No better eulogy of her life and labors can ever be written than that which is found in Burke's history of Spain, and no excuse is needed for giving it in its entirety: Berenguela was one of those rare beings who seems to have been born to do right and to have done it. From her earliest youth she was a leading figure, a happy and noble influence in one of the most contemptible and detestable societies of mediaeval Christendom. Married of her own free will to a stranger and an enemy, that she might bring peace to two kingdoms, she was ever a true and loyal wife; unwedded by ecclesiastical tyranny in the very flower of her young womanhood, she was ever a faithful daughter of the Church; inheriting a crown when she had proved her own capacity for royal dominion, she bestowed it on a strange and absent son, with no thought but for the good of her country and of Christendom; and finally, as queen-mother and ever faithful counsellor, she accepted all the difficulties of government, while the glory of royalty was reserved for the king whom she had created. Berenguela was ever present in the right place, and at the proper time, and her name is associated only with what is good and worthy and noble in an age of violence and wrong and robbery; when good faith was well-nigh unknown, when bad men were all-powerful, when murder was but an incident in family life, and treason the chief feature in politics. CHAPTER XVI THE THIRTEENTH AND FOURTEENTH CENTURIES In the early days of the thirteenth century, Pedro II. of Aragon had married the somewhat frivolous, yet devout, Maria of Montpellier, whose mother had been a Greek princess of Constantinople; and when a son was born of this marriage, Maria, who foresaw a great future for her child, was most desirous that he should have an Apostolic patron. There was the embarrassment of the choice, however, as Maria did not wish to neglect or cast a slight upon eleven saints while giving preference to one, and, finally, the queen's father confessor, Bishop Boyl, devised the following plan. Twelve tapers, each consecrated to an Apostle, were to be lighted, and the child was to be named in honor of the candle which burned the longest. Southey, in somewhat prolix and doggerel verse, has given the following account of the ceremony: "The tapers were short and slender too, Yet to the expectant throng, Before they to the socket burnt, The time, I trow, seemed long. "The first that went out was St. Peter, The second was St. John, And now St. Mattias is going, And now St. Mathew is gone. "Next there went St. Andrew, Then goes St. Philip too; And see, there is an end Of St. Bartholomew. "St. Simon is in the snuff, But it is a matter of doubt, Whether he or St. Thomas could be said, Soonest to have gone out.