and solemn, was infused by the satirist with flashing
wit and whimsical spirit, and throwing off its connection with the
drama, developed into an independent species of poetry.

The last like the first of Spanish troubadours was a Jew,[44] Antonio di
Montoro (Moro), _el ropero_ (the tailor), of Cordova, of whom a
contemporary says,

"A man of repute and lofty fame;
As poet, he puts many to shame;
Anton di Montoro is his name."

The tailor-poet was exposed to attacks, too. A high and mighty Spanish
_caballero_ addresses him as

"You Cohn, you cur,
You miserable Jew,
You wicked usurer."

It must be admitted that he parries these thrusts with weak, apologetic
appeals, preserved in his _Respuestas_ (Rhymed Answers). He claims his
high-born foe's sympathy by telling him that he has sons, grandchildren,
a poor, old father, and a marriageable daughter. In extenuation of his
cowardice it should be remembered that Antonio di Montoro lived during a
reign of terror, under Ferdinand and Isabella, when his race and his
faith were exposed to most frightful persecution. All the more
noteworthy is it that he had the courage to address the queen in behalf
of his faith. He laments plaintively that despite his sixty years he has
not been able to eradicate all traces of his descent (_reato de su
origen_), and turns his irony against himself:

"Ropero, so sad and so forlorn,
Now thou feelest pain and scorn.
Until sixty years had flown,
Thou couldst say to every one,
'Nothing wicked have I known.'

Christian convert hast thou turned,
_Credo_ thou to say hast learned;
Willing art now bold to view
Plates of ham--no more askew.
Mass thou hearest,
Church reverest,
Genuflexions makest,
Other alien customs takest.
Now thou, too, mayst persecute
Those poor wretches, like a brute."

"Those poor wretches" were his brethren in faith in the fair Spanish
land. With a jarring discord ends the history of the Jews in Spain. On
the ninth of Ab, 1492, three hundred thousand Jews left the land to
which they had given its first and its last troubadour. The irony of
fate directed that at the selfsame time Christopher Columbus should
embark for unknown lands, and eventually reach America, a new world, the
refuge of all who suffer, wherein thought was destined to grow strong
enough "to vanquish arrogance and injustice without recourse to
arrogance and injustice