Part 5

Thou judgest well, the old man replied. I too Seek the Cantabrian Prince, the hope of Spain, With other tidings charged, for other end Design’d, yet such as well may work with thine. My noble Mistress sends me to avert The shame that threats his house. The renegade Numacian, he who for the infidels Oppresses Gegio, insolently woos His sister. Moulded in a wicked womb, The unworthy Guisla hath inherited Her Mother’s leprous taint; and willingly She to the circumcised and upstart slave, Disdaining all admonishment, gives ear. The Lady Gaudiosa sees in this, With the quick foresight of maternal care, The impending danger to her husband’s house, Knowing his generous spirit ne’er will brook The base alliance. Guisla lewdly sets His will at nought; but that vile renegade, From hatred, and from avarice, and from fear, Will seek the extinction of Pelayo’s line. This too my venerable Mistress sees; Wherefore these valiant and high-minded dames Send me to Cordoba; that if the Prince Cannot by timely interdiction stop The irrevocable act of infamy, He may at least to his own safety look, Being timely warn’d. Thy Mistress sojourns then With Gaudiosa, in Pelayo’s hall? Said Roderick. ’Tis her natural home, rejoin’d Siverian: Chindasuintho’s royal race Have ever shared one lot of weal or woe: And she who hath beheld her own fair shoot, The goodly summit of that ancient tree, Struck by Heaven’s bolt, seeks shelter now beneath The only branch of its majestic stem That still survives the storm. Thus they pursued Their journey, each from other gathering store For thought, with many a silent interval Of mournful meditation, till they saw The temples and the towers of Cordoba Shining majestic in the light of eve. Before them Betis roll’d his glittering stream, In many a silvery winding traced afar Amid the ample plain. Behind the walls And stately piles which crown’d its margin, rich With olives, and with sunny slope of vines, And many a lovely hamlet interspersed, Whose citron bowers were once the abode of peace, Height above height, receding hills were seen Imbued with evening hues; and over all The summits of the dark sierra rose, Lifting their heads amid the silent sky. The traveller who with a heart at ease Had seen the goodly vision, would have loved To linger, seeking with insatiate sight To treasure up its image, deep impress’d, A joy for years to come. O Cordoba, Exclaim’d the old man, how princely are thy towers, How fair thy vales, thy hills how beautiful! The sun who sheds on thee his parting smiles Sees not in all his wide career a scene Lovelier, nor more exuberantly blest By bounteous earth and heaven. The very gales Of Eden waft not from the immortal bowers Odours to sense more exquisite, than these Which, breathing from thy groves and gardens, now Recall in me such thoughts of bitterness. The time has been when happy was their lot Who had their birthright here; but happy now Are they who to thy bosom are gone home, Because they feel not in their graves the feet That trample upon Spain. ’Tis well that age Hath made me like a child, that I can weep: My heart would else have broken, overcharged, And I, false servant, should lie down to rest Before my work is done. Hard by their path, A little way without the walls, there stood An edifice, whereto, as by a spell, Siverian’s heart was drawn. Brother, quoth he, ’Tis like the urgency of our return Will brook of no retardment; and this spot It were a sin if I should pass, and leave Unvisited. Beseech you turn with me, The while I offer up one duteous prayer.

Roderick made no reply. He had not dared To turn his face toward those walls; but now He follow’d where the old man led the way. Lord! in his heart the silent sufferer said, Forgive my feeble soul, which would have shrunk From this, ... for what am I that I should put The bitter cup aside! O let my shame And anguish be accepted in thy sight!

VI.

RODERICK IN TIMES PAST.

The mansion whitherward they went, was one Which in his youth Theodofred had built: Thither had he brought home in happy hour His blooming bride; there fondled on his knee The lovely boy she bore him. Close beside, A temple to that Saint he rear’d, who first, As old tradition tells, proclaim’d to Spain The gospel-tidings; and in health and youth, There mindful of mortality, he saw His sepulchre prepared. Witiza took For his adulterous leman and himself The stately pile: but to that sepulchre, When from captivity and darkness death Enlarged him, was Theodofred consign’d; For that unhappy woman, wasting then Beneath a mortal malady, at heart Was smitten, and the Tyrant at her prayer This poor and tardy restitution made. Soon the repentant sinner follow’d him; And calling on Pelayo ere she died, For his own wrongs, and for his father’s death, Implored forgiveness of her absent child, ... If it were possible he could forgive Crimes black as her’s, she said. And by the pangs Of her remorse, ... by her last agonies, ... The unutterable horrors of her death, ... And by the blood of Jesus on the cross For sinners given, did she beseech his prayers In aid of her most miserable soul. Thus mingling sudden shrieks with hopeless vows, And uttering franticly Pelayo’s name, And crying out for mercy in despair, Here had she made her dreadful end, and here Her wretched body was deposited. That presence seem’d to desecrate the place: Thenceforth the usurper shunn’d it with the heart Of conscious guilt; nor could Rusilla bear These groves and bowers, which, like funereal shades, Opprest her with their monumental forms: One day of bitter and severe delight, When Roderick came for vengeance, she endured, And then for ever left her bridal halls.

Oh when I last beheld yon princely pile, Exclaim’d Siverian, with what other thoughts Full, and elate of spirit, did I pass Its joyous gates! The weedery which through The interstices of those neglected courts Uncheck’d had flourish’d long, and seeded there, Was trampled then and bruised beneath the feet Of thronging crowds. Here drawn in fair array, The faithful vassals of my master’s house, Their javelins sparkling to the morning sun, Spread their triumphant banners; high-plumed helms Rose o’er the martial ranks, and prancing steeds Made answer to the trumpet’s stirring voice; While yonder towers shook the dull silence off Which long to their deserted walls had clung, And with redoubling echoes swell’d the shout That hail’d victorious Roderick. Louder rose The acclamation, when the dust was seen Rising beneath his chariot-wheels far off; But nearer as the youthful hero came, All sounds of all the multitude were hush’d, And from the thousands and ten thousands here, Whom Cordoba and Hispalis sent forth, ... Yea whom all Bætica, all Spain pour’d out To greet his triumph, ... not a whisper rose To Heaven, such awe and reverence master’d them, Such expectation held them motionless. Conqueror and King he came; but with no joy Of conquest, and no pride of sovereignty That day display’d; for at his father’s grave Did Roderick come to offer up his vow Of vengeance well perform’d. Three coal-black steed Drew on his ivory chariot: by his side, Still wrapt in mourning for the long-deceased, Rusilla state; a deeper paleness blanch’d Her faded countenance, but in her eye The light of her majestic nature shone. Bound, and expecting at their hands the death So well deserved, Witiza follow’d them; Aghast and trembling, first he gazed around, Wildly from side to side; then from the face Of universal execration shrunk, Hanging his wretched head abased; and poor Of spirit, with unmanly tears deplored His fortune, not his crimes. With bolder front, Confiding in his priestly character, Came Orpas next; and then the spurious race Whom in unhappy hour Favila’s wife Brought forth for Spain. O mercy ill bestow’d, When Roderick, in compassion for their youth, And for Pelayo’s sake, forebore to crush The brood of vipers! Err perchance he might, Replied the Goth, suppressing as he spake All outward signs of pain, though every word Went like a dagger to his bleeding heart; ... But sure, I ween, that error is not placed Among his sins. Old man, thou mayest regret The mercy ill deserved, and worse return’d, But not for this wouldst thou reproach the King!

Reproach him? cried Siverian; ... I reproach My child, ... my noble boy, ... whom every tongue Bless’d at that hour, ... whose love fill’d every heart With joy, and every eye with joyful tears! My brave, my beautiful, my generous boy! Brave, beautiful, and generous as he was, Never so brave, so beautiful, so great As then, ... not even on that glorious day, When on the field of victory, elevate Amid the thousands who acclaim’d him King, Firm on the shield above their heads upraised, Erect he stood, and waved his bloody sword.... Why dost thou shake thy head as if in doubt? I do not dream, nor fable! Ten short years Have scarcely past away, since all within The Pyrenean hills, and the three seas Which girdle Spain, echoed in one response The acclamation from that field of fight.... Or doth aught ail thee, that thy body quakes And shudders thus? ’Tis but a chill, replied The King, in passing from the open air Under the shadow of this thick-set grove.

Oh! if this scene awoke in thee such thoughts As swell my bosom here, the old man pursued, Sunshine, or shade, and all things from without, Would be alike indifferent. Gracious God, Only but ten short years, ... and all so changed! Ten little years since in yon court he check’d His fiery steeds. The steeds obey’d his hand, The whirling wheels stood still, and when he leapt Upon the pavement, the whole people heard, In their deep silence, open-ear’d, the sound. With slower movement from the ivory seat Rusilla rose, her arm, as down she stept, Extended to her son’s supporting hand; Not for default of firm or agile strength, But that the feeling of that solemn hour Subdued her then, and tears bedimm’d her sight. Howbeit when to her husband’s grave she came, On the sepulchral stone she bow’d her head Awhile; then rose collectedly, and fix’d Upon the scene her calm and steady eye. Roderick, ... oh when did valour wear a form So beautiful, so noble, so august? Or vengeance, when did it put on before A character so aweful, so divine? Roderick stood up, and reaching to the tomb His hands, my hero cried, Theodofred! Father! I stand before thee once again, According to thy prayer, when kneeling down Between thy knees I took my last farewell; And vow’d by all thy sufferings, all thy wrongs, And by my mother’s days and nights of woe, Her silent anguish, and the grief which then Even from thee she did not seek to hide, That if our cruel parting should avail To save me from the Tyrant’s jealous guilt, Surely should my avenging sword fulfil Whate’er he omen’d. Oh that time, I cried, Would give the strength of manhood to this arm, Already would it find a manly heart To guide it to its purpose! And I swore Never again to see my father’s face, Nor ask my mother’s blessing, till I brought, Dead or in chains, the Tyrant to thy feet. Boy as I was, before all Saints in Heaven, And highest God, whose justice slumbereth not, I made the vow. According to thy prayer, In all things, O my father, is that vow Perform’d, alas too well! for thou didst pray, While looking up I felt the burning tears Which from thy sightless sockets stream’d, drop down, ... That to thy grave, and not thy living feet, The oppressor might be led. Behold him there, ... Father! Theodofred! no longer now In darkness, from thy heavenly seat look down, And see before thy grave thine enemy In bonds, awaiting judgment at my hand!

Thus while the hero spake, Witiza stood Listening in agony, with open mouth, And head, half-raised, toward his sentence turn’d; His eye-lids stiffen’d and pursed up, ... his eyes Rigid, and wild, and wide; and when the King Had ceased, amid the silence which ensued, The dastard’s chains were heard, link against link Clinking. At length upon his knees he fell, And lifting up his trembling hands, outstretch’d In supplication, ... Mercy! he exclaim’d.... Chains, dungeons, darkness, ... any thing but death!... I did not touch his life. Roderick replied, His hour, whenever it had come, had found A soul prepared: he lived in peace with Heaven, And life prolong’d for him, was bliss delay’d. But life, in pain and darkness and despair, For thee, all leprous as thou art with crimes, Is mercy.... Take him hence, and let him see The light of day no more! Such Roderick was When last I saw these courts, ... his theatre Of glory; ... such when last I visited My master’s grave! Ten years have hardly held Their course, ... ten little years ... break, break, old heart.... Oh why art thou so tough! As thus he spake They reach’d the church. The door before his hand Gave way; both blinded with their tears, they went Straight to the tomb; and there Siverian knelt, And bow’d his face upon the sepulchre, Weeping aloud; while Roderick, overpower’d, And calling upon earth to cover him, Threw himself prostrate on his father’s grave.

Thus as they lay, an aweful voice in tones Severe address’d them. Who are ye, it said, That with your passion thus, and on this night, Disturb my prayers? Starting they rose; there stood A man before them of majestic form And stature, clad in sackcloth, bare of foot, Pale, and in tears, with ashes on his head.

VII.

RODERICK AND PELAYO.

’Twas not in vain that on her absent son, Pelayo’s mother from the bed of death Call’d for forgiveness, and in agony Besought his prayers; all guilty as she was, Sure he had not been human, if that cry Had fail’d to pierce him. When he heard the tale He bless’d the messenger, even while his speech Was faltering, ... while from head to foot he shook With icey feelings from his inmost heart Effused. It changed the nature of his woe, Making the burthen more endurable: The life-long sorrow that remain’d, became A healing and a chastening grief, and brought His soul, in close communion, nearer Heaven. For he had been her first-born, and the love Which at her breast he drew, and from her smiles, And from her voice of tenderness imbibed, Gave such unnatural horror to her crimes, That when the thought came over him, it seem’d As if the milk which with his infant life Had blended, thrill’d like poison through his frame. It was a woe beyond all reach of hope, Till with the dreadful tale of her remorse Faith touch’d his heart; and ever from that day Did he for her who bore him, night and morn, Pour out the anguish of his soul in prayer: But chiefly as the night return’d, which heard Her last expiring groans of penitence, Then through the long and painful hours, before The altar, like a penitent himself, He kept his vigils; and when Roderick’s sword Subdued Witiza, and the land was free, Duly upon her grave he offer’d up His yearly sacrifice of agony And prayer. This was the night, and he it was Who now before Siverian and the King Stood up in sackcloth. The old man, from fear Recovering and from wonder, knew him first. It is the Prince! he cried, and bending down Embraced his knees. The action and the word Awaken’d Roderick; he shook off the load Of struggling thoughts, which pressing on his heart, Held him like one entranced; yet, all untaught To bend before the face of man, confused Awhile he stood, forgetful of his part. But when Siverian cried, My Lord, my Lord, Now God be praised that I have found thee thus, My Lord and Prince, Spain’s only hope and mine! Then Roderick, echoing him, exclaim’d, My Lord, And Prince, Pelayo!... and approaching near, He bent his knee obeisant: but his head Earthward inclined; while the old man, looking up From his low gesture to Pelayo’s face, Wept at beholding him for grief and joy.

Siverian! cried the chief, ... of whom hath Death Bereaved me, that thou comest to Cordoba?... Children, or wife?... Or hath the merciless scythe Of this abhorr’d and jealous tyranny Made my house desolate at one wide sweep?

They are as thou couldst wish, the old man replied, Wert thou but lord of thine own house again, And Spain were Spain once more. A tale of ill I bear, but one that touches not the heart Like what thy fears forebode. The renegade Numacian woos thy sister, and she lends To the vile slave, unworthily, her ear: The Lady Gaudiosa hath in vain Warn’d her of all the evils which await A union thus accurst: she sets at nought Her faith, her lineage, and thy certain wrath.

Pelayo hearing him, remain’d awhile Silent; then turning to his mother’s grave, ... O thou poor dust, hath then the infectious taint Survived thy dread remorse, that it should run In Guisla’s veins? he cried; ... I should have heard This shameful sorrow any where but here!... Humble thyself, proud heart; thou, gracious Heaven, Be merciful!... it is the original flaw, ... And what are we?... a weak unhappy race, Born to our sad inheritance of sin And death!... He smote his forehead as he spake, And from his head the ashes fell, like snow Shaken from some dry beech-leaves, when a bird Lights on the bending spray. A little while In silence, rather than in thought, he stood Passive beneath the sorrow: turning then, And what doth Gaudiosa counsel me? He ask’d the old man; for she hath ever been My wise and faithful counsellor.... He replied, The Lady Gaudiosa bade me say She sees the danger which on every part Besets her husband’s house.... Here she had ceased; But when my noble Mistress gave in charge, How I should tell thee that in evil times The bravest counsels ever are the best; Then that high-minded Lady thus rejoin’d, Whatever be my Lord’s resolve, he knows I bear a mind prepared. Brave spirits! cried Pelayo, worthy to remove all stain Of weakness from their sex! I should be less Than man, if, drawing strength where others find Their hearts most open to assault of fear, I quail’d at danger. Never be it said Of Spain, that in the hour of her distress Her women were as heroes, but her men Perform’d the woman’s part. Roderick at that Look’d up, and taking up the word, exclaim’d, O Prince, in better days the pride of Spain, And prostrate as she lies, her surest hope, Hear now my tale. The fire which seem’d extinct Hath risen revigorate: a living spark From Auria’s ashes, by a woman’s hand Preserved and quicken’d, kindles far and wide The beacon-flame o’er all the Asturian hills. There hath a vow been offer’d up, which binds Us and our children’s children to the work Of holy hatred. In the name of Spain That vow hath been pronounced, and register’d Above, to be the bond whereby we stand For condemnation or acceptance. Heaven Received the irrevocable vow, and Earth Must witness its fulfilment; Earth and Heaven Call upon thee, Pelayo! Upon thee The spirits of thy royal ancestors Look down expectant; unto thee, from fields Laid waste, and hamlets burnt, and cities sack’d, The blood of infancy and helpless age Cries out; thy native mountains call for thee, Echoing from all their armed sons thy name. And deem not thou that hot impatience goads Thy countrymen to counsels immature. Odoar and Urban from Visonia’s banks Send me, their sworn and trusted messenger, To summon thee, and tell thee in their name That now the hour is come: For sure it seems, Thus saith the Primate, Heaven’s high will to rear Upon the soil of Spain a Spanish throne, Restoring in thy native line, O Prince, The sceptre to the Spaniard. Worthy son Of that most ancient and heroic race, Which with unweariable endurance still Hath striven against its mightier enemies, Roman or Carthaginian, Greek or Goth; So often by superior arms oppress’d, More often by superior arts beguiled; Yet amid all its sufferings, all the waste Of sword and fire remorselessly employ’d, Unconquer’d and unconquerable still; ... Son of that injured and illustrious stock, Stand forward thou, draw forth the sword of Spain, Restore them to their rights, too long withheld, And place upon thy brow the Spanish crown.

When Roderick ceased, the princely Mountaineer Gazed on the passionate orator awhile, With eyes intently fix’d, and thoughtful brow; Then turning to the altar, he let fall The sackcloth robe, which late with folded arms Against his heart was prest; and stretching forth His hands toward the crucifix, exclaim’d, My God and my Redeemer! where but here, Before thy aweful presence, in this garb, With penitential ashes thus bestrewn, Could I so fitly answer to the call Of Spain; and for her sake, and in thy name, Accept the Crown of Thorns she proffers me!

And where but here, said Roderick in his heart, Could I so properly, with humbled knee And willing soul, confirm my forfeiture?... The action follow’d on that secret thought: He knelt, and took Pelayo’s hand, and cried, First of the Spaniards, let me with this kiss Do homage to thee here, my Lord and King!... With voice unchanged and steady countenance He spake; but when Siverian follow’d him, The old man trembled as his lips pronounced The faltering vow; and rising he exclaim’d, God grant thee, O my Prince, a better fate Than thy poor kinsman’s, who in happier days Received thy homage here! Grief choak’d his speech And, bursting into tears, he sobb’d aloud. Tears too adown Pelayo’s manly cheek Roll’d silently. Roderick alone appear’d Unmoved and calm; for now the royal Goth Had offer’d his accepted sacrifice, And therefore in his soul he felt that peace Which follows painful duty well perform’d, ... Perfect and heavenly peace, ... the peace of God.

VIII.

ALPHONSO.