Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol. XVI., December, 1880.

The two Valencian knights did not delay to challenge Quiñones, since he had remained uninjured; and, as they had the right to demand horses and arms, they chose those which Quiñones had used in the last joust. The chronicler adds: "It seems to me that they did not ask it so much for their honor as for the safety of their skins." The judges decided that Quiñones was not bound to give his own armor, as there were other suits as good: nevertheless, he complied, and sent in addition four horses to choose from. He was also anxious to joust with them, but Lope de Estuñiga refused to yield his place, and cited the chapter of the regulations which provided that no one should single out his adversary. Quiñones offered him a very fine horse and a gold chain worth three hundred doubloons, but Estuñiga answered that he would not yield his turn although he were offered a city.

At vespers Estuñiga and Juan Fabla were armed and the judges examined their arms, and although Fabla had the better horse, they let it pass. At the sound of the trumpet Estuñiga entered the lists magnificently attired, and attended by two pages in armor bearing a drawn sword and a lance. Juan Fabla followed immediately, and at the given signal they attacked each other lance in rest. Fabla encountered Estuñiga in the left arm, tearing off his armor, but neither of them broke his lance. In the four following courses they failed to encounter. In the sixth Fabla encountered his adversary in the breastplate, breaking his lance in the middle, and the head remained sticking in the armor. They encountered in the seventh course, and Estuñiga's servant, who was in the lists, cried out, "At him! at him!" The judges commanded his tongue to be cut out, but at the intercession of those present the sentence was commuted to thirty blows and imprisonment. They failed to encounter in the eighth course, but in the ninth Estuñiga broke his lance on Fabla's left arm: the latter failed to encounter, and received a great reverse. After this they ran nine courses without encountering, but in the nineteenth Estuñiga met Fabla in the plastron, and his lance slipped off on to his helmet, but did not break, although it pierced the plastron and the iron remained sticking in it. By this time it had grown so dark that the judges could not distinguish the good from the bad encounters, and for this reason they decided that the combat was finished the same as though three lances had been broken. Estuñiga invited Fabla to sup with Quiñones, "and at table there were many knights, and after supper they danced."

That same day there arrived at the Pass nine knights from Aragon, who swore that they were gentlemen without reproach. Their spurs were taken from them, according to the established custom, and hung up in the judges' stand until they should enter the lists.

The succeeding combats were but repetitions, with trifling variations, of those just described. From dawn, when the trumpet sounded for battle, until the evening grew so dark that the judges could not distinguish the combatants, the defenders maintained the Pass against all comers with bravery and honor.

The third day there passed near Orbigo two ladies, and the judges sent the king-at-arms and the herald to ascertain whether they were of noble birth and provided with knights to represent them in the lists and win them a passage through Orbigo, and also to request them to give up their right-hand gloves. The ladies answered that they were noble and were on a pilgrimage to Santiago; their names were Leonora and Guiomar de la Vega; the former was married and accompanied by her husband; the latter was a widow. The king-at-arms then requested their gloves to be kept as a pledge until some knight should ransom them. Frances Davio, an Aragonese knight, immediately offered to do combat for the ladies. The husband of Doña Leonora said that he had not heard of this adventure, and was unprepared to attempt it then, but if the ladies were allowed to retain their gloves, as soon as he had accomplished his pilgrimage he would return and enter the lists for them. The gloves, however, were retained and hung in the judges' stand. The matter caused some discussion, and finally the judges decided that the gloves should not be kept, for fear it should seem that the defenders of the Pass were interfering with pilgrims, and also on account of Juan de la Vega's chivalrous response. So the gloves were sent on to Astorga to be delivered to their owners, and Juan de la Vega was absolved from all obligation to ransom them, "and there was strife among many knights as to who should do battle for the sisters."

On the 16th of July, Frances Davio jousted with Lope de Estuñiga, and when the trial of arms was ended with great honor to both, Davio swore aloud, so that many knights heard him, "that never in the future would he have a love-affair with a nun, for up to that time he had loved one, and it was for her sake that he had come to the Pass; and any one who had known it could have challenged him as an evil-doer, and he could not have defended himself." Whereat Delena, the notary and compiler of the original record of the Pass, exclaims, "To which I say that if he had had any Christian nobleness, or even the natural shame which leads every one to conceal his faults, he would not have made public such a sacrilegious scandal, so dishonorable to the religious order and so injurious to Christ."

The same day the king-at-arms and herald announced to Quiñones that a gentleman named Vasco de Barrionuevo, servant of Ruy Diaz de Mendoza, mayor-domo of the king, had come to make trial of his arms, but as he was not a knight he prayed Quiñones to confer that honor on him. Quiñones consented, and commanded him to wait at the entrance of the lists, whither he and the nine defenders went on foot accompanied by a great crowd. Quiñones asked Vasco if he desired to become a knight, and on his answering in the affirmative he drew his gilt sword and said, "Sir, do you promise to keep and guard all the things appertaining to the noble order of chivalry, and to die rather than fail in any one of them?" He swore that he would do so, and Quiñones, striking him on the helmet with his naked sword, said, "God make thee a good knight and aid thee to live and act as every good knight should do!" After this ceremony the new knight entered the lists with Pedro de los Rios, and they ran seven courses and broke three lances.

On the festival of St. James (July 25th) Quiñones entered the lists without three of the principal pieces of his armor—namely, the visor of his helmet, the left vantbrace and breastplate—and said, "Knights and judges of this Passo Honroso, inasmuch as I announced through Monreal, the king's herald, that on St. James's Day there would be in this place three knights, each without a piece of his armor, and each ready to run two courses with every knight who should present himself that day, know, therefore, that I, Suero de Quiñones, alone am those three knights, and am prepared to accomplish what I proclaimed." The judges after a short deliberation answered that they had no authority to permit him to risk his life in manifest opposition to the regulations which he had sworn to obey, and declared him under arrest, and forbade all jousting that day, as it was Sunday and the festival of St. James. Quiñones felt greatly grieved at their decision, and told them that "in the service of his lady he had gone into battle against the Moors in the kingdom of Granada with his right arm bared, and God had preserved him, and would do so now." The judges, however, were inflexible and refused to hear him.

The last day of July, late in the afternoon, there arrived at the Pass a gentleman named Pedro de Torrecilla, a retainer or squire of Alfonso de Deza, but no one was willing to joust with him, on the ground that he was not an hidalgo. The generous Lope de Estuñiga, hearing this, offered to dub him a knight, but Torrecilla thanked him and said he could not afford to sustain in becoming manner the honor of chivalry, but he would make good the fact that he was an hidalgo. Lope de Estuñiga was so much pleased by this discreet answer that he believed him truly of gentle blood, and to do him honor entered the lists with him. It was, however, so late that they had only time to run three courses, and then the judges pronounced their joust finished. Torrecilla esteemed so highly the fact that so renowned a knight as Lope de Estuñiga should have condescended to enter the lists with him that he swore it was the greatest honor he had ever received in his life, and he offered him his services. Estuñiga thanked him, and affirmed that he felt as much honored by having jousted with him as though he had been an emperor.7

A few days after the above events an incident occurred which shows how contagious the example of Quiñones and his followers was, and to what amusing imitations it led. A Lombard trumpeter made his appearance at the Pass, and said that he had been to Santiago on a pilgrimage, and while there had heard that there was at the Passo Honroso a trumpeter of the king of Castile named Dalmao, very celebrated in his line, and he had gone thirty leagues out of his way in order to have a trial of skill with him; and he offered to stake a good trumpet against one of Dalmao's. The latter took the Lombard's trumpet and blew so loud and skilfully that the Italian, in spite of all his efforts, was obliged to confess himself conquered, and gave up his trumpet.

So far, the encounters, if not entirely bloodless, had not been attended by any fatal accident. The defenders had all been wounded, more or less severely: once Quiñones concealed the fact until the end of the joust in which his antagonist had been badly hurt, and it was only when the knights were disarmed that it was discovered that Quiñones was bleeding profusely. On another occasion his helmet was pierced by his adversary's lance, the fragment of which he strove in vain to withdraw. All believed him mortally wounded, but he cried, "It is nothing! it is nothing! Quiñones! Quiñones!" and continued as though nothing had occurred. After three encounters the judges descended from their stands and made him remove his helmet to see whether he was wounded. When it was found that he was not, "every one thought that God had miraculously delivered him." Quiñones was also wounded in his encounter with Juan de Merlo, and again concealed the fact until the end of the combat, when he asked the judges to excuse him from jousting further that day, as his right hand, which he had previously sprained, was again dislocated, and caused him terrible suffering; and well it might, for the flesh was lacerated and the whole arm seemed paralyzed.

The wounds received the 28th of July were, unfortunately, sufficiently healed by the 6th of August to enable him to enter the lists with the unhappy Esberte de Claramonte, an Aragonese. "Would to God," exclaims the chronicler, "he had never come here!" In the ninth encounter Quiñones' lance entered his antagonist's left eye and penetrated the brain. The luckless knight broke his lance in the ground, was lifted from his saddle by the force of the blow, and fell dead without uttering a word; "and his face seemed like the face of one who had been dead two hours." The Aragonese and Catalans present bewailed his death loudly, and Quiñones was grieved in his soul at such a great misfortune. Every possible honor was shown the dead knight, and the welfare of his soul was not forgotten. Master Anton, Quiñones' confessor, and the other priests were sent for to administer the sacraments, and Quiñones begged them to chant the Responsorium8 over the body, as was customary in the Church, and do in all respects as though he himself were the dead man. The priest replied that the Church did not consider as sons those who died in such exercises, for they could not be performed without mortal sin, neither did she intercede for their souls; in proof whereof he referred to the canonical law, cap. de Torneamentis.9 However, at the earnest request of Quiñones, Messer Anton went with a letter to the bishop of Astorga to ask leave to bury Claramonte in holy ground, Quiñones promising if it were granted to take the dead knight to Leon and bury him in his own family chapel. Meanwhile, they bore the body to the hermitage of Santa Catalina, near the bridge of Orbigo, and there it remained until night, when Messer Anton returned without the desired license; so they buried Claramonte in unconsecrated ground near the hermitage, with all possible honor and amid the tears of the assembled knights. This mournful event does not seem, however, to have made a very deep impression, for that same afternoon the jousting was continued.

The remaining days were marked by no unusual occurrence: several were seriously but not fatally wounded, and one by one the defenders of the Pass were disabled; so that when the 9th of August, the last day of the jousts, arrived, Sancho de Ravenal was the only one of the ten defenders who was able to enter the lists. He maintained the Pass that day against two knights, and then the jousts were declared ended. When the decision was known there was great rejoicing and blowing of trumpets, and the lists were illuminated with torches. The judges returned the spurs which still hung in the stand to the owners who through lack of time had not been able to joust. Quiñones and eight of his companions (Lope de Aller was confined to his bed by his wounds) entered the lists in the same manner and order as on the first day, and halting before the judges Quiñones addressed them as follows: "It is known to Your Honors how I presented myself here thirty days ago with these companions, and the cause of my so doing was to terminate the captivity in which until this moment I was to a very virtuous lady, in token of which I have worn this iron collar continually every Thursday. The condition of my ransom was, as you know, three hundred lances broken or guarding this Pass thirty days, awaiting knights and gentlemen who should free me from said captivity; and whereas I believe, honorable sirs, that I have fulfilled everything according to the terms set down at the beginning, I therefore beg you will command me to remove this iron collar in testimony of my liberty."

The judges answered briefly as follows: "Virtuous gentleman and knight, after hearing your declaration, which seems just and true, we hereby declare your enterprise completed and your ransom paid; and be it known to all present that of the three hundred lances mentioned in the agreement but few remain yet to be broken, and these would not have remained unbroken had it not been for lack of adversaries. We therefore command the king-at-arms and the herald to remove the collar from your neck and declare you from this time henceforth free from your enterprise and ransom." | The king-at-arms and the herald then descended from the stand, and in the presence of the notaries with due solemnity took the collar from Quiñones' neck in fulfilment of the judges' command.

During the thirty days' jousting sixty-eight knights had entered the lists: of these, one, Messer Arnoldo de la Floresta Bermeja (Arnold von Rothwald?), was a German; one an Italian, Messer Luis de Aversa; one Breton,10 three Valencians, one Portuguese, thirteen Aragonese, four Catalans, and the remaining forty-four were from the Castiles and other parts of Spain. The number of courses run was seven hundred and twenty-seven, and one hundred and sixty-six lances were broken. Quiñones was afterward killed by Gutierre Quijada, one of the knights who took part in the Passo Honroso, and with whom he seems to have had some kind of a feud. Quiñones' sword may still be seen at Madrid in the Royal Armory, No. 1917.

T.F. CRANE.

AUTOMATISM

CONCLUDING PAPER

A few months ago, walking along Fifteenth street, I came up behind a friend and said, "Good-morning." No answer. "Good-morning, sir," a little louder.—"Oh, excuse me: I did not hear you the first time."—" How then did you know that I had spoken twice?" My friend was nonplussed, but what had happened was this: on my first speaking the impulse of the voice had fallen upon his ear and started a nerve-wave which had struggled up as far as the lower apparatus at the base of the brain, and, passing through this, had probably even reached the higher nerve-centres in the surface of the cerebrum, near to which consciousness resides, but not in sufficient force to arouse consciousness. When, however, the attention was excited by my second address, it perceived the first faint impulse which had been registered upon the protoplasm of the nerve-centres, although unfelt. Probably most of my readers have had a similar experience. A word spoken, but not consciously heard, has a moment afterward been detected by an effort as distinctly conscious as that made by the man who is attempting to decipher some old faint manuscript. This incident and its explanation will serve to illustrate the relation which seems to exist between consciousness and sensation, and also between consciousness and the general mental actions.

It will perhaps render our thinking more accurate if we attempt to get a clear idea just here as to what consciousness is and what it is not. Various definitions of the term have been given, but the simplest and truest seems to be that it is a knowledge of the present existence of self, and perhaps also of surrounding objects, although it is conceivable that a conscious person might be shut off from all contact with the external world by abolition of the senses. Consciousness is certainly not what the philosopher and the theologian call the Ego, or the personality of the individual. A blow on the head puts an end for the time being to consciousness, but not to the man's personality. Neither is consciousness the same as the sense of personal identity, although it is closely connected with it. The conviction of a man that he is the same person through the manifold changes which occur in him as the successive years go on is evidently based on consciousness and memory. This is well illustrated by some very curious cases in which the sense or knowledge of personal identity has been completely lost. Not long ago an instance of such complete loss was recorded by Doctor Hewater (Hospital Gazette, November, 1879). The gentleman who was the subject of this loss found himself standing upon the dépôt-platform in Belaire City, Ohio, utterly ignorant of who he was or where he came from or where he was going to. He had a little money in his pocket, and in his hand a small port-manteau which contained a pair of scissors and a change of linen. He was well dressed, and on stating at the nearest hotel his strange condition and asking for a bed, was received as a guest. In the evening he went out and attended a temperance lecture. Excited by the eloquence of the speaker, he was seized with an uncontrollable impulse, rushed from the room and began to smash with a club the windows of a neighboring tavern. The roughs ran out of the saloon and beat him very badly, breaking his arm: this brought him to the police-station, and thence to the hospital. For months every effort was made to identify him, but at the date of reporting without avail. He was known in the hospital as "Ralph," that name having been found on his underclothing. His knowledge upon all subjects unconnected with his identity is correct: his mental powers are good, and he has shown himself expert at figures and with a pen. For a long time it was thought that he was feigning, but every one about him was finally convinced that he is what he says he is—namely, a man without knowledge of his personal identity. This curious case, which is by no means unparalleled in the annals of psychological medicine, shows how distinct memory is from consciousness. Memory of the past was in Ralph entirely abolished so far as concerned his own personality, but consciousness was perfect, and the results of previous mental training remained, as is shown by his use of figures. It was as though there was a dislocation between consciousness and the memory of self.

The distinctness of consciousness from memory is also shown by dreams. Events which have passed are often recalled during the unconsciousness of sleep. The curious although common carrying of the memory of a dream over from the unconsciousness of sleep to the consciousness of waking movements further illustrates the complete distinction between the two cerebral functions.

If memory, then, be not part of consciousness, what is its nature? There is a law governing nervous actions both in health and disease which is known as that of habitual action. The curious reflex movements made by the frog when acid is put upon its foot, as detailed in my last paper, were explained by this law. The spinal cord, after having frequently performed a certain act under the stimulus of conscious sensation, becomes so accustomed to perform that act that it does it when the oft-felt peripheral impulse comes again to it, although the cerebral functions and consciousness are suspended. A nerve-centre, even of the lowest kind, once moulded by repeated acts, retains their impression—i.e. remembers them. Learning to walk is, as was shown in the last paper, training the memory of the lower nerve-centres at the base of the brain until at last they direct the movements of walking without aid from consciousness. The musician studies a piece of music. At first the notes are struck in obedience to a conscious act of the will founded upon a conscious recognition of the printed type. By and by the piece is so well known that it is played even when the attention is directed to some other subject; that is, the act of playing has been repeated until the lower nerve-centres, which preside over the movements of the fingers during the playing, have been so impressed that when once the impulses are started they flow on uninterruptedly until the whole set has been gone through and the piece of music is finished. This is the result of memory of the lower nerve-centres. At first, the child reads only by a distinct conscious effort of memory, recalling painfully each word. After a time the words become so impressed upon the lower nerve-centres that we may read on when our attention is directed to some other thing. Thus, often we read aloud and are unconscious of what we have read, precisely as the compositor habitually sets up pages of manuscript without the faintest idea of what it is all about. This law of habitual action applies not only to the lower nerve-centres in their healthy condition, but with equal force in disease. It is notorious that one of the great difficulties in the cure of epilepsy is the habit which is acquired by the nerve-centres of having at intervals attacks of convulsive discharge of nerve-force. Some years since I saw in consultation a case which well illustrates this point. A boy was struck in the head with a brick, and dropped unconscious. On coming to be was seized with an epileptic convulsion. These convulsions continually recurred for many months before I saw him. He never went two hours without them, and had usually from thirty to forty a day—some, it is true, very slight, but others very severe. Medicines had no influence over him, and with the idea that there might be a point of irritation in the wound itself causing the epilepsy, the scar was taken out. The result was that the seizures were the same day reduced very much in frequency, and in a short time became amenable to treatment, so that finally complete recovery occurred. He had, however, probably fifty convulsions in all after the removal of the scar before this result was achieved. Undoubtedly, in this case the point of irritation was removed by the operation. The cause of the convulsions having been taken away, they should have stopped at once. But here the law of habitual action asserted itself, and it was necessary to overcome the remembrance of the disease by the nerve-centres. It is plain that the higher nerve-centre remembers the idea or fact because it is impressed by ideas and facts, precisely as the lower spinal nerve-centres in the frog remember irritations and movements which have impressed them. The faculty of memory resides in all nerve-centres: the nature of that which is remembered depends upon the function of the individual centre. A nerve-cell which thinks remembers thought—a nerve-cell which causes motion remembers motion.

The so-called cases of double consciousness are perfectly simple in their explanation when the true nature of memory is borne in mind. In these cases the subject seems to lead a double life. The attacks usually come on suddenly. In the first attack all memory of the past is lost. The person is as an untaught child, and is forced to begin re-education. In some of these cases this second education has gone on for weeks, and advanced perhaps beyond the stage of reading, when suddenly the patient passes back to his original condition, losing now all memory of events which had occurred and all the knowledge acquired in what may be called his second state, but regaining all that he had originally possessed. Weeks or months afterward the second state reoccurs, the individual now forgetting all memory of the first or natural condition. It is usually found that events happening and knowledge acquired during the first attack of what we have called the second state are remembered in subsequent returns, so that the second education can be taken up at the point at which it was lost, and progress be made. This alternation of conditions has in some instances gone on for years, the patient living, as it were, two lives at broken intervals. This condition, usually called double consciousness, is not double consciousness at all, but, if the term may be allowed, double memory. It is evidently allied in its nature to the loss of the sense of personal identity. Certain phenomena of remembrance seen frequently in exhausting diseases, and especially in old age, show the permanence of impressions made upon the higher nerve-centres, and are also very similar in their nature to this so-called double consciousness. Not long since a very aged lady of Philadelphia, who was at the point of death, began to talk in an unknown tongue, soon losing entirely her power of expressing herself in English. No one could for a time make out the language she was speaking, but it was finally found to be Portuguese; and in tracing the history of the octogenarian it was discovered that until four or five years of age she had been brought up in Rio Janeiro, where Portuguese is spoken. There is little difference between the nature of such a case and that of the so-called double consciousness, both involving the forgetting of that which has been known for years.