Abderahman II. was King of Cordova, the latter, inflated by his
successes, sent to demand of the Spanish king an annual tribute of a
hundred young maidens. Ramira indignantly drove away the ambassadors,
assembled his troops, and declared war. He was defeated in the battle of
Alaveda, and forced to withdraw with the remnant of his army to a
neighboring elevation, where the Moor could not fail to attack him. The
Christian monarchy in Spain seemed on the very brink of ruin. That night
the king had a dream, in which the apostle St. James appeared to him,
grand and majestic, bidding him be of good courage, for that on the
morrow he should be victorious. The king related his vision to the
prelates and leaders of his army, and made it known to the soldiers
also. Immediately every heart kindled with fresh enthusiasm; the little
band threw itself upon the infidel host, while on all sides arose the
shout, Sant’ Iago! Sant’ Iago! which has ever since been the war-cry of
Spain.
The Moors were thrown into confusion and completely routed, leaving
60,000 of their number on the field of battle. It was averred that
during the whole engagement the apostle St. James, mounted on a white
charger, and bearing in his hand a white banner with a red cross, was
seen at the head of the Christian battalions, scattering terror and
death among the ranks of the enemy. Thus was fought, in 846, the famous
battle of Clavijo, all the glory of which is due to the patron of Spain.
After a solemn act of thanksgiving to God the army made a public vow,
obligatory on all the kingdom, to pay yearly to the church at
Compostella one measure of corn and one of wine from every acre of land.
Immense riches were found in the Moorish camp, and these were
consecrated to the erection of two magnificent churches—one at Oviedo,
in honor of the Blessed Virgin, and another under the invocation of St.
Michael.
From this time the devotion to the apostle who had shown himself the
protector and deliverer of the country spread far and wide. Pilgrims
thronged from every quarter to his tomb, which became the great
pilgrimage of the west, the pendant to Jerusalem, with Rome between the
two.
The humble church erected by Alfonso the Chaste was by no means suitable
to the dignity of the deliverer of Spain, nor sufficient for the
ever-increasing number of pilgrims. In the year 868 Alfonso III.,
together with Sisenand, then Bishop of Compostella, undertook to replace
it by a cathedral. “We, Alfonso,” it is written in the Act of Erection,
“have resolved, together with the bishop aforesaid, to build the house
of the Lord and to restore the temple and tomb of the apostle which
aforetime had been raised to his august memory by the Lord Alfonso, and
which was only a small construction of stone and clay. Urged by the
inspiration of God, we are come with our subjects, our family, into this
holy place. Traversing Spain through the battalions of the Moors, we
have brought from the city of Ebeca blocks of marble which we have
selected, and which our forefathers had carried thither by sea, and with
which they built superb habitations, which the enemy has destroyed.”
All the materials for the new building were thus gathered together, the
slabs and columns of marble being of great beauty, but we have little
information as to its architectural style or merit. The arts were at
that time in a state of temporary decay. The edifices of the Roman
period had for the most part perished in the invasions of the Goths, the
Suevi, and the Alani. These nations, after having embraced the faith,
were speedily civilized, and under its inspiration had raised numerous
religious buildings which were not without a certain grandeur, when the
Moorish conquest of Spain brought again an almost universal ruin over
the land. The influence of the climate, the beauty of the Andalusian
skies, softened the fierce character of the victors, and their minds
speedily received a wonderful intellectual development. Never did any
people make so much progress in so short a time, in art, in science, in
culture of ideas, and also in a certain elevation of sentiment.
Architecture of great magnificence and originality made rapid advances
among them, of which the richness always bore the stamp of a peculiar
tastefulness and delicacy.
The vanquished were unable to make the same progress, nor were they to
attain to great results until after having received the contact of the
works of their conquerors. These results were arrived at later on,
thanks to a certain courtesy which, outside the war as it were, and in
times of truce, established between the two peoples mutual relations and
currents of influence which left their impress on all the creations of
genius.
When King Alfonso commenced the cathedral of Compostella, the conquest
was still too recent and the animosity too great between the Spaniards
and their subduers to allow of any amicable intercourse or interchange
of ideas on matters connected with the arts of peace. The architecture
of the close of the ninth century was heavy and the forms massive; not
without grandeur, though for the most part devoid of grace. Such,
doubtless, in its general features, was the ancient cathedral of
Compostella, which was completed about the year 874. Mariana, following
the statement of Sandoval, says that there was held there in 876 a
council of fourteen bishops, who consecrated the new edifice. The high
altar was dedicated to our Lord under the title of St. Saviour, that on
the right to St. Peter, and that on the left to St. Paul, while the
ancient altar over the apostle’s tomb, which reached back to a remote
antiquity, received no consecration, it being regarded as certain that
this had received it from the first disciples of St. James.
The erection of the cathedral gave a new impetus to the pilgrimage, to
facilitate which roads were made in the south of France and the north of
Spain. Monasteries and houses of refuge were built along the wild and
lonely defiles of the Pyrenees, and bridges thrown across the streams
and rivers. The roads were thronged by the multitudes, who came, some
from simple devotion, others to do penance and seek pardon of their
sins, and many also to obtain some particular favor—the cure of a
sickness or the success of an undertaking. Great was the renown of
Monsignor St. James, the power of whose intercession and the splendor of
whose miracles were held in high esteem at Rome. Pope John X., at the
commencement of the tenth century, sent to his tomb a priest named
Zanelus to obtain correct information respecting the number of pilgrims
and the authenticity of the numerous miracles; he was also charged to
examine the liturgical books of the Goths, respecting which it had been
stated that they were full of errors. The bishop, Sisenand, received him
with all honor, supplied him with every means of faithfully acquitting
himself of his mission, and convinced him of the purity of the ancient
liturgy of Spain. All the books which Zanelus took from thence received
the Supreme Pontiff’s approval, the only alteration he required being
that in the words of consecration the Spanish rite should conform itself
exactly to that of Rome.
Compostella, daily enriched by travellers too numerous for her to
entertain, became a town of ever-increasing importance. The church
especially, to which very costly offerings were continually being made,
which had immense revenues and possessed superb domains, was in richness
and magnificence one of the first in the world. Her prelates, however,
did not always make good use of their riches. The church was then
passing through deplorable times, and corruption, which was invading all
besides, made inroads also in the sanctuary. The bishops of Compostella
were usually chosen from among the noble and illustrious families of the
kingdom, brought up amid luxury, pleasure, and the tumult of arms, and,
carrying their worldly predilections with them to the episcopal throne,
they might be seen constantly in the chase or at the war, sometimes
driven from their see, and, attempting to return by force, dying a
violent death. One of these, Sisenand, unlike his worthy predecessor of
the same name, was in 979 killed at the head of a squadron while
charging the Normans, who had invaded Galicia. He would have been a good
captain; why was he made a bishop? Compostella owed to him the solid
walls and strong towers with which he fortified the town. His successor,
Pelayo, being equally unfitted for his office, was deposed, and replaced
by a pious priest named Pedro Mansorio, upon whom the misdoings of his
predecessors were visited. He had the grief of seeing the city taken by
the Moors, who profaned and devastated the cathedral. His immediate
successors failed to profit by this chastisement, and, after three
unworthy prelates had occupied the see, the enemy advanced from the
direction of Portugal (which they had invaded and ravaged) in greater
numbers than before; again they besieged and took the city, which they
set on fire and razed the walls. Alman-Zour fed his horse from the
porphyry urn in the cathedral which was used for the baptismal font, and
which still exists; gave up the sanctuary to pillage and destruction,
throwing down many of the pillars, as well as a portion of the walls;
and, taking down the bells, caused them to be dragged by Christian
captives to the great mosque at Toledo, where they were turned upside
down and made to serve as lamps. He was proceeding to make havoc also of
the apostle’s tomb, when a bright light, suddenly emanating from and
enveloping it, so terrified the infidels that they stopped short in
their sacrilege, fearing lest they should be stricken by the “apostle of
_Isa_” (Jesus). An aged monk sat by the tomb, alone, and doubtless
hoping for martyrdom in that spot at the hand of the spoilers.
Alman-Zour asked why he stayed there, and, on his answering that he was
“the friend of Santiago,” commanded that no one should lay hands upon
him, and the Mussulmans respected the fakir. It is the Moorish annals
nearly contemporary with the events we are noticing which mention this
incident, and which appreciate in a very curious manner the pilgrimage
of St. James, describing as follows _Shant Jakoh_, the sacred city of
_Kalikija_ (Galicia): “Their Kabah is a colossal idol in the centre of
the church; they swear by it, and come on pilgrimage to it from the most
distant lands, from Rome as well as from other countries, pretending
that the tomb which may there be seen is that of Jakoh, one of the best
beloved of the twelve apostles of Isa. May happiness and the benediction
of Allah be upon him and upon our Prophet!”
The army of Alman-Zour did not reap any benefit from its sacrilegious
plunder: a contagious malady made such terrible ravages in its ranks
that there were scarcely any soldiers left; he therefore hastened his
departure from Galicia, but was himself also stricken by death upon the
way.
It was not possible immediately to raise the cathedral from its ruins,
but the confluence of pilgrims never ceased, and the offerings of
Christendom were such as to render the hope almost a certainty that it
would at no distant period be worthily rebuilt.
Towards the year 1038 Ferdinand, having been made king of Castile and
Leon, fought the Moors in several engagements, defeated them in
Portugal, and, having dispossessed them of numerous strongholds and
fortified places, desired to testify his gratitude to the God of armies
by repairing to Compostella. There he prayed long at the apostle’s tomb,
and took the resolution never to lay down his arms until he had broken
the power of the enemy.
After taking the powerful city of Coimbra, the capture of which he
attributed to the protection of St. James, the king returned to
Compostella laden with booty, which, in gratitude for his victory, he
presented to the church.
Compostella had now bishops worthy of their sacred dignity. In 1056
Cresconius, who then ruled the diocese, presided, at a council held
there, in his quality of bishop of the Apostolic See. Rome thus
exercised her influence, and this influence was so salutary that Pelago,
a near successor of Cresconius, desired to give it a larger place in his
church. He laid aside the Mozarabic Rite and adopted the Roman in the
celebration of Mass and the recitation of the Canonical Hours, accepting
at the same time all the Roman rules on important matters of sacerdotal
discipline. And Compostella had not long to wait before receiving the
recompense of her submission and good-will. In 1075, the same year in
which Ferdinand took Toledo, the see of Santiago (for this had become
the name of the town), which had hitherto been suffragan to Merida, was
raised to the metropolitan dignity.
We have now reached the period in which, thanks to the liberality of the
faithful, the cathedral of Compostella was not only raised from its
ruins, but entirely rebuilt on a larger scale and with much greater
splendor. Gemirez, the first archbishop of Santiago, was one of its
greatest prelates.
The work of reconstruction, which had been commenced about the year
1082, he not only actively continued, but also proposed to the chapter
to build cloisters and offices, as well as commodious lodgings for those
who came on pilgrimage from distant lands, engaging for his part to pay
a hundred marks of pure silver towards the expense.
The sole aim of this prelate was the glory of God and the honor of St.
James, never his own worldly advantage; the people knew this, and that
the use made of their offerings was always in conformity with their
intentions. The times, however, were troubled, and the archbishop had
his share of their disquiet.
Queen Urraca, the sister of Alfonso VI. of Castile and Leon, and widow
of Raymond of Burgundy, claimed as her right, until her son should be
old enough to reign, the government of Castile and the countries
dependent on it, while her second husband, Alfonso of Aragon, repudiated
these pretensions. Gemirez, whose influence was so great that he might
be regarded as the real sovereign of the country, took the part of
Urraca, and her cause prospered for a time, owing to the weight of his
support; but she ruined her own case by her haughtiness and ambition; a
rebellion broke out, and the prelate narrowly escaped falling a victim
to the fury of the populace, who set fire to the cathedral. Happily, the
solidity of its structure was such as to resist the flames, the interior
wood-work and fittings, etc., only being destroyed, so that not many
years afterwards, in 1117, we find the archbishop, in an address to his
canons, able to speak of it as one of the richest and most beautiful as
well as one of the most illustrious churches in the world.
In 1130 Gemirez ended his career, but not until he had lived to see the
work far advanced towards its completion. We hear no more of its
progress for forty years afterwards. The crosses of the consecration,
which are still to be seen, are floriated at their extremities, and
between the arms are the sun and moon above, and the letters [Greek: A
Ô] below, some of them bearing also a date which appears to be that of
1154.
The pilgrims, who came in continuous multitudes, had innumerable perils
to encounter on their way. The roads were bad; the countries through
which they passed often so barren and thinly peopled that they were in
danger of dying of hunger; the highways so infested with brigands that
in those days they were avoided as those in the East had been in the
time of Deborah, every one seeking rather the by-ways, which were also
beset with obstacles of all kinds. St. Dominic of Calzada had done well
to make roads and build bridges, but something was still wanting to his
work, and that was the safety of those who travelled by them, and who
were constantly liable to be attacked and despoiled by the infidels, to
be taken captive, and condemned to slavery or death.
This state of things could not be allowed to continue. The Moors had
their _rabitos_, or armed fakirs—a sort of warrior-monk—to protect their
pilgrims and defend their frontiers; the religious and military orders
of the Templars and Knights of St. John were covering themselves with
glory in the East, and Spain could not fail to profit by these examples.
The canons of St. Eloi had recently founded a chain of hospices,
reaching from the frontiers of France to Compostella, specially destined
for the reception of pilgrims, the most considerable being that of St.
Mark, on the borders of Leon. These places of refuge, which were
productive of the greatest good, were richly endowed by various princes;
but even this was not enough: some brave noblemen of Castile resolved to
devote their whole life to the defence and protection of the pilgrims.
They placed their possessions in one common stock, and, joining the
canons of St. Eloi, dwelt with them in a convent not far from
Compostella. Being advised by Cardinal Jacinthus to go to Rome and
obtain from the Pope the confirmation of their institute according to
the rule of St. Augustine, they charged Don Pedro Fernandez de la Puente
with this embassy, and obtained a bull, dated July 5, 1175, which
regulated their manner of life, their duties, and their privileges, and
created, under the title of Knights of St. James, a military order, of
which Don Pedro was the first grand master. They wore a white tunic,
with a red cross in the form of a sword on the breast. Their principal
house was at first the hospice of St. Mark; but the castles and domains
which were made over to them from time to time were so numerous that
their riches became almost incalculable, and their influence and
importance increased in proportion. They established themselves at
Uclès, the better to carry on the warfare against the infidel, whose
terror they had become. We soon find them a power in the state, the
grand master taking rank with kings, and at times appearing to rule
them. Even the simple knights had great privileges. It was not until the
reign of Ferdinand that, owing to the skilful management of Isabella,
the power and influence of the order began to decrease.
Our notice would be incomplete without a few words on the subject of the
miracles which took place at the tomb or by the intercession of the
apostle. The countless favors which have rendered many a chosen
sanctuary justly illustrious will never be known; indeed, their absence
would make the continual faith of the people—always asking and never
receiving; always believing, and yet to be ever disappointed and
deceived—not only inexplicable but impossible, whereas it was absolute
and complete; but exaggeration, which, even in the world of ordinary
facts, so frequently goes hand in hand with truth, plays still more
freely with facts which are beyond and above the events of daily life,
and, not being satisfied with the simple beauty of miraculous
deliverances, it must fain make marvels still more marvellous—quit the
domain of faith for that of myths and chimera. A MS. of the monastery of
La Marcha is full of the recital of prodigies which a faith the most
robust would nowadays find it difficult to accept; and Cæsar of
Heisterbach tells us that a young man of Maestricht having been
condemned and hung on a false accusation, commending himself to St.
James, was preserved alive a whole month hanging from the gibbet, where
his father found him safe and sound at the end of that time. Whereupon
the people of Toulouse, jealous of the glory which the renown of this
announcement gave to St. James of Compostella, attributed to _their_ St.
James a miracle exactly similar.
In numerous instances the accounts of the dead restored to life have
nothing impossible or exaggerated about them, and often in their pathos
and simplicity remind one of those mentioned in the Gospel narrative;
for instance, a poor woman, by the intercession of St. James, obtained a
son, who became not only her greatest comfort, but in time her only
support. He fell ill and died. With a breaking heart the mother hastens
to the apostle’s tomb, and in her agony of desolation mingles reproaches
with her prayers and tears, asking the saint why he had won for her the
blessing she had desired, only to let her lose it when her need was
greatest, and herself a thousand times more sorrowful than before; and
then, full of faith, entreated him to obtain from God the life of her
son. Her prayer was granted, and, returning home, she found the youth
restored. But of a very different character is the extraordinary legend
related by Guibert, Abbot of Nogent, and which we quote as a curiosity.
A certain pilgrim was on his way to Compostella to perform penance and
obtain the pardon of a crime he had committed. On the road the enemy of
mankind appeared to him under the form of St. James, and, telling him
that his sin was far too great to be remitted by a simple pilgrimage,
insisted that there was only one means of obtaining mercy, and that was
by the sacrifice of his life; he must kill himself, and then all would
be forgiven him. The pilgrim, who believed that he was listening to St.
James in person and was bound to obey him, stabbed himself and died, a
victim to the fraud of the demon. He appears before the tribunal of God,
and there Satan claims him as his prey by a double title: first, because
of the old crime, which had not been remitted; and, secondly, because of
the new one of which he had been guilty in committing suicide. In vain
the poor man pleads that he had acted in good faith and in the
simplicity of his heart; he was in great danger of being condemned. But
St. James hears what is going on and hastens to the scene. He does not
intend that the evil one should take his form and name to deceive his
pilgrims and then have all the profits, and pleads that the only way to
do perfect justice in the affair is to put everything exactly as it was
before Satan had so odiously meddled in the matter, and to send back the
soul of the unfortunate man into his body again. This representation,
being just, was acceded to, and the resuscitated pilgrim continued on
his way to Compostella, where he confessed with great contrition and was
absolved of all the sins of his past life.
We must, however, leave the realm of legend and return to historical
facts. The anchoretic life was at an early period introduced into Europe
from the East, and Spain appears to have been a land where hermits
especially abounded. We often find them mentioned as coming on
pilgrimage to Compostella, as St. Simeon and St. Theobald in the twelfth
century, St. William somewhat later, and St. John the Hermit, who built
near the cathedral a place of shelter for pilgrims, where he himself
received them, rendering them all the offices of Christian hospitality.
Another William also came hither on pilgrimage, who was an illustrious
personage, though not a hermit; this was the Count of Poitou and Duke of
Aquitaine, whose past life had been anything but exemplary. In Normandy
and elsewhere he had been guilty of grievous misdemeanors, for which he
desired to do penance before his death; and, more than this, he did his
utmost, by good and upright administration, to repair the evil he had
done before. For this reason Hildebert, Bishop of Mans, was not well
pleased at his setting out for Spain, and wrote to him as follows: “We
are told, most noble count, that you have undertaken a pilgrimage in
honor of Blessed James. We do not desire to deny the excellence of this,
but whosoever is at the head of an administration is bound to obedience,
nor can he free himself therefrom without deserting his post, unless, at
least, he be called to one of greater usefulness. Wherefore, very dear
son, it is an inexcusable fault in you to have preferred that which is
not necessary before that which is—repose rather than labor, and,
instead of duty, your own will.” But the great prelate would probably
have been less severe could he have foreseen the holy death of Count
William, who, on Good Friday, after having received the Blessed
Sacrament, peacefully rendered up his soul to God before the altar of
St. James.