PART III. REPRISALS. Roland has barely breathed his last when

Charlemagne arrives on the battle-field and, gazing around him,

perceives nothing but corpses. Receiving no answer to his repeated

call for the twelve peers, Charlemagne groans it was not without cause

he felt anxious and mourns that he was not there to take part in the

fray. He and his men weep aloud for their fallen companions, and

twenty thousand soldiers swoon from grief at the sight of the havoc

which has been made!

Still, only a few moments can be devoted to sorrow, for Duke Naimes,

descrying a cloud of dust in the distance, eagerly suggests that if

they ride on they can yet overtake and punish the foe! Detailing a

small detachment to guard the dead, Charlemagne orders the pursuit of

the Saracens, and, seeing the sun about to set, prays so fervently

that daylight may last, that an angel promises he shall have light as

long as he needs it. Thanks to this miracle, Charlemagne overtakes

the Saracens just as they are about to cross the Ebro, and, after

killing many, drives the rest into the river, where they are drowned.

It is only when the last of the foe has been disposed of that the sun

sets, and, perceiving it is too late to return to Roncevaux that

night, Charlemagne gives orders to camp on the plain. While his weary

men sleep peacefully, the emperor himself spends the night mourning

for Roland and for the brave Frenchmen who died to defend his cause,

so it is only toward morning that he enjoys a brief nap, during which

visions foreshadow the punishment to be inflicted upon Ganelon and all

who uphold him.

In the mead the Emperor made his bed,

With his mighty spear beside his head,

Nor will he doff his arms to-night,

But lies in his broidered hauberk white.

Laced is his helm, with gold inlaid.

Girt on Joyeuse, the peerless blade,

Which changes thirty times a day

The brightness of its varying ray.

Meanwhile the wounded Marsile has returned to Saragossa, where, while

binding up his wounds, his wife comments it is strange no one has been

able to get the better of such an old man as Charlemagne, and exclaims

the last hope of the Saracens now rests in the emir, who has just

landed in Spain.

At dawn the emperor returns to Roncevaux, and there begins his sad

search for the bodies of the peers. Sure Roland will be found facing

the foe, he seeks for his corpse in the direction of Spain, and,

discovering him at last on the little hill, swoons from grief. Then,

recovering his senses, Charlemagne prays God to receive his nephew's

soul, and, after pointing out to his men how bravely the peers fought,

gives orders for the burial of the dead, reserving only the bodies of

Roland, Oliver, and the archbishop, for burial in France.

The last respects have barely been paid to the fallen, when a Saracen

herald summons Charlemagne to meet the emir. So the French mount to

engage in a new battle.

Such is the stimulus of Charlemagne's word's and of his example, that

all his men do wonders. The aged emperor himself finally engages in a

duel with the emir, in the midst of which he is about to succumb, when

an angel bids him strike one more blow, promising he shall triumph.

Thus stimulated, Charlemagne slays the emir, and the Saracens, seeing

their leader slain, flee, closely pursued by the Frenchmen, who enter

Saragossa in their wake. There, after killing all the men, they

pillage the town.

On discovering that Marsile has meantime died of his wound,

Charlemagne orders his widow to France, where he proposes to convert

her through the power of love. The remainder of the pagans are

compelled to receive baptism, and, when Charlemagne again wends his

way through the Pyrenees, all Spain bows beneath his sceptre.

At Bordeaux, Charlemagne deposits upon the altar of St. Severin,

Roland's Olifant, filled with gold pieces, before personally escorting

the three august corpses to Blaye, where he sees them interred, ere he

hurries on to Aix-la-Chapelle to judge Ganelon.

_The Chastisement of Ganelon._ On arriving in his palace, Charlemagne

is confronted by Alda or Aude, a sister of Oliver, who frantically

questions: "Where is Roland who has sworn to take me to wife?" Weeping

bitterly, Charlemagne informs her his nephew is no more, adding that

she can marry his son, but Aude rejoins that, since her beloved is

gone, she no longer wishes to live. These words uttered, she falls

lifeless at the emperor's feet.[11]

From Spain the emperor made retreat,

To Aix in France, his kingly seat;

And thither, to his halls, there came,

Alda, the fair-and gentle dame.

"Where is my Roland, sire," she cried,

"Who vowed to take me for his bride?"

O'er Karl the flood of sorrow swept;

He tore his beard, and loudly wept.

"Dear sister, gentle friend," he said,

"Thou seekest one who lieth dead:

I plight to thee my son instead,--

Louis, who lord of my realm shall be."

"Strange," she said, "seems this to me.

God and His angels forbid that I

Should live on earth if Roland die."

Pale grew her cheek--she sank amain,

Down at the feet of Carlemaine.

So died she. God receive her soul!

The Franks bewail her in grief and dole.

The time having come for the trial, Ganelon appears before his judges,

laden with chains and tied to a stake as if he were a wild beast. When

accused of depriving Charlemagne of twenty thousand Frenchmen, Ganelon

retorts he did so merely to avenge his wrongs, and hotly denies having

acted as a traitor. Thirty of his kinsmen sustain him in this

assertion, one of them even volunteering to meet the emperor's

champion in a judicial duel. As the imperial champion wins, Ganelon

and his relatives are adjudged guilty, but, whereas the latter thirty

are merely hanged, the traitor himself is bound to wild horses until

torn asunder.

Having thus done justice, Charlemagne informs his courtiers they are

to attend the baptism of a Saracen lady of high degree, who is about

to be received into the bosom of the church.

The men of Bavaria and Allemaine,

Norman and Breton return again,

And with all the Franks aloud they cry,

That Gan a traitor's death shall die.

They bade be brought four stallions fleet;

Bound to them Ganelon, hands and feet:

Wild and swift was each savage steed,

And a mare was standing within the mead;

Four grooms impelled the coursers on,--

A fearful ending for Ganelon.

His every nerve was stretched and torn,

And the limbs of his body apart were borne;

The bright blood, springing from every vein,

Left on the herbage green its stain.

He dies a felon and recreant:

Never shall traitor his treason vaunt.

_End of the Song._ Having thus punished the traitor and converted the

heathen, Charlemagne, lying in his chamber one night, receives a visit

from the angel Gabriel, who bids him go forth and do further battle

against the pagans. Weary of warfare and longing for rest, the aged

emperor moans, "God, how painful is my life!" for he knows he must

obey.

When the emperor's justice was satisfied,

His mighty wrath did awhile subside.

Queen Bramimonde was a Christian made.

The day passed on into night's dark shade;

As the king in his vaulted chamber lay,

Saint Gabriel came from God to say,

"Karl, thou shalt summon thine empire's host,

And march in haste to Bira's coast;

Unto Impha city relief to bring,

And succor Vivian, the Christian king.

The heathens in siege have the town essayed,

And the shattered Christians invoke thine aid."

Fain would Karl such task decline.

"God! what a life of toil is mine!"

He wept; his hoary beard he wrung.

Here ends the Song of Théroulde.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 8: Another version of this story can be found in the

author's "Legends of the Middle Ages."]

[Footnote 9: See the author's "Story of Old France."]

[Footnote 10: All the quotations in this chapter are from John

O'Hagen's translation of the "Song of Roland."]

[Footnote 11: See the author's "Legends of the Rhine."]

AUCASSIN AND NICOLETTE

Who would list to the good lay

Gladness of the captive grey?

'Tis how two young lovers met,

Aucassin and Nicolette,

Of the pains the lover bore

And the sorrow he outwore,

For the goodness and the grace,

Of his love, so fair of face.

Sweet the song, the story sweet,

There is no man hearkens it,

No man living 'neath the sun,

So outwearied, so foredone,

Sick and woful, worn and sad,

But is healèd, but is glad.

'Tis so sweet.

So say they, speak they, tell they the tale.[12]

This popular mediaeval ballad is in alternate fragments of verse and

prose, and relates how the Count of Valence made desperate war

against the Count of Biaucaire, a very old and frail man, who saw that

his castle was in imminent danger of being taken and sacked. In his

distress, this old lord besought his son Aucassin, who so far had

taken no interest in the war, to go forth and fight. The youth,

however, refused to do so, saying his heart was wrapped up in love for

Nicolette, a fair slave belonging to a captain in town. This man,

seeing the delicacy of his slave and realizing she must belong to some

good family, had her baptized and treated her as if she were an

adopted daughter.

On account of Nicolette's lowly condition, Aucassin's father refuses

to listen when the young man proposes to marry her, and sternly bids

him think of a wife better suited, to his rank. The young lover,

however, vehemently insists that Nicolette is fit to be an empress,

and vows he will not fight until he has won her for his own. On seeing

how intractable this youth is, the father beseeches the owner of the

slave to clap her in prison, so that Aucassin will not be able to get

at her in any way.

Heart-broken to think that his lady-love is undergoing captivity in

his behalf, Aucassin spends his time moping. To induce him to fight,

his father finally promises that if he will go forth and drive away

the foe he will be allowed to see Nicolette and kiss her. The prospect

of such a reward so fires the young hero, that he sallies forth, routs

the besiegers, and, seizing the Count of Valence, brings him back a

prisoner. On entering the castle, he immediately begins to clamor for

Nicolette, but his father now declares he would rather see the maiden

burned as a witch than to let his son have anything more to do with

her. Hearing this, Aucassin indignantly declares such being the case

he will free his prisoner, an act of generosity which infuriates his

father, who hopes to be enriched by the count's ransom. To punish

Aucassin, the Count of Biaucaire now thrusts him into prison, but,

although the lovers are sharing the same fate, they languish apart,

and, therefore, spend all their time lamenting.

One night, when the moon is shining bright, Nicolette, who has heard

she is likely to be brought to trial and burned, decides to effect her

escape. As the old woman who mounts guard over her is fast asleep, she

softly ties together her sheets and towels, and, fastening them to a

pillar, lets herself down by the window into the garden, from whence

she timidly steals out into the night.

The poem now artlessly describes Nicolette's beauty as she trips over

the dewy grass, her tremors as she slips through the postern gate, and

her lingering at the foot of the tower where her lover is imprisoned.

While pausing there, Nicolette overhears his voice lamenting, and,

thrusting her head into an aperture in the wall, tells him that she is

about to escape and that as soon as she is gone they will set him

free. To convince her lover that it is she who is talking, Nicolette

cuts off a golden curl, which she drops down into his dungeon,

repeating that she must flee. But Aucassin beseeches her not to go,

knowing a young maid is exposed to countless dangers out in the world,

and vehemently declares he would die were any one to lay a finger upon

her. He adds that she alone shall be his wife, and that the mere

thought of her belonging to any one else is unendurable. This

declaration of love cheers poor Nicolette, who is so entranced by her

lover's words that she fails to notice the approach of a patrol. A

young sentinel, however, peering down from the walls, touched by

Nicolette's beauty and by the plight of these young lovers, warns them

of their danger. But not daring to speak openly to Nicolette, he

chants a musical warning, which comes just in time to enable her to

hide behind a pillar. There she cowers until the guards pass by, then,

slipping down into dry moat,--although it is a perilous

undertaking,--she painfully climbs up its other side and seeks refuge

in a neighboring forest, where, although the poem informs us there are

"beasts serpentine," she feels safer than in town.

It is while wandering in this wilderness that Nicolette runs across

some shepherds, whom she bribes to go and tell Aucassin a wild beast

is ranging through the forest, and that he should come and slay it as

soon as possible. Having thus devised means to entice her lover out of

Biaucaire, Nicolette wanders on until she reaches a lovely spot, where

she erects a rustic lodge, decking it with the brightest flowers she

can find, in hopes that her lover, when weary of hunting, will rest

beneath its flowery roof, and guess that it was erected by her fair

hands.

Meantime the Count of Biaucaire, hearing Nicolette has vanished, sets

his son free, and, seeing him sunk in melancholy, urges him to go out

and hunt, thinking the exercise may make him forget the loss of his

beloved. Still, it is only when shepherds come and report that a wild

beast is ranging through the forest, that the youth mounts his steed

and sallies forth, his father little suspecting that instead of

tracking game, he is bent on seeking traces of his beloved.

Ere long Aucassin encounters an old charcoal-burner, to whom he

confides his loss, and who assures him such a sorrow is nothing

compared to his own. On discovering that the poor man's tears can be

stayed with money, Aucassin bestows upon him the small sum he needs,

receiving in return the information that a lovely maiden has been seen

in the forest. Continuing his quest, Aucassin comes in due time to the

flowery bower, and, finding it empty, sings his love and sorrow in

tones that reach Nicolette's ear. Then, dismounting from his horse to

rest here for the night, Aucassin manages to sprain his shoulder.

Thereupon Nicolette steals into the bower and takes immediate measures

to mitigate the pain.

The mere fact that Nicolette is beside him helps Aucassin to forget

everything else, and it is only after the first raptures are over,

that they decide not to linger in the forest, where the Count of

Biaucaire will soon find and separate them. To prevent such a

calamity, they decide to depart together, and, as there is no extra

steed for Nicolette to ride, her lover lifts her up on his horse

before him, clasping her tight and kissing her repeatedly as they

gallop along.

Aucassin the Franc, the fair,

Aucassin of yellow hair,

Gentle knight, and true lover,

From the forest doth he fare,

Holds his love before him there,

Kissing cheek, and chin, and eyes;

But she spake in sober wise,

"Aucassin, true love and fair,

To what land do we repair?"

"Sweet my love, I take no care,

Thou art with me everywhere!"

So they pass the woods and downs,

Pass the villages and towns,

Hills and dales and open land,

Came at dawn to the sea sand,

Lighted down upon the strand,

Beside the sea.

Thus the lovers travel all night, reach the sea-shore at dawn, and

wander along it, arms twined around each other, while their weary

steed follows them with drooped head.

At sunrise a vessel nears the shore, upon which they embark to get out

of reach of the wrath of the Count of Biaucaire. The vessel, however,

is soon overtaken by a terrible tempest, which, after tossing it about

for seven days, drives it into the harbor of Torelore. This is the

mediaeval "topsy-turvy land," for on entering the castle Aucassin

learns that the king is lying abed, because a son has been born to

him, while the queen is at the head of the army fighting! This state

of affairs so incenses Aucassin, that armed with a big stick he enters

the king's room, gives him a good beating, and wrings from him a

promise that no man in his country will ever lie abed again when a

child is born, or send his wife out to do hard work. Having effected

this reform in the land of Torelore, Aucassin and Nicolette dwell

there peacefully, for three years, at the end of which time the castle

is taken by some Saracens. They immediately proceed to sack it,

carrying off its inmates to sell them as slaves. Bound fast, Aucassin

and Nicolette are thrust into separate ships, but, although these are

going to the same port, a sudden tempest drives the vessel in which

Aucassin lies to the shore of Biaucaire. There the people capture it,

and finding their young master, set him free, and invite him to take

possession of his castle, for, his father having died during his

absence, he is now master of all he surveys.

Meantime Nicolette, landing at Carthage, discovers that this is her

native town, and recognizes in her captors--her father and brothers.

They are so overjoyed at recovering this long-lost sister that they

propose to keep her with them, but Nicolette assures them she will

never be happy until she rejoins Aucassin. Meantime she learns to play

on the viol, and, when she has attained proficiency on this

instrument, sets out in the guise of a wandering minstrel to seek her

beloved. Conveyed by her brothers to the land of Biaucaire, Nicolette,

soon after landing, hears that Aucassin, who has recently returned,

is sorely bewailing the loss of his beloved. Presenting herself before

Aucassin,--who does not recognize her owing to the disguise,--Nicolette

plays so charmingly that she draws tears from his eyes. Then she begs

to know his sorrows, and, on hearing he has lost his lady-love,

suggests he woo the king of Carthage's daughter. Loudly averring he

will never woo any one save Nicolette, Aucassin turns sadly away,

whereupon the strolling minstrel assures him he shall see his beloved

before long. Although it seems impossible to Aucassin that this

prediction should be verified, Nicolette has little difficulty in

fulfilling her promise, for, hastening back to her old home, she

obtains some of her own clothes, and, thus restored to her wonted

appearance, presents herself before the delighted Aucassin, who,

overjoyed to see her once more, clasps her rapturously to his heart.

The ballad adds that the two lovers, united for good and all, lived

happy ever after, and were an example to all faithful lovers in the

beautiful land of Biaucaire.

Many years abode they there,

Many years in shade or sun,

In great gladness and delight.

Ne'er had Aucassin regret,

Nor his lady Nicolette.

Now my story all is done--

Said and sung!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 12: All the quotations in this chapter are from Andrew

Lang's version of "Aucassin and Nicolette."]

SPANISH EPICS

Literature was born in Spain only when the Christians began to

reconquer their country from the Moors. The first literary efforts

therefore naturally reflected a warlike spirit, and thus assumed the

epic form. Very few of these poems still exist in their original shape

save the Poema del Cid, the great epic treasure of Spain, as well as

the oldest monument of Spanish literature. Besides this poem, there

exist fragments of epics on the Infantes of Lara and on Fernan

Gonzales, and hints of others of which no traces now remain. These

poems were popularized in Spain by the juglares, who invented Bernardo

del Carpio so as to have a hero worthy to offset to the Roland of the

jongleurs,--their French neighbors. But the poems about this hero have

all perished, and his fame is preserved only in the prose chronicles.

In the Cronica rimada of the thirteenth century, we discover an

account of the Cid's youth, together with the episode where he slays

Ximena's father, which supplied Corneille with the main theme of his

tragedy.

The Spaniards also boast of a thirteenth century poem of some

twenty-five hundred stanzas on the life of Alexander, a fourteenth

century romance about Tristan, and the chivalric romance of Amadis de

Gaule, which set the fashion for hosts of similar works, whose

popularity had already begun to wane when Cervantes scotched all

further attempts of this sort by turning the chivalric romance into

ridicule in his Don Quixote.

The Spaniards also cultivated the epic ballad, or romanceros, previous

to the Golden Age of their literature (1550-1700), drawing their

subjects from the history or legends of France and Spain, and treating

mainly of questions of chivalry and love. Arthur, the Round Table, and

the Quest for the Holy Grail, were their stock subjects, previous to

the appearance of Amadis de Gaule, a work of original fiction

remodelled and extended in the fifteenth century by Garcia Ordonez de

Montalvo. During the Golden Age, Spain boasts more than two hundred

artificial epics, treating of religious, political, and historical

matters. Among these the Auracana of Erzilla, the Argentina of

Centenera, and the Austriada of Rufo can be mentioned. Then Velasco

revived the Aeneid for his countrymen's benefit, and religious themes

such as Azevedo's Creacion del Munde became popular.

The latest of the Spanish epics is that of Saavedra, who, in his El

Moro Exposito, has cleverly revived the old Spanish legend of the

Infantes of Lara. It is, however, the Cid which is always quoted as

Spain's representative epic.

THE CID

This poem, of some three thousand seven hundred lines, is divided into

two cantos-and was written about 1200. It is a compilation from extant

ballads in regard to the great Spanish hero Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar,

born between 1030 and 1040, whose heroic deeds were performed at the

time when the Christian kings were making special efforts to eject the

Moors, who had invaded Spain three hundred years before.

The first feat mentioned relates that Rodrigo's father, having been

insulted by Don Gomez, pined at the thought of leaving this affront

unavenged, until his son, who had never fought before, volunteered to

defend him. Not only did Rodrigo challenge and slay Don Gomez, but

cutting off his head bore it to his father as a proof that his enemy

was dead, a feat which so pleased the old gentleman that he declared

Rodrigo should henceforth be head of the family.

After thus signalizing himself, Rodrigo was suddenly called upon to

face five Moorish kings who had been making sallies into Castile. Not

only did he defeat them, but took them prisoners, thereby winning from

them the title by which he is commonly known, of "The Cid" or "The

Lord."

Shortly after this Donna Ximena, daughter of Don Gomez, appeared

before King Ferrando demanding satisfaction for her father's death,

and consenting to forego revenge only on condition that Rodrigo would

marry her. The young hero having assented, the couple were united in

the presence of the king, after which Rodrigo took his beautiful bride

to his mother, with whom he left her until he had earned the right to

claim her by distinguishing himself in some way.

It seems that Ferrando of Castile was then disputing from the king of

Aragon the possession of Calahorra, a frontier town. Both monarchs

decided to settle their difference by a duel, stipulating that the

town should belong to the party whose champion triumphed.

Ferrando having selected Rodrigo as his champion, our hero set out to

meet his opponent, delaying on the way long enough to rescue a leper

from a bog. Then, placing this unfortunate on his horse before him,

Rodrigo bore him to an inn, where, in spite of the remonstrances of

his followers, he allowed the leper to share his bed and board. That

night, while lying beside his loathsome bed-fellow, Rodrigo suddenly

felt a cold breath pass through him, and, on investigating, discovered

that his companion was gone. He beheld in his stead St. Lazarus, who

proclaimed that, since Rodrigo had been so charitable, he would meet

with prosperity, and might know whenever he felt a cold shiver run

down his spine that it was an omen of success. Thus encouraged,

Rodrigo rode on to take part in the duel, but he had been so delayed

that the battle call had already sounded, and Alvar Fanez, his cousin,

was preparing to fight in his stead. Bidding his cousin step aside,

Rodrigo entered the lists, and soon won Calahorra for Ferrando.

Pleased with what Rodrigo had done, the king now showered honors upon

him, which so aroused the jealousy of the courtiers that they began to

conspire with the Moors to ruin him. It happened, however, that they

addressed their first proposals to the very kings whom Rodrigo had

conquered, and who proved loyal enough to send him word of the plot.

On discovering the treachery of the courtiers, the king banished them,

but the wife of Don Garcia pleaded so eloquently with the Cid, that

he furnished the banished man with letters of introduction to one of

the Moorish kings, who, to please his conqueror, bestowed the city of

Cabra upon him.

Although treated with such generosity, Don Garcia proved ungrateful,

and even tried to cheat the Moors. Hearing this, the Cid, siding with

his former enemies, came into their country to take away from Don

Garcia the city which had been allotted for his use.

During one of Ferrando's absences from home, the Moors invaded one of

his provinces, whereupon Rodrigo, in retaliation, besieged the city of

Coimbra. While he was thus engaged his army suffered so much from lack

of provisions that it finally seemed as if he would have to give up

his undertaking. But the monks, who had advised the Cid to besiege the

city, now came to his rescue, and by feeding his army from their own

stores enabled Rodrigo to recover another town from the pagans.

Delighted with this new accession of territory, Ferrando knighted

Rodrigo, who meantime had added to his title of the Cid that of

Campeador, "the champion," and hereafter was often mentioned as "the

one born in a fortunate hour." In addition, the king bestowed upon

Rodrigo the governorship of the cities of Coimbra and Zamorra, which

were to be reoccupied by Christians.

Shortly after this, the Pope demanded that Ferrando do homage to the

empire, but the king rejoined that Spain was independent and therefore

refused to obey. Hearing that large forces were marching against him

to compel him to submit, Ferrando placed the Cid at the head of an

army, and our hero not only defeated the enemy at Tobosa, but won so

brilliant a victory that the Pope never ventured to renew his demands.

Feeling death draw near, Ferrando divided his realm between his sons,

who became kings of Castile, Leon, and Gallicia, and bestowed upon his

daughters the cities of Zamorra and Toro. Although disappointed not to

inherit the whole realm, the eldest prince, Don Sancho, dared not

oppose his father's will, until one of his brothers proceeded to

dispossess one of their sisters. Under the plea that the promise made

to their father had already been broken, Don Sancho now set out to

conquer the whole realm, but proved so unfortunate in his first battle

as to fall into his brother's hands. There he would have remained for

the rest of his life, had not the Cid delivered him, taken his captor,

and confiscated his realm in Sancho's behalf. Hearing this, the third

king, Alfonso, clamored for his share of his brother's spoil, and, as

none was allotted him, declared war in his turn. In this campaign

Sancho proved victorious only when the Cid fought in his behalf, and

the struggle resulted in the imprisonment of Alfonso, who would have

been slain had not his sister asked that he be allowed to enter a

monastery. From there Alfonso soon effected his escape, and hastened

to seek refuge among the Moors at Toledo.

Don Sancho, having meantime assumed all three crowns, became anxious

to dispossess his sister of Zamorra. But the Cid refused to take part

in so unchivalrous a deed, and thereby so angered the king that he

vowed he would exile him. When the Cid promptly rejoined that in that

case he would hasten to Toledo and offer his services to Alfonso to

help him recover all he had lost, Sancho repented and apologized. He

did not, however, relinquish his project of despoiling his sister of

Zamorra, but merely dispensed the Cid from accompanying him.

Because Zamorra was well defended by Vellido Dolfos,--the princess'

captain,--King Sancho was not able to take it. He so sorely beset the

inhabitants, however, that Vellido Dolfos resolved to get the better

of him by strategy. Feigning to be driven out of the city, he secretly

joined Don Sancho, and offered to deliver the city into his hands if

the king would only accompany him to a side gate. Notwithstanding

adverse omens, the credulous Sancho, believing him, rode off, only to

meet his death at the postern gate, inside of which his murderer

immediately took refuge.

On learning that his master has been slain, the Cid hastened to

avenge him, and, as Sancho had left no heir, proclaimed Alfonso his

successor. We are told that this young prince had already heard of his

brother's death through a message from his sister, and, fearing the

Moors would not allow him to depart for good, had merely asked

permission to visit his kin. The wary Moorish king consented, but only

on condition Alfonso would promise never to attack him or his sons,

should he become king.

When Alfonso arrived at Zamorra, all the Spaniards readily did homage

to him save the Cid, who refused to have anything to do with him until

he had solemnly sworn he had no share in his brother's death. To

satisfy the Cid, therefore, Alfonso and twelve of his men took a

threefold oath in the church of Burgos; but it is said Alfonso never

forgave the humiliation which the Cid thus inflicted upon him.

The new monarch proved to be a wise ruler for the kingdoms of Leon,

Castile, Gallicia, and Portugal. He was not without his troubles,

however, for shortly after his succession the Cid quarrelled with one

of his nobles. Next the Moorish kings became disunited and Alfonso's

former host summoned him to his aid. Not only did Alfonso assist this

king of Toledo, but invited him into his camp, where he forced him to

release him from the promise made on leaving his city. Not daring to

refuse while in the power of the Christians, the Moorish king

reluctantly consented, and was surprised and delighted to hear Alfonso

immediately renew the oath, for, while not willing to be friends with

the Moors under compulsion, he had no objection to enter into an

alliance with them of his own free will.

Not long after this the king of Navarre sent forth his champion to

challenge one of Alfonso's, the stake this time being three castles

which the Cid won. But the Moors, taking advantage of the Cid's

illness which followed this battle, rose up against Alfonso, who was

compelled to wage war against them. In this campaign he would have

fallen into the enemy's hands had not the Cid risen from his sick-bed

to extricate him from peril! By this time the renown of the Cid was

so great, that people in speaking of him invariably termed him "the

Perfect One," thereby arousing such jealousy among the courtiers, that

they persuaded Alfonso his subject was trying to outshine him! In

anger the king decreed Rodrigo's immediate banishment, and, instead of

allowing him the customary thirty days to prepare for departure,

threatened to put him to death were he found within the land nine days

later! As soon as the Cid informed his friends he was banished, one

and all promised to follow wherever he went, as did his devoted cousin

Alvar Fanez.

It is at this point that the present poem of the Cid begins, for the

ballads covering the foregoing part of the Cid's life exist only in a

fragmentary state. We are told that the decree of banishment proved a

signal for the courtiers to plunder the hero's house, and that the Cid

gazing sadly upon its ruins exclaimed, "My enemies have done this!"

Then, seeing a poor woman stand by, he bade her secure her share,

adding that for his part he would henceforth live by pillaging the

Moors, but that the day would come when he would return home laden

with honors.

On his way to Burgos the Cid was somewhat cheered by good omens, and

was joined by so many knights in quest of adventure that no less than

sixty banners fluttered behind him. A royal messenger had, however,

preceded him to this city, to forbid the people to show him

hospitality and to close his own house against him. The only person

who dared inform the Cid of this fact was a little maid, who

tremblingly reported that he was to be debarred from all assistance.

"O thou that in a happy hour didst gird thee with the sword,

It is the order of the king; we dare not, O my lord!

Sealed with his royal seal hath come his letter to forbid

The Burgos folk to open door, or shelter thee, my Cid.

Our goods, our homes, our very eyes, in this are all at stake;

And small the gain to thee, though we meet ruin for thy sake.

Go, and God prosper thee in all that thou dost undertake."[13]

Pausing at the church only long enough to say a prayer, the Cid rode

out of the gates of Burgos and camped on a neighboring hill, where his

nephew Martin Antolinez brought him bread and wine, declaring he would

henceforth share the Cid's fortunes in defiance of the king. It was to

this relative that the Cid confided the fact that he was without funds

and must raise enough money to defray present expenses. Putting their

heads together, these two then decided to fill two huge chests with

sand, and offer them to a couple of Jews in Burgos for six hundred

marks, stating the chests contained treasures too heavy and valuable

to be taken into exile, and assuring them that, if they solemnly

pledged themselves not to open the chests for a year, they could then

claim them, provided the Cid had not redeemed them in the meanwhile.

Trusting to the Cid's word and hoping to enrich themselves by this

transaction, the Jews gladly lent the six hundred marks and bore away

the heavy chests.

Having thus secured the required supplies, the Cid proceeded to San

Pedro de Cardena, where he entrusted his wife Ximena and two daughters

to the care of the prior, leaving behind him funds enough to defray

all their expenses. Then, although parting with his family was as hard

as "when a finger-nail is torn from the flesh," the Cid rode away,

crossing the frontier just as the nine days ended. He was there

greatly cheered by a vision of the angel Gabriel, who assured him all

would be well with him.

The prayer was said, the mass was sung, they mounted to depart;

My Cid a moment stayed to press Ximena to his heart:

Ximena kissed his hand, as one distraught with grief was she:

He looked upon his daughters: "These to God I leave," said he;

"Unto our lady and to God, Father of all below;

He knows if we shall meet again:--and now, sirs, let us go."

As when the finger-nail from out the flesh is torn away,

Even so sharp to him and them the parting pang that day.

Then to his saddle sprang my Cid, and forth his vassals led;

But ever as he rode, to those behind he turned his head.

Entering the land of the Moors with a force of three hundred men, the

Cid immediately proceeded to take a castle and to besiege the city of

Alcocer. But this town resisted so bravely, that after fifteen weeks

the Cid decided to effect by strategy the entrance denied by force.

Feigning discouragement, he, therefore, left his camp, whereupon the

inhabitants immediately poured out of the city to visit it, leaving

the gates wide open behind them. The Cid, who was merely hiding near

by, now cleverly cut off their retreat and thus entered Alcocer

through wide-open gates.

No sooner did the Moors learn that the Cid had conquered this

important place, than they hastened to besiege it, cutting off the

water supply, to compel the Christians to come out. To prevent his men

from perishing of thirst, the Cid made so vigorous a sortie that he

not only drove the enemy away, but captured their baggage, thus

winning so much booty that he was able to send thirty caparisoned

steeds to Alfonso, as well as rich gifts in money to his wife. In

return, the bearer of these welcome tokens was informed by King

Alfonso that Rodrigo would shortly be pardoned and recalled.

Meanwhile the Cid, leaving Alcocer, had taken up his abode on the hill

near Medina, which still bears his name. Thence he proceeded to the

forest of Tebar, where he again fought so successfully against the

Moors that he compelled the city of Saragossa to pay tribute to him.

Rumors of these triumphs enticed hundreds of Castilian knights to join

him, and with their aid he outwitted all the attempts the Moors made

to regain their lost possessions. We are also told that in one of

these battles the Cid took prisoner Don Ramon, who refused to eat

until free. Seeing this, the Cid took his sword, Colada, and promised

to set him and his kinsmen free if they would only eat enough to have

strength to depart. Although doubtful whether this promise would be

kept, Don Ramon and his follows partook of food and rode away,

constantly turning their heads to make sure that they were not

pursued.

He spurred his steed, but, as he rode, a backward glance he bent,

Still fearing to the last my Cid his promise would repent:

A thing, the world itself to win, my Cid would not have done:

No perfidy was ever found in him, the Perfect One.

As some of his subjects were sorely persecuted by the Moors, Alfonso

now sent word to the Cid to punish them, a task the hero promised to

perform, provided the king would pledge himself never again to banish

a man without giving him thirty days' notice, and to make sundry other

wise reforms in his laws. Having thus secured inestimable boons for

his fellow-countrymen, the Cid proceeded to besiege sundry Moorish

castles, all of which he took, winning thereby much booty. Having thus

served his monarch, the Cid was recalled in triumph to Castile, where

he was told to keep all he had won from the Moors. In return the Cid

helped Alfonso to secure Toledo, seeing the king with whom this king

had sworn alliance was now dead. It was while the siege of this city

was taking place that Bishop Jerome was favored by a vision of St.

Isidro, who predicted they would take the city, a promise verified in

1085, when the Cid's was the first Christian banner to float above its

walls. Our hero now became governor of this town, but, although he

continued to wage war against the Moors, his successes had made the

courtiers so jealous that they induced the king to imprison Ximena and

her daughters.

Perceiving he was no longer in favor at court, the Cid haughtily

withdrew, and, when Alfonso came down into Valencia, demanding that

the cities which had hitherto paid tribute to his subject should now

do so to him, the Cid retaliated by invading Alfonso's realm. None of

the courtiers daring to oppose him, Alfonso had cause bitterly to

repent of what he had done, and humbly assured his powerful subject he

would never molest him again. Ever ready to forgive an ungrateful

master, the Cid withdrew, and for a time king and subject lived in

peace.

Although the Cid had permitted the Moors to remain in the cities he

had conquered, they proved rather restive under the Christian yoke,

and guided by Abeniaf finally told the Moors in Northern Africa that

if they would only cross the sea they would deliver Valencia into

their hands. But this conspiracy soon became known to the Moors who

favored the Cid, and they immediately notified him, holding their

town which was in dire peril for twelve days.

To keep his promise, Abeniaf finally hauled some of the Moors up over

the walls by means of ropes, and the presence of these foes in their

midst compelled the Moors who favored the Cid to leave the city in

disguise, thus allowing Abeniaf and his allies to plunder right and

left and even to murder the Moorish king. This done, Abeniaf himself

assumed the regal authority, and began to govern the city in such an

arbitrary way that he soon managed to offend even his own friends.

Meantime the Moors who had fled rejoined the Cid, and, when they

reported what had occurred, Rodrigo wrote to Abeniaf, reproaching him

for his treachery and demanding the surrender of the property he had

left in town. Because Abeniaf replied that his allies had taken

possession of it, the Cid termed him a traitor and swore he would

secure revenge. Thereupon our hero set out with an army, and, finding

himself unable to take the city by assault, began to besiege it,

pulling down the houses in the suburbs to secure necessary materials

to construct his camp. Then he began a systematic attack on the city,

mastering one of its defences after another, and carrying on the siege

with such vigor that he thereby won additional glory. All the Moorish

captives taken were sent out through his lines into the open country,

where they were invited to pursue their agricultural avocations, and

assured protection, provided they would pay tribute of one-tenth of

the produce of their lands.

Meantime the people in the besieged city suffered so sorely from

hunger, that they finally sent word they would treat with the Cid if

he would allow Abeniaf and his followers to leave the country

unharmed. The Cid having consented to this proposal, the invading

Moors withdrew to Morocco, whence, however, they soon returned in

increased numbers to recapture Valencia and take their revenge upon

Abeniaf, who had proved treacherous to them too. To check the advance

of this foe, the Cid flooded the country by opening the sluices in

the irrigation canals, and the invaders, fancying themselves in danger

of drowning, beat a hasty retreat. Because Abeniaf took advantage of

these circumstances to turn traitor again, the Cid besieged him in

Valencia for nine months, during which the famine became so intense

that the inhabitants resorted to all manner of expedients to satisfy

their hunger.

Throughout this campaign the Cid ate his meals in public, sitting by

himself at a high table and assigning the one next him to the warriors

who won the most distinction in battle. This table was headed by Alvar

Fanez, surrounded by the most famous knights. A notorious coward,

pretending to have done great deeds, advanced one day to claim a seat

among the heroes. Perceiving his intention, the Cid called him to come

and sit with him, whereupon the knight became so elated that when he

again found himself on the field of battle he actually did wonders!

Seeing his efforts, the Cid generously encouraged him and, after he

had shown himself brave indeed, publicly bade him sit with the

distinguished knights.

The city of Valencia having finally opened its gates, the Cid marched

in with a train of provision-wagons, for he longed to relieve the

starving. Then, sending for the principal magistrates, he expressed

commiseration for their sufferings, adding that he would treat the

people fairly, provided they proved loyal in their turn. But, instead

of occupying the city itself, he and the Christians returned to the

suburbs, enjoining upon the Moorish governor to maintain order among

his people, and slay none but Abeniaf, who had proved traitor to all.

Soon after, seeing that the Moors and Christians would never be able

to live in peace within the same enclosure, the Cid appointed another

place of abode for the Moors. Then he and his followers marched into

Valencia, which they proceeded to hold, in spite of sundry attempts on

the part of the Moors to recover possession of so important a

stronghold.

When the Moorish king of Seville ventured to attack the Cid, he and

his thirty thousand men experienced defeat and many of his force were

drowned in the river while trying to escape. Such was the amount of

spoil obtained in this and other battles, that the Cid was able to

make his soldiers rich beyond their dreams, although by this time he

had a very large force, for new recruits constantly joined him during

his wars with the Moors.

As the Cid had vowed on leaving home never to cut his beard until

recalled, he was now a most venerable-looking man, with a beard of

such length that it had to be bound out of his way by silken cords

whenever he wanted to fight. Among those who now fought in the Cid's

ranks was Hieronymo (Jerome), who became bishop of Valencia, and who,

in his anxiety to restore the whole land to Christian rule, fought by

the Cid's side, and invariably advised him to transform all captured

mosques into Christian churches.

But lo! all armed from head to heel the Bishop Jerome shows;

He ever brings good fortune to my Cid where'er he goes.

"Mass have I said, and now I come to join you in the fray;

To strike a blow against the Moor in battle if I may,

And in the field win honor for my order and my hand.

It is for this that I am here, far from my native land.

Unto Valencia did I come to cast my lot with you,

All for the longing that I had to slay a Moor or two.

And so, in warlike guise I come, with blazoned shield, and lance,

That I may flesh my blade to-day, if God but give the chance.

Then send me to the front to do the bidding of my heart:

Grant me this favor that I ask, or else, my Cid, we part!"

Now that he had a fixed abiding place, the Cid bade Alvar Fanez and

Martin Antolinez carry a rich present to Don Alfonso, and obtain his

permission to bring his wife and daughters to Valencia. The same

messengers were also laden with a reward for the Abbot of St. Pedro,

under whose protection the Cid's family had taken refuge, and with

funds to redeem the chests of sand from the Jews at Burgos, begging

their pardon for the deception practised upon them and allowing them

higher interest than they could ever have claimed. Not only did the

messengers gallantly acquit themselves of this embassy, but boasted

everywhere of the five pitched battles the Cid had won and of the

eight towns now under his sway.

On learning that the Cid had conquered Valencia, Alfonso expressed

keen delight, although his jealous courtiers did not hesitate to

murmur they could have done as well! The monarch also granted

permission to Donna Ximena and her daughters to join the Cid, and the

three ladies set out with their escorts for Valencia. Nine miles

outside this city, the Cid met them, mounted on his steed Bavieca,

which he had won from the Moors, and, joyfully embracing wife and

daughters, welcomed them to Valencia, where from the top of the

Alcazar he bade them view the fertile country which paid tribute to

him.

But, three months after the ladies' arrival, fifty thousand Moors

crossed over from Africa to recover their lost territory. Hearing

this, the Cid immediately laid in a stock of provisions, renewed his

supplies of ammunition, and inspected the walls and engines of his

towns to make sure they could resist. These preparations concluded, he

told his wife and daughters they should now see with their own eyes

how well he could fight! Soon after the Moors began besieging the city

(1102), the Cid arranged that some of his troops should slip out and

attack them from behind while he faced them. By this stratagem the

Moors were caught between opposing forces, and overestimating their

numbers fled in terror, allowing the Cid to triumph once more,

although he had only four thousand men to oppose to their fifty

thousand! Thanks to this panic of the Moors the Cid collected such

huge quantities of booty, that he was able to send a hundred fully

equipped horses to King Alfonso, as well as the tent which he had

captured from the Moorish monarch. These gifts not only pleased

Alfonso, but awed and silenced the courtiers, among whom were the

Infantes of Carrion, who deemed it might be well to sue for the Cid's

daughters, since the father was able to bestow such rich gifts. Having

reached this decision, these scheming youths approached the king, who,

counting upon his vassals' implicit obedience to his commands,

promised they should marry as they wished.

When the bearers of the Cid's present, therefore, returned to

Valencia, they bore a letter wherein Alfonso bade the Cid give his

daughters in marriage to the Infantes of Carrion. Although this

marriage suited neither the old hero nor his wife, both were far too

loyal to oppose the king's wishes, and humbly sent word they would

obey.

Then the Cid graciously went to meet his future sons-in-law. They were

escorted to the banks of the Tagus by Alfonso himself, who there

expressed surprise at the length of the Cid's beard, and seemed awed

by the pomp with which he was surrounded, for at the banquet all the

chief men ate out of dishes of gold and no one was asked to use

anything less precious than silver. Not only did the Cid assure his

future sons-in-law that his daughters should have rich dowries, but,

the banquet ended, escorted them back to Valencia, where he

entertained them royally.

The wedding festivities lasted fifteen days, but even after they were

over the Infantes of Carrion tarried in Valencia, thus giving the Cid

more than one opportunity to regret having bestowed his daughters'

hands upon youths who possessed neither courage nor nobility of

character. While the young men were still lingering in Valencia, it

happened one afternoon--while the Cid lay sleeping in the hall--that a

huge lion, kept in the court-yard for his amusement, escaped from its

keepers. While those present immediately rushed forward to protect the

sleeper, the Cid's sons-in-law, terrified at the sight of the monster,

crept one beneath the hero's couch and the other over a wine-press,

thus soiling his garments so he was not fit to be seen. At the lion's

roar the Cid awoke. Seeing at a glance what had occurred, he sprang

forward, then, laying a powerful hand on the animal's mane, compelled

him to follow him out of the hall, and thrust him ignominiously back

into his cage.

Because the Infantes had so plainly revealed their cowardice, people

made fun of them, until they roused their resentment to such an extent

that, when the Moors again threatened Valencia, they offered to go

forth and defend the Cid. This show of courage simply delighted the

old hero, who sallied forth accompanied by both sons-in-law and by the

bishop, who was a mighty fighter. Although most of the warriors

present did wonders on this occasion, the Infantes of Carrion were

careful not to run any risk, although one of them purchased a horse

which a soldier had won from the Moors, and shamelessly passed it off

as his own trophy. Pleased to think this son-in-law had so

distinguished himself, the Cid complimented him after the battle,

where he himself had slain so many Moors and won so much booty that he

was able to send another princely present to Alfonso. Perceiving they

were still objects of mockery among the followers of the Cid, the

Infantes now begged permission to take their wives home, although

their real intention was to make these helpless girls pay for the

insults they had received. Although the Cid little suspected this

fact, he regretfully allowed his daughters to depart, and tried to

please his sons-in-law by bestowing upon them the choice swords,

Tizona and Colada, won in the course of his battles against the Moors.

Two days' journey from Valencia the Infantes prepared to carry out the

revenge they had planned, but while conferring in regard to its

details were overheard by a Moor, who, vowing he would have nothing to

do with such cowards, left them unceremoniously. Sending on their main

troops with a cousin of the girls, Felez Munoz, who served as their

escort, the Infantes led their wives into a neighboring forest, where,

after stripping them, they beat them cruelly, kicked them with their

spurs, and abandoned them grievously wounded and trembling for their

lives. When the Infantes rejoined their suite minus their wives, Felez

Munoz, suspecting something was wrong, rode back hastily, and found

his cousins in such a pitiful plight that they were too weak to speak.

Casting his own cloak about the nearly naked women, he tenderly bore

them into a thicket, where they could lie in safety while he watched

over them all night, for he did not dare leave them to go in quest of

aid. At dawn he hurried off to a neighboring village and secured

help. There, in the house of a kind man, the poor ladies were cared

for, while their cousin hastened on to apprise the Cid of what had

occurred.

Meantime the Infantes had met Alvar Fanez conveying to the king

another present, and, on being asked where were their wives,

carelessly rejoined they had left them behind. Ill pleased with such a

report, Alvar Fanez and his troops hurried back in quest of the

ladies, but found nothing save traces of blood, which made them

suspect foul play. On discovering what had really happened to the

Cid's daughters, Alvar Fanez hurried on to deliver the present to the

king, and indignantly reported what treatment the Cid's daughters had

undergone at the hands of the bridegrooms the king had chosen for

them, informing him that since he had made the marriage it behooved

him to see justice done. Horrified on hearing what had occurred,

Alfonso summoned the Cortes, sending word to the Cid and to the

Infantes to appear before it at Toledo three months hence.

Meantime the Cid, learning what had befallen his poor girls, hastened

to them, took them home, and, hearing that the king himself would

judge his case, decided to abide by the decision of the Cortes. At the

end of the third month, therefore, the Cid's followers--who had

preceded him--erected in the royal hall at Toledo the ivory seat he

had won at Valencia, and Alfonso himself openly declared the Cid quite

worthy to occupy a throne by his side, seeing no one had ever served

him as well as the man whom the courtiers were always trying to

belittle. The day for the solemn session having dawned, the Cid

entered the hall, followed by a hundred knights, while the Infantes of

Carrion appeared there with equal numbers, being afraid of an attack.

When summoned to state his wrongs, the Cid quietly rose from his ivory

throne, declaring that, having bestowed upon the Infantes two swords

of great price, he demanded their return, since, as they refused to

have anything more to do with his daughters, he could no longer

consider them his sons. All present were amazed at the mildness of the

Cid's speech and at his demanding merely the return of his swords, and

the Infantes, glad to be let off so easily, promptly resigned both

weapons into the Cid's hand. With his precious swords lying across his

lap, the Cid now declared that having also given the Infantes large

sums of money he wished those returned also, and, although the young

men objected, the court sentenced them to pay the sum the Cid claimed.

Both of these demands having been granted, the Cid next required

satisfaction for the treatment the Infantes had inflicted upon his

daughters, eloquently describing to the Cortes the cruelty and

treachery used.

"So please your Grace! once more upon your clemency I call;

A grievance yet remains untold, the greatest grief of all.

And let the court give ear, and weigh the wrong that hath been done.

I hold myself dishonored by the lords of Carrion.

Redress my combat they must yield; none other will I take.

How now, Infantes! what excuse, what answer do ye make?

Why have ye laid my heartstrings bare? In jest or earnest say,

Have I offended you? and I will make amends to-day.

"My daughters in your hands I placed the day that forth ye went,

And rich in wealth and honors from Valencia were ye sent.

Why did ye carry with you brides ye loved not, treacherous curs?

Why tear their flesh in Corpes wood with saddle-girths and spurs,

And leave them to the beasts of prey? Villains throughout were ye!

What answer ye can make to this 'tis for the court to see."

When the Cid added that Alfonso was responsible for these unfortunate

marriages, the monarch admitted the fact, and asked what the Infantes

of Carrion could say in their own defence. Insolently they declared

the Cid's daughters not worthy to mate with them, stating they had, on

the whole, treated them better than they deserved by honoring them for

a time with their attentions.

Had not the Cid forbidden his followers to speak until he granted

permission, these words would have been avenged almost as soon as

uttered. But, forgetting his previous orders, the aged Cid now

demanded of Pero Mudo (Dumby) why he did not speak, whereupon this

hero boldly struck one of the Infantes' party and challenged them all

to fight.

Thus compelled to settle the difficulty by a judicial duel, the king

bade the Infantes and their uncle be ready to meet the Cid's champions

in the lists on the morrow. The poem describes the encounter thus:

The marshals leave them face to face and from the lists are gone;

Here stand the champions of my Cid, there those of Carrion;

Each with his gaze intent and fixed upon his chosen foe,

Their bucklers braced before their breasts, their lances pointing low,

Their heads bent down, as each man leans above his saddle-bow.

Then with one impulse every spur is in the charger's side,

And earth itself is felt to shake beneath their furious stride;

Till, midway meeting, three with three, in struggle fierce they lock,

While all account them dead who hear the echo of the shock.

The cowardly Infantes, having been defeated, publicly confessed

themselves in the wrong, and were ever after abhorred, while the Cid

returned to Valencia with the spoils wrung from his adversaries, and

proudly presented to his wife and daughters the three champions who

had upheld their cause.

He who a noble lady wrongs and casts aside--may he

Meet like requital for his deeds, or worse, if worse there be.

But let us leave them where they lie--their meed is all men's scorn.

Turn we to speak of him that in a happy hour was born.

Valencia the Great was glad, rejoiced at heart to see

The honoured champions of her lord return in victory.

Shortly after this the Cid's pride was further salved by proposals of

marriage from the princes of Aragon and Navarre, and thus his

descendants in due time sat upon the thrones of these realms.

And he that in a good hour was born, behold how he hath sped!

His daughters now to higher rank and greater honor wed:

Sought by Navarre and Aragon for queens his daughters twain;

And monarchs of his blood to-day upon the thrones of Spain.

Five years now elapsed during which the Cid lived happy, honored by

all and visited by embassies even from distant Persia. But the Cid was

now old and felt his end near, for St. Peter visited him one night and

warned him that, although he would die in thirty days, he would

triumph over the Moors even after life had departed.

This assurance was most comforting, for hosts of Moors had suddenly

crossed the seas and were about to besiege Valencia. Trusting in St.

Peter's warning, the Cid made all his preparations for death, and,

knowing his followers would never be able to hold the city after he

was gone, bade them keep his demise secret, embalm his body, bind it

firmly on his steed Bavieca, and boldly cut their way out of the city

with him in their van.

Just as had been predicted, the Cid died on the thirtieth day after

his vision, and, his corpse having been embalmed as he directed, his

followers prepared to leave Valencia. To the amazement of the Moors,

the gates of the city they were besieging were suddenly flung open

wide, and out sallied the Christians with the Cid in their midst. The

mere sight of this heroic leader caused such a panic, that the little

troop of six hundred Christian knights safely conveyed their dead

chief and his family through the enemy's serried ranks to Castile.

Other detachments led by the bishop and Gil Diaz then drove these

Moors back to Africa after securing immense spoil.

Seeing Valencia abandoned, the Moors whom the Cid had established

without the city returned to take possession of their former houses,

on one of which they discovered an inscription stating that the Cid

Campeador was dead and would no longer dispute possession of the city.

Meantime the funeral procession had gone on to the Monastery of St.

Pedro de Cardena, where the Cid was buried, as he requested, and where

his marvellously preserved body sat in his ivory throne ten years,

before it was placed in its present tomb.

For two years and a half the steed Bavieca was reverently tended by

the Cid's followers, none of whom, however, ever presumed to bestride

him. As for Ximena, having mounted guard over her husband's remains

four years, she finally died, leaving grandchildren to rule over

Navarre and Aragon.

And so his honor in the land grows greater day by day.

Upon the feast of Pentecost from life he passed away.

For him and all of us the Grace of Christ let us implore.

And here ye have the story of my Cid Campeador.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 13: All the quotations in this chapter are taken from

translation, of "The Cid" by Ormsby.]

PORTUGUESE EPICS

Portuguese literature, owing to its late birth, shows little

originality. Besides, its earliest poems are of a purely lyrical and

not of an epical type. Then, too, its reigning family being of

Burgundian extraction, it borrowed its main ideas and literary

material from France. In that way Charlemagne, the Arthurian romances,

and the story of the Holy Grail became popular in Portugal, where it

is even claimed that Amadis de Gaule originated, although it received

its finished form in Spain.

The national epic of Portugal is the work of Luis de Camoëns, who,

inspired by patriotic fervor, sang in Os Lusiades of the discovery of

the eagerly sought maritime road to India. Of course, Vasco da Gama is

the hero of this epic, which is described _in extenso_ further on.

In imitation of Camoëns, sundry other Portuguese poets attempted epics

on historical themes, but none of their works possess sufficient

merits to keep their memory green.

During the sixteenth century, many versions of the prose epics or

romances of chivalry were rife, Amadis de Gaule and its sequel,

Palmerina d'Inglaterra, being the most popular of all.

Later on Meneses composed, according to strict classic rules, a

tedious epic entitled Henriqueida, in praise of the monarch Henry, and

de Macedo left O Oriente, an epical composition which: enjoyed a

passing popularity.

THE LUSIAD

_Introduction._ The author of the Portuguese epic, Luis de Camoëns,

was born at Lisbon in 1524. Although his father, commander of a

warship, was lost at sea during his infancy, his mother contrived to

give him a good education, and even sent him to the University at

Coimbra, where he began to write poetry. After graduating Camoëns

served at court, and there incurred royal displeasure by falling in

love with a lady his majesty chose to honor with his attentions.

During a period of banishment at Santarem, Camoëns began the Lusiad,

Os Lusiades, an epic poem celebrating Vasco da Gama's journey to India

in 1497[14] and rehearsing with patriotic enthusiasm the glories of

Portuguese history. Owing to its theme, this epic, which a great

authority claims should be termed "the Portugade," is also known as

the Epic of Commerce or the Epic of Patriotism.

After his banishment Camoëns obtained permission to join the forces

directed against the Moors, and shortly after lost an eye in an

engagement in the Strait of Gibraltar. Although he distinguished

himself as a warrior, Camoëns did not even then neglect the muse, for

he reports he wielded the pen with one hand and the sword with the

other.

After this campaign Camoëns returned to court, but, incensed by the

treatment he received at the hands of jealous courtiers, he soon vowed

his ungrateful country should not even possess his bones, and sailed

for India, in 1553, in a fleet of four vessels, only one of which was

to arrive at its destination, Goa.

While in India Camoëns sided with one of the native kings, whose wrath

he excited by imprudently revealing his political tendencies. He was,

therefore, exiled to Macao, where for five years he served as

"administrator of the effects of deceased persons," and managed to

amass a considerable fortune while continuing his epic. It was on his

way back to Goa that Camoëns suffered shipwreck, and lost all he

possessed, except his poem, with which he swam ashore.

Sixteen years after his departure from Lisbon, Camoëns returned to his

native city, bringing nothing save his completed epic, which, owing to

the pestilence then raging in Europe, could be published only in 1572.

Even then the Lusiad attracted little attention, and won for him only

a small royal pension, which, however, the next king rescinded. Thus,

poor Camoëns, being sixty-two years old, died in an almshouse, having

been partly supported since his return by a Javanese servant, who

begged for his master in the streets of Lisbon.

Camoëns' poem Os Lusiades, or the Lusitanians (i.e., Portuguese),

comprises ten books, containing 1102 stanzas in heroic iambics, and is

replete with mythological allusions. Its outline is as follows:

_Book I._ After invoking the muses and making a ceremonious address to

King Sebastian, the poet describes how Jupiter, having assembled the

gods on Mount Olympus, directs their glances upon Vasco da Gama's

ships plying the waves of an unknown sea, and announces to them that

the Portuguese, who have already made such notable maritime

discoveries, are about to achieve the conquest of India.

Bacchus, who has long been master of this land, thereupon wrathfully

vows Portugal shall not rob him of his domain, while Venus and Mars

implore Jupiter to favor the Lusitanians, whom they consider

descendants of the Romans. The king of the gods is so ready to grant

this prayer, that he immediately despatches Mercury to guide the

voyagers safely to Madagascar. Here the Portuguese, mistaken for Moors

on account of their swarthy complexions, are at first made welcome.

But when the islanders discover the strangers are Christians, they

determine to annihilate them if possible. So, instigated by one of

their priests,--Bacchus in disguise,--the islanders attack the

Portuguese when they next land to get water. Seeing his men in danger,

Da Gama discharges his artillery, and the terrified natives fall upon

their knees and not only beg for mercy, but offer to provide him with

a pilot capable of guiding him safely to India.

This offer is accepted by Da Gama, who does not suspect this pilot has

instructions to take him to Quiloa, where all Christians are slain. To

delude the unsuspecting Portuguese navigator into that port, the pilot

avers the Quiloans are Christians; but all his evil plans miscarry,

thanks to the interference of Mars and Venus, who by contrary winds

hinder the vessels from entering this port.

_Book II._ The traitor pilot now steers toward Mombaça, where

meanwhile Bacchus has been plotting to secure the death of the

Portuguese. But here Venus and her nymphs block the entrance of the

harbor with huge rocks, and the pilot, realizing the Christians are

receiving supernatural aid, jumps overboard and is drowned!

Venus, having thus twice rescued her protégés from imminent death, now

visits Olympus, and by the exercise of all her conquettish wiles

obtains from Jupiter a promise to favor the Portuguese. In accordance

with this pledge, Mercury himself is despatched to guide the fleet

safely to Melinda, whose harbor the Portuguese finally enter, decked

with flags and accompanied by triumphant music.

Now Gama's bands the quiv'ring trumpet blow,

Thick o'er the wave the crowding barges row,

The Moorish flags the curling waters sweep,

The Lusian mortars thunder o'er the deep;

Again the fiery roar heaven's concave tears,

The Moors astonished stop their wounded ears;

Again loud thunders rattle o'er the bay,

And clouds of smoke wide-rolling blot the day;

The captain's barge the gen'rous king ascends,

His arms the chief enfold, the captain bends

(A rev'rence to the scepter'd grandeur due):

In silent awe the monarch's wond'ring view

Is fix'd on Vasco's noble mien; the while

His thoughts with wonder weigh the hero's toil.

Esteem and friendship with his wonder rise,

And free to Gama all his kingdom lies.[15]

_Book III._ As Vasco da Gama has solemnly vowed not to leave his ship

until he can set foot upon Indian soil, he refuses to land at Melinda

although cordially invited to do so by the native king. Seeing the

foreign commander will not come ashore, the king visits the Portuguese

vessel, where he is sumptuously entertained and hears from Da Gama's

own lips an enthusiastic outline of the history of Portugal. After

touching upon events which occurred there in mythological ages, Vasco

relates how Portugal, under Viriagus, resisted the Roman conquerors,

and what a long conflict his country later sustained against the

Moors. He also explains by what means Portugal became an independent

kingdom, and enthusiastically describes the patriotism of his

countryman Egas Moniz, who, when his king was captured at the battle

of Guimaraens, advised this prince to purchase his liberty by pledging

himself to do homage to Castile. But, his master once free, Egas Moniz

bade him retract this promise, saying that, since he and his family

were pledged for its execution, they would rather lose their lives

than see Portugal subjected to Castile.

"And now, O king," the kneeling Egas cries,

"Behold my perjured honor's sacrifice:

If such mean victims can atone thine ire,

Here let my wife, my babes, myself expire.

If gen'rous bosoms such revenge can take,

Here let them perish for the father's sake:

The guilty tongue, the guilty hands are these,

Nor let a common death thy wrath appease;

For us let all the rage of torture burn,

But to my prince, thy son, in friendship turn."

Touched by the patriotism and devotion of Moniz, the foe not only

spared his life, but showered favors upon him and even allowed him to

go home.

The king, thus saved from vassalage by the devotion of Moniz, is

considered the first independent ruler of Portugal. Shortly after this

occurrence, he defeated five Moorish rulers in the battle of Ourique,

where the Portuguese claim he was favored with the appearance of a

cross in the sky. Because of this miracle, the Portuguese monarch

incorporated a cross on his shield, surrounding it with five coins,

said to represent the five kings he defeated. Later on, being made a

prisoner at Badajoz, he abdicated in favor of his son.

After proudly enumerating the heroic deeds of various Alphonsos and

Sanchos of Portugal, Da Gama related the touching tale of Fair Inez de

Castro (retold by Mrs. Hemans), to whom Don Pedro, although she was

below him in station, was united by a secret marriage. For several

years their happiness was unbroken and several children had been born

to them before the king, Don Pedro's father, discovered this alliance.

Taking advantage of a temporary absence of his son, Alphonso the Brave

sent for Inez and her children and sentenced them all to death,

although his daughter-in-law fell at his feet and implored him to have

mercy upon her little ones, even if he would not spare her. The king,

however, would not relent, and signalled to the courtiers to stab Inez

and her children.

In tears she utter'd--as the frozen snow

Touch'd by the spring's mild ray, begins to flow,

So just began to melt his stubborn soul,

As mild-ray'd Pity o'er the tyrant stole;

But destiny forbade: with eager zeal

(Again pretended for the public weal),

Her fierce accusers urg'd her speedy doom;

Again dark rage diffus'd its horrid gloom

O'er stern Alonzo's brow: swift at the sign,

Their swords, unsheath'd, around her brandish'd shine.

O foul disgrace, of knighthood lasting stain,

By men of arms a helpless lady slain!

On returning home and discovering what his father had done, Don Pedro

was ready to rebel, but was restrained from doing so by the

intervention of the queen. But, on ascending the throne when his

father died, Don Pedro had the body of his murdered wife lifted out of

the grave, decked in regal apparel, seated on the throne beside him,

and he compelled all the courtiers to do homage to her and kiss her

dead hand, vowing as much honor should be shown her as if she had

lived to be queen. This ceremony ended, the lady's corpse was laid in

a tomb, over which her mourning husband erected a beautiful monument.

Then, hearing his wife's slayers had taken refuge with Peter the

Cruel, Don Pedro waged war fierce against this monarch until he

surrendered the culprits, who, after being tortured, were put to

death.

Vasco da Gama also related how another king, Fernando, stole fair

Eleanora from her husband, and vainly tried to force the Portuguese

to accept their illegitimate daughter Beatrice as his successor.

_Book IV._ Rather than accept as queen a lady who had married a

Spanish prince,--who would probably unite their country with

Spain,--the Portuguese fought the battle of Eljubarota in favor of Don

John, and succeeded in dictating terms of peace to the Spanish at

Seville. Some time after this the king of Portugal and his brother

were captured by the Moors, and told they could recover their freedom

only by surrendering Ceuta. Pretending acquiescence, the king returned

to Portugal, where, as he had settled with his brother, who remained

as hostage with the Moors, he refused to surrender the city.

After describing the victories of Alfonso V., Vasco da Gama related

how John II., thirteenth king of Portugal, first began to seek a

maritime road to India, and how his successor, Emmanuel, was invited

in a vision, by the gods of the Indus and Ganges, to come and conquer

their country.

Here as the monarch fix'd his wond'ring eyes,

Two hoary fathers from the streams arise;

Their aspect rustic, yet, a reverend grace

Appear'd majestic on their wrinkled face:

Their tawny beards uncomb'd, and sweepy long,

Adown their knees in shaggy ringlets hung;

From every lock the crystal drops distil,

And bathe their limbs, as in a trickling rill;

Gay wreaths of flowers, of fruitage and of boughs,

(Nameless in Europe), crown'd their furrow'd brows.

_Book V._ Such was the enthusiasm caused by this vision that many

mariners dedicated their lives to the discovery of this road to India.

Among these Gama modestly claims his rank, declaring that, when he

called for volunteers to accompany him, more men than he could take

were ready to follow him. [History reports, however, that, such was

the terror inspired by a voyage in unknown seas, Vasco da Gama had to

empty the prisons to secure a crew!] Then the narrator added he

had--as was customary--taken ten prisoners with him, whose death

sentence was to be commuted provided they faithfully carried out any

difficult task he appointed.

After describing his parting with his father, Vasco da Gama relates

how they sailed past Mauritania and Madeira, crossed the line, and

losing sight of the polar star took the southern cross as their guide.

"O'er the wild waves, as southward thus we stray,

Our port unknown, unknown the wat'ry way,

Each night we see, impress'd with solemn awe,

Our guiding stars and native skies withdraw,

In the wide void we lose their cheering beams,

Lower and lower still the pole-star gleams.

* * * * *

"Another pole-star rises o'er the wave:

Full to the south a shining cross appears,

Our heaving breasts the blissful omen cheers:

Seven radiant stars compose the hallow'd sign

That rose still higher o'er the wavy brine."

A journey of five months, diversified by tempests, electrical

phenomena, and occasional landings, brought them to Cape of Tempests,

which since Diaz had rounded it was called the Cape of Good Hope.

While battling with the tempestuous seas of this region, Vasco da Gama

beheld, in the midst of sudden darkness, Adamastor, the Spirit of the

Cape, who foretold all manner of dangers from which it would be

difficult for them to escape.

"We saw a hideous phantom glare;

High and enormous o'er the flood he tower'd,

And 'thwart our way with sullen aspect lower'd:

An earthy paleness o'er his cheeks was spread,

Erect uprose his hairs of wither'd red;

Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose,

Sharp and disjoin'd, his gnashing teeth's blue rows;

His haggard beard flow'd quiv'ring on the wind,

Revenge and horror in his mien combin'd;

His clouded front, by with'ring lightnings scar'd,

The inward anguish of his soul declar'd.

His red eyes, glowing from their dusky caves,

Shot livid fires: far echoing o'er the waves

His voice resounded, as the cavern'd shore

With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar."

The King of Melinda here interrupts Vasco da Gama's tale to explain

he has often heard of that Adamastor, a Titan transformed into a rock

but still possessing supernatural powers.

Resuming his narrative, Da Gama next describes their landing to clean

their foul ships, their sufferings from scurvy, their treacherous

welcome at Mozambic, their narrow escape at Quiloa and Mombaça, and

ends his account with his joy at arriving at last at Melinda.

_Book VI._ In return for the hospitality enjoyed on board of the

Portuguese ships, the king of Melinda supplies Da Gama with an able

pilot, who, steering straight for India, brings the Portuguese safely

to their goal, in spite of the fact that Bacchus induces Neptune to

stir up sundry tempests to check them. But, the prayers of the

Christian crew and the aid of Venus counteract Bacchus' spells, so Da

Gama's fleet enters Calicut, in 1497, and the Lusitanians thus achieve

the glory of discovering a maritime road to India!

_Book VII._ We now hear how a Moor, Monçaide, detained a prisoner in

Calicut, serves as interpreter for Da Gama, explaining to him how this

port is governed by the Zamorin, or monarch, and by his prime

minister. The interpreter, at Da Gama's request, then procures an

audience from the Zamorin for his new master.

_Book VIII._ The poet describes how on the way to the palace Da Gama

passes a heathen temple, where he and his companions are shocked to

behold countless idols, but where they can but admire the wonderful

carvings adorning the walls on three sides. In reply to their query

why the fourth wall is bare, they learn it has been predicted India

shall be conquered by strangers, whose doings are to be depicted on

the fourth side of their temple.

After hearing Da Gama boast about his country, the Zamorin dismisses

him, promising to consider a trade treaty with Portugal. But, during

the next night, Bacchus, disguised as Mahomet, appears to the Moors in

Calicut, and bids them inform the Zamorin that Da Gama is a pirate,

whose rich goods he can secure if he will only follow their advice.

This suggestion, duly carried out, results in Da Gama's detention as a

prisoner when he lands with his goods on the next day. But, although

the prime minister fancies the Portuguese fleet will soon be in his

power, Da Gama has prudently given orders that, should any hostile

demonstration occur before his return, his men are to man the guns and

threaten to bombard the town. When the Indian vessels therefore

approach the Portuguese fleet, they are riddled with shot.

_Book IX._ Because the Portuguese next threaten to attack the town,

the Zamorin promptly sends Da Gama back with a cargo of spices and

gems and promises of fair treatment hereafter. The Portuguese

thereupon sail home, taking with them the faithful Monçaide, who is

converted on the way and baptized as soon as they land at Lisbon.