yet my
spirit was on its knees before this ancient throne of kings.

I could hardly believe that the sullen yellow stream pounding its way
through the gorge, and shouldering aside huge rocks as if they were
pebbles, was really the Tagus, enchanted river of my childish dreams--the
river my father loved--the golden river I had scarcely dared hope to see.

Not a legend of the Tagus or Toledo that I did not know, I reminded myself
dreamily. I knew how, in the grand old days of the city's glory, the Jews
of Jerusalem had respectfully sent a deputation to the wise Jews of
Toledo, asking: "Shall this man who says He is the Son of God be given up
to the Roman law, and die?" And how the Jews of Toledo had hastened to
return for answer: "By no means commit this great crime, because we
believe from the evidence that He is indeed the long looked-for Redeemer."
How the caravan had made all speed back, arriving too late; and how,
because of their wisdom and piety, the Jews of Toledo had been spared by
the Inquisition when all others burned.

I knew how, in a time of disaster and poverty for Toledo, San Alonzo, a
poor man, prayed heartily to the Virgin, in whose lifetime the cathedral
had been begun, imploring her help for the town; how she came at his call,
and looking about to see what she could do, touched the rock, which
throbbed under her fingers like a heart, until all its veins flowed with
molten iron; how this iron was drunk by the Tagus in such draughts that
the water became the colour of old gold; and how after that, the city grew
rich and famous through the marvellous quality of its steel, which, the
faithful believe, owes its value to the iron-impregnated Tagus.

I knew how the King of the Visigoths had here become a Christian, and made
of Toledo the ecclesiastical capital of Spain. I knew how the Cid had
ridden to the city on Babieca, beside treacherous Alonzo. I knew how
Philip the Second had been driven away by the haughtiness of the clergy,
pretending greater love for Madrid, that town built to humour a king's
caprice. I knew how, even as in the mountains round Granada, in every cave
among the rocks of the wild gorge, sleeps an enchanted Moor in armour, on
an enchanted steed, guarding hidden treasure, or waiting for the magic
word which will set him free to fight for his banished rulers. And yet,
here was I entering this ancient citadel mighty in history and fable, in
an automobile, with a photographic camera!

"Bu