Bernardo del Carpio’s Vow
As Bernardo knelt upon the steps of the darkened altar, on which the
outline of a saint with a dim glory seemed to bless him with
outstretched arms, something in the ardent auburn of his hair, relieved
from the pressure of his cap of steel, which he had removed before
entering, his open manly brow and honest eyes fixed on him with such
pleading warmth, touched some subtle chord of tenderness within the
King.
His sister Ximena in her youth rose up and gazed at him in Bernardo’s
eyes. Deep down in his cold heart a thrill of human affection throbbed
as he recalled their games as children and a thousand ties of girlish
love she had woven about his heart. Alas! how he had loved her! How he
still mourned her, and importuned Heaven with constant prayers, spite of
what he considered the deadly sin of her apostasy in forming an
adulterous union which shut out her son from the legal pale of kinship!
Therefore he had destroyed all record of the marriage, ever, in the
consideration of the Church, a sacrilegious act.
That the son of his sister should inherit the crown had ever been to him
a horror and a dread. Indeed, in the ramifications of his strangely
mixed nature, this fear had mainly influenced him in the choice he had
made of Charlemagne.
Now, by a sudden revulsion of feeling, the very boldness of Bernardo,
his open-handed valour and the fiery words in which he pleaded, invested
him with something sacred as the utterance of the true and rightful
defender of his people. From that moment a tardy remorse began to
possess him, and doubts of the rightfulness of his act in destroying the
proofs of his legitimacy.
“Too late, too late,” he murmured, gazing sorrowfully into the depths of
Bernardo’s clear blue eyes, and unconsciously passing his fingers
through the beads of an agate rosary suspended at his waist, as if to
invoke the assistance of the saints to maintain the steadfastness of his
resolve--then shook his head, which sank upon his breast.
All this time the war of the elements was raging without. Thunder,
lightning, wind, and rain had burst forth in one of those sudden
tempests which sweep down from the mountains even in the midst of
summer. The walls of the old palace seemed to rock, and at times the
voices of the speakers were barely audible.
“My lord, you answer not,” pleaded Bernardo, rising to his feet,
offended at the long silence, as a gleam of vivid lightning at the same
moment swept over him. “Hark! The very powers of nature protest against
your act. At least before you made us over as vassals to Charlemagne you
might have called the Cortes together, and heard what the nation had to
say. But let me tell you, Don Alonso, you have made a promise you can
never keep. Instead of the crown of Leon, Charlemagne will have to face
a nation in arms. Every man that bears the name of Castilian will rise
and water the soil with his blood rather than yield, and I, Bernardo del
Carpio, will lead them!”
For an instant the fury within him overtopped all control, but he
checked himself as Alonso answered:
“Bernardo, Bernardo! Again I warn you not to overstep the respect you
owe me. Your words are sharp, but there is a ring of truth in them, I
admit. Bethink you, my boy,” and Alonso’s voice fell suddenly into a
feeble tone, “Charlemagne is a Christian king, and a great warrior,
whose power has always curbed the Moor. To exterminate the Moslem is the
duty of sovereigns who love the saints. Who is so strong as he? Wage no
war on Christians, but keep your sword for the vile Infidels who press
round the limits of our land.”
“Christian or Moslem, my lord, Charlemagne shall never lead the knights
of Leon,” cried Bernardo. “But before I go”--(and again he bowed his
knee before the king, who had now seated himself in an arched niche, a
silver lamp suspended over his head among the rich details of garlands
and shields, crowns and badges at moments visible
[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL OF ZAMORA, ELEVENTH CENTURY.]
in startling distinctness in the rapidly succeeding sheets of
lightning)--“tell me, I pray you, what name I bear, and from whom I am
sprung? I crave it as a boon. Men call me Bernardo del Carpio, by the
name of the castle you bestowed upon me. When I question further they
turn aside and smile. But a knight in such a battle as I go to lead
against the Franks must wear his own escutcheon on his shield, not one
granted him by favour.”
Had a viper suddenly fixed its sharpest fangs upon his flesh Alonso
could not have started with greater horror. His glassy eyes fixed
themselves on the unconscious Bernardo, who eagerly awaited his answer
to be gone, with an expression of mingled dread and terror, eyeing him
as if the foul fiend himself had crossed his path, while a tremendous
explosion of thunder overhead rattled around, and flash after flash of
lightning quivered upon the walls. At length, out of his mouth came
inarticulate words, mixed with broken phrases, but spoken so low in the
uproar created by the storm no sense came to Bernardo.
“Begone, bastard!” cried the king at length, every feature in his face
working with the violence of his passion. “Have I harboured you so many
years to open the wound of my dishonour? Is this the return you make for
all my care? Neither name nor kindred have you, so get you gone. The
sight of you offends me.”
“Oh, my lord!” answered Bernardo, whose open countenance had grown very
white, deep lines forming on mouth and brow with a sudden look of age
the course of years could not have wrought, “had any man but you spoken
thus to me, he would not have lived to draw another breath. Your words
point to some hideous secret, some foul crime, in which you share. Great
God! whence am I sprung? The very beasts have dams that suckle them, and
is Bernardo alone deprived of the common claims of nature?”
No answer came from the king; no sign, no yielding. Bernardo’s question
had struck him to the quick.
“As you pray for mercy, sire, speak one word,” urged Bernardo, the
trembling of his lips telling what he suffered. “Are father and mother
dead?”
“Both to me,” was the stern answer. “The mortal spark of life can never
reanimate the soul dead in sin. Question me no more, audacious youth.
And think not, because my blood runs in your veins that I will favour
your ambition. Rather have I called in the stranger to occupy the
throne. Now you know my mind. Were I dead, my spirit would stand as with
a flaming sword to shut you out.”
“Then sweeter far than life and honour and glory, come death!” exclaimed
Bernardo, throwing up his arms. “From this day I am a desperate man. My
sword is to me the staff of life; bloodshed and carnage the food on
which I live. Come now over the grey heights of the mountains the
Frankish host and I will meet them as never mortal did his country’s
foes. Come, great Charlemagne and all your peers; iron-fisted Guarinos,
good Ferragol, Oliver, Gayferos, and Roland, bravest of paladins. Come
all. Despair, dishonour are the keen edges to the weapon which I draw
for your destruction. An unknown knight, degraded from my place, I will
leave a name behind me that shall be honoured as long as Spain cleaves
the seas. Adieu, my lord,” turning to the king, “you have forgotten your
duty to the land you rule, come to you inch by inch, bathed in Gothic
blood. I, Bernardo del Carpio, the nameless outcast, go forth to defend
it. You have planted a dagger in my heart not hecatombs of the enemy can
draw forth. Adieu!”
“Now stay, my boy,” cried the king, laying his hand on his shoulder as
he turned to go. “Spite of the past, my heart warms to you. Take the
lion of Leon and place it on your shield; and when men ask you by what
right, answer, ‘By order of the King.’”
At this moment the tempest seemed to have reached its climax; a loud and
hollow reverberation, like the sound of a blow upon a brass timbrel,
shook the palace to its foundations and the whole firmament pulsated
with flame. But Bernardo heeded not: with his features locked in a cold,
impassive silence, he passed out.