The Knighting of the CidThe Knighting of the Cid
After this Rodrigo did such valiant service to King Fernando at the siege of Coimbra, a city of Portugal, that he was there formally dubbed a knight. The ceremony took place in the principal mosque of the captured city. In order to do the hero signal honor, the king kissed him, the queen girt on his sword, and the Princess Urraca buckled on his golden spurs.
In many battles against the Moors the Cid fought valiantly with King Fernando, whose ambition it was to win back all Spain from the infidels.
When Fernando died, he unwisely left his territory to be divided among his five children. This led to much jealousy, and Sancho, the eldest son, was greatly aggrieved, because he thought the entire kingdom should have been his. So it was not long after Fernando's death before war broke out between Sancho, King of Castile, and his brothers.
Sancho soon defeated the youngest brother, Garcia, and seized his Kingdom of Galicia. This conquest was due mainly to the wonderful valor of Rodrigo, who now "waxed great and became a mighty man of war, and Campeador at the court of King Don Sancho."
Sancho now demanded that Alfonso give up the Kingdom of Leon. The brothers finally agreed that a battle should be fought between their respective armies, the crown of Leon to belong to the king whose army should be victorious. When this combat took place, Alfonso conquered Sancho, and drove the Castilian army from the field. Supposing the matter settled, the triumphant Alfonso did not pursue the fugitives, but returned to his camp rejoicing.
King Sancho, fleeing from the field, saw with joy the green banner of the Cid in the distance. When the two met, Rodrigo persuaded the kingto renew the fight at dawn, assuring him that he could then take the enemy by surprise.
"The Galicians and Leonese," said the cunning Cid, "are given to much talking, and at this moment they are with the King Don Alfonso their lord, boasting of what they have done, for they love big words. If it be God's will, their joy of to-day shall be turned to grief, and if it please Him, sir, you shall regain honor." Now it befell as the Cid had hoped. In the early morning, while the troops of Alfonso were stupid from their night of feasting and drinking, the Cid attacked and routed them completely. During the battle, King Sancho was captured, and was being carried off by thirteen knights, when the Cid rushed to his help with no weapon but a broken lance. He offered to exchange Alfonso, captured by his men, for Sancho, and upon refusal, the Champion cried wrathfully, "Give me but one of your lances, and I alone, against the thirteen of you, will quit my lord of you!"
The Leonese knights laughed him to scorn, and in sport threw him a lance. Thereupon he fell upon them suddenly, slew eleven, put the others to flight, and rode back in triumph with his rescued king.
Elated by this victory, King Sancho now determined that his sister Urraca should yield him her strong city of Zamora; but thinking to gain it without force, he asked the Cid to go as his messenger and urge her to peaceably surrender the city. This he did because he knew his sister had long loved the Cid. The Cid, who held the princess dear for her friendship to him, though he loved her not, replied to the king's request,—
"Sir, it is not for me to carry such a message, seeing that I was reared with Dona Urraca, in the same house of Arias Gonzalo, and would not willingly do her a wrong."
However, when the king pointed out that the Cid might thus prevent a bloody conflict, he consented to undertake the unpleasant mission. With fifteen knights he passed into the city, and was gladly received by Urraca at the entrance of the palace. Together they went into the splendid hall of audience, and the princess right graciously bade the Cid be seated with her. Then she asked,—
"I pray thee, Don Rodrigo, tell me wherefore is this great army encamped outside my walls? Is my brother Sancho going to make war upon Moors or Christians, and of what state?"
"Dona Urraca," replied the Cid, gravely, "thou knowest that as a herald I am come hither, andwhether my message please thee or not, yet ought I to suffer no insult nor wrong."
"Yea," answered Urraca, quickly; "andthouknowest well, Don Rodrigo, that I wish thee no harm, so speak out boldly. Perhaps my loving brother only needs some aid of mine to go against the Moors. Gladly will I lend him fifteen lances fully equipped, even though it be for ten years."
Now the Cid flushed red at the mocking tones of the princess and spoke with difficulty, though still calmly,—
"I am but a messenger, princess. The king, thy brother, bids me speak thus: he needs this city Zamora for a defence against his enemies. Nor should so great a stronghold be in the hands of a woman. He will give thee for it money or lands or another city. But if thou dost refuse, he will, without delay, take Zamora from thee by force of arms." Then tears of indignation and rage came into the eyes of the princess.
"I call on God," she cried, "and all these noble knights here present to bear witness that Sancho again seeks to make naught our father's will! He hath taken away their inheritance from Garcia and Alfonso, and now he would rob me of the city my father gave me. Well hath Sancho merited our father's curse upon the sonwho should disobey his will! Let him beware lest he die by violence, or by treachery like his own!" The counsellors of the princess, troubled at this rash speech, besought her to be calm, and at last persuaded her to call together the townsmen and hold council with them.
When assembled, all the chief men of Zamora loyally promised to aid the princess in defending the city, and swore not to forsake her until death. Then the proud Urraca, turning to the Cid, cried impetuously,—
"Does it not shame thee, O Cid, that all these are willing to die for me, while thou who wast my playfellow in youth hast come hither to take away mine inheritance?" The Cid answered not, but his face turned yet more ruddy, and he raised not his eyes from the floor.
"Truly a noble thing for the great Cid Ruy Diaz,—to make war against a woman!" went on the angry princess; then with a burst of noble frankness, "And well thou knowest that the woman once loved thee, Rodrigo! Ay, thou mayest boast that the Princess Urraca once gave thee her heart; but the Cid whom Urraca loved drew not his sword against a woman. Begone, Don Rodrigo de Bivar; I would not look longer upon thy face! Tell thy robber kingthat never will I yield to a false traitor the city my father gave me! Sooner will I die with these true men than give up Zamora!"
Silent and ashamed, the Cid withdrew. Fain would the knight have served the fair princess, the friend of his youth, but fealty to his king forbade.
When King Sancho received Urraca's defiance, he flew into a terrific rage, and accused the Cid of having counselled the resistance of the princess because of love for her. Not a word of explanation would he hear, but straightway banished the Cid from the kingdom. Rodrigo was highly enraged at the injustice of the king whom he had served so faithfully, even to the sacrifice of Urraca's cherished friendship. But in silence, though pale and defiant, he heard his sentence. Then crying,—
"Never, ungrateful king, shalt thou find a vassal like Rodrigo, and humbly, Don Sancho, shalt thou beg him to return!" the Champion strode from the kingly presence and rode away from Castile. So true was the Cid's proud boast, that only a short time elapsed before King Sancho, realizing the value of the banished warrior, entreated him to return to Castile. The insulted Champion, after receiving an humble apologyfrom the king and the position of governor of the royal household, consented to return.
Now, in spite of his friendship for Urraca, the Cid continued the siege of Zamora with great vigor and zeal, for loyalty to his king compelled hostility to the princess, and the memory of her bitter scorn rankled in his heart.
But long the city held out, though the people were suffering greatly with famine and disease. At last a pretended traitor, Bellido Dolfos, offered to deliver the city into the hands of Sancho. While riding along with the king, under pretence of pointing out the gate whereby the troops might enter Zamora, this lying wretch stabbed the unsuspecting Sancho through and through with his own royal golden spear, given by the king to the knave to carry. Bellido then fled fast to the city. On the way he was seen by the Cid, who called to the flying horseman to stop, though knowing nothing of his crime. The villain only rode the faster, hotly pursued by Rodrigo, who now suspected something wrong. Just as the Cid was about to overtake the fugitive, he darted through the gate of Zamora and escaped. Rodrigo, riding back, discovered the dead body of his king, and was sorely grieved that he had not captured the murderer.
By the death of King Sancho, his brother Alfonso, driven into exile after his defeat, and then living among the Moors at Saragossa, fell heir to the throne. But many great nobles of the kingdom believed that Alfonso and Urraca had planned the murder of Sancho, and so they were unwilling to acknowledge a murderer as their king.
When these nobles were called upon to do homage to Alfonso, the Cid—for none other dared to be so bold—said to the king,—
"Sir, all here do suspect that you did contrive the murder of your brother, King Don Sancho. Therefore, I declare to you that until you clear yourself by oath, never will I or these nobles kiss your hand or receive you as lord."
The king flushed with anger, but he replied meekly,—
"I swear to God and Saint Mary that I did not kill Sancho or counsel his death, though he had stolen my kingdom. Advise me, therefore, how I may clear myself of this matter."
Then the nobles decided that the king and twelve of his knights who had been with him in exile at Toledo should in public swear solemnly to his innocence. So on the day appointed, the king appeared before the high altar of the church at Burgos; and the Cid, in presence of the nobles of the kingdom, placed the book of the Gospels on the altar and said,—
"King Don Alfonso, you are come hither to swear that you had no part in the death of the King Don Sancho; and if you swear falsely, may God slay you by the hand of your own vassal, even as Don Sancho was slain."
"Amen!" said Alfonso, though he turned very pale. Again the Cid spoke,—
"King Don Alfonso, you are here to swear that neither did you order the King Don Sancho to be slain; and if you swear falsely, may a traitor slay you even as the traitor Bellido slew Don Sancho."
Again Alfonso replied, "Amen!" but he grew yet paler with rage and shame at this second oath required of him. When the twelve knights had taken a similar oath, the nobles were satisfied of Alfonso's innocence; and all swore fealty to him as king. But when the Cid took the oath of loyalty and stooped to kiss the hand of Alfonso, the humiliated and resentful king drew away his hand, and would not permit the act of homage.
Small wonder that after being forced to undergo this mortification, the king "hated the Cid, in spite of his valor." Yet either from fear or through policy, Alfonso treated Rodrigo with great honor. On one occasion, the Champion came to court, and was invited by King Alfonso to sit with him. When Rodrigo modestly refused the proffered honor, the king said,—
"Since you will not sit with me, sit on your ivory seat, for you won it like a good man. From this day I order that none save king or prelate sit with you; for you have conquered so many high-born men and so many kings that for this reason there is none worthy to sit with you, or none who is your peer. Sit, therefore, like a king and lord on your ivory seat."
The honor in which Rodrigo was held is shown by the fact that he married a cousin of the king, Ximena,—daughter of the Count of Oviedo, a powerful noble. Doubtless it was his love for the beautiful Ximena that rendered the Cid so indifferent to the affection of Princess Urraca. Most dearly and tenderly he loved Ximena, and after his marriage to her, gave up warfare for many years, and lived in peace and tranquil happiness near Burgos. During this quiet period, the Cid fought only a few single combats as champion of the king. By these he gained evengreater glory, for, as promised by good Saint Lazarus, he was never overcome, but ever victorious. Because of this good fortune, the old ballads sing of Rodrigo as, "He who was born in happy hour."
But the king loved not the Cid, and finally, accusing him falsely of treachery, banished the Champion from the kingdom. The Cid, who was poor at this time, devised a trick to get money for the journey. He made ready two great chests covered with crimson leather and studded with gilt nails, and filled them with sand. Then, sending for two Jews, money-lenders, he offered to pawn the chests, saying they were full of refined gold taken from the Moors; but that he feared to dispose of them openly, because Alfonso, who had accused him of having taken tribute-money belonging to the crown, would certainly seize the treasure. He made the condition that the chests be not opened for a year, but if not redeemed at the end of that time, should become the property of the Jews. They fell into the trap, and giving the Cid six hundred marks, carried off the chests, rejoicing at the great treasure that would surely become theirs, for they believed that the owner would be in exile many years. When, at the end of the twelve months, theydiscovered the fraud that had been practised upon them, great was their wrath.
But on the return of the Cid from exile, he repaid the Jews in full. An old chest preserved in the cathedral of Burgos is said to be one of these coffers of the Cid.
Twice was Rodrigo recalled from exile by the king, who needed him sadly in the fierce war for the possession of Spain, that had now broken out afresh between the Christians and Mohammedans.
Finally the Cid, when banished once more, renounced his allegiance to Alfonso, and made war upon his former lord, carrying fire and sword into Castile. Thus the Champion became a free lance, making war for gain upon whom he pleased, and serving any prince, Christian or Mohammedan, who made it worth his while. This conduct cannot be admired, but we must not judge the Cid as we would a hero of our own times. In his day the standard of conduct was very different, and even the best men frequently committed deeds that shock us unspeakably. It was an age of violence and fraud. To make war upon your neighbor, with or without good cause, was thought to be worthy of all praise, especially if you conquered him. Mightmade right; and as the Cid was always victorious, he received little or no blame for acts that we should consider cruel or treacherous, but won great admiration and renown by his courage, boldness, and marvelous skill in warfare.
The poets of that day delight in relating the various exploits of the Cid. In a celebrated battle with Count Berenger, Rodrigo captured a vast store of treasure, and many swords made in olden days. Among these was the wonderful blade, Colada, worth a thousand marks in silver. With this weapon, he afterwards slew many score of enemies in battle.
But the crowning glory of the Cid's adventurous life was the capture of Valencia. This splendid city, on the east coast of Spain, was besieged by him for many months. At length, the city fell into such straits that, in the words of the old chronicler, "the inhabitants counted themselves as dead men, and walked through the streets as though they were drunken. They understood not the words of one another, and lost all of their memory, even as a man who falls into the waves of the sea. Then came the Christians up to the walls, and called aloud in words of thunder, making mockery of them, and threatening them, and saying: 'False traitors and renegades, give up your city to the Cid, Ruy Diaz, for ye cannot save it!' And the Moors remained silent, so great was their grief and despair."
A famous poem, the "Dirge of Valencia," composed by one of its Arab inhabitants during the siege, gives us a picture of the wretched state of the once beautiful city.
"Valencia! Valencia! many troubles are come upon thee,and in such peril art thou set that, if thou escape, thewonder will be great among all that behold thee."Thy lofty towers and beautiful, which gleamed from afarand comforted the hearts of the people, are falling pieceby piece."Thy white bulwarks which shewed so fair in the distancehave lost the beauty whereby they shone so brightly inthe beams of the sun."Thy famous and delightful gardens that are round aboutthee, the ravening wolf has torn up their roots andthey give no fruits."[1]
"Valencia! Valencia! many troubles are come upon thee,and in such peril art thou set that, if thou escape, thewonder will be great among all that behold thee.
"Thy lofty towers and beautiful, which gleamed from afarand comforted the hearts of the people, are falling pieceby piece.
"Thy white bulwarks which shewed so fair in the distancehave lost the beauty whereby they shone so brightly inthe beams of the sun.
"Thy famous and delightful gardens that are round aboutthee, the ravening wolf has torn up their roots andthey give no fruits."[1]
At last the unhappy city surrendered to the Cid, and he became its sole ruler and a personage of still greater power and renown. In Valencia, for some years, the conqueror lived in the royal magnificence of an Oriental prince.
When the Moors under King Yusef came from Morocco, fifty thousand strong, to retake the city, the Cid was not at all alarmed. As soon as theMoors had encamped before Valencia, the Cid led his wife and daughter up into the tower of the Alcazar. They raised their eyes, and saw the thousands of tents pitched on the plain.
"Heaven save thee, Cid, what is this?" they cried.
"Good wife, fear nothing. Riches are these to increase our store,—right marvelous and grand. As soon as thou art come, they wish to make us a present. Wife, sit thou in the Alcazar, and be not afraid when thou seest me in the fight."
The next day the drums sounded, and the Cid's heart was glad. He drew up the Christians, and they sped forth to do battle with the infidels. "They drove them from the garden in royal style; straight up to the camp was the pursuit continued. Glad is my Cid for all they have done."
"Hearken to me, my knights," he said. "A good day is to-day, but to-morrow shall be better." In the morning the battle was renewed. With only four thousand men, the Cid routed Yusef with fifty thousand. So many of the Moors did Rodrigo slay that they could not be counted. Three strokes the Cid gave King Yusef, who only escaped by the swiftness ofhis horse. His wonderful sword, Tizona, fell into the hands of the Cid. Gold and silver and precious stuff in great quantities was captured.
"Joyful is my Cid and all his vassals, that God had shown such favor to them that they had conquered in the field."
In yet another battle against the Moors the Cid was victorious. Bucar, the brother of Yusef, attacked Valencia, but was soon put to flight by the Champion. Rodrigo pursued the flying king, brandishing his sword and shouting,—
"Turn thee, Bucar, thou who camest over seas to behold the Cid with the long beard! We must meet and cut out a friendship!"
"God confound such friendship!" cried the frightened king, as he fled still faster. But Rodrigo, determined to be friendly in his way, flung his sword after Bucar. It struck between the shoulders of the fleeing king. But Bucar's horse was the swifter, and he escaped by riding into the sea and taking boat.
Now the Cid was left for some time in possession of Valencia and became an independent prince,—in fact, if not in name. The neighboring kings were glad to make friendly alliance with the great warrior who had never yet met with a defeat.
Some time after the victory over Bucar, the Cid laid siege to Murviedro. This town was the ancient Saguntum, once besieged by Hannibal. It was a strongly fortified place, and there seemed little chance of Rodrigo's taking it. But after the siege had lasted some time, the citizens saw plainly that they could not hold their city against the great conqueror. So they begged him to grant them a truce in order that they might send to the neighboring princes for help. The proud warrior, disdaining any number of enemies, readily consented to the truce.
Now when the messengers from Murviedro reached the courts of the neighboring princes, and implored their help, not one would lend aid to the distressed city. Alfonso of Castile replied to their petition,—
"Certes, I will not succor you. I would liefer Rodrigo have your town than a Saracen king."
And Al Mustain, the Moorish King of Saragossa, gave the envoys this discouraging answer,—
"Go and take such comfort as ye may, and fight bravely, for Rodrigo is invincible, and therefore I am afraid to do battle with him."
When the sorely disappointed envoys returned to Murviedro, great was the distress of its inhabitants. But in order to gain time, they pretended that the messengers had not returned, and therefore besought Rodrigo to extend the time of the truce. The Cid knew well that their statement was false, and that the envoys were even then in Murviedro, but he replied,—
"In order to show you that I fear none of your kings, I grant you a further truce of twelve days for them to come to your aid. If then they come not, and you do not surrender, I will slay all of you that I capture."
But at the end of the twelve days the Cid granted yet another delay. When that time had expired, and the city was forced to surrender, the Cid did not carry out his threat, but mercifully granted the inhabitants their lives, and permitted them to take their wives and children and go where they would. But some who presumed on his generosity to send all their wealth out of the city, against the Cid's express command, the conqueror sold into slavery.
This conquest of Murviedro was the last great exploit of the Champion. For the day was approaching when the conqueror must yield himself to the conqueror of all. The Cid fell ill, and while in this state, heard that Bucar was again coming with a great force against Valencia. Onenight soon after, so runs the old legend, there swept through the palace of the dying Champion a great wave of light and a marvelous sweet perfume. And there appeared to the Cid a tall and stately old man, with long snowy hair, holding keys in his hand; and thus he spoke,—
"Sleepest thou, Rodrigo?"
"What man art thou?" the Cid asked his strange visitor boldly.
"I am Saint Peter, prince of the apostles," he said; "and I am come to tell thee that when thirty days be past, thou must quit this world and go to the life that hath no end. But God will so favor thee that after thy death thou shalt conquer and rout King Bucar. This does Christ grant thee for love of me and for the honor thou didst ever pay me in my church at Cardenas." And after he had spoken, Saint Peter straightway departed. Then the Cid rejoiced greatly, and the next day he called his chief men, and said to them,—
"My friends and kinsmen, be sure that I am now come upon the end of my life, and thirty days hence shall see my end. I have seen visions of my father and son, and each time they say: 'Long hast thou tarried here; let us begone to the eternal life.'
"And last night Saint Peter came to me and told me that in thirty days I shall pass away; but before I leave you, I will show you how you shall conquer King Bucar, as Saint Peter did promise me."
Then the Cid betook himself to the church of Saint Peter. There all the people assembled, and he bade them farewell, weeping sore. After confessing his sins and receiving absolution, he went back to the Alcazar and cast himself upon the bed, and never again did he rise up. Seven days before the end of the thirty he bade them bring him a gold cup, and in it he mixed with rose-water a little balsam and myrrh, sent him by the Sultan of Persia, and drank the mixture.
This he did each day, as was the custom of Moorish princes; and so his body and face became fresh and healthy-looking, though he grew weaker every hour. At last he called his wife, Ximena, Bishop Hieronymo, and his three most trusty friends, and said,—
"As soon as I be dead, ye shall wash my body many times with rose-water and balsam. And thou, Ximena, take heed that thou and the women cry not aloud nor wail for me so that the Moors get knowledge of my death. And when Bucar is come, bid all the folk of Valenciago forth on the wall and sound trumpets, and show great glee. Also bid the people get together their goods in secret, that the Moors know it not, for ye may not tarry here after my death, but must needs go back to Castile. Thou, Gil Diaz, deck my body with care, and saddle Babieca, and bind me on him so that I fall not, and place in my hand my sword, Tizona; and thou, Don Hieronymo, shalt ride by my side; and thou, Bermudez, bear my banner as thou wast wont to do; and thou, Don Fanez, shalt draw up the host as thou hast ever done. Then go ye forth and battle with Bucar, for be assured and doubt not that ye shall win the battle."
Having said these words, the dying hero received the sacrament, and then prayed, weeping:
"Lord Jesus Christ, I pray Thee of thy grace that Thou wilt pardon my sins, and that my soul be placed in the light that hath no end."
And so saying, "the Cid gave to God his soul."
Then the faithful friends and loving wife did even as he had commanded them. The body had been embalmed by the myrrh and balsam, and thus remained fresh-looking as in life. So they clothed the dead warrior in all his armor of war, with coat of arms and shield, and placedin his hand the precious sword, Tizona. His arms were raised aloft, and tied up so cunningly that he held the sword straight and even. When bound strongly upon his good horse, Babieca, any man not knowing the truth would have sworn the knight to be alive.
At last all things were in readiness. And at midnight a strange procession rode through the silent, deserted streets of the city. First went forth Pero Bermudez, bearing aloft the great green banner of the Champion, that had never yet failed to strike terror into the hearts of his foes. Then all silently, in battle-array, the warriors of the Cid passed through the gates of Valencia; and with them, as of old, rode their dead leader, Ruy Diaz de Bivar. A hundred chosen knights pressed close about the Champion; and before him, with breaking heart, but tearless and quiet as her lord had commanded, rode the high-hearted Ximena. So went forth to his last conflict the ever-victorious Cid, the great conqueror of banners.
At daylight the little army fell upon the sleeping camp of King Bucar, and slew many Moors before they could mount or arm. And it seemed to King Bucar and the other kings that there joined the host of the Christians full seventythousand knights, all white as snow. Ahead of all rode a tall knight on a white horse. In his left hand he held a white banner, and in his right a sword of fire; and he slew many Moors as they fled. So terrified were King Bucar and his men that they drew not rein until they reached the sea; and more than twenty thousand were drowned. Bucar and those who escaped to the ships hoisted sails and sped away, nor did they dare look back.
Then the Christians rode back in triumph to the presence of the dead Champion, and laden with the treasure of the Moorish camp, marched in peace to Castile.
All along the way the people came forth in multitudes to see the great Champion on his last journey; and much they marveled at his lifelike appearance, and greatly they mourned for him. But the Cid's own men, as he had bidden them, made no open show of grief. And so, with banners flying, with gleam of spear and sound of trumpet, the strange funeral train passed through the land, until it came at last to the church of San Pedro de Cardenas. There they placed the Cid on a horse of wood, before the high altar. After many masses had been sung for the repose of his soul, a tabernaclewas built on the right of the altar, and in it was placed the ivory throne on which the Cid was wont to sit. There, clothed in royal purple, with right hand clasping his mantle and the left grasping Tizona sheathed, sat the Champion like a king and lord for ten long years. And each day until her death, Ximena knelt for hours, morning and evening, at the feet of her lord, and wept and mourned and would not be comforted.
At last, seated thus on his ivory throne, the Cid was entombed in a vault before the high altar. His hand could never be unclasped from his sword, and thus, says the legend, it remains to this day. Well might the people believe that even in death the great warrior would not loose his hold on his cherished sword Tizona; for with it he had done such marvelous deeds that even his enemies looked on him as "a miracle of the miracles of God," and bestowed on him the proud title of "The Conqueror of Banners."
Within his hall of Burgos, the king prepares a feast,He makes his preparation for many a noble guest.It is a joyful city, it is a happy day;'Tis the Campeador's wedding, and who will bide away?Layn Calvo, the Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate,Behind him Ruy Diaz in all his bridal state.The crowd makes way before them as up the street they go;For the multitude of people, their steps must need be slow.The King had given order that they should rear an arch,From house to house all over, in the way where they must march:They have hung it all with lances, and shields, and glittering helms,Brought by the Campeador from out the Moorish realms.They have scattered olive branches and rushes on the street,And the ladies fling down garlands at the Campeador's feet;With tapestry and broidery their balconies between,To do his bridal honor, their walls the burghers screen.They lead the bulls before them all covered o'er with trappings;The little boys pursue them with hootings and with clappings;The fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing'Midst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing.With antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter,They fill the streets of Burgos—and the Devil he comes after;For the King has hired the horned fiend for sixteen maravedis,And there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies.Then comes the bride Ximena—the King he holds her hand;And the Queen; and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land.All down the street the ears of wheat are round Ximena flying,But the King lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there was lying.Quoth Suero, when he saw it (his thought you understand),"'Tis a fine thing to be a King, but Heaven make me ahand!"The King was very merry, when he was told of this,And swore the bride, ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss.The King went always talking, but she held down her head,And seldom gave an answer to anything he said;It was better to be silent, among such crowds of folk,Than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke.Ballad translated by J. G. Lockhartfrom "Poems of Places."
Within his hall of Burgos, the king prepares a feast,He makes his preparation for many a noble guest.It is a joyful city, it is a happy day;'Tis the Campeador's wedding, and who will bide away?
Layn Calvo, the Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate,Behind him Ruy Diaz in all his bridal state.The crowd makes way before them as up the street they go;For the multitude of people, their steps must need be slow.
The King had given order that they should rear an arch,From house to house all over, in the way where they must march:They have hung it all with lances, and shields, and glittering helms,Brought by the Campeador from out the Moorish realms.
They have scattered olive branches and rushes on the street,And the ladies fling down garlands at the Campeador's feet;With tapestry and broidery their balconies between,To do his bridal honor, their walls the burghers screen.
They lead the bulls before them all covered o'er with trappings;The little boys pursue them with hootings and with clappings;The fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing'Midst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing.
With antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter,They fill the streets of Burgos—and the Devil he comes after;For the King has hired the horned fiend for sixteen maravedis,And there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies.
Then comes the bride Ximena—the King he holds her hand;And the Queen; and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land.All down the street the ears of wheat are round Ximena flying,But the King lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there was lying.
Quoth Suero, when he saw it (his thought you understand),"'Tis a fine thing to be a King, but Heaven make me ahand!"The King was very merry, when he was told of this,And swore the bride, ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss.
The King went always talking, but she held down her head,And seldom gave an answer to anything he said;It was better to be silent, among such crowds of folk,Than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke.
Ballad translated by J. G. Lockhartfrom "Poems of Places."
I sing the pious arms and Chief, who freedThe Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane:Much did he toil in thought, and much in deed;Much in the glorious enterprise sustain;And Hell in vain opposed him; and in vainAfric and Asia to the rescue pouredTheir mingled tribes; Heaven recompensed his pain,And from all fruitless sallies of the sword,True to the Red-cross flag, his wandering friends restored.Tasso.
I sing the pious arms and Chief, who freedThe Sepulchre of Christ from thrall profane:Much did he toil in thought, and much in deed;Much in the glorious enterprise sustain;And Hell in vain opposed him; and in vainAfric and Asia to the rescue pouredTheir mingled tribes; Heaven recompensed his pain,And from all fruitless sallies of the sword,True to the Red-cross flag, his wandering friends restored.
Tasso.
It was a bright autumn day of the year 1095A. D., and since early morning the inhabitants of the little French village of Clermont had been astir, and feasting their eyes on the unusual spectacle of strangers from all France, Germany, and Italy. It was the day appointed by the Pope for a council to consider the state of the Christians in Palestine; and loyal sons and daughters of the Church had gathered from far and near. Outside the limits of the town for miles around, their white tents and many-colored banners gleamed in the sunshine, for the village could not accommodate the throngs of visitors.
Now the tents and houses were deserted, as all had crowded into the town to witness the proceedings of the Council. No building could contain the thousands of people, so the Pope had decided to hold the meeting in the great publicsquare of Clermont. Here the vast crowds had assembled. As far as the eye could reach, down every street leading into the square, extended a closely packed multitude. They stood silent, almost motionless, their faces turned toward the platform in the center of the wide square.
People of all classes, ages, and conditions were there: nobles, clad in rich dress or glittering armor; priests in dark robes; peasants in coarse frieze; ladies of rank, merchants, beggars,—all stood side by side, forgetful of everything worldly, listening eagerly to the words of the man who looked down on them from the high stand in their midst.
This man was small and mean in his appearance. His bony figure was covered by a woolen tunic and a coarse serge gown that reached to the bare feet. From the neck drooped a monk's hood. His thin, haggard face, burned brown by long exposure to the hot sun and winds of the East, would have been ugly but for the deep, dark, flashing eyes, lit up with wild enthusiasm and fiery earnestness. The monk held erect with the left arm a great wooden cross that overtopped his head. Gesticulating fiercely as he addressed the absorbed multitude, his slight frame quivered with the violence of his emotions, and tears rolleddown the sunken cheeks. In a voice often broken by sobs he cried:—
"Men of Clermont, people of France, Christians of all nations, come hither at the call of our Holy Father, the Pope! I tell you not of things learned by hearsay; I myself have beheld all these horrors in the Holy Land of Palestine. Through the ancient streets of Jerusalem the accursed infidels stalk in the evil pride of conquest. They insult and oppress, they torture and murder the followers of Christ. They rob and maltreat the pious pilgrims from all lands who toil through desert and over mountain to worship at the tomb of their Lord. Scarcely will these heathen suffer the adoration of Christ in the blessed city of His cross and passion. Nay, not content with persecuting our brethren, the vile crew of Mohammed, accursed of God, attack the very majesty of the most high God. They cast down and burn the churches of Christ; they tear His ministers from the very altar and drag them to a shameful death; they profane the holy places; they mock and spit upon the symbol of His holy religion,—this blessed cross, the sign of our redemption.
"O people of Christ, God hath already stretched forth His hand to the destruction of the wicked.To me, the most humble of His servants,—to Peter the Hermit, despised of men,—hath He revealed His purpose. For while I lay prone upon the rock before the Holy Sepulchre, calling upon God for mercy, the voice of the Lord Christ came to mine ears,—
"'Peter, arise! Hasten to proclaim the tribulations of my people. It is time that my servants should receive help, that the holy places should be delivered!'
"When I heard this, I hastened in fearful and joyful obedience to tell to Christian nations the sore straits of Christ's land and followers. Here stands God's priest to call the people of God to this holy work,—Christ himself calls you to the rescue of the Holy Land. Arm yourselves and hasten to Palestine! There shall ye cast out the heathen! There shall ye restore Jerusalem and the Holy City to the keeping of God's people!"
As Peter sank down exhausted with emotion, the Pope, Urban II., in all the splendor of his pontifical robes, arose from his throne in the midst of the prelates of the Church, and came forward. It was he who had called this solemn council of priests and nobles to consider the state of the Holy Land and to devise means for its rescue. Now, with dignity and eloquence, Urbanadded the sanction of the Church to Peter's wild appeal, saying:—
"I will not seek to dry the tears which images so painful must draw from you. Let us weep, my brethren; but evil be to us if in our sterile pity we longer leave the heritage of the Lord in the hands of the impious. For I called ye hither, not to weep over the afflictions of the Holy Land, but to gird on your swords and go forth to its deliverance.
"Christian warriors, rejoice! for to-day ye have found a true cause for battle. Go forth and fight the barbarians. Go and fight for the delivery of Jerusalem,—that royal city which the Redeemer of the human race has hallowed by His passion, has purchased by His blood, has distinguished by His burial. She now demands of you her deliverance. Men of France, men from beyond the mountains, nations chosen and beloved of God, right valiant knights, recall the virtues and greatness of Charlemagne and your other kings. It is from you, above all, that Jerusalem awaits the help she invokes, for to you, above all, has God given glory in arms. Take ye, therefore, the road to Jerusalem for the remission of your sins,—for all sins shall be forgiven to the warrior of Christ,—and departassured of the deathless glory that awaits ye in the kingdom of heaven!"
As the Pope ceased speaking, the people cried aloud in wild enthusiasm,—
"The cross! the cross! Give us the cross!"
Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, was first to receive the holy symbol. Then all the multitude, pressing eagerly forward, received from Pope or priest a red cross of silk or cloth. Fastened on shoulder or breast, it henceforth stamped the wearer as one sworn to fight for the delivery of the Holy Land,—a Crusader.
In the throng surrounding the platform on which stood the Pope, Peter the Hermit, and many princes of the Church, was a certain young knight. His dress betokened high station. He bore himself modestly, with easy grace; and yet a peculiarly stern dignity of mien, and the air of one used to command, bespoke the military leader. He gave close heed throughout to the speech of the poor monk and that of the proud Head of the Church. As Peter spoke of the persecuted Christians and the wretched state of the Holy Land, the calm and steadfast eyes of the young man kindled with rage or glistened with sorrow. When the Pope mentioned the renowned Charlemagne, the knight's smooth, pale cheek flushedwith pride, for the blood of that great emperor flowed warm in his veins. When the pardon of all sins was promised by Christ's vicar to the soldier of the cross, the listener started. To his mind came the recollection of past exploits,—deeds glorious in the eyes of the world, but which left a sting in that tender conscience. And the troubled knight mused:—
"The cause of my emperor was just when he warred against Rodolphe of Rhenfield; and the many slain in that quarrel trouble me not. I was glad when my lance pierced the breast of the upstart who dared to claim the throne of Germany and the crown of Henry. Alas! if but the emperor had not warred against the Holy Father! If I had not drawn my sword against Holy Church! When Henry stormed the battlements of Rome, my young blood was hot with the joy of battle. I thought not of sin, but of glory, in that wild charge, and I was first to plant our banner on the city wall. Henry himself gave me thanks and saluted me as Duke of Antwerp and Lorraine. But, alas! God rebuked me soon for my pride in that warfare against His Holy Church by sending me a most grievous sickness. Then I swore to atone for my impiety by an humble pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Butnow,God be thanked! Godfrey de Bouillon goes not with scrip and staff to Jerusalem, there to weep over the captivity of Zion—with sword and spear will he march to the Holy Land and wrest the Sepulchre of the Lord from the hands of the infidels!"
Thus determining, the knight, with a look of high resolve, strode forward to the feet of the Pope. Urban received him joyously.
"Now God be praised!" he said fervently, "that the valiant Godfrey de Bouillon turns his erstwhile hostile arms to the cause of Holy Church. His young renown shall be increased a thousandfold, for God will give yet greater victories to his banner."
Then after fastening the cross upon the shoulder of the kneeling knight, Urban bestowed upon him a sword with these words,—
"Son Godfrey, receive this sword consecrated by God's high priest to the service of Christ. Draw it not save against the enemies of His holy religion; but strike and spare not the infidel. So shalt thou advance the glory of God, cleanse thy soul from every sin, and purchase Paradise!"
Godfrey's pious heart throbbed within him at these great promises. He heeded not the crowd about him, nor the congratulations of his friendsupon this signal honor, but betook himself to solitude, there to pray, and to plan the execution of this high enterprise.
Erelong the Pope held council with Godfrey and other great princes who had taken the cross, and it was decided that the Crusaders should not start on their expedition until the following August, for it was then November and much was to be done. The armies were to march in several divisions, each by a different route, but all were to meet at Constantinople. Having arranged these matters, the princes and lords bade one another farewell and proceeded to their several domains, each to collect and prepare an army for the coming Crusade.
But Peter the Hermit, impatient of delay, set out at once for Palestine at the head of a vast, undisciplined multitude, ill-clad, lacking arms and provisions, unprepared in every way for the perilous undertaking, but confident that God would supply all their needs, guide them, and deliver the Holy City into their hands.
When Duke Godfrey reached his duchy of Lorraine, he found that the wave of enthusiasm started at Clermont had already dashed over his people. There was no need to urge them on to the holy work. Each and every one was eagerto don the cross and set out to the rescue of Palestine. Men gave their gold, their land; women sold their jewels, their costly raiment, to provide means for the equipment of God's soldiers. The Duke of Lorraine himself pledged his province of Bouillon to the Bishop of Liège for money to fit out the thousands who flocked to his banner from Bouillon and Lorraine, from both sides of the Rhine, from northern France and western Germany.
Knowing both Frank and Teuton,—able to greet each in his native tongue,—Godfrey was well fitted by birth and education to lead the vast army that now gathered on the banks of the Meuse and Moselle. Indeed, all the qualities of a great general and of "a very gentle, perfect knight" were Godfrey's. From his father, Eustace, Count of Boulogne, a notable warrior, he inherited valor and wisdom, and learned early "to be among the first to strike the foe." His mother, Ida de Bouillon, a most learned and pious lady, taught him to fear God, to be gentle, courteous, just, and merciful. "Even in youth," says the old chronicler, "a rival, on seeing him, was forced to exclaim, 'For zeal in battle, behold his father; for serving God, behold his mother!'"
Such was the character of Godfrey de Bouillon, Duke of Lorraine, "in whom the luster of nobility was enhanced by the splendor of the most exalted virtues." Nor was his appearance less to be admired. He was of tall, powerful frame and most dignified bearing. He was "beautiful in countenance," and the glance of his dark gray eyes, though usually gentle and kind, could command respect and obedience from the most lawless.
Godfrey was indeed an imposing figure when he rode forth that autumn day of September, 1096, at the head of his army of Crusaders. He wore the usual dress and armor of a knight. On his head was a silver casque, surmounted by a black plume. A hauberk, or coat of mail, composed of steel rings, protected his body. He carried on the left arm a round buckler, which bore simply the red cross of the Crusader,—the same symbol as that worn on his breast. A sword and lance, borne by his squire, completed the knight's equipment of arms.
With the duke were his brothers, Baldwin and Eustace, his kinsman, Baldwin du Bourg, and his squire, Sigier. Before the leader, rode the standard-bearers with the banner of Lorraine and the great standard of the Crusade, emblazoned with a blood-red cross.
Ten thousand knights on horseback followed, attired like Godfrey, but with gayer ornaments and colors. Their shields, from which floated scarfs of red, green, or white, were ornamented with painted leopards, lions, birds, towers, or other fanciful devices. From each lance a pennant drooped.
After the knights, marched eighty thousand foot-soldiers, carrying long oval shields and armed with lances, swords, cross-bows, or heavy clubs. Behind these soldiers, trudged thousands of women and children.
On every breast shone the red cross and from every lip rang the Crusader's battle-cry, "God wills it!" So the army of Godfrey de Bouillon marched forth from Lorraine to the rescue of the Holy Land.
After traveling many long days through Germany, the Crusaders reached the country of the Hungarians, a rude though Christian people. There the army was stopped on the border by armed forces. Godfrey, attended by only a few followers, sought the presence of the king. Carloman received him with simple but courteous hospitality.
"I have come," said the Duke, "to ask that the soldiers of my army, bound to the rescue ofthe Holy Land, be allowed to pass through thy country in peace and safety."
"Truly," said Carloman, "I would fain grant thy request, but it is not long since a great multitude, also Crusaders, were suffered to pass,—they robbed and murdered my people. Then came hundreds of thousands who fell upon us—in revenge, they said, for the death of their brethren, many of whom, in truth, had been justly slain by my ill-treated subjects. How can I dare to let loose thy soldiers upon my land?"
"Nay," said the just Godfrey, "I come not for war, or to avenge those unhappy pilgrims,—God pardon them! They were but ignorant and misguided peasants; for their leader, the monk, Peter, though a man of God, is often too fierce in his zeal. I pledge thee my faith as a Christian that thy land and thy people shall not suffer if thou let my army march through Hungary."
Now Godfrey's speech and look were so noble and sincere that the king put faith in his word, but as was the custom, demanded hostages,—the duke's brother among the number. Baldwin demurred, saying aside to Godfrey,—
"How do I know that thou canst hinder thy soldiers from plunder? And if thou do not, my life is forfeit. Thou knowest that I risk it withjoy on the battlefield, but I care not to die a shameful death in this barbarous land."
"And will it be a shameful death to die thus in aiding the march of the deliverers to Jerusalem?" asked Godfrey, reproachfully. "Nay, say no more; I myself will be hostage," and he turned toward the king. But Baldwin, at this generous offer, was sorry and ashamed, and he said,—
"Not so, Godfrey, thou shalt not risk thy life; it is more precious than mine. I will stay."
Thus it was arranged, and so potent was the influence of the beloved leader that his men marched through Hungary harming neither land nor people. At the border, Baldwin and the other hostages were returned, and the king and his people, giving Godfrey abundant supplies, parted from them in good-will and friendship.
Now when Godfrey neared Constantinople, he learned that Hugh, Duke of Vermandois, brother to the King of France, and leader of an army of Crusaders from that country, was held prisoner by the Greek emperor, Alexius. The Duke of Lorraine sent at once to Alexius, demanding the release of the French prince. Alexius immediately set free the captive duke, whom in truth he had treated with much courtesy, and alsopromised aid to Godfrey, and allowed his army to encamp near Constantinople. Shortly after, however, the emperor made a move indicating treachery. Godfrey at once sounded the trumpets and prepared to assault the city; but when Alexius quickly sought peace, the placable duke accepted his explanations and assurances of friendship. Then Alexius entertained Godfrey with unheard-of splendor, and soon thought so highly of the knight as to adopt him as a son, according to Eastern custom.
Here the Duke of Lorraine was joined by other armies, one commanded by Raymond, Count of Toulouse,—a tried warrior who had fought in youth under the banner of the Cid; the other led by brave and crafty Bohemond, Prince of Tarentum. In the host of Crusaders from France, Germany, Italy, Spain, England, and even far-off Ireland, were many renowned princes, prelates, and nobles: Adhemar, Bishop of Puy, the Pope's legate; Robert, Duke of Normandy, the heroic and reckless son of William the Conqueror; Count Robert of Paris, wild and ferocious; the gallant Count of Flanders; Stephen of Blois, Count of Chartres; and the pure and perfect knight, Tancred.
All these leaders Alexius flattered and cajoled with soft words and magnificent gifts, promisingthem help and support on condition that the cities in Asia Minor formerly belonging to his empire, if captured by the Crusaders, be returned to him. But Alexius was a weak and deceitful prince, caring naught for anything save his own interest, as the Crusaders soon discovered. So it was without regret, in spite of his sumptuous entertainment of them, that Godfrey and the other leaders took leave of the Greek emperor and crossed the Bosphorus. This took some time, for the immense armies numbered one hundred thousand knights on horseback, clad in armor, five hundred thousand foot-soldiers, and numerous priests, women, and little children. They outnumbered "the sands of the sea, the leaves of the forest, the stars of heaven," writes the daughter of Alexius.
This vast host soon encamped before the large city of Nicæa, its strong walls and hundreds of towers swarming with Turks. Here, Godfrey's men found, wandering in the desert, Peter the Hermit and a few wretched men who had escaped when their companions were slaughtered by the Turks. These few were the remnant of the hundred thousand pilgrims—men, women, and children—whom the wild monk had undertaken to lead to Palestine soon after the Councilof Clermont. So numerous were the bones of these slain Crusaders, near Nicæa, that the soldiers of Godfrey used them in building the walls and divisions of his great camp before that city.
Scarcely had this camp been completed when the Sultan of Nicæa, Kilidge-Arslan, the "Sword of the Lion," swept down from the mountain on the Christian army. "Then the two armies joined, mingled, and attacked each other with equal fury. Everywhere glittered casques and shields; lances rung against cuirasses; the air resounded with piercing cries; the terrified horses recoiled at the din of arms and the hissing of arrows; the earth trembled under the tread of the combatants; and the plain was for a vast space bristling with javelins."
Godfrey was here, there, everywhere, in the fiercest of the fight, slaying the infidels on all sides. His high contempt of danger and death inspired his men to fight with equal ardor. At last the Turks were driven back, but they returned next day to the attack, nor did they retreat until the Crusaders had slain four thousand of them. The heads of these Turks were cut off and thrown over the walls of Nicæa, there to inform the garrison of the Crusaders' victory and to frighten them into surrender.
But the Turks held out long, in spite of the many brave assaults made by the besiegers. In these attacks the Crusaders used many strange machines of war,—great rams of wood to batter down the walls; ballistas for casting stones, beams, and arrows; and catapults for throwing fire and huge stones into the city.
The Turks had similar machines and also great iron hands with which they reached down from the walls, seized the Crusaders, and drew them up into the city. Then, killing these luckless captives and stripping the bodies, the infidels would hurl them back by machines into the camp of the Christians. These cruelties and the vengeance of the Crusaders made the warfare very horrible.
Wonderful deeds were performed on both sides. A huge giant among the Turks made himself admired and dreaded by his great skill and extraordinary strength. With every cast of his javelin he slew an enemy, and he destroyed scores of the besiegers by hurling down upon them great masses of rock. One day he stood on the city wall and, single-handed, held at bay a great number of Christians. While fighting, he shouted defiance to the whole army of Crusaders, ridiculing them and grossly insulting their religion. Hundreds of arrows flew at him, but still he remainedunhurt. Then Godfrey, who had been in another part of the field, came rushing up to discover the cause of the tumult. The infidel, poising an arrow, exclaimed,—
"Dog of a Christian, thou too shalt die! Let us see if thy crucified God can save thee!"
Enraged at this insolence and blasphemy, Godfrey seized a cross-bow and took aim quickly. Through the heart of the scoffing giant went the arrow, and down into the ditch tumbled the dreaded infidel. Cries of distress from the Turks and shouts of joy from the Christians greeted this deed of the valiant Godfrey.
After seven weeks of almost continuous fighting, the Crusaders were on the point of taking Nicæa, when to their astonishment they saw the standard of Alexius raised on the city wall. The cunning Greek emperor, learning that the city was about to surrender, had sent an envoy and persuaded the Turks to deliver Nicæa to him. So the indignant Crusaders received no reward for their hardships and valor. Swearing vengeance on the emperor at some later day, they took up the march to Jerusalem.
Over mountains, beside deep precipices, through swift torrents, they toiled, suffering agonies from heat, hunger, fatigue, and thirst.On the plain of Dorylæum, in Phrygia, part of the army under Bohemond, Prince of Tarentum, was attacked by Kilidge-Arslan with two hundred thousand Turks, and was on the verge of defeat when Godfrey, at the head of a small body of knights, rushed to the rescue and put the Turks to headlong flight. The conquerors found the camp of the enemy near by, and took possession of large stores of provisions, tents, horses, camels, and treasures of all kinds. Rejoicing, the leaders divided the spoils, and after a short rest took up the march once more.
Soon the Crusaders suffered terribly, for only a land made waste met their eyes,—smoking villages and crops swept away.
The "Sword of the Lion" had gone before and cut down and destroyed everything in their path. The vengeful Turk had even poisoned the wells, and in this desert country of Phrygia the pilgrims died by thousands.
The tender heart of Godfrey was wrung by the pitiable distress of his people. All that was possible of help and comfort he gave them, but he could not quench their thirst.
Almost in despair he sat in his tent one day, grieving bitterly, for the moans of the suffering came to his ears.