Aben Osmyn, surnamed el Anaf, or the Lame, and Aben Ismael. The former,
who was of an ambitious spirit, resided in Almeria; the latter in
Granada, where he had many friends. He was on the point of espousing a
beautiful girl, when his royal uncle interfered and gave her to one of
his favorites. Enraged at this despotic act, the prince Aben Ismael took
horse and weapons and sallied from Granada for the frontier, followed by
numerous cavaliers. The affair gave general disgust, especially to the
Abencerrages who were attached to the prince. No sooner did tidings
reach Aben Osmyn of the public discontent than his ambition was aroused.
Throwing himself suddenly into Granada, he raised a popular tumult,
surprised his uncle in the Alhambra, compelled him to abdicate, and
proclaimed himself king. This occurred in September, 1445. The
Abencerrages now gave up the fortunes of the left-handed king as
hopeless, and himself as incompetent to rule. Led by their kinsman, the
vizier Abdelbar, and accompanied by many other cavaliers, they abandoned
the court and took post in Montefrio. Thence Abdelbar wrote to Prince
Aben Ismael, who had taken refuge in Castile, inviting him to the camp,
offering to support his pretensions to the throne, and advising him to
leave Castile secretly, lest his departure should be opposed by King
Juan II. The prince, however, confiding in the generosity of the
Castilian monarch, told frankly the whole matter. He was not mistaken.
King Juan not merely gave him permission to depart, but promised him
aid, and gave him letters to that effect to his commanders on the
frontiers. Aben Ismael departed with a brilliant escort, arrived in
safety at Montefrio, and was proclaimed king of Granada by Abdelbar and
his partisans, the most important of whom were the Abencerrages. A long
course of civil wars ensued between the two cousins, rivals for the
throne. Aben Osmyn was aided by the kings of Navarre and Aragon, while
Juan II., at war with his rebellious subjects, could give little
assistance to Aben Ismael.
Thus for several years the country was torn by internal strife and
desolated by foreign inroads, so that scarce a field but was stained
with blood. Aben Osmyn was brave, and often signalized himself in arms;
but he was cruel and despotic, and ruled with an iron hand. He offended
the nobles by his caprices, and the populace by his tyranny, while his
rival cousin conciliated all hearts of his benignity. Hence there were
continual desertions from Granada to the fortified camp at Montefrio,
and the party of Aben Ismael was constantly gaining strength. At length
the king of Castile, having made peace with the kings of Aragon and
Navarre, was enabled to send a choice body of troops to the assistance
of Aben Ismael. The latter now left his trenches in Montefrio, and took
the field. The combined forces marched upon Granada. Aben Osmyn sallied
forth to the encounter. A bloody battle ensued, in which both of the
rival cousins fought with heroic valor. Aben Osmyn was defeated and
driven back to his gates. He summoned the inhabitants to arms, but few
answered to his call; his cruelty had alienated all hearts. Seeing his
fortunes at an end, he determined to close his career by a signal act of
vengeance. Shutting himself up in the Alhambra, he summoned thither a
number of the principal cavaliers whom he suspected of disloyalty. As
they entered, they were one by one put to death. This is supposed by
some to be the massacre which gave its fatal name to the Hall of the
Abencerrages. Having perpetrated this atrocious act of vengeance, and
hearing by the shouts of the populace that Aben Ismael was already
proclaimed king in the city, he escaped with his satellites by the Cerro
del Sol and the valley of the Darro to the Alpuxarra Mountains; where he
and his followers led a kind of robber life, laying villages and roads
under contribution.
Aben Ismael II., who thus attained the throne in 1454, secured the
friendship of King Juan II. by acts of homage and magnificent presents.
He gave liberal rewards to those who had been faithful to him, and
consoled the families of those who had fallen in his cause. During his
reign, the Abencerrages were again among the most favored of the
brilliant chivalry that graced his court. Aben Ismael, however, was not
of a warlike spirit; his reign was distinguished rather by works of
public utility, the ruins of some of which are still to be seen on the
Cerro del Sol.
In the same year of 1454 Juan II. died, and was succeeded by Henry IV.
of Castile, surnamed the Impotent. Aben Ismael neglected to renew the
league of amity with him which had existed with his predecessor, as he
found it to be unpopular with the people of Granada. King Henry resented
the omissions, and, under pretext of arrears of tribute, made repeated
forays into the kingdom of Granada. He gave countenance also to Aben
Osmyn and his robber hordes, and took some of them into pay; but his
proud cavaliers refused to associate with infidel outlaws, and
determined to seize Aben Osmyn; who, however, made his escape, first to
Seville, and thence to Castile.
In the year 1456, on the occasion of a great foray into the Vega by the
Christians, Aben Ismael, to secure a peace, agreed to pay the king of
Castile a certain tribute annually, and at the same time to liberate six
hundred Christian captives; or, should the number of captives fall
short, to make it up in Moorish hostages. Aben Ismael fulfilled the
rigorous terms of the treaty, and reigned for a number of years with
more tranquillity than usually fell to the lot of the monarchs of that
belligerent kingdom. Granada enjoyed a great state of prosperity during
his reign, and was the seat of festivity and splendor. His sultana was a
daughter of Cid Hiaya Abraham Alnayar, prince of Almeria; and he had by
her two sons, Abul Hassan, and Abi Abdallah, surnamed El Zagal, the
father and uncle of Boabdil. We approach now the eventful period
signalized by the conquest of Granada.
Muley Abul Hassan succeeded to the throne on the death of his father in
1465. One of his first acts was to refuse payment of the degrading
tribute exacted by the Castilian monarch. His refusal was one of the
causes of the subsequent disastrous war. I confine myself, however, to
facts connected with the fortunes of the Abencerrages and the charges
advanced against Boabdil.
The reader will recollect that Don Pedro Venegas, surnamed El Tornadizo,
when he fled from Granada in 1433, left behind him two sons, Abul Cacim
and Reduan, and a daughter, Cetimerien. They always enjoyed a
distinguished rank in Granada, from their royal descent by the mother’s
side, and from being connected, through the princes of Almeria, with the
last and the present king. The sons had distinguished themselves by
their talents and bravery, and the daughter Cetimerien was married to
Cid Hiaya, grandson of King Yusef and brother-in-law of El Zagal. Thus
powerfully connected, it is not surprising to find Abul Cacim Venegas
advanced to the post of vizier of Muley Abul Hassan, and Reduan Venegas
one of his most favored generals. Their rise was regarded with an evil
eye by the Abencerrages, who remembered the disasters brought upon their
family, and the deaths of so many of their line, in the war fomented by
the intrigues of Don Pedro, in the days of Yusef Aben Alhamar. A feud
had existed ever since between the Abencerrages and the house of
Venegas. It was soon to be aggravated by a formidable schism which took
place in the royal harem.
Muley Abul Hassan, in his youthful days, had married his cousin, the
Princess Ayxa la Horra, daughter of his uncle, the ill-starred sultan,
Muhamed the Left-handed;[10] by her he had two sons, the eldest of whom
was Boabdil, heir presumptive to the throne. Unfortunately at an
advanced age he took another wife, Isabella de Solis, a young and
beautiful Christian captive, better known by her Moorish appellation of
Zoraya; by her he had also two sons. Two factions were produced in the
palace by the rivalry of the sultanas, who were each anxious to secure
for their children the succession to the throne. Zoraya was supported by
the vizier Abul Cacim Venegas, his brother Reduan Venegas, and their
numerous connections, partly through sympathy with her as being, like
themselves, of Christian lineage, and partly because they saw she was
the favorite of the doting monarch.
The Abencerrages, on the contrary, rallied round the sultana Ayxa;
partly through hereditary opposition to the family of Venegas, but
chiefly, no doubt, through a strong feeling of loyalty to her as
daughter of Muhamed Alhayzari, the ancient benefactor of their line.
The dissensions of the palace went on increasing. Intrigues of all kinds
took place, as is usual in royal palaces. Suspicions were artfully
instilled in the mind of Muley Abul Hassan that Ayxa was engaged in a
plot to depose him and put her son Boabdil on the throne. In his first
transports of rage he confined them both in the Tower of Comares,
threatening the life of Boabdil. At dead of night the anxious mother
lowered her son from a window of the tower by the scarfs of herself and
her female attendants; and some of her adherents, who were in waiting
with swift horses, bore him away to the Alpuxarras. It is this
imprisonment of the sultana Ayxa which possibly gave rise to the fable
of the queen of Boabdil being confined by him in a tower to be tried for
her life. No other shadow of a ground exists for it, and here we find
the tyrant jailer was his father, and the captive sultana his mother.
The massacre of the Abencerrages in the halls of the Alhambra is placed
by some about this time, and attributed also to Muley Abul Hassan, on
suspicion of their being concerned in the conspiracy. The sacrifice of a
number of the cavaliers of that line is said to have been suggested by
the vizier Abul Cacim Venegas, as a means of striking terror into the
rest.[11] If such were really the case, the barbarous measure proved
abortive. The Abencerrages continued intrepid, as they were loyal, in
their adherence to the cause of Ayxa and her son Boabdil, throughout the
war which ensued, while the Venegas were ever foremost in the ranks of
Muley Abul Hassan and El Zagal. The ultimate fortunes of these rival
families is worthy of note. The Venegas, in the last struggle of
Granada, were among those who submitted to the conquerors, renounced the
Moslem creed, returned to the faith from which their ancestor had
apostatized, were rewarded with offices and estates, intermarried with
Spanish families, and have left posterity among the nobles of the land.
The Abencerrages remained true to their faith, true to their king, true
to their desperate cause, and went down with the foundering wreck of
Moslem domination, leaving nothing behind them but a gallant and
romantic name in history.
In this historical outline, I trust I have shown enough to put the fable
concerning Boabdil and the Abencerrages in a true light. The story of
the accusation of his queen, and his cruelty to his sister, are equally
void of foundation. In his domestic relations he appears to have been
kind and affectionate. History gives him but one wife, Morayma, the
daughter of the veteran alcayde of Loxa, old Aliatar, famous in song and
story for his exploits in border warfare; and who fell in that
disastrous foray into the Christian lands in which Boabdil was taken
prisoner. Morayma was true to Boabdil throughout all his vicissitudes.
When he was dethroned by the Castilian monarchs, she retired with him to
the petty domain allotted him in the valleys of the Alpuxarras. It was
only when (dispossessed of this by the jealous precautions and subtle
chicanery of Ferdinand, and elbowed, as it were, out of his native land)
he was preparing to embark for Africa, that her health and spirits,
exhausted by anxiety and long suffering, gave way, and she fell into a
lingering illness aggravated by corroding melancholy. Boabdil was
constant and affectionate to her to the last; the sailing of the ships
was delayed for several weeks, to the great annoyance of the suspicious
Ferdinand. At length Morayma sank into the grave, evidently the victim
of a broken heart, and the event was reported to Ferdinand by his agent
as one propitious to his purposes, removing the only obstacle to the
embarkation of Boabdil.[12]
MEMENTOS OF BOABDIL
While my mind was still warm with the subject of the unfortunate
Boabdil, I set forth to trace the mementos of him still existing in this
scene of his sovereignty and misfortunes. In the Tower of Comares,
immediately under the Hall of Ambassadors, are two vaulted rooms,
separated by a narrow passage; these are said to have been the prisons
of himself and his mother, the virtuous Ayxa la Horra; indeed, no other
part of the tower would have served for the purpose. The external walls
of these chambers are of prodigious thickness, pierced with small
windows secured by iron bars. A narrow stone gallery, with a low
parapet, extends along three sides of the tower just below the windows,
but at a considerable height from the ground. From this gallery, it is
presumed, the queen lowered her son with the scarfs of herself and her
female attendants during the darkness of the night to the hillside,
where some of his faithful adherents waited with fleet steeds to bear
him to the mountains.
Between three and four hundred years have elapsed, yet this scene of the
drama remains almost unchanged. As I paced the gallery, my imagination
pictured the anxious queen leaning over the parapet, listening, with the
throbbings of a mother’s heart, to the last echoes of the horses’ hoofs
as her son scoured along the narrow valley of the Darro.
I next sought the gate by which Boabdil made his last exit from the
Alhambra, when about to surrender his capital and kingdom. With the
melancholy caprice of a broken spirit, or perhaps with some
superstitious feeling, he requested of the Catholic monarchs that no one
afterwards might be permitted to pass through it. His prayer, according
to ancient chronicles, was complied with, through the sympathy of
Isabella, and the gate was walled up.[13]
I inquired for some time in vain for such a portal; at length my humble
attendant, Mateo Ximenes, said it must be one closed up with stones,
which, according to what he had heard from his father and grandfather,
was the gateway by which King Chico had left the fortress. There was a
mystery about it, and it had never been opened within the memory of the
oldest inhabitant.
He conducted me to the spot. The gateway is in the centre of what was
once an immense pile, called the Tower of the Seven Floors (_la Torre de
los siete suelos_). It is famous in the neighborhood as the scene of
strange apparitions and Moorish enchantments. According to Swinburne the
traveller, it was originally the great gate of entrance. The antiquaries
of Granada pronounce it the entrance to that quarter of the royal
residence where the king’s body-guards were stationed. It therefore
might well form an immediate entrance and exit to the palace; while the
grand Gate of Justice served as the entrance of state to the fortress.
When Boabdil sallied by this gate to descend to the Vega, where he was
to surrender the keys of the city to the Spanish sovereigns, he left his
vizier Aben Comixa to receive, at the Gate of Justice, the detachment
from the Christian army and the officers to whom the fortress was to be
given up.[14]
The once redoubtable Tower of the Seven Floors is now a mere wreck,
having been blown up with gunpowder by the French, when they abandoned
the fortress. Great masses of the wall lie scattered about, buried in
luxuriant herbage, or overshadowed by vines and fig-trees. The arch of
the gateway, though rent by the shock, still remains; but the last wish
of poor Boabdil has again, though unintentionally, been fulfilled, for
the portal has been closed up by loose stones gathered from the ruins,
and remains impassable.
Mounting my horse, I followed up the route of the Moslem monarch from
this place of his exit. Crossing the hill of Los Martyros, and keeping
along the garden-wall of a convent bearing the same name, I descended a
rugged ravine beset by thickets of aloes and Indian figs, and lined with
caves and hovels swarming with gypsies. The descent was so steep and
broken that I was fain to alight and lead my horse. By this _via
dolorosa_ poor Boabdil took his sad departure to avoid passing through
the city; partly, perhaps, through unwillingness that its inhabitants
should behold his humiliation; but chiefly, in all probability, lest it
might cause some popular agitation. For the last reason, undoubtedly,
the detachment sent to take possession of the fortress ascended by the
same route.
Emerging from this rough ravine, so full of melancholy associations, and
passing by the _puerta de los molinos_ (the gate of the mills), I issued
forth upon the public promenade called the Prado; and pursuing the
course of the Xenil, arrived at a small chapel, once a mosque, now the
Hermitage of San Sebastian. Here, according to tradition, Boabdil
surrendered the keys of Granada to King Ferdinand. I rode slowly thence
across the Vega to a village where the family and household of the
unhappy king awaited him, for he had sent them forward on the preceding
night from the Alhambra, that his mother and wife might not participate
in his personal humiliation, or be exposed to the gaze of the
conquerors. Following on in the route of the melancholy band of royal
exiles, I arrived at the foot of a chain of barren and dreary heights,
forming the skirt of the Alpuxarra Mountains. From the summit of one of
these the unfortunate Boabdil took his last look at Granada; it bears a
name expressive of his sorrows, _La Cuesta de las Lagrimas_ (the hill of
tears). Beyond it, a sandy road winds across a rugged cheerless waste,
doubly dismal to the unhappy monarch, as it led to exile.
I spurred my horse to the summit of a rock, where Boabdil uttered his
last sorrowful exclamation, as he turned his eyes from taking their
farewell gaze: it is still denominated _el ultimo suspiro del Moro_ (the
last sigh of the Moor). Who can wonder at his anguish at being expelled
from such a kingdom and such an abode? With the Alhambra he seemed to be
yielding up all the honors of his line, and all the glories and delights
of life.
It was here, too, that his affliction was embittered by the reproach of
his mother, Ayxa, who had so often assisted him in times of peril, and
had vainly sought to instil into him her own resolute spirit. “You do
well,” said she, “to weep as a woman over what you could not defend as a
man”; a speech savoring more of the pride of the princess than the
tenderness of the mother.
When this anecdote was related to Charles V., by Bishop Guevara, the
emperor joined in the expression of scorn at the weakness of the
wavering Boabdil. “Had I been he, or he been I,” said the haughty
potentate, “I would rather have made this Alhambra my sepulchre than
have lived without a kingdom in the Alpuxarra.” How easy it is for those
in power and prosperity to preach heroism to the vanquished! how little
can they understand that life itself may rise in value with the
unfortunate, when naught but life remains!
Slowly descending the “Hill of Tears,” I let my horse take his own
loitering gait back to Granada, while I turned the story of the
unfortunate Boabdil over in my mind. In summing up the particulars, I
found the balance inclining in his favor. Throughout the whole of his
brief, turbulent, and disastrous reign, he gives evidence of a mild and
amiable character. He, in the first instance, won the hearts of his
people by his affable and gracious manners; he was always placable, and
never inflicted any severity of punishment upon those who occasionally
rebelled against him. He was personally brave; but wanted moral
courage; and, in times of difficulty and perplexity, was wavering and
irresolute. This feebleness of spirit hastened his downfall, while it
deprived him of that heroic grace which would have given grandeur and
dignity to his fate, and rendered him worthy of closing the splendid
drama of the Moslem domination in Spain.
PUBLIC FÊTES OF GRANADA
My devoted squire and whilom ragged cicerone Mateo Ximenes had a
poor-devil passion for fêtes and holidays, and was never so eloquent as
when detailing the civil and religious festivals at Granada. During the
preparations for the annual Catholic fête of Corpus Christi, he was in a
state of incessant transition between the Alhambra and the subjacent
city, bringing me daily accounts of the magnificent arrangements that
were in progress, and endeavoring, but in vain, to lure me down from my
cool and airy retreat to witness them. At length, on the eve of the
eventful day, I yielded to his solicitations and descended from the
regal halls of the Alhambra under his escort, as did of yore the
adventure-seeking Haroun Alraschid under that of his Grand Vizier
Giaffar. Though it was yet scarce sunset, the city gates were already
thronged with the picturesque villagers of the mountains, and the brown
peasantry of the Vega. Granada has ever been the rallying-place of a
great mountainous region, studded with towns and villages. Hither,
during the Moorish domination, the chivalry of this region repaired, to
join in the splendid and semi-warlike fêtes of the Vivarrambla, and
hither the élite of its population still resort to join in the pompous
ceremonials of the Church. Indeed, many of the mountaineers from the
Alpuxarras and the Sierra de Ronda, who now bow to the cross as zealous
Catholics, bear the stamp of their Moorish origin, and are indubitable
descendants of the fickle subjects of Boabdil.
Under the guidance of Mateo, I made my way through streets already
teeming with a holiday population, to the square of the Vivarrambla,
that great place for tilts and tourneys so often sung in the Moorish
ballads of love and chivalry. A gallery or arcade of wood had been
erected along the sides of the square, for the grand religious
procession of the following day. This was brilliantly illuminated for
the evening as a promenade; and bands of music were stationed on
balconies on each of the four façades of the square. All the fashion and
beauty of Granada, all of its population of either sex that had good
looks or fine clothes to display, thronged this arcade, promenading
round and round the Vivarrambla. Here, too, were the _Majos_ and
_Majas_, the rural beaux and belles, with fine forms, flashing eyes, and
gay Andalusian costumes; some of them from Ronda itself, that stronghold
of the mountains, famous for contrabandistas, bullfighters, and
beautiful women.
While this gay but motley throng kept up a constant circulation in the
gallery, the centre of the square was occupied by the peasantry from the
surrounding country; who made no pretensions to display, but came for
simple, hearty enjoyment. The whole square was covered with them;
forming separate groups of families and neighborhoods, like gypsy
encampments, some were listening to the traditional ballad drawled out
to the tinkling of the guitar; some were engaged in gay conversation;
some were dancing to the click of the castanet. As I threaded my way
through this teeming region with Mateo at my heels, I passed
occasionally some rustic party, seated on the ground, making a merry
though frugal repast. If they caught my eye as I loitered by, they
almost invariably invited me to partake of their simple fare. This
hospitable usage, inherited from their Moslem invaders, and originating
in the tent of the Arab, is universal throughout the land, and observed
by the poorest Spaniard.