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Palgrave Studies in European Union Politics
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Mark Pollack, Temple University, USA, Kalypso Nicolaïdis, Oxford, UK, Morten Egeberg, Univer-
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of Exeter, UK, Frank Schimmelfennig, Swiss Federal Institute of Technology, Switzerland
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Carolyn Ban
MANAGEMENT AND CULTURE IN AN ENLARGED EUROPEAN COMMISSION
From Diversity to Unity?
Gijs Jan Brandsma
CONTROLLING COMITOLOGY
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Edoardo Bressanelli
EUROPARTIES AFTER ENLARGEMENT
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EUROPEANIZATION AND EUROPEAN INTEGRATION
From Incremental to Structural Change
Véronique Dimier
THE INVENTION OF A EUROPEAN DEVELOPMENT AID BUREAUCRACY
Recycling Empire
Helene Dyrhauge
EU RAILWAY POLICY-MAKING
On Track?
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RESEARCH DESIGN IN EUROPEAN STUDIES
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EUROPEAN DISUNION
Between Sovereignty and Solidarity
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SOCIETAL ACTORS IN EUROPEAN INTEGRATION
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EUROPEAN SECURITY, TERRORISM AND INTELLIGENCE
Tackling New Security Challenges in Europe
Christian Kaunert and Kamil Zwolski
The EU AS A GLOBAL SECURITY ACTOR
A Comprehensive Analysis beyond CFSP and JHA
Marina Kolb
THE EUROPEAN UNION AND THE COUNCIL OF EUROPE
Finn Laursen (editor)
DESIGNING THE EUROPEAN UNION
From Paris to Lisbon
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THE EUROPEAN UNION AND PEACEBUILDING
Pontus Odmalm
THE PARTY POLITICS OF THE EU AND IMMIGRATION
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THE EU’s LISBON STRATEGY
Evaluating Success, Understanding Failure
David Phinnemore
THE TREATY OF LISBON
Origins and Negotiation
Evangelia Psychogiopoulou
CULTURAL GOVERNANCE AND THE EUROPEAN UNION
Protecting and Promoting Cultural Diversity in Europe
Ariadna Ripoll Servent
INSTITUTIONAL AND POLICY CHANGE IN THE EUROPEAN PARLIAMENT
Claudia Sternberg
THE STRUGGLE FOR EU LEGITIMACY
Public Contestation, 1950–2005
Yves Tiberghien (editor)
LEADERSHIP IN GLOBAL INSTITUTION BUILDING
Minerva’s Rule
Liubomir K. Topaloff
POLITICAL PARTIES AND EUROSCEPTICISM
Amy Verdun and Alfred Tovias (editors)
MAPPING EUROPEAN ECONOMIC INTEGRATION
Richard G. Whitman and Stefan Wolff (editors)
THE EUROPEAN NEIGHBOURHOOD POLICY IN PERSPECTIVE
Context, Implementation and Impact
Sarah Wolff
THE MEDITERRANEAN DIMENSION OF THE EUROPEAN UNION’S INTERNAL SECURITY
Jan Wouters, Hans Bruyninckx, Sudeshna Basu and Simon Schunz (editors)
THE EUROPEAN UNION AND MULTILATERAL GOVERNANCE
Assessing EU Participation in United Nations Human Rights and Environmental Fora
Ozge Zihnioglu
EUROPEAN UNION CIVIL SOCIETY POLICY AND TURKEY
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Cultural Governance and
the European Union
Protecting and Promoting Cultural
Diversity in Europe

Edited by

Evangelia Psychogiopoulou
Department of International and European Law, Faculty of Law,
Maastricht University, The Netherlands
Selection, introduction, conclusion and editorial matter © Evangelia
Psychogiopoulou 2015
Individual chapters © Respective authors 2015
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this
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Contents

List of Tables vii

Acknowledgements viii

Notes on Contributors ix

Introduction 1
Evangelia Psychogiopoulou

Part I EU Cultural Policy

1 The Cultural Logic of Economic Integration 7
Rachael Craufurd Smith

2 Encapsulating EU Cultural Policy into the EU’s Growth

and Competiveness Agenda: Explaining the Success of a
Paradigmatic Shift in Brussels 25
Annabelle Littoz-Monnet

3 The Cultural Open Method of Coordination 37

Evangelia Psychogiopoulou

4 The Creative Europe Programme: Policy-Making Dynamics

and Outcomes 49
Anna Kandyla

Part II EU Internal Policies and Culture

5 The Protection of National Treasures in the EU Single
Market 63
Tania Kyriakou

6 Cultural Diversity in the Digital Age: EU Competences,

Policies and Regulations for Diverse Audiovisual and
Online Content 75
Kristina Irion and Peggy Valcke

7 Cultural Diversity and the EU Copyright Policy and

Regulation 91
Giuseppe Mazziotti

v
vi Contents

8 Digital Rights Management and Rights Licensing in the

Online Music Sector: A Case for Cultural Diversity? 106
Katharine Sarikakis

9 Cultural Diversity and State Aids to the Cultural Sector 119

Delia Ferri

10 Cultural Diversity and State Aid to Public Service Media 132

Karen Donders and Tim Raats

Part III Fundamental Rights and Culture

11 The EU Charter of Fundamental Rights and Cultural
Diversity in the EU 151
John Morijn

12 The Right to Access Culture under EU Law 165

Céline Romainville

13 The EU’s Relationship with Minority Rights 177

Tawhida Ahmed

Part IV EU External Policies and Culture

14 The European Union, the World Trade Organization and
Cultural Diversity 195
Mira Burri

15 The Implementation of the UNESCO Convention on the

Protection and Promotion of the Diversity of Cultural
Expressions in EU External Relations 210
Jan Loisen

16 EU Cultural Cooperation with Third Countries: The Cases

of Latin America and the Mediterranean 225
Carmina Crusafon

Conclusion: Culture and the European Union 237

Evangelia Psychogiopoulou

References 247

Index 283
Tables

16.1 Cultural cooperation with the Mediterranean: Main

instruments 234

vii
Acknowledgements

The idea for this book arose shortly before the start of my Marie Curie
fellowship at Maastricht University. Special thanks should go first to the
contributors to this volume for their enthusiastic support throughout
its preparation. The bulk of the editorial and writing work on my behalf
took place at Maastricht University, which provided a highly stimulating
environment and an ideal place for research and writing. I am grate-
ful to Bruno de Witte for thoughtful comments, Sara Crowley-Vigneau
and her team at Palgrave Macmillan for their friendly cooperation,
the anonymous reviewer of the book proposal for providing helpful
advice and the series’ editors for useful suggestions in putting this
book together. I am also grateful for the funding received from the
People Programme (Marie Curie Actions) of the European Union’s Sev-
enth Framework Programme (FP7/2007–2013) under grant agreement
PIEF-GA-2012-327091. The book reflects only the authors’ views. The
European Union is not liable for any use that may be made of the
information contained therein.

Evangelia Psychogiopoulou

viii
Contributors

Tawhida Ahmed is a senior lecturer at City Law School, City University,

London. She is the author of The Impact of EU Law on Minority Rights
(2011) and has published widely on minority rights in the European
Union (including on cultural rights, linguistic rights and religious
freedom), as well as on the EU’s relationship with international and
European law more broadly. She is an Associate Fellow of the Human
Rights Consortium, University of London, and is a founding member of
the UK Network on Human Rights and Minority Groups.

Mira Burri is a senior research fellow and a lecturer at the World Trade
Institute of the University of Bern. She leads a project on digital tech-
nologies and trade governance and teaches courses in international
media, intellectual property and trade law. She is the co-editor of the
publications Free Trade versus Cultural Diversity (2004); Digital Rights
Management: The End of Collecting Societies? (Staempfli et al., 2005);
Intellectual Property and Traditional Cultural Expressions in a Digital Envi-
ronment (2008); Governance of Digital Game Environments and Cultural
Diversity (2010); and Trade Governance in the Digital Age (2012). She
recently published Public Service Broadcasting 3.0: Legal Design for the
Digital Present (2015). Her publications are available at: http://ssrn.com/
author=483457.

Rachael Craufurd Smith is Reader in Media Law at the School of Law,

University of Edinburgh. She studied at Oxford and Cambridge Universi-
ties and holds a PhD in Broadcasting and Fundamental Rights from the
European University Institute in Florence. She previously worked as a
solicitor; as a specialist advisor on European affairs for the BBC; and held
academic posts at Trinity College, Corpus Christi and St John’s Colleges,
Oxford, and at the University of Oxford. Her research interests focus on
media law and the regulation of culture. She has engaged widely with
policy debates in the UK and Europe regarding the impact of media
convergence on established regulatory structures, with a recent focus
on media plurality and media ownership transparency. She also headed
the Edinburgh University team on the EU-funded Mediadem project
looking at freedom and independence of the media in 14 European
states (www.mediadem.eliamep.gr). She has written widely on culture

ix
x Notes on Contributors

and the mass media. She recently published with Barendt, Bosland and
Hitchens, Media Law: Text, Cases and Materials (2014), and is a founding
editor of The Journal of Media Law.

Carmina Crusafon is an associate professor at the Department of

Journalism and Communication Studies, Universitat Autònoma de
Barcelona (UAB), Spain. She is Deputy Director of the Ibero-American
Observatory of Communication. She is a researcher in media systems
and policies, with a particular focus on the European Union and Latin
America. She teaches Media Policy in Journalism Bachelor and Master
Studies at the UAB. She has been a visiting scholar at the University
of Leeds, the University of California – Los Angeles (UCLA) and Vrije
Universiteit Brussel, Belgium.

Karen Donders is Lecturer in Policy Analysis and European Media

Markets at Vrije Universiteit Brussel. She specialises in public service
media policies and strategies, broadcasting-distribution relations, and
European competition law and its role in media sectors. She is the author
of Public Service Media and Policy in Europe (Palgrave Macmillan, 2012)
and editor of Exporting the Public Value Test (with Hallvard Moe, 2011)
and Private Television in Western Europe: Content, Markets, Policies (with
Caroline Pauwels and Jan Loisen, Palgrave Macmillan, 2013). Her arti-
cles have appeared in journals such as Convergence, The Journal of Media
Law, Media Culture & Society, Competition Law Review and International
Journal of Media and Cultural Politics. She also acts as an advisor for
the Corporate Strategy department of Flemish public broadcaster VRT.
Her chapter (coauthored with Tim Raats) in this volume represents her
personal opinions and not those of VRT.

Delia Ferri is a lecturer at the Department of Law, National University of

Ireland Maynooth. She holds a Master in Law (Laurea in Giurisprudenza)
from the University of Verona School of Law, an LLM in Interna-
tional and European Business Law from Trinity College Dublin and a
PhD in European and Italian Constitutional Law from the University
of Verona, Italy. She is also a qualified attorney at law. Before join-
ing Maynooth University, she was a research associate at the Centre
for Disability Law and Policy of the National University of Ireland
Galway and lectured at the Irish Centre for Human Rights. She also
collaborated with the Faculty of Law of the University of Trento, Italy.
Between 2006 and 2014 she worked as counsel for a law firm in Verona
and carried out substantial activity as independent legal consultant for
 Notes on Contributors xi

different NGOs, research centres and international law firms, such as

Human European Consultancy BV, The Netherlands, Konrad Stiftung
Adenauer Foundation, Italy/Germany, European Foundation Centre,
Belgium and Germann Avocats, Switzerland. Since 2004, she has taken
part in different academic research projects and policy-oriented studies
mainly covering the fields of EU law, European constitutional law and
international and comparative disability law.

Kristina Irion is Marie Curie Fellow at the Institute for Information

Law (IViR) at the University of Amsterdam where she is implement-
ing a research project on governing digital information. She is a
faculty (on research leave) at the Departments of Public Policy and
Legal Studies at Central European University in Budapest, Hungary.
She holds a Juris Doctor degree from Martin Luther University, Halle-
Wittenberg, Germany, and a master’s degree in Information Technol-
ogy and Telecommunications Law from the University of Strathclyde,
Glasgow, UK. She has worked in the field of audiovisual media, elec-
tronic communications and data protection regulation and policy for
ten years as an academic and professional. She was a key personnel of
four collaborative European research projects on privacy, independent
media regulatory bodies and building functioning media institutions.
She provided expertise to the European Commission, the Council of
Europe, the OECD and ENISA and collaborated with the Centre for
European Policy Studies (CEPS). She is a member of the international
advisory boards of the Electronic Information Privacy Center (EPIC) and
Privacy International.

Anna Kandyla is a doctoral researcher at the Department of Political

and Social Sciences of the European University Institute in Florence.
She holds a bachelor’s degree in Communications and Mass Media
from the University of Athens and an MA in Political Behaviour from
the University of Essex. She has worked as a research assistant at the
Hellenic Foundation for European and Foreign Policy in Athens and the
Amsterdam School of Communications Research in Amsterdam. She has
also held research positions in the field of market and public opinion
research.

Tania Kyriakou has studied law in the Kapodistrian University of

Athens (LLB), in La Sapienza University of Rome (Erasmus programme)
and in the University of Edinburgh (LLM, PhD). She has taught legal
theory and European law in the Universities of Edinburgh and Warwick.
xii Notes on Contributors

She is a legal counsellor at the Hellenic Ministry of Culture, Educa-

tion and Religious Affairs and she teaches European law (online LLM
programmes of the University of Liverpool) and bioethics (Master of
Philosophy, Kapodistrian University of Athens). Her research interests
are mainly in the areas of legal theory, European law, human rights,
political philosophy, bioethics and biopolitics.

Jan Loisen is Assistant Professor of Communication Studies at Vrije

Universiteit Brussel and a senior researcher in the policy unit of
the research centre iMinds-SMIT (Studies on Media, Information
and Telecommunication). His research focuses on international and
European media policy, where cultural concerns and trade interests meet
in particular. He has published widely on the topic of media and cul-
tural policy as negotiated in the World Trade Organization, related to
UNESCO’s Cultural Diversity Convention, within the European Union,
and in bilateral trade agreements.

Annabelle Littoz-Monnet is an associate professor at the Graduate

Institute of International and Development Studies in Geneva. Before
joining the Graduate Institute, she has also taught at the Central
European University, Budapest (2005–2009). She is the author of The
European Union and Culture: Between Economic Regulation and European
Cultural Policy (2007). She has published on EU cultural policy, the
politics of European memory, European integration theory and global
governance.

Giuseppe Mazziotti is Assistant Professor of Intellectual Property Law

at Trinity College Dublin and an Italian attorney specialising in intel-
lectual property law, media law and information technology law. From
2009 to 2011 he was Assistant Professor of Intellectual Property Law at
the University of Copenhagen. He was a visiting scholar at the Univer-
sity of California, Berkeley (2004/2005) and at Columbia Law School,
New York (2010/2011), and a fellow at the Berkman Center for Inter-
net and Society at Harvard University (2011/2012). He is an associate
fellow at the Centre for European Policy Studies (CEPS) in Brussels
and works as a consultant for MEDIARTIS (http://mediartis.it/en). He
has advised IFPI (representing the recording industry worldwide), the
European Commission (DG Connect), the European Parliament (DG
for Internal Policies) and the Italian Ministry for Cultural Heritage and
Activities on various projects concerning intellectual property law and
information technology. Giuseppe Mazziotti holds a summa cum laude
 Notes on Contributors xiii

Juris Doctor degree (2001) from the University of Perugia and a Master of
Research (2003) and a PhD in Law (2007) from the European University
Institute in Florence.

John Morijn works at the Dutch Permanent Representation to the EU

and has a part-time position as a university lecturer at the Department
of European Law of the University of Groningen. He holds specialised
degrees in EU and international law from the College of Europe in
Bruges and the European University Institute in Florence. He contributes
in a personal capacity.

Evangelia Psychogiopoulou is Marie Curie Fellow at the Department

of International and European Law of the Faculty of Law of Maastricht
University. She holds a Degree in Law from the Kapodistrian University
of Athens, a DEA in EU Law from Paris 1 University, a Master of Research
in Law from the European University Institute and a PhD in Law from
the European University Institute. Her PhD thesis focused on the inte-
gration of cultural considerations in EU law and policies (Article 167(4)
TFEU). She has held research and management positions at the Academy
of European Law, Florence, Italy, the Directorate General Education and
Culture of the European Commission and the Hellenic Foundation for
European and Foreign Policy, Athens, Greece. She has also conducted
research for the EU institutions and UNESCO by coordinating and par-
ticipating in several collaborative research projects. From April 2010 to
March 2013, she was the coordinator of MEDIADEM, an EU-funded
project on free and independent media (www.mediadem.eliamep.gr).
She also works as a legal counsellor at the Hellenic Ministry of Culture,
Education and Religious Affairs. Her research interests lie in the fields
of (EU) cultural and media policies, and human rights protection. Her
articles have appeared, among others, in European Law Journal, European
Law Review, Legal Issues of Economic Integration, European Foreign Affairs
Review, International Journal of Media and Cultural Politics and European
State Aid Law Quarterly. Her publications include: The Integration of Cul-
tural Considerations in EU Law and Policies (2008), The European Court
of Human Rights and the Rights of Marginalised Individuals and Minori-
ties in National Context (co-edited, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, Brill,
2010), Understanding Media Policies: A European Perspective (ed., Palgrave
Macmillan, 2012), and Media Policies Revisited: The Challenge for Media
Freedom and Independence (ed., Palgrave Macmillan, 2014).

Tim Raats is a senior researcher for the Centre for Studies on Media,
Information and Telecommunication (iMinds-SMIT). He holds a PhD
xiv Notes on Contributors

in Media and Communication Sciences from Vrije Universiteit Brussel.

He joined SMIT in 2007 after graduating magna cum laude in Com-
munication Sciences at Vrije Universiteit Brussel. His doctoral research
focused on the role and position of public service media as hubs in
a networked society, and analysed partnership policy, strategies and
practices of public broadcasters. His scientific fields of interest include
media management and policy issues. He specialises in public service
media partnerships and independent television production sector devel-
opments. He is currently working on various audiovisual policy and
management challenges, such as talent management in the Flemish
audiovisual sector, the financing of TV drama and the effectiveness of
VRT’s stakeholder management.

Céline Romainville is a research fellow at the National Fund for

Scientific Research (FRS-FNRS) and a lecturer at the University of
Louvain-la-Neuve, the Free University of Brussels and the University
of Saint-Louis-Brussels. She holds a PhD in Law. She specialises in the
field of cultural rights and policies in constitutional and international
law. She is the author of Le droit à la culture, une réalité juridique. Le
régime juridique du droit de participer à la vie culturelle en droit constitution-
nel et en droit international (2014). Other publications of hers include:
‘Droit de participer à la vie culturelle et politiques culturelles’, Revue
belge de droit constitutionnel 2014/1, (7–31); and ‘Le droit constitution-
nel à l’épanouissement culturel’, in Les droits constitutionnels en Belgique,
M. Verdussen, N. Bonbled (eds.) (2011), 1473–1510. She has recently
edited a book on European Law and Cultural Policies/Droit européen et poli-
tiques culturelles (Peter Lang). She also works on contemporary issues
of human rights law and of constitutional law. On the latter subject,
she has recently published ‘Dynamics of Belgian plurinational federal-
ism: A small state under pressure’, Boston College Comparative Law Review
(Spring 2015, Vol. XXXVIII, no 2, 225–250).

Katharine Sarikakis is Professor of Media Industries, Media Organisa-

tion and Media Governance at the University of Vienna. She researches
national and global communications rights and media governance. Her
focus on public policy – addressing communication as technology and
process, as well as political and cultural forms of expression – investi-
gates the intervention and involvement of the state in media industries
and the lives of individuals as media users. She served as the chair of the
Communication Law and Policy Section of the European Communica-
tion Research and Education Association (ECREA) for six years, where
she is currently a re-elected member of its executive board. Among other
 Notes on Contributors xv

international and intergovernmental organisations, she is a member of

the International Association for Media and Communication Research
(IAMCR). She is currently publishing on the problems of control over
citizenship through commercial and political surveillance in the forms
of cultural policies of copyright, labour and ownership. Her upcom-
ing monograph, Communication and Control, is contracted by Palgrave
Macmillan.

Peggy Valcke is Research Professor of ICT and Media Law at KU Leuven

and a visiting professor at the University of Tilburg. She was a part-time
professor at the European University Institute in Florence in 2014 and
a visiting professor at Central European University in Budapest in 2006.
She is ICRI/CIR’s Research Director within the Security Department
of iMinds. She has a broad experience with working in international
and interdisciplinary research teams. In previous years she has been
involved in over 30 research projects (funded by the European Com-
mission, KU Leuven, Fund for Scientific Research-Flanders, the Agency
for Innovation by Science and Technology, iMinds, national authorities
and regulators) dealing with legal aspects of IT and media innovation.
In 2008–2009, she served as project leader for the EU-funded study ‘Indi-
cators for Media Pluralism in the Member States – Towards a Risk-Based
Approach’ and in 2009–2010 as senior legal expert for the INDIREG
project. She has served as an expert for organisations like the European
Commission, the Council of Europe, the German Media Concentration
Commission, as well as administrations and authorities in Belgium. She
is an assessor of the Belgian Competition Authority and member of the
General Chamber of the Flemish Media Regulator since 2008. She was
a member of Google’s Advisory Council on the Right to be Forgotten
and she is currently a member of Digital Minds for Belgium, a work-
ing group convened by Belgium’s Minister for Telecommunications and
Digital Agenda (A. De Croo).
Introduction
Evangelia Psychogiopoulou

Culture is one of the most puzzling and perplexing policy domains

that the European Union (EU or the Union) has entered. The rela-
tively contained EU remit for the development of a cultural policy,
reflected in Article 167 of the Treaty on the Functioning of the European
Union (TFEU), in recognition of member states’ preponderant role in
the field, should not hide from view an array of EU policies that are
not meant to be about culture yet touch upon it. The limited cultural
policy space that the EU possesses, in accordance with its competences,
goes hand in hand with a number of EU policy venues where significant
regulatory or financial choices are made with important cultural and
political economy implications – those concerned with market-building
and functioning, social development and cohesion, or the EU’s relations
with partner countries and regions, including trade and cooperation
for development. This is because of culture’s transversal nature, which
allows for links to be drawn with various EU policy domains, its socio-
economic impact, which facilitates the drawing of such links, in the
light of the EU’s pre-eminent socio-economic focus, and also the recog-
nition of culture’s potential to forge links between people and spread
democratic and social values.
From the 2000s onwards, the unprecedented challenges raised by
globalisation, digitalisation and changes brought in cultural produc-
tion, distribution and consumption have markedly affected the context
within which EU cultural action is conceived and developed. Cultural
activities have spread, with unparalleled opportunities for cultural cre-
ation, access and enjoyment, due to the emergence and broad uptake of
new communication tools. Globalisation and Europe’s large immigra-
tion influx have increased exposure to cultures from across the world,
strengthening cultural encounters. At the same time, they have raised

1
2 Introduction

key questions about the EU’s ability to ensure intercultural and cohe-
sive societies based on mutual understanding, tolerance and respect for
shared values. Significantly, the recent economic crisis and the period of
austerity that it triggered, with growing disparities between and within
the member states, and harsh budget cuts, including in the field of cul-
ture (Bonet and Donato, 2011), have also had a profound impact on EU
cultural action. Culture has been seen as a major source of employment
and a facilitator of social cohesion, becoming intrinsically connected
to the EU’s industrial, economic and social policies (Council, 2011a).
Such developments have been complemented by the strengthening and
consolidation of the EU’s involvement in fundamental rights. The entry
into force of the Treaty of Lisbon has given treaty status to the Charter
of Fundamental Rights (CFR) of the EU, which contains various culture-
related provisions. EU legislation that sets fundamental rights standards
has, in turn, significantly expanded, and some of these standards have
important cultural repercussions.1
This book seeks to explore how the EU adapts to changing paradigms
in its confrontation with culture. In what ways does the EU intervene
in the field of culture and through what policies and processes? How
are cultural issues framed at EU level and in the pursuit of what objec-
tives? What are the instruments and tools to which they give vent and
what is the latter’s rationale? Further, have changes in global governance
affected the ways in which the EU engages with culture? How does the
EU intersect with various international organisations that have a remit
or interest in the cultural field? These are the main questions that this
book sets out to address. In doing so, it aspires to work towards a better
understanding of the contribution of the EU to cultural governance.
Cultural governance is not yet recognised as a distinguished research
field (Čopič and Srakar, 2012). According to the Council of the EU
(Council), ‘[it] should be understood both as a method for delivering
cultural policies . . . [and] as a tool for deepening the integration of cul-
ture into the public policy agenda by coordinating cultural policies with
other sectoral policies’ (Council, 2012a: para. 6). Hence, for the Coun-
cil, cultural governance encompasses cultural policies in the strict sense,
that is, the policies concerned with culture as such, and the processes
through which these are formed as well as the whole range of policies
that relate one way or the other to culture. Cultural governance then
naturally extends to the instruments that such ‘explicit’ and ‘implicit’
cultural policies involve, in the form of regulatory tools but also finan-
cial instruments and soft law or coordinating mechanisms. Bearing in
mind that a diversity of ‘culture’ terms exists (Bennett and Frow, 2008)
 Evangelia Psychogiopoulou 3

both in academic and public discourse, Schmitt (2011) argues that both
‘narrower’ and ‘wider’ concepts of cultural governance are conceivable,
in line with the actual field of governance. Cultural governance may
concern policies on the arts, literature and tangible and intangible her-
itage. It may concern media policies or policies on a wider variety
of cultural and creative forms of expression, ranging from contempo-
rary music to design. It may also pertain to such issues as religion,
language and identity and therefore be closely associated with the recog-
nition and safeguarding of rights, such as equality rights or minority
rights.
In order to probe the contribution of the EU to cultural governance,
this book explores EU policies and instruments, which are of direct or
indirect relevance and importance to culture. It also sheds light on the
cultural dimension of the EU system of protection of fundamental rights.
The analysis is structured in four parts. The first part is devoted to the
EU’s cultural policy proper. Chapter 1 by Rachael Craufurd Smith traces
the early forays of EU institutions into the field of culture and discusses
the progressive development of a distinct EU cultural policy. Chapter 2
by Annabelle Littoz-Monnet explores the influence that the economic
rationale which underlies much of the EU’s activity has exerted on EU
cultural policy. Chapters 3 and 4 by Evangelia Psychogiopoulou and
Anna Kandyla address, respectively, key instruments of EU cultural pol-
icy: the newly launched cultural open method of coordination and the
Creative Europe programme (European Parliament and Council, 2013a).
The second, third and fourth parts of the book extend beyond the
EU’s cultural policy stricto sensu, probing the connections between cul-
ture and other fields of EU action (as well as their limits). Part II inquires
into the ways culture interconnects with a number of EU internal poli-
cies that have a predominant economic and market-oriented focus.
Chapter 5 by Tania Kyriakou focuses on the EU legal measures that
seek to reconcile the free movement of goods with the protection of
member states’ cultural treasures. Chapter 6 by Kristina Irion and Peggy
Valcke addresses the EU’s audiovisual media and electronic communica-
tion policies. Chapters 7 and 8 examine EU copyright law and policies:
Giuseppe Mazziotti discusses a broad range of copyright harmonisation
instruments, whereas Katherine Sarikakis deals specifically with collec-
tive rights management for the online exploitation of musical works.
Chapters 9 and 10 elaborate on the application of EU competition rules
in the field of culture. Delia Ferri studies the EU treatment of state
funding for the audiovisual sector, publishing, heritage protection and
cultural content more broadly. Karen Donders and Tim Raats delve into
4 Introduction

the application of EU state aid rules to state support for public service
media, which are commonly entrusted with cultural tasks.
Part III considers whether or not stronger EU commitment to fun-
damental rights has affected how cultural issues are characterised and
addressed at EU level. Chapter 11 by John Morijn examines the CFR and
the potential for its provisions to influence the way in which cultural
and economic concerns are balanced in the EU. Chapter 12 by Céline
Romainville discusses the CFR’s non-recognition of a right for every-
one to access culture. Chapter 13 by Tawhida Ahmed analyses minority
rights protection in the EU.
Part IV is concerned with the EU’s external policies and their cul-
tural dimension, their nesting with the policies prescribed by inter-
national organisations such as the World Trade Organization (WTO)
and the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organiza-
tion (UNESCO), and the EU cultural relations with partner countries
and regions. Chapter 14 by Mira Burri engages in a study of the cul-
tural discourse employed by the EU in the WTO, discussing moves
from a defensive ‘cultural exception’ towards a more proactive ‘cul-
tural diversity’ agenda. Chapters 15 and 16 examine different models
of EU cultural cooperation with third countries. Jan Loisen focuses on
the incorporation of cultural cooperation protocols in EU trade and
economic agreements, as well as the conclusion of stand-alone cultural
cooperation agreements with third countries, as a means to implement
the UNESCO Convention on the protection and promotion of the diver-
sity of cultural expressions (UNESCO, 2005), to which the EU is party
(Council, 2006). Selecting the Latin America and Mediterranean regions
as case studies, Carmina Crusafon points to the variety of policies,
instruments and processes upon which EU cultural cooperation with
partner countries is based.
Building on the previous chapters, the analysis ends with some con-
cluding observations by Evangelia Psychogiopoulou on EU treatment of
culture.

Note
1. See for instance Council (2000a, 2000b).
Part I
EU Cultural Policy
1
The Cultural Logic of Economic
Integration
Rachael Craufurd Smith

Introduction

The three initial European Communities were established to address the

economic and technological challenges facing Europe after the devasta-
tion of the Second World War. But if the immediate goals were expressly
economic and developmental, the long-term ones were also cultural and
political. Economic integration was seen as the ‘leaven from which will
grow a wider and deeper community between countries long opposed to
one another by sanguinary divisions’ (Schuman, 1950). In this sense it
was a direct response to, and rejection of, the nationalism, totalitarian-
ism and theories of racial superiority that had characterised the recent
Fascist regimes. As Ulrich Beck (2006: 163) has observed, ‘Europe’s col-
lective memory of the Holocaust provides the basis for the European
Union’.
This chapter considers how the cultural logic of economic integration
has gradually been elucidated and rendered explicit in the constitutional
documents, secondary legislation and judicial decisions of the European
Union (EU). It then outlines the development by the EU of an explicit
cultural policy, formally initiated with the introduction in 1992 of a spe-
cific article on culture, now Article 167 of the Treaty on the Functioning
of the European Union (TFEU). The analysis explores how the emphasis
of the various culture programmes has shifted over time and concludes
by arguing that, paradoxically, we now need to look outside the frame-
work of Article 167 TFEU if we wish to reconnect with the fundamental
values on which the EU was built.

I would like to thank James Buchan for his help with the editing of this chapter.

7
8 EU Cultural Policy

A cultural policy by any other name?

If the EU has been as much a cultural and political project as an eco-

nomic one, the founding Treaty establishing the European Economic
Community (TEEC) did not wear its cultural aspirations on its sleeve.
Admittedly, the preamble to the TEEC referred to the desire to create
an ‘ever closer union among the peoples of Europe’, to enhance social
as well as economic progress, to eliminate the barriers that divided
Europe and to safeguard peace and liberty, but the substantive text of
the TEEC mentioned ‘culture’ only once, in Article 131, which dealt
with relations between the European Economic Community (EEC) and
external territories associated with the member states. Article 131 TEEC
confirmed the importance of strengthening economic links with these
countries in order to enhance their prosperity as well as their social and
cultural development, the link between economic and cultural devel-
opment thus being explicit. With regard to internal relations among
the member states, however, the cultural impact of economic integra-
tion received little attention: there was some protection for national
treasures and intellectual property in relation to trade in goods (Arti-
cle 36 TEEC); a social policy and social fund were established to address
regional disparities among the member states (Articles 117–128 TEEC)
and the agriculture provisions called for the structural and natural dis-
parities between the different regions to be taken into account (Article
39(2) TEEC, see Von der Schulenburg, Graf and Rossi, 1961).
Some states concluded from this apparent omission that the EEC had
no competence in the cultural field and that cultural matters were sim-
ply excluded. This, however, was to misunderstand the nature of the
TEEC, which applied generally to cross-border economic activities, save
for a few limited exceptions. The TEEC contained no exception for cul-
ture and, given the contested nature of the term, ranging from the
high arts to everyday customs, as well as the overlap between culture
and commerce, such an exception would have rendered the application
of the TEEC both contentious and patchy. There were, moreover, spe-
cific indications in the TEEC that no such exclusion was intended: as
noted above, Article 36 TEEC (now Article 36 TFEU) authorised states
to derogate from the free movement of goods provisions on grounds
of morality and to protect ‘national treasures having artistic, historic or
archaeological value’ and intellectual property, provided such measures
did not constitute a means of arbitrary discrimination or a disguised
restriction on trade. Article 36 TEEC confirmed, therefore, that products
reflecting even contested cultural practices and mores as well as more
 Rachael Craufurd Smith 9

traditional ‘elite’ cultural expressions could all fall within the scope
of the Treaty, along with measures designed to ensure funding for the
cultural and creative sectors.
Subsequent state and judicial practice confirmed this view. Thus, a
specific derogation for performing artists and musicians from the free
movement of workers provisions during the transitional period was
adopted in order to protect domestic performers from being undercut
by foreign labour (Haase, 1975: 33). If any doubts remained, these were
removed by the Court of Justice of the EU (former European Court of
Justice, ECJ) in its 1968 Commission v. Italy art treasures ruling.1 This con-
firmed that the TEEC covered all products that could be the subject of
commercial transactions, including the art treasures at issue in the case.2
If the TEEC was culturally blind in terms of its scope, it was not cultur-
ally agnostic in terms of its application. Its primary target was cultural
chauvinism, in that for economic integration to be effective, member
states would have to dismantle their exclusionary trade and employ-
ment rules, opening the way to a new culture of exposure, tolerance
and accommodation. In particular, Articles 7 and 119 TEEC prohibited,
within the scope of the TEEC, all discrimination on grounds of national-
ity and required equal pay for men and women for equal work. Products
and workers could no longer be excluded from domestic markets simply
on the basis that they originated in another member state or, in certain
contexts, be discriminated against on the basis of their sex.
Three cultural aspects of economic integration merit particular atten-
tion here. The first is the extent to which the free movement and
competition rules in the TEEC restricted the capacity of member states
to steer cultural developments within their territories. Not only did the
TEEC prohibit explicit forms of discrimination based on nationality or
sex, it also put in place mechanisms by which even apparently non-
discriminatory measures could be monitored to ensure that they did not
operate indirectly to perpetuate discrimination. In an important line of
cases, finding its roots in Dassonville,3 and Cassis de Dijon,4 the ECJ held
that the free movement provisions of the TEEC could apply to domestic
rules that indirectly impede access to foreign goods, services and work-
ers. As a result, a range of culturally motivated regulations that many
states would have expected to fall outside the scope of the TEEC were
brought under judicial scrutiny. The ECJ, however, also acknowledged
that ‘indistinctly applicable measures’ of this type could potentially be
justified on a range of public interest grounds, which subsequent cases
have confirmed include cultural concerns, such as the maintenance of
media pluralism,5 and linguistic diversity.6
10 EU Cultural Policy

All such restrictions must be proportionate, however, and not consti-

tute a disguised form of protection. Member states have often failed to
convince the ECJ in this respect.7 Where the cultural expression plays
a defining role in establishing group identity, such as a language, or
is closely linked to a state’s fundamental values, such as human dig-
nity, the ECJ has been more willing to allow restrictive measures to be
retained.8 In other cases it has been prepared to let the logic of the inter-
nal market run its course.9 The TEEC did not, however, prevent states
from regulating solely domestic industry in order to preserve indigenous
products or distinctive practices, thereby enhancing cultural diversity
‘from within’.10
Where states provide financial support for domestic cultural bodies the
EU state aid rules come into play (Articles 107–109 TFEU). There was no
specific derogation for aid for cultural purposes until 1992, when a new
derogation for ‘aid to promote culture and heritage conservation’ (now
Article 107(3)(d) TFEU) was added by the Maastricht Treaty, with the
caveat that this should not unduly distort trading conditions and com-
petition in the Union. Financial aid for specific cultural sectors, such
as the film industry, was considered quite early on to be problematic,
potentially distorting competition among producers in different mem-
ber states. This was so even though the major competitors across most
of Europe were the US studios. Similarly, from the early 1980s, com-
mercial broadcasters began to question the legitimacy of state funding
for domestic public service broadcasters (Donders, 2012a). Quite cen-
tral elements of domestic cultural policy, specifically designed to address
deficiencies in the market provision of cultural goods and services, were
thus subjected to EU oversight and scrutiny (De Vinck and Pauwels,
2008: 298–300).
The second notable aspect of European integration stems directly
from the first. As the power to influence the cultural life of the country
shifts away from the state, so the power of the market and the individ-
ual as joint drivers of cultural change is enhanced. The internal market
created new opportunities for individuals to actively select from the
enhanced range of cultural opportunities and points of reference now
available, rather than simply follow established practices and value
systems through habit, legal requirement or the absence of viable alter-
natives. Exposure to different cultures as a result of travel, study or
work abroad; the presence of foreign products, services and workers
within one’s own state; access to foreign television or radio programmes,
literature or cinema; all encourage a comparative perspective where
automatic superiority is no longer ascribed to any one set of cultural
 Rachael Craufurd Smith 11

practices (Kurzer, 2001). This cosmopolitan sensibility is, of course, more

a matter of choice for some than others – travel to another member state,
for example, is often an economic necessity (Beck, 2006: 157), while for
those who do not wish to engage with this diversity, cosmopolitanism
poses unwanted challenges to cherished certainties often disturbingly
close to home.
The third aspect is that where market forces are considered problem-
atic from a cultural point of view or supplementary action deemed
desirable, regulatory intervention increasingly takes place at the European
rather than the national level. As Stephen Weatherill (1995) observes,
European economic integration characteristically involves a process of
deregulation at the domestic level and re-regulation at the European
one. Although prior to the adoption of the Maastricht Treaty in 1992
the European Commission (Commission) was careful to emphasise that
it had no direct competence to develop cultural policy at the European
level, it did recognise the need to take targeted action to support the
cultural sector within the economic framework provided by the TEEC
(European Commission, 1977, 1982). Thus, the Commission proposed
a range of legislative initiatives designed, inter alia, to facilitate the free
movement of cultural workers and objects; address the illicit trade in art
objects; create training opportunities for young cultural workers; and
harmonise the copyright and tax rules in the field. A pilot support pro-
gramme for Europe’s fragmented audiovisual sector was introduced in
1986 (European Commission, 1986; for early concerns see European
Commission, 1964), followed by the first MEDIA programme in 1991.
This was adopted by the Council of the European Economic Commu-
nity (1990) (now Council of the EU, Council) under Article 235 TEEC,
which allowed for supplementary action to realise EEC objectives where
there was no express basis in the TEEC (now Article 352 TFEU).
Many of these measures were attractive to the member states because
they provided a level of protection that it would have been difficult
for states to achieve on their own. The introduction, for example, of
a scheme for geographic indications under the agricultural provisions
in the TEEC provided a level of pan-European protection for tradi-
tional food and drink that previously would have required a complex
network of bi- and multilateral treaties to take effect.11 Such measures
also reflect a long-standing awareness on the part of the EU that cul-
ture can be an important driver of economic development and the
Structural Funds, in particular, have provided significant funding for
culture-related projects to support economic development in Europe’s
most disadvantaged areas.12
12 EU Cultural Policy

Despite these potential advantages, the cultural logic of economic

integration remained deeply troubling for certain member states –
creating a new focus for identity beyond the nation state and displac-
ing established cultural connections. EEC initiatives intended to foster a
sense of European or common identity were consequently often stalled
or, alternatively, contained through limited funds in order to make them
acceptable to the more sceptical member states (regarding the EEC’s
largely unsuccessful attempts to create a European identity through
media initiatives see Theiler, 1999; Collins, 1994). The absolute abil-
ity of states such as the UK or Denmark to block initiatives that could
encroach on their own competence in the cultural field was undermined
by the move to Council qualified majority voting for internal market
measures in 1987.13 Oblique or inadequate attention to cultural consid-
erations in EU legislation has also been a product of the relatively low
ranking of cultural ministries and directorates within both domestic and
EU governmental hierarchies (Schindler, 2012: 17–18).
Within the EU there have been a number of developments that, work-
ing in tandem, could mitigate these concerns, though their potential
has yet to be fully realised. The first was the introduction in the original
culture article, Article 128 of the Treaty establishing the European Com-
munity (TEC),14 of a requirement that the European Community (EC)
should ‘take cultural aspects into account in its action under other provi-
sions of the Treaty’, subsequently amended by the Treaty of Amsterdam
to include the phrase ‘in particular in order to respect and to promote
the diversity of its cultures’ (Psychogiopoulou, 2008, especially 55–84).
This underlines that ‘taking culture into account’ has both protective
and promotional dimensions: not only is the EU required to step back
from action that could be detrimental for cultural diversity but also
to consider whether additional support is needed for culture in, for
example, its various funding programmes.
Academics and those working in the cultural sector have been gener-
ally critical of the operation of the ‘cultural mainstreaming clause’ (now
Article 167(4) TFEU) (Gordon, 2010; Psychogiopoulou, 2008: 347–348;
Schindler, 2012: 6). Undoubtedly, cultural concerns have been accom-
modated in specific measures and, in some contexts, taken extremely
seriously.15 Christopher Gordon, however, cites a number of cases where
the cultural impact of legislation was simply overlooked, while Jörg
Schindler notes that out of approximately 13,300 ECJ decisions between
1997 and 2012 the number of cases where cultural aspects were explic-
itly mentioned was in the lower two digit range (Gordon, 2010: n. 34
at 109–110; Schindler, 2012: 8). To this extent, the high hopes of those
 Rachael Craufurd Smith 13

who supported the introduction of the horizontal mainstreaming clause

on the basis that it would lead to more transparent, empirically based,
decision-making were not realised.
In response, Schindler proposes the inclusion of a paragraph on cul-
ture in the Commission’s Impact Assessment Guidelines, backed by
more detailed guidelines, drawn up with the participation of civil soci-
ety organisations (Schindler, 2012: 21). Considerable work has, in fact,
already been carried out by the EU to establish workable indicators
for the cultural sector, which, together with studies by national and
international bodies such as the United Nations Educational, Scien-
tific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) and the Council of Europe
(CoE), provides an extensive empirical and theoretical base on which
systematic cultural impact assessments could be built (Bakhshi, Freeman
and Hitchen, 2009; Schindler, 2012: Fig.1, 12; ESSNET-Culture, 2012;
KEA et al., 2006). Evangelia Psychogiopoulou (2008: 348) has also
suggested the appointment of ‘key officials responsible for a cultural
mainstreaming strategy’ and the provision of training for the develop-
ment of ‘culturally sensitive policies’ in order to improve the way in
which cultural issues are analysed and integrated in EU policy-making
in the future.
The second development, identified as a priority in the 2007 Com-
mission Agenda for culture in a globalizing world (the Cultural Agenda)
(European Commission, 2007a: 11–12), concerns the way in which the
Commission has sought to ‘map’ and pull together the rather atomised
cultural and civil society organisations working in the field to form pan-
European networks. These networks enable a more effective exchange
of information and representative consultations on EU policy develop-
ment. If Article 167(4) TFEU is to be taken seriously then more structured
dialogue with the cultural sector along these lines is essential. Infor-
mal input into EU policy development is also facilitated by the Cultural
Fora organised each year by the Commission, providing an opportunity
for representatives from the sector, policy-makers and administrators to
meet and discuss key concerns or developments.
The third development is the ascription of Treaty status to the Char-
ter of Fundamental Rights (CFR) of the EU by what is now Article 6
of the Treaty on European Union (TEU). Articles 22 and 25 CFR call
on the EU to ‘respect cultural, religious and linguistic diversity’ and
to respect the ‘rights of the elderly . . . to participate in social and cul-
tural life’. The Charter also underlines the balance that may have to
be struck between cultural diversity and other Charter values such as
human dignity. If Article 22 CFR establishes principles rather than rights
14 EU Cultural Policy

then it is likely to operate primarily as an interpretative tool, though

principles can also found actions for judicial review of EU and member
state implementing measures (Article 52(5) CFR). It is arguable that the
scope for review extends beyond those measures specifically designed
to give effect to the Charter principle at issue (see Advocate General
Cruz Villalón, 2013: para. 70). The ‘explanatory notes’ to the Charter
state that principles cannot, however, be used as the basis for claims
for positive action on the part of the EU or member states (Praesidium,
2007: 35).
If understood as establishing a right to respect for cultural diversity,
Article 22 CFR would have to be considered in the context of specific
fundamental rights impact assessments and could encourage greater
attention to cultural issues in the well-established gender and environ-
mental impact assessments (Schindler, 2012). Though the exact status
of Article 22 CFR has still to be established, it is clear that respect for
cultural diversity, a largely implicit objective underlying the early moves
towards economic integration, is now an express and fundamental value
of the European legal order (Arzoz, 2008a; Craufurd Smith, 2014). This
is further confirmed by the inclusion of new Article 3(3) TEU, which
states that the Union ‘shall respect its rich cultural and linguistic diver-
sity, and shall ensure that Europe’s cultural heritage is safeguarded and
enhanced’.

The development of an explicit cultural policy by the EU

Evidence suggests that the faith the founders placed in the cultural logic
of economic integration may not have been misplaced, in that individ-
ual interaction with different groups can increase appreciation of living
in a multicultural society. Citizens who engage in cultural exchanges
have been found, for example, to be far more likely to consider that
diversity highly enriches the culture of their own country than those
who do not (27 percent v. 15 percent – The Gallup Organisation, 2007:
7),16 while those who report that they have had recent contact with
a representative of a non-mainstream culture have been found twice
as likely to express ‘cosmopolitan’ views as those who did not (30
percent v. 16 percent (ibid.: 9)). Nevertheless, the number of individ-
uals with an open, cosmopolitan mindset varies considerably within
and across member states. In a recent Eurobarometer study, two-thirds
of Europeans (67 percent) were ranked ‘low’ on the study’s ‘openness
index’, assessing Europeans’ openness to other EU countries (European
Commission, 2013a: 43–44).17 There has also been a downward trend
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
proved ever fertile soil for plots and rebellions. Had the latter
depended for their source only on race hatred, Muley Hacen,
prompt, cunning, and pitiless, might have proved their match. It was
that curse of Eastern politics, the quarrels of the harem, that acting
on his sensual nature betrayed his statesmanship.
When well advanced in middle age, the Sultan had fallen a victim
to a slave girl of Christian origin and had raised her to the position of
his favourite wife, the Arabs calling her for her beauty “Zoraya,” or
“Light of the Morning.” This woman, who was as ambitious and
unscrupulous as she was fair, made common cause with a certain
Emir, Cacim Venegas, a descendant of an old Cordovan family, to
ruin all who opposed their power; and to their machinations had
been due the horrible massacre of the Abencerrages in the Alhambra,
whose name still marks the scene of the crime.
Chief of Zoraya’s enemies was the deposed favourite of the harem,
“Aixa,” “the Pure,” a Moorish lady of high birth and spotless
character, whose son, Abu Abdallah, more often alluded to by the
chroniclers as “Boabdil,” was universally regarded as his father’s
heir. To bring about his death and thus prevent his accession was the
main object of Zoraya’s life; but her rival was well aware of this and,
taking advantage of the fall of Alhama and the consequent loss of
Muley Hacen’s reputation as a general, she laid her schemes for
placing the sceptre in Boabdil’s hands.
The Sultan learnt of the plot on his return to Granada; and,
determining to exact vengeance at his leisure, he imprisoned his wife
and son in one of the strong towers of the Alhambra. All seemed lost;
but Aixa, inspired by the courage of despair, knotted together the
gaily coloured scarves that she and her ladies were wont to wear, and
by this rope let down Boabdil from her window to the banks of the
Darro. Here some attendants, who had been secretly warned,
awaited him; and the Moorish prince, setting spurs to his horse, went
swiftly to Guadix, a town perched amid the mountains of the
Alpujarras.
 ARMS BELONGING TO BOABDIL

FROM LAFUENTE’S “HISTORIA GENERAL DE ESPAÑOLA,”

VOL. VII.

The standard of rebellion was raised; and Muley Hacen, returning

one day from the gardens beyond the city walls, where he had been
dallying in idleness with Zoraya, found the gates closed against him.
The people, who had secretly hated him for his tyranny, now
despised him, and had therefore readily welcomed Boabdil, when he
came riding from Guadix to usurp the throne. The old Sultan was
forced to fly, but his spirit was far from broken; and, being joined not
only by Cacim Venegas and all his clan of relations and followers, but
also by his brother, the renowned warrior, Abdallah “El Zagal,” “the
Bold,” he determined to have his revenge.
One night, soon after dark, he appeared unexpectedly before the
city, and, scaling with his men the walls of the Alhambra, fell upon
the sleeping inhabitants sword in hand, sparing in his rage neither
grey-beards, women, nor children. For hours the fight raged through
the narrow streets, dimly lit from the windows above by hanging
lanterns and guttering torches. It was war to the death and no
quarter was given; but though Muley Hacen and his brother fought
with a courage that equalled their ferocity, the sympathy of the
people was with their enemies, and with difficulty at last they made
their escape. Malaga, on the shores of the Mediterranean, became
their new capital; and thus, just at a time when union was most
needed, the kingdom of Granada was divided against itself.
The final triumph of the Christian forces, though undoubtedly
hastened by the divisions amongst their enemies, was not to prove an
easy achievement; for the capture of Alhama and its subsequent
successful defence were soon counterbalanced by two disasters. In
both cases the cause was a self-confidence on the part of the Castilian
commanders, that blinded them to the ordinary precautions of
warfare.
Ferdinand, in the later years of his life, was regarded by his fellow
sovereigns as a model of sagacity and caution; but we have already
noticed the strain of romance and daring that rendered his youth the
less responsible if the more attractive. Nothing exasperated him so
much as to be told it was a king’s place to remain in safety and to
allow his generals to fight for him; and it had been a bitter moment
when he arrived at Cordova and found his intended relief-expedition
had been forestalled by the Duke of Medina-Sidonia. He had perforce
contented himself with meeting the party on their return at the
border town of Antequera; but he waited impatiently for a response
to the Queen’s letters that would enable him to take the initiative on
his own account. In time it came, and the sturdy mountaineers of
Biscay and Guizpucoa, to whose help he had once gone against the
French, now joined his banner along with the levies of Galicia and
Estremadura, and cavaliers from New and Old Castile.
Having collected his army, Ferdinand crossed the Moorish border
late in June, 1482, while Isabel dispatched a fleet to patrol the
Western Mediterranean and prevent assistance from Africa reaching
Muley Hacen in his retreat at Malaga. The objective of the Christian
army was the town of Loja, whose capture would ensure safe
communication with Alhama. It lay to the north-west of that outpost
in a deep valley traversed by the river Genil, almost like a gateway to
the Vega of Granada; and its wealth and natural beauty of situation
in the midst of frowning mountains had won for it the name of “the
flower amongst the thorns.”
The Christian forces, eager to pluck this flower and heedless of the
dangers in the path, advanced with rash haste between the ridges.
Ferdinand in his anxiety to approach the city pitched his camp on
uneven ground amid the surrounding olive-groves, in a position
wholly to the disadvantage of either his cavalry or artillery. At the
earnest entreaties of the Marquis of Cadiz and the Duke of
Villahermosa, who had preached caution from the first, an attempt
was made to rectify these mistakes, but it proved too late.
Aliator, the Governor of Loja, who was father-in-law of the young
Sultan Boabdil, had been on the watch from the first for any
opportunity of throwing the besiegers into confusion. He therefore
skilfully arranged an ambush; and, some of the Christians falling into
it, a sudden panic spread through the camp, that had begun to realize
the perils of its locality. Only a hasty retreat saved Castile from a
general massacre of her leading chivalry, nay even the loss of the
King himself; while many a gallant warrior, such as the Master of
Calatrava, came by his death. Ferdinand, in disgust at his
ignominious five days’ siege and the failure of his tactics, departed to
Cordova, leaving the command of the frontier in other hands.
Early in February, 1483, the Christians once more took the
offensive, hoping to wipe out their previous defeat by some victory of
unprecedented magnitude. Alonso de Cardenas, the Master of
Santiago, who had been placed in command of the border country in
the neighbourhood of Ecija, had learned through certain of his scouts
that, once an army had pierced the mountains near Ajarquia, it
would find itself in a fertile plain, not far removed from the city of
Malaga. Here would be a new vega, stocked with fat herds and with
opulent towns and villages, providing spoils for its conquerors even
more alluring than the riches of Alhama. In vain the Marquis of
Cadiz protested that these scouts were renegade Moors and should
not be trusted; the daring of the enterprise had won the assent of
Alonso de Cardenas and the other commanders against their better
judgment, while the bait of pillage was eagerly swallowed by the
ordinary soldiery.
From Antequera the army set out on its journey through the
mountains, more than three thousand horse and a thousand foot
with the banners of Seville, Cordova, Jerez, and other principal cities
of Andalusia, waving in their midst. Rarely had more famous names
graced a military enterprise: the Master of Santiago, hero of the
Portuguese war; the Marquis of Cadiz, victor of Alhama, with some
five more of the warlike house of Ponce de Leon; the Count of
Cifuentes now Asistente of Seville; and Don Alonso de Aguilar, a
renowned general whose star has somewhat paled before the
brilliance of his younger brother’s fame, Gonsalvo de Cordova—the
“Great Captain.” Behind these warriors and their troops came a
heterogeneous crowd of merchants and adventurers, their pockets
well stocked with gold for barter, and their hands ready for any
robbery that would bring them profit so long as the swords of those
in front had cleared a way to it in safety.
The selfish motives, that in most hearts prompted the undertaking,
were clearly shown on the first day’s march through the mountains.
High above them, ridge on ridge, stretched ragged peaks bare of all
save the most meagre vegetation; the roadway on the slope below
became a mere track, winding through ravines and stony river-beds.
Here and there were human habitations; but the peasantry, warned
by the glitter of spear and helmet, had long climbed to distant
heights or hidden with their cattle in secret caves. The Castilians,
picking their way in disorderly fashion between marsh and boulder,
revenged themselves for the lack of booty by firing the deserted
villages and huts until night fell; for of easy ground or promised vega
there was no sign. Then in the darkness came the sound of stones
and rocks clattering down the mountainside. Some of the horses
were struck and, with others frightened by the noise, bolted or
stumbled; lights began to appear along the ridge; and showers of
poisoned arrows to descend; missiles from which the Christians,
unable to retaliate, could find no adequate protection. A crowning
touch was put to the ever-growing horror, when it was discovered
that Muley Hacen, having learned of the invasion by means of
beacon fires, had sent his brother “El Zagal” and Abul Cacim Venegas
to the assistance of the mountaineers.
 ALHAMBRA, COURT OF LIONS

FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY
ANDERSON, ROME

Conscious of their helpless plight, the Castilians turned and fled.

“Into such evil case were they fallen,” says the chronicler, “that none
listened to the sound of the trumpet, nor followed a banner, nor paid
attention to those who were his leaders.”
The Moors, hanging on their rear, and descending in swarms from
the ridges above, broke between the lines, preventing one
commander from assisting another; while many of the scouts, either
of evil intention or from sheer terror, advised ways of escape that
ended in impassable ravines or mere goat-tracks across the peaks.
But a small portion of the gallant army that had set out with such
self-confidence from Antequera returned safe from the “Heights of
Slaughter,” as these mountains were ever afterwards known.
The Master of Santiago, finding it impossible to rally his forces,
borrowed a horse from his servants, and in the darkness escaped by
secret footpaths.
“I turn my back not on the Moors,” he exclaimed, “but on a
country that for our sins has shown itself hostile.”
The Marquis of Cadiz and Don Alonso de Aguilar, after many
detours and wanderings, also found their way to Antequera; but the
former had lost his three brothers and two nephews; while the Count
of Cifuentes, and others of the Christian army, almost to the number
of a thousand, were captured and led to Malaga.

This defeat [says the Curate of Los Palacios] was marvellous for the small band
of Moors by whom it was inflicted. It would seem that Our Lord consented,
because robbery or merchandise rather than His service had been the thought of
the majority. For many of the same acknowledged that they went not to fight
against the Infidels, as good Christians who had confessed their sins and received
the Sacrament, and made their will, and wished to fight against their enemies and
conquer them for the sake of the Holy Catholic Faith;—for but few of them had this
desire.

The shame and sorrow, aroused by the retreat from Loja, was as
nothing to the lamentations over this new disaster. There was
scarcely a man or a woman in Andalusia, it was said, who had not
cause to weep; but Castilian fortunes had touched their lowest depth.
“The good are punished for a time,” says the Curate of Los
Palacios, “because they have neglected God; but always He returns to
succour and console them.”
The victory of Ajarquia had redounded to the credit of Muley
Hacen, and still more to that of his brother “El Zagal,” with the result
that the popularity of Boabdil began to wane. Necessity demanded
that the young Sultan should take some steps to show his ability as a
general; and, since he was neither devoid of courage nor ambition, in
April, 1483, the gates of Granada were opened to permit the exodus
of himself and the flower of his nobility at the head of a picked army
of horse and foot. His plan of campaign was, marching through the
vega, to cross the Genil near Loja, where he would be reinforced by
his father-in-law, Aliator, and then on again beyond the Christian
frontier, till he arrived at Lucena in Andalusia, the object of his
attack.
 So much he achieved without difficulty; but the more superstitious
of his following shook their heads. Had not the King’s horse
stumbled in the very gateway of Granada, causing his master to
shiver his lance against the arch above? Had not a fox, also, rushed
scatheless through the army, almost in front of Boabdil himself,
without suffering hurt from the many arrows aimed at her? These
were ill omens.
More disconcerting for military minds was the bold defiance of
Don Diego Fernandez de Cordova, the youthful Governor of Lucena.
The Moors had hoped to surprise the town, but it was obvious news
of their coming had preceded them; for hardly had they spread
through the immediate neighbourhood, burning and pillaging, than
Don Diego and a small force of Christians flung open the gates and
began to attack them. This they would hardly have dared to do, had
they believed themselves unsupported; and Boabdil and Aliator,
looking behind them to account for this temerity, saw to their horror
the sun glittering on Christian spears and banners.
It was the Count of Cabra, uncle of Don Fernandez, with a troop of
not more than two hundred horse and double that number of foot;
but the sound of his trumpets re-echoing in the hills, and the curve of
the road by which he came, as it descended to the plain, lent to his
host a phantom size. The Moors at any rate believed it the whole
Christian army, and at the first onslaught their infantry broke and
fled. The cavalry still continued the battle fiercely, till the arrival of
Don Alonso de Aguilar with reinforcements from Antequera, and the
death of Aliator deprived them of the last hope of victory. Then
defeat became a rout; and some, surrendering, begged for mercy,
while others, missing the ford across the river in their hurry to
escape, were drowned in the heavy flood. A few returned to Loja, but
their king was not amongst them. Crouching amongst the low bushes
by the waterside, his scimitar struck from his hand, Boabdil, “the
Unfortunate” as astrologers had proclaimed him at his birth, was
forced to surrender, and led a captive to the city he had meant to
conquer.
The question of his fate was a matter for profound discussion in
Castilian councils. At first it was suggested that he should be placed
under lock and key in some inaccessible fortress; but the Marquis of
Cadiz pointed out that no decision could give Muley Hacen greater
pleasure. Better far than to remove Boabdil from Granada was to
send him back to his kingdom as a vassal of the Christian sovereigns,
that he might continue to foment discord amongst his own nation.
This advice pleased Ferdinand and Isabel, and soon the
humiliating terms, on which the Prince should receive his liberty,
were drawn up and signed. Boabdil did homage to the rulers of
Castile, consenting to pay an annual tribute of twelve thousand
doblas of gold, and to surrender four hundred Christian captives.
Most galling of all, he publicly promised to appear at the Castilian
Court, whenever summoned, and to allow the Christian armies free
passage through his territory, in their campaigns against Muley
Hacen and “El Zagal.” Having surrendered his own son and those of
his principal nobles as hostages for his good faith, he returned to his
own kingdom, free; yet bound by chains that were to cost him his
kingdom and hold him in perpetual bondage.
 CHAPTER VII
THE FALL OF GRANADA: THE MOORISH
WAR
1484–1492

The kingdom of Granada had been cut off by land and sea from
outward assistance, her plains and valleys had been ravaged by a
foreign foe, her principal towns were torn by the factions of her
ruling family, yet she turned a defiant, almost mocking gaze on those
who had pledged themselves to her downfall. The thought of this
defiance rankled with the Queen as bitterly as had the contempt
shown for her commands by the young Enriquez.
There was nothing in her nature of the Oriental acceptance of ill-
fortune as the will of a far-seeing Providence. Disaster to her spelt
rather divine wrath visited on human incompetency; and Isabel
looked on even temporary failure as something unclean and
abhorrent, that could only be purified and overcome by perseverance
ending in success. So sincere was her conviction, so wholehearted
and untiring her share in whatever plan of action was laid down, that
she could not but inspire her generals and councillors with
something of her own enthusiasm.
At times her will clashed with Ferdinand’s ambitions, as when in
1484 he urged her to leave the weary struggle against Granada and
help him regain the counties of Roussillon and Cerdagne; but though
in later years the foreign policy of Aragon was to assume
predominance, on this occasion the interests of Castile were jealously
maintained.
Ferdinand argued his cause with no little truth and ability. The
death of Louis XI. in the previous summer had left his son Charles
VIII., a mere boy, as the figurehead of France, to the natural
weakening of the government. Now was the time, before the child
developed into a man, to win back Aragon’s lawful possessions, the
Pyrenean counties, whose sympathies were Spanish rather than
French. Isabel did not attempt to controvert these views. She even
admitted that had it been a question of making war on Granada for
the first time, or recovering Roussillon or Cerdagne, the latter policy
would have been undoubtedly the best.
“But,” she continued, “seeing that it is now two years since we
began our war against the Moors, and that during that time we have
been put to great trouble and expense, I hold it as ill-advised that we
should burden ourselves with a fresh campaign elsewhere.”
She then departed southwards with the Cardinal of Spain to
arrange for a renewed invasion of Moorish territory, leaving the King
with some Castilian troops to settle his own projects in the north
according to his fancy. The result was, after due reflection, to bring
him back to her, with his designs on Roussillon and Cerdagne
temporarily shelved. There was nothing petty in the relation of either
husband or wife; and it is probable that the secret of their unanimity
of action lay in their mutual readiness to respond to reason.
It was about this date that their military policy developed a new
and more modern trend. The surprise of Alhama, the expedition to
Ajarquia, and the hasty march to Loja had all been in keeping with
the tactics of earlier crusades. That two out of the three expeditions
had failed showed either a lack of judgment or of courage; and the
reckless daring of the Castilian race forbade even the momentary
consideration of the latter suggestion. Where then did the error lie?
Experience showed that, in spite of her isolation, the kingdom of
Granada would not succumb to ordinary measures of ravage and
blockade. Even in the districts trampled underfoot, and burned and
pillaged by Christian armies, the vegetation hardly awaited the
departure of the invaders to spring up in fresh luxuriance. Ravages
that would have made the plains of Castile a desert were quickly
effaced in this land of sunshine, both by the help of nature and of the
industrious inhabitants. There were, moreover, hidden vegas and
tracts of seaboard, protected on the north both from cold winds and
foreign armies by high mountain ranges, whose southern slopes,
with the land stretching beyond them, were a veritable paradise of
fruits and crops. Granada might soon find her luxury curtailed, but
to starve her into submission would be a Herculean task.
Another lesson learned was the futility of a campaign of midnight
assaults and surprises. These were well enough for a single
expedition that aimed at no more than intimidating the enemy, or
establishing a reputation for heroism amongst the leaders, though it
has been shown such glory could be dearly bought. In scaling walls
or planting an ambush the Castilian had not anything to teach his
foe; while the majority of Moorish fortresses were built in
commanding positions by the entrance to ravines, or were perched
on almost inaccessible heights that gave to the defender with his
javelin and cross-bow an enormous advantage over those scrambling
up to the attack from below.
The reduction of such strongholds was a necessary part of the
conquest of Granada; but eight more years were to pass before the
task was completed, and the capital, whose ramparts were a series of
fortresses, was to surrender, subdued not so much by wild valour as
by untiring patience.
During these years the Castilian army lost much of its feudal
character, a transformation to be completed later, on the battlefields
of Italy under the supervision of Gonsalvo de Cordova. The levies of
the principal nobles had been the backbone of the war against the
Portuguese, and still supplied no mean contribution to the Christian
forces in the kingdom of Granada. The military retainers of the
Cardinal of Spain numbered some two thousand men, while, as we
have already seen, a combination of the vassals of the Duke of
Medina-Sidonia and Marquis of Cadiz was sufficient to make Muley
Hacen raise the siege of Alhama. This same Duke, in addition to his
land forces, was able, in 1487, to dispatch a private fleet and convoy
of provisions to the royal camp at Malaga, then suffering from
famine; but the wealth and power that could give these substantial
proofs of loyalty were not without their drawbacks. The patriotic
Duke, when touched in his vanity, did not hesitate to refuse
Ferdinand’s commands as to the disposal of his troops, exclaiming
touchily: “I have brought them to his service, but they shall go
nowhere save under my command.”
The sovereigns dealt with such aristocratic independence by their
usual policy of creating a counter-balance. They had established a
permanent troop of soldiers in Galicia, paid by their treasury, to
enforce the sentences of the royal judges in that unruly province;
while the natural sequence of their employment of the Santa
Hermandad for the restoration of order was the dispatch of its well-
armed bands to the seat of war.
The royal forces were further recruited by numbers of the robbers
and evildoers, who had created such havoc in Castile in the early
years of the reign. It had been impossible to punish them all, as was
shown in the case of Seville; and now a free pardon was offered to
those who would take their share in the great crusade and turn their
love of violence to patriotic use. Strict regulations prevented them
from yielding to their old habits; for the work of pillage and plunder
was kept within the bounds then considered legitimate, the women
and the camp followers who preyed upon the troops were banished;
and even gambling, a customary pastime of the soldiery and ever-
fruitful source of quarrels, was suppressed.
In addition to the troops already mentioned Ferdinand also
possessed what might be called his own private army, amounting to
three thousand men, personally pledged to his service. It consisted of
vassals of the royal demesnes led by their adelantados; an escort of
young nobles and knights and a royal guard of some five hundred
ginetes, or light horse, with an equal number of heavily armed
cavalry.
As the war grew more serious the purely Spanish troops were
augmented by mercenaries, principally Swiss mountaineers. “Hardy
warriors who fight on foot,” Pulgar describes them, “so resolved
never to turn their back on the enemy that they wear defensive
armour only in front, and are thus able to move with the greater
ease.” The Swiss had won their laurels against Charles the Bold on
the fields of Granson and Nanci; but even farther reaching than their
vindication of national independence had been the triumph in their
persons of infantry over cavalry; another blow struck at the old
feudal ideas. In the war of Granada, it is still the cavalry who hold
sway; but the presence of the Swiss foot-soldiers was not without its
influence in the history of Spain, whose infantry, drilled and
disciplined after their method by Gonsalvo de Ayora in the latter
years of Ferdinand’s reign, was to become the admiration and fear of
Europe.
 More immediate in its effects was the improvement of the artillery,
a department of war that came under the Queen’s special
supervision, and on which she expended her usual vivid interest and
energy. A study of the almost barren results of the first two years of
fighting had made it obvious that future campaigns must resolve
themselves into a war of sieges, a war whose ultimate issue depended
not so much on cavalry or infantry as on gunners and engineers.
Isabel had already summoned from Germany and Flanders the men
most gifted in this particular branch of military science, placing at
their head Francisco Ramirez, a knight of Madrid, whose knowledge
and experience was to win him the nickname “El Artillero.”

DOUBLE BREECH-LOADING CANNON, IN BRONZE; USED IN

SPAIN FROM THE END OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY

FROM “SPANISH ARMS AND ARMOUR”

REPRODUCED BY COURTESY OF THE AUTHOR, MR. A. F.

CALVERT
 During the campaigns against the Moors in the reign of John II.,
Isabel’s father, the Christian army had been proud of its five
“lombards” or heavy guns; but the growing importance of the
artillery can be estimated, when we learn that in 1486, at the second
siege of Loja, there were twenty lombards in action, while in two of
the batteries placed before Malaga there were eleven heavy pieces,
without counting the smaller ordnance.
Some of the very lombards employed in the attack on Baeza can
still be seen in that city, constructed of thick bars of iron clamped
together by rings of the same metal; while in the fields around the
peasants dig up balls of iron and marble, that once made such havoc
of the ramparts. Beside a modern field-gun these cannon appear
ludicrously clumsy. Fixed so that they could be pointed neither to the
right nor left, without changing the position of the whole machine,
and built only to fire horizontally, the weight of their ammunition
prevented the powder used from igniting quickly; yet compared with
the artillery of bygone days their discharge had the swiftness of the
wind. When two lombards could arrive between them at one
hundred and forty shots within the day, their gunners could proclaim
a marvellous achievement; and Isabel looking round on her
formidable batteries could boast, as Prescott has complimented her,
on having “assembled a train of artillery, such as was probably not
possessed at that time by any other European potentate.”
The kingdom of Granada, regardless of her enemy’s heavy guns,
still kept her derisive smile. Fatal to the most solid masonry these
lombards might prove indeed, when once in action, but who should
bring them by river-bed and goat-track to assault fortresses and
castles built on crags, that had hitherto defied the approach even of a
battering-ram?
It was a question that might have dismayed the most intrepid of
generals; but Isabel was of the fibre of which Hannibals and
Napoleons are made. She recognized difficulties but to overcome
them; and the actual provision of guns was merely a section of her
extensive preparations. Carpenters, blacksmiths, stone-masons,
bricklayers, colliers, weavers of ropes and baskets; these were but a
few of the army of workmen and engineers who built bridges, filled
in valleys, and levelled heights, that the artillery might reach their
destination. At the head of each department was an official deputed
to see that nothing was lacking to his branch of the work, whether
food for the troops, fodder for the horses, wood for carts and bridges,
forges for iron-moulding, powder fetched from Sicily, Flanders, or
Portugal, or marble and stone to be fashioned into shot.
In the end two thousand gun-carriages, drawn by oxen, lumbered
heavily across the frontier, and soon were winding up the mountains
into the heart of Granada by peak and ridge. Pulgar describes how a
road more than three leagues in length was constructed within
twelve days “by the command and great insistence of the Queen”;
while the Curate of Los Palacios, lost in awe and admiration, declares
that “he who had not seen the passes by which those monstrous
lombards and heavy artillery made their way would have deemed it a
thing incredible.”
“The Queen has provided for every need,” wrote the Italian
scholar, Peter Martyr, to the Archbishop of Milan, when at the seat of
war before Baeza; and his letter shows that Isabel’s thoughts were
not wholly occupied with the destruction of the Infidel.

It is well worth while [he adds] to see the four large hospital tents that her
goodness of heart has designed, not only for the succour and cure of the wounded,
but for every imaginable illness. Such is the number of doctors, chemists, surgeons,
and their assistants; such the organization and energy; such the quantity of
supplies that it is in no way inferior to your Hospital of the Holy Ghost outside the
city, or to the great one in your Milan.

The “Queen’s Hospitals,” as they were called, were in keeping with

the other methods of warfare now adopted by the sovereigns, and
show their intention that the old careless campaigning of the past
should cease. On the one hand the Castilian soldier should be
assured in return for his patriotism of all that foresight and care
could do for him; on the other there should be meted out to the
enemy either the prospect of submission or the alternative of death
or slavery. Ferdinand showed himself ready to grant favourable
terms to those cities that opened their gates at his summons;
allowing the inhabitants to seek their fortunes elsewhere with what
goods they could carry, or to remain if they preferred as his subjects.
In the latter case he assured them of his protection, a promise that he
strictly enforced to the admiration of the chroniclers and dismay of
his own troops.
His vengeance on rebellious mudejares, as the Moors were called
who had at any time accepted the Castilian yoke, was in inverse ratio
to this clemency, as the smoking ruins of Benemaquez were to bear
witness.

And the King [we are told] commanded justice to be executed on those Moors
who were within; and there were put to the sword, or hung, one hundred and eight
of the principal men, and he commanded the rest with the women and children to
be made captive, and that the town should be burnt and its walls razed to the
ground.

Equally drastic was the new campaign of devastation that marked

the trail of the Christian army. No longer were inroads to be made
only in the spring, but instead a perpetual invasion, slackening in the
hottest months when the sun forbade strenuous action, and renewed
again with the coming of autumn, that neither crops nor fruit might
have time to recover from the previous onslaught. For this work of
destruction were set aside thirty thousand foragers, whose task it
was, spreading out on either side of the main army often to the
distance of two leagues, to burn all the mills, orchards, and trees
within that area.
“Both to the right and left we lay waste fields, houses, demesnes,
everything in fact that we see,” says a letter of Peter Martyr,
describing the Christian advance on Granada, “and every day we
press on further. Thus the Moors grow more and more enfeebled.”
Such a policy of siege and destruction, carried out with the pitiless
logic that humaner ages have condemned, and backed by the united
resources of Castile and Aragon, though necessarily slow, was certain
of its ultimate success.
As the Marquis of Cadiz had foreseen, the issue was further
hastened by the release of Boabdil, that at once threw the kingdom of
Granada into fresh convulsions of civil war. During the young
Sultan’s imprisonment, his father, Muley Hacen, had appeared in the
capital and established himself in his old palace of the Alhambra,
relying on the disgust that he knew his son’s failure would awaken
amongst Moorish patriots.
True to his expectations the majority of the inhabitants received
him joyfully; but the poorest quarter of the city, called the Albaycin
where Aixa had taken refuge on his approach, still maintained its
former allegiance; and thither one dark night came Boabdil with the
few Moorish nobles who had remained faithful to his cause. Before
dawn a desperate struggle was in progress; Boabdil being unable to
drive his enemy from the Alhambra but gaining possession of the
Alcazaba, its twin fortress on the opposite hilltop. At length, when
the extermination of one or other faction seemed the only prospect,
an armistice was arranged, by which Muley Hacen retained Granada,
while his son retired with kingly honours to the port of Almeria on
the Mediterranean coast.
Such a settlement could not prove lasting, nor was the young
Sultan, in spite of his personal bravery, the man to alter its terms to
his own advantage. Without strength of purpose either to break his
Christian shackles, or to take the initiative once more against his
father, he remained inactive at his new capital, until the discovery in
1484 of a plot amongst his garrison to sell him to his uncle “El Zagal”
sent him in hot flight to Cordova. The sovereigns somewhat
contemptuously granted him an asylum. He was a pawn in their
game they could not afford to ignore; but their hatred of the Infidel,
combined with the self-reliance that was so marked a feature of both
their characters, inspired them with little pity for his helplessness.
Muley Hacen, in the meantime, had fallen heir to the ill-luck that
seemed to dog the rulers of Granada; for, in his efforts to satisfy the
popular demand for Moorish victories, his army suffered in the
autumn of 1483 a defeat approaching the disaster of Lucena. The
fault did not lie in the calibre of the troops, mainly recruited from the
half-savage Berbers who inhabited the mountains in the
neighbourhood of Ronda and Malaga, nor with its famous
commander Hamet “El Zegri,” who lived but to shed Christian blood.
It lay rather, as in the case of the Christian routs at Ajarquia and
Loja, in the futility of an isolated expedition, with the enemy
everywhere on the watch. Surprised and outnumbered by the levies
of Andalusia and the Holy Brotherhood, the Moors after a fierce
struggle on the banks of the Lopera broke and fled, leaving many of
their generals dead or captured. Hamet “El Zegri” himself escaped,
but fifteen of his standards were carried to Vittoria, where the
sovereigns celebrated their triumph by illuminations and religious
processions.
The battle of Lopera was followed by the reduction of numerous
Moorish strongholds on the western frontier, that were now too weak
to withstand the Christian advance. Most joyful of all was the
recapture of Zahara, whose fall had marked the original outbreak of
the war. This triumph won for the Marquis of Cadiz, its principal
hero, the title “Duke of Zahara”; but he declined to surrender the
name under which he had gained so many laurels, and compromised
by styling himself Marquis-Duke of Cadiz.
The culminating moment of the campaign was the capture of
Ronda in May, 1485. This town, believed by its defenders
impregnable, stood on the summit of a precipice six hundred feet
high.

Its walls [says a modern traveller, impressed by the grandeur even of its ruins]
are built on the very edge of the cliff and look as weather-beaten and as solid.
Indeed one could hardly tell where wall begins and rock ends but for the Moresque
arches that span the rents in the face of the cliff to afford a firm basis for the
continuous fortification.
 RONDA, THE TAJO OR CHASM

FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY LACOSTE,

MADRID

To this stronghold Hamet “El Zegri” had retired after his crushing
defeat at Lopera; but, being informed that the Christians were
meditating a second attack on Loja, he hastily sent part of his
garrison to assist “El Zagal” in its defence. This did not, however,
satisfy his own desire for vengeance, and believing that his enemies
were occupied elsewhere he sallied out with a contingent of his
fiercest troops to lay waste the Duchy of Medina-Sidonia. His
immediate mission was successful; but Hamet “El Zegri” soon found
his joy turned to ashes. His cunning had been overreached.
A portion of the Christian army had in truth set out in the
direction of Loja; but the main body, under the command of
Ferdinand himself, the Marquis-Duke of Cadiz, and other great
Castilian generals, only waited till this subterfuge should take effect
to march on Ronda. With them went their deadly train of artillery;
and soon the walls and towers were battered from three sides,