There is much uncertainty respecting the date of Muley Hasen’s death. Some authorities state that when he was dethroned by his son Boabdil, “he retired to Malaga.” Others say that the king could not survive the misfortunes that his son’s rebellion brought upon the kingdom, and “becoming blind and mad, soon afterwards died.” One account gives his death as occurring in September, 1484, without, however, adducing evidence in support. Is it not just possible then, that when Malaga fell, the old king was discovered and rode in Ferdinand’s train, to deliver the keys of Granada, as so plainly set forth in the Gothic inscription of the Count of Tendilla?
The circumstances which attended the growth of the Spanish nation, and the expulsion of the Moor, were necessarily productive of an over-zealous spirit—a spirit which is ever the inevitable consequence of subjugation in the name of heaven, and under the immediate influence of religious feeling. How, then, could it fail to manifest itself in the Spaniards, who, only by a war lasting seven centuries, recovered their own country from the hands of the Moslem—the bitterest foes of the Christian religion—usurpers who justified their violence by retorting the opprobrious epithet “Infidels” upon the natives? A contest, so fierce and abiding, must have inseparably connected, in the minds of the Spaniards, every idea of honour with orthodoxy, and all that is discreditable and odious, with dissent from their creed. Small wonder, then, need be expressed that the degradation of the Alhambra dates from the very day of the Castilian Conquest, on which the removal of Moslem symbols commenced. Have we not seen the same principles rampant in England at the time of the Reformation, and again, throughout Puritan times; although, in our own case, the unreasonable iconoclasts professed the same faith?
The grievous vandalism begun by Ferdinand and Isabella was carried on by their grandson, Charles V., who despoiled the palace, on an even more gigantic scale, of those artistic glories which he looked upon as “the ugly abominations of the Moor.” He attempted the impossible: he modernized and rebuilt portions of the Alhambra, put up heavy ceilings, blocked up old passages, or constructed new, and sought to convert the palace of an Oriental sybarite into a residence for a Western monarch. All was in vain: the last royal residents were Philip V. and his beautiful Queen, Elizabetta of Parma, early in the eighteenth century. Although great preparations were made for their reception, the stay of the sovereigns was but transient; and, after their departure, the place once more became desolate.
During the Peninsular War, when Granada was in the hands of the French, the Alhambra was garrisoned by their troops, and the palace was occasionally inhabited by the French commander. Washington Irving maintains that “with that enlightened taste which has ever distinguished the French nation—this monument of Moorish elegance and grandeur was rescued from the absolute ruin and desolation that were overwhelming it. The roofs were repaired, the saloons and galleries protected from the weather, the gardens cultivated, the water-courses restored, the fountains once more made to throw up their sparkling showers; and Spain may thank her invaders for having preserved to her the most beautiful and interesting of her historical monuments.... On the departure of the French, they blew up several towers of the outer wall, and left the fortifications untenable,” &c. This last act may well have been one of military exigence; but, on the other hand, Ford entirely disagrees with Irving, and asserts, with all the vigour of an extinct species of Tory John Bull, that the French are responsible for the most wanton destruction perpetrated during their occupancy. Whatever the truth may be, we confess to a strong fellow-feeling with the kindly American genius who has done so much to retard the decay of the edifice, which is still preserved to adorn the land, and attract the curious of every clime.
For centuries the antiquities of the Spanish Arabs continued disregarded or unknown. Prejudice—that sad inheritance of nations—was, alas! only too actively employed in demolishing the work of the polished and enlightened people, whose occupation of the Peninsula it was accounted piety to efface. It was not until the end of the eighteenth century that steps were taken to explore and protect the remains of Moorish monuments in Spain; when, in consequence of representations of cultured Spaniards, the Government commissioned the Royal Academy of St. Ferdinand to send two architects and an officer of Engineers to report upon the condition, and make drawings of the Palace of the Alhambra and the Mosque at Córdova. The result of their labours was published at Madrid, 1780, in an illustrated folio volume entitled Antigüedades Arabes de España.
It is only by the union of the graphic art with descriptions that we can hope to form an accurate estimate of the high state of excellence to which the Mohammedans in Spain attained in the Fine Arts while the rest of Europe was overwhelmed with ignorance and barbarism. The coin, for instance, represented on the opposite page is of fine gold, and is an example of art which would not dishonour a medallist of any epoch. The existence of a Royal Mint within the Alhambra may be admitted when we learn that the coin was struck by order of the Founder of the Alhambra, Mohammed I., surnamed Al-Ghalib-Billah—the Conqueror—who reigned in Granada from 1232 to 1272 A.D. The coin is one of the most cherished possessions in the cabinet of Alfonso XIII., King of Spain, at Madrid.
Description.
Obverse: Within the square, an Arabic inscription which reads: “In the name of God, the Merciful, the Forgiving. The blessing of God on Mohammed and his family. There is no Conqueror but God.” On the segments of the circle surrounding the square we read: “Your God is one God. There is no God but He, the Merciful, the Forgiving.”
GOLD COIN (OBVERSE AND REVERSE) OF MOHAMMED I., THE FOUNDER OF THE ALHAMBRA, WHO REIGNED 1232-1272 A.D.