The news was speedily carried to Don Henry, if indeed he was not awaiting it near by, and well armed he hurried to the spot where the king was. As this scene took place at night in presence of numerous witnesses, and it was long since they had met, they did not immediately recognise one another. Don Henry being informed of his brother’s presence, the latter confirmed the news with noble arrogance, saying: “’Tis I! ’Tis I!”
Then occurred one of the most terrible scenes related in history for the horror of mankind. Don Henry wounded the king in the face with his dagger, and both grappling they fell to the ground. Don Henry succeeded, either by his own strength or with the assistance of a bystander, in falling on the top and wounding the unhappy king mortally, finally cutting off his head with furious wrath. Thus on March 23rd, 1369, was consummated a great crime against the legitimate king, and a repellent fratricide which, if Don Henry had refrained from presenting himself at that place, would have been avoided. It may be that he had no intention of killing the king with his own hand, and that infuriated by his hateful presence he flung himself upon him precipitately; but he should have foreseen the result, knowing that Pedro was about to become his prisoner through Du Guesclin’s treachery. It may be that the latter was merely actuated by a desire to bring this long war to an end, and secure the throne to Don Henry whom he served, and who had almost succeeded in winning it; but his intervention in this business, which terminated in a most horrible fratricide, was disloyal and unworthy of one whom the French esteem their greatest knight, nor was treachery called for, as Don Pedro must speedily have surrendered.
To conclude, this tragedy was shameful for the principal actors in it, the victim alone being free from taint, and to a certain extent his memory was purified by the shedding of his blood; for had not his tempestuous life come to so untimely an end, we may feel certain that passionate defenders would never have arisen to obliterate the title of “cruel” by which he is and ever will be known in history.[j]
A FINAL ESTIMATE OF PEDRO THE CRUEL
In recent times, attempts have been made by Mondejar,[k] and other historical critics, to vindicate the memory of this king, on the ground that his chronicler and contemporary, Pedro López de Ayala,[h] was a blind partisan of his rival’s, and has injuriously treated his memory. They tell us of a chronicle of this king, written by Don Juan de Castro, bishop of Jaen, in which Pedro is represented as one of the best sovereigns of the age—as one who, while he protected the oppressed, was severe only against his turbulent and lawless barons. There may be some truth in this latter assertion: Pedro, like Richard III of England, whom he partially resembles, was probably no enemy to the humbler orders, but eager only to break the formidable power of the nobles. Even admitting, what is very probable, that his character has been somewhat unfairly treated by Ayala, if one-half the deeds narrated by that author were actually perpetrated by him,—and the careful minuteness with which they are recorded gives them the appearance of authenticity,—he has had but one equal in ferocity, and that one was the czar Ivan IV of Russia. Until Castro’s pretended chronicle is actually produced—and it has been sought for in vain these three hundred years—and compared with Ayala, criticism is compelled to receive the testimony of the latter, confirmed, as it incidentally is, by Froissart[i] and other contemporary writers. That he was a man of lust, as well as of cruelty, is apparent from the number of his mistresses, to say nothing of his two pretended wives.[b]
Prosper Mérimée[m] is one of the modern defenders of Pedro, but while his tone is apologetic, his facts leave the resulting opinion only the stronger. Hume[n] admits the black heart of Pedro, but denies that he was exceptionally heartless for that time, and insists that his struggles against the nobles were for the good of the people and his failure to restrain their feudal power a calamity. It is hard, however, to believe that a monstrosity whom even his contemporaries found worthy of the fame of the most cruel of the cruel, could have been moved by any altruistic care for his people, or any motive except ferocious hatred of any resistance to his unutterable selfishness.
It is difficult to find in history a monarch whose reign had not some effort for good, since perfection in vice is as impossible as perfection in virtue. But surely no other king ever deserved less sympathy than Pedro for his failure to check the noblemen in their greed. Surely the feudal lords rarely used their power with better excuse than in protecting for a time the unhappy girl-wife Blanche de Bourbon whom Pedro sought to murder, and finally put to death. And the revolt of Trastamara can only be blamed by those to whom legitimacy of descent is a sacred claim on loyalty, even though the legitimate monarch wield his dagger right and left and have his kinsmen beaten to death with clubs till the floor of his own palace was ankle-deep in blood, as the chronicler asserts of Pedro.
It is unjust to deny the monarch the one distinction he earned by consistency and perseverance in the cause of evil. “Cruel” was his epithet in his own day; let “cruel” be his epitaph in ours.[a]
FOOTNOTES
[30] [Usually, but improperly termed, “the Wise” and also “the Astronomer.”[b]]