Read Complete Fictional Works of Washington Irving (Illustrated) Online
Authors: Washington Irving
The chief honor of the day, and of course of the defeat and capture of the Moorish monarch, was given by the sovereign to the count de Cabra; the second to his nephew, Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova.
Among the curious papers cited by Alcantara is one existing in the archives of the House of Medina Celi, giving the account of the treasurer of Don Diego Fernandez as to the sums expended by his lord in the capture of the king, the reward given to some soldiers for a standard of the king’s which they had taken, to others for the wounds they had received,
etc.
Another paper speaks of an auction at Lucena on the 28th of April of horses and mules taken in the battle. Another paper states the gratuities of the alcayde of los Donceles to the soldiery — four fanegas, or about four hundredweight, of wheat and a lance to each horseman, two fanegas of wheat and a lance to each foot-soldier.
LAMENTATIONS OF THE MOORS FOR THE BATTLE OF LUCENA.
The sentinels looked out from the watchtowers of Loxa along the valley of the Xenil, which passes through the mountains of Algaringo. They looked to behold the king returning in triumph at the head of his shining host, laden with the spoil of the unbeliever. They looked to behold the standard of their warlike idol, the fierce Ali Atar, borne by the chivalry of Loxa, ever foremost in the wars of the border.
In the evening of the 21st of April they descried a single horseman urging his faltering steed along the banks of the Xenil. As he drew near they perceived, by the flash of arms, that he was a warrior, and on nearer approach by the richness of his armor and the caparison of his steed they knew him to be a warrior of rank.
He reached Loxa faint and aghast, his courser covered with foam and dust and blood, panting and staggering with fatigue and gashed with wounds. Having brought his master in safety, he sank down and died before the gate of the city. The soldiers at the gate gathered round the cavalier as he stood by his expiring steed: they knew him to be Cidi Caleb, nephew of the chief alfaqui of the mosque in the Albaycin, and their hearts were filled with fearful forebodings.
“Cavalier,” said they, “how fares it with the king and army?”
He cast his hand mournfully toward the land of the Christians. “There they lie!” exclaimed he. “The heavens have fallen upon them. All are lost! all dead!”*
* Bernaldez (Cura de los Palacios), Hist. de los Reyes Catol.,
MS., cap. 61.
Upon this there was a great cry of consternation among the people, and loud wailings of women, for the flower of the youth of Loxa were with the army.
An old Moorish soldier, scarred in many a border battle, stood leaning on his lance by the gateway. “Where is Ali Atar?” demanded he eagerly. “If he lives the army cannot be lost.”
“I saw his helm cleft by the Christian sword; his body is floating in the Xenil.”
When the soldier heard these words he smote his breast and threw dust upon his head, for he was an old follower of Ali Atar.
Cidi Caleb gave himself no repose, but, mounting another steed, hastened toward Granada. As he passed through the villages and hamlets he spread sorrow around, for their chosen men had followed the king to the wars.
When he entered the gates of Granada and announced the loss of the king and army, a voice of horror went throughout the city. Every one thought but of his own share in the general calamity, and crowded round the bearer of ill tidings. One asked after a father, another after a brother, some after a lover, and many a mother after her son. His replies all spoke of wounds and death. To one he replied, “I saw thy father pierced with a lance as he defended the person of the king;” to another, “Thy brother fell wounded under the hoofs of the horses, but there was no time to aid him, for the Christian cavalry were upon us;” to another, “I saw the horse of thy lover covered with blood and galloping without his rider;” to another, “Thy son fought by my side on the banks of the Xenil: we were surrounded by the enemy and driven into the stream. I heard him cry upon Allah in the midst of the waters: when I reached the other bank he was no longer by my side.”
Cidi Caleb passed on, leaving all Granada in lamentation: he urged his steed up the steep avenue of trees and fountains that leads to the Alhambra, nor stopped until he arrived before the Gate of Justice. Ayxa, the mother of Boabdil, and Morayma, his beloved and tender wife, had daily watched from the Tower of Comares to behold his triumphant return. Who shall describe their affliction when they heard the tidings of Cidi Caleb? The sultana Ayxa spake not much, but sat as one entranced. Every now and then a deep sigh burst forth, but she raised her eyes to heaven. “It is the will of Allah!” said she, and with these words endeavored to repress the agonies of a mother’s sorrow. The tender Morayma threw herself on the earth and gave way to the full turbulence of her feelings, bewailing her husband and her father. The high-minded Ayxa rebuked the violence of her grief. “Moderate these transports, my daughter,” said she; “remember magnanimity should be the attribute of princes: it becomes not them to give way to clamorous sorrow, like common and vulgar minds.” But Morayma could only deplore her loss with the anguish of a tender woman. She shut herself up in her mirador, and gazed all day with streaming eyes upon the Vega. Every object recalled the causes of her affliction. The river Xenil, which ran shining amidst groves and gardens, was the same on whose banks had perished her father, Ali Atar; before her lay the road to Loxa, by which Boabdil had departed, in martial state, surrounded by the chivalry of Granada. Ever and anon she would burst into an agony of grief. “Alas! my father!” she would exclaim; “the river runs smiling before me that covers thy mangled remains; who will gather them to an honored tomb in the land of the unbeliever? And thou, O Boabdil, light of my eyes! joy of my heart! life of my life! woe the day and woe the hour that I saw thee depart from these walls! The road by which thou hast departed is solitary; never will it be gladdened by thy return: the mountain thou hast traversed lies like a cloud in the distance, and all beyond is darkness.”
The royal minstrels were summoned to assuage her sorrows: they attuned their instruments to cheerful strains, but in a little while the anguish of their hearts prevailed and turned their songs to lamentations.
“Beautiful Granada!” exclaimed they, “how is thy glory faded! The flower of thy chivalry lies low in the land of the stranger; no longer does the Vivarrambla echo to the tramp of steed and sound of trumpet; no longer is it crowded with thy youthful nobles gloriously arrayed for the tilt and tourney. Beautiful Granada! the soft note of the lute no longer floats through thy moonlit streets; the serenade is no more heard beneath thy balconies; the lively castanet is silent upon thy hills; the graceful dance of the Zambra is no more seen beneath thy bowers! Beautiful Granada! why is the Alhambra so lorn and desolate? The orange and myrtle still breathe their perfumes into its silken chambers; the nightingale still sings within its groves; its marble halls are still refreshed with the plash of fountains and the gush of limpid rills. Alas! alas! the countenance of the king no longer shines within those halls! The light of the Alhambra is set for ever!”
Thus all Granada, say the Arabian chroniclers, gave itself up to lamentation; there was nothing but the voice of wailing from the palace to the cottage. All joined to deplore their youthful monarch, cut down in the freshness and promise of his youth; many feared that the prediction of the astrologers was about to be fulfilled, and that the downfall of the kingdom would follow the death of Boabdil; while all declared that had he survived he was the very sovereign calculated to restore the realm to its ancient prosperity and glory.
HOW MULEY ABUL HASSAN PROFITED BY THE MISFORTUNES OF HIS SON BOABDIL.
An unfortunate death atones, with the world, for a multitude of errors. While the populace thought their youthful monarch had perished in the field nothing could exceed their grief for his loss and their adoration of his memory; when, however, they learnt that he was still alive and had surrendered himself captive to the Christians, their feelings underwent an instant change. They decried his talents as a commander, his courage as a soldier; they railed at his expedition as rash and ill-conducted; and they reviled him for not having dared to die on the field of battle, rather than surrender to the enemy.
The alfaquis, as usual, mingled with the populace and artfully guided their discontents. “Behold,” exclaimed they, “the prediction is accomplished which was pronounced at the birth of Boabdil! He has been seated on the throne, and the kingdom has suffered downfall and disgrace by his defeat and captivity. Comfort yourselves, O Moslems! The evil day has passed by; the prophecy is fulfilled: the sceptre which has been broken in the feeble hand of Boabdil is destined to resume its former sway in the vigorous grasp of Abul Hassan.”
The people were struck with the wisdom of these words: they rejoiced that the baleful prediction which had so long hung over them was at an end, and declared that none but Muley Abul Hassan had the valor and capacity necessary for the protection of the kingdom in this time of trouble.
The longer the captivity of Boabdil continued, the greater grew the popularity of his father. One city after another renewed allegiance to him, for power attracts power and fortune creates fortune. At length he was enabled to return to Granada and establish himself once more in the Alhambra. At his approach his repudiated spouse, the sultana Ayxa, gathered together the family and treasures of her captive son, and retired, with a handful of the nobles, into the Albaycin, the rival quarter of the city, the inhabitants of which still retained feelings of loyalty to Boabdil. Here she fortified herself and held the semblance of a court in the name of her son. The fierce Muley Abul Hassan would have willingly carried fire and sword into this factious quarter of the capital, but he dared not confide in his new and uncertain popularity. Many of the nobles detested him for his past cruelty, and a large portion of the soldiery, besides many of the people of his own party, respected the virtues of Ayxa la Horra and pitied the misfortunes of Boabdil.
Granada therefore presented the singular spectacle of two sovereignties within the same city. The old king fortified himself in the lofty towers of the Alhambra, as much against his own subjects as against the Christians; while Ayxa, with the zeal of a mother’s affection, which waxes warmer and warmer toward her offspring when in adversity, still maintained the standard of Boabdil on the rival fortress of the Alcazaba, and kept his powerful faction alive within the walls of the Albaycin.
CAPTIVITY OF BOABDIL EL CHICO.
The unfortunate Boabdil remained a prisoner closely guarded, but treated with great deference and respect, in the castle of Lucena, where the noblest apartments were appointed for his abode. From the towers of his prison he beheld the town below filled with armed men, and the lofty hill on which it was built girdled by massive walls and ramparts, on which a vigilant watch was maintained night and day. The mountains around were studded with watchtowers overlooking the lonely roads which led to Granada, so that a turban could not stir over the border without the alarm being given and the whole country put on the alert. Boabdil saw that there was no hope of escape from such a fortress, and that any attempt to rescue him would be equally in vain. His heart was filled with anxiety as he thought on the confusion and ruin which his captivity must cause in his affairs, while sorrows of a softer kind overcame his fortitude as he thought on the evils it might bring upon his family.
A few days only had passed away when missives arrived from the Castilian sovereigns. Ferdinand had been transported with joy at hearing of the capture of the Moorish monarch, seeing the deep and politic uses that might be made of such an event; but the magnanimous spirit of Isabella was filled with compassion for the unfortunate captive. Their messages to Boabdil were full of sympathy and consolation, breathing that high and gentle courtesy which dwells in noble minds.
This magnanimity in his foe cheered the dejected spirit of the captive monarch. “Tell my sovereigns, the king and queen,” said he to the messenger, “that I cannot he unhappy being in the power of such high and mighty princes, especially since they partake so largely of that grace and goodness which Allah bestows upon the monarchs whom he greatly loves. Tell them, further, that I had long thought of submitting myself to their sway, to receive the kingdom of Granada from their hands in the same manner that my ancestor received it from King John II., father to the gracious queen. My greatest sorrow, in this my captivity, is that I must appear to do that from force which I would fain have done from inclination.”
In the mean time, Muley Abul Hassan, finding the faction of his son still formidable in Granada, was anxious to consolidate his power by gaining possession of the person of Boabdil. For this purpose he sent an embassy to the Catholic monarchs, offering large terms for the ransom, or rather the purchase, of his son, proposing, among other conditions, to release the count of Cifuentes and nine other of his most distinguished captives, and to enter into a treaty of confederacy with the sovereigns. Neither did the implacable father make any scruple of testifying his indifference whether his son were delivered up alive or dead, so that his person were placed assuredly within his power.
The humane heart of Isabella revolted at the idea of giving up the unfortunate prince into the hands of his most unnatural and inveterate enemy: a disdainful refusal was therefore returned to the old monarch, whose message had been couched in a vaunting spirit. He was informed that the Castilian sovereigns would listen to no proposals of peace from Muley Abul Hassan until he should lay down his arms and offer them in all humility.
Overtures in a different spirit were made by the mother of Boabdil, the sultana Ayxa la Horra, with the concurrence of the party which still remained faithful to him. It was thereby proposed that Mahomet Abdallah, otherwise called Boabdil, should hold his crown as vassal to the Castilian sovereigns, paying an annual tribute and releasing seventy Christian captives annually for five years; that he should, moreover, pay a large sum upon the spot for his ransom, and at the same time give freedom to four hundred Christians to be chosen by the king; that he should also engage to be always ready to render military aid, and should come to the Cortes, or assemblage of nobles and distinguished vassals of the Crown, whenever summoned. His only son and the sons of twelve distinguished Moorish houses were to be delivered as hostages.
An embassy composed of the alcayde Aben Comixa, Muley, the royal standard-bearer, and other distinguished cavaliers bore this proposition to the Spanish court at Cordova, where they were received by King Ferdinand. Queen Isabella was absent at the time. He was anxious to consult her in so momentous an affair, or, rather, he was fearful of proceeding too precipitately, and not drawing from this fortunate event all the advantage of which it was susceptible. Without returning any reply, therefore, to the mission, he ordered that the captive monarch should be brought to Cordova.
The alcayde of the Donceles was the bearer of this mandate, and summoned all the hidalgos of Lucena and of his own estates to form an honorable escort for the illustrious prisoner. In this style he conducted him to the capital. The cavaliers and authorities of Cordova came forth to receive the captive king with all due ceremony, and especial care was taken to prevent any taunt or insult from the multitude, or anything that might remind him of his humiliation. In this way he entered the once proud capital of the Abda’rahmans, and was lodged in the house of the king’s major-domo. Ferdinand, however, declined seeing the Moorish monarch. He was still undetermined what course to pursue — whether to retain him prisoner, set him at liberty on ransom, or treat him with politic magnanimity; and each course would require a different kind of reception. Until this point should be resolved, therefore, he gave him in charge to Martin de Alarcon, alcayde of the ancient fortress of Porcuna, with orders to guard him strictly, but to treat him with the distinction and deference due unto a prince. These commands were strictly obeyed: he was escorted, as before, in royal state, to the fortress which was to form his prison, and, with the exception of being restrained in his liberty, was as nobly entertained there as he could have been in his regal palace at Granada.
In the mean time, Ferdinand availed himself of this critical moment, while Granada was distracted with factions and dissensions, and before he had concluded any treaty with Boabdil, to make a puissant and ostentatious inroad into the very heart of the kingdom at the head of his most illustrious nobles. He sacked and destroyed several towns and castles, and extended his ravages to the very gates of Granada. Muley Abul Hassan did not venture to oppose him. His city was filled with troops, but he was uncertain of their affection. He dreaded that should he sally forth the gates of Granada might be closed against him by the faction of the Albaycin.
The old Moor stood on the lofty tower of the Alhambra (says Antonio Agapida) grinding his teeth and foaming like a tiger shut up in his cage as he beheld the glittering battalions of the Christians wheeling about the Vega, and the standard of the cross shining forth from among the smoke of infidel villages and hamlets. The most Catholic king (continues Agapida) would gladly have continued this righteous ravage, but his munitions began to fail. Satisfied, therefore, with having laid waste the country of the enemy and insulted Muley Abul Hassan in his very capital, he returned to Cordova covered with laurels and his army laden with spoils, and now bethought himself of coming to an immediate decision in regard to his royal prisoner.