Death of King Fernando.
When King Fernando had regulated everything for the good government
and prosperity of Seville, he sallied forth with his conquering army
to subdue the surrounding country. He soon brought under subjection
Xerez, Medina Sidonia, Alua, Bepel, and many other places near the
sea-coast; some surrendered voluntarily, others were taken by force;
he maintained a strict peace with his vassal the King of Granada,
but finding not sufficient scope for his arms in Spain, and being
inflamed with a holy zeal in the cause of the faith, he determined to
pass over into Africa, and retaliate upon the Moslems their daring
invasion of his country. For this purpose he ordered a powerful
armada to be prepared in the ports of Cantabria, to be put under the
command of the bold Admiral Bonifaz.
In the midst of his preparations, which spread consternation
throughout Mauritania, the pious king fell dangerously ill at Seville
of a dropsy. When he found his dying hour approaching, he made
his death-bed confession, and requested the holy Sacrament to be
administered to him. A train of bishops and other clergy, among whom
was his son Philip, Archbishop of Seville, brought the Sacrament
into his presence. The king rose from his bed, threw himself on
his knees, with a rope round his neck and a crucifix in his hand,
and poured forth his soul in penitence and prayer. Having received
the _viatica_ and the holy Sacrament, he commanded all ornaments
of royalty to be taken from his chamber. He assembled his children
round his bedside, and blessed his son the Prince Alfonso, as his
first-born and the heir of his throne, giving him excellent advice
for the government of his kingdom, and charging him to protect the
interests of his brethren. The pious king afterwards fell into an
ecstasy or trance, in which he beheld angels watching round his bed
to bear his soul to heaven. He awoke from this in a state of heavenly
rapture, and, asking for a candle, he took it in his hand and made
his ultimate profession of the faith. He then requested the clergy
present to repeat the litanies, and to chant the _Te Deum Laudamus_.
In chanting the first verse of the hymn, the king gently inclined
his head, with perfect serenity of countenance, and rendered up his
spirit. “The hymn,” says the ancient chronicle, “which was begun on
earth by men, was continued by the voices of angels, which were heard
by all present.” These doubtless were the angels which the king in
his ecstasy had beheld around his couch, and which now accompanied
him, in his glorious ascent to heaven, with songs of holy triumph.
Nor was it in his chamber alone that these voices were heard, but in
all the royal alcazars of Seville, the sweetest voices were heard in
the air and seraphic music, as of angelic choirs, at the moment that
the sainted king expired.[99] He died on the 30th of May, the vespers
of the Holy Trinity, in the year of the Incarnation one thousand
two hundred and forty-two, aged seventy-three years—having reigned
thirty-five years over Castile and twenty over Leon.
[99] Pablo de Espinosa, _Grandesas de Sevilla_, fol. 146.
_Cronica del Santo Rey_, c. 78. _Corona Gothica_, T. 3, p. 166.
Two days after his death he was interred in his royal chapel in the
Holy Church, in a sepulchre of alabaster, which still remains. It is
asserted by grave authors that at the time of putting his body in the
sepulchre, the choir of angels again was heard chanting his eulogium,
and filling the air with sweet melody in praise of his virtues.[100]
[100] Argote de Molina, _Nobleza de Andaluzia_, L. 1, c. 21.
Tomas Bocio, _Signales de la Iglesia_, L. 20. Don Rodrigo
Sanchez, Bishop of Palencia, pt. 3, c. 40.
When Alhamar, the Moorish king of Granada, heard of his death, he
caused great demonstrations of mourning to be made throughout his
dominions. During his life he sent yearly a number of Moors with one
hundred wax tapers, to assist at his exequies, which ceremony was
observed by his successors, until the time of the conquest of Granada
by Fernando the Catholic.[101]
[101] Pablo de Espinosa, fol. 146.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SPANISH ROMANCE.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SPANISH ROMANCE.
_To the Editor of “The Knickerbocker”:—_
Sir,—I have already given you a legend or two, drawn from ancient
Spanish sources, and may occasionally give you a few more. I love
these old Spanish themes, especially when they have a dash of the
Morisco in them, and treat of the times when the Moslems maintained
a foothold in the peninsula. They have a high, spicy, oriental
flavor, not to be found in any other themes that are merely European.
In fact, Spain is a country that stands alone in the midst of
Europe—severed in habits, manners, and modes of thinking from all
its continental neighbors. It is a romantic country; but its romance
has none of the sentimentality of modern European romance; it is
chiefly derived from the brilliant regions of the East, and from the
high-minded school of Saracenic chivalry.
The Arab invasion and conquest brought a higher civilization, and
a nobler style of thinking into Gothic Spain. The Arabs were a
quick-witted, sagacious, proud-spirited, and poetical people, and
were imbued with oriental science and literature. Wherever they
established a seat of power, it became a rallying-place for the
learned and ingenious; and they softened and refined the people
whom they conquered. By degrees, occupancy seemed to give them a
hereditary right to their foothold in the land; they ceased to be
looked upon as invaders, and were regarded as rival neighbors. The
peninsula, broken up into a variety of states, both Christian and
Moslem, became for centuries a great campaigning ground, where the
art of war seemed to be the principal business of man, and was
carried to the highest pitch of romantic chivalry. The original
ground of hostility, a difference of faith, gradually lost its
rancor. Neighboring states, of opposite creeds, were occasionally
linked together in alliances, offensive and defensive; so that the
Cross and Crescent were to be seen side by side, fighting against
some common enemy. In times of peace, too, the noble youth of either
faith resorted to the same cities, Christian or Moslem, to school
themselves in military science. Even in the temporary truces of
sanguinary wars, the warriors who had recently striven together in
the deadly conflicts of the field, laid aside their animosity, met at
tournaments, jousts, and other military festivities, and exchanged
the courtesies of gentle and generous spirits. Thus the opposite
races became frequently mingled together in peaceful intercourse, or
if any rivalry took place, it was in those high courtesies and nobler
acts which bespeak the accomplished cavalier. Warriors of opposite
creeds became ambitious of transcending each other in magnanimity
as well as valor. Indeed, the chivalric virtues were refined upon to
a degree sometimes fastidious and constrained, but at other times
inexpressibly noble and affecting. The annals of the times teem with
illustrious instances of high-wrought courtesy, romantic generosity,
lofty disinterestedness, and punctilious honor, that warm the very
soul to read them. These have furnished themes for national plays
and poems, or have been celebrated in those all-pervading ballads,
which are as the life-breath of the people, and thus have continued
to exercise an influence on the national character which centuries
of vicissitude and decline have not been able to destroy; so that,
with all their faults, and they are many, the Spaniards, even at
the present day, are, on many points, the most high-minded and
proud-spirited people of Europe. It is true, the romance of feeling
derived from the sources I have mentioned has, like all other
romance, its affectations and extremes. It renders the Spaniard at
times pompous and grandiloquent; prone to carry the “pundonor,” or
point of honor, beyond the bounds of sober sense and sound morality;
disposed, in the midst of poverty, to affect the “grande caballero,”
and to look down with sovereign disdain upon arts “mechanical,” and
all the gainful pursuits of plebeian life; but this very inflation
of spirit, while it fills his brain with vapors, lifts him above a
thousand meannesses; and though it often keeps him in indigence, ever
protects him from vulgarity.
In the present day when popular literature is running into the
low levels of life, and luxuriating on the vices and follies of
mankind; and when the universal pursuit of gain is trampling down the
early growth of poetic feeling, and wearing out the verdure of the
soul, I question whether it would not be of service for the reader
occasionally to turn to these records of prouder times and loftier
modes of thinking, and to steep himself to the very lips in old
Spanish romance.
For my own part, I have a shelf or two of venerable, parchment-bound
tomes, picked up here and there about the peninsula, and filled with
chronicles, plays, and ballads about Moors and Christians, which
I keep by me as mental tonics, in the same way that a provident
house-wife has her cupboard of cordials. Whenever I find my mind
brought below par, by the common-place of every-day life, or jarred
by the sordid collisions of the world, or put out of tune by the
shrewd selfishness of modern utilitarianism, I resort to these
venerable tomes, as did the worthy hero of La Mancha to his books
of chivalry, and refresh and tone up my spirit by a deep draught
of their contents. They have some such effect upon me as Falstaff
ascribes to a good Sherris sack, “warming the blood, and filling the
brain with fiery and delectable shapes.”
I here subjoin, Mr. Editor, a small specimen of the cordials I have
mentioned, just drawn from my Spanish cupboard, which I recommend to
your palate. If you find it to your taste, you may pass it on to your
readers.
Your correspondent and well-wisher,
GEOFFREY CRAYON.
[Illustration]
LEGEND OF DON MUNIO SANCHO DE HINOJOSA.
In the cloisters of the ancient Benedictine convent of San Domingo,
at Silos, in Castile, are the mouldering yet magnificent monuments
of the once powerful and chivalrous family of Hinojosa. Among these
reclines the marble figure of a knight, in complete armor, with the
hands pressed together, as if in prayer. On one side of his tomb
is sculptured, in relief, a band of Christian cavaliers capturing
a cavalcade of male and female Moors; on the other side, the same
cavaliers are represented kneeling before an altar. The tomb, like
most of the neighboring monuments, is almost in ruins, and the
sculpture is nearly unintelligible, excepting to the keen eye of the
antiquary. The story connected with the sepulchre, however, is still
preserved in the old Spanish chronicles, and is to the following
purport:—
In old times, several hundred years ago, there was a noble Castilian
cavalier, named Don Munio Sancho de Hinojosa, lord of a border
castle, which had stood the brunt of many a Moorish foray. He
had seventy horsemen as his household troops, all of the ancient
Castilian proof; stark warriors, hard riders, and men of iron: with
these he scoured the Moorish lands, and made his name terrible
throughout the borders. His castle hall was covered with banners
and scimetars and Moslem helms, the trophies of his prowess. Don
Munio was, moreover, a keen huntsman; and rejoiced in hounds of all
kinds, steeds for the chase, and hawks for the towering sport of
falconry. When not engaged in warfare, his delight was to beat up
the neighboring forests; and scarcely ever did he ride forth without
hound and horn, a boar-spear in his hand, or a hawk upon his fist,
and an attendant train of huntsmen.
His wife, Doña Maria Palacin, was of a gentle and timid nature,
little fitted to be the spouse of so hardy and adventurous a knight;
and many a tear did the poor lady shed when he sallied forth upon his
daring enterprises, and many a prayer did she offer up for his safety.
As this doughty cavalier was one day hunting, he stationed himself
in a thicket, on the borders of a green glade of the forest, and
dispersed his followers to rouse the game and drive it towards his
stand. He had not been here long when a cavalcade of Moors, of both
sexes, came pranking over the forest lawn. They were unarmed, and
magnificently dressed in robes of tissue and embroidery, rich shawls
of India, bracelets and anklets of gold, and jewels that sparkled in
the sun.
At the head of this gay cavalcade rode a youthful cavalier, superior
to the rest in dignity and loftiness of demeanor, and in splendor
of attire; beside him was a damsel, whose veil, blown aside by the
breeze, displayed a face of surpassing beauty, and eyes cast down in
maiden modesty, yet beaming with tenderness and joy.
Don Munio thanked his stars for sending him such a prize, and exulted
at the thought of bearing home to his wife the glittering spoils of
these infidels. Putting his hunting-horn to his lips, he gave a blast
that rung through the forest. His huntsmen came running from all
quarters, and the astonished Moors were surrounded and made captives.
The beautiful Moor wrung her hands in despair, and her female
attendants uttered the most piercing cries. The young Moorish
cavalier alone retained self-possession. He inquired the name of the
Christian knight who commanded this troop of horsemen. When told
that it was Don Munio Sancho de Hinojosa, his countenance lighted
up. Approaching that cavalier, and kissing his hand, “Don Munio
Sancho,” said he, “I have heard of your fame as a true and valiant
knight, terrible in arms, but schooled in the noble virtues of
chivalry. Such do I trust to find you. In me you behold Abadil, son
of a Moorish alcaid. I am on the way to celebrate my nuptials with
this lady; chance has thrown us in your power, but I confide in your
magnanimity. Take all our treasure and jewels; demand what ransom you
think proper for our persons, but suffer us not to be insulted or
dishonored.”
When the good knight heard this appeal, and beheld the beauty of the
youthful pair, his heart was touched with tenderness and courtesy.
“God forbid,” said he, “that I should disturb such happy nuptials. My
prisoners in troth shall ye be, for fifteen days, and immured within
my castle, where I claim, as conqueror, the right of celebrating your
espousals.”
So saying, he dispatched one of his fleetest horsemen in advance, to
notify Doña Maria Palacin of the coming of this bridal party; while
he and his huntsmen escorted the cavalcade, not as captors, but as
a guard of honor. As they drew near to the castle, the banners were
hung out, and the trumpets sounded from the battlements; and on
their nearer approach, the drawbridge was lowered, and Doña Maria
came forth to meet them, attended by her ladies and knights, her
pages and her minstrels. She took the young bride, Allifra, in her
arms, kissed her with the tenderness of a sister, and conducted her
into the castle. In the mean time, Don Munio sent forth missives in
every direction, and had viands and dainties of all kinds collected
from the country round; and the wedding of the Moorish lovers was
celebrated with all possible state and festivity. For fifteen days
the castle was given up to joy and revelry. There were tiltings and
jousts at the ring, and bull-fights, and banquets, and dances to the
sound of minstrelsy. When the fifteen days were at an end, he made
the bride and bridegroom magnificent presents, and conducted them and
their attendants safely beyond the borders. Such, in old times, were
the courtesy and generosity of a Spanish cavalier.
Several years after this event, the king of Castile summoned his
nobles to assist him in a campaign against the Moors. Don Munio
Sancho was among the first to answer to the call, with seventy
horsemen, all stanch and well-tried warriors. His wife, Doña Maria,
hung about his neck. “Alas, my lord!” exclaimed she, “how often wilt
thou tempt thy fate, and when will thy thirst for glory be appeased?”
“One battle more,” replied Don Munio, “one battle more, for the honor
of Castile, and I here make a vow that when this is over, I will
lay by my sword, and repair with my cavaliers in pilgrimage to the
Sepulchre of our Lord at Jerusalem.” The cavaliers all joined with
him in the vow, and Doña Maria felt in some degree soothed in spirit;
still, she saw with a heavy heart the departure of her husband, and
watched his banner with wistful eyes, until it disappeared among the
trees of the forest.
The king of Castile led his army to the plains of Salmanara, where
they encountered the Moorish host, near to Ucles. The battle was long
and bloody; the Christians repeatedly wavered, and were as often
rallied by the energy of their commanders. Don Munio was covered with
wounds, but refused to leave the field. The Christians at length
gave way, and the king was hardly pressed, and in danger of being
captured.
Don Munio called upon his cavaliers to follow him to the rescue. “Now
is the time,” cried he, “to prove your loyalty. Fall to, like brave
men! We fight for the true faith, and if we lose our lives here, we
gain a better life hereafter.”
Rushing with his men between the king and his pursuers, they checked
the latter in their career, and gave time for their monarch to
escape; but they fell victims to their loyalty. They all fought
to the last gasp. Don Munio was singled out by a powerful Moorish
knight, but having been wounded in the right arm, he fought to
disadvantage, and was slain. The battle being over, the Moor paused
to possess himself of the spoils of this redoubtable Christian
warrior. When he unlaced the helmet, however, and beheld the
countenance of Don Munio, he gave a great cry; and smote his breast.
“Woe is me?” cried he, “I have slain my benefactor! the flower of
knightly virtue! the most magnanimous of cavaliers!”
While the battle had been raging on the plain of Salmanara, Doña
Maria Palacin remained in her castle, a prey to the keenest anxiety.
Her eyes were ever fixed on the road that led from the country of the
Moors, and often she asked the watchman of the tower, “What seest
thou?”
One evening, at the shadowy hour of twilight, the warden sounded his
horn. “I see,” cried he, “a numerous train winding up the valley.
There are mingled Moors and Christians. The banner of my lord is in
the advance. Joyful tidings!” exclaimed the old seneschal; “my lord
returns in triumph, and brings captives!” Then the castle courts
rang with shouts of joy; and the standard was displayed, and the
trumpets were sounded, and the drawbridge was lowered, and Doña Maria
went forth with her ladies, and her knights, and her pages, and her
minstrels, to welcome her lord from the wars. But as the train drew
nigh, she beheld a sumptuous bier, covered with black velvet, and on
it lay a warrior, as if taking his repose; he lay in his armor, with
his helmet on his head, and his sword in his hand, as one who had
never been conquered, and around the bier were the escutcheons of the
house of Hinojosa.
A number of Moorish cavaliers attended the bier, with emblems of
mourning and with dejected countenances; and their leader cast
himself at the feet of Doña Maria, and hid his face in his hands. She
beheld in him the gallant Abadil, whom she had once welcomed with his
bride to her castle, but who now came with the body of her lord, whom
he had unknowingly slain in battle!
The sepulchre erected in the cloisters of the Convent of San Domingo
was achieved at the expense of the Moor Abadil, as a feeble testimony
of his grief for the death of the good knight Don Munio, and his
reverence for his memory. The tender and faithful Doña Maria soon
followed her lord to the tomb. On one of the stones of a small arch,
beside his sepulchre, is the following simple inscription: “_Hic
jacet Maria Palacin, uxor Munonis Sancij De Hinojosa_:” Here lies
Maria Palacin, wife of Munio Sancho de Hinojosa.
The legend of Don Munio Sancho does not conclude with his death.
On the same day on which the battle took place on the plain of
Salmanara, a chaplain of the Holy Temple at Jerusalem, while standing
at the outer gate, beheld a train of Christian cavaliers advancing,
as if in pilgrimage. The chaplain was a native of Spain, and as the
pilgrims approached, he knew the foremost to be Don Munio Sancho de
Hinojosa, with whom he had been well acquainted in former times.
Hastening to the patriarch, he told him of the honorable rank of the
pilgrims at the gate. The patriarch, therefore, went forth with a
grand procession of priests and monks, and received the pilgrims with
all due honor. There were seventy cavaliers, beside their leader,
all stark and lofty warriors. They carried their helmets in their
hands, and their faces were deadly pale. They greeted no one, nor
looked either to the right or to the left, but entered the chapel,
and kneeling before the Sepulchre of our Saviour, performed their
orisons in silence. When they had concluded, they rose as if to
depart, and the patriarch and his attendants advanced to speak to
them, but they were no more to be seen. Every one marveled what could
be the meaning of this prodigy. The patriarch carefully noted down
the day, and sent to Castile to learn tidings of Don Munio Sancho
de Hinojosa. He received for reply, that on the very day specified
that worthy knight, with seventy of his followers, had been slain in
battle. These, therefore, must have been the blessed spirits of those
Christian warriors, come to fulfill their vow of a pilgrimage to the
Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem. Such was Castilian faith in the olden
time, which kept its word, even beyond the grave.
If any one should doubt of the miraculous apparition of these phantom
knights, let him consult the “History of the Kings of Castile and
Leon,” by the learned and pious Fray Prudencio de Sandoval, Bishop of
Pamplona, where he will find it recorded in the History of the King
Don Alonzo VI., on the hundred and second page. It is too precious a
legend to be lightly abandoned to the doubter.
THE END.