TOWARDS the middle of the fourteenth century, Toledo was laid under
siege by Don Enrique de Trastamara; but the city, faithful to the King
surnamed "the Cruel," offered a brave and obstinate resistance.
Often had the loyal and valiant Toledans crossed the magnificent bridge
of San Martin--one of the structures of greatest beauty of that city of
splendid erections--and had cast themselves on the encampment of Don
Enrique, which was pitched on the Cigarrales, causing sad havoc to the
besieging army.
In order to prevent the repetition of these attacks, Don Enrique
resolved upon destroying the bridge.
The Cigarrales, upon which the army was encamped, were beautiful lands
enclosing luxuriant orchards, pleasure gardens, and summer residences.
The fame of their beauty had inspired Tirso and many Spanish poets to
sing its praises.
One night the luxuriant trees were cut down by the soldiers of Don
Enrique, and heaped upon the bridge. At day-dawn an immense fire raged
on the bridge of San Martin, which assumed huge proportions, its
sinister gleams lighting up the devastating hordes, the flowing current
of the Tagus, the Palace of Don Rodrigo, and the little Arab Tower. The
crackling of the strong and massive pillars, worked with all the
exquisite skill of the artificers who created the marvels of the
Alhambra, sounded like the piteous cry of Art oppressed by barbarism.
The Toledans, awakened by this terrible spectacle, ran to save the
beautiful erection from the utter ruin which menaced it, but all their
efforts were unavailing. A tremendous crash, which resounded throughout
the creeks and valleys watered by the Tagus, told them that the bridge
no longer existed.
Alas! it was too true!
When the rising sun gilded the cupolas of the Imperial City, the Toledan
maidens who came down to the river to fill their pitchers from the pure
and crystal stream, returned sorrowfully with empty pitchers on their
heads; the clear waters had become turbid and muddy, for the roaring
waves were carrying down the still smoking ruins of the bridge.
[Illustration: "MAIDENS RETURNED SORROWFULLY WITH EMPTY PITCHERS."]
Popular indignation rose to its highest pitch, and overflowed all
limits; for the bridge of San Martin was the only path that led to the
lovely Cigarrales.
Joining their forces for one supreme effort, the Toledans made a furious
onslaught on the camp, and, after blood had flowed in torrents,
compelled the army to take flight.