University of Virginia Library

38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Events at Granada, subsequent to the submission of
El Zagal.

Who can tell when to rejoice, in this fluctuating
world? Every wave of prosperity has its reacting
surge, and we are often overwhelmed by the very
billow on which we thought to be wafted into the
haven of our hopes. When Yusef Aben Commixa,
the vizier of Boabdil, surnamed El Chico, entered
the royal saloon of the Alhambra and anounced the
capitulation of El Zagal, the heart of the youthful
monarch leaped for joy. His great wish was accomplished;
his uncle was defeated and dethroned, and
he reigned without a rival, sole monarch of Granada.
At length, he was about to enjoy the fruits of his
humiliation and vassalage. He beheld his throne
fortified by the friendship and alliance of the Castilian
monarchs; there could be no question, therefore,
of its stability. “Allah Acbar!” exclaimed he,
“God is great! Rejoice with me, oh Yusef; the stars
have ceased their persecution. Henceforth let no
man call me El Zogoybi.”

In the first moment of his exultation, Boabdil would
have ordered public rejoicings; but the shrewd Yusef
shook his head. “The tempest has ceased,” said he,
“from one point of the heavens, but it may begin to
rage from another. A troubled sea is beneath us,

and we are surrounded by rocks and quicksands: let
my lord the king defer rejoicings, until all has settled
into a calm.” El Chico, however, could not remain
tranquil, in this day of exultation: he ordered his
steed to be sumptuously caparisoned, and, issuing out
of the gate of the Alhambra, descended, with a glittering
retinue, along the avenue of trees and fountains,
into the city, to receive the acclamations of
the populace. As he entered the great square of the
Vivarrambla, he beheld crowds of people in violent
agitation; but, as he approached, what was his surprise,
to hear groans and murmurs and bursts of execration!
The tidings had spread through Granada,
that Muley Abdalla el Zagal had been driven to
capitulate, and that all his territories had fallen into
the hands of the christians. No one had inquired
into the particulars, but all Granada had been thrown
into a ferment of grief and indignation. In the heat
of the moment, old Muley was extolled to the skies
as a patriot prince, who had fought to the last for the
salvation of his country—as a mirror of monarchs,
scorning to compromise the dignity of his crown by
any act of vassalage. Boabdil, on the contrary, had
looked on exultingly at the hopeless yet heroic struggle
of his uncle; he had rejoiced in the defeat of the
faithful, and the triumph of unbelievers; he had aided
in the dismemberment and downfall of the empire.
When they beheld him riding forth in gorgeous state,
on what they considered a day of humiliation for all
true Moslems, they could not contain their rage; and
amidst the clamors that met his ears, Boabdil more
than once heard his name coupled with the epithets
of traitor and renegado.

Shocked and discomfited, the youthful monarch
returned in confusion to the Alhambra. He shut
himself up within its innermost courts, and remained
a kind of voluntary prisoner until the first burst of
popular feeling should subside. He trusted that it
would soon pass away; that the people would be too
sensible of the sweets of peace, to repine at the price
at which it was obtained; at any rate, he trusted to
the strong friendship of the christian sovereigns, to
secure him even against the factions of his subjects.

The first missives from the politic Ferdinand showed
Boabdil the value of his friendship. The Catholic
monarch reminded him of a treaty which he had made
when captured in the city of Loxa. By this, he had
engaged, that in case the Catholic sovereigns should
capture the cities of Guadix, Baza, and Almeria, he
would surrender Granada into their hands within a
limited time, and accept in exchange certain Moorish
towns, to be held by him as their vassal. Ferdinand
now informed him that Guadix, Baza, and Almeria,
had fallen; he called upon him, therefore, to fulfil
his engagement.

If the unfortunate Boabdil had possessed the will,
he had not the power to comply with this demand.
He was shut up in the Alhambra, while a tempest of
popular fury raged without. Granada was thronged
by refugees from the captured towns, many of them
disbanded soldiers, and others broken-down citizens,
rendered fierce and desperate by ruin. All railed at

Boabdil, as the real cause of their misfortunes. How
was he to venture forth in such a storm?—above all,
how was he to talk to such men of surrender? In
his reply to Ferdinand, he represented the difficulties
of his situation, and that, so far from having control
over his subjects, his very life was in danger from
their turbulence. He entreated the king, therefore,
to rest satisfied for the present with his recent conquests,
promising him that should he be able to regain
full empire over his capital and its inhabitants,
it would but be to rule over them as vassal to the
Castilian crown.

Ferdinand was not to be satisfied with such a reply.
The time was come to bring his game of policy to a
close, and to consummate his conquest, by seating
himself on the throne of the Alhambra. Professing to
consider Boabdil as a faithless ally, who had broken
his plighted word, he discarded him from his friendship,
and addressed a second letter, not to that monarch,
but to the commanders and council of the city.
He demanded a complete surrender of the place,
with all the arms in the possession either of the citizens
or of others who had recently taken refuge within
its walls. If the inhabitants should comply with this
summons, he promised them the indulgent terms
which had been granted to Baza, Guadix, and Almeria;
if they should refuse, he threatened them with
the fate of Malaga.[1]

The message of the Catholic monarch produced

the greatest commotion in the city. The inhabitants
of the Alcaiceria, that busy hive of traffic, and all
others who had tasted the sweets of gainful commerce
during the late cessation of hostilities, were
for securing their golden advantages by timely submission:
others, who had wives and children, looked
on them with tenderness and solicitude, and dreaded,
by resistance, to bring upon them the horrors of
slavery.

But, on the other hand, Granada was crowded
with men from all parts, ruined by the war, exasperated
by their sufferings, and eager only for revenge;
with others, who had been reared amidst hostilities,
who had lived by the sword, and whom a return of
peace would leave without home or hope. Beside
these, there were others no less fiery and warlike in
disposition, but animated by a loftier spirit. These
were valiant and haughty cavaliers of the old chivalrous
lineages, who had inherited a deadly hatred to
the christians from a long line of warrior ancestors,
and to whom the idea was worse than death, that
Granada, illustrious Granada! for ages the seat of
Moorish grandeur and delight, should become the
abode of unbelievers.

Among these cavaliers, the most eminent was
Muza ben Abil Gazan. He was of royal lineage, of
a proud and generous nature, and a form combining
manly strength and beauty. None could excel him in
the management of the horse, and dextrous use of all
kinds of weapons: his gracefulness and skill in the
tourney were the theme of praise among the Moorish

dames, and his prowess in the field had made him
the terror of the enemy. He had long repined at
the timid policy of Boabdil, and had endeavored to
counteract its enervating effects, and to keep alive
the martial spirit of Granada. For this reason, he
had promoted jousts and tiltings with the reed, and
all those other public games which bear the semblance
of war. He endeavored also to inculcate
into his companions in arms those high chivalrous
sentiments which lead to valiant and magnanimous
deeds, but which are apt to decline with the independence
of a nation. The generous efforts of Muza
had been in a great measure successful: he was the
idol of the youthful cavaliers; they regarded him as
a mirror of chivalry, and endeavored to imitate his
lofty and heroic virtues.

When Muza heard the demand of Ferdinand that
they should deliver up their arms, his eye flashed
fire: “Does the christian king think that we are old
men,” said he, “and that staffs will suffice us?—or
that we are women, and can be contented with distaffs?
Let him know that a Moor is born to the spear
and scimitar; to career the steed, bend the bow, and
lanch the javelin: deprive him of these, and you deprive
him of his nature. If the christian king desires
our arms, let him come and win them; but let him
win them dearly. For my part, sweeter were a
grave beneath the walls of Granada, on the spot I
had died to defend, than the richest couch within
her palaces, earned by submission to the unbeliever.”

The words of Muza were received with enthusiastic

shouts, by the warlike part of the populace.
Granada once more awoke, as a warrior shaking off
a disgraceful lethargy. The commanders and council
partook of the public excitement, and dispatched a
reply to the christian sovereigns, declaring that they
would suffer death rather than surrender their city.