messengers, spurring in all haste, bearing missives from the Castilian
monarch, forbidding the enterprise. The grand master was a man of a
single mind and a single will; in other words, a man of one idea. “Were
I on any other errand,” said he, “I should obey these letters as coming
from my lord the king; but I am sent by a higher power than the king. In
compliance with its commands I have advanced the cross thus far against
the infidels; and it would be treason to the standard of Christ to turn
back without achieving my errand.”
So the trumpets were sounded; the cross was again reared aloft, and the
band of zealots resumed their march. As they passed through the streets
of Cordova the people were amazed at beholding a hermit bearing a cross
at the head of a warlike multitude; but when they learnt that a
miraculous victory was to be effected and Granada destroyed, laborers
and artisans threw by the implements of their handicrafts and joined in
the crusade; while a mercenary rabble followed on with a view of
plunder.
A number of cavaliers of rank who lacked faith in the promised miracle,
and dreaded the consequences of this unprovoked irruption into the
country of the Moor, assembled at the bridge of the Guadalquivir and
endeavored to dissuade the grand master from crossing. He was deaf to
prayers, expostulations, or menaces; his followers were enraged at this
opposition to the cause of the faith; they put an end to the parley by
their clamors; the cross was again reared and borne triumphantly across
the bridge.
The multitude increased as it proceeded; by the time the grand master
had reached Alcala la Real, which stands on a mountain overlooking the
Vega of Granada, upwards of five thousand men on foot had joined his
standard.
At Alcala came forth Alonzo Fernandez de Cordova, Lord of Aguilar, his
brother Diego Fernandez, Marshal of Castile, and other cavaliers of
valor and experience. Placing themselves in the way of the grand master,
“What madness is this, Don Martin?” said they; “the Moorish king has two
hundred thousand foot-soldiers and five thousand horse within his walls;
what can you and your handful of cavaliers and your noisy rabble do
against such force? Bethink you of the disasters which have befallen
other Christian commanders, who have crossed these rocky borders with
ten times your force. Think, too, of the mischief that will be brought
upon this kingdom by an outrage of the kind committed by a man of your
rank and importance, a grand master of Alcántara. Pause, we entreat you,
while the truce is yet unbroken. Await within the borders the reply of
the king of Granada to your challenge. If he agree to meet you singly,
or with champions two or three, it will be your individual contest, and
fight it out in God’s name; if he refuse, you may return home with great
honor and the disgrace will fall upon the Moors.”
Several cavaliers, who had hitherto followed the grand master with
devoted zeal, were moved by these expostulations, and suggested to him
the policy of listening to this advice.
“Cavaliers,” said he, addressing himself to Alonzo Fernandez de Cordova
and his companions, “I thank you for the counsel you have so kindly
bestowed upon me, and if I were merely in pursuit of individual glory I
might be swayed by it. But I am engaged to achieve a great triumph of
the faith, which God is to effect by miracle through my means. As to
you, cavaliers,” turning to those of his followers who had wavered, “if
your hearts fail you, or you repent of having put your hands to this
good work, return, in God’s name, and my blessing go with you. For
myself, though I have none to stand by me but this holy hermit, yet will
I assuredly proceed; until I have planted this sacred standard on the
walls of Granada, or perished in the attempt.”
“Don Martin Yañez de Barbudo,” replied the cavaliers, “we are not men to
turn our backs upon our commander, however rash his enterprise. We spoke
but in caution. Lead on, therefore, and if it be to the death, be
assured to the death we will follow thee.”
By this time the common soldiers became impatient. “Forward! forward!”
shouted they. “Forward in the cause of faith.” So the grand master gave
signal, the hermit again reared the cross aloft, and they poured down a
defile of the mountain, with solemn chants of triumph.
That night they encamped at the river of Azores, and the next morning,
which was Sunday, crossed the borders. Their first pause was at an
atalaya or solitary tower, built upon a rock; a frontier post to keep a
watch upon the border, and give notice of invasion. It was thence called
el Torre del Exea (the tower of the spy). The grand master halted before
it and summoned its petty garrison to surrender. He was answered by a
shower of stones and arrows, which wounded him in the hand and killed
three of his men.
“How is this, father?” said he to the hermit; “you assured me that not
one of my followers would be slain!”
“True, my son; but I meant in the great battle of the infidel king; what
need is there of miracle to aid in the capture of a petty tower?”
The grand master was satisfied. He ordered wood to be piled against the
door of the tower to burn it down. In the mean time provisions were
unloaded from the sumpter-mules, and the crusaders, withdrawing beyond
bow-shot, sat down on the grass to a repast to strengthen them for the
arduous day’s work before them. While thus engaged, they were startled
by the sudden appearance of a great Moorish host. The atalayas had given
the alarm by fire and smoke from the mountain-tops of “an enemy across
the border,” and the king of Granada had sallied forth with a great
force to the encounter.
The crusaders, nearly taken by surprise, flew to arms and prepared for
battle. The grand master ordered his three hundred horsemen to dismount
and fight on foot in support of the infantry. The Moors, however,
charged so suddenly that they separated the cavaliers from the
foot-soldiers and prevented their uniting. The grand master gave the old
war-cry, “Santiago! Santiago! and close Spain!” He and his knights
breasted the fury of the battle, but were surrounded by a countless host
and assailed with arrows, stones, darts, and arquebuses. Still they
fought fearlessly, and made prodigious slaughter. The hermit mingled in
the hottest of the fight. In one hand he bore the cross, in the other
he brandished a sword, with which he dealt about him like a maniac,
slaying several of the enemy, until he sank to the ground covered with
wounds. The grand master saw him fall, and saw too late the fallacy of
his prophecies. Despair, however, only made him fight the more fiercely,
until he also fell overpowered by numbers. His devoted cavaliers
emulated his holy zeal. Not one turned his back nor asked for mercy; all
fought until they fell. As to the foot-soldiers, many were killed, many
taken prisoners; the residue escaped to Alcala la Real. When the Moors
came to strip the slain, the wounds of the cavaliers were all found to
be in front.
Such was the catastrophe of this fanatic enterprise. The Moors vaunted
it as a decisive proof of the superior sanctity of their faith, and
extolled their king to the skies when he returned in triumph to Granada.
As it was satisfactorily shown that this crusade was the enterprise of
an individual, and contrary to the express orders of the king of
Castile, the peace of the two kingdoms was not interrupted. Nay, the
Moors evinced a feeling of respect for the valor of the unfortunate
grand master, and readily gave up his body to Don Alonzo Fernandez de
Cordova, who came from Alcala to seek it. The Christians of the frontier
united in paying the last sad honors to his memory. His body was placed
upon a bier, covered with the pennon of the order of Alcántara; and the
broken cross, the emblem of his confident hopes and fatal
disappointment, was borne before it. In this way his remains were
carried back in funeral procession, through the mountain tract which he
had traversed so resolutely. Wherever it passed, through a town or
village, the populace followed, with tears and lamentations, bewailing
him as a valiant knight and a martyr to the faith. His body was interred
in the chapel of the convent of Santa Maria de Almocovara, and on his
sepulchre may still be seen engraven in quaint and antique Spanish the
following testimonial to his bravery:--
HERE LIES ONE WHOSE HEART NEVER KNEW FEAR.
(Aqui yaz aquel que par neua cosa nunca eve pavor en seu
corazon.)[19]
SPANISH ROMANCE
In the latter part of my sojourn in the Alhambra, I made frequent
descents into the Jesuit’s Library of the University; and relished more
and more the old Spanish chronicles, which I found there bound in
parchment. I delight in those quaint histories which treat of the times
when the Moslems maintained a foothold in the Peninsula. With all their
bigotry and occasional intolerance, they are full of noble acts and
generous sentiments, and have a high, spicy, Oriental flavor, not to be
found in other records of the times, which were merely European. In
fact, Spain, even at the present day, is a country apart; severed in
history, habits, manners, and modes of thinking, from all the rest of
Europe. It is a romantic country; but its romance has none of the
sentimentality of modern European romance; it is chiefly derived from
the brilliant regions of the East, and from the high-minded school of
Saracenic chivalry.
The Arab invasion and conquest brought a higher civilization, and a
nobler style of thinking, into Gothic Spain. The Arabs were a
quick-witted, sagacious, proud-spirited, and poetical people, and were
imbued with Oriental science and literature. Wherever they established a
seat of power, it became a rallying-place for the learned and
ingenious; and they softened and refined the people whom they conquered.
By degrees, occupancy seemed to give them an hereditary right to their
foothold in the land; they ceased to be looked upon as invaders, and
were regarded as rival neighbors. The Peninsula, broken up into a
variety of states, both Christian and Moslem, became, for centuries, a
great campaigning-ground, where the art of war seemed to be the
principal business of man, and was carried to the highest pitch of
romantic chivalry. The original ground of hostility, a difference of
faith, gradually lost its rancor. Neighboring states, of opposite
creeds, were occasionally linked together in alliances, offensive and
defensive; so that the cross and crescent were to be seen side by side,
fighting against some common enemy. In times of peace, too, the noble
youth of either faith resorted to the same cities, Christian or Moslem,
to school themselves in military science. Even in the temporary truces
of sanguinary wars, the warriors who had recently striven together in
the deadly conflicts of the field, laid aside their animosity, met at
tournaments, jousts, and other military festivities, and exchanged the
courtesies of gentle and generous spirits. Thus the opposite races
became frequently mingled together in peaceful intercourse, or if any
rivalry took place, it was in those high courtesies and nobler acts,
which bespeak the accomplished cavalier. Warriors, of opposite creeds,
became ambitious of transcending each other in magnanimity as well as
valor. Indeed, the chivalric virtues were refined upon to a degree
sometimes fastidious and constrained, but at other times inexpressibly
noble and affecting. The annals of the times teem with illustrious
instances of high-wrought courtesy, romantic generosity, lofty
disinterestedness, and punctilious honor, that warm the very soul to
read them. These have furnished themes for national plays and poems, or
have been celebrated in those all-pervading ballads, which are as the
life-breath of the people, and thus have continued to exercise an
influence on the national character, which centuries of vicissitude and
decline have not been able to destroy; so that, with all their faults,
and they are many, the Spaniards, even at the present day, are, on many
points, the most high-minded and proud-spirited people of Europe. It is
true, the romance of feeling derived from the sources I have mentioned,
has, like all other romance, its affectations and extremes. It renders
the Spaniard at times pompous and grandiloquent; prone to carry the
“pundonor,” or point of honor, beyond the bounds of sober sense and
sound morality; disposed, in the midst of poverty, to affect the “grande
caballero,” and to look down with sovereign disdain upon “arts
mechanical,” and all the gainful pursuits of plebeian life; but this
very inflation of spirit, while it fills his brain with vapors, lifts
him above a thousand meannesses; and though it often keeps him in
indigence, ever protects him from vulgarity.
In the present day, when popular literature is running into the low
levels of life, and luxuriating on the vices and follies of mankind; and
when the universal pursuit of gain is trampling down the early growth of
poetic feeling, and wearing out the verdure of the soul, I question
whether it would not be of service for the reader occasionally to turn
to these records of prouder times and loftier modes of thinking; and to
steep himself to the very lips in old Spanish romance.
With these preliminary suggestions, the fruit of a morning’s reading and
rumination in the old Jesuit’s Library of the University, I will give
him a legend in point, drawn forth from one of the venerable chronicles
alluded to.
LEGEND OF DON MUNIO SANCHO DE HINOJOSA
In the cloisters of the ancient Benedictine convent of San Domingo, at
Silos, in Castile, are the mouldering yet magnificent monuments of the
once powerful and chivalrous family of Hinojosa. Among these reclines
the marble figure of a knight, in complete armor, with the hands pressed
together, as if in prayer. On one side of his tomb is sculptured in
relief a band of Christian cavaliers, capturing a cavalcade of male and
female Moors; on the other side, the same cavaliers are represented
kneeling before an altar. The tomb, like most of the neighboring
monuments, is almost in ruins, and the sculpture is nearly
unintelligible, excepting to the keen eye of the antiquary. The story
connected with the sepulchre, however, is still preserved in the old
Spanish chronicles, and is to the following purport.
* * * * *
In old times, several hundred years ago, there was a noble Castilian
cavalier, named Don Munio Sancho de Hinojosa, lord of a border castle,
which had stood the brunt of many a Moorish foray. He had seventy
horsemen as his household troops, all of the ancient Castilian proof;
stark warriors, hard riders, and men of iron; with these he scoured the
Moorish lands, and made his name terrible throughout the borders. His
castle-hall was covered with banners, cimeters, and Moslem helms, the
trophies of his prowess. Don Munio was, moreover, a keen huntsman; and
rejoiced in hounds of all kinds, steeds for the chase, and hawks for the
towering sport of falconry. When not engaged in warfare his delight was
to beat up the neighboring forests; and scarcely ever did he ride forth
without hound and horn, a boar-spear in his hand, or a hawk upon his
fist, and an attendant train of huntsmen.
His wife, Doña Maria Palacin, was of a gentle and timid nature, little
fitted to be the spouse of so hardy and adventurous a knight; and many a
tear did the poor lady shed, when he sallied forth upon his daring
enterprises, and many a prayer did she offer up for his safety.
As this doughty cavalier was one day hunting, he stationed himself in a
thicket, on the borders of a green glade of the forest, and dispersed
his followers to rouse the game, and drive it toward his stand. He had
not been here long, when a cavalcade of Moors, of both sexes, came
prankling over the forest-lawn. They were unarmed, and magnificently
dressed in robes of tissue and embroidery, rich shawls of India,
bracelets and anklets of gold, and jewels that sparkled in the sun.
At the head of this gay cavalcade rode a youthful cavalier, superior to
the rest in dignity and loftiness of demeanor, and in splendor of
attire: beside him was a damsel, whose veil, blown aside by the breeze,
displayed a face of surpassing beauty, and eyes cast down in maiden
modesty, yet beaming with tenderness and joy.
Don Munio thanked his stars for sending him such a prize, and exulted at
the thought of bearing home to his wife the glittering spoils of these
infidels. Putting his hunting-horn to his lips, he gave a blast that
rung through the forest. His huntsmen came running from all quarters,
and the astonished Moors were surrounded and made captives.
The beautiful Moor wrung her hands in despair, and her female attendants
uttered the most piercing cries. The young Moorish cavalier alone
retained self-possession. He inquired the name of the Christian knight
who commanded this troop of horsemen. When told that it was Don Munio
Sancho de Hinojosa, his countenance lighted up. Approaching that
cavalier, and kissing his hand, “Don Munio Sancho,” said he, “I have
heard of your fame as a true and valiant knight, terrible in arms, but
schooled in the noble virtues of chivalry. Such do I trust to find you.
In me you behold Abadil, son of a Moorish alcayde. I am on the way to
celebrate my nuptials with this lady; chance has thrown us in your
power, but I confide in your magnanimity. Take all our treasure and
jewels; demand what ransom you think proper for our persons, but suffer
us not to be insulted nor dishonored.”
When the good knight heard this appeal, and beheld the beauty of the
youthful pair, his heart was touched with tenderness and courtesy. “God
forbid,” said he, “that I should disturb such happy nuptials. My
prisoners in troth shall ye be for fifteen days, and immured within my
castle, where I claim, as conqueror, the right of celebrating your
espousals.”
So saying, he dispatched one of his fleetest horsemen in advance, to
notify Doña Maria Palacin of the coming of this bridal party; while he
and his huntsmen escorted the cavalcade, not as captors, but as a guard
of honor. As they drew near to the castle, the banners were hung out,
and the trumpets sounded from the battlements; and on their nearer
approach, the drawbridge was lowered, and Doña Maria came forth to meet
them, attended by her ladies and knights, her pages and her minstrels.
She took the young bride, Allifra, in her arms, kissed her with the
tenderness of a sister, and conducted her into the castle. In the mean
time, Don Munio sent forth missives in every direction, and had viands
and dainties of all kinds collected from the country round; and the
wedding of the Moorish lovers was celebrated with all possible state and
festivity. For fifteen days the castle was given up to joy and revelry.
There were tiltings and jousts at the ring, and bull-fights, and
banquets, and dances to the sound of minstrelsy. When the fifteen days
were at an end, he made the bride and bridegroom magnificent presents,
and conducted them and their attendants safely beyond the borders. Such,
in old times, were the courtesy and generosity of a Spanish cavalier.
Several years after this event, the king of Castile summoned his nobles
to assist him in a campaign against the Moors. Don Munio Sancho was
among the first to answer to the call, with seventy horsemen, all stanch
and well-tried warriors. His wife, Doña Maria, hung about his neck.
“Alas, my lord!” exclaimed she, “how often wilt thou tempt thy fate, and
when will thy thirst for glory be appeased!”
“One battle more,” replied Don Munio, “one battle more, for the honor of
Castile, and I here make a vow, that when this is over, I will lay by my
sword, and repair with my cavaliers in pilgrimage to the sepulchre of
our Lord at Jerusalem.” The cavaliers all joined with him in the vow,
and Doña Maria felt in some degree soothed in spirit; still, she saw
with a heavy heart the departure of her husband, and watched his banner
with wistful eyes, until it disappeared among the trees of the forest.
The king of Castile led his army to the plains of Salmanara, where they
encountered the Moorish host, near to Ucles. The battle was long and
bloody; the Christians repeatedly wavered and were as often rallied by
the energy of their commanders. Don Munio was covered with wounds, but
refused to leave the field. The Christians at length gave way, and the
king was hardly pressed, and in danger of being captured.
Don Munio called upon his cavaliers to follow him to the rescue. “Now is
the time,” cried he, “to prove your loyalty. Fall to, like brave men! We
fight for the true faith, and if we lose our lives here, we gain a
better life hereafter.”
Rushing with his men between the king and his pursuers, they checked the
latter in their career, and gave time for their monarch to escape; but
they fell victims to their loyalty. They all fought to the last gasp.
Don Munio was singled out by a powerful Moorish knight, but having been
wounded in the right arm, he fought to disadvantage, and was slain. The
battle being over, the Moor paused to possess himself of the spoils of
this redoubtable Christian warrior. When he unlaced the helmet, however,
and beheld the countenance of Don Munio, he gave a great cry and smote
his breast. “Woe is me!” cried he, “I have slain my benefactor! The
flower of knightly virtue! the most magnanimous of cavaliers!”
* * * * *
While the battle had been raging on the plain of Salmanara, Doña Maria
Palacin remained in her castle, a prey to the keenest anxiety. Her eyes
were ever fixed on the road that led from the country of the Moors, and
often she asked the watchman of the tower, “What seest thou?”
One evening, at the shadowy hour of twilight, the warden sounded his
horn. “I see,” cried he, “a numerous train winding up the valley. There
are mingled Moors and Christians. The banner of my lord is in the
advance. Joyful tidings!” exclaimed the old seneschal; “my lord returns
in triumph, and brings captives!” Then the castle courts rang with
shouts of joy; and the standard was displayed, and the trumpets were
sounded, and the drawbridge was lowered, and Doña Maria went forth with
her ladies, and her knights, and her pages, and her minstrels, to
welcome her lord from the wars. But as the train drew nigh, she beheld a
sumptuous bier, covered with black velvet, and on it lay a warrior, as
if taking his repose: he lay in his armor, with his helmet on his head,
and his sword in his hand, as one who had never been conquered, and
around the bier were the escutcheons of the house of Hinojosa.
A number of Moorish cavaliers attended the bier, with emblems of
mourning, and with dejected countenances; and their leader cast himself
at the feet of Doña Maria, and hid his face in his hands. She beheld in
him the gallant Abadil, whom she had once welcomed with his bride to her
castle; but who now came with the body of her lord, whom he had
unknowingly slain in battle!
* * * * *
The sepulchre erected in the cloisters of the convent of San Domingo,
was achieved at the expense of the Moor Abadil, as a feeble testimony of
his grief for the death of the good knight Don Munio, and his reverence
for his memory. The tender and faithful Doña Maria soon followed her
lord to the tomb. On one of the stones of a small arch, beside his
sepulchre, is the following simple inscription: “_Hic jacet Maria
Palacin, uxor Munonis Sancij De Finojosa_”;--Here lies Maria Palacin,
wife of Munio Sancho de Hinojosa.