THE WOMEN OF THE LITTLE MONARCHIES
In spite of the fact that Spain was an easy conquest for the Moors and
that whole cities surrendered to the invaders without having struck a
single blow in their own defence, it must not be supposed that there was
no opposition whatever and no show of Spanish patriotism. The great mass
of the population, it is true, were yielding and willing to accept any
terms, so long as they were allowed to live unmolested. Such were the
Romanized Spaniards, who formed a majority of the population, but who
had long been held in subjection by the masterful Goths. As a race they
lacked energy and vitality, and they were too corrupt and
pleasure-loving to be moved by patriotic instincts in such a time of
national crisis. A certain portion of the Goths, however, after their
defeat at the battle of Guadalete, decided to renounce their lands and
all their possessions rather than live under the rule of the
Mohammedans; and with their wives and children and such little treasure
as they could hurriedly get together, they set out for the north and
found a refuge in the rocky slopes of the Pyrenees. The mountain passes
were not under the control of any of these Christian refugees, and the
Moors were free to advance on the fair fields of southern France so long
as they did not turn aside to molest the Spanish patriots. When they did
make such attack, the fortunes of war were generally against them, and
more than once those modes of mountain warfare were employed which at an
earlier date wrought such great havoc with the hosts of Charlemagne at
the pass of Roncesvalles. In these desperate conflicts, as in the olden
time when the Celtiberians were trying to beat back the power of Rome,
the women were not slow to take their place beside their fathers and
husbands at the first wild call to arms. The old Moorish leader Mousa
had spoken well when he told the kalif at Damascus that the Christians
of Spain were lions in their castles, and the Moors were repeatedly
given ample proof of the wisdom of his observation.
"Covadonga's conquering site
Cradle was of Spanish might,"
so says the old ballad. And what and where was Covadonga? At the far
western extremity of the Pyrenees, where the Sierra Penamerella thrusts
its rugged spur into the Atlantic, was a great mountain cavern,
Covadonga, large enough to shelter as many as three hundred men, and
there had gathered together the strongest of the Christian bands after
the Moorish victory in the south. A long, sinuous valley or ravine,
named Cangas, that is to say, the "shell," sloped down to the foothills
from the mouth of the cave and seemed to present an easy approach to the
stronghold. Pelayo, of the royal line of the Goths, had here been
proclaimed a king in 718, and here was the beginning of that kingdom of
Asturias and Leon which was later to become a mighty one in Spain. The
Moors soon tried to crush this growing power, which was a menace to
their own security. They sent an army under a chief named Al Kama, who
was to win over the recalcitrants by the offer of fair terms, if
possible; and if not, he was to storm their rude citadel and destroy
them utterly. The proposal for a shameful peace was indignantly
refused, and the Moors, confident of victory, and outnumbering the
Christian warriors many times, swept up the broad slope of the long and
winding valley to the cavern's mouth. The summits of the rocky walls on
either side were filled with people, many of them women, who were
waiting for the signal from Pelayo and his brave handful of followers.
When the foreguard of the Moors was near the entrance to the cave, the
king and his men, mounted, led the attack in front, and all along the
line the carnage began. Now let the Spanish ballad speak again:
"'In the name
Of God! For Spain or vengeance!' And forthwith
On either side along the whole defile,
The Asturians shouting: 'In the name of God!'
Set the whole ruin loose: huge trunks, and stones,
And loosened crags, down, down they rolled with rush
And bound and thundering force."
The mountain torrent which had its course along the valley was dyed red
with the pagan blood, and so great was the humiliation of the Moors that
the Arab chroniclers observe a discreet silence with regard to the
details of this defeat. But for the brave and valiant assistance of the
Spanish women this defeat might not have been possible.
Another instance of the bravery of the Spanish women, which at this
distance seems somewhat tinged with the air of comic opera, is connected
with the heroic defence of Orihuela. It was at the time of the Moorish
invasion, when the Gothic leaders, after their pitiful failure at
Guadalete, were seeking cover and scurrying off to places of safety,
closely pursued by the ardent sons of the Prophet. Duke Theodomir, hard
pressed in the mountains of Murcia, was obliged to ride for his life;
and with but few attendants, he finally succeeded in making his way,
after many adventures, to the walled town of Orihuela, with the enemy
close upon his heels. To prevent an immediate attack, gain time, and
circumvent the Moors in as many ways as possible, Theodomir had to think
quickly. The town was practically without a garrison when he entered it,
and his followers were too few in numbers to avail him much. Then it was
that the women of the town came to his assistance, offering to do what
he might command for the common safety. Theodomir clothed them in armor
at once, gave them spears and swords, ordered them to tie their hair
under their chins, that they might look like bearded men, and then
stationed his amazon warriors upon the walls and fortifications, where
they made such a brave parade that the Moors were afraid to attack the
city, and offered to parley with the Spaniards. Seizing upon this
favorable opportunity, Theodomir, disguised as a legate, and preceded by
his page, who played the part of a royal herald, boldly entered the
hostile camp, made his way to the tent of Abdul Aziz, the leader, and
there, by his consummate acting, succeeded in obtaining the province of
Murcia, together with seven cities which he was to hold under the kalif,
on condition of a yearly tribute. Such was the defence of Orihuela, and
while it involved no strenuous fighting, it was at the same time no
mediocre test of womanly daring. After the first few trying hours of the
masquerade had been passed, however, and it was evident that the ruse
had been successful, it may well be imagined that these feminine
warriors were not slow to see the humor of the situation, and many must
have been the jests as they passed each other upon the battlements, with
the Moors, far down below, completely awed by their warlike mien.
Dryden has said: "Women emasculate a monarch's reign;" and more than one
instance of the truth of this statement may be found in the court
annals of almost any country. The history of the little monarchies of
Spain in that chaotic, formative period, when the Christians were slowly
gaining in power and strength and preparing for the great final struggle
which was to overcome the turbaned invaders and consolidate the Spanish
interests, presents many chapters of exceeding interest wherein women
play no unimportant role, and the dowager-queen Teresa, mother of King
Sancho the Fat, of Leon, stands out as a prominent figure among them
all. Endowed with no mean portion of feminine art and cunning, she was
the author of a plot which gave inspiration for a whole cycle of
ballads. The bravest Christian champion in all Spain in the latter half
of the tenth century was Fernan Gonzalez, Count of Castile, a veritable
Spanish Warwick, who was held in such high esteem by his countrymen that
they inscribed upon his great carved tomb at Burgos: _A Fernan Gonzalez,
Libertador de Castilla, el mas excelente General de ese tiempo_ [To
Fernan Gonzalez, liberator of Castile, the greatest general of his
time]. His great success, however, in his forays against the Moors made
Dona Teresa fearful lest some harm might befall her sluggish son, King
Sancho. For some time Sancho had been on good terms with the Moors. He
had even journeyed to Cordova to consult a celebrated physician, and had
in many ways been treated with such favor by the kalif, Abd-el-Rhaman,
that people had begun to shake their heads and ask themselves whether
the ruler of Leon was doing all in his power for the good of
Christendom. After the great success of Gonzalez at Pedrahita, where the
Saracen invader Abu Alaxi suffered signal defeat, there was greater
dissatisfaction than ever with this do-nothing policy, and the Count of
Castile was hailed on every hand as the greatest of the Christian
warriors. Her jealousy aroused, Dona Teresa now resolved upon desperate
measures, ready to stop at nothing in her mad desire to overthrow
Gonzalez. On her advice, the count was summoned to Sancho's capital,
Oviedo, for a general conference in regard to matters of Christian
defence, and to Oviedo Gonzalez came, little suspecting the trap which
had been laid for him there. Dona Teresa knew that Gonzalez had lately
lost his wife, and she found opportunity during his stay, after many
words of fulsome flattery, in which she was no novice, to counsel him to
seek the hand of her niece, Dona Sancha, daughter of King Garcia of
Navarre. She even undertook to arrange this marriage for him and
promised to send her messengers on ahead, that the Navarrese court might
be ready to receive him in case he thought best to go at once to press
his suit. Gonzalez, at this moment a living example of Gay's couplet,
"And when a lady's in the case,
You know all other things give place,"
all inflamed by the glowing descriptions of Dona Sancha's beauty, and at
the same time fully aware of the political advantage which might follow
from this alliance with the powerful house of Navarre, was only too
eager to go on the moment, as the cunning Dona Teresa had supposed; and
he set out at once, leaving Oviedo amidst the sound of martial music,
with banners flying, and the populace cheering lustily and in all good
faith, for they loved this doughty hero. Dona Teresa had kept her word,
in that she had sent on her messengers ahead to announce his coming, but
the reception that she was preparing for him was far different from the
one which he had imagined. King Garcia was informed by his crafty sister
that Gonzalez was coming with an impudent demand for his daughter's
hand, and that for the general safety he should be seized and put into
one of the castle dungeons as soon as he appeared. Dona Sancha, the
prospective bride of his ardent imagination, was no party to all this,
for the rumors of Gonzalez's visit which had come to her ears had filled
her with excitement, and she looked forward to his coming with no little
fluttering of heart. King Garcia, however, was faithful to his sister's
command, and the poor Count Gonzalez, taken unawares, was promptly cast
into prison on his arrival. What Dona Sancha did on learning the
unworthy role she had been made to play in this sad event is well told
in the ballad which recounts the story, and here, as will be seen, a
Norman knight is made to act as her informant. The verses are in
Lockhart's admirable translation:
"The Norman feasts among the guests, but at the evening tide
He speaks to Garci's daughter within her bower aside:
'Now God forgive us, lady, and God His Mother dear,
For on a day of sorrow we have been blithe of cheer.
"'The Moors may well be joyful, but great should be our grief,
For Spain has lost her guardian, Castile hath lost her chief;
The Moorish host is pouring like a river o'er the land;
Curse on the Christian fetters that bind Goncales's hand.
"'Goncales loves thee, lady, he loved thee long ago,
But little is the kindness that for his love you show;
The curse that lies on Cava's head, it may be shared by thee.
Arise! let love with love be paid, and set Goncales free.'
"The lady answers little, but at the midst of night,
When all her maids are sleeping, she hath risen and ta'en her flight;
She hath tempted the alcayde with her jewels and her gold,
And unto her his prisoner, that jailer false hath sold.
"She took Goncales by the hand at the dawning of the day,
She said 'Upon the heath you stand, before you lies the way,
But if I to my father go--alas! what must I do!
My father will be angry--I fain would go with you.'"
It is perhaps needless to add that the fair Dona Sancha did go with the
gallant captain, and in the lofty cathedral at Burgos, which was his
capital, their wedding was celebrated in great state. At the conclusion
of the marriage feast, however, Gonzalez determined to punish the
faithless Garcia, and made war against him to such good effect that he
was made a prisoner and only released after the repeated intercessions
of his sister, Dona Teresa. Why Gonzalez should have listened to the
pleadings of Teresa after her treatment of him is rather hard to
imagine. A still further proof of his unsuspicious character is seen in
the fact that he allowed himself to be inveigled into going to Leon to
attend a meeting of the Cortes, and while there he was again imprisoned.
Such was the sum of Dona Teresa's iniquity, and all because she was in
the clutch of the green-eyed monster and put a higher value upon the
glory of her house than upon the glory of the Christian arms. This was
the occasion for the good wife Dona Sancha to show her courage and
loyalty, which stand out in striking contrast to the treacherous acts of
her jealous aunt. It was Shakespeare who said: "These women are shrewd
tempters with their tongues;" and as the alcayde had been won over at
the time of Gonzalez's first captivity, so now again Dona Sancha put her
nimble wits to work and devised another plan for his release. In robe of
sombre hue, she set out upon a pious pilgrimage to Santiago; and as her
way lay through Leon, where her husband languished in prison, she
resolved to tarry by the way for a short while and visit him in his
misery. Permission for such a visit was slow in coming, as Dona Teresa
was resolved this time that Gonzalez should not escape. After much
pleading, however, Dona Sancha had her way, and the prison doors swung
open before her. Once alone with her husband, she quickly changed
clothes with him; and the Count of Castile, in the garb of a woman, soon
after passed the jailers and found himself at liberty. By the time the
ruse was discovered, he was leagues away and in safety among his
friends. The wrath of Teresa and her son King Sancho may well be
imagined when the news was brought to them; but they resolved to take
the matter in a philosophic way, after the first moment of anger had
passed, and Dona Sancha was allowed to join her husband, going unharmed
from this unfriendly court.
In all this warring, romantic period of the tenth century, by far the
most interesting and thrilling tale is that of Dona Lambra and the Seven
Lords of Lara, and while the story is somewhat legendary and based
rather upon stirring ballads than upon authentic records, it must not be
forgotten here. Dona Lambra, a kinswoman of the Count of Castile, had
been married with great ceremony at Burgos to Ruy Velasquez,
brother-in-law to Don Gonzalo, Count of Lara in the Asturias; and during
the five weeks of pleasure and feasting which celebrated this happy
event, there were no knights in all the glittering throng more striking
in appearance and more admired for their many accomplishments than the
seven stalwart sons of Don Gonzalo, the nephews of the bridegroom, who
were called the Seven Lords of Lara. During the very last week of the
festivities a wooden target was set up upon the other side of the river,
and the knights threw light Moorish _djerrids_, or wooden javelins, at
it, each trying with a surer aim to outdo his fellows. Dona Lambra was
an interested spectator, and when at last Alvaro Sanchez, one of her
favorite cousins, struck the target full in the centre, she was more
than pleased, and declared that he was the best marksman of them all.
The Seven Lords of Lara had taken no part in this contest as yet, for
six of the brothers had been busily engaged in playing chess, and the
youngest of them all, Gonzalo Gonzales, had been standing idly by.
Piqued, however, by Dona Lambra's praise of her kinsman, young Gonzalo
threw himself upon his horse, rode to the river's edge, and hurled his
_djerrid_ with such force that he completely shattered the target far on
the other side. This unexpected turn of events so angered the bride that
she grew white with rage, and Alvaro vented his spleen in such abusive
language that Gonzalo dealt him a blow which struck him fairly upon the
mouth and knocked out his teeth. Thereat Dona Lambra cried out that no
maiden had ever been so dishonored at her wedding, and bloodshed was
narrowly averted by the interference of the Counts of Castile and Lara.
As it was feared that Ruy Velasquez might be urged on to vengeance by
his angered wife, he was induced to set out upon a trip through Castile
with many of the older knights, while the Seven Lords of Lara, in the
midst of a larger company, were left to escort the bride to her new home
at Bavardiello. Once arrived, the brothers went into the garden of the
palace, where Gonzalo, who was a devotee of falconry, was engaged in
bathing his favorite hawk, when suddenly, without warning, one of Dona
Lambra's slaves rushed upon him and threw in his face a gourd filled
with blood. In mediaeval Spain this was a most deadly insult, and all the
brothers drew their swords and rushed after the offender. They came upon
him crouching at Dona Lambra's feet, and there they killed him without
mercy, so that his blood was sprinkled upon her garments. Then, taking
their mother with them, they returned to their home at Salas. This time
Dona Lambra demanded vengeance in no uncertain tone, and Ruy Velasquez
began to plot in her behalf. The old Count of Lara was prevailed upon to
go to the kalif at Cordova, bearing a letter from Velasquez which was
supposedly of political import, but which was intended to be the count's
death warrant. The kalif, loath to put so brave a knight to death, cast
him into prison. Soon after, he made an attack upon the Christians.
Velasquez gathered an army to oppose him, and succeeded in getting the
young Lords of Lara to join him. In the midst of the battle, Velasquez
and his whole army deserted, leaving the seven youths and a small
company of retainers to fight alone against the Moorish host. Taken
prisoners, their heads were cut off and sent to Cordova, where the kalif
was cruel enough to present them to their imprisoned father for
identification. Now let the ballad take up the story:
"He took their heads up one by one, he kissed them o'er and o'er;
And aye ye saw the tears run down, I wot that grief was sore.
He closed the lids on their dead eyes, all with his fingers frail,
And handled all their bloody curls, and kissed their lips so pale.
"'Oh had ye died all by my side upon some famous day,
My fair young men, no weak tears then had washed your blood away;
The trumpet of Castile had drowned the misbelievers' horn,
And the last of all the Lara's line a Gothic spear had borne.'
"With that it chanced a man drew near to lead him from the place,
Old Lara stooped him down once more, and kissed Gonzalo's face;
But ere the man observed him, or could his gesture bar,
Sudden he from his side had grasped that Moslem's scymetar."
Before the count was overpowered he had killed thirteen of the Moors,
and then he begged that he might be put to death; but the kalif, on
learning all of the details of the treachery of Velasquez, restored the
count to liberty and sent him back to his wife in the castle at Salas.
The fate of the revengeful Dona Lambra is not recorded, but it is to be
hoped that she was made to atone in some way for all her savage rage.
About Ximena and her far-famed husband Don Rodrigo, widely known as the
Cid, many marvellous tales have been told, and it is a matter for regret
that so many of them are purely legendary. According to one of the
traditions, which was followed by the French dramatic poet Pierre
Corneille when he wrote his famous play, _Le Cid_, in 1636, Ximena is
given a much more prominent place in the story than that accorded to her
in history. According to this version, Don Diego, father of Don Rodrigo,
is given a mortal insult by the braggart Don Gomez, who is the father of
Ximena. Young Don Rodrigo, eager to avenge the slight put upon his aged
father, provokes Don Gomez to a duel and kills him. Ximena, who has
loved Don Rodrigo, overcome by these tragic events, is at a loss to know
what to do, and in her heart there is a fierce struggle between her love
for her lover and her respect for her father. This distressing situation
is relieved somewhat by the thought that Don Rodrigo, in killing her
father, has but avenged his own; but still her Spanish nature cries for
redress, and she appeals to King Fernan of Castile, at whose court all
these things have taken place. Believing her love for Don Rodrigo to be
stronger than her hatred, the king suddenly announces the death of
Rodrigo, which so surprises Ximena that she discloses her deep
affection, which she had made an attempt to conceal; whereat he
announces his intention to unite the two lovers as soon as Rodrigo
should have given further proof of his valor.
As a matter of fact, the Cid was a free-lance of undoubted bravery and
courage, who fought now with and now against the Moors; but in spite of
the fact that he was not always true to the same allegiance, he is
essentially a popular hero, as he represents a spirit of boldness and
independence which in itself is enough to endear him to the minds of the
people. His killing of Don Gomez in the manner described is extremely
doubtful, and history affords no details as to the manner of his wooing
or his wedding. But Ximena was his wife, shared in many of his
hardships, and at his death, in 1099, ruled in his stead for three
years at Valencia. Finally, much harried by the Moslems, who were ever
growing bolder, Ximena withdrew to Burgos, taking with her the body of
the Cid, embalmed in precious spices, and borne, as in the days of his
vigor, on the back of his great warhorse Babieca. The Cid was buried in
the monastery of Cardena, near Burgos; and there the brave Dona Ximena
was laid by his side at the time of her death, in 1104. Although a
number of fanciful stories have been told about the daughters of Ximena
and the doughty Cid, the fact remains that they had two daughters, who
married into some of the noblest houses of all Spain. The elder,
Christina, became the wife of Ramiro, Infante of Navarre; while the
younger, Maria, married Count Ramon Berenguer III. of Barcelona. After a
long series of intermarriages, to quote from Burke, in a double stream,
through the royal houses of Spain and of France, the blood of the Cid is
found to flow in the veins of his majesty Alfonso XIII., the reigning
King of Spain.
The religious side of Spanish life in the eleventh century, so far as
Christianity is concerned, centres about a woman, Constance of Burgundy,
the wife of King Alfonso VI. of Castile. This was the period when the
monk Hildebrand, become Pope Gregory VII., was endeavoring to unify the
power of the Roman Church and strengthen the authority of the papacy;
and as he had a devout woman, the Countess Matilda of Tuscany, to aid
him in Italy, so he had as his firm ally in Spain the pious Queen
Constance, daughter of King Robert of France. Constance was not a
Spanish woman, but the influence she exerted in Spain had such a
far-reaching effect that she cannot be overlooked in any category such
as the present. With Constance to Spain came the monk Bernard of Cluny,
a pale ascetic, who had just been leading a crusade against the
corruption existing in the Church itself, and whose whole life had been
devoted to serious things. The French court had been given over to works
of piety, the Church had great authority, and the clergy were held in
high esteem. When the French princess left this devout atmosphere to go
to sunny Spain, she had grave misgivings as to the frivolous and
irreverent character of her new subjects, and deemed it wise to take
with her as a friend and adviser the stern Bernard. The worst fears of
these two zealous Christians were more than realized. The king had
friendly intercourse with Moorish vassals, and Moslem and Christian
lived side by side in perfect harmony! That all this should be and at a
time when the same Moslem brood was defiling the place of the Holy
Sepulchre in far-off Palestine, and when the crusading spirit filled the
air, was almost beyond belief, and Constance and the monk were greatly
scandalized thereat. Totally without that toleration which comes with
experience, they could conceive of no religion as a good religion which
did not meet the rigid requirements of their own belief; and they
planned at once a Spanish crusade which was intended to improve the
general deplorable condition of public morals and at the same time to
modify, in a most radical way, the liturgy of the Spanish Church, which
was far too lax in points of discipline. Their conduct at the time of
the surrender of Toledo, in 1074, is a most excellent example of the
eager, yet thoughtless, way in which they went about their new work.
When King Alfonso, after an interval of more than three hundred years,
regained possession of the ancient capital of the Goths, the city from
which the luckless Rodrigo, the last of the Goths, was driven, Toledo
was surrendered on the express condition that the Moors should not be
disturbed in their religious beliefs and that they were to retain the
use of their mosques. Such terms with such an enemy appeared monstrous
to the queen. Especially did it seem a sin before God that the
principal mosque, the Alfaqui, the noblest building in all that fair
city which lay stretched out with many a gilded dome and minaret upon
its seven hills above the Tagus, should still be used for the worship of
a pagan people; and Constance and Bernard plotted together, piously, for
the triumph of the true religion. The first time that the king left the
city, Bernard, now Archbishop of Toledo, acting under the authority of
Queen Constance, went to the Alfaqui at the head of a company of monks
summoned from his monastery at Sahagun, opened the doors, set up
crosses, erected altars, hung bells, and then publicly summoned the
people to mass on the following morning. The king, upon his return, was
furious at this intolerant act, and was moved to threaten punishment;
but the Moors, satisfied by his indignation, displayed a real spirit of
toleration in asking for the pardon of the monks.
The queen and Bernard, successful in this first struggle, continued to
labor incessantly for the glory of the Church. The masterful Pope
Gregory VII., in his letter addressed to the princes of Spain, said:
"You are aware, I believe, that from the earliest times the kingdom of
Spain was the special patrimony of Saint Peter, and although pagans have
occupied it, it still belongs to the same master." The King of Castile
was not bold enough to deny this papal claim of overlordship, and
Gregory demanded as first proof of his submission that he should
substitute throughout his realm the Roman liturgy for the national or
Mozarabic ritual then in general use. Queen Constance and Bernard were
in favor of this reform, and they prevailed upon the king to accept it;
but it was a far different matter to secure its actual use at the hands
of the national clergy, who were strongly opposed to the change. In
spite of all her efforts the queen could do nothing, and finally, as a
compromise, it was decided to submit the question to the ordeal of trial
by battle. Two champions were duly appointed who fought before a most
august assembly over which the queen presided. The Knight of the Gothic
Missal, Don Juan Ruiz de Matanzas, killed the Champion of Rome, and was
not only victorious, but unscathed, much to the disgust of Constance and
her followers. The manifest disinclination to accept this result as
final made another ordeal necessary, and this time, in truly Spanish
style, a bull fight was resolved upon. The great arena at Toledo was
selected as the place where this ecclesiastical combat was to take
place, and on the appointed day the great amphitheatre was crowded with
an expectant multitude. The queen, the king, and the archbishop, backed
by black-robed monks, looked on with evident interest, hoping that this
time the scales would turn in their favor; but the people, expert in
contests of this kind, had already picked the Castilian bull as the
winner and had begun to wager their small coin as to the probable
duration of the fight. The people were right, the Roman _toro_ was
promptly slain, and once more the cause of Spain was triumphant. But the
queen was persistent, and in spite of the fact that the result of each
of these ordeals was popularly considered as a direct sign from heaven,
she refused to accept them as final, because her pet project had been
rejected. If the results had been different, there is little doubt but
that the ordeals would have been received as infallible. However, it was
not possible to cast a slight upon this time-honored procedure by any
act which might tend to throw it into disrepute, so the whole question
was dropped for the space of seven years. Queen Constance, in this
interval, carried on a quiet campaign which she hoped would lead
eventually to the adoption of the much discussed and twice rejected
liturgy, and at no time did she give up her hope. Rome, to her narrow
mind, must reign supreme in matters spiritual if the kingdom of Spain
was to have relations with the kingdom of heaven, and she did not
hesitate to ride rough-shod over the national clergy, to whom alone,
without any aid whatever from the pope, the recent Christian successes
in Spain had been due. When she considered the time ripe for some
radical action, Gregory sent his legate, the Cardinal Ricardo, to hold a
Church council at Burgos, and there it was formally decreed that the
Mozarabic ritual must be put aside in Castile. Before the formal
adoption of the Roman form, however, it was decided wise to resort once
more to a trial by ordeal, as the favorable issue of such a public test
would make it much easier to conquer the prejudices of the people. This
time, Constance advising it, the ordeal by fire was tried, and, as Miss
Yonge phrases it, "a great pile was erected in the market place of
Toledo for the most harmless _auto de fe_ that ever took place there."
Seats were built up on all sides in amphitheatre fashion, the queen, the
king, the court, and the dignitaries of the two clerical parties were
there in special boxes, and again were the people much in evidence, but
this time much in doubt as to the final outcome. When all was ready, the
torch was applied to the pile and the two volumes were committed to the
flames. The book which was not consumed by the fire was to be considered
acceptable to God. To the chagrin of the papal party, the Roman book was
utterly consumed, but the Gothic missal came forth unscathed. Although
there was great rejoicing at this final triumph for the national clergy,
the foreigners were in control, and the king, urged on by his wife,
decided to act upon his own responsibility, without regard for the
manifest judgment of heaven, and lost no time in giving his signature to
the decree of the Council of Burgos, which then went into immediate
effect. This time the people made no resistance, and, as has been said,
Spain became once more, after the lapse of nearly seven centuries, the
obedient province of Rome. In the succeeding centuries the influence of
Rome has been ever present and powerful in the affairs of the Spanish
peninsula, and whether for its weal or woe, which is not a matter for
consideration here, the fact remains that Queen Constance was the one
person in Spain who was most responsible for this state of affairs. Her
unflagging interest in the success of the papal party and her
perseverance in the face of the opposition of a majority of the Spanish
clergy made her the life of the whole movement, and to this day she is
held in grateful memory at the Holy See.