CHAPTER XCIX.
The sun had scarcely begun to shed
his beams upon the summits of the snowy
mountains which rise above Granada,
when the Christian camp was in motion.
A detachment of horse and foot, led
by distinguished cavaliers, and accompanied
by Hernando de Talavera, bishop of
Avila, proceeded to take possession of the
Alhambra and the towers. It had been
stipulated in the capitulation, that the
detachment sent for the purpose should
not enter by the streets of the city. A
road had, therefore, been opened outside
of the walls, leading by the Puerta de
los Molinos (or the Gate of the Mills) to
the summit of the Hill of Martyrs, and
across the hill to a postern-gate of the
Alhambra.
When the detachment arrived at the
summit of the hill, the Moorish king
came forth from the gate, attended by a
handful of cavaliers, leaving his vizier,
Jusef Aben Comixa, to deliver up the
palace. "Go, senior," said he, to the
commander of the detachment; "go, and
take possession of those fortresses, which
Allah has bestowed upon your powerful
lord, in punishment of the sins of the
Moors!" He said no more, but passed
mournfully on, along the same road by
which the Spanish cavaliers had come;
descending to the vega, to meet the
catholic sovereigns. The troops entered
the Alhambra, the gates of which were
wide open, and all its splendid courts and
halls silent and deserted. In the mean
time, the Christian court and army poured
out of the city of Santa Fé, and advanced
across the vega. The king and queen,
with the prince and princesses, and the
dignitaries and ladies of the court, took
the lead; accompanied by the different
orders of monks and friars, and surrounded
by the royal guards, splendidly
arrayed. The procession moved slowly
forward, and paused at the village of
Armilla, at the distance of half a league
from the city.
The sovereigns waited here with impatience,
their eyes fixed on the lofty tower
of the Alhambra, watching for the appointed
signal of possession. The time,
that had elapsed since the departure of
the detachment, seemed to them more
than necessary for the purpose; and the
anxious mind of Ferdinand began to
entertain doubts of some commotion in
the city. At length they saw the silver
cross, the great standard of this crusade,
elevated on the Torre de la Vela, or great
watchtower, and sparkling in the sunbeams.
This was done by Hernando de
Talavera, bishop of Avila. Beside it was
planted the pennon of the glorious apostle
St. James; and a great shout of "Santiago!
Santiago!" rose throughout the
army. Lastly was reared the royal standard,
by the king of arms; with the shout
of "Castile! Castile! For King Ferdinand
and Queen Isabella!" The words were
echoed by the whole army, with acclamations
that resounded across the vega.
At sight of these signals of possession,
the sovereigns fell upon their knees, giving
thanks to God for this great triumph.
The whole assembled host followed their
example; and the choristers of the royal
chapel broke forth into the solemn anthem
of Te Deum laudamus!
The procession now resumed its march,
with joyful alacrity, to the sound of triumphant
music, until they came to a small
mosque, near the banks of the Xenil, and
not far from the foot of the Hill of Martyrs,
which edifice remains to the present
day consecrated as the hermitage of St.
Sebastian. Here the sovereigns were met
by the unfortunate Boabdil, accompanied
by about fifty cavaliers and domestics.
As he drew near, he would have dismounted,
in token of homage; but Ferdinand
prevented him. He then proffered
to kiss the king's hand, but this sign of
vassalage was likewise declined: whereupon,
not to be outdone in magnanimity,
he leaned forward, and saluted the right
arm of Ferdinand. Queen Isabella, also,
refused to receive this ceremonial of homage;
and, to console him under his adversity,
delivered to him his son, who had
remained as hostage ever since Boabdil's
liberation from captivity. The Moorish
monarch pressed his child to his bosom
with tender emotion, and they seemed
mutually endeared to each other by their
misfortunes.
[126]
He then delivered the keys of the city
to King Ferdinand, with an air of mingled
melancholy and resignation. "These
keys," said he, "are the last relics of the
Arabian empire in Spain. Thine, O king,
are our trophics, our kingdom, and our
person! Such is the will of God! Receive
them with the elemency thou hast
promised, and which we look for at thy
hands!"[127]
King Ferdinand restrained his exultation
into an air of serene magnanimity.
"Doubt not our promises," replied he;
"or, that thou shalt regain from our
friendship the prosperity of which the
fortune of war has deprived thee."
On receiving the keys, King Ferdinand
handed them to the queen. She, in her
turn, presented them to her son, Prince
Juan, who delivered them to the Count
de Tendilla; that brave and loyal cavalier
being appointed alcayde of the city,
and captain-general of the kingdom of
Granada.
Having surrendered the last symbol
of power, the unfortunate Boabdil continued
on towards the Alpuxarras, that
he might not behold the entrance of the
Christians into his capital. His devoted
band of cavaliers followed him in gloomy
silence; but heavy sighs burst from their
bosoms, as shouts of joy and strains of
triumphant music were borne on the
breeze from the victorious army.
Having rejoined his family, Boabdil
set forward with a heavy heart for his
allotted residence, in the valley of Porchena.
At two leagues' distance, the
cavalcade, winding into the skirts of the
Alpuxarras, ascended an eminence commanding
the last view of Granada. As
they arrived at this spot, the Moors
paused involuntarily, to take a farewell
gaze at their beloved city, which a few
steps more would shut from their sight for
ever. Never had it appeared so lovely in
their eyes. The sunshine, so bright in
that transparent climate, lighted up each
tower and minaret, and rested gloriously
upon the crowning battlements of the
Alhambra; while the vega spread its
enamelled bosom of verdure below, glistening
with the silver windings of the
Xenil. The Moorish cavaliers gazed with
a silent agony of tenderness and grief,
upon that delicious abode, the scene of
their loves and pleasures. While they
yet looked, a light cloud of smoke burst
forth from the citadel; and, presently, a
peal of artillery, faintly heard, told that
the city was taken possession of, and the
throne of the Moslem kings was lost for
ever. The heart of Boabdil, softened by
misfortunes and overcharged with grief,
could no longer contain itself. "Allah
achbar! God is great!" said he; but the
words of resignation died upon his lips,
and he burst into a flood of tears.
His mother, the intrepid sultana Ayxa
la Horra, was indignant at his weakness.
"You do well," said she, "to weep like
a woman, for what you failed to defend
like a man!"
The vizier Aben Comixa endeavoured
to console his royal master. "Consider,
sire," said he, "that the most signal misfortunes
often render men as renowned as
the most prosperous achievements, provided
they sustain them with magnanimity."
The unhappy monarch, however,
was not to be consoled. His tears continued
to flow. "Allah achbar!" exclaimed
he, "when did misfortunes ever
equal mine!"
From this circumstance, the hill, which
is not far from Padul, took the name of
Fez Allah Achbar; but the point of view
commanding the last prospect of Granada
is known among the Spaniards by the
name of
El ultimo suspiro del Moro, or
"the last sigh of the Moor."
