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Title: Roderick, the last of the Goths
A tragic poem
Author: Robert Southey
Engraver: Edward Francis Finden
W. Finden
Illustrator: Thomas Creswick
Release date: August 22, 2023 [eBook #71470]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans
Credits: Tim Lindell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS ***
[i]
RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS.
A Tragic Poem.
TOLEDO.
Painted by T. Creswick.Engraved by E. Finden.
LONDON; LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN & LONGMANS.
Cordoval.
Painted by T. Creswick.Engraved by W. Finden.
LONDON. LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN & LONGMANS. PATERNOSTER ROW.
[ii]
RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS.
A Tragic Poem.
BY ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ.
A NEW EDITION.
LONDON: PRINTED FOR
LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. MDCCCXLIV.
[iii]
[iv]
RODERICK, THE LAST OF THE GOTHS:
A Tragic Poem.
Tanto acrior apud majores, sicut virtutibus gloria, ita flagitiis
pœnitentia, fuit. Sed hæc aliaque, ex veteri memorià petita,
quotiens res locusque exempla recti, aut solatia mali, poscet,
haud absurdè memorabimus.
TacitiHist. lib. 3. c. 51.
[v]
TO GROSVENOR CHARLES BEDFORD,
THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED, IN LASTING MEMORIAL OF A LONG AND UNINTERRUPTED FRIENDSHIP,
BY HIS OLD SCHOOLFELLOW,
ROBERT SOUTHEY.
This poem was commenced at Keswick, Dec. 2.
1809, and finished there July 14. 1814.
A French translation, by M. B. de S., in three
volumes 12mo., was published in 1820, and another
by M. le Chevalier ⸺ in one volume 8vo., 1821.
Both are in prose.
When the latest of these versions was nearly
ready for publication, the publisher, who was also
the printer, insisted upon having a life of the author
prefixed. The French public, he said, knew nothing
of M. Southey, and in order to make the
book sell, it must be managed to interest them for
the writer. The Chevalier represented as a conclusive
reason for not attempting any thing of the
kind, that he was not acquainted with M. Southey’s[x]
private history. “Would you believe it?” says a
friend of the translator’s, from whose letter I transscribe
what follows; “this was his answer verbatim:
‘N’importe, écrivez toujours; brodez, brodez-la
un peu; que ce soit vrai ou non ce ne fait rien;
qui prendra la peine de s’informer?’” Accordingly
a Notice sur M. Southey was composed, not exactly
in conformity with the publisher’s notions of biography,
but from such materials as could be collected
from magazines and other equally unauthentic
sources.
In one of these versions a notable mistake occurs,
occasioned by the French pronunciation of an
English word. The whole passage indeed, in both
versions, may be regarded as curiously exemplifying
the difference between French and English
poetry.
Il se livrait à toutes ces réflexions, quand la lumière
des lampes et des cierges commença à pâlir,
et que les premières teintes de l’aurore se montrèrent
à travers les hautes croisées tournées vers l’orient.
Le retour du jour ne ramena point dans ces murs
des sons joyeux ni les mouvemens de la vie qui se
réveille; les seuls papillons de nuit, agitant leurs
ailes pesantes, bourdonnaient encore sous les voûtes
ténébreuses. Bientôt le premier rayon du soleil
glissant obliquement par-dessus l’autel, vint s’arrêter
sur la tombe de la femme pécheresse, et la lumière
du ciel sembla y pénétrer. “Que ce présage s’accomplisse,”
s’écria Pelage, qui absorbé dans ses méditations,
fixait en ce moment ses yeux sur le tombeau
de sa mere; “Dieu de miséricorde, qu’il en soit ainsi!
Puisse ta bonté vivifiante y verser de même le pardon!
Que les sanglots de la pénitence expirante, et que mes
prières amères ne montent point en vain devant
le trône éternel. Et toi, pauvre âme, qui de ton
séjour douloureux de souffrances et de larmes, espères
en moi pour abréger et adoucir ton supplice, temporaire,
pardonne moi d’avoir, sous ces habits et
dans cette nuit, détourné mes pensées sur d’autres
devoirs. Notre patrie commune a exigé de moi ce
sacrifice, et ton fils doit dorénavant accomplir plus
d’une veille dans la profondeur des forêts, sur la cime
des monts, dans les plaines couvertes de tentes, observant,[xiii]
pour l’amour de l’Espagne, la marche des
astres de la nuit, et préparant l’ouvrage de sa journée
avant que le soleil ne commence sa course.”—T. i.
pp. 175-177.
In the other translation the motes are not converted
into moths,—but the image is omitted.
Consumées dans des soins pareils les rapides heures
s’écouloient, les lampes et les torches commençoient à
pâlir, et l’oblique rayon du matin doroit déjà les
vitraux élevés qui regardoient vers l’Orient: le retour
du jour ne ramenoit point, dans cette sombre enceinte,
les sons joyeux, ni le tableau mouvant de la vie qui
se reveille; mais, tombant d’en haut, le céleste rayon,
passant au-dessus de l’autel, vint frapper le tombeau de
la femme pécheresse. “Ainsi soit-il,” s’écria Pelage;
“ainsi soit-il, ô divin Créateur! Puisse ta vivifiante
bonté verser ainsi le pardon en ce lieu! Que les
gémissemens d’une mort pénitente, que mes amères
prières ne soient pas arrivées en vain devant le trône
de miséricorde! Et toi, qui, de ton séjour de
souffrances et de larmes, regardes vers ton fils, pour
abréger et soulager tes peines, pardonne, si d’autres
devoirs ont rempli les heures que cette nuit et cet
habit m’enjoignoient de te consacrer! Notre patrie
exigeoit ce sacrifice; d’autres vigiles m’attendent dans
les bois et les défilés de nos montagnes; et bientôt sous[xiv]
la tente, il me faudra veiller, le soir, avant que le ciel
ne se couvre d’étoiles, être prêt pour le travail du
jour, avant que le soleil ne commence sa course.”—pp.
92, 93.
A very good translation in Dutch verse, was
published in two volumes, 8vo. 1823-4, with this
title:—“Rodrigo de Goth, Koning van Spanje.
Naar het Engelsch van Southey gevolgd, door
Vrouwe Katharina Wilhelmina Bilderdijk. Te
’s Gravenhage.” It was sent to me with the following
epistle from her husband, Mr. Willem Bilderdijk.
“Roberto Southey, viro spectatissimo,
Gulielmus Bilderdijk, S. P. D.
“Etsi ea nunc temporis passim invaluerit opinio,
poetarum genus quam maxima gloriæ cupiditate
flagrare, mihi tamen contraria semper insedit persuasio,
qui divinæ Poëseos altitudinem veramque
laudem non nisi ab iis cognosci putavi quorum præ
cæteris e meliori luto finxerit præcordia Titan, neque
aut verè aut justè judicari vatem nisi ab iis qui
eodem afflatu moveantur. Sexagesimus autem jam
agitur annus ex quo et ipse meos inter æquales poëta
salutor, eumque locum quem ineunte adolescentia[xv]
occupare contigit, in hunc usque diem tenuisse
videor, popularis auræ nunquam captator, quin immo
perpetuus contemptor; parcus ipse laudator, censor
gravis et nonnunquam molestus. Tuum vero nomen,
Vir celeberrime ac spectatissime, jam antea veneratus,
perlecto tuo de Roderico rege poëmate, non
potui non summis extollere laudibus, quo doctissimo
simul ac venustissimo opere, si minus divinam
Aeneida, saltem immortalem Tassonis Epopeiam
tentasse, quin et certo respectu ita superasse videris,
ut majorum perpaucos, æqualium neminem, cum
vera fide ac pietate in Deum, tum ingenio omnique
poëtica dote tibi comparandum existimem.
Ne mireris itaque, carminis tui gravitate ac dulcedine
captam, meoque judicio fultam, non illaudatam
in nostratibus Musam tuum illud nobile poëma
fœminea manu sed non insueto labore attrectasse,
Belgicoque sermone reddidisse. Hanc certe, per
quadrantem seculi et quod excurrit felicissimo connubio
mihi junctam, meamque in Divina arte alumnam
ac sociam, nimium in eo sibi sumpsisse nemo
facile arbitrabitur cui vel minimum Poëseos nostræ
sensum usurpare contigerit; nec ego hos ejus conatus
quos illustri tuo nomini dicandos putavit, tibi
mea manu offerre dubitabam. Hæc itaque utriusque
nostrum in te observantiæ specimina accipe, Vir
illustrissime, ac si quod communium studiorum, si[xvi]
quod veræ pietatis est vinculum, nos tibi ex animo
habe addictissimos. Vale.
“Dabam Lugduni in Batavis. Ipsis idib. Februar. CIↃIↃCCCXXIV.”
I went to Leyden in 1825, for the purpose of
seeing the writer of this epistle, and the lady who
had translated my poem, and addressed it to me in
some very affecting stanzas. It so happened, that
on my arrival in that city, I was laid up under a
surgeon’s care; they took me into their house, and
made the days of my confinement as pleasurable
as they were memorable. I have never been acquainted
with a man of higher intellectual power,
nor of greater learning, nor of more various and
extensive knowledge than Bilderdijk, confessedly
the most distinguished man of letters in his own
country. His wife was worthy of him. I paid
them another visit the following year. They are
now both gone to their rest, and I shall not look
upon their like again.
Soon after the publication of Roderick, I received
the following curious letter from the Ettrick
Shepherd, (who had passed a few days with me in
the preceding autumn,) giving me an account of
his endeavours to procure a favourable notice of
the poem in the Edinburgh Review.
[xvii]
“Edinburgh, Dec. 15. 1814.
“My dear Sir,
“I was very happy at seeing the post-mark of
Keswick, and quite proud of the pleasure you make
me believe my “Wake” has given to the beauteous
and happy groupe at Greta Hall. Indeed few
things could give me more pleasure, for I left my
heart a sojourner among them. I have had a
higher opinion of matrimony since that period than
ever I had before, and I desire that you will positively
give my kindest respects to each of them
individually.
“The Pilgrim of the Sun is published, as you will
see by the Papers, and if I may believe some communications
that I have got, the public opinion of
it is high; but these communications to an author
are not to be depended on.
“I have read Roderick over and over again, and
am the more and more convinced that it is the
noblest epic poem of the age. I have had some
correspondence and a good deal of conversation
with Mr. Jeffrey about it, though he does not agree
with me in every particular. He says it is too
long, and wants elasticity, and will not, he fears, be
generally read, though much may be said in its[xviii]
favour. I had even teazed him to let me review it
for him, on account, as I said, that he could not
appreciate its merits. I copy one sentence out of
the letter he sent in answer to mine:—
“‘For Southey I have, as well as you, great respect,
and when he will let me, great admiration; but he
is a most provoking fellow, and at least as conceited
as his neighbour Wordsworth. I cannot just trust
you with his Roderick; but I shall be extremely
happy to talk over that and other kindred subjects
with you; for I am every way disposed to give
Southey a lavish allowance of praise, and few
things would give me greater pleasure than to find
he had afforded me a fair opportunity. But I must
do my duty according to my own apprehensions
of it.’
“I supped with him last night, but there was so
many people that I got but little conversation with
him, but what we had was solely about you and
Wordsworth. I suppose you have heard what a
crushing review he has given the latter. I still
found him persisting in his first asseveration, that it
was heavy; but what was my pleasure to find that
he had only got to the seventeenth division. I
assured him he had the marrow of the thing to
come at as yet, and in that I was joined by Mr.[xix]
Alison. There was at the same time a Lady M⸺
joined us at the instant; short as her remark was,
it seemed to make more impression on Jeffrey than
all our arguments:—“Oh, I do love Southey!”
that was all.
“I have no room to tell you more. But I beg
that you will not do any thing, nor publish any
thing that will nettle Jeffrey for the present, knowing
as you do how omnipotent he is with the fashionable
world, and seemingly so well disposed toward you.
“I am ever your’s most truly,
“James Hogg.
“I wish the Notes may be safe enough. I never
looked at them. I wish these large quartos were
all in hell burning.”
The reader will be as much amused as I was with
poor Hogg’s earnest desire that I would not say
any thing which might tend to frustrate his friendly
intentions.
But what success the Shepherd met
Is to the world a secret yet.
There can be no reason, however, for withholding[xx]
what was said in my reply of the crushing review
which had been given to Mr. Wordsworth’s
poem:—“He crush the Excursion!! Tell him he
might as easily crush Skiddaw!”
Keswick, 15 June, 1838.
[xxi]
ORIGINAL PREFACE.
The history of the Wisi-Goths for some years
before their overthrow is very imperfectly known.
It is, however, apparent, that the enmity between
the royal families of Chindasuintho and Wamba
was one main cause of the destruction of the kingdom,
the latter party having assisted in betraying
their country to the Moors for the gratification of
their own revenge. Theodofred and Favila were
younger sons of King Chindasuintho; King Witiza,
who was of Wamba’s family, put out the eyes of
Theodofred, and murdered Favila, at the instigation
of that Chieftain’s wife, with whom he lived in
adultery. Pelayo, the son of Favila, and afterwards
the founder of the Spanish monarchy, was driven
into exile. Roderick, the son of Theodofred, recovered
the throne, and put out Witiza’s eyes in
vengeance for his father; but he spared Orpas, the
brother of the tyrant, as being a Priest, and Ebba
and Sisibert, the two sons of Witiza, by Pelayo’s[xxii]
mother. It may be convenient thus briefly to premise
these circumstances of an obscure portion of
history, with which few readers can be supposed to
be familiar; and a list of the principal persons who
are introduced, or spoken of, may as properly be
prefixed to a Poem as to a Play.
[xxiii]
Witiza,
King of the Wisi-Goths; dethroned and blinded by Roderick.
Theodofred,
son of King Chindasuintho, blinded by King Witiza.
Favila,
his brother; put to death by Witiza.
The Wife of Favila, Witiza’s adulterous mistress.
(These four persons are dead before the action of the poem commences.)
Roderick,
the last King of the Wisi-Goths: son of Theodofred.
Pelayo,
the founder of the Spanish Monarchy: son of Favila.
Gaudiosa,
his wife.
Guisla,
his sister.
Favila,
his son.
Hermesind,
his daughter.
Rusilla,
widow of Theodofred, and mother of Roderick.
Count Pedro,
}
powerful Lords of Cantabria.
Count Eudon,
}
Alphonso,
Count Pedro’s son, afterwards King.
Urban,
Archbishop of Toledo.
Romano,
a Monk of the Caulian Schools, near Merida.
Abdalaziz,
the Moorish Governor of Spain.
Egilona,
formerly the wife of Roderick, now of Abdalaziz.
Abulcacem,
}
Moorish Chiefs.
Alcahman,
}
Ayub,
}
Ibrahim,
}
Magued,
}[xxiv]
Orpas,
brother to Witiza, and formerly Archbishop of Seville, now a renegade.
Sisibert,
}
sons of Witiza and of Pelayo’s mother.
Ebba,
}
Numacian,
a renegade, governor of Gegio.
Count Julian,
a powerful Lord among the Wisi-Goths, now a renegade.
Florinda,
his daughter, violated by King Roderick.
Adosinda,
daughter of the Governor of Auria.
Odoar,
Abbot of St. Felix.
Siverian,
Roderick’s foster-father.
Favinia,
Count Pedro’s wife.
The four latter persons are imaginary. All the others
are mentioned in history. I ought, however, to observe, that
Romano is a creature of monkish legends; that the name of
Pelayo’s sister has not been preserved; and that that of Roderick’s
mother, Ruscilo, has been altered to Rusilla, for the
sake of euphony.
[1]
RODERICK,
THE LAST OF THE GOTHS.
I.
RODERICK AND ROMANO.
Long had the crimes of Spain cried out to Heaven;
At length the measure of offence was full.
Count Julian call’d the invaders; not because
Inhuman priests with unoffending blood
Had stain’d their country; not because a yoke
Of iron servitude oppress’d and gall’d
The children of the soil; a private wrong
Roused the remorseless Baron. Mad to wreak
His vengeance for his violated child
On Roderick’s head, in evil hour for Spain,
For that unhappy daughter and himself,
Desperate apostate ... on the Moors he call’d;
And like a cloud of locusts, whom the South
Wafts from the plains of wasted Africa,
The Musselmen upon Iberia’s shore
Descend. A countless multitude they came,
Syrian, Moor, Saracen, Greek renegade,
[2]
Persian and Copt and Tatar, in one bond
Of erring faith conjoin’d, ... strong in the youth
And heat of zeal, ... a dreadful brotherhood,
In whom all turbulent vices were let loose;
While Conscience, with their impious creed accurst
Drunk as with wine, had sanctified to them
All bloody, all abominable things.
Thou, Calpe, saw’st their coming; ancient Rock
Renown’d, no longer now shalt thou be call’d
From Gods and Heroes of the years of yore,
Kronos, or hundred-handed Briareus,
Bacchus or Hercules; but doom’d to bear
The name of thy new conqueror, and thenceforth
To stand his everlasting monument.
Thou saw’st the dark-blue waters flash before
Their ominous way, and whiten round their keels;
Their swarthy myriads darkening o’er thy sands.
There on the beach the Misbelievers spread
Their banners, flaunting to the sun and breeze;
Fair shone the sun upon their proud array,
White turbans, glittering armour, shields engrail’d
With gold, and scymitars of Syrian steel;
And gently did the breezes, as in sport,
Curl their long flags outrolling, and display
The blazon’d scrolls of blasphemy. Too soon
The gales of Spain from that unhappy land
Wafted, as from an open charnel-house,
The taint of death; and that bright sun, from fields,
Of slaughter, with the morning dew drew up
Corruption through the infected atmosphere.
[3]
Then fell the kingdom of the Goths; their hour
Was come, and Vengeance, long withheld, went loose.
Famine and Pestilence had wasted them,
And Treason, like an old and eating sore,
Consumed the bones and sinews of their strength;
And worst of enemies, their Sins were arm’d
Against them. Yet the sceptre from their hands
Pass’d not away inglorious, nor was shame
Left for their children’s lasting heritage;
Eight summer days, from morn till latest eve,
The fatal fight endured, till perfidy
Prevailing to their overthrow, they sunk
Defeated, not dishonour’d. On the banks
Of Chrysus, Roderick’s royal car was found,
His battle-horse Orelio, and that helm
Whose horns, amid the thickest of the fray
Eminent, had mark’d his presence. Did the stream
Receive him with the undistinguish’d dead,
Christian and Moor, who clogg’d its course that day?
So thought the Conqueror, and from that day forth,
Memorial of his perfect victory,
He bade the river bear the name of Joy.
So thought the Goths; they said no prayer for him,
For him no service sung, nor mourning made,
But charged their crimes upon his head, and curs’d
His memory.
Bravely in that eight-days fight
The King had striven, ... for victory first, while hope
Remain’d, then desperately in search of death.
The arrows pass’d him by to right and left,
The spear-point pierced him not, the scymitar
Glanced from his helmet. Is the shield of Heaven,
[4]
Wretch that I am, extended over me?
Cried Roderick; and he dropt Orelio’s reins,
And threw his hands aloft in frantic prayer, ...
Death is the only mercy that I crave,
Death soon and short, death and forgetfulness!
Aloud he cried; but in his inmost heart
There answer’d him a secret voice, that spake
Of righteousness and judgement after death,
And God’s redeeming love, which fain would save
The guilty soul alive. ’Twas agony,
And yet ’twas hope; ... a momentary light,
That flash’d through utter darkness on the Cross
To point salvation, then left all within
Dark as before. Fear, never felt till then,
Sudden and irresistible as stroke
Of lightning, smote him. From his horse he dropt,
Whether with human impulse, or by Heaven
Struck down, he knew not; loosen’d from his wrist
The sword-chain, and let fall the sword, whose hilt
Clung to his palm a moment ere it fell,
Glued there with Moorish gore. His royal robe,
His horned helmet and enamell’d mail,
He cast aside, and taking from the dead
A peasant’s garment, in those weeds involved
Stole like a thief in darkness from the field.
Evening closed round to favour him. All night
He fled, the sound of battle in his ear
Ringing, and sights of death before his eyes,
With forms more horrible of eager fiends
That seem’d to hover round, and gulphs of fire
Opening beneath his feet. At times the groan
[5]
Of some poor fugitive, who, bearing with him
His mortal hurt, had fallen beside the way,
Roused him from these dread visions, and he call’d
In answering groans on his Redeemer’s name,
That word the only prayer that pass’d his lips
Or rose within his heart. Then would he see
The Cross whereon a bleeding Saviour hung,
Who call’d on him to come and cleanse his soul
In those all-healing streams, which from his wounds,
As from perpetual springs, for ever flow’d.
No hart e’er panted for the water-brooks
As Roderick thirsted there to drink and live:
But Hell was interposed; and worse than Hell ...
Yea to his eyes more dreadful than the fiends
Who flock’d like hungry ravens round his head, ...
Florinda stood between, and warn’d him off
With her abhorrent hands, ... that agony
Still in her face, which, when the deed was done,
Inflicted on her ravisher the curse
That it invoked from Heaven.... Oh what a night
Of waking horrors! Nor when morning came
Did the realities of light and day
Bring aught of comfort; wheresoe’er he went
The tidings of defeat had gone before;
And leaving their defenceless homes to seek
What shelter walls and battlements might yield,
Old men with feeble feet, and tottering babes,
And widows with their infants in their arms,
Hurried along. Nor royal festival,
Nor sacred pageant, with like multitudes
E’er fill’d the public way. All whom the sword
Had spared were here; bed-rid infirmity
[6]
Alone was left behind; the cripple plied
His crutches, with her child of yesterday
The mother fled, and she whose hour was come
Fell by the road.
Less dreadful than this view
Of outward suffering which the day disclosed,
Had night and darkness seem’d to Roderick’s heart,
With all their dread creations. From the throng
He turn’d aside, unable to endure
This burthen of the general woe; nor walls,
Nor towers, nor mountain fastnesses he sought,
A firmer hold his spirit yearn’d to find,
A rock of surer strength. Unknowing where,
Straight through the wild he hasten’d on all day
And with unslacken’d speed was travelling still
When evening gather’d round. Seven days from morn
Till night he travell’d thus; the forest oaks,
The fig-grove by the fearful husbandman
Forsaken to the spoiler, and the vines,
Where fox and household dog together now
Fed on the vintage, gave him food; the hand
Of Heaven was on him, and the agony
Which wrought within, supplied a strength beyond
All natural force of man.
When the eighth eve
Was come, he found himself on Ana’s banks,
Fast by the Caulian Schools. It was the hour
Of vespers, but no vesper bell was heard,
Nor other sound, than of the passing stream,
Or stork, who flapping with wide wing the air,
Sought her broad nest upon the silent tower.
Brethren and pupils thence alike had fled
[7]
To save themselves within the embattled walls
Of neighbouring Merida. One aged Monk
Alone was left behind; he would not leave
The sacred spot beloved, for having served
There from his childhood up to ripe old age
God’s holy altar, it became him now,
He thought, before that altar to await
The merciless misbelievers, and lay down
His life, a willing martyr. So he staid
When all were gone, and duly fed the lamps,
And kept devotedly the altar drest,
And duly offer’d up the sacrifice.
Four days and nights he thus had pass’d alone,
In such high mood of saintly fortitude,
That hope of Heaven became a heavenly joy;
And now at evening to the gate he went
If he might spy the Moors, ... for it seem’d long
To tarry for his crown.
Before the Cross
Roderick had thrown himself; his body raised,
Half kneeling, half at length he lay; his arms
Embraced its foot, and from his lifted face
Tears streaming down bedew’d the senseless stone.
He had not wept till now, and at the gush
Of these first tears, it seem’d as if his heart,
From a long winter’s icey thrall let loose,
Had open’d to the genial influences
Of Heaven. In attitude, but not in act
Of prayer he lay; an agony of tears
Was all his soul could offer. When the Monk
Beheld him suffering thus, he raised him up,
[8]
And took him by the arm, and led him in;
And there before the altar, in the name
Of Him whose bleeding image there was hung,
Spake comfort, and adjured him in that name
There to lay down the burthen of his sins.
Lo! said Romano, I am waiting here
The coming of the Moors, that from their hands
My spirit may receive the purple robe
Of martyrdom, and rise to claim its crown.
That God who willeth not the sinner’s death
Hath led thee hither. Threescore years and five,
Even from the hour when I, a five-years child,
Enter’d the schools, have I continued here
And served the altar: not in all those years
Hath such a contrite and a broken heart
Appear’d before me. O my brother, Heaven
Hath sent thee for thy comfort, and for mine,
That my last earthly act may reconcile
A sinner to his God.
Then Roderick knelt
Before the holy man, and strove to speak.
Thou seest, he cried, ... thou seest, ... but memory
And suffocating thoughts repress’d the word,
And shudderings like an ague fit, from head
To foot convulsed him; till at length, subduing
His nature to the effort, he exclaim’d,
Spreading his hands and lifting up his face,
As if resolved in penitence to bear
A human eye upon his shame, ... Thou seest
Roderick the Goth! That name would have sufficed
To tell its whole abhorred history:
[9]
He not the less pursued, ... the ravisher,
The cause of all this ruin! Having said,
In the same posture motionless he knelt,
Arms straighten’d down, and hands outspread, and eyes
Raised to the Monk, like one who from his voice
Awaited life or death.
All night the old man
Pray’d with his penitent, and minister’d
Unto the wounded soul, till he infused
A healing hope of mercy that allay’d
Its heat of anguish. But Romano saw
What strong temptations of despair beset,
And how he needed in this second birth,
Even like a yearling child, a fosterer’s care.
Father in Heaven, he cried, thy will be done!
Surely I hoped that I this day should sing
Hosannahs at thy throne; but thou hast yet
Work for thy servant here. He girt his loins,
And from her altar took with reverent hands
Our Lady’s image down: In this, quoth he,
We have our guide and guard and comforter,
The best provision for our perilous way.
Fear not but we shall find a resting place,
The Almighty’s hand is on us.
They went forth,
They cross’d the stream, and when Romano turn’d
For his last look toward the Caulian towers,
Far off the Moorish standards in the light
Of morn were glittering, where the miscreant host
Toward the Lusitanian capital
[10]
To lay their siege advanced; the eastern breeze
Bore to the fearful travellers far away
The sound of horn and tambour o’er the plain.
All day they hasten’d, and when evening fell
Sped toward the setting sun, as if its line
Of glory came from Heaven to point their course.
But feeble were the feet of that old man
For such a weary length of way; and now
Being pass’d the danger (for in Merida
Sacaru long in resolute defence
Withstood the tide of war,) with easier pace
The wanderers journey’d on; till having cross’d
Rich Tagus, and the rapid Zezere,
They from Albardos’ hoary height beheld
Pine-forest, fruitful vale, and that fair lake
Where Alcoa, mingled there with Baza’s stream,
Rests on its passage to the western sea,
That sea the aim and boundary of their toil.
The fourth week of their painful pilgrimage
Was full, when they arrived where from the land
A rocky hill, rising with steep ascent,
O’erhung the glittering beach; there on the top
A little lowly hermitage they found,
And a rude Cross, and at its foot a grave,
Bearing no name, nor other monument.
Where better could they rest than here, where faith
And secret penitence and happiest death
Had bless’d the spot, and brought good Angels down,
And open’d as it were a way to Heaven?
Behind them was the desert, offering fruit
[11]
And water for their need: on either side
The white sand sparkling to the sun; in front,
Great Ocean with its everlasting voice,
As in perpetual jubilee, proclaim’d
The wonders of the Almighty, filling thus
The pauses of their fervent orisons.
Where better could the wanderers rest than here?
[12]
II.
RODERICK IN SOLITUDE.
Twelve months they sojourn’d in their solitude,
And then beneath the burthen of old age
Romano sunk. No brethren were there here
To spread the sackcloth, and with ashes strew
That penitential bed, and gather round
To sing his requiem, and with prayer and psalm
Assist him in his hour of agony.
He lay on the bare earth, which long had been
His only couch; beside him Roderick knelt,
Moisten’d from time to time his blacken’d lips,
Received a blessing with his latest breath,
Then closed his eyes, and by the nameless grave
Of the fore-tenant of that holy place
Consign’d him earth to earth.
Two graves are here,
And Roderick transverse at their feet began
To break the third. In all his intervals
Of prayer, save only when he search’d the woods
And fill’d the water-cruise, he labour’d there;
And when the work was done, and he had laid
Himself at length within its narrow sides
And measured it, he shook his head to think
There was no other business now for him.
[13]
Poor wretch, thy bed is ready, he exclaim’d,
And would that night were come!... It was a task,
All gloomy as it was, which had beguiled
The sense of solitude; but now he felt
The burthen of the solitary hours:
The silence of that lonely hermitage
Lay on him like a spell; and at the voice
Of his own prayers, he started half aghast.
Then too as on Romano’s grave he sate
And pored upon his own, a natural thought
Arose within him, ... well might he have spared
That useless toil; the sepulchre would be
No hiding place for him; no Christian hands
Were here who should compose his decent corpse
And cover it with earth. There he might drag
His wretched body at its passing hour,
But there the Sea-Birds of her heritage
Would rob the worm, or peradventure seize,
Ere death had done its work, their helpless prey.
Even now they did not fear him: when he walk’d
Beside them on the beach, regardlessly
They saw his coming; and their whirring wings
Upon the height had sometimes fann’d his cheek,
As if, being thus alone, humanity
Had lost its rank, and the prerogative
Of man were done away.
For his lost crown
And sceptre never had he felt a thought
Of pain; repentance had no pangs to spare
For trifles such as these, ... the loss of these
Was a cheap penalty; ... that he had fallen
Down to the lowest depth of wretchedness,
[14]
His hope and consolation. But to lose
His human station in the scale of things, ...
To see brute nature scorn him, and renounce
Its homage to the human form divine; ...
Had then Almighty vengeance thus reveal’d
His punishment, and was he fallen indeed
Below fallen man, below redemption’s reach, ...
Made lower than the beasts, and like the beasts
To perish!... Such temptations troubled him
By day, and in the visions of the night;
And even in sleep he struggled with the thought.
And waking with the effort of his prayers
The dream assail’d him still.
A wilder form
Sometimes his poignant penitence assumed,
Starting with force revived from intervals
Of calmer passion, or exhausted rest;
When floating back upon the tide of thought
Remembrance to a self-excusing strain
Beguiled him, and recall’d in long array
The sorrows and the secret impulses
Which to the abyss of wretchedness and guilt
Led their unwary victim. The evil hour
Return’d upon him, when reluctantly
Yielding to worldly counsel his assent,
In wedlock to an ill-assorted mate
He gave his cold unwilling hand: then came
The disappointment of the barren bed,
The hope deceived, the soul dissatisfied,
Home without love, and privacy from which
Delight was banish’d first, and peace too soon
Departed. Was it strange that when he met
[15]
A heart attuned, ... a spirit like his own,
Of lofty pitch, yet in affection mild,
And tender as a youthful mother’s joy, ...
Oh was it strange if at such sympathy
The feelings which within his breast repell’d
And chill’d had shrunk, should open forth like flowers
After cold winds of night, when gentle gales
Restore the genial sun? If all were known,
Would it indeed be not to be forgiven?...
(Thus would he lay the unction to his soul,)
If all were truly known, as Heaven knows all,
Heaven that is merciful as well as just, ...
A passion slow and mutual in its growth,
Pure as fraternal love, long self-conceal’d,
And when confess’d in silence, long controll’d;
Treacherous occasion, human frailty, fear
Of endless separation, worse than death, ...
The purpose and the hope with which the Fiend
Tempted, deceived, and madden’d him; ... but then
As at a new temptation would he start,
Shuddering beneath the intolerable shame,
And clench in agony his matted hair;
While in his soul the perilous thought arose,
How easy ’twere to plunge where yonder waves
Invited him to rest.
Oh for a voice
Of comfort, ... for a ray of hope from Heaven!
A hand that from these billows of despair
May reach and snatch him ere he sink engulph’d!
At length, as life when it hath lain long time
Opprest beneath some grievous malady,
Seems to rouse up with re-collected strength,
[16]
And the sick man doth feel within himself
A second spring; so Roderick’s better mind
Arose to save him. Lo! the western sun
Flames o’er the broad Atlantic; on the verge
Of glowing ocean rests; retiring then
Draws with it all its rays, and sudden night
Fills the whole cope of heaven. The penitent
Knelt by Romano’s grave, and falling prone,
Claspt with extended arms the funeral mould.
Father! he cried; Companion! only friend,
When all beside was lost! thou too art gone,
And the poor sinner whom from utter death
Thy providential hand preserved, once more
Totters upon the gulph. I am too weak
For solitude, ... too vile a wretch to bear
This everlasting commune with myself.
The Tempter hath assail’d me; my own heart
Is leagued with him; Despair hath laid the nets
To take my soul, and Memory, like a ghost,
Haunts me, and drives me to the toils. O Saint,
While I was blest with thee, the hermitage
Was my sure haven! Look upon me still,
For from thy heavenly mansion thou canst see
The suppliant; look upon thy child in Christ.
Is there no other way for penitence?
I ask not martyrdom; for what am I
That I should pray for triumphs, the fit meed
Of a long life of holy works like thine;
Or how should I presumptuously aspire
To wear the heavenly crown resign’d by thee,
For my poor sinful sake? Oh point me thou
Some humblest, painfulest, severest path, ...
[17]
Some new austerity, unheard of yet
In Syrian fields of glory, or the sands
Of holiest Egypt. Let me bind my brow
With thorns, and barefoot seek Jerusalem,
Tracking the way with blood; there day by day
Inflict upon this guilty flesh the scourge,
Drink vinegar and gall, and for my bed
Hang with extended limbs upon the Cross,
A nightly crucifixion!... any thing
Of action, difficulty, bodily pain,
Labour, and outward suffering, ... any thing
But stillness and this dreadful solitude!
Romano! Father! let me hear thy voice
In dreams, O sainted Soul! or from the grave
Speak to thy penitent; even from the grave
Thine were a voice of comfort.
Thus he cried,
Easing the pressure of his burthen’d heart
With passionate prayer; thus pour’d his spirit forth,
Till with the long impetuous effort spent,
His spirit fail’d, and laying on the grave
His weary head as on a pillow, sleep
Fell on him. He had pray’d to hear a voice
Of consolation, and in dreams a voice
Of consolation came. Roderick, it said, ...
Roderick, my poor, unhappy, sinful child,
Jesus have mercy on thee!... Not if Heaven
Had opened, and Romano, visible
In his beatitude, had breathed that prayer; ...
Not if the grave had spoken, had it pierced
So deeply in his soul, nor wrung his heart
With such compunctious visitings, nor given
[18]
So quick, so keen a pang. It was that voice
Which sung his fretful infancy to sleep
So patiently; which soothed his childish griefs,
Counsell’d, with anguish and prophetic tears,
His headstrong youth. And lo! his Mother stood
Before him in the vision; in those weeds
Which never from the hour when to the grave
She follow’d her dear lord Theodofred
Rusilla laid aside; but in her face
A sorrow that bespake a heavier load
At heart, and more unmitigated woe, ...
Yea, a more mortal wretchedness than when
Witiza’s ruffians and the red-hot brass
Had done their work, and in her arms she held
Her eyeless husband; wiped away the sweat
Which still his tortures forced from every pore
Cool’d his scorch’d lids with medicinal herbs,
And pray’d the while for patience for herself
And him, and pray’d for vengeance too, and found
Best comfort in her curses. In his dream,
Groaning he knelt before her to beseech
Her blessing, and she raised her hands to lay
A benediction on him. But those hands
Were chain’d, and casting a wild look around,
With thrilling voice she cried, Will no one break
These shameful fetters? Pedro, Theudemir,
Athanagild, where are ye? Roderick’s arm
Is wither’d; ... Chiefs of Spain, but where are ye?
And thou, Pelayo, thou our surest hope,
Dost thou too sleep?... Awake, Pelayo!... up!...
Why tarriest thou, Deliverer?... But with that
She broke her bonds, and lo! her form was changed!
[19]
Radiant in arms she stood! a bloody Cross
Gleam’d on her breast-plate, in her shield display’d
Erect a lion ramp’d; her helmed head
Rose like the Berecynthian Goddess crown’d
With towers, and in her dreadful hand the sword
Red as a fire-brand blazed. Anon the tramp
Of horsemen, and the din of multitudes
Moving to mortal conflict, rang around;
The battle-song, the clang of sword and shield,
War-cries and tumult, strife and hate and rage,
Blasphemous prayers, confusion, agony,
Rout and pursuit and death; and over all
The shout of victory ... Spain and Victory!
Roderick, as the strong vision master’d him,
Rush’d to the fight rejoicing: starting then,
As his own effort burst the charm of sleep,
He found himself upon that lonely grave
In moonlight and in silence. But the dream
Wrought in him still; for still he felt his heart
Pant, and his wither’d arm was trembling still;
And still that voice was in his ear which call’d
On Jesus for his sake.
Oh, might he hear
That actual voice! and if Rusilla lived, ...
If shame and anguish for his crimes not yet
Had brought her to the grave, ... sure she would bless
Her penitent child, and pour into his heart
Prayers and forgiveness, which like precious balm,
Would heal the wounded soul. Nor to herself
Less precious, or less healing, would the voice
That spake forgiveness flow. She wept her son
For ever lost, cut off with all the weight
[20]
Of unrepented sin upon his head,
Sin which had weigh’d a nation down ... what joy
To know that righteous Heaven had in its wrath
Remember’d mercy, and she yet might meet
The child whom she had borne, redeem’d, in bliss.
The sudden impulse of such thoughts confirm’d
That unacknowledged purpose, which till now
Vainly had sought its end. He girt his loins,
Laid holiest Mary’s image in a cleft
Of the rock, where, shelter’d from the elements,
It might abide till happier days came on,
From all defilement safe; pour’d his last prayer
Upon Romano’s grave, and kiss’d the earth
Which cover’d his remains, and wept as if
At long leave-taking, then began his way.
[21]
III.
ADOSINDA.
’Twas now the earliest morning; soon the Sun,
Rising above Albardos, pour’d his light
Amid the forest, and with ray aslant
Entering its depth, illumed the branchless pines,
Brighten’d their bark, tinged with a redder hue
Its rusty stains, and cast along the floor
Long lines of shadow, where they rose erect
Like pillars of the temple. With slow foot
Roderick pursued his way; for penitence,
Remorse which gave no respite, and the long
And painful conflict of his troubled soul,
Had worn him down. Now brighter thoughts arose,
And that triumphant vision floated still
Before his sight with all her blazonry,
Her castled helm, and the victorious sword
That flash’d like lightning o’er the field of blood.
Sustain’d by thoughts like these, from morn till eve
He journey’d, and drew near Leyria’s walls.
’Twas even-song time, but not a bell was heard
Instead thereof, on her polluted towers,
Bidding the Moors to their unhallow’d prayer,
The cryer stood, and with his sonorous voice
Fill’d the delicious vale where Lena winds
Thro’ groves and pastoral meads. The sound, the sight
[22]
Of turban, girdle, robe, and scymitar,
And tawny skins, awoke contending thoughts
Of anger, shame, and anguish in the Goth;
The face of human-kind so long unseen
Confused him now, and through the streets he went
With haggëd mien, and countenance like one
Crazed or bewilder’d. All who met him turn’d,
And wonder’d as he pass’d. One stopt him short.
Put alms into his hand, and then desired
In broken Gothic speech, the moon-struck man
To bless him. With a look of vacancy
Roderick received the alms; his wandering eye
Fell on the money, and the fallen King,
Seeing his own royal impress on the piece,
Broke out into a quick convulsive voice,
That seem’d like laughter first, but ended soon
In hollow groans supprest; the Musselman
Shrunk at the ghastly sound, and magnified
The name of Allah as he hasten’d on.
A Christian woman spinning at her door
Beheld him, and, with sudden pity touch’d
She laid her spindle by, and running in
Took bread, and following after call’d him back,
And placing in his passive hands the loaf,
She said, Christ Jesus for his mother’s sake
Have mercy on thee! With a look that seem’d
Like idiotcy he heard her, and stood still,
Staring awhile; then bursting into tears
Wept like a child, and thus relieved his heart,
Full even to bursting else with swelling thoughts.
So through the streets, and through the northern gate
Did Roderick, reckless of a resting-place,
[23]
With feeble yet with hurried step pursue
His agitated way; and when he reach’d
The open fields, and found himself alone
Beneath the starry canopy of Heaven,
The sense of solitude, so dreadful late,
Was then repose and comfort. There he stopt
Beside a little rill, and brake the loaf;
And shedding o’er that long untasted food
Painful but quiet tears, with grateful soul
He breathed thanksgiving forth, then made his bed
On heath and myrtle.
But when he arose
At day-break and pursued his way, his heart
Felt lighten’d that the shock of mingling first
Among his fellow-kind was overpast;
And journeying on, he greeted whom he met
With such short interchange of benison
As each to other gentle travellers give,
Recovering thus the power of social speech
Which he had long disused. When hunger prest
He ask’d for alms: slight supplication served;
A countenance so pale and woe-begone
Moved all to pity; and the marks it bore
Of rigorous penance and austerest life,
With something too of majesty that still
Appear’d amid the wreck, inspired a sense
Of reverence too. The goat-herd on the hills
Open’d his scrip for him; the babe in arms,
Affrighted at his visage, turn’d away,
And clinging to the mother’s neck in tears
Would yet again look up and then again,
Shrink back, with cry renew’d. The bolder imps
[24]
Sporting beside the way, at his approach
Brake off their games for wonder, and stood still
In silence; some among them cried, A Saint!
The village matron when she gave him food
Besought his prayers; and one entreated him
To lay his healing hands upon her child,
For with a sore and hopeless malady
Wasting, it long had lain, ... and sure, she said,
He was a man of God.
Thus travelling on
He past the vale where wild Arunca pours
Its wintry torrents; and the happier site
Of old Conimbrica, whose ruin’d towers
Bore record of the fierce Alani’s wrath.
Mondego too he cross’d, not yet renown’d
In poets’ amorous lay; and left behind
The walls at whose foundation pious hands
Of Priest and Monk and Bishop meekly toil’d, ...
So had the insulting Arian given command.
Those stately palaces and rich domains
Were now the Moor’s, and many a weary age
Must Coimbra wear the misbeliever’s yoke,
Before Fernando’s banner through her gate
Shall pass triumphant, and her hallow’d Mosque
Behold the hero of Bivar receive
The knighthood which he glorified so oft
In his victorious fields. Oh if the years
To come might then have risen on Roderick’s soul,
How had they kindled and consoled his heart!...
What joy might Douro’s haven then have given,
Whence Portugal, the faithful and the brave,
Shall take her name illustrious!... what, those walls
[25]
Where Mumadona one day will erect
Convent and town and towers, which shall become
The cradle of that famous monarchy!
What joy might these prophetic scenes have given, ...
What ample vengeance on the Musselman,
Driven out with foul defeat, and made to feel
In Africa the wrongs he wrought to Spain;
And still pursued by that relentless sword,
Even to the farthest Orient, where his power
Received its mortal wound.
O years of pride!
In undiscoverable futurity,
Yet unevolved, your destined glories lay;
And all that Roderick in these fated scenes
Beheld, was grief and wretchedness, ... the waste
Of recent war, and that more mournful calm
Of joyless, helpless, hopeless servitude.
’Twas not the ruin’d walls of church or tower,
Cottage or hall or convent, black with smoke;
’Twas not the unburied bones, which where the dogs
And crows had strewn them, lay amid the field
Bleaching in sun or shower, that wrung his heart
With keenest anguish: ’twas when he beheld
The turban’d traitor shew his shameless front
In the open eye of Heaven, ... the renegade,
On whose base brutal nature unredeem’d
Even black apostacy itself could stamp
No deeper reprobation, at the hour
Assign’d fall prostrate; and unite the names
Of God and the Blasphemer, ... impious prayer, ...
Most impious, when from unbelieving lips
The accursëd utterance came. Then Roderick’s heart
[26]
With indignation burnt, and then he long’d
To be a King again, that so, for Spain
Betray’d and his Redeemer thus renounced,
He might inflict due punishment, and make
These wretches feel his wrath. But when he saw
The daughters of the land, ... who, as they went
With cheerful step to church, were wont to shew
Their innocent faces to all passers eyes,
Freely, and free from sin as when they look’d
In adoration and in praise to Heaven, ...
Now mask’d in Moorish mufflers, to the Mosque
Holding uncompanied their jealous way,
His spirit seem’d at that unhappy sight
To die away within him, and he too
Would fain have died, so death could bring with it
Entire oblivion.
Rent with thoughts like these,
He reach’d that city, once the seat renown’d
Of Suevi kings, where, in contempt of Rome
Degenerate long, the North’s heroic race
Raised first a rival throne; now from its state
Of proud regality debased and fallen.
Still bounteous nature o’er the lovely vale,
Where like a Queen rose Bracara august,
Pour’d forth her gifts profuse; perennial springs
Flow’d for her habitants, and genial suns,
With kindly showers to bless the happy clime,
Combined in vain their gentle influences:
For patient servitude was there, who bow’d
His neck beneath the Moor, and silent grief
That eats into the soul. The walls and stones
Seem’d to reproach their dwellers; stately piles
[27]
Yet undecay’d, the mighty monuments
Of Roman pomp, Barbaric palaces,
And Gothic halls, where haughty Barons late
Gladden’d their faithful vassals with the feast
And flowing bowl, alike the spoiler’s now.
Leaving these captive scenes behind, he crost
Cavado’s silver current, and the banks
Of Lima, through whose groves in after years,
Mournful yet sweet, Diogo’s amorous lute
Prolong’d its tuneful echoes. But when now
Beyond Arnoya’s tributary tide,
He came where Minho roll’d its ampler stream
By Auria’s ancient walls, fresh horrors met
His startled view; for prostrate in the dust
Those walls were laid, and towers and temples stood
Tottering in frightful ruins, as the flame
Had left them black and bare; and through the streets,
All with the recent wreck of war bestrewn,
Helmet and turban, scymitar and sword,
Christian and Moor in death promiscuous lay
Each where they fell; and blood-flakes, parch’d and crack’d
Like the dry slime of some receding flood;
And half-burnt bodies, which allured from far
The wolf and raven, and to impious food
Tempted the houseless dog.
A thrilling pang,
A sweat like death, a sickness of the soul,
Came over Roderick. Soon they pass’d away,
And admiration in their stead arose,
Stern joy, and inextinguishable hope,
[28]
With wrath, and hate, and sacred vengeance now
Indissolubly link’d. O valiant race,
O people excellently brave, he cried,
True Goths ye fell, and faithful to the last;
Though overpower’d, triumphant, and in death
Unconquer’d! Holy be your memory!
Bless’d and glorious now and evermore
Be your heroic names!... Led by the sound,
As thus he cried aloud, a woman came
Toward him from the ruins. For the love
Of Christ, she said, lend me a little while
Thy charitable help!... Her words, her voice,
Her look, more horror to his heart convey’d
Than all the havoc round: for though she spake
With the calm utterance of despair, in tones
Deep-breathed and low, yet never sweeter voice
Pour’d forth its hymns in ecstasy to Heaven.
Her hands were bloody, and her garments stain’d
With blood, her face with blood and dust defiled.
Beauty and youth, and grace and majesty,
Had every charm of form and feature given;
But now upon her rigid countenance
Severest anguish set a fixedness
Ghastlier than death.
She led him through the streets
A little way along, where four low walls,
Heapt rudely from the ruins round, enclosed
A narrow space: and there upon the ground
Four bodies, decently composed, were laid,
Though horrid all with wounds and clotted gore;
A venerable ancient, by his side
A comely matron, for whose middle age,
[29]
(If ruthless slaughter had not intervened,)
Nature it seem’d, and gentle Time, might well
Have many a calm declining year in store;
The third an armëd warrior, on his breast
An infant, over whom his arms were cross’d.
There, ... with firm eye and steady countenance,
Unfaltering, she addrest him, ... there they lie,
Child, Husband, Parents, ... Adosinda’s all!
I could not break the earth with these poor hands
Nor other tomb provide, ... but let that pass!
Auria itself is now but one wide tomb
For all its habitants:—What better grave?
What worthier monument?... Oh cover not
Their blood, thou Earth! and ye, ye blessëd Souls
Of Heroes and of murder’d Innocents,
Oh never let your everlasting cries
Cease round the Eternal Throne, till the Most High
For all these unexampled wrongs hath given
Full, ... overflowing vengeance!
While she spake
She raised her lofty hands to Heaven, as if
Calling for justice on the Judgement-seat;
Then laid them on her eyes, and leaning on
Bent o’er the open sepulchre.
But soon
With quiet mien collectedly, like one
Who from intense devotion, and the act
Of ardent prayer, arising, girds himself
For this world’s daily business, ... she arose,
And said to Roderick, Help me now to raise
The covering of the tomb.
With half-burnt planks
[30]
Which she had gather’d for this funeral use
They roof’d the vault, then laying stones above
They closed it down; last, rendering all secure,
Stones upon stones they piled, till all appear’d
A huge and shapeless heap. Enough, she cried;
And taking Roderick’s hands in both her own,
And wringing them with fervent thankfulness,
May God shew mercy to thee, she exclaim’d,
When most thou needest mercy! Who thou art
I know not; not of Auria, ... for of all
Her sons and daughters, save the one who stands
Before thee, not a soul is left alive.
But thou hast render’d to me, in my hour
Of need, the only help which man could give.
What else of consolation may be found
For one so utterly bereft, from Heaven
And from myself must come. For deem not thou
That I shall sink beneath calamity:
This visitation, like a lightning-stroke,
Hath scathed the fruit and blossom of my youth;
One hour hath orphan’d me, and widow’d me,
And made me childless. In this sepulchre
Lie buried all my earthward hopes and fears,
All human loves and natural charities; ...
All womanly tenderness, all gentle thoughts,
All female weakness too, I bury here,
Yea, all my former nature. There remain
Revenge and death: ... the bitterness of death
Is past, and Heaven already hath vouchsafed
A foretaste of revenge.
Look here! she cried,
And drawing back, held forth her bloody hands, ...
[31]
’Tis Moorish!... In the day of massacre,
A captain of Alcahman’s murderous host
Reserved me from the slaughter. Not because
My rank and station tempted him with thoughts
Of ransom, for amid the general waste
Of ruin all was lost; ... Nor yet, be sure,
That pity moved him, ... they who from this race
Accurst for pity look, such pity find
As ravenous wolves shew the defenceless flock.
My husband at my feet had fallen; my babe, ...
Spare me that thought, O God!... and then ... even then
Amid the maddening throes of agony
Which rent my soul, ... when if this solid Earth
Had open’d and let out the central fire
Before whose all-involving flames wide Heaven
Shall shrivel like a scroll and be consumed,
The universal wreck had been to me
Relief and comfort; ... even then this Moor
Turn’d on me his libidinous eyes, and bade
His men reserve me safely for an hour
Of dalliance, ... me!... me in my agonies!
But when I found for what this miscreant child
Of Hell had snatch’d me from the butchery,
The very horror of that monstrous thought
Saved me from madness; I was calm at once, ...
Yet comforted and reconciled to life:
Hatred became to me the life of life,
Its purpose and its power.
The glutted Moors
At length broke up. This hell-dog turn’d aside
Toward his home: we travell’d fast and far,
[32]
Till by a forest edge at eve he pitched
His tents. I wash’d and ate at his command,
Forcing revolted nature; I composed
My garments and bound up my scatter’d hair;
And when he took my hand, and to his couch
Would fain have drawn me, gently I retired
From that abominable touch, and said,
Forbear to-night I pray thee, for this day
A widow, as thou seest me, am I made;
Therefore, according to our law, must watch
And pray to-night. The loathsome villain paused
Ere he assented, then laid down to rest;
While at the door of the pavilion, I
Knelt on the ground, and bowed my face to earth;
But when the neighbouring tents had ceased their stir,
The fires were out, and all were fast asleep,
Then I arose. The blessed Moon from Heaven
Lent me her holy light. I did not pray
For strength, for strength was given me as I drew
The scymitar, and, standing o’er his couch,
Raised it in both my hands with steady aim
And smote his neck. Upward, as from a spring
When newly open’d by the husbandman,
The villain’s life-blood spouted. Twice I struck
So making vengeance sure; then, praising God,
Retired amid the wood, and measured back
My patient way to Auria, to perform
This duty which thou seest.
As thus she spake,
Roderick intently listening had forgot
His crown, his kingdom, his calamities,
His crimes, ... so like a spell upon the Goth
[33]
Her powerful words prevail’d. With open lips,
And eager ear, and eyes which, while they watch’d
Her features, caught the spirit that she breathed,
Mute and enrapt he stood, and motionless;
The vision rose before him; and that shout,
Which, like a thunder-peal, victorious Spain
Sent through the welkin, rung within his soul
Its deep prophetic echoes. On his brow
The pride and power of former majesty
Dawn’d once again, but changed and purified:
Duty and high heroic purposes
Now hallow’d it, and as with inward light
Illumed his meagre countenance austere.
Awhile in silence Adosinda stood,
Reading his alter’d visage and the thoughts
Which thus transfigured him. Aye, she exclaim’d,
My tale hath moved thee! it might move the dead,
Quicken captivity’s dead soul, and rouse
This prostrate country from her mortal trance:
Therefore I live to tell it; and for this
Hath the Lord God Almighty given to me
A spirit not mine own and strength from Heaven;
Dealing with me as in the days of old
With that Bethulian Matron when she saved
His people from the spoiler. What remains
But that the life which he hath thus preserved
I consecrate to him? Not veil’d and vow’d
To pass my days in holiness and peace;
Nor yet between sepulchral walls immured,
Alive to penitence alone; my rule
He hath himself prescribed, and hath infused
[34]
A passion in this woman’s breast, wherein
All passions and all virtues are combined;
Love, hatred, joy, and anguish, and despair,
And hope, and natural piety, and faith,
Make up the mighty feeling. Call it not
Revenge! thus sanctified and thus sublimed,
’Tis duty, ’tis devotion. Like the grace
Of God, it came and saved me; and in it
Spain must have her salvation. In thy hands
Here, on the grave of all my family,
I make my vow.
She said, and kneeling down,
Placed within Roderick’s palms her folded hands.
This life, she cried, I dedicate to God,
Therewith to do him service in the way
Which he hath shown. To rouse the land against
This impious, this intolerable yoke, ...
To offer up the invader’s hateful blood, ...
This shall be my employ, my rule and rite,
Observances and sacrifice of faith;
For this I hold the life which he hath given,
A sacred trust; for this, when it shall suit
His service, joyfully will lay it down.
So deal with me as I fulfil the pledge,
O Lord my God, my Saviour and my Judge.
Then rising from the earth, she spread her arms,
And looking round with sweeping eyes exclaim’d,
Auria, and Spain, and Heaven receive the vow!
[35]
IV.
THE MONASTERY OF ST. FELIX.
Thus long had Roderick heard her powerful words
In silence, awed before her; but his heart
Was fill’d the while with swelling sympathy,
And now with impulse not to be restrain’d
The feeling overpower’d him. Hear me too,
Auria, and Spain, and Heaven! he cried; and thou
Who risest thus above mortality,
Sufferer and patriot, saint and heroine,
The servant and the chosen of the Lord,
For surely such thou art, ... receive in me
The first-fruits of thy calling. Kneeling then,
And placing as he spake his hand in her’s,
As thou hast sworn, the royal Goth pursued,
Even so I swear; my soul hath found at length
Her rest and refuge; in the invader’s blood
She must efface her stains of mortal sin,
And in redeeming this lost land, work out
Redemption for herself. Herein I place
My penance for the past, my hope to come,
My faith and my good works; here offer up
All thoughts and passions of mine inmost heart,
My days and night, ... this flesh, this blood, this life,
Yea, this whole being, do I here devote
For Spain. Receive the vow, all Saints in Heaven,
[36]
And prosper its good end!... Clap now your wings,
The Goth with louder utterance as he rose
Exclaim’d, ... clap now your wings exultingly
Ye ravenous fowl of Heaven; and in your dens
Set up, ye wolves of Spain, a yell of joy;
For, lo! a nation hath this day been sworn
To furnish forth your banquet; for a strife
Hath been commenced, the which from this day forth
Permits no breathing-time, and knows no end
Till in this land the last invader bow
His neck beneath the exterminating sword.
Said I not rightly? Adosinda cried;
The will which goads me on is not mine own,
’Tis from on high, ... yea, verily of Heaven!
But who art thou who hast profess’d with me,
My first sworn brother in the appointed rule?
Tell me thy name.
Ask any thing but that!
The fallen King replied. My name was lost
When from the Goths the sceptre pass’d away.
The nation will arise regenerate;
Strong in her second youth and beautiful,
And like a spirit which hath shaken off
The clog of dull mortality, shall Spain
Arise in glory. But for my good name
No resurrection is appointed here.
Let it be blotted out on earth: in Heaven
There shall be written with it penitence
And grace and saving faith and such good deeds
Wrought in atonement as my soul this day
Hath sworn to offer up.
[37]
Then be thy name,
She answer’d, Maccabee, from this day forth:
For this day art thou born again; and like
Those brethren of old times, whose holy names
Live in the memory of all noble hearts
For love and admiration, ever young, ...
So for our native country, for her hearths
And altars, for her cradles and her graves,
Hast thou thyself devoted. Let us now
Each to our work. Among the neighbouring hills,
I to the vassals of my father’s house;
Thou to Visonia. Tell the Abbot there
What thou hast seen at Auria; and with him
Take counsel who of all our Baronage
Is worthiest to lead on the sons of Spain,
And wear upon his brow the Spanish crown.
Now, brother, fare thee well! we part in hope,
And we shall meet again, be sure, in joy.
So saying, Adosinda left the King
Alone amid the ruins. There he stood,
As when Elisha, on the farther bank
Of Jordan, saw that elder prophet mount
The fiery chariot, and the steeds of fire,
Trampling the whirlwind, bear him up the sky:
Thus gazing after her did Roderick stand;
And as the immortal Tishbite left behind
His mantle and prophetic power, even so
Had her inspiring presence left infused
The spirit which she breathed. Gazing he stood,
As at a heavenly visitation there
Vouchsafed in mercy to himself and Spain;
[38]
And when the heroic mourner from his sight
Had pass’d away, still reverential awe
Held him suspended there and motionless.
Then turning from the ghastly scene of death
Up murmuring Lona, he began toward
The holy Bierzo his obedient way.
Sil’s ample stream he crost, where through the vale
Of Orras, from that sacred land it bears
The whole collected waters; northward then,
Skirting the heights of Aguiar, he reach’d
That consecrated pile amid the wild,
Which sainted Fructuoso in his zeal
Rear’d to St. Felix, on Visonia’s banks.
In commune with a priest of age mature,
Whose thoughtful visage and majestic mien
Bespake authority and weight of care,
Odoar, the venerable Abbot, sate,
When ushering Roderick in, the Porter said,
A stranger came from Auria, and required
His private ear. From Auria? said the old man,
Comest thou from Auria, brother? I can spare
Thy painful errand then, ... we know the worst.
Nay, answer’d Roderick, but thou hast not heard
My tale. Where that devoted city lies
In ashes, mid the ruins and the dead
I found a woman, whom the Moors had borne
Captive away; but she, by Heaven inspired
And her good heart, with her own arm had wrought
Her own deliverance, smiting in his tent
A lustful Moorish miscreant, as of yore
[39]
By Judith’s holy deed the Assyrian fell.
And that same spirit which had strengthen’d her
Work’d in her still. Four walls with patient toil
She rear’d, wherein, as in a sepulchre,
With her own hands she laid her murder’d babe,
Her husband and her parents, side by side;
And when we cover’d in this shapeless tomb,
There on the grave of all her family,
Did this courageous mourner dedicate
All thoughts and actions of her future life
To her poor country. For she said, that Heaven
Supporting her, in mercy had vouchsafed
A foretaste of revenge; that, like the grace
Of God, revenge had saved her; that in it
Spain must have her salvation; and henceforth
That passion, thus sublimed and sanctified,
Must be to all the loyal sons of Spain
The pole-star of their faith, their rule and rite,
Observances and worthiest sacrifice.
I took the vow, unworthy as I am,
Her first sworn follower in the appointed rule;
And then we parted; she among the hills
To rouse the vassals of her father’s house:
I at her bidding hitherward, to ask
Thy counsel, who of our old Baronage
Shall place upon his brow the Spanish crown.
The Lady Adosinda? Odoar cried.
Roderick made answer, So she call’d herself.
Oh none but she! exclaim’d the good old man,
Clasping his hands, which trembled as he spake
[40]
In act of pious passion raised to Heaven, ...
Oh none but Adosinda!... none but she, ...
None but that noble heart, which was the heart
Of Auria while it stood, its life and strength,
More than her father’s presence, or the arm
Of her brave husband, valiant as he was.
Hers was the spirit which inspired old age,
Ambitious boyhood, girls in timid youth,
And virgins in the beauty of their spring,
And youthful mothers, doting like herself
With ever-anxious love: She breathed through all
That zeal and that devoted faithfulness,
Which to the invader’s threats and promises
Turn’d a deaf ear alike; which in the head
And flood of prosperous fortune check’d his course,
Repell’d him from the walls, and when at length
His overpowering numbers forced their way,
Even in that uttermost extremity
Unyielding, still from street to street, from house
To house, from floor to floor, maintain’d the fight:
Till by their altars falling, in their doors,
And on their household hearths, and by their beds
And cradles, and their fathers’ sepulchres,
This noble army, gloriously revenged,
Embraced their martyrdom. Heroic souls!
Well have ye done, and righteously discharged
Your arduous part! Your service is perform’d,
Your earthly warfare done! Ye have put on
The purple robe of everlasting peace!
Ye have received your crown! Ye bear the palm
Before the throne of Grace!
With that he paused,
[41]
Checking the strong emotions of his soul.
Then with a solemn tone addressing him
Who shared his secret thoughts, thou knowest, he said,
O Urban, that they have not fallen in vain;
For by this virtuous sacrifice they thinn’d
Alcahman’s thousands; and his broken force,
Exhausted by their dear-bought victory,
Turn’d back from Auria, leaving us to breathe
Among our mountains yet. We lack not here
Good hearts, nor valiant hands. What walls or towers
Or battlements are like these fastnesses,
These rocks and glens and everlasting hills?
Give but that Aurian spirit, and the Moors
Will spend their force as idly on these holds,
As round the rocky girdle of the land
The wild Cantabrian billows waste their rage.
Give but that spirit!... Heaven hath given it us,
If Adosinda thus, as from the dead,
Be granted to our prayers!
And who art thou,
Said Urban, who hast taken on thyself
This rule of warlike faith? Thy countenance
And those poor weeds bespeak a life ere this
Devoted to austere observances.
Roderick replied, I am a sinful man,
One who in solitude hath long deplored
A life mis-spent; but never bound by vows,
Till Adosinda taught me where to find
Comfort, and how to work forgiveness out.
When that exalted woman took my vow,
She call’d me Maccabee; from this day forth
[42]
Be that my earthly name. But tell me now,
Whom shall we rouse to take upon his head
The crown of Spain? Where are the Gothic Chiefs?
Sacaru, Theudemir, Athanagild,
All who survived that eight days’ obstinate fight,
When clogg’d with bodies Chrysus scarce could for
Its bloody stream along? Witiza’s sons,
Bad offspring of a stock accurst, I know,
Have put the turban on their recreant heads.
Where are your own Cantabrian Lords? I ween,
Eudon, and Pedro, and Pelayo now
Have ceased their rivalry. If Pelayo live,
His were the worthy heart and rightful hand
To wield the sceptre and the sword of Spain.
Odoar and Urban eyed him while he spake,
As if they wonder’d whose the tongue might be
Familiar thus with Chiefs and thoughts of state.
They scann’d his countenance, but not a trace
Betray’d the Royal Goth: sunk was that eye
Of sovereignty, and on the emaciate cheek
Had penitence and anguish deeply drawn
Their furrows premature, ... forestalling time,
And shedding upon thirty’s brow more snows
Than threescore winters in their natural course
Might else have sprinkled there. It seems indeed
That thou hast pass’d thy days in solitude,
Replied the Abbot, or thou would’st not ask
Of things so long gone by. Athanagild
And Theudemir have taken on their necks
The yoke. Sacaru play’d a nobler part.
Long within Merida did he withstand
[43]
The invader’s hot assault; and when at length,
Hopeless of all relief, he yielded up
The gates, disdaining in his father’s land
To breathe the air of bondage, with a few
Found faithful till the last, indignantly
Did he toward the ocean bend his way,
And shaking from his feet the dust of Spain,
Took ship, and hoisted sail through seas unknown
To seek for freedom. Our Cantabrian Chiefs
All have submitted, but the wary Moor
Trusteth not all alike: At his own Court
He holds Pelayo, as suspecting most
That calm and manly spirit; Pedro’s son
There too is held as hostage, and secures
His father’s faith; Count Eudon is despised,
And so lives unmolested. When he pays
His tribute, an uncomfortable thought
May then perhaps disturb him: ... or more like
He meditates how profitable ’twere
To be a Moor; and if apostacy
Were all, and to be unbaptized might serve, ...
But I waste breath upon a wretch like this;
Pelayo is the only hope of Spain,
Only Pelayo.
If, as we believe,
Said Urban then, the hand of Heaven is here,
And dreadful though they be, yet for wise end
Of good, these visitations do its work;
And dimly as our mortal sight may scan
The future, yet methinks my soul descries
How in Pelayo should the purposes
Of Heaven be best accomplish’d. All too long,
[44]
Here in their own inheritance, the sons
Of Spain have groan’d beneath a foreign yoke,
Punic and Roman, Kelt, and Goth, and Greek:
This latter tempest comes to sweep away
All proud distinctions which commingling blood
And time’s long course have fail’d to efface; and now
Perchance it is the will of Fate to rear
Upon the soil of Spain a Spanish throne,
Restoring in Pelayo’s native line
The sceptre to the Spaniard.
Go thou, then,
And seek Pelayo at the Conqueror’s court.
Tell him the mountaineers are unsubdued;
The precious time they needed hath been gain’d
By Auria’s sacrifice, and all they ask
Is him to guide them on. In Odoar’s name
And Urban’s, tell him that the hour is come.
Then pausing for a moment, he pursued:
The rule which thou hast taken on thyself
Toledo ratifies: ’tis meet for Spain,
And as the will divine, to be received,
Observed, and spread abroad. Come hither thou,
Who for thyself hath chosen the good part;
Let me lay hands on thee, and consecrate
Thy life unto the Lord.
Me! Roderick cried;
Me? sinner that I am!... and while he spake
His wither’d cheek grew paler, and his limbs
Shook. As thou goest among the infidels,
Pursued the Primate, many thou wilt find
Fallen from the faith; by weakness some betray’d,
[45]
Some led astray by baser hope of gain,
And haply too by ill example led
Of those in whom they trusted. Yet have these
Their lonely hours, when sorrow, or the touch
Of sickness, and that aweful power divine
Which hath its dwelling in the heart of man,
Life of his soul, his monitor and judge,
Move them with silent impulse; but they look
For help, and finding none to succour them,
The irrevocable moment passeth by.
Therefore, my brother, in the name of Christ
Thus I lay hands on thee, that in His name
Thou with His gracious promises may’st raise
The fallen, and comfort those that are in need,
And bring salvation to the penitent.
Now, brother, go thy way: the peace of God
Be with thee, and his blessing prosper us!
[46]
V.
RODERICK AND SIVERIAN.
Between St. Felix and the regal seat
Of Abdalazis, ancient Cordoba,
Lay many a long day’s journey interposed;
And many a mountain range hath Roderick cross’d,
And many a lovely vale, ere he beheld
Where Betis, winding through the unbounded plain
Roll’d his majestic waters. There at eve
Entering an inn, he took his humble seat
With other travellers round the crackling hearth,
Where heath and cistus gave their flagrant flame.
That flame no longer, as in other times,
Lit up the countenance of easy mirth
And light discourse: the talk which now went round
Was of the grief that press’d on every heart;
Of Spain subdued; the sceptre of the Goths
Broken; their nation and their name effaced;
Slaughter and mourning, which had left no house
Unvisited; and shame, which set its mark
On every Spaniard’s face. One who had seen
His sons fall bravely at his side, bewail’d
The unhappy chance which, rescuing him from death,
Left him the last of all his family;
Yet he rejoiced to think that none who drew
[47]
Their blood from him remain’d to wear the yoke,
Be at the miscreant’s beck, and propagate
A breed of slaves to serve them. Here sate one
Who told of fair possessions lost, and babes
To goodly fortunes born, of all bereft.
Another for a virgin daughter mourn’d,
The lewd barbarian’s spoil. A fourth had seen
His only child forsake him in his age,
And for a Moor renounce her hope in Christ.
His was the heaviest grief of all, he said;
And clenching as he spake his hoary locks,
He cursed King Roderick’s soul.
Oh curse him not!
Roderick exclaim’d, all shuddering as he spake.
Oh, for the love of Jesus, curse him not!
Sufficient is the dreadful load of guilt
That lies upon his miserable soul!
O brother, do not curse that sinful soul,
Which Jesus suffer’d on the cross to save!
But then an old man, who had sate thus long
A silent listener, from his seat arose,
And moving round to Roderick took his hand;
Christ bless thee, brother, for that Christian speech,
He said; and shame on me that any tongue
Readier than mine was found to utter it!
His own emotion fill’d him while he spake,
So that he did not feel how Roderick’s hand
Shook like a palsied limb; and none could see
How, at his well-known voice, the countenance
Of that poor traveller suddenly was changed,
And sunk with deadlier paleness; for the flame
[48]
Was spent, and from behind him, on the wall
High hung, the lamp with feeble glimmering play’d.
Oh it is ever thus! the old man pursued,
The crimes and woes of universal Spain
Are charged on him; and curses which should aim
At living heads, pursue beyond the grave
His poor unhappy soul! As if his sin
Had wrought the fall of our old monarchy!
As if the Musselmen in their career
Would ne’er have overleapt the gulf which parts
Iberia from the Mauritanian shore,
If Julian had not beckon’d them!... Alas!
The evils which drew on our overthrow,
Would soon by other means have wrought their end,
Though Julian’s daughter should have lived and died
A virgin vow’d and veil’d.
Touch not on that,
Shrinking with inward shiverings at the thought,
The penitent exclaim’d. Oh, if thou lovest
The soul of Roderick, touch not on that deed!
God in his mercy may forgive it him,
But human tongue must never speak his name
Without reproach and utter infamy,
For that abhorred act. Even thou.... But here
Siverian taking up the word, brake off
Unwittingly the incautious speech. Even I,
Quoth he, who nursed him in his father’s hall, ...
Even I can only for that deed of shame
Offer in agony my secret prayers.
But Spain hath witness’d other crimes as foul:
Have we not seen Favila’s shameless wife.
[49]
Throned in Witiza’s ivory car, parade
Our towns with regal pageantry, and bid
The murderous tyrant in her husband’s blood
Dip his adulterous hand? Did we not see
Pelayo, by that bloody king’s pursuit,
And that unnatural mother, from the land
With open outcry, like an outlaw’d thief,
Hunted? And saw ye not Theodofred,
As through the streets I guided his dark steps,
Roll mournfully toward the noon-day sun
His blank and senseless eye-balls? Spain saw this
And suffer’d it!... I seek not to excuse
The sin of Roderick. Jesu, who beholds
The burning tears I shed in solitude,
Knows how I plead for him in midnight prayer.
But if, when he victoriously revenged
The wrongs of Chindasuintho’s house, his sword
Had not for mercy turn’d aside its edge,
Oh what a day of glory had there been
Upon the banks of Chrysus! Curse not him,
Who in that fatal conflict to the last
So valiantly maintain’d his country’s cause;
But if your sorrow needs must have its vent
In curses, let your imprecations strike
The caitiffs, who, when Roderick’s hornëd helm
Rose eminent amid the thickest fight,
Betraying him who spared and trusted them,
Forsook their King, their Country, and their God,
And gave the Moor his conquest.
Aye! they said,
These were Witiza’s hateful progeny;
[50]
And in an evil hour the unhappy King
Had spared the viperous brood. With that they talk’d
How Sisibert and Ebba through the land
Guided the foe: and Orpas, who had cast
The mitre from his renegado brow,
Went with the armies of the infidels;
And how in Hispalis, even where his hands
Had minister’d so oft the bread of life,
The circumcised apostate did not shame
To shew in open day his turban’d head.
The Queen too, Egilona, one exclaim’d;
Was she not married to the enemy,
The Moor, the Misbeliever? What a heart
Were hers, that she could pride and plume herself
To rank among his herd of concubines,
Having been what she had been! And who could say
How far domestic wrongs and discontent
Had wrought upon the King!... Hereat the old man,
Raising beneath the knit and curly brow
His mournful eyes, replied, This I can tell,
That that unquiet spirit and unblest,
Though Roderick never told his sorrows, drove
Rusilla from the palace of her son.
She could not bear to see his generous mind
Wither beneath the unwholesome influence,
And cankering at the core. And I know well,
That oft when she deplored his barren bed,
The thought of Egilona’s qualities
Came like a bitter medicine for her grief,
And to the extinction of her husband’s line,
Sad consolation, reconciled her heart.
[51]
But Roderick, while they communed thus, had ceased
To hear, such painfulest anxiety
The sight of that old venerable man
Awoke. A sickening fear came over him:
The hope which led him from his hermitage
Now seem’d for ever gone, for well he knew
Nothing but death could break the ties which bound
That faithful servant to his father’s house.
She then for whose forgiveness he had yearn’d,
Who in her blessing would have given and found
The peace of Heaven, ... she then was to the grave
Gone down disconsolate at last; in this
Of all the woes of her unhappy life
Unhappiest, that she did not live to see
God had vouchsafed repentance to her child.
But then a hope arose that yet she lived;
The weighty cause which led Siverian here
Might draw him from her side; better to know
The worst than fear it. And with that he bent
Over the embers, and with head half raised
Aslant, and shadow’d by his hand, he said,
Where is King Roderick’s mother? lives she still?
God hath upheld her, the old man replied;
She bears this last and heaviest of her griefs,
Not as she bore her husband’s wrongs, when hope
And her indignant heart supported her;
But patiently, like one who finds from Heaven
A comfort which the world can neither give
Nor take away.... Roderick inquired no more;
He breathed a silent prayer in gratitude,
[52]
Then wrapt his cloak around him, and lay down
Where he might weep unseen.
When morning came,
Earliest of all the travellers he went forth,
And linger’d for Siverian by the way,
Beside a fountain, where the constant fall
Of water its perpetual gurgling made,
To the wayfaring or the musing man
Sweetest of all sweet sounds. The Christian hand,
Whose general charity for man and beast
Built it in better times, had with a cross
Of well-hewn stone crested the pious work,
Which now the misbelievers had cast down,
And broken in the dust it lay defiled.
Roderick beheld it lying at his feet,
And gathering reverently the fragments up,
Placed them within the cistern, and restored
With careful collocation its dear form, ...
So might the waters, like a crystal shrine,
Preserve it from pollution. Kneeling then,
O’er the memorial of redeeming love
He bent, and mingled with the fount his tears,
And pour’d his spirit to the Crucified.
A Moor came by, and seeing him, exclaim’d,
Ah, Kaffer! worshipper of wood and stone,
God’s curse confound thee! And as Roderick turn’d
His face, the miscreant spurn’d him with his foot
Between the eyes. The indignant King arose,
And fell’d him to the ground. But then the Moor
Drew forth his dagger, rising as he cried,
What, darëst thou, thou infidel and slave,
[53]
Strike a believer? and he aim’d a blow
At Roderick’s breast. But Roderick caught his arm,
And closed, and wrench’d the dagger from his hold, ...
Such timely strength did those emaciate limbs
From indignation draw, ... and in his neck
With mortal stroke he drove the avenging steel
Hilt deep. Then, as the thirsty sand drank in
The expiring miscreant’s blood, he look’d around
In sudden apprehension, lest the Moors
Had seen them; but Siverian was in sight,
The only traveller, and he smote his mule
And hasten’d up. Ah, brother! said the old man,
Thine is a spirit of the ancient mould!
And would to God a thousand men like thee
Had fought at Roderick’s side on that last day
When treason overpower’d him! Now, alas!
A manly Gothic heart doth ill accord
With these unhappy times. Come, let us hide
This carrion, while the favouring hour permits.
So saying he alighted. Soon they scoop’d
Amid loose-lying sand a hasty grave,
And levell’d over it the easy soil.
Father, said Roderick, as they journey’d on,
Let this thing be a seal and sacrament
Of truth between us: Wherefore should there be
Concealment between two right Gothic hearts
In evil days like ours? What thou hast seen
Is but the first fruit of the sacrifice,
Which on this injured and polluted soil,
As on a bloody altar, I have sworn
To offer to insulted Heaven for Spain,
[54]
Her vengeance and her expiation. This
Was but a hasty act, by sudden wrong
Provoked: but I am bound for Cordoba,
On weighty mission from Visonia sent,
To breathe into Pelayo’s ear a voice
Of spirit-stirring power, which like the trump
Of the Arch-angel, shall awake dead Spain.
The northern mountaineers are unsubdued;
They call upon Pelayo for their chief;
Odoar and Urban tell him that the hour
Is come. Thou too, I ween, old man, art charged
With no light errand, or thou wouldst not now
Have left the ruins of thy master’s house.
Who art thou? cried Siverian, as he search’d
The wan and wither’d features of the King.
The face is of a stranger, but thy voice
Disturbs me like a dream.
Roderick replied,
Thou seest me as I am, ... a stranger; one
Whose fortunes in the general wreck were lost,
His name and lineage utterly extinct,
Himself in mercy spared, surviving all; ...
In mercy, that the bitter cup might heal
A soul diseased. Now, having cast the slough
Of old offences, thou beholdest me
A man new-born; in second baptism named,
Like those who in Judea bravely raised
Against the Heathèn’s impious tyranny
The banner of Jehovah, Maccabee;
So call me. In that name hath Urban laid
His consecrating hands upon my head;
[55]
And in that name have I myself for Spain
Devoted. Tell me now why thou art sent
To Cordoba; for sure thou goëst not
An idle gazer to the Conqueror’s court.
Thou judgest well, the old man replied. I too
Seek the Cantabrian Prince, the hope of Spain,
With other tidings charged, for other end
Design’d, yet such as well may work with thine.
My noble Mistress sends me to avert
The shame that threats his house. The renegade
Numacian, he who for the infidels
Oppresses Gegio, insolently woos
His sister. Moulded in a wicked womb,
The unworthy Guisla hath inherited
Her Mother’s leprous taint; and willingly
She to the circumcised and upstart slave,
Disdaining all admonishment, gives ear.
The Lady Gaudiosa sees in this,
With the quick foresight of maternal care,
The impending danger to her husband’s house,
Knowing his generous spirit ne’er will brook
The base alliance. Guisla lewdly sets
His will at nought; but that vile renegade,
From hatred, and from avarice, and from fear,
Will seek the extinction of Pelayo’s line.
This too my venerable Mistress sees;
Wherefore these valiant and high-minded dames
Send me to Cordoba; that if the Prince
Cannot by timely interdiction stop
The irrevocable act of infamy,
[56]
He may at least to his own safety look,
Being timely warn’d.
Thy Mistress sojourns then
With Gaudiosa, in Pelayo’s hall?
Said Roderick. ’Tis her natural home, rejoin’d
Siverian: Chindasuintho’s royal race
Have ever shared one lot of weal or woe:
And she who hath beheld her own fair shoot,
The goodly summit of that ancient tree,
Struck by Heaven’s bolt, seeks shelter now beneath
The only branch of its majestic stem
That still survives the storm.
Thus they pursued
Their journey, each from other gathering store
For thought, with many a silent interval
Of mournful meditation, till they saw
The temples and the towers of Cordoba
Shining majestic in the light of eve.
Before them Betis roll’d his glittering stream,
In many a silvery winding traced afar
Amid the ample plain. Behind the walls
And stately piles which crown’d its margin, rich
With olives, and with sunny slope of vines,
And many a lovely hamlet interspersed,
Whose citron bowers were once the abode of peace,
Height above height, receding hills were seen
Imbued with evening hues; and over all
The summits of the dark sierra rose,
Lifting their heads amid the silent sky.
The traveller who with a heart at ease
Had seen the goodly vision, would have loved
[57]
To linger, seeking with insatiate sight
To treasure up its image, deep impress’d,
A joy for years to come. O Cordoba,
Exclaim’d the old man, how princely are thy towers,
How fair thy vales, thy hills how beautiful!
The sun who sheds on thee his parting smiles
Sees not in all his wide career a scene
Lovelier, nor more exuberantly blest
By bounteous earth and heaven. The very gales
Of Eden waft not from the immortal bowers
Odours to sense more exquisite, than these
Which, breathing from thy groves and gardens, now
Recall in me such thoughts of bitterness.
The time has been when happy was their lot
Who had their birthright here; but happy now
Are they who to thy bosom are gone home,
Because they feel not in their graves the feet
That trample upon Spain. ’Tis well that age
Hath made me like a child, that I can weep:
My heart would else have broken, overcharged,
And I, false servant, should lie down to rest
Before my work is done.
Hard by their path,
A little way without the walls, there stood
An edifice, whereto, as by a spell,
Siverian’s heart was drawn. Brother, quoth he,
’Tis like the urgency of our return
Will brook of no retardment; and this spot
It were a sin if I should pass, and leave
Unvisited. Beseech you turn with me,
The while I offer up one duteous prayer.
[58]
Roderick made no reply. He had not dared
To turn his face toward those walls; but now
He follow’d where the old man led the way.
Lord! in his heart the silent sufferer said,
Forgive my feeble soul, which would have shrunk
From this, ... for what am I that I should put
The bitter cup aside! O let my shame
And anguish be accepted in thy sight!
[59]
VI.
RODERICK IN TIMES PAST.
The mansion whitherward they went, was one
Which in his youth Theodofred had built:
Thither had he brought home in happy hour
His blooming bride; there fondled on his knee
The lovely boy she bore him. Close beside,
A temple to that Saint he rear’d, who first,
As old tradition tells, proclaim’d to Spain
The gospel-tidings; and in health and youth,
There mindful of mortality, he saw
His sepulchre prepared. Witiza took
For his adulterous leman and himself
The stately pile: but to that sepulchre,
When from captivity and darkness death
Enlarged him, was Theodofred consign’d;
For that unhappy woman, wasting then
Beneath a mortal malady, at heart
Was smitten, and the Tyrant at her prayer
This poor and tardy restitution made.
Soon the repentant sinner follow’d him;
And calling on Pelayo ere she died,
For his own wrongs, and for his father’s death,
Implored forgiveness of her absent child, ...
If it were possible he could forgive
[60]
Crimes black as her’s, she said. And by the pangs
Of her remorse, ... by her last agonies, ...
The unutterable horrors of her death, ...
And by the blood of Jesus on the cross
For sinners given, did she beseech his prayers
In aid of her most miserable soul.
Thus mingling sudden shrieks with hopeless vows,
And uttering franticly Pelayo’s name,
And crying out for mercy in despair,
Here had she made her dreadful end, and here
Her wretched body was deposited.
That presence seem’d to desecrate the place:
Thenceforth the usurper shunn’d it with the heart
Of conscious guilt; nor could Rusilla bear
These groves and bowers, which, like funereal shades,
Opprest her with their monumental forms:
One day of bitter and severe delight,
When Roderick came for vengeance, she endured,
And then for ever left her bridal halls.
Oh when I last beheld yon princely pile,
Exclaim’d Siverian, with what other thoughts
Full, and elate of spirit, did I pass
Its joyous gates! The weedery which through
The interstices of those neglected courts
Uncheck’d had flourish’d long, and seeded there,
Was trampled then and bruised beneath the feet
Of thronging crowds. Here drawn in fair array,
The faithful vassals of my master’s house,
Their javelins sparkling to the morning sun,
Spread their triumphant banners; high-plumed helms
Rose o’er the martial ranks, and prancing steeds
[61]
Made answer to the trumpet’s stirring voice;
While yonder towers shook the dull silence off
Which long to their deserted walls had clung,
And with redoubling echoes swell’d the shout
That hail’d victorious Roderick. Louder rose
The acclamation, when the dust was seen
Rising beneath his chariot-wheels far off;
But nearer as the youthful hero came,
All sounds of all the multitude were hush’d,
And from the thousands and ten thousands here,
Whom Cordoba and Hispalis sent forth, ...
Yea whom all Bætica, all Spain pour’d out
To greet his triumph, ... not a whisper rose
To Heaven, such awe and reverence master’d them,
Such expectation held them motionless.
Conqueror and King he came; but with no joy
Of conquest, and no pride of sovereignty
That day display’d; for at his father’s grave
Did Roderick come to offer up his vow
Of vengeance well perform’d. Three coal-black steed
Drew on his ivory chariot: by his side,
Still wrapt in mourning for the long-deceased,
Rusilla state; a deeper paleness blanch’d
Her faded countenance, but in her eye
The light of her majestic nature shone.
Bound, and expecting at their hands the death
So well deserved, Witiza follow’d them;
Aghast and trembling, first he gazed around,
Wildly from side to side; then from the face
Of universal execration shrunk,
Hanging his wretched head abased; and poor
Of spirit, with unmanly tears deplored
[62]
His fortune, not his crimes. With bolder front,
Confiding in his priestly character,
Came Orpas next; and then the spurious race
Whom in unhappy hour Favila’s wife
Brought forth for Spain. O mercy ill bestow’d,
When Roderick, in compassion for their youth,
And for Pelayo’s sake, forebore to crush
The brood of vipers!
Err perchance he might,
Replied the Goth, suppressing as he spake
All outward signs of pain, though every word
Went like a dagger to his bleeding heart; ...
But sure, I ween, that error is not placed
Among his sins. Old man, thou mayest regret
The mercy ill deserved, and worse return’d,
But not for this wouldst thou reproach the King!
Reproach him? cried Siverian; ... I reproach
My child, ... my noble boy, ... whom every tongue
Bless’d at that hour, ... whose love fill’d every heart
With joy, and every eye with joyful tears!
My brave, my beautiful, my generous boy!
Brave, beautiful, and generous as he was,
Never so brave, so beautiful, so great
As then, ... not even on that glorious day,
When on the field of victory, elevate
Amid the thousands who acclaim’d him King,
Firm on the shield above their heads upraised,
Erect he stood, and waved his bloody sword....
Why dost thou shake thy head as if in doubt?
I do not dream, nor fable! Ten short years
Have scarcely past away, since all within
[63]
The Pyrenean hills, and the three seas
Which girdle Spain, echoed in one response
The acclamation from that field of fight....
Or doth aught ail thee, that thy body quakes
And shudders thus?
’Tis but a chill, replied
The King, in passing from the open air
Under the shadow of this thick-set grove.
Oh! if this scene awoke in thee such thoughts
As swell my bosom here, the old man pursued,
Sunshine, or shade, and all things from without,
Would be alike indifferent. Gracious God,
Only but ten short years, ... and all so changed!
Ten little years since in yon court he check’d
His fiery steeds. The steeds obey’d his hand,
The whirling wheels stood still, and when he leapt
Upon the pavement, the whole people heard,
In their deep silence, open-ear’d, the sound.
With slower movement from the ivory seat
Rusilla rose, her arm, as down she stept,
Extended to her son’s supporting hand;
Not for default of firm or agile strength,
But that the feeling of that solemn hour
Subdued her then, and tears bedimm’d her sight.
Howbeit when to her husband’s grave she came,
On the sepulchral stone she bow’d her head
Awhile; then rose collectedly, and fix’d
Upon the scene her calm and steady eye.
Roderick, ... oh when did valour wear a form
So beautiful, so noble, so august?
Or vengeance, when did it put on before
[64]
A character so aweful, so divine?
Roderick stood up, and reaching to the tomb
His hands, my hero cried, Theodofred!
Father! I stand before thee once again,
According to thy prayer, when kneeling down
Between thy knees I took my last farewell;
And vow’d by all thy sufferings, all thy wrongs,
And by my mother’s days and nights of woe,
Her silent anguish, and the grief which then
Even from thee she did not seek to hide,
That if our cruel parting should avail
To save me from the Tyrant’s jealous guilt,
Surely should my avenging sword fulfil
Whate’er he omen’d. Oh that time, I cried,
Would give the strength of manhood to this arm,
Already would it find a manly heart
To guide it to its purpose! And I swore
Never again to see my father’s face,
Nor ask my mother’s blessing, till I brought,
Dead or in chains, the Tyrant to thy feet.
Boy as I was, before all Saints in Heaven,
And highest God, whose justice slumbereth not,
I made the vow. According to thy prayer,
In all things, O my father, is that vow
Perform’d, alas too well! for thou didst pray,
While looking up I felt the burning tears
Which from thy sightless sockets stream’d, drop down, ...
That to thy grave, and not thy living feet,
The oppressor might be led. Behold him there, ...
Father! Theodofred! no longer now
In darkness, from thy heavenly seat look down,
[65]
And see before thy grave thine enemy
In bonds, awaiting judgment at my hand!
Thus while the hero spake, Witiza stood
Listening in agony, with open mouth,
And head, half-raised, toward his sentence turn’d;
His eye-lids stiffen’d and pursed up, ... his eyes
Rigid, and wild, and wide; and when the King
Had ceased, amid the silence which ensued,
The dastard’s chains were heard, link against link
Clinking. At length upon his knees he fell,
And lifting up his trembling hands, outstretch’d
In supplication, ... Mercy! he exclaim’d....
Chains, dungeons, darkness, ... any thing but death!...
I did not touch his life.
Roderick replied,
His hour, whenever it had come, had found
A soul prepared: he lived in peace with Heaven,
And life prolong’d for him, was bliss delay’d.
But life, in pain and darkness and despair,
For thee, all leprous as thou art with crimes,
Is mercy.... Take him hence, and let him see
The light of day no more!
Such Roderick was
When last I saw these courts, ... his theatre
Of glory; ... such when last I visited
My master’s grave! Ten years have hardly held
Their course, ... ten little years ... break, break, old heart....
Oh why art thou so tough!
As thus he spake
They reach’d the church. The door before his hand
[66]
Gave way; both blinded with their tears, they went
Straight to the tomb; and there Siverian knelt,
And bow’d his face upon the sepulchre,
Weeping aloud; while Roderick, overpower’d,
And calling upon earth to cover him,
Threw himself prostrate on his father’s grave.
Thus as they lay, an aweful voice in tones
Severe address’d them. Who are ye, it said,
That with your passion thus, and on this night,
Disturb my prayers? Starting they rose; there stood
A man before them of majestic form
And stature, clad in sackcloth, bare of foot,
Pale, and in tears, with ashes on his head.
[67]
VII.
RODERICK AND PELAYO.
’Twas not in vain that on her absent son,
Pelayo’s mother from the bed of death
Call’d for forgiveness, and in agony
Besought his prayers; all guilty as she was,
Sure he had not been human, if that cry
Had fail’d to pierce him. When he heard the tale
He bless’d the messenger, even while his speech
Was faltering, ... while from head to foot he shook
With icey feelings from his inmost heart
Effused. It changed the nature of his woe,
Making the burthen more endurable:
The life-long sorrow that remain’d, became
A healing and a chastening grief, and brought
His soul, in close communion, nearer Heaven.
For he had been her first-born, and the love
Which at her breast he drew, and from her smiles,
And from her voice of tenderness imbibed,
Gave such unnatural horror to her crimes,
That when the thought came over him, it seem’d
As if the milk which with his infant life
Had blended, thrill’d like poison through his frame.
It was a woe beyond all reach of hope,
Till with the dreadful tale of her remorse
Faith touch’d his heart; and ever from that day
[68]
Did he for her who bore him, night and morn,
Pour out the anguish of his soul in prayer:
But chiefly as the night return’d, which heard
Her last expiring groans of penitence,
Then through the long and painful hours, before
The altar, like a penitent himself,
He kept his vigils; and when Roderick’s sword
Subdued Witiza, and the land was free,
Duly upon her grave he offer’d up
His yearly sacrifice of agony
And prayer. This was the night, and he it was
Who now before Siverian and the King
Stood up in sackcloth.
The old man, from fear
Recovering and from wonder, knew him first.
It is the Prince! he cried, and bending down
Embraced his knees. The action and the word
Awaken’d Roderick; he shook off the load
Of struggling thoughts, which pressing on his heart,
Held him like one entranced; yet, all untaught
To bend before the face of man, confused
Awhile he stood, forgetful of his part.
But when Siverian cried, My Lord, my Lord,
Now God be praised that I have found thee thus,
My Lord and Prince, Spain’s only hope and mine!
Then Roderick, echoing him, exclaim’d, My Lord,
And Prince, Pelayo!... and approaching near,
He bent his knee obeisant: but his head
Earthward inclined; while the old man, looking up
From his low gesture to Pelayo’s face,
Wept at beholding him for grief and joy.
[69]
Siverian! cried the chief, ... of whom hath Death
Bereaved me, that thou comest to Cordoba?...
Children, or wife?... Or hath the merciless scythe
Of this abhorr’d and jealous tyranny
Made my house desolate at one wide sweep?
They are as thou couldst wish, the old man replied,
Wert thou but lord of thine own house again,
And Spain were Spain once more. A tale of ill
I bear, but one that touches not the heart
Like what thy fears forebode. The renegade
Numacian woos thy sister, and she lends
To the vile slave, unworthily, her ear:
The Lady Gaudiosa hath in vain
Warn’d her of all the evils which await
A union thus accurst: she sets at nought
Her faith, her lineage, and thy certain wrath.
Pelayo hearing him, remain’d awhile
Silent; then turning to his mother’s grave, ...
O thou poor dust, hath then the infectious taint
Survived thy dread remorse, that it should run
In Guisla’s veins? he cried; ... I should have heard
The story of Count Julian and his daughter has been treated
as a fable by some authors, because it is not mentioned by the
three writers who lived nearest the time. But those writers
state the mere fact of the conquest of Spain as briefly as possible,
without entering into particulars of any kind; and the
best Spanish historians and antiquaries are persuaded that there
is no cause for disbelieving the uniform and concurrent tradition
of both Moors and Christians.
For the purposes of poetry, it is immaterial whether the
story be true or false. I have represented the Count as a man
both sinned against and sinning, and equally to be commiserated
and condemned. The author of the Tragedy of Count Julian
has contemplated his character in a grander point of view, and
represented him as a man self-justified in bringing an army of
foreign auxiliaries to assist him in delivering his country from
a tyrant, and foreseeing, when it is too late to recede, the evils
which he is thus bringing upon her.
Not victory that o’ershadows him, sees he!
No airy and light passion stirs abroad
To ruffle or to sooth him; all are quell’d
Beneath a mightier, sterner stress of mind:
Wakeful he sits, and lonely and unmoved,
Beyond the arrows, views, or shouts of men:
As oftentimes an eagle, when the sun
Throws o’er the varying earth his early ray,
[252]
Stands solitary, stands immoveable
Upon some highest cliff, and rolls his eye,
Clear, constant, unobservant, unabased,
In the cold light, above the dews of morn.
Act 5. Scene 2.
Parts of this tragedy are as fine in their kind as any thing
which can be found in the whole compass of English poetry.
Juan de Mena places Count Julian with Orpas, the renegado
Archbishop of Seville, in the deepest pit of hell.
No buenamente te puedo callar
Orpas maldito, ni a ti Julian,
Pues soys en el valle mas hondo de afan,
Que no se redime jamas por llorar:
Qual ya crueza vos pudo indignar
A vender un dia las tierras y leyes
De Espana, las quales pujança de reyes
En años a tantos no pudo cobrar.
Copla 91.
A Portugueze poet, Andre da Sylva Mascarenhas, is more
indulgent to the Count, and seems to consider it as a mark of
degeneracy in his own times, that the same crime would no
longer provoke the same vengeance. His catalogue of women
who have become famous by the evil of which they have been
the occasion, begins with Eve, and ends with Anne Boleyn.
Never has any country been so cursed by the spirit of persecution
as Spain. Under the Heathen Emperors it had its
full share of suffering, and the first fatal precedent of appealing
to the secular power to punish heresy with death, occurred in
Spain. Then came the Arian controversy. There was as
much bigotry, as much rancour, as little of the spirit of Christianity,
and as much intolerance, on one part as on the other:
but the successful party were better politicians, and more expert
in the management of miracles.
Near to the city of Osen, or Ossel, there was a famous
Catholic church, and a more famous baptistery, which was
in the form of a cross. On holy Thursday in every year, the
bishop, the clergy, and the people assembled there, saw that
the baptistery was empty, and enjoyed a marvellous fragrance
which differed from that of any, or all, flowers and spices, for
it was an odour which came as the vesper of the divine virtue
that was about to manifest itself: Then they fastened the doors
of the church and sealed them. On Easter Eve the doors
were opened, the baptistery was found full of water, and all the
children born within the preceding twelve months were baptized.
Theudisclo, an Arian king, set his seal also upon the
doors for two successive years, and set a guard there. Still
the miraculous baptistery was filled. The third year he suspected
pipes, and ordered a trench to be dug round the building;
but before the day of trial arrived, he was murdered, as
opportunely as Arius himself. The trench was dry, but the
workmen did not dig deep enough, and the miracle was continued.[254]
When the victory of the Catholic party was complete,
it was no longer necessary to keep it up. The same baptistery
was employed to convince the Spaniards of their error in keeping
Easter. In Brito’s time, a few ruins called Oscla, were
shown near the river Cambria; the broken baptistery was then
called the Bath, and some wild superstitions which the peasantry
related bore traces of the original legend. The trick was not
uncommon; it was practised in Sicily and in other places.
The story, however, is of some value, as showing that baptism
was administered[2] only once a year, (except in cases of danger,)
that immersion was the manner, and that infants were baptized.
Arianism seems to have lingered in Spain long after its
defeat. The names Pelayo (Pelagius), and Arias, certainly
appear to indicate a cherished heresy, and Brito[3] must have
felt this when he deduced the former name from Saint Pelayo
of the tenth century; for how came the Saint by it, and how
could Brito have forgotten the founder of the Spanish
monarchy?
In the latter half of the eleventh century, the Count of Barcelona,
Ramon Berenguer, Cap de estopa, as he was called, for
his bushy head, made war upon some Christians who are said
to have turned Arians, and took the castles into which they
retired.[4] By the number of their castles, which he gave to
those chiefs who assisted him in conquering them, they appear
to have been numerous. It is not improbable that those people
were really what they are called; for Arian has never been, like
Manichæan, a term ignorantly and indiscriminately given to
heretics of all descriptions; and there is no heresy which
would be so well understood in Spain, and so likely to have
revived there.
The feelings of the triumphant party toward their opponents,[255]
are well marked by the manner in which St. Isidore
speaks of the death of the Emperor Valens. Thraciam ferro
incendiisque depopulantur, deletoque Romanorum exercitu ipsum
Valentem jaculo vulneratum, in quadam villa fugientem succenderunt,
ut merito ipse ab eis vivus temporali cremaretur incendio,
qui tam pulchras animas ignibus æternis[5] tradiderat. If the
truth of this opinion should be doubted, there is a good Athanasian
miracle in the Chronicon[6] of S. Isidore and Melitus,
to prove it. A certain Arian, by name Olympius, being in the
bath, blasphemed the Holy Trinity, and, behold! being struck
by an angel with three fiery darts, he was visibly consumed.
With regard to the Arians, the Catholics only did to the
others as the others would have done to them; but the persecution
of the Jews was equally unprovoked and inhuman.
They are said to have betrayed many towns to the Moors;
and it would be strange indeed if they had not, by every means
in their power, assisted in overthrowing a government under
which they were miserably oppressed. St. Isidore has a memorable
passage relating to their cruel persecution and compulsory
conversion under Sisebut; Qui initio regni Judæos ad
Fidem Christianam permovens æmulationem quidem habuit, sed
non secundum scientiam: potestate enim compulit, ques provocare
fidei ratione oportuit. Sed sicut est scriptum sive per occasionem
sive per veritatem, Christus annuntiatur, in hoc gaudeo et gaudebo.—S.
Isidor. Christ. Goth. Espana Sagrada, 6. 502.
The Moorish conquest procured for them an interval of
repose, till the Inquisition was established, and by its damnable
acts put all former horrors out of remembrance. When Toledo
was recovered from the Moors by Alonso VI., the Jews of that
city waited upon the conqueror, and assured him that they
were part of the ten tribes whom Nebuchadnezzar had transported
into Spain; not the descendants of the Jerusalem Jews
who had crucified Christ. Their ancestors, they said, were
entirely innocent of the crucifixion; for when Caiaphas the
high-priest had written to the Toledan synagogues to ask their[256]
advice respecting the person who called himself the Messiah,
and whether he should be slain, the Toledan Jews returned
for answer, that in their judgement the prophecies seemed to
be fulfilled in this person, and, therefore, he ought not by any
means to be put to death. This reply they produced in the
original Hebrew, and in Arabic, as it had been translated by
command of King Galifre. Alonso gave ear to the story, had
the letter rendered into Latin and Castilian, and deposited it
among the archives of Toledo. The latter version is thus
printed by Sandoval:—
Levi Archisinagogo, et Samuel, et Joseph, homes bonos del Aljama
de Toledo, a Eleazar Muyd gran Sacerdote, e a Samuel Canud,
y Anas, y Cayphas, homes bonos de la Aljama de la Terra
Santa, Salud en el Dios de Israel.
Azarias voso home, Maeso en ley nos aduxo las cartas que vos
nos embiavades, por las quales nos faziades saber cuemo passava
la facienda del Propheta Nazaret, que diz que facie muchas
sennas. Colo por esta vila, non ha mucho, un cierto Samuel, fil
de Amacias, et fablo nusco, et reconto muchas bondades deste
home, que ye, que es home homildoso et manso, que fabla con los
laçeriados, que faz a todos bien, e que faciendole a el mal, el non
faz mal a ninguem; et que es home fuerte con superbos et homes
malos, et que vos malamente teniades enemiga con ele, por quanto
en faz el descubria vosos pecados, ca por quanto facia esto, le
aviades mala voluntad. Et perquirimos deste home, en que año,
o mes o dia, avia nacido: et que nos lo dixesse: falamos que el
dia de la sua Natividade foron vistos en estas partes tres soles
muelle a muelle, fizieron soldemente un sol; et cuemo nosos padres
cataron esta senna, asmados dixeron que cedo el Messias naceria,
et que por aventura era ja nacido. Catad hermanos si por aventura
ha ja venido et non le ayades acatado. Relataba tambien
el susodicho home, que el suo pay le recontava, que ciertos Magos,
homes de mucha sapiencia, en la sua Natividade legaron a tierra
santa, perquiriendo logar donde el niño sancto era nacido; y que
Herodes voso Rey se asmo, et diposito junto a homes sabios de
sua vila, e perquirio donde nasceria el Infante, por quien perquirian[257]
Magos, et le respondieron, en Betlem de Juda, segun que
Micheas depergino profeto. Et que dixeron aqueles Magos, que
una estrella de gran craredad, de luenne aduxo a tierra santa:
catad non sea esta quela profezia, cataran Reyes, et andaran en
craridad de la sua Natividade. Otrosi, catad non persigades
al que forades tenudos mucho honrar et recibir de bon talante.
Mais fazed lo que tuvieres por bien aguisada; nos vos dezimos
que nin por consejo, nin por noso alvedrio veniremos en consentimiento
de la sua morte. Ca, si nos esto fiziessemos, logo seria
nuesco, que la profezia que diz, congregaronse de consuno contra
el Sennor, et contra el suo Messias. E damos vos este consejo,
maguera sodes homes de muyta sapença, que tengades grande
aficamento sobre tamana fazienda, porque el Dios de Israel enojado
con vasco, non destruya casa segunda de voso segundo templo.
Ca sepades cierto, cedo ha de ser destruyda; et por esta rason
nosos antepassados, que salieron de captiverio de Babylonia, siendo
suo Capitane yrro, que embio Rey Cyro, et aduxo nusco muytas
riqueças que tollo de Babylonia el año de sesenta et nueve de
captividade, et foron recebidos en Toledo de Gentiles que y moravan,
et edificaron una grande Aljama, et non quisieron bolver a
Jerusalem otra vegada a edificar Temple, aviendo ser destruido
otra vegada. De Toledo catorze dias del mes Nisan, Era de
Cesar diez y ocho, y de Augusto Octaviano setenta y uno.—Sandoval,
71.
Had Alonso been as zealous as some of his Gothic predecessors,
or his most Catholic successors, he might have found
a fair pretext in this letter for ordering all the Jews of Toledo
to the font, unless they would show cause why they should
adhere to the opinion of Caiaphas and the Jerusalem Jews,
rather than to that of their own ancestors.
General Vallancy believes that the Spanish Jews were
brought into the Peninsula by Nebuchadnezzar, and admits
these Toledans as authority. He quotes Count de Gebelin, and
refers to Strabo and Ezekiel. The proof from Ezekiel rests
upon the word Orb, Earb, Warb, or Gharb; which is made
into Algarve!
A Jew in Tirante el Blanco (p. 2. c. 74. f. 243.) explains[258]
the difference between the different races of Jews. They are
three, he says. One the progeny of those who took counsel for
the death of Christ; and they were known by this, that they
were in continual motion, hands and feet, and never could rest;
neither could their spirit ever be still, and they had very little
shame. The second were the descendants of those who put
in execution and assisted at the various parts of the sufferings
and death of Christ, and they never could look any man in the
face, nor could they, without great difficulty, ever look up to
heaven. The third were the children of David, who did all
they could to prevent the death of Christ, and shut themselves
up in the temple that they might not witness it. These are
affable, good men, who love their neighbours; a quiet peaceable
race, who can look any where.
Thomas Tamaio de Vargas, the editor of the spurious Luitprand,
says, that not only many Hebrew words are mixed with
the old Spanish, but that, prô dolor! the black and stinking
Jewish blood had been mingled with the most pure blood of
the Spaniards. (p. 96.) They were very anxious, he says, to
intermarry, and spoil the pure blood. And he adds, that the
Spaniards call them putos, quia putant. “But,” says Sir
Thomas Browne, “that an unsavoury odour is gentilitious, or
national to the Jews, we cannot well concede. And if, (according
to good relations,) where they may freely speak it,
they forbear not to boast that there are at present many thousand
Jews in Spain, France, and England, and some dispensed
withal even to the degree of priesthood, it is a matter very
considerable, and could they be smelled out, would much advantage
not only the church of Christ, but also the coffers of
princes.—The ground that begat or propagated this assertion
might be the distasteful averseness of the Christian from the
Jew upon the villainy of that fact, which made them abominable,
and ‘stink in the nostrils of all men.’ Which real
practice and metaphorical expression did after proceed into a
literal construction, but was a fraudulent illation; for such an
evil savour their father Jacob acknowledged in himself, when
he said his sons had made him stink in the land, that is, to be[259]
abominable unto the inhabitants thereof.—Another cause is
urged by Campegius, and much received by Christians; that
this ill savour is a curse derived upon them by Christ, and
stands as a badge or brand of a generation that crucified their
Salvator. But this is a conceit without all warrant, and an
easy way to take off dispute in what point of obscurity soever.”
Vulgar Errors, Book iv. ch. 10.
The Mahommedans also hold a like opinion of the unsavouriness
of the Jews, and account for it by this legend which is
given by Sale. “Some of the children of Israel abandoned their
dwellings because of a pestilence, or, as others say, to avoid
serving in a religious war; but as they fled, God struck them
all dead in a certain valley. About eight days or more
after, when their bodies were corrupted, the Prophet Ezekiel
happening to pass that way, at the sight wept; whereupon
God said to him, ‘Call to them, O Ezekiel, and I will restore
them to life.’ And accordingly, on the prophet’s call, they all
arose, and lived several years after; but they retained the
colour and stench of dead corpses as long as they lived, and the
clothes they wore were changed as black as pitch, which qualities
they transmitted to their posterity.”
One of our own travellers[7] tells us of a curious practical
application of this belief in Barbary. “The Moors of Tangier,”
he says, “when they want rain, and have prayed in vain
for it, set the Jews to work, saying, that though God would
not grant it to the prayers of the faithful, he would to the
Jews, in order to be rid of their stink.” Ludicrous as this is,
South has a passage concerning the Jews, which is little more
reasonable, in one of his sermons. “The truth is,” he says,
“they were all along a cross, odd, untoward sort of people,
and such as God seems to have chosen, and (as the Prophets
sometimes phrase it) to have espoused to himself, upon the
very same account that Socrates espoused Xantippe, only for
her extreme ill conditions, above all that he could possibly find
or pick out of that sex: and so the fittest argument both to[260]
exercise and declare his admirable patience to the world.”—Vol.
i. 421.
Of the condition of slaves under the Spanish Wisigoths, I
have given an account in the Introduction of the Chronicle of
the Cid. This also, like the persecution of the Jews, must
greatly have facilitated the Moorish conquest. Another
facilitating cause was, that notwithstanding their frequent civil
disturbances, they had in great measure ceased to be a warlike
people. The many laws in the Fuero Juzgo, for compelling
men to military service, prove this. These laws are full of
complaints that the people would avoid the service if they
could. Habits of settled life seem throughout Europe to have
effeminated the northern conquerors, till the Normans renovated
the race, and the institutions of chivalry and the crusades
produced a new era.
Gibel-al-Tarif, the mountain Tarif, is the received etymology
of Gibraltar: Ben Hazel, a Granadan Moor, says expressly,
that the mountain derived its name from this general.
Its former appellations may be seen in the Historia de
Gibraltar, by Don Ignacio Lopez de Ayala. The derivation
of the word Calpe is not known: Florian de Ocampo identifies
it with the English word golloping, in a passage which may
amuse the Spanish scholar. “La segunda nombradia fue llamarle[261]
Calpe, cuya razon, segun dicen algunos, procedio de que
los Andaluces ancianos en su lengua vieja solian llamar Calepas
y Calpes a qualesquier cosas enhiestas y levantadas, agora fuesen
peñascos, o pizarras, o maderos, o piedras menores, como lo significamos
en los diez y ocho capitulos precedentes: y dicen que con
estar alli junto de Gibraltar sobre sus marinas el risco, que ya
dixe muy encumbrado y enhiesto, qual hoy dia parece, lo llamaban
Calpes aquellos Andaluces pasados: y por su respecto la mesma
poblacion vino tambien a tener despues aquel proprio nombre. No
faltan otras personas que siguiendo las Escrituras Griegas pongan
esta razon del nombre Calpes mucho diversamente, diciendo,
que quando los cosarios Argonautas desembarcaron en España,
cerca del estrecho, segun ya lo declaramos, el tiempo que hacian
sus exercicios arriba dichos, de saltos y luchas, y musicas acordadas,
bien asi como los pastores Españoles comarcanos recibian
contentamientos grande, mirado las tales desenvolturas y ligerezas,
no menos aquellos Griegos recien venidos notaban algunos juegos,
dudo que trabajosos y dificiles, que los mesmos pastores obraban
entre si para su recreacion y deporte; particularmente consideraran
un regocijo de caballos, donde ciertos dias aplazados venian
todos a se juntar como para cosa de gran pundonor.
“El qual regocijo hacian desta manera. Tomaban yeguas en
pelo, quanto mas corredoras y ligeras podian haber, y puestos ellos
encima desnudos sin alguna ropa, ataban en las quixadas barbicachos
de rama, torcidos y majados a manera de freno, con que
salian del puesto dos a dos a la par corriendo lo mas que sus
yeguas podian, para llegar a cierta senal de pizarras enhiestas o
de maderos hincados y levantados en fin de la carrera. Venidos
al medio trecho de su corrida saltaban de las yeguas en tierra, no
las parando ni deteniendo: y asi trabados por el barbicacho,
corrian tambien ellos á pie, sin las dexar, puesto que mas furia
llevasen: porque si las dexaban ó se desprendian dellas, y no
sustentaban el freno continuamente, hasta ser pasada la carrera,
perdian la reputation y las apuestas, quedando tan amenguados y
vencidos, quanto quedaria triunfante quien primero llegase con su
yegua para tomar la presa que tenian en el fin de la carrera sobre
las pizarras o maderos hincados. Quando saltaban de sus yeguas,[262]
dicen que les iban hablando porque no se detuviesen, voceandoles
y diciendoles a menudo palabras animosos y dulces: llamabanles
pies hermosas, generosas en el correr, casta real, hembras
preciosas, acrecentadoras de sus honras, y mas otras razones
muchas con que las tenian vezadas, a no se parar ni perder el
impetu comenzado: de manera que los tropeles en este punto, los
pundonores y regocijos de correr, y de no mostrar floxedad era
cosa mucho de notar, asi por la parte de los hombres, como por
parte de las yeguas. A los Griegos Argonautas les parecio juego
tan varonil que muchas veces lo probaron tambien ellos a
revuelta de los Espanoles, como quiera que jamas pudieron tener
aquella vigilancia ni ligereza, ni reciura que tenian estos otros
para durar con sus yeguas. Y dado que las tales yeguas
corriesen harto furiosas, y les ensenasen muchos dias antes
a seguir estas parejas, quanto mejor entendian a la verdad,
ni las de los unos, ni las de los otros corrian tanto despues
que saltaban dellas, como quando los traian encima: y asi las
palabras que los Griegos en aquella sazon puestos a pie hablaban
eran tambien al mesmo proposito conformes a las de los Andaluces
Españoles en su lengua, provincial, nombrandolas Calopes, Calopes,
Calopes a la contina, que fue palabra Griega, compuesta de dos
vocablos: uno Calos, que significa cosa hermosa, ligera y agraciada:
otro Pus, que quiere decir pie, como que las llamasen pies
agraciados, o pies desenvueltos y ligeros: y por abreviar mas el
vocablo, para que sus yeguas lo pudiesen mas presto sentir, acortabanlo
con una letra menos en el medio, y en lugar de nombrarlas
Calopes, les deciam Calpes, que significa lo mesmo Calopes: la
qual palabra me parece dura todavia hasta nuestro siglo presente,
donde pocas letras mudadas, por decir Calopes o Calpes, lo pronunciamos
Galopes, quando los caballos y yeguas, o qualesquier
otros animales, no corren a todo poder sino trote largo seguido.
Vino desto que las mesmas fiestas y manera del juego se nombraron
Calpes: dado que para conmigo bastara saber la victoria
deste juego consistir en ligereza de pies, y por eso solo deberse llamar
Calopes a Calpe, sin anadir lo que hablaban a las yeguas, pues
aquello primero comprehende bastantemente la razon deste vocablo.
Pero si todavia fue cierto que les decian aquellas palabras quando[263]
corrian sus parejas, ninguna cosa daña dexarlas aquí puestas.”—Coronica
General de Espana, c. 38.
In the reign of Egica, Witiza’s father,—plaga inguinalis
immisericorditer illabitur. (Isid. Pacensis.) And for two years
before the Moorish invasion,—habia habido continua hambre y
pestilencia en Espana, con que se habian debilitado mucho los
cuerpos, sin lo que el ocio las habia enflaquecido.—Morales, 12.
69. 5.
St. Isidore, in his History of the Goths, distinctly describes
the Northern Lights among the signs that announced the
wars of Attila. “Multa eodem tempore cœli et terræ signa præcesserunt,
quorum prodigiis tam crudele bellum significaretur.
Nam, assiduis terræ motibus factis, a parte Orientis Luna fuscata
est, a solis occasu stella cometes apparuit, atque ingenti magnitudine
aliquandiu fulsit. Ab aquilonis plaga cœlum rubens,
sicut ignis aut sanguis, effectus est, permistis perigneum ruborem
lineis clarioribus in speciem hastarum rutilantium deformatis.
Nec mirum, ut in tam ingenti cæsorum strage, divinitus
tam multa signorum demonstraretur ostensio.”—España Sagrada,
t. vi. 491.
The following description of the state of the Christian
world when the Saracens began their conquests, is taken from
a singular manuscript, “wherein the history of the Cruisades
and of all the Mahommedan emperors from A. D. 558, to
A. D. 1588, is gathered out of the Chronikes of William
Archbishop of Tyreus, the protoscribe of Palestine, of Basilius
Jhohannes Heraldus, and sundry others, and reduced into a
poem epike by Robert Barret, 1610.” The author was an[264]
old soldier, whose language is a compound of Josuah Sylvester
and King Cambyses, with a strong relish of Ancient Pistol.
Now in this sin-flood age not only in East
Did the impious imps the faithful persecute,
But like affliction them pursued in West,
And in all parts the good trod under foot;
For Faith in some was cold, from others fled,
And fear of God dislodged out human hearts;
Astrea flown to skies, and in her stead
Iniquity enthronized; in all parts
Violence had vogue, and on sathanized earth
Fraud, Mischief, Murder martialled the camp;
Sweet Virtue fled the field: Hope, out of breath;
And Vice, all-stainer, every soul did stamp;
So that it seem’d World drew to’s evening tide,
Nought else expecting but Christ’s second coming;
For Charity was cold on every side,
And Truth and Trust were gone from earth a-mumming.
All things confused ran, so that it seemed
The World return would to his chaos old;
Princes the path of justice not esteemed,
Headlong with prince ran people young and old.
All sainct confederations infringed,
And for light cause would prince with prince enquarrel;
Countries bestreamed with blood, with fire besinged,
All set to each, all murders sorts unbarrelled.
No wight his own could own; ’twas current coin
Each man to strip, provided he were rich.
The church sacriledged, choir made cot for swine,
And zealous ministers were made to scritche.
Robbing was made fair purchase, murder manhood,
And none secure by land ne sea could pass;
The humble heartless, ireful hearts ran wood,
Esteemed most who mischief most could dress
All lubrick lusts shamelese without comptroll
Ran full career; each would a rider be;
[265]
And Heaven’s friend, all sainct Continency,
Was banished quite: Lasciviousness did roll,
Frugality, healthful Sobriety
No place could find; all parts enquartered were
With Bacchus-brutes and Satyres-luxury.
All lawless games bore sway, with blasphemes roare,
’Twixt Clerk and Laick difference was none,
Disguized all, phantastick out of norme;
But as the Prophet says, as Priests do run,
So run the people, peevish in disform.
The Bishops graded once, dumb dogs become,
Their heads sin vyncting, flocks abandon soon;
Princes applauders, person-acceptors,
The good’s debarrers and the bad’s abetters;
Fleshly all, all filthy simonized,
Preferring profit ’fore the Eternal’s praise.
The church enschismed, court all atheized,
The commons kankred, all all in distrayes;
The plotting politician’s pate admired,
Their skill consisting in preventions scull,
Pathicks preferred, Cyprin ware desired,
Ocean of mischiefs flowing moon-tide full:
So that it seem’d that all flesh desperately
Like wolf-scared sheep were plunged headlong down
In pit of hell: puddled all pestfully
The court, church, commons, province, city, town;
All haggards; none reclaimed once could be,
Ne by the word, the word ’bused by organs bad,
Ne yet by signs that spotted chrystal sky,
Ne other prodigies, presages sad,
Neither gust shakings of this settled globe;
Neither sharpe pencil of war, famine, pest,
Could once one ray engrave in steeled breast,
Or Christians cause their sin-jagged robe disrobe.
Thus stood the sad state of that sin-stain’d time,
“Roderike, the first day after the battayle, observing the
auncient guise of his countrey, came into the fielde apparailled
in a gowne of beaten golde, having also on his head a crown
of gold, and golden shoes, and all his other apparaile set with
rich pearles and precious stones, ryding in a horse-litter of
ivorie, drawne by two goodly horses; which order the Goths
used alwayes in battailes for this consideration, that the souldiours,
well knowing their king could not escape away by
flight from them, shuld be assured that there was none other
way but either to die togither in that place, or else to winne
the victorie; for it had bene a thing most shamefull and reproachful
to forsake their prince and anoynted soveraigne.
Which custome and maner many free confederate cities of
Italie folowing, trimmed and adorned for the warres a certain[267]
chayre of estate, called Carocio, wherein were set the penons
and ensigns of all the confederates; this chayre, in battaile,
was drawn by many oxen, wherby the whole hoast was given
to understand that they could not with any honesty flie, by
reason of the slow pace and unweldinesse of those heavie
beasts.”—A Notable Historie of the Saracens, drawen out of
Augustine Curio, and sundry other good Authours. By Thomas
Newton, 1575.
En ruedas de marfil, envuelto en sedas,
De oro la frente orlada, y mas dispuesto
Al triunfo y al festin que a la pelea,
El sucesor indigno de Alarico
Llevo tras si la maldicion eterna.
Ah! yo la vi: la lid por siete dias
Duro, mas no fue lid, fue una sangrienta
Carniceria: huyeron los cobardes
Los traidores vendieron sus banderas,
Los fuertes, los leales perecieron.—Quintana.
The author of the chivalrous Chronicle of King Don Rodrigo
gives a singular description of this car, upon the authority
of his pretended original Eleastras; for he, “seeing that
calamities went on increasing, and that the destruction of the
Goths was at hand, thought that if things were to end as they
had begun, it would be a marvel if there should be in Spain
any king or lord of the lineage of the Goths after the death of
King Don Rodrigo; and therefore it imported much that he
should leave behind him a remembrance of the customs of the
Gothic kings, and of the manner in which they were wont to
enter into battle and how they went to war. And he says,
that the king used to go in a car made after a strange fashion.
The wheels of this car were made of the bones of elephants,
and the axle-tree was of fine silver, and the perch was of fine
gold. It was drawn by two horses, who were of great size
and gentle; and upon the car there was pitched a tent, so[268]
large that it covered the whole car, and it was of fine cloth of
gold, upon which were wrought all the great feats in arms
which had been achieved until that time; and the pillar of
the tent was of gold, and many stones of great value were set
in it, which sent forth such splendour, that by night there was
no need of any other light therein. And the car and the
horses bore the same adornments as the king, and these were
full of pearls the largest which could be found. And in the
middle of the car there was a seat placed against the pillar of
the tent; and this seat was of great price, insomuch that the
value of it cannot be summed up, so many and so great were
the stones which were set in it; and it was wrought so subtly,
and of such rare workmanship, that they who saw it marvelled
thereat. And upon this seat the king was seated, being lifted
up so high that all in the host, little or great, might behold
him. And in this manner it was appointed that the king
should go to war. And round about the car there were to go
a thousand knights, who had all been knighted by the hand of
the king, all armed; and in the day of battle they were to be on
foot round about the car; and all plighted homage to the king
not to depart from it in any manner whatsoever, and that they
would rather receive their death there, than go from their
place beside the car. And the king had his crown upon his
head. And in this guise all the kings of the Goths, who had
been lords of Spain, were to go to battle; and this custom
they had all observed till the King Don Rodrigo; but he,
because of the great grief which he had in his heart, would
never ascend the car, neither did he go in it into the battle.”—Part
i. c. 215.
Entrò Rodrigo en la batalla fiera,
Armado en blanco de un arnes dorado,
El yelmo coronado de una esfera
Que en luzes vence al circulo estrellado:
En unas ricas andas, ô litera
Que al hijo de Climene despeñado
Engañaran mejor que el carro de oro
De ygual peligro, y de mayor tesoro.
[269]
La purpura real las armas cubre,
El grave rostro en magestad le baña,
El ceptro por quien era le descubre
Rodrigo ultimo Godo Rey de Espana:
Mas de la suerte que en lluvioso Otubre
Lo verde que le veste ya compaña,
Desnuda al olmo blanco, rompe y quita
Vulturno ayrado que al invierno incita.
Caen las hojas sobre el agua clara
Que le bañava el pie, y el ornamento
Del tronco imita nuestra edad que para
En su primero humilde fundamento:
Desierta queda la frondosa vara,
Sigue la rama, en remolino, al viento,
Que la aparta del arbol, que saltea
Su blanca, verde, y palida librea.
Assi Rodrigo el miserable dia
Ultimo de esta guerra desdichada,
Quedo en el campo, donde ya tenia
La magestad del ombro derribada:
Alli la rota purpura yazia
Teñida en sangre, y en sudor vañada,
Alli el verde laurel, y el ceptro de oro,
Siendo el arbol su cuerpo, el viento el Moro.
Lope de Vega. Jerusalen Conquistada, l. vi. f. 136.
Morales describes this horned helmet from a coin. “Tiene
de la una parte su rostro, harto diferente de los que en las otras
Monedas de estas Reyes parecen. Tiene manera de estar armado,
y salenle por cima de la celada unas puntas como cuernos pequeños[270]
y derechos por ambos lados, que lo hacen estraño y espantable.”
Florez has given this coin in his Medallas de Espana, from
the only one which was known to be in existence, and which
was then in the collection of the Infante D. Gabriel. It was
struck at Egitania, the present Idana, and, like all the coins
of the Visigoth kings, is of the rudest kind. The lines which
Morales describes are sufficiently apparent, and if they are not
intended for horns, it is impossible to guess what else they may
have been meant to represent.
“These Gothic coins,” says P. D. Jeronymo Contador de
Argote, “have a thousand barbarisms, as well in their letters
as in other circumstances. They mingle Greek characters
with Latin ones; and in what regards the relief or figure,
nothing can be more dissimilar than the representation to the
thing which it is intended to represent. I will relate what
happened to me with one, however much D. Egidio de Albornos
de Macedo may reprehend me for it in his Parecer
Anathomico. Valerio Pinto de Sa, an honourable citizen of
Braga, of whom, in various parts of these Memoirs, I have
made well-deserved mention, and of whose friendship I have
been proud ever since I have been in that city, gave me, some
six or seven years ago, a gold coin of King Leovigildo, who
was the first of the Gothic kings of Spain that coined money,
for till then both Goths and Sueves used the Roman. I examined
it leisurely, and what I clearly saw was a cross on the
one side upon some steps, and some ill-shaped letters around
it; and on the reverse something, I knew not what: It seemed
to me like a tree, or a stake which shot out some branches:
Round about were some letters, more distinct; I could not,
however, ascertain what they signified. It happened about
that time that I had the honour of a visit from the most illustrious
Sr. D. Francisco de Almeida, then a most worthy
Academician of the Royal Academy, and at present a most deserving
and eminent Principal of the Holy Patriarchal Church.
He saw this coin, and he also was puzzled by the side which
represented what I called a tree. He asked me to lend it
him, that he might examine it more at leisure. He took it[271]
away, and after some days returned it, saying, that he had
examined it with a microscope, and that what I had taken
for a stake was without question the portrait of King Leovigildo.
I confess that I was not yet entirely satisfied: however,
I showed it afterwards to divers persons, all of whom
said they knew not what the said figure could be; but when
I desired them to see if it could be this portrait, they all
agreed that it was. This undeceived me, and by looking at
the coin in every possible light, at last I came to see it also,
and acknowledge the truth with the rest. And afterwards
I found in the Dialogues of Antonio Agostinho, treating of
these Gothic coins, that there are some of such rude workmanship,
that where a face should be represented, some represent a
pitcher, and others an urn.”—Memorias de Braga, t. iii. p. lix.
Guadalete had been thus interpreted to Florez. (Espana
Sagrada, t. 9. p 53.) Earlier writers had asserted (but
without proof), that the Ancients called it Lethe, and the
Moors added to these names their word for river. Lope de
Vega alludes to this opinion:
Siempre lamentable Guadalete
Que llevo tanta sangre al mar de España,
Si por olvido se llamava el Lete
Trueque este nombre la vitoria estraña,
Y llamase memoria deste dia
En que España perdio la que tenia.
Que por donde à la mar entrava apenas
Diferenciando el agua, ya se via
Con roxo humor de las sangrientas venas
Por donde le cortava y dividia:
[272]
Gran tiempo conservaron sus arenas
(Y pienso que ha llegado a la edad mia)
Reliquias del estrago y piedras echas
Armas, hierros de lanza y de flechas.
Jerusalen Conquistada, l. vi. ff. 136.
The date of the battle is given with grandiloquous circumstantiality
by Miguel de Barrios.
Salio la tercer alva del tonante
Noviembre, con vestido nebuloso,
sobre el alado bruto que al brillante
carro, saca del pielago espumoso;
y en el frio Escorpion casa rotante
del fiero Marte, el Astro luminoso
al son que compasso sus plantas sueltas
dio setecientas y catorze bueltas.
Coro de las Musas, p. 100.
He states the chronology of Pelayo’s accession in the same
taste.
Era el pontificado del Segundo
Gregorio; Emperador Leon Tercero
del docto Griego; y del Persiano inmundo,
Zuleyman Miramamolin guerrero;
y de Daphne el amante rubicundo
surcava el mar del fulgido Carnero
sietecientas y diez y ocho vezes,
dexando el puerto de los aureos Pesces.
Coro de las Musas p. 102.
The arrows pass’d him by to right and left.—I. p. 3.
The French jesuits relate of one of their converts in Canada
a Huron, by name Jean Armand Andeouarahen, that
once estant en guerre eschauffé au combat, il s’enfonça si avant
dans les darts et les flêches des ennemis, qu’il fut abandonné des[273]
siens dans le plus fort de la meslée. Ce fut alors qu’il se recommenda
plus particulièrement à Dieu: il sentit pour lors un
secours si présent, que du depuis, appuyé sur cette mesme confiance,
il est toûjours le premier et le plus avant dans les périls, et
jamais ne pâlit, pour quelque danger qu’il envisage. Je voyois,
disoit-il, comme une gresle de flêches venir fondre sur moy; je
n’avois point d’autre bouclier pour les arrester, que la croyance
seule que Dieu disposant de ma vie, il en feroit selon sa volonté.
Chose étrange! les flêches s’écartoient à mes deux costez, ainsi,
disoit-il, que fait l’eau lors qu’elle rencontre la pointe d’un
vaisseau qui va contre marée.—Relation de la N. France, 1642,
p. 129.
The site of this monastery, which was one of the most
flourishing seminaries of that age, is believed to have been two
leagues from Merida, upon the Guadiana, where the Ermida,
or Chapel of Cubillana, stands at present, or was standing a
few years ago. The legend, from which I have taken such
circumstances as might easily have happened, and as suited my
plan, was invented by a race of men who, in the talent of invention,
have left all poets and romancers far behind them.
Florez refers to Brito for it, and excuses himself from relating
it, because it is not necessary to his[8] subject;—in reality
he neither believed the story, nor chose to express his objections
to it. His disbelief was probably founded upon the suspicious
character of Brito, who was not at that time so decidedly
condemned by his countrymen as he is at present. I
give the legend from this veracious Cistercian. Most of his
other fabrications have been exploded, but this has given rise
to a popular and fashionable idolatry, which still maintains its
ground.
“The monk did not venture to leave him alone in that disconsolate
state, and taking him apart, besought him by the[274]
passion of Jesus Christ to consent that they twain should go
together, and save a venerable image of the Virgin Mary our
Lady, which in that convent flourished with great miracles,
and had been brought from the city of Nazareth by a Greek
monk, called Cyriac, at such time as a heresy in the parts of
the East arose against the use and veneration of images; and
with it a relic of the Apostle St. Bartholomew, and another of
St. Bras, which were kept in an ivory coffer, for it would be
a great sacrilege to leave them exposed to the ill-treatment of
barbarians, who, according to public fame, left neither temple
nor sacred place which they did not profane, casting the images
into the fire, and dragging them at their horses’s tails for a
greater opprobrium to the baptized people. The King, seeing
himself thus conjured by the passion of our Redeemer Jesus
Christ, in whom alone he had consolation and hope of remedy,
and considering the piety of the thing in which he was chosen
for companion, let himself be overcome by his entreaties; and
taking in his arms the little image of our Lady, and Romano
the coffer with the relics, and some provision for the journey,
they struck into the middle of Portugal, having their faces
alway towards the west, and seeking the coast of the ocean sea,
because in those times it was a land more solitary, and less
frequented by people, where they thought the Moors would
not reach so soon, because, as there were no countries to conquer
in those parts, there was no occasion which should lead them
thither. Twenty-and-six days the two companions travelled
without touching at any inhabited place, and after enduring
many difficulties in crossing mountains and fording rivers,
they had sight of the ocean sea on the 22d of November, being
the day of the Virgin Martyr St. Cecilia; and as if in that
place they should have an end of their labours, they took some
comfort, and gave thanks to God, for that he had saved them
from the hand of their enemies. The place which they
reached is in the Coutos of Alcobaça, near to where we now
see the town of Pederneira, on the eastern side of which there
rises, in the midst of certain sands, a hill of rock and firm land,
somewhat prolonged from north to south, so lofty and well[275]
proportioned that it seemeth miraculously placed in that site
being surrounded on all sides with plains covered with sand,
without height or rock to which it appears connected. And
forasmuch as the manner thereof draws to it the eyes of whosoever
beholds this work of nature, the king and the monk
desired to ascend the height of it, to see whether it would
afford a place for them in which to pass their lives. They
found there a little hermitage with a holy crucifix, and no
other signs of man, save only a plain tomb, without writing or
epitaph to declare whose it might be. The situation of the
place, which, ascending to a notable height, gives a prospect
by sea and by land as far as the eyes can reach, and the sudden
sight of the crucifix, caused in the mind of the king such excitement
and so great consolation, that embracing the foot of
the cross, he lay there melting away in rivers of tears, not now
of grief for the kingdoms and dominions which he had lost,
but of consolation in seeing that in exchange the crucified
Jesus himself had in this solitary mountain offered himself to
him, in whose company he resolved to pass the remainder of
his life; and this he declared to the monk, who, to content
him, and also because he saw that the place was convenient
for contemplation, approved the king’s resolve, and abode there
with him some days; during which perceiving some inconvenience
in living upon the summit of the mountain, from
whence it was necessary to descend with much labour, whenever
they would drink, or seek for herbs and fruits for their
food; and moreover understanding that it was the king’s desire
to remain there alone, that he might vent himself in tears
and exclamations, which he made oftentimes before the image
of Christ, he went with his consent to a place little more than
a mile from the mountain, which being on the one side smooth
and of easy approach, hangs on the other over the sea with so
huge a precipice that it is two hundred fathoms in perpendicular
height, from the top of the rock to the water. There, between
two great rocks, each of which projects over the sea,
hanging suspended from the height in such a form, that they
seem to threaten destruction to him who sees them from the[276]
beach, Romano found a little cave, made naturally in the cliff,
which he enlarged with some walls of loose stone, built up
with his own hands, and having thus made a sort of hermitage,
he placed therein the image of the Virgin Mary of Nazareth,
which he had brought from the Caulinean convent, and which
being small, and of a dark colour, with the infant Jesus in its
arms, hath in the countenance a certain perfection, with a
modesty so remarkable, that at first sight it presents something
miraculous; and having been known and venerated so great a
number of years, during many of which it was in a place which
did not protect it from the injuries of weather, it hath never
been painted, neither hath it been found necessary to renew it.
The situation of this hermitage was, and is now, within sight
of the mountain where the king dwelt; and though the memorials
from whence I am deriving the circumstances of these
events do not specify it, it is to be believed that they often saw
each other, and held such divine communion as their mode of
life and the holiness of the place required; especially considering
the great temptations of the Devil which the king suffered
at the beginning of his penitence, for which the counsels and
instructions of the monk would be necessary, and the aid of
his prayers, and the presence of the relics of St. Bartholomew,
which miraculously saved him many times from various illusions
of the enemy. And in these our days there are seen upon the
top of the mountain, in the living rock, certain human footsteps,
and others of a different form, which the common people,
without knowing the person, affirm to be the footsteps of St.
Bartholomew and the Devil, who was there defeated and his
illusions confounded by the saint, coming in aid of a devout
man who called upon him in the force of his tribulation. This
must have been the king, (though the common people know it
not,) whom the saint thus visibly aided, and he chose that for
a memorial of this aid, and of the power which God has given
him over the evil spirits, these marks should remain impressed
upon the living rock. And the ancient name of the mountain
being Seano, it was changed into that of the Apostle, and is
called at present St. Bartholomew’s; and the hermitage which[277]
remains upon the top of it is under the invocation of the same
saint and of St. Bras, which must have arisen from the relics
of these two saints that Romano brought with him and left
with the king for his consolation, when he withdrew with the
image of Our Lady to the place of which we have spoken,
where he lived little more than a year; and then knowing the
time of his death, he communicated it to the king, beseeching
him that, in requital for the love with which he had accompanied
him, he would remember to pray to God for his soul,
and would give his body to the earth, from which it had
sprung; and that having to depart from that land, he would
leave there the image and the relics, in such manner as he
should dispose them before he died. With that Romano departed
to enjoy the reward deserved by his labours, leaving the
king with fresh occasion of grief for want of so good a companion.
Of what more passed in this place, and of the temptations
and tribulations which he endured till the end of his
life, there is no authentic historian, nor memorial which should
certify them, more than some relations mingled with fabulous
tales in the ancient Chronicle of King Don Rodrigo, where,
among the truths which are taken from the Moor Rasis, there
are many things notoriously impossible; such as the journey
which the king took, being guided by a white cloud till he
came near Viseo; and the penance in which he ended his life
there, inclosing himself alive in a certain tomb with a serpent
which he had bred for that purpose. But as these are things
difficult to believe, we will pass them over in silence, leaving
to the judgement of the curious the credit which an ancient
picture deserves, still existing near Viseo, in the church of
St. Michael, over the tomb of the said King Don Roderick, in
which is seen a serpent painted with two heads; and in the
tomb itself, which is of wrought stone, a round hole, through
which they say that the snake entered. That which is certain
of all this is, as our historians relate, that the king came to this
place, and in the hermitage of St. Michael, which we now see
near Visco, ended his days in great penance, no man knowing
the manner thereof; neither was there any other memorial[278]
clearer than that in process of time a writing was found upon
a certain tomb in this church with these words; Hic reqviescit
Rudericus ultimus Rex Gothorum, Here rests
Roderick, the last King of the Goths. I remember to have
seen these very words written in black upon an arch of the
wall, which is over the tomb of the king, although the Archbishop
Don Rodrigo, and they who follow him, give a longer
inscription, not observing that all which he has added are his
own curses and imprecations upon Count Don Julian, (as
Ambrosio de Morales has properly remarked, following the
Bishop of Salamanca and others,) and not parts of the same
inscription, as they make them. The church in which is the
tomb of the king is at present very small, and of great antiquity,
especially the first chapel, joined to which on either side
is a cell of the same length, but narrow, and dark also, having
no more light than what enters through a little window opening
to the east. In one of these cells (that which is on the
south side) it is said that a certain hermit dwelt, by whose
advice the king governed himself in the course of his penance;
and at this time his grave is shown close to the walls of the
chapel, on the Epistle side. In the other cell (which is on
the north) the king passed his life, paying now, in the straitness
of that place, for the largeness of his palaces, and the liberties
of his former life, whereby he had offended his Creator. And
in the wall of the chapel which answers to the Gospel side,
there remains a sort of arch, in which the tomb is seen, wherein
are his bones; and it is devoutly visited by the natives, who
believe that through his means the Lord does miracles there
upon persons afflicted with agues and other like maladies.
Under the said arch, in the part answering to it in the inside
of the cell, I saw painted on the wall the hermit and the king,
with the serpent with two heads, and I read the letters which
are given above, all defaced by time, and bearing marks of
great antiquity, yet so that they could distinctly be seen. The
tomb is flat and made of a single stone, in which a man’s body
can scarcely find room. When I saw it it was open, the stone
which had served to cover it not being there, neither the bones[279]
of the king, which they told me had been carried into Castille
some years before, but in what manner they knew not, nor by
whose order; neither could I discover, by all the enquiries
which I made among the old people of that city, who had
reason to be acquainted with a thing of so much importance, if
it were as certain as some of them affirmed it to be.”—Brito,
Monarchia Lusitania, P. ii. l. 7. c. 3.
“The great venerableness of the Image of our Lady of
Nazareth which the king left hidden in the very place where
Romano in his lifetime had placed it, and the continual miracle
which she showed formerly, and still shows,” induced F. Bernardo
de Brito to continue the history of this Image, which,
no doubt, he did the more willingly because he bears a part in
it himself. In the days of Affonso Henriquez, the first king
of Portugal, this part of the country was governed by D. Fuas
Roupinho, a knight famous in the Portugueze chronicles, who
resided in the castle at Porto de Mos. This Dom Fuas
“when he saw the land secure from enemies, used often to go
out hunting among the sands and thickets between the town
and the sea, where, in those days, there used to be great store
of game, and even now, though the land is so populous, there is
still some; and as he followed this exercise, the proper pastime
of noble and spirited men, and came sometimes to the seashore,
he came upon that remarkable rock, which being level
on the side of the north, and on a line with the flat country,
ends towards the south in a precipice over the waves of the
sea, of a prodigious height, causing the greater admiration to
him who, going over the plain country without finding any
irregularity, finds himself, when least expecting it, suddenly
on the summit of such a height. And as he was curiously
regarding this natural wonder, he perceived between the two
biggest cliffs which stand out from the ground and project
over the sea, a sort of house built of loose stones, which, from
its form and antiquity, made him go himself to examine it;
and descending by the chasm between the two rocks, he entered
into a low cavern, where, upon a little altar, he saw the
venerable Image of the Virgin Mary of Nazareth, being of[280]
such perfection and modesty as are found in very few images
of that size. The catholic knight venerated it with all submission,
and would have removed it to his castle of Porto de
Mos, to have it held in more veneration, but that he feared to
offend it if he should move it from a habitation where it had
abode for so many years. This consideration made him leave
it for the present in the same place and manner in which he
found it; and although he visited it afterwards when in course
of the chase he came to those parts, nevertheless he never took
in hand to improve the poor hermitage in which it was, nor
would he have done it, if the Virgin had not saved him from
a notorious danger of death, which, peradventure, God permitted,
as a punishment for his negligence, and in this manner
to make the virtue of the Holy Image manifest to the world.
It was thus, that going to his ordinary exercise of the chase,
in the month of September, in the year of Christ 1182, and
on the 14th of the month, being the day on which the church
celebrates the festival of the Exaltation of the Cross upon the
which Christ redeemed the human race, as the day rose thick
with clouds, which ordinarily arise from the sea, and the
country round about could not be seen by reason of the clouds,
save for a little space, it befell that the dogs put up a stag, (if
indeed it were one,) and Dom Fuas pressing his horse in pursuit,
without fear of any danger, because he thought it was
all plain ground, and the mist hindered him from seeing where
he was, found himself upon the very edge of the rock on the
precipice, two hundred fathoms above the sea, at a moment
when it was no longer in his power to turn the reins, nor
could he do any thing more than invoke the succours of the
Virgin Mary, whose image was in that place; and she succoured
him in such a manner, that less than two palms from
the edge of the rock, on a long and narrow point thereof, the
horse stopt as if it had been made of stone, the marks of his
hoofs remaining in proof of the miracle imprinted in the living
rock, such as at this day they are seen by all strangers and
persons on pilgrimage, who go to visit the Image of Our
Lady; and it is a notable thing, and deserving of serious consideration,[281]
to see that in the midst of this rock, upon which
the miracle happened, and on the side towards the east, and in
a part where, because it is suspended in the air, it is not possible
that any human being could reach, Nature herself has
impressed a cross as if nailed to the hardness of the rock, as
though she had sanctified that cliff therewith, and marked it
with that holy sign, to be the theatre in which the miraculous
circumstance was to be celebrated; which, by reason that
it took place on the day of the Exaltation of the Cross, seemed
as if it showed the honour and glory which should from thence
redound to the Lord who redeemed us thereon. Dom Fuas
seeing himself delivered from so great danger, and knowing
from whence the grace had come to him, went to the little
hermitage, where, with that great devotion which the presence
of the miracle occasioned, he gave infinite thanks to Our Lady,
accusing himself before her of having neglected to repair the
house, and promising all the amends which his possibility permitted.
His huntsmen afterwards arrived, following the track
of the horse, and knowing the marvel which had occurred,
they prostrated themselves before the Image of Our Lady,
adding with their astonishment to the devotion of Dom Fuas,
who, hearing that the stag had not been seen, and that the
dogs had found no track of him in any part, though one had
been represented before him to draw him on, understood that
it was an illusion of the Devil, seeking by that means to make
him perish miserably. All these considerations enhanced the
greatness of the miracle, and the obligations of Dom Fuas,
who, tarrying there some days, made workmen come from
Leyria and Porto de Mos, to make another hermitage, in
which the Lady should be more venerated; and as they were
demolishing the first, they found placed between the stones of
the altar a little box of ivory, and within it relicks of St. Bras,
St. Bartholomew, and other saints, with a parchment, wherein
a relation was given of how, and at what time those relicks
and the image were brought there, according as has been
aforesaid. A vaulted chapel was soon made, after a good
form for times so ancient, over the very place where the Lady[282]
had been; and to the end that it might be seen from all
sides, they left it open with four arches, which in process of
time were closed, to prevent the damage which the rains
and storms did within the chapel, and in this manner it remains
in our days. The Lady remained in her place, being
soon known and visited by the faithful, who flocked there
upon the fame of her appearance: the valiant and holy king
D. Affonso Henriquez, being one of the first whom Dom
Fuas advised of what had happened, and he, accompanied with
the great persons of his court, and with his son, D. Sancho,
came to visit the Image of the Lady, and see with his own
eyes the marks of so rare a miracle as that which had taken
place; and with his consent, D. Fuas made a donation to the
Lady of a certain quantity of land round about, which was at
that time a wild thicket, and for the greater part is so still,
being well nigh all wild sands incapable of giving fruit, and
would produce nothing more than heath and some wild pine-trees.
And because it establishes the truth of all that I have
said, and relates in its own manner the history of the Image of
the Lady, I will place it here in the form in which I saw
it in the Record Room at Alcobaça, preserving throughout
the Latin and the barbarism of its composition; which is as
follows:—
“Sub nomine Patris, nec non et ejus prolis, in unius potentia
Deitatis, incipit carta donationis, necnon et devotionis, quam ego
Fuas Ropinho tenens Porto de Mos, et terram de Albardos usque
Leirenam, et Turres Veteres, facio Ecclesiæ Santæ Mariæ de
Nazareth, quæ de pauco tempore surgit fundata super mare, ubi
de sæculis antiquis jacebat, inter lapides et spinas multas, de tota
illa terra quæ jacet inter flumina quæ venit per Alcoubaz, et
aquam nuncupatam de furaturio, et dividitur de isto modo: de
illa foz de flumine Alcobaz, quomodo vadit per aquas bellas, deinde
inter mare et mata de Patayas usque, finir in ipso furaturio,
quam ego obtinui de rege Alfonso, et per suum consensum facio
præsentem seriem ad prædictam Ecclesiam Beatæ Mariæ Virginis,
quam feci supra mare, ut in sæculis perpetuis memorentur mirabilia
Dei, et sit notum omnibus hominibus, quomodo a morte fuerim[283]
salvatus per pietatem Dei et Beatæ Mariæ quam vocant de
Nazaret, tali sucesu. Cum manerem in castro Porto de Mos, et
inde veniebam ad ocidendos venatos, per Melvam et matam de
Patayas usque ad mare, supra quam inveni furnam, et parvam
domunculam inter arbustas et vepres, in qua erat una Imago Virginis
Mariæ, et veneravimus illam, et abivimus inde; veni deinde
xviii kal. Octobris, circa dictum locum, cum magna obscuratione
nebulæ sparza super totam terram, et invenimus venatum, tres
quem fui in meo equo, usque venirem ad esbarrondadeiro supra
mare, quod cadit ajuso sine mensura hominis et pavet visus si
cernit furnam cadentem ad aquas. Pavi ego miser peccator, et
venit ad remembrancam de imagine ibi posita, et magna voce dixi,
Sancta Maria val. Benedicta sit illa in mulieribus, quia
meum equum sicut si esset lapis fecit stare, pedibus fixis in lapide,
et erat jam vazatus extra terram in punta de saxo super mare.
Descendi de equo, et veni ad locum ubi erat imago, et ploravi et
gratias feci, et venerunt monteiros et viderunt, et laudaverunt
Deum et Beatam Mariam; Misi homines per Leirenam et Porto
de Mos, et per loca vicina, ut venirent Alvanires, et facerent ecclesiam
bono opere operatam de fornice et lapide, et jam laudetur
Deus finita est. Nos vero non sciebamus unde esset, et unde
venisset ista imago; sed ecce cum destruebatur altare per Alvanires,
inventa est arcula de ebore antiquo, et in illa uno envoltorio
in quo erant ossa aliquorum sanctorum, et cartula cum hac inscriptione:
Hic sunt reliquiæ Sanctorum Blasii et Bartholomei
Apostoli, quas detulit a Monasterio Cauliniana Romanus monachus,
simul cum venerabili Imagine Virginis Mariæ de Nazareth,
quæ olim in Nazareth Civitate Gallileæ multis miraculis claruerat,
et inde asportata per Græcum monachum nomine Cyriacum,
Gothorum Regum tempore, in prædicto monasterio per multum
temporis manserat, quo usque Hispania à Mauris debelata, et
Rex Rodericus superatus in prælio, solus, lacrymabilis, abjectus,
et pene defficiens pervenit ad præfatum monasterium Cauliniana,
ibique a prædicto Romano pœnitentiæ et Eucharistiæ Sacramentis
susceptis, pariter cum illo, cum imagine, et reliquiis ad Seanum
montem pervenerunt 10 kal. Decemb. in quo rex solus per annum[284]
integrum permansit, in Ecclesia ibi inventa cum Christi crucifixi
imagine, et ignoto sepulchro. Romanus vero cum hac Sacra Virginis
effigie inter duo ista saxa, usque ad extremum vitæ permansit;
et ne futuris temporibus aliquem ignorantia teneat, hæc
cum reliquiis sacris in hac extremæ orbis parte recondimus. Deus
ista omnia a Maurorum manibus servet. Amen. De his lectis
et a Presbyteris apertis satis multum sumus gavisi, quia nomen de
sanctis reliquiis, et de Virgine scivimus, et ut memorentur per
semper in ista serie testamenti scribere fecimus. Do igitur prædictam
hæreditatem pro reparatione prefatæ Ecclesiæ cum pascuis,
et aquis, de monte in fonte, ingressibus et regressibus, quantum a
prestitum hominis est, et illam in melhiorato foro aliquis potest
habere per se. Ne igitur aliquis homo de nostris vel de estraneis
hoc factum nostrum ad irrumpendum veniat, quod si tentaverit
peche ad dominum terræ trecentos marabitinos, et carta nihilominus
in suo robore permaneat, et insuper sedeat excommunicatus et cum
Juda proditore pænas luat damnatorum. Facta series testamenti
vi Idus Decemb. era M,CLXX, Alfonsus Portugaliæ Rex confirm.
Sancius Rex confirm. Regina Dona Tarasia confirm.
Petrus Fernandez, regis Sancii dapifer confirm. Menendus
Gunsalui, ejusdem signifer confirm. Donus Joannes Fernandez
curiæ regis maiordomus confirm. Donus Julianus Cancellarius
regis confirm. Martinus Gonsalui Pretor Colimbriæ confirm.
Petrus Omariz Capellanus regis confirm. Menendus Abbas
confirm. Theotonius conf. Fernandus Nuniz, testis. Egeas
Nuniz, testis. Dn Telo, testis. Petrus Nuniz, testis. Fernandus
Vermundi, testis. Lucianus Præsbyter notavit.”
This deed, which establishes all the principal facts that I
have related, did not take effect, because the lands of which it
disposed were already part of the Coutos of Alcobaça, which
King Don Affonso had given some years before to our father
St. Bernard; and Dom Fuas compensated for them with certain
properties near Pombal, as is proved by another writing
annexed to the former, but which I forbear to insert, as appertaining
little to the thread of my history: and resuming the
course thereof, you must know, that the image of the Virgin[285]
Mary of Nazareth remained in the chapel which Dom Fuas
made for it, till the year of Christ, 1377, in the which, King
Dom Fernando of Portugal founded for it the house in which
it now is, having been enlarged and beautified by Queen Dona
Lianor, wife of King Dom Joam II., and surrounded with
porticoes by King Dom Manoel. And now in our times a
chapel (Capela mor) of good fabric has been built, with voluntary
contributions, and the rents of the brotherhood; and in
the old hermitage founded by Dom Fuas I., with the help
of some devout persons, had another chapel opened under
ground, in order to discover the very rock and cavern in which
the Holy Image had been hidden so great a number of years;
there is a descent to it by eight or ten steps, and a notable
consolation it is to those who consider the great antiquity of
that sanctuary. And for that the memory of things so remarkable
ought not to be lost, I composed an inscription briefly
recounting the whole: and Dr. Ruy Lourenço, who was then
Provedor of the Comarca of Leyria, and visitor of the said
church for the king, ordered it to be engraven in marble. It
is as follows:—
“Sacra Virginis Mariæ veneranda Imago, a Monasterio Cauliniana
prope Emeritam, quo Gothorum tempore, a Nazareth
translata, miraculis claruerat, in generali Hispaniæ clade, Ann.
Dni. DCCXIIII. a Romano monacho, comite, ut fertur, Roderico
Rege, ad hanc extremam orbis partem adducitur, in qua dum
unus moritur, alter proficiscitur, per CCCCLXIX. annos inter
duo hæc prærupta saxa sub parvo delituit tugurio: deinde a Fua
Ropinio, Portus Molarum duce, anno Domini MCLXXXII,
(ut ipse in donatione testatur) inventa, dum incaute agitato equo
fugacem, fictumque forte, insequitur cervum, ad ultimumque immanis
hujus præcipitii cuneum, jam jam ruiturus accedit, nomine Virginis
invocato, a ruina, et mortis faucibus ereptus, hoc ei prius
dedicat sacellum; tandem a Ferdinando Portugaliæ Rege, ad
majus aliud templum, quod ipse a fundamentis erexerat tranfertur.
Ann. Domini MCCCLXXVII. Virgini et perpetuitati. D. D.
F. B. D. B. ex voto.”
[286]
From these things, taken as faithfully as I possibly could
from the deed of gift and from history, we see clearly the great
antiquity of this sanctuary, since it is 893 years since the
Image of the Lady was brought to the place where it now is;
and although we do not know the exact year in which it was
brought from Nazareth, it is certain at least that it was before
King Recaredo, who began to reign in the year of Christ 586;
so that it is 1021 years, a little more or less, since it came to
Spain; and as it came then, as one well known, and celebrated
for miracles in the parts of the East, it may well be understood
that this is one of the most famous and ancient Images, and
nearest to the times of the apostles, that the world at present
possesses.—Brito Monarchia Lusitana, p. 2. l. 7. c. 4.
This legend cannot have been invented before Emanuel’s
reign, for Duarte Galavam says nothing of it in his Chronicle
of Affonso Henriquez, though he relates the exploits and death
of D. Fuas Roupinho. I believe there is no earlier authority
for it than Bernardo de Brito himself. It is one of many
articles of the same kind from the great manufactory of Alcobaça,
and is at this day as firmly believed by the people of
Portugal as any article of the Christian faith. How indeed
should they fail to believe it? I have a print, it is one of the
most popular devotional prints in Portugal, which represents
the miracle. The diabolical stag is flying down the precipice,
and looking back with a wicked turn of the head, in hopes of
seeing Dom Fuas follow him; the horse is rearing up with his
hind feet upon the brink of the precipice; the knight has
dropt his hunting-spear, his cocked hat is falling behind him,
and an exclamation to the Virgin is coming out of his mouth.
The Virgin with a crown upon her head, and the Babe with a
crown upon his, at her breast, appear in the sky amidst clouds
of glory. N. S. de Nazaré, is written above this precious
print, and this more precious information below it,—O. Emo.
Snr. Cardeal Patriarcha concede 50 dias de Indulgᵃ. a qm. rezar
huma have Ma. diante desta Image. His Eminency the Cardinal
Patriarch grants fifty days indulgence to whosoever shall[287]
say an Ave-Maria before this Image. The print is included,
and plenty of Ave-Marias are said before it in full faith, for this
Nossa Senhora de Nazaré is in high vogue. Before the French
invasion, this famous Image used annually to be escorted by the
Court to Cape Espichel. In 1796 I happened to be upon the
Tagus at the time of her embarkation at Belem. She was
carried in a sort of sedan-chair, of which the fashion resembled
that of the Lord Mayor’s coach; a processional gun-boat preceded
the Image and the Court, and I was literally caught in
a shower of rockets, if any of which had fallen upon the
heretical heads of me and my companion, it would not improbably
have been considered as a new miracle, wrought by the
wonder-working Senhora.
In July 1808, the French, under General Thomières, robbed
this church of Our Lady of Nazareth; their booty, in jewels
and plate, was estimated at more than 200,000 cruzados. Jose
Accursio das Neves, the Portugueze historian of those disastrous
times, expresses his surprise that no means should have
been taken by those who had the care of these treasures, for
securing them in time. Care, however, seems to have been
taken of the Great Diana of the Temple, for though it is
stated that they destroyed or injured several images, no mention
is made of any insult or damage having been offered to this.
They sacked the town and set fire to it, but it escaped with
the loss of only thirteen or fourteen houses; the suburb or
village, on the beach, was less fortunate: there only four houses
of more than 300 remained unconsumed, and all the boats and
fishing-nets were destroyed.—Historia da Invasam, &c., t. 4.
p. 85.
Spreading his hands and lifting up his face, &c.—I. p. 8.
My friend Walter Scott’s Vision of Don Roderick supplies a
singular contrast to the picture which is represented in this passage.
I have great pleasure in quoting the stanzas; if the contrast
had been intentional, it could not have been more complete.
[288]
But, far within, Toledo’s Prelate lent
An ear of fearful wonder to the King;
The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent,
So long that sad confession witnessing:
For Roderick told of many a hidden thing,
Such as are lothly utter’d to the air,
When Fear, Remorse, and Shame, the bosom wring,
And Guilt his secret burthen cannot bear,
And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair.
Full on the Prelate’s face, and silver hair,
The stream of failing light was feebly roll’d;
But Roderick’s visage, though his head was bare,
Was shadow’d by his hand and mantle’s fold,
While of his hidden soul the sins he told,
Proud Alaric’s descendant could not brook,
That mortal man his bearing should behold,
Or boast that he had seen, when conscience shook,
Fear tame a monarch’s brow, remorse a warrior’s look.
This part of the story is thus nakedly stated by Dr. Andre
da Sylva Mascarenhas, in a long narrative poem with this title,—A
destruiçam de Espanha, Restauraçam Summaria de mesma.
Achouse o pobre Rey em Cauliniana
Mosteiro junto ao rio Guadiana.
Eram os frades fugidos do Mosteiro
Com receos dos Barbaros malvados,
De bruços esteve el Rey hum dia inteiro
Na Igreja, chorando seus peccados:
Hum Monge veo alli por derradeiro
A conhecer quem era, ouvindo os brados
Que o disfarçado Rey aos ares dava,
Este Monge Romano se chamava.
[289]
Perguntoulhe quem era, e donde vinha,
Por ver no pobre traje gram portento;
El Rey lhe respondeo como convinha
Sem declarar seu posto, ou seu intento;
Pediulhe confissam, e o Monge asinha
Lha concedeo e o Santo Sacramento
Era força que el Rey na confissam
Lhe declarasse o posto e a tencam.
Como entendeo o bom Religioso
Que aquelle era seu Rey que por estranhas
Terras andava roto e lacrimoso,
Mil ays tirou das intimas entranhas:
Lançouselhe aos pes, e com piedoso
Affecto o induziu e varias manhas,
O quizesse tambem levar consigo
Por socio no desterro e no perigo.—P. 27.
The fourth week of their painful pilgrimage.—I. p. 10.
Egypt has been, from the earliest ages, the theatre of the
most abject and absurd superstitions, and very little benefit[290]
was produced by a conversion which exchanged crocodiles and
monkies for monks and mountebanks. The first monastery is
said to have been established in that country by St. Anthony
the Great, towards the close of the third century. He who
rests in solitude, said the saint, is saved from three conflicts,—from
the war of hearing, and of speech, and of sight; and he
has only to maintain the struggle against his own heart. (Acta
Sanctorum, t. ii. p. 143.) Indolence was not the only virtue
which he and his disciples introduced into the catalogue of
Christian perfections. S. Eufraxia entered a convent consisting
of an hundred and thirty nuns, not one of whom had ever
washed her feet; the very mention of the bath was an abomination
to them.—(Acta Sanctorum, March 13.) St. Macarius
had renounced most of the decencies of life; but he returned
one day to his convent, humbled and mortified, exclaiming,—I
am not yet a monk, but I have seen monks! for he had met
two of these wretches stark naked.—Acta Sanctorum, i. p. 107.
The principles which these madmen established were, that
every indulgence is sinful; that whatever is gratifying to the
body, must be injurious to the soul; that in proportion as man
inflicts torments upon himself, he pleases his Creator; that the
ties of natural affection wean the heart from God; and that
every social duty must be abandoned by him who would be
perfect. The doctrine of two principles has never produced such
practical evils in any other system as in the Romish. Manes,
indeed, attributes all evil to the equal power of the Evil Principle,
(that power being only for a time,) but some of the corrupted
forms of Christianity actually exclude a good one!
There is a curious passage in the Bibliotheca Orientalis of
Assemanus, in which the deserts are supposed to have been
originally intended for the use of these saints, compensating for
their sterility by the abundant crop of virtues which they were
to produce! In illâ vero soli vastitate, quæ procul a Nili ripis
quaquaversus latissime protenditur, non urbes, non domicilia, non
agri, non arbores, sed desertum, arena, feræ; non tamen hanc
terræ partem (ut Eucherii verbis utar) inutilem et inhonoratam[291]
dimisit Deus, quum in primordiis rerum omnia in sapientiâ faceret,
et singula quæque futuris usibus apta distingueret; sed
cuncta non magis præsentis magnificentiâ, quam futuri præscientiâ
creans, venturis, ut arbitror, Sanctis Eremum paravit.
Credo, his illam locupletem fructibus voluit, et pro indulgentioris
naturæ vice, hanc Sanctorum dare fœcundiam, ut sic pinguescerent
fines deserti: Et quum irrigaret de superioribus suis montes,
abundaret quoque multiplicata fruge convalles locorumque damna
supplicet, quum habitationem sterilem habitatore ditaret.
“If the ways of religion,” says South, “are ways of pleasantness,
such as are not ways of pleasantness, are not truly and
properly ways of religion. Upon which ground it is easy to see
what judgement is to be passed upon all those affected, uncommanded,
absurd austerities, so much prized and exercised by
some of the Romish profession. Pilgrimages, going barefoot,
hair-shirts and whips, with other such gospel-artillery, are their
only helps to devotion; things never enjoined, either by the
prophets under the Jewish, or by the apostles under the
Christian economy, who yet surely understood the proper and
the most efficacious instruments of piety, as well as any confessor
or friar of all the order of St. Francis, or any casuist
whatsoever.
“It seems that with them a man sometimes cannot be a
penitent unless he also turns vagabond, and foots it to Jerusalem,
or wanders over this or that part of the world to visit
the shrines of such or such a pretended saint, though perhaps
in his life ten times more ridiculous than themselves. Thus,
that which was Cain’s error, is become their religion. He
that thinks to expiate a sin by going barefoot, only makes one
folly the atonement for another. Paul, indeed, was scourged
and beaten by the Jews, but we never read that he beat or
scourged himself; and if they think that his keeping under of
his body imports so much, they must first prove that the body
cannot be kept under by a virtuous mind, and that the mind
cannot be made virtuous but by a scourge, and consequently
that thongs and whip-cord are means of grace, and things necessary[292]
to salvation. The truth is, if men’s religion lies no
deeper than their skin, it is possible that they may scourge
themselves into very great improvements.
“But they will find that bodily exercise touches not the
soul, and that neither pride, nor lust, nor covetousness, was
ever mortified by corporal discipline; ’tis not the back, but
the heart that must bleed for sin; and, consequently, that in
their whole course they are like men out of their way; let
them lash on never so fast, they are not at all the nearer to
their journey’s end; and howsoever they deceive themselves
and others, they may as well expect to bring a cart as a soul to
Heaven by such means.”—Sermons, vol. i. p. 34.
Vide nuper ipse in Hispaniis constitutis et admiratus sum antiquum
hunc morem, ab Hispanis adhuc omnibus observari; mortuâ
quippe uxore maritus, mortuo marito conjux, mortuis filiis patres,
mortuis patribus filii, defunctis quibuslibet cognatis cognati, extinctis,
quodlibet casu amicis amici, statim arma deponunt, sericas
vestes, peregrinarum pellium tegmina abjiciunt, totumque penitus
multi colorem, ac pretiosum habitum abdicantes, nigris tantum
vilibusque indumentis se contegunt. Sic crinibus propriis sic jumentorum
suorum caudis decurtatis, seque et ipsa atro prorsus
colore denigrant. Talibus luctui dolorisve insignibus, subtractos
charissimos deflent, et integri ad minus spatium anni, in tali mærore
publica lege consumant.—Petri Venerabilis Epist. quoted
in Yepes, t. vii. ff. 21.
Witiza put out the eyes of Theodofred, inhabilitandole para[293]
la monarchia, says Ferraras. This was the common mode of
incapacitating a rival for the throne.
Un Conde de Gallicia que fuera valiado,
Pelayo avie nombre, ome fo desforzado,
Perdio la vision, andaba embargado,
Ca ome que non vede, non debie seer nado.
Gonzalo de Berceo. S. Dom. 388.
The history of Europe during the dark ages abounds with
examples of exoculation, as it was called by those writers who
endeavoured, towards the middle of the 17th century, to introduce
the style-ornate into our prose after it had been banished
from poetry. In the East, the practice is still continued.
When Alboquerque took possession of Ormuz, he sent to Portugal
fifteen of its former kings, whom he found there, each of
whom, in his turn, had been deposed and blinded!
In the semi-barbarous stage of society, any kind of personal
blemish seems to have been considered as disqualifying a prince
from the succession, like the law of the Nazarenes. Yorwerth,
the son of Owen Gwynedh, was set aside in Wales because of
his broken nose; Count Oliba, in Barcelona, because he could
never speak till he had stamped with his foot three times like
a goat. Aquest Oliba frare del Conte en Grifa no era a dret de
sos membras. Car lo dit Oliba james no podia parlar, si primer
no donas colps ab lo peu en terra quart o sinc vegades, axi comsi
fos cabra; e per aquesta raho li fou imposat lo nom, dient li Olibra
Cabreta, e per aquest accident lo dit Oliba perde la successio
del frare en lo Comtat de Barcelona, e fou donat lo dit Comtat o
en Borrell, Comte de Urgell, qui era son cosin germa.—Père
Tomich, c. xxviii. ff. 20.
In the treaty between our Henry V. and Charles VI. of
France, by which Henry was appointed King of France after
Charles’s decease, it was decreed that the French should “swear
to become liege men and vassals to our said son King Henry,
and obey him as the true King of France, and without any
opposition or dispute shall receive him as such, and never pay[294]
obedience to any other as king or regent of France, but to our
said son King Henry, unless our said son should lose life or
limb, or be attacked by a mortal disease, or suffer diminution in
person, state, honour[9], or goods.”
Lope de Vega alludes to the blindness of Theodofred in his
Jerusalem Conquistada:—
Criavase con otras bellas damas
Florinda bella,——
Esta miro Rodrigo desdichado,
Ay si como su padre fuera ciego!
Saco sus ojos Witisa ayrado,
Fuera mejor los de Rodrigo luego:
Gozara España el timbre coronado
De sus castillos en mayor sossiego
Que le dio Leovigildo, y no se viera
Estampa de Africano en su ribera.
L. vi. ff. 131.
A remarkable instance of the inconvenient manner in which
the b and the v are indiscriminately used by the Spaniards,
occurs here in the original edition. The w not being used in
that language, it would naturally be represented by vv; and
here, the printer, using most unluckily his typographical
licence, has made the word Vbitisa.
“The Spaniards,” says that late worthy Jo. Sandford, some
time fellow of Magdalane college, in Oxford, (in his Spanish
Grammar, 1632) “do with a kind of wantonness so confound
the sound of b with v, that it is hard to determine when and in
what words it should retain its own power of a labial letter,
which gave just cause of laughter at that Spaniard who, being
in conversation with a French lady, and minding to commend
her children for fair, said unto her, using the Spanish liberty
in pronouncing the French,—Madame, vous avez des veaux enfans,
telling her that she had calves to her children, instead of[295]
saying, beaux enfans, fair children. Neither can I well justify
him who wrote veneficio for beneficio.”
Conimbrica, whose ruined towers
Bore record of the fierce Alani’s wrath.—III. p. 24.
The Roman Conimbrica stood about two leagues from the
present Coimbra, on the site of Condeyxa Velha. Ataces, king
of the Alanes, won it from the Sueves, and, in revenge for its
obstinate resistance, dispeopled it, making all its inhabitants,
without distinction of persons, work at the foundation of Coimbra
where it now stands. Hermenerico, the king of the Sueves,
attacked him while thus employed, but was defeated and pursued
to the Douro; peace was then made, and Sindasunda, daughter
of the conquered, given in marriage to the conqueror. In
memory of the pacification thus effected, Ataces bore upon his
banners a damsel in a tower, with a dragon vert on one side,
and a lion rouge on the other, the bearings of himself and his
marriage-father; and this device being sculptured upon the
towers of Coimbra, still remains as the city arms. Two letters
of Arisbert, bishop of Porto, to Samerius, archdeacon of Braga,
which are preserved at Alcobaça, relate these events as the
news of the day,—that is, if the authority of Alcobaçan records,
and of Bernardo de Brito can be admitted.—Mon. Lus. 26. 3.
Ataces was an Arian, and therefore made the Catholic
bishops and priests work at his new city, but his queen converted
him.
Gasper Estaço has shown that this is the name of the foundress
of Guimaraens, and that it is not, as some writers had supposed,
erroneously thus written, because the words Muma and
Dona followed each other in the deeds of gift wherein it is[296]
preserved; the name being frequently found with its title
affixed thus, Dma Mumadna.
Diogo Bernardes, one of the best of the Portugueze poets,
was born on the banks of the Lima, and passionately fond of
its scenery. Some of his sonnets will bear comparison with
the best poems of their kind. There is a charge of plagiarism
against him for having printed several of Camoens’s sonnets as
his own; to obtain any proofs upon this subject would be very
difficult; this, however, is certain, that his own undisputed
productions resemble them so closely in unaffected tenderness,
and in sweetness of diction, that the whole appear like the works
of one author.
The present Orense. The Moors entirely destroyed it;
depopulavit usque ad solum, are the words of one of the old brief
chronicles. In 832, Alonzo el Casto found it too completely
ruined to be restored.—Espana Sagrada, xvii. p. 48.
That consecrated pile amid the wild,
Which sainted Fructuoso in his zeal
Rear’d to St. Felix, on Visonia’s banks.—IV. p. 38.
Of this saint, and the curious institutions which he formed,
and the beautiful track of country in which they were placed,
I have given an account in the third edition of Letters from
Spain and Portugal, vol. i. p. 103.
This tale, which is repeated by Bleda, rests on no better
authority than that of Abulcacim[10], which may, however, be
admitted, so far as to show that it was a prevalent opinion in
his time.
Antonio Galvam, in his Tratado dos Descobrimentos Antigos
e Modernos, relates a current, and manifestly fabulous story,
which has been supposed to refer to Sacaru, and the companions
of his emigration. “They say,” he says, “that at this time,
A. D. 1447, a Portugueze ship sailing out of the Straits of
Gibraltar, was carried by a storm much farther to the west
than she had intended, and came to an island where there were
seven cities, and where our language was spoken; and the
people asked whether the Moors still occupied Spain, from
whence they had fled after the loss of King Don Rodrigo.
The contramaster of the ship said, that he brought away a little
sand from the island, and sold it to a goldsmith in Lisbon,
who extracted from it a good quantity of gold. It is said that
the Infante D. Pedro, who governed at that time, ordered
these things to be written in the Casa do Tombo. And some
will have it that these lands and islands at which the Portugueze
touched, were those which are now called the Antilhas
and New Spain.” (P. 24.)
This Antilia, or Island of the Seven Cities, is laid down in
Martin Behaim’s map; the story was soon improved by giving
seven bishops to the seven cities: and Galvam has been accused
by Hornius of having invented it to give his countrymen
the honour of having discovered the West Indies! Now it is[298]
evident that Antonio Galvam relates the story as if he did not
believe it,—contam—they relate,—and, diz, it is said,—never
affirming the fact, nor making any inference from it, but
merely stating it as a report: and it is certain, which perhaps
Hornius did not know, that there never lived a man of purer
integrity than Antonio Galvam; a man whose history is disgraceful,
not to his country, but to the government under which
he lived, and whose uniform and unsullied virtue entitles him
to rank among the best men that have ever done honour to
human nature.
The writers who repeat this story of the Seven Islands and
their bishops, have also been pleased to find traces of Sacaru
in the new world, for which the imaginary resemblances to
Christianity which were found in Yucatan and other places,
serve them as proofs.—Gregorio Garcia, Origen de los Indios,
l. iv. c. 20.
The work of Abulcacim, in which the story first appears,
has been roundly asserted to be the forgery of the translator,
Miguel de Luna. The Portugueze academician, Contador de
Argote, speaking of this romantic history, acquits him of the
fraud, which has with little reflection been laid to his charge.
Pedraça, he says, in the Grandezas de Granada, and Rodrigo
Caro, in the Grandezas de Sevilla, both affirm that the original
Arabic exists in the Escurial, and Escolano asserts the same,
although Nicholas Antonio says that the catalogues of that
library do not make mention of any such book. If Luna had
forged it, it would not have had many of those blunders which
are observed in it; nor is there any reason for imputing such
a fraud to Luna, a man well skilled in Arabic, and of good
reputation. What I suspect is, that the book was composed
by a Granadan Moor, and the reason which induces me to form
this opinion is, the minuteness with which he describes the
conquest which Tarif made of those parts of the kingdom of
Granada, of the Alpuxarras and the Serra Neveda, pointing
out the etymologies of the names of places, and other circumstances,
which any one who reads with attention will observe.[299]
As to the time in which the composer of this amusing romance
flourished, it was certainly after the reign of Bedeci Aben
Habuz, who governed, and was Lord of Granada about the
year 1013, as Marmol relates, after the Arabian writers; and
the reason which I have for this assertion is, that in the romance
of Abulcacim the story is told which gave occasion to
the said Bedeci Aben Habuz to set up in Granada that famous
vane, which represents a knight upon horseback in bronze, with
a spear in the right hand, and a club in the left, and these
words in Arabic,—Bedeci Aben Habuz says, that in this
manner Andalusia must be kept! the figure moves with every
wind, and veers about from one end to another.—Memorias de
Braga, t. iii. p. 120.
In the fabulous Chronicle of D. Rodrigo, Sacarus, as he is
there called, is a conspicuous personage; but the tale of his
emigration was not then current, and the author kills him before
the Moors appear upon the stage. He seems to have
designed him as a representation of perfect generosity.
All too long,
Here in their own inheritance, the sons
Of Spain have groan’d beneath a foreign yoke.—IV. p. 43.
There had been a law to prohibit intermarriages between
the Goths and Romans; this law Recesuintho annulled[11]
observing in his edict, that the people ought in no slight degree
to rejoice at the repeal. It is curious that the distinction
should have existed so long; but it is found also in a law of
Wamba’s, and doubtless must have continued till both names
were lost together in the general wreck. The vile principle
was laid down in the laws of the Wisigoths, that such as the
root is, such ought the branch to be,—gran confusion es de
linage, quando el fiyo non semeya al padre, que aquelo ques de la[300]
raiz, deba ser en a cima, and upon this principle a law was made
to keep the children of slaves, slaves also.
“Many men well versed in history,” says Contador de Argote,
(Memorias de Braga, 3. 273.) “think, and think rightly,
that this was a civil war, and that the monarchy was divided
into two factions, of which the least powerful availed itself of
the Arabs as auxiliaries; and that these auxiliaries made themselves
masters, and easily effected their intent by means of the
divisions in the country.”
“The natives of Spain,” says Joam de Barros, “never bore
much love to the Goths, who were strangers and comelings,
and when they came had no right there, for the whole belonged
to the Roman empire. It is believed that the greater part of
those whom the Moors slew were Goths, and it is said that,
on one side and on the other, in the course of two years there
were slain by the sword seven hundred thousand men. The
Christians who escaped chose that the name of Goths should
be lost: and though some Castillians complain that the race
should be extinguished, saying with Don Jorge Manrique,
Pues la sangre de los Godos
y el linage y la nobleza
tan crecida,
por quantas vias y modos
se sume su grande alteza
en esta vida,
I must say that I see no good foundation for this; for
they were a proud nation and barbarous, and were a long
time heretics of the sects of Arius and Eutychius and Pelagius,
and can be praised as nothing except as warriors, who
were so greedy for dominion, that wherever they reached they
laid every thing bare like locusts, and therefore the emperor
ceded to them this country. The people who dwelt in it
before were a better race, always praised and feared and respected[301]
by the Romans, loyal and faithful and true and reasonable:
and if the Goths afterwards were worthy of any
estimation they became so here: for as plants lose their
bitterness and improve by being planted and translated into a
good soil (as is said of peaches), so does a good land change its
inhabitants, and of rustic and barbarous make them polished
and virtuous.
“The Moors did not say that they came against the Christians,
but against the Goths, who had usurped Spain; and it
appears that to the people of the land it mattered little whether
they were under Goths or Moors; or indeed it might not be
too much to say that they preferred the Moors, not only because
all new things and changes would be pleasing, but
because they were exasperated against the Goths for what they
had done against the Christians, (i. e. the Catholicks,) and for
the bad government of King Witiza.”
“You are not to think,” says the Chronicler, “that Count
Don Julian and the Bishop Don Orpas came of the lineage of
the Goths, but of the lineage of the Cæsars, and therefore they
were not grieved that the good lineage should be destroyed.”—Chr.
del K. D. Rodrigo, p. i. c. 248.
For this fact there is the unquestionable testimony of Isidorus
Pacensis. Per idem tempus in Æra 735, anno imperii
ejus 9. Arabum 97. Abdalaziz omnem Hispaniam per tres annos
sub censuario jugo pacificans, cum Hispali divitiis et honorum
fascibus cum Regina Hispaniæ in conjugio copulata, filias Regum
ac Principum pellicatas, et imprudenter distractas æstuaret, seditione
suorum facta, orationi instans, consilio Ajub, occiditur;
atque eo Hispaniam retinente, mense impleto, Alahor in regno
Hesperiæ per principalia jussa succedit, cui de morte Abdallaziz
ita edicitur. ut quasi consilio Egilonis Regiæ conjugis quondam
Ruderici regis, quam sibi sociaberat, jugum Arabicum a sua cervice
conaretur avertere, et regnum in vasum Hiberiæ sibimet retemptare.—Espana
Sagrada, t. viii. 302.
Florez relates the story in the words of the old translation
of an Arabic original imputed to Rasis. “When Belazin, the
son of Muza, remained for Lord of Spain, and had ordered his
affairs right well, they told him tidings of Ulaca, who had
been the wife of King D. Rodrigo, that she was a right
worthy dame, and right beautiful, and of a great lineage, and
that she was a native of Africa; whereupon he sent for her,
and ordered that beasts should be given her, and much property,
and men-servants and maid-servants, and all things that
she could require, till she could come to him. And they
brought her unto him, and when he saw her, he was well
pleased with her, and said, Ulaca, tell me of thy affairs, and
conceal nothing from me; for thou knowest I may do with
thee according to my will, being my captive. And when she
heard this, it increased the grief which she had in her heart,
and her sorrow was such, that she had well nigh fallen dead to
the ground, and she replied weeping and said, Baron, what
wouldst thou know more of my affairs? For doth not all the
world know, that I, a young damsel, being married with King[303]
D. Rodrigo, was with him Lady of Spain, and dwelt in
honour and in all pleasure, more than I deserved; and therefore
it was God’s will that they should endure no longer. And
now I am in dishonour greater than ever was dame of such
high state: For I am plundered, and have not a single palm
of inheritance; and I am a captive, and brought into bondage.
I also have been mistress of all the land that I behold. Therefore,
Sir, have pity upon my misfortunes; and in respect of
the great lineage which you know to be mine, suffer not that
wrong or violence be offered me by any one; and, Sir, if it
be your grace you will ransom me. There are men I know
who would take compassion on me, and give you for me a
great sum. And Belazin said to her, Be certain that so long
as I live, you shall never go from my house. And Ulaca said,
What then, Sir, would you do with me? and Belazin said, I
will that you should remain in my house, and there you shall be
free from all wretchedness, with my other wives. And she said,
In an evil day was I born, if it is to be true that I have been
wife of the honoured king of Spain, and now have to live in a
stranger’s house as the concubine and captive of another! And
I swear unto God, whose pleasure it is to dismay me thus, that
I will rather seek my own death as soon as I can; for I will
endure no more misery, seeing that by death I can escape it.
And when Belazin saw that she thus lamented, he said to her,
Good dame, think not that we have concubines, but by our law
we may have seven wives, if we can maintain them, and therefore
you shall be my wife, like each of the others; and all
things which your law requires that a man should do for his wife,
will I do for you; and therefore you have no cause to lament;
and be sure that I will do you much honour, and will make all
who love me serve and honour you, and you shall be mistress
of all my wives. To this she made answer and said, Sir, offer
me no violence concerning my law, but let me live as a
Christian: And to this Belazin was nothing loth and he
granted it, and his marriage was performed with her according
to the law of the Moors; and every day he liked her
more, and did her such honour that greater could not be.[304]
And it befell that Belazin being one day with Ulaca, she said
to him, Sir, do not think it ill if I tell you of a thing in
which you do not act as if you knew the custom. And he
said, Wherein is it that I err? Sir, said she, because you have
no crown, for no one was ever confirmed in Spain, except
he had a crown upon his head. He said, This which you say
is nothing, for we have it not of our lineage, neither is it our
custom to wear a crown. She said, many good reasons are
there why a crown is of use, and it would injure you nothing,
but be well for you, and when you should wear your crown
upon your head, God would know you and others also by it:
And she said, You would look full comely with it, and it
would be great nobleness to you, and be right fitting, and you
should wear in it certain stones, which will be good for you,
and avail you. And in a short time afterwards Belazin went
to dwell at Seville, and he carried Ulaca with him, and she
took of her gold, and of her pearls, and of her precious stones,
which she had many and good, and made him the noblest
crown that ever was seen by man, and gave it him, and bade
him take it, and place it where it should be well kept; and
Ulaca, as she was a woman of understanding and prudence,
ordered her affairs as well as Belazin, so that he loved her
much, and did great honour to her, and did many of those
things which she desired; so that he was well pleased with the
Christians, and did them much good, and showed favour
unto them.”—Memorias de las Reynas Catholicas, 1. p. 28.
The issue of this was fatal to Abdalaziz. In Albucacim’s
history, it is said that he was converted by this Christian wife,
and for that reason put to death by his father. Others have
supposed that by means of her influence he was endeavouring
to make himself King of Spain, independent of the Caliph.
A characteristic circumstance is added. Egilona was very
desirous to convert her husband, and that she might at least
obtain from him some mark of outward respect for her images,
made the door of the apartment in which she kept them,
so low, that he could not enter without bowing.—Bleda,
p. 214.
[305]
Deixam a Abdalaziz, que de Bellona
Mamara o leite, por Rector da Hesperia;
Este caza co a inclyta Egilona,
Mulher de Dom Rodrigo, (o gram miseria!)
Tomou Coroa de ouro, e a Matrona
Lhe deu para a tomar larga materia,
Foi notado à misera raynha
Cazarse com hum Mouro tarn asinha.
Destruiçam de Espanha, p. 237.
The Character of this Queen is beautifully conceived by
the author of Count Julian:—
Beaming with virtue inaccessible
Stood Egilona; for her lord she lived,
And for the heavens that raised her sphere so high:
This was a favourite opinion of Garibays, himself a Biscayan,
but he has little better proof for it than the fact, that
Gothic names disappeared with Roderick, and that Pelayo
and his successors drew their nomenclature from a different
stock. He says, indeed, that ancient writings are not wanting
to support his opinion. Some rude commentator has written
against this assertion in the margin of my copy, miente Garibay;
and I am afraid the commentator is the truer man of
the two.
[307]
There is a fabulous tale of Pelayo’s birth, which, like many
other tales of no better authority, has legends and relics to
support it. The story, according to Dr. D. Christoval Lozano,
in his history of Los Reyes Nuevos de Toledo, is this. Luz,
niece to Egilona, and sister of Roderick, dwelt at Toledo, in
the palace of King Egica. Duke Favila, her father’s brother,
fell in love with her, and came from his residence in Cantabria
to ask her in marriage, expecting to find no other
obstacle than the dispensable one of consanguinity. But it so
happened, that the King was wooing Luz to become his concubine;
her refusal made him jealous, as he could not conceive
that it proceeded from any cause except love for another, and
as his temper and power were not to be provoked without
danger, Favila dared not openly make his suit. He and his
mistress therefore met in private, and plighted their vows
before an image of the Virgin. The consequences soon
became apparent,—the more so, because, as Dr Lozano assures
us, there were at that time no fashions to conceal such
things,—Y mas que en aquella era no se avian inventado los
guarda-infantes. The king observed the alteration in her
shape, and placed spies upon her, meaning to destroy the
child and punish the mother with the rigour of the law, death
by fire being the punishment for such an offence. Luz was
well aware of the danger. She trusted her Camarera and one
servant: They made an ark: She herself, as soon as the
infant was born, threw water in his face, and baptised him by
the name of Pelayo: a writing was placed with him in the
ark, requesting that whoever should find it would breed up
the boy with care, for he was of good lineage. Money enough
was added to support him for eight years, and the ark was
then launched upon the Tagus, where it floated down the
stream all night, all day, and all the following night. On the
second morning it grounded near Alcantara, and was found
by Grafeses, who happened to be Luz’s uncle. The king’s
suspicion being confirmed by the sudden alteration in the
lady’s appearance, he used every means to detect her, but
without avail; he even ordered all children to be examined[308]
who had been born in or around Toledo within three months,
and full enquiry to be made into the circumstances of their
births: To the astonishment of later historians, 35,000 of
that age were found, and not one among them of suspicious
extraction. The tale proceeds in the ordinary form of romance.
The lady is accused of incontinence, and to be burnt, unless
a champion defeats her accuser. Favila of course undertakes
her defence, and of course is victorious. A second battle
follows with the same success, and fresh combats would have
followed, if a hermit had not brought the king to repentance.
Grafeses in due time discovers the secret, and restores the
child to his parents.
This fabulous chronicle seems to be the oldest written source
of this story, but some such tradition had probably long been
current. The ark was shown at Alcantara, in the convent of
St. Benito, and a description of it, with reasons why its
authenticity should be admitted, may be found in Francisco de
Pisa’s Description de Toledo, l. iii. c. i.
And in thy name,
Accept the Crown of Thorns she proffers me.—VII. p. 72.
Godfrey was actually crowned with thorns in Jerusalem,—a
circumstance which has given rise to a curious question in
heraldry,—thus curiously stated and commented by Robert
Barret, in that part of his long poem which relates to this
Prince:—
To free man from Hell.
A Prince religious, if ever any,
Considering the age wherein he lived,
Vice-hater great, endued with virtues many,
True humilized, void of mundane pride;
For though he now created were great king,
Yet would he not as royal pomp requires,
Encrowned be with crownet glistering
Of gold and gems to mundains vain desires;
But with a pricking, pricking crown of thorn,
[309]
Bearing thereto a Christian reverence,
Sith Heaven’s King, man’s-Redeemer, did not scorn
To wear such crown within that city’s fence,
When as, cross-loden, humblely he went,
All cowring under burden of that wood,
To pay the pain of man’s due punishment,
And free from Pluto’s bands Prometheus brood.
The foolishness of Heralds.
By reas’n of Godfrey’s great humility
Refusing golden-crownets dignity,
Some blundering in world-witted heraldry,
Not knowing how t’ distinguish vertues trye,
Do question make this Christian king to set
In catalogue of gold-diademed kings;
Regarding glitter of the external jet,
And not true garnish of th’ internal things;
Th’ internal virtues, soul’s sweet ornaments,
So pleasing to th’ Eternal’s sacred eyes,
In angels chore consorting sweet concents
Of heavenly harmony ’bove christal skies.
But we, è contra, him not only deem
A Christian king, but perfect Christian king,
A christal fanal, lamping light divine
To after-comer kings, world emp’rizing.
For he, religious prince, did not despise
The Heaven-sent gift to be anointed king,
But disesteem’d the mundane pompous guise
Tickling the hearts of princes monarching.
Annotacion.
Potentates regard this heaven-aspiring Prince,
Not priding, as up proves his dignity;
High throned kings aspect the starred fence
Of this true map of true kings royalty;
Not Nembrothizing in cloud-kissing towers,
Not Semiramizing in prides palaces,
Not Neronizing in all sanguine hours,
Not Heliogabalizing in lusts lees;
[310]
But Joshuadizing in his Christian camp,
And Judithizing in his Salem’s seat,
And Davidizing in his Sion’s stamp,
And Solomonizing in all sacred heat.
Outwatching for her sake
The starry host, and ready for the work
Of day before the sun begins his course.—VIII. p. 78.
Garci Fernandez Manrique surprised the Moors so often
during the night, that he was called Garci Madrugi,—an
appellation of the same import as Peep-of-day-boy. He
founded the convent of St. Salvador de Palacios de Benagel
for Benedictine nuns, and when he called up his merry men,
used to say, Up, sirs, and fight, for my nuns are up and
praying; Levantaos Señores à pelear, que mis monjas son levantadas
a rezar.—Pruebas de la Hist. de la Casa de Lara, p. 42.
Mariana derives the name of Hermesinda from the reverence
in which Hermenegild was held in Spain,—a prince who has
been sainted for having renounced the Homooisian creed, and
raised a civil war against his father in favour of the Homoousian
one. It is not a little curious when the fate of
D. Carlos is remembered, that his name should have been
inserted in the Kalendar, at the solicitation of Philip II.!
From the same source Mariana derives the names Hermenisinda,
Armengol, Ermengaud, Hermegildez, and Hermildez.
But here, as Brito has done with Pelayo, he seems to forget
that the name was current before it was borne by the Saint,
and the derivations from it as numerous. Its root may be
found in Herman, whose German name will prevail over the
latinized Arminius.
[311]
The glen where Tagus rolls between his rocks.—X. p. 95.
The story of the Enchanted Tower at Toledo is well known
to every English reader. It neither accorded with the character
of my poem to introduce the fiction, nor would it have
been prudent to have touched upon it after Walter Scott.
The account of the Archbishop Rodrego, and of Abulcacim,
may be found in his notes. What follows here is translated
from the fabulous chronicle of King Don Rodrigo.
“And there came to him the keepers of the house which
was in Toledo, which they called Pleasure with Pain, the
Perfect Guard, the secret of that which is to come; and it
was called also by another name, the Honour of God. And
these keepers came before the king, and said unto him, Sire,
since God hath done thee such good, and such favour as that
thou shouldest be king of all Spain, we come to require of
thee that thou wouldst go to Toledo, and put thy lock upon
the house which we are appointed to keep. And the king
demanded of them what house was that, and wherefore he
should put upon it his lock. And they said unto him, Sire,
we will willingly tell thee that thou mayest know. Sire, true
it is, that when Hercules the Strong came into Spain, he made
in it many marvellous things in those places where he understood
that they might best remain; and thus when he was in
Toledo he understood well that that city would be one of the
best in Spain; and saw that the kings who should be Lords
of Spain, would have more pleasure to continue dwelling
therein than in any other part; and seeing that things would
come after many ways, some contrariwise to others, it pleased
him to leave many enchantments made, to the end that after
his death his power and wisdom might by them be known.
And he made in Toledo a house, after the manner which we
shall now describe, with great mastership, so that we have not
heard tell of any other such: The which is made after this
guise. There are four lions of metal under the foundation
of this house: and so large are they that a man sitting upon
a great horse on the one side, and another in like manner[312]
upon the other, cannot see each other, so large are the lions.
And the house is upon them, and it is entirely round, and so
lofty that there is not a man in the world who can throw a
stone to the top: And many have attempted this, but they
never could. And there is not a man of this age who can
tell you by what manner this house was made, neither whose
understanding can reach to say in what manner it is worked
within. But of that which we have seen without, we have
to tell thee. Certes in the whole house there is no stone
bigger than the hand of a man, and the most of them are of
jasper and marble, so clear and shining that they seem to be
crystal. They are of so many colours that we do not think
there are two stones in it of the same colour; and so cunningly
are they joined one with another, that if it were not
for the many colours, you would not believe but that the
whole house was made of one entire stone. And the stones
are placed in such manner one by another, that seeing them
you may know all the things of the battles aforepast, and of
great feats. And this is not by pictures, but the colour of the
stones, and the great art of joining one with the other, make
it appear thus. And sans doubt he who should wish to know
the truth of the great deeds of arms which have been wrought
in the world, might by means of that house know it. See
now in what manner Hercules was wise and fortunate, and
right valiant, and acquainted with the things which were to
come. And when he was Lord of Spain, he made it after
this guise, which we have related unto you. And he commanded
that neither King nor Lord of Spain who might come
after him, should seek to know that which was within; but
that every one instead should put a lock upon the doors
thereof, even as he himself did, for he first put on a lock, and
fastened it with his key. And after him there has been no
King nor Lord in Spain, who has thought it good to go from
his bidding; but every one as he came put on each his lock,
according to that which Hercules appointed. And now that
we have told thee the manner of the house, and that which
we know concerning it, we require of thee that thou shouldest[313]
go thither, and put on thy lock on the gates thereof, even as
all the kings have done who have reigned in Spain until this
time. And the King Don Rodrigo hearing the marvellous
things of this house, and desiring to know what there was
within, and moreover being a man of a great heart, wished to
know of all things how they were and for what guise. He
made answer, that no such lock would he put upon that house,
and that by all means he would know what there was within.
And they said unto him, Sire, you will not do that which has
never been done in Spain; be pleased therefore to observe
that which the other kings have observed. And the king said
unto them, Leave off now, and I will appoint the soonest that
may be how I may go to see this house, and then I will do
that which shall seem good. And he would give them no
other reply. And when they saw that he would give them
no other reply, they dared not persist farther, and they dispeeded
themselves of him, and went their way.
“Now it came to pass that the King Don Rodrigo called to
mind how he had been required to put a lock upon the doors
of the house which was in Toledo, and he resolved to carry
into effect that unto which his heart inclined him. And one
day he gathered together all the greatest knights of Spain,
who were there with him, and went to see this house, and he
saw that it was more marvellous than those who were its
keepers had told him, and as he was thus beholding it, he said,
Friends, I will by all means see what there is in this house
which Hercules made. And when the great Lords who were
with him heard this, they began to say unto him that he ought
not to do this; for there was no reason why he should do that
which never king nor Cæsar, that had been Lord of Spain
since Hercules, had done until that time. And the king said
unto them, Friends, in this house there is nothing but what
may be seen. I am well sure that the enchantments cannot
hinder me, and this being so, I have nothing to fear. And the
knights said, Do that, sir, which you think good, but this is
not done by our counsel. And when he saw that they were all
of a different accord from that which he wished to do, he said,[314]
Now gainsay me as you will, for let what will happen I shall
not forbear to do my pleasure. And forthwith he went to the
doors, and ordered all the locks to be opened; and this was a
great labour, for so many were the keys and the locks, that if
they had not seen it, it would have been a great thing to believe.
And after they were unlocked, the king pushed the
door with his hand, and he went in, and the chief persons who
were there with him, as many as he pleased, and they found a
hall made in a square, being as wide on one part as on the
other, and in it there was a bed richly furnished, and there
was laid in that bed the statue of a man, exceeding great, and
armed at all points, and he had the one arm stretched out, and
a writing in his hand. And when the king and those who
were with him saw this bed, and the man who was laid in it,
they marvelled what it might be, and they said, Certes, that
bed was one of the wonders of Hercules and of his enchantments.
And when they saw the writing which he held in his
hand, they showed it to the king, and the king went to him,
and took it from his hand, and opened it and read it, and it
said thus, Audacious one, thou who shalt read this writing,
mark well what thou art, and how great evil through thee shall
come to pass, for even as Spain was peopled and conquered by
me, so by thee shall it be depopulated and lost. And I say
unto thee, that I was Hercules the strong, he who conquered
the greater part of the world, and all Spain; and I slew Geryon
the Great, who was Lord thereof; and I alone subdued
all these lands of Spain, and conquered many nations, and
brave knights, and never any one could conquer me, save only
Death. Look well to what thou doest, for from this world
thou wilt carry with thee nothing but the good which thou
hast done.
“And when the king had read the writing he was troubled,
and he wished then that he had not begun this thing. Howbeit
he made semblance as if it touched him not, and said that
no man was powerful enough to know that which is to come,
except the true God. And all the knights who were present
were much troubled because of what the writing said; and[315]
having seen this they went to behold another apartment, which
was so marvellous, that no man can relate how marvellous it
was. The colours which were therein were four. The one
part of the apartment was white as snow; and the other,
which was over-against it, was more black than pitch; and
another part was green as a fine emerald, and that which was
over-against it was redder than fresh blood; and the whole
apartment was bright and more lucid than crystal, and it was
so beautiful, and the colour thereof so fine, that it seemed as if
each of the sides were made of a single stone, and all who were
there present said that there was not more than a single stone
in each, and that there was no joining of one stone with another,
for every side of the whole four appeared to be one solid slab;
and they all said, that never in the world had such a work as
this elsewhere been made, and that it must be held for a remarkable
thing, and for one of the wonders of the world.
And in all the apartments there was no beam, nor any work of
wood, neither within nor without; and as the floor thereof was
flat, so also was the ceiling. Above these were windows, and
so many, that they gave a great light, so that all which was
within might be seen as clearly as that which was without.
And when they had seen the apartment how it was made, they
found in it nothing but one pillar, and that not very large,
and round, and of the height of a man of mean stature: and
there was a door in it right cunningly made, and upon it was
a little writing in Greek letters, which said, Hercules made
this house in the year of Adam three hundred and six. And
when the king had read these letters, and understood that
which they said, he opened the door, and when it was opened
they found Hebrew letters which said, This house is one of the
wonders of Hercules; and when they had read these letters
they saw a niche made in that pillar, in which was a coffer of
silver, right subtly wrought, and after a strange manner, and
it was gilded, and covered with many precious stones, and of
great price, and it was fastened with a lock of mother-of-pearl.
And this was made in such a manner that it was a strange
thing, and there were cut upon it Greek letters which said, It[316]
cannot be but that the king, in whose time this coffer shall be
opened, shall see wonders before his death: thus said Hercules
the Lord of Greece and of Spain, who knew some of those
things which are to come. And when the king understood
this, he said, Within this coffer lies that which I seek to know,
and which Hercules has so strongly forbidden to be known.
And he took the lock and broke it with his hands, for there
was no other who durst break it: and when the lock was
broken, and the coffer open, they found nothing within, except
a white cloth folded between two pieces of copper; and he
took it and opened it, and found Moors pourtrayed therein
with turbans, and banners in their hands and with their swords
round their necks, and their bows behind them at the saddle-bow,
and over these figures were letters which said, When this
cloth shall be opened, and these figures seen, men apparelled
like them shall conquer Spain and shall be Lords thereof.
“When the King Don Rodrigo saw this he was troubled at
heart, and all the knights who were with him. And they said
unto him, Now, sir, you may see what has befallen you, because
you would not listen to those who counselled you not to
pry into so great a thing, and because you despised the kings
who were before you, who all observed the commands of Hercules,
and ordered them to be observed, but you would not do
this. And he had greater trouble in his heart than he had
ever before felt; howbeit he began to comfort them all, and
said to them, God forbid that all this which we have seen
should come to pass. Nevertheless, I say, that if things must
be according as they are here declared, I could not set aside
that which hath been ordained, and, therefore, it appears that
I am he by whom this house was to be opened, and that for
me it was reserved. And seeing it is done, there is no reason
that we should grieve for that which cannot be prevented, if it
must needs come. And let come what may, with all my
power I will strive against that which Hercules has foretold,
even till I take my death in resisting it: and if you will all do
in like manner, I doubt whether the whole world can take
from us our power. But if by God it hath been appointed,[317]
no strength and no art can avail against his Almighty power,
but that all things must be fulfilled even as to him seemeth
good. In this guise they went out of the house, and he
charged them all that they should tell no man of what they
had seen there, and ordered the doors to be fastened in the
same manner as before. And they had hardly finished fastening
them, when they beheld an eagle fall right down from the
sky, as if it had descended from Heaven, carrying a burning
fire-brand, which it laid upon the top of the house, and began
to fan it with its wings: and the fire-brand with the motion of
the air began to blaze, and the house was kindled and burnt as
if it had been made of rosin; so strong and mighty were the
flames and so high did they blaze up, that it was a great marvel,
and it burnt so long that there did not remain the sign of a
single stone, and all was burnt into ashes. And after a while
there came a great flight of birds small and black, who hovered
over the ashes, and they were so many, that with the fanning
of their wings, all the ashes were stirred up, and rose into the
air, and were scattered over the whole of Spain; and many of
those persons upon whom the ashes fell, appeared as if they
had been besmeared with blood. All this happened in a day,
and many said afterwards, that all those persons upon whom
those ashes fell, died in battle when Spain was conquered and
lost; and this was the first sign of the destruction of Spain.”—Chronica
del Rey D. Rodrigo, Part I. c. 28. 30.
“Y siendo verdad lo que escriven nuestros Chronistas, y el
Alcayde Tarif, las letras que en este Palacio fueron halladas, no
se ha de entender que fueron puestas por Hercules en su fundacion,
ni por algun nigromantico, como algunos piensan, pues solo
Dios sabe las cosas por venir, y aquellos aquien el es servido revelarlas:
bien puede ser que fuessen puestas por alguna santa
persona aquien nuestro Señor lo oviesse revelado y mandado;
como revelo el castigo que avia de suceder del diluvio general en
tiempo de Noe, que fue pregonero de la justicia de Dios; y el
de las ciudades de Sodoma y Gomorra a Abraham.”—Fran. de
Pisa, Descr. de Toledo, l. 2. c. 31.
[318]
The Spanish ballad upon the subject, fine as the subject is,
is flat as a flounder:—
De los nobilissimos Godos
que en Castilla avian reynado
Rodrigo rey no el postrero
de los reyes que han passado:
en cuyo tiempo los Moros
todo Espana avian ganado,
sino fuera las Asturias
que defendio Don Pelayo
En Toledo esta Rodrigo
al comienço del reynado;
vinole gran voluntad
de ver lo que esta cerrado
en la torre que esta alli,
antigua de muchos años.
En esta torre los reyes
cada uno hecho un canado,
porque lo ordenara ansi
Hercules el afamado,
que gano primero a España
de Gerion gran tirano.
Creyo el rey que avia en la torre
gran thesoro alli guardado;
la torre fue luego abierta
y quitados los canados;
no ay en ella cosa alguna,
sola una caxa han hallado.
El rey la mandara abrir;
un paño dentro se ha hallado,
con unas letras latinas
que dizen en Castellano,
Quando aquestas cerraduras
que cierran estos canados,
fueren abiertas y visto
lo en el paño debuxado,
España sera perdida,
[319]
y toda ella asolada;
ganaran la gente estrana
como aqui est an figurados,
los rostros muy denegridos,
los braços arremangados,
muchas colores vestidas,
en las cabecas tocados,
alçadas traeran sus señas
en cavallos cavalgando,
largas lanças en sus manos,
con espadas en su lado.
Alarabes se diran,
y de aquesta tierra estraños;
perderase toda España,
que nada no aura fincado.
El rey con sus ricos hombres
todos se avian espantado,
quando vieron las figuras
y letras que hemos contado;
buelven a cerrar la torre,
quedo el rey muy angustiado.
Romances nuevamente sacados por Lorenço
de Sepulveda, ff. 160. 1564.
Juan Yague de Salas relates a singular part of this miracle,
which I have not seen recorded any where but in his very rare
and curious poem:—
Cantò como rompidos los candados
De la lobrega cueva, y despedidas
De sus senos obscuros vozes tristes
No bien articuladas, si a remiendos,
Repetidas adentro por el ayre,
Y una mas bronca se escucho que dize,
Desdichado Rey Ro (y acaba digo,
Quedando la R submersa entre piçarras)
La Coro perderas, y el Man, y el Ce,
No dixo el na, ni el do, ni el tro, no dixo;
Almenos no se oyo, si bien oyose
[320]
Por lascivo tirano, y por sobervio,
Que ya permite el cielo que el de Meca
Castigue por tu causa el Reyno Godo,
Por solo que lo riges con mal modo.
Los Amantes de Teruel, p. 29.
The Chronica General del Rey Don Alfonso gives a singular
account of the first inhabitant of this fatal spot:—
“There was a king who had to name Rocas; he was of
the east country from Edom, wherein was Paradise, and for
the love of wisdom he forsook his kingdom, and went about
the world seeking knowledge. And in a country between the
east and the north he found seventy pillars; thirty were of
brass, thirty of marble, and they lay upon the ground, and
upon them was written all knowledge and the nature of things.
These Rocas translated, and carried with him the book in
which he had translated them, by which he did marvels. He
came to Troy when the people under Laomedon were building
the city, and seeing them he laughed. They asked him why,
and he replied, that if they knew what was to happen, they
would cease from their work. Then they took him and led
him before Laomedon, and Laomedon asked him for why he
had spoken these words, and Rocas answered, that he had
spoken truth, for the people should be put to the sword,
and the city be destroyed by fire. Wherefore the Trojans
would have slain him, but Laomedon, judging that he spake
from folly, put him in prison to see if he would repent. He,
fearful of death, by his art sent a sleep upon the guards, and
filed off his irons, and went his way. And he came to the
seven hills by the Tyber, and there upon a stone he wrote
the letters Roma, and Romulus found them, and gave them as a
name to his city, because they bore a resemblance to his own.
“Then went King Rocas westward, and he entered Spain,
and went round it and through it, till coming to the spot
where Toledo stands, he discovered that it was the central
place of the country, and that one day a city should there be
built, and there he found a cave into which he entered. There[321]
lay in it a huge dragon, and Rocas in fear besought the dragon
not to hurt him, for they were both creatures of God. And
the dragon took such love towards him, that he always brought
him part of his food from the chase, and they dwelt together
in the cave. One day an honourable man of that land, by
name Tartus, was hunting in that mountain, and he found a
bear, and the bear fled into the cave, and Rocas in fear addressed
him as he had done the dragon, and the bear quietly
lay down, and Rocas fondled his head, and Tartus following,
saw Rocas how his beard was long, and his body covered with
hair, and he thought it was a wild man, and fitted an arrow
to his bow, and drew the string. Then Rocas besought him
in the name of God not to slay him, and obtained security for
himself and the bear under his protection. And when Tartus
heard how he was a king, he invited him to leave that den and
return with him, and he would give him his only daughter in
marriage, and leave him all that he had. By this the dragon
returned. Tartus was alarmed, and would have fled, but
Rocas interfered, and the dragon threw down half an ox, for
he had devoured the rest, and asked the stranger to stop and
eat. Tartus declined the invitation, for he must be gone.
Then said Rocas to the dragon, My friend, I must now leave
you, for we have sojourned together long enough. So he departed,
and married, and had two sons, and for love of the
dragon he built a tower over the cave, and dwelt there. After
his death, one of his sons built another, and King Pirros added
more building, and this was the beginning of Toledo.”
Lardner published a letter to Jonas Hanway, showing why
houses for the reception of penitent harlots ought not to be
called Magdalen Houses; Mary Magdalen not being the sinner
recorded in the 7th chapter of Luke, but a woman of distinction
and excellent character, who laboured under some
bodily infirmity, which our Lord miraculously healed.
In the Shibboleth of Jean Despagne, is an article thus entitled:[322]De Marie Magdelaine laquelle faussement on dit avoir
este femme de mauvaise vie: Le tort que luy font les Theologiens
pour la plus part en leurs sermons, en leurs livres; et specialement
la Bible Angloise en l’Argument du 7ᵉ chap. de S. Luc.
“The injury,” says this Hugonot divine, “which the
Romish church does to another Mary, the sister of Lazarus,
has been sufficiently confuted by the orthodox. It has been
ignorantly believed that this Mary, and another who was of
Magdala, and the sinner who is spoken of in the 7th of Luke,
are the same person, confounding the three in one. We have
justified one of the three, to wit, her of Bethany, the sister of
Lazarus; but her of Magdala we still defame, as if that Magdalen
were the sinner of whom St. Luke speaks.
“Nothing is more common in the mouth of the vulgar than
the wicked life of the Magdalen. The preachers who wish
to confess souls that are afflicted with horror at their sins, represent
to them this woman as one of the most immodest and
dissolute that ever existed, to whom, however, God has shown
mercy. And, upon this same prejudice, which is altogether
imaginary, has been founded a reason why the Son of God
having been raised from the dead, appeared to Mary Magdalen
before any other person; for, say they, it is because
she had greater need of consolation, having been a greater
sinner than the others.—He who wrote the Practice of Piety
places her with the greatest offenders, even with Manasses,
one of the wickedest of men: and to authorise this error the
more, it has been inserted in the Bible itself. For the argument
to the 7th of Luke in the English version says, that the
woman whose sins were in greater number than those of
others,—the woman, who till then had lived a wicked and
infamous life, was Mary Magdalen. But, 1st, The text gives
no name to this sinner: Where then has it been found?
Which of the Evangelists, or what other authentic writing,
has taught us the proper name or surname of the woman?
For she who poured an ointment upon Christ (Matth. xxvi.
John, xii.) was not this sinner, nor Mary Magdalen, but a
sister of Lazarus. All these circumstances show that they are[323]
two different stories, two divers actions, performed at divers
times, in divers places, and by divers persons. 2dly, Where do
we find that Mary Magdalen ever anointed the feet of our Saviour?
3dly, Where do we find that Mary Magdalen had been
a woman of evil life? The gospel tells us that she had been tormented
with seven devils or evil spirits, an affliction which might
happen to the holiest person in the world: But we do not see
even the shadow of a word there which marks her with infamy.
Why then do we still adhere to an invention not only fabulous,
but injurious to the memory of a woman illustrious in piety?
We ought as well to beware of bearing false witness against the
dead as against the living.
“It is remarkable that neither the sinner (Luke, vii.) nor
the adultress who is spoken of in the 8th of John, are named
in the sacred history, any more than the thief who was converted
on the cross. There are particular reasons, beyond a
doubt, and we may in part conjecture them, why the Holy
Spirit has abstained from relating the names of these great
sinners, although converted. It is not then for us to impose
them; still less to appropriate them to persons whom the
Scripture does not accuse of any enormous sins.”
St. Mary the Egyptian. This is one of those religious romances
which may probably have been written to edify the
people without any intention of deceiving them. Some parts of
the legend are beautifully conceived. An English Romanist
has versified it in eight books, under the title of the Triumph
of the Cross, or Penitent of Egypt. Birmingham, 1776. He
had the advantage of believing his story,—which ought to
have acted like inspiration.
Lope de Vega quotes scripture in proof of the opinion expressed
in this last couplet. 2 Kings, ch. xiii.
Old Barret tells the story as Ancient Pistol would have
done:—
“In Ulit’s time there regalized in Spain
One Roderick, king from the Gothians race’t;
Into whose secret heart with silent strain
Instretcht the ’sturber of hart pudike chast,
Him enamouravizing of a piece,
A piece by Nature quaintly symmetrized,
Enfayred with beauty as Helen fair of Greece:
Count Julian’s daughter of bed-wedlockized,
[326]
Ycleaped Caba; who in court surshined
The rest, as Hesperus the dimmed stars.
This piece the king in his Love’s-closet shrined,
Survicting her by wile, gold, gems, or forced jars.”
It is thus related in the fabulous Chronicle:—“Despues
que el Rey ovo descubierto su coraçon a la Cava, no era dia que
la no requiriesse una vez o dos, y ella se defendia con buena
razon: empero al cabo como el Rey no pensava cosa como en esto,
un dia en la siesta embio con un donzel suyo por la Cava; y ella
vino a su mandado; y como en essa hora no avia en toda su
camara otro ninguno sino ellos todos tres, el cumplio con ella todo
lo que puso. Empero tanto sabed que si ella quisiera dar bozes
que bien fuera oyda de la reyna, mas callosse con lo que el Rey
quiso fazer.”—P. 1. c. 172.
In this fabulous Chronicle Roderick’s fall is represented as
the work of his stars:—“Y aunque a las vezes pensava el gran
yerro en que tocava, y en la maldad que su coraçon avia cometido,
tanto era el ardor que tenia que lo olvidava todo, y esto acarreava
la malandança que le avia de venir, y la destruycion de Espana
que avia de aver comienço para se hazer; y quiero vos dezir que
su constelacion no podia escusar que esto no passasse assi; y ya
Dios lo avia dexado en su discrecion; y el por cosa que fuesse on
se podia arredrar que no topasse en ello.”—P. 1. c. 164.
“Certes,” says the fabulous Chronicler, “he was a Lord of
greater bounty than ever had been seen before his time.—He
used to say, that if all the world were his, he would rather lose
it than one friend; for the world was a thing, which if it were
lost, might be recovered; but a friend once lost could never
be recovered for all the treasure in the world. And because
he was thus bountiful, all those of Spain were likewise; and
they had the fame of being the most liberal men in the world,
especially those of the lineage of the Goths. Never a thing
was asked at his hands, whether great or small, to which he
could say no; and never king nor other great lord asked aid[327]
of him that he denied, but gave them of his treasures and of
his people as much as they needed. And doubt not, but that
if fortune had not ordered that in his time the lineage of the
Goths should be cut off, and Spain destroyed, there was no
king or emperor whom he would not have brought into subjection;
and if the whole world ought to be placed in the
power of one man, (speaking of worldly things,) there never
was, nor will be, a man deserving to possess it, save he alone.
But as envy is the beginning of all evil, and saw how great
was the goodness of this king, she never rested till she had
brought about that things should be utterly reversed, even till
she had destroyed him. Oh what great damage to the world
will it be when God shall consent that so much bounty, and
courage, and frankness, and loyalty should be destroyed for
ever! All nations ought to clad themselves in wretched weeds
one day in the week to mourn for the flower of the world, and
especially ought the people of Spain to make such mourning.”—Chronica
del Rey Don Rodrigo, p. 1. c. 55.
And again, when the last battle is approaching, he praises
the king:—“Y el Rey era el mas esforçado hombre de coraçon
que nunca se oyo dezir: y el mas franco de todo lo que podia
aver; y preciava mas cobrar amigos que no quanto tesoro pudiesse
estar en su reyno, hasta el dia que creyo el consejo del traydor del
conde Don Julian; y a maravilla era buen cavallero que al tiempo
que el no era rey, no se hallava cavallero que a la su bondad se
ygualasse, y tanto sabed que sino por estas malandanças que le
vinieron, nunca cavallero al mundo de tales condiciones fue; que
nunca a el vino chico ni grande que del se partiesse despagado a
culpa suya.”—P. 1. c. 213.
The manner in which Florinda calls upon her father to revenge
her is curiously expressed by Lope de Vega:—
Al escrivirle tiemblan pluma y mano,
Llega el agravio, la piedad retira,
Pues quanto escrive la vengança, tanto
Quiere borrar de la verguença el llanto.
[328]
No son menos las letras que soldados,
Los ringlones yleras y esquadrones,
Que al son de los suspiros van formados
Haciendo las distancias las diciones:
Los mayores caracteres, armados
Navios, tiendas, maquinas, pendones;
Los puntos, los incisos, los acentos
Capitanes, Alferez y Sargentos.
Breve processo escrive, aunque el sucesso
Significar quexosa determina,
Pero en tan breve causa, en tal processo
La perdicion de España se fulmina.
Jerusalen Conquistada, l. 6. ff. 138.
I remember but one of the old poets who has spoken with
compassion of Florinda: It is the Portugueze Bras Garcia
Mascarenhas, a writer who, with many odd things in his poem,
has some fine ones.
In the valuable history of this king by a contemporary
writer, the following character of the French is given:—
“Hujus igitur gloriosis temporibus, Galliarum terra altrix
perfidiæ infami denotatur elogio, quæ utique inæstimabili infidelitatis
febre vexata, genita a se infidelium depasceret membra.[329]
Quid enim non in illa crudele vel lubricum? ubi conjuratorum
conciliabulum, perfidiæ signum, obscœnitas operum, fraus negotiorum,
vænale judicium, et quod pejus his omnibus est, contra
ipsum Salvatorem nostrum et Dominum, Judæorum blasphemantium
prostibulum habebatur. Hæc enim terra suo, ut ita dixerim,
partu, perditionis suæ sibimet præparavit excidium, et ex ventris
sui generatione viperea eversionis suæ nutrivit decipulam. Etenim
dum multo jam tempore his febrium diversitatibus ageretur, subito
in ea unius nefandi capitis prolapsione turbo infidelitatis adsurgit,
et conscensio perfidiæ per unum ad plurimos transit.”—S. Julian,
Hist. Wambæ, § 5.—Espana Sagrada, 6. 544.
The Partidas have some curious matter upon this subject.
“Cleanliness makes things appear well to those who behold
them, even as propriety makes them seemly, each in its way.
And therefore the ancients held it good that knights should be
made cleanly. For even as they ought to have cleanliness
within them in their manners and customs, so ought they to
have it without in their garments, and in the arms which they
wear. For albeit their business is hard and cruel, being to
strike and to slay; yet notwithstanding they may not so far
forego their natural inclinations, as not to be pleased with fair
and goodly things, especially when they wear them. For on
one part they give joy and delight, and on the other make them
fearlessly perform feats of arms, because they are aware that by
them they are known, and that because of them men take
more heed to what they do. Therefore, for this reason, cleanliness
and propriety do not diminish the hardihood and cruelty
which they ought to have. Moreover, as is aforesaid, that
which appears without is the signification of what they have in
their inclinations within. And therefore the ancients ordained
that the squire, who is of noble lineage, should keep vigil the
day before he receives knighthood. And after mid-day the
squires shall bathe him, and wash his head with their hands,[330]
and lay him in the goodliest bed that may be. And there the
knights shall draw on his hose, and clothe him with the best
garments that can be had. And when the cleansing of the
body has been performed, they shall do as much to the soul,
taking him to the church, where he is to labour in watching
and beseeching mercy of God, that he will forgive him his sins,
and guide him so that he may demean himself well in that
order which he is about to receive; to the end that he may
defend his law, and do all other things according as it behoveth
him, and that he would be his defender and keeper in all
dangers and in all difficulties. And he ought to bear in mind
how God is powerful above all things, and can show his power
in them when he listeth, and especially in affairs of arms.
For in his hand are life and death, to give and to take away,
and to make the weak strong, and the strong weak. And
when he is making this prayer, he must be with his knees
bent, and all the rest of the time on foot, as long as he can
bear it. For the vigil of knights was not ordained to be a
sport, nor for any thing else, except that they, and those who
go there, should pray to God to protect them, and direct them
in the right way, and support them, as men who are entering
upon the way of death.”—Part. ii. Tit. 21. Ley 13.
“When the vigil is over, as soon as it is day, he ought first
to hear mass, and pray God to direct all his feats to his service.
And afterwards he who is to knight him shall come and ask
him, if he would receive the order of knighthood; and if he
answereth yea, then shall it be asked him, if he will maintain
it as it ought to be maintained; and when he shall have
promised to do this, that knight shall fasten on his spurs, or
order some other knight to fasten them on, according to what
manner of man he may be, and the rank which he holdeth.
And this they do to signify, that as a knight putteth spurs on
the right and on the left, to make his horse gallop straight forward,
even so he ought to let his actions be straight forward,
swerving on neither side. And then shall his sword be girt on
over his brial.—Formerly it was ordained that when noble men
were made knights, they should be armed at all points, as if[331]
they were about to do battle. But it was not held good that
their heads should be covered, for they who cover their heads
do so for two reasons: the one to hide something there which
hath an ill look, and for that reason they may well cover them
with any fair and becoming covering. The other reason is,
when a man hath done some unseemly thing of which he is
ashamed. And this in no wise becometh noble knights. For
when they are about to receive so noble and so honourable a
thing as knighthood, it is not fitting that they should enter
into it with any evil shame, neither with fear. And when
they shall have girded on his sword, they shall draw it from
out the scabbard, and place it in his right hand, and make him
swear these three things: first, That he shall not fear to die
for his faith, if need be; secondly, For his natural Lord;
thirdly, For his country; and when he hath sworn this, then
shall the blow on the neck be given him, in order that these
things aforesaid may come into his mind, saying, God guard
him to his service, and let him perform all that he hath promised;
and after this, he who hath conferred the order upon
him, shall kiss him, in token of the faith and peace and brotherhood
which ought to be observed among knights. And the
same ought all the knights to do who are in that place, not
only at that time, but whenever they shall meet with him
during that whole year.”—Part. ii. Tit. 21. Ley 14.
“The gilt spurs which the knights put on have many significations;
for the gold, which is so greatly esteemed, he
puts upon his feet, denoting thereby, that the knight shall not
for gold commit any malignity or treason, or like deed, that
would detract from the honour of knighthood. The spurs
are sharp, that they may quicken the speed of the horse; and
this signifies that the knight ought to spur and prick on the
people, and make them virtuous; for one knight with his
virtues is sufficient to make many people virtuous, and on the
other hand, he ought to prick a perverse people to make them
fearful.”—Tirante il Blanco, p. 1. C. 19. ff. 44.
The Hermit reads to Tirante a chapter from the Arbor de
battaglie explaining the origin of knighthood. The world, it[332]
is there said, was corrupted, when God, to the intent that he
might be loved, honoured, served, and feared once more,
chose out from every thousand men one who was more amiable,
more affable, more wise, more loyal, more strong, more noble-minded,
more virtuous, and of better customs than all the
others: And then he sought among all beasts for that which
was the goodliest, and the swiftest, and which could bear the
greatest fatigue, and might be convenient for the service of
man; and he chose the horse, and gave him to this man who
was chosen from the thousand; and for this reason he was
called cavallero, because the best animal was thus joined to
the most noble man. And when Romulus founded Rome, he
chose out a thousand young men to be knights, and furno nominati
militi porche mille furono fatti in un tempo cavalleri.—P.
1. C. 14. ff. 40.
The custom which some kings had of knighting themselves
is censured by the Partidas.—P. ii. T. 21. L. 11. It is
there said, that there must be one to give, and another to
receive the order. And a knight can no more knight, than a
priest can ordain himself.
“When the Infante Hernando of Castile was chosen king
of Aragon, he knighted himself on his coronation day:—De
que tots los Barons nobles ho tengeren una gran maravella
com el matex se feu cavaller, qui segons los dessus dits deyen
nenguno pot esser cavaller, sino dones nos fa cavaller de ma de
cavaller qui hage lorde de cavalleria.”—Tomich. C. 47. ff. 68.
“The qualifications for a knight, cavallero, or horse-soldier,
in the barbarous stage of society, were three: 1st, That he
should be able to endure fatigue, hardship, and privations.
2dly, That he should have been used to strike, that his blows
might be the more deadly. 3dly, That he should be bloody-minded,
and rob, hack, and destroy the enemy without compunction.
The persons, therefore, who were preferred, were
mountaineers, accustomed to hunting,—carpenters, blacksmiths,
stone-cutters, and butchers. But it being found that
such persons would sometimes run away, it was then discovered
that they who were chosen for cavaliers ought to have[333]
a natural sense of shame. And for this reason it was appointed
that they should be men of family.”—Partida, ii.
T. 21. L. 2. Vegetius, l. 1. c. 7.
The privileges of knighthood were at one time so great, that
if the goods of a knight were liable to seizure, they could not
be seized where he or his wife were present, nor even where
his cloak or shield was to be found.—Part. ii. Tit. 21.
Ley 23.
The coated scales of steel
Which o’er the tunic to his knees depend.—XII. p. 111.
Canciani (T. 3. p. 34.) gives a representation of Roland
from the porch of the Cathedral at Verona, which is supposed
to have been built about the beginning of the ninth century.
The figure is identified by the inscription on the sword, ...
Du-rin-dar-da. The lorica, which Canciani explains, Vestica
bellica maculis ferreis contexta, is illustrated by this figure. It
is a coat or frock of scale-mail reaching to the knees, and with
half sleeves. The only hand which appears is unarmed, as
far as the elbow. The right leg also is unarmed, the other
leg and foot are in the same sort of armour as the coat. The
end of a loose garment appears under the mail. The shield
reaches from the chin to the middle of the leg, it is broad
enough at the top to cover the breast and shoulder, and slopes
gradually off to the form of a long oval.
This picture frequently occurs in the Spanish Chronicles.
Sigurd the elder, Earl of Orkney, owed his death to a like
custom. “Suddenly clapping spurs to his horse, as he was
returning home in triumph, bearing, like each of his followers,
one of these bloody spoils, a large front tooth in the mouth of
the head which hung dangling by his side, cut the calf of
his leg,—the wound mortified, and he died.—The Earl must[334]
have been bare-legged.”—Torfæus, quoted in Edmonston’s
View of the Zetland Islands, vol. i. p. 33.
In reverence to the priestly character.—XV. p. 135.
“At the synod of Mascou, laymen were enjoined to do
honour to the honourable clergy by humbly bowing the head,
and uncovering it, if they were both on horseback, and by
alighting also if the clergyman were a-foot.”—Pierre de Marca.Hist. de Bearn, l. i. ch. 18. § 2.
Hernando de Soto,—the history of whose expedition to
Florida by the Inca Garcilaso, is one of the most delightful
books in the Spanish language.
Nor wicker storehouse for the autumnal grain.—XVI. p. 144.
“Morales (8. 23. 3.), speaking of the Asturians, mentions
with wonder their chairs, furniture, and granaries of basket-work,
... las sillas y otras cosas de servicio recias y firmas que
hacen entretexidas de mimbres y varas de avellano. Y aun a me
no me espantaba en aquella tierra tanto esto como ver los graneros,
que ellos llaman los horreos, fabricados desta misma obra
de varas entretexidas, y tan tapidas y de tanta firmeza, que sufren
gran carga como buenas paredes.”
The valley of Covadonga is thus described by the Conde de
Saldueña;—and the description is a fair specimen of his
poem;—
Yace de Asturias, donde el Sol infante
Sus montes con primeras luces baña,
De Covadonga el sitio, que triunfante
Cuna fue en que nacio la insigne España
[335]
Vierte en el Sela liquidos cristales
Con Buena y Deba, que de la montaña
Deben la vida a la fragosa copa,
A quien la antiguedad llamò de Europa.
Aqui la juventud de un bello llano
Compite à flores, luces de la esphera;
Y burlando el Invierno y el Verano
Eterna vive en el la Primavera:
Sobre sus glebas se derrama ufano
El prodigioso cuerno de la Fiera
De Amaltea, y aromas, y colores
Confunden los matices con olores.
Robustos troncos, con pobladas ramas
Vuelven el sitio rustica Alameda,
Y del Sol no permiten a las llamas
Lo espeso penetrar de la Arboleda:
Pierden sus rayos las ardientes famas,
Pues la frondosidad opuesta veda
La luz al dia, y denso verde muro
Crepusculo le viste al ayre puro.
Sigeiendo la ribera de Peonia
Al Oriente Estival, y algo inclinado
A la parte que mira al medio dia,
Otro valle se vè mas dilatado:
A la derecha de esta selva umbria
Reynazo corre, que precipitado
Va à dar à Bueña en liquidos abrazos
Su pobre vena en cristalinos lazos.
Sin passar de Reynazo el successivo
Curso, dexando presto su torrente,
Con el cristal se encuentra fugitivo
De Deba, a quien la Cueba dio la fuente:
[336]
La admiracion aqui raro motivo
Vè, formando la senda su corriente,
Pues lo estrecho del sitio peñascoso
Hace camino del licor undoso.
Hecho serpiente Deva del camino
En circulo se enrosca tortuoso,
Vomitando veneno cristalino
En el liquido aljofar proceloso:
En las orillas con vivaz destino,
En tosigo se vuelve, que espumoso
Inficiona lethal al pie ligero,
Quando le pisa incanto el passagero.
Ya de este valle cierran las campañas,
Creciendo de sus riscos la estatura,
Desmesuradas tanto las montanas
Que ofuscan ya del Sol la lumbre pura
Son rusticos los lados, las entrañas
Del valle visten siempre la hermosura
Fronsidad el ayre, y de colores
El suelo texe alfombra de primores.
Aunque los montes con espesas breñas
El lado al sitio forman horroroso,
Y contra su verdor desnudas peñas
Compiten de lo llano lo frondoso;
Pintados pajarillos dulces senas
Al son del agua en trino sonoroso
De ignorados idiomas en su canto
Dan con arpados picos dulce encanto.
Lo ultimo de este valle la alta sierra
De Covadonga ocupa, donde fuerte
Se expone el Heroe al juego de la guerra,
Sin temor negro ocaso de la suerte:
[337]
Los que animosos este sitio encierra
El ceño despreciando de la muerte,
Su pecho encienden en la altiva llama
Que no cabra en las trompas de la Fama.
De Diba en ella la preciosa fuente
Al llano brota arroyos de cristales,
Donde en pequena balsa su corriente
Se detiene en suspensos manantiales
Despues se precipita su torrente
Quanto sus ondas enfreno neutrales,
Con sonoroso ruido de la peña
El curso de sus aguas se despeña.
Cierra todo este valle esta robusta
Peña, donde la Cueva està divina,
Que amenaza tajada a ser injusta
Del breve llano formidable ruina:
Parece quiere ser con saña adusta
Seco padron, y fiera se destina
A erigirse epitafio peñascoso,
Sepultando su horror el sitio hermoso.
De piedra viva tan tremenda altura
Que la vista al mirarla se estremece;
Vasta grena se viste, y la hermosura
De la fertilidad seca aborrece:
Es tan desmesurada su estatura
Que estrecha el ayre, y barbara parece
Que quiere que la sirvan de Cimera
Las fulminantes luces de la Esphera.
Como a dos picas en la peña dura
Construye en circo una abertura rara,
De una pica de alto, y dos de anchura,
Rica de sombras su mansion avara:
[338]
Ventana, ò boca de la cueva obscura
Donde el Sol no dispensa su luz clara,
Tan corta, que su centro tenebroso
Aun no admite crepusculo dudoso.
En este sitio puez, donde compite
La rustiquez con las pintadas flores,
Puez la pelada sierra no permite
A la vista, sino es yertos horrores:
Por el contrario el llano que en si admite
De los bellos matices los primores,
Efecto siendo de naturaleza
La union en lo fealdad, y la belleza.
A tiorba de cristal las dulces aves
Corresponden en trinos amorosos,
Vertiendo en blando son tonos suaves
Ecos los ayres beben harmoniosos:
Enmudecen su canto quando graves
Bemoles gorgeando mas preciosos,
Es maestro à la barbara Capilla
El Ruyseñor, plumada maravilla.
Elige este distrito la Divina
Providencia à lo grave de la hazaña,
Pues aqui su justicia determina
La monarquia fabricar de España:
A las cortas reliquias, que à la ruina
Reservò su piedad, enciende en saña
Religiosa, que à Imperio sin regunda
Abra futura llave Nuevo Mundo.
El Pelayo, Cant. ix.
Christoval de Mesa also describes the scene.
Acercandose mas, oye el sonido
Del agua, con un manso y sordo ruydo,
[339]
El qual era de quatro claras fuentes
Que estavan de la ermita en las esquinas,
Cuyas puras de plata aguas corrientes
Mostro la blanca Luna cristalinas;
Y corriendo por partes diferentes
Eran de grande maravilla dignas,
Y en qualquiera de todas por su parte
Naturaleza se esmero con arte.
La una mana de una viva pena,
Y qual si tambien fuera el agua viva,
Parte la bana, y parte se despeña
Con rapida corriente fugitiva:
Despues distinto un largo arroyo enseña
Que por diversas partes se derriba,
Con diferente curso en vario modo,
Hasta que a donde nace buelve todo.
Otra, que alta descubre ancho Orizonte,
Como agraviada del lugar segundo
Sustenta un monstruo que parece un monte,
Qual Atlante que tiene en peso el mundo:
Y como suele el caudaloso Oronte
Dar el ancho tributo al mar profundo,
Assi se arroja con furiosas ondas,
Por las partes mas baxas y mas hondas.
Sale bramando la tercera fuente,
Como un mar, y despues por el arena
Va con tan mansa y placida corriente
Tan grata y sossegada, y tan serena,
Que a las fieras, ganados, peces, gente,
Puede aplacar la sed, menguar la pena,
Y da despues la buelta, y forma el cuerno
De la Luna, imitando el curso eterno.
[340]
Nace la quarta de una gran caverna,
Y siguiendo su prospera derrota
Parece que por arte se govierna,
Segun va destilando gota a gota:
No vido antigua edad, edad moderna
En region muy propinqua, o muy remota,
Fuente tan peregrina, obra tan nueva,
En gruta artificiosa, o tosca cueva.
Restauracion de Espana, Lib. 2. ff. 27.
Morales has given a minute description both of the scenery
and antiquities of this memorable place. The Conde de
Saldueña evidently had it before him. I also am greatly indebted
to this faithful and excellent author.
The timid hare soon learns that she may trust
The solitary penitent, and birds
Will light upon the hermit’s harmless hand.—XVII. p. 154.
Con mil mortificaciones
Sus passiones crucifican,
Porque ellas de todo mueran
Porque el alma solo viva.
Hazen por huyr al ocio
Cestos, y espuertas texidas
De las hojas de las palmas
Que alli crecen sin medida.
Los arboles, y las plantas
Porque a su gusto los sirvan
Para esto vergas offrecen,
De las mas tiernas que crian.
Tambien de corcho hazen vasos
Cuentas, Cruzes, y baxillas,
Cuyo modo artificioso.
El oro, y la plata embidian,
Este los cilicios texe,
Aquel haze disciplinas,
[341]
El otro las calaveras
En tosco palo esculpidas.
Uno a sombra del aliso,
Con la escritura divina
Misticos sentidos saca
De sus literales minas.
Otro junto de la fuente
Que murmura en dulce risa
Mira en los libros las obras
De los santos Eremitas.
Qual cerca del arroyuelo
Que saltando corre aprissa,
Discurre como a la muerte
Corre sin parar la vida.
Qual con un Christe abraçado
Besandole las heridas,
Herido de sus dolores
A sus pies llora, y suspira.
Qual en las flores que al campo
Entre esmeraldas matizan,
Las grandezas soberanas
Del immenso autor medita.
Qual subida en las piçarras
Que plata, y perlas distilan,
Con lagrimas acrecienta
Su corriente cristalina.
Qual a las fieras convoca,
Las aves llama, y combida
A que al criador de todo
Alaben agradecidas.
Qual immoble todo el cuerpo,
Con las acciones perdidas,
Tiene arrebatada el alma
Alla donde amando anima.
Y de aquel extasi quando
Parece que resuscita,
[342]
Dize con razon que muere
Porque no perdio lo vida.
La fuerça de amor a vezes
Sueño, y reposo los quita,
Y saliendo de su estancia
Buscan del Cielo la vista.
Quando serena la noche
Clara se descubre Cynthia,
Bordando de azul, y plata
El postrer mobil que pisa;
Quando al oro de su hermano
No puede tener embidia,
Que llena del que le presta
Haze de la noche dia;
Del baculo acompañado
El amante Anachorita
Solo por las soledades
Solitarios pasos guia.
Y parando entre el silencio
Las claras estrellas mira
Que le deleitan por obra
De la potencia divina.
En altas bozes alaba
Sin tener quien se lo impida
Al amador soberano
Cuya gracia solicita.
Contempla sus perfeciones,
Sus grandezas soleniza,
Sus misericordias canta,
Sus excelencias publica.
La noche atenta entre tanto
Callando porque el prosiga,
Cruxen los vezinos ramos,
Y blando el viento respira.
Gimen las aves nocturnas
Por hazerle compania,
[343]
Suenan las fuentes, y arroyos,
Retumban las penas frias.
Todo ayuda al solitario,
Mientras con el alma fixa
En sus queridos amores
Contemplandolos se alivia.
Soledades de Busaco.
Fuller, the Worthy, has a beautiful passage in his Church
History concerning “Primitive Monks with their Piety and
Painfulness.”—“When the furnace of persecution in the infancy
of christianity was grown so hot, that most cities, towns,
and populous places were visited with that epidemical disease,
many pious men fled into deserts, there to live with more safety,
and serve God with less disturbance. No wild humour to make
themselves miserable, and to choose and court their own calamity,
put them on this project, much less any superstitious
opinion of transcendant sanctity in a solitary life, made them
willingly to leave their former habitations. For whereas all
men by their birth are indebted to their country, there to stay
and discharge all civil relations, it had been dishonesty in
them like bankrupts to run away into the wilderness to defraud
their country, their creditor, except some violent occasion (such
as persecution was) forced them thereunto; and this was the
first original of monks in the world, so called from μόνος, because
living alone by themselves.
“Here they in the deserts hoped to find rocks and stocks,
yea beasts themselves, more kind than men had been to them.
What would hide and heat, cover and keep warm, served them
for clothes, not placing (as their successors in after ages) any
holiness in their habit, folded up in the affected fashion thereof.
As for their food, the grass was their cloth, the ground their
table, herbs and roots their diet, wild fruits and berries their
dainties, hunger their sauce, their nails their knives, their hands
their cups, the next well their wine-cellar; but what their bill
of fare wanted in cheer it had in grace, their life being constantly
spent in prayer, reading, musing, and such like pious[344]
employments. They turned solitariness itself into society; and
cleaving themselves asunder by the divine art of meditation, did
make of one, two or more, opposing, answering, moderating in
their own bosoms, and busy in themselves with variety of
heavenly recreations. It would do one good even but to think
of their goodness, and at the rebound and second hand to meditate
upon their meditations. For if ever poverty was to be
envied it was here. And I appeal to the moderate men of these
times, whether in the height of these woeful wars, they have
not sometimes wisht (not out of passionate distemper, but serious
recollection of themselves) some such private place to retire
unto, where, out of the noise of this clamorous world, they
might have reposed themselves, and served God with more
quiet.”
“Per idem tempus divinæ memoriæ Sinderedus urbis Regiæ
Metropolitanus Episcopus sanctimoniæ studio claret; atque longævos
et merito honorabiles viros quos in suprafata sibi commissa
Ecclesia repetit, non secundum scientiam zelo sanctitatis stimulat,
atque instinctu jam dicti Witizæ Principis eos sub ejus tempore
convexare non cessat; qui et post modicum incursus Arabum expavescens,
non ut pastor, sed ut mercenarius, Christi oves contra
decreta majorum deserens, Romanæ patriæ sese adventat.”—Isid.
Pacensis, Espana Sagrada, T. 8. p. 298.
“E assi como el Arçobispo fue cierto de la mala andança partio
de Cordova; y nunca cesso de andar dia ni noche fasta que llego
a Toledo; y no embargante que el era hombre de buena vida, no[345]
se quiso mostrar por tal como deviera ser, y sufrir antes martyrio
por amor de Jesu Christo y esforçar los suyos, porque se defendiessen,
y que las gentes no desamparassen la tierra; ca su intencion
fue de ser confessor antes que martyr.”—Cor. del K. D. Rodrigo,
p. 2. C. 48.
While the Church
Keeps in her annals the deserter’s name,
But from the service which with daily zeal
Devout her ancient prelacy recalls,
Blots it, unworthy to partake her prayers.—XVIII. p. 163.
“Je ne serois pas en grande peine,” says Pierre de Marca,
“de rechercher les noms des Evesques des Bearn, si la saincte et
louable pratique des anciens Peres d’inserer dans les Diptyches, et
cayers sacrés de chascune Eglise, les noms des Evesques orthodoxes,
et qui estoient decedés dans la communion de l’Eglise Catholique,
eust este continuée jusqu’aux derniers siècles. Et je pourrois me
servir en cette rencontre du moyen que l’Empereur Justinian et
le cinquiesme Concile General employerent, pour sçavoir si
Theodore Evesque de Mopsuestie estoit reconnu apres sa mort
pour Evesque de l’Eglise qu’il avoit possedée durant sa vie. Car
ils ordonnerent a l’Evesque et au Clergé de cette ville, de revoir
les Diptyches de leur Eglise, et de rapporter fidellement ce qu’ils
y trouveroient. Ce qu’ayant exécuté diligemment, ils firent rapport
qu’apres avoir fueilleté quatre divers cayers en parchemin,
qui estoient leurs Diptyches, ils y avoient trouvé le nom de tous
les Evesques de ce siege; horsmis qu’en la place de Theodore,
avoit esté substitué le nom de Cyrille, qui estoit le Patriarche d’Alexandrie;
lequel présidant au Concile d’Ephese avoit condamné
l’heresie de Nestorius et de Theodore de Mopsuestie. D’ou
il apert que les noms de tous les Evesques depuis l’origine et l’establissement
de chascune des Eglises estoient enregistrés dans les
cayers que l’on appelloit Diptyches, et que l’on les recitoit nom par
nom en leur lieu, pendant la celebration de la Liturgie, tant pour
tesmoigner la continuation de la communion avec les Evesques
decedés, que l’on avoit euë avec euxmesmes vivans, qu’afin de[346]
procurer par les prieres publiques, et par l’efficace du Sacrifice non
sanglant, en la celebration du quel ils estoient recommendés a Dieu,
suivant l’ordonnance des Apostres, un grand profit, soulagement, et
refraichissement pour leurs ames, comme enseignent Cyrille de
Hierusalem, Chrysostome, et Epiphane.”—Histoire de Bearn,
l. 4. c. 9. § 1.
“Some time before they made oblation for the dead, it was
usual in some ages to recite the names of such eminent bishops,
or saints, or martyrs, as were particularly to be mentioned in
this part of the service. To this purpose they had certain
books, which they called their Holy Books, and commonly their
Diptychs, from their being folded together, wherein the names
of such persons were written, that the deacon might rehearse
them as occasion required in the time of divine service. Cardinal
Bona and Schelstrate make three sorts of these Diptychs;
one wherein the names of bishops only were written, and more
particularly such bishops as had been governors of that particular
church: a second, wherein the names of the living were
written, who were eminent and conspicuous either for any
office and dignity, or some benefaction and good work, whereby
they had deserved well of the church; in this rank were the
patriarchs and bishops of great sees, and the bishop and clergy
of that particular church: together with the emperors and
magistrates, and others most conspicuous among the people;
the third was the book containing the names of such as were
deceased in catholic communion.—These therefore were of use,
partly to preserve the memory of such eminent men as were
dead in the communion of the church, and partly to make
honourable mention of such general councils as had established
the chief articles of the faith: and to erase the names either of
men or councils out of these Diptychs, was the same thing as
to declare that they were heterodox, and such as they thought
unworthy to hold communion with, as criminals, or some way
deviating from the faith. Upon this account St. Cyprian ordered
the name of Geminius Victor to be left out among those
that were commemorated at the holy table, because he had
broken the rules of the church. And Evagrius observes of[347]
Theodorus bishop of Mopsuestia, that his name was struck out
of the Holy Books, that is, the Diptychs, upon the account of
his heretical opinions, after death. And St. Austin, speaking
of Cæcilian, Bishop of Carthage, whom the Donatists falsely
accused of being ordained by Traditores, or men who had delivered
up the Bible to be burned in the times of persecution,
tells them that if they could make good any real charge against
him, they would no longer name him among the rest of the
bishops, whom they believed to be faithful and innocent, at the
altar.”—Bingham, b. 15. ch. 3. sect. 17.
“The Council of Laodicea has two canons concerning the
little habit called the Orarium, which was a scarf or tippet to
be worn upon the shoulders; and might be used by bishops,
presbyters, and deacons, but not by subdeacons, singers, or
readers, who are expressly debarred the use of it in that council.—The
first council of Braga speaks of the tunica and the orarium
as both belonging to deacons. And the third council of
Braga orders priests to wear the orarium on both shoulders
when they ministered at the altar. By which we learn that
the tunica or surplice was common to all the clergy, the orarium
on the left shoulder proper to deacons, and on both shoulders
the distinguishing badge of priests.—The fourth council of
Toledo is most particular in these distinctions. For in one
canon it says, that if a bishop, presbyter, or deacon, be unjustly
degraded, and be found innocent by a synod, yet they
shall not be what they were before, unless they receive the degrees
they had lost from the hands of the bishops before the
altar. If he be a bishop, he must receive his orarium, his ring,
and his staff: if a presbyter, his orarium and planeta: if a
deacon, his orarium and alba. And in another canon, that the
deacon shall wear but one orarium, and that upon his left
shoulder, wherewith he is to give the signal of prayers to the
people. Where we may observe also the reason of the name
orarium in the ecclesiastical sense ab orando, from praying,[348]
though in common acceptation it signifies no more than an
handkerchief to wipe the face, and so comes ab ore, in which
signification it is sometimes used by St. Ambrose and St. Austin,
as well as by the old Roman authors. But here we take it in
the ecclesiastical sense for a sacred habit appropriated to bishops,
priests, and deacons, in the solemnities of divine service, in
which sense it appears to have been a habit distinct from that
of civil and common use, by all the authorities that have been
mentioned.”—Bingham, b. 13. c. 8. sect. 2.
“Mitræ usus antiquissimus est, et ejus triplex est species: una
quæ pretiosa dicitur, quia gemmis et lapidibus pretiosis, vel laminis
aureis, vel argenteis contexta esse solet; altera auriphrygiata sine
gemmis, et sine laminis aureis vel argenteis; sed vel aliquibus
parvis margaritis composita, vel ex serico albo auro intermisto, vel
ex tela aurea simplici sine laminis et margaritis; tertia, quæ simplex
vocatur, sine auro, ex simplici sirico Damasceno, vel alio, aut
etiam linea, ex tela alba confecta, rubeis laciniis seu frangiis et
vittis pendentibus. Pretiosa utitur Episcopus in solemnioribus
festis, et generaliter quandocumque in officio dicitur hymnus Te
Deum laudamus, &c. et in missa Gloria in excelsis Deo. Nihilominus
in eisdem festis etiam auriphrygiata uti poterit, sed
potius ad commoditatem quam ex necessitate; ne scilicet Episcopus
nimis gravetur, si in toto officio pretiosa utatur: propterea usu
receptum est, tam in Vesperis, quam in Missis, ut pretiosa utatur
Episcopus in principio et in fine Vesperarum et Missarum solemnium,
ac eundo ad Ecclesiam et redeundo ab ea; et quando
lavat manus et dat benedictionem solemnem. Intermedio autem
spatio loco pretiosæ accipit auriphrygiatam.—Auriphrygiata
mitra utitur Episcopus ab Adventu Domini usque ad festum Nativitatis,
excepta Dominica tertia Adventus, in qua dicitur Introitus
Gaudete, &c. ideoque in signum lætitiæ utitur tunc pretiosa.
Item a Septuagesima usque ad feriam quartam majoris hebdomadæ
inclusivè, excepta Dominica quarta Quadragesimæ, in qua dicitur[349]
Introitus Lætare, &c. Item in omnibus vigiliis, quæ jejunantur,
et in omnibus quatuor temporibus; in Rogationibus, Litaniis et
processionibus, quæ ex causa penitentiæ fiunt; in festo Innocentium,
nisi veniat in Dominica; et benedictionibus, et consecrationibus,
quæ private aguntur. Quibus quidem temporibus abstinet,
Episcopus a mitra pretiosa. Poterit tamen Episcopus dum utitur
auriphrygiata, uti etiam simplici eodem modo et forma, prout de
pretiosa et auriphrygiata dictum est. Simplici vero mitra utitur
Episcopus feria sexta in Parasceve, et in officiis et Missis defunctorum.”—Cæremoniale
Episcoporum, l. 1. c. 17.
“By the way, the pall is a pontifical vestment, considerable
for the matter, making, and mysteries thereof. For the matter,
it is made of lamb’s wooll and superstition. I say of lamb’s wooll,
as it comes from the sheep’s back, without any other artificiall
colour, spun, say some, by a peculiar order of nunnes, first cast
into the tombe of St. Peter, taken from his body, say others,
surely most sacred if from both; and superstitiously adorned
with little black crosses. For the form thereof; the breadth
exceeded not three fingers, one of our bachelours’ lambskin
hoods in Cambridge would make three of them, having two
labells hanging down before and behind, which the archbishops
onely, when going to the altar, put about their necks, above
their other pontificall ornaments. Three mysteries were
couched therein. First, Humility, which beautifies the clergy
above all their costly copes. Secondly, Innocency, to imitate
lamb-like simplicitie. And, Thirdly, Industry, to follow him
who fetched his wandering sheep home on his shoulders. But
to speak plainly, the mystery of mysteries in the pall was, that
the archbishops receiving it shewed therein their dependence
on Rome; and a mote in this manner ceremoniously taken
was a sufficient acknowledgement of their subjection. And
as it owned Rome’s power, so in after ages it increased their
profit. For, though now such palls were freely given to[350]
archbishops, whose places in Britain for the present were
rather cumbersome than commodious, having little more than
their paines for their labour; yet in after ages the archbishop
of Canterburie’s pall was sold for five thousand florenes, so that
the pope might well have the golden fleece if he could sell all
his lamb’s wooll at that rate. Onely let me add, that the
author of Canterbury-book stiles this pall Tanquam grande
Christi Sacramentum. It is well tanquam came in to help it,
or else we should have had eight sacraments.”—Fuller’s
Church History, page 71.
“Among those,” says Morales, “who then passed from Toledo
to Asturias, was the archbishop of Toledo, named Urban.—He,
with a holy foresight, collected the sacred relics which he
could, and the most precious books of his own church and of
others, determining to carry them all to the Asturias, in order
that the holy relics might not be profaned or treated with
little reverence by the infidels; and that the books of the Holy
Scriptures, and of the ecclesiastical offices, and the works of our
holy doctors, might not be lost.—And although many relics
are mentioned which the archbishop then carried from Toledo,
especial mention is made of a holy ark full of many and most
remarkable relics, which through divers chances and dangers,
had been brought from Jerusalem to Toledo, and of which all
that is fitting shall be related in its place, if it please God that
this history should proceed. It is also expressly said, that the
cope which Our Lady gave to St. Ildefonso, was then carried
to the Asturias with the other relics; and being so capital a
relic, it was a worthy thing to write of it thus particularly. Of[351]
the sacred books which were saved at that time, there are
specified the Holy Scriptures, the Councils, the works of
St. Isidore, and St. Ildefonso, and of St. Julian the archbishop
of Toledo. And as there is at this day in the church of
Oviedo that holy ark, together with many others of the relics
which were then removed, so do I verily believe that there are
in the library of that church three or four books of those which
were then brought from Toledo. I am led to this belief by
seeing that they are written in a form of Gothic letters, which
being compared with writings six hundred years old, are without
doubt much older, and of characters so different, that they
may well be attributed to the times of the Goths. One is the
volume of the Councils, another is a Santoral, another contains
the books of St. Isidore de Naturis Rerum, with other works
of other authors. And there are also some leaves of a Bible.—To
put these sacred relics in greater security, and avoid the
danger of the Moors, they hid them in a cave, and in a sort of
deep pit therein, two leagues from the city of Oviedo, (which
was not at that time built,) in a mountain, which was for this
reason called Montesacro. It is now by a slight corruption
called Monsagro; and the people of that country hold the cave
in great veneration, and a great romery, or pilgrimage, is made
on St. Magdalen’s day.”—Morales, l. 12. c. 71.
The place where the relics were deposited is curiously
described in the Romantic Chronicle. “He found that in
this land of Asturias there was a sierra, full great, and high,
the which had only two entrances, after this manner. On the
one entrance there was a great river, which was to be passed
seven times, and in none of those seven places was it fordable
at any time, except in the month of July. And after the river
had been crost seven times, there was an ascent of a long
league up a high mountain, which is full of many great trees
and great thickets, wherein are many wild beasts, such as bears
and boars and wolves, and there is a pass there between two
rocks, which ten men might defend against the whole world,
and this is the one entrance. The other is, that you must
ascend this great mountain, by a path of two full leagues in[352]
length, on the one side having always the river, and the way
so narrow, that one man must go before another, and one man
can defend the path in such manner, that no arbalist, nor engine
of other kind, nor any other thing, can hurt him, not if the
whole world were to come against him. And if any one were
to stumble upon this path, he would fall more than two
thousand fathoms, down over rocks into the river, which lies at
such a depth that the water appears blacker than pitch. And
upon that mountain there is a good spring, and a plain where
there are good meadows, and room enough to raise grain for
eight or ten persons for a year; and the snow is always there
for company, enduring from one year to another. And upon
that mountain the archbishop made two churches, one to the
honour of St. Mary Magdalen, and the other to the honour
of St. Michael, and there he placed all these reliques, where
he had no fear that any should take them; and for the honour
of these relics, the archbishop consecrated the whole mountain,
and appointed good guard over the sacred relics, and left there
three men of good life, who were willing to remain there,
serving God, and doing penance for their sins.”—P. 2.
c. 48.
Of the Camara Santa, Morales has given a curious account
in his Journal; the substance, with other remarkable circumstances,
he afterwards thus inserted in his great history:—
“The other church (or chapel) which King Alonso el Casto
ordered to be built on the south side of the Iglesia Mayor (or
cathedral), was with the advocation of the Glorious Archangel
St. Michael. And in order that he might elevate it,
he placed under it another church of the Virgin and Martyr
St. Leocadia, somewhat low, and vaulted with a strong arch,
to support the great weight which was to be laid upon it.
The king’s motive for thus elevating this church of St. Michael,
I believe certainly to have been because of the great
humidity of that land. He had determined to place in this
church the famous relics of which we shall presently speak,
and the humidity of the region is so great, that even in
summer the furniture of the houses on high ground is covered[353]
with mold. This religious prince therefore elevated the
church with becoming foresight for reverence and better
preservation of the precious treasure which was therein to
be deposited. For this reason they call it Camara, (the
chamber,) and for the many and great relics which it contains,
it has most deservedly the appellation of Holy. You
ascend to it by a flight of twenty-two steps, which begin in
the cross of the Iglesia Mayor (or cathedral), and lead to a
vaulted apartment twenty feet square, where there is an altar
upon which mass is said; for within there is no altar, neither
is mass said there by reason of the reverence shewn to so great
a sanctuary; and it may be seen that K. D. Alonso intended
in his plan that there should be no altar within. In this
apartment or outer chapel is a great arched door, with a very
strong fastening; it leads to another smaller square chamber,
vaulted also, with a square door, which also is fastened with
another strong fastening, and these are the fastenings and
keys which the Bishop Sampyro admires for their strength
and security.
“The square door is the door of the Holy Chamber, which
is in the form of a complete church, and you descend to it by
twelve steps. The body of this church is twenty-four feet in
length, and sixteen in width. Its arched roof is of the same
dimensions. The roof is most richly wrought, and supported
upon six columns of divers kinds of marble, all precious and
right beautiful, upon which the twelve apostles are sculptured,
two and two. The ground is laid with Mosaic work, with
variety of columns, representing jasper ware. The Bishop
Sampyro had good reason to complain of the darkness of this
church, which has only one small window in the upper part
of the chapel; and, therefore, in this which we call the body
of the church, there are commonly three silver lamps burning,
the one in the middle larger than the other two, and many
other lights are kindled when the relics are shewn. These
are kept within a grating, which divides the chapel from the
church. The chapel has two rich marbles at the entrance; it
is eighteen feet in length, and its width somewhat less; the[354]
floor and the roof are after the same fashion as those of the
church, but it is one estado lower, which in those times seems
to have been customary in Asturias and in Gallicia, the
Capillas Mayores, or principal chapels, being much lower
than the body of the church. The roof of the chapel is plain,
and has painted in the middle our Saviour in the midst of the
four evangelists; and this performance is so ancient, that it
is manifestly of the age of the founder. At this iron grating
strangers are usually detained; there is a lower one within
of wood, to which persons are admitted who deserve this
privilege for their dignity; and few there be who enter
farther. This church the king built to remove to it, as
accordingly he forthwith removed, the Holy Ark, the holy
bodies, and the other great relics, which, at the destruction
of Spain, were hidden in the cave and well of Monsagro, and
for this cause he had it built with so much care, and so
richly, and with such security.——
“I have described the Camara Santa thus particularly, that
what I may say of the most precious relics which it contains
may be the better enjoyed. I will particularize the most
principal of them, beginning with the Holy Ark, which with
great reason has deserved this name. It is in the midst of
the chapel, close to the wooden grate, so that you can only
go round it on three sides, and it is placed upon a stone
pedestal, wrought with mouldings of a palm in height. It
is a vara and a half (about five feet) in length; little less than
a vara wide, and about as deep, that part which is of silver,
not including the height which the pedestal gives it. The
cover is flat, and it is covered in all parts with silver plates
of some thickness, and gilt on some places. In the front,
or that side which fronts the body of the church, it has the
twelve apostles in more than half relief, and on the sides
there are histories of Our Lady in the same silver-work. On
the flat part of the cover there is a large crucifix engraved
with many other images round about it. The sides are
elaborately wrought with foliage, and the whole displays great
antiquity. The cover has round about it four lines in the[355]
silver, which, however, are imperfect, the silver being wanting
in some places. What they contain is this, as I have copied
it faithfully, with its bad Latin and other faults:—
“Omnis conventus populi Deo dignus catholici cognoscat,
quorum inclytas veneratur reliquias, intra pretiosissima præsentis
archælatera. Hoc est de ligno plurimum, sive de cruce
Domini. De vestimentis illius, quod per sortem divisum est.
De pane delectabili unde in cena usus est. De sindone Dominico
ejus adque sudario et cruore sanctissimo. De terra
sancta quam piis calcavit tunc vestigiis. De vestimentis matris
ejus Virginis Mariæ. De lacte quoque ejus, quod multum est
mirabile, His pariter conjunctæ sunt quædam sanctorum maxime
prestantes reliquiæ, quorum prout potuimus, hæc nomina subscripsimus.
Hoc est de Sancto Petro, de Sancto Thoma, Sancti
Bartolomei. De ossibus Prophetarum, de omnibus Apostolis, et
de aliis quam plurimis sanctis, quorum nomina sola Dei scientia
colligit. His omnibus egregius Rex Adefonsus humili devotione
perditus fecit hoc receptaculum, sanctorum pignoribus insignitum
argento deauratum, exterius adornatum non vilibus operibus:
per quod post ejus vitam mereatur consortium illorum in cœlestibus
sanctorum jubari precibus. Hæc quidem saluti et re——Here
a large piece of the silver is gone.—Novit omnis provintia in
terra sine dubio.——Here there is another great chasm.—Manus
et industria clericorum et præsulum, qui propter hoc convenimus
cum dicto Adefonso Principe, et cum germana læctissima
Urraca nomina dicta: quibus Redemptor omnium concedit
indulgentiam et suorum peccatorum veniam, per hoc sanctorum
pignora Apostolorum et Sancti Justi et Pastoris, Cosmæ et Damiani,
Eulaliæ Virginis, et Maximi, Germani, Baudili, Pantaleonis,
Cypriani et Justinæ, Sebastiani, Facundi et Primitivi,
Christophori, Cucufati, Felicis, Sulpicii.
“This inscription, with its bad Latin and other defects,
and by reason of the parts that are lost, can ill be translated.
Nevertheless I shall render it, in order that it may be enjoyed
by all. It says thus: Know all the congregation of Catholic
people, worthy of God, whose the famous relics are, which[356]
they venerate within the most precious sides of this ark. Know
then that herein is great part of the wood or cross of our Lord.
Of his garment for which they cast lots. Of the blessed bread
whereof he ate at the supper. Of his linen, of the holy handkerchief
(the Sudario), and of his most holy blood. Of the
holy ground which he then trod with his holy feet. Of the
garments of his mother the Virgin Mary, and also of her milk,
which is a great wonder. With these also there are many
capital relics of saints, whose names we shall write here as we
can. Saint Peter, St. Thomas, St. Bartholomew. Bones of
the prophets, and of all the Apostles, and of many other saints
whose names are known only to the wisdom of God. The noble
King Don Alonso, being full of humble devotion for all these
holy relics, made this repository, adorned and ennobled with
pledges of the saints, and on the outside covered with silver,
and gilded with no little cunning. For the which may he
deserve after this life the company of these Saints in heaven,
being aided by their intercession.—These holy relics were
placed here by the care and by the hands of many clergy and
prelates, who were here assembled with the said King D.
Alonso, and with his chosen sister called Donna Urraca. To
whom may the Redeemer of all grant remission and pardon
of their sins, for the reverence and rich reliquary which they
made for the said relics of the Apostles, and for those of the
Saints, St. Justus and Pastor, St. Cosme and St. Damian,
St. Eulalia the Virgin, and of the Saints Maximus, Germanus,
Baudilus, Pantaleon, Cyprianus and Justina, Sebastian, Facundus
and Primitivus, Christopher, Cucufatus, Felix and
Sulpicius.——
“The sum of the manner in which this Holy Ark came
into Spain is this, conformably to what is written by all our
grave authors. When Cosroes the King of Persia, in the time of
the Emperor Heraclius, came upon the Holy Land, and took
the city of Jerusalem, the bishop of that city, who was called
Philip, and his clergy, with pious forethought, secreted the
Holy Ark, which from the time of the Apostles had been kept
there, and its stores augmented with new relics, which were[357]
deposited therein. After the victory of Cosroes, the Bishop
Philip, with many of his clergy, passed into Africa, carrying
with them the Holy Ark: and there it remained some years,
till the Saracens entered into that province also, and then
Fulgentius the Bishop of Ruspina, with providence like that
which had made Philip bring it to Africa, removed it into
Spain. Thus it came to the Holy Church of Toledo, and
was from thence removed to Asturias, and hidden in the cave
of Monsagro: finally, King D. Alonso el Casto removed it to
the Camara Santa; and afterwards K. D. Alonso the Great
enriched it. Thus our histories write, and the same is read
in the lessons on the festival which the church of Oviedo
celebrates of the coming there of this Holy Ark, with a
sermon proper for the day, and much solemnity, the service
being said on the 13th of March after vespers, above in the
church of the Camara Santa. This is a most weighty testimony
which the Holy Ark possesses of its own authenticity,
and of the genuineness of the most great treasure which it
contains.—These also are strong testimonies, that K. D.
Alonso the Great should not only have made the Ark so rich,
but that this king should also have fortified the city of Oviedo,
surrounding it with walls, and making for it a castle, and
building also the castle of Gauzon upon the shore, for the
defence and security of this holy treasure, and for another end,
as he left written upon the stone of which we have elsewhere
spoken. Another testimony of great authority, is the great
reverence which has been shewn to this Holy Ark, from the
time which is spoken of by Alonso the Great in the inscription,
to these our days. This is so great that no one has dared to
open it, melancholy examples being related of some daring
attempts which have been made. That which occurred in our
days is not mournful, but rather of much devotion and holy
joy. The most illustrious Señor D. Christoval de Rojas y Sandoval,
who is now the most worthy Archbishop of Seville,
when he was Bishop of Oviedo, determined to open the Holy
Ark. For this, as the singular devotion and most holy zeal[358]
for the glory of God which he has in all things, admonished
him, he made such pious preparations as the fame of so celestial
a treasure shewed to be necessary. He proclaimed solemnly a
fast of forty days in his church and through all his diocese,
commanding that prayers should be made to our Lord, beseeching
him that he would be pleased with what was intended, his
Most-Illustriousness giving the example, which is very common
and very edifying in his church, in himself, and in the ministers
thereof. Three days before the Sunday on which the Ark was
to be opened, he ordered all persons to fast, and to make greater
prayers with processions. When the day arrived, he said
pontifical mass, and preached, infusing with his holy exhortations
much of his own devout desires into the hearts of the
hearers. The mass being finished, clad as he was, he ascended
to the Camara Santa, with much outward solemnity, and with
much fervour of devotion internally in his heart; and having
there again renewed his humble prayers to our Lord, and
quickened the ardour of that sacred desire which had influenced
him; on his knees as he was before the Holy Ark, he took
the key to open it. At the moment when he stretched out his
hand to put the key in the lock, suddenly he felt such horror
and dismay, and found himself so bereft of all power (tan
impossibilitado) to move it in any way, that it was impossible
for him to proceed, or do any thing but remain in that holy
consternation, without having strength or ability for more.
And as if he had come there to oppose and prevent that which
purposely, and with so much desire and preparation, he had
intended to do, he desisted from his intent, and gave it up, his
whole holy desire being turned into a chill of humble shrinking
and fear. Among other things which his most Illustrious
Lordship relates of what he then felt, he says, that his hair
stood up in such a manner and with such force, that it seemed
to him, as if it lifted the mitre a considerable way from his
head. Now, we all know that this famous prelate has vigour
and persevering courage for all the great things which he
undertakes in the service of our Lord; but in this manner the
Holy Ark remained unopened then, and thus I believe it will[359]
always remain fastened more surely with veneration and
reverence, and with respect of these examples, than with the
strong bolt of its lock.
“In the inscription of this Holy Ark, mention is made of
the relics of St. Baudilus, and by reason that he is a Saint
very little known, it will be proper to say something of him.
This Saint is much reverenced in Salamanca and in Zamora,
and in both cities he has a parochial church, and in Zamora
they have a good part of his relics. They have so much
corrupted the name, calling him St. Boal, that the Saint is
now scarcely known by his own.
“They of the church say, that the cope of St. Ildefonso,
which Our Lady gave him, is in the Ark. This may well be
believed, since our good authors particularly relate that it was
carried to Oviedo with the Holy Ark, and with the other
relics, and it does not now appear among them, and there is
much more reason to think that it has been very carefully put
away, than that it has been lost. Also they say, that when
the celestial cope was put into the Holy Ark, they took out
of it the piece of the holy Sudario, in which the head of our
Redeemer was wrapped up for his interment, as is said in the
inscription of the Ark. This is one of the most famous relics
in all Christendom, and therefore it is most richly adorned,
and reverently preserved, being shown only three times in the
year with the greatest solemnity. The box in which it is kept
is wrought without of gold and azure, with beautiful mouldings
and pictures, and other ornaments of much authority.
Within this there is a square piece of wood, covered entirely
with black velvet, with silver handles, and other decorations of
silver round about; in the hollow of this square, the holy
Sudario is stretched and fastened upon the velvet; it is a thin
linen cloth, three quarters long and half a vara wide, and in
many places full of the divine blood from the head of our
Redeemer, in divers forms and stains of various sizes;
wherein some persons observe marks of the divine countenance
and other particularities. I did not perceive this; but the
feeling which came upon me when I looked at it is sufficient[360]
to make me believe any thing of it; and if a wretch like me
was thus affected, what must it be with those who deserve
of our Lord greater regalements on such an occasion? It is
exhibited to the people three times in the year; on Good Friday,
and on the two festivals of the Cross in May and in September,
and there is then a great concourse from all the country,
and from distant parts. This part of the cross of the
church where the Camara Santa is, is richly hung, and in the
first apartment of the Camara, a corridor is erected for this
exhibition, which is closed that day with curtains of black
velvet, and a canopy that extends over the varandas. The
Bishop in his pontificals, with his assistants and other grave
persons, places himself behind the curtains with the Holy
Sudario, holding it by the silver handles, covered with a veil.
The curtains are undrawn, and the quiristers below immediately
begin the Miserere. The Bishop lifts the veil, and at
the sight of the Holy Sudario, another music begins of the
voices of the people, deeply affected with devotion, which
verily penetrates all hearts. The Bishop stands some time,
turning the Sacred Relic to all sides, and afterwards the veil
being replaced, and the curtains redrawn, he replaces the
Holy Sudario in its box. With all these solemnities, the very
Illustrious and most Reverend Señor, M. D. Gonzalo de
Solorzano, Bishop of Oviedo, exhibited this Holy Relic on
the day of Santiago, in the year of our Redeemer 1572, in
order that I might bear a more complete relation of the whole
to the King our Lord, I having at that time undertaken this
sacred journey by his command.
“Another chest, with a covering of crimson and brocade,
contains a good quantity of bones, and some pieces of a head;
which, although they are very damp, have a most sweet odour,
and this all we who were present perceived, when they were
shown me, and we spoke of it as of a notable and marvellous
thing. The account which they of the church give of this
holy body is, that it is that of St. Serrano, without knowing
any thing more of it. I, considering the great dampness of
the sacred bones believe certainly that it was brought up to[361]
the Camara Santa from the church of Leocadia, which, as it
has been seen, is underneath it. And there, in the altar, the
great stone-chest is empty, in which King Alonso el Casto
enclosed many relics, as the Bishop Sampyro writes. For
myself I have always held for certain, that the body of St.
Leocadia is that which is in this rich chest. And in this
opinion I am the more confirmed since the year 1580, when
such exquisite diligence has been used by our Spaniards in
the monastery of St. Gisleno, near Mons de Henao in
Flanders, to verify whether the body of St. Leocadia, which
they have there, is that of our Saint. The result has been,
that it was ascertained beyond all doubt to be the same; since
an authentic writing was found of the person who carried it
thither by favour of one of our earliest kings, and he carried
it from Oviedo without dispute; because, according to my
researches, it is certain that it was there. Now I affirm, that
the king who gave part left part also; and neither is that
which is there so much, that what we saw at Oviedo might
not well have been left, neither is this so much but that which
is at Mons might well have been given.
“In the church below, in a hollow made for this purpose,
with grates, and a gate well ornamented, is one of the vessels
which our Redeemer Jesus Christ filled with miraculous wine
at the marriage in Galilee. It is of white marble, of an
ancient fashion, more than three feet high, and two wide at
the mouth, and contains more than six arrobas. And forasmuch
as it is in the wall of the church of K. Alonso el Casto,
and all the work about it is very ancient, it may be believed
that the said king ordered it to be placed there.”—Coronica
General de Espana, l. 13. b. 40.
Morales gives an outline of this vessel in his Journal, and
observes, that if the Christians transported it by land, particular
strength and the aid of God would have been necessary
to carry it so many leagues, and move it over the rugged
mountains of Europa;—but, he adds, it might have come by
water from Andalusia or Portugal, and in that case this would
have been a land journey of only four or five leagues.—In his[362]
Journal, Morales mentions certain other relics of which the
church of Oviedo boasted, but for which he required better
evidence than could be adduced for them. Such were a portion
of Tobit’s fish, and of Sampson’s honey-comb, with other
such things, which, he says, would lessen the credit of the
Ark, where, according to the Bishop of Oviedo, D. Pelayo,
and Sebastian, Bishop of Salamanca, they were deposited.
Of these precious relics he says nothing in his history, neither
does he mention a piece of Moses’s rod, a large piece of St.
Bartholomew’s skin, and the sole of St. Peter’s shoe, all which
he enumerates in his Journal, implying rather than expressing
his doubts of their authenticity. As a scrupulous and faithful
antiquary, Morales was accustomed to require evidence, and
to investigate it; and for these he could find no other testimony
than tradition and antiquity, which, as presumptive
proofs, were strong corroborants of faith, but did not suffice of
themselves. The Holy Ark has all the evidence which he
required, and the reverence with which he regarded it, is
curiously expressed in his Journal. “I have now,” he says,
“described the material part of the Camara Santa. The
spiritual and devout character which it derives from the sacred
treasures which it contains, and the feeling which is experienced
upon entering it, cannot be described without giving
infinite thanks to our Lord, that he has been pleased to suffer
a wretch like me to enjoy it. I write this in the church
before the grating, and God knows I am as it were beside
myself with fear and reverence, and I can only beseech God
to give me strength to proceed with that for which I have no
power myself.”—T. 10. Viage, p. 91.
Morales, like Origen, had given in his youth a decisive
proof of the sincerity of his religious feelings, and it sometimes
seems as if he had emasculated his mind as well as
his body. But with all this abject superstition, he was a
thoroughly pious and good man. His life is deeply interesting,
and his writings, besides their great historical and antiquarian
value, derive additional interest from the picture of
the author’s mind which they so frequently display. The[363]
portrait prefixed to the last edition of his work is singularly
characteristic.
“Postremum bellum Suevis intulit, regnumque eorum in jura
gentis suæ mirâ celeritate transmisit. Hispania magna ex parte
potitus, nam antea gens Gothorum angustis finibus arctabatur.—Fiscum
quoque primus iste locupletavit, primusque ærarium de
rapinis civium, hostiumque manubiis auxit. Primusque etiam
inter suos regali veste opertus in solio resedit. Nam ante eum et
habitus et consessus communis, ut populo, ita et regibus erat.”—S.
Isidor. Hist. Goth.—Espana Sagrada, 6. 498-9.
As late as the age of the Philips, the Portugueze were
called Sevosos by the Castillians, as an opprobrious name.
Brito says, It was the old word Suevos continued and corrupted,
and used contemptuously, because its origin was forgotten.—Monarchia
Lusitana, 2. 6. 4.
When the Sueves and Alans over-ran Spain they laid siege
to Lisbon, and the Saints Maxima, Julia, and Verissimus (a
most undoubted personage) being Lisbonians, were applied to
by their town’s people to deliver them. Accordingly, a sickness
broke out in the besieger’s camp, and they agreed to
depart upon payment of a sum of money. Bernardo de Brito
complains that Blondus and Sabellicus, in their account of this
transaction, have been so careless as to mention the money
and omit the invocation of the Saints.—M. Lus. 2. 5. 23.
The substance of these prayers will be found in the forms
of coronation observed by the Anglo-Saxons, and in the early
ages of the French monarchy. I am indebted for them to[364]
Turner’s most valuable History of the Anglo-Saxons, and to
Mr. Lingard’s Antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon Church, a
work not more full of erudition than it is of Romish sophistry
and misrepresentation.
“La primera ciudad que gaño dizen fue Leon, y desde alli se
llamo Rey de Leon, y tomo por armas un Leon roxo en campo
blanco, dexando las antiguas armas de los Godos, que eran un
Leon bermejo rampante, en campo azul, buelta la cara atras, sobre
tres ondas blancas y azules.”—Fran. de Pisa. Desc. de Toledo,
l. 3. c. 2.
Fue la del quinto globo roxa estrella
rayo de su valor, voz de su fama,
y Leon de su escudo y luzimiento,
heredado blason, Signo sangriento.
Coro de las Musas, p. 102.
“Les anciennes armes estoient parlantes, comme l’on void en
celles des Comtes de Castille, et des Rois de Leon, qui prindrent
des Chateaux et des Lions, pour signifier les noms vulgaires des
Provinces, par le blason de leurs armes; qui ne se reportent pas
a l’ancienne denomination de Castulo et de Legio, chés Pline.”—Pierre
de Marca, Hist. de Bearn, l. 1. c. 12. § 11.
“The Lion’s grinders are, relevées de trois pointes un peu[365]
creusées dans leur centre, dans lesquelles les speculatifs croyent
voir la figure d’une fleur de lys. Je n’ay garde de dire le contraire,”
says P. Labat, “il est permis a bien des gens de voir
dans les nuës et dans les charbons ardens tout ce qu’il plaît à leur
imagination de s’y representer; pourquoy ne sera-t-il pas libre de
voir sur les dents du Lion la figure des fleurs de lys? Je doute
que les Espagnols en conviennent, eux qui prennent le Lion pour
les armes et le symbole de leur monarchie; car on pourrait leur
dire que c’est une marque que sans le secours de la France, leur
Lion ne seroit pas fort a craindre.”—Afrique Occidentale, T.
ii. p. 14.
There is a place at Toledo called la Alcurnia. “El nombre
de Alcurnia es Arabigo, que es dezir cosa de cuerno, o en forma
de cuerno, lo que Christianos llamavan foz, o hoz de Tajo.
Llamase assi porque desde que este rio passa por debaxo de la
puente de Alcantara, va haziendo una buelta y torcedura, que en
una escritura antigua se llama hoz de Tajo. Lo mesmo acontecio
a Arlança cerca de Lara, de donde se llamo la hoz de Lara,
como lo nota Ambrosio de Morales; y en el Reyno de Toledo ay
la hoz de Jucar.”—Francisco de Pisa. Desc. de Toledo,
l. i. c. 14.
Amid our deserts we hunt down the birds
Of heaven, ... wings do not save them!—XX. p. 187.
The Moors have a peculiar manner of hunting the partridge.
In the plains of Akkermute and Jibbel Hidded in
Shedma, they take various kinds of dogs with them, from the
greyhound to the shepherd’s dog, and following the birds on
horseback, and allowing them no time to rest, they soon fatigue
them, when they are taken by the dogs. But as the Mooselmin
eats nothing but what has had its throat cut, he takes out
his knife, and exclaiming Bismillah, in the name of God, cuts
the throat of the game.—Jackson’s Morocco, p. 121.
[366]
A hasty grave, scarce hidden there from dogs
And ravens, nor from wintry rains secure.—XXII. p. 204.
In composing these lines I remembered a far more beautiful
passage in one of the Eclogues of the Jesuit Bussieres:—
Artesius ruit ecce furens, finesque propinquos
Insultans, stragem agricolis fugientibus infert.
Quid facerem? matrem, ut potui, tenerumque puellum
A white flag, called El Alem, the signal, is hoisted every
day at twelve o’clock, to warn the people out of hearing, or at[367]
a great distance, to prepare, by the necessary preliminary ablutions,
to prostrate themselves before God at the service of
prayer.—Jackson’s Morocco, p. 149.
The Humma’s happy wings have shadowed him.—XXIII. p. 213.
The humma is a fabulous bird: The head over which its
shadow once passes will assuredly be encircled with a crown.—Wilkes,
S. of India, v. i. p. 423.
Among the Prerogatives et Propriétés singulières du Prophète,
Gagnier states that, “Il est vivant dans son Tombeau. Il
fait la prière dans ce Tombeau à chaque fois que le Crieur en
fait la proclamation, et au même tems qu’on la recite. Il y a un
Ange posté sur son Tombeau qui a le soin de lui donner avis des
Pri res que les Fidèles font pour lui.”—Vie de Mahomet, l.
vii. c. 18.
The common notion that the impostor’s tomb is suspended
by means of a loadstone is well known. Labat, in his Afrique
Occidentale (T. ii. p. 143.) mentions the lie of a Marabout,
who, on his return from a pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina,
affirmed, “que le tombeau de Mahomet etoit porté en l’air par le
moyen de certains Anges qui se relayent d’heure en heures pour
soutenir ce fardeau.” These fables, however, are modest in
comparison with those which the Franciscans and Dominicans
have invented to magnify their founders.
The Persians in their creed have a pleasant imagination
concerning the death of men. They say, that every one must[368]
come and die in the place where the Angel took the earth of
which he hath been made, thinking that one of these spirits has
the care of forming the human creature, which he doth by
mingling a little earth with the seed.—Thevenot.
They perish, all their thousands perish there.—XXIII. p. 220.
The battle of Covadonga is one of the great miracles of
Spanish history. It was asserted for many centuries without
contradiction, and is still believed by the people, that when the
Moors attacked Pelayo in the cave, their weapons were turned
back upon themselves; that the Virgin Mary appeared in the
clouds, and that part of a mountain fell upon the Infidels, and
crushed those who were flying from the destruction. In what
manner that destruction might have been effected, was exemplified
upon a smaller scale in the Tyrol in the memorable
war of 1809.
Barret sums up the story briefly, and in the true strain of
Mine Ancient.
The Sarr’cen hearing that th’ Asturianites
Had king created, and stood on their guard,
Sends multitudes of Mohametized knights
To rouse them out their rocks, and force their ward.
It is now admitted by the best informed of the Romish
writers themselves, that, for a thousand years, no other but
common or leavened bread was used in the Eucharist. The[369]
wafer was introduced about the eleventh century. And as far
down as the twelfth century the people were admitted to
communicate in both kinds.
And let no shame be offer’d his remains.—XXV. p. 234.
According to the Comendador Fernan Nunez, in his Commentary
upon the Trezientas, the tomb of Count Julian was
shown in his days about four leagues from Huesca at a castle
called Loarri, on the outside of a church which was in the
castle.
The Musical Pilgrim in Purchas thus describes the Leonese:—
Wymmen in that land use no vullen,
But alle in lether be the wounden:
And her hevedez wonderly ben trust,
Standing in her forheved as a crest,
In rould clouthez lappet alle be forn
Like to the prikke of a N’unicorn.
And men have doubelettez full schert,
Bare legget and light to stert.—P. 1231.
Purchas supposes this very curious poem to have been
written about 200 years before he published it, i. e. about 1425.
It is probably much older. In entering Castille from Elvas,
the author says,
Now into Castell schall we fare
Over the river, the land is bare.
Full of heath and hunger also,
And Sarasynez Governouriz thereto.
Now Badajoz and that part of the country was finally
recovered from the Moors in the early part of the thirteenth
century. Purchas perhaps judged from the age of the manuscript,
which may have been written about the time on which
he fixes, and the language modernised by the transcriber.
[370]
The light which o’er the fields of Bethlehem shone,
“Fallamos en las estorias que aquella ora que nuestro Señor
Jesu Christo nascio, seyendo media noche, aparesçio una nuve
sobre España que dio tan gran claridad, e tan gran resplandor, e
tan gran calor, como el sol en medio del dia quando va mas
apoderado sobre la tierra. E departen los sabios e dizen que se
entiende por aquella que despues de Jesu Christo vernie su mandadero
a España a predicar a los gentiles la ceguedad en que
estavan, e que los alumbrarie con la fee de Jesu Chrysto, e aquesto
fue San Pablo. Otros departen que en España avie de nasçer
un prinçipe chrystiano que serie señor de todo el mundo, e valdrie
mas por el todo el linaje de los omes, bien como esclarescio toda la
tierra por la claridad de aquella nuve en quanto ella duro.”—Coronica
General, ff. 71.
A more extraordinary example of the divine favour towards
Spain is triumphantly brought forward by Francisco de Pisa.
“Our Lord God,” says he, “has been pleased to preserve these
kingdoms in the purity of the Faith, like a terrestrial Paradise,
by means of the Cherubim of the Holy Office, which with its
sword of fire has defended the entrance, through the merits
and patronage of the most serene Virgin Mary the Mother of
God.” “Ha sido servido nuestro Señor Dios conservar estos
reynos de España en la entereza de la Fe, como a un Parayso
terrenal, mediante el Cherubin del Santo Officio, que con su
espada de fuego les ha defendido la entrada por los meritos y
patrocinio de la serenissima Virgen Maria Madre de Dios.”—Desc.
de Toledo, L. 1. C. 25.
This passage is truly and lamentably characteristic.
The oaken cross which Pelayo bore in battle is said to have
been preserved at Oviedo in the Camara Santa in company
with that which the angels made for Alfonso the Great, concerning
which Morales delivers a careful opinion, how much
of it was made by the angels, and how much has been human[371]
workmanship. The people of Cangas, not willing that Pelayo’s
cross should be in any thing inferior to his successors’, insist
that it fell from Heaven. Morales however says, it is more
certain that the king had it made to go out with it to battle at
Covadonga. It was covered with gold and enamel in the year
908; when Morales wrote, it was in fine preservation, and
doubtless so continued till the present generation. Upon the
top branch of the cross there was this inscription: Susceptum
placide maneat hoc in honore Dei, quod offerunt famuli Christi
Adefonsus Princeps et Scemena Regina. On the right arm,
Quisquis auferre hæc donaria nostra presumpserit, fulmine divino
intereat ipse. On the left, Hoc opus perfectum est, concessum
est Sancto Salvatori Ovetensis Sedis. Hoc signo tuetur pius,
hoc signo vincitur inimicus. On the foot, Et operatum est in
Castello Gauzon anno Regni nostri XVII discurrente Era
DCCCCXLVI.
“There is no other testimony,” says Morales, “that this
is the cross of King Don Pelayo, than tradition handed down
from one age to another. I wish the king had stated that it
was so in his inscription, and I even think he would not have
been silent upon this point, unless he had wished to imitate
Alonso el Casto, who, in like manner, says nothing concerning
the Angels upon his cross.” This passage is very characteristic
of good old Ambrosio.
The Damascus blades are so highly polished, that when any
one wants to arrange his turban, he uses his scymetar for a
looking-glass.—Le Brocquière, p. 138.
Oh who could tell what deeds were wrought that day,
The Saharawans, or Arabs of the Desert, rejoice to see the
clouds of locusts proceeding towards the north, anticipating
therefrom a general mortality, which they call elkhere, the
good or the benediction; for, after depopulating the rich
plains of Barbary, it affords to them an opportunity of emanating
from their arid recesses, in the desert, to pitch their tents
in the desolated plains, or along the banks of some river.—Jackson’s
Morocco, p. 106.
But where was he whose hand
Had wielded it so well that glorious day?—XXV. p. 250.
The account which the Romantic Chronicle gives of Roderick
after his disappearance, is in so singular a strain of fiction,
that I have been tempted to translate it. It strikingly exemplifies
the doctrine of penance, of which monastic history
supplies many instances almost as extraordinary as this fable.
[373]
Chap. 238.—How the King Don Rodrigo left the battle and
arrived at a hermitage, and of that which befell him.
“Now when the King Don Rodrigo had escaped from the
battle, he began to go as fast as he could upon his horse along
the banks of the Guadalete, and night came on, and the horse
began to fail by reason of the many wounds which he had
received; and as he went thus by the river side deploring the
great ruin which had come upon him, he knew not where he
was, and the horse got into a quagmire, and when he was in
he could not get out. And when the king saw this he alighted,
and stript off all his rich arms and the furniture thereof, and
took off his crown from his head, and threw them all into the
quagmire, saying, Of earth was I made, and even so are all my
deeds like unto mud and mire. Therefore my pomp and
vanity shall be buried in this mud till it has all returned
again to earth, as I myself must do. And the vile end which
I have deserved will beseem me well, seeing that I have been
the principal cause of this great cruelty. And as he thus
stript off all his rich apparel, he cast the shoes from his feet,
and went his way, and wandered on towards Portugal; and
he travelled so far that night and the day following, that he
came to a hermitage near the sea, where there was a good man
who had dwelt there serving God for full forty years; and
now he was of great age, for he was well nigh a hundred years
old. And he entered into the hermitage, and found a crucifix
therein, being the image of our Lord Jesus Christ, even as he
was crucified, and for the remembrance of Him, he bent both
his knees to the ground, and claspt his hands, weeping and
confessing his sins before God, for he weened not that any man
in the world saw or heard him. And he said thus, O very
Lord who by thy word hast made all the world from nothing
which it was, and hast created all things, those which are
visible to men, and those which are invisible, the heavenly as
well as the earthly, and who didst incarnate thyself that thou
mightest undergo thy passion and death, to save those who
firmly put their trust in thee, giving up thy holy ghost from[374]
thy glorified body upon the tree of the true cross,—and who
didst descend into Hell, and deliveredst thy friends from
thence, and didst regale them with the glory of Heaven; And
afterwards thy holy spirit came again into that most holy body,
which thou wast pleased to take upon thee in this world; and,
manifesting thyself for the true God which thou wert, thou
didst deign to abide in this dark world forty days with their
nights, and then thou didst ascend into thy heavenly glory,
and didst enlighten with the grace of the Holy Ghost thy
beloved disciples. I beseech thee, O Lord, that thou wouldst
enlighten me, a king in tribulation, wretched and full of many
sins, and deserving all evils; let not the soul which is thine,
and which cost thee so dear, receive the evil and the desert of
this abominable flesh; and may it please thee, O Lord, after
the downfall, destruction, perdition, and desolation, which I, a
miserable king, have suffered in this world, that my disconsolate
soul may not be forgotten by thee, and that all this misery
may be in satisfaction for my errors. And I earnestly beseech
thee, O Lord, that thy grace may breathe upon me, that in
this world I may make satisfaction for my sins, so that at the
Great Day of Judgement I may not be condemned to the torments
of hell.
“Having said these words, weeping as though he would
burst, he remained there a long hour. And when the Hermit
heard him say all this, he was greatly astonished, and he went
unto him. And when the King saw him he was little pleased;
howbeit after he had talked with him, he would rather have
found him there than have been restored again to the great
honour which he had lost; for the Hermit comforted him in
such wise in this his tribulation, that he was right well contented;
and he confessed unto him, and told him all that concerned
him. And the Hermit said to him, King, thou shalt remain
in this hermitage, which is a remote place, and where thou
mayest lead thy life as long as it shall please God. And for
me, on the third day from hence, I shall pass away out of this
world; and thou shalt bury me, and thou shalt take my
garments, and fulfil the time of a year in this hermitage.[375]
Take no thought as to provision for thy support, for every
Friday thou shalt have it after the same manner as I, and thou
shalt so husband it, that it may suffice thee for the whole week;
That flesh which hath been fostered in great delight shall
suffer abstinence, lest it should grow proud; and thou shalt
endure hunger and cold and thirst in the love of our Lord,
that he may have compassion upon thee. Thy station till
the hour of sleep must always be upon that rock, where there is
an oratory facing the east; and thou shalt continue the service
of God in such manner as God will direct thee to do. And
take heed that thy soul fall not into temptation. And since
thou hast spoken this day of penitence, to-morrow thou shalt
communicate and receive the true body of our Lord Jesus
Christ, who will be thy protection and support against the
enemy and the persecutor. And put thou thy firm trust in
the sign of the Cross; and thus shalt thou please thy
Saviour.
“Many other things the holy Hermit said, which made the
King right joyful to hear them; and there they continued till
it was the hour for sleep. And the holy Hermit shewed him
his bed, and said, When I shall have left the company, thou
wilt follow the ways which I have followed, for which our
Lord will have mercy upon thee, and will extend his hand
over thee, that thou mayest persevere in good, and in his holy
service. And then they laid down and slept till it was the
hour of matins, when they should both arise. And the Hermit
awoke him, for as the King had not slept for a long time, and
was moreover full weary, he would not have awaked so soon,
if the Hermit had not roused him; and they said their hours.
And when it was time the Hermit said mass, and the King
heard it with great devotion, and communicated with great
contrition, and remained in prayer for the space of two hours.
And the hour for taking food came, and the Hermit took a
loaf which was made of pannick and of rye, and gave half
thereof to the King, and took for himself the other half: And
they ate little of it, as men who could not eat more, the one by
reason of age, and the other because he was not used to such[376]
fare. And thus they continued till the third day, when the
holy Hermit departed this life.”
Ch. 239.—How the Hermit died, and the King found a writing
in his hand.
“On the third day, the pious Hermit expired at the same
hour which he had said to the King, whereat the King was
full sorrowful, as one who took great consolation in the lessons
which he gave. And when he had thus deceased, the King
by himself, with his hands, and with an oaken stick which was
there, made his grave. And when he was about to bury him,
he found a writing in his hand; and he took it and opened it,
and found that it contained these words.
Ch. 240.—Of the rule of life which the Hermit left written for
King Don Rodrigo.
“O King, who through thy sins hast lost the great honour
in which thou wert placed, take heed that thy soul also come
not into the same judgement which hath fallen upon thy flesh.
And receive into thy heart the instructions that I shall give
thee now, and see that thou swerve not from them, nor abatest
them a jot; for if thou observest them not, or departest in
ought from them, thou wilt bring damnation upon thy soul;
for all that thou shalt find in this writing is given thee for
penance, and thou must learn with great contrition of repentance,
and with humbleness of patience, to be content with that
which God hath given thee to suffer in this world. And that
thou mayest not be deceived in case any company should come
unto thee, mark and observe this and pass in it thy life. Thou
shalt arise two hours after midnight, and say thy matins
within the hermitage. When the day breaks thou shalt go to
the oratory, and kneeling upon the ground, say the whole
hours by the breviary, and when thou hast finished them thou
shalt say certain prayers of our Lord, which thou wilt find
therein. And when thou hast done this, contemplate then upon
the great power of our Lord, and upon his mercy, and also[377]
upon the most holy passion which he suffered for mankind
upon the cross, being himself very God, and maker of all
things; and how with great humility he chose to be incarnate
in a poor virgin, and not to come as a king, but as a mediator
among the nations. And contemplate also upon the poor life
which he always led in this world, to give us an example; and
that he will come at the day of judgement to judge the quick
and the dead, and give to every one the meed which he hath
deserved. Then shalt thou give sustenance to thy flesh of
that bread of pannick and rye, which shall be brought to thee
every Friday in the manner that I have said; and of other
food thou shalt not eat, although it should be given or sent
thee; neither shalt thou change thy bread. And when thou
hast eaten give thanks to God, because he has let thee come to
repentance; and then thou shalt go to the oratory, and there
give praise to the Virgin our Lady holy Mary, mother of God,
in such manner as shall come to thee in devotion. If when,
thou hast finished, heaviness should come upon thee, thou
mayest sleep, and when thou shalt have rested as long as is
reasonable, return thou to thy oratory, and there remain,
making thy prayers always upon thy knees, and for nothing
which may befall thee depart thou from thence, till thou hast
made an end of thy prayers, whether it rain or snow, or if a
tempest should blow. And for as much as the flesh could
sustain so many mundane pleasures, so must it suffer also
celestial abstinences; two masses thou hast heard in this
hermitage, and in it, it is God’s will that thou shalt hear no
more, for more would not be to his service. And if thou
observest these things, God will have compassion upon thy
deserts. And when the King had read this, he laid it upon
the altar, in a place where it would be well preserved.”
Ch. 241.—How the Devil came in the form of a Hermit to
deceive the King Don Rodrigo.
“Now when the King had made a grave in which to bury
the Hermit, the Devil was troubled at the good course which[378]
the King had taken, and he cast about for means how he might
deceive him; and he found none so certain as to come to him
in the figure of a hermit, and keep company with him, to turn
him aside from those doctrines which the Hermit had given
him, that he might not fulfil his penitence. And the King
being in great haste to bury the body, the Devil came to him
with a long white beard, and a great hood over the eyes, and
some paternosters hanging from his girdle, and supporting
himself upon a staff as though he were lame, and could not go.
And when he came where the King was he humbled himself,
and said unto him, Peace be with thee! And the King turned
toward that side from which he came, and when he saw him
of so great age, he thought that it was some holy man who
knew of the death of the Hermit, and was come to bury him;
and he humbled himself, and went towards him to kiss his
hand, and the Devil would not, saying, It is not fitting that a
King should kiss the hand of a poor servant of God. And
the King was astonished at hearing himself named, and
believed that this must needs be a man of holy life, and that
he spake by some revelation; nevertheless he said, I am not a
king, but a miserable sinner, for whom it had been better never
to have been born, than that so much evil should have happened
through me. And the false Hermit said to him, Think
not that thou hast so much fault as thou imaginest in what
has now been done, for even if thou hadst had no part in it,
this destruction would have fallen at this time. And since it
was ordained that it should be so, the fault is not thine; some
fault thou hadst, but it was very little. And think not that I
speak this of myself; for my words are those of a spirit made
and created by the will of God, who speaks through me this
and many other things, which hereafter thou shalt know, that
thou mayest see how God has given me power that I should
know all thy concerns, and counsel thee in what manner thou
shouldst live. And albeit I have more need of rest than of
labour, by reason of my age, which is far greater than my
countenance shows, yet I have disposed myself to labour for
the love of thee, to console thee in this thy persecution, knowing[379]
that this good man was about to die. Of a truth you may
believe that on this day month I was in Rome, being there in
the church of St. John de Lateran, out of which I had never
gone for thirty years, till I came now to keep thee company
according as I am commanded. Marvel not that a man of so
great age and crippled as I am, should have been able to
traverse so much land in so short time, for certes I tell thee
that he who speaks in this form which thou seest, has given
me strength to go through so great a journey; and sans doubt
I feel myself as strong now as on the day when I set forth.
And the King said to him, Friend of God, I rejoice much in
thy coming, for that in my misfortunes I shall be by thee
consoled and instructed in that which must be done to fulfil
my penitence; I rejoice also that this holy Hermit here shall
receive burial from the hands of a man much more righteous
than I. And the false Hermit said, Think not, King, that it
is for the service of God to give to any person a name not appertaining
to him. And this I say because I well know the life
of this person, what it was; and as thou knowest nothing of
celestials, thou thinkest that as the tongue speaketh, even such
is the heart. But I tell thee the habit doth not make the
monk, and it is from such persons as these that the saying
arose which is common in the world, I would have justice, but
not for my own house. This I say to thee, because he commanded
thee to perform a penance such as never man did, the
which is, that thou shouldst eat only once a day, and that of
such bread that even the shepherds’ dogs would not eat it;
and of this that thou shouldst not eat as much as thou couldst;
and appointed thee the term of a year that thou shouldst continue
in this diet. Also he commanded thee that thou shouldst
not hear mass during the time that thou abidest here, for that
the two masses which thou hast heard should suffice; look
now if that doctrine be good, which bids a man forget the holy
sacrament! Certes I tell thee that only for that which he commanded
thee to observe, his soul is consigned to a place where
I would not that thine should go for all the world, if it were
in my power, with all its riches. Nevertheless, to be rid of[380]
the ill smell which he would give, it is fit that you should bury
him, and while you do this I will go for food. And the King
said, Friend of God, do not take this trouble, but remain still,
and before noon there will come food, which will suffice for
you and for me; help me now to give burial to this good man,
which will be much for the service of God, although he may
have been a sinner. And the false Hermit answered, King,
it would be less evil to roll him over these rocks into the sea;
but if not, let him lie thus upon the earth till the birds and the
beasts devour his flesh. And the King marvelled at this:
nevertheless though he believed that this false Hermit was a
servant of God, he left not for that to bury the good Hermit
who there lay without life, and he began by himself to carry
him to the grave which he had made. And as he was employed
in burying him, he saw that the false Hermit went
away over the mountains at a great rate, not as one who was
a cripple, but like a stout man and a young; and he marvelled
what this might mean.
Ch. 242.—How King Don Rodrigo informed himself concerning
the penance which he was to perform, from the writing which
the holy Hermit left him.
“When the King had finished burying the good servant of
God, he went to the altar, and took the writing in his hand,
and read it to inform himself well of it. And when he had
read it, he saw that of a certainty all that was said therein was
for the service of God, and was of good doctrine for his soul;
and he said, that, according to the greatness of his sins, it
behoved that his penitence must be severe, if he wished to save
his soul. And then he called to mind the life which St. Mary
Magdalen endured, for which God had mercy on her. And
forthwith he went to his oratory, and began his prayers; and
he remained there till it was near noon; and he knew that he
had nothing to eat, and awaited till it should be brought
him.
[381]
Ch. 243.—How the Devil brought meat to King Don Rodrigo
that he should eat it; and he would only eat of the Hermit’s
bread.
“After it was mid-day the false Hermit came with a
basket upon his shoulders, and went straight to where the
King was, and he came sweating and weary. And the King
had compassion on him, howbeit he said nothing, neither did
he leave his prayers. And the false Hermit said to him,
King, make an end of thy prayers, for it is time to eat; and
here I bring food. And the King lifted up his eyes and
looked toward him, and he saw that there came into the hermitage
a shepherd with a wallet upon his back, and he
thought this must be he who brought him that which he was
to eat. And so in truth it was, that that shepherd brought
every Friday four loaves of pannick and rye for the holy
Hermit, upon which he lived during the week. And as this
shepherd knew not that the good man was dead, he did no
more than put his bread upon the altar, and go his way.
And the King, when he had ceased praying, rose up from the
oratory, and went to the false Hermit. And he found the
four loaves, and he took one, and brake it in the middle, and
laid by the rest carefully, and he went out of the hermitage
into the portal, where there was a table full small, and he
laid a cloth upon it, and the bread which he was to eat, and
the water; and he began to bless the table, and then seated
himself. And the false Hermit noted well how he blest the
table, and arose from where he was, and went to the King,
and said, King take of this poor fare which I have brought,
and which has been given me in alms. And he took out two
loaves which were full white, and a roasted partridge, and a
fowl, of which the legs were wanting; and he placed it upon
the table. And when the King saw it, his eyes were filled
with tears, for he could not but call to mind his great honour
in former times, and how it was now fallen, and that his table
had never before been served like this. And he said, addressing
himself to the Lord, Praised be thy name, thou who canst[382]
make the high low, and the low nothing. And he turned to
his bread and did eat thereof. And though he had great
hunger, yet could he scarcely eat thereof, for he had never
used it till in that hermitage, and now it seemed worse by reason
of the white bread which that false Hermit had brought.
And the false Hermit, who saw that he gave no regard neither
to the bread, nor the meat which he had brought, said to the
King, Why eatest thou not of this which God has sent thee?
and the King said, I came not to this hermitage to serve God,
but to do penance for my sins, that my soul may not be lost.
And the penance which is given me in this life, I must observe
for a year and not depart from it, lest it should prove to my
great hurt. And the false Hermit said, How, King, hath it
been given thee for penance, that thou shouldst let thyself die
for despair? The Gospel commands not so; contrariwise
it forbids man to do any such penance through which the
body might be brought to death; for if in killing another,
he who causes the death is held for a murderer, much more is
he who killeth himself; and such thou wouldst be. And now
through despair thou wouldst let thyself die of hunger, that
thou mightest no longer live in this world, wherefore I say
eat of this food that I have brought thee some little, that thou
mayest not die. And with that he began to eat right heartily.
And the King, when he beheld him, was seized with affection
to do the like, howbeit he was withheld, and would eat nothing
thereof. And as it was time when he would drink of the
water, the false Hermit said to him, that he should drink of
the wine; and the King would only taste of that water; and
as he went to take of it, the false Hermit struggled with him,
but he could not prevail, and the King did according to his
rule, and departed not from it. And when he had eaten, he
began to give thanks to God. And the false Hermit, who
saw that he would have to cross himself at arising from the
table, rose up before him, as one who was about to do something;
and the King heeded it not. And when he had thus
eaten, he went to the oratory, and began to give praises to the
Virgin Mary, according as the good man had commanded[383]
him; when that traitor went to him and said, Certes this doctrine
which thou holdest is no way to serve God, for sans
doubt when the stomach is heated with food the will shall
have no power to pray as it ought; and although the tongue
may say the prayers, the heart confirms them not, being hindered
by the force which nature derives from the food. Therefore
I say to thee that thou oughtest to sleep first; for whilst
thou art sleeping the food will settle, and the will will then be
more able for contemplation. Moreover, God is not pleased
with prayers without contrition, as with one who speaketh of
one thing, and hath his heart placed on another, so that he
can give no faith to the words which he beginneth. If thou
wouldest be saved, O King, it behoves thee to listen to me;
and if thou wilt not believe me, I will depart and leave thee,
as one who will take no counsel, except from himself. And
the King replied, if I should see that thou confirmedst the
good manner of life whereof my soul hath need, according as
it was appointed by the good man whom I have buried, then
would I follow thy way. But I see that thy life is not that of
a man of abstinence, nor of one who forsakes worldly enjoyments
for the love of God; rather it seemeth by what I see in
thee that thy life is a strengthening of worldly glory; for thou
satisfiest thy flesh with good viands as I was wont to do, when
I was puffed up with the vanities of the world. Wherefore I
will in no wise follow thy way, for I see that thou art a
worldly man, who deceivest God and the world, and when it
comes to the end thou thyself wilt be deceived.
Ch. 244.—Of what the Devil said to King Don Rodrigo to
dispart him from his penance.
“The false Hermit said to him, For what reason art thou
certain that the rule which this deceiver whom thou hast
buried appointed for thee, will be salvation for thy soul, and
that what I say to thee is not of a truth? Thou understandest
me not well: I never forbade thee that thou shouldst hear
mass, as he has done; for this is one of the good things that[384]
man may every day see his Saviour and adore him. And
seeing that he forbade thee to do this, thou mayest be certain
that as he deceived his own soul, he would deceive thine also.
For at the hour when man passeth away out of the world, he
would fain that that same hour should be the end of all
the world; and thus that enemy did, for where he went, thither
he would draw thee also. Now since God hath given
thee sense and reason, thou mayest clearly understand that his
counsel and doctrine are deceitful, and what thou oughtest
to do.
Ch. 245.—Of the Reply which the King made to the Devil.
“Sans doubt, said the King, he forbade me not that I
should hear mass; but because he commanded me that I
should fulfil my penance here for the term of a year, as he
knew the hour of his own death, so also he knew that no other
person who could say mass would come to this hermitage
within the year; and, therefore, he said to me, that in this
hermitage I should not hear mass, but he never forbade me
from hearing it.
Ch. 246.—Of the Reasoning which the false Hermit made to
King Don Rodrigo.
“The false Hermit said, Now thou thyself manifestest that
he was not so worthy as a man ought to be who knows that
which is to come. For according to thy words, he knew not
that I should come here, who can say mass if I please; and if
there be good judgement in thee, thou wilt understand that I
must needs be nearer to God, because I know all which he
had commanded thee to do, and also how he was to die. And
I can know better in what place he is, than he who has commanded
thee to observe this rule, knew concerning himself
while he was here. But this I tell thee, that as I came to
teach thee the way in which thou shouldst live, and thou wilt
not follow my directions, I will return as I came. And now
I marvel not at any thing which has befallen thee, for thou[385]
hast a right stubborn heart; hard and painful wilt thou find
the way of thy salvation, and in vain wilt thou do all this, for
it is a thing which profiteth nothing.
Ch. 247.—Of the Reply which King Don Rodrigo made to
the false Hermit.
“Good man, said the King, all that thou shalt command
me to do beyond the rule which the holy Hermit appointed
me, that will I do; that in which my penance may be more
severe, willingly will I do it. But in other manner I will not
take thy counsel; and as thou hast talked enough of this,
leave me, therefore, to my prayers. And then the King bent
his knees, and began to go on with his rule. And the false
Hermit when he saw this, departed, and returned not again for
a month; and all that time the King maintained his penance,
in the manner which had been appointed him. And by reason
that he ate only of that black bread, and drank only water,
his flesh fell away, and he became such that there was not a
man in the world who would have known him. Thus he remained
in the hermitage, thinking of no other thing than to
implore the mercy of God that he would pardon him.
Ch. 248.—Of what the false Hermit said to King Don Rodrigo
to dispart him from his rule.
“King Don Rodrigo living thus, one day, between midnight
and dawn, the false Hermit came to the hermitage; and
not in the same figure as before, but appearing more youthful,
so that he would not be known. And he called at the door,
and the King looked who it might be, and saw that he was
habited like a servant of God, and he opened the door forthwith.
And they saluted each other. And when they saw
each other, the false Hermit greeted the King, and demanded
of him where the father was; and the King answered, that
for more than a month there had been no person dwelling
there save himself. And the false Hermit, when he heard
this, made semblance as if he were afflicted with exceeding[386]
grief, and said, How came this to be, for it is not yet six
weeks since I came here and confessed my sins to the father
who abode here, and then departed from this hermitage to my
own, which is a league from hence? And King Don Rodrigo
said, Friend, know that this Hermit is now in Paradise,
as I believe, and I buried him with my own hands: and he
showed him the place where he lay. And when he went
there he began to kiss the earth of the grave, and to make
great dole and lamentation over him. And when some half
hour had past, he withdrew, making semblance as if he wished
to say his hours. And before the King had finished to say
his, he came to him, and said, Good man, will you say mass?
And the King answered, that he never said it. Then, said
the false Hermit, Hear me then in penitence, for I would
confess. And the King seeing that it was for the service of
God to hear him in penitence, they seated themselves both at
the foot of the altar. And when the false Hermit spake, it
appeared that he had no sin to confess: for he began to relate
many great services which he had done to God, as well in the
life which he led as in other things. And before the King
could absolve him he rose up, and asked if things were ready
for the mass. And the King said that he knew not, and bade
him look. It was now time that he should go to his oratory.
And the false Hermit asked him that he should assist him in
saying mass, and then he should hear it. And the King said,
that for nothing in the world would he leave to fulfil his
penance, according as it had been appointed him: and he
went to his oratory. And the false Hermit made as if he put
on the vestments and all the ornaments, and began to say
mass, to the end that he might deceive the King, and make
him cease to observe his penance, and come to adore the mass.
And he made a watery cloud arise, so that it rained heavily
where the King was. And when he saw that he could in no
ways entice him, then he went to him, and said, Good man,
for that you may be placed out of danger in cases which at all
times will happen, seeing that you are alone, I have consecrated
the body of Jesus Christ, that you may adore it every[387]
day, since you may not hear mass; and thus you may fulfil
your penance as a faithful Christian. And with that he dispeeded
himself, saying, In the coffer upon the altar you will
find the Corpus Christi: when you rise from hence go and
adore it. When he had said this, he went his way. And
the King believed that what he said was true, and held that
he was a good man, and of holy life.”
Ch. 249.—How the Holy Ghost visited King Don Rodrigo.
“Now when the King had ended his prayers, which he
used to say every day before he took his food, he saw a good
man come towards him, clad in white garments, and with a
fresh countenance and a cheerful, and a cross upon his breast.
And as he arrived where the King was, he blest him; and
when the King saw him he perceived that it was a revelation
of God, and he joined his hands and placed himself on his
knees upon the ground, weeping plentifully. And the holy
man said, King, who art desirous of heavenly glory, continue
the service which thou art performing for the love of my holy
name; and take heed lest the enemy overcome thee, as he
who many times hath overcome thee, whereby thou hast come
to what thou now art. And believe none of all those who
may come to thee here, for they come for no other cause but
only to deceive thee, and withdraw thee from the service which
thou dost me. And always observe the rule given thee by
the holy man whom thou buriedst; for I am content with it,
and thy soul shall receive refreshment if thou observest it.
Come here, and I will show thee how the Devil thought to
deceive thee, that thou mightest adore him. Then the King
arose and went, alway upon his knees, following the Holy
Spirit of God; and when he was within the hermitage, our
Lord spake and said, Depart from hence, thou cursed one,
and go thy way, for thou hast no power to deceive him who
continues in my service. Get thee to the infernal pains which
are suffered by those who are in the ninth torment! And at
that hour the King plainly saw how from the ark, which was[388]
upon the altar, there went out a foul and filthy devil, with
more than fifty tails and as many eyes, who, uttering great
yells, departed from the place. And the King was greatly
dismayed at the manner in which the false Hermit had
deceived him. And the Holy Spirit of God said to him,
King, let thy hope be in my name, and I will alway be with
thee, so thou wilt not let thyself be vanquished by the enemy.
Then the Holy Spirit of God departed, and the King
remained full joyful and greatly comforted, as if he had been
in celestial glory. And thus he continued his life for nearly
two months.
Ch. 250.—How the Devil would have deceived King Don Rodrigo
in the figure of Count Don Julian.
“The King was in his oratory one Sunday toward nightfall,
just as the sun was setting, when he saw a man coming
toward him, clad in such guise as is fitting for one who follows
arms. And as he looked at him, he saw that it was the Count
Don Julian who approached; and he saw that behind him
there came a great power of armed people. And the false
Count, when he drew nigh, made obeisance to him; and the
King was amazed at seeing him, for he knew him well:
nevertheless he remained still. And the false Count came to
him, and would have kissed his hand, but the King would not
give it, neither would he rise up from the oratory: and the
false Count knelt upon the ground before him, and said, Sir,
forasmuch as I am he who sinned against thee like a man
who is a traitor to his Lord, and as I did it with great wrath
and fury, which possessed my heart through the strength of
the Devil, our Lord God hath had compassion upon me, and
would not that I should be utterly lost, nor that Spain should
be destroyed, nor that thou, sir, shouldst be put down from thy
great honour and state, and the great lordship which thou
hadst in Spain. And he has shown me, in a revelation, how
thou wert here in this hermitage doing this great penance for
thy sins. Wherefore I say to thee, that thou shouldst do[389]
justice upon me, and take vengeance according to thy will, as
upon one who deserves it, for I acknowledge that thou wert
my lord, and also the great treason into which I have fallen.
Wherefore, sir, I pray and beseech thee by the one only God,
that thou wilt take the power of Spain, which is there awaiting
thee, and that thou wilt go forth to defend the faith
of our Lord Jesus Christ, and suffer not that poor Spain,
should be utterly destroyed, seeing that thou canst defend it
and protect it. And then Count Julian drew his sword, and
gave it to the King, saying, Sir, take this my sword, and with
thine own hand do justice upon me, and take such vengeance
as thou pleasest; for I will suffer it with much patience, seeing
I have sinned against thee. And the King was greatly
troubled at his sight, and at his words also, and knew not
what he should do, neither what he should say. Howbeit,
presently he called to mind what the Holy Spirit of God had
said to him, how he should take heed lest the Devil should
subdue him; and so he said nothing, but continued in his
prayer. And the false Count Don Julian said to him, Sir,
wilt thou not turn for the Holy Faith of Jesus Christ, which
is utterly going to destruction? rise up and defend it, for I
bring thee a full great power; and thus thou wilt serve God
and recover the honour which thou hadst lost. Rise then and
go forth, and have pity upon miserable Spain, which is about
to be lost; and have compassion also upon so many people as
are perishing for want of a Lord who should defend them.
Now all these words were only meant to deceive him, for it
was the Devil who had taken the form of Count Don Julian,
and not the Count himself. But the King could no longer
restrain himself from replying, and he said, Go you, Count,
and defend the land with this force which you have assembled,
even as you went to destroy it by the great treason which you
committed against me and against God. And even as you
brought the men, who are enemies of God and of his Holy
Faith, and led them into Spain, so now thrust them out and
defend it; for I will neither slay you, nor assist you in it.
Leave me to myself; I am no longer for the world, for here I[390]
will do penance for my sins. Urge me, therefore, no more
with these reasons. And the false Count Don Julian rose,
and went to the great company which he had brought there,
and brought them all before the King. And the King, when
he beheld that great company of knights, saw some among
them whom he surely thought had been slain in battle. And
they all said to him with loud voices, Sir, whom wilt thou
send us, that we may take him for our King and Lord to protect
and defend us, seeing that thou wilt not defend the land,
neither go with us? Wouldst thou give us thy nephew the
Infant Don Sancho? He is dead. What then wouldst thou
command us that we should do? Look to it well, sir; it is
no service of God that thou shouldst let perish so great a
Christianity as is every day perishing, because thou art here
dwelling in this solitude. Look to it, for God will require an
account at thy hands: thou hadst the charge of defending
them, and thou lettest them die. And tell us what course
shall we take. And when the King heard these words he
was moved to compassion: and the tears came into his eyes,
so that he could not restrain them: and he was in such state
that his thoughts failed him, and he was silent, and made no
reply to any thing that they could say. And all these companies
who saw him complained so much the more, and sent
forth great cries, and made a great tumult, and uproar, and
said, O miserable King, why wilt thou not rouse thyself for
thy own sake, and for that of all thy people whom thou seest
without a Lord; and thou wilt not even speak a word to
comfort them, and tell them what they shall do. And all this
while the King did nothing but weep, and answered them
never a word. And when this vile race saw that they could
not take him from thence, and that he answered them nothing,
and that they could not overcome him by whatever they
might do, they went forthwith from the mountain down into
a plain, which was then made to appear before the King, and
there they drew up their battles in such guise as the King
Don Roderigo was used to darrain them. And eft-soon he
saw great multitudes of strange people, who came from the[391]
other side, and they began a battle so fierce and so cruel, that
the King thought he had never seen one like it. And the
one party put the other to the worst, and followed after them
in pursuit. And then there came messengers to the King,
telling him that his people had conquered, and had slain many
of the enemy; but the King was confounded, and as it were
beside himself, and heeded not, neither did he know what
they said, and he answered nothing. And then they all went
away, and seemed to the King that the one were pursuing the
others, and this continued till the first crowing of the cock.
And the King recovered his senses: howbeit he knew not
whether it was a vision, or if it had indeed happened; but he
called to mind that he had not compleated the prayers which
he made every day; and he began them again and finished
them. And when he had finished, great part of the night
was past, and he laid himself down to sleep. And then for
three months he had no other temptation.”
Ch. 251.—How the Devil, in the Figure of La Cava, the
Daughter of Count Don Julian, sought to deceive King Don
Rodrigo.
“The King was saying his prayers at the hour of vespers
on a Tuesday, when he saw people on horseback coming toward
him: and as they were about the reach of a cross-bow
from him, he saw that they alighted, and that there came
toward him a woman, who was full nobly clad; and when she
came near, he knew her that she was La Cava, the daughter
of Count Don Julian, and she seemed to him more beautiful
than he had ever before seen her in his life. And when she
drew nigh she humbled herself, and said, Sir, what fortune
has brought you to this wretched life in which you have so
long continued? And the King held his peace and said
nothing. And that false Cava said, Sir, it is a month since
a holy man, clad in white garments, and having a red cross
upon his breast, appeared to me when I was with my father
Count Don Julian in Toledo; where he now holds the[392]
seat of the lordship of Spain, as he who, by force of arms,
has subdued the Moors, and killed or made captives of them
all. At the hour when this holy man appeared to me I
was alone in my chamber, having great sorrow in my heart,
because I had no certain news where you was, and whether
your soul continued to live in this world, or in another.
And, moreover, I was full sorrowful, because of the death of
my Lady the Queen Eliaca, your wife, who is now deceased.
And for these things my heart was full sorrowful, and in
great trouble with griefs and thoughts, which came to me I
know not from whence, and I was like one bereft of his judgment.
And while I was contemplating in this state, the
holy man appeared to me in such wise as I have said, and
said to me, Of what art thou taking thought? Cease to lament,
for without me thou canst do nothing certain of that
which thou desirest. But that the dominion of Spain may
not pass away from the power of the Goths, and that he who
shall have it may descend from thy seed, and be of the generation
of King Don Rodrigo, it is my will that thou shouldst
know where he is, and that thou shouldst go to him, and that
he should go in unto thee, and that thou shouldst conceive of
him a son, and shalt call his name Felbersan, the which shall
be such a one that he shall reduce under his forces all the
earth which is below the firmament. Depart, therefore, from
hence, and go to the place where he is, and make no tarriance:
for thus it behoveth for the service of God, and for
the weal and protection and defence of the land. And I said
to him, Sir, how can this be which you tell me, seeing that
King Don Rodrigo is dead; for his enemies slew him when they
won the battle in which the great chivalry of Spain perished.
And he said to me, Cava, think not he is dead, for he liveth,
and passeth his life alone in a hermitage; of the which thy
father Count Don Julian will certify thee, for he went to seek
him there, and found him there when he overcame the
Moors. He will tell thee that he is alive, and in what place
is the hermitage wherein he abideth. And I said to him,
But if King Don Rodrigo passeth his life after this manner in[393]
the service of God, he will not approach me that I may conceive
of him this son who shall prove so good. And since it
thus pleases you, give me a sign by which I may show him
that this is pleasing to God, and that he may do this which
you say, seeing so great good is to follow from it. And,
moreover, he will be brought to such weakness that he will
not be able to obey, by reason of the great abstinence to which
his body has been subjected during his continuance there.
And the holy man said to me, Care not for this, for God will
give him strength; and thou shalt say to him for a sign that
he may believe thee, how I told him that he should take heed
lest the enemy deceive him, and how I bade the Devil depart
from the altar where he was in the ark instead of the Corpus
Christi, for that he should adore him. When thou tellest him
this he will believe thee, and will understand that it is by the
command of God. And when he had said these words he disappeared,
so that I saw him no more; and I remained for a
full hour, being greatly comforted, because I knew of your
life, so that it seemed to me there were no other glory in this
world. And when I came to myself, I went incontinently to
my father Count Don Julian, and told him all that had befallen
me with the holy man who came in that holy vision;
and I asked him if he knew aught concerning you. And he
told me how he had gone to you with all his chivalry to bid
you come out from thence to defend your country, which the
enemies had taken from you, and that you would not; but
rather commended it to him that he should undertake it, and
defend the land and govern it; and that it grieved him to think
that you would not be alive, because of the great abstinence
which you imposed every day upon your flesh: nevertheless,
since it pleases our Lord that I should have a son by you, who
should be so good a man that he should recover all Spain, he
would have me go to this place, where I should find you if
you were alive; and right content would he be that there
should remain of you so great good. And I, sir King, seeing
how it pleased God that this should be accomplished, according
as I have said, am come here in secret, for neither man[394]
nor woman knoweth of this, save my father Count Don
Julian; for I have told my people who came with me to
remain yonder, because I would go and confess to a holy man
who had made his abode here more than fifty years. Now,
since God is the author of this, recover yourself, and remember
the time when you told me that there was nothing in the world
which you loved so much as me, nor which you desired so
greatly as to obtain a promise of me; the which I could not
give at that hour, by reason that the Queen was living, and I
knew it to be great sin. And if I come to you now, it is by
command of God, for it pleases him to send me here; and,
also, because the Queen is no longer in this present life. And
because you are so fallen away of your strength, let us go into
the hermitage, or I will order a tent to be placed here, and let
us sup together, that your heart may revive and you may fulfil
the command of God.”
Ch. 252.—How the Devil would have deceived King Don
Rodrigo, if the Holy Spirit had not visited and protected him.
“As the King heard all this his whole body began to
tremble, and his soul within him also; and all sense and
power past away from him, so that he was in a trance, and
then it was revealed to him that he should take heed against
that temptation. And the false Cava, who saw him thus entranced,
made many burning torches of wax come there, by
reason that it was cold, and because that the King should
derive heat; also there was a pavilion pitched there, and a
table set within it with many viands thereon, and all the
people who came with her were seen to lodge themselves
far away upon the mountain. And when he had recovered
himself, he saw that the false Cava was drest in a close-fitting
kirtle, which came half way below the knee, and she seemed
to him the fairest woman that he had ever seen in his life, and
it appeared to the King that she said to him, Here, sir, come
and take your supper. And the King began again to tremble
and lose his judgment, and fell into such a state that he knew[395]
not where he was, and it was revealed to him in that hour that
he should guard against the temptation. And when he came
to himself he saw that the pavilion was spread over his head;
and seeing himself in that place, he looked for the oratory, and
perceived that it was where it used to be; and within the pavilion
he saw the false Cava, who was there with him, and that
she was standing beside a bed, which was a full rich one, and
that she began to take off her kirtle, and remained in her shift
only, and with her long hair, which reached to her feet; and
she said to him, See, sir, here in your power, that which you
most desired, and which is now awaiting you. Rejoice, then,
and take heart, and do that which God has appointed, and
which will recover Spain, and recompense the losses, and sorrows,
and wrongs which you have endured. And then
she turned toward the King, for the Devil thought thus to
tempt him, and make him break the penance which he had
begun; and certes I ween there was no living man who would
not right gladly have approached her. And then before him, in
his sight, she began to comb and to plait her golden locks. And
the King, seeing how beautiful she was, began to tremble all
over, as if he had been struck with palsy; and he lost his
judgment again, and became entranced, and remained thus a
long while before he came again to himself. And it was revealed
to him again that he should take heed how the Devil
tempted him, and that he should have firm hope in God,
and not break the penance which the holy Hermit had appointed
him. But ever when he recovered from these trances,
he forgot all which had been revealed to him while he
was entranced; and now he found that there was a large
estrado placed by him, and that La Cava was lying there beside
him on some pillows, which were richly wrought in gold, undrest,
as he had seen her, and that she said to him, Come, sir,
for you tarry long, and it will soon be day-break. And the
King seeing her so near him, then he was greatly troubled, yet
could he not withdraw his eyes from her: but he called to
mind how the Holy Spirit of God had bade him that he should
always confide in his name, and place his true hope in the[396]
sign of the cross. And he clasped his hands, and lifted them
towards Heaven, and weeping bitterly, and in great contrition,
he said, O Lord and very God, Jesus Christ, deliver me from
all temptation, and preserve my soul, that it fall not into perdition.
And while he was praying thus, he saw how there came
from the hermitage a great brightness, and he said, Deliver
me, Lord, from the power of the Devil, that I may not be
deceived, nor withdrawn from thy holy service. And at that
hour he made the sign of the cross upon his forehead, and
blest himself; and at that hour the false Cava fell down
the rock into the sea, with such a sound as if the whole
world were falling to pieces, and with the plunge which she
made the sea dashed up so high, that where the oratory was
the King was wetted with the spray. And he remained in
such astonishment, that he could not for an hour recover himself.
And when he came to himself he began to pray with
great repentance, as if he had been on the point of falling into
temptation. And the Holy Spirit of God came to him in that
same manner in which he had seen it the former time. And
he fell on his face upon the ground, and began to lament full
bitterly, and to say, Lord, have mercy upon my soul, and forsake
me not among mine enemies, who would withdraw me
from thee. And the Holy Spirit said to him, O King, of little
faith, how hast thou been on the point of perishing! And the
King made no reply, for he did nothing but weep. And the
Holy Spirit of God said to him, Take heed, King, lest the
Devil deceive thee, and have power over thee, that thou
shouldst not fulfil the penance which thou hast commenced,
neither save thy soul. And the King lifted up his countenance,
and had great shame to behold him. Howbeit he took courage,
and said, Lord, have mercy upon me, and let me not be
tempted by the enemy, for my heart is weak, and hath no
power to defend itself against the false one: for my judgement
is clean confounded, as one who hath no virtue if he be not
aided by thy grace. Deliver me, Lord, for thy holy mercy
and compassion: my salvation cannot come through the
strength of my heart, for it is wholly full of fear, like a thing[397]
which is overcome. And the Holy Spirit of God said to him,
Take courage and fear not, for thou shalt depart from this
place sooner than thou thinkest. And when it is time I will
guide thee to the place where thou shalt do thy penance, that
thy soul may receive salvation. When thou shalt see a little
white cloud appear above thee, and that there is no other in
the sky, follow after it: and in the place where it shall stop
shalt thou fulfil thy penance, according as the chief priest in
that place shall appoint it thee. And take heart, and alway
call to mind my holy name, and have true faith and constant
hope in thy Saviour. And when he had said this he departed.
And the King was greatly comforted and full of grace, as one
with whom God was present in his mercy. And he abode in
the hermitage a whole year, according to his reckoning, and
twelve days more. And one day, when it was full clear, the
King looked up and saw above him the cloud of which the
Holy Spirit of God had told him; and when he saw it he was
full joyful, and gave many thanks to God. Nevertheless the
King did not rise from his prayers, neither did the cloud move
from above him. And when he had finished his prayers
he looked at the cloud and saw that it moved forward.”
Ch. 253.—How King Don Rodrigo departed from the Hermitage,
and arrived where he was to do penance.
“The King arose from the oratory and followed the cloud;
and so great was the pleasure which he had, that he cared not
for food, neither remembered it, but went after that his holy
guide. And at night he saw how the cloud, when the sun was
about to set, turned to the right of the road toward the mountains;
and it went on so far, that before night had closed it
came to a hermitage, in which there was a good man for a
Hermit, who was more than ninety years of age, and there it
stopt. And the King perceived that he was to rest there, and
the good man welcomed the King, and they spake together of
many things. And the King was well contented with his
speech, and saw that certes he was a servant of God. And all[398]
that day the King had not eaten, and he was barefoot, and his
raiment tattered: and as he had not been used to travel a-foot,
and with his feet bare, his feet were swollen with blisters. And
when it was an hour after night, the Hermit gave him a loaf,
full small, which was made of rye, and there were ashes
kneaded with it, and the King ate it: and when he had eaten
they said prayers. And when they had said their hours, they
lay down to sleep. And when it was midnight they arose and
said their hours: and when they had said them, the King went
out of the hermitage, and saw that the cloud did not move:
and then the King understood that he had to tarry here, or
that he was to hear mass before he departed, and he asked the
Hermit to hear his confession, and the Hermit confessed him.
And when he had confessed, he said that he would communicate,
and the good Hermit saw that it was good, and he put on
his vestments and said mass; and the King heard the mass,
and received the very body of our Lord Jesus Christ. And
when the King had done this, he went out to look at the cloud.
And as he went out of the hermitage he saw that the cloud
began to move, and then he dispeeded himself from the Hermit,
and they embraced each other weeping, and each entreated
the other, that he would bear him in mind, and
remember him in his prayers. And when the King had
dispeeded himself, he followed after his holy guide, and the
holy Hermit returned to his hermitage. And the King Don
Rodrigo, notwithstanding his feet were swollen and full of
blisters, and that in many places they were broken and bleeding,
such and so great was the joy which he felt at going on in
the course which he now held, that he endured it all as though
he felt nothing. And he went, according as it seemed to him,
full six leagues, and arrived at a convent of Black Monks, and
there the cloud stopt, and would proceed no farther. And at
that convent there was an Abbot who led an extraordinary
good and holy life; and they were not there like other monks;
and he was a great friend of God and of our Lady the Virgin
St. Mary: and this Abbot took the King to his cell, and
asked if he would eat as he was wont to do, or like the other[399]
monks, and the King said, that he would do as he should
direct him. And the Abbot ordered that a loaf should be
brought of pannick and maize mixed together, and a jar of water,
and on the other side he had food placed such as the monks
used; and the King would eat only of the pannick bread, as
he had been wont to do, and he drank of the water. And
when he had eaten, the Abbot asked him if he would remain
that night or not, and the King said that he knew not, but
that he would go out and see whether he were to go or to remain.
And the Abbot said that it was the hour of vespers,
and that he ought to remain; and the King went out and saw
that the cloud moved, and that it behoved him to go, and he
dispeeded himself from the Abbot, and they commended themselves
each to the other in his prayers. And the Abbot saw
plainly how that cloud had guided him, and how there was no
other in the sky, and he marvelled greatly, and said, Certes
this is some holy man, and he gave thanks to God. And the
King went on that evening till he came to a church which was
solitary and remote from peopled places: and there the cloud
stopt, and he abode there that night. And the King went
into the church, and found in it a lamp burning, and it rejoiced
him much, for by the light of it he said his hours as well
before he should sleep as after. And on the morrow when he
had made his prayer, he went out of the church and beheld the
cloud, and saw that it moved; and he went after it, and after
two days’ journey he came to a place which where it is, or what
it is called, is not said, save that it is the place of his burial,
for such it is. And there the cloud stopt and proceeded no
farther; and it rested without the town over an ancient hermitage.
And the elder of that place incontinently knew by
the Holy Spirit how King Don Rodrigo was come there: but
he knew not his name, neither who he was; and he asked him
if he meant to lead his life there, and he answered that it was
to be as God should please. And the Elder said to him,
Friend, I am the Elder of this place, for all the others, when
they knew that King Don Rodrigo and his chivalry were slain
and vanquished, fled from hence for fear of the Moors, and of[400]
the traitor Count Don Julian, and they all went to the mountains
to escape. And I remained, putting my trust in our
Lord God, and in his holy hands: for that I would rather
abide that which may befall and take my adventure here, than
utterly forsake our mother holy church; while I am able I
will remain here and not forsake it, but rather receive my
death. And therefore I say, that if you are to abide here you
must provide yourself of that whereof you have need. And
the King said, Friend of God, concerning my tarriance I
cannot certify you; though surely I think that I shall abide;
and if for the service of God you will be pleased to send me
every day that I remain a loaf of pannick and water, I shall
be contented therewith. And the Elder promised this, and
departed forthwith and went to his home, and sent him a loaf
of pannick and water. And the cloud remained there three
days over that hermitage, and when the three days were at
an end, it was seen no more. And the King, when he could
no longer see it, understood that there he must perform his
penance, and gave many thanks to God, and was full joyful
thereat. And on the morrow the Elder came to see him, and
they communed with each other in such manner, that the
King confessed to him all the sins which he had committed
during his whole life till that time, all which he called to mind
with great contrition, weeping full bitterly and groaning for
his errors and sins. And the Elder was greatly astonished,
and said, That on the third day from thence he would appoint
him his penance. And he went to his church and confessed,
and addrest himself to prayer in such guise that he neither ate
nor drank, nor raised himself from one place, weeping bitterly,
and beseeching God that he would show him what penance he
should appoint the King; for after no other manner did he
think to appoint it, than such as his holy mercy and compassion
should direct. And on the third day he heard a voice
which said thus, Command King Don Rodrigo that he go to
a fountain which is below his hermitage, and he shall find
there a smooth stone; and bid him lift it up, and under it he
shall find three little serpents, the one having two heads. And[401]
bid him take that which hath two heads, and carry it away,
and place it in a jar, and nurse it secretly, so that no person
in the world shall know thereof, save only he and thou; and
let him keep it till it wax so great that it hath made three
turns within the jar, and puts its head out; and when it is of
that greatness, then let him take it out, and lay it in a tomb
which is there, and lie down himself with it, naked; and close
the tomb well, that the serpent may not be able to go out; and
in this manner God is pleased that King Don Rodrigo should
do penance.”
Ch. 254.—Of the Penance which was appointed King Don
Rodrigo.
“The Elder when he heard the voice was greatly amazed at
so rigorous a penance as this, and gave many thanks to God,
and he went to King Don Rodrigo, and told him the manner
how he had heard the voice; and the King was full joyful and
content and pleased therewith, and gave many thanks to our
Lord, for that he should now complete his penance and save
his soul. And therewith in great joy, and shedding many
tears for pleasure, he went to the fountain as he had been directed,
and found the smooth stone. And when he had lifted
it up, he found the three serpents according as the Elder had
said, and he took that which had two heads, and he took it and
put it in a great jar, such as would be a large wine vessel, and
nurst it there till it was of such bigness as the voice had said.
And when King Don Rodrigo saw that it was of this bigness
he confessed to the Elder, weeping full bitterly, demanding
favour of God that he would give him grace and strength with
patience to fulfil that penance without any temptation or
trouble of soul; to the end that, the penance being completed,
it might please our Lord God to receive his soul into his
glory. And before the fifth day after the serpent was thus
big, the King and the Elder went to the tomb, and they
cleansed it well within; and the King placed himself in it
naked as he was born, and the serpent with him, and the[402]
Elder with a great lever laid the stone upon the top. And the
King besought the Elder that he would pray to our Lord to
give him grace that he might patiently endure that penance,
and the Elder promised him, and thus the King remained in
his tomb, and the serpent with him. And the Elder consoled
him, saying to him many things to the end that he
might not be dismayed, neither fall into despair, whereby he
should lose the service of God. And all this was so secret
that no man knew it, save only the King and the Elder. And
when it was day-break the Elder went to the church and said
mass, with many tears and with great devotion beseeching
God that he would have mercy and compassion upon King Don
Rodrigo, that with true devotion and repentance he might complete
his penance in this manner, which was for his service.
And when he had said mass, he went to the place where
King Don Rodrigo lay, and asked him how he fared, and the
King answered, Well, thanks to God, and better than he deserved,
but that as yet he was just as when he went in. And
the Elder strengthened him as much as he could, telling him
that he should call to mind how he had been a sinner, and that
he should give thanks to our Lord God, for that he had visited
him in this world, and delivered him from many temptations,
and had himself appointed for him this penance; the which he
should suffer and take with patience, for soon he would be in
heavenly glory. And the king said to him, that he well knew
how according to his great sins he merited a stronger penance:
but that he gave many thanks to our Lord Jesus, for that he
himself had given him this penance, which he did receive and
take with great patience; and he besought the Elder that he
would continue to pray our Lord God that he would let
him fulfil it. And the Elder said to him many good things
concerning our Lord God. And the King lay there three
days, during all which time the serpent would not seize on
him. And when the third day, after that he had gone into the
tomb, was completed, the serpent rose from his side, and crept
upon his belly and his breast, and began with the one head to
eat at his nature, and with the other straight toward his heart.[403]
And at this time the Elder came to the tomb, and asked him
how he fared, and he said, Well, thanks to God, for now the
serpent had begun to eat. And the Elder asked him at what
place, and he answered at two, one right against the heart with
which he had conceived all the ills that he had done, and the
other at his nature, the which had been the cause of the great
destruction of Spain. And the Elder said that God was with
him, and exhorted him that he should be of good courage, for
now all his persecutions both of the body and of the soul would
have an end. And the King ceased not always to demand
help of our Lord, and to entreat that of his holy mercy he
would be pleased to forgive him. And the Elder went to his
home, and would not seat himself to eat, but retired into his
chamber, and weeping, prayed full devoutly to our Lord that
he would give strength to the King that he might complete
his penance. And the serpent, as he was dying for hunger,
and moreover was large, had in one minute eaten the nature,
and began to eat at the bowels; nevertheless he did not eat so
fast, but that the King endured in that torment from an hour
before night till it was past the middle of the day. And when
the serpent broke through the web of the heart, he staid there
and ate no further. And incontinently the King gave up his
spirit to our Lord, who by his holy mercy took him into his
glory. And at that hour when he expired all the bells of the
place rang of themselves as if men had rung them. Then
the Elder knew that the King was dead, and that his soul was
saved.”
Thomas Newton in his “Notable History of the Saracens,”
seems to imagine that this story is allegorical. “Nowe,” he
says, “whereas it is reported, and written that he folowed a
starre or a messenger of God, which conducted and guided
him in his way; it may be so, and the same hath also happened
to others; but it may as well also be understoode of a
certaine secrete starre moving and directing his will.
“And whereas they say he was put by that holy man into a
cave or hole, and a serpent with him that had two heads, which[404]
in two days’ space gnawed all the flesh off his body from the
bones; this, beyng simplie taken and understanded, hath no
likelihood of any truth. For what sanctity, what religion, or
what pietie, commandeth to kill a penitent person, and one
that seeketh comfort of hys afflicted mind by amendment of
life, with such horrible torments and straunge punishment?
Wherefore I woulde rather think it to be spoken mysticallye,
and that the serpent with two heads signifieth his sinful and
gylty conscience.”
How Carestes found the grave of King Don Rodrigo at Viseo
in Portugal.
“I, Carestes, vassal of King Don Alfonso of Leon, son-in-law
of the Knight of God, King Don Pelayo, when the said
King Don Alfonso won Viseo from the Moors who held it,
found a grave in a field, upon the which were written in
Gothic letters, the words which you shall here read. This
grave was in front of a little church, without the town of Viseo,
and the superscription of the writing was thus:—
Of the writing which was upon the grave of King Don Rodrigo.
“Here lies King Don Rodrigo, the last of the Goths.
Cursed be the wrath of the traitor Julian, for it was of long
endurance, and cursed be his anger, for it was obdurate and
evil, for he was mad with rage, and stomachful with pride,
and puffed up with folly, and void of loyalty, and unmindful
of the laws, and a despiser thereof; cruel in himself, a slayer
of his lord, a destroyer of his country, a traitor to his countrymen;
bitter is his name; and it is as grief and sorrow in
the mouth of him who pronounces it; and it shall always be
cursed by all that speak of him.”
That veracious chronicler Carestes then concludes his true
history in these words:—“And by this which I found
written upon this grave, I am of mind that King Don Rodrigo[405]
lies there, and because of the life which he led in his
penitence, according as ye have heard, which also was in the
same tomb written in a book of parchment, I believe without
doubt that it is true, and because of the great penance which
he did, that God was pleased to make it known in such
manner as it past, for those who hereafter shall have to rule
and govern, to the end that all men may see how soon pride is
abased and humility exalted. This Chronicle is composed in
memory of the noble King Don Rodrigo; that God pardon
his sins, and that the son of the Virgin without stain, Jesus
Christ, bring us to true repentance, who liveth and reigneth
for ever and ever. Amen.
Thanks be to God!”
I believe the Archbishop Roderick of Toledo is the earliest
writer who mentions this discovery. He died in 1247. The
fact may very possibly have been true, for there seems to have
been no intention of setting up a shrine connected with it.
The Archbishop’s words are as follow:—
“Quid de Rege Roderico acciderit ignoratur; tamen corona,
vestes et insignia et calciamenta auro et lapidibus adornata, et
equus qui Orelia dicebatur, in loco tremulo juxta fluvium sine
corpore sunt inventa. Quid autem de corpore fuerit factum penitus
ignoratur, nisi quod modernis temporibus apud Viseum civitatem
Portugalliæ inscriptus tumulus invenitur, Hic jacet Rodericus
ultimus Rex Gothorum. Maledictus furor impius Juliani
quia pertinax, et indignatio, quia dura; animosus indignatione,
impetuosus furore, oblitus fidelitatis, immemor religionis, contemptor
divinitatis, crudelis in se, homicida in dominum, hostis in domesticos,
vastator in patriam, reus in omnes, memoria ejus in
omni ore amarescet, et nomen ejus in æternum putrescet.”—Rod.
Tol. f. 3. g. 19.
Lope de Vega has made this epitaph, with its accompanying
reflections, into two stanzas of Latin rhymes, which occur
in the midst of one of his long poems:—
[2] In the seventeenth, and last council of Toledo, it was decreed that the
baptistery should be shut up, and sealed with the episcopal seal, during the
whole year, till Good Friday; on that day the bishop, in his pontificals,
was to open it with great solemnity, in token that Christ, by his passion
and resurrection, had opened the way to heaven for mankind, as on that
day the hope was opened of obtaining redemption through the holy sacrament
of baptism.—Morales, 12. 62. 3.
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