The Ninth Day
“The great questions on the meaning of existence, on life, on death, on the ultimate destiny of the human person must resound in the heart of the pilgrim such that the journey would not only be a movement of the body but also an itinerary of the soul.”
____ The Pilgrimage in the Great Jubilee, No. 40
Out of Nájera by the calle de Costanilla
Through the door of Santa María la Real
Passing through pines and vines and a defile over the río Valde-cañas
Into Azofra by the calle de Costanilla
Depart Azofra
to the monument of the Virgin of Valvanera
On the Way: Najerilla to Azofra
Out the puerta Santa María la Real Richard and I left royal Nájera, climbed a shallow defile between two low hills, and walked toward humble Azofra. My feet hurt right away; I was given no early morning respite from the pain. At the town of Azofra, I had to take a rest, and with that rest I had some madalenas and café con leche. Out of Azofra I noticed a rollo or jurisdictional pillar as I walked out of the town.
The toes on my feet were crying (very loudly) foul, and I tried to figure what it was that I was to learn from this great pain and the hindrance it was having on my progress. Nothing but my feet hurt me. The fact that my ankles, knees, and muscles were all fine did not help my state, for everything depended upon my toes. The only lesson I could draw from all this was that my toes were like a serious vice, and that a single serious vice—even if hidden from all but God—can keep us from our goal and stop our progress toward God. This is so even though all else in our life be virtuous.
The distance from Azofra to Santo Domingo de la Calzada is short as the crow flies or as the pilgrim walks, but for me it seemed interminable. Richard went on ahead.
From the town of Azofra to Santo Domingo there were rolling hills of golden wheat, folded among arroyos, whose presence was betrayed by trees, deep, dark, and green. I climbed up a shallow incline on a dirt road; there was a small town to my right. Mano and Roberto passed me; I could not keep up with them and I insisted they go on. I stopped time and time again. I felt another blister in my right foot coming on, and I harbored doubt about my ability to go on. The pain in my feet was both chronic and acute; it ranked among the most severe, continuous pain I had ever felt. I feared permanent injury if I continued. My spirits were very low, and the only recourse I had was to St. James and to the Lord, and their answer was slow in coming. I stopped at a grove of oak trees to the left of the path, and there in the shade of the trees, I rested my feet. The pain never left me, but it dwindled over the course of an hour to a manageable level, and my mind was able to recall some verses from Gonzalo de Berceo:
Yaciendo a la sombra perdi todos cuidados,
Odi sonos de aves dulces e modulados:
Nunqua udieron omes organos mas temprados,
Nin que formar pudiessen sones mas acordados.
Lying in the shade I lost all cares;
I heard sweet and modulated sounds of birds;
Never’ve people heard organa more pleasant,
Nor’ve been able to form sounds in greater accord.
Following the rest from the oak tree grove that so lifted my spirits, I hobbled to the town of Cirueña, and there I took the carretera into Santo Domingo. I found a room at a hostal, and had a late lunch of paella and chicken at a corner café, which accompanied my Riojan wine.
I I I
and into Santo
Domingo de la Calzada.
The town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada is called the “Compostela of the Rioja” because of its spiritual and architectural beauty. The city lies at the border of the plains, set by the eastern banks of the river Oja. St. Dominic of the Causeway for whom the town is named cleared the forests here, built the bridge of the río Oja, and the road between Nájera east of here and Redecilla del Campo seven or so kilometers west of here. I could distinguish it from a distance by the ornate baroque tower of its cathedral. The campo through which I ambled on my way to the town of Santo Domingo was beautiful:
Here tawny Spain, lost to the world’s debate, rejoicing in the abundance of corn and vine, salutes the coy dawn with the tinkling bells of mule-trains, and wakes the early moonlight with pipe and guitar. Translucent grapes, flushed peaches, freckled pears, with white and powdery bread, strong and limpid wine that glitters like jewels in the reddened glass,—these transmute into something venerable and sacramental the ancient sun-burnt mirth.[i]
Sanctus Domi-nicus
St. Dominic of the Causeway, or Santo Domingo de la Calzada, was an Italian, who sold all he had, came to Spain on pilgrimage, and here he remained helping the pilgrims in life, and helping them even after his death. After being rejected on the grounds of illiteracy at the monasteries of Vilbanera and San Millán, he joined up with St. Gregory of Ostia, the Benedictine bishop of Ostia and papal legate to the kingdoms of Spanish Navarre and Castile, who was then preaching a mission. When St. Gregory died in Logroño in 1044, Dominic settled here and helped pilgrims by building the road, church, and hospital with the help of Alfonso VI.[ii]
St. Dominic built a 24-arched bridge across the Oja River, greatly spurring development of the town. His hermitage was alongside the bridge and there he lived until his death in 1109. The hospital he founded in this town survives as a luxury Parador hotel. The modern highway, the N-111, runs through the town, south of the path of the pilgrim. The pilgrim’s route runs north right through the old part of town.
The town of San Domingo has a fine Cathedral, named after the Holy Savior, large and magnificent; completed in 1235, although it was added to and improved thereafter. It is cruciform, with three central naves of four bays and two aisles, and a transept.
The oldest section is the Romanesque apse, but the church’s interior is mainly Gothic in inspiration. Its exterior façade is baroque, with grotesque heads leering out from the corbels. The baroque tower was built in 1760s and replaced earlier structures, damaged by lightning. The tower, as well as the south portal, were designed by Martín de Beratúa (who also designed the twin towers at Logroño cathedral). The south façade, which faces the old hospital, is neoclassical and is composed of two portals, above which are three niches, one with a statue of Saint Dominic. Above the statues are three round windows. This whole complex is placed within a larger arch, which in turn is bordered by pilasters atop of which rests a heavy pediment.
I entered the church, dipped my hand into the holy water stoup, but it was bone dry. I crossed myself, nevertheless, as I have done many a time before and prayed for cleansing. Ah, to be white as snow both in fieri and in factum esse. “Asperges me hyssopo et mundabor,” I prayed, “Lavabis me et super nivem dealbabor.” I thought of the mystic Thurkill’s vision of purgatory and of St. Dominic as I walked to the south transept of the church:
So Dominick sprinkled the souls
there with holy water and
they were even whiter than before.[iii]
In the south transept of the church is the tomb of St. Dominic, a work of stone, intricately carved as if silverwork. It was carved in 1513 following the designs of Felipe Bigarny. Atop the urn is a statue of the Saint, in priest’s black, with a staff in his left hand, and looking quite severe with tanned face and a contrasting beard of ivory white. Beside his feet, not unexpectedly, a hen and rooster, reference to the Saint’s most famous miracle.
I heard a rooster crow. I turned and looked behind me at the west wall of the south transept. There I saw without question the most peculiar of all the ecclesiastical habits in the world: a Plateresque chicken coup of black and guilded steel, and within a live white chicken and rooster. This coup is perhaps the only living icon of the miracle of any saint, for it refers to the miracle of what occurred here, and which is related in the Liber Sancti Jacobi.
It is told that a family of German pilgrims, a man, his wife, and their handsome son, Hugonell by name, traveled to Compostela in the 15th century and stopped at the inn in this town. The innkeeper’s daughter grew infatuated with the son, and propositioned him. The son refused the advances. But the spurned wench had read her Bible and the story of Joseph and his brothers, and got even by planting a silver chalice in the equipage of the pilgrims. This she reported stolen to her father and the authorities the next day. The magistrate’s officers caught up with the pilgrims, found the chalice, and brought the young boy back for trial. The young boy was condemned to be hung, a draconian sentence which was carried out. The parents, disconsolate, completed their pilgrimage to Compostela. On their return through this town, they found their son still hanging, but alive, as he had been supported by St. James all those many days. When the parents went to the magistrate to report this miracle, he laughed at them, saying that their son was as alive as the roasted cock and hen he was prepared to eat. Thereupon, the cock and the hen were both raised back to life, mustered a cluck and a crow, to the surprise of the magistrate and the glory of St. James.
I I I
I completed my visit by paying respects to the body of St. Dominic in the crypt, thus complying with the injunction of the Pilgrim’s Guide. The crypt was empty, and dark. So I lay prostrate before St. Dominic’s grave ad terram and in forma crucis—as the priests do before the altar during Good Friday—and prayed. And the deep cold of the flagstone floor rose through my body, even to my heart. I was seized by mystery and a certain terror as I grappled with the meaning of death and judgment:
Dominicus: Pilgrim soul, arise out of the body, for I have been sent to show you the Mystery of Death and Judgment.
Peregrinus: Who are you—you who hover around these sacred relics, by whom have you been sent, and how is it that I can trust you? You wear the black of a priest, the staff of a pilgrim, the white beard of wisdom, and you appear made of light, but that assures me nothing for the Devil can sometimes appear as an angel of light.
Dominicus: I am a priest, and Saint of the Road, for I am a builder of bridges and a builder of roads.
Peregrinus: You answer with a riddle? A priest the builder of bridges and roads? What does this mean?
Dominicus: Look at my hands. They are calloused from carrying stones and building bridges and roads in service to Christ’s pilgrim to the Shrine of the Apostle. I am Dominic of the Road, whose bones lie before you and have been sent to be your pontifex, your guide.
I decided to test the spirit with the test an old Irish priest told me he used to test demonic possession. It came straight out of the first chapter of St. John’s Gospel:
Peregrinus: Et Verbum caro factum est.
Dominicus: Et habitavit in nobis; et vidimus gloriam eius, gloriam quasi Unigeniti a Patre, plenum gratiae et veritatis.
The response gave me confidence—any demon would have cringed in response—and I decided to follow this spirit where ever he led. I was led by Dominicus to a large structure that looked like a basilica of white marble. He led me to the portal. This portal was not like those Romanesque portals on the Camino. It had no tympanum with a warning of judgment. We had reached the end of the Road, and admonitions after Death are of no value. Death catapults the pilgrim beyond the realm of time, and warnings work only in time and must be heeded then. Above the portal, etched in the stone, read simply: TRIBUNAL CHRISTI. In smaller letters below, it read Iudicium Particulare.
As we approached, the doors opened, and out came an unfortunate pilgrim soul and another person, who shone with great glory. I heard the screams of this accused and judged soul walking out of the courtroom. He was damned.
I heard the damned soul cry to a companion, who appeared to be his advocate, “I want to plea the Plea of Apokatastasis!”
But his advocate told him, “You are in error. The Plea of Apokatastasis does not obtain Mercy in this Court. It is a fool’s plea, a frivolous plea, the plea of a brute, and since 543 and the Council of Constantinople the plea of the heretic. It is equivalent to a Confession of Presumption and automatically condemns you.”
The poor soul was led away weeping and wailing and gnashing his teeth. I trembled with disquiet.
Peregrinus: Where are we?
Dominicus: Behold the Court of Particular Judgment.
Peregrinus: Do all men face this Tribunal?
Dominicus: At their death. There is no exception.
Peregrinus: Am I to have an advocate?
Dominicus: Yes. You may pray to whom you wish and ask for the intercessions of all the angels and saints, but you are allowed only one advocate. Whom is it you wish?
Peregrinus: The Apostle and Martyr, St. James the Greater.
Dominicus: So shall it be.
St. James St. James appeared as a pilgrim, in robes and a cape of brown, a hat with a large brim, and a staff. He wore shells on his cape and on the brim of his hat, which he turned upward at the front. He appeared as he did above many altars on the Camino.
Jacobus: Dear pilgrim, follow me.
Peregrinus: Ave Sancte Iacobe!
With great fear, I followed St. James as he opened the door and led me into the knave of the basilica. It was long and had many bays, separated alternatively by plain round columns and square piers. Between the columns and piers, at the spandrels, were bas reliefs. On my right, the bas reliefs depicted vices. On my left, they showed virtues. The last two bays showed the theological virtues of Faith and Hope. The theological virtue of Love—Caritas—was shown on the half-dome of the apse. At the end of the basilica, in the apse, seated on a throne on a dais, surrounded by a bright light which fanned about Him like a mandorla, was the Lord Judge. I could not seem to focus on His Face, and, in spite of great fear, I felt a great attraction to the Lord Judge. On His left was a bench, and behind it a hideous fellow, dressed in robes of red. St. James told me he was the advocate of the Devil. His job was to be my accuser, and he was very competent. We took our place to the Lord Judge’s right.
Christus Iudex: I call the case of In re Peregrinus. I will entertain indictments of eternal guilt against this Pilgrim Soul.
Advocatus Diaboli: I accuse the Defendant with an Indictment of Original Sin.
Christus Iudex: Are there any pleas contrary to this Indictment?
Jacobus: I enter a Plea of Baptism.
Christus Iudex: Sacramental or Ex Voto?
Jacobus: Sacramental.
Christus Iudex: Does the Pilgrim bear My Seal?
Jacobus: Indeed.
Christus Iudex: We operate then under the Law of the New Covenant. The Indictment of Original Sin is Quashed. Are there any indictments of Personal Sin?
Advocatus Diaboli: I have thousands of Indictments, of every shade and hue, all mortal, and I am more than pleased to make my case, with witnesses of the pilgrim’s full consent and knowledge.
Christus Iudex: As always eager and ready. But you are premature, for we have not heard all peremptory pleas. Advocate for the Pilgrim, do you wish to interpose any Pleas in Bar? Do you have any Pleas of Confessio sive Unctio or any Pleas of Contritio?
Jacobus: On behalf of the Pilgrim Soul, I enter a Plea of Confessio. This Pilgrim confessed his sins at Nájera at Santa María la Real.
Christus Iudex: The Christian has confessed his sins, obtained absolution by one of my priests, and done his penance. Advocate of the Devil, can you traverse the Plea of Confessio? Do you have a plea of Non est Attritio?
Advocatus Diaboli: As a matter of course, I always plea Non est Attritio, though I rarely win.
Christus Iudex: Do you have any proof that the Pilgrim soul failed to have at least imperfect sorrow when he confessed?
Advocatus Diaboli: Without intentional sacrilege in the act of confession, it is virtually impossible to establish a Non est Attritio. I admit to no evidence in this matter.
Christus Iudex: Then your Plea of Non est Attritio is overruled. The Plea of Confessio is accepted. Before I render judgment, do you have any pleas in replication?
Advocatus Diaboli: I have a Plea of Ingratitudo.
Christus Iudex: Has the Pilgrim committed mortal sin since his last confession?
Advocatus Diaboli: The pilgrim breached his vow of religion, and harbored lewd thoughts. I have the testimony of the demons of Irreligio and Πορνεία on this.
(I recalled the event with Irreligio, but did not recall any meeting with a demon named Πορνεία. The devil’s advocate had foreseen what was to occur on the way to Belorado.)
Jacobus: There was no consent by the pilgrim to the blandishments of these demons; indeed, the pilgrim responded to Your grace and resisted. These were temptations, not sins; the pilgrim’s response to Your grace was virtuous. He is to receive merit de condigno for it, not damnation. A man cannot prevent the birds of evil from flying overhead; he is only charged with keeping them from building nests in the crevices of his heart.
Christus Iudex: True. The Plea of Ingratidudo is rejected. The Pilgrim’s Plea of Confessio is finally accepted. The Pilgrim died in my Grace. Advocate of the Pilgrim, what relief do you request on behalf of the Pilgrim?
Jacobus: Eternal Life and Salvation. Based on the Plea of Confession, and the principles of res judicata, I invoke your Mercy and Redemption on the Pilgrim’s Behalf.
Christus Iudex: Your relief is granted. (Turning to me He said) Venite ad me, Come to me!
The Lord Judge left His dais and embraced me, and kissed me; and I felt a comfort and assurance I had not felt before. Faith and Hope seemed to disappear, and my will transformed into a great Love. He turned to St. James.
Christus Iudex: Take now this pilgrim to the phase of temporal punishment.
At this, the vision disappeared, and I found myself before Dominicus. I was again at the crypt of the Church of the Savior in Santo Domingo de la Calzada. The cock had crowed and startled me back from my journey.
Dominicus: Here ends my task.
Peregrinus: Before you go, good Dominicus, tell me about the phase I was not permitted to see.
Dominicus: Every pilgrim, should he be found worthy of eternal life, must yet proceed to the phase of temporal punishment. There the pilgrim must render an account of his life. There the temporal punishments due his sins are measured, the value of good works and indulgences from the treasury of the Church are deducted. Any net remaining debt that is not negatived by the faithful on the earth, must yield to passive suffering.
Peregrinus: And what would my accounting be, were it determined today?
Dominicus: That is not mine to say; nor is it yours to know.
Peregrinus: This is troubling. Do you have any advice to me before you go?
Dominicus: Follow Christ, and seek also the Plenary Indulgence of Santiago, for that is a gift to be given you, and were you to die like William of Aquitaine, it would render that phase moot.
With that I came to and rose from the cold stone floor. I stood before the relics of Dominicus. My chest warmed up, and I felt my heart beat. I walked up the stairs into the dim light of the cathedral nave, and felt confused and walked unsteadily out of the church.
I I I
Later, I met with Richard and we went back down to the crypt where I had confronted the Mystery of Death and Judgment, and we walked around the sarcophagus there and prayed a Pater, and Ave, and a Gloria. This was done to comply with the provisions of an indulgence I had read about somewhere, although I frankly did not know whether the specific indulgence was in force, nor did I know whether it was plenary or partial. In cases of doubt, I thought thinking of the Franciscan Priest at Nájera, ecclesia supplet!
I I I
Late that afternoon, I began to grow concerned about my blisters, for those on my little toes showed signs of becoming infected. I decided to go the medical center in the town. The nurse at the center asked me to take off my sandals, and then she took the bandages off my blisters and stood aghast at the state of my feet. My blisters looked so bad, that she asked me if I was diabetic (I’m not).
“You cannot go on,” she urged, “it is impossible.”
“No,” I responded, “it is impossible that I can’t go on. I have to go on.” (I thought to myself Vade retro me Satanas!).
“I will call the Doctor,” she responded.
The doctor, a gentleman in his 50s with balding head of dark hair came in. He looked at my feet carefully.
“Do you intend to go on?” he asked me.
“I cannot quit now, Doctor,” I responded.
“I thought so,” he concluded.
He turned to the nurse and gave her instructions to clean the blisters well with iodine and bind them without using bulky bandages. He advised me to check the blisters daily, wished me luck, and left. She was unhappy that her prognosis had been reversed and she rebandaged my blisters in a brutal fashion, so thick with gauze that I knew I would not be able to fit my feet into my boots in the morning. I would have to redo the whole thing in the morning, I thought to myself. After dinner at a restaurant at the Plaza de las Alamedas, I hobbled to the hostal and went to sleep.
k
[i] King, I. 407.
[ii] King, I. 412-13.
[iii] King, III.547
“The great questions on the meaning of existence, on life, on death, on the ultimate destiny of the human person must resound in the heart of the pilgrim such that the journey would not only be a movement of the body but also an itinerary of the soul.”
____ The Pilgrimage in the Great Jubilee, No. 40
Out of Nájera by the calle de Costanilla
Through the door of Santa María la Real
Passing through pines and vines and a defile over the río Valde-cañas
Into Azofra by the calle de Costanilla
Depart Azofra
to the monument of the Virgin of Valvanera
On the Way: Najerilla to Azofra
Out the puerta Santa María la Real Richard and I left royal Nájera, climbed a shallow defile between two low hills, and walked toward humble Azofra. My feet hurt right away; I was given no early morning respite from the pain. At the town of Azofra, I had to take a rest, and with that rest I had some madalenas and café con leche. Out of Azofra I noticed a rollo or jurisdictional pillar as I walked out of the town.
The toes on my feet were crying (very loudly) foul, and I tried to figure what it was that I was to learn from this great pain and the hindrance it was having on my progress. Nothing but my feet hurt me. The fact that my ankles, knees, and muscles were all fine did not help my state, for everything depended upon my toes. The only lesson I could draw from all this was that my toes were like a serious vice, and that a single serious vice—even if hidden from all but God—can keep us from our goal and stop our progress toward God. This is so even though all else in our life be virtuous.
The distance from Azofra to Santo Domingo de la Calzada is short as the crow flies or as the pilgrim walks, but for me it seemed interminable. Richard went on ahead.
From the town of Azofra to Santo Domingo there were rolling hills of golden wheat, folded among arroyos, whose presence was betrayed by trees, deep, dark, and green. I climbed up a shallow incline on a dirt road; there was a small town to my right. Mano and Roberto passed me; I could not keep up with them and I insisted they go on. I stopped time and time again. I felt another blister in my right foot coming on, and I harbored doubt about my ability to go on. The pain in my feet was both chronic and acute; it ranked among the most severe, continuous pain I had ever felt. I feared permanent injury if I continued. My spirits were very low, and the only recourse I had was to St. James and to the Lord, and their answer was slow in coming. I stopped at a grove of oak trees to the left of the path, and there in the shade of the trees, I rested my feet. The pain never left me, but it dwindled over the course of an hour to a manageable level, and my mind was able to recall some verses from Gonzalo de Berceo:
Yaciendo a la sombra perdi todos cuidados,
Odi sonos de aves dulces e modulados:
Nunqua udieron omes organos mas temprados,
Nin que formar pudiessen sones mas acordados.
Lying in the shade I lost all cares;
I heard sweet and modulated sounds of birds;
Never’ve people heard organa more pleasant,
Nor’ve been able to form sounds in greater accord.
Following the rest from the oak tree grove that so lifted my spirits, I hobbled to the town of Cirueña, and there I took the carretera into Santo Domingo. I found a room at a hostal, and had a late lunch of paella and chicken at a corner café, which accompanied my Riojan wine.
I I I
and into Santo
Domingo de la Calzada.
The town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada is called the “Compostela of the Rioja” because of its spiritual and architectural beauty. The city lies at the border of the plains, set by the eastern banks of the river Oja. St. Dominic of the Causeway for whom the town is named cleared the forests here, built the bridge of the río Oja, and the road between Nájera east of here and Redecilla del Campo seven or so kilometers west of here. I could distinguish it from a distance by the ornate baroque tower of its cathedral. The campo through which I ambled on my way to the town of Santo Domingo was beautiful:
Here tawny Spain, lost to the world’s debate, rejoicing in the abundance of corn and vine, salutes the coy dawn with the tinkling bells of mule-trains, and wakes the early moonlight with pipe and guitar. Translucent grapes, flushed peaches, freckled pears, with white and powdery bread, strong and limpid wine that glitters like jewels in the reddened glass,—these transmute into something venerable and sacramental the ancient sun-burnt mirth.[i]
Sanctus Domi-nicus
St. Dominic of the Causeway, or Santo Domingo de la Calzada, was an Italian, who sold all he had, came to Spain on pilgrimage, and here he remained helping the pilgrims in life, and helping them even after his death. After being rejected on the grounds of illiteracy at the monasteries of Vilbanera and San Millán, he joined up with St. Gregory of Ostia, the Benedictine bishop of Ostia and papal legate to the kingdoms of Spanish Navarre and Castile, who was then preaching a mission. When St. Gregory died in Logroño in 1044, Dominic settled here and helped pilgrims by building the road, church, and hospital with the help of Alfonso VI.[ii]
St. Dominic built a 24-arched bridge across the Oja River, greatly spurring development of the town. His hermitage was alongside the bridge and there he lived until his death in 1109. The hospital he founded in this town survives as a luxury Parador hotel. The modern highway, the N-111, runs through the town, south of the path of the pilgrim. The pilgrim’s route runs north right through the old part of town.
The town of San Domingo has a fine Cathedral, named after the Holy Savior, large and magnificent; completed in 1235, although it was added to and improved thereafter. It is cruciform, with three central naves of four bays and two aisles, and a transept.
The oldest section is the Romanesque apse, but the church’s interior is mainly Gothic in inspiration. Its exterior façade is baroque, with grotesque heads leering out from the corbels. The baroque tower was built in 1760s and replaced earlier structures, damaged by lightning. The tower, as well as the south portal, were designed by Martín de Beratúa (who also designed the twin towers at Logroño cathedral). The south façade, which faces the old hospital, is neoclassical and is composed of two portals, above which are three niches, one with a statue of Saint Dominic. Above the statues are three round windows. This whole complex is placed within a larger arch, which in turn is bordered by pilasters atop of which rests a heavy pediment.
I entered the church, dipped my hand into the holy water stoup, but it was bone dry. I crossed myself, nevertheless, as I have done many a time before and prayed for cleansing. Ah, to be white as snow both in fieri and in factum esse. “Asperges me hyssopo et mundabor,” I prayed, “Lavabis me et super nivem dealbabor.” I thought of the mystic Thurkill’s vision of purgatory and of St. Dominic as I walked to the south transept of the church:
So Dominick sprinkled the souls
there with holy water and
they were even whiter than before.[iii]
In the south transept of the church is the tomb of St. Dominic, a work of stone, intricately carved as if silverwork. It was carved in 1513 following the designs of Felipe Bigarny. Atop the urn is a statue of the Saint, in priest’s black, with a staff in his left hand, and looking quite severe with tanned face and a contrasting beard of ivory white. Beside his feet, not unexpectedly, a hen and rooster, reference to the Saint’s most famous miracle.
I heard a rooster crow. I turned and looked behind me at the west wall of the south transept. There I saw without question the most peculiar of all the ecclesiastical habits in the world: a Plateresque chicken coup of black and guilded steel, and within a live white chicken and rooster. This coup is perhaps the only living icon of the miracle of any saint, for it refers to the miracle of what occurred here, and which is related in the Liber Sancti Jacobi.
It is told that a family of German pilgrims, a man, his wife, and their handsome son, Hugonell by name, traveled to Compostela in the 15th century and stopped at the inn in this town. The innkeeper’s daughter grew infatuated with the son, and propositioned him. The son refused the advances. But the spurned wench had read her Bible and the story of Joseph and his brothers, and got even by planting a silver chalice in the equipage of the pilgrims. This she reported stolen to her father and the authorities the next day. The magistrate’s officers caught up with the pilgrims, found the chalice, and brought the young boy back for trial. The young boy was condemned to be hung, a draconian sentence which was carried out. The parents, disconsolate, completed their pilgrimage to Compostela. On their return through this town, they found their son still hanging, but alive, as he had been supported by St. James all those many days. When the parents went to the magistrate to report this miracle, he laughed at them, saying that their son was as alive as the roasted cock and hen he was prepared to eat. Thereupon, the cock and the hen were both raised back to life, mustered a cluck and a crow, to the surprise of the magistrate and the glory of St. James.
I I I
I completed my visit by paying respects to the body of St. Dominic in the crypt, thus complying with the injunction of the Pilgrim’s Guide. The crypt was empty, and dark. So I lay prostrate before St. Dominic’s grave ad terram and in forma crucis—as the priests do before the altar during Good Friday—and prayed. And the deep cold of the flagstone floor rose through my body, even to my heart. I was seized by mystery and a certain terror as I grappled with the meaning of death and judgment:
Dominicus: Pilgrim soul, arise out of the body, for I have been sent to show you the Mystery of Death and Judgment.
Peregrinus: Who are you—you who hover around these sacred relics, by whom have you been sent, and how is it that I can trust you? You wear the black of a priest, the staff of a pilgrim, the white beard of wisdom, and you appear made of light, but that assures me nothing for the Devil can sometimes appear as an angel of light.
Dominicus: I am a priest, and Saint of the Road, for I am a builder of bridges and a builder of roads.
Peregrinus: You answer with a riddle? A priest the builder of bridges and roads? What does this mean?
Dominicus: Look at my hands. They are calloused from carrying stones and building bridges and roads in service to Christ’s pilgrim to the Shrine of the Apostle. I am Dominic of the Road, whose bones lie before you and have been sent to be your pontifex, your guide.
I decided to test the spirit with the test an old Irish priest told me he used to test demonic possession. It came straight out of the first chapter of St. John’s Gospel:
Peregrinus: Et Verbum caro factum est.
Dominicus: Et habitavit in nobis; et vidimus gloriam eius, gloriam quasi Unigeniti a Patre, plenum gratiae et veritatis.
The response gave me confidence—any demon would have cringed in response—and I decided to follow this spirit where ever he led. I was led by Dominicus to a large structure that looked like a basilica of white marble. He led me to the portal. This portal was not like those Romanesque portals on the Camino. It had no tympanum with a warning of judgment. We had reached the end of the Road, and admonitions after Death are of no value. Death catapults the pilgrim beyond the realm of time, and warnings work only in time and must be heeded then. Above the portal, etched in the stone, read simply: TRIBUNAL CHRISTI. In smaller letters below, it read Iudicium Particulare.
As we approached, the doors opened, and out came an unfortunate pilgrim soul and another person, who shone with great glory. I heard the screams of this accused and judged soul walking out of the courtroom. He was damned.
I heard the damned soul cry to a companion, who appeared to be his advocate, “I want to plea the Plea of Apokatastasis!”
But his advocate told him, “You are in error. The Plea of Apokatastasis does not obtain Mercy in this Court. It is a fool’s plea, a frivolous plea, the plea of a brute, and since 543 and the Council of Constantinople the plea of the heretic. It is equivalent to a Confession of Presumption and automatically condemns you.”
The poor soul was led away weeping and wailing and gnashing his teeth. I trembled with disquiet.
Peregrinus: Where are we?
Dominicus: Behold the Court of Particular Judgment.
Peregrinus: Do all men face this Tribunal?
Dominicus: At their death. There is no exception.
Peregrinus: Am I to have an advocate?
Dominicus: Yes. You may pray to whom you wish and ask for the intercessions of all the angels and saints, but you are allowed only one advocate. Whom is it you wish?
Peregrinus: The Apostle and Martyr, St. James the Greater.
Dominicus: So shall it be.
St. James St. James appeared as a pilgrim, in robes and a cape of brown, a hat with a large brim, and a staff. He wore shells on his cape and on the brim of his hat, which he turned upward at the front. He appeared as he did above many altars on the Camino.
Jacobus: Dear pilgrim, follow me.
Peregrinus: Ave Sancte Iacobe!
With great fear, I followed St. James as he opened the door and led me into the knave of the basilica. It was long and had many bays, separated alternatively by plain round columns and square piers. Between the columns and piers, at the spandrels, were bas reliefs. On my right, the bas reliefs depicted vices. On my left, they showed virtues. The last two bays showed the theological virtues of Faith and Hope. The theological virtue of Love—Caritas—was shown on the half-dome of the apse. At the end of the basilica, in the apse, seated on a throne on a dais, surrounded by a bright light which fanned about Him like a mandorla, was the Lord Judge. I could not seem to focus on His Face, and, in spite of great fear, I felt a great attraction to the Lord Judge. On His left was a bench, and behind it a hideous fellow, dressed in robes of red. St. James told me he was the advocate of the Devil. His job was to be my accuser, and he was very competent. We took our place to the Lord Judge’s right.
Christus Iudex: I call the case of In re Peregrinus. I will entertain indictments of eternal guilt against this Pilgrim Soul.
Advocatus Diaboli: I accuse the Defendant with an Indictment of Original Sin.
Christus Iudex: Are there any pleas contrary to this Indictment?
Jacobus: I enter a Plea of Baptism.
Christus Iudex: Sacramental or Ex Voto?
Jacobus: Sacramental.
Christus Iudex: Does the Pilgrim bear My Seal?
Jacobus: Indeed.
Christus Iudex: We operate then under the Law of the New Covenant. The Indictment of Original Sin is Quashed. Are there any indictments of Personal Sin?
Advocatus Diaboli: I have thousands of Indictments, of every shade and hue, all mortal, and I am more than pleased to make my case, with witnesses of the pilgrim’s full consent and knowledge.
Christus Iudex: As always eager and ready. But you are premature, for we have not heard all peremptory pleas. Advocate for the Pilgrim, do you wish to interpose any Pleas in Bar? Do you have any Pleas of Confessio sive Unctio or any Pleas of Contritio?
Jacobus: On behalf of the Pilgrim Soul, I enter a Plea of Confessio. This Pilgrim confessed his sins at Nájera at Santa María la Real.
Christus Iudex: The Christian has confessed his sins, obtained absolution by one of my priests, and done his penance. Advocate of the Devil, can you traverse the Plea of Confessio? Do you have a plea of Non est Attritio?
Advocatus Diaboli: As a matter of course, I always plea Non est Attritio, though I rarely win.
Christus Iudex: Do you have any proof that the Pilgrim soul failed to have at least imperfect sorrow when he confessed?
Advocatus Diaboli: Without intentional sacrilege in the act of confession, it is virtually impossible to establish a Non est Attritio. I admit to no evidence in this matter.
Christus Iudex: Then your Plea of Non est Attritio is overruled. The Plea of Confessio is accepted. Before I render judgment, do you have any pleas in replication?
Advocatus Diaboli: I have a Plea of Ingratitudo.
Christus Iudex: Has the Pilgrim committed mortal sin since his last confession?
Advocatus Diaboli: The pilgrim breached his vow of religion, and harbored lewd thoughts. I have the testimony of the demons of Irreligio and Πορνεία on this.
(I recalled the event with Irreligio, but did not recall any meeting with a demon named Πορνεία. The devil’s advocate had foreseen what was to occur on the way to Belorado.)
Jacobus: There was no consent by the pilgrim to the blandishments of these demons; indeed, the pilgrim responded to Your grace and resisted. These were temptations, not sins; the pilgrim’s response to Your grace was virtuous. He is to receive merit de condigno for it, not damnation. A man cannot prevent the birds of evil from flying overhead; he is only charged with keeping them from building nests in the crevices of his heart.
Christus Iudex: True. The Plea of Ingratidudo is rejected. The Pilgrim’s Plea of Confessio is finally accepted. The Pilgrim died in my Grace. Advocate of the Pilgrim, what relief do you request on behalf of the Pilgrim?
Jacobus: Eternal Life and Salvation. Based on the Plea of Confession, and the principles of res judicata, I invoke your Mercy and Redemption on the Pilgrim’s Behalf.
Christus Iudex: Your relief is granted. (Turning to me He said) Venite ad me, Come to me!
The Lord Judge left His dais and embraced me, and kissed me; and I felt a comfort and assurance I had not felt before. Faith and Hope seemed to disappear, and my will transformed into a great Love. He turned to St. James.
Christus Iudex: Take now this pilgrim to the phase of temporal punishment.
At this, the vision disappeared, and I found myself before Dominicus. I was again at the crypt of the Church of the Savior in Santo Domingo de la Calzada. The cock had crowed and startled me back from my journey.
Dominicus: Here ends my task.
Peregrinus: Before you go, good Dominicus, tell me about the phase I was not permitted to see.
Dominicus: Every pilgrim, should he be found worthy of eternal life, must yet proceed to the phase of temporal punishment. There the pilgrim must render an account of his life. There the temporal punishments due his sins are measured, the value of good works and indulgences from the treasury of the Church are deducted. Any net remaining debt that is not negatived by the faithful on the earth, must yield to passive suffering.
Peregrinus: And what would my accounting be, were it determined today?
Dominicus: That is not mine to say; nor is it yours to know.
Peregrinus: This is troubling. Do you have any advice to me before you go?
Dominicus: Follow Christ, and seek also the Plenary Indulgence of Santiago, for that is a gift to be given you, and were you to die like William of Aquitaine, it would render that phase moot.
With that I came to and rose from the cold stone floor. I stood before the relics of Dominicus. My chest warmed up, and I felt my heart beat. I walked up the stairs into the dim light of the cathedral nave, and felt confused and walked unsteadily out of the church.
I I I
Later, I met with Richard and we went back down to the crypt where I had confronted the Mystery of Death and Judgment, and we walked around the sarcophagus there and prayed a Pater, and Ave, and a Gloria. This was done to comply with the provisions of an indulgence I had read about somewhere, although I frankly did not know whether the specific indulgence was in force, nor did I know whether it was plenary or partial. In cases of doubt, I thought thinking of the Franciscan Priest at Nájera, ecclesia supplet!
I I I
Late that afternoon, I began to grow concerned about my blisters, for those on my little toes showed signs of becoming infected. I decided to go the medical center in the town. The nurse at the center asked me to take off my sandals, and then she took the bandages off my blisters and stood aghast at the state of my feet. My blisters looked so bad, that she asked me if I was diabetic (I’m not).
“You cannot go on,” she urged, “it is impossible.”
“No,” I responded, “it is impossible that I can’t go on. I have to go on.” (I thought to myself Vade retro me Satanas!).
“I will call the Doctor,” she responded.
The doctor, a gentleman in his 50s with balding head of dark hair came in. He looked at my feet carefully.
“Do you intend to go on?” he asked me.
“I cannot quit now, Doctor,” I responded.
“I thought so,” he concluded.
He turned to the nurse and gave her instructions to clean the blisters well with iodine and bind them without using bulky bandages. He advised me to check the blisters daily, wished me luck, and left. She was unhappy that her prognosis had been reversed and she rebandaged my blisters in a brutal fashion, so thick with gauze that I knew I would not be able to fit my feet into my boots in the morning. I would have to redo the whole thing in the morning, I thought to myself. After dinner at a restaurant at the Plaza de las Alamedas, I hobbled to the hostal and went to sleep.
k
[i] King, I. 407.
[ii] King, I. 412-13.
[iii] King, III.547
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