Toledo, the capital of the Visigoth Kings, is the city about which
cluster the richest memories of Spain in her heroic age. When Leovigild
removed his capital there from Seville in the sixth century, it was
already an ancient Jewish city, about which tradition had long busied
itself. To-day, as it sits on the summit of a barren hill, one looks in
vain for traces of its ancient Gothic splendor. But the spot where now
stands a beautiful cathedral is hallowed by a wonderful legend, which
Murillo made the subject of one of his great paintings. It is said that
the Apostle St. James founded on that very spot the Church of Santa
Maria; and that the Virgin, in recognition of the dedication to
her, descended from heaven to present its Bishop, Ildofonso, with a
marvelous chasuble. In proof of this miracle, doubting visitors are
still shown the marks of Mary's footprint upon a stair in the chapel!
However this may be, it is on this very spot that King Recared formally
abjured Arianism; and preserved in a cloister of the cathedral may
still be seen the “Consecration Stone” which reads: that the Church of
Santa Maria,—built probably on the foundation of the older
church,—was consecrated under “King Recared the Catholic, 587 A.D.” It
also tells of the councils of the Spanish Church held there—at one of
which councils was the famous canon which decreed that all future Kings
must swear they would show no mercy to “that accursed people”—meaning
the Jews. It was these very Jews who had brought commercial success and
created the enormous wealth of the city, from which it was now the duty
of the pious Visigoth Kings to harry and hunt them as if they were
frightened deer.
The Visigoth monarchy, although in many cases hereditary, was in
fact elective. And the student of Spanish history will not find an
orderly royal succession as in England and France. Disputes regarding
the succession were not infrequent, and sometimes there will occur an
interval with apparently no king at all, followed by another period
when there are two—one ruling in the north and another in the south.
“The King is dead—long live the King!” might do for France, but not
for Spain.
During one of these periods of uncertainty, in the latter half of
the seventh century, it is said that Leo, a holy man (afterward Pope),
was told in a dream that the man who must wear the crown was then a
laborer, living in the west, and that his name was Wamba. They traveled
in search of this man almost to the borders of Portugal, and there they
found the future candidate for the throne plowing in the field. The
messengers, bowing before the plowman, informed him that he had been
selected as King of Spain.
Wamba laughed, and said, “Yes, I shall be King of Spain when my pole
puts forth leaves.”
Instantly the bare pole began to bud, and in a few moments was
covered with verdure!
In vain did Wamba protest. What could a poor man do in the face of
such a miracle, and with a Spanish Duke pressing a poniard against his
breast, and telling him to choose on the instant between a throne and a
tomb!
The unhappy Wamba suffered himself to be borne in triumph to Toledo,
and there to be crowned. And a very wise and excellent King did he
make. He seemed fully equal to the difficult demands of his new
position. A rebellion, fomented by an ambitious Duke Paul, who gathered
about his standard all the banished Jews, was a very formidable affair.
But Wamba put it down with a firm hand, and then, when it was over,
treated the conspirators and rebels with marvelous clemency. When his
reign was concluded he left a record of wisdom and sagacity rare in
those days, in any land.
His taking off the stage was as remarkable as his coming on. He fell
into a trance (October 14, 680), and after long insensibility it was
concluded that the King was dying. According to a custom of the period
Wamba's head was shaved, and he was clothed in the habit of a monk. The
meaning of this was that if he died, he would, as was fitting, pass
into the Divine presence in penitential garb. But if, peradventure, the
patient survived, he was pledged to spend the rest of his life in that
holy vocation, renouncing every worldly advantage.
So when, after a few hours, Wamba, in perfect health, opened his
eyes, he found that instead of a King he was transformed into a Monk!
Whether this was a cunning device of this philosophic King to lay
down the burdens which wearied him, and spend the rest of his days in
tranquility; or whether it was the work of the Royal Prince, who
joyfully assumed the diadem which he had so unwillingly worn, nobody
knows. But Wamba passed the remainder of his days in a monastery near
Burgos, and the ambitious Ervigius reigned as his successor.