Of menacing imprecation from the troops
Arose; for Orpas, by the Moorish Chief
Sent to allay the storm his villainy
Had stirr’d, came hastening on a milk-white steed,
And at safe distance having check’d the rein,
Beckon’d for parley. ’Twas Orelio
On which he rode, Roderick’s own battle-horse,
Who from his master’s hand had wont to feed,
And with a glad docility obey
His voice familiar. At the sight the Goth
Started, and indignation to his soul
Brought back the thoughts and feelings of old times.
Suffer me, Count, he cried, to answer him,
And hold these back the while! Thus having said,
He waited no reply, but as he was,
Bareheaded, in his weeds, and all unarm’d,
Advanced toward the renegade. Sir Priest,
Quoth Orpas as he came, I hold no talk
With thee; my errand is with Gunderick
And the Captains of the host, to whom I bring
Such liberal offers and clear proof....
The Goth,
Breaking with scornful voice his speech, exclaim’d,
What, could no steed but Roderick’s serve thy turn?
I should have thought some sleek and sober mule
Long train’d in shackles to procession pace,
More suited to my lord of Seville’s use
Than this good war-horse, ... he who never bore
A villain, until Orpas cross’d his back!...
Wretch! cried the astonish’d renegade, and stoopt,
Foaming with anger, from the saddle-bow
To reach his weapon. Ere the hasty hand
Trembling in passion could perform its will,
Roderick had seized the reins. How now, he cried,
Orelio! old companion, ... my good horse, ...
Off with this recreant burthen!... And with that
He raised his hand, and rear’d and back’d the steed,
To that remember’d voice and arm of power
Obedient. Down the helpless traitor fell
Violently thrown, and Roderick over him
Thrice led with just and unrelenting hand
The trampling hoofs. Go join Witiza now,
Where he lies howling, the avenger cried,
And tell him Roderick sent thee!
At that sight,
Count Julian’s soldiers and the Asturian host
Set up a shout, a joyful shout, which rung
Wide through the welkin. Their exulting cry
With louder acclamation was renew’d,
When from the expiring miscreant’s neck they saw
That Roderick took the shield, and round his own
Hung it, and vaulted in the seat. My horse!
My noble horse! he cried, with flattering hand
Patting his high-arch’d neck! the renegade,
I thank him for’t, hath kept thee daintily!
Orelio, thou art in thy beauty still,
Thy pride and strength! Orelio, my good horse,
Once more thou bearest to the field thy Lord,
He who so oft hath fed and cherish’d thee,
He for whose sake, wherever thou wert seen,
Thou wert by all men honour’d. Once again
Thou hast thy proper master! Do thy part
As thou wert wont; and bear him gloriously,
My beautiful Orelio, ... to the last ...
The happiest of his fields!... Then he drew forth
The scymitar, and waving it aloft,
Rode toward the troops; its unaccustom’d shape
Disliked him; Renegade in all things! cried
The Goth, and cast it from him; to the Chiefs
Then said, If I have done ye service here,
Help me, I pray you, to a Spanish sword!
The trustiest blade that e’er in Bilbilis
Was dipt, would not to-day be misbestowed
On this right hand!... Go some one, Gunderick cried,
And bring Count Julian’s sword. Whoe’er thou art,
The worth which thou hast shown avenging him
Entitles thee to wear it. But thou goest
For battle unequipp’d; ... haste there and strip
Yon villain of his armour!
Late he spake,
So fast the Moors came on. It matters not,
Replied the Goth; there’s many a mountaineer,
Who in no better armour cased this day
Than his wonted leathern gipion, will be found
In the hottest battle, yet bring off untouch’d
The unguarded life he ventures.... Taking then
Count Julian’s sword, he fitted round his wrist
The chain, and eyeing the elaborate steel
With stern regard of joy, The African
Under unhappy stars was born, he cried,
Who tastes thy edge!... Make ready for the charge!
They come ... they come!... On, brethren, to the field!...
The word is Vengeance!
Vengeance was the word;
From man to man, and rank to rank it pass’d,
By every heart enforced, by every voice
Sent forth in loud defiance of the foe.
The enemy in shriller sounds return’d
Their Akbar and the Prophet’s trusted name.
The horsemen lower’d their spears, the infantry
Deliberately with slow and steady step
Advanced; the bow-strings twang’d, and arrows hiss’d,
And javelins hurtled by. Anon the hosts
Met in the shock of battle, horse and man
Conflicting; shield struck shield, and sword and mace
And curtle-axe on helm and buckler rung;
Armour was riven, and wounds were interchanged,
And many a spirit from its mortal hold
Hurried to bliss or bale. Well did the Chiefs
Of Julian’s army in that hour support
Their old esteem; and well Count Pedro there
Enhanced his former praise; and by his side,
Rejoicing like a bridegroom in the strife,
Alphonso through the host of infidels
Bore on his bloody lance dismay and death.
But there was worst confusion and uproar,
There widest slaughter and dismay, where, proud
Of his recover’d Lord, Orelio plunged
Through thickest ranks, trampling beneath his feet
The living and the dead. Where’er he turns
The Moors divide and fly. What man is this,
Appall’d they say, who to the front of war
Bareheaded offers thus his naked life?
Replete with power he is, and terrible,
Like some destroying Angel! Sure his lips
Have drank of Kaf’s dark fountain, and he comes
Strong in his immortality! Fly! fly!
They said, this is no human foe!... Nor less
Of wonder fill’d the Spaniards when they saw
How flight and terror went before his way,
And slaughter in his path. Behold, cries one,
With what command and knightly ease he sits
The intrepid steed, and deals from side to side
His dreadful blows! Not Roderick in his power
Bestrode with such command and majesty
That noble war-horse. His loose robe this day
Is death’s black banner, shaking from its folds
Dismay and ruin. Of no mortal mould
Is he who in that garb of peace affronts
Whole hosts, and sees them scatter where he turns!
Auspicious Heaven beholds us, and some Saint
Revisits earth!
Aye, cries another, Heaven
Hath ever with especial bounty blest
Above all other lands its favour’d Spain;
Chusing her children forth from all mankind
For its peculiar people, as of yore
Abraham’s ungrateful race beneath the Law.
Who knows not how on that most holy night
When peace on Earth by Angels was proclaim’d,
The light which o’er the fields of Bethlehem shone,
Irradiated whole Spain? not just display’d,
As to the Shepherds, and again withdrawn;
All the long winter hours from eve till morn
Her forests and her mountains and her plains,
Her hills and valleys were embathed in light,
A light which came not from the sun or moon
Or stars, by secondary powers dispensed,
But from the fountain-springs, the Light of Light
Effluent. And wherefore should we not believe
That this may be some Saint or Angel, charged
To lead us to miraculous victory?
Hath not the Virgin Mother oftentimes
Descending, clothed in glory, sanctified
With feet adorable our happy soil?...
Mark’d ye not, said another, how he cast
In wrath the unhallow’d scymitar away,
And called for Christian weapon? Oh be sure
This is the aid of Heaven! On, comrades, on!
A miracle to-day is wrought for Spain!
Victory and Vengeance! Hew the miscreants down,
And spare not! hew them down in sacrifice!
God is with us! his Saints are in the field!
Victory! miraculous Victory!
Thus they
Inflamed with wild belief the keen desire
Of vengeance on their enemies abhorr’d,
The Moorish chief, meantime, o’erlooked the fight
From an eminence, and cursed the renegade
Whose counsels sorting to such ill effect
Had brought this danger on. Lo, from the East
Comes fresh alarm! a few poor fugitives
Well-nigh with fear exanimate came up,
From Covadonga flying, and the rear
Of that destruction, scarce with breath to tell
Their dreadful tale. When Abulcacem heard,
Stricken with horror, like a man bereft
Of sense, he stood. O Prophet, he exclaim’d,
A hard and cruel fortune hast thou brought
This day upon thy servant! Must I then
Here with disgrace and ruin close a life
Of glorious deeds? But how should man resist
Fate’s irreversible decrees, or why
Murmur at what must be? They who survive
May mourn the evil which this day begins:
My part will soon be done!... Grief then gave way
To rage, and cursing Guisla, he pursued,
Oh that that treacherous woman were but here!
It were a consolation to give her
The evil death she merits!
That reward
She hath had, a Moor replied. For when we reach’d
The entrance of the vale, it was her choice
There in the farthest dwellings to be left,
Lest she should see her brother’s face; but thence
We found her flying at the overthrow,
And visiting the treason on her head,
Pierced her with wounds.... Poor vengeance for a host
Destroyed! said Abulcacem in his soul.
Howbeit, resolving to the last to do
His office, he roused up his spirit. Go,
Strike off Count Eudon’s head! he cried; the fear
Which brought him to our camp will bring him else
In arms against us now; For Sisibert
And Ebba, he continued thus in thought,
Their uncle’s fate for ever bars all plots
Of treason on their part; no hope have they
Of safety but with us. He call’d them then
With chosen troops to join him in the front
Of battle, that by bravely making head,
Retreat might now be won. Then fiercer raged
The conflict, and more frequent cries of death,
Mingling with imprecations and with prayers,
Rose through the din of war.
By this the blood
Which Deva down her fatal channel pour’d,
Purpling Pionia’s course, had reach’d and stain’d
The wider stream of Sella. Soon far off
The frequent glance of spears and gleam of arms
Were seen, which sparkled to the westering orb,
Where down the vale, impatient to complete
The glorious work so well that day begun,
Pelayo led his troops. On foot they came,
Chieftains and men alike; the Oaken Cross
Triumphant borne on high, precedes their march,
And broad and bright the argent banner shone.
Roderick, who dealing death from side to side,
Had through the Moorish army now made way,
Beheld it flash, and judging well what aid
Approach’d, with sudden impulse that way rode,
To tell of what had pass’d, ... lest in the strife
They should engage with Julian’s men, and mar
The mighty consummation. One ran on
To meet him fleet of foot, and having given
His tale to this swift messenger, the Goth
Halted awhile to let Orelio breathe.
Siverian, quoth Pelayo, if mine eyes
Deceive me not, yon horse, whose reeking sides
Are red with slaughter, is the same on whom
The apostate Orpas in his vauntery
Wont to parade the streets of Cordoba.
But thou shouldst know him best; regard him well:
Is’t not Orelio?
Either it is he,
The old man replied, or one so like to him,
Whom all thought matchless, that similitude
Would be the greater wonder. But behold,
What man is he who in that disarray
Doth with such power and majesty bestride
The noble steed, as if he felt himself
In his own proper seat? Look how he leans
To cherish him; and how the gallant horse
Curves up his stately neck, and bends his head,
As if again to court that gentle touch,
And answer to the voice which praises him.
Can it be Maccabee? rejoin’d the King,
Or are the secret wishes of my soul
Indeed fulfill’d, and hath the grave given up
Its dead?... So saying, on the old man he turn’d
Eyes full of wide astonishment, which told
The incipient thought that for incredible
He spake no farther. But enough had pass’d,
For old Siverian started at the words
Like one who sees a spectre, and exclaim’d,
Blind that I was to know him not till now!
My Master, O my Master!
He meantime
With easy pace moved on to meet their march.
King, to Pelayo he began, this day
By means scarce less than miracle, thy throne
Is stablish’d, and the wrongs of Spain revenged.
Orpas the accursed, upon yonder field
Lies ready for the ravens. By the Moors
Treacherously slain, Count Julian will be found
Before Saint Peter’s altar; unto him
Grace was vouchsafed; and by that holy power
Which at Visonia from the Primate’s hand
Of his own proper act to me was given,
Unworthy as I am, ... yet sure I think
Not without mystery, as the event hath shown, ...
Did I accept Count Julian’s penitence,
And reconcile the dying man to Heaven.
Beside him hath his daughter fallen asleep;
Deal honourably with his remains, and let
One grave with Christian rites receive them both.
Is it not written that as the Tree falls
So it shall lie?
In this and all things else,
Pelayo answer’d, looking wistfully
Upon the Goth, thy pleasure shall be done.
Then Roderick saw that he was known, and turn’d
His head away in silence. But the old man
Laid hold upon his bridle, and look’d up
In his master’s face, weeping and silently.
Thereat the Goth with fervent pressure took
His hand, and bending down toward him, said,
My good Siverian, go not thou this day
To war! I charge thee keep thyself from harm!
Thou art past the age for battles, and with whom
Hereafter should thy mistress talk of me
If thou wert gone?... Thou seest I am unarm’d;
Thus disarray’d as thou beholdest me,
Clean through yon miscreant army have I cut
My way unhurt; but being once by Heaven
Preserved, I would not perish with the guilt
Of having wilfully provoked my death.
Give me thy helmet and thy cuirass!... nay, ...
Thou wert not wont to let me ask in vain,
Nor to gainsay me when my will was known!
To thee methinks I should be still the King.
Thus saying, they withdrew a little way
Within the trees. Roderick alighted there,
And in the old man’s armour dight himself.
Dost thou not marvel by what wonderous chance,
Said he, Orelio to his master’s hand
Hath been restored? I found the renegade
Of Seville on his back, and hurl’d him down
Headlong to the earth. The noble animal
Rejoicingly obey’d my hand to shake
His recreant burthen off, and trample out
The life which once I spared in evil hour.
Now let me meet Witiza’s viperous sons
In yonder field, and then I may go rest
In peace, ... my work is done!
And nobly done!
Exclaim’d the old man. Oh! thou art greater now
Than in that glorious hour of victory
When grovelling in the dust Witiza lay,
The prisoner of thy hand!... Roderick replied,
O good Siverian, happier victory
Thy son hath now achieved, ... the victory
Over the world, his sins and his despair.
If on the field my body should be found,
See it, I charge thee, laid in Julian’s grave,
And let no idle ear be told for whom
Thou mournest. Thou wilt use Orelio
As doth beseem the steed which hath so oft
Carried a King to battle; ... he hath done
Good service for his rightful Lord to-day,
And better yet must do. Siverian, now
Farewell! I think we shall not meet again,
Till it be in that world where never change
Is known, and they who love shall part no more.
Commend me to my mother’s prayers, and say
That never man enjoy’d a heavenlier peace
Than Roderick at this hour. O faithful friend,
How dear thou art to me these tears may tell!
With that he fell upon the old man’s neck;
Then vaulted in the saddle, gave the reins,
And soon rejoin’d the host. On, comrades, on!
Victory and Vengeance! he exclaim’d, and took
The lead on that good charger, he alone
Horsed for the onset. They with one consent
Gave all their voices to the inspiring cry,
Victory and Vengeance! and the hills and rocks
Caught the prophetic shout and roll’d it round.
Count Pedro’s people heard amid the heat
Of battle, and return’d the glad acclaim.
The astonish’d Musselmen, on all sides charged,
Hear that tremendous cry; yet manfully
They stood, and every where with gallant front
Opposed in fair array the shock of war.
Desperately they fought, like men expert in arms,
And knowing that no safety could be found,
Save from their own right hands. No former day
Of all his long career had seen their chief
Approved so well; nor had Witiza’s sons
Ever before this hour achieved in fight
Such feats of resolute valour. Sisibert
Beheld Pelayo in the field afoot,
And twice essay’d beneath his horse’s feet
To thrust him down. Twice did the Prince evade
The shock, and twice upon his shield received
The fratricidal sword. Tempt me no more,
Son of Witiza, cried the indignant chief,
Lest I forget what mother gave thee birth!
Go meet thy death from any hand but mine.
He said, and turn’d aside. Fitliest from me!
Exclaim’d a dreadful voice, as through the throng
Orelio forced his way; fitliest from me
Receive the rightful death too long withheld!
’Tis Roderick strikes the blow! And as he spake,
Upon the traitor’s shoulder fierce he drove
The weapon, well-bestow’d. He in the seat
Totter’d and fell. The Avenger hasten’d on
In search of Ebba; and in the heat of fight
Rejoicing and forgetful of all else,
Set up his cry as he was wont in youth,
Roderick the Goth!... his war-cry known so well.
Pelayo eagerly took up the word,
And shouted out his kinsman’s name beloved,
Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory!
Roderick and Vengeance! Odoar gave it forth;
Urban repeated it, and through his ranks
Count Pedro sent the cry. Not from the field
Of his great victory, when Witiza fell,
With louder acclamations had that name
Been borne abroad upon the winds of heaven.
The unreflecting throng, who yesterday,
If it had pass’d their lips, would with a curse
Have clogg’d it, echoed it as if it came
From some celestial voice in the air, reveal’d
To be the certain pledge of all their hopes.
Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory!
Roderick and Vengeance! O’er the field it spread,
All hearts and tongues uniting in the cry;
Mountains and rocks and vales re-echoed round;
And he, rejoicing in his strength, rode on,
Laying on the Moors with that good sword, and smote,
And overthrew, and scatter’d, and destroy’d,
And trampled down; and still at every blow
Exultingly he sent the war-cry forth,
Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory!
Roderick and Vengeance!
Thus he made his way,
Smiting and slaying through the astonish’d ranks,
Till he beheld, where on a fiery barb,
Ebba, performing well a soldier’s part,
Dealt to the right and left his deadly blows.
With mutual rage they met. The renegade
Displays a scymitar, the splendid gift
Of Walid from Damascus sent; its hilt
Emboss’d with gems, its blade of perfect steel,
Which, like a mirror sparkling to the sun
With dazzling splendour, flash’d. The Goth objects
His shield, and on its rim received the edge
Driven from its aim aside, and of its force
Diminish’d. Many a frustrate stroke was dealt
On either part, and many a foin and thrust
Aim’d and rebated; many a deadly blow
Straight, or reverse, delivered and repell’d.
Roderick at length with better speed hath reach’d
The apostate’s turban, and through all its folds
The true Cantabrian weapon making way
Attain’d his forehead. Wretch! the avenger cried,
It comes from Roderick’s hand! Roderick the Goth,
Who spared, who trusted thee, and was betray’d!
Go tell thy father now how thou hast sped
With all thy treasons! Saying thus he seized
The miserable, who, blinded now with blood,
Reel’d in the saddle; and with sidelong step
Backing Orelio, drew him to the ground.
He shrieking, as beneath the horse’s feet
He fell, forgot his late-learnt creed, and call’d
On Mary’s name. The dreadful Goth pass’d on,
Still plunging through the thickest war, and still
Scattering, where’er he turn’d, the affrighted ranks.
O who could tell what deeds were wrought that day,
Or who endure to hear the tale of rage,
Hatred, and madness, and despair, and fear,
Horror, and wounds, and agony, and death,
The cries, the blasphemies, the shrieks, and groans,
And prayers, which mingled with the din of arms
In one wild uproar of terrific sounds;
While over all predominant was heard,
Reiterate from the conquerors o’er the field,
Roderick the Goth! Roderick and Victory!
Roderick and Vengeance!... Woe for Africa!
Woe for the circumcised! Woe for the faith
Of the lying Ishmaelite that hour! The Chiefs
Have fallen; the Moors, confused and captainless,
And panic-stricken, vainly seek to escape
The inevitable fate. Turn where they will,
Strong in his cause, rejoicing in success,
Insatiate at the banquet of revenge,
The enemy is there; look where they will,
Death hath environed their devoted ranks;
Fly where they will, the avenger and the sword
Await them, ... wretches! whom the righteous arm
Hath overtaken!... Join’d in bonds of faith
Accurs’d, the most flagitious of mankind
From all parts met are here; the apostate Greek,
The vicious Syrian, and the sullen Copt,
The Persian cruel and corrupt of soul,
The Arabian robber, and the prowling sons
Of Africa, who from their thirsty sands
Pray that the locusts on the peopled plain
May settle and prepare their way. Conjoin’d
Beneath an impious faith, which sanctifies
To them all deeds of wickedness and blood, ...
Yea, and halloos them on, ... here are they met
To be conjoin’d in punishment this hour.
For plunder, violation, massacre,
All hideous, all unutterable things,
The righteous, the immitigable sword
Exacts due vengeance now! the cry of blood
Is heard, the measure of their crimes is full;
Such mercy as the Moor at Auria gave,
Such mercy hath he found this dreadful hour!
The evening darken’d, but the avenging sword
Turn’d not away its edge till night had closed
Upon the field of blood. The Chieftains then
Blew the recall, and from their perfect work
Return’d rejoicing, all but he for whom
All look’d with most expectance. He full sure
Had thought upon that field to find his end
Desired, and with Florinda in the grave
Rest, in indissoluble union join’d.
But still where through the press of war he went
Half-arm’d, and like a lover seeking death,
The arrows past him by to right and left,
The spear-point pierced him not, the scymitar
Glanced from his helmet; he, when he beheld
The rout complete, saw that the shield of Heaven
Had been extended over him once more,
And bowed before its will. Upon the banks
Of Sella was Orelio found, his legs
And flanks incarnadined, his poitral smeared
With froth and foam and gore, his silver mane
Sprinkled with blood, which hung on every hair,
Aspersed like dew-drops; trembling there he stood
From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth
His tremulous voice far echoing loud and shrill,
A frequent anxious cry, with which he seem’d
To call the master whom he loved so well,
And who had thus again forsaken him.
Siverian’s helm and cuirass on the grass
Lay near; and Julian’s sword, its hilt and chain
Clotted with blood; but where was he whose hand
Had wielded it so well that glorious day?...
Days, months, and years, and generations pass’d,
And centuries held their course, before, far off
Within a hermitage near Viseu’s walls
A humble tomb was found, which bore inscribed
In ancient characters King Roderick’s name.
NOTES.
_Count Julian called the invaders._—I. p. 1.
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,
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.
_Louvar se pode ao Conde o sentimento
Da offensa da sua honestidade,
Se o nam vituperara co cruento
Disbarate da Hispana Christandade;
Se hoje ouvera stupros cento e cento
Nesta nossa infeliz lasciva idade,
Non se perdera nam a forte Espanha,
Que o crime frequentado nam se estranha._
_Por mulheres porem se tem perdido
Muitos reynos da outra e desta vida;
Por Eva se perdeo o Ceo sobido,
Por Helena a Asia esclarecida;
Por Cleopatra o Egypto foi vencido,
Assiria por Semiramis perdida,
Por Cava se perdeo a forte Espanha,
E por Anna Bolena a Gram Bretanha._
Destruiçam de Espanha, p. 9.
* * * * *
_Inhuman priests with unoffending blood
Had stain’d their country._—I. p. 1.
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. 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, 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 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 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 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.