History of the Moorish Empire in Europe, Vol. 2 (of 3)

by S. P. Scott

Of the fragments of the vast and opulent Hispano-Arab monarchy, with its scores of magnificent cities, its landscape diversified by all the evidences of agricultural science and industry, its harbors the seat of a world-wide commerce, its society graced by every refinement of literary and artistic culture, there remained now but a limited and distracted province, bounded by the mountain ranges which encompassed its capital. That capital, although for years subjected to the pernicious and destructive effects of constant revolution and sanguinary disorder, still preserved, to a great extent, untarnished and unimpaired, its pristine elegance and beauty. Through the interested and politic forbearance of its enemies, it retained the delusive semblance of freedom and the pretensions of an imperial metropolis. No diminution in the number of its inhabitants was perceptible. The places of those sacrificed in foreign and domestic wars had been filled by refugees from ravaged lands and plundered cities. It was only in the decimated ranks of the nobility that the appalling results of national misfortune were apparent. Few indeed remained of those gallant cavaliers whose exploits in the field had for years sustained the exalted reputation of the Granadan chivalry. Of the five thousand present at the accession of Muley Hassan, but three hundred had survived. In the superb palaces, a royal slave, supported by a monthly pension from the Spanish Crown, maintained the unsubstantial parade of sovereignty and power. There were few indications visible to suggest the frightful scenes through which the city had passed. The barricades raised by armed sedition had been removed. The blood-stains had disappeared from the streets. Far above, on the highest tower of the citadel, might be discerned, impaled on pikes and beaten by many a storm, the grisly heads of those political agitators who had paid the penalty of unsuccessful insurrection with their lives. Except these significant tokens of despotic severity there was nothing to indicate the threatening cloud which hung over fair Granada. Within the ample circuit of its walls the hand of war had not yet placed its withering grasp. Its orchards still yielded their delicious fruits. Its gardens were still fragrant with the mingled odors of myriads of blossoms. In the bazaars, traders from every province of the Peninsula, relying upon the assurance of Christian protection, exchanged in peace their various wares. In the factories, which still produced in diminished quantities the richest fabrics, the busy artisans plied their trades. But this condition of apparent tranquillity was delusive. In the breasts of the aristocracy still rankled the enmity of generations. The populace was exasperated by tyranny and the infliction of long-continued outrage. The calamities induced by treason and barbarity were first in the minds of all. No exhibition of royal pomp could conceal the fact that the King had been for years a vassal of the infidel. No concession to public prejudice could atone for the butchery of relatives, the invasion of privacy, the confiscation of treasure. Over palace and mosque, over park and thoroughfare, hovered the ineffaceable memories of recent and bloody fraternal strife. In every public edifice, in every private abode, the trophies of victory reposed in suggestive proximity to the emblems of mourning and death.

The Vega, however, once the marvel of agricultural perfection and the centre of Moslem industry, presented a far different appearance. The verdant groves with which its surface had been diversified were gone. Its hydraulic system was disarranged and in part destroyed; the canals were filled up with rubbish; the rivulets diverted from their former course, and useless. Instead of the splendid villas, the graceful mosques, the snowy cottages embowered in roses, a few straggling huts rose at intervals over the uniform scene of ruin and devastation. Here and there, a patch of green, marking the spot where cultivation had begun to revive, contrasted with the generally charred and desolate aspect of the landscape. An occasional half-demolished tower indicated the former refuge of the laborer, sufficient against an ordinary marauding party, but powerless before armies numbering tens of thousands.

To such limited dimensions was the once all-powerful Moslem empire in Europe now reduced. Almost from the very day of its foundation it had been distracted by feud and sedition. It had witnessed the rise and growth of kingdoms; the birth of dynasties which from insignificant beginnings now bade fair to overshadow the world with their power; the portentous growth of a religious system that already menaced liberty of thought, and was soon to exert a potent and wide-spread influence for evil. The banner of the Cross had moved in a slow but steady progress from the frozen valleys of the Pyrenees to the verdant banks of the Darro. The cold, inhospitable region of the Asturias, destitute of the smiling attractions of Nature, without military roads or adequate subsistence, had repelled the assaults and checked the enterprise of the Moslems, who disdained and avoided a foe equally remarkable for poverty, fanaticism, and valor. The inability to appreciate and the neglect to crush this once despised but eventually formidable enemy was the first step in the decline of the Moorish power. Its fall was accelerated by many diverse circumstances. The glaring defects of its monarchical system, the absolute want of cohesion of its numerous and discordant political elements, the manifold evils derived from polygamous institutions and disputed inheritance, all became manifest when the factions of Islam began to contend for superiority in the bitter and interminable struggle for wealth and dominion.

In the rapidity and perfection of its intellectual development no nation ever approached the Spanish Arabs. But as their rise was sudden and brilliant, so their fall was the more crushing and disastrous. The truism that progressive degeneracy is the inevitable fate of every people who have reached the highest point of intellectual culture and material progress was once more to be demonstrated. Unfortunately for humanity, while the physical sciences advance, the art of government almost invariably retrogrades. The most perfect form of civilization is not favorable to the permanence of a state existing under the most finished social conditions. The greater the degree of intelligence, the lower the standard of political morality. These facts are strikingly exemplified in the closing history of the kingdom of Granada. At that period no people was as far advanced in the attainment of knowledge; in the practical application of scientific principles; in familiarity with and appreciation of the mechanical and the elegant arts. And, it must be added, nowhere was there less patriotism, less loyalty, less of that spirit of mutual concession and self-sacrifice indispensable to the preservation of communities and the maintenance of empire. Sovereign and subject alike, by turns, betrayed each other to the enemy. The most sacred obligations that can exist between the governors and the governed were repudiated without a blush. Crimes that would have appalled barbarians were so common as scarcely to excite comment. An ignoble competition seemed to exist between bodies of citizens of the same blood, and professing the same religious faith, to throw themselves into the power of an artful and perfidious adversary who was the mortal enemy of all. A universal degradation, from whose blight even the most illustrious were not exempt, pervaded all classes,—a condition which had at last reached its climax after its gradual development through centuries, and was finally disclosed by that perversion of manners, morals, government, and laws which so significantly indicates the corruption and the decadence of nations.

The main provision in the compact exacted at Loja by the Catholic sovereigns from Boabdil in his distress involved the surrender of Granada and all the contiguous territory subject to his jurisdiction, as soon as the dominions of Al-Zagal had been incorporated into the Spanish monarchy. Compliance with the terms of this agreement was now formally demanded. The weak and unprincipled King, who in making the bargain had never anticipated its enforcement or appreciated the debilitated condition of the kingdom and the imminent danger of its downfall, was thunderstruck when he learned that the power of his uncle had suddenly collapsed. It had been his hope that the complacent subserviency he had exhibited in the protection of the interests of his country’s enemies, the abject submission with which he had implored their aid against his subjects, and the costly gifts which he had secretly distributed among influential courtiers standing in the shadow of the throne, would suffice to procure for him the enjoyment of at least the name and the appearance of royal authority for the remainder of his life. Therefore, with a view to deferring the evil, yet with no definite expectation of preventing it, he tried to temporize. He represented that immediate fulfilment of his contract was impossible, for the reason that, as great numbers of persons driven out of the conquered territory had since become citizens of Granada, it was necessary to consult their interests and obtain their acquiescence in the terms demanded. Anxious to avoid a renewal of hostilities, Ferdinand offered to bestow upon him certain estates from whose revenue he might live in luxury, dependent solely upon the acknowledgment of vassalage and the payment of a moderate tribute. But Boabdil, always vacillating when promptness and decision were required, always headstrong when the exigencies of the occasion demanded compliance, as usual adopted an impolitic course. Turning a deaf ear to the remonstrances of his most sagacious advisers, who recognized the advantages of submission and the folly of resistance, he began to listen to the rash counsels of the youthful nobles and desperate adventurers whose votes were unanimously for war.

Then Ferdinand sent to the people of Granada a copy of the secret treaty which revealed the perfidy and dishonor of their King. Its publication aroused such universal indignation and contempt that nothing but his inaccessible position in the citadel of the Alhambra saved his life. The streets were filled with a surging mob, whose clamors rose menacingly to the battlements of the palace. The renegades, santons, exiles, and soldiers of fortune inflamed the fickle and turbulent populace, whose supremacy signified anarchy, proscription, and death. Fortunately for the detested monarch, the soldiers remained faithful to his cause, and their devotion alone preserved him from the violence of his infuriated subjects. By strenuous efforts the old Arab aristocracy and the wealthy merchants finally succeeded in restoring order. The crowds, still uttering ominous threats, sullenly dispersed. The shops were once more opened. Traffic was resumed, and the citizens, with a despairing sense of helplessness and trepidation, moved uneasily through the streets. Boabdil, conscious that the only choice now left to him was that of abdication or war, selected the latter alternative, and publicly announced his intention to fight, and to prolong, if he could not palliate, the last throes of an expiring monarchy. The conditions resulting from the suddenly altered relations of the courts of Castile and Granada obtained for the Moors some minor advantages; the castle of Padul and a few other forts near the capital were taken; an expedition led by Ferdinand in person through the Vega for the purpose of destroying the harvests failed to thoroughly accomplish its object; and, constantly harassed by the enemy, the Christians were eventually forced to retreat.

The pitiful remnant of the kingdom of Granada, heretofore torn by sedition and threatened with conquest, was now to experience the active hostility of those who should have ventured their lives to defend it before it was reduced to extremity. The eminent qualities of Sidi Yahya, the former governor of Baza, his courtesy and his prowess, his illustrious birth, and the gallantry with which he had maintained his trust, had extorted the reluctant applause of his enemies, commendation formerly denied to others of equal merit but inferior lineage. These noble attributes had, however, recently been darkened by actions which brought upon him the imputation of corruption, apostasy, venality, and treason. He was more than suspected of having sacrificed the people of Baza for his personal benefit. Men eyed with suspicion the favor he enjoyed with the Christians, the sudden wealth he had acquired, the close relations he maintained with the enemy. These accusations, which his subsequent conduct tended rather to confirm than to remove, were well grounded. In recognition of his influence great interest was taken in him. Every attempt was made to induce him to renounce his religion. The most learned and distinguished prelates labored to convince him of his errors. Even the Queen interposed her good offices in an attempt at proselytism. Magnificent presents were bestowed upon him as an earnest of greater and more substantial rewards. At first, amidst all of the importunity and temptation of his zealous advisers, the constancy of the subtle Moor remained apparently unshaken. This firmness was, however, simulated. He had long before determined to profit by the certain benefits of a voluntary conversion. His resistance only served to enhance the credit of those who effected his apparent change of heart. After having been duly “catechised,” as the chronicler significantly remarks, he became a good Christian, and was secretly received into the bosom of the Church.

Sidi Yahya, anxious to demonstrate his fidelity to his new suzerain and to remove any prejudice that might result from his contumacy, evinced the greatest enthusiasm for the Spanish cause. With a hundred and fifty followers, he assisted in the foray which laid waste the environs of Granada; and, by the use of a well-worn stratagem, captured an important outpost of the capital, and earned at the same time the applause of his recently acquired friends and the execration of those still bound to him by the ties of a common ancestry, and who had been so lately professors of a common faith. Upon the elevation now known as The Soto de Roma, two leagues from the city, stood in the fifteenth century a strong castle, built to protect the royal orchards and parks by which it was surrounded. At the head of his command and apparently escorting a number of Christian captives, Sidi Yahya approached the fortress, and, stating that he was closely pursued, requested immediate shelter. The soldiers of the garrison, deceived by the dress, by the arms, and especially by the language of the strangers, whom they supposed to be a party from Granada, without hesitation opened the gates. A few moments afterwards they were prisoners; their pretended friends disclosed the fact that they were the vassals of Spain; and the banner of Castile and Leon was raised upon the battlements. By such methods did the renowned Moorish captain attempt to emphasize his new allegiance, thereby meriting the detestation of every faithful Moslem, and tarnishing the lustre of a military record which, until his political and religious apostasy, had remained without a blemish. Al-Zagal also answered the summons of Ferdinand with two hundred cavalry; and, in sight of those towers where he had formerly reigned supreme, displayed the same dash and courage which had signalized his operations while he was the most formidable adversary of those sovereigns whom the fortunes of war now compelled him to serve in a subordinate capacity.

The exploit of the princely apostate was soon eclipsed by the capture of Alhendin. That castle, situated near Granada, was one of the strongest in the Vega, and had not long before surrendered to the Spaniards without resistance. Invested suddenly by the forces of Boabdil, the slender garrison was unable to withstand the impetuous attack of the Moors, who fought in relays and left the besieged no respite day or night. Four days sufficed to reduce the Christians to extremity; all communication with their friends being interrupted left them no alternative but submission; they were led in triumph to the dungeons of the capital, and Alhendin was razed to the ground. After Alhendin, the castles of Alboloduy and Marchena attracted the hostility of the Moorish King. Both were stormed and pillaged; their Castilian garrisons were enslaved, and the lands dependent on them, which formed part of the fief of Sidi Yahya, were ravaged without mercy. The Mudejares of the surrounding country were tortured or massacred; the cattle driven away; and the victorious Boabdil returned to Granada, where he was received with the greatest enthusiasm. These brilliant deeds raised the fainting hopes of the Moslems; prompted by the deceptive but plausible expectations of victory, they dreamed of the return of independence and the restoration of empire; the army increased rapidly in numbers; and arrangements were made for the prosecution of an extensive and vigorous campaign. The siege of Salobreña, whose port offered easy communication with the African coast, was next undertaken. Its defenders, provided with insufficient rations, were soon oppressed with hunger, and, exhausted by the desperate charges of the Moslem soldiery, who, adopting the tactics successful at Alhendin, maintained a furious and incessant combat, the suburbs and the town were stormed; and the garrison, driven to the citadel, began to yield to despair. The numbers of the enemy and their strong position rendered the relief of the place impossible without the aid of a powerful army; but Hernan Perez del Pulgar, with seventy lances, cut his way through the lines, and his arrival infused new energy into the despondent minds of the besieged. Again and again the Moorish battalions were repulsed; there was no time for the employment of the slow but more certain operations of artillery; intelligence reached the Moslems that Ferdinand was approaching; and Boabdil, after a rapid and inglorious retreat, found safety within the walls of his capital. The unexpected spirit displayed by the Moorish King aroused the martial ardor of the Mudejares, who had so recently renounced their allegiance to Al-Zagal, and were eager to cast off the yoke which they had assumed from necessity. Communication was secretly opened between the malcontents of Guadix, Almeria, Baza, and the Moslem court; many recruits from these and other cities enlisted in the army of Granada; and preparations for a conspiracy were inaugurated which only awaited a propitious moment to burst forth into a general and bloody insurrection.

It was impossible to preserve a secret known to whole communities, and, informers being abundant among the Moors, it was not long before full details of the plot were in possession of the Spanish authorities. As practically all of the Mudejares were implicated, either as active participants or as sympathizers, it was not considered advisable to inflict the extreme severity of punishment that the case demanded, so milder, but fully as effective, measures were decided upon. Guadix was the centre of the disaffection, and the Marquis of Villena, Captain-General of the district, induced all the inhabitants of that city to gather outside the walls under pretext of an enumeration. He then closed the gates, acquainted them with the reason for this precaution, and ordered them to await the arrival of the King. When Ferdinand came, a few days subsequently, he declared that the unfortunate people of Guadix had forfeited their claims to protection or clemency, and he gave them the alternative of immediate exile or a tributary residence in his dominions in open and unfortified villages. The same rigorous terms were offered to Baza and Almeria; a large emigration to Tlemcen and Fez took place; a considerable number of industrious Moors established themselves in Andalusia, where the Inquisition eventually visited its tortures upon them or their descendants; and thus, without the least effort or even apparent formality of confiscation, the rich possessions of the Moors—their elegant villas, their plantations and vineyards, their sumptuous residences, mosques, and gardens—passed into the rapacious hands of the Christians.