Born: Henry VII, king of England, 1456,
Pembroke, South Wales.
Died: King Roderick of Spain, killed in
battle with the Moors, 711; Ladislaus I, king of
Poland, 1102; Pope Paul II, 1471; Jacopo Bonfadio,
historian and poet, executed at Genoa, 1560; Armand de
Gontent-Biron, Marshal of France, killed at siege of
Epernai, 1592; Charles Emmanuel the Great, Duke of
Savoy, 1630; John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester, noted
debauchee and poet, 1680, Woodstock, Oxfordshire;
Thomas Osborne, Duke of Leeds, statesman, 1712; Dr.
John Freind, eminent scholar, 1728; John Emery, comic
actor, 1822; Baron Gourgaud, distinguished general
under Napoleon, 1852, Paris.
Feast Day: St. Anne, mother of the Blessed
Virgin. St. Gernnanus, bishop of Auxerre, confessor,
448.
LEGEND OF DON
RODERICK
One of the most romantic episodes of medieval
history, is the conquest of Spain by the Moors or
Saracens, in the beginning of the eighth century.
There is perhaps no nation whose early chronicles are
more shrouded in the robe of chivalrous legend and
fiction, or invested with a brighter halo of poetic
luxuriance. The story of the fate of Don Roderick, the
last of its Gothic kings, forms one of the most
curious of these semi-mythical narrations, and has in
recent times been made by Sir Walter Scott the
groundwork of one of his poems. It has also been told
with singular attractiveness by
Washington Irving, in
his Legends of the Conquest of Spain.
Witiza, the predecessor of Don Roderick on the
Spanish throne, had alienated the hearts of his
subjects by his shameful debaucheries and
misgovernment; and an insurrection having taken place,
the latter, who had previously signalised race,
greatly by his military achievements, was put in
possession of the crown. His conduct in this exalted
position was at first all that could be desired; but
the deteriorating influences of prosperity and a life
of ease gradually corrupted his disposition, and he
became almost as noted as Witiza for his voluptuous
and irregular life.
One of the most noted victims of
his lawless passions was Florinda, who had been placed
at Don Roderick's court as one of the attendants on
his queen. Her father, Count Julian, held the post of
military governor of Ceuta, in the Spanish dominions
in Barbary; but having been high in favour under the
administration of Witiza, he had never cherished much
affection for the government of his successor. The
intelligence of this outrage on his daughter roused in
him the most strenuous determination of vengeance, for
obtaining which the conjuncture of affairs presented
ready facilities.
The religion of Mohammed, which had
been promulgated less than a century previous, had now
established itself over the greater part of Western
Asia and North Africa. In its career of conquest, it
had already penetrated to the western shores of the
Mediterranean, and made encroachments on the African
territories of Spain. Here, however, it had sustained
some severe checks from the valour of Count Julian,
and its further progress in this direction might have
been stayed. But the irreparable insults offered to
his family overcame all feelings of loyalty or
patriotism in the breast of Julian, and he opened a
correspondence with Muza, the Moorish general, for the
betrayal of his country to the Saracens. Muza readily
listened to his proposals, and a preliminary
expedition was organised, under the celebrated Taric,
who, by the direction of Julian, made a predatory
descent on the Spanish coast, and returned to his
master, Muza, with such glowing accounts of the wealth
and fertility of the country, that its conquest was
forthwith resolved on.
Don Roderick was, in the meantime, consuming his
days in inglorious ease in the ancient city of Toledo.
Not long after the disaster of the hapless Florinda,
he had received a singular warning of the calamities
which were about to overtake himself and kingdom.
While seated on his throne one day, in the
audience-chamber, two venerable old men, with long
white beards, presented themselves before him. Their
mission, they said, was to request from the king the
performance of a behest which had been complied with
by all his predecessors. As the guardians of the
enchanted tower, which had been founded by the great
hero Hercules, in the course of his western
peregrinations, they besought Don Roderick to repair
thither and affix an additional lock on the portal, as
had been done by all former Spanish kings. A terrible
mystery, on which the fate of the monarchy depended,
was concealed in the building, which the founder had,
after constructing it with immense strength and magic
art, secured by a massive iron door and a lock of
steel. He had further left injunctions that each
succeeding king should add another lock to the portal,
and refrain religiously from violating its mysteries.
Various Spanish sovereigns had, from time to time,
ventured to force an entrance into the building, but
they had either perished on the threshold, or been so
appalled by the fearful sights and sounds which were
encountered, that they had rapidly retreated and reclosed the ponderous barrier.
No one had yet
succeeded in penetrating to the inmost recesses of the
sanctuary, the secrets of which had thus remained
inviolate since the days of Hercules. Having delivered
their message, the venerable guardians of the tower
made an obeisance and withdrew.
The curiosity of Don Roderick was greatly excited
by what he had just heard, and he declared his
determination to see the interior of this marvellous
tower. The archbishop of Toledo vainly endeavoured to
make him desist from his purpose, assuring him that
the violation of a mystery which had been so carefully
respected by his predecessors, would only draw down
destruction on his head. But the evil star of Don
Roderick was in the ascendant, and he marched on
blindly to his fate.
The following morning, a gay cavalcade of
courtiers, with the king at its head, rode out at one
of the gates of Toledo, and took the road to the
mountains. They soon reached the mysterious tower,
which was situated on a lofty rock, and supported by
four magnificent bronze lions. The walls were
constructed of marbles of various colours, so disposed
as to represent the famous battles and heroic deeds of
antiquity. The door was strongly secured by locks and
bars, and before it stood the two aged men who had
visited the court on the previous day. The king
alighted with his train, and requested the old men to
open the gate. They remained for a moment astonished,
and then falling down on their knees, besought him
that he would refrain from so rash an attempt. He was,
however, inexorable, and a pair of huge keys having
been produced from their girdles, the locks, one after
another, were opened, but with such difficulty that a
great part of the day was spent before the task was
completed.
When every barrier was removed, an endeavour was made to open the gate; but it
remained
immovable, not-withstanding all the efforts of the
king's attendants. Don Roderick himself then went
forward and placed his hand on it, when it at once
moved, as obedient to his touch, and swung open with a
dismal groan. A damp cold wind rushed forth, and some
of the eager young courtiers pressed into the tower,
but quickly returned as if overcome by some magic
influence. The king then led the way and entered a
hall, on one side of which was an open door. Beside
that door stood on a pedestal a gigantic figure
whirling furiously a mace, which he, however, dropped
to his side on the approach of Don Roderick, allowing
him and his train to pass. They then entered a vast
and magnificent chamber, the walls of which were
composed of the rarest and most brilliant gems, and
surmounted by a splendid dome. There were no windows
in the hall; but a light, dazzling beyond description,
proceeded from the walls, rendering the place as
bright as day. Beneath the centre of the dome stood a
table bearing the inscription, that Hercules, the
Theban hero, had founded this tower in the year of the
world three thousand and six.
On a golden casket on
the table, richly adorned with precious stones, was
another inscription, to the effect that herein was
contained the mystery of the tower, but warning the
intruder from proceeding further. The king had now,
however, gone too far to recede, and he opened the
casket, which only contained a piece of linen
interposed between two plates of copper. It had
painted on it figures of men and horses, which, as Don
Roderick gazed on it, seemed to enlarge and become
animated. A misty panoramic vision of an engagement
gradually displayed itself, in which Christians and
Moslems seemed to be struggling in deadly conflict,
while to complete the scene, the cries of the
combatants, the clash of arms, and the roar of battle,
were all distinctly audible.
The Christians were seen
to retreat, broken and discomfited, before the
Saracens; and among the numerous figures, Don Roderick
could descry his own war-steed, Orelia, galloping
frantically about without a rider. Astounded and
terrified, the king and his attendants rushed out of
the tower, at the entrance of which they found the two
aged guardians stricken dead, as if by a thunderbolt.
A fearful blackness now spread over the landscape,
turning rapidly to a terrible tempest, in the midst of
which the royal party reached Toledo. The next day the
king returned to the tower, resolved to replace the
barriers which confined its dreadful secrets. On
coming within sight of it, an eagle was descried
soaring aloft, bearing a lighted brand, with which he
swooped down upon the tower. The structure at once
burst into a flame, and was speedily reduced to ashes,
around which congregated a vast array of birds, who
caught them up and scattered them over the country.
Wherever these ashes fell, they were converted into
drops of blood, and the places so stained became the
scenes of slaughter and desolation in the ensuing
conflicts with the Moors.
The remainder of the legend of Don Roderick is soon
told. The warning received from the vision in the
tower seems to have been gradually effaced from his
mind, when one day he received the unexpected
intelligence of the Moorish general, Taric, having
effected a landing in Andalusia with a numerous and
well-appointed army. To repel the invaders he
despatched, in the first place, his kinsman Ataulpho,
a gallant young nobleman, who at the head of an armed
force encountered the enemy, near the rock of Calpe,
the modern Gibraltar, but was discomfited and slain.
The victorious Saracens now advanced into Andalusia,
and encamped by the river Guadalete, in the plain of
Xeres. Thither the king himself marched with the
flower of the Spanish chivalry. A great battle ensued,
in which the Christians fought with the most
determined bravery, but were at length routed and
dispersed by the superior generalship of Taric, aided
by a Spanish force under the command of the recreant
Julian. In the heat of battle Don Roderick was
suddenly lost sight of; he was never heard of more,
but it was conjectured that, having been slain near
the Guadalete, his body had been washed away by the
stream.
The belief was long current in Spain that he
had escaped from the battle, and would return one day
to vindicate his own and his country's rights against
the invading foe. This fond dream, however, was never
to be realised; and it has happened to Don Roderick,
as to some other men, that the courage shewn by him in
the last struggle has redeemed his name from much of
the reproach previously resting on it, whilst the
remarkable change of dynasty which the battle of the
Guadalete inaugurated, has invested the fate of the
last Gothic king of Spain with a romantic and abiding
interest.
EARL OF ROCHESTER
Among all the gay courtiers who crowded round
Charles II, none was more celebrated for his
conviviality and wit than the Earl of Rochester. He
early displayed remarkable talent, and was much
distinguished at Oxford: had he lived in better times,
he would probably have graced his high birth; but,
after making the grand tour, as it was called, he came
to court at the early age of eighteen, there quickly
to become the leader of every excess. As his
companions found that his wit was greater at the close
of a long debauch than at the beginning, it was their
amusement to make him drink deeply, and he himself
confessed that for five years he was never sober.
During this time he was writing satires and squibs
upon all around him, and, as may be supposed, making
himself many enemies. In one instance he handed the
king a paper which Charles opened in the expectation
of finding a droll description of some ladies, but it
proved to be a witticism on the monarch himself. On
another occasion, he scribbled on Charles's bedroom
door the well-known mock epitaph:
'Here lies our sovereign lord the king,
Whose word no man relies on;
Who never says a foolish thing,
or ever does a wise one.'
He joined Charles in many of his wild pranks in the
streets of London. At one time he disappeared from the
court. Just then stories were circulated about a
wonderful physician, necromancer, or Italian
mountebank, who was practising on Tower Hill; those
who consulted him were startled when they found him
disclosing secrets which they hoped were known to none
but their most intimate friends; the life of the court
seemed laid bare by his wonderful powers; and nothing
was talked of for some time, until the shrewder minds
felt sure that only Rochester's talent could carry on
such a game, and so it proved. At other times, he was
inimitable as a porter or a beggar; indeed, Ire could
personate any character to perfection.
That he had a spirit for better things, had he been
wisely directed, is evident from his volunteering to
join the Earl of Sandwich when he went to sea in 1665;
during the engagement that followed, it was necessary
that a dispatch should be carried from one ship to
another in the very heat of the fight, and in an open
boat. Rochester went on this mission, at the imminent
risk of his life; yet the ruiners of the court used to
taunt him with cowardice in avoiding the duels which
his satires brought upon him. Sir C. Scrope thus wrote
of him:
Thou canst hurt no mau's fame with thy ill
word,
Thy pen is full as harmless as thy sword.'
His constitution was not strong enough to bear his
excesses, and early broke up; then, convinced of his
past folly, he sent for Dr. Burnet, made confession of
his reckless life and negation of all religion, and
entreated to have his doubts about Christianity
dispelled. Burnet has left a touching account of the
unfortunate nobleman's last days; he desired. that all
his wicked writings should be destroyed, and longed to
undo the evil he had done by making his deep
repentance known to all the world. He died at the
early age of thirty-three.
