As a picturesque example of how closely allied to fiction is the development of supposed history, the story of Witiza is of value. There is much uncertainty as to his end. There seems to have been a rebellion, and the power seems to have been divided with Roderic, who was called the son of King Cindasuinto, but was more probably a descendant. The story was told that Roderic finally, with the aid of Greek allies, captured Witiza and put out his eyes; but of this the contemporary Isidorus Pacensis[z] says no word. We can only be sure that Roderic reigned supreme in 709. So fabulous is the fame of this Roderic, “the last of the Goths,” that some historians have been tempted to deny that he ever existed at all. Dahn[mm] calls him an historical phantom; and even less credence is given to the famous romance of the lovely Florinda, to whose virtues he showed no mercy, and whose father in revenge called in the Arabs from Africa to the rich conquest lying at their very feet. This romance, though so little credible, is so closely allied with the Moslem conquest of Spain, that it may well be briefly told, especially as there is nothing impossible or improbable in the main incidents, once the story is rid of its miraculous fairy-story accretions, such as the enchanted tower of Hercules, where Roderic found inscriptions prophesying the coming Arab storm.[a]
THE FABLE OF RODERIC AND FLORINDA (709-711 A.D.)
[709-711 A.D.]
Among the ladies of King Roderic’s court, say the later chronicles of Spain, there was one of uncommon beauty, named Florinda or La Cava, the daughter or wife of one Doyllar or Don Illan, or Don Julian. She had the misfortune to please the king; but as her virtue was equal to her loveliness, she indignantly rejected his overtures. But kings, and least of all Gothic kings, were not to be repulsed with impunity; and Roderic accomplished by force what he could not do by persuasion. The lady dissimulated her deadly hatred until she had an opportunity of communicating her dishonour to her father, then absent against the Moors.
All on fire at the indignity done his child and house, the count resolved on a revenge with which the whole earth should ring. He entered into a compact with the misbelievers, engaging to put them in possession of the whole country, if they would wash away his dishonour in the blood of the foul ravisher. He wrapped his purpose in great secrecy until he had rescued his daughter from the clutches of the king: he himself fetched her from the court of Toledo, and behaved to Roderic with so much courtesy that no one could suspect he knew of his wrong, much less that he was about so fatally to avenge it. On his return to Ceuta, the seat of his government, he found the Moors prepared for the expedition: he openly joined them, accompanied the infidel general to Gibraltar, and thus commenced the famous struggle which was to end in the subjugation of a great nation.
The whole story of Florinda is evidently a romance—probably of Arabic invention—similar to the many thousand others which formed the amusement of the people in the Middle Ages. It is first mentioned by the monk of Silos,[ii] who wrote about four hundred years after the Mohammedan invasion. No doubt, however, can be entertained that Count Julian was among the most influential and active of the conspirators who called the Arabs into Spain.
The chivalric Romance of Don Roderic[nn]—about as good an authority as the monk of Silos on such a subject—gives us a minute account of the amour, its progress, and termination. From the whole conversation, as given by this anonymous novelist, Roderic might be justified in believing that the scruples of La Cava were not insuperable[18]—that, in fact, she was willing in heart, but coy through maiden bashfulness. Even at last, when she might have so easily alarmed the palace, she was silent through fear of her cries reaching the ears of the queen. Count Julian’s daughter is made a model of virtue by Southey, and Roderic himself is represented as scarcely inferior.
VISIGOTHIC CIVILISATION
[415-711 A.D.]
The government of the Visigoths was, in appearance, an absolute monarchy; yet the power of the chief was so restrained in its exercise by the controlling influence of the prelates, that it might, with equal propriety, be termed a theocracy. In the infancy of their office, the Gothic kings were no less controlled by their nobles; they were, in fact, but primi inter pares; they had no royal descent, no hereditary honours, nor, indeed, much transmitted wealth, with which to captivate or influence their rude companions. Every fierce chieftain considered himself as good as his king, and might become one himself. His titles were high-sounding: “Your Glory” was the most usual; though the epithets of Pious, Conquering, etc., were often added. Recared was the first of the Visigothic kings distinguished by the name of Flavius. Whether he assumed it after the imperial family of that name, or from its reputed Gothic signification, is unknown; but it continued to adorn the titles of his successors. His father was also the first who surrounded the throne with regal state, and whose effigy bore the impress of a crowned head. The successors of that monarch improved on his magnificence: robes of purple, thrones of silver, sceptres and crowns of gold, distinguished them still more from the time of Cindasuinto.