Toledo the Capital of Castile
The incorporation of the haughty city of the Visigoths with the kingdom of Castile was, when the first wave of enthusiasm had subsided, regarded with coldness and misgiving by its people. The Toledans were as tenacious as ever of their peculiar customs and privileges which they had hoped to maintain intact. Even with the powerful assistance of the Cid, whom he appointed Alcalde, Alfonso found the ordering of the affairs of his new capital a difficult and dangerous task. The population included (remarks Don Jose Quadrado) “the conquered and resigned Musulman, the Israelite ever submissive and industrious, the Mozarabe ennobled by his ancient lineage and constancy in his faith, the Castilian, proud of his conquests, the foreigner rewarded for his prowess, or attracted from remote countries by signal privileges; and this multiplicity of races and diversity of creeds demanded as many separate systems of law and administrations.” The Jews, Musulmans and foreigners continued subject to their own codes and tribunals; but while the Mozarabe or native of Toledo clung to the old Fuero Juzgo or Visigothic law, inherited from his fathers, the Castilians and Leonese expected to be ruled according to the ruder, rougher code of their warrior counts and kings. Alfonso dealt with these two peoples of common race and language as with the other more widely distinct races. Each had an Alcalde of its own, subject, however, to the Alcalde Mayor named by the king. A compromise, too, was arrived at, the Castilians being subject to their own law in civil cases, and to the Mozarabe in criminal matters. On the whole, the tendency of these measures was to conciliate the Toledans. But we find evidence of jealousies between them and their conquerors or deliverers from the North for many years afterwards.
Alfonso’s honour had not gone unstained in regard to his taking the city of his old friend and benefactor, and the Moors must have been sanguine indeed if they looked forward to a scrupulous fulfilment of the pledges given them by the conqueror while he was outside the walls. The clause that entitled the Muslims to the free and exclusive use of their mosques was particularly obnoxious to the rabid ecclesiastics and crusaders who accompanied the king. With increasing irritation they compared the noble proportions of the Mohammedan mezquita with those of the humble provisional Catholic Cathedral of Santa Maria de Alficem. While Alfonso was absent in Leon, he left the city in charge of his queen, Constancia, a Frenchwoman, and of her countryman, Bernard, now bishop, and formerly a monk of Cluny. This prelate took advantage of his sovereign’s absence to burst one night into the coveted mosque with an armed party, and having “purified” it, suspended bells in the minarets, which announced at dawn the celebration of the Christian rite. When word was brought to the King of this infamous violation of the treaty, he set out for Toledo, announcing his intention of burning the bishop alive. Moved either by that magnanimity which in the person of Al Mamûn had contributed to their downfall, or, as Spanish writers say, by a far-seeing prudence, the Moors went out in a body to meet the monarch, and besought him to forgive the highly placed thieves. Alfonso, with a show of reluctance, acquiesced in their prayer, and the Christians were most undeservedly confirmed in the possession of a church they had no hand in creating. The Alfaqui, or headman of the Muslims, was munificently rewarded for his generosity, his statue being placed in the Capilla Mayor of the new cathedral, which was solemnly consecrated in 1087. No nation has shown a very nice sense of honesty in respect of church property, yet it needs no subtle intelligence to perceive that a church is as much the property of the particular sect for whose special use it was designed by members of that sect, as any private house is of its private owner.
The sturdy Toledans were attached, not only to their laws and customs, but (which was of more importance in those days) to their own Gothic or Mozarabic ritual. This differs in what are considered important particulars from the Roman. The host is divided into nine parts, representing the Incarnation, Epiphany, Circumcision, Passion, Death, Resurrection, Ascension, and Eternal Kingdom of Christ. Of these fragments, seven are arranged to form a cross. Because it is not Roman, English writers are fond of extolling the beauty and simplicity of this liturgy. It was a stumbling-block to Queen Constance and the zealous French bishop, who were anxious to reduce all things in Spain to Catholic uniformity. The King ordered the question to be decided by ordeal of single combat. The Mozarabic champion remained the victor. The bishop then demanded the ordeal of fire. The two missals were accordingly thrown into a great blazing pile, and the local favourite, having probably been saturated with some incombustible preparation, remained unconsumed. Another version has it that neither book was injured by the flames. Alfonso, after his fashion, clinched the controversy by ordering the Mozarabic ritual to be confined to the two parish churches allotted to the Christians by their Moorish rulers, whilst everywhere else Mass was to be celebrated according to the Roman office.
Alfonso VI. had to fight hard to keep possession of Toledo. The Almoravide invasion had burst like a tidal wave over Southern Spain. Everywhere the Musulmans were recovering their spirits and their strength. The Castilian king fled, wounded, from the bloody field of Zalaca, with only five hundred followers, leaving behind him twenty thousand slain. Toledo could have had no pleasant associations for its latest conqueror. Here died three of his six wives—Constancia of Burgundy, Isabel of France, and Zayda of Seville. At Ucles was slain his only son, while yet a mere child. “Where is your prince?” asked the unhappy father of the warriors escaped from the rout. “Where is the light of my eyes and the staff of my age?” All were silent. “He is dead and you live!” bitterly exclaimed the king. “Yes,” replied Alvar Fañez sternly, “we live to save the throne, the country, and the lands acquired with our blood and sweat.” But the Alcazar re-echoed to the mournful plaint, “Sancho! Sancho, my son!” till Alfonso VI. passed away in July 1109. The stones of which the church altars were built had miraculously distilled tears in token of his approaching death. Before a year had passed the Vega was blackened by the advancing hordes of Islam. The Castle of Azeca, the monastery of San Servando, fell into their hands; but the City of the Goths, thanks to the leadership of Archbishop Bernard and of Alvar Fañez, hurled back the hosts of Ali and was held fast for Spain.
The accession of Alfonso VII. el Batallador brought brighter days to his capital, but it was assailed during the twelfth century with a succession of calamities that might have broken down the patience of Job. The year 1113 was marked by an earthquake and disastrous overflowing of the Tagus; 1116, by a fire on a large scale; in 1117, the price of wheat rose, to fourteen soldos the bushel; in 1168, the Tagus was again in flood; again in 1181 and 1200; between 1187 and 1200, all the grocery stores were burnt (how or why, we are not told), the Tagus was frozen over in 1191, and there was a famine the following year. Eclipses of the sun were of the commonest occurrence: we hear of them in 1114, 1162, 1177, 1191, and 1207. We can easily imagine the Mohammedan denizens shaking their heads and ascribing these phenomena, especially the last, to the change of government, and extolling the good old times of Al Mamûn when earth, river, and sun kept their places and behaved according to rule.
Yet Toledo flourished, and her citizens were never more in their element than in the spring of the year 1212, when their town became the rallying-point and base of the great crusading army, destined to achieve the crowning mercy of the Navas de Tolosa. The dominant personality of that time was the Archbishop Rodrigo Jimenez de Rada. A writer of history, a valiant soldier, a sagacious statesman, princely in his magnificence, and angelic in his charity, he was a tower of strength in Spain, and especially for Toledo, in the dreadful years of famine and brigandage that followed the victory over the Moor. His name will be for ever remembered as practically the founder of the great cathedral which is the city’s crowning glory and title to fame.
The century of floods, earthquakes, and eclipses passed away, and found Toledo a hotbed of civil strife and internecine discord. As in Italian cities at the same time, rival families and factions fought in the streets, turned their houses into fortresses, and set the civic authorities at defiance. The hidalgos of Toledo would hurry home from warring with the infidel to plunge their swords into the bosoms of their fellow townsmen. Laras and Castros waged pitched battles for the possession of the capital of Castile. At last the royal power asserted itself, and with terrible effect. We read that “the King Ferdinand came to Toledo, and hanged many men and boiled others alive in cauldrons. Era MCCLXII. (1224).” This boiler of his fellow men is known as Saint Ferdinand. His father, Alfonso IX. of Leon, is also mentioned as having broiled his rebellious subjects, and flayed others alive. But such performances are not considered by a certain class of writers even now to argue any real depravity of character.
The sainted king’s severity on another occasion is more creditable to him. On his entry into the town, two young women threw themselves at his feet and implored vengeance on their betrayer, Fernandez Gonzalo—the Alcalde himself. The high rank of the offender did not save him from instant decapitation, and his head was within an hour gazing down on the scene of his amours from the Puerta del Sol. Whether the betrayed damsels or any one else were benefited by these drastic measures, the panegyrists of the righteous king forgot to tell us.
Still it was an age when strong measures were called for; and recognising this, the citizens themselves instituted the famous Santa Hermandad or Holy Brotherhood for the maintenance of public order and suppression of brigandage. The organisation received the royal sanction, and was endowed with many privileges. It supplied the place of a regular police force for all Castile for at least three centuries, and readers will remember the frequent references to it in the pages of “Don Quixote.”
Toledo had not yet become a capital in the sense of being the permanent residence of the sovereign. Saint Ferdinand and his immediate predecessors and successors were essentially soldiers. Their Court was the camp, and in the unremitting war of reconquest it was necessarily transferred from place to place, from one confine of the ever-expanding kingdom to the other. When at Toledo the king resided at the Alcazar—which in Moorish days had been a fortress constructed of tapia (a species of concrete), and which was fortified with masonry by Alfonso VI. The building was enlarged and embellished, and made more suitable for a royal residence by Sancho el Bravo (1284-1295). But the state of affairs in what may be termed the Epoch of the Reconquest (1085-1252), was obviously not favourable to the development of the building arts. Toledo possesses few memorials of these days, for such edifices as may have been founded at or before that time have undergone such transformations as to render them practically the products of later ages. Such supplies and energies as were not absorbed by the all-important business of war were naturally diverted to the building of the cathedral, which was not, as we shall see, completed for another two centuries.
Mediæval history concerns itself almost exclusively with kings and princes, battles and treaties. Of the life of the people in Spain, as elsewhere, we hear very little. From stray references in the records we glean the information that the streets of Toledo were filthy and unpaved, and frequently encumbered with the carcases of beasts. Over the gates the heads of malefactors were ever rotting, poisoning the already vitiated air. We have concise details, too, of no particular interest, as to the municipal constitution of the city. Beyond this meagre information, we know something of the history of Toledo only so far as it was also the history of Spain.
Pedro I., the Cruel (1350-1368), had no liking for the gloomy, turbulent town, and during his reign Seville might have been called the seat of government. However much he may have endeared himself to the Andalusians, the ferocious king was no favourite with the Toledans. When the ill-used queen, Blanche of Bourbon, escaped from her prison in the Alcazar and claimed the right of sanctuary in the cathedral, the city rose in her behalf, and a thousand native blades sprung from their scabbards to protect her. An alliance was concluded with Talavera and Cuenca, and the gates opened to Don Enrique of Trastamara, the king’s half-brother. It is said that Pedro’s faction held the bridge of San Martin, expecting the rebel prince to enter that way, while his supporters introduced his troops into the town by the opposite bridge of Alcantara. The Trastamara partisans attacked the Jewish quarter, the Israelites being especial favourites of Don Pedro, and a frightful massacre ensued. Soon the king’s party gained the upper hand, and the unfortunate Blanche was removed from the city, wherein she had found such staunch friends, to the castle of Sigüenza.
This is not the first time we read of a massacre of Jews at Toledo. Yet the town was for many centuries one of the strongholds of Jewry in Europe, and a centre of Hebrew culture and activity. The story of the Jews of Toledo is, in fact, one of the most interesting chapters in the history of the city and of Spain.
Jews were settled in the Peninsula at a remote period. The author of “The Moorish Empire in Europe” (S. P. Scott) thinks their arrival in that country “antedated the Christian Era by at least a thousand years.” As we know, legend actually ascribes the foundation of Toledo to the race. This may, we think, be due to a confusion of the Israelites with Phœnician settlers. At the time of Christ, the Jews of Spain were very numerous and opulent. Another legend tells how their chief men addressed a letter to the Sanhedrim at Jerusalem, protesting against the Crucifixion. A document—altogether spurious, it need hardly be said—has been produced in support of this story. After the destruction of Jerusalem by Titus, there seems to have been a large influx of Hebrew refugees into Spain. So long as the Visigoths remained Arians, they remained tolerant; but Reccared, soon after his conversion to Catholicism, levelled the severest enactments against the Israelites. He set a bad precedent. With Sisebut began the long era of persecution. His harsh edicts, forcing the Jews to choose between baptism and banishment, are still to be found in the Fuero Juzgo. Swinthila, Kindila, Recceswinth, Erwig, and Egica followed the same policy. Among the tyrannical enactments of this time is the grotesque command that the Jews of Toledo should eat pork! Under these circumstances it is not to be wondered that the Spanish Jews beheld with dawning hope the successful progress of the Mohammedans in Northern Africa. A secret intelligence was established with these Semitic conquerors of a newer faith, and thanks to the constant intercourse between the Jews of Africa and those of Spain, Musa and Tarik were fully supplied with the most minute particulars of the Visigothic State.
The period of the Khalifate was the Golden Age of Spanish Jewry. The numbers of the race, depleted by persecution, were increased by the advent of upwards of twelve thousand Yemenite Jews, invited by the Moorish conquerors. Never since the days of Solomon had the Children of Israel known such peace and prosperity. Possessed already of a remarkably high degree of culture, they communicated their knowledge to the Arabs, who showed themselves generous patrons and protectors. Nor were the new rulers of Spain slow to perceive the advantages to be derived from the subject race’s commercial enterprise and talent for affairs. Though the versatility of the Jew at this time was one of his most remarkable characteristics, it was above all as a physician that he was esteemed by Muslims and Christians alike. In this capacity he became the indispensable and most trusted companion of sovereigns and prelates, and penetrated into the very arcana of power. From Court physician to Minister the transition in those days of personal government was easy, and we find Hasdai ben Isaac Ibn Shaprut occupying both positions under Abd-ur-Rahman I.
As far as was consistent with their religious beliefs, the Jews of Toledo assimilated themselves with the conquerors. The minutes of the congregation were kept in Arabic down to the end of the thirteenth century, and that language was sedulously cultivated and almost exclusively employed by the brilliant succession of Jewish theologians and humanists who made the city a centre of literary and scholastic activity.
We have it on the authority of Mr. S. P. Scott that, under the Muslim dominion, the Jews were allowed to elect a king, always a prince of the House of Judah, “who, while not openly invested with the insignia of royalty, received the homage and tribute of his subjects.” It is illustrative of the respect of the race for learning that the erudite Rabbi Moses, when recognised exposed as a slave at Cordoba, was immediately elected to this dubious royalty.
The Jews of Toledo must have viewed with unpleasant apprehensions the re-establishment of the Catholic monarchy. Yet at first it seemed they had no cause for alarm. Alfonso VI., as we know, granted to them the liberal privileges by which the Muslims also benefited. But in the charter confirming the customs of the Mozarabes (1091) it was made plain that no penalty would be exacted of a Christian for the murder of a Jew or Muslim. The result might have been foreseen. Seventeen years after, the people rose in savage fury, broke into the synagogues and butchered the rabbis in their pulpits, burnt and pillaged every Jewish house, and slaughtered the luckless objects of their animosity without mercy. But it was the people, rather than the governing classes, who manifested this violent racial prejudice. As in every other land, in spite of persecution, the Chosen People grew in wealth and abated not their industry and commercial activity. It was they who brought to the grim Gothic city the choicest products of the East; they alone who could combat the ravages of disease; they alone who could supply the needy king and nobles with the coin for which in Italy men paid as much as one hundred and twenty per cent. interest. Spain hated the Jew, but could not as yet do without him.
The rule of Alfonso VI.’s successors could not have been excessively harsh, for many Jewish families, hounded out of Southern Spain by an unusual manifestation of Mohammedan bigotry, took refuge within the walls of Toledo. Thanks to the influence of Fermosa, the Jewish mistress of Alfonso VIII., many of her race exercised important functions at the Court. But the fanatical temper of the populace attributed to the favour shown these unbelievers the disaster of Alarcos, and the beautiful favourite and her friends were murdered in the very presence of the king.
“At the beginning of the thirteenth century,” says Mr. Joseph Jacobs, B.A., in the “Jewish Encyclopædia,” “the Shushans, the Al-Fakhkhars, and the Alnaquas, were among the chief Jewish families of Toledo, Samuel Ibn Shushan being nasi [the chief of Sanhedrim] about 1204. His son built a synagogue which attracted the attention of Abraham ben Nathan of Lunel, who settled in Toledo before 1205. During the troubles brought upon Castile by the men of ‘Ultrapuertos’ in 1211-12, Toledo suffered a riot; and this appears to have brought the position of the Jews more closely to the attention of the authorities. In 1219 the Jewish inhabitants became more strictly subject to the jurisdiction of the Archbishop of Toledo, who imposed upon every Jew over twenty years old an annual poll-tax of one-sixth of a gold mark; and any dispute about age was to be settled by a jury of six elders, who were probably supervised by the nasi, at that time Solomon ben Joseph Ibn Shushan. In the same year papal authority also interfered with the affairs of the Toledo Jews, ordering them to pay tithes on houses bought by them from Christians, ‘as otherwise the Church would be a considerable loser.’”
A significant phrase! But not only houses and land all over the country were mortgaged to the Jews, but also church plate and even the sacred vessels. Jewish usurers were said to drink out of the chalices used for the Precious Elements. The exasperation of the Christians was disregarded by Alfonso X. the Learned, who entertained a profound respect for the erudition and traditions of the Jews. A Hebrew, Don Zag Ibn Said, directed the compilation of the famous Alfonsine Tables; and under the patronage of the monarch, Toledo became famous for its translations from the Arabic into Hebrew, Latin, and Spanish. The rabbis distinguished themselves in medicine and astronomy. While doing his utmost to draw the oppressed race within the fold of the Catholic church, the Learned King granted permission to the Jews of Toledo to erect that beautiful synagogue which, under the name of Santa Maria la Blanca, ranks to-day among the national monuments of Spain.
“The Spanish Jews,” says Mr. Scott, “by reason of the peculiarities of their situation, the hostility of their rulers—which their pecuniary resources and natural acuteness often baffled, but never entirely overcame—and their successive domination by races of different origin, faith, and language, were impressed with mental peculiarities and characteristics not to be met with in their brethren of other countries. Their religious formalism was proverbial, and the Hebrew of Toledo observed more conscientiously the precepts of the Pentateuch and Talmud than the Hebrew of Damascus or Jerusalem.” Thus we find the Jews of Toledo siding against the rationalising theories of the great Maimonides, himself a native of Cordoba, and whose tomb is a conspicuous landmark on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee.
Don Amador de los Rios reproduces an ancient record for the year 1290, stating the amount of tribute payable by the various Jewish communities of Castile. Out of a total of 2,801,345 maravedis the Israelites of the city of Toledo contributed 216,500, and those in the entire archdiocese 1,062,902 maravedis. The pomp of Catholic public worship and the wealth of the clergy are partially accounted for by these figures.
Up till then, always the most valuable (from a European point of view) and the most prosperous element of the population of Toledo, the Jews assumed yet greater prominence in the reign of Pedro I. That prince was declared by his numerous enemies to be the substituted child of a Jewess, and his Court was reviled as a Jewish Court. He showed favour to the race in many ways. His treasurer and confidential adviser was the famous Don Samuel Ha Levi. Whether or not the Jewish statesman’s administration was in the interests of Castile, it is too late in the day to say; but there can be no doubt that he was a loyal servant of his king and a devoted friend of his own people. He it was who caused to be erected Toledo’s other great synagogue, now called the Transito. He was a warm ally of the beautiful Maria de Padilla, Pedro’s gentle mistress, and for years, with consummate astuteness, defended himself against the insidious and violent attacks of his innumerable enemies. His enormous wealth—honestly or dishonestly acquired—brought about his downfall. In the very year (1360) the synagogue was completed, Samuel was seized at Seville, and, by order of the king, placed upon the rack. The haughty Hebrew is said to have died of sheer indignation. Pedro shed crocodile tears over his ill-starred Minister’s fate, and greedily confiscated his property. His fortune was found to consist of 70,000 doubloons, 4000 silver marks, twenty chests filled with treasure, and eighty Moorish slaves. The property of all Levi’s relatives was also forfeited to the Crown, and was valued at 300,000 doubloons. Pedro did not, however, withdraw his favour from the Jews as a race. It had been well for them if he had. Their loyalty to the Bluebeard King earned for them the detestation of the partisans of Enrique de Trastamara, and brought about, as we have seen, the massacre of 1355, in which 1200 Jews perished.
The new king, Enrique, took advantage of a riot said to have been excited by the arrogance of the converted Jews in 1367, and in which 1600 houses were burnt to the ground, to impose a tribute of no less than twenty thousand gold doubloons on the afflicted people.
It was possibly due to the presence of a large Israelite population that Toledo, very much against its will, had been held for King Pedro in 1369. It was, in consequence, fiercely assailed by its own archbishop, Don Gomez Manrique, while Pedro sent an army largely composed of Saracens to its relief. The city was a prey to famine, internecine warfare, pestilence, and to every description of calamity. The killing of Pedro and the accession of Enrique were hailed as an ineffable boon by the wretched citizens. But from that hour the position of the Jews grew more and more pitiable. Their prosperity waned, and with it the prosperity of the old city in which they had so long been unwelcome guests.
Their final ruin as a community was effected mainly at the instance of St. Vicente Ferrer, the Dominican. Visiting the city in 1391 he so inflamed the devout populace with apostolic zeal that they burst into the larger of the two Juderias or Ghettos, put practically the whole of its inhabitants—including the venerable rabbis, Judah ben Asher and Israel Alnaqua—to the sword, sacked the quarter from end to end, and demolished most of the synagogues. The saintly Ferrer reappeared at Toledo twenty years later, but there were nominally no Jews left to massacre. The Hebrews that remained had been “converted.” The good friar did what he could, and induced the Toledans to confiscate the synagogue built in Alfonso X.’s reign and convert it into the Christian Church of Santa Maria la Blanca. We suggest that it should have been renamed San Vicente del Sangre.
The work of destruction was done thoroughly, and henceforward we hear little in the story of Toledo of the Children of Israel. But their names have not been altogether forgotten. Mr. Jacobs gives a long list of members of that luckless congregation, famous for their learning and science. He enumerates theologians, physicians, astronomers, grammarians, satirists, poets and astrologers. Toledo, thanks to these latter, achieved an unenviable reputation as a centre of the magic art. Indeed, this was known at one time as the Arte Toledana. “It is said” (we quote Mr. Jacobs) “that Michael Scott learned his magic from a Toledo Jew named Andreas, who translated works on magic from the Arabic.” The same writer elsewhere says: “The Spanish Jews differed but little from the Christian population with regard to customs and education. They were fond of luxury, and the women wore costly garments with long trains, also valuable jewellery; this tended to increase the hatred of the population towards them. They were quarrelsome and inclined to robbery, and often attacked and insulted one another even in their synagogues and prayer-houses, frequently inflicting wounds with the rapier or sword they were accustomed to carry.” With royal permission a Jew might have two wives.
Deprived of the more legitimate pastime of Jew-baiting, the Toledans began to turn their swords against each other and their sovereign. “Never,” remarks Gamero, “had the nobility shown itself so arrogant and rebellious as during the reign of Juan II.” Envy of that great man and powerful Minister, Don Alvaro de Luna, was mainly the cause of this. The leading families took different sides, and the streets frequently were slippery with the blood of the citizens. The Alcalde, Pero Lopez de Ayala, declared against the great Constable and held the town as an independent seigneurie against the king’s forces for five years. King Juan had deserved better things of his lieges of Toledo, for in 1431 he had entertained them on his return from his campaign in Andalusia with festivities and pageants of the gayest character. The people took part in bull fights and games in the Zocodover, while the knights and ricoshombres jousted and feasted in the Vega. The Alcazar re-echoed to the music of lute and lyre, and the songs of the minstrels. But Toledo was not to be subdued with kindness. The artisan class presently revolted on the imposition of a new tax, the tumult being the occasion of the saying, Soplara il odrero, y alborozarse la Toledo (Let the ironmonger blow and Toledo will rise). Next, the cruel and miserly governor, Pedro Sarmiento, followed Ayala’s example, and demanded of the king the dismissal of the noble Constable. The royal forces were set at defiance, and a pitched battle was fought below the walls. The fortune of the day remained with the rebels, and Sarmiento was able for a time to dictate to his sovereign. He was at last crushed, but was able to carry off an enormous amount of treasure loaded on two hundred mules.
These events had produced a permanent feud between the families of Ayala and Silva, only terminated by the marriage of the heir and heiress of the respective houses. Toledo, during the first three-quarters of the fifteenth century, was a prey to incessant warfare. Sometimes the whole town would be contending against external foes for or against the king, sometimes it would be the nobles contending with the people, or the church with the nobles. Toledo, as a whole, supported its archbishop, Carrillo, when in 1465 he pronounced sentence of dethronement on Enrique IV. Three years later that unlucky monarch managed, by winning over the Ayalas to his side, to make his entry into the city. The proud chief of the family was himself obliged to flee from the town in 1471. The king was besieged in the Alcazar; the balance inclined sometimes to this party, sometimes to that. The old animosities between the Ayalas and the Silvas blazed up again from time to time; and under its weak sovereign Toledo had its fill of fighting. But those brave days were drawing to a close, and in 1474, came one before whom even Toledans had to bend the knee and whom, recognising in her a stronger spirit, they afterwards delighted to honour. The accession of Isabel the Catholic on the death of Enrique IV., and to the exclusion of the rightful heiress, Juana, calumniously nicknamed La Beltraneja, marks the beginning of a new era in the history of Spain, and therefore of Toledo.