History of the Moorish Empire in Europe, Vol. 1 (of 3)

At the death of Abd-al-Rahman III. the Hispano-Arab empire seemed, to all unfamiliar with the defects of the Moslem constitution, invulnerable to the attacks of foreign or domestic enemies. The wise dispositions of that accomplished ruler had, for a time, reconciled the differences arising from tribal antipathy and religious discord. The employment of mercenaries, constituting an army which could not be corrupted, and whose isolation from the seditious populace was the most effectual guaranty of its fidelity, apparently assured the perpetuity of a system which a profound and statesmanlike policy had established. The administration was directed by capable and experienced ministers. The public revenues far exceeded in amount those of the wealthiest contemporaneous nations. Obedient to the law of political attraction, which like gravity in the material world draws the weaker to the stronger power, neighboring kingdoms, although separated from the khalifate by the most powerful motives that can influence humanity—by the antagonism of race, by the prejudices of religion, by the memory of generations of incessant warfare, by hostile traditions which involved the loss of an empire and the subjection of its people—had acknowledged the supremacy of the Ommeyade princes. In the humiliating character of suppliants for the favor of an hereditary foe, the sovereigns of Leon and Navarre had implored the aid of the infidel, and the former of these had regained possession of his dominions under a treaty which implied, if it did not actually express, conditions of vassalage reflecting little credit upon the successor of the haughty Visigoths. Every consideration which contributes to inspire the respect and admiration of mankind lent its assistance to exalt the fame and greatness of the court of Cordova. The most distinguished monarchs solicited the friendship of the Khalif. His capital was the literary centre of the Western world. The intellectual activity there displayed had never been equalled since the glorious days when Grecian genius immortalized the schools of Ionia and Attica. The Moslem fleets controlled the Mediterranean. The mechanical arts, the science of agriculture, the various branches of foreign commerce and domestic traffic, had, under a well-grounded feeling of public security, received a prodigious and unexampled impulse. It was, therefore, under the most happy auspices that Al-Hakem, at the age of forty-eight, with a character long considered the embodiment of all princely virtues, assumed the supreme direction of affairs.

On the day following the death of Abd-al-Rahman, the accession of his son was celebrated with greater splendor than had yet distinguished this important function since the foundation of the Western empire. Magnificently attired, the great officers of the khalifate attended to swear allegiance to the new sovereign. After the members of the royal family, the chief officials, the ministers of, state, the kadis, and the chamberlains had taken the oath, they administered it, in turn, to the host of retainers and subordinates of the royal household. The pomp displayed on this occasion was worthy of the most powerful, the most opulent, and the most luxurious monarchy in Europe. The ceremony was held under the central pavilion of the palace of Medina-al-Zahrâ, whose decorations, sparkling in the sunlight, seemed to realize the gorgeous dreams of Oriental enchantment. The eight brothers of Al-Hakem were escorted to the palace with all the honors due to their rank; but it could not escape the notice of those princes that the strong guard which surrounded them, and lined the entrance of their apartments, was less a manifestation of respect than a menacing precaution against treason. The viziers, invested with their robes and insignia of office, and the nobles took up their positions behind the members of the Khalif’s family, who stood on either side of the throne. Beyond them, crowding the ample space of the rotunda and even filling the adjacent apartments, were the imperial magistrates, the generals of the army, the provincial governors, and the vast crowd of public functionaries summoned from the capital as well as from the neighboring cities of Andalusia to render homage to and assist at the inauguration of the Commander of the Faithful. The eunuchs, that class of monsters which has always sought indemnity for its degradation by the acquisition of power and wealth, which has never failed to revenge itself upon society by the ruin of the government which tolerated its institution, and whose preponderance in the political system of the khalifate had become portentous and appalling, were present by thousands. They were marshalled according to nationality, rank, and the nature of the service to which they were assigned. Most of them were clad in white tunics embroidered with gold, white being at the same time the distinctive color and the badge of mourning of the Ommeyades. The servitors of the harem were drawn up in the hall leading to the audience-chamber; they were both white and black; all were sheathed in shining armor inlaid with gold and silver, and the hilts and scabbards of their scimetars sparkled with costly gems. The marble terrace by which the pavilion was approached was guarded by Sclavonians splendidly mounted, whose arms and equipments were not inferior in richness to those of the magnificent array within. Outside, and reaching to the gate of the capital, were ranged, in exact and motionless order, the royal archers, the slaves, and the various divisions of the garrison.

The imposing ceremonial concluded, the remains of Abd-al-Rahman were committed to the tomb. The active mind of Al-Hakem was at once applied to the consideration of the details which concerned the administration of every department of his empire. The ministers of his father were confirmed, without exception. Officials were despatched to exact the allegiance of the walis of distant provinces. The troops were reviewed, and a general inspection of the army ordered. A hajib, or prime minister, was appointed, for the tastes of Al-Hakem were inclined rather to the quiet and refining pursuits of literature than to official drudgery and the responsibilities incident to the administration of a great and turbulent monarchy. In this respect he ignored the oft-repeated counsels of his father, who, conscious of the vast power wielded by a hajib, and which, in the hands of an ambitious and unscrupulous statesman, might be attended with disastrous consequences, had endeavored to impress upon his heir the policy, and even the necessity, of retaining unimpaired the authority conferred by the exalted office of Commander of Believers. The individual selected for this important post was Giafar-al-Asklabi, a Slave, whose caste and nationality seemed to Al-Hakem a sufficient warrant for his good behavior, an opinion subsequently justified by the wisdom and tact he displayed in the discharge of his official duties. His appointment was followed, according to the custom of the court, by the delivery of a magnificent present to the Khalif, consisting, in this instance, of richly apparelled slaves, and arms and armor inlaid with gold.

The news of the death of Abd-al-Rahman had been received with pretended grief and secret delight by the sovereigns of Leon and Navarre. The prestige of the former Khalif, and his ability to enforce his demands, had been repeatedly demonstrated by the eventful transactions of his long and glorious reign. The blackened fields and dismantled castles of the frontier, the heaps of bones bleaching on many a battle-field, bore silent but conclusive testimony to his ruthless hostility and to the prowess of his armies. But the character of his successor was, as yet, undeveloped. A life already advanced beyond middle age had been distinguished by none of those martial deeds which elicit the applause of a subject and awaken the respect and the apprehensions of an enemy. The predilections of the new Khalif for a sedentary life, and his intimate relations with the learned, were viewed with contempt by the barbarous Christians, who considered war as the peculiar calling of a man of spirit, and the acquisition of knowledge as only fit for monks, an order whose pacific occupations did not, nevertheless, exclude even its members from the profession of arms. In those early times, while not as yet expressly sanctioned by the authority of the Papacy, the violation of an engagement made with the enemies of the Church was already considered a meritorious action, to be governed rather by motives of expediency than by any considerations of morality and national honor. The treaty, by which Sancho had stipulated to deliver to the Khalif a certain number of fortresses in return for the restoration of his crown, had not been carried out by the King of Leon. The temptation to violate it, or at least to elude its performance, now became irresistible. To the demands of Al-Hakem, Sancho returned evasive and temporizing answers. The King of Navarre, doubtless acting in collusion with his neighbor, was even less tractable. Ferdinand Gonzalez, who had fallen into the hands of the latter, was held a close prisoner at Pampeluna, and the Khalif, who was anxious, at all hazards, to obtain possession of the person of this formidable adversary, promised to abate a portion of his demands in case Garcia would agree to send his illustrious captive to Cordova. The King of Navarre not only refused, but actually liberated the Count of Castile, with the understanding that he should expel his son-in-law, Ordoño IV., who had sought a refuge at Burgos, and should at once declare war against the Khalif. Ferdinand promptly fulfilled his engagements. The unfortunate Ordoño was torn from his family and ignominiously driven across the border; at his summons to arms the old warriors of the Count flocked to his standard, and the settlements of Estremadura and Andalusia, long accustomed to peace, once more experienced the deplorable evils of partisan hostility. Accompanied by only a score of retainers, who, of all his numerous retinue, were all that were willing to share his uncertain fortunes, Ordoño, journeying through the enemy’s country, reached the city of Medina-Celi. Here, as in all the empire, the streets resounded with the din of arms, for Al-Hakem, convinced that the respect of the Christians could only be preserved by a display of force, was everywhere making active preparations for war. The spirit of the royal fugitive rose at the inspiring sight, and, hoping that by proper management the military successes of Al-Hakem might be made to enure to his own advantage, he requested of the governor of the city a safe-conduct to Cordova and permission to place himself under the protection of the Khalif. His wish was readily acceded to, and a troop of cavalry was detailed to escort him to the capital. The route passing near the royal cemetery, Ordoño asked to be shown the tomb of Abd-al-Rahman III. This having been done, he dismounted, uncovered his head, and, kneeling by the grave of the monarch who in life had been his most inveterate enemy, he prayed long and fervently for the repose and welfare of his soul. A few days afterwards he was received by the Khalif in the palace of Medina-al-Zahrâ. As a token of respect and an evidence of vassalage, he was required to assume the white robes of the Ommeyades. Obeydallah-Ibn-Kasim, Archbishop of Toledo, and Walid-Ibn-Khaizoran, Judge of the Christians of Cordova, whose Arabic names seem strangely at variance with the offices they administered, escorted him to the audience-chamber; their presence being necessary, both as interpreters and to afford information on points of etiquette rigorously exacted by the punctilious court of Cordova, and concerning which it was justly conjectured the former associations of a barbarian ruler had left him entirely unacquainted.

The introduction of the Christian prince was attended with the pomp ordinarily displayed at the reception of the greatest kings and their ambassadors. The body-guard of the Khalif was drawn up in all the panoply of gleaming weapons and costly armor. The officials were present in their robes of state. Around the throne were ranged the princes and the officers of the royal household. An innumerable army of subordinates filled the halls and lined the terraces. Through the gilded lattices of the harem, which overlooked the hall of audience, the sheen of jewels and the sparkle of bright eyes occasionally revealed the presence of the beauties whom Oriental jealousy only on rare occasions permitted to lend the lustre of their charms to an important ceremony.

The Leonese nobles and their king moved with downcast heads through the grim and lowering ranks of the soldiery, whose fierce looks so terrified them that they endeavored to fortify themselves by the recitation of prayers and frequent repetitions of the sign of the cross. After numerous genuflexions Ordoño approached the Khalif, who gave him his hand to kiss. He was conducted to a seat at some distance from the throne, and received from Al-Hakem the flattering assurance that even more favors than he desired would be accorded to him. It was then that the unspeakable baseness of Ordoño’s character disclosed itself. He had frequently since his entrance into the Moorish dominions given evidence of a lack of royal dignity and of a total absence of those manly qualities which elicit sympathy for greatness in misfortune. He had courted the favor of the commander of the escort which had accompanied him to the capital, by flattery, by gifts, by the most ignoble concessions. With an hypocrisy that did not impose upon the keen-witted Andalusians, he had bowed in well-feigned grief before the tomb of Abd-al-Rahman. With a sycophancy that disgusted the objects of it, he had fawned upon the officials of the court. But the time was now come when these disgraceful exhibitions of voluntary self-abasement were to be eclipsed, and the depth of his degradation attained. As soon as the speech of Al-Hakem had been translated to him, without making allowance for the courtly exaggeration it implied, he arose and said: “I am the slave of the Commander of the Faithful; I trust in his magnanimity; I seek my support in his lofty virtues; I give him full power over me and mine!” He then, in language worthy only of the meanest vassal, begged the aid of the Khalif in the recovery of his throne, and, in conclusion, contrasted his own voluntary submission with the conduct of his cousin Sancho, who had been compelled by Abd-al-Rahman to render him homage as a condition of the treaty. Al-Hakem listened with ill-concealed contempt to his harangue, promised that all his wishes should be fulfilled, and that he should be guaranteed. against molestation from his enemies. The interview terminated, the eunuchs escorted the Leonese from the pavilion. Ordoño displayed little less servility towards the Vizier Giafar than he had shown to his master, and was with difficulty prevented from kissing the hand of that dignitary. Having perceived in an antechamber a seat which he was informed was sometimes used by the Khalif, he grovelled before it with as much apparent reverence as if it had been a sacred reliquary of the most undoubted virtue.

A splendid palace was assigned as a residence to the King and his suite; they were all clothed with robes of honor,—a mark of the highest distinction among Orientals,—and a number of valuable presents sent from the court further assured them of the generous sympathy of their benefactor. In a few days a treaty was concluded, by which Ordoño pledged himself to maintain peace with Al-Hakem and perpetual war with the Count of Castile. The flower of the Moorish troops, commanded by Ghalib, the ablest of the imperial generals, was ordered to make the campaign, and the Archbishop of Toledo and the Bishop and the Judge of Cordova were designated to accompany the army, not so much to assist the pusillanimous monarch by their counsels as to carefully note his behavior, and see that he was guilty of nothing that could contribute to the injury of the Khalif, or even remotely affect in an unfavorable manner the objects of his ambition.

In the mean time Sancho had taken the alarm. When he learned of the success of Ordoño, he realized that he had presumed too much upon the peaceful disposition and epicurean tastes of Al-Hakem. It was no secret that a powerful army was mustering to invade his dominions. By the artifices of the enemy, its numbers were purposely multiplied. His popularity had never been great, and his restoration had been accomplished by means abhorrent to a large number of his subjects. Many of his vassals could not be depended upon. The great province of Galicia, a fief of the crown of Leon, refused to acknowledge his title, and its count held language that indicated that he only sought a favorable opportunity to declare himself independent. Under the circumstances but one course was open to Sancho, and he sent an embassy to Cordova to state that he was willing to perform, without delay, the conditions of the treaty he had concluded with Abd-al-Rahman.

The duplicity of Al-Hakem, a defect happily rare in the annals of his race and which reflects such discredit upon his name, now became apparent. He violated, without compunction, the compact he had made with Ordoño. The latter, overcome with disappointment and mortification at the failure of his hopes, gave himself up to melancholy, and died the victim of his own abasement and credulity in the gilded prison which had been set apart as his abode in the environs of the Moslem capital.

His rival removed, and the alliance of Ferdinand Gonzalez assured, Sancho concluded that the occasion was most opportune for a further repudiation of his engagements. He accordingly defied the Khalif, and the latter at once proclaimed the Holy War. The army of invasion was commanded by Ghalib. The Count of Castile was defeated in a great battle. The governor of Saragossa, Yahya-Ibn-Mohammed, easily worsted the King of Navarre. The important fortresses of San Estevan de Gormaz and Calahorra, which had been stormed and destroyed, were rebuilt, provided with Moorish garrisons, and added to the dominions of the khalifate. The Arab army wasted the borders of Catalonia with fire and sword; for two counts of that principality, Miron and Borel, endowed with more hardihood than discretion, had been prevailed upon by the King of Navarre to join the confederacy, and were now condemned to expiate their breach of faith by the pillage of their cities and the misery of their subjects. Everywhere the arms of the Moslems were triumphant. The enemies who had confidently reckoned on the incapacity and inertness supposed to attach to a literary life, and the well-known aversion of Al-Hakem to the military profession, were compelled to acknowledge the wisdom of his dispositions and the energy with which he carried them into execution. One after another sued for peace. Even from distant Galicia came an embassy, headed by a noble matron, the mother of a count, who was entertained with the distinguished courtesy for which the court of Cordova was famous, and was dismissed with gifts whose splendor dazzled the eyes of a barbarian princess born and bred amidst the barren slopes and poverty-stricken hamlets of the Pyrenees.

This successful campaign closed the military operations of Al-Hakem in the North. He had taught his perfidious adversaries a severe but salutary lesson. Whatever inclination to renew hostilities they might have entertained, their own dissensions precluded its indulgence. War soon broke out between Galicia and Leon. The rebellious province, which aspired to independence, was in a fair way to be conquered, when a resort to treachery accomplished an end unattainable by the expedients of honorable warfare. Poison was administered to Sancho at a conference on the banks of the Douro. The King of Leon died after some days in excruciating agony; his son Ramiro, who succeeded him, was a child of five years, and the martial aristocracy declined to recognize the authority of an infant, controlled by his aunt, the nun Elvira, whose doubtful qualifications for the government of a kingdom had been acquired in the solitude of a cloister. Elsewhere, also, in the North, matters were propitious to the security and prosperity of the khalifate. A great army of Danes, who had served under the standard of the Duke of Normandy, poured down upon and devastated the plains and valleys of Galicia. Finally, the death of Ferdinand Gonzalez freed Al-Hakem from his most dangerous enemy, and during the remainder of his life the inroads of the Christians ceased to excite the alarm of his subjects or to disturb the peace of his empire.

While permanent safety had been secured in the North, on the side of Africa the danger was constant and menacing. The wild tribes of the Desert had never forgotten with what facility their forefathers had traversed the strait and subjugated a populous and extensive monarchy. The covetous eye of the half-naked Mauritanian robber, whose prowess had at times prevailed over the discipline of the Roman legions, was ever turned towards the beautiful cities of Andalusia, with their teeming bazaars, their prodigious wealth, their palaces furnished with every appliance of luxury, their lovely and fascinating women. The instinct of conquest, the presentiment that one day the exploit of Tarik would be repeated, were inspired by hope and encouraged by tradition. It was not the masses alone who cherished these ominous aspirations. The princes of the various dynasties who, at different periods of its history, swayed the destinies of Al-Maghreb, had, without exception, regarded the riches of the Peninsula as lawful spoil, if not actually as a part of their patrimony. Its condition—political, social, religious, commercial—was as familiar to them as the domestic polity of their own dominions. Their spies were to be found in the great emporiums of trade, in the most sequestered hamlets, in the ranks of the army, in the corridors of the palace, even in the bed-chamber of the khalif. Unknown and often unsuspected, their influence had been felt in many a bloody insurrection, in the decisive moment of many an eventful day. Never for a moment did they abandon the long-nourished project of conquest; never did they renounce the ambition—destined unhappily to be realized—of planting their victorious banners and erecting their throne on the banks of the famous Guadalquivir. Since the assumption of the suzerainty of the African provinces bordering on the Mediterranean by Abd-al-Rahman, the maintenance of that dignity had caused no inconsiderable drain on the treasury of the khalifate. Immense sums were annually transmitted to maintain troops, to support the pretensions of feeble vassals, and to bribe barbarian chieftains to refrain from ravaging the lands of their neighbors. No compensation was offered for the expense incurred except the negative and uncertain one implied by the temporary restraint of Berber invasion.

The attention of the Fatimites had been some years before directed towards the East, and, after a short and victorious struggle, the princes of that dynasty were enabled to remove the seat of their empire from the sandy plains of Mauritania to the inexhaustible Valley of the Nile. A great danger to the Ommeyade Empire of Spain was therefore apparently removed. At this time, Hassan-Ibn-Kenun, the last survivor of the Edrisites, exercised a precarious sovereignty over that portion of the African coast of which Tangier was the capital. A nominal vassal of Al-Hakem, his loyalty was largely dependent upon the fears excited by the encroachments of his neighbors, and when Abu-al-Fotuh, the representative of the Fatimites, invaded his dominions, the allegiance of Ibn-Kenun was, without hesitation, transferred to the Khalif of Egypt.

The revolt of Ibn-Kenun, and the alarming progress made by the Fatimite viceroy, impressed upon Al-Hakem the necessity for immediate and decisive action. With his customary diligence, he issued orders for the departure of a strong military and naval force to punish the treason of his vassal and overawe the fickle and perfidious chieftains of Africa. The object of the expedition was Tangier, the seat of the court and the residence of Ibn-Kenun. The Ommeyade fleet blockaded the harbor, and the troops, having encountered the enemy near the city, after a sharp engagement gained a decisive victory. But this success was of short duration. In the land of Al-Maghreb, swarming with active and warlike barbarians, the recruiting of an army was a matter of trifling difficulty. The Desert hordes, allured by the expectation of plunder and the excitement of arms, crowded to the camp of the Edrisite prince, who soon found himself once more able to tempt the fortunes of war. Another battle was fought; the troops of the Khalif sustained a demoralizing defeat; their general, Ibn-Tomlos, was left dead on the field, and the survivors who escaped the spears of the Mauritanian cavalry sought security behind the battlements of Tangier. The effect produced by this victory on the venal and inconstant people of Africa was serious. The reputation and the power of Ibn-Kenun received an extraordinary impulse. The petty vassals who for years had enjoyed the bounty of the Khalif hastened to renounce their allegiance. From far and near, along the sandy highways towards the camp of Ibn-Kenun, trooped the ferocious tribesmen whom no prince had yet been able to conciliate, and no government been able to civilize. No territory, except that occupied by a few fortified towns, remained loyal to Al-Hakem; even these places were in a state of siege; and it was evident that, unless energetic measures were taken to retrieve the disaster, the war-cry of the Berbers would soon be heard on the plains of Andalusia.

The Khalif was not unconscious of his danger. From every province of his dominions he summoned his bravest troops and his most experienced generals. The supreme command was entrusted to Ghalib, whose skill and valor had been signalized in the recent campaign against the Christians, and who was solemnly admonished, on peril of his life, to return victorious. It was not, however, to the uncertain event of battle that the Khalif unreservedly committed the destinies of his empire. The mercenary character of the Berber sheiks, always the partisans of him who bribed them most liberally, or who bribed them last, was what Al-Hakem depended upon, far more than upon either the tactics of his general or the courage of his soldiers. A great treasure was placed at the disposal of Ghalib, and he was instructed to spare no pains to detach from the army of Ibn-Kenun every chief of influence, without regard to the numbers of his following or the extravagance of his demands. In case he succeeded, he was ordered to conduct the family of Ibn-Kenun to Cordova. Having landed in safety, Ghalib studiously avoided a general engagement. His advance was impeded by the flying squadrons of Ibn-Kenun, who used every artifice to bring on a battle; but the cautious Ommeyade general, knowing that the fate of his sovereign, as well as his own life, depended on the issue of a conflict, had decided to trust to the secret and more certain means of corruption. Through the medium of trusty messengers, magnificent weapons, costly garments, and heaps of gold were clandestinely displayed before the greedy eyes of the Berber chieftains. Their constancy was not proof against this exhibition of wealth. They even competed for the infamous distinction of first deserting the standard of their commander; and, in a few days, Ibn-Kenun, abandoned by all but a handful of his old retainers, saw himself compelled to take refuge in a strong castle built on the summit of an isolated mountain called the Eagle’s Rock, where he had, in prudent anticipation of a reverse of fortune, already conveyed his harem and his treasures.

The drafts of Ghalib on the royal treasury excited the astonishment and consternation of the Khalif. Such enormous expenses had never before been incurred in the conduct of a campaign; and Al-Hakem, suspecting that all of the public money had not been used to corrupt the Berbers, and that much of it had been diverted into private hands, determined, for the purpose of investigation, to send an officer experienced in matters of finance and clothed with almost despotic authority, who should not be confined to the mere duties of treasurer, but should also exercise the high and responsible functions of a general and a councillor of state. The individual selected for this delicate mission was Ibn-abi-Amir, a name of both glorious and sinister associations, which now appears for the first time in the annals of the Hispano-Arab domination. He was accompanied by a select body of troops commanded by Yahya-Ibn-Mohammed, Viceroy of the Northern Frontier, whom Al-Hakem, still fearful of the issue of the African campaign, had sent to reinforce the army of Ghalib.

The siege of the rebel fortress was pushed with energy, but its defences were so formidable that four months elapsed before the garrison could be brought to terms. Then the most favorable conditions were granted; the personal safety of the soldiers was guaranteed and their property kept inviolate; and the main article of the instructions of Al-Hakem, touching the conveyance of the Edrisites to Cordova, was acceded to, though not without manifest reluctance, which, however, was of little moment under circumstances where protest and resistance were equally unavailing. With the capture of the Eagle’s Rock terminated the campaign in Africa. The remaining Edrisite princes, who had seen with dismay the sudden disappearance of the host of Ibn-Kenun, lost no time in making terms with the representatives of the Khalif. The entire region of Mauritania enjoyed a profound but delusive peace. The Berbers had retired to their solitudes to enjoy the reward of their treason, and to watch for another opportunity to dispose of their services to the highest bidder. The Fatimites, content with their recent acquisitions, left the administration of their African possessions to a viceroy, and, fascinated with the attractions of their new home on the Nile, did not seem, for the moment, desirous of prosecuting any further schemes of imperial aggrandizement.

Ghalib, escorting his illustrious prisoners, more than seventy in number, now returned to Cordova. From the hour of his landing at Algeziras, his march assumed the appearance of a military triumph. The line of march was obstructed by the throngs that, attracted by the novelty of the spectacle, had assembled from far and near. Every town and hamlet through which the cavalcade passed rang with the exultant shouts of a vast and excited multitude. The rich attire of the captives; their noble and dignified bearing; the romance attaching to the story of the foundation of their house; their descent from the family of the Prophet, certainly remote and probably fictitious, provoked the curiosity, if it did not excite the sympathy, of the elated populace, who only saw in their humiliation another addition to the glory of their sovereign. When the capital was approached, the Khalif came forth to meet the guard and their prisoners. As soon as his presence was known, Ibn-Kenun dismounted, knelt before him, and kissed his hand. Ghalib and his officers were received with all the honors due to men who under arduous circumstances have achieved success; the princes were conducted to a fortified palace in the city, and their attendants distributed in different localities, where their safe-keeping could be assured; the body-guard of the chief, consisting of seven hundred warriors of approved valor, was incorporated into a division of the army, and Al-Hakem could now congratulate himself that his decision and energy had compelled the respect of his enemies and had procured for his dominions the benefits of universal peace.

The inconstancy of fortune did not, however, permit the Khalif long to enjoy the leisure and the satisfaction to be derived from the indulgence of his literary tastes and the triumph of his arms. His health, impaired by intense and constant application to study, broke down. An attack of apoplexy admonished him that he must renounce the cares of state, and the conduct of the government was henceforth committed to his vizier Moshafi. The latter, a veteran and accomplished statesman, signalized his advent to uncontrolled power by the institution of many radical and greatly needed reforms. The department of finance, which had become the seat of corruption, was reorganized and administered with prudence and economy. The discipline of the army was improved. The former viceroy of the northern frontier, the gallant Yahya-Ibn-Mohammed, was recalled from command in Africa and reinstated in his former office, a measure that insured the tranquillity of the Christian states, which had recently developed symptoms of agitation, in several instances culminating in acts of open and destructive hostility. The interests of the Khalif in Mauritania were confirmed by the appointment of two native princes whose fidelity could be depended upon; and, by this stroke of policy, the vizier was enabled to remove all the Arab troops, except the garrisons of a few cities, to points where their services would be far more advantageous to the government, and, at the same time, less expensive to the treasury. The entertainment of the Edrisites, who maintained a pomp little inferior to that of the royal family itself, was a source of constant perplexity and annoyance to the economical minister. At length, profiting by the discontent induced by a sedentary life and a vigilant espionage ill-disguised under an appearance of liberty, he succeeded in persuading Ibn-Kenun to allow himself and his followers to be transported to Tunis, with the understanding that they should never again set foot on the soil of Mauritania. When the preparations for departure had been completed, the thrifty vizier partially indemnified the treasury for the expense caused by the involuntary guests of the Khalif by unceremoniously appropriating a large piece of ambergris, of immense value, which Ibn-Kenun considered the most precious object of all his possessions. After landing at Tunis, the exiles proceeded to Alexandria, where for many years they enjoyed the hospitality and protection of the Fatimite Khalif. From this time the princes of the Edrisite family are no longer prominent in the revolutions of Northern Africa.

While Cordova was, by far, the most populous and magnificent city of Moorish Spain, it was indebted, in no small degree, for its superiority to the prestige derived from its position as a place of pilgrimage and the religious centre of the khalifate. Even in the eyes of the most implacable enemies of the Ommeyade dynasty, a sacred character invested the Western metropolis as the seat of one of the most famous shrines of Islam. Far more intense was the feeling of reverence in the minds of the devoted adherents of that dynasty. There was the throne of the Commander of the Faithful, in whose person the pious believer recognized not only the representative of a line of princes whose genius had added vast provinces to the Moslem empire, but also the venerated successor of the Arabian Prophet. From its gates had gone forth armies which had traversed the natural boundaries of the Peninsula, had occupied the fairest portion of France, and had repeatedly abased the pride of the scoffing infidel. Everywhere were visible significant tokens of Mussulman triumph and Christian humiliation. Its warehouses were filled with the plunder of churches. The inmates of monasteries were exposed by hundreds for sale in its markets. Its mosques had been raised by the labor of Christian captives. From the ceiling of the Djalma, the pride of all true believers, were suspended the bells of the Cathedral of Santiago, which even the vaunted power of the patron saint of the Asturias had been unable to save from the sacrilegious hand of the Moslem. No capital in Africa or Asia enjoyed a larger measure of military glory. No city in all the wide realm of Islam was so renowned for the munificence of its rulers, the wealth of its religious foundations, the learning and eloquence of its theologians, and the pomp of its worship.

On the right bank of the Guadalquivir stood the Great Mosque, in the eyes of the Mohammedans of Africa and Spain superior in sanctity to all other temples, save only the Kaaba. Founded by the first Abd-al-Rahman, fully as much from political motives as through religious zeal, it had been embellished by the wealth, the taste, the rivalry, and the enthusiasm of nine generations of sovereigns, having at their command the resources of one of the richest and most flourishing countries of the globe. By its erection, the power of the Western Khalifate had been established upon a firm and enduring basis, and the permanent independence of its dynasty assured. The more or less intimate relations hitherto maintained with the Moslem empires of Asia were severed; the nominal allegiance due to the monarchs of Damascus and Bagdad, persistently asserted by peremptory edicts and occasionally conceded by the rendition of a precarious tribute, was forever renounced. The aims of the founder, dictated by a political sagacity savoring of almost superhuman wisdom, were finally realized; and among the subjects and tributaries of the House of Ommeyah, proscribed by the rulers of Arabia, the sanctuary of the Mosque of his capital usurped the place once occupied by the temple of Mecca, the scene of the humiliations, the perils, and the triumphs of the Prophet. Thus, by a masterstroke of policy, which appealed alike to the worldly ambition and the religious pride of the people, was consolidated the authority of a new and progressive race of kings. Its associations especially struck the imagination of the pious Mohammedan. It occupied the site of the principal church of Gothic Cordova, which, in its turn, had been built upon the ruins of a Pagan temple. The stones of its foundation had been transported from Narbonne. The earth in which they were embedded had been stained with infidel blood. Christian prisoners, chained together, had painfully borne these materials for a distance of two hundred leagues, and others had for generations labored upon its walls. The spoil of many a successful campaign had contributed to enrich its interior. On all sides, golden inscriptions and trophies of conquest attested the glory of the princes of Islam and the invincible prowess of their armies. The Great Mosque is not merely an epitome of architecture, wherein are disclosed adaptations of the artistic ideas of many widely separated nations,—the manifestations of a spirit which could appropriate and combine in exquisite harmony the columns of the Roman, the capitals of the African, the arch of the Syrian, the mosaic of the Byzantine, the battlements of the Persian,—it is an eloquent testimonial to the genius which could enlist the ordinarily baneful influence of superstition in the cultivation of literature and the diffusion of knowledge. For this splendid temple played no unimportant part in the intellectual advancement of Mohammedan Spain, as well as in the civilization of barbarian Europe.

The multitudes of pilgrims and scholars who resorted to Cordova hastened, without delay, to pay their devotions at its shrine. The Arab recognized in the sweep of its arches, the graceful curves of the palm groves of Nejd and Yemen, mementos of the Desert immortalized by the conceptions of the architect, ever mindful of the life and habits of his Bedouin ancestry. The polished Syrian viewed with admiring rapture the rich stuccoes, whose complex and gorgeous patterns surpassed in beauty the brocades of Damascus and the decorations which covered the palaces of the monarchs of Asia. In the carvings of its lattices was to be traced the peculiar form of the Indian cross, a symbol whose origin is unknown to the most ancient tradition, and which appears sculptured upon the venerable altars of Ceylon and Hindustan. Even the emblem of a sect most obnoxious to Islam was appropriated, and, by a singular inconsistency, compelled to assist in the adornment of the most gorgeous mosque of the Moslem world. The cresting of the walls, originally painted scarlet, is typical of flame, and, brought from Persia, symbolized the faith of the Ghebers, the detested worshippers of fire. Thus were concentrated in this unique structure the ideas, the materials, the devices, the ornamentation of many epochs and of many races. Each visit to its hallowed precincts imparted fresh inspiration to the theologian, to the artist, to the poet, to the student, to the antiquary. The reverence it claimed as a seat of pilgrimage invested its shrine with attributes possessed by none of the famous oracles of antiquity, and shared by few of the fanes of any contemporaneous religious faith. It was, moreover, justly regarded as the peculiar creation of a people whom its erection had greatly contributed to form and amalgamate, and who were entitled to credit for the admiration which its magnificence and its beauty elicited. Every city and province of the empire had contributed to the pious undertaking. Cordova paid the army of laborers employed. Merida furnished columns and other materials, ready for the mason, from the temples and the amphitheatre which had embellished the seat of Roman power in ancient Lusitania. From the quarries of Almeria and Granada came great quantities of jasper, marble, and alabaster. From the forests of the Sierras was obtained the larch for the ceiling, whose remarkable preservation in buildings not subjected to the destructive consequences of ecclesiastical avarice attest its extraordinary exemption from the attacks of insects and the ravages of decay. The princes of Mauritania and the Byzantine vassals or allies of the khalifs, prompted by feelings of piety or friendship, bestowed upon the rising temple the most valuable relics of ancient art to be found in their dominions. A fifth of the spoils of battle—in a single instance amounting to the sum of forty-five thousand pieces of gold—was appropriated to defray the enormous expense which, notwithstanding the drafts on the treasury and the generous donations of the people, was constantly increasing. In the successive enlargements of the building demanded by the growing population, the owners of adjacent property, the purchase of which became indispensable, were rewarded for the sacrifice of their homes with unstinted generosity. Arab estimates have placed the entire cost of the Djalma—whose construction and alterations embraced, from first to last, a period of more than two centuries, under nine princes of the House of Ommeyah—at fifteen million pieces of gold. The Mosque, as completed, comprised an area of six hundred and twenty by four hundred and forty feet, running with the cardinal points of the compass. About one-third of this enclosure was occupied by a spacious court surrounded by arcades, planted with oranges, pomegranates, and palms, and refreshed with the spray of many fountains. The walls, thirty feet high on the northern side, increased in altitude with the approach to the river—the land rapidly descending in that direction—until they rose to the commanding height of seventy feet above the banks of the Guadalquivir. The roof was protected by plates of lead nearly an inch in thickness, whose sale in subsequent times yielded a magnificent sum to priestly depredators. The building, massive and imposing in its exterior, presented a strong resemblance to a fortress, a resemblance not inappropriate when the martial traditions of the religion to which it was dedicated are recalled. Immense buttresses, necessitated by the weight of the walls and the pressure of the arcades, were placed at frequent intervals, like flanking towers in the defences of a citadel. The summits of wall and tower were fringed with battlements. Access was obtained to the interior by means of twenty-one horseshoe archways, three of which opened into the court-yard, and nine on the east and west sides respectively, three, in all, being reserved for the especial use of women. These archways were decorated with terra-cotta mosaics in red and yellow, relieved by inscriptions in gold on a ground of blue and scarlet. The doors were covered with plates of burnished brass, and provided with rings and knockers of huge dimensions and curious workmanship.

No church in Christendom could offer to the eyes of the worshipper such a scene of beauty as that enjoyed by the Moslem as he passed from the thronged and dusty streets of the city into the spacious Court of the Oranges. The latter bore the fascinating and voluptuous aspect of a tropical garden. The atmosphere was fragrant with the perfume of orange, rose, and jasmine. The foliage of the palm, recalling the famous groves of Medina and transporting the pilgrim in imagination to scenes in the distant Orient, rose majestically above the smaller but not less attractive orange-trees, with their glossy leaves, golden fruit, and snowy blossoms. Exquisite flowers, arranged in beds of fantastic patterns, bloomed along the borders of the arcades. Four great basins, each a monolith, supplied the water for the ceremonial lustration enjoined by the law of Islam. From the fountains the vast throng, clad in white robes, moved silently towards the temple and into the doors, which, looking upon the court, were closed by curtains of stamped and gilded leather. Within, the eye was bewildered by the forest of columns,—more than fourteen hundred in number,—stretching far away to an apparently interminable distance. They were destitute of bases, and their capitals were entirely covered with gold. Above, tiers of double arches, in red and white, sustained the ceiling glittering with arabesques entwined with texts from the Koran. The divisions of the latter were formed by medallions oval, hexagonal, and circular, bearing a general resemblance to each other, yet widely differing in distribution of colors and details of ornamentation. The floor was composed of many-colored marble, arranged in designs of simple but pleasing character. Lattices of alabaster, carved in patterns no two of which were identical, admitted in mellowed radiance the diminished splendor of a tropical sun. At the southern extremity was the Kiblah, or point facing Mecca, towards which every devout Moslem turns five times a day in prayer. It was designated by the Mihrab, a diminutive chapel corresponding in some respects to the Holy of Holies of the synagogue, and facing the principal nave of the Mosque. Constructed by Al-Hakem II., the richness of its decoration was unparalleled, and the tracery of its design unique. Engrailed, interlacing arches of peculiar form supported the dome of the vestibule. The entrance to the Mihrab or sanctuary—a marble chamber octagonal in form, and fifteen feet in diameter as well as in height—was flanked by two similar doorways leading into apartments of smaller dimensions. Four slender columns of verde-antique and lapis-lazuli sustained the sweeping horseshoe arch of entrance. The slabs of marble which lined the Mihrab were carved and gilded. The ceiling was composed of a single block, which the skill of the sculptor had fashioned into the exact representation of a gigantic shell. In the vestibule, over portal and wall, upon spandrel and dome, sparkled elaborate and fantastic creations in Byzantine mosaic, wrought by the most cunning artificers of Constantinople. It was a condition of the treaty between Constantine and Abd-al-Rahman that the latter should be furnished with all the mosaic he required for his buildings. In a single vessel despatched from the Bosphorus, under direction of the Emperor, during the reign of Al-Hakem, were sixteen tons of this precious material.

The legends in the Cufic character, whose forms so readily lend themselves to mural decoration, were always of gold. The groundwork was of different colors,—scarlet, black, blue, green, and crimson,—disposed in harmonious combinations most agreeable to the eye. The elegant curves of the arabesques formed a charming contrast with the angular letters of the inscriptions. Composed of minute cubes of glass, scores of which were necessary to cover a square inch of surface, the patience and skill required for a work of such magnitude and delicacy can scarcely be even imagined. Years were employed in its completion, and its durability was such that, where the mosaics have escaped the destructive touch of the Christian vandal, their solidity and lustre remain to-day unimpaired, after the changes, the neglect, and the depredations of more than eleven centuries.

Within the enclosure of the Mihrab was kept the pulpit built under the direction of Al-Hakem II., and destined for the use of the sovereign, when, in the capacity of Successor of the Prophet, he addressed the multitude congregated in the Mosque. It was made of minute pieces of costly woods combined with ivory, tortoise-shell, and mother of pearl, put together with gold and silver nails. Seven years were consumed in the production of this admirable specimen of the joiner’s art. The carvings with which it was covered were of the most exquisite character. Its intrinsic value was greatly enhanced by the jewels with which it was enriched, and the precious metals used in its construction. Inside of this pulpit, and enclosed in a case of cloth of gold studded with rubies and pearls, was preserved the famous Koran of the Khalif Othman, which he was reading at the time of his assassination, and whose leaves were said to have been discolored with his blood. A memento of the relentless persecution of the Ommeyades, no relic, even of the Prophet himself, was regarded by the adherents of the Abbaside and Fatimite dynasties with greater veneration than was this precious souvenir by the princes and the people of the Andalusian empire. It was at once the talisman of their security, the glory of their ritual, the emblem of imperial and theocratical power. Deposited upon a lectern of aloe wood profusely inlaid with gold, it was borne in state on Fridays to the tribune, where the customary service was read from its pages. Four men were required to carry the ponderous volume and its accessories. The cortege was preceded by the imam and his assistants, and accompanied with the pomp of lamps and incense. The magnificent processions of the Roman Catholic Church, during the period of its greatest ecclesiastical and temporal grandeur, could boast no spectacle more impressive than this ceremonial, celebrated every week in the presence of twelve thousand worshippers.

Directly in front of the Mihrab was the Maksurah, an enclosure reserved for the Khalif, the princes of the blood, and the higher ministers of the Mohammedan religion. It occupied a portion of the seven central naves, and was terminated on the south by the vestibule of the Mihrab. It measured one hundred and twelve by thirty-three feet, and was formed by a lofty screen or lattice elaborately carved, composed, for the most part, of odoriferous woods enriched with beautiful ornaments. Despite the numerous interstices with which it was provided, the interior was not visible to those outside, and its resemblance to a wall was increased by its towering height of fifty feet, as well as by the gilded battlements with which it was crowned. The pavement was of silver tiles, and the central door, destined for the passage of the Khalif, was heavily plated with gold. During his attendance at the services of the Mosque, the Commander of the Faithful was rarely seen by his subjects. From the adjoining palace he crossed the street by a covered bridge, and, traversing a secret passage contrived in the southern wall of the Mosque, entered the vestibule of the Mihrab, and thence proceeded to his post in the elevated tribune of the Maksurah. This passage contained eight doors, at each of which a sentinel was posted. These opened alternately towards the east and west, thus, in case of treachery, precluding the possibility of concert among the guards, one of whom, if faithful, could, unaided, readily defend the passage against the combined efforts of the remaining seven. The entrance of the Khalif was the occasion of a magnificent display. A silken carpet, interwoven with silver, was spread from the palace gate to the Maksurah. Black and white eunuchs in splendid costumes preceded and followed the royal party. The body-guard of the sovereign was composed of members of his family, carrying drawn scimetars, and sheathed in shining mail. These precautions were considered necessary on account of the melancholy experience of former Successors of the Prophet. The sacred character investing Omar, Othman, Ali, and Muavia had not preserved them from the assassin’s dagger; and the populace of Cordova, notorious for its daring criminals and fanatics, excited well-grounded fears in the mind of a monarch whose formidable army was sometimes insufficient to restrain its revolutionary spirit, fostered by turbulent adventurers collected from every nation subject to the code of Islam. On the western side of the temple, and facing the royal palace, was the Chamber of Alms, where the charity of the Khalif was daily dispensed in accordance with the injunctions of his faith.

The interior of the Mosque, by reason of its vast extent and its comparatively low ceiling, was more or less obscure, even at noon-day, and lamps were kept constantly burning in its aisles. Two hundred and eighty chandeliers of brass and silver were suspended from its arches, the oil used in them being perfumed with costly essences. The largest of these contained fourteen hundred and fifty-four lamps, and measured thirty-eight feet in circumference. Its reflector contained thirty-six thousand pieces of silver fastened with rivets of gold. Its beauty was enhanced by the gems with which it was studded, and, by the combined effect of the mirrors, the light was increased to nine times its original intensity. During the entire month of Ramadhan the Mosque was illuminated with twenty thousand lights. An enormous taper, weighing sixty pounds, was placed in the Maksurah. Its dimensions were calculated with such accuracy that the wax was completely consumed during the last hour of the last day of the festival.

A deep and mysterious significance has always attached to the celebration of the feast of Ramadhan in the Mohammedan world, but nowhere were its rules observed with such solemnity, and its ceremonies performed with such splendor, as in the capital of Mohammedan Spain. It corresponded in many respects to the Lent of the Christian Church. From dawn to dark not a mouthful of food, not a drop of water, could pass the lips of the consistent believer. After sunset he was, in a measure, recompensed for his privations during the day. Lamps were hung from tower and minaret. The tinkle of the mandolin and the mellow notes of the lute were heard from latticed balconies. The sounds of boisterous revelry rose faintly on the midnight air from retired court-yards and the distant apartments of majestic palaces. Crowds in the most picturesque of costumes swept through the streets. Dancing-girls and story-tellers, surrounded by appreciative audiences, plied their several vocations in the squares, under the glistening foliage of lemon- and orange-trees. The Koranic prohibition of indulgence in wine was too often forgotten, and the indignation of the abstemious Moslem was frequently aroused by the sight of transgressors in every stage of intoxication. On all sides were the evidences of joy, carelessness, and festivity.

Inside the Mosque a far different scene presented itself to the eye of the delighted spectator. From the lofty gallery of the minaret,—whose centre was veiled in obscurity, but whose gilded crest glittered with the magical play of a hundred colored lanterns,—the piercing voice of the muezzin was calling the people to prayer. Through every doorway an endless living stream poured into the temple. Among the worshippers, but keeping aloof from the surging mass, were numbers of strangely muffled figures, accompanied by gigantic blacks attired in robes of silk and gold. These were the ladies of the harems, whom the liberal ideas of Andalusian society usually permitted to dispense with the veil, but which, assumed on this occasion from choice, became a convenient disguise and an invaluable aid to intrigue. The interior suggested a vision of enchantment. Myriads of lights illumined every corner of the vast edifice, rivalling in their intolerable brilliancy the blinding glare of the meridian sun. Their rays were reflected and multiplied by the gleaming walls; by the ceiling, with its broad inscriptions and its bewildering arabesques; by the metallic foliage of a thousand capitals; by the portal of the Maksurah with its scales of polished gold. The air was heavy with the smoke of amber, aloes, and ambergris. Far away through long vistas of columns, the beautiful Mihrab, whose vitreous surface sparkled with the radiance of countless jewels of every conceivable hue, pointed out to the believer the location of the Kiblah. Following the example of the imam, visible from his lofty station in the mimbar, the innumerable multitude, as if actuated by a single impulse, raised its voice in prayer, and moved in unison through the repeated prostrations prescribed by the Mohammedan ritual. Of such a fascinating character was the sight to be witnessed during every night of the festival, in the most sumptuous temple of Islam, enriched by the munificence and the piety of the most enlightened sovereigns of the age, whose appointments surpassed, in their incredible magnificence, alike the boasted decorations of Pagan antiquity and the luxurious creations inspired by the wild imagination of the Orient; where gold and silver, where rare woods and precious gems were employed, like the commonest materials, in lavish profusion; where trophies of victory, ostentatiously displayed, reminded the zealot of the triumphs of the Faith; where the excited senses of the worshipper were soothed by the costliest odors from jewelled censers; and where, disposed in silver chandeliers and candelabras, rows upon rows of perfumed tapers diffused through the endless colonnades their lustre and their fragrance.

On the north side of the Court of the Oranges stood the stately minaret erected during the reign of Abd-al-Rahman III. A master-piece of architecture, and, in every respect, appropriate to the sumptuous building for whose use it was intended, it was universally conceded to be without a rival in the world. It was twenty-seven feet square and one hundred and eight feet high. Constructed of polished freestone brought from Africa, its sides were carved in elegant tracery, whose gilded patterns were projected upon a ground of ultramarine and vermilion. It was lighted by windows forming graceful arches, supported by diminutive columns of red and white jasper. Half of the windows had two openings, and the remainder, three, and disposed alternately amidst the maze of varied and brilliant decorative designs, they produced a charming effect. The interior contained two stairways, so contrived that a person ascending or descending either was invisible to any one upon the other. A gallery, eighty-one feet from the ground, was used by the muezzin for the duties of his sacred office. Another and a smaller structure, corresponding in style with the one upon which it was superimposed, rose to the additional height of twelve feet, and was furnished with battlements similar to those of the Mosque. Its summit was adorned with three huge balls, two of gold and one of silver, encircled by lilies of the latter metal, crowned with a pomegranate of burnished gold. Three hundred persons of all ranks—many of whom, like the servitors of the Kaaba, were eunuchs—were employed in the various offices of the Great Mosque, the menials being lodged within its walls. A guard was constantly maintained, day and night, in the vicinity of the Maksurah, under whose floor were vaults for the custody of the candlesticks and the various sacred vessels used in the ceremonies of festivals.

Such was the superb temple of Cordova, once the pride of Islam, and one of the noblest monuments of superstition and policy ever conceived by human genius or erected by human power. Its completion made possible the grand achievements of the Ommeyade dynasty, whose influence, acting indirectly upon Christian nations, greatly facilitated the emancipation of the human intellect, long confined by the galling bonds of ecclesiastical intolerance and heathen tradition. The inspiration of its architects was derived from many sources; in its plan it exhibited the conformation of the synagogue and the tabernacle; in its decoration were displayed the luxurious adornments of the Greek cathedral; its tapers and its incense recalled the Latin ceremonial, in its turn borrowed from the pompous ritual of Pagan sacrifice. Even in its present dilapidated state, the original purposes of its institution are apparent at every step; and nothing short of its entire destruction could eradicate the enthusiastic impressions excited by the first view of its singular interior, with its forest of columns, and its tarnished and mutilated vestiges of Oriental splendor. It is eminently typical of the civilization of a vanished race, whose deeds are written in something more enduring than brass or marble, and serves to indicate to posterity the sublimity of the spirit that could contrive, and the skill and resources that could execute, an undertaking of such grandeur and magnificence.

The health of Al-Hakem growing steadily worse, he made preparations to avoid, as far as possible, the evils incident to a disputed succession. He had only one son, Hischem, then fourteen years of age; but the history of his house abounded with instances of the unscrupulous ambition of royal claimants belonging to the collateral branches who had aspired to establish their pretensions by arms. Without declaring his object, a grand council of nobles, governors of provinces, generals of the army, and ministers of state was convened at Cordova. With bowed head and faltering gait, the feeble monarch ascended for the last time the steps of his throne. Through the vizier, he explained to the assembled officials the reason why he had called them together, and made the request—which was understood as a command—that all should attach their signatures to an instrument declaring Hischem the sole heir to the crown of the khalifate. This having been done, similar documents were despatched without delay into all the provinces of the empire, to be signed by the inferior officials of the government and even by the people, in order to secure, by every practical expedient, the permanence of the dynasty and the integrity of its succession, which had at last come to be recognized as dependent upon the law of primogeniture. We shall see, in the sequel, how far these elaborate and well-contrived precautions were successful.

The few months which remained to Al-Hakem after the investiture of his son with royal power were occupied in the performance of good works. His worldly affairs and the future of his empire had been committed to the hands of others. The condition of his mind and his failing eye-sight precluded him from the enjoyments and the consolations of literature. Conscious of his increasing infirmities, and admonished daily of his approaching end, he endeavored to employ his entire time in the fulfilment of the duties of a devout Mussulman. His life had been disgraced by no excesses, disfigured by no persecutions, stained with no crimes. He had ever been distinguished for the exercise of a broad and unostentatious charity. Calumny itself could neither accuse him of fanaticism nor impute to him even the suspicion of infidelity. The most precise and orthodox interpreters of the law and the boldest freethinkers had been equally welcome at his court, and had daily encountered each other in the great libraries of his capital. The absolute intellectual liberty which there existed was, indeed, considered a reproach by ignorant Moslems of less enlightened lands, who could not understand the association with heretics and the toleration of infidels; but in Spain, where a system of universal education had been established, and was enforced as well by law as by the influence of public opinion, this inestimable privilege was thoroughly appreciated.

Thus, although the Khalif had no grave offences against morality to reproach himself with, he felt, like every truly conscientious man, that he had failed to comply with many of the injunctions of his creed. To atone, in a measure, for these deficiencies was now his only care. He dispensed great sums in charity. He diminished the taxes imposed upon the provinces of the empire by one-sixth, a measure most grateful to his subjects, and, at the same time, without detriment to the treasury, the country being at peace, and the revenues increasing under the wise and economical administration of the Vizier Moshafi. He emancipated and provided for large numbers of slaves. He directed that the rent of that quarter of the bazaar of the capital occupied by the saddlers—which was one of the perquisites of the crown—should hereafter, for all time, be set apart for the benefit of the schools maintained at public expense for the children of the poor. And, finally, knowing how much the happiness of a people is dependent on the character of their ruler, he constantly inculcated, and impressed by argument and parental authority upon the mind of his son, Prince Hischem, the duties and the grave responsibilities of a sovereign; the evils of war; the destructive consequences of ambition; the enduring benefits of peace; the necessity of a pure administration of justice; the value of continence; the pleasures to be derived from the acquisition of knowledge; the consolations arising from the observance of the precepts of virtue, and the practice of an enlightened morality.

At last, this great monarch, whose titles to distinction are derived from far more noble sources than those whence emanates the fame attaching to the sanguinary achievements of the conqueror, was gathered to his fathers. His son, whose gentle disposition inspired the hope that he would profit by the wise counsels and the pious example he had enjoyed, recited the burial-service, and the body of Al-Hakem was committed to the sepulchre. The bier was followed by a mighty concourse, whose tears and lamentations manifested their grief, and whose apprehensions of impending misfortune were betrayed by the cry, “Our Father is dead, and with him dies the sword of Islam, the support of the weak and the terror of the proud!”

The prominent features of the character of Al-Hakem were his love of learning, his profuse but always judicious liberality, and his profound reverence for the doctrines of the Koran and the laws of the empire. The few military operations he was called upon to direct showed no want of vigor, and suggested that in a less peaceful age he might have obtained the laurels of a successful general. His devotion to literature amounted to a passion. No monarch of whom history makes mention has equalled him in the extent of his knowledge or the number and diversity of his literary accomplishments. In every country of the world, in the foci of civilization, in the great capitals and commercial emporiums of the East, at Bagdad, Cairo, Damascus, Alexandria, Constantinople, his agents were stationed to secure books for his libraries. No price was too extravagant to pay, no difficulty was too arduous to surmount, in the acquisition of a work whose character made it a desirable addition to the vast collection of the palace of Cordova. The rarity of a volume was a special inducement to its purchase. Where the owner refused to part with a manuscript, he was, as a rule, easily prevailed upon to allow it to be copied, and his courtesy was always munificently rewarded. In the extensive libraries of the princes of the Orient, whose collections, however valuable, could not vie with the superb one of Al-Hakem, were constantly occupied the expert scribes and copyists of that accomplished, untiring monarch; investigators whose labors were never terminated, whose pens were never idle. A premium was offered to every writer of note whose productions should be first submitted to the Khalif, and the knowledge of this fact often procured for him the inspection of manuscripts long before they were made public in the country where they were composed. The emulation and the aspirations of distinguished authors caused their works to be transmitted to Cordova from the most distant lands, from Al-Maghreb, Egypt, Byzantium, Syria, and Persia, and the reward for a composition of unusual merit not infrequently reached the enormous figure of a thousand pieces of gold.

Under the influence of such potent agencies, it is not remarkable that great popularity was communicated to the study of every branch of human knowledge. Treatises replete with the stores of ancient wisdom were brought forth from dusty corners where they had lain neglected for centuries; the sages of Greece were translated into Arabic; and the philosophy of Aristotle and the problems of Euclid were publicly expounded for the benefit of the multitude. In a society where intellectual pre-eminence was a certain passport to official distinction, the study of letters soon became not only a popular and absorbing pursuit, but one of the most desirable of professions. The accumulation of books was the first employment of an aspirant to public consideration and political fame. In the house of almost every prosperous citizen a collection of volumes, not exhibited to display the wealth or pedantry of the owner, but with whose contents he was more or less familiar, was preserved. For the benefit of those whose means were too limited for the possession of such luxuries, as well as to afford every facility for the promotion of intelligence and the advancement of science, public libraries were founded in all the great cities of the Peninsula. With the growing demand for manuscripts, their value not only increased in the markets of the world, but, through the enormous prices they commanded, literary industry was stimulated to their search and reproduction. It was a well-known fact that no gift was so acceptable to the Khalif as a rare manuscript, or the first copy of a new work by an author of established reputation. The library of Al-Hakem II. was undoubtedly the greatest repository of learning which had up to that time existed in Europe. As a significant token of the estimation in which its volumes were held, the appointments and furniture of the building where they were deposited exhibited all the magnificence of a palace. The floor was of rare and costly marble, the walls and ceiling of alabaster and mosaic, the columns of jasper and verde-antique. The cases were of polished woods, some selected for their rarity, others for the delightful fragrance they exhaled. Inscriptions in characters of gold indicated the contents of the shelves, or inspired the student, by the repetition of the maxims of famous writers, to emulate the example of the wise and virtuous scholars of antiquity. The manuscripts in time became so numerous that the halls of the library, extensive as they were, could not contain them. In the scriptorium an army of binders and calligraphists was employed, and the finest books were gilded and illuminated with a taste and elegance that have never been equalled. The number of volumes in the collection of the Khalif is variously stated at from four hundred thousand to six hundred thousand. Forty-four volumes were required for the catalogue alone. With the contents of most of these works Al-Hakem is said to have been familiar, and, indeed, many of them were enriched with notes and comments written by his own hand. The title-page of each volume bore not only the name of the author but also his genealogy, as well as the dates of his birth and his death, all collected and preserved by the indefatigable industry of the royal scholar. His prodigious memory; his powers of acquisition; his critical acumen; his talents for composition; and the capacity which could abstract from the administration of the public affairs of a great monarchy sufficient time for literary undertakings that, under ordinary circumstances, could hardly be accomplished in a lifetime of constant study, are marvellous and incredible. For Al-Hakem was an historian of approved merit, as well as an impartial critic and a voluminous commentator. He wrote a history of Spain, now unhappily lost, which was considered a high authority in its time, and whose reputation was universally admitted to be independent of the prestige which it would naturally derive from the name and rank of the author. Such was his erudition that in knowledge on obscure points of genealogy and biography he was without a rival, even in the learned court of Cordova; and his fund of historical information was so profound, and his judgment so accurate, that his opinions were respected and unquestioned by the most accomplished scholars of the Mohammedan world. As may be conjectured, a prodigious impulse was imparted to education by this extraordinary patronage of letters. The accumulated wisdom of Africa, Asia, and Europe was to be found at Cordova. Reports of the munificence of Al-Hakem, and the fame of his splendid court, where literary attainments were a recommendation to royal favor, had been transmitted along the highways of commerce to the most isolated quarters of the globe. It was the ambition of every scholar to complete his studies in a society which offered such unrivalled advantages. A multitude of students of every nationality constantly thronged the streets of the capital. Education was reduced to a system, whose regulations were enforced with military precision. To invest the cause of instruction with additional prestige, the influence of royalty was invoked, and Al-Mondhir, the brother of the Khalif, was charged with the general supervision of the institutions of learning. The charity of Al-Hakem had founded at Cordova no less than twenty-seven schools, where the children of the poor received an education not inferior in thoroughness to that conferred by the best colleges of the empire.

The intellectual progress of the nation was greatly assisted by the freedom of thought which was universally prevalent. The study of philosophy was encouraged, and the promulgation of the most heretical opinions was neither prohibited by public sentiment, nor allowed to be interfered with by the fanaticism of the orthodox sects. By the incessant collision of opinions, by the comparison of authorities, and by the examination of antagonistic doctrines a general spirit of inquiry sprang up; and, in consequence of its dissemination, even the professors of the University were not wrongfully suspected of a leaning towards atheism.

The efforts of Al-Hakem had been early directed to the reformation of manners, an invidious task which might well exhaust the resolution and tact of the most politic and courageous sovereign. The example of the Orient, the possession of wealth, and the influence of luxury had introduced and promoted the demoralizing vice of drunkenness. The wines of Andalusia were then, as now, famous for their palatable as well as for their exhilarating qualities. The country was covered with vineyards, and the products of the wine-press formed no inconsiderable item of the commercial statistics of the Peninsula. Debauchery, at first carried on in secret, had grown bold with the open countenance of high officials and the increasing impunity with which it was practised; and it was hinted that even the ministers of religion did not hesitate to indulge in a vice so severely reprobated by the Koran. The prohibited beverages were not confined to wines, for inebriating liquors distilled from figs, dates, and other fruits were also consumed in large quantities. This pernicious habit was not confined to the wealthier class, but was almost universal; and the scenes of revelry, in which persons of both sexes participated at banquets and other festivities, rivalled, if they did not surpass, the scandalous orgies which had in the day of their splendor and their infamy disgraced the court and capital of Damascus. The Moslem casuists attempted to excuse these breaches of the law by alleging that the use of wine was necessary to the soldier, as it inspired him with courage and increased his powers of endurance, and that this indulgence should be at least conceded to those who habitually exposed themselves to the weapons of the enemy. Such sophistry, however, failed to impose upon the discerning mind of Al-Hakem. Determined to remove, if possible, the means of intoxication, he issued a peremptory order that all the vines in the Peninsula should be torn up and destroyed. His counsellors, however, having represented that such a sweeping measure would be productive of great financial loss and consequent suffering, and that intoxicating beverages could be, and were, even then, made from other fruits, he consented to withdraw the order, which had already caused wide-spread alarm among his subjects. But his sense of duty did not permit him to leave the evil unchecked. The imams were directed to declare from the pulpits of the mosques that the use of wine was forbidden at all social assemblies and public festivities; and the kadis were especially admonished that the penalties prescribed by the law for drunkenness must be enforced, regardless of the wealth, rank, or official station of the offender. The vice was, however, too deeply rooted to be abolished by the denunciations of theologians or the impotent threats of magistrates, themselves suspected of secret participation in the offences they affected publicly to condemn. The society of Cordova, and with it that of the entire khalifate, in a minor degree, had, in fact, become thoroughly epicurean. The philosopher, while observing a decent reverence for the national religion whose rites he openly practised in the character of a good citizen and privately ridiculed in the company of his friends, was deeply tinctured with the ancient pantheistic doctrines of India. Even the populace had ceased to exhibit the fanaticism which is the inseparable companion of ignorance. The system of universal education had gradually and insensibly removed many of those prejudices on whose perpetuity depend the importance and the power of the ministers of superstition. The example of their superiors was not lost on the multitude. The attendance at the mosques was not perceptibly diminished, but it became rather a matter of custom than an observance dictated by conscientious belief and a sense of religious duty. A skepticism pervaded the masses which surprised and alarmed the devout pilgrim from a far-distant country who visited the shrine of Cordova, in his eyes, second in holiness only to the temple of Mecca. Enjoyment of the present, indifference to the future, were the principles which guided the conduct and influenced the lives of the pleasure-loving subjects of Al-Hakem. Under such circumstances, the correction of public immorality, and the repression of a popular and prevalent vice was a difficult, if not a hopeless, undertaking. The edict of the Khalif against drunkenness was publicly observed and secretly disregarded. The epicurean tendency of the age was too general and too well established to be seriously affected by the proclamations or the example of princes.