In after times a stone sepulchre was shown, outside of the chapel of the castle, as the tomb of Count Julian; but the traveller and the pilgrim avoided it, or bestowed upon it a malediction; and the name of Julian has remained a byword and a scorn in the land for the warning of all generations. Such ever be the lot of him who betrays his country.
Here end the legends of the Conquest of Spain.
Written in the Alhambra, June 10, 1829.
NOTE TO THE PRECEDING LEGEND
El licenciado Ardevines (lib. 2, c. 8) dize que dichos Duendos caseros, o los del aire, hazen aparacer exercitos y peleas, como lo que se cuenta por tradicion (y aun algunos personas lo deponen como testigos de vista) de la torre y castello de Marcuello, lugar al pie de las montañas de Aragon (aora inhabitable, por las grandes y espantables ruidos, que en el se oyen) donde se retraxo el Conde Don Julian, causa de la perdicion de España; sobre el qual castillo, deze se ven en el aire ciertas visiones, como de soldados, que el vulgo dize son los cavalleros y gente que le favorecian.
Vide “El Ente Dislucidado,” por Fray Antonio de Fuentalapeña, Capuchin. Seccion 3, Subseccion 5, Instancia 8, Num. 644.
As readers unversed in the Spanish language may wish to know the testimony of the worthy and discreet Capuchin friar, Antonio de Fuentalapeña, we subjoin a translation of it: —
“The licentiate Ardevines (book ii., chap. 8) says that the said house fairies (or familiar spirits), or those of the air, cause the apparitions of armies and battles, – such as those which are related in tradition (and some persons even depose to the truth of them as eye-witnesses), of the town and castle of Marcuello, a fortress at the foot of the mountains of Aragon (at present uninhabitable, on account of the great and frightful noises heard in it), the place of retreat of Count Don Julian, the cause of the perdition of Spain. It is said that certain apparitions of soldiers are seen in the air, which the vulgar say are those of the courtiers and people who aided him.”
THE LEGEND OF PELAYO
[The “Legend of Pelayo,” a fragment of which was printed in “The Spirit of the Fair,” in 1864, and another, entitled “Pelayo and the Merchant’s Daughter,” in “The Knickerbocker,” in 1840, is now first published entire. – Ed.]
CHAPTER I
Obscurity of the Ancient Chronicles. – The Loves of Doña Lucia and the Duke Favila. – Birth of Pelayo, and what happened thereupon; His Early Fortunes, and His Tutelage under the veteran Count Grafeses.
It is the common lamentation of Spanish historians that, in the obscure and melancholy space of time which succeeded the perdition of their country, its history is a mere wilderness of dubious facts, wild exaggerations, and evident fables. Many learned men in cells and cloisters have passed their lives in the weary and fruitless task of attempting to correct incongruous events and reconcile absolute contradictions. The worthy Jesuit Pedro Abarca confesses that for more than forty years, during which he had been employed in theological controversies, he had never found any questions so obscure and inexplicable as those rising out of this portion of Spanish history; and that the only fruit of an indefatigable, prolix, and even prodigious study of the subject, was a melancholy and mortifying indecision.[56]
Let us console ourselves, therefore, in our attempts to thread this mazy labyrinth with the reflection that, if we occasionally err and become bewildered, we do but share the errors and perplexities of our graver and more laborious predecessors; and that, if we occasionally stray into the flowery by-ways of fanciful tradition, we are as likely to arrive at the truth as those who travel by more dry and dusty but not more authenticated paths.
We premise these suggestions before proceeding to cull, from the midst of the fables and extravagances of ancient chronicles, a few particulars of the story of Pelayo, the deliverer of Spain; whose name, like that of William Wallace, the hero of Scotland, will ever be linked with the glory of his country; but linked, like his, by a band in which fact and fiction are indissolubly mingled.
In the ensuing pages it is our intention to give little more than an abstract of an old chronicle teeming with extravagances, yet containing facts of admitted credibility, and presenting pictures of Spanish life, partly sylvan, partly chivalrous, which have all the quaint merit of the curious delineations in old tapestry.
The origin of Pelayo is wrapped in great obscurity, though all writers concur in making him of royal Gothic lineage. The chronicle in question makes Pelayo the offspring of a love affair in the court of Ezica, one of the last of the Gothic kings, who held his seat of government at Toledo. Among the noble damsels brought up in the royal household was the beautiful Lucia, niece and maid of honor to the queen. A mutual passion subsisted between her and Favila, the youthful Duke of Cantabria, one of the most accomplished cavaliers of the kingdom. The duke, however, had a powerful rival in the Prince Witiza, son to the king, and afterwards known, for the profligacy of his reign, by the name of Witiza the Wicked. The prince, to rid himself of a favored rival, procured the banishment of Favila to his estates in Cantabria; not, however, before he had been happy in his loves in stolen interviews with the fair Lucia. The cautious chronicler, however, lets us know that a kind of espousal took place, by the lovers plighting their faith with solemn vows before an image of the Virgin, and as the image gave no sign of dissent by way of forbidding the bans, the worthy chronicler seems to consider them as good as man and wife.
After the departure of the duke, the prince renewed his suit with stronger hope of success, but met with a repulse which converted his love into implacable and vengeful hate.
The beautiful Lucia continued in attendance on the queen, but soon became sensible of the consequences of her secret and informal nuptials so tacitly sanctioned by the Virgin. In the process of time, with great secrecy, she gave birth to a male child, whom she named Pelayo. For fifteen days the infant was concealed in her apartment, and she trusted all was safe, when, to her great terror, she learned that her secret had been betrayed to Prince Witiza, and that search was to be made for the evidence of her weakness.
The dread of public scorn and menace of a cruel death overcame even the feelings of a mother. Through means of a trusty female of her chamber she procured a little ark, so constructed as to be impervious to water. She then arrayed her infant in costly garments, wrapping it in a mantle of rich brocade, and when about to part with it, kissed it many times, and laid it in her lap, and wept over it. At length the child was borne away by the Dueña of her chamber and a faithful handmaid. It was dark midnight when they conveyed it to the borders of the Tagus, where it washes the rocky foundations of Toledo. Covering it from the dew and night air, they committed the ark to the eddying current, which soon swept it from the shore. As it glided down the rapid stream, says the ancient chronicle, they could mark its course even in the darkness of the night; for it was surrounded by a halo of celestial light.[57] They knew not how to account for this prodigy, says the same authentic writer, until they remembered that the mother had blessed the child with the sign of the cross, and had baptized it with her own hand. Others, however, explain this marvel differently; for in this child, say they, was centred the miraculous light which was afterwards to shine forth with comfort and deliverance in the darkest hour of Spain.
The chronicle quoted by Fray Antonio Agapida goes on to state what befell the fair Lucia after the departure of the child. Her apartments were searched at early dawn, but no proof appeared to substantiate the charges made against her. The Prince Witiza persisted in accusing her publicly of having brought disgrace upon her line by her frailty. A cavalier of the court, suborned by him, supported the accusation by an oath, and offered to maintain the truth of it by his sword. A month was granted by the king for the afflicted lady to find a champion, and a day appointed for the lists; if none appeared, or if her champion were overcome, she was to be considered guilty and put to death. The day arrived, the accusing knight was on the ground in complete armor, proclamation was made, but no one stepped forward to defend the lady. At length a trumpet sounded; an unknown knight, with visor closed, entered the lists. The combat was long and doubtful, for it would appear as if the Holy Virgin was not perfectly satisfied with the nature of the espousals which had taken place before her image. At length the accusing knight was overcome and slain, to the great joy of the court and all the spectators, and the beautiful Lucia was pronounced as immaculate as the Virgin, her protectress.
The unknown champion of course proved to be the Duke of Cantabria. He obtained a pardon of the king for returning from banishment without the royal permission; what is more, he obtained permission formally to espouse the lady whose honor he had so gallantly established. Their nuptials were solemnized in due form and with great magnificence, after which he took his blooming bride to his castle in Cantabria, to be out of reach of the persecutions of the Prince Witiza.
Having made this brief abstract of what occupies many a wordy page in the ancient chronicle, we return to look after the fortunes of the infant Pelayo, when launched upon the waves in the darkness of the night.
The ark containing this future hope of Spain, continues the old chronicle, floated down the current of the Golden Tagus, where that renowned river winds through the sylvan solitudes of Estremadura. All night, and throughout the succeeding day and the following night, it made its tranquil way: the stream ceased its wonted turbulence and dimpled round it; the swallow circled round it with lively chirp and sportive wing, the breezes whispered musically among the reeds, which bowed their tall heads as it passed; such was the bland influence of the protection of the Virgin.
Now, so it happened that at this time there lived in a remote part of Estremadura an ancient cavalier, a hale and hearty bachelor, named the Count Grafeses. He had been a warrior in his youth, but now, in a green and vigorous old age, had retired from camp and court to a domain on the banks of the Tagus, inherited from his Gothic ancestors. His great delight was in the chase, which he followed successfully in the vast forests of Estremadura. Every morning heard the woods resounding with the melody of hound and horn; and the heads of stags, of wolves, and wild boars vied in his castle hall with the helms and bucklers and lances, and the trophies of his youthful and martial days.
The jovial count was up at early dawn pursuing a boar in the thick forest bordering the Tagus, when he beheld the little ark floating down the stream. He ordered one of his huntsmen to strip and enter the river and bring the ark to land. On opening it, he was surprised to behold within an infant wrapped in costly robes, but pale and wan, and apparently almost exhausted. Beside it was a purse of gold, and on its bosom a cross of rubies and a parchment scroll, on which was written, “Let this infant be honorably entertained; he is of illustrious lineage; his name is Pelayo.”
The good count shrewdly surmised the cause of this perilous exposure of a helpless infant. He had a heart kind and indulgent toward the weaker sex, as the heart of a genial old bachelor is prone to be; and while he looked with infinite benevolence upon the beauteous child, felt a glow of compassion for the unknown mother. Commanding his huntsman to be silent as to what he had witnessed, he took the infant in his arms and returned with it to his castle.
Now, so it happened that the wife of his steward had, about a week before, been delivered of a child which lived out a very few days, leaving the mother in great affliction. The count gave her the infant, and the money found with it, and told her the story of the ark, with a strong injunction of secrecy, entreating her to take charge of the child and rear it as her own. The good woman doubted the story, and strongly suspected her master of having fallen into an error in his old age; she received the infant, however, as a gift from Heaven, sent to console her in her affliction, and pressed it with tears to her bosom, for she thought of the child she had lost.
Pelayo, therefore, was reared on the banks of the Tagus as the offspring of the steward and his wife, and the adopted son of the count. That veteran cavalier bore in mind, however, that his youthful charge was of illustrious lineage, and took delight in accomplishing him in all things befitting a perfect hidalgo. He placed him astride of a horse almost as soon as he could walk; a lance and cross-bow were his earliest playthings, and he was taught to hunt the small game of the forest until strong enough to accompany the count in his more rugged sports. Thus he was inured to all kinds of hardy exercises, and rendered heedless of danger and fatigue. Nor was the discipline of his mind neglected. Under the instructions of a neighboring friar, he learned to read in a manner that surprised the erudition of his foster-father; for he could con more correctly all the orisons of the Virgin, and listened to mass, and attended all the ceremonies of the Church, with a discretion truly exemplary. Some ancient chroniclers have gone so far as to say that he even excelled in clerkly craft; but this is most likely a fond exaggeration.
Time glided by. King Ezica was gathered to his fathers, and his son Witiza reigned in his stead. All the chivalry of the kingdom was summoned to Toledo to give splendor to his coronation. The good old count prepared, among the rest, to appear at a court from which he had long been absent. His ancient serving-men were arrayed in the antiquated garbs in which they had figured in his days of youthful gallantry, and his household troops in the battered armor which had seen hard service in the field, but which had long rusted in the armory. He determined to take with him his adopted son Pelayo, now seven years of age. A surcoat was made for him from the mantle of rich brocade in which he had been found wrapped in the ark. A palfrey was also caparisoned for him in warlike style. It was a rare sight, says the old chronicler, to see the antiquated chivalry of the good Count Grafeses parading across the bridge of the Tagus, or figuring in the streets of Toledo, in contrast to the silken and shining retinues of the more modern courtiers; but the veteran was hailed with joy by many of the ancient nobles, his early companions in arms. The populace, too, when they beheld the youthful Pelayo ambling by his side on his gentle palfrey, were struck with the chivalrous demeanor of the boy, and the perfect manner in which he managed his steed.
CHAPTER II
What happened to Pelayo at the Court of Witiza.
Among the nobles, continues the old chronicle, who appeared in Toledo to do homage to the new king was Favila, Duke of Cantabria. He left his wife in their castle among the mountains, – for the fair Lucia was still in the meridian of her beauty, and he feared lest the sight of her might revive the passion of Witiza. They had no other fruit of their union but a little daughter of great beauty, called Lucinda, and they still mourned in secret the loss of their first-born. The duke was related to Count Grafeses; and when he first beheld Pelayo his heart throbbed, he knew not why, and he followed him with his eyes in all his youthful sports. The more he beheld him the more his heart yearned toward him, and he entreated the count to grant him the youth for a time as a page, to be reared by him in all the offices of chivalry, as was the custom in the houses of warlike nobles in those days.
The count willingly complied with his request, knowing the great prowess of the Duke of Cantabria, who was accounted a mirror of knightly virtue. “For my own part,” said he, “I am at present but little capable of instructing the boy; for many years have passed since I gave up the exercise of arms, and little am I worth at present excepting to blow the horn and follow the hound.”
When the ceremonies of the coronation were over, therefore, the Duke of Cantabria departed for his castle, accompanied by the young Pelayo and the count, for the good old cavalier could not yet tear himself from his adopted child.
As they drew near the castle, the duchess came forth with a grand retinue; for they were as petty sovereigns in their domains. The duke presented Pelayo to her as her page, and the youth knelt to kiss her hand, but she raised him and kissed him on the forehead; and as she regarded him the tears stood in her eyes.
“God bless thee, gentle page,” said she, “and preserve thee to the days of manhood; for thou hast in thee the promise of an accomplished cavalier; joyful must be the heart of the mother who can boast of such a son!”
On that day, when the dinner was served with becoming state, Pelayo took his place among the other pages in attendance, who were all children of nobles; but the duchess called him to her as her peculiar page. He was arrayed in his surcoat of brocade, made from the mantle in which he had been folded in the ark, and round his neck hung the cross of rubies.
As the duchess beheld these things, she turned pale and trembled. “What is the name of thy son,” said she to Count Grafeses. “His name,” replied the count, “is Pelayo.” “Tell me of a truth,” demanded she, still more earnestly, “is this indeed thy son?” The count was not prepared for so direct a question. “Of a truth,” said he, “he is but the son of my adoption; yet is he of noble lineage.” The duchess again addressed him with tenfold solemnity. “On thy honor as a knight, do not trifle with me; who are the parents of this child?” The count, moved by her agitation, briefly told the story of the ark. When the duchess heard it she gave a great sigh and fell as one dead. On reviving, she embraced Pelayo with mingled tears and kisses, and proclaimed him as her long-lost son.
CHAPTER III
How Pelayo lived among the Mountains of Cantabria. – His Adventure with the Needy Hidalgo of Gascony and the Rich Merchant of Bordeaux. – Discourse of the Holy Hermit.
The authentic Agapida passes over many pages of the ancient chronicle narrating the early life of Pelayo, presenting nothing of striking importance. His father, the Duke of Cantabria, was dead, and he was carefully reared by his widowed mother at a castle in the Pyrenees, out of the reach of the dangers and corruptions of the court. Here that hardy and chivalrous education was continued which had been commenced by his veteran foster-father on the banks of the Tagus. The rugged mountains around abounded with the bear, the wild boar, and the wolf, and in hunting these he prepared himself for the conflicts of the field.
The old chronicler records an instance of his early prowess in the course of one of his hunting expeditions on the immediate borders of France. The mountain passes and the adjacent lands were much infested and vexed by marauders from Gascony. The Gascons, says the worthy Agapida, were a people ready to lay their hands upon everything they met. They used smooth words when necessary, but force when they dared. Though poor, they were proud: there was not one who did not plume himself upon being a hijo de algo, or son of somebody. Whenever Pelayo, therefore, hunted on the borders infested by these, he was attended by a page conducting his horse, with his buckler and lance, to be at hand in case of need.
At the head of a band of fourteen of these self-styled hidalgos of Gascony was a broken-down cavalier by the name of Arnaud. He and four of his comrades were well armed and mounted, the rest were mere scamper-grounds on foot, armed with darts and javelins. This band was the terror of the border; here to-day, gone to-morrow; sometimes in one pass of the mountains, sometimes in another; sometimes they made descents into Spain, harassing the roads and marauding the country, and were over the mountains again and into France before a force could be sent against them.
It so happened that while Pelayo with a number of his huntsmen was on the border, this Gascon cavalier and his crew were on the maraud. They had heard of a rich merchant of Bordeaux who was to pass through the mountains on his way to one of the ports of Biscay, with which several of his vessels traded, and that he would carry with him much money for the purchase of merchandise. They determined to ease him of his money-bags; for, being hidalgos who lived by the sword, they considered all peaceful men of trade as lawful spoil, sent by Heaven for the supply of men of valor and gentle blood.
As they waylaid a lonely defile they beheld the merchant approaching. He was a fair and portly man, whose looks bespoke the good cheer of his native city. He was mounted on a stately and well-fed steed; beside him on palfreys paced his wife, a comely dame, and his daughter, a damsel of marriageable age, and fair to look upon. A young man, his nephew, who acted as his clerk, rode with them, and a single domestic followed.
When the travellers had advanced within the defile, the bandoleros rushed from behind a rock and set upon them. The nephew fought valiantly and was slain; the servant fled; the merchant, though little used to the exercise of arms, and of unwieldy bulk, made courageous defense, having his wife and daughter and his money-bags at hazard. He was wounded in two places and overpowered.
The freebooters were disappointed at not finding the booty they expected, and putting their swords to the breast of the merchant, demanded where was the money with which he was to traffic in Biscay. The trembling merchant informed them that a trusty servant was following him at no great distance with a stout hackney laden with bags of money. Overjoyed at this intelligence, they bound their captives to trees and awaited the arrival of the treasure.
In the mean time Pelayo was on a hill near a narrow pass, awaiting a wild boar which his huntsmen were to rouse. While thus posted the merchant’s servant, who had escaped, came running in breathless terror, but fell on his knees before Pelayo and craved his life in the most piteous terms, supposing him another of the robbers. It was some time before he could be persuaded of his mistake and made to tell the story of the robbery. When Pelayo heard the tale, he perceived that the robbers in question must be the Gascon hidalgos upon the scamper. Taking his armor from the page, he put on his helmet, slung his buckler round his neck, took lance in hand, and mounting his horse, compelled the trembling servant to guide him to the scene of the robbery. At the same time he dispatched his page to summon as many of his huntsmen as possible to his assistance.
When the robbers saw Pelayo advancing through the forest, the sun sparkling upon his rich armor, and saw that he was attended but by a single page, they considered him a new prize, and Arnaud and two of his companions mounting their horses advanced to meet him. Pelayo put himself in a narrow pass between two rocks, where he could only be attacked in front, and, bracing his buckler and lowering his lance, awaited their coming.
“Who and what are ye,” cried he, “and what seek ye in this land?”
“We are huntsmen,” cried Arnaud, “in quest of game; and lo! it runs into our toils.”
“By my faith,” said Pelayo, “thou wilt find the game easier roused than taken; have at thee for a villain.”
So saying, he put spurs to his horse and charged upon him. Arnaud was totally unprepared for so sudden an assault, having scarce anticipated a defense. He hastily couched his lance, but it merely glanced on the shield of Pelayo, who sent his own through the middle of his breast, and threw him out of his saddle to the earth. One of the other robbers made at Pelayo and wounded him slightly in the side, but received a blow on the head which cleft his skull-cap and sank into his brain. His companion, seeing him fall, galloped off through the forest.
By this time three or four of the robbers on foot had come up, and assailed Pelayo. He received two of their darts on his buckler, a javelin razed his cuirass, and his horse received two wounds. Pelayo then rushed upon them and struck one dead; the others, seeing several huntsmen advancing, took to flight; two were overtaken and made prisoners, the rest escaped by clambering among rocks and precipices.
The good merchant of Bordeaux and his family beheld this scene with trembling and amazement. They almost looked upon Pelayo as something more than mortal, for they had never witnessed such feats of arms. Still they considered him as a leader of some rival band of robbers, and when he came up and had the bands loosened by which they were fastened to the trees, they fell at his feet and implored for mercy. It was with difficulty he could pacify their fears; the females were soonest reassured, especially the daughter, for the young maid was struck with the gentle demeanor and noble countenance of Pelayo, and said to herself, Surely nothing wicked can dwell in so heavenly a form.
Pelayo now ordered that the wounds of the merchant should be dressed, and his own examined. When his cuirass was taken off, his wound was found to be but slight; but his men were so exasperated at seeing his blood, that they would have put the two captive Gascons to death had he not forbade them. He now sounded his hunting horn, which echoed from rock to rock, and was answered by shouts and horns from various parts of the mountains. The merchant’s heart misgave him; he again thought he was among robbers; nor were his fears allayed when he beheld in a little while more than forty men assembling together from various parts of the forest, clad in hunting-dresses, with boar-spears, darts, and hunting-swords, and each leading a hound by a long cord. All this was a new and a wild world to the astonished merchant, nor was his uneasiness abated when he beheld his servant arrive leading the hackney laden with money. Certainly, said he to himself, this will be too tempting a spoil for these wild men of the mountains.
The huntsmen brought with them a boar, which they had killed, and being hungry from the chase, they lighted a fire at the foot of a tree, and each cutting such portion of the boar as he liked best, roasted it at the fire, and ate it with bread taken from his wallet. The merchant, his wife, and daughter looked at all this and wondered, for they had never beheld so savage a repast. Pelayo then inquired of them if they did not desire to eat. They were too much in awe of him to decline, though they felt a loathing at the idea of this hunter’s fare. Linen cloths were therefore spread under the shade of a great oak, to screen them from the sun; and when they had seated themselves round it, they were served, to their astonishment, not with the flesh of the boar, but with dainty viands, such as the merchant had scarcely hoped to find out of the walls of his native city of Bordeaux.
While they were eating, the young damsel, the daughter of the merchant, could not keep her eyes from Pelayo. Gratitude for his protection, admiration of his valor, had filled her heart; and when she regarded his noble countenance, now that he had laid aside his helmet, she thought she beheld something divine. The heart of the tender Donzella, says the old historian, was kind and yielding; and had Pelayo thought fit to ask the greatest boon that love and beauty could bestow, – doubtless meaning her own fair hand, – she would not have had the cruelty to say him nay. Pelayo, however, had no such thought. The love of woman had never yet entered in his heart: and though he regarded the damsel as the fairest maiden he had ever beheld, her beauty caused no perturbation in his breast.
When the repast was over, Pelayo offered to conduct the merchant and his family through the passes of the mountains, which were yet dangerous from the scattered band of Gascons. The bodies of the slain marauders were buried, and the corpse of the nephew of the merchant was laid upon one of the horses captured in the battle. They then formed their cavalcade and pursued their way slowly up one of the steep and winding defiles of the Pyrenees.
Towards sunset they arrived at the dwelling of a holy hermit. It was hewn out of the solid rock, a cross was over the door, and before it was a spreading oak, with a sweet spring of water at its foot. Here the body of the merchant’s nephew was buried, close by the wall of this sacred retreat, and the hermit performed a mass for the repose of his soul. Pelayo then obtained leave from the holy father that the merchant’s wife and daughter should pass the night within his cell; and the hermit made beds of moss for them and gave them his benediction; but the damsel found little rest, so much were her thoughts occupied by the youthful cavalier who had delivered her from death or dishonor.
When all were buried in repose, the hermit came to Pelayo, who was sleeping by the spring under the tree, and he awoke him and said, “Arise my son, and listen to my words.” Pelayo arose and seated himself on a rock, and the holy man stood before him, and the beams of the moon fell on his silver hair and beard, and he said: “This is no time to be sleeping; for know that thou art chosen for a great work. Behold the ruin of Spain is at hand, destruction shall come over it like a cloud, and there shall be no safeguard. For it is the will of Heaven that evil shall for a time have sway, and whoever withstands it shall be destroyed. But tarry thou not to see these things, for thou canst not relieve them. Depart on a pilgrimage, and visit the sepulchre of our blessed Lord in Palestine, and purify thyself by prayer, and enrol thyself in the order of chivalry, and prepare for the work of the redemption of thy country. When thou shalt return, thou wilt find thyself a stranger in the land. Thy residence will be in wild dens and caves of the earth, which thy young foot has never trodden. Thou wilt find thy countrymen harboring with the beasts of the forest and the eagles of the mountains. The land which thou leavest smiling with cornfields, and covered with vines and olives, thou wilt find overrun with weeds and thorns and brambles; and wolves will roam where there have been peaceful flocks and herds. But thou wilt weed out the tares, and destroy the wolves, and raise again the head of thy suffering country.”