In the Aula at Toledo
Loudly are the trumpets blowing
To the spiritual tourney,
Gaily dress’d, the crowd are going.
This is no mere worldly combat,
Not one arm of steel here glances;
Sharply pointed and scholastic
Words are here the only lances.
Gallant Paladins here fight not,
Ladies’ honest fame defending;
Capuchins and Jewish Rabbis
Are the knights who’re here contending.
In the place of helmets are they
Scull caps and capouches wearing;
Scapular and Arbecanfess
Are the armour they are bearing.
Which God is the one true God?
He, the Hebrew stern and glorious
Unity, whom Rabbi Juda
Of Navarre would see victorious?
Or the triune God, whom Christians
Hold in love and veneration,
As whose champion Friar Jose,
The Franciscan, takes his station?
By the might of weighty reasons,
And the logic taught at college,
And quotations from the authors
Whose repute one must acknowledge,
Either champion ad absurdum
His opponent would bring duly,
And the pure divinity
Of his own God point out truly.
’Tis laid down that he whose foeman
Manages his cause to smother,
Should be bound to take upon him
The religion of the other,
And the Jew be duly christen’d,—
This was the express provision,—
On the other hand the Christian
Bear the rite of circumcision.
Each one of the doughty champions
Has eleven comrades by him,
All to share his fate determined,
And for weal or woe keep nigh him.
While the monks who back the friar
With assurance full and steady
Hold the holy-water vessels
For the rite of christening ready,
Swinging sprinkling-brooms and censers,
Whence the incense smoke is rising,—
All their adversaries briskly
Whet their knives for circumcising.
By the lists within the hall stand,
Ready for the fray, both forces,
And the crowd await the signal,
Eager for the knights’ discourses.
’Neath a golden canopy,
While their courtiers duly flatter,
Both the king and queen are sitting;
Quite a child appears the latter.
With a small French nose, her features
Are in roguishness not wanting,
And the ever laughing rubies
Of her mouth are quite enchanting.
Fragile fair inconstant flower,—
May the grace of God be with her!—
From the merry town of Paris
She has been transplanted hither,
To the country where the Spanish
Old grandees’ stiff manners gall her;
Whilome known as Blanche de Bourbon,
Donna Blanca now they call her.
And the monarch’s name is Pedro,
With the nickname of The Cruel;
But to-day, in gentle mood, he
Looks as if he ne’er could do ill.
With the nobles of his court he
Enters into conversation,
And both Jew and Moor addresses
With a courteous salutation.
For these sons of circumcision
Are the monarch’s favourite creatures;
They command his troops, and also
In finances are his teachers.
Suddenly the drums ’gin beating,
And the trumpets’ bray announces
That the conflict is beginning,
Where each knight the other trounces.
The Franciscan monk commences,
Bursting into furious passion,
And his voice, now harsh, now growling,
Blusters in a curious fashion.
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit
In one sentence he comprises,
And the seed accurst of Jacob
In the Rabbi exorcises.
For in suchlike controversies
Little devils oft are hidden
In the Jews, and give them sharpness,
Wit, and arguments when bidden.
Having thus expell’d the devil
By his mighty exorcism,
Comes the monk, dogmatically,
Quoting from the catechism.
He recounts how in the Godhead
Persons three are comprehended,
Who, whenever they so will it,
Into one are straightway blended.
’Tis a mystery unfolded
But to those who, in due season,
Have escaped from out the prison
And the chains of human reason.
He recounts how God was born at
Bethlehem, of a tenderhearted
Virgin, whose divine unsullied
Innocency ne’er departed.
How they laid the Lord Almighty
In a lowly stable manger,
Where the calf and heifer meekly
Stood around the newborn stranger.
He recounts, too, how the Lord
From King Herod’s minions flying,
Went to Egypt, how still later
Death’s sharp pangs he suffer’d, dying.
In the time of Pontius Pilate,
Who subscribed his condemnation,
Urged on by the Jews and cruel
Pharisees’ confederation.
He recounts, too, how the Lord,
Bursting from the tomb’s dark prison
On the third day, into heaven
Had in glorious triumph risen;
How, when ’tis the proper time, he
Would return to earth in splendour,
At Jehoshaphat, to judge there
Every quick and dead offender.
“Tremble, Jews!” exclaim’d the friar,
“At the God whom ye tormented
“Cruelly with thorns and scourges,
“To whose death ye all consented.
“Jews, ye were his murderers! nation
“Of vindictive fierce behaviour!
“Him who comes to free you, still ye
“Slay,—ye murder him, the Saviour.
“Jews, the carrion where the demons
“Coming from the lower regions
“Dwell, your bodies are the barracks
“Of the devil’s wicked legions.
“Thomas of Aquinas says so,
“He is famed in Christian story,
“Call’d the mighty ox of learning,
“Orthodoxy’s light and glory.
“Villain race of Jews! you’re nought but
“Wolves, hyenas, jackals hateful,
“Church-yard prowlers, who deem only
“Flesh of corpses to be grateful.
“Jews, O Jews! you’re hogs and monkeys,
“Monsters cruel and perfidious,
“Whom they call rhinoceroses,
“Crocodiles and vampires hideous.
“Ye are ravens, owls, and screechowls,
“Rats and miserable lapwings,
“Gallows’-birds and cockatrices,
“Very scum of all that flap wings!
“Ye are vipers, ye are blindworms,
“Rattlesnakes, disgusting adders,
“Poisonous toads—Christ soon will surely
“Tread you out like empty bladders!
“Or, accursèd people, would ye
“Save your souls so wretched rather?
“Flee the synagogues of evil,
“Seek the bosom of your Father.
“Flee to love’s bright radiant churches,
“Where the well of mercy bubbles
“For your sakes in hallow’d basins,—
“Hide your heads there from your troubles.
“Wash away the ancient Adam,
“And the vices that deface it;
“From your hearts the stains of rancour
“Wash, and grace shall then replace it.
“Hear ye not the Saviour speaking?
“O how well your new names suit you!
“Cleanse yourselves upon Christ’s bosom
“From the vermin that pollute you.
“Yes, our God is very love, is
“Like a lamb that’s dearly cherish’d,
“And our vices to atone for,
“On the cross with meekness perish’d.
“Yes, our God is very love, his
“Name is Jesus Christ the blessèd;
“Of his patience and submission
“We aspire to be possessèd.
“Therefore are we meek and gentle,
“Courteous, never in a passion,
“Fond of peace and charitable,
“In the Lamb the Saviour’s fashion.
“We in heaven shall be hereafter
“Into angels blest converted,
“Wandering there in bliss with lily
“Blossoms in our hands inserted.
“In the place of cowls, the purest
“Robes shall we when there be wearing,
“Made of silk, brocades, and muslin,
“Golden lace and ribbons flaring.
“No more bald pates! Round our heads there
“Will be floating golden tresses;
“While our hair some charming virgin
“Into pretty topknots dresses.
“Winecups will be there presented
“Of circumference so spacious,
“That, compared with them, the goblets
“Made on earth are not capacious.
“On the other hand, much smaller
“Than the mouths of earthly ladies
“Will the mouth be of each woman
“Who in heaven our solace made is.
“Drinking, kissing, laughing will we
“Pass through endless ages proudly,
“Singing joyous Hallelujahs,
“Kyrie Eleyson loudly.”
Thus the Christian ended, and the
Monks believed illumination
Pierced each heart, and so prepared for
The baptismal operation.
But the water-hating Hebrews
Shook themselves with scornful grinning,
Rabbi Juda of Navarre thus
His reply meanwhile beginning:
“That thou for thy seed mightst dung
“My poor soul’s bare field devoutly,
“With whole dung-carts of abuse thou
“Hast in truth befoul’d me stoutly.
“Every one the method follows
“To his taste best calculated,
“And instead of being angry,
“Thank you, I’m propitiated.
“Your fine trinitarian doctrine
“We poor Jews can never swallow,
“Though from earliest days of childhood
“Wont the rule of three to follow.
“That three persons in your Godhead,
“And no more, are comprehended,
“Moderate appears; the ancients
“On six thousand gods depended.
“Quite unknown to me the God is
“Whom you call the Christ, good brother;
“Nor have I e’er had the honour
“To have met his virgin mother.
“I regret that some twelve hundred
“Years back, as your speech confesses,
“At Jerusalem he suffer’d
“Certain disagreablenesses.
“That the Jews in truth destroy’d him
“Rests upon your showing solely,
“Seeing the delicti corpus
“On the third day vanish’d wholly.
“It is equally uncertain
“Whether he was a connection
“Of our God, who had no children—
“In, at least, our recollection.
“Our great God, like some poor lambkin,
“For humanity would never
“Perish; for such philanthropic
“Actions he is far too clever.
“Our great God of love knows nothing,
“Never to affection yields he,
“For he is a God of vengeance,
“And as God his thunders wields he.
“Nothing can his wrathful lightnings
“From the sinner turn or soften,
“And the latest generations
“For the fathers’ sins pay often.
“Our great God, he lives for ever
“In his heavenly halls in glory,
“And, compared with him, eternal
“Ages are but transitory.
“Our great God, he is a hearty
“God, not like the myths that fright us,
“Pale and lean as any wafer,
“Or the shadows by Cocytus.
“Our great God is strong. He graspeth
“Sun and moon and constellation:
“Thrones are crush’d, and people vanish
“When he frowns in indignation.
“And he is a mighty God.
“David sings: We cannot measure
“All his greatness, earth’s his footstool,
“And is subject to his pleasure.
“Our great God loves music dearly,
“Lute and song to him are grateful;
“But, like grunts of sucking pigs, he
“Finds the sounds of churchbells hateful.
“Great Leviathan the fish is
“Who beneath the ocean strayeth,
“And with him the Lord Almighty
“For an hour each morning playeth.
“With the’ exception of the ninth day
“Of the month Ab, that sad morrow,
“When they burnt his holy temple;
“On that day too great’s his sorrow.
“Just one hundred miles in length is
“The Leviathan; each fin is
“Big as Og the King of Basan,
“And his tail no cedar thin is.
“Yet his flesh resembles turtle,
“And its flavour is perfection,
“And the Lord will ask to dinner
“On the day of resurrection
“All his own elect, the righteous,
“Those whose faith was firm and stable,
“And this fish, the Lord’s own favourite,
“Will be set upon the table,
“Partly dress’d with garlic white sauce,
“Partly stew’d in wine and toasted,
“Dress’d with raisins and with spices,
“Much resembling matelotes roasted.
“Little slices of horseradish
“Will the white sauce much embellish,
“So make ready, Friar Jose,
“To devour the fish with relish.
“And the raisin sauce I spoke of
“Makes a most delicious jelly,
“And will be full well adapted,
“Friar Jose, to thy belly.
“What God cooks, is quite perfection—
“Monk, my honest counsel follow,
“And be circumcised, your portion
“Of Leviathan to swallow.”—
Thus the Rabbi to allure him
Spoke with inward mirth insulting,
And the Jews, with pleasure grunting,
Brandish’d all their knives exulting.
To cut off the forfeit foreskins,
Victors after all the fighting,
Genuine spolia opima
In this conflict so exciting.
But the monks to their religion
Stuck, despite the Jews’ derision,
And were equally reluctant
To submit to circumcision.
Next the Catholic converter
Answer’d, when the Jew had finish’d,
His abuse again repeating,
Full of fury undiminish’d.
Then the Rabbi with a cautious
Ardour, with his answer follow’d;
Though his heart was boiling over,
All his rising gall he swallow’d.
He appeals unto the Mischna,
Treatises and commentaries,
And with extracts from the Tausves-
Jontof his quotations varies.
But what blasphemy now speaks the
Friar, arguments in want of!
He exclaim’d: “I wish the devil
“Had your stupid Tausves-Jontof!”
“This surpasses all, good heavens!”
Fearfully the Rabbi screeches,
And his patience lasts no longer,
Like a maniac’s soon his speech is.
“If the Tausves-Jontof’s nothing,
“What is left? O vile detractor!
Lord, avenge this foul transgression!
“Punish, Lord, this malefactor!
“For the Tausves-Jontof, God,
“Is thyself! And on the daring
“Tausves-Jontof’s base denier
“Thou must vent thy wrath unsparing.
“Let the earth consume him, like the
“Wicked band of Cora, quickly,
“Who their plots and machinations
“Sow’d against thee, Lord, so thickly.
“Punish, O my God, his baseness!
“Thunder forth thy loudest thunder;
“Thou with pitch and brimstone Sodom
“And Gomorrha didst bring under.
“Strike these Capuchins with vigour,
“As of yore thou struckest Pharaoh
“Who pursued us, as well-laden
“Flying from his land we were, Oh!
“Knights a hundred thousand follow’d
“This proud monarch of Mizrayim,
“In steel armour, with bright weapons
“In their terrible Jadayim.
“Lord, thy right hand then extending,
“Pharaoh and his host were smitten
“In the Red Sea, and were drown’d there
“As we drown a common kitten.
“Strike these Capuchins with vigour,
“Show the wicked wretches clearly
“That the lightnings of thine anger
“Are not smoke and bluster merely.
“Then thy triumph’s praise and glory
“I will sing and tell of proudly,
“And moreover will, like Miriam,
“Dance and play the timbrel loudly.”
Then the monk with equal passion
Answer’d thus the furious Rabbi:
“Villain, may the Lord destroy thee,
“Damnable, accurst, and shabby!
“I can well defy your devils
“Whom the Evil One created,
“Lucifer and Beelzebub,
“Astaroth and Belial hated.
“I can well defy your spirits,
“And your hellish tricks unhallow’d,
“For in me is Jesus Christ, since
“I his body blest have swallow’d.
“Christ my only favourite food is,
“Than Leviathan more savoury,
“With its boasted garlic white sauce
“Cook’d by Satan, full of knavery.
“Ah! instead of thus disputing,
“I would sooner roast and bake you
“With your comrades on the warmest
“Funeral pile, the devil take you!”
Thus for God and faith the tourney
Goes on in confusion utter;
But in vain the doughty champions
Screech and rail and storm and splutter.
For twelve hours the fight has lasted,
Neither side gives signs of tiring,
But the public fast grow weary,
And the ladies are perspiring.
And the Court, too, grows impatient,
Ladies make with yawns suggestions;
To the lovely queen the monarch
Turns and asks the following questions:
“Tell me, what is your opinion?
“Which is right, and which the liar?
“Will you give your verdict rather
“For the Rabbi or the friar?”
Donna Blanca gazes on him,
Thoughtfully her hands she presses
With closed fingers on her forehead,
And the monarch thus addresses:
“Which is right, I cannot tell you,
“But I have a shrewd suspicion
“That the Rabbi and the monk are
“Both in stinking bad condition.”