Had traced it with fresh blood.
“See all men!” Satan cried again,
And then his claim pursued.
“I ask for justice î I prefer
An equitable suit!
I appeal to the Law, and the case Admitteth of no dispute.
“If there be justice here,
If Law have place in Heaven,
Award upon this Bond
Must then for me be given.
“What to my rightful claim,
Basil, canst thou gainsay,
That I should not seize the Bondsman,
And carry him quick away?
“The writing is confess’d;..
No plea against it shown;..
The forfeiture is mine,
And now I take my own!”
“Hold there!” cried Basil, with a voice
That arrested him on his way,
When from the screen he would have swoopt
To pounce upon his prey;
“Hold there, I say! Thou canst not sue
Upon this Bond by law I
A sorry legalist were he
Who could not in thy boasted plea
Detect its fatal flaw.
“The Deed is null, for it was framed
With fraudulent intent;
A thing unlawful in itself;
A wicked instrument,...
Not to be pleaded in the Courts...
Sir Fiend, thy cause is shent!
“This were enough; but, more than this,
A maxim, as thou knowest, it is
Whereof all Laws partake,
That no one may of his own wrong
His own advantage make.
“The man, thou sayest, thy Bondsman is;
Mark now, how stands the fact!
Thou hast allow’d,.. nay, aided him
As a Freedman to contract
A marriage with this Christian woman here,
And by a public act.
“That act being publicly perform’d
With thy full cognizance,
Claim to him as thy Bondsman thou
Canst never more advance.
“For when they solemnly were then
United, in sight of Angels and men,
The matrimonial band
Gave to the wife a right in him;
And we on this might stand.
“Thy claim upon the man was by
Thy silence then forsaken;
A marriage thus by thee procured
May not by thee be shaken;
And thou, O Satan, as thou seest,
In thine own snare art taken!”
So Basil said, and paused awhile;
The Arch-Fiend answer’d not;
But he heaved in vexation
A sulphurous sigh for the Bishop’s vocation,
And thus to himself he thought;
“The Law thy calling ought to have been,
With thy wit so ready, and tongue so free!
To prove by reason in reason’s despite,
That right is wrong, and wrong is right,
And white is black, and black is white,..
What a loss have I had in thee!”
“I rest not here,” the Saint pursued;
“Tho’ thou in this mayest see,
That in the meshes of thine own net
I could entangle thee!
“Fiend, thou thyself didst bring about
The spousal celebration,
Which link’d them by the nuptial tie
For both their souls’ salvation.
“Thou sufferedst them before high Heaven
With solemn rights espoused to be,
Then and for evermore, for time
And for eternity.
“That tie holds good; those rites
Will reach their whole intent;
And thou of his salvation wert
Thyself the instrument.
And now, methinks, thou seest in this
A higher power than thine;
And that thy ways were overruled,
To work the will divine!”
With rising energy he spake,
And more majestic look;
And with authoritative hand
Held forth the Sacred Book.
Then with a voice of power he said,
“The Bond is null and void!
It is nullified, as thou knowest well.
By a Covenant whose strength by Hell
Can never be destroy’d!
“The Covenant of grace,
That greatest work of Heaven,
Which whoso claims in perfect faith,
His sins shall be forgiven.
“Were they as scarlet red
They should be white as wool;
This is the All-mighty’s Covenant,
Who is All-merciful!
“His Minister am I!
In his All-mighty name
To this repentant sinner
God’s pardon I proclaim!
“In token that against his soul
The sin shall no longer stand,
The writing is effaced, which there
Thou holdest in thy hand!
“Angels that are in bliss above
This triumph of Redeeming Love
Will witness, and rejoice;
And ye shall now in thunder hear
Heaven’s ratifying voice!”
A peal of thunder shook the pile;
The Church was fill’d with light,
And when the flash was past, the Fiend
Had vanish’d from their sight.
He fled as he came, but in anger and shame;
The pardon was complete,
And the impious scroll was dropt, a blank,
At Eleëmon’s feet.
THE PILGRIM TO COMPOSTELLA.
BEING THE LEGEND OF A COCK AND A HEN, TO THE HONOUR AND GLORY OF SANTIAGO.
A CHRISTMAS TALE.
“Res similis fictœ; sed quid mihi fingere prodest.”
OVID, Met xiii v. 935.
“Hear also no lean story of theirs!” — LIGHTFOOT.
The Legend, (for a genuine Legend it is,) which has been made the subject of the ensuing Ballad, is related by Bishop Patrick in his Parable of the Pilgrim, (ch xxxv pp. 430 — 434.) Udal ap Rhys relates it in his Tour through Spain and Portugal, (pp. 35 — 38.) Both these writers refer to Lucius Marineus Siculus as their authority. And it is told also in the Journal du Voyage d’Espagne, (Paris, 1669,) by a Conseiller who was attached to the French Embassy in that country, (p. 18.). The story may likewise be found in the Acta Sanctorum. A duplicate of the principal miracle occurs in the third volume, for the month of May, (die 12â, p. 171.), and is there ascribed to S. Domingo de la Calzada, the author, Luiz de la Vega, contending, that both relations are to be received as true, the Bollandist (Henschenius) contrariwise opining that they are distinct miracles, but leaving the reader nevertheless to determine freely for himself utrum id malit, an vero credere velit, unicum dumtaxat esse quod sub quadam circumstantiarum varietate refertur ut geminum. In the sixth volume of the same work, for the month of July, (die 25â,) the legend of the Pilgrim is twice told, once (p. 45) as occurring to a native of Utrecht, (Caesarius Heisterbachensis is the authority,) once as having befallen a German at Thoulouse (p. 50. ); the latter story is in the collection of Santiago’s miracles, which Pope Calixtus II. is said to have compiled.
The extract from Lucius Marineus Siculus may also be seen there. It is here annexed as it stands in the fifth book of that author’s work de rebus Hispaniœ memorabilibus. “In antiquissimâ civitate quam Sancti Dominici Calciatensis vulgus appellat, gallum vidimus et gallinam, qui dum vixerunt, cujus coloris fuissent ignoramus: postea vero cum jugulati fuissent et assi, candidissimi revixerunt, magnam Dei potentiam summumque miraculum referentes. Cujus rei veritas et ratio sic se Jiabet. Vir quidam probus et amicus Dei, et uxor ejus, optima mulier, cum filio adolescentulo magnæ probitatis, ad Sanctum Jacobum Compost
ellam proficiscentes, in hanc urbem itineris labore defessi ingrediuntur, et quiescendi gratia restiterunt in domo cujusdam qui adultam filiam habebat. Quce cum adolescentem pulchrâ facie vidisset, ejus amore capta est. Et cumjuvenis ab ea requisitus atque vexatus, ejus voto repugnasset, amorem convertit in odium, et ei nocere cupiens, tempore quo discedere volebant ejus cucullo crateram sui patris clam reposuit. Cumque peregrini mane discessissent, exclamavit puelfa coram parentibus crateram sibi fuisse subreptam. Quod audiens Pmtor satellites confestim misit, ut peregrinos reducerent. Qui cum venissent, puella conscia sui sceleris accessit ad juvenem et crateram emit e cucullo. Quapropter comperto delicto, juvenis in campum productus iniquâ sententiâ et sine culpâ laqueo suspensus est: miserique parentes cum filium deplorassent, postea discedentes Compostellam pervenerunt. Ubi solutis votis et Deo graiias agentes subinde redeuntes ad locum pervenerunt, ubi films erat suspensus, et mater multis per fusa lacrymis ad filium accessit, multùm desuadente marito. Cumque filium suspiceret, dixit ei filius, Mater mea noli flere super me ego enim vivus sum, quoniam Virgo Dei genetrix, et Sanctus Jacobus me sustinent et servant incolumem. Vade charissima mater ad judicem qui me falsô condemnavit, et dic ei me vivere propter innocentiam meam, ut me liberari jubeat, tibique restituât. Properat solicita mater, et præ nimio gaudio flens uberius, Prcetorem convenit in mensâ sedentem, qui gallum et gallinam assos scindere volebat. ‘Prcetor, inquit, filius meus vivit; jube solvi, obsecro!’ Quod cum audisset Prcetor, existimans earn quod dicebat propter amorem maternum sommasse, respondit subridens, ‘quid hoc est, bona mulier? Ne fallaris! sic enim vivit filius tuus, ut vivunt hat aves!’ Et vix hoc dixerat cum gallus et gallina saltaverunt in mensâ, statimque gallus cantavit. Quod cum, Prœtor vidisset attonitus continuo egreditur, vocat sacerdotes, et cives, proficiscuntur adjuvenum suspensurn: et invenerunt incolumem valdeque lœtantem, et parentibus restituunt; domumque reversi gallum capiunt et gallinam, et in ecclesiam transferunt magnâ solemnitate. Quœ ibi clausæ res admirabiles et Dei potentiam testificantes observantur, ubi septennio vivunt; hune enim terminum Deus illis instituit; et in fine septennii antequam moriantur, pullum relinquunt et pullam sui coloris et magnitudinis; et hoc fit in eâ ecclesiâ quolibet septennio. Magnœ quoque admirationis est, quod omnes per hanc urbem transeuntes peregrini, qui sunt innumerabiles, gaUi hujus et gallinœ plumam capiunt, et numquam illis plumes, deficiunt. Hoc ego testor, propterea quod vidi et interfui, plumamque mecum fero.” — Rerum Hispanicarum Scriptores, t ii p. 805. Luiz de la Vega agrees with Marineus Siculus in all the particulars of this perpetual miracle, except the latter; “sed scriptorem ilium fictionis arguit, quod asserat, plumas galli et gallinœ, quœ quotidie peregrinis iliac transeuntibus distribuuntur, prodigiose multiplicari: affirmai autem tamquam testis oculatus, in eâ ecclesiâ designatum esse quemdam clericum, qui plumas illas conservit et peregrinis distribuit; at negat continuum multiplications miraculum à Marineo Siculo tam confidenter assertum, in eâ urbe videri, aut patrari. Multis tamen probare nititur reliqua omnia prodigia esse vera, testaturque ad perpetuam rei memoriam in superiori ecclesiæ parte omnium oculis exponi idem patibulum, in quo peregrinus suspensus fuit.” — Acta Sanctorum, Jul t. vi p. 46.
THE PILGRIM TO COMPOSTELLA: PRELUDE.
“TELL US a story, old Robin Gray!
This merry Christmas time;
We are all in our glory, so tell us a story,
Either in prose, or in rhyme.
“Open your budget, old Robin Gray!
We very well know it is full;
Come! out with a murder,.. a Goblin,.. a Ghost,
Or a tale of a Cock and a Bull!”
“I have no tale of a Cock and à Bull,
My good little women and men;
But’t will do as well, perhaps, if I tell
A tale of a Cock and a Hen.”
THE PILGRIM TO COMPOSTELLA: INTRODUCTION.
You have all of you heard of St. James for Spain
As one of the Champions Seven,
Who, having been good Knights on Earth,
Became Hermits, and Saints in Heaven.
Their history once was in good repute,
And so it ought to be still;
Little friends, I dare say you have read it:
And if not, why I hope you will.
Of this St. James that book proclaims
Great actions manifold,
But more amazing are the things
Which of him in Spain are told.
How once a ship of marble made,
Came sailing o’er the sea,
Wherein his headless corpse was laid,
Perfumed with sanctity.
And how, though then he had no head,
He afterwards had two;
Which both work’d miracles so well,
That it was not possible to tell
The false one from the true.
And how he used to fight the Moors
Upon a milk-white charger:
Large tales of him the Spaniards tell,
Munchausen tells no larger.
But in their cause of latter years
He has not been so hearty;
For that he never struck a stroke is plain,
When our Duke, in many a hard campaign,
Beat the French armies out of Spain,
And conquer’d Buonaparte.
Yet still they worship him in Spain,
And believe in him with might and main:
Santiago there they call him;
And if any one there should doubt these tales,
They’ve an Inquisition to maul him.
At Compostella in his Church
His body and one head
Have been for some eight hundred years
By Pilgrims visited.
Old scores might there be clean rubb’d off,
And tickets there were given
To clear all toll gates on the way
Between the Churchyard and Heaven.
Some went for payment of a vow
In time of trouble made;
And some who found that pilgrimage
Was a pleasant sort of trade.
And some, I trow, because it was
Believed, as well as said,
That all, who in their mortal stage
Did not perform this pilgrimage,
Must make it when they were dead.
Some upon penance for their sins,
In person, or by attorney;
And some who were, or had been sick;
And some who thought to cheat Old Nick;
And some who liked the journey:
Which well they might when ways were safe;
And therefore rich and poor
Went in that age on pilgrimage,
As folks now make a tour.
The poor with scrip, the rich with purse,
They took their chance for better for worse,
From many a foreign land,
With a scallop-shell in the hat for badge,
And a Pilgrim’s staff in hand.
Something there is, the which to leave
Untold would not be well,
Relating to the Pilgrim’s staff,
And to the scallop-shell.
For the scallop shows in a coat of arms,
That of the bearer’s line
Some one, in former days, hath been
To Santiago’s shrine.
And the staff was bored and drilled for those
Who on a flute could play,
And thus the merry Pilgrim had
His music on the way.
THE PILGRIM TO COMPOSTELLA. PART I.
ONCE on a time three Pilgrims true,
Being Father and Mother and Son,
For pure devotion to the Saint,
This pilgrimage begun.
Their names, little friends, I am sorry to say,
In none of my books can I find;
But the son, if you please, we ‘ll call Pierre,
What the parents were call’d, ne
ver mind.
From France they came, in which fair land
They were people of good renown;
And they took up their lodging one night on the way
In La Calzada town.
Now, if poor Pilgrims they had been,
And had lodged in the Hospice instead of the Inn,
My good little women and men,
Why then you never would have heard,
This tale of the Cock and the Hen.
For the Innkeepers they had a daughter,
Sad to say, who was just such another,
As Potiphar’s daughter, I think, would have been
If she follow’d the ways of her mother.
This wicked woman to our Pierre
Behaved like Potiphar’s wife;
And, because she fail’d to win his love,
She resolved to take his life.
So she pack’d up a silver cup
In his wallet privily;
And then, as soon as they were gone,
She raised a hue and cry.
The Pilgrims were overtaken,
The people gather’d round,
Their wallets were search’d, and in Pierre’s
The silver cup was found.
They dragg’d him before the Alcayde;
A hasty Judge was he,
“The theft,” he said, “was plain and proved,
And hang’d the thief must be.”
So to the gallows our poor Pierre
Was hurried instantly.
If I should now relate
The piteous lamentation,
Which for their son these parents made,
My little friends, I am afraid
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 139