V.

RODERICK AND SIVERIAN.

Between St. Felix and the regal seat Of Abdalazis, ancient Cordoba, Lay many a long day’s journey interposed; And many a mountain range hath Roderick cross’d, And many a lovely vale, ere he beheld Where Betis, winding through the unbounded plain Roll’d his majestic waters. There at eve Entering an inn, he took his humble seat With other travellers round the crackling hearth, Where heath and cistus gave their flagrant flame. That flame no longer, as in other times, Lit up the countenance of easy mirth And light discourse: the talk which now went round Was of the grief that press’d on every heart; Of Spain subdued; the sceptre of the Goths Broken; their nation and their name effaced; Slaughter and mourning, which had left no house Unvisited; and shame, which set its mark On every Spaniard’s face. One who had seen His sons fall bravely at his side, bewail’d The unhappy chance which, rescuing him from death, Left him the last of all his family; Yet he rejoiced to think that none who drew Their blood from him remain’d to wear the yoke, Be at the miscreant’s beck, and propagate A breed of slaves to serve them. Here sate one Who told of fair possessions lost, and babes To goodly fortunes born, of all bereft. Another for a virgin daughter mourn’d, The lewd barbarian’s spoil. A fourth had seen His only child forsake him in his age, And for a Moor renounce her hope in Christ. His was the heaviest grief of all, he said; And clenching as he spake his hoary locks, He cursed King Roderick’s soul. Oh curse him not! Roderick exclaim’d, all shuddering as he spake. Oh, for the love of Jesus, curse him not! Sufficient is the dreadful load of guilt That lies upon his miserable soul! O brother, do not curse that sinful soul, Which Jesus suffer’d on the cross to save!

But then an old man, who had sate thus long A silent listener, from his seat arose, And moving round to Roderick took his hand; Christ bless thee, brother, for that Christian speech, He said; and shame on me that any tongue Readier than mine was found to utter it! His own emotion fill’d him while he spake, So that he did not feel how Roderick’s hand Shook like a palsied limb; and none could see How, at his well-known voice, the countenance Of that poor traveller suddenly was changed, And sunk with deadlier paleness; for the flame Was spent, and from behind him, on the wall High hung, the lamp with feeble glimmering play’d.

Oh it is ever thus! the old man pursued, The crimes and woes of universal Spain Are charged on him; and curses which should aim At living heads, pursue beyond the grave His poor unhappy soul! As if his sin Had wrought the fall of our old monarchy! As if the Musselmen in their career Would ne’er have overleapt the gulf which parts Iberia from the Mauritanian shore, If Julian had not beckon’d them!... Alas! The evils which drew on our overthrow, Would soon by other means have wrought their end, Though Julian’s daughter should have lived and died A virgin vow’d and veil’d. Touch not on that, Shrinking with inward shiverings at the thought, The penitent exclaim’d. Oh, if thou lovest The soul of Roderick, touch not on that deed! God in his mercy may forgive it him, But human tongue must never speak his name Without reproach and utter infamy, For that abhorred act. Even thou.... But here Siverian taking up the word, brake off Unwittingly the incautious speech. Even I, Quoth he, who nursed him in his father’s hall, ... Even I can only for that deed of shame Offer in agony my secret prayers. But Spain hath witness’d other crimes as foul: Have we not seen Favila’s shameless wife. Throned in Witiza’s ivory car, parade Our towns with regal pageantry, and bid The murderous tyrant in her husband’s blood Dip his adulterous hand? Did we not see Pelayo, by that bloody king’s pursuit, And that unnatural mother, from the land With open outcry, like an outlaw’d thief, Hunted? And saw ye not Theodofred, As through the streets I guided his dark steps, Roll mournfully toward the noon-day sun His blank and senseless eye-balls? Spain saw this And suffer’d it!... I seek not to excuse The sin of Roderick. Jesu, who beholds The burning tears I shed in solitude, Knows how I plead for him in midnight prayer. But if, when he victoriously revenged The wrongs of Chindasuintho’s house, his sword Had not for mercy turn’d aside its edge, Oh what a day of glory had there been Upon the banks of Chrysus! Curse not him, Who in that fatal conflict to the last So valiantly maintain’d his country’s cause; But if your sorrow needs must have its vent In curses, let your imprecations strike The caitiffs, who, when Roderick’s hornëd helm Rose eminent amid the thickest fight, Betraying him who spared and trusted them, Forsook their King, their Country, and their God, And gave the Moor his conquest. Aye! they said, These were Witiza’s hateful progeny; And in an evil hour the unhappy King Had spared the viperous brood. With that they talk’d How Sisibert and Ebba through the land Guided the foe: and Orpas, who had cast The mitre from his renegado brow, Went with the armies of the infidels; And how in Hispalis, even where his hands Had minister’d so oft the bread of life, The circumcised apostate did not shame To shew in open day his turban’d head. The Queen too, Egilona, one exclaim’d; Was she not married to the enemy, The Moor, the Misbeliever? What a heart Were hers, that she could pride and plume herself To rank among his herd of concubines, Having been what she had been! And who could say How far domestic wrongs and discontent Had wrought upon the King!... Hereat the old man, Raising beneath the knit and curly brow His mournful eyes, replied, This I can tell, That that unquiet spirit and unblest, Though Roderick never told his sorrows, drove Rusilla from the palace of her son. She could not bear to see his generous mind Wither beneath the unwholesome influence, And cankering at the core. And I know well, That oft when she deplored his barren bed, The thought of Egilona’s qualities Came like a bitter medicine for her grief, And to the extinction of her husband’s line, Sad consolation, reconciled her heart.

But Roderick, while they communed thus, had ceased To hear, such painfulest anxiety The sight of that old venerable man Awoke. A sickening fear came over him: The hope which led him from his hermitage Now seem’d for ever gone, for well he knew Nothing but death could break the ties which bound That faithful servant to his father’s house. She then for whose forgiveness he had yearn’d, Who in her blessing would have given and found The peace of Heaven, ... she then was to the grave Gone down disconsolate at last; in this Of all the woes of her unhappy life Unhappiest, that she did not live to see God had vouchsafed repentance to her child. But then a hope arose that yet she lived; The weighty cause which led Siverian here Might draw him from her side; better to know The worst than fear it. And with that he bent Over the embers, and with head half raised Aslant, and shadow’d by his hand, he said, Where is King Roderick’s mother? lives she still?

God hath upheld her, the old man replied; She bears this last and heaviest of her griefs, Not as she bore her husband’s wrongs, when hope And her indignant heart supported her; But patiently, like one who finds from Heaven A comfort which the world can neither give Nor take away.... Roderick inquired no more; He breathed a silent prayer in gratitude, Then wrapt his cloak around him, and lay down Where he might weep unseen. When morning came, Earliest of all the travellers he went forth, And linger’d for Siverian by the way, Beside a fountain, where the constant fall Of water its perpetual gurgling made, To the wayfaring or the musing man Sweetest of all sweet sounds. The Christian hand, Whose general charity for man and beast Built it in better times, had with a cross Of well-hewn stone crested the pious work, Which now the misbelievers had cast down, And broken in the dust it lay defiled. Roderick beheld it lying at his feet, And gathering reverently the fragments up, Placed them within the cistern, and restored With careful collocation its dear form, ... So might the waters, like a crystal shrine, Preserve it from pollution. Kneeling then, O’er the memorial of redeeming love He bent, and mingled with the fount his tears, And pour’d his spirit to the Crucified.

A Moor came by, and seeing him, exclaim’d, Ah, Kaffer! worshipper of wood and stone, God’s curse confound thee! And as Roderick turn’d His face, the miscreant spurn’d him with his foot Between the eyes. The indignant King arose, And fell’d him to the ground. But then the Moor Drew forth his dagger, rising as he cried, What, darëst thou, thou infidel and slave, Strike a believer? and he aim’d a blow At Roderick’s breast. But Roderick caught his arm, And closed, and wrench’d the dagger from his hold, ... Such timely strength did those emaciate limbs From indignation draw, ... and in his neck With mortal stroke he drove the avenging steel Hilt deep. Then, as the thirsty sand drank in The expiring miscreant’s blood, he look’d around In sudden apprehension, lest the Moors Had seen them; but Siverian was in sight, The only traveller, and he smote his mule And hasten’d up. Ah, brother! said the old man, Thine is a spirit of the ancient mould! And would to God a thousand men like thee Had fought at Roderick’s side on that last day When treason overpower’d him! Now, alas! A manly Gothic heart doth ill accord With these unhappy times. Come, let us hide This carrion, while the favouring hour permits.

So saying he alighted. Soon they scoop’d Amid loose-lying sand a hasty grave, And levell’d over it the easy soil. Father, said Roderick, as they journey’d on, Let this thing be a seal and sacrament Of truth between us: Wherefore should there be Concealment between two right Gothic hearts In evil days like ours? What thou hast seen Is but the first fruit of the sacrifice, Which on this injured and polluted soil, As on a bloody altar, I have sworn To offer to insulted Heaven for Spain, Her vengeance and her expiation. This Was but a hasty act, by sudden wrong Provoked: but I am bound for Cordoba, On weighty mission from Visonia sent, To breathe into Pelayo’s ear a voice Of spirit-stirring power, which like the trump Of the Arch-angel, shall awake dead Spain. The northern mountaineers are unsubdued; They call upon Pelayo for their chief; Odoar and Urban tell him that the hour Is come. Thou too, I ween, old man, art charged With no light errand, or thou wouldst not now Have left the ruins of thy master’s house.

Who art thou? cried Siverian, as he search’d The wan and wither’d features of the King. The face is of a stranger, but thy voice Disturbs me like a dream. Roderick replied, Thou seest me as I am, ... a stranger; one Whose fortunes in the general wreck were lost, His name and lineage utterly extinct, Himself in mercy spared, surviving all; ... In mercy, that the bitter cup might heal A soul diseased. Now, having cast the slough Of old offences, thou beholdest me A man new-born; in second baptism named, Like those who in Judea bravely raised Against the Heathèn’s impious tyranny The banner of Jehovah, Maccabee; So call me. In that name hath Urban laid His consecrating hands upon my head; And in that name have I myself for Spain Devoted. Tell me now why thou art sent To Cordoba; for sure thou goëst not An idle gazer to the Conqueror’s court.

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!