55. CHAPTER LV.
How the Castilian Sovereigns took possession of
Granada.
When the Castilian sovereigns had received the
keys of Granada from the hands of Boabdil el Chico,
the royal army resumed its triumphant march. As it
approached the gates of the city, in all the pomp of
courtly and chivalrous array, a procession of a different
kind came forth to meet it. This was composed
of more than five hundred christian captives, many of
whom had languished for years in Moorish dungeons.
Pale and emaciated, they came clanking their chains
in triumph, and shedding tears of joy. They were
received with tenderness by the sovereigns. The
king hailed them as good Spaniards, as men loyal and
brave, as martyrs to the holy cause; the queen distributed
liberal relief among them with her own
hands, and they passed on before the squadrons of
the army, singing hymns of jubilee.[1]
The sovereigns did not enter the city on this day
of its surrender, but waited until it should be fully
occupied by their troops, and public tranquillity
insured. The marques de Villena and the count de
Tendilla, with three thousand cavalry and as many
infantry, marched in and took possession, accompanied
by the proselyte prince Cidi Yahye, now known
by the christian appellation of Don Pedro de Granada,
who was appointed chief alguazil of the city, and had
charge of the Moorish inhabitants, and by his son the
late prince Alnayar, now Don Alonzo de Granada,
who was appointed admiral of the fleets. In a little
while, every battlement glistened with christian
helms and lances, the standard of the faith and of
the realm floated from every tower, and the thundering
salvoes of the ordnance told that the subjugation
of the city was complete.
The grandees and cavaliers now knelt and kissed
the hands of the king and queen and the prince Juan,
and congratulated them on the acquisition of so great
a kingdom; after which, the royal procession returned
in state to Santa Fé.
It was on the sixth of January, the day of kings and
festival of the Epiphany, that the sovereigns made
their triumphal entry. The king and queen (says
the worthy Fray Antonio Agapida) looked, on this
occasion, as more than mortal: the venerable ecclesiastics,
to whose advice and zeal this glorious conquest
ought in a great measure to be attributed, moved
along with hearts swelling with holy exultation, but
with chastened and downcast looks of edifying humility;
while the hardy warriors, in tossing plumes
and shining steel, seemed elevated with a stern joy,
at finding themselves in possession of this object of
so many toils and perils. As the streets resounded
with the tramp of steed and swelling peals of music,
the Moors buried themselves in the deepest recesses
of their dwellings. There they bewailed in secret
the fallen glory of their race, but suppressed their
groans, lest they should be heard by their enemies
and increase their triumph.
The royal procession advanced to the principal
mosque, which had been consecrated as a cathedral.
Here the sovereigns offered up prayers and thanksgivings,
and the choir of the royal chapel chanted a
triumphant anthem, in which they were joined by
all the courtiers and cavaliers. Nothing (says Fray
Antonio Agapida) could exceed the thankfulness to
God of the pious king Ferdinand, for having enabled
him to eradicate from Spain the empire and name of
that accursed heathen race, and for the elevation of
the cross in that city wherein the impious doctrines
of Mahomet had so long been cherished. In the
fervor of his spirit, he supplicated from Heaven a
continuance of its grace, and that this glorious triumph
might be perpetuated.[2]
The prayer of the
pious monarch was responded by the people, and
even his enemies were for once convinced of his
sincerity.
When the religious ceremonies were concluded,
the court ascended to the stately palace of the Alhambra,
and entered by the great gate of Justice. The
halls lately occupied by turbaned infidels now rustled
with stately dames and christian courtiers, who wandered
with eager curiosity over this far-famed palace,
admiring its verdant courts and gushing fountains, its
halls decorated with elegant arabesques and storied
with inscriptions, and the splendor of its gilded and
brilliantly painted ceilings.
It had been a last request of the unfortunate Boabdil,
and one which showed how deeply he felt the
transition of his fate, that no person might be permitted
to enter or depart by the gate of the Alhambra,
through which he had sallied forth to surrender his
capital. His request was granted; the portal was
closed up, and remains so to the present day—a mute
memorial of that event.[3]
The Spanish sovereigns fixed their throne in the
presence-chamber of the palace, so long the seat of
Moorish royalty. Hither the principal inhabitants of
Granada repaired, to pay them homage and kiss their
hands in token of vassalage; and their example was
followed by deputies from all the towns and fortresses
of the Alpuxarras, which had not hitherto submitted.
Thus terminated the war of Granada, after ten
years of incessant fighting; equalling (says Fray Antonio
Agapida) the far-famed siege of Troy in duration,
and ending, like that, in the capture of the city.
Thus ended also the dominion of the Moors in Spain,
having endured seven hundred and seventy-eight
years, from the memorable defeat of Roderick, the
last of the Goths, on the banks of the Guadalete.
The authentic Agapida is uncommonly particular in
fixing the epoch of this event. This great triumph
of our holy Catholic faith, according to his computation,
took place in the beginning of January, in the
year of our Lord 1492, being 3655 years from the
population of Spain by the patriarch Tubal; 3797
from the general deluge; 5453 from the creation of
the world, according to Hebrew calculation; and in
the month Rabic, in the eight hundred and ninety-seventh
year of the Hegira, or flight of Mahomet;
whom may God confound! saith the pious Agapida.
