He stayed not for reply: he hurried on, descended to the court, flung
himself on his barb, and, with a small and saddened train, passed
through the gate which we yet survey, by a blackened and crumbling tower
overgrown with vines and ivy; thence, amidst gardens, now appertaining
to the convent of the victor faith, he took his mournful and unwitnessed
way. When he came to the middle of the hill that rises above those
gardens, the steel of the Spanish armour gleamed upon him as the
detachment sent to occupy the palace marched over the summit in steady
order and profound silence.
At the head of this vanguard rode, upon a snow-white palfrey, the Bishop
of Avila, followed by a long train of barefooted monks. They halted as
Boabdil approached, and the grave bishop saluted him with the air of
one who addresses an infidel and an inferior. With the quick sense of
dignity common to the great, and yet more to the fallen, Boabdil felt,
but resented not, the pride of the ecclesiastic. “Go, Christian,” said
he, mildly, “the gates of the Alhambra are open, and Allah has bestowed
the palace and the city upon your king: may his virtues atone the faults
of Boabdil!” So saying, and waiting no answer, he rode on, without
looking to the right or left. The Spaniards also pursued their way. The
sun had fairly risen above the mountains, when Boabdil and his train
beheld, from the eminence on which they were, the whole armament of
Spain; and at the same moment, louder than the tramp of horse, or the
flash of arms, was heard distinctly the solemn chant of Te Deum, which
preceded the blaze of the unfurled and lofty standards. Boabdil, himself
still silent, heard the groans and exclamations of his train; he turned
to cheer or chide them, and then saw, from his own watch-tower, with the
sun shining full upon its pure and dazzling surface, the silver cross of
Spain. His Alhambra was already in the hands of the foe, while, beside
that badge of the holy war, waved the gay and flaunting flag of St.
Iago, the canonised Mars of the chivalry of Spain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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