The Desire to Touch the Past: The Precursor King Exhibit in Toledo

The cloister at the Monastery of Santa Cruz, Toledo,
now the Museum of Santa Cruz

As readers of this blog know, 2021 marked 800 years since the birth of Alfonso X, el Sabio, in Toledo (Spain) on November 23, 1221. I did everything I could to commemorate that important anniversary: going to a concert and exhibits, releasing a book of tremendous importance to me, and presenting that book in Zamora, Burgos, Salamanca, and Benavente. 

Here we are again on November 23. Happy 801st birthday to the focal point of my scholarly joy! 

In May of this year, I had an opportunity to revel in more than 200 objects (pottery, architecture, clothing, manuscripts, recreated musical and scientific instruments, and more!) having to do with Alfonso X, el Sabio, and I think this is an excellent occasion to share some highlights. 

I haven't counted, but I think the most celebrations over these two years have taken place in the city of Alfonso's birth. And I have to assume the exhibit Alfonso X: The Legacy of a Precursor King was the most extensive, impressive, and enjoyable. 

My mother was with me, and I wore her out looking at everything on offer for a long Spanish morning with excitement that only seemed to increase with every piece. I felt each object in my heart and bones. 

The exhibit filled the entire second floor of the Museum of Santa Cruz, and was beautifully organized into moments of Alfonso's life, from birth and family connections, to his early reign, the intellectual projects (the biggest section, of course--we're talking about a certified brainiac), through to the end of his reign, and the impressions of him throughout history since his death in 1284. 

The exhibit started in an anteroom with this lovely model for a nineteenth-century statue that was never completed. I took the opportunity to be photographed with a handsome physical representation of this person I will never meet in life. 

The bead curtains in the background were used throughout the exhibit to separate the sections and highlight the pieces. The intense colors, translucent glow, and symbols of royalty made this visitor feel like she was walking into an Alfonsine manuscript.

One representative of Alfonso's early family life was his brother, Prince Felipe. This linen and silk bonnet was removed from his tomb in Villalcázar de Sirga. The colors have darkened over time, but the castles and lions, emblems of the prince's royal status, are still visible. 

When you work mainly with texts, your heroes are ephemeral collections of thoughts and ideas. Anything that gives evidence of that hero's physical existence, even if it was 800 years ago, is the closest thing we have to traveling in time. 

Closed tombs, architecture where they lived, or pottery they might've used become a concentrated blast of emotion accumulated over years of study. If possible, clothing is an even more intense sensory experience. 

Clothing so rarely survives because it's so delicate, and it is one of the most intimate things any person will ever use. Being so close I could touch the threads and smell the earthiness of the silk and metallic gold, and imagining this very hat on the head of Alfonso's brother... and ones just like it on the head of the king himself... Simply overwhelming. 

Unlike the hat, this cape retains all its original splendor. Probably a gift from Alfonso X to his brother-in-law, Prince Sancho, when Sancho was made Archbishop of Toledo (the most important ecclesiastical role in medieval Spain), the cape's silk and gold threads show the symbols of Castile and León (Alfonso's kingdom), Aragón (Prince Sancho's kingdom of origin), and the eagle of the Staufen family in memory of Alfonso's mother, Beatriz of Swabia. 

This closeup shows itsintricate detail and solid embroidery. It had to have been created by a team of royal tapestry-makers, and it's so intact, it must hardly have been used and been stored in very fortunate conditions. The bead curtains we were "wrapped" in the whole time are based on this pattern. 

The Book of the Privileges of Toledo, late thirteenth century, is a deluxe manuscript to ensure no one forgot exactly what rights and benefits Toledo had from the king. The miniature shows Alfonso X granting these privileges to grateful Toledans, yet another representation of the king doing his job with due generosity. 

I have a cherished replica of this seal at my home in the United States. In the Middle Ages, seals of authentication were large and hung from the documents by a cord. This wax seal is as big as the palm of an "average" man's hand and shows Alfonso X riding into battle. 

Medieval Spanish kings were expected to be able warriors and participate in whatever important battles came up. Though we no longer emphasize this aspect when remembering him, Alfonso X took active part in many battles, including helping his father win important cities in the south while he was still prince. His declining health in later years and extraordinary intellectual accomplishments are what people emphasize about him. Every once in a while it's good to recall that Alfonso X never shirked his physical duties, either. 

Here I am with the To codex of the Cantigas de Santa Maria. Remember what I wrote about clothing being so personal? In Alfonso X's case, Cantigas manuscripts, which he definitely commissioned, may have edited and approved, and certainly physically touched to refer to when complete, are probably the most personal physical object possible. 

The only reason my head didn't explode at this point was that I had already seen this very codex in February in Madrid at the National Library. That day I saw so many of the manuscripts I've spent decades admiring from afar that I broke down sobbing for a few minutes. With that out of the way, in May I had emotional space to take in this manuscript again and all the new-to-me wonders, as well. It's an accomplishment! 

The To codex was open to a different page for this exhibit than it had been in Madrid. Significantly, it displayed Cantiga 12, which takes place in Toledo. 

Alfonso X enters Cádiz and takes possession of the sea in this lively nineteenth-century painting that won the artist, Matías Moreno, a gold medal. This painting was at the entrance to the document-heavy section of the exhibit, so perhaps it served to remind visitors that these documents are not merely dry ink on vellum. They depict exciting events, many of which had centuries-long repercussions. 

Many legal documents display these beautiful circular symbolic royal signatures for a validation that's obvious to anyone who looks at it. This royal circle, especially deluxe with its rich reds, greens, black, and gold, is from a May 24, 1256, privilege granting coin minting to the archbishop and council of the Cathedral of Toledo.

A closeup of the same document shows the king and queen's names highlighted in green and red. I have a feeling I'll be discussing Queen Violante more on this blog in the coming months. 

A painted wooden St. Mary of the Navarra school, late thirteenth century, is a three-dimensional example of the aesthetic found throughout the Alfonsine manuscripts. 

In the astronomy section, some of the most impressive pieces were reconstructions of the instruments described and illustrated in the Alfonsine books that measure the phenomena of the night sky. Eduard Farré recreated this Mercury clock, which shows the movement of the constellations, based on the Book of Knowledge of Astrology.

The most diligent intellectuals are the people most in need and deserving of taking a little break now and then. This philosophy is found at the beginning of the Book of Chess and Board Games (1283), the last book Alfonso X commissioned. This chessboard from fourteenth-century Granada looks like it came out of an illustration from that book. It's practical, with storage for the pieces and a way to secure and carry it wherever it's needed for some clean fun. 

The exhibit boasted an enormous altar of musical instruments recreated from illustrations in the Cantigas manuscripts. Jesús Reolid, Jota Martínez, and María José Campos crafted this lovely citole, accurate down to the castles and lions. 

After a somber section describing Alfonso X's difficult final years and death, but that also provided a video summary of his accomplishments, the exhibit featured what turned out to be the star items. When they opened the tomb of Sancho IV, Alfonso's second son and successor, in 1947, the scholars rescued many items Sancho had been buried with. The first on display was this spectacular sword. 

I don't think I would be so into medieval Spain or swords if I hadn't adored The Princess Bride as a preteen. This kind of thing still has plenty of capacity to delight me. This sword is regally decorated and must have rested in Sancho's hand on any number of occasions. It's another very personal item for that reason. 

The piece I had been longing to see came at the end. Another item extracted from Sancho's tomb, this is the only medieval Spanish king's crown that we are aware of having survived to the present day. The only one! And it seems extraordinary. 

I love the ingenious way the castles serve as the peaks. There's no pictorial evidence that this was the usual way to design a crown. The large precious stones, however, are typical. The cameos aren't a medieval specialty, but it was very medieval to repurpose Roman cameos. I think these cameos were probably already antique when they were set into the crown. The hinges so it could adapt to different heads and headwear are another delightful surprise. The king would've worn a soft hat, often of velvet, and placed this crown on top. 

Here's the thing. Though it was found in Sancho's tomb, it's pretty clear Alfonso X used this crown before his son did. Alfonso's 1282 testament granted his heir "the crown with stones and cameos." Most scholars agree it makes sense that he's referring to this crown, the only one that survived the Middle Ages to our time. 

I would've bought a reasonably accurate replica of this crown, no questions asked, no matter the cost. Even though I had no room in my suitcase after my mom had brought me a couple of things from the United States and three weeks of travel. Even though I have nowhere to put it in my apartment. I would've found a place. 

But no replica was available, and so I went home with just a great CD of Cantigas by the Jota Martínez Ensemble.

Granular closeup of a bejeweled sheath said to accompany a
sword belonging to "Roland." Since it's from 1250 and part
of the royal treasury, it's likely Alfonso X, his father, and his son
were the actual owners of this sword. 

After a wonderful visit, I've been reading about the Romanesque art of the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela. Maestro Mateo, the designer, was kind enough to sculpt a near-life-size statue of Santiago the pilgrims could approach and wrap their arms around. In this way, they tangibly experienced the object of a devotion so strong, they left their homes and walked for months in its honor. 

This was nearly a thousand years ago, so it has nothing to do with modern commercialism, but with a deep-seated need for humans to bring their interior hopes and dreams into exterior reality. 

I've left the place of my birth and have been on this Alfonsine journey much longer than it takes to walk the Camino de Santiago. Of course I want tangible evidence of my decades of study. The Precursor King exhibit has been the event that came closest to fulfilling that desire. 

But I wasn't able to literally touch any of the books, clothing, instruments, or metalwork. The saga continues...

Thanks for letting me share a small part of my joy with you. 

Further reading:

Our Lady's Troubadour

Law and Order in Medieval Spain

2021, An Alfonsine Year in Review

 2021. At least it wasn't 2020, amirite? 

I'm going to focus on positives in this post, as I do in real life. It's the best way forward, as I understand it. 

In 2021, I found a couple of ongoing freelance editing jobs I'm satisfied with. I hope to continue for the foreseeable future with these companies, though freelancing is nothing if not unpredictable. 

I published a work very particular and special to me, The Atwells Avenue Anomaly. If you're bored with predictable love stories or science fantasy, take a look at this deeply felt tale of the pursuit of happiness! I published only after collaborating with the ultra-talented Shirley MacKenzie, who prepared four unique illustrations. These appear in full color in both ebook and paperback. 

I was thrilled to welcome two Portuguese editions of my work into the world: Casa na Árvore and Mundos Imprevisíveis.

Although those two events would be plenty for a normal year, for more than two decades, I've been waiting for 2021 to have a big blowout in honor of Alfonso X, el Sabio's, 800th birthday. 

And so, I visited his favorite city, Sevilla, to see a play that integrated cantigas to tell the story of the last years of Alfonso X's life. It was thrilling to see the historical people I'm usually thinking about at any given moment embodied in living, breathing actors, and to hear the cantigas played with so much care and conviction. 

I published a beautifully designed book with Encircle Publications that I've had in mind for more than two decades: Our Lady's Troubadour, ten miraculously positive stories based on some of the Cantigas de Santa Maria. This has been my main tribute to the 800th birthday. It's the result of double the blood, sweat, and tears, because it came out on the same day in Spanish, the language Alfonso X worked so hard to establish as worthy of writing. 

Once I got going on the stories, I couldn't resist writing an eleventh one. This one came out much longer because it's the "Byzantine novel" I've always anted to write. It tells the twisty-turny story of Beatriz, Empress of Rome, how for reasons beyond her control, she loses everything, and how she comes back from certain death to triumph because of her resilience and faith. Empress of Misfortune is available separately in digital formats, and I hope to have a paperback edition available in 2022. 

I had a fun and fruitful interview with Dr. Debra J. H. Bolton of Kansas State University about the importance of Alfonso's legacy and the wonders of the Cantigas de Santa Maria. A transcript of the radio show is available here, and the full interview audio will become available very soon. 

I also had a dream come true when I seized the opportunity to spend Alfonso X's 800th birthday, November 23, 2021, in Ciudad Real, where Eduardo Paniagua gave a concert with some members of Música Antigua, effectively bridging eight centuries so that the audience could feel what it was like to hear cantigas in the court of Alfonso X. 

Signing (sold out!) books in Zamora

Because Our Lady's Troubadour came out in Spanish, I was able to live out the dream of doing a book launch in Spain. The first event was in my home town of Zamora. It was an unbelievable, unique evening during which I got to see one of my aims for the book--for more people to hear about Alfonso X's wonderful works--come true right before my eyes. The musicians and I practiced for months beforehand, and the people of Zamora were incredibly welcoming of me and my little book! 

It wasn't captured on video, but when I came out in my thirteenth-century costume that looked like I'd stepped right out of an Alfonsine manuscript painting, the audience was delighted and seemed unable to stop applauding. It created a wonderful sense of anticipation, and I think the evening delivered on that promise. The bookstore had never seen such a crowd and we didn't have enough copies of the book to meet the demand! 

A week later, I did a completely different presentation in Burgos. I got to see my friend, Daniel, whom you know from this blog, after a year and a half. I have strong writerly ties to Burgos through Seven Noble Knights, and honestly, Burgos boasts more connections with Alfonso X than Zamora. After doing an interview at the local radio station, the host took me to place I hadn't seen before: the ruins of a monastery where it's said Alfonso's traitor brother Simon was buried. The stereotype of the cold Burgosian was further given the lie at the presentation. There weren't nearly as many people as in Zamora, but those who were there treated me like the greatest thing since sliced bread, and I'm more than satisfied. 

In spite of how well they went, I lost money at these two events due to shipping costs and the requirements of the Spanish government for me to sell physical books legally. All for Alfonso! 

An awkward selfie with an early printed version of the Siete Partidas,
which I studied extensively for Law and Order in Medieval Spain,
right there in Salamanca. Full circle. 

A last activity I was able to do in honor of 800 years of Alfonso X was to visit my old haunt, the University of Salamanca, to see a temporary exhibit of historical manuscripts. The trajectory illustrated the influences on Alfonsine historiography, actual Alfonsine manuscripts such as the Fuero Real and the Estoria de Espanna, and works about him by later generations as well as work directly influenced by the Alfonsine history workshop. 

A thirteenth/fourteenth-century manuscript of the Fuero Real

Fifteenth-century manuscript of Estoria de Espanna, part IV

Detail from fourteenth-century
Chronicle of the Kings of Aragon and Counts of Barcelona

Chronicle of Spain by Diego de Valera, printed 1517,
with a note from a reader showing passionate interest in Alfonso X 

One regret is that I haven't yet been able to get the Spanish translation of Law and Order in Medieval Spain out into the world before the end of 2021. It will come out sometime in 2022. Unlike King Alfonso, I do not have a team of translators, writers, and publishers working on my projects. 

But, especially considering that the world was in the second year of a global pandemic and the healthcare, supply, and budget interruptions that accompanied it, 2021 has been replete with celebrations of different kinds, reflecting the wide variety of knowledge in Alfonso X's legacy. 

It's 800 years later, and humanity is still dealing with issues of cross-cultural communication and acting without thinking. It's important to highlight Alfonso's ideals of accepting the contributions of all cultures and confronting challenges with considered wisdom and knowledge. If one additional person has been inspired to open their mind, I consider the main mission accomplished. 

Happy new year! 

How I Celebrated Alfonso X's 800th Birthday

Showing the king my birthday present for him 
All photos in this post 2021 Jessica Knauss 

I've been looking forward to Alfonso X's 800th birthday on November 23, 2021, for a very long time: since before I moved to Spain, before so many things, before I went to study cantigas in England (of all places). 

I was hoping to participate in lots of events for this grand occasion now that I live in Spain and could easily go to any one of Alfonso's favorite cities. Then the pandemic happened. I'd had Our Lady's Troubadour in the works for while, and thought since I can write a book under practically any circumstances, that it would be an apt tribute. 

And so Our Lady's Troubadour came into being, with a lot of help from friends and Encircle Publications. But meanwhile, the conditions of the pandemic relaxed, and some conferences and theatrical experiences celebrating the 800 years started to take place. Mostly, I heard about them and sighed wistfully because travel is still difficult or because I heard about them too late to do anything. 

Jesús Lozano plays Alfonso X in Alfonso X: La última cantiga, Sevilla, August 2021 

I was able to go to Sevilla for my own birthday and see the play La última cantiga, twice. It tells the story of the last years of Alfonso's reign and life and is punctuated by cantigas played by Cantica and Emilio Villalba (wonderful artists!). I know the history well, and to see it played out before my eyes was truly thrilling. Too few have been the times I've been to an event with cantigas played live. This is how they were meant to be enjoyed, in all their foot-tapping glory! 

But that was my birthday. Was I going to spend Alfonso's great anniversary stuck at home among piles of my own books? 

I didn't have to! I found out about Eduardo Paniagua doing a limited tour with the basic members of Música Antigua, ostensibly to promote their latest discs, about a month before the anniversary. With his group, Eduardo Paniagua has been recording all the Cantigas de Santa Maria, every last one of 427. They've been at it for about thirty years, and have some 380 done. The goal is on the horizon... 

The closest thing you can get to the instruments of Alfonso's court. 

The group uses instruments created from medieval miniatures and sculptures and a variety of voices and techniques. The approach they take, recording the entire text of each cantiga and developing the story with dialogue and interplay, has influenced my literary interpretation of the texts more than any single cantigas critic. Singing along with the recordings has helped me enter into the medieval mindset to write the stories in Our Lady's Troubadour, and given me a burning desire to perform cantigas in public (which I will do on December 10 if the worsening COVID figures don't stop me!). 

The city crest of Ciudad Real appears to feature Alfonso X! 

I've been listening to Música Antigua's work since 1998. So when I found out that they were going to do a concert on November 23, the exact birthday, in Ciudad Real, which Alfonso founded (and where I'd meant to go and see a Manolo García concert in 2008, but that's another story), I leapt at the opportunity! 

Ciudad Real isn't close to where I live. I reserved the Hotel Alfonso X, because how can you not, and tried to find out how to guarantee a seat when it was going to be first come, first served. I wrote to the cultural ministry, and at great personal cost, called, but never got to speak with the organizers. I had to just go and trust. 

Another element of this story is that I have a shiny new boyfriend (shiny as in "knight in shining armor"), whom you will probably hear more about. His name is Mario, and when he suddenly got the opportunity, he offered to go to Ciudad Real with me, doing the driving. We had a delightful road trip to Don Quijote country through snow and sunshine. It was sleeting when we go to the town of Milagros in the mountains north of Madrid, and Mario took this photo showing a book of miracles in a town called Miracles so I could hold the umbrella and keep the book from getting wet. What a great guy! 

We toured Ciudad Real. It has a strong current of Don Quijote going on, less so of Alfonso X. The mural in the above photo was done last week, just in time for the 800th birthday. But I couldn't be stopped. We saw the mural, a couple of statues, and a fountain, and it was enough to keep me happy. I was coming full circle, finally seeing a concert in Ciudad Real--not Manolo, but Alfonso, and I was comparably excited. 

The old casino building 

In the morning, we headed to the concert venue, which is the headquarters of the cultural ministry in the old casino building. We wanted to see if they would guarantee us seats because we had come so far and, after all, I'd just published a book for Alfonso X. We met with the organizers, and my social ineptitude took over. I let Mario do the talking, but when he couldn't make a very strong case for us based on how far we'd traveled, he started explaining that I'm an Alfonso X expert. I took up the challenge finally when he said, "But she can explain it better than I." 

I shakily removed Trovador de Santa Maria from the bag we'd been carrying around to protect it from the rain and explained that it had ten stories based on the plots of Cantigas de Santa Maria, and that I thought the City of Ciudad Real should have a copy. Everyone's demeanor changed. They said to come back when they opened the doors, and they would make sure we got in. (They didn't seem to feel the urgency I did about the limited number of seats.) 

Santiago, the oldest church in Ciudad Real,
might've seen Alfonso X cross its threshold. 

That done, we had a busy morning sightseeing, and all the while my mind was roiling with how the concert was going to go coupled with the excitement of hearing Cantigas live by the best musicians. 

In the afternoon, I read the introduction of Trovador de Santa Maria to Mario, both to share with him the importance of this occasion and to get used to speaking about these things I so love. He suggested we go to the Plaza Mayor and read the introduction out loud at the fountain with Alfonso X's statue so he could hear his present. I wept copiously at the suggestion, thinking about all the years I've studied Alfonso X and how I wish I could know whether he likes my gift to him. 

Front row, baby! 

We showed up at the casino early in our enthusiasm, and were told to come back later, not to worry, even if there were no seats available, they'd make room. Even with that hint, I still didn't imagine what ended up happening: we were personally escorted to the section labeled "protocol" in the front row! We were joined by members of the press and the organizers. 

Oh, the anticipation! The instruments were laid out as in the photo near the top of this post, and the air seemed to spark as, indeed, every last seat filled in behind us. 

And then, Wafir Sheik, Luis Antonio Muñoz, Eduardo Paniagua, and Jaime Muñoz walked out and took their seats to play instrumental versions of Cantigas 388 (295) and 1. The sound, without amplifiers of any kind, was as perfect as on the discs, but so much more alive. It was like lifting a veil and opening a passageway to a thirteenth century full of richness and beauty. 

I knew most of the cantigas in the concert well. They're like old friends, and I couldn't help tapping my feet and mouthing the words as I stared unabashedly at the wonders taking place in front of me. Mario was also overcome with the masterful playing of the marvelous instruments. The photos don't do it justice. Videos wouldn't have, either. 

Eduardo Paniagua talked with the audience between cantigas. He explained the miracles and their context, his perceptions of Alfonso's contribution to world culture, and how moved he was to be playing cantigas in Ciudad Real on November 23, 2021. I'd seen interviews with him before, and he always struck me as a very practical, no-nonsense kind of guy. But you can't be strictly practical and head a project of this magnitude for thirty years. Perhaps he's both down-to-earth and unbelievably passionate about this best of all medieval books, rather like I imagine Alfonso X himself. 

Afterward, they had discs for sale and the musicians stayed to chat with any audience member who wished to ask about the instruments or cantigas. I stood, my knees like jelly, my brain mush, and couldn't force myself to get in line to talk to Eduardo Paniagua just yet. Mario seized the opportunity to chat with Jaime Muñoz about the various flutes. While participating in that conversation, I also observed the others interacting with everyone and got the sensation that everyone in that large room loved cantigas and treated each other with kindness and respect because of that mutual understanding. 

Rather than calming me down, that rush of love wound me up more. When it was finally my turn to talk to Eduardo Paniagua, I could only start by buying the latest two discs, which are in fact two-disc sets. But then somehow I managed to say my fangirl speech about how I think the cantigas project is the best project in the world and how I've been listening for twenty years, and being able to listen to the music has influenced my writing. 

Luckily, Eduardo then asked me what I write. I accepted Trovador de Santa Maria from Mario, and showing it to Eduardo, I explained that it's a book I wrote for the 800th anniversary, and that the short stories are based on the plots of cantigas. And that I would be honored if he accepted this copy. He was incredibly gracious, insisting I sign it and gifting me a triple-disc set in return. (So I'm seven discs richer in cantigas than before I went to Ciudad Real!) 

Two Alfonso enthusiasts exchange works of art. 

Afterward, I went over to where Luis Antonio Muñoz, who did most of the singing, was showing the psaltery to a journalist, and told him (forgive my schmaltz), "Thank you for being the voice of Alfonso X." He was a very good sport about it and had a more-than-pleasant conversation with us. We were also able to congratulate Wafir Sheik on his excellent lute playing before we left. 

A journalist overheard Mario and me talking with Luis Antonio Muñoz and came to ask us why we'd come so far to see a free concert. By then, I was warmed up, not to say on fire, and launched right into Trovador de Santa Maria. Look at the last paragraph of this article. I feel so proud looking at that! The organizers said they'd be in touch about a possible book event, too. A triumph all around. 

I'm so grateful for these moments! I honestly don't know if I could've gone through with talking to everyone without Mario's encouragement. So I'm unspeakably grateful that he was able to come with me! 

In the end, Alfonso X's 800th birthday was better than I could've imagined. Happy birthday! 

See more Alfonsine photos here:

Happy 800th Birthday to the Wise King - Feliz 800º cumpleaños al Rey Sabio

On November 23, 1221, a boy was born who would become Alfonso X, King of Castile and León. 

Even his political enemies couldn’t tarnish his legacy of intellectual curiosity and cultural open-mindedness. 

I took the opportunity of Alfonso’s personal appearance in in Cantiga 321 to portray the empathetic and kind ruler I personally hope he was in Our Lady's Troubadour. (The excerpt is from "Clear Water." But more about that story in another post.) 

Happy eight-hundredth birthday to the Wise King! 

In honor of this extraordinary occasion, I'd like to share my translation of one of the most autobiographical Cantigas de Santa Maria. 

Every tenth cantiga is a song of praise. These usually don't have plots, but do have more daring poetic and musical forms. Cantiga 200 is special among these special cantigas because here, Alfonso X himself uses the form of praise to present an autobiographical sketch of sorts. It's general, but it's told from an emotional point of view, unlike other, more specific such stories. 

Cantiga 200

Refrain: I've praised, I praise, and I will keep praising St. Mary.

Because among all the most honored men alive today, she's shown me the most blessings, as I will recount.

She made me descend from good people and wanted me to fully rein and be king.

And with her mercies, she aided me in grave illnesses. Therefore, you must know that I will serve her. 

And to those who wished me ill and conspired and plotted against me, she gave them what they deserved, as I will prove. 

She pulled me out of great poverty and gave me riches, and so I will tell all her noble qualities that I can.

She who doesn't err and never erred made me the lord of a good land and helped me in every war when I called on her. 

She delivered me from misfortune, death, and injury. So, know, good people, that I will die for her. 

So everyone help me pray with good will for her to help me, since I have need.

And whenever she desires, that she will take me from the tumult of this world, and that I will see her whom I've always loved. 

***

I believe and hope Alfonso X achieved what he's asking for in this personal poem. 

Perhaps the greatest present we can give him on his birthday is the feat of remembering him 800 years later. 

This is the main goal of Our Lady's Troubadour. 

And, as Our Lady's Troubadour is available in both English and the Spanish Alfonso X did so much to create: 

El 23 de noviembre de 1221, nació un niño que se convertiría en Alfonso X, rey de Castilla y León.

Ni siquiera sus enemigos en la política han podido mancillar su legado de la curiosidad intelectual y mentalidad abierta, al final.

Aproveché la oportunidad de su aparición en la Cantiga 321 para retratar a un soberano empático y bondadoso, como yo personalmente espero que fuera. (La foto tiene un fragmento de "Agua clara". Escribiré más sobre ese relato en otro momento).

¡Feliz 800º cumpleaños al Rey Sabio!

Trovador de SantaMaría es mi humilde obsequio.