigues among their chiefs.
Muhamed lost popularity also by his manners. He was vain, inconsiderate,
and haughty; disdained to mingle among his subjects; forbade those
jousts and tournaments, the delight of high and low, and passed his time
in the luxurious retirement of the Alhambra. The consequence was a
popular insurrection: the palace was stormed; the king escaped through
the gardens, fled to the sea-coast, crossed in disguise to Africa, and
took refuge with his kinsman, the sovereign of Tunis.
Muhamed el Zaguer, cousin of the fugitive monarch, took possession of
the vacant throne. He pursued a different course from his predecessor.
He not only gave fêtes and tourneys, but entered the lists himself, in
grand and sumptuous array; he distinguished himself in managing his
horse, in tilting, riding at the ring, and other chivalrous exercises;
feasted with his cavaliers, and made them magnificent presents.
Those who had been in favor with his predecessor, now experienced a
reverse; he manifested such hostility to them that more than five
hundred of the principal cavaliers left the city. Jusef Aben Zeragh,
with forty of the Abencerrages, abandoned Granada in the night, and
sought the court of Juan the king of Castile. Moved by their
representations, that young and generous monarch wrote letters to the
sovereign of Tunis, inviting him to assist in punishing the usurper and
restoring the exiled king to his throne. The faithful and indefatigable
vizier accompanied the bearer of these letters to Tunis, where he
rejoined his exiled sovereign. The letters were successful. Muhamed el
Hayzari landed in Andalusia with five hundred African horse, and was
joined by the Abencerrages and others of his adherents and by his
Christian allies; wherever he appeared the people submitted to him;
troops sent against him deserted to his standard; Granada was recovered
without a blow; the usurper retreated to the Alhambra, but was beheaded
by his own soldiers (1428), after reigning between two and three years.
El Hayzari, once more on the throne, heaped honors on the loyal vizier,
through whose faithful services he had been restored, and once more the
line of the Abencerrages basked in the sunshine of royal favor. El
Hayzari sent ambassadors to King Juan, thanking him for his aid, and
proposing a perpetual league of amity. The king of Castile required
homage and yearly tribute. These the left-handed monarch refused,
supposing the youthful king too much engaged in civil war to enforce his
claims. Again the kingdom of Granada was harassed by invasions, and its
Vega laid waste. Various battles took place with various success. But El
Hayzari’s greatest danger was near at home. There was at that time in
Granada a cavalier, Don Pedro Venegas by name, a Moslem by faith, but
Christian by descent, whose early history borders on romance. He was of
the noble house of Luque, but captured when a child, eight years of age,
by Cid Yahia Alnayar, prince of Almeria,[8] who adopted him as his son,
educated him in the Moslem faith, and brought him up among his children,
the Celtimerian princes, a proud family, descended in direct line from
Aben Hud, one of the early Granadian kings. A mutual attachment sprang
up between Don Pedro and the princess Cetimerien, a daughter of Cid
Yahia, famous for her beauty, and whose name is perpetuated by the ruins
of her palace in Granada--still bearing traces of Moorish elegance and
luxury. In process of time they were married; and thus a scion of the
Spanish house of Luque became engrafted on the royal stock of Aben Hud.
Such is the early story of Don Pedro Venegas, who at the time of which
we treat was a man mature in years, and of an active, ambitious spirit.
He appears to have been the soul of a conspiracy set on foot about this
time, to topple Muhamed the Left-handed from his unsteady throne, and
elevate in his place Yusef Aben Alhamar, the eldest of the Celtimerian
princes. The aid of the king of Castile was to be secured, and Don Pedro
proceeded on a secret embassy to Cordova for the purpose. He informed
King Juan of the extent of the conspiracy; that Yusef Aben Alhamar could
bring a large force to his standard as soon as he should appear in the
Vega, and would acknowledge himself his vassal, if with his aid he
should attain the crown. The aid was promised and Don Pedro hastened
back to Granada with the tidings. The conspirators now left the city, a
few at a time, under various pretexts; and when King Juan passed the
frontier, Yusef Aben Alhamar brought eight thousand men to his standard,
and kissed his hand in token of allegiance.
It is needless to recount the various battles by which the kingdom was
desolated, and the various intrigues by which one half of it was roused
to rebellion. The Abencerrages stood by the failing fortunes of Muhamed
throughout the struggle; their last stand was at Loxa, where their
chief, the vizier Yusef Aben Zeragh, fell bravely fighting, and many of
their noblest cavaliers were slain: in fact, in that disastrous war the
fortunes of the family were nearly wrecked.
Again the ill-starred Muhamed was driven from his throne, and took
refuge in Malaga, the alcayde of which still remained true to him.
Yusef Aben Alhamar, commonly known as Yusef II., entered Granada in
triumph on the first of January, 1432, but he found it a melancholy
city, where half of the inhabitants were in mourning. Not a noble family
but had lost some member; and in the slaughter of the Abencerrages at
Loxa had fallen some of the brightest of the chivalry.
The royal pageant passed through silent streets, and the barren homage
of a court in the halls of the Alhambra ill supplied the want of sincere
and popular devotion. Yusef Aben Alhamar felt the insecurity of his
position. The deposed monarch was at hand in Malaga; the sovereign of
Tunis espoused his cause, and pleaded with the Christian monarchs in his
favor; above all, Yusef felt his own unpopularity in Granada; previous
fatigues had impaired his health, a profound melancholy settled upon
him, and in the course of six months he sank into the grave.
At the news of his death, Muhamed the Left-handed hastened from Malaga,
and again was placed on the throne. From the wrecks of the Abencerrages
he chose as vizier Abdelbar, one of the worthiest of that magnanimous
line. Through his advice he restrained his vindictive feelings and
adopted a conciliatory policy. He pardoned most of his enemies. Yusef,
the defunct usurper, had left three children. His estates were
apportioned among them. Aben Celim, the eldest son, was confirmed in
the title of Prince of Almeria and Lord of Marchena in the Alpuxarras.
Ahmed, the youngest, was made Señor of Luchar; and Equivila, the
daughter, received rich patrimonial lands in the fertile Vega, and
various houses and shops in the Zacatin of Granada. The vizier Abdelbar
counselled the king, moreover, to secure the adherence of the family by
matrimonial connections. An aunt of Muhamed was accordingly given in
marriage to Aben Celim, while the prince Nasar, younger brother of the
deceased usurper, received the hand of the beautiful Lindaraxa, daughter
of Muhamed’s faithful adherent, the alcayde of Malaga. This was the
Lindaraxa whose name still designates one of the gardens of the
Alhambra.
Don Pedro de Venegas alone, the husband of the princess Cetimerien,
received no favor. He was considered as having produced the late
troubles by his intrigues. The Abencerrages charged him with the
reverses of their family and the deaths of so many of their bravest
cavaliers. The king never spoke of him but by the opprobrious
appellation of the Tornadizo, or Renegade. Finding himself in danger of
arrest and punishment, he took leave of his wife, the princess, his two
sons, Abul Cacim and Reduan, and his daughter, Cetimerien, and fled to
Jaen. There, like his brother-in-law, the usurper, he expiated his
intrigues and irregular ambition by profound humiliation and melancholy,
and died in 1434 a penitent, because a disappointed man.[9]