[1]"My heart is free, but desires to be made a prisoner."
[1]"My heart is free, but desires to be made a prisoner."
[2]"He who loves thee well will make thee weep."
[2]"He who loves thee well will make thee weep."
IN WHICH WE CONTINUE TO PROVE THAT THE CID WAS A CID IN EVERY WAY
IN WHICH WE CONTINUE TO PROVE THAT THE CID WAS A CID IN EVERY WAY
The first care of Rodrigo Diaz, having defeated the Moors as the result of his expedition from Portugal, was to send messengers to the king, Don Fernando, to announce to him that victory.
The king was in Coimbra when he received this auspicious news, and he determined to return immediately to Castile, as he wished to see his family again, and also to attend to an important matter which was pending between him and Henry IV., Emperor of Germany, who for a considerable time had been demanding from him vassalage and tribute, which Don Fernando refused, putting forward very valid reasons for preserving the independence of his kingdoms.
When departing from Portugal he had received letters from Rome which caused him deep anxiety, for Pope Alexander II. threatened him with excommunication and a crusade, if he did not comply with the demands of the emperor.
In whatever portion of the annals of the reign of Don Fernando I. we read, we find incontrovertible proofs of the piety of that great monarch: in his reign were ransomed from the Moors the sacred bodies of St. Isidore, Archbishop of Seville, of Saints Justa, Rufina, Victor, and many other servants of God; in his time were erected magnificent cathedrals and monasteries, amongst which may be mentioned that of Sahagun; in his time ecclesiastical discipline was admirably regulated in Castile; in his time Christian worship, neglected till then, on account of the continual wars with the Moors and internal dissensions, was fully re-established; and, as a last proof of the piety of Don Fernando the Great, history tells us that he made long and frequent retreats in the monastery of St. John of Sahagun, joining in pious exercises with its monks, and taking part in all the austerities and mortifications which, at that period, accompanied monastic life. We can judge of those which were practised by the monks of Sahagun, when we recall to mind many anecdotes found in history. In one of his frequent visits to that monastery Don Fernando noticed that the monks went about barefooted, a custom which caused many of them to contract deadly diseases; the king felt compassion for them, and supplied the abbot with the money necessary to procure sandals for them. There was in the monastery a glass vessel, which was reserved for the superior and for the king whenever he sought hospitality in that holy house. One day, when Don Fernando went to Sahagun, he found the community in a state of great affliction, and when he inquired the cause of it he was informed that the monastery had lost one of its most precious possessions, the glass cup of the abbot, which had been broken. The king knew that this feeling of the monks was not unfounded, as the loss of that article, in their extreme poverty, was difficult for them to make good, and he ordered a golden goblet to be made, to take the place of the glass one.
A council had been held at Rome, promoted by the Emperor of Germany, at which had assisted the King of France and other sovereigns who supported the pretensions of the emperor, and the letters which we have mentioned were sent to Don Fernando as a consequence of it.
Don Fernando was in a state of perplexity between two courses, either to excite the enmity of the allies of Henry IV., especially that of the Holy See, or to submit his states to avassalage, hateful to a nation which had worked out its independence with the sword, and which was therefore proud of it and little disposed to submit to a foreign yoke. In this difficult matter he considered that he should not come to any conclusion guided by his own opinion alone, but that he should consult the wisest men of Castile and Leon, particularly the bishops, who might be considered very competent advisers in such a matter.
Whilst the grandees, noblemen, and bishops were assembling from various districts, Don Fernando was taking repose, after his recent fatigues, in the midst of his family, which had come to meet him in Leon. At last the time arrived for the opening of the Cortes, and the dejection of the king was changed into hope and gladness when he saw himself surrounded by so many illustrious men—some famous for their wisdom, others for their nobility. All the great men of the kingdom were arriving in Leon, and, notwithstanding, at the time for commencing the debates, Don Fernando did not see at his side him whom he most desired to be present, Rodrigo Diaz, the brave cavalier, whose advice he thought more of than that of all the other nobles of Castile and Leon. How was it that Rodrigo had not come to the Cortes, to assist the king, when he was so much in need of the counsels of all good men, and when a matter of such vital importance was about to be considered, whether Castile and Leon should or should not be made subject to a foreign yoke?
Don Fernando explained to the nobles the object for which he had summoned them together, and the high importance, in his opinion, of the question which they had to decide.
"Do you believe," he asked of them, "that Castile and Leon should acknowledge vassalage to the Emperor of Germany, whose pretensions are supported by the Pope, or that we should repudiate it?"
"Those who were present," as Mariana relates, "were not unanimous. They who were most religiously disposed advised that submission should be made, in order that the Pope might not be offended, and that disturbances might not be stirred up in Spain, which would necessarily injure the country very much, as in every possible way civil war should be avoided, as the country was divided into many kingdoms, and as so many Moors, enemies of Christianity, were in it. Others, more daring and of greater courage, said, that if they yielded, Spain would be submitted to a very heavy yoke,which it would never be able to shake off; that it would be better to die with arms in their hands than to permit such injury to their country, and such lowering of its dignity."
The views of those last mentioned, who consisted of Arias Gonzalo, Peranzures, and many more, were those which were most in harmony with the opinion of Don Fernando; he, however, considered the opposite one worthy of deep consideration, as it was that of the majority, and especially that of many wise and virtuous prelates, and it was at last virtually decided to yield to the demands of the emperor and his allies.
The debates had already ceased, and those who had been present at them were about to leave the chamber in which the Cortes had been held, when the arrival of Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar was announced. Prolonged expressions of satisfaction on the one part, and of annoyance on the other, arose on all sides, and joy shone in the countenance of the king. The Counts of Carrion and of Cabra bit their lips with fury, and interchanged looks, the significance of which no one knew just then, but which the reader shall learn very soon. The Cid appeared in the council chamber a moment after. Notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, Don Fernando arose from his throne, in order to advance to meet Rodrigo, whom he clasped in his arms, not permitting him to prostrate himself at his feet.
All fixed their looks on the Count of Carrion, and all remarked the vexation and rage which were excited in him by those signal proofs of friendship and affection which the king exhibited towards De Vivar.
"Oh!" said Don Fernando, beaming with joy, "my hope was not vain that you would arrive before the question we were considering was finally settled, so that we might have the advantage of your loyal counsels. Why have you delayed so long, when your presence was so necessary? My desire to clasp you in my arms, long before this, was very great."
"Sire," answered Rodrigo, with a certain embarrassment, which the king could not help noticing, "my family detained me rather too long; you, who love yours so much, can easily understand the effect of the tears of a wife, who fears, when her husband is leaving her, that she may not see him again for a very long time. Perhaps I have failed in my duty as a good subject, and in the gratitude which I owe to you, but I assure you, sire, that it was impossible for me to avoid it."
"The proofs of loyalty, which you have always given, suffice abundantly to prove it to me, Rodrigo."
"Sire, dispose of my life and of all that I possess, for they are not sufficient to repay your kindness!" exclaimed Rodrigo, deeply moved.
"Are you well informed, Rodrigo, as to the serious business which has obliged me to summon together all the leading men of my kingdoms?" asked Don Fernando.
"No person in Castile is ignorant of it, sire," replied the Cid. "It is a question of the freedom or of the enslavement of a brave and proud nation, which has won its independence by fighting against foreign foes during four centuries. Has not such a nation some interest in the question which brings us together here?"
The presence of the Cid caused the debates, which were thought to be ended, to commence afresh. Those who were disposed to refuse vassalage to the emperor had now some hopes of seeing their views prevail, as they felt sure that the Cid would support them, and they knew that the influence of De Vivar was very great.
Rodrigo Diaz listened for some time to the arguments of the opposed parties, and then said—
"We have scarcely shaken off the yoke which the Moors held over our humiliated heads, and shall we now allow Christians to make us vassals and enslave us? Our ancestors smashed to pieces the heavy yoke imposed on them by the Romans, and shall we now permit the Germans to bend us down under another? Theirs would then become the power, the authority, the honour, the riches, which our fathers won with their blood. And what would remain to us? Trials, dangers, slavery, and poverty! It is better to die as brave men than lose the liberty which our forefathers left us as a sacred inheritance!"
Almost the entire assembly broke out into exclamations of assent when Rodrigo had pronounced those words. A bishop, however, whose name the "Chronicles" do not mention, arose from his seat and replied to him thus—
"If the vassalage which is demanded of Castile were not supported by the Supreme Pontiff, your reasons would be just and valid, and it would be right to sustain the refusal with the sword; but it is a question of obedience or non-obedience to the Vicar of Christ."
"For the law of Christ Castile has fought for more thanfour hundred years," replied the Cid with energy. "For the law of Christ I have fought, and shall always fight, and nevertheless I should consider myself a bad Christian, a bad cavalier, and a bad Castilian, if I were not to oppose to the utmost the demand of the emperor, even though it be supported by the Pope. If Castile is now, when free and rich, only barely able to keep the infidels in check, how can she conquer them when poor and enslaved? The vassalage which the foreigner seeks to impose on us will enervate our strength, will pauperise us, will make us cowards as well as slaves, and then—what will become of the faith of our fathers, what will become of the Cross, which until recently was under the subjection of the Crescent?"
Cries of enthusiasm, which even the presence of the king and the solemnity of the occasion were not able to keep down, answered those words of Rodrigo Diaz. Even those who, with the greatest zeal, had maintained that the demands of the Germans should be acceded to, changed their minds, with the exceptions of the Counts of Carrion and Cabra and a few others, who were envious of the favour and advancement which the Cid enjoyed. The latter turned towards Don Fernando, and continued—
"Sire, you were born in an evil day for Spain, if in your time a people should become enslaved who, until now, have been always free. If you consent to such a terrible humiliation, all is lost—lost is all the honour which God has given you, and all the good He has accomplished for you. Whoever counsels you to accede to the demands of the emperor is not loyal, nor does he love your honour or your sway—he deserves not to be a son of our beloved Castile."
The Count of Carrion and his partisans placed their hands on their swords, unable to restrain their fury; and they would have drawn them if the voice of the king had not been heard above the loud applause which drowned the last words of Rodrigo. Don Fernando cried out—
"Silence, vassals, silence! Who is it that dares to lay his hand on his sword in the presence of his lord and king? A valiant cavalier, a noble, who is as good a Christian as he is a good knight, is he who sustains opinions different to yours. You all have been summoned here to speak freely what you think, and even if I were not present, the gravity and importance of this assembly should restrain you. Speak, De Vivar, for we consider all advice important, whether itbe given with the energy which befits a brave soldier, as you are, or with the calm deliberation which characterises ecclesiastics."
Don Suero and his friends became quiet, much against their wills, and the silence and order of the assembly were restored.
"I do not believe," continued Rodrigo, "that the Pontiff will close his ears to our just prayers; let us send those to him who will defend our freedom in his presence, and explain to him how unjust and impolitic are the pretensions of the Germans; but if our reasonings avail nothing, we must then have recourse to the sword. For my part, I am now resolved to defend against the entire world the honour and the liberty which my ancestors have handed down to me, and those who agree in my views I look on as my friends, and as the friends of our country. If the Germans do not recognise our rights, we have good lances in Castile wherewith to prove to them that we have honour and courage. Rouse up the country, sire; get together an invincible host—you can easily do so—and cross the Pyrenees; I shall go in the front with two thousand of my friends, and, in addition, the troops that my Moorish tributaries shall supply me with."
This advice of the Cid satisfied almost all, especially the king, and it was arranged to reply to the Pope with all respect, but at the same time to raise, without delay, an army of ten thousand men, which should be ready to cross the Pyrenees, under the command of the Cid, in case the Germans and their allies should persist in their demands. The assembly then broke up.
Whilst Rodrigo Diaz was thus opposing those who advised the king to yield to the pretensions of Henry IV., Fernan Cardeña, with other squires and pages, was walking about in the large square which fronted the palace which the lords of Gormaz had owned in the city, and which was now the property of Rodrigo, as a result of his marriage with Ximena.
"It appears to me," said a squire to Fernan, "that we could kill time a little in this square by exercising ourselves in arms; if our masters serve Castile in the council chamber, we can serve her here by practising how to give good blows on the battlefields."
"Leave me in peace, comrades," replied Fernan, "for the son of my mother is in more humour to go asleep and rest himself than to exercise himself in arms."
"Are you fatigued, then?"
"As much as if I had just come from a fierce battle."
"Your journey must have been a very hasty one?"
"One half of it was."
"Nevertheless, the Campeador arrived very late."
"That was not his fault."
"How was that?"
"We set out from Burgos in good time, but"—
"You had then some ugly adventure on the road?"
"It would have been so, in the case of anyone but my master."
"May I turn Moor if I understand you!"
"Then you need not hope that the son of my mother will explain himself more fully."
"Anger of God! but you have very little confidence in your friends, Fernan."
"How can I have confidence in anyone at the present time? No, only believe that people love you, and, when you least expect it, they will get up a plot against your life; and you would lose it, as my master should have done, if he had not been so brave, and if he had not such good cavaliers in his company."
These words excited the curiosity of his hearers.
"Tell us all about it," they cried out; "relate to us the adventure that befell the Cid on his journey from Burgos to Leon."
"I swear that, for a prattler, I deserve to be driven with cudgels from his service by my master!" cried Fernan, indignant with himself for his indiscretion.
"Relate it to us, comrade, for we shall know from you exactly what took place, and not with the addition of all kinds of embellishments, which the people will invent before long."
Fernan, as it concerned honourable deeds of his master, felt that he should burst if he did not relate them; he seemed satisfied, with regard to his conscience, by the remarks of the last speaker, and said—
"Keep secret what I am about to tell you, for my lord, Don Rodrigo, ordered all who were with him at the time not to speak of it, and he must have had his reasons for doing so, and I should respect them. You must know, then, that we sallied forth from Burgos early yesterday, in order to arrive here in good time. My master had no other cavaliers with him but Martin Antolinez and Guillen of the Standard,as he is now called, because he rescued that of Don Rodrigo; and no other squires but the two who are now asleep in the stable and myself; for that fool Alvar still keeps his bed, as a result of a certain cudgelling he got Martin Vengador has gone to Vivar to see his sweetheart, and Rui-Venablos could not leave the band, which has entered into the service of my master, and which he commands during the absence of Martin, who is its captain. We were passing through a wood near Carrion, when certain very dolorous wailings attracted our attention; we stopped to listen, when we heard a woman's voice, which cried out—
"'Succour me, succour me, travellers! for my house is on fire, and my children, who are in it, will be burned.'
"We all hastened to the place from which the voice sounded, and, on a small hill, we saw the person who had called out; it was a woman with dishevelled hair, and with all the signs of great despair.
"'Where is your house—in which direction?' we asked, when still at some distance from her.
"'You will find it just round the turn of this hill,' she replied to our question. 'Do you not see the smoke which is rising to the sky? Go thither, good cavaliers, and save my unhappy children, if there is still time; but there will be, if you hasten.' In reality, a column of smoke was rising behind the hill.
"We applied spurs to our horses, and, in less time than I tell it, we turned the small hill, and at a short distance, beside a thick cluster of trees, we saw a house from which cries proceeded, seemingly those of children, and from which dense smoke was arising.
"On arriving at the house we all dismounted, dashed in the door with a few good kicks, and hastily entered."
"And did you save the children?" asked, impatiently, those who were listening to the narration of Fernan.
"The children which we found," he answered, "were ten very big men, who were concealed in one of the rooms of the house, and who rushed, swords in hand, on us, and especially on my master, who was in the front. May Beelzebub take my soul if ever I saw a fiercer fight than that which then took place in the small room. Guilt doubtless caused those ruffians to lose their presence of mind, for they all missed their first strokes and gave time to Don Rodrigo and the two other cavaliers to draw their swordsand close with them. The fight lasted only a short time, but it was fierce and bloody. Four of the assassins fell to the ground, pierced by the sword of my master, and the others jumped through a window and escaped through the wood."
"What a terrible picture must have presented that combat in a house which was on fire!" exclaimed one of the squires.
"What was on fire was a lot of straw, heaped up in a yard," replied Fernan; and he then continued: "Guillen thought he recognised one of the assassins, who was weltering in his blood, and when he examined him closely, he uttered a cry of surprise and exclaimed—
"'Illan! you armed with an assassin's dagger! wretched, wretched man! And it was you who expressed surprise that I should be in the service of the Count of Carrion before we separated at the railings of the porch of Santa Gadea.'
"'Pardon, pardon, Guillen!' murmured the man called Illan. "'Avarice—the gold which Don Garcia and Don Suero promised us, if we killed the Cid and you, blinded me. Pardon a dying man, and do not go to Carrion, for Don Suero knows that you love the Infanta'—
"'May God pardon you, as I do,' replied Guillen. And we all left the house, in pursuit of those who had fled through the wood. We spent many hours in search of them, in that hilly country, and at last, despairing of finding them, we continued our journey hither, both ourselves and our horses being much fatigued, as we had to press onward very quickly to make up for lost time."
"And who was the woman that allured you to the ambuscade?"
"Some witch, doubtless, for she became invisible from the time she spoke to us from the top of the hill, and we could find her no more than the others we were seeking."
The squires had come to this part of their conversation when, the Cortes being ended, the nobles who had taken part in it began to issue forth from the Alcazar.
Fernan impressed on his friends the necessity of the strictest secrecy with regard to that which he had related to them, and went off to the residence of his master, whom he saw going towards it, accompanied by Martin Antolinez and Guillen.
WHICH TREATS OF CAVALIERS FREE WITH THE HAND AND PEASANTS FREE WITH THE TONGUE
WHICH TREATS OF CAVALIERS FREE WITH THE HAND AND PEASANTS FREE WITH THE TONGUE
As had been determined at the Cortes held at Leon, the king, Don Fernando, wrote to the allied powers refusing the tribute which the Emperor of Austria had demanded; also giving the reasons on which that refusal was based. Meanwhile the Cid, by his orders, was occupied in getting together an efficient army by means of which Castile would be able to oppose the foreigners, if they appealed to arms to sustain their demands, as they had threatened. Seeing that there was not perfect agreement amongst them, and that, on the contrary, in France and other countries allied to the Germans, warlike preparations were being made, Don Fernando consulted the Cid and other cavaliers as to whether he should cross the Pyrenees or remain in Castile on the defensive. All upheld the former proposition, for they said: "The less we embarrass the foreigners the more time will they have to prepare their armies for a campaign; and if they see us remain quiet in Castile, they will look upon us as very weak, both in numbers and in courage, as we do not dare to challenge them on their own soil. Let us make a display of valour, and our enemies, seeing that we are neither weak nor faint-hearted, will soon change their opinion."
The Cid then demanded aid from Abengalvon and from the other Moorish kings, his vassals, and as they not only sent it, but also came themselves, leading the regiments which they furnished to the Castilians, the army of Don Fernando soon set out for the French frontiers.
Don Fernando commanded the main army, composed of eight thousand men, and Rodrigo Diaz marched in advance, in order to select good quarters.
When the Cid entered the gates of Aspa he found great disturbance amongst the inhabitants of that district; so much so that they would not furnish the Castilians with quarters nor sell provisions to them; moreover, they endeavoured to do as much injury to them as was in their power.
Rodrigo ordered that the crops and houses of the rebels should be burned, but that, on the contrary, all those should be well treated who provided quarters and sold food to them.
On arriving near Tolosa, the Cid learned that large hostile forces were sallying out to meet him, with the object of preventing his advance. Don Ramon, Count of Savoy, was approaching with twenty thousand men, and with full authority from the King of France to engage in hostilities with the Castilians.
"My army numbers two thousand men," said the Cid, "but we must either prove to France, and to the entire world, that two Castilian cavaliers are equal to twenty foreigners, or else die gloriously. Our enemies have decided to attack us before the king's army can arrive; there are but two things left to us, either to face them as we are, or to turn back in order to reinforce ourselves with the soldiers who are coming on with Don Fernando. Turn back? No, no! Let us rather advance to certain death than turn our backs to the enemy."
Rodrigo now made his warriors ready for the fight, as his enemies appeared at but a short distance from them.
"St. James! St. James!" he then cried out, and closed with the hostile force.
The combat was fierce, and lasted for an hour. In that time prodigies of valour were performed, not alone by the Castilians but also by the Moorish warriors who accompanied the Cid, at whose side Abengalvon and the other Moorish kings fought, and by Guillen of the Standard, to whom Rodrigo had confided his own, in order to confer a fresh proof of confidence, and to mark the esteem in which he held him.
The army of the Count of Savoy was cut to pieces, and Don Ramon himself was taken prisoner.
This first victory of the Castilians filled the allies of the emperor with terror; nevertheless, the King of France sent against the invaders a fresh army which he kept in reserve in Gascony.
These forces marched forth to the encounter of the representative of Don Fernando in the same way as those of the Count of Savoy had done, and, like those, they were routed by the Cid and his two thousand cavaliers before the king could arrive to take part in the combat.
The Count of Savoy begged for his liberty, as the fact of his being a prisoner wounded his pride, and because disturbances which had broken out in his own states urgently required his presence there. Don Fernando refused his request, fearing that his object was to organise fresh forces wherewith to avenge the humiliating defeat which he had suffered. DonRamon then offered, as a hostage, his daughter, whom he dearly loved, and who was very beautiful and discreet. Don Fernando considered this sufficient, and the count obtained his freedom, leaving his daughter in the power of the King of Castile.
The allied sovereigns sent letters to Don Fernando, praying him not to advance farther, and offering to agree to terms for peace; the King of Castile, as a result, established his headquarters in Toulouse, and sent the Cid, Alvar Fañez Minaya, Arias Gonzalo, Martin Antolinez, and other cavaliers to Rome to inform the Pope that ambassadors should proceed to Spain empowered to treat for peace.
The Pope called together a council, and in it debated as to what steps should be taken. All were of opinion that the demands of Don Fernando should be acceded to, for, they said, "if we should decide to settle this contest by means of arms, no one will dare to oppose this famous Cid, whom all look upon as invincible." In consequence of this decision, the king sent, as his plenipotentiary, the Cardinal of Santa Sabina; others also were sent, with full powers, by the emperor and the other allied sovereigns, between whom and the King of Castile it was stipulated, in proper form, that vassalage, of any form whatsoever, should never be demanded of Spain.
Six months were spent in these preliminaries and treaties, and at the end of that period the Castilian army recrossed the frontiers, and was received in Castile with the greatest enthusiasm, which the people gave expression to by loud acclamations and splendid festivities.
The people of Castile had loved the Cid very much, and that love now changed almost into adoration after the recent splendid feats of arms of the brave cavalier, and especially on account of the valour and the energy with which he had defended the freedom of the kingdom at the last Cortes in Leon. Nations are extreme in their loves and hatreds. When a public man should be exalted, they raise him to the very clouds; when his humiliation is concerned, they drag him through the mire; they always exaggerate things, whether it is a question of reward or punishment. The acts of the Cid were really splendid, but in the eyes of the populace they were very much more.
The inhabitants of Burgos were occupied with the feats of Rodrigo, and they explained them and commented on them in their own way. Many of his exploits were pure inventionsof popular enthusiasm and credulity; this, however, only strengthens what we have said, that the Cid was the idol of the Castilian people.
Just at the entrance into Burgos, on the northern side, resided a worthy artisan who worked constantly before the door of his house as a farrier. Our readers already know Iñigo, for that was his name, having seen him exchange blows with a rustic on the day that Ximena entered the city to celebrate her nuptials with Rodrigo Diaz. Iñigo was a type of the populace in its most perfect form; he was talkative, irascible, enthusiastic, credulous, fond of news, a grumbler—in a word, all that his class has ever been. A fly scarcely moved in Burgos but Iñigo knew where it flew to: if he had lived in our times he could have made plenty of money as a member of the detective police, or as a supplier of events of the day to some newspaper. If a muleteer entered Burgos on a very hot day, Iñigo would say to him—
"You are welcome, brother. This is a bad time for travelling. What news on the roads? Won't you sit down for a while on this bench, and take a draught of this deliciously cool water which I have here?"
And the muleteer, believing that it would be discourteous if he did not accept the invitation, would stop to satisfy the curiosity of Iñigo.
If a peasant woman came in when the weather was cold, with a basket of eggs or other farm produce on her head, Iñigo would say to her—
"You are welcome, sister. This is a bad time to come to town. Is there any news in your district? Won't you put down your basket, and warm yourself at the good fire I have here?"
And the peasant woman would do just the same as the muleteer.
If there is added to the information he obtained in this way all that he picked up from squires who brought their masters' horses to be shod, from the women and men of the vicinity, who rested themselves, talking meanwhile of their neighbours' affairs, on the bench of the horse-shoer, which was pleasantly shaded from the sun, all the world will agree that Iñigo was exactly suited to fill a position of the nature of those which we have mentioned above.
Two days after the return of the Cid to Burgos, there entered the city the same peasant to whom Iñigo had given sosound a drubbing on a former occasion. The farrier and he had become friends again, to judge by the way they saluted each other.
"You are welcome, Señor Bartolo," cried out the former on seeing the peasant.
"God keep you in His guard, Master Iñigo," was the reply.
"I was just saying to myself, that, considering all the news that is flying about Burgos, it is curious that Señor Bartolo is not coming to hear it."
"Oh, then there is a lot of news, eh? I swear that one might just as well be a captive among the Moors as live in a village."
"What, does news never get to Barbadillo?"
"You may say, none. I tell you we live like beasts in the villages. Whenever I smell any news in the air, I come to the city to see you. And as you are so wise and clever, and all that kind of thing, you polish me up a bit. What is to be learned in a village? That a wolf ate a sheep belonging to Uncle Pellica; that Uncle Colambra got drunk, and gave his wife a beating; that the daughter of Aunt Valeta fell in love with four young fellows; and other things of a similar nature. What wonder is it, then, that one is always bored when living in such a place? I swear I am."
"It is, indeed, Señor Bartolo, great good luck to live in a city."
"And what gets up my blood most is that my wife is constantly wrangling with me because I come now and then to the city to learn the news; she says that I am always neglecting my land and my cattle."
"Your wife must certainly be a great ass, Señor Bartolo."
"And she is not the only one that finds fault with me; all my neighbours are against me. I was formerly stupid and ignorant like themselves, and they don't like to see me getting a little knowledge into my head."
"Certainly, Señor Bartolo, your neighbours must be all great blockheads."
"But I swear I won't stand it any longer; in spite of my wife and neighbours, I'll get rid of the bit of ground I own, and the cottage I have in the village, and come to live in Burgos."
"Certainly, Señor Bartolo, you should come to the city, for it is a great pleasure to know at once all that is passing in the world, and just at present there's good news coming every day."
"What good news, eh?"
"Good, Señor Bartolo, very good."
"And what is it all about, Master Iñigo?"
"About the Campeador, as you may well suppose."
"By San Pedro of Cardeña, the Cid is a splendid cavalier! But tell me, tell me, Master Iñigo, the latest news of him."
"I will, Señor Bartolo. You know already what a good beating he gave the French, don't you?"
"Yes, yes; you told me all about that already. Anger of God! how I should like to have been on the top of the Pyrenees to see from there how the Cid and his army treated those French dogs."
"You know also that the Cid was at Rome, with other good cavaliers?"
"Certainly; you told me that too."
"But that which you don't know is what happened there to the Cid."
"What happened to him? Did he fight a terrible battle with that Don Vaticano, as they call him?"
"Ha, ha, ha!"
"Master Iñigo, are you also making game of me?"
"I was laughing at your ignorance and simplicity, for you are mistaking the Pope's palace for a cavalier; the Vatican is a palace, and not a man."
"Curses on the village! living in it has made me the ass I am. May I become a greater Turk than Mahomet if I don't leave it at once!"
"Learn, then, that the Cid, when he arrived in Rome, went straight to the church of St. Peter"—
"It's something like a church, I've heard, and not like the one in my village."
"Yes, Señor Bartolo, they tell wonders of it; they say it is built of blocks of diamond."
"San Pedro de Cardeña! what a great misfortune it is to live in villages and not in cities, where there are such riches!"
"Know, then, that the Cid went to St. Peter's to see the throne of the Pope, which is made of solid gold."
"Anger of God! It must be a fine thing to be a Pope."
"All the Christian kings have seats near the Pope's throne, and when the Campeador saw that the seat of the King of France was placed a little higher than that of the King of Castile, he kicked it down."
"I swear that it would have been a great misfortune for menot to know of that act, so worthy of being known. I certainly shall leave Barbadillo."
"As the seat of the King of France was made of marble, it broke into pieces. And what do you think the Cid then did, Señor Bartolo? He took that of the King of Castile and put it in the principal place."
"My God, what a good vassal! May God preserve him!"
"Then out spoke a duke, who is called the Savoyard, and said to the Campeador, 'May you be accursed, Rodrigo, and may the Pope excommunicate you, for having insulted the King of France, the most honoured sovereign in the world.' 'Leave kings aside,' said the Campeador; 'and if you consider yourself aggrieved, let us settle this quarrel between us.'"
"And the Cid and the Savoyard fought? I swear that I am delighted with your story."
"As they were going out of the church, the Campeador went up to the duke and gave him a shove."
"God's anger! And they came to blows, eh? What did the Savoyard do?"
"He remained very quiet, and made no answer to the Campeador."
"By San Pedro of Cardeña, no one dares to oppose the Cid."
"When the Pope heard of it, he excommunicated Don Rodrigo."
"What do you tell me, Master Iñigo? The Cid excommunicated! What a pity! for he will begin to dwindle away, as it is said those do who are excommunicated."
"Such did not happen, for he knelt down with much humility at the feet of the Pope, and said to him, 'Absolve me, holy father, for it won't be prudent of you not to do so.' And the Pope gave him absolution, like a merciful father as he is, saying to him, 'I absolve you, Campeador; but you must be more circumspect in my Court.'"
"Oh, accursed Barbadillo! such fine things are never heard of there! Master Iñigo, I am just going back to dispose of all my belongings, and you shall soon see me here again. You won't see me making an ass of myself any longer."
"You are right, Señor Bartolo; but won't you tell me what is going on in your district?"
"I have told you: nothing whatever, Master Iñigo."
The farrier was about to put fresh questions to the peasant, when he noticed that some muleteers were approaching, who, to judge by their appearance, had come from some very distantlocality. He hastened to meet them, saluting them in his customary way, in order to satisfy his curiosity, at the expense of a bench which he kept beside a good fire in winter, and of a draught of cold water which he had ready to attract travellers in summer.
A few moments having passed, the peasant and the artisan were listening with delight to the wonderful bits of news which the muleteers brought with them, but which need not figure in this book, as they were only vulgar gossip.
OF THE SORROWS WHICH THE COWARDLY DON SUERO CAUSED HIS SISTER
OF THE SORROWS WHICH THE COWARDLY DON SUERO CAUSED HIS SISTER
Just at the time that Guillen left the Castle of Carrion to proceed to the seat of war in Portugal, Bellido Dolfos entered it. The arrival of the traitor was announced to Don Suero, and satisfaction shone in the eyes of the count, who hastened to receive Bellido, for he doubted not but that he brought him some important intelligence, having returned so soon to the castle.
"What tidings do you bring me? Speak at once," he asked of the new-comer, even without waiting for his salutation.
"I bring you very important news, sir count."
"Speak, speak!"
"Can any person hear us?"
"No one, Bellido."
"Notwithstanding, it is just as well to shut the door."
And Bellido closed the door of the apartment, and then returned and seated himself at the side of the count.
"What have you to tell me of that infernal band?"
"I have but little to tell you of the band."
"Then of whom do you bring me news?"
"Of your sister, and of the page."
"They returned to the castle."
"I know that."
"I do not then understand what the news can be that you bring me of them."
"Calm your impatience, my lord. The attentions of that handsome page were more than a little pleasing to the Infanta."
"And to me also, Bellido; for this very day I rewarded that loyal servant, giving him the best of my horses and arms, in order that he might go to the seat of war. You must have met him near the castle."
"Is he not in the castle now?"
"No."
"I certainly saw a horseman issue forth. Ah, my lord, you have allowed to escape from your hands him who is the most deserving of your anger."
"By Lucifer, explain yourself, Bellido! What would you tell me?"
"I would tell you that the youth loves your sister, and that your sister returns his love."
The count jumped to his feet as suddenly as if a serpent had pierced him with its fangs. Bellido had foreseen his rage, and, in order to lessen it, had intended to break the information to him; he had, however, precipitated it, annoyed by the impatience and the imperious tone of Don Suero.
"Bellido!" exclaimed the count, gazing fixedly at his companion, "perchance you think that I am in such good humour that I can tolerate jokes? Do you believe that the Count of Carrion is so much your friend that you can amuse yourself with him?"
"My lord," answered Bellido humbly, "the vexation you feel grieves me sincerely; but I can only repeat to you that your sister and the page are in love with each other, that they vilely deceive you, and"—
"This calumny will cost you your life, Bellido!"
"If what I tell you is not the truth I am quite willing that you cause me to be hung on the ramparts of your castle."
"What proofs can you give me that you are not calumniating one of the noblest maidens in Spain?"
"My word, which the loyalty and the zeal with which I have served you, will vouch for."
"Hell, hell! Must I believe what you tell me? No, I cannot believe it, Bellido; it cannot be that a miserable page has dared to set his eyes on the Infanta of Carrion; it cannot be that my sister has opened her ears to so low-born a youth!"
"My lord, I can well understand your incredulity, but thereis nothing more certain than that which I have told you. Silence reigned in the camp of the bandits. I know not what made me suspect that the page was something more than a servant in the eyes of the Infanta; I crept up to the tent in which both of them were lodged, and, as I found that they were awake, I applied my ear to the canvas, and surprised the secret of their love"—
"And if it is a fact that the page loves my sister, why has he voluntarily left her, in order to go to the war in Portugal?"
"Because he aspires to the hand of your sister, and knows that he must be at least a knight in order to marry the Infanta of Carrion."
"Oh, everything conspires against me!" exclaimed Don Suero, falling back into the violent despair which he seemed to have mastered for a moment. "I suffer on earth all the tortures of hell. They deceive me, they sell me; my own kinsfolk and strangers murder me slowly. Whom can I trust? My life appears to be that of the wicked, which my mother often described to me; not a moment of calm; no happiness that merits such a name, enemies on all sides; vain projects; desires never satisfied; sadness, sleeplessness, everlasting despair,—such was the life my mother pictured to me, and such is mine. Oh! am I one that is accursed? No, I am not, I am not. If I have treated my servants and my vassals cruelly, it is because my servants and my vassals detested me, and would have sold me. If I have enemies and plot their destruction, it is because I cannot gain their friendship, because they all insult me and conspire against me. This is to live a life of agony."
And the count, who had bent it down, raised his head suddenly, and such was the appearance of his countenance, and the glitter of his eyes, that Bellido made a movement as if to turn away from him, believing that reason had forsaken him.
"Traitor!" exclaimed Don Suero, "have you come here to take advantage of what I say? My dagger shall teach you to be more courteous."
Bellido arose from his seat, and placing his hand on the pommel of his sword, said, endeavouring to render his words as conciliatory as possible—
"My lord, grief is overcoming you; remember that he who stands by your side is the only loyal friend in whom you can trust."
Don Suero quickly recovered his senses, which, for a moment, had abandoned him, and said, holding out his hand to the traitor—
"Pardon me, Bellido, pardon my burst of passion. Yes, yes, you are right; grief, anger, despair, put me out of my mind. Yes, you are my sole friend, the only one who has not betrayed me, who has not insulted me, who feels compassion for me. But is it quite certain that this miserable page loves my sister, and that she has degraded herself by returning his love?"
"Nothing, I repeat, is more certain."
"And what is to be done, Bellido, what is to be done?"
"Kill the villain who has thus betrayed your confidence."
"Yes, and the Infanta also deserves to die. A hundred lives, taken one by one, would not be sufficient to expiate such treason. But where can I find the page? What a fool I was to let him escape my vengeance! And I have given him arms—perchance to use them against myself, for, I doubt it not, that traitor will proceed to Portugal, he will fight against the Moors, rise from his present low condition, and return, filled with pride and audacity, to insult me, to challenge me, and to impose shameful conditions on me."
"As soon as he returns from Portugal he will come to see the Infanta, and then you will find an opportunity to punish his treachery; but, in order that he may return to the castle, that he may fall into your hands, he must not know that you have discovered his insensate love; you must not let the Infanta know that you even suspect it, for Doña Teresa would be able to discover some means of advising him, and then the traitor would remain unpunished."
"Impossible, Bellido, impossible! Can I look on my sister without my indignation breaking out? Can I put off the punishment, which she deserves, until the day when that traitor may feel pleased to appear in my castle?"
"Certainly, my lord, it would be difficult for you to do so; but you must find some pretext for your annoyance. Say to your sister that you wish to confer her hand on—the first that comes into your head; your sister will oppose your wishes, and then you can give vent to your anger, the real motive of which will not be suspected."
"I shall do so, Bellido, I shall do so. It was a fortunate day on which I first made your acquaintance, for you are the only man who gives me loyal advice, who aids me to fightagainst that cruel fate which baffles all my enterprises, which upsets all my plans, which does not leave a moment of tranquillity to my soul. Yes, yes, I intend the hand of my sister for the son of the Count of Cabra, and my sister does not yet know of it. The occasion for telling her has arrived."
"But be on your guard, I repeat; do not let her suspect that you know of her love for the page."
"She shall suspect nothing, Bellido. But tell me now, in what condition is the band?"
"I believe that it will totally disappear within the next few days. Although its members are now but few, they are able to defend themselves against the Salvadores as long as they are all together—they can at least escape from them if they cannot conquer them as formerly. I have, however, succeeded in dividing them, under the pretext that such is done for their security, availing myself of the influence which I have gained over the Vengador and Rui-Venablos, from the time I prophesied to them that the band would be destroyed, if they forcibly attacked the Castle of Carrion. After to-day one half of the bandits will be encamped at a considerable distance from the other half, so that they could not rejoin each other quickly, should the two encampments be attacked by the Salvadores, to whom, before I return to the band I shall give full information. You can easily imagine that if the bandits were deadly hostile to you before, they have been much more so since they suffered such a terrible reverse in your castle. For that reason you should be delighted to get rid of them quickly."
"Certainly, Bellido, certainly. I trust that, with your assistance, I shall be able to annihilate those implacable enemies. Continue your efforts in that direction, and count on my liberality."
"Sir," said Bellido, affecting diffidence, "I venture to ask you for some money, which I require to add to the considerable sum, which I have already expended on the bandits in order to win their confidence, so that I might succeed in realising my plans."
With every coin which he had to give, it seemed to Don Suero that he was parting with a piece of his heart, for avarice was the moving cause of most of his evil actions; however, as it was necessary to secure the aid of Bellido in his favour, he answered, going to the strong chest, in which he had on a former occasion showed his treasures to Bellido—
"Take, Bellido, the money which you require. Will twenty gold marks be sufficient for you?"
"That will not be enough," replied Bellido in a humble tone of voice.
"I will give you forty."
"I must have more," said Bellido firmly.
"Take sixty."
"I require as much as a hundred," replied Bellido haughtily.
"Villain!" exclaimed Don Suero in an involuntary burst of indignation; but a moment's reflection made him recognise that he must be prudent with Bellido, and he added in a more subdued and friendly voice—
"Pardon me, Bellido; the annoyances to which I have been subjected make me forget myself sometimes, and I scarcely know what I say or do. Here are the hundred marks which you require." And he handed them to Bellido, who took them with a joy which he vainly tried to conceal.
They then arranged some matters relative to the business which had brought them together, and Bellido quitted the Castle of Carrion.
Let us see what was taking place in the chamber of Doña Teresa whilst the scene we have described was being acted in that of the count.
When Guillen left the castle, the Infanta took her place at the window of her apartment in order to see his departure, and her eyes, full of tears, followed him until he disappeared behind a cluster of trees which grew at some distance from the castle. How can we explain what the loving girl experienced at that moment? It seemed to her as if her soul had quitted her body in order to accompany the handsome youth who was departing from her; who was going away, perhaps never to return. It appeared to her that the sky was growing dark, that the fields were losing their verdure and beauty, that the birds had ceased their warbling, that her chamber had suddenly become as gloomy, as dark, and as solitary as it had appeared before she was loved by Guillen; it seemed to her as if everything was clad in mourning, as if everything was weeping for the absence of the handsome page. Her eyes remained fixed for a long time on that part of the landscape where Guillen had disappeared, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but no, he had disappeared.
Reader! he who writes this book appeals again to yourrecollections, to your experience, to your heart, in order that you may understand that which his pen is not able to explain. Have you ever seen a beloved object disappear from your sight, when going on a long journey, as the poor Teresa saw Guillen? Have you ever walked forth from your native place, accompanying a beloved being, who was about to be absent for a long period, in order to prolong for a short time the sad leave-taking, and when that at last came, did you not ascend an eminence to see the traveller as far as possible on his way, and did you not follow him with your gaze until the horizon shut him off from you; and then, when he had completely disappeared, did not your eyes overflow with tears? If you have experienced all that, as he has done who writes this, you will understand the grief, the anguish, the despair with which Teresa saw her lover disappear behind the distant trees.
The sad girl turned from the window with her heart full of sadness, and kneeling down before an image of Mary, which she had adorned with flowers every day formerly, when she was free and happy enough to go out to gather them in the surrounding fields, now a long time ago, she besought the "Mother of pure love" to protect the brave and handsome and loving youth, who had set out to fight for her love and for the Christian faith, and she felt her heart consoled. In former times, when she felt her soul sad, the tender, the pure, the sweet Teresa sought consolation from her mother; but, as she had been taken from her, to whom could she appeal but to the universal Mother of the afflicted! Oh, what a sweet, beautiful, and consoling religion is that which gives us an immortal Mother, so that we may not remain orphans when she who bore us has departed from us!
Teresa felt consoled; but, her sensibilities being very much excited, she felt the necessity of conversing with someone whom she loved and who loved her. Who then could that person be but her brother? She was about leaving her chamber to go in search of him, when he appeared before her, and the poor girl trembled when she saw him, for she remarked on the countenance of her brother a certain expression of anger, which she had perceived in it on other occasions. However, Don Suero was restraining himself, and succeeded in somewhat softening that expression; and then tranquillity and confidence returned to the heart of the Infanta.
"My brother," said Teresa in a sweet and affectionate tone,"accustomed to be so much by your side, I feel lonely when I am long without seeing you, and I was therefore going to seek you."
The Infanta spoke the truth when she said this: from the time she had returned from the bandits' camp she desired to be near her brother, whom she really loved tenderly, for she believed that he nourished the same feeling towards her.
"Hypocrite!" said Don Suero to himself, and he was on the point of breaking the resolution he had made to conceal his anger; but he conquered that instinctive feeling, and answered his sister kindly—
"I also desire to be near you, Teresa, for you are the only being I really love. For a long time I was unjust towards you, but at last I recognised my error, and I wish to repair it by bestowing on you the happiness which you deserve. My sister, I am about to prove to you that I anxiously desire your happiness, that I desire to see you honoured, loved, happy. Have you ever thought on the felicity to which a woman should aspire?"
"I do not understand you, brother."
"Have you never thought that the greatest happiness of an honoured and good maiden, as you are, consists in finding a noble and loving husband?"
The Infanta trembled with fright on hearing this question, and replied—
"Yes, brother, my mother said that to me."
"Well, then, Teresa, your brother is about to bestow that happiness on you."
The terror of the girl came to its height.
"Brother," she said, "I am still very young, allow me to remain at your side, for that is the happiness I desire at present."
"Teresa, at the side of the husband whom I destine for you, you will also have the affection of your brother. Nuño Garciez, the son of the Count of Cabra, is noble, is brave, and loves you now for a long time."
"Nuño Garciez, the son of the Count of Cabra?" exclaimed Teresa, terrified.
"Yes, he shall be the husband who will work out your happiness, my sister."
"Impossible, brother, impossible!"
Anger inflamed the visage of Don Suero.
"Teresa!" he exclaimed, with severity, "do you mean to say that you refuse the hand of Nuño?"
Teresa could not lie; her sincerity conquered her natural timidity.
"Pardon me, brother," she answered, "but I shall never bestow my hand on the son of the Count of Cabra."
"May the anger of God strike you! What is that you dare to say, traitress? Do you repay my affection by opposing yourself insolently and rebelliously to my will? Teresa, you shall be the wife of Nuño Garciez!"
"Have compassion on me, my brother; do not condemn to eternal sadness, to eternal pain, to eternal despair this heart which has suffered so much."
And the Infanta sank down on her knees before her brother, bursting into tears.
"Have you any for me, perchance?" retorted Don Suero. "Have you compassion for me when, seeing me surrounded by enemies, you refuse to procure for me the aid of a family which could help me to triumph over all my rivals?"
"But I could never love Nuño Garciez, and my vow before the altar would be horrible perjury. Brother, have pity on me; remember the promise you made to our mother; remember that she, who gave you life, blessed you when she was breathing her last; for you had just promised her that you would be my shield, my protector, my brother—not my executioner"—
"Hell, hell! Arise from your knees, traitress, for your supplications and tears are unavailing!" roared Don Suero, at the very height of his rage.
And with a violent push he threw the gentle girl on the floor.
Teresa arose quickly, no longer humble and timid, but haughty as a queen whom a ruffian has insulted, and said—
"Listen to me, Don Suero, for you do not deserve that my lips should give you the dear name of brother; perhaps you may be able to escape the justice of men; perhaps God will permit you to escape even His justice for some time; perhaps you will torture me as long as I live; but the Infanta of Carrion will never bestow her hand on the son of the Count of Cabra, nor on anyone whom her heart has not chosen. A woman may be dragged to the steps of the altar, may be calumniated, may be barbarously ill-treated; but if she has courage enough to die without opening her lips, as I have, that vow cannot be dragged from her—that vow which alone constitutes the union of husband and wife."
"Silence, silence!" cried Don Suero, clutching at the handle of his dagger, "or you will force me, at this very moment, to punish your rebellion."
"I have told you already that you may kill me, for death does not terrify me; but my hand shall never belong to anyone who is not master of my heart."
"Then you shall suffer on earth all the tortures of hell; you shall be scoffed at by even the worst ruffians; ignominy and shame shall follow you everywhere."
"Shame shall never humiliate my brow, for in my life there never has been, nor shall there ever be, anything of which I can feel ashamed."
"Do you dare to speak thus, traitress? Bow your haughty brow to the ground, for the noble Infanta of Carrion cannot raise it proudly when she has become a renegade to her glorious race by loving one who is base-born, one of her wretched menials."
Don Suero repented, perhaps, of that burst of anger which had caused him to reveal to his sister what he had intended to conceal. Teresa trembled when she heard those words, which showed that her brother was aware of her love for Guillen; but both of them now felt that dissimulation was useless, and the masks having been torn off, they made up their minds to fight face to face.
"Well, then," said the Infanta, "I do confess my love for the menial whom you allude to; but I feel no shame on that account, for that menial, that peasant, has a heart as noble as that of the proudest hidalgo of Castile. I shall never feel shame for having loved him."
"That traitor shall die; he shall die, hung up on the ramparts of my castle, and his crime shall be everywhere published; it shall be known that he was the accepted lover of the Infanta of Carrion, and that noble Infanta will be scoffed at by all, and the Leonese and Castilian nobles will spit on her face."
"Be it so, Don Suero; the Infanta of Carrion is resolved to encounter the ignominy with which you threaten her, without ceasing to love Guillen, the miserable page, the humble peasant, whom she does love with all her heart."
"Hell, hell!" cried Don Suero, furious, mad with anger, and he pulled out his dagger to strike down his sister with it; but whether it was that he was not quite cruel enough to commit so horrible a crime, or that he wished to reserve hisvictim for greater tortures, for a more tedious agony, for a more painful death, he returned the weapon to its sheath, and in order not to fall again into that barbarous temptation, he left the chamber of Teresa, speaking to himself in a loud voice, like a madman, whilst traversing the corridors that lay between his apartments and those of his sister.
When he had become somewhat calm, he took a sheet of parchment, wrote some lines, fastened it up, called Gonzalo, and said to him—
"Start for Burgos at once, and deliver this letter to the Count of Cabra; gallop, do not spare the best horse in my stables. It is now midday; if you are not back by midnight you shall be hung on the ramparts."
"But, my lord," the servant ventured to say, "that time is necessary for the journey thither alone; it is a twelve-hours' journey from Carrion to Burgos."
"Villain! do you dare to disobey your master?" exclaimed the Count, and laying his hand on his dagger he rose from his seat.
Gonzalo retreated a few paces, terrified, and cried out—
"Pardon, my lord, pardon; I shall obey your orders; I shall be back from Burgos even sooner than you say, if such is your desire."
And the servant started from the castle a few minutes afterwards, spurring to a full gallop the very best horse that was to be found in the stables.