Patrañas

Having felt, as I hope you have, some interest in the honest pride with which he was on the point of entering on his inheritance, I am sure you will sympathize with the sadness of heart which now overshadowed him as he was obliged to abandon his fair homestead just as it had become his own. “It is well the old man never suspected it would come to this! … and then peace must come and restore me to my home some time or other,” he used to say to comfort himself during the weary march or tedious drill. There was, however, yet a heavier trial in store. It was the policy of the intruded French ruler to send away the native troops out of their country, and replace them with French troops. Now it happened that Pedro Jimenez was attached to the regiment of General Romano, which was one of those selected for foreign service. Ordered to the banks of the Rhine, poor Pedro Jimenez seemed farther than ever from the fulfilment of his darling hopes. He had perhaps felt the defence of his country some compensation for the separation from home; but to fight for the unjust aggressions of one who was the usurper of the throne of his native land was surpassingly hard. When not joining his comrades in lamenting their hard fate, he would wander over the country, trying to find any incident which might remind him of his beloved Andalusia. His attention was thus arrested by the vines which he found growing on the heights around. The knowledge of the subject he had acquired during so many years’ apprenticeship, and under so experienced a master, now proved invaluable. His practised eye readily distinguished among the varieties presented to it a superior variety adapted to the soil and climate of Andalusia, and he determined, whenever Providence was pleased to give him an opportunity of returning, that he would provide himself with the means of propagating this stock in his own plantation.

Nor was this opportunity very long withheld. General Romano, though scarcely taller than the length of an ordinary man’s arm72 bore in his little body a large and loyal heart: by dint of persevering efforts, he succeeded in making a way of escape for his whole regiment, shipped them, and carried them safely round to a friendly port of Portugal, and thence draughted them all back into Spain, where they did good service under Wellington.

Pedro could hardly believe his ears for joy, when the mysterious order was transmitted to him, to prepare for the secret return: yet he did not in his transports forget the coveted vine. The plant thus obtained, tended and preserved with much care and anxiety through the voyage, might still have been condemned to perish, had he been called to active service; but the rough life and the long voyage had impaired his health. After several months in hospital, during which time, you may be sure, he did not neglect his precious plant, he was sent home invalided.

He found his own viña in a sad state of neglect; but his native air having soon restored his strength, he was able within a few years more, not only to bring it round again, but also to produce a goodly show from his newly imported vine-stock. And from this vintage it is – the Rhenish stock planted in Andalusian soil, and cultivated with tender care and intelligence – that we get the choice variety of sherry wine (you can ask Papa to let you taste it some day at dessert) called “Pedro Jimenez.”

ST. MARTIN IN SPAIN

About the time that the Pedro Jiménez vintage was coming into growth, a favourite old vintage of Spain was just becoming exhausted, or for some reason going out of fashion, – the white wine of San Martin, so called from the locality of its production in Castilla la Vieja, not far from Toledo.

Now it happens that in Spain – where Christianity has woven itself more familiarly perhaps than any where else into the home traditions of the people, and every class and state of man has assigned to it a special patron – that St. Martin is counted the patron Saint of drunkards. “Patron Saint of drunkards!” you will perhaps exclaim; “what have Saints got to do with drunkards?” But think a little, and remember how mercifully our Lord associated “with publicans and sinners,” that He might reclaim them, and then you will say it is not so strange after all. Drunkards are very few in Spain, so few that there is no idiomatic word to call them by – nothing but the popular mocking expression borracho, which is simply formed by putting a masculine termination to the word borracha, a wine-skin; for you know it is the common practice in Spain, to store all the wine that is intended for use within a short period, in skins instead of barrels. And very curious it is, I assure you, when you are travelling in Spain, to see great skins of pigs and goats, sometimes with the hair still on, hanging up in the wine-shops, swelled out to their utmost extent with wine.

I was curious to find out how St. Martin came to be reckoned the male-wineskin’s patron; and in course of my inquiries, came upon two or three little traditions which may amuse you.

One was, that in a church much frequented by large numbers of the poorer peasantry, there was, among other pictures, one representing St. Martin dividing his cloak with the beggar, according to the legend you have all heard. But it happened that the painter, in the plenitude of his idealism, had made a slight alteration in the usual treatment of the figures. Instead of putting a beggar kneeling by the wayside and sturdily asking alms, he had drawn one lying down in the extremity of exhaustion, and with scarcely a rag to cover him. St. Martin, instead of being in the act of cutting his cloak in halves with his sword, as you usually see him, was tenderly placing the already severed portion of his garment over the shivering form of the beggar. But the execution of the picture was not equal to the conception: the livid face, with its red and purple lines, by which the painter had thought to depict the effect of cold and want, was taken by the people to show forth the swollen features of a drunkard, and the attitude of exhaustion, for one of helpless intoxication. St. Martin’s part in the picture was reckoned to be the saving him from the ridicule of the passengers, by covering him up. This act of patronage, so assumed, was reckoned to extend to all victims of drunkenness.

Another story told me, was, that it arose from a waggish remark made by an Andalusian on another and more normal picture of St. Martin. Andalusians are famous for their wit. It is said that the soil of Spain is adapted to produce every thing required for both the necessity and luxurious enjoyment of human life, except spices; but that this is supplied by the spice of Andalusian wit, for an Andalusian hardly opens his mouth but to say something witty.

An Andalusian, then, being asked what he thought of a certain picture of the legend of St. Martin replied, it represented such a piece of folly that none but a drunken man could have committed it. And the connexion thus once set up between a Saint and the condition of inebriety, though in jest, was sufficient to fasten on him the patronage of the inebriate.

But for my own part, I am inclined to think that the vintage of San Martin, though now seldom spoken of, having at one time been regarded all over Spain as the first vintage of the world, popular tradition naturally ascribed the care of those who partook of it to the Saint whose name it fortuitously bore.

In inquiring thus about St. Martin, I found that Spaniards have a jesting way of calling one San Rorro also, patron of drunkards; and this puzzled me, as I could find nothing like San Rorro in the Calendar. Then I learnt that rorro means a child just beginning to walk. Now a drunken man staggers much in the same way as an infant first learning to support its own weight; and thus “San Rorro” is merely a punning allusion to this similarity. But the Spaniard, who, as I have said, weaves his Christianity and – I may add – his innocent jest into every thing, remembering that the Divine Infant must have tottered too in His first early efforts to walk, sees a connexion here which may suggest an occasion for Divine pity and patronage. Certainly the common immunity from bad consequences of their falls, has led all countries to fable about a “special Providence for drunkards.”

MARVELLOUS STORIES

After recording so many marvellous stories, it seems not out of place to give two or three instances of how marvellous stories rise in popular imagination; from which it is not difficult to infer how other stories have received their marvellous dress.

IST. MICHAEL’S FEATHER

There is a town in Spain where a feather is preserved which is reported by the common people to have been shed by the Archangel Michael on the occasion of a miraculous visit to the place. An archæologist who was at great pains to investigate this matter, after spending much time over the inquiry, traced it very satisfactorily to an occasion in which, some hundreds of years ago, an Auto Sacramentale, or, as we say in English, a Mystery Play– that is, a dramatic representation of a religious subject – was being shown, in which St. Michael was one of the dramatis personæ. A feather having fallen from the wings employed on the occasion, was picked up and preserved with the care which so religious a people naturally bestowed on any thing connected, however remotely, with a sacred matter; and in process of time, the local circumstances being forgotten, the feather was ascribed to St. Michael the Archangel himself.

II“EYES TO THE BLIND.”

Alfonso Tostato, an Archbishop of Alcalá de Henáres in the Middle Ages, wrote some commentaries on the Bible which were regarded as a work of great piety and erudition. Difficult passages were elucidated with so much plainness, that it was said metaphorically in his epitaph, that his works enabled the blind to see73, which sentence getting to be reported among the common people, it was confidently believed that in virtue of the services rendered by his works to the Word of God, any blind person who could be brought within reach of his writings would be instantly restored to sight.

IIITHE FLOATING CHEST

Cardinal Ximénez, who founded the celebrated University of Alcalá, was desirous to spread the knowledge of these commentaries, which were falling into oblivion; and he thought to render a service to religion by having a new edition of them published. As the art of printing was at that time more developed in the Republic of Venice than in Spain, he found he could bring it out more advantageously there; accordingly the manuscripts were packed and sent thither.

It happened, however, that crossing the Mediterranean, the ship in which they were was overtaken by a tremendous gale; and to save the lives of the passengers, the captain ordered all the merchandize to be thrown overboard, so as to lighten the ship. The chest containing Alfonso Tostato’s works was cast into the sea with the rest.

Next morning, when the danger was past, the person who had been entrusted by Ximénez with the care of the manuscripts was in great distress at the irreparable loss: not daring to return to Spain, he wandered along the shore, hardly knowing what he did, when, lo and behold! to his intense delight, there appeared suddenly, floating in the sea, the identical chest, the loss of which was the cause of his mortification. A boat was quickly despatched to haul it in with great joy, and the event was commonly regarded as a marvellous interposition. But it would seem that the sagacious Ximénez, foreseeing the possible calamity, had ordered that the chest should be constructed of the lightest wood; and all who have ever had a swim in the Mediterranean know the peculiar buoyancy of its waters. Perhaps we may now account for the chest floating.

IVTHE WHALE OF THE MANZANÁRES

A modern Spanish writer gives the following solution of a popular tradition that a whale was once seen making its way up the Manzanáres. The Manzanáres is a singularly shallow river, at certain times of the year not half covering its bed, which rendered the tradition still more marvellous74.

The solution is this: “A wine-merchant living on its banks was once unfortunate enough to have an accident in his storehouse or cellar, by which a number of wine-skins were sent floating down the stream. The wine-merchant ran along the bank, calling on the neighbours to arrest the float, the rather that one of the skins was full of wine; and as the danger of losing them increased, he went on crying frantically, “Una va llena!” (“One of them is full!”)

Now Spaniards make but a scarcely perceptible difference between the sound of b and v, so that his cry sounded in the people’s ears like una ballena, which would have meant a whale!

THE SUN OF WITTENBURG

Among the engagements fought by the Duke of Alva in the Low Countries, no victory was more hotly contested and more hardly won than the battle of Wittenburg, in 1548. Some who were present at it, when they came back to Spain, magnified, as old soldiers are wont, the wonders of the day; and among other extravagant exaggerations, it was reported that the sun had stood still to give the victorious Spaniards time to pursue their enemies.

When the Duke of Alva returned, Charles Quint inquired of him his account of the event. The Duke, who did not wish either to compromise his veracity or diminish the honours of the day, replied, “Sire, I had too much occupation on earth for my thoughts to have leisure to observe what took place in the heavens.”

MERINO

You have often had to wear a merino frock and merino socks, I dare say; but perhaps you do not know that the fine soft wool of which these are made comes from Spain. It is more interesting to know that there is a tradition which says that the particular breed of sheep from which this wool is taken, came originally from England; their coats improved greatly in quality under the genial climate of Spain, and some people have supposed that the name merino is a corruption of trans marino, because they came from over the sea. Others derive it from the word Merino, an old title in use in the kingdom of Leon, meaning an overseer, and think that the sheep, having on their first arrival been given into the care of a Merino, or overseer, the name continued to be applied to the animals after it had ceased to denote the office.

Others, again, derive it from the word merino, which denotes the migration to which these sheep are subjected; for in the hot weather, when the grass of the lowlands gets withered up, they have to be driven into the mountain pastures.

There is some doubt as to the date of the importation of the sheep; but most probably they were taken as part of the dowry of Catherine, daughter of John of Gaunt, when she went to marry Don Enrique III., King of Leon and Castille.

KING VAMBA

During the time that the Goths governed Spain, there was once an interregnum. The stock of the last dynasty was extinct, and every one who could collect a few supporters set himself up to rule over the rest, so that there were several calling themselves kings at once, and fighting with each other for the mastery. Of course this led to the greatest confusion, for there was no one to keep order.

At last, as they found they could not agree among themselves, they sent to Rome to ask the Pope to decide for them. So the Pope went into his oratory, and prayed God to tell him which of all the candidates should be King of Spain. But when he came out again to the envoys, he told them that none of the pretenders were worthy to wear the crown; that he who was to be King of Spain would be found ploughing his land with a grey and white ox, and a priest walking by his side; that he would be found somewhere in Andalusia, and that his name would be Vamba.

The envoys came back to Spain in no very cheerful mood; for they said, “How shall we find this man?” And then they searched Andalusia over, and could find no one whose name was Vamba. Just as they were going to give up the search in despair, as they were passing through a bank planted with canes they heard a woman with a basket on her shoulder call out, “Come and dine, Vamba! You seem to forget it is twelve o’clock!”

When the envoys heard that, they turned round again, and saw a man ploughing in a field with a grey and white ox. So they went back, and threw themselves on their knees before him, and spoke in this manner,

“Give us your hands to kiss, your majesty!”

But Vamba, full of astonishment, and at a loss to understand them, thought they must want to kill him; and exclaimed, trembling, “Spare my life, Señores! Why do you seek to take it?”

But they answered, “We have no such thought, Vamba. Far from it. The Pope who now reigns in Rome told us that you were to be our king; and our king you must therefore be.”

But Vamba, who could not believe they were serious, stuck the vara75 he held in his hand for a goad, into the ground; and said, laughing, “When my vara shall take root, and bring forth flowers, then will I believe that I am King of Spain!”

Then, behold! before he had finished speaking, the vara became covered with leaves, and from its branches sprang beautiful flowers.

When Vamba saw that, he hesitated no longer; but called his wife Sancha, and his children, and went along with the envoys to Toledo, which was the capital of the kingdom of the Goths.

The envoys sent messengers on before, to tell the Council of the kingdom that the king was coming. The Council rose in a body, and went out to meet him; and all the people followed behind, and the joy-bells were set ringing.

Thus King Vamba made his entrance by the Gate of Cambron, the noblest gate adorning great Toledo; but when he saw the Alcaide of his palace bearing the sword before him according to custom, he begged, in his humility, that he would not bear a sword, but that his children might go before him to show that he loved peace and love, rather than war and strife; and so he went on into the city.

And all the people looked out of their balconies, and cried, —

“Toledo and Spain for Vamba!And also for Queen Sancha!”

But as the cry swept over the bosom of old father Tagus, the golden Tagus who reflects the glories of all Spain, he bore the cry along gladly and soft, but yet inverting the order, —

“All Spain hails thee first,And then her chief city Toledo!”

Thus they conducted the good king to the palace, and there they led him to the bath; and then they trimmed his red melena76, and arranged it so that it might not fall into his eyes; and they combed out the hair of his beard, but left it long and noble; and they put on him a royal robe with gold embroidery and an ermine collar, though he would have it sober in colour, and on his breast a blood-red cross.

Queen Sancha, too, they arrayed in a robe of green velvet, with gold and jewels round the border, her beautiful golden hair unbound, falling loose over her shoulders and reaching down to her palfrey.

The ladies went before, and strewed the ground with flowers, and filled the air with benedictions.

And thus they went forth to the cathedral to be crowned. And all the people ran to their balconies as they passed along, and cried, —

“Toledo and Spain for Vamba!And also for Queen Sancha!”

But as the cry swept over the bosom of old father Tagus, the golden Tagus, who reflects the glories of all Spain, he bore the cry along, gladly and soft, but inverting the order, —

“All Spain hails thee first!And then her chief city Toledo!”

Like King David, taken from the sheep-fold to be ruler of the people, Vamba made a very good king. His reign is spoken of in history as “the era of wisdom and justice.” He had not, like later sovereigns of Spain, to fight the Saracen intruder on his own soil; but he did more, he crossed the sea to check his advancing power on the African coast, and returned towing two hundred and seventy vessels which his prowess had taken from the enemy. If equal determination had been shown in succeeding reigns, the Moslem had never obtained a footing on Christian soil.

Nevertheless, though respected and beloved by his subjects, Vamba was destined not long to enjoy the peace he so ardently loved. The ambitious men who had been contending for the crown before his accession, continued unyielding and restless. Pretenders rose up in Navarre and the Asturias, and Ilderic, Count of Nimes, at the same time set up the standard of revolt in the Gaulish provinces. Vamba marched in person against Navarre, and sent Paulo his general to Nimes. But Paulo, instead of going to chastise the rebel, procured, on his own behalf, the assistance of Remismundo, Duke of Cantabria, and proclaimed himself king. Vamba, though he had been made king without his own seeking, determined that the sceptre entrusted to him should lose none of its authority by his remissness, and had no sooner restored peace within the kingdom, than he set out against the more distant insurgents, whom he soon reduced to obedience also. Paulo was taken prisoner at Narbonne, together with the bulk of his adherents; at the intercession of the Archbishop they were all pardoned, except Paulo himself, who was found hidden in a cave.

When brought before him, Vamba said to him, “I conjure you now before God to tell me, have you any complaint against me, have I ever done any thing to justify your revolt?”

“Since you ask me in God’s Name,” replied Paulo, “I cannot but speak the truth. And I must therefore say, that never have I received evil at your hands, but on the contrary signal favours. I was always highly honoured by you, and it was the devil who led me astray.”

Then the king forgave him the penalty of death, but he had his eyes put out, and took him captive to Toledo with a rope round his neck.

You might think that Vamba would have had peace, now that he had subdued all his enemies, but it was not so; another noble, Erviga, rose up against him and usurped his authority. By this time Vamba was old and worn down with care. Sancha was dead, and his race seemed well-nigh run. Erviga, though unjust in seeking to take the crown by force, was a brave leader and had the qualities necessary for a good ruler, therefore the good Vamba, instead of spending the blood of his subjects in fighting for a position which he had so little strength left to maintain, settled the question by retiring into a monastery and recommending the people to accept the rule of Erviga.

DOÑA TEREA

Alfonso the Fifth of Leon was but an infant when his father’s death laid on him the charge of resisting the advance of the Moslem, which was the inheritance of all Spanish sovereigns for so many centuries. His mother, Elvira, ruled the kingdom during his minority with great prudence and courage, defeated the Infidels in several encounters, and cultivated in her son all the qualities of a great sovereign. So well did her instructions prosper, that at the age of fifteen he was called to reign in his own name; and from the seclusion of a convent, whither she retired when the country no longer required her, his mother had frequent occasion to return thanks to heaven for the noble qualities her boy exhibited. For many years he continued the pride of the nation and the dread of its enemies; prosperity blessed the people at home, and their borders were continually enlarged by the success of his arms.

Success, though pleasant, is not always good. Alfonso, under its influence, at one time grew heedless of the dictates of his religion. On one occasion, being about to conclude a treaty of peace with Andalla, the Moorish king of Toledo, that prince asked the hand of his sister, Doña Terea, as one of the conditions of the treaty. The king’s counsellors were struck with horror, at the thought of handing over a Christian maiden to an Infidel husband, the people expressed their indignation aloud, and Doña Terea herself implored piteously to be spared.

As I have said, success had spoiled Alfonso’s nature; he was so accustomed to succeed in every thing, that he could not bear to be crossed even by righteous counsel. It seemed something fine to do what every one else was afraid of; he would not show himself so weak, not he. He would give his sister to the Moorish king in spite of them all, and show them he was superior to their prejudices. Besides, he further justified it to himself, because Andalla undertook on this condition to help him in his campaign against the other Moorish kings; forgetting that we must never do a wrong action for the sake of any advantageous result we may fancy it will bring.