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6. CHAPTER VI.

The heart of Don Roderick was not so depraved
by sensuality, but that the wrong he had
been guilty of toward the innocent Florinda, and
the disgrace he had inflicted on her house, weighed
heavy on his spirits, and a cloud began to
gather on his once clear and unwrinkled brow.

Heaven, at this time, say the old Spanish
chronicles, permitted a marvellous intimation of
the wrath with which it intended to visit the
monarch and his people, in punishment of their
sins; nor are we, say the same orthodox writers,
to startle and withhold our faith when we meet in
the page of discreet and sober history with these
signs and portents, which transcend the probabilities
of ordinary life; for the revolutions of
empires and the downfall of mighty kings are
awful events, that shake the physical as well as
the moral world, and are often announced by
forerunning marvels and prodigious omens.

With such like cautious preliminaries do the
wary but credulous historiographers of yore usher

in a marvellous event of prophecy and enchantment,
linked in ancient story with the fortunes
of Don Roderick, but which modern doubters
would fain hold up as an apocryphal tradition of
Arabian origin.

Now, so it happened, according to the legend,
that about this time, as King Roderick was seated
one day on his throne, surrounded by his
nobles, in the ancient city of Toledo, two men
of venerable appearance entered the hall of
audience. Their snowy beards descended to
their breasts, and their gray hairs were bound
with ivy. They were arrayed in white garments
of foreign or antiquated fashion, which
swept the ground, and were cintured with girdles,
wrought with the signs of the zodiac, from
which were suspended enormous bunches of
keys of every variety of form. Having approached
the throne and made obeisance: “Know, O
king,” said one of the old men, “that in days of
yore, when Hercules of Lybia, surnamed the
strong, had set up his pillars at the ocean strait,
he erected a tower near to this ancient city of
Toledo. He built it of prodigious strength, and
finished it with magic art, shutting up within it a
fearful secret, never to be penetrated without
peril and disaster. To protect this terrible mystery
he closed the entrance to the edifice with a
ponderous door of iron, secured by a great lock

of steel, and he left a command that every king
who should succeed him should add another lock
to the portal; denouncing woe and destruction
on him who should eventually unfold the secret
of the tower.

The guardianship of the portal was given to
our ancestors, and has continued in our family,
from generation to generation, since the days of
Hercules. Several kings, from time to time,
have caused the gate to be thrown open, and
have attempted to enter, but have paid dearly
for their temerity. Some have perished within
the threshold, others have been overwhelmed
with horror at tremendous sounds, which shook
the foundations of the earth, and have hastened
to reclose the door and secure it with its thousand
locks. Thus, since the days of Hercules,
the inmost recesses of the pile have never been
penetrated by mortal man, and a profound mystery
continues to prevail over this great enchantment.
This, O king, is all we have to relate;
and our errand is to entreat thee to repair to the
tower and affix thy lock to the portal, as has
been done by all thy predecessors.” Having thus
said, the ancient men made a profound reverence
and departed from the presence chamber.[10]

Don Roderick remained for sometime lost in
thought after the departure of the men; he then
dismissed all his court excepting the venerable
Urbino, at that time archbishop of Toledo. The
long white beard of this prelate bespoke his
advanced age, and his overhanging eyebrows
showed him a man full of wary council.

“Father,” said the king, “I have an earnest
desire to penetrate the mystery of this tower.”
The worthy prelate shook his hoary head, “beware
my son,” said he, “there are secrets hidden
from man for his good. Your predecessors for
many generations have respected this mystery,
and have increased in might and empire. A
knowledge of it, therefore, is not material to the
welfare of your kingdom. Seek not then to
indulge a rash and unprofitable curiosity, which
is interdicted under such awful menaces.”

“Of what importance,” cried the king, “are
the menaces of Hercules, the Lybian? was he not
a pagan; and can his enchantments have ought
avail against a believer in our holy faith? Doubtless
in this tower are locked up treasures of gold
and jewels, amassed in days of old, the spoils of
mighty kings, the riches of the pagan world. My
coffers are exhausted; I have need of supply;
and surely it would be an acceptable act in the
eyes of heaven, to draw forth this wealth which

lies buried under profane and necromantic spells,
and consecrate it to religious purposes.”

The venerable archbishop still continued to
remonstrate, but Don Roderick heeded not his
council, for he was led on by his malignant star.
“Father,” said he, “it is in vain you attempt to
dissuade me. My resolution is fixed. Tomorrow
I will explore the hidden mystery, or rather
the hidden treasures of this tower.”