Frances Minto Dickinson Elliot

“ Under the protection of its river-girt walls the flying Goths draw breath. From Cordoba the king has started his great army, spreading like waves over the Andalusian plains. To Cordoba, Pelistes and a few terrified fugitives return, bringing tidings of the catastrophe.
The men of Cordoba crowd round them with terror in their looks. Pelistes shakes his aged head, tears gather in his eyes.
“Roderich is fallen,” they cry. “Your silence reveals it. Be to us a king, O Pelistes, and defend us from the Moors.” ”

“ One day as Don Fernando stands at the entrance of the royal tent, casting those prominent eyes of his across the plains, and counting by the number of outposts in how many days he may hope to plant the flag of Castile upon the Giralda tower, rising so tall and graceful before him, he beholds a Christian knight with a companion and an esquire riding by the bank of the river below, carelessly as a man who takes the air on a fine summer’s day, and loiters on the way the better to enjoy it. Lightly the knight carries his lance in rest upon his thigh. His vizor is raised over a bright young face. ”

“ More than any one else present, however, the royal lad Pelayo, for whom so romantic a future is in store, is personally interested in the punishment of Witica, the murderer of his father; yet the composure of his face and the carelessness of his attitude, as he leans against one of the columns that uphold the raftered roof, are as if he were but one among the many. Outwardly he betrays no consciousness of his great wrong. Death and torture are familiar to the Gothic mind, and, like the rest, he appears prepared to abide by the judgment of the king. ”

“ The attack, on both sides is furious. Rodrigo grows cold with the thirst of vengeance; the Conde burns to cut off a life which rivals with his own.
But the sure aim of Rodrigo and his strength prevail. With one stroke of his good sword Tizona, he fells Gormez to the earth and plunges his weapon straight into his heart. Red with his life-blood he draws it out to bear it as a trophy to his father.
“Die! Lord of Gormez,” are his words, wiping his brow, as he watches the blood slowly ooze from the wound to mix itself, a sinister stream, with the sand. ”

“ Around are the chiefs and nobles of the nation, gathered from all quarters of Spain—to judge him who lately was their king. All are men of war, habited in the superb but cumbrous armour of the time, before the delicate handling of the Moor turned metal into thin plates of steel, made swords as fine and piercing as needles, and armory a science.
Nearest to Roderich stands Ataulfo, next in succession to the throne, a generous-hearted youth, full of the old virtues of his nation. ”

“ It is not the love for a father nor the submission to a king I ask of you. It is love. Ah! tremble not, fair one, there is nothing to scare you. None shall know it. Deep in our hearts it shall lie. Nor does the love of your king degrade you like that of a common man. All the power of the Gothic throne shall compass you with delights, and I will make your father Julian greater than myself.”
At these base words the rising terror of Florinda gave place to indignation. Her soft eyes kindled with a fire far different from that which Don Roderich would have desired. ”

“ Onesinda is dead. The butcher Kerim has been summoned to Cordoba. The garrison of Gijon lacks a defender. Let him lead us there as king.”
“As king,” comes ringing from every side of the shrouded summits, which catch the words and bear them from hollow, spanless depths to wild, yawning gorges among the black cliffs, down which green waters pour from the gloomy precincts of the cave where rest the remains of Onesinda.
“Let him be king!” sounds in many tones like a chant of freedom, intoned by these Asturian wilds, which never had felt the foot of mortal foe. ”

“ The image of the Infanta was ever with him, but as a bright phantom from another world with whom he could have no concern, rather than as the reality of a mortal love.
Was she true or false? That lay in the mystery of the past. As a dying man he had no past. He forgave her, even if she were false. Whither he went she could not follow. He must die, and leave revenge to his people. Soon they will know the treachery of the king. His faithful subject, the seeming pilgrim, will ride straight to Burgos, call together the Cortes, and declare war. But little will that help him when he is dead! ”

“ When Bernardo beholds this superbly armed cavalier slowly passing the bridge, the linked bridle of his war horse held by two pages, and an esquire behind carrying his lance and shield, “O God!” is all he can say; “it is the Count of Saldaña. He is coming at last—my father,” and he spurs his horse into a wild gallop.
Already he has dismounted to kiss his father’s hand, already he clasps his mailed gauntlet and looks into his face. Great God! It is the livid countenance of a corpse! The dead weight of Bernardo’s hand causes the body to swerve and fall forward upon the saddle-bow. ”

“ And, as Don Roderich gazed as one stupefied before the vision he had audaciously invoked, plainer and plainer became the motion of the figures, and wilder the din, as the linen cloth rolled itself higher and higher and spread and amplified out of the casket, until it rose into the dome of the hall, its texture no longer visible, but moving with the air, the shadowy figures plainer and yet plainer in their fierce warfare, and the din and uproar more appalling as they formed into the semblance of a great battlefield where Christians and Moors strove with each other in deadly conflict ”

“ I am Julian.”
“I know you for a base apostate,” thundered Pelistes, the great wrath within him finding sudden vent, “an apostate and a traitor. Julian, my friend, was a Christian knight, devoted, true, and valiant, but you, you have no name. Infidel, renegade, and traitor, the earth you tread abhors you. The men you lead curse you, for you have betrayed Spain and your king. Therefore, I repeat, O man unknown, if you declare you are Don Julian, you lie. He, alas! is dead, and you are some fiend from hell who wears his semblance. ”

“ Bernardo del Carpio’s Vow S Bernardo knelt upon the steps of the darkened altar, on which the outline of a saint with a dim glory seemed to bless him with outstretched arms, something in the ardent auburn of his hair, relieved from the pressure of his cap of steel, which he had removed before entering, his open manly brow and honest eyes fixed on him with such pleading warmth, touched some subtle chord of tenderness within the King. ”

“ Again his heart swelled with the ardour of battle, as he prepared to lead his army with the pomp proper to a Gothic king.
A comelier monarch never drew breath than Roderich as—attired in a robe of beaten gold, sandals embroidered in pearls and diamonds on his feet, a sceptre in his hand, and a gold crown on his head resplendent with priceless gems—he mounted the lofty chariot of ivory, drawn by milk-white horses champing bits of gold, the wheels and pole covered with plates of gold, and a crimson canopy overhead. ”

“ Forgetful of the sacred pledges given to her father, forgetful of his honour as a knight and his gratitude as a king, a mighty passion rises within his breast. But Florinda gives no response; his fervid glances are met with downcast eyes, and a blush rises on her cheek as she involuntarily approaches him. This does but serve to fan his lawless love; and so great is his infatuation he cannot persuade himself that she does not return it. His whole soul is as a furnace, which consumes his life. ”

“ The clouds deepen with the twilight. The lustre of a stormy sunset is fading out. The sun disappears, and darker and denser shadows gather and obscure the light. Low thunder rumbles in the distance and a few heavy raindrops have fallen.
Again, with rapid steps, Bernardo traverses the Roman court of the palace; again he is challenged by the guards as he passes. Neither Don Ricardo nor Favila is there. Ricardo was badly wounded at Roncesvalles, and the gay Favila has gone to lead a sally against the Moors, those ever-pressing adversaries, not to be wholly overcome for many a long year. ”

“ We know but what is left to us of their outward life in Andalusia and Granada. Their exquisite sense of proportion and colour, in palaces vermilion walled and vocal with many waters; the massive grandeur of barbicans of defence, the sensuous charm of lace-covered chambers and gigantic leap of arch, tower, and minaret, destined to live as their mark for ever.
Their whole existence in Spain is a romance anomalous but dazzling; a nation within a nation, never amalgamated; a people without a country; a wave of the great Moslem invasion cast into Europe ”

“ Others long for life, he has sought for death; but the dark angel has not answered to his call.
As he paces along a narrow path bordering the city walls, above him the low turrets which Witica had spared, looking over to the green plains of Galicia, he knows that he has won himself a name as great as that of Pelayo, but a dark frown is on his young face, and gloomy thoughts chase each other through his brain. ”

“ Refuse it not, my lord. Men say in Leon that I rule, but that Queen Doña Teresa holds the reins of state. Who better? Follow my example. Her judgment is excellent.”
But the Conde saw not the matter in that simple light. With much misgiving he had come to Leon. Hostile to him, he knew, was the queen, and Don Sancho was ruled by her.
“You hesitate,” exclaims Doña Teresa, her visage forming into a dark frown; “better not to give good counsel than to have it cast in one’s teeth.” ”

“ And gallantly did the King of Leon bear himself, the jewelled crown on his morion shining out in the thick of the battle, Favila and Ricardo fighting by his side, when lo! a company of Gallic lords bore down with such force as to leave the king alone, face to face with a knight in dark armour, taller than the rest, a steel helmet pressing on his fiery eyes, and the bars of his vizor raised that all might know him, as he brandished a sword no other man could wield. ”

“ Planted in front the standard of Kerim floats heavily in the breeze, this Arab of the desert pretending to no distinction but the Star and the Crescent, the emblems of his faith. Horsemen and foot-soldiers are ranged on either side, and banners and pennons are displayed by each Moorish knight or captain before his own tent, dazzling with the flash of splendid accoutrements and gorgeous display of brocade and tossing plumes, fluttering to the sound of drums, trumpets, and shrill-voiced pipes, recalling to the Arabs the deserts of their home. ”

“ A look of mingled triumph and love lights up Kerim’s swarthy face and brings out the whiteness of his eyes into a revolting prominence. Already his naked arms, glittering with bracelets, are stretched out to clasp his bride, already the soft aroma of her presence comes wafting to his senses like spicy perfumes of paradise, when, by a deft and sudden movement, breaking from the strong arms which bear her up, Onesinda seizes the dagger which lies beneath his sash and with desperate courage plunges it in her breast. ”

“ As he passes along the Calle, gay as a butterfly in the bright sunshine, under the barbicans and towers which so nobly break the lines, it may be said he has too much of a swagger in his gait, but he has reason to be proud, for, young as he is, Doña Ximena loves him, and the good old King Fernando has admitted him to his council because he is already strong in arms and of good custom. ”

“ Only the shrill cry of an eagle catches the ear as it swoops upon its prey, unconscious of the presence of man.
By a common instinct the Gothic chiefs gather before the cave, the lofty figure of Pelayo towering above them all. These men represent a nation conquered, fugitive, helpless, but still a nation which will never die, but live to bring forth long lines of kings in succeeding centuries to rule over two hemispheres.
They know it, these Gothic chiefs, the prophecy is in them—a solemn faith in the justice of their cause, which tells them the hordes of unbelievers shall not prevail. ”