Then she said to her prudent slaves:"I will discover what I have hitherto concealed;Ye are each of you the depositaries of my secrets,My attendants, and the partners of my griefs.I am agitated with love like the raging ocean,Whose billows are heaved to the sky.My once bright heart is filled with the love of Zal;My sleep is broken with thoughts of him.My soul is perpetually filled with my passion;Night and day my thoughts dwell upon his countenance."Not one except yourselves knoweth my secret;Ye, my affectionate and faithful servants,What remedy can ye now devise for my ease?What will ye do for me? What promise will ye give me?Some remedy ye must devise,To free my heart and soul from this unhappiness."Astonishment seized the slaves,That dishonor should come nigh the daughter of kings.In the anxiety of their hearts they started from their seats,And all gave answer with one voice:"O crown of the ladies of the earth!Maiden pre-eminent amongst the pre-eminent!Whose praise is spread abroad from Hindustan to China;The resplendent ring in the circle of the harem;Whose stature surpasseth every cypress in the garden;Whose cheek rivalleth the lustre of the Pleiades;Whose picture is sent by the ruler of KanujEven to the distant monarchs of the West—Have you ceased to be modest in your own eyes?Have you lost all reverence for your father,That whom his own parent cast from his bosom,Him will you receive into yours?A man who was nurtured by a bird in the mountains!A man who was a by-word amongst the people!You—with your roseate countenance and musky tresses—Seek a man whose hair is already white with age!You—who have filled the world with admiration,Whose portrait hangeth in every palace,And whose beauty, and ringlets, and stature are suchThat you might draw down a husband from the skies!"
To this remonstrance she makes the following indignant answer:
When Rudabeh heard their reply,Her heart blazed up like fire before the wind.She raised her voice in anger against them,Her face flushed, but she cast down her eyes.After a time, grief and anger mingled in her countenance,And knitting her brows with passion, she exclaimed:"O unadvised and worthless counsellors,It was not becoming in me to ask your advice!Were my eye dazzled by a star,How could it rejoice to gaze even upon the moon?He who is formed of worthless clay will not regard the rose,Although the rose is in nature more estimable than clay!I wish not for Caesar, nor Emperor of China,Nor for any one of the tiara-crowned monarchs of Iran;The son of Saum, Zal, alone is my equal,With his lion-like limbs, and arms, and shoulders.You may call him, as you please, an old man, or a young;To me, he is in the room of heart and of soul.Except him never shall any one have a place in my heart;Mention not to me any one except him.Him hath my love chosen unseen,Yea, hath chosen him only from description.For him is my affection, not for face or hair;And I have sought his love in the way of honor."
The slaves speak.
"May hundreds of thousands such as we are be a sacrifice for thee;May the wisdom of the creation be thy worthy portion;May thy dark narcissus-eye be ever full of modesty;May thy cheek be ever tinged with bashfulness!If it be necessary to learn the art of the magician,To sew up the eyes with the bands of enchantment,We will fly till we surpass the enchanter's bird,We will run like the deer in search of a remedy.Perchance we may draw the King nigh unto his moon,And place him securely at thy side."The vermil lip of Rudabeh was filled with smiles;She turned her saffron-tinted countenance toward the slave, and said:"If thou shalt bring this matter to a happy issue,Thou hast planted for thyself a stately and fruitful tree,Which every day shall bear rubies for its fruit,And shall pour that fruit into thy lap."
The slaves arrange an interview between the lovers.
Then said the elegant cypress-formed lady to her maidens:"Other than this were once your words and your counsel!Is this then the Zal, the nursling of a bird?This the old man, white-haired and withered?Now his cheek is ruddy as the flower of the arghavan;His stature is tall, his face beautiful, his presence lordly!Ye have exalted my charms before him;Ye have spoken and made me a bargain!"She said, and her lips were full of smiles,But her cheek crimsoned like the bloom of pomegranate.
The interview takes place in a private pavilion of the princess.
When from a distance the son of the valiant SaumBecame visible to the illustrious maiden,She opened her gem-like lips, and exclaimed:"Welcome, thou brave and happy youth!The blessing of the Creator of the world be upon thee;On him who is the father of a son like thee!May destiny ever favor thy wishes!May the vault of heaven be the ground thou walkest on!The dark night is turned into day by thy countenance;The world is soul-enlivened by the fragrance of thy presence!Thou hast travelled hither on foot from thy palace;Thou hast pained, to behold me, thy royal footsteps!"When the hero heard the voice from the battlement,He looked up and beheld a face resplendent as the sun,Irradiating the terrace like a flashing jewel,And brightening the ground like a naming ruby.Then he replied: "O thou who sheddest the mild radiance of the moon,The blessing of Heaven, and mine, be upon thee!How many nights hath cold Arcturus beholden me,Uttering my cry to God, the Pure,And beseeching the Lord of the universe,That he would vouchsafe to unveil thy countenance before me!Now I am made joyful in hearing thy voice,In listening to thy rich and gracious accents.But seek, I pray thee, some way to thy presence;For what converse can we hold, I on the ground, and thou on theterrace?"The Peri-faced maiden heard the words of the hero;Quickly she unbound her auburn locks,Coil upon coil, and serpent upon serpent;And she stooped and dropped down the tresses from the battlement,And cried: "O hero, child of heroes,Take now these tresses, they belong to thee,And I have cherished them that they might prove an aid to my beloved."And Zal gazed upward at the lovely maiden,And stood amazed at the beauty of her hair and of her countenance;He covered the musky ringlets with his kisses,And his bride heard the kisses from above.Then he exclaimed: "That would not be right—May the bright sun never shine on such a day!It were to lay my hand on the life of one already distracted;It were to plunge the arrow-point into my own wounded bosom."Then he took his noose from his boy, and made a running knot,And threw it, and caught it on the battlement,And held his breath, and at one boundSprang from the ground, and reached the summit.As soon as the hero stood upon the terrace,The Peri-faced maiden ran to greet him,And took the hand of the hero in her own,And they went like those who are overcome with wine.Then he descended from the lofty gallery,His hand in the hand of the tall princess,And came to the door of the gold-painted pavilion,And entered that royal assembly,Which blazed with light like the bowers of Paradise;And the slaves stood like houris before them:And Zal gazed in astonishmentOn her face, and her hair, and her stately form, and on all thatsplendor.And Zal was seated in royal pompOpposite that mildly-radiant beauty;And Rudabeh could not rest from looking towards him,And gazing upon him with all her eyes;On that arm, and shoulder, and that splendid figure,On the brightness of that soul-enlightening countenance;So that the more and more she lookedThe more and more was her heart inflamed.Then he kissed and embraced her, renewing his vows—Can the lion help pursuing the wild ass?—And said: "O sweet and graceful silver-bosomed maiden,It may not be, that, both of noble lineage,We should do aught unbecoming our birth;For from Saum Nariman I received an admonition.To do no unworthy deed, lest evil should come of it;For better is the seemly than the unseemly,That which is lawful than that which is forbidden.And I fear that Manuchahar, when he shall hear of this affair,Will not be inclined to give it his approval;I fear, too, that Saum will exclaim against it,And will boil over with passion, and lay his hand upon me.Yet, though soul and body are precious to all men,Life will I resign, and clothe myself with a shroud—And this I swear by the righteous God—Ere I will break the faith which I have pledged thee.I will bow myself before Him, and offer my adoration,And supplicate Him as those who worship Him in truth,That He will cleanse the heart of Saum, king of the earth,From opposition, and rage, and rancor.Perhaps the Creator of the world may listen to my prayer,And thou mayest yet be publicly proclaimed my wife."And Rudabeh said: "And I also, in the presence of the righteous God,Take the same pledge, and swear to thee my faith;And He who created the world be witness to my words,That no one but the hero of the world,The throned, the crowned, the far-famed Zal,Will I ever permit to be sovereign over me."So their love every moment became greater;Prudence was afar, and passion was predominant,Till the gray dawn began to show itself,And the drum to be heard from the royal pavilion.Then Zal bade adieu to the fair one;His soul was darkened, and his bosom on fire,And the eyes of both were filled with tears;And they lifted up their voices against the sun:"O glory of the universe, why come so quick?Couldst thou not wait one little moment"Then Zal cast his noose on a pinnacle,And descended from those happy battlements,As the sun was rising redly above the mountains,And the bands of warriors were gathering in their ranks.Robinson's Translation.
Rodrigo Ruy Diaz, El Cid Campeador, was born near Burgos, in Spain, about 1040. The name Cid was given him by the Moors, and means lord. Campeador means champion.
Ruy Diaz was the trusty lord of Sancho, King of Castile, who at his death divided his kingdom among his children. He then espoused the cause of the eldest son, Sancho, and assisted him in wresting their portion of the kingdom from his brothers Garcia and Alfonso. Sancho having been treacherously slain while besieging his sister Urraca's town of Zamora, the Cid attached himself to Alfonso, humiliating him, however, by making him and his chief lords swear that they had had no hand in Sancho's death. For this, Alfonso revenged himself by exiling the Cid on the slightest pretexts, recalling him only when his services were needed in the defence of the country.
This much, and the Cid's victories over the Moors, his occupation of Valencia, and his army's departure therefrom in 1102, led by his corpse seated on horseback, "clothed in his habit as he lived", are historical facts.
A great mass of romances, among them the story of his slaying Count Don Gomez because he had insulted his father, Diego Laynez; of Don Gomez's daughter Ximena wooing and wedding him; of his assisting the leper and having his future success foretold by him, and of his embalmed body sitting many years in the cathedral at Toledo, are related in the "Chronicle of the Cid" and the "Ballads."
The Poem of the Cid narrates only a portion of his career, and "if it had been named," says Ormsby, "would have been called 'The Triumph of the Cid.'"
The Poem of the Cid was written about 1200 A. D. Its authorship is unknown.
It contains three thousand seven hundred and forty-five lines, and is divided into two cantares. The versification is careless; when rhyme hampered the poet he dropped it, and used instead the assonant rhyme.
The Poem of the Cid is of peculiar interest because it belongs to the very dawn of our modern literature, and because its hero was evidently a real personage, a portion of whose history was recorded in this epic not long after the events took place. The Cid is one of the most simple and natural of the epic heroes; he has all a man's weaknesses, and it is difficult to repress a smile at the perfectly natural manner in which, while he slaughters enough Moors to secure himself a place in the heavenly kingdom, he takes good care to lay up gold for the enjoyment of life on earth. The poem is told with the greatest simplicity, naturalness, and directness, as well as with much poetic fire.
Robert Southey's Chronicle of the Cid. . . . Appendix contains Poetry of the Cid by J. H. Frere, 1808, new ed., 1845;
Matthew Arnold's Poem of the Cid, MacMillan, 1871, vol. xxiv., pp. 471-485;
George Dennio's The Cid: A short Chronicle founded on the early Poetry of Spain, 1845;
Butler Clarke's The Cid (in his Spanish Literature, 1893, pp. 46-53); E. E. Hale and Susan Hale's The Cid (in their Story of Spain, 1893, pp. 248-261);
Stanley Lane Poole's The Cid (in his Story of the Moors in Spain, 1891, pp. 191-213);
Sismondi's Poem of the Cid (in his Literature of the South of Europe, 1884, vol. ii., pp. 95-140);
George Ticknor's Poem of the Cid (in his History of Spanish Literature, ed. 6, 1893, vol. i., pp. 12-26);
W. T. Dobson's Classic Poets, (1879, pp. 35-138);
J. G. von Herder's Der Cid, nach spanischen Romanzen besungen (in his works, 1852, vol. xiv.), translated.
The Poem of the Cid, Tr. by John Ormsby, 1879;
Translations from the Poem of the Cid by John Hookam Frere (in his works, 1872, vol. ii., p. 409);
Ballads of the Cid, Tr. by Lewis Gerard, 1883;
Ancient Spanish Ballads, Tr. by John Gibson Lockhart, 1823.
Tears stood in the eyes of the Cid as he looked at his pillaged castle. The coffers were empty, even the falcons were gone from their perches. "Cruel wrong do I suffer from mine enemy!" he exclaimed as they rode into Burgos. "Alvar Fanez, of a truth we are banished men."
From the windows of Burgos town the burghers and their dames looked down with tearful eyes upon the Cid and his sixty lances. "Would that his lord were worthy of him," said they.
He rode up to the gates of his house in Burgos; the king's seal was upon them. "My lord," cried a damsel from an upper casement, "thy goods are forfeited to the king, and he has forbidden that we open door or shelter thee upon pain of forfeiture of our goods, yea, even of our sight!"
Little hope then had the Cid of mercy from King Alfonso; and sooner than bring suffering on his beloved people of Burgos he betook himself without the city and sat him down to think of what to do. "Martin Antolinez," said he, "I have no money with which to pay my troops. Thou must help me to get it, and if I live I will repay thee double."
Then the two together fashioned two stout chests covered with red leather and studded with gilt nails, and these they filled with sand. Then Martin Antolinez without delay sought out the money lenders, Rachel and Vidas, and bargained with them to lend the Cid six hundred marks, and take in pawn for them the two chests filled with treasure that he dared not at that time take away with him. For a year they were to keep the chests and pledge themselves not to look in them. Glad were the hearts of the money lenders as they lifted the heavy chests, and happy was the Cid when he saw the six hundred marks counted out before him.
Seeking the monastery of San Pedro de Cardena, the Cid embraced his wife Ximena and his two daughters, and left them in the protection of the abbot, to whom he promised recompense. Hard was the pain of parting as when the finger nail is torn away from the flesh, but a banished man has no choice. And as they passed the night at Higeruela a sweet vision promising success comforted the Cid in his slumbers; and many from Castile, who heard of the departure of the hero, sought his banners to better their fortune.
Next day the Cid and his men took Castejon and sold the spoil to the Moors of Hita and Guadalajara, and then my Cid passed on and planted himself upon a lofty and strong hill opposite Alcocer, and levied tribute upon the neighboring peoples. When he had so besieged Alcocer for fifteen weeks he took it by stratagem, and Pero Bermuez, the slow of speech, planted his standard on the highest part. When the King of Valencia heard of this, he determined to capture my Cid, and accordingly sent three thousand Moors to lay siege to Alcocer.
When the water was cut off and bread became scarce, the six hundred Spanish men, acting upon the advice of Minaya, took the field against the three thousand Moors; and such was the valor of him that in a good hour was born, and of his standard bearer, Pero Bermuez, and of the good Minaya, that the Moors fell to the ground three hundred at a time, their shields shivered, their mail riven, their white pennons red with blood.
"Thanks be to God for victory!" said the Cid. In the Moorish king's camp was found great spoil,—shields, arms, and horses. Greatly the Christians rejoiced, for to them fell much spoil, and but fifteen of their men were missing. Even to the Moors my Cid gave some of his spoil, and from his share of one hundred horses he sent by Minaya thirty, saddled and bridled, with as many swords hung at the saddle bows, to King Alfonso. Also he sent by him a wallet of gold and silver for his wife and daughters, and to pay for a thousand Masses at Burgos.
Alfonso was well pleased to receive this token. "It is too soon to take him into favor, but I will accept his present, and I am glad he won the victory. Minaya, I pardon thee; go to the Cid and say that I will permit any valiant man who so desires to follow him."
Upon the hill now called the hill of the Cid, he who girt on the sword in a good hour, took up his abode and levied tribute on the people for fifteen weeks. But when he saw that Minaya's return was delayed, he went even unto Saragossa, levying tribute and doing much damage, insomuch that the Count of Barcelona, Raymond de Berenger, was provoked into making an assault upon him in the Pine Wood of Bivar, where he was ingloriously defeated and taken prisoner. The count was the more shamed at this because my Cid had sent him a friendly message, saying that he did not want to fight him, since he owed him no grudge. When Count Raymond had given up his precious sword, the great Colada, the good one of Bivar endeavored to make friends with his prisoner, but to no avail. The count refused meat and drink, and was determined to die, until the Cid assured him that as soon as he ate a hearty meal he should go free. Then he departed joyfully from the camp, fearing even to the last lest the Cid should change his mind, a thing the perfect one never would have done.
Cheered by this conquest, the Cid turned to Valencia, and met a great Moorish army, which was speedily defeated, the Cid's numbers having been greatly increased by men who flocked to him from Spain. Two Moorish kings were slain, and the survivors were pursued even to Valencia. Then my Cid sat down before the city for nine months, and in the tenth month Valencia surrendered. The spoil—who could count it? All were rich who accompanied the Cid, and his fifth was thirty thousand marks in money, besides much other spoil. And my Cid's renown spread throughout Spain. Wonderful was he to look upon, for his beard had grown very long. For the love of King Alfonso, who had banished him, he said it should never be cut, nor a hair of it be plucked, and it should be famous among Moors and Christians. Then he again called Minaya to him, and to King Alfonso sent a hundred horses, with the request that his wife and daughters might be allowed to join him. Also he sent him word that he had been joined by a good bishop, Don Jerome, and had created for him a bishopric.
Now were the enemies of the good one of Bivar incensed in proportion as the king was pleased with this noble gift. And when the king silenced the envious ones, and ordered an escort for Ximena and her daughters, and treated Minaya with consideration, the Infantes of Carrion talked together, commenting on the growing importance of my Cid. "It would better our fortunes to marry his daughters, but they are below us in rank." And so saying they sent their salutations to the Cid.
The Cid met his wife and daughters on his new horse, Babieca, the wonder of all Spain, and great was his joy to clasp them again in his arms. And he took them up in the highest part of Valencia, and their bright eyes looked over the city and the sea, and they all thanked God for giving them so fair a prize.
When winter was past and spring had come, the King of Morocco crossed the sea to Valencia with fifty thousand men, and pitched his tents before the city. Then the Cid took his wife and daughters up in the Alcazar, and showed them the vast army. "They bring a gift for us, a dowry against the marriage of our daughters. Because ye are here, with God's help, I shall win the battle."
He went forth on the good Babieca; four thousand less thirty followed him to attack the fifty thousand Moors. The Cid's arms dripped with blood to the elbow; the Moors he slew could not be counted. King Yucef himself he smote three times, and only the swiftness of the horse he rode saved the king from death. All fled who were not slain, leaving the spoil behind. Three thousand marks of gold and silver were found there, and the other spoil was countless. Then my Cid ordered Minaya and Pero Bermuez to take to Alfonso the great tent of the King of Morocco, and two hundred horses. And the king was greatly pleased, and the Infantes of Carrion, counselling together, said, "The fame of the Cid grows greater; let us ask his daughters in marriage." And the king gave their request to Minaya and Bermuez, who were to bear it to the Cid.
Said my Cid, when he heard the proposal: "The Infantes of Carrion are haughty, and have a faction in court. I have no taste for the match; but since my king desires it, I will be silent."
When the king heard his answer, he appointed a meeting, and when he that in a good hour was born saw his king, he fell at his feet to pay him homage. But the king said: "Here do I pardon you, and grant you my love from this day forth."
The next day when the king presented to the Cid the offer of the Infantes, my Cid replied: "My daughters are not of marriageable age, but I and they are in your hands. Give them as it pleases you." Then the king commissioned Alvar Fanez to act for him and give the daughters of my Cid to the Infantes.
The Cid hastened home to prepare for the wedding. The palace was beautifully decorated with hangings of purple and samite. Rich were the garments of the Infantes, and meek their behavior in the presence of my Cid. The couples were wedded by the Bishop Don Jerome, and the wedding festivities lasted for fifteen days. And for wellnigh two years the Cid and his sons-in-law abode happily in Valencia.
One day while my Cid was lying asleep in his palace, a lion broke loose from its cage, and all the court were sore afraid. The Cid's followers gathered around his couch to protect him; but Ferran Gonzalez crept beneath the couch, crying from fear, and Diego ran into the court and threw himself across a wine-press beam, so that he soiled his mantle. The Cid, awakened by the noise, arose, took the lion by the mane, and dragged him to his cage, to the astonishment of all present. Then my Cid asked for his sons-in-law, and when they were found, pale and frightened, the whole court laughed at them until my Cid bade them cease. And the Infantes were deeply insulted.
While they were still sulking over their injuries, King Bucar of Morocco beleagured Valencia with fifty thousand tents. The Cid and his barons rejoiced at the thought of battle; but the Infantes were sore afraid, for they were cowards, and feared to be slain in battle. The Cid told them to remain in Valencia; but stung by shame they went forth with Bermuez, who reported that both had fleshed their swords in battle with the Moor.
Great was the slaughter of the Moors on that field. Alvar Fanez, Minaya, and the fighting bishop came back dripping with gore, and as for my Cid, he slew King Bucar himself, and brought home the famous sword, Tizon, worth full a thousand marks in gold.
The Infantes, still wrathful at their humiliation, talked apart: "Let us take our wealth and our wives and return to Carrion. Once away from the Campeador, we will punish his daughters, so that we shall hear no more of the affair of the lion. With the wealth we have gained from the Cid we can now wed whom we please."
Sore was the heart of the Cid when he heard of their determination; but he gave them rich gifts, and also the priceless swords Colada and Tizon. "I won them in knightly fashion," said he, "and I give them to you, for ye are my sons, since I gave you my daughters; in them ye take the core of my heart." He ordered Feliz Muñoz, his nephew, to accompany them as an escort, and sent them by way of Molina to salute his friend, Abengalvon the Moor.
The Moor received them in great state, and escorted them as far as the Salon; but when he overheard the Infantes plotting to destroy him, and seize his substance, he left them in anger. At night the Infantes pitched their tents in an oak forest full of tall trees, among which roamed fierce beasts. During the night they made a great show of love to their wives, and the next morning ordered the escort to go on, saying that they would follow alone. As soon as they were alone they stripped the daughters of the Cid of their garments, beat them with their saddle-girths and spurs, and left them for dead in the wild forest. "Now we are avenged for the dishonor of the lion," said they, as they departed for Carrion. But Feliz Muñoz, who had suspected the Infantes, had gone forward but a little way, and then crept back, so that from a thicket he perceived the sufferings of his cousins. Straightway he went to their rescue, found them clothes, and helped them home again.
When the Cid heard of this insult to himself and his daughters, he grasped his beard and swore a mighty oath that the Infantes would rue the day when they had thus offended him. All of the Cid's friends strove to comfort the ladies Elvira and Sol, and Abengalvon the Moor made them a rich supper for love of the Cid.
At the request of my Cid, King Alfonso summoned a Cortes at Toledo, to try the cause of the Cid and the Infantes. Thither went the Cid, richly clad, so that all men wondered at his rich garments, his long hair in a scarlet and gold coif, and his uncut beard bound up with cords. He and his hundred men wore bright hauberks under their ermines, and trenchant swords under their mantles, for they feared treachery.
The king appointed some of his counts as judges, and announced that he held this, the third Cortes of his reign, for the love of the Cid. Then my Cid stood forth.
"I am not dishonored because the Infantes deserted my daughters," said the Cid, "for the king gave them away, not I; but I demand my swords, Colada and Tizon. When my lords of Carrion gave up my daughters they relinquished all claims to my property."
The Infantes, well pleased that he demanded no more, returned the swords; and when the blades were unsheathed and placed in the hands of the king, the eyes of the court were dazzled by their brightness.
The Cid presented Tizon to his nephew and Colada to Martin Antolinez. "Now, my king, I have another grievance. I now demand that the Infantes restore the three thousand marks in gold and silver they carried from Valencia. When they ceased to be my sons-in-law they ceased to own my gold." Then the Infantes were troubled, for they had spent the money; but the judges gave them no relief, and they were forced to pay it out of their heritage of Carrion.
"So please your grace," said the Cid, "still another grievance, the greatest of all, I have yet to state. I hold myself dishonored by the Infantes. Redress by combat they must yield, for I will take no other."
The Count Garcia ridiculed the Cid's claim. "The noble lords of Carrion are of princely birth; your daughters are not fitting mates for them." Then, while his enemies were taunting him and the court broke into an uproar, the Cid called on Pero Bermuez, "Dumb Peter," to speak.
When Pero spoke he made himself clear. For the first time he told how like a craven Ferrando had demeaned himself in battle, and how he himself had slain the Moor on whom the prince had turned his back. He also reminded Ferrando of the affair of the lion. When Diego attempted to speak, he was silenced by Martin Antolinez, who told of the figure he cut when he clung to the wine-press beam in an agony of fear, on the day the lion came forth from its cage. Then the king, commanding silence, gave them permission to fight. Martin Antolinez engaged to meet Diego, Pero Bermuez was to combat with Ferrando, and Muno Gustioz challenged the brawler, Assur Gonzalez. It was agreed that the combat should be held at the end of three weeks in the vega of Carrion.
When all had been arranged to his satisfaction, the Cid took off his coif, and released his beard, and all the court wondered at him. Then he offered some of his wealth to all present, and, kissing the king's hand, besought him to take Babieca. But this the king refused to do: "Babieca is for the like of you to keep the Moors off with. If I took him he would not have so good a lord."
When the day for the combat arrived, the king himself went to Carrion to see that no treachery was used, and he said to the Infantes: "Ye have need to fight like men. If ye come out successful, ye will receive great honor. If ye are vanquished, the fault will be on your own heads. Seek to do no wrong; woe betide him who attempts it!"
Then the marshals placed the contestants in the lists and left them face to face. Each with his gaze fixed on the other, they rushed together and met midway of the lists.
At the thrust of Pero's Lance, Ferrando fell from his horse and yielded, as he saw the dread Tizon held over him. At the same time Diego fled from the sword of Martin Antolinez, and Muño Gustioz's lance pierced Assur Gonzalez, who begged him to hold his hand, since the Infantes were vanquished.
Thus the battle was won, and Don Roderick's champions gained the victory. Great was the sorrow in the house of Carrion; but he who wrongs a noble lady deserves such suffering.
Rejoiced were they of Valencia when the champions brought home these tidings, and ere long, favored by Alfonso himself, the princes of Navarre and Aragon wooed my Cid's daughters, and were married to them with the most splendid nuptials. Now was the Cid happy, and happier still he grew as his honor increased, until upon the feast of Pentecost he passed away. The grace of Christ be upon him!
After one of the victories over the Moors won by the Cid after his banishment by King Alfonso, he despatched a messenger to the king with a gift of thirty horses, and while awaiting his return, encamped in the Pine-wood of Tebar and levied tribute on the surrounding country. This information was conveyed to the Count of Barcelona, Raymond Berenger, who prepared to march against the intruder.
Great mustering there is of Moors and Christians through the land,A mighty host of men-at-arms he hath at his command.Two days, three nights, they march to seek the Good One of Bivar,To snare him where he harbors in the Pine-wood of Tebar;And such the speed of their advance, that, cumbered with his spoils,And unaware, my Cid wellnigh was taken in the toils.The tidings reached my Cid as down the sierra side he went,Then straightway to Count Raymond be a friendly message sent:"Say to the count that he, meseems, to me no grudge doth owe:Of him I take no spoil, with him in peace I fain would go.""Nay," said the count, "for all his deeds he hath to make amends:This outlaw must be made to know whose honor he offends."With utmost speed the messenger Count Raymond's answer brought;Then of a surety knew my Cid a battle must be fought."Now, cavaliers," quoth he, "make safe the booty we have won.Look to your weapons, gentlemen; with speed your armor don.On battle bent Count Raymond comes; a mighty host hath heOf Moors and Christians; fight we must if hence we would go free.Here let us fight our battle out, since fight we must perforce.On with your harness, cavaliers, quick saddle, and to horse!Yonder they come, the linen breeks, all down the mountain side,For saddles they have Moorish pads, with slackened girths they ride:Our saddles are Galician make, our leggings tough and stout:A hundred of us gentlemen should scatter such a rout.Before they gain the level plain, home with the lance charge we,And then, for every blow we strike, we empty saddles three.Count Raymond Berenger shall know with whom he has to do;And dearly in Tebar to-day his raid on me shall rue."In serried squadron while he speaks they form around my Cid.Each grasps his lance, and firm and square each sits upon his steed.Over against them down the hill they watch the Franks descend,On to the level ground below, where plain and mountain blend.Then gives my Cid the word to charge—with a good will they go:Fast ply the lances; some they pierce, and some they overthrow.And he that in a good hour was born soon hath he won the field;And the Count Raymond Berenger he hath compelled to yield;And reaping honor for his beard a noble prize hath made:A thousand marks of silver worth, the great Colada blade.Unto his quarters under guard the captive count he sent,While his men haste to gather in their spoils in high content.Then for my Cid Don Roderick a banquet they prepare;But little doth Count Raymond now for feast or banquet care.They bring him meat and drink, but he repels them with disdain."No morsel will I touch," said he, "for all the wealth of Spain.Let soul and body perish now; life why should I prolong,Conquered and captive at the hands of such an ill-breeched throng?""Nay," said my Cid; "take bread and wine; eat, and thou goest free;If not, thy realms in Christendom thou never more shalt see.""Go thou, Don Roderick," said the Count, "eat if thou wilt, but IHave no more lust for meat and drink: I only crave to die."Three days, while they the booty share, for all that they entreat,The Count his purpose holds unchanged, refusing still to eat.Then said my Cid, "I pray thee, Count, take food and trust to me;Thyself and two knights of thy train I promise to set free."Glad was Count Raymond in his heart when he the promise heard—"A marvel that will be, my Cid, if thou dost keep thy word.""Then, Count, take food, and when I see thy hunger satisfied,My word is pledged to let thee go, thyself and two beside.But understand, one farthing's worth I render not againOf what has been in battle lost and won on yonder plain.I give not back the lawful spoils I fairly win in fight;But for mine own and vassals' wants I hold them as my right.My followers are needy men; I cannot if I would;For spoil from thee and others won is all our livelihood.And such, while God's good will it is, must be our daily life,As outcasts forced to wander, with an angry king at strife."With lighter heart Count Raymond called for water for his hands,And then with his two gentlemen, sent by the Cid's commands,He blithely sat him down to meat: God! with what gust ate he!And glad was the Campeador such heartiness to see.Quoth he, "Until thou eat thy fill we part not, Count, to-day.""Nor loth am I," Count Raymond said, "such bidding to obey."So he and his two cavaliers a hearty meal they made:It pleased my Cid to watch his hands, how lustily they played."Now if thou wilt," Count Raymond said, "that we are satisfied,Bid them to lead the horses forth, that we may mount and ride.Never since I have been a Count have I yet broken fastWith such a relish; long shall I remember this repast."Three palfreys with caparisons of costly sort they bring,And on the saddles robes of fur and mantles rich they fling.Thus, with a knight on either hand, away Count Raymond rides;While to the outposts of the camp his guests the Champion guides."Now speed thee, Count; ride on," quoth he, "a free Frank as thou art.For the brave spoil thou leavest me I thank thee from my heart;And if to win it back again perchance thou hast a mind,Come thou and seek me when thou wilt; I am not far to find.But if it be not to thy taste to try another day,Still, somewhat, be it mine or thine, thou carriest away.""Nay! go in peace for me, my Cid: no more I seek of thee;And thou, I think, for one year's space hast won enough of me."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.Ormsby's Translation.
In the Cortes called by the King of Spain to hear the cause of the Cid, whose daughters had been shamefully treated and deserted by their husbands, the Infantes of Carrion, Ferran and Diego Gonzalez, the Cid demanded the restitution of his swords and of three thousand marks of gold and silver he had given the Infantes. These being granted, the Cid spoke again:—
"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 by 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 you sent.Why did you 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 't is for the court to see."The Count Garcia was the first that rose to make reply."So please ye, gracious king, of all the kings of Spain most high;Strange is the guise in which my Cid before you hath appeared;To grace your summoned court he comes, with that long straggling beard;With awe struck dumb, methinks, are some; some look as though theyfeared.The noble lords of Carrion of princely race are born;To take the daughters of my Cid for lemans they should scorn;Much more for brides of equal birth: in casting them aside—We care not for his blustering talk—we hold them justified."Upstood the Champion, stroked his beard, and grasped it in his hands."Thanks be to God above," he cried, "who heaven and earth commands,A long and lordly growth it is, my pleasure and my pride;In this my beard, Garcia, say, what find you to deride?Its nurture since it graced my chin hath ever been my care;No son of woman born hath dared to lay a finger there;No son of Christian or of Moor hath ever plucked a hair.Remember Cabra, Count! of thine the same thou canst not say:On both thy castle and thy beard I laid my hand that day:Nay! not a groom was there but he his handful plucked away.Look, where my hand hath been, my lords, all ragged yet it grows!"With noisy protest breaking in Ferran Gonzalez rose:"Cid, let there be an end of this; your gifts you have again,And now no pretext for dispute between us doth remain.Princes of Carrion are we, with fitting brides we mate;Daughters of emperors or kings, not squires of low estate:We brook not such alliances, and yours we rightly spurned."My Cid, Ruy Diaz, at the word, quick to Bermuez turned."Now is the time, Dumb Peter, speak, O man that sittest mute!My daughters' and thy cousins' name and fame are in dispute;To me they speak, to thee they look to answer every word.If I am left to answer now, thou canst not draw thy sword."Tongue-tied Bermuez stood, awhile he strove for words in vain,But, look you, when he once began he made his meaning plain."Cid, first I have a word for you: you always are the same,In Cortes ever jibing me, 'Dumb Peter' is the name:It never was a gift of mine, and that long since you knew;But have you found me fail in aught that fell to me to do?You lie, Ferrando; lie in all you say upon that score.The honor was to you, not him, the Cid Campeador;For I know something of your worth, and somewhat I can tell.That day beneath Valencia wall—you recollect it well—You prayed the Cid to place you in the forefront of the fray;You spied a Moor, and valiantly you went that Moor to slay;And then you turned and fled—for his approach, you would not stay.Right soon he would have taught you 't was a sorry game to play,Had I not been in battle there to take your place that day.I slew him at the first onfall; I gave his steed to you;To no man have I told the tale from that hour hitherto.Before the Cid and all his men you got yourself a name,How you in single combat slew a Moor—a deed of fame;And all believed in your exploit; they wist not of your shame.You are a craven at the core; tall, handsome, as you stand:How dare you talk as now you talk, you tongue without a hand?Again, Ferrando, call to mind—another tale for you—That matter of the lion; it was at Valencia too.My Cid lay sleeping when you saw the unchained lion near;What did you do, Ferrando, then, in your agony of fear?Low did you crouch behind the couch whereon the Champion lay:You did, Ferrando, and by that we rate your worth to-day.We gathered round to guard our lord, Valencia's conqueror.He rose, and to the lion went, the brave Campeador;The lion fawned before his feet and let him grasp its mane;He thrust it back into its cage; he turned to us again:His trusty vassals to a man he saw around him there;Where were his sons-in-law? he asked, and none could tell him where.Now take thou my defiance as a traitor, trothless knight:Upon this plea before our King Alfonso will I fight;The daughters of my lord are wronged, their wrong is mine to right.That ye those ladies did desert, the baser are ye then;For what are they?—weak women; and what are ye?—strong men.On every count I deem their cause to be the holier,And I will make thee own it when we meet in battle here.Traitor thou shalt confess thyself, so help me God on high,And all that I have said to-day my sword shall verify."Thus far these two. Diego rose, and spoke as ye shall hear:"Counts by our birth are we, of stain our lineage is clear.In this alliance with my Cid there was no parity.If we his daughters cast aside, no cause for shame we see.And little need we care if they in mourning pass their lives,Enduring the reproach that clings to scorned rejected wives.In leaving them we but upheld our honor and our right,And ready to the death am I, maintaining this, to fight."Here Martin Antolinez sprang upon his feet: "False hound!Will you not silent keep that mouth where truth was never found?For you to boast! the lion scare have you forgotten too?How through the open door you rushed, across the court-yard flew;How sprawling in your terror on the wine-press beam you lay?Ay! never more, I trow, you wore the mantle of that day.There is no choice; the issue now the sword alone can try;The daughters of my Cid ye spurned; that must ye justify.On every count I here declare their cause the cause of right,And thou shall own the treachery the day we join in fight."He ceased, and striding up the hall Assur Gonzalez passed;His cheek was flushed with wine, for he had stayed to break his fast;Ungirt his robe, and trailing low his ermine mantle hung;Rude was his bearing to the court, and reckless was his tongue."What a to-do is here, my lords! was the like ever seen?What talk is this about my Cid—him of Bivar, I mean?To Riodouirna let him go to take his millers' rent,And keep his mills agoing there, as once he was content.He, forsooth, mate his daughters with the Counts of Carrion!"Up started Muño Gustioz: "False, foul-mouthed knave, have done!Thou glutton, wont to break thy fast without a thought of prayer,Whose heart is plotting mischief when thy lips are speaking fair;Whose plighted word to friend or lord hath ever proved a lie;False always to thy fellow-man, falser to God on high.No share in thy good will I seek; one only boon I pray,The chance to make thee own thyself the villain that I say."Then spoke the king: "Enough of words: ye have my leave to fight,The challenged and the challengers; and God defend the right."