IN WHICH IT IS PROVED THAT HE WHO SOWS REAPS, AND IN WHICH IT IS SEEN
THAT THEY WHO GIVE RECEIVE
The sun had not yet risen in the east when Ximena was standing at a
window from which could be seen the road, which Rodrigo and his knights
had taken when going on their pilgrimage to Compostela. An unusual joy
animated her countenance, and her gaze did not wander from that road on
which she had seen her noble and beloved husband departing, and by which
she hoped to see him returning on that very day.
On that day, indeed, he was expected in Burgos, the city of his
ancestors, and Ximena, who, after the receipt of such good news, had not
been able to sleep during the night, arose at dawn, and placed herself
at the window of her apartment, desirous that her eyes might be the
first to see Rodrigo enter Burgos. It is a common opinion that a young
woman does not look on a husband with the same eyes as on a lover, that
for her has disappeared the golden halo which surrounded him, the
inexplicable mystery which had presented him to her as a being distinct
from all other beings. Ximena, however, gave a contradiction to that
opinion, and every wife who has a soul like hers, who has gone to the
altar impelled, not by an artificial love, but by an affection which has
been insensibly identifying itself with the soul, becoming part of it,
and acquiring its immortal principle. When love is essentially pure,
and refined by the various trials which Ximena had passed through; when
it is the thought of one's entire life; when in it is to be found the
sole hope and the sole happiness of this world; when its object is so
worthy of being beloved as Rodrigo was, then love never loses its
enchantment, its mystery, its poetry; it becomes even more beautiful
with full possession, more complete in every way. Sermonda, as the
Limosin chronicles relate, went one day to her window and saw Raimundo
de Castel mounted on a fiery steed, completely covered with white
armour, and bearing as his device these words: "_Mi corazon está libre y
desea ser cautivo_."[1]
[1] "My heart is free, but desires to be made a prisoner."
Sermonda was a maiden of ardent heart, of fantastic imagination, and
passionately fond of the love romances of the troubadours and minstrels,
especially those of Guillermo de Cabestañ, the sweetest troubadour of
Provence. She fell in love with Raimundo de Castel, for in him she saw
one of those valiant and enamoured cavaliers whom the good Guillermo
described in his lays of love, and married him shortly afterwards. Much
time had not elapsed when her love had changed to indifference; in a
short time Raimundo had lost in the eyes of Sermonda the aureole of love
and poesy which had surrounded him; before long she happened to meet the
gentle troubadour Guillermo de Cabestañ, and loved him madly. Raimundo
found this out, killed the troubadour, caused his heart to be fried and
served up to his faithless spouse. When she discovered that she had
eaten the heart of her lover, she told her husband that she had never
tasted more delicious food, and then threw herself from the window. This
is the kind of love which degenerates, which vulgarises itself by
intimate and continuous intercourse, a love which has no hold on the
soul, for the love of Sermonda was that of the imagination, not that of
the heart. The love of Ximena was that love which is almost born with
us, which increases in us, which lives with our life; and that is the
love which, instead of becoming weaker, gains strength, preserves always
its primitive freshness, mystery, and poesy, and which is as immortal as
the soul to which it has clung.
Who is there that has not passed a night feeling somewhat as Ximena did
during that which preceded the day of the return of her husband? Who is
there who has not sometimes lost a night's repose for the hope of seeing
a beloved being on the following day, has not in vain endeavoured to
call down sleep on his eyelids, has not counted the hours one by one,
and has not several times thought that the light of the moon, feebly
penetrating into the room, was the early dawn? And did not that night
seem three times as long as usual, on account of her having passed it
thinking on him who was expected, seeing him in thought, pondering over
the first words that would be heard from his lips, guessing at the
costume he would wear, calculating when they would meet each other, and
even considering what effect that meeting would have on the countenance
of him who was about to return home?
He who has found himself in that position, he who has experienced
anything like this, will understand how long that night must have seemed
to Ximena; how sweet the singing of the birds must have sounded to her
ears on that morning; with what joy she had saluted the day; how excited
her heart must have felt, and with what intentness her eyes must have
been fixed on the road by which Rodrigo was to arrive. The hope,
however, of seeing again her absent husband, her beloved one, the
valiant knight, the hero returning with his brows crowned with laurels,
was not the only thing which caused Ximena to feel so happy.
She had good news to communicate to Rodrigo; he was about to find in his
sweet and loving wife a new title to his love, a new pledge of her
affection, for the breast of Ximena enclosed the first-fruit of that
love which had filled up almost the entire lives of both of them--she
was about to become a mother. What new and exceeding sweet enchantments
must she not have experienced from the time she had become aware of that
happiness! The wife is then something more than a woman, she has
something of the divine, something which separates her from weak
humanity; then surrounds her brow a holy aureole, which eyes cannot see,
but which the soul distinctly perceives,--a husband must then have a
worthless soul and a flinty heart, not to respect her, adore her, bless
her! For love has now rendered its work complete, combining matter in
the same way as spirit had been combined; for the wife could say to the
husband, on feeling the pains of maternity, "Behold, to thee am I
indebted for these pains"; for the wife is then a being the most
tortured, and the most in need of tender care; for the husband then sees
in that woman a mother, a mother such as she who had carried himself in
her breast, fed him with her milk, taught him to lisp his first words,
to walk his first steps, and who dried his tears with her kisses.
"My husband, a being, a small part of ourselves, moves in my breast."
Should not these words sound very sweet to the ears of the husband who,
for the first time, is about to receive the name of father? How sweet
must they not sound when they come from the lips of an idolised woman,
of a woman whose love he believes to be sufficient to abundantly
compensate for all trials, all deceptions, all miseries, all sadnesses,
all injustices, all physical pain, all the misfortunes of life! How
pleasing, how consoling must not the hopes of paternity be! At first,
beautiful children, with complexions like the lily and the rose, with
golden hair like that of the angels, who, with smiles on their lips,
throw their tender arms around those who have given them their being, as
if they were endeavouring to pay the debt of their existence with kisses
and innocent caresses; afterwards, gentle youths and maidens, whose
ardent hearts are agitated by the generous instincts and noble
aspirations of early life, in whom the parents look upon the pictures of
themselves, with the same pleasure as the old man looks upon his
portrait which, when young, he presented to the maiden of his love, and
which she restored to him on the day when they went to live under the
same roof. Such, in short, are the hopes which should be awakened in the
heart of a husband when his wife tells him that she is about to become a
mother.
How sad must be the life of married people whose heads become white,
whose limbs become weak, and in whose ears the name of father or mother
does not sound! Feel compassion for those spouses who around their
hearths see none to whom they can give the title of child; for old
people feel the need of children as much as children do of parents; old
age requires a staff on which to lean; for death is doubly painful when
all goes with ourselves to the churchyard, when no eyes remain to water
the flowers placed on our tombs.
Such were the thoughts which passed through the mind of Ximena during
that night. She knew that Rodrigo would think in the same way; she knew
that the news she was about to impart to her beloved husband would be
the sweetest he could listen to; she knew that an additional bond, as
firm, as indissoluble, as holy as those which already united them, would
soon draw them even more closely together, and her heart leaped with
joy, and tears of happiness flowed from her eyes, and she blessed God
who had thus increased her felicity, when the being whom she felt in her
breast reminded her that Rodrigo, when clasping her in his arms, would
embrace two dear ones at the same time.
She, however, was not the only one who had her eyes fixed on that road:
those of Teresa and Diego, and also those of Mayor, Lambra, and Gil,
were looking in the same direction; besides these, all the inhabitants
of Burgos were anxiously expecting the arrival of the victorious leader.
Happy are the absent who know that they are expected at the domestic
hearth with such great love, impatience, and anxiety!
At last, a dark moving mass was perceived on the white road, which
disappeared towards the distant horizon. Numerous cries of joy resounded
at the same time from the windows of the house of the lords of Vivar,
and shortly afterwards Rodrigo and his escort dismounted at its door. To
describe the joy, the caresses, the tears, the embraces, with which his
family welcomed the victorious cavalier would be as difficult as to
express with words all the joys, enchantments, mutual pleasures, and
sweet confidences which the unwritten and undescribable history of
domestic life contains.
Rodrigo Diaz, who on the field of battle mowed down Moslem heads as the
reaper cuts down the harvest in his fields; who, at the assault of a
fortress, rushed against its walls, trampling dead bodies under foot,
and covered with blood; the terrible warrior whose name alone filled the
ferocious Islamites with terror; that man of iron, who seemed born only
to live in combats--that man, we repeat, was at the domestic hearth the
personification of mildness, of love, and of simplicity. If he could be
seen clasping his parents and his wife to his heart, with tears of
happiness in his eyes; if he could be seen, as excited as a child,
blessing God and Ximena, when he learned that she bore the first-fruit
of their love within her breast; if he could be seen conversing with his
servants with the same kindness as if they were his equals; and,
finally, caressing Gil, the Moorish child, whom he had taken under his
protection, and amusing him with the same playfulness and boyishness as
he had displayed at the period when he sported with Ximena at the Castle
of Vivar, and imprinted a kiss for the first time on the lips of the
innocent little girl; if all this could have been seen, he would have
been admired more under the domestic roof than on the fields of battle.
Three days after the return of the Cid to Burgos, on a calm and
beautiful morning, like another which he remembered with joy, for it had
been the happiest of his life, that on which he had first called Ximena
by the sweet name of wife, a great multitude crowded round the gates of
the church of Santa Gadea, and many ladies and cavaliers entered it.
On that morning the order of knighthood was to be conferred on Guillen
by the hand of the Cid Campeador, and the noble Ximena was to buckle on
the golden spur.
The brave youth had kept vigil over his arms, during the preceding
night, before the altar, and was awaiting with impatience the solemn
ceremony, when he would receive the sword-stroke on his shoulder, when
the golden spur would be buckled on, and when he would be girt with his
knightly sword.
And the time at last arrived.
The church was decorated with the Moslem standards, which, from time
immemorial, the cavaliers of Burgos had deposited in it, on their return
from the wars, as a just and holy homage to the God of battles. Torrents
of light spread themselves about in all directions, incense filled the
nave of the church, and sacred chants sounded in harmony with the peals
of the bells.
"The Lord," sang the priests and the congregation, "has broken the bows,
the shields, and the swords of our enemies, and put an end to the war."
"O Lord! Thou hast shed down upon us the rays of Thy goodness, whilst
Thou hast filled our enemies with fear."
"Who, O Lord, can resist Thy anger?"
"Seated on Thy heavenly throne, Thou hast decreed the salvation of Thy
people, and peace has succeeded to war."
"The universe praises Thee, and blesses Thee, and sings the glory of Thy
name."
Many of the people assembled in the church were shedding tears of joy,
whilst they accompanied the chants of the priests at the altar, for they
were congregated there to thank God for the victories which had been
won, as well as to witness the rewarding of him who had fought so
valiantly against the enemies of Christ.
The Bishop of Burgos blessed the arms about to be presented to the new
knight.
Then Rodrigo Diaz and Guillen, who had both been kneeling, arose and
approached the arms, which stood before the altar. They were imitated by
the ladies and cavaliers who were assisting at the solemn ceremony.
The young man bent his knee, and Rodrigo said to him--
"The order of knighthood which you are about to receive imposes duties
on you in which you must not fail. It commands you to serve God and the
king; it binds you to speak the truth always, to be loyal to your
friends; to be abstemious, and to seek the companionship of wise men,
who can teach you to live well, and of warlike men, who can teach you to
fight bravely; it binds you to have good arms and accoutrements, good
horses in your stable, and a good sword by your side; it commands that
you shall not dare to go to the Court on a mule, but on a horse, nor
enter the palaces of the king without a sword; it binds you not to speak
flattery, nor to utter jests, nor play any game of chance, nor eat
without tablecloths; it binds you not to complain of any wound you may
receive, nor to groan during an operation, nor to boast of any deed you
may perform; it binds you to have no contention with a young maiden, nor
engage in a lawsuit with the wife of a hidalgo; if you should meet a
brave and noble dueña in the street, it binds you to dismount and
accompany her; if a noble woman or young woman asks a favour of you, and
you do not grant it, it ordains that ladies should call you 'a badly
ordered and discourteous knight'; it ordains that you must not be at the
Court without serving some lady, not to dishonour her, but to make love
to her, and, if you are a bachelor, to marry her, and when she goes
forth you must accompany her according as she may desire, on foot or on
horseback, with your hood removed, and doing reverence with your knee;
it binds you, finally, to assist the weak, whatever their position may
be, whenever they ask for your help."
When the Cid recited to the youth these statutes, which were, without
any doubt, in force two hundred years later, when the statutes of the
"Caballeros de la Banda" were compiled, he said to him--
"Do you swear to faithfully comply with all that the law of chivalry
commands?"
"I swear," answered Guillen.
"If you so act, may you be accounted a good knight, and may God aid you
in all the enterprises that you undertake; if you should do the
contrary, cavaliers and peasants will despise you as vile and perjured,
and nothing you undertake shall succeed."
He then gave him the kiss of peace on the mouth and the stroke on the
shoulder, bound on the sword, which had been blessed, and which a page
presented to him on a cushion, and immediately after Ximena buckled on
the spur, which another page brought forward in the same way as the
sword.
Then the bishop, the clergy, and the people chanted the first verse of a
Psalm of David--
"Blessed be the Lord my God, who gave me hands to fight, and taught me
the art of war."
And thus terminated the solemn ceremony, the people leaving the church
and cheering the newly-made knight, who proceeded to the residence of
the Cid, accompanied by him, by Ximena, and by the brilliant escort
which had been with them in the church of Santa Gadea.
The people of Burgos devoted themselves to merrymaking during the
remainder of the day, and even into the late hours of the night, which
was calm and beautiful, and lit up by a brilliant moon. Rodrigo had
divided amongst the needy a large portion of the spoils which had fallen
to his share after the recent victories, and that liberality had
increased the public joy, already very great on account of the triumph
obtained by the Christian army over the infidels. There was music and
dancing in the public places; there were games of various kinds; and the
evening terminated with a spectacle, as popular at that period as
bull-fights were afterwards. In one of the largest squares of the city a
circus was constructed with boards, and in it took place pig-baiting.
This singular amusement was carried out in the following manner. Some of
those animals were driven into the circus, and men then entered it with
stout sticks, having their eyes bandaged, and with iron helmets on their
heads. Whoever struck a pig with his stick became the possessor of the
animal; however, it happened sometimes that the men cudgelled each other
terribly, although it was ordered not to strike violently, and this
constituted the principal amusement. During the evening of which we
write, there was greater noise and uproar than usual, for the country
people had indulged in large potations of wine, in order to celebrate
with greater joy the triumph of the army of the Cid, and in dealing
their blows in the circus they paid little attention to regulations and
prohibitions.
Country people were generally the actors in these games, but when they
were celebrated in honour of some very important and propitious event,
pages and squires also frequently took part in them. In proof of this we
mention the fact that Alvar, the page of Rodrigo Diaz, entered the
circus on the day that Guillen was knighted.
The foolish page had, during the day, raised his elbow with marvellous
frequency, and was in a humour to fight with something or other--with
pigs or rustics, if he could not find a bull as fierce as the one he
attacked when returning, a few days before, with the army of his master
to Burgos. Thus it happened that, despite the advice of his friends, and
especially that of Fernan, who had retired to sleep off his debauch, he
insisted on having his eyes bandaged in order to sally forth to the
conquest of the pig.
"By the soul of Beelzebub, Alvar," said Fernan to him, when he found
that it was impossible to dissuade him from his intention, "you are the
greatest fool that eats bread in Castile. You are as full of wine as a
grape, and you imagine you will be able to hit the pig."
"May I never drink another drop of it if I don't win as fine a pig as
that of St Antony!" answered Alvar, stretching out his neck so that his
eyes might be bound.
"The cudgellings you get from me are not enough, I suppose, and you must
needs go off to get more from the rustics?"
"Your preachings are all in vain, brother," replied Alvar. "May I be
turned into a pig myself if I leave the circus without one!"
Fernan did not persevere any longer with his counsels. Alvar went into
the circus, blindfolded and armed with a stout stick, which he had to
use to keep himself on his feet, such was the state of drunkenness in
which he was.
The pig which just then happened to be in the circus, finding itself
harassed at the opposite side, ran towards the side where Alvar was
standing, and rushed violently between his legs.
The animal, finding this obstacle in its path, gave a loud grunt; its
pursuers heard it, and made their way, with raised sticks, to the place
where they thought the pig was. Alvar was struggling to raise himself,
and as the country people, on coming up to him, heard the noise he was
making on the ground with his hands and feet, and also his puffing and
panting, they thought the pig was before them, and brought down their
cudgels with such force on the unlucky page that, but for his cries,
they would have made a speedy end of him.
Fernan rushed to the circus, followed by other servitors of the house of
Vivar, raised up and carried off Alvar, whose bones were almost broken
by the terrible cudgelling which he had received--a cudgelling which, if
it moved the pity of some spectators, excited laughter and enthusiastic
cheering amongst the great bulk of them.
When Fernan heard this laughter and cheering, which the misfortune of
Alvar had caused, he directed his gaze threateningly towards the crowd,
and cried out, full of indignation--
"I vow by Judas Iscariot that I would give my soul to the devil for a
dozen men to attack with stout cudgels that crowd of rascals, who laugh
thus at other people's misfortunes, and beat and bruise them, like pigs
as they are."
The good squire then hastened to lead the unfortunate page where he
could be attended to; he was as afflicted at the mishap as Alvar
himself, for with regard to their relations we may appropriately quote
the Castilian proverb, "_Quien bien te quiere te hará llorar._"[1]
[1] "He who loves thee well will make thee weep."