In the early months of the ensuing spring, the forces of Charlemagne were in motion. No important event of the Middle Ages has been more neglected by contemporaneous as well as subsequent historians than this expedition. The accounts of Christian writers are so defective and so overloaded with fable as to render them, as usual, thoroughly unreliable. The numbers of the invaders were so great that they were compelled to separate into two divisions and pass the Pyrenees by different routes. Converging towards Saragossa, the armies were united before its walls. The city was in the hands of their allies, but at the last moment the hearts of the latter failed them, when they considered the sacrifice of religion and the violation of every principle of honor and loyalty which a surrender implied. Other causes combined to shake their resolution. The results attending the preliminary steps of the conspiracy had proved disastrous. The leaders, suspicious of each other, were constantly apprehensive of treachery, while tribal prejudice and the irreconcilable spirit of discord prevented sincere co-operation in any measure. Ibn-Habib, the originator of the enterprise, convinced of the perfidy of Al-Arabi, and hoping to anticipate its results, rashly attacked his ally, was defeated, and soon after perished by the hand of an assassin. Long imprisonment had unfitted Abu-al-Aswad for decisive action, and he failed to meet the requirements of his position. Conscious of the miscarriage of their plans, discouraged, and apprehensive of the future, the garrison of Saragossa refused to open the gates of the city. Charlemagne, enraged by this breach of faith, made vigorous preparations for a siege. But the walls had hardly been invested when a despatch arrived announcing that the Saxons were again in rebellion, and had already advanced as far as the Rhine. The siege was raised, and the Franks retired, after an abortive and inglorious campaign, to once more defend their homes against the barbarians of Germany. The fortifications of Pampeluna—which city had surrendered at their approach—were dismantled, and the mighty host then defiled, with slow and painful steps, through the valley of Roncesvalles.
The pass grew more and more difficult and obscure, encompassed as it was by dense forests and precipitous mountains. The advance guard pursued its way without molestation, and had already reached the northern slope of the Pyrenees, when the rear, in whose custody was the baggage of the army, became engulfed in gloomy ravines, whose shadows concealed thousands of Basques lying in ambush. Suddenly the long and tortuous line was attacked by swarms of mountaineers. Hemmed in on all sides, the retreat of the Franks was cut off. Every advantage of surprise, of position, of familiarity with the ground, of experience in ambuscade and partisan warfare, was with the assailants. Resistance was vain. Bravery profited nothing where neither missile nor hand-to-hand weapons were available against an active and invisible enemy. The rear guard was absolutely annihilated. The baggage-train fell into the hands of the victors, who, after plundering the dead, quietly dispersed and sought their homes in the inaccessible recesses of the mountains. By this catastrophe Charlemagne lost nearly half of his army and many distinguished officers, among them the famous Roland, Prefect of the March of Brittany, whose career the poetic genius of bard and troubadour has adorned with many a romantic tale and fabulous legend.
No one reaped any advantage from the Frankish invasion except Abd-al-Rahman, whose destruction was its avowed object. While the enemy was in retreat, he advanced upon Saragossa; the city surrendered after a short resistance, and Al-Arabi, the insurgent chieftain, was assassinated while at prayer in the mosque. Before returning, the Emir marched into the country of the Basques, where he conquered the domain of the Count of Cerdagne, who became a tributary of the court of Cordova. Soon afterwards, Abu-al-Aswad once more tempted the evil fortune of his family by promoting another insurrection, which resulted in the defeat of Guadalimar, where he, with four thousand of his followers, lost their lives.
The last years of Abd-al-Rahman were embittered by disaffection among his kindred, whose political fortunes he had repaired, and who had been raised to wealth and influence by his boundless generosity. His nearest relatives conspired against him. Princes of the blood and nobles of the highest rank forgot the sacred ties of family and tribe in repeated attempts to overturn his power. But the wary monarch, equally proof against the schemes of both open and concealed hostility, easily triumphed over all his adversaries. His armies returned victorious from every campaign. The conspirators who plotted in the imaginary security of the palace were, sooner or later, betrayed by their accomplices, and punished with exemplary severity. His rebellious and ungrateful nephew, Ibn-Aban, was strangled. His brother, Walid, was exiled. Koreishite chieftains, convicted of treason, after having had their hands and feet cut off, were beaten to death with clubs. The remonstrances and threats of trusty councillors were repressed by banishment and studied neglect. Even the services of the faithful Bedr were not sufficient to atone for subsequent insolence; his property was confiscated, and he was confined in a dungeon where he ended his days in penury and disgrace.
Warned by the vicissitudes of a life of peril of the necessity of providing for the succession, and feeling the weight of physical infirmities induced by anxiety and exposure, the Emir, a short time before his death, summoned the officers of state and the nobles of the kingdom to swear allegiance to his third son, Hischem, whom he had chosen to succeed him. This ceremony performed, and the elder brothers of Hischem, Suleyman and Abdallah, having formally renounced their claims to the throne, Abd-al-Rahman withdrew to Merida, where he died a few months afterwards, at the age of fifty-eight, and in the thirty-third year of his reign.
The character of this great prince, gifted as he was by nature with the noblest qualities of mind and heart, was still materially affected by the circumstances of an adventurous career and the sentiments and habits of a turbulent age. His tastes inclined to literature and art, but necessity developed in him the talents of a cautious negotiator and skilful general. Of a generous and benevolent disposition, the proscription of his family, the perpetual hostility of his enemies, the treachery of his kindred, and the ingratitude of his friends embittered his spirit, and led to acts of cruelty, which, though justified by political expediency, have greatly tarnished the lustre of his fame. Reared amidst the splendors of the most polished and luxurious of courts, he bore with singular equanimity the reverses of fortune and the evils of abject poverty, trials which, by inculcating the virtue of philosophical resignation and acquainting him with the failings and inconsistencies of humanity, the better prepared him for the high and responsible position he was destined subsequently to occupy. Even before his power had been firmly established, he sent messengers to the remote regions of the East to search for the scattered members and dependents of the Ommeyades, who were conducted to Spain at the public expense, granted estates, and not infrequently appointed councillors or governors of cities and provinces. The versatility of his genius provoked the envy and elicited the admiration of his most determined foes. While his attention was still occupied by resisting the encroachments of the mountaineers of the Asturias and the suppression of formidable insurrections, he successfully repelled the invasions of two powerful and warlike sovereigns in whose jurisdiction were included the most opulent and productive regions of the globe. Charlemagne, the greater of these, offered him the hand of his daughter and urged the alliance, which was declined on account of his failing health. Fertile in resources, the privations and sorrows of youth had taught him to bear adversity in silence if not with complacency. Thorough familiarity with the character of Berber and Arab convinced him that the pretensions of the children of the Desert were incompatible with the submission requisite to the exercise of royal authority, and he did not hesitate to crush, with a relentless hand, the insolence or the presumptuous freedom of a tribesman or a friend. Popular at first, this unusual severity in time alienated the warmest supporters of his throne. Inexorable necessity, the principles of self-protection and self-preservation, dependent upon conditions not unusual after a protracted period of revolution and anarchy, rendered the establishment of a despotism imperative. Once founded, it was maintained by an army of forty thousand mercenaries, chiefly recruited from the barbarians of Africa, enlisted with multitudes of enfranchised slaves, who were bound to the interests of the monarchy by the double tie of dependence and gratitude. The romantic spirit of adventure often impelled Abd-al-Rahman, in the early years of his reign, to wander in disguise through the streets of his capital; but the animosity engendered by frequent revolutions soon rendered this diversion too hazardous, and he was compelled to adopt the seclusion and the military precautions which provide for the security of royalty in the kingdoms of the Orient. The gradations of official rank, the territorial divisions of the empire, the duties of the magistracy, the regulations of police, were also, with slight modifications, framed after the pattern of similar institutions in the East. In these details of political organization the number twelve and its factors, so popular among nations of Semitic origin, were especially prominent. The Peninsula was divided into six provinces, each of which was subject to the jurisdiction of a military governor. Under the control of this dignitary were two walis and six viziers, who administered affairs of minor importance in their respective districts. These officials were assisted in their labors by a host of kadis and secretaries, who sent, at stated periods, regular reports of their proceedings to the Council, or Divan, at Cordova. The available moments of leisure, during a life of almost incessant conflict, were employed by Abd-al-Rahman in works intended for the improvement of the masses; in the perfection of regulations which encouraged the accumulation and permitted the unrestricted enjoyment of property; and in the promotion of educational and literary facilities, as well as in the institution of measures upon whose enforcement absolutely depended the continuance of his power. He repaired the Roman highways that traversed the Peninsula. He established a system of couriers, with relays of post-horses, for the rapid transmission of important despatches. He ruled the fierce outlaws of the Peninsula, whose trade was rapine, and who considered mercy an indication of cowardice, by the only means they respected, the government of the sword. They hated and cursed him, they plotted against his life, they rejected his gifts and spurned his honors, but they obeyed his commands, for they stood in wholesome dread of his resentment, and had been taught, by many a bloody lesson, the consequences of disputing his authority. During his reign, for the first time since the Conquest, the nomadic propensity of the Berbers, the source of incessant disturbance and universal insecurity, was restrained, and these barbarians were compelled to conform to the laws and to choose a settled habitation. A code of judicature, adapted to the circumstances of a population composed of so many diverse and often hostile constituents, was framed, in whose statutes the useful institutions of the Visigoths were recognized under the general predominance of Moslem law.
Abd-al-Rahman made frequent excursions through his dominions, the better to familiarize himself with the conduct of his officers and the necessities of his subjects. His course was marked by charity to the needy; by munificent donations for public improvements; by institutions for the encouragement of the arts; by the erection of magnificent palaces and temples. But his generosity, ample elsewhere, was displayed with unprecedented lavishness in his capital, the object of his pride and of his peculiar affection. Its plan, its buildings, its fortifications, its suburbs, were modelled after those of beautiful Damascus. A palm-tree, the first ever seen in Spain, was brought from Syria, and planted in the court-yard of the royal palace as a memorial of the scenes of his childhood. In the environs of the city he laid out a garden, called Rusafah, after one formerly possessed by his grandfather, Hischem, and of which it was the counterpart. A mint was founded in Cordova, whose coins were identical in design, weight, and inscription with the pieces issued by the Ommeyade princes of Syria. The fame of the court and the reputation of the sovereign attracted to the Moslem capital of the West the learned and the polite of every clime. The spirit of literary emulation and philosophical inquiry, which attained such a remarkable development under succeeding khalifs, began to be awakened. The sovereign himself composed with facility and correctness verses of considerable merit. His sons were provided with the best instruction that the age afforded; were compelled to be present during the transactions of the Divan and the business of the courts; and were frequently entrusted with the negotiation of treaties and the administration of government. The public taste was cultivated by periodical literary contests, in which the most accomplished scholars and poets of the day participated; where splendid rewards for proficiency were distributed; and whose proceedings were invested with additional prestige by the presence and supervision of royalty.
Neither the brutal skepticism of the court of Damascus nor the prevalent idolatry and blasphemy of Spain seem to have affected the piety of Abd-al-Rahman. Whether induced by motives of interest or by sincere belief, it is certain that he ever observed with scrupulous exactness the ceremonial of his faith. Fully alive to the advantages—social, political, commercial, and religious—connected with a splendid temple, which, by reason of its magnificence and its sanctity, might become a place of pilgrimage, he had long meditated the construction of such an edifice, an aspiration whose fulfilment was deferred for many years by continuous reverses of fortune. The possession of the cities of Mecca and Jerusalem by a hostile dynasty had vastly increased the difficulties imposed upon such Mussulmans of the Peninsula as desired to make the arduous journey to the venerated shrines of the East. Moreover, the subjects of the Ommeyade ruler were regarded with suspicion and dislike by the sovereigns of Bagdad; and Abd-al-Rahman had, from every pulpit in the realm of the Abbasides, been proclaimed a usurper, a rebel, and an impostor. The success that finally attended his arms, and insured the permanent establishment of his authority, also rendered possible the realization of a project dictated by a more noble and lofty ambition. His political sagacity detected at a glance the influence such a temple would exert over the minds of a highly imaginative and superstitious people. Its erection would gratify their national pride. Its presence in the midst of the capital would consolidate and confirm the power of the state. The sentiment of loyalty still entertained by the descendants of Arabian exiles for the home of their fathers would be transferred to another land, whose shrine, if it did not equal that of Mecca in wealth, would certainly surpass it in grandeur and beauty. “My mosque,” said the great statesman, “will soon demand a khalif; my sons will assume that title; and the dispute between the East and West will be terminated forever. Our constitution is based entirely upon a religious principle, and my subjects will soon accustom themselves to see nothing beyond my children but the eye of Allah and the sword of the Prophet.”
In the turbulent times of the Conquest every place of worship possessed by the Christians in Cordova, save one, was destroyed. In the cathedral alone, whose ownership was insured by treaty, were the infidels permitted to perform the rites enjoined by their creed. In accordance with a custom prevalent in the East, where, however, it must be acknowledged, it was unusual, under ordinary circumstances, to violate engagements entered into with Christians, half of the cathedral had been forcibly appropriated and consecrated to the service of Islam. It was not many years, however, before its limited area was found inadequate to the requirements of the crowds of immigrants and proselytes that were daily added to the population of the growing capital. The location being the most desirable in the city, a proposition was made by Abd-al-Rahman for the purchase of the remaining half of the edifice. The bishop refused, on the reasonable ground that no other building would then be available for the celebration of the rites of the Christian faith. But the importunity of the Emir prevailed in the end; and the Christians obtained for their concessions the sum of a hundred thousand dinars, and, in addition, the extraordinary privilege of erecting a certain number of churches to replace those of which they had been deprived by the rage of fanaticism and the calamities of war.
The plan of the mosque was traced by Abd-al-Rahman himself, and the first stone of the foundation was laid by his own hands. Oppressed with age and physical infirmities, and haunted by a presentiment that he would not live to see his work completed, he exhausted every effort to accelerate its progress. A vast number of laborers were employed. The assistance of the governors of distant provinces was invoked for the collection and transportation of materials. The emulation of the artisans was excited by the example of the enfeebled sovereign, who, for one hour every day, personally shared the toil of his humble companions. The vaults of the public treasury were opened without restriction for the benefit of an undertaking which appealed alike to the patriotic impulses and the religious sentiment of the nation. The work progressed with astonishing rapidity, but not fast enough to satisfy the feverish impatience of the illustrious architect. It was his desire while he yet had strength to perform in those sacred precincts, as the representative of the Prophet, the simple ceremonial of the faith so dear to the heart of every Mussulman. A space was cleared within the enclosure. An awning was raised, and the unfinished walls were hung with tapestry from the palace. There, surrounded with heaps of materials, with half-chiselled capitals and naked columns, the Emir, in his snowy robes of office, ascended the temporary pulpit, led the prayers, and directed the devotions of a vast concourse assembled from every quarter of the Moslem capital. It was the last important act of his life. A few weeks later the multitudes who had listened with silent reverence to his discourse in the Djalma followed his remains to the tomb.