In the summer portion of the palace the walls of enormous thickness, the dimly lighted apartments, the marble lattices, the lace-like spandrels through which passed, without obstruction, the lightest breeze, the perpetual ripple of waters, banished from the minds of the inmates even the idea of the discomforts of a semi-tropical climate. The winter palace, of larger dimensions, while certainly not inferior in elegance to the remainder of the edifice, afforded less opportunity for the display of architectural magnificence. The rooms were smaller, and the distribution of water confined to the necessities of religious and sanitary ablution. Warmth was distributed by the Roman hypocaust, a system of earthenware pipes similar in arrangement to a modern furnace. A higher degree of temperature was obtained by the use of metal globes filled with burning charcoal, which were rolled over the floors of the apartments. A bath, the luxury of whose apartments was unsurpassed in the realm of Islam, offered that voluptuous indulgence which was to the devout Moslem a sacred obligation, enjoined by his creed and inculcated by the traditions of centuries.
The mosque of the Alhambra, raised by the piety of Mohammed III., was recognized by all Moslems as one of the most exquisite temples of their religion. Its foundations had been laid by the toil of Christian captives. The expense of its erection as well as the revenues required by the worship celebrated within its walls—a worship which far exceeded in ostentatious splendor that of the Great Mosque of the city—were largely derived from the proceeds of forays and the tributes levied upon the Jewish and Christian population. Its materials were the rarest and most expensive that could be procured. Columns of jasper, of porphyry, of Numidian marble, and of alabaster sustained its arches, enriched with delicate stuccoes and inlaid with lazulite and onyx. The bases and capitals of these columns were of silver carved in arabesques and flowers. From the ceiling, painted with blue and gold, hung fifty lamps of shell, mother-of-pearl, and bronze, whose light was tempered by rose-colored shades of silken gauze. In its tile-work, its legends, its mosaics, its harmoniously blended hues, the Moorish artificer had exhausted every device of human skill. Adjoining the mosque was the pantheon, wherein, deposited in caskets of massy silver, were entombed the emirs of Granada. Their marble sarcophagi were ranged around a sombre vault, whose roof, like that of the Mihrab of the Djalma of Cordova, was chiselled in imitation of a shell.
Within the great circuit of the Alhambra were many secret apartments, subterranean passages, and galleries subservient to the uses of the eunuchs and the garrison, which communicated with the fortifications of the city. In the gardens, of which there were several, the capricious taste of the Arab was disclosed by peculiarities of floral embellishment,—walks paved with colored pebbles in arabesque patterns; beds of myrtle representing meadows in which grew plants and diminutive trees of the same vegetation clipped into forms of perfect symmetry; royal ciphers and pious legends traced in flowers of scarlet, purple, white, and yellow on a field of emerald green. The riotous fancy of Moorish genius attained its maximum development in the construction of this palace, celebrated by every traveller of ancient and modern times as unrivalled in picturesque elegance and beauty. In the delightful villas within the walls or adjacent to the city, the emirs, in the company of their favorite slaves, were accustomed to pass many months of the year. All of them resembled the Alhambra in arrangement and decoration, yet each was distinguished from the others by some peculiarity from which it derived its name. In one was a labyrinth of waters,—streams, cascades, and fountains, whose jets were projected to the height of sixty feet; another was famed for the virtues of a medicinal spring; in a third was an immense artificial lake; to another was attached an aviary filled with the song-birds of every clime.
The channels of three great aqueducts which supplied the city and palaces were in many places tunnelled through the solid rock. Their waters were also utilized for mining purposes, the cliffs in the vicinity of the Darro being especially rich in mineral deposits. The daily rental of a single mountain in the rear of the Alhambra, where toiled four hundred Christian slaves, amounted to two hundred ducats of gold. From the royal demesnes, thirty in number, an annual income of twenty-five thousand dinars, or four hundred and fifty thousand dollars, was derived; and in addition to this great sum were the revenues from the mines, the forests, the pastures, the ransom of captives, and the tribute of vassals. At the roll of the Moorish atabal fifty thousand soldiers sprang to arms. Of these, eight thousand cavalry—the most splendid in equipment, the most rapid in evolution, of any similar force in Europe—were quartered with twenty-five thousand cross-bowmen in the Alhambra. The entire available military force of the kingdom was not less than three hundred thousand men.
An examination of the character of the inhabitants of Granada reveals to us one of the many causes of their fall. They are described as incredibly selfish, as deficient in humanity, without sympathy for the living or reverence for the dead. In times of scarcity, the superfluity of the rich was abused for the oppression of the poor. They celebrated their riotous festivals in the vicinity of cemeteries. That humble piety which is at once the merit and the security of a people was extinct. The most sacred precepts of religion were constantly violated. In the infidel University of Granada the maxims of Averroes and other heretics of the Cordovan school were publicly taught. The use of wine was almost universal; and the fasts enjoined by Mohammed were transformed into scenes of wassail and license. Charity was refused alike to the worthy unfortunate and the brazen impostor. The schools of theology were full of scoffers and hypocrites. In the congregations of the mosques, the women outnumbered members of the other sex ten to one. The delineation of animal forms, that abomination of the devout Moslem, was everywhere visible,—on the arms of the sovereign, on the public fountains, on the ramparts, on the ceilings of palaces, in the institutions of learning, at the very portals of edifices dedicated to the study of the Koran. The monarch, to whose example the people naturally turned for instruction and whose family traced its genealogy in a direct line to the Ansares, the Companions of the Prophet, was not infrequently the first to violate the maxims of a religion of which he was the acknowledged representative. The entire population was deficient in the principle of cohesion indispensable to the maintenance of political power. Its elements were composed of the antagonistic fragments of a hundred tribes and factions. Sectarian prejudice had been succeeded by undisguised hostility. Familiarity with assassination, the impunity of frequent revolt, the exile of princes, the recurrence of civil war, a succession of usurpers, had practically abrogated the principle of loyalty. Without attachment to the soil, without reverence for the throne, without incentives to national independence, without aspirations for national glory, even the appearance of patriotism could not exist. Enervated by luxury, the military spirit, which sometimes prolongs the existence of moribund nations, had ceased to display that ferocious energy which had so frequently led the armies of Islam to victory. Twice had large bodies of the citizens of Granada, exasperated by tyranny, resolved on expatriation, and solicited the protection of the kings of Castile. In the final struggle, the Christian invader found no allies so useful as those partisans hopelessly contending for political supremacy, and willing to sacrifice home, honor, religion, liberty, provided their countrymen of a hostile faction might be involved with themselves in a common destruction. The Spanish Moslems had reached a point in their development beyond which, as a people, they could not pass. With them, as with all others, the epoch marked by the perfection of mechanical ingenuity, by the climax of artistic excellence, by the superiority of mental culture, was coincident with the period of national decay. Their civilization, however dazzling it might appear, shone with a false and delusive lustre. Its promoters founded a great and opulent state. They improved the practice of every art, they extended the productive power of every industry. They patronized letters with unstinted liberality. They based their religious policy upon the broad and statesmanlike principle of universal toleration. In their conquests, as far as was consistent with national security, they recognized the rights of humanity and forbearance. From the most unpromising origin resulted achievements of surpassing grandeur and pre-eminent value. The migratory Bedouin of the Desert, with no home but a low tent open to the air and possessing no idea whatever of substantial architecture or mural ornamentation, when brought under the influence of Greek and Roman antiquity and of the stupendous structures of the Valley of the Nile, rapidly developed into the most accomplished of decorators and architects. The descendants of the conquerors of Egypt who burned the Alexandrian library founded the University of Cordova and formed the great collections of the khalifate. A race whose progenitors lived by violence and whose name was synonymous with rapine established schools of law, secured the safety of the highways by the maintenance of a vigilant police, and became renowned for their administration of rigid and impartial justice. The seal of that civilization was impressed more deeply upon the monuments, upon the life, upon the traditions of Granada, than upon those of any other locality which had experienced the magical effects of its influence and its example. That kingdom had long survived the wreck of the empire. Within its borders were to be found specimens of architectural splendor which the wildest visions of Oriental fancy could not surpass. To the scholar, it was the seat of learning and the home of poesy; to the merchant, the centre of a vast and profitable commerce; to the traveller, a far more pleasing and instructive subject of study than the pageantry of Roman superstition or the melancholy exhibition of Byzantine pride and impotence. The imaginative peasant, whose mind had been nourished from childhood with tales of wonder, regarded his country as a land of enchantment. Especially was this true of the capital. Its approaches were guarded by talismans. Its towers were peopled by demons. A thousand fantastic legends adorned the story of its princes, the lives of its heroes, the foundation of its citadel, the erection of its palaces. Its incomparable monuments, apparently transcending the efforts of human power, were attributed to genii enslaved by magicians. Inscribed alike upon the portals of royal villa and peasant’s hut was the cabalistic hand, of potent efficacy against the dreaded evil-eye. Over all the city and its attributes popular superstition spread a veil of romantic and unearthly influence, which to our day has never been removed; symbolized by the artificer in forms universally believed to conceal some mysterious significance; in the carvings of architrave and capital; in the blending of characters in inscription and cipher; in the verdant labyrinths of the terraced gardens that encircled her fair brows as with a coronet; in the bursting pomegranate, in field of silver, emblazoned on her arms.
Such was Granada on the eve of the Conquest. Well might Castilian ambition covet such a prize! Well might the Moslem, proud of the commercial pre-eminence of his country, intoxicated with her beauty, mindful of her immortal souvenirs, conscious of her impending fate, refer with Oriental hyperbole to her fair metropolis as, “Court of the Universe,” “Throne of Andaluz,” “Mother of Peoples,” “Pomegranate of Rubies,” “Diadem of Roses,” “City of Cities!” She had fulfilled her magnificent destiny in the world of science, of art, of letters. She had created imperishable monuments of her intellectual power. The star of her glory, long past its meridian, was now rapidly hastening to its setting.
The implacable struggle for national existence on the one hand, for religious and political supremacy on the other, was now about to assume a new and a more decisive character. With much show of reason the Spaniard regarded the Arab as the usurper of his hereditary rights. With a valor and an inflexible tenacity of purpose scarcely paralleled in any age, he had for centuries prosecuted the recovery of his ancient patrimony in the arduous and bloody path of conquest. Undismayed by physical obstacles, undaunted by repeated reverses, never yielding what was once within his iron grasp, he had finally advanced to the gates of the last infidel stronghold. In his ruthless progress he was no unworthy type of the Genius of Destruction. The charming landscape he encountered he transformed into a blackened desert. The shrines of a hostile faith, embellished with the most exquisite labors ever bestowed by the hands of popular reverence and royal prodigality upon the altars of God, were demolished or purposely suffered to fall into decay. The smoke of his camp-fires begrimed the walls of gilded palaces. Historic records of former ages, priceless relics of antiquity, scientific instruments, were delivered to the flames. His energy, his sincerity, his bravery, however, could never be called in question. The simple Roman sword, the emblem of courage, the symbol of power and dominion, which is carved upon the tomb of Pelayus in the valley of Covadonga, was the worthy precursor of those trenchant blades that hewed their way from the mist-enshrouded defiles of the Asturian Mountains to the rose-clad slopes of the Sierra Nevada, and established, amidst the sack of cities and the extermination of an industrious and accomplished people, the awful tyranny of ecclesiastical avarice and inquisitorial power. Every impediment had been surmounted by the indomitable perseverance, fanaticism, and ambition of the Crusader. New sovereigns now controlled the destinies of his country. For generations the principal adversary of Granada had been the kingdom of Castile, impoverished in resources, divided by faction, exhausted by warfare, weakened in authority. The union of the two great realms of the Peninsula brought into the contest the hardy population and the unimpaired vigor of Aragon. In Castile a great social and political revolution had been effected. The claims of the nobility, inconsistent with the dignity and the prerogatives of the crown, had been curtailed or abolished. The possession of a title or the occupancy of a mountain stronghold no longer conferred immunity from the punishment of crime. Treasures and demesnes extorted by violence or procured by fraud from the weakness of former princes were relinquished. Feudal privileges, the subject of constant abuse and encroachment since the foundation of the monarchy, were sternly retrenched. Civil disorder was suppressed. Through the agency of a vigilant military police, which in the pursuit of offenders was no respecter of rank, the highways became safe, and commerce revived. With the return of public security, national development received a new and powerful impetus. The seaports, long deserted, were filled with vessels. The stores of capital, secreted from royal and aristocratic rapacity, gradually found their way into the channels of trade. A debased currency which had impaired public credit and produced repeated financial disasters was replaced by a legitimate coinage of universally recognized value. The folly of Henry IV. had authorized the establishment of private mints, the standard of whose product was regulated solely by the necessities or the avarice of their proprietors. These were abolished, and all coins now bore the royal stamp, a substantial guaranty of their worth and genuineness. With the decline of feudal privileges the influence and the importance of the middle class increased. That class, ever constituting the most valuable portion of the social fabric, dependent for its existence upon the security of trade and the practice of industry, could not survive amidst the incessant disorder of feud and sedition. For many generations a vast interval had separated the majestic castle of the noble from the filthy hovel of the serf, whose occupants represented the two most numerous castes of society. Royal authority now interposed to especially protect those whom political experience had proved might constitute a safe and effective bulwark against aristocratic aggression. It was an age of religious as well as of political transition. The Church was not yet sufficiently strong to persecute. The Crown could not yet venture to support the ecclesiastical with the secular power. The Inquisition had not yet raised its menacing and bloody hand to stifle thought and check the exertion of every generous impulse, but it was even then soliciting recognition; the glory of its establishment was reserved for the pious Isabella. As a result of toleration based upon the consciousness of weakness, the sectaries of other religions, heedless of impending disaster, pursued their avocations in peace. The rancor of mediæval prejudice did not prevent the shrewd and obsequious Jew from buying his cargoes or negotiating his loans. The Mudejar, who had, perhaps without reluctance, exchanged the capricious despotism of his hereditary rulers for the suspicious protection of an ancient foe, exercised, in a delusive tranquillity, those agricultural and mechanical occupations which had conferred such blessings upon his race. In addition to other important considerations, the tribute collected from this heretical population brought no inconsiderable revenue into the royal treasury. The once discordant elements of Christian authority in the Peninsula had been reconciled; what had formerly been its weakness was now its firmest support; dissensions had been supplanted by affectionate loyalty; a protracted truce had insured the development of national strength; and the disputes and prejudices of a score of hostile and semi-independent states had been forgotten in the inauguration of the bold and subtle policy which, almost imperceptibly and without determined resistance, had established and consolidated a formidable monarchy.
The accession of the princes under whose auspices these grand results were achieved is coincident with the beginning of one of the most important periods mentioned in history. Not only were the political conditions of the age eminently favorable to the increase of Spanish power, but every adventitious circumstance seemed to contribute directly to that end. The nobles were exhausted by generations of discord. Feudalism, carried to extremes, had become synonymous with irresponsible tyranny. The people were weary of revolution. The spirit of loyalty, always strong in the chivalrous Castilian, required but the assertion of regal authority to be revived in all its original fervor and intensity. The inherent and fatal weakness of Granada, whose treasures were greater than those possessed by any other country in Europe, was well known to its enemies. Their cupidity, long since aroused by the ostentatious exhibition of fabulous wealth; their fanatical zeal, stimulated by the Papal blessing and the unlimited distribution of indulgences, urged them to the gratification of the most powerful passions which dominate humanity. The apparent strength of the Moslem kingdom was illusory. Its vitality had long been sapped by border conflict and domestic convulsion. Its capacity for resistance was not proportionate to the formidable character of its bulwarks, the number of its inhabitants, the value of its resources, the spirit of its traditions, the gallantry of its defenders, or the measure of its renown. Before the first well-concerted attack it must inevitably fall.
The sovereigns upon whom had devolved the task of erasing from the Peninsula the last vestige of Moslem ascendancy were, in many respects, admirably qualified for the undertaking. Ferdinand was experienced beyond his years; practised in that school which taught that duplicity was the highest development of political wisdom; tried by the dangers and the vicissitudes which in an age of national disorder beset the path of princes; of mediocre abilities and limited education; incapable of sincere attachment; of undoubted courage, yet inclined to negotiation rather than to violence; moderate in the indulgence of his pleasures; abstemious in diet, and shabby in dress almost to parsimony; frigid in temperament, yet dissolute; taciturn and vigilant; suspicious, arbitrary, and imperturbable; without faith or integrity where momentous public interests were involved; a bigot rather from policy than from principle; narrow, selfish, and crafty; stern, sullen, merciless, imperious; equally ready to conciliate an enemy or to sacrifice a friend.
In Isabella was typified the prevalent spirit of the age,—a spirit of superstition, of credulity, of intolerance, ever manifesting a blind devotion to the ministers of religion, ever sanctioning an uncompromising severity in dealing with heretics. Her talents for administration and command were far superior to those of her husband. Her heart was not always insensible to the dictates of pity. She had received the best education which the restricted opportunities of the time afforded. It was her masculine genius which projected and carried into execution the reforms that assured the prosperity of her kingdom and re-established the dignity of the throne. Her prophetic foresight was often obscured by her deference to ecclesiastical authority. She accepted the theories of Columbus after they had been repudiated as absurd and blasphemous by the wisest of her councillors. It was at her own request that the Pope issued the bull which established the Inquisition. Her character was a singular compound of the amazon and the saint. She was equally at home in the cloister and in the camp; listening to the solemn anthems of the mass or surrounded by the clash of arms. Her missal, bearing evidence of constant usage, is one of the most precious relics of the Cathedral of Granada. Her sword and her armor of proof, beautifully wrought and inlaid with gold, are preserved in the museum of Madrid. With the economy of an ordinary housewife, she spun, wove, and stitched her own garments and those of her family. With placid equanimity, she never suffered herself to be elated by success or depressed by misfortune. The universal popularity she enjoyed did much to atone for the stolid and repulsive nature of her husband. In an age of unbounded licentiousness,—practised by every class and excused by ecclesiastical indulgence and royal example,—no suspicion of scandal ever attached to her name. Without those charms of face and figure which in exalted personages have had no small influence on the destiny of empires, her manners were unusually pleasing and attractive. Her commanding ability dominated the mean and disingenuous Ferdinand. She maintained with inflexible firmness the ancient prerogatives of Castile. Courage, magnanimity, tact, candor, benevolence, were among her most conspicuous virtues. Yet Torquemada, the first Grand Inquisitor of Spain, was her favorite confessor, and the awful tortures and subsequent exile of the Hebrew population of the Peninsula were inflicted with her hearty co-operation and approval. The inflexible resolution of Isabella was one of the most striking traits of her remarkable character. Once determined upon the accomplishment of a design, she pursued it unflinchingly to the end. By the fiery Spanish youth their queen was regarded with an affectionate reverence shared only by the Virgin. The moral effect produced upon the Castilian soldiery by her appearance in the field was greater than the confidence inspired by many battalions. Fortunate, indeed, was the knight whose prowess evoked from the lips of his royal mistress words of commendation, more precious in his eyes than the tumultuous applause of multitudes or the deafening acclamations of mighty armies.