Miracles of St. Isidro, Patron-Saint of Madrid
Old Christoval’S Advice, and the Reason why he Gave it.
If thy debtor be poor, old Christoval cried,
Exact not too hardly thy due;
For he who preserves a poor man from want,
May preserve him from wickedness too.
If thy neighbour should sin, old Christoval cried,
Never, never unmerciful be!
For remember it is by the mercy of God
That thou art not as wicked as he.
At sixty-and-seven the hope of heaven
Is my comfort, old Christoval cried;
But if God had cut me off in my youth,
I might not have gone there when I died.
You shall have the farm, young Christoval,
My good master Henrique said;
But a surety provide, in whom I can confide,
That duly the rent shall be paid.
I was poor, and I had not a friend upon earth,
And I knew not what to say;
We stood by the porch of St. Andrew’s Church,
And it was St. Isidro’s day.
Take St. Isidro for my pledge,
I ventured to make reply;
The Saint in Heaven may perhaps be my friend,
But friendless on earth am I.
We entered the church and came to his grave,
And I fell on my bended knee;
I am friendless, holy Isidro,
And I venture to call upon thee.
I call upon thee my surety to be,
Thou knowest my honest intent;
And if ever I break my plighted word,
Let thy vengeance make me repent
I was idle, the day of payment came on,
And I had not the money in store;
I feared the wrath of Isidro,
But I feared Henrique more.
On a dark, dark night I took my flight
And hastily fled away:
It chanced that by St. Andre Church
The road I had chosen lay.
As I passed the door I thought what I had swore
Upon St. Isidr day;
And I seemed to fear because he was near,
And faster I hastened away.
So all night long I hurried on,
Pacing full many a mile;
I knew not his avenging hand
Was on me all the while.
Weary I was, and safe I thought,
But when it was daylight,
I had, I found, been running round
And round the church all night.
I shook like a palsy and fell on my knees,
And for pardon devoutly I prayed:
When my Master came up—What, Christoval,
You are here betimes, he said.
I have been idle, good master! I cried,
Good master, and I have been wrong!
And I have been running round the church
In penance all night long.
If thou hast been idle, Henrique said,
Go home and thy fault amend;
I will not oppress thee, Christoval,
May the Saint thy labour befriend.
Homeward I went a penitent,
And I never was idle more;
St. Isidro blest my industry,
As he punished my fault before.
When my debtor was poor, old Christoval said,
I have never exacted my due;
I remembered Henrique was good to me,
And copied his goodness too.
When my neighbour has sinned, old Christoval said,
I have ever forgiven his sin.
For I thought of the night by St. Andrew’s Church,
And remembered what I might have been.
Southey’s “Letters from Spain and Portugal.”
Before Isidro’s holy shrine
Hernando knelt and pray’d,
“Now, blessed Saint, afford thine aid,
And make Aldonza mine;
And fifty pieces I will lay,
The offering of my Wedding Day,
Upon thy holy shrine.”
Hernando rose and went his way;
Isidro heard his vow;
And, when he sued, Aldonza now
No longer said him nay;
For he was young and débonair,
And sped so well that soon the fair
Had fix’d the Wedding Day.
The Wedding Day at length is here.
The day that came so slow;
Together to the church they go,
The youth and maid so dear;
And kneeling at the altar now
Pronounced the mutual marriage vow,
With lips and heart sincere.
And joy is on Hernando’s brow,
And joy is in his breast;
To him by happiness possest,
The past exists not now;
And gazing on the wedded maid,
The youth forgot Isidro’s aid,
And thought not of his vow.
The sun descended from the height
Of heaven his western way;
Amid Hernando’s hall so gay,
The tapers pour their light;
The Wedding Guests, a festive throng,
With music and with dance and song,
Await the approach of night.
The hours pass by, the night comes on,
And from the hall so gay,
One by one they drop away,
The Wedding Guests; anon
The festive hall is emptied quite;
But whither on his Wedding Night
Is young Hernando gone?
Hernando he had gone away
The Wedding Guests before;
For he was summon’d to his door
By an old man cloth’d in grey.
Who bade the Bridegroom follow him;
His voice was felt in every limb,
And forced them to obey.
The old man he went fast before,
And not a word said he,
Hernando followed silently,
Against his will full sore;
For he was dumb, nor power of limb
Possess’d, except to follow him,
Who still went mute before.
Towards a church they hasten now,
And now the door they reach;
The Bridegroom had no power of speech,
Cold drops were on his brow;
The church where St. Isidro lay,
Hernando knew, and in dismay,
He thought upon his vow.
The old man touch’d the door, the door
Flew open at his will,
And young Hernando followed still
The silent man before;
The clasping doors behind him swung,
And thro’ the aisles and arches rung
The echo of their roar.
Dim tapers, struggling with the gloom,
Sepulchral twilight gave:
And now to St. Isidro’s grave
The old man in grey is come.
The youth that sacred shrine survey’d,
And shook to see no corpse was laid
Within that open tomb.
“Learn thou to pay thy debts aright!”
Severe the old man said,
As in the tomb himself he laid;
“Nor more of vows make light.”
The yearning marble clos’d its womb,
And left Hernando by the tomb,
To pass his Wedding Night.
Southey’s “Letters from Spain and Portugal.”