HOW THE PEASANT OF BARBADILLO WENT TO BURGOS, WITH OTHER THINGS WHICH
THE READER WILL LEARN
We must now cast a rapid glance on the mansion of De Vivar, for none of
its inhabitants deserve to be forgotten; we shall not, however,
penetrate into the principal apartments, for in the entrance-hall we
shall meet those who will engage our attention for a brief period.
Fernan and Alvar were there, chatting in a friendly manner: we must
certainly lend some attention to their conversation, for it is not
altogether foreign to the story which we are endeavouring to relate.
"Is it long since you were at Vivar?" asked Alvar.
"I have been there twice since we returned from Aragon."
"And did you go to the house of Pero?"
"Of course; our master and mistress are so fond of Beatrice that they
would never forgive me if I were not to bring them tidings of her and
her family whenever I happen to be near the dwelling of Pero."
"And what about Beatrice? Is she as gentle and beautiful as at the time
when you and I caught fire from the glances of her eyes?"
"More so than even then, brother."
"Anger of God! how fortunate that Martin Vengador is to have won the
love of such a splendid girl!"
"And how much more fortunate he is to have gained so much favour in the
eyes of our master!"
"Don Rodrigo certainly thinks a great deal of that youth. You saw what a
large share of the booty he assigned to him after the campaign in
Aragon."
"And his generosity did not stop there with regard to that Martin."
"What? Has he bestowed additional favours on him?"
"He has promised to do so on the occasion of his marriage with
Beatrice."
"And what favours are those, Fernan?"
"Don Rodrigo and Doña Ximena are to be groomsman and brideslady at the
wedding of Martin and Beatrice; and they are to receive as gifts, for
themselves and their descendants, a house and excellent lands on the
estate of Vivar."
"Do you know what you should do?"
"What, Alvar?"
"Marry Mayorica, before their wedding, and see if our lord and lady will
give you as valuable gifts as they will give to that youth."
"They would give them to me, for they are liberal to those who serve
them faithfully."
"Well, if it is so, why don't you marry?"
"I shall do so very soon, Alvar: yesterday I promised Mayorica, who is
mad to be married, for she says that if she cannot get me to church now,
while she is still young and comely, she won't be able to do so later
on. Her complaints almost upset my patience."
"And will you keep your promise to her?"
"I have made it, and I shall keep it, although I was never so much
against it as now."
"May the Moors kill me if I understand you! Why should you be unwilling
to get married, when you are well off, when you can have a gentle and
loving bride, and hopes of rich presents? Is not Mayorica pleasing to
you?"
"She pleases me as much as ever, Alvar, but--listen, for I am about to
confide a great secret to your discretion."
Fernan looked round to see if there was anyone present who might hear
him, and, not seeing anyone, he continued--
"You must know, comrade, that some time ago I saw a girl whose charms
would set a heart of stone on fire."
"What? Perchance that girl from Albarracin has come to Burgos, she whom
you fell in love with when we were stationed there during the last
campaign?"
"No, brother, it is not that one. I should wish indeed that the girl
from Albarracin were here, for I think of her night and day. She whom I
have fallen in love with in Burgos comes from Barbadillo, and I swear to
you that she seems to have come from heaven, so beautiful is she!"
"There is also a girl from Barbadillo for whom I sigh."
"From Barbadillo? I vow by Judas Iscariot that it would be a nice thing
if.... Where did you see her, tell me?"
"At the forge of Master Iñigo"--
"By the soul of Beelzebub I'll cudgel you if you have dared to cast your
eyes where I have set mine; it was also in the forge of Master Iñigo
that I saw the girl I told you of. What kind is she, Alvar?"
"Dark-complexioned."
"So is mine."
"Black eyes."
"So has mine also."
"A fine figure."
"Exactly."
"Strong hands."
"Just like mine."
"For she made my face smart with a blow, when I began to talk amorously
to her."
"My girl did just the same to me! Traitor! How have you dared"--
"But, my friend, if I did not know"--
"You shall know now, if you have forgotten, what my hands are able to
do."
And Fernan seized the page by the back of the neck with the force of a
pair of pincers.
On hearing the cries of the page, Mayor came out on the top of the
flight of stairs, and as she saw that Fernan did not perceive her, so
much was he intent on venting his rage on Alvar, she stopped, in order
to try to discover the origin of the quarrel, which doubtless she
suspected.
"Traitor!" exclaimed Fernan. "I am never to love a woman, but you must
needs fall in love with her also? You shall die by my hand!"
And the squire not only plied his hands on the page, but also his feet.
"Let me go, Fernan; I swear to you I shall never speak another word to
that peasant girl from Barbadillo, nor indeed to any woman, born or to
be born"--
"That oath saves you," said Fernan, letting him loose; "but I assure
you, Alvar, that you shall answer for it to me if you ever try to gain
the love of that pretty girl for whom I sigh."
"Ah, traitor! oh, false one! This, then, is the fidelity which you swore
to me only yesterday!" exclaimed Mayor, no longer able to restrain her
anger, and coming down the flight of stairs with two jumps, her hands
clenched and her eyes flaming.
Fernan receded a few steps, terrified, as if he wished to fly from that
fury, by whose hands he felt himself gripped with almost as much force
as Alvar had been by his.
"Traitor! Do you forget me, thus turning your back on me? I shall take
care that you remember me as long as you live." And Mayor, with her
nails, made the blood run from the neck and face of her faithless lover,
who, despite his enormous strength, which he used to its fullest, could
not free himself from her.
"Get away from me, wench, or I shall strike and kick you!" cried the
unlucky squire, whose strength prevailed at last. Mayor let him go,
and, from a shove which Fernan gave her, fell against the bottom of the
stairs, receiving a blow on the head which deprived her of
consciousness.
Fernan raised his foot to kick Mayor, as he had threatened, but, seeing
her motionless, he examined her, and, seeing that blood was flowing from
her head, became frightened. His anger suddenly changed to grief and the
most violent despair.
"Mayorica! Mayorica! my darling, return to yourself! pardon me!" cried
the deeply afflicted squire, endeavouring to raise the young woman;
seeing, however, that she was not recovering, he began to tear his hair
and strike his head and face, as if he had lost his reason.
"I have killed her! I have murdered her! I am a barbarian, I am a
villain! I am a treacherous assassin! Kill me, Alvar, kill me, and kill
at once that peasant girl who is to blame for this misfortune."
Alvar, far from killing anyone, was endeavouring to save Mayor's
life; he was bathing her face with water, which, fortunately, was near
at hand, and bandaging her face with his pocket handkerchief.
At last she recovered consciousness and arose, breaking out, not into
abuse of her lover, but into wailings capable of moving to compassion
even the stone against which her head had struck. Fernan redoubled his
caresses and promises of amendment, with which he succeeded in consoling
her a little, although Mayor knew well how soon the squire usually
forgot his oaths.
A moment after, the entrance-hall was deserted, for Fernan and Alvar had
disappeared up the staircase, supporting Mayor; however, in a short time
a number of persons, who from the commencement of the quarrel had been
crowding to the principal gate, approached as near it as possible,
commenting on and explaining in their own way what had happened in the
hall.
"The girl must have slipped on the staircase and rolled down it," said
one.
"No," replied another; "but she was in love at the same time with both
Fernan and Alvar, and as soon as they discovered it they knocked the
dust off each other, and then settled their accounts with the girl."
"She who got the blow is not the cause of the quarrel; it is a peasant
girl from Barbadillo."
"Whoever it is, I swear by all that's holy that women are the ruin of
men. May I be confounded if, from this day forward, I believe in even
the best of them."
"All men should do the same, master soldier."
"Yes, they are falser than Judas himself."
"It is men who are false; they fall in love with us, two at a time, and
even that isn't enough for them."
"Eh, my good old woman, don't take yourself into the count, for you are
out of the running."
"Holy Santa Gadea! Is there no one to defend an honest matron against
the insults of this ruffian of a soldier?"
"This soldier swears that all women are not good for much."
"You insolent, shameless fellow!" cried out a loud chorus of women, who
rushed furiously on him who had levelled that insult at them, and
scratched and mauled him without giving him time to defend himself.
The men rushed to the aid of the soldier, who, in the end, found himself
free from those furies, and went off from the crowd, well beaten, and
with a face torn and bleeding.
At the same time a peasant approached the crowd and with very great
curiosity asked what was the cause of the assembly; he muttered an
execration when he could find out nothing distinctly, for what one said
was in complete contradiction to the explanations of another. His chief
wish seemed to be to get to the door, around which the people were still
crowding, to see if the heroes of the recent fight would again appear in
the entrance-hall; he then tried to force a passage for himself with his
hands and head, muttering threats and oaths at the same time.
"I swear," he growled, "that even if I'm crushed to death, I'll know
what is going on, for it must be something important when it brings so
many people here, and I have not come to the city to live in obscurity
as I did in Barbadillo."
The execrations and exclamations became more frequent, according as the
peasant's efforts to press forward increased.
"Don't push us, you vile rustic!" cried some.
"Anger of God!" exclaimed others, "let us flatten the clown!"
"Don't look on that ass as a rational creature."
"By all the saints in heaven, this fellow is the greatest brute that
eats bread."
"Push the pig back!"
"Sit upon the savage!"
"I swear that the insults of those good-for-nothing women are putting me
out of patience."
"It's yourselves that are good for nothing."
"Women are never good for anything, and by San Pedro of Cardeña we'll
soon come to blows with you."
"Come to blows with us?" cried several of the women, and they made a
rush on Bartolo, for it was he who was making such violent efforts to
push his way through the crowd, and attacked him with the same fury as
they had, but a short time before, exhibited towards the soldier who had
insulted them. The peasant, who was very strong, defended himself,
knocking down a woman with each blow, and was on the point of triumphing
over his furious enemies; they, however, cried out to the men to help
them, calling them cowards, and telling them that men are bound to
render their assistance to women. The men who were present were but few,
for curiosity, in all ages, has been the almost exclusive birthright of
women; those who were there, however, ranged themselves on the side of
the weaker sex, and attacked with sticks and fists the man from
Barbadillo, who at last surrendered at discretion, bruised, scratched,
and bleeding, so that he was a pitiable sight to see.
The boy who has been beaten by other boys in a street, which is not that
in which he lives, often vents his anger by calling out to those who
have maltreated him--
"You'll see how I'll make you pay for this when I get you into my
street."
And neither more nor less did the persecuted Bartolo do, for, seeing
that he was vanquished, and that there was no possibility of his having
revenge then and there, he exclaimed, crossing his arms, moving his head
from side to side, and wishing to annihilate them all with a glance--
"I swear by all that's holy that I'll smash you all when I get you in
Barbadillo!"
"Oh, the fellow comes from Barbadillo!" said one of those who had been
there at the beginning of the quarrel between Fernan and Alvar, and who
consequently had had an opportunity of learning something of its cause.
"Barbadillo be cursed, for the wench who was the cause of all this row
comes from it!"
These words aroused the curiosity of the peasant, who, as we have seen,
did not need much to excite it.
"Keep yourself quiet," said Bartolo to himself, "and you'll discover
something that will give annoyance to the Barbadillo people, in return
for what they have said respecting your going often to the city, that
you were outrageously curious, and that you neglected your wife and
property to stick your nose into other people's affairs."
And approaching, very quietly, him who was cursing Barbadillo, and who
indeed was the soldier whom the women had beaten so severely, he said to
him--
"Friend, I am from Barbadillo, but I would rather belong to the country
of the Moors than to that wretched village, which, without doubt, God
cursed as a punishment for the strife between the Infantes of Lara,
which commenced in it. Then she, you say, who caused all this row is
from Barbadillo? I swear she couldn't be from any other place."
This agreement in their views gained for Bartolo the sympathy of the
soldier.
"What! you know nothing of the cause of the fight?" said the latter.
"You will please me much by relating to me what took place; I know you
will do so, for you are more polite than this vulgar crew," replied the
peasant.
"Then you must know," said the soldier, "that two servitors of the Cid
are in love with a girl from Barbadillo, and they have fought and
cudgelled each other as the result of a dispute as to which of them
should have her."
"I swear that she must be no great things of a girl when she throws eyes
at both of them. The women of Barbadillo, my friend, are just that kind;
there's the daughter of old mother Valeta, who, they say, fell in love
with four."
"According to that, comrade, you should not choose a wife from that
place."
"It is from it that I have mine; but I have come with her to live in
Burgos, for I am very fond of knowing what is going on in the world,
such as one can learn who lives in a city, and I go every day to the
forge of Master Iñigo to hear the news that's going round. My wife goes
with me, though I find it hard to get her to do so, but wish to polish
her up a bit, and it happened the other day that a knave of a squire
began to make love to her while I was talking to Iñigo, and she told me,
for I saw nothing of it, that she broke the fellow's teeth with a blow
of her fist You see by that what an honest woman my wife is."
"Honesty be hanged!"
"What do you mean, friend?"
"I mean that your wife is the very one that the two men were fighting
about."
"San Pedro de Cardeña, help me!"
"And it is quite certain that, even if the first time she received them
with blows, she must have shown herself kinder to them afterwards, for,
if not, they would not have fought so furiously on account of her."
"I swear I'll kill that false woman!" exclaimed the enraged rustic,
tugging at his hair with rage.
As some of the bystanders had heard his conversation with the soldier,
all of them knew very soon the cause of his despair, and it was at once
intensified by a fearful chorus of hisses, of coarse jokes, and of
abuse.
The unfortunate Bartolo faced the crowd defiantly; his words, however,
were lost amid the hisses and the loud voices, and then there was no
remedy but to open a way for himself and fly, mad, raging, careless as
to consequences.
The crowd remained in its position, as those who composed it desired to
learn the result of the quarrel between the servitors of De Vivar, for
they wished to know for certain, as already began to be whispered, if
the waiting-woman of Doña Teresa had died of the blow which the squire
had given her.
The gallop of a horseman was heard, just then, on the road leading from
the Alcazar, and it was soon perceived that it was a king's messenger
who was approaching the residence of the Cid in great haste; and he,
seeing that the crowd was but slowly opening a passage for him, broke
through it, his horse knocking some of the people down.
A few minutes afterwards the Cid was proceeding towards the Alcazar,
accompanied by Guillen, Fernan, and Alvar, and the people hastened to
withdraw, actuated by a feeling of respect, but perhaps chiefly because
they had lost all hopes of satisfying their curiosity, and of seeing the
squire and the page engage in a fresh quarrel.
Don Sancho, who, as soon as the Count of Cabra and the other
conspirators had departed from his presence, had sent to summon Rodrigo,
was awaiting him with impatience, for, although he felt that he should
chastise those audacious men, he did not wish to do so without
consulting the Cid on such a serious matter. The king also desired to
obtain the advice of his mother, and that is why Doña Sancha was at his
side when Rodrigo arrived.
"My good Cid," said Don Sancho on seeing him, "the Count of Cabra and
other noblemen have but just now left the Alcazar. I suppose you think
they came to offer me their swords to fight against the Moorish power?"
"Sire," replied Rodrigo, "that is what nobles like Don Garcia should do;
but neither he nor his friends did so when you set out for the campaign
of Aragon, and I doubt much if they have done it now."
"You are right; those wrongly named noblemen, far from coming to offer
their king the aid of their arms, came to insult him, to threaten him,
to impose laws on him."
"God's anger! what traitors they are!" exclaimed Rodrigo, unable to
restrain his anger; but sorry for having failed in the moderation and
proper restraint which the presence of his king and of the widow of
Fernando the Great required, he bent his knee respectfully and added--
"Pardon, sire; pardon me if I have been wanting in respect to you."
"Arise, Rodrigo," said Don Sancho, holding out his hand to the Cid,
"arise, for your very indignation proves that you are a good vassal and
a good cavalier."
De Vivar, emboldened by this kindness, continued, giving reins to his
just indignation--
"Tell me, sire, in what way have they offended you; although it is
sufficient for me to know that they have done so, and I have a sword to
fight with them--to avenge you or to die! Is it not enough that De
Cabra, De Carrion, and their partisans should be always in revolt
against Castile with their cowardly plots, and never draw a sword
against the enemies of their country, but that they should come
barefacedly to insult you in your Alcazar?"
"No, Rodrigo, my indulgence does not suffice them; it is not sufficient
for them that their king should pardon them their neglect of everything
that cavaliers should do: they want me to lavish favours on them; they
desire to occupy the best positions in my Alcazar; they wish that
Castile should be governed by laws dictated by their caprice and
ambition; they demand that all those should be removed from my side who
have loyally served and advised me, and you, especially, my good Cid--it
is you who are the principal object of their hatred."
"I am not surprised to hear that those counts hate me, for I have known
that for a long time. As long as their cowardly attempts were directed
against me alone, I despised them. I did not desire to appeal to my king
for help to defend myself or for the punishment of my enemies; but now
when, to make war against me, they desire to wage it against you also, I
feel bound to reveal to you the cowardly treachery of those men, and to
urge you to punish them."
Having thus spoken, Rodrigo Diaz put his hand into the pouch which hung
from his girdle, and took from it some sheets of parchment which he
handed to the king, adding--
"See here, sire, the propositions which the Counts of Cabra and of
Carrion made to Abengalvon and to the other Moorish kings, my friends,
when we were marching against the allies of the Emperor of Germany."
The king read the letters in a low voice. In them it was proposed to the
Moorish kings to get up a plot against the Cid on the first occasion
that might present itself, and kill him. In order to induce them to do
this Don Suero and Don Garcia employed the grossest calumnies, asserting
that the Cid was working in an underhand way, under the guise of
friendship, and abusing their confidence, to dispossess Abengalvon and
the other Moorish kings of their states. They also promised them liberal
rewards.
"Traitors, cowardly counts!" exclaimed at the same time both Don Sancho
and his mother.
"Abengalvon and the other Moors," continued Rodrigo, "although infidels,
placed these letters in my hands, indignant not only on account of the
malice of those counts, but also on account of the insult inflicted on
them by supposing them capable of such perfidious conduct towards their
best friend--against him, who, having taken them captives in fair war,
restored to them their liberty, without imposing any conditions
whatsoever on them. And that, sire, was not the first time that De Cabra
and De Carrion had endeavoured to disembarrass themselves of me. A short
time before the campaign beyond the Pyrenees, when I was proceeding to
the Cortes at Leon, Martin Antolinez, Guillen of the Standard, and
myself were enticed by stratagem into an ambuscade where ten assassins,
in the pay of the Counts of Carrion and of Cabra, awaited us. We fought,
and fortune protected us, although we were so inferior in numbers and
unprepared for a combat. Amongst the assassins there was one who, before
he expired, confessed to us who had put the assassin's steel in his
hand."
"With their blood," cried Don Sancho, deeply indignant, "shall those
accursed traitors pay the penalty of their crimes. Their heads shall
fall on the scaffold, and even that will not be as great a punishment as
they deserve."
"Sire," said Rodrigo, "punish them, but do not shed their blood; enough
has been shed in the war. Banish them for ever from Castile, and
threaten them with heavier punishment if they should ever dare to
return."
"Yes, my son, take the advice of Rodrigo," said Doña Sancha; "imitate
the generous example of the good cavalier who intercedes for his
treacherous enemies."
"If the presence of those counts in Castile were only to my prejudice,"
said Rodrigo, "I would not counsel you to banish them; but they have
dared to threaten you, and they will collect bands together and plot
conspiracies, which must be prevented. Cast from the kingdom this evil
seed before it has time to germinate; but I swear to you, sire, that
even with the price of my own blood I would try to prevent the shedding
of that of my enemies."
"Be it so, then, Rodrigo," said Don Sancho; "the Count of Cabra and his
partisans shall leave my kingdom within four days, and if they do not
go, we shall have no pity for them; in that case their traitorous heads
shall roll on the ground. I wish to be good towards the good, but
inexorable towards the bad; the Castilian nobles shall have in me a
friend rather than a master, if they will correspond to my friendship;
but I shall not be subject to them, I do not desire to bear the name of
king and allow the nobles to govern the kingdom."
"Thus," said the Cid, "Castile will be powerful and happy as in the time
of your father, and like him you will merit the name of 'the Great.' I
belong to the highest nobility of Castile, but notwithstanding I
maintain that the duty of nobles is to aid their king, not to enslave
him and paralyse the hands which should freely guide the reins of the
State."
On that same day Don Sancho issued an order that within three days the
Counts of Cabra and of Carrion, and about a dozen other nobles, should
depart from Castile, into perpetual banishment, as rebels to his
authority, traitors, and disturbers of the peace of the kingdom.