University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

The appearance of Romano's body at the gate of the palace, produced an astonishing
sensation when it met the eyes of the populace on the ensuing morning. It
was beheld by the water-carriers first, and they proclaimed it throughout the city.
The soldiers on duty about the palace, dared not remove it, until commanded by
their officers, and the citizens in the meantime collected from far and near to behold
it. The fanatic was well known, and greatly esteemed throughout Toledo. By
many among the lower orders, he was regarded as a saint; and the rigid and ascetic
life which he invariably led, at a time and in a region where none were abstinent,
and few moderate or just—these qualities in the deceased, had commended him to
the favorable consideration of many who were not low; as it is not unfrequently
the case that we admire the virtues in another, which we dare not ourselves practice,
and which we admire probably for that very reason. The venerable features
of Romano commanded respect, apart from his known character; and as the head
keeper of the famous House of Hercules, he was regarded as one endowed with a
sanctity beyond any of his fellows. When, too, it was recollected how grossly he
had been spurned by Roderick, there seemed a solemn meaning in the fact of his
having come to the door of the despot in order to breathe his last; and this thought
took various shapes at the expense of Roderick, as the crowd momently increased to
survey the body, until they looked up and around them in anticipation, while they
spoke freely of the judgments which were to follow.

By the time the sun had fairly risen, the crowd had increased to such an extent
as to alarm the apprehension of the soldiers. Their murmurs were audibly uttered,

and now and then a sentence from some hasty speaker, betrayed a spirit of insolence,
which was very apt in those days to draw down summary punishment upon
the heads of the populace. They all remembered the virtue of Romano, and the
transition was easy from the virtues of the deceased to the vices of him who was
supposed to have destroyed him. One of the speakers, a sturdy Gallician, endowed
with all the pugnacity which distinguished his fierce tribe, was the first to approach
the body of the deceased priest, and kneeling down reverently before it, to breathe
forth his maledictions freely upon those, whoever they might be, whose cruelty had
reduced it to its present condition. The language which he employed offended the
jealous soldier who stood by, and with all the contemptuous insolence which marked
the deportment of the military in that period toward the inferior and laboring population,
he threatened to apply the staff of his spear to the speaker if he did not instantly
depart. This threat aroused the other, who, in an instant stood upon his
feet, and looked, if he did not threaten, defiance. His eye flashed fire, and his lips
were compressed, while it could be seen that the short stick which he carried in his
hand, and which was simply the handle for his panniers, was grasped firmly, as if
about to be employed as a weapon of strife. His look and attitude irritated, if it did
not alarm the soldier.

“Wouldst thou bite, dog?” he exclaimed. “Hence—get back to thy brethren!
Begone, ere it be worse for thee!”

As he said these words, he advanced, and, with the point of his spear, pricked
the Gallician in his side. To the surprise of the solders, no less than of the populace,
the stick of the latter was raised instantly, and with one blow he shattered
the spear of the soldier, breaking it completely in twain, just where the iron head
was fastened upon the wood, and leaving nothing but the pole in the hands of his
assailant. This daring act of insubordination was beheld with astonishment by the
crowd, who, for a few seconds after, preserved a profound silence, awaiting the
issue, for they looked every moment to see the bold Gallician hewn down by the
approaching comrades of the soldier; but when they beheld the stupid wonder with
which the latter stood, looking alternately at his broken spear and at his sturdy
opponent, a unanimous and spontaneous shout, which made the area reëcho again,
attested the delight which the circumstance afforded them. They had too frequently
suffered under the insolence of the soldiery, which they dared not resent, not to
rejoice in any rebuke which should give them that revenge which they had never
dared of themselves to take; and shout succeeded to shout, and clamor to clamor,
increasing rapidly, and stimulating momently that sentiment of new-born courage
in the mob which came to them like a draught of intoxicating enjoyment. The
clamor aroused the rage of the soldier, who instantly rushed upon the Gallician.
Their weapons were more nearly equal now than before; and the short stick of the
latter, while it effectually parried the thrusts of the soldier's staff—for he still used it
as a spear—rang about his head with a quickness which he found it impossible to
parry. A sharp stroke sent him reeling backward, and the Gallician pressed upon
him. Luckily, at this time, several of the guards rushing from other sections of the
court, came to his assistance, and the sturdy Gallicean, still waving his stick in triumph,
gave back slowly before them, until he was sheltered in the crowd, which
received him with joyful acclamations.

Their clamors chafed the soldiery, already irritated by the defeat of their comrade.
They collected together, and resolved not merely to disperse but to chastise the
populace. This, however, was no easy matter. The guards were few; but accustomed
to strike without being resisted, they did not count the difference of numbers,
and resolutely determined upon having satisfaction for the insult, which they had

received. Besides, it was necessary that they should preserve the silence, not less
than the security of the palace; and such now was the excited feeling of the mob, that
their clamors increased with every moment of delay. The whole front of the court
was covered with them; and their heads and hands swayed about with the increasing
swell, like the waves of a broken sea. They were unarmed however, with the
exception of a few staves and sticks, and the short knife—the handle and blade
being both of steel—which the natives generally carried. These, unless the owners
of them were determined upon extremes, could not have opposed effectually the
small but drilled band of armed men that now advanced in a close body, compact as
a wedge, upon the mass; and this determination was, as yet, lacking in the hearts of
the greater number of that mighty but undecided mass. As those in front beheld
the approaching soldiers, they turned, with one or two exceptions, to fly; but the
crowd behind them, still increasing, and as yet ignorant of the danger of those within,
opposed an effectual obstacle to their flight. The soldiers pressed upon them with a
haste of step and a ferocity of demeanor which proved them to be quite in earnest, and
rendered it necessary that those in danger should do what they could in the emergency
to avoid or avert it. A few fell to supplications; but the greater number were
silent and sullen—and one or two, the more resolute among them, already grasped
the handles of their knives. At this moment the Gallician, who had been completely
hidden in the crowd, was seen bustling forward to the front; and this
temerity in seeking the danger which all others were disposed to fly, was hailed
with murmurs of applause from many around him. But there was one in that
numerous assembly—but one—who sought to restrain the fierce mountaineer. That
was a female, a young girl, not more than fifteen, whose dark sparkling eye was
now bright with tears of gathering apprehension. She grasped the arm of the
Gallician, which was lifted high above the heads of the crowd, and bore aloft in its
yellow hand a thick Gothic curtal-axe, which waved threateningly conspicuous in
the eyes of all. Her words at the same time, pleadingly soft, were still audible to
all around.

“Do not, do not, dear Toro!—remember our poor mother!—come with me,
brother—she is waiting for us by the fountain, and if thou shouldst come to harm,
what will become of her?—what will become of me? Do not go forward—thy life
is precious—and see, where the guards come. Stay, stay!—go back with me,
brother—help me out of the crowd.”

“Unloose me, Toly!—let my arm go,” cried the impatient brother, as he still
pressed forward to the front, bearing the girl along with him, who clung resolutely
to his arm, while she pleaded for his retreat.

“Be not rash, dear brother. Toro, Toro!—our mother, dear Toro!—she waits.”

At this moment the charge of the guards was made, and the bristling line of pikes,
bearing down upon the indecisive crowd, produced a terrible uproar and confusion
in front. The assailed and unarmed line, thus exposed unwillingly, and unavoidably
now, to the assailants, reeled back in consternation upon the dense and mighty
mass, which was still gathering behind them, and while some fell, struggling and
kicking confusedly upon the ground where they lay, others, with a supernatural
exercise of physical energy, the result of their sudden and great terror, pressed their
way farther back among the crowd, ever turning those immediately in the path, and
bearing those along in their flight who yet seemed resolute to go forward. Of this
number, was our bold Gallician. Vainly did he strive to resist the rush; for though
possessed of immense strength for one of his size, it proved unequal to the task of
opposing the impetuous progress of those whom the pressing terror was impelling
in blind confusion. Hoarsely he cried aloud to them with bitter reproaches, while

with arms and knees, and full and forward chest, he threw himself in the way of
one after another of the fugitives. Meanwhile, the soldiers, provoked by a brutal
indifference to the cruelty of such an assault, continued to thrust among the crowd
with their spears, wounding severely and indiscriminately the miserable wretches
who offered no resistance. But they urged the fugitives too fast, and the peasants,
goaded, beyond patience, and unable to escape, like the trampled worm, turned at
length upon their enemies. The Gallician beheld the awakening spirit of his
brethren with delight, and with a joy which was absolutely furious; he shouted to
them in brief, stern, quick cries, bidding them do as they beheld him do, and promising
them success, if they would but show a proper courage. With an unscrupulous
effort, which was almost violence, he broke away from the grasp of his sister,
who still implored him with lifted hands to desist, and hurried forward. The young
maiden strove to follow him, and though swayed about with every movement of the
striving bodies around her, she contrived to keep him in sight. A spear was levelled
at his throat the moment he appeared in front, which he parried first and then
grasped with a prompt and efficient hand. In the next instant his axe clove the
head of the soldier, whom, with a jerk upon the spear, he had drawn within reach
of the blow, and he fell dead without a groan.

There was a dreadful pause after this had been done, but it lasted for an instant
only. The soldiers, furious at what they saw, now turned their entire rage upon
the Gallician, who was conspicuous in front, and he must have perished but that
the blood dripping from his axe, which he bore within sight of the multitude, had
a powerful effect upon them. They saw it on every side, and from the remotest
members of the mass, a shout—the shout of a common appetite, of the ferce instinct
of destruction—arose terribly on the air. The language of that shout was a stimulant
to the mob, and it had an appalling meaning to the soldiers. They were now
conscious, for the first time, that the mere pressure of the human mass in front of
them, must be fatal, and they sought to amend their error. They now aimed to
retire, until they could recruit themselves from the guards who filled the various
stations in the palace and the neighboring gardens; but their movement had still
farther the effect of inspiring the multitude. The members in the back ground, now
farily conscious of what was going on within, and at the same time secure themselves,
gave full exercise to their curiosity, and pressed forward, urging those within
more densely between the walls of the court, and more immediately upon the soldiers.
The latter sounded their trumpets of alarm; and a moment's consideration
then came to the fierce Gallician. He now saw the beginning of the end, for
which, in the first movements of his impulse, he had not prepared. He had struck
at first, because of the personal indignity to which he had been subjected—he had
armed himself and reappeared, because he perceived that his fellows were about to
suffer for his offence; but it was only when he had advanced nearly to the front,
that he knew of the presence of his sister. Taking advantage of the pause in the
strife, occasioned by the falling back of the guards toward the inner court of the
palace, he endeavored to bear the girl to a place of safety; he had already got his
arm about her waist, and had lifted her from the ground, intending to bear her if
practicable, through the crowd, when a hollow and deep voice from the midst of the
mass attracted the general regard.

“Saint Romano! Saint Romano! my brethren!” was the sudden cry. Every eye
was turned now upon the body of the fanatic, which lay upon the steps of the
portal, leading to the inner courts, and to which the backward steps of the guard
were turned.

“Shall we leave the blessed remains for his murderers to trample, my brethren?”
continued the mighty voice.

“No, no, no!” was the cry from a thousand tongues.

“Saint Romano—the body of the saint is ours—let us bear it to the sanctuary of
the Holy Church. Come, all ye who would be blessed, come! Give your hands
to the labor, and let us bear the holy corpse of the saint to the bosom of the Holy
Church!”

Such was the cry from hundreds. The deep voice from the bosom of the multitude
was heard again, and its summons was potential.

“Saint Romano, the blessed martyr—whoso shall touch of his body, shall have
eternal life.”

This was enough. The enthusiasm became a fury, and from the farthest groups
of the mob, to which this adjuration had extended, all strove in the effort to obtain
possession or at least a touch of those holy remains which were to work out their
deliverance and salvation. A common rage was in every countenance—eyes were
kindled with hope, hearts beating with excitement and anticipation, while the
compressed lips of all forbid the utterance of that breath, every particle of which
seemed essential to the desired object. One short, one mixed cry, in which the
unanimous motive was clearly uttered, was all; and the silence which followed it,
was like a spell. There was something terrible in the sight of thousands, thus
striving and toiling forward, in one direction, with one aim, with all their strength,
and their souls evidently going with their efforts, yet in such profound silence.

The rush of the mighty mass was irresistible. Vainly did the fearless and strong
Gallician, sustaining his lovely and terrified sister in his arms, endeavor to stem the
torrent, and maintain his ground. His teeth were shut together—his axe lifted to
threaten—his whole frame thrown forward—his head thrust down, like that of a
wild-bull when he meets the sudden hunter, resolute to rend the approaching enemy;
but in vain. Vainly would the advancing individual, whom thus he threatened, have
sought to turn aside and avoid him. He was but one of the thousand wedges of the impelling
mass behind. The study Toro was drawn forward and compelled to join in
the rush; but he still bore his trembling and panting sister aloft, unhurt, though
terrified in the last degree, by the pressure of the crowd and the madness of its
every movement. The guards turned at the entrance of the court, and presented
their spears immediately over the corpse of the newly created saint. But of what
avail were such weapons, or weapons of any sort, in opposing men on the eve
of salvation? The spears were dashed aside, and even where they took effect upon
the body of one or other of the mob, the individual only thrust himself still more
impetuously upon the shaft, which was buried in his body, willing to perish, if he
could only fall upon the miserable but worshipped remains which lay before him.

The efforts of the guards were unavailing. Indeed, they were utterly surprised
by this unwonted outbreak of the people, and they were divested, in consequence,
of half their accustomed confidence. They were borne back from the body of the
fanatic, over which their spears had been crossed, and, separated in the rush from one
another, broken and disordered, they fled tumultously through the passage leading
to the inner court, and sought safety by the most dastardly flight from a pursuit
which they thought would have been continued. It was here that they should
have made their stand. The passage was narrow, and might have been maintained
by their small number against thousands. But they had been completely terrified
by the sudden, unusual, and unlooked for exhibition of the popular rage, and they
fled, without being conscious, for several minutes, that they were not pursued.