The Alhambra 54

The Alhambra 54

SPANISH ROMANCE

 

 

In the latter part of my sojourn in the Alhambra, I made frequent

descents into the Jesuit’s Library of the University; and relished more

and more the old Spanish chronicles, which I found there bound in

parchment. I delight in those quaint histories which treat of the times

when the Moslems maintained a foothold in the Peninsula. With all their

bigotry and occasional intolerance, they are full of noble acts and

generous sentiments, and have a high, spicy, Oriental flavor, not to be

found in other records of the times, which were merely European. In

fact, Spain, even at the present day, is a country apart; severed in

history, habits, manners, and modes of thinking, from all the rest of

Europe. 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 an 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.

 

With these preliminary suggestions, the fruit of a morning’s reading and

rumination in the old Jesuit’s Library of the University, I will give

him a legend in point, drawn forth from one of the venerable chronicles

alluded to.

 

 

 

 

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, cimeters, 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 toward his stand. He had

not been here long, when a cavalcade of Moors, of both sexes, came

prankling 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 alcayde. 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 nor 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!”

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