The national love of the sword and buckler was encouraged in the Spaniards by many of their sovereigns, foremost among whom was the warrior-King, Charles V. In the beginning of the sixteenth century the crown of Spain passed to this prince, the grandson and heir of Maximilian of Germany, in whose veins flowed the blood of the martial Dukes of Burgundy. Maximilian had done more than any other monarch to encourage and advance the armourer’s art, and Charles V.’s passion for the practice and perfecting of arms, and all that pertained to military equipment, was even greater than that evinced by his grandfather. By a fortunate combination of circumstances, supplemented by his lust of conquest, he found himself the monarch of three realms, in one of which (Spain) the love of arms was almost a mania, while in the other two (Germany and Italy) the armourer’s craft had attained a degree of perfection that has not been approached in any other age or country. The sovereign that could command the services of the Colmans of Augsburg and the Negrolis of Milan was in an unequalled position for one who desired to gratify a taste for armour, and Charles did not neglect his opportunity. He patronised liberally the master-craftsmen of Italy and Germany, sedulously stimulating their rivalry the while, and at his death left to Spain—the worthiest of his realms to inherit it—the finest collection of knightly harnesses that any monarch had ever possessed.
It will be gathered from the following brief sketch that Spain has achieved distinction both as a manufactory and a storehouse of arms. Aragon, and, to a less marked extent, Castile, were always in the van where the improvement of armour was concerned; and although experts consider that Italy set the fashion in the craft during the Middle Ages, it is by no means certain that Barcelona did not, at some periods, assume the lead. Swords, as in the days of the Cæsars, continued to be exported to Italy from Catalonia through the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth centuries, the traffic, curiously enough, being chiefly in the hands of that unwarlike race, the Jews.
But while arms and armour have ever been a study in the Peninsula which has engaged the closest attention of Kings, soldiers, and artificers, no distinct style, no essentially national type of armour was, or could be, evolved. Nor is this fact calculated to cause surprise, for it is obvious that there can be no Spanish school of armoury in the sense that there is a Spanish school of painting, or of music. Weapons and means of defence must vary according to periods rather than localities, and thus it follows that while the armour of one century may be easily distinguished from that of another, to differentiate between a German and a French suit of the same period is always a difficult, frequently an impossible, task. The warrior could not permit himself to be swayed by fanciful or patriotic prejudice in the fashion or make of his arms; his life depended on the stoutness and quality of his weapons, and he secured the best that his means could command wherever they were obtainable. If the enemy were possessed of stronger, more pliant, or better tempered weapons or accoutrements, the soldier had no choice but to learn the methods of his foeman. The secrets of improvements in the science of armoury could only be preserved in times of peace, for, once the weapons were used in the tented field, the riddle of their superiority was solved. The harness of a vanquished knight became, according to the laws of chivalry, the property of his conqueror. In this manner a constant interchange of arms and armour went on through the Iron Ages, and the equipment and methods of victorious and vanquished nations were sooner or later divulged and adopted.
There is, therefore, as has been said, no national school of Spanish arms; and the Royal Armoury itself, although admittedly the finest collection of its kind in the world, is not a gallery of Spanish workmanship. Thanks to the range and extent of the dominion of its founder, Charles V., the Armoury, from its institution, has assumed an international character. Here are suits of harness, the choicest product of native craft, executed at the Emperor’s command, interspersed with the finest works of Germany, of Flanders, and of Italy—gifts, purchases, and the spoils of war. In no other collection of a like nature can be seen so many chefs d’œuvres of the greatest masters of Europe; but while so many of the most important exhibits are of foreign origin, the museum remains essentially the Royal Armoury of Spain—the repository of the armour of its kings, the swords of its captains, and the trophies of its victorious armies.
I
FROM THE FIFTH TO THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY
WHEN, in the fifth century, the Visigoths passed over the Pyrenees and laid the foundations of a new nation, they found a people armed for war, as they were clothed in peace, after the Roman fashion. The legionary’s equipment must have been tolerably familiar to the fair-haired invaders, and it is likely that they had already adopted it in many of its details. That they did so on their establishment in Spain, at all events, is proved by the descriptions contained in the Etymologies of St. Isidore, which, however, make no mention of the lorica or breastplate, and ocreas or greaves worn by the soldiers of the empire. Reference is made instead by the saintly chronicler to coats of fence, made of chain-mail, or of thick quilted stuff woven in Silesia.
There was at one time a very general belief that chain armour was introduced into Europe from the East. This view is successfully combated by Hewitt—Ancient Armour and Weapons in Europe—who proves that this important article of military apparel was worn by the Germans, Normans, and Anglo-Saxons at a very remote period. Varro, indeed, ascribes its invention to the Gauls. The Anglo-Saxon epic, “Beowulf” (eighth century) contains many allusions to the “ringed byrnie,” while in the Volsunga Saga we read that “Sigurd’s sides so swelled with rage that the rings of his byrnie were burst asunder.” It is evident from this passage that what was meant was mail-armour; i.e., composed of interlinked rings, not merely the quilted tunic on which were sown metal discs, such as was, however, undoubtedly worn also at that time and for many centuries after. Both kinds of defensive armour may have been brought to Spain by the Visigoths, or again adopted by them subsequent to their settlement in the country.
I have been unable to discover on effigies or in illuminated manuscripts any specimens of Visigothic armour. There is good reason to believe that it was far from being of a rude description. The methods of tempering steel which had made the blades of Toledo and Bilbilis renowned throughout the Roman world could hardly have been forgotten; and Baron Davillier has shown that a craft closely allied to the armourer’s—the goldsmith’s—received liberal encouragement from the successors of Ataulfo. The Saracens, according to their own historians, were amazed at the splendour and richness of the treasure accumulated in the cities of Spain. Tharik Ben Zeyad, when he took Toledo in 712, found amongst a profusion of crowns, jewellery, and plate, “gilded armour, daggers, and swords richly mounted, bows, lances, and various arms, offensive and defensive.” The spoils, as enumerated by another writer, included one thousand swords for the use of the kings, and one hundred and seventy crowns of pure gold.
This testimony is confirmed by the priceless relics of Visigothic dominion, preserved in the Cluny Museum, and, thanks to the liberality of Queen Isabel II., in the Royal Armoury at Madrid (see plate 1). The circumstances of their discovery, as related by Don Pedro de Madrazo, and set forth by Conde de Valencia de San Juan, are of almost romantic interest.
“On the night of August 25th, 1858, a man and a woman were journeying on two small donkeys along the road from Toledo to Guadamar. On approaching the Guarrazar fountain, they observed by the light of the moon, that the rain which had fallen during a great storm the previous day, had washed the earth down towards the issue of the fountain, and left bare what looked like tombs. Out of curiosity, or necessity, the woman got off her donkey, and approached them, and in a square hole, made of stones and lime, ill-concealed with two flat stones, between which the moonlight penetrated, she saw with wonder that something strange was glistening. On her exclaiming, the man also dismounted, and, putting his hand into the hole, he touched an object like a collar made of hearts. He took it out, and after that, other things of different shapes, then a cross, then a crown, and then a larger one ... washing them with the water from the adjoining fountain, gold and precious stones revealed themselves to their astonished eyes. They afterwards declared that they thought they were dreaming. They took away the treasure they had found with all secrecy; said nothing in the town, and the following night, with the same secrecy, and provided with a small lantern and the necessary tools, they returned to examine the marvellous hiding-place, whence they took all that remained.