PART I.
THE MOOR CALAYNOS.
IN the following version I have taken liberty to omit a good
many of the introductory stanzas of the famous Coplas de Calainos. The reader
will remember that this ballad is alluded to in Don Quixote, where the Knight’s
nocturnal visit to Toboso is described.
It is generally
believed to be among the most ancient, and certainly was among the most
popular, of all the ballads in the Cancionero.
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I.
“I HAD six Moorish
nurses, but the seventh was not a Moor,
The Moors they gave
me milk enow, but the Christian gave me lore;
And she told me
ne’er to listen, though sweet the words might be,
Till he that spake
had proved his troth, and pledged a gallant fee.” —
II.
“Fair damsel,”
quoth Calaynos, “if thou wilt go with me,
Say what may win
thy favour, and thine that gift shall be.
Fair stands the
castle on the rock, the city in the vale,
And bonny is the
red red gold, and rich the silver pale.” —
III.
“Fair sir,” quoth
she, “virginity I never will lay down
For gold, nor yet
for silver, for castle, nor for town;
But I will be your
leman for the heads of certain peers —
And I ask but three
— Rinaldo’s — Roland’s — and Olivier’s.” —
IV.
He kissed her hand
where she did stand, he kissed her lips also,
And “Bring forth,”
he cries, “my pennon, for to Paris I must go.” —
I wot ye saw them
rearing his banner broad right soon,
Whereon revealed
his bloody field its pale and crescent moon.
V.
That broad bannere
the Moore did rear, ere many days were gone,
In foul disdain of
Charlemagne, by the church of good Saint John;
In the midst of
merry Paris, on the bonny banks of Seine,
Shall never
scornful Paynim that pennon rear again.
VI.
His banner he hath
planted high, and loud his trumpet blown,
That all the twelve
might hear it well around King Charles’s throne;
The note he blew
right well they knew; both Paladin and Peer
Had the trumpet
heard of that stern lord in many a fierce career.
VII.
It chanced the
King, that fair morning, to the chace had made him bowne,
With many a knight
of warlike might, and prince of high renown;
Sir Reynold of
Montalban, and Claros’ Lord, Gaston,
Behind him rode,
and Bertram good, that reverend old Baron.
VIII.
Black D’Ardennes’
eye of mastery in that proud troop was seen,
And there was
Urgers giant force, and Guarinos’ princely mien;
Gallant and gay
upon that day was Baldwin’s youthful cheer,
But first did ride,
by Charles’s side, Roland and Olivier.
IX.
Now in a ring
around the King, not far in the greenwood,
Awaiting all the
huntsman’s call, it chanced the nobles stood;
“Now list, mine
earls, now list: “quoth Charles, “yon breeze will come again,
Some trumpet-note
methinks doth float from the bonny banks of Seine.” —
X.
He scarce had heard the trumpet, the word he scarce had said,
When among the trees he near him sees a dark and turbaned head;
“Now stand, now
stand at my command, bold Moor,” quoth Charlemagne,
“That turban green,
how dare it be Seen among the woods of Seine.” —
XI.
“My turban green
must needs be Seen among the woods of Seine,”
The Moor replied,
“since here I ride in quest of Charlemagne —
For I serve the
Moor Calaynos, and I his defiance bring
To every lord that
sits at the board of Charlemagne your King.
XII.
“Now lordlings
fair, if anywhere in the wood ye’ve seen him riding,
O tell me plain the
path he has ta’en — there is no cause for chiding;
For my lord halls
blown his trumpet by every gate of Paris
Long hours in vain,
by the bank of Seine, upon his steed he tarries.” —
XIII.
When the Emperor
had heard the Moor, full red was his old cheek,
“Go back, base cur,
upon the spur, for I am he you seek —
Go back, and tell
your master to commend him to Mahoun,
For his soul shall
dwell with him in hell, or ere yon sun go down.
XIV.
“Mine arm is weak,
my hairs are grey,” (thus spake King Charlemagne,)
“Would for one hour
I had the power of my young days again,
As when I plucked
the Saxon from out his mountain den
O soon Should cease
the vaunting of this proud Saracen!
XV.
“Though now mine
arm be weakened, though now my hairs be grey,
The hard-won praise
of other days cannot be swept away —
If shame there be,
my liegemen, that shame on you must lie —
Go forth, go forth,
good Roland; to-night this Moor must die.” —
XVI.
Then out and spake
rough Roland — “Ofttimes I’ve thinned the ranks
Of the hot Moor,
and when all was o’er have won me little thanks;
Some carpet knight
will take delight to do this doughty feat,
Whom damsels gay
shall well repay with their smiles and whispers sweet!” —
XVII.
Then out and spake
Sir Baldwin — the youngest peer was he,
The youngest and
the comeliest — “Let none go forth but me;
Sir Roland is mine
uncle, and he may in safety jeer,
But I will show the
youngest may be Sit Roland’s peer.” —
XVIII.
“Nay, go not thou,”
quoth Charlemagne, “thou art my gallant youth;
And braver none I
look upon; but thy cheek it is too smooth;
And the curls upon
thy forehead they are too glossy bright;
Some elder peer
must couch his spear against this crafty knight.” —
XIX.
But away, away goes
Baldwin, no words can stop him now,
Behind him lies the
greenwood, he hath gained the mountain’s brow,
He reineth first
his charger, within the churchyard green,
Where, striding
slow the elms below, the haughty Moor is seen.
XX.
Then out and spake
Calaynos — “Fair youth, I greet thee well;
Thou art a comely
stripling, and if thou with me wilt dwell,
All for the grace
of thy sweet face, thou shalt not lack thy fee,
Within my lady’s
chamber a pretty page thou’lt be.” —
XXI.
An angry man was
Baldwin, when thus he heard him speak,
“Proud knight,”
quoth he, “I come with thee a bloody spur to break.”
O, sternly smiled
Calaynos, when thus he heard him say, —
O loudly as he
mounted hi mailèd barb did neigh.
XXII.
One shout, one thrust,
and in the dust young Baldwin lies full low —
No youthful knight
could bear the might of that fierce warrior’s blow;
Calaynos draws his
falchion, and waves it to and fro,
“Thy name now say,
and for mercy pray, or to hell thy soul must go.” —
XXIII.
The helpless youth
revealed the truth. Then said the conqueror
“I spare thee for
thy tender years, and for thy great valour;
But thou must rest
thee captive here, and serve me on thy knee,
For fain I’d tempt
some doughtier peer to come and rescue thee.”
XXIV.
Sir Roland heard
that haughty word, (he stood behind the wall,)
His heart, I trow,
was heavy enow, when he saw his kinsman fall;
But now his heart
was burning, and never a word he said,
But clasped his
buckler on his arm, his helmet on his head.
XXV.
Another sight saw
the Moorish knight, when Roland blew his horn,
To call him to the
combat in anger and in Scorn;
All cased in steel
from head to heel, in the stirrup high he stood,
The long spear
quivered in his hand, as if athirst for blood.
XXVI.
Then out and spake
Calaynos — “Thy name I fain would hear;
A coronet on thy
helm is set; I guess thou art a Peer.” —
Sir Roland lifted
up his horn, and blew another blast,
“No words, base
Moor,” quoth Roland, “this hour shall be thy last.” —
XXVII.
I wet they met full
swiftly, I wot the shock was rude;
Down fell the
misbeliever, and o’er him Roland stood;
Close to his throat
the steel he brought, and plucked his beard full sore
“What devil
brought thee hither? — speak out or die, false Moor!” —
XXVIII.
“O! I serve a noble
damsel, a haughty maid of Spain,
And in evil day I
took my way, that I her grace might gain;
For every gift I
offered, my lady did disdain,
And craved the ears
of certain Peers that ride with Charlemagne.” —
XXIX.
Then loudly laughed
rough Roland — “Full few will be her tears,
It was not love her
soul did move, when she bade thee beard THE PEERS.” —
With that he smote
upon his throat, and spurned his crest in twain,
“No more,” he
cries, “this moon will rise above the woods of Seine.” |
THE story of Gayfer
de Bourdeaux is to be found at great length in the Romantic Chronicle of
Charlemagne; and it has supplied the Spanish minstrels with subjects for a long
series of ballads.
In that which follows,
Gayferos, yet a boy, is represented as hearing from his mother the
circumstances of his father’s death; and as narrowly escaping with his own
life, in consequence of his stepfather’s cruelty.
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I.
BEFORE her knee the
boy did stand, within the dais so fair,
The golden shears
were in her hand, to clip his curlèd hair;
And ever as she
clipped the curls, such doleful words she spake,
That tears ran from
Gayferos’ eyes, for his sad mother’s sake.
II.
“God grant a beard
were on thy face, and strength thine arm within,
To fling a spear,
or swing a mace, like Roland Paladin!
For then, I think,
thou wouldst avenge thy father that is dead,
Whom envious
traitors slaughtered within thy mother’s bed.
III.
“Their bridal-gifts
were rich and rare, that hate might not be seen;
They cut me
garments broad and fair — none fairer hath the Queen.” —
Then out and spake
the little boy — “Each night to God I call,
And to his blessèd
Mother, to make me strong and tall!” —
IV.
The Count he heard
Gayferos, in the palace where he lay;
“Now silence,
silence, Countess! it is falsehood that you say;
I neither slew the
man, nor hired another’s sword to slay; —
But, for that the
mother hath desired, be sure the son shall pay!”
V.
The Count called to
his esquires, (old followers were they,
Whom the dead Lord
had nurtured for many a merry day) —
He bade them take
their old Lord’s heir, and stop his tender breath —
Alas! ‘twas piteous
but to hear the manner of that death.
VI.
“List, esquires,
list, for my command is offspring of mine oath —
The stirrup-foot
and the hilt-hand see that ye sunder both; —
That ye cut out his
eyes ‘twere best — the safer he will go —
And bring a finger
and the heart, that I his end may know.” —
VII.
The esquires took
the little boy aside with then to go;
Yet, as they went,
they did repent — “O God! must this be so?
How shall we think
to look for grace, if this poor child we slay,
When ranged before
Christ Jesu’s face at the great judgment day?” —
VIII.
While they, not
knowing what to do, were standing in such talk,
The Countess’
little lap-dog bitch by chance did cross their walk;
Then out and spake
one of the ‘squires, (you may hear the words he said,)
“I think the coming
of this bitch may serve us in good stead —
IX.
“Let us take out
the bitch’s heart, and give it to Galvan;
The boy may with a
finger part, and be no worser man.” —
With that they cut
the joint away, and whispered in his ear,
That he must wander
many a day, nor once those parts come near
X.
“Your uncle grace
and love will show; he is a bounteous man;”
And so they let
Gayferos go, and turned them to Galvan.
The heart and the
small finger upon the board they laid,
And of Gayferos’
slaughter a cunning story made.
XI.
The Countess, when
she hears them, in great grief loudly cries:
Meantime the
stripling safely unto his uncle hies: —
“Now welcome, my
fair boy,” he said, “what good news may they be
Come with thee to
thine uncle’s hall? — “Sad tidings come with me
XII.
“The false Galvan
had laid his plan to have me in my grave;
But I’ve escaped
him, and am here, my boon from thee to crave:
Rise up, rise up,
mine uncle, thy brother’s blood they’ve shed;
Rise up —
they’ve slain my father within my mother’s bed.” 1
1 There is another ballad which
represents Gayferos, now grown to be a man, as coming in the disguise of a
pilgrim to his mother’s house, and slaying his stepfather with his own hand.
The Countess is only satisfied as to his identity by the circumstance of the finger —
El dedo bien es
aqueste, aqui lo vereys faltar
La condesa que esto
oyera empezole de abraçar.
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THE following is a
version of another of the ballads concerning Gayferos. It is the same that is
quoted in the chapter of the Puppet-show in Don Quixote.
“‘Child, child,’
said Don Quixote, ‘go on directly with your story, and don’t keep us here with
your excursions and ramblings out of the road. I tell you there must be a
formal process, and legal trial, to prove matters of fact.’ —
‘Boy,’ said the
master from behind the show, ‘do as the gentleman bids you. Don’t run so much
upon flourishes, but follow your plain song, without venturing on counterpoints,
for fear of spoiling all.' 'I will, sir,’ quoth the boy, and so proceeding: ‘Now,
sirs, he that you see there a-horseback, wrapt up in the Gascoign-cloak, is Don
Gayferos himself, whom his wife, now revenged on the Moor for his impudence,
seeing from the battlements of the tower, takes him for a stranger, and talks
with him as such, according to the ballad,
‘Quoth Melisendra,
if perchance,
Sir Traveller, you go for France,
For pity’s sake, ask when you’re there,
For Gayferos, my husband dear.’ |
“‘I omit the rest,
not to tire you with a long story. It is sufficient that he makes himself known
to her, as you may guess by the joy she shows; and, accordingly, now see how
she lets herself down from the balcony, to come at her loving husband, and get
behind him; but, unhappily, alas! one of the skirts of her gown is caught upon
one of the spikes of the balcony, and there she hangs and hovers in the air
miserably, without being able to get down. But see how Heaven is merciful, and
sends relief in the greatest distress! Now Don Gayferos rides up to her, and,
not fearing to tear her rich gown, lays hold on it, and at one pull brings her
down; and then at one lift sets her astride upon his horse’s crupper, bidding
her to sit fast, and clap her arms about him, that she might not fall; for the
lady Melisendra was not used to that kind of riding.
“‘Observe now,
gallants, how the horse neighs, and shows how proud he is of the burden of his
brave master and fair mistress. Look, now, how they turn their backs, and leave
the city, and gallop it merrily away towards Paris. Peace be with you, for a
peerless couple of true lovers! may ye get safe and sound into your own
country, without any lett or ill chance in your journey, and live as long as
Nestor, in peace and quietness among your friends and relations.’ — ‘Plainness,
boy!’ cried Master Peter, ‘none of your flights, I beseech you, for affectation
is the devil.’ — The boy answered nothing, but going on: ‘Now, sirs,’ quoth he,
some of those idle people, that love to pry into everything, happened to spy
Melisendra as she was making her escape, and ran presently and gave Marsilius
notice of it; whereupon he straight commanded to sound an alarm; and now mind
what a din and hurly-burly there is, and how the city shakes with the ring of
the bells backwards in all the mosques!’ — ‘There you are out, boy,’ said Don
Quixote; ‘the Moors have no bells, they only use kettle-drums, and a kind of
shaulms like our waits or hautboys; so that your ringing of bells in Sansueña
is a mere absurdity, good Master Peter.’ — ‘Nay, sir,’ said Master Peter,
giving over ringing, if you stand upon these trifles with us, we shall never
please you. Don’t be so severe a critic. Are there not a thousand plays that
pass with great success and applause, though they have many greater
absurdities, and nonsense in abundance? On, boy, on, let there be as many
impertinences as motes in the sun; no matter, so I get the money.’ — ‘Well
said,’ answered Don Quixote. — ‘And now, sirs,’ quoth the boy, ‘observe what a
vast company of glittering horse comes pouring out of the city, in pursuit of
the Christian lovers; what a dreadful sound of trumpets, and clarions, and
drums, and kettledrums there is in the air. I fear they will overtake them,
and then will the poor wretches be dragged along most barbarously at the tails
of their horses, which would be sad indeed.’
“Don Quixote,
seeing such a number of Moors, and hearing such an alarm, thought it high time
to assist the flying lovers; and starting up, ‘It shall never be said while I
live,’ cried he aloud, ‘that I suffered such a wrong to be done to so famous a
knight and so daring a lover as Don Gayferos. Forbear, then, your unjust
pursuit, ye base-born rascals! Stop, or prepare to meet my furious resentment!’
Then drawing out his sword, to snake good his threats, at one spring he gets to
the show, and with a violent fury lays at the Moorish puppets, cutting and
slashing in a most terrible manner: some he overthrows, and beheads others;
maims this, and cleaves that in pieces. Among the rest of his merciless
strokes, he thundered one down with such a mighty force, that had not Master
Peter luckily ducked and squatted down, it had certainly chopped off his head
as easily as one might cut an apple.”
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I.
AT Sansueña,1
in the tower, fair Melisendra lies,
Her heart is far
away in France, and tears are in her eyes;
The twilight shade
is thickening laid on Sansuaña’s plain,
Yet wistfully the
lady her weary eyes doth strain.
II.
She gazes from the
dungeon strong, forth on the road to Paris,
Weeping, and
wondering why so long her Lord Gayferos tarries,
When lo! a knight
appears in view — a knight of Christian mien,
Upon a milk-white
charger he rides the elms between.
III.
She from her window
reaches forth her hand a sign to make,
“O, if you be a
knight of worth, draw near for mercy’s sake;
For mercy and sweet
charity, draw near, Sir Knight to me,
And tell me if ye
ride to France, or whither bowne ye be.
IV.
“O, if ye be a
Christian knight, and if to France you go,
I pr’ythee tell
Gayferos that you have seen my woe;
That you have seen
me weeping, here in the Moorish tower,
While he is gay by
night and day, in hall and lady’s bower.
V.
“Seven summers have
I waited, seven winters long are spent,
Yet word of comfort
none he speaks, nor token hath he sent
And if he is weary
of my love, and would have me wed a stranger,
Still say his love
is true to him — nor time nor wrong can change her.” —
VI.
The knight on
stirrup rising, bids her wipe her tears away,
“My love, no time
for weeping, no peril save delay —
Come, boldly
spring, and lightly leap — no listening Moor is near us,
And by dawn of day
we’ll be far away” — so spake the Knight Gayferos.
VII.
She has made the
sign of the Cross divine, and an Ave she hath said,
And she dares the
leap both wide and deep — that damsel without dread;
And he hath kissed
her pale cheek, and lifted her behind,
Saint Denis speed
the milk-white steed — no Moor their path shall find.
1 Sansueña is the ancient name of
Zaragoza. |
THE MARCH OF
BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.
OF Bernardo del
Carpio, we find little or nothing in the French romances of Charlemagne. He
belongs exclusively to Spanish History, or rather perhaps to Spanish Romance;
in which the honour is claimed for him of slaying the famous Orlando, or
Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne, in the fatal field of Roncesvalles.
The continence
which procured for Alonzo, who succeeded to the precarious throne of the
Christians, in the Asturias, about 795, the epithet of the Chaste, was not
universal in his family. By an intrigue with Sancho Diaz, Count of Saldaña, or
Saldenha, Donna Ximena, sister of this virtuous prince, bore a son. Some
historians attempt to gloss over this incident, by alleging that a private
marriage had taken place between the lovers: but King Alphonso, who was
well-nigh sainted for living only in platonic union with his wife Bertha, took
the scandal greatly to heart. He shut up the peccant princess in a cloister,
and imprisoned her gallant in the castle of Luna, where he caused him to be
deprived of sight. Fortunately, his wrath did not extend to the offspring of
their stolen affections, the famous Bernardo del Carpio. When the youth had
grown up to manhood, Alphonso, according to the Spanish chroniclers, invited
the Emperor Charlemagne into Spain, and having neglected to raise up heirs for
the kingdom of the Goths in the ordinary manner, he proposed the inheritance of
his throne as the price of the alliance of Charles. But the nobility, headed by
Bernardo del Carpio, remonstrated against the king’s choice of a successor, and
would on no account consent to receive a Frenchman as heir of their crown.
Alphonso himself repented of the invitation he had given Charlemagne, and when
that champion of Christendom came to expel the Moors from Spain, he found the
conscientious and chaste Alphonso had united with the infidels against him. An
engagement took place in the renowned pass of Roncesvalles, in which the French
were defeated, and the celebrated Roland, or Orlando, was slain. The victory
was ascribed chiefly to the prowess of Bernardo del Carpio.
The following
ballad describes the enthusiasm excited among the Leonese, when Bernard first
raised his standard to oppose the progress of Charlemagne’s army.
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I.
WITH three thousand
men of Leon, from the city Bernard gees,
To protect the soil
Hispanian from the spear of Frankish foes
From the city which
is planted in the midst between the seas,
To preserve the
name and glory of old Pelayo’s victories.
II.
The peasant hears
upon his field the trumpet of the knight,
He quits his team
for spear and shield, and garniture of might ,
The shepherd hears
it ‘mid the mist — he flingeth down his crook,
And rushes from the
mountain like a tempest-troubled brook.
III.
The youth who shows
a maiden’s chin, whose brows have ne’er been bound
The helmet’s heavy
ring within, gains manhood from the sound;
The hoary sire
beside the fire forgets his feebleness,
Once more to feel
the cap of steel a warrior’s ringlets press.
IV.
As through the glen
his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills,
They swelled his
host, as mountain-stream receives the roaring rill;
They round his
banner flocked, in scorn of haughty Charlemagne,
And thus upon their
swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain.
V.
“Free were we
born,” ‘tis thus they cry, “though to our King we owe
The homage and the
fealty behind his crest to go;
By God’s behest our
aid he shares, but God did ne’er command,
That we should
leave our children heirs of an enslavèd land.
VI.
“Our breasts are
not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak,
Nor are our veins
so bloodless, that we our vow should break,
To sell our freedom
for the fear of Prince or Paladin,
At least we’ll sell
our birthright dear, no bloodless prize they’ll win.
VII.
“At least King
Charles, if God decrees he must be lord of Spain,
Shall witness that
the Leonese were not aroused in vain;
He shall bear witness
that we died, as lived our sires of old,
Nor only of
Numantium’s pride shall minstrel tales be told.
VIII.
“The LION1
that bath bathed his paws in seas of Libyan gore,
Shall he not battle
for the laws and liberties of yore?
Anointed cravens
may give gold to whom it likes them well,
But
steadfast heart and spirit bold Alphonso ne’er shall sell.”
1 The arms of Leon. |
THE following is an
attempt to render one of the most admired of all the Spanish ballads.
En Paris esta Doña
Alda, la esposa de Don Roldan,
Trecientas damas
con ella, para la accompañar,
Todas visten un
vestido, todas calçan un calçar, &c.
In its whole
structure and strain it bears a very remarkable resemblance to several of our
own old ballads — both English and Scottish.
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I.
IN Paris sits the lady that shall be Sir Roland’s bride,
Three hundred damsels with her, her bidding to abide;
All clothed in the
same fashion, both the mantle and the shoon,
All eating at one
table, within her hall at noon:
All, save the Lady
Aida, she is lady of them all,
She keeps her place
upon the dais, and they serve her in her hall;
The thread of gold
a hundred spin, the lawn a hundred weave,
And a hundred play
sweet melody within Alda’s bower at eve.
II.
With the sound of
their sweet playing, the lady falls asleep,
And she dreams a
doleful dream, and her damsels hear her weep;
There is sorrow in
her slumber, and she waketh with a cry,
And she calleth for
her damsels, and swiftly they come nigh.
“Now, what is it,
Lady Alda,” (you may hear the words they say,)
“Bringeth sorrow to
thy pillow, and chaseth sleep away?”—
“O, my maidens!”
quoth the lady, “my heart it is full sore!
I have dreamt a
dream of evil, and can slumber never more.
III.
“For I was upon a
mountain, in a bare and desert place,
And I saw a mighty
eagle, and a falcon he did chase;
And to me the
falcon came, and I hid it in my breast,
But the mighty
bird, pursuing, came and rent away my vest;
And he scattered
all the feathers, and blood was on his beak,
And ever, as he
tore and tore, I heard the falcon shriek:
Now read my vision,
damsels, now read my dream to me,
For my heart may
well be heavy that doleful sight to see.” —
IV.
Out spake the
foremost damsel was in her chamber there
(You may hear the words
she says), “O! my lady’s dream is fair —
The mountain is St.
Denis’ choir; and thou the falcon art,
And the eagle
strong that teareth the garment from thy heart,
And scattereth the
feathers, he is the Paladin
That, when again he
comes from Spain, must sleep thy bower within;
Then be blithe of
cheer, my lady, for the dream thou must not grieve,
It means but that
thy bridegroom shall come to thee at eve.” —
V.
“If thou hast read
my vision, and read it cunningly” —
Thus said the Lady
Alda, “thou Shalt not lack thy fee.” —
But woe is me for
Alda! there was heard, at morning hour,
A voice of
lamentation within that lady’s bower,
For there had come
to Paris a messenger by night,
And his horse it
was a-weary, and his visage it was white;
And there’s weeping
in the chamber and there’s silence in the hall,
For Sir Roland had
been slaughtered in the chase of Roncesval. |
THIS is a
translation of the ballad which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, when at Toboso,
overheard a peasant singing, as he was going to his work at daybreak. — “Iba
cantando,” says Cervantes, “aquel romance que dice,
Mala la vistes
Franceses la caça de Roncesvalles.”
|
I.
THE day of
Roncesvalles was a dismal day for you,
Ye men of France,
for there the lance of King Charles was broke in two.
Ye well may curse
that rueful field, for many a noble peer,
In fray or fight,
the dust did bite, beneath Bernardo’s spear.
II.
There captured was
Guarinos, King Charles’s admiral;
Seven Moorish kings
surrounded him, and seized him for their thrall;
Seven times, when
all the chase was o’er, for Guarinos lots they cast;
Seven times
Marlotes won the throw, and the knight was his at last.
III.
Much joy had then
Marlotes, and his captive much did prize,
Above all the wealth
of Araby, he was precious in his eyes.
Within his tent at
evening he made the best of cheer,
And thus, the
banquet done, he spake unto his prisoner.
IV.
“Now, for the sake
of Alla, Lord Admiral Guarinos
Be thou a Moslem,
and much love shall ever rest between us.
Two daughters have
I — all the day thy handmaid one shall be,
The other (and the
fairer far) by night shall cherish thee.
V.
“The one shall be
thy waiting-maid, thy weary feet to lave,
To scatter perfumes
on thy head, and fetch thee garments brave;
The other — she the
pretty — shall deck her bridal-bower,
And my field and my
city they both shall be her dower.
VI.
“If more thou
wishest, more I’ll give — speak boldly what thy thought is.”
Thus earnestly and
kindly to Guarinos said Marlotes; —
But not a moment
did he take to ponder or to pause,
Thus clear and
quick the answer of the Christian Captain was:
VII.
“Now, God forbid!
Marlotes, and Mary, his dear mother,
That I should leave
the faith of Christ, and bind me to another.
For women — I’ve
one wife in France, and I’ll wed no more in Spain;
I change not faith,
I break not vow, for courtesy or gain.
VIII.
Wroth waxèd King
Marlotes, when thus he heard him say,
And all for ire
commanded, he should be led away;
Away unto the
dungeon-keep, beneath its vault to lie,
With fetters hound
in darkness deep, far off from sun and sky.
IX.
With bon bands they
bound his hands. That sore unworthy plight
Might well express
his helplessness, doomed never more to fight.
Again, from
cincture down to knee, long bolts of iron he bore,
Which signified the
knight should ride on charger never more.
X.
Three times alone,
in all the year, it is the captive’s doom,
To see God’s
daylight bright and clear, instead of dungeon-gloom;
Three times alone
they bring him out, like Samson long ago,
Before the Moorish
rabble-rout to be a sport and show.
XI.
On three high
feasts they bring him forth, a spectacle to be,
The feast of
Pasque, and the great day of the Nativity,
And on that morn,
more solemn yet, when the maidens strip the bowers,
And gladden mosque
and minaret with the first fruits of the flowers.
XII.
Days come and go of
gloom and show. Seven years are come and gone,
And now doth fall
the festival of the holy Baptist John;
Christian and Moslem
tilts and jousts, to give it homage clue;
And rushes on the
paths to spread they force the sulky Jew.
XIII.
Marlotes, in his
joy and pride, a target high doth rear,
Below the Moorish
knights must ride and pierce it with the spear;
But ‘tis so high up
in the sky, albeit much they strain,
No Moorish lance so
far may fly, Marlotes’ prize to gain.
XIV.
Wroth waxèd King
Marlotes, when he beheld them fail,
The whisker
trembled on his lip, and his check for ire was pale;
And heralds
proclamation made, with trumpets, through the town, —
“Nor child shall
suck, nor man shall eat, till the mark be tumbled down.”
XV.
The cry of
proclamation, and the trumpet’s haughty sound,
Did send an echo to
the vault where the admiral was bound.
“Now, help me God!”
the captive cries, “what means this din so loud?
Oh, Queen of
Heaven! be vengeance given on these thy haters proud!
XVI.
“O! is it that some
Pagan gay doth Marlotes’ daughter wed,
And that they bear
my scornèd fair in triumph to his bed?
Or is it that the day
is come — one of the hateful three,
When they, with
trumpet, fife, and drum, make heathen game of me?” —
XVII.
These words the
jailer chanced to hear, and thus to him he said,
“These tabors,
Lord, and trumpets clear, conduct no bride to bed;
Nor has the feast
come round again, when he that has the right,
Commands thee
forth, thou foe of Spain, to glad the people’s sight.
XVIII.
“This is the joyful
morning of John the Baptist’s day,
When Moor and
Christian feasts at home, each in his nation’s way;
But now our King
commands that none his banquet shall begin,
Until some knight,
by strength or sleight, the spearman’s prize do win.” —
XIX.
Then out and spake
Guarinos, “O! soon each man should feed,
Were I but mounted
once again on my own gallant steed.
O! were I mounted
as of old, and harnessed cap-a-pee,
Full soon Marlotes’
prize I’d hold, whate’er its price may be.
XX.
“Give me my horse,
mine old grey horse, so be he is not dead,
All gallantly
caparisoned, with plate on breast and head,
And give the lance
I brought from France, and if I win it not,
My life shall be
the forfeiture — I’ll yield it on the spot” —
XXI.
The jailer wondered
at his words. Thus to the knight said he,
“Seven weary years
of chains and gloom have little humbled thee;
There’s never a man
in Spain, I trow, the like so well might bear;
An’ if thou wilt, I
with thy vow will to the King repair.” —
XXII.
The jailer put his
mantle on, and came unto the King,
He found him
sitting on the throne, within his listed ring;
Close to his ear he
planted him, and the story did begin,
How bold Guarinos
vaunted him the spearman’s prize to win.
XXIII.
That, were he
mounted but once more on his own gallant grey,
And armed with the
lance he bore on the Roncesvalles’ day,
What never Moorish
knight could pierce, he would pierce it at a blow,
Or give with joy
his life-blood fierce, at Marlotes’ feet to flow.
XXIV.
Much marvelling,
then said the King, “Bring Sir Guarinos forth,
And in the Grange
go seek ye for his grey steed of worth;
His arms are rusty
on the wall — seven years have gone, I judge,
Since that strong
horse has bent his force to be a carrion drudge.
XXV.
“Now this will be a
sight indeed, to see the enfeebled lord
Essay to mount that
ragged steed, and draw that rusty sword;
And for the
vaunting of his phrase he well deserves to die,
So, jailer, gird
his harness on, and bring your champion nigh.” —
XXVI.
They have girded on
his shirt of mail, his cuisses well they’ve clasped,
And they’ve barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand the lance
hath clasped,
And they have
caught the old grey horse, the horse he loved of yore,
And he stands
pawing at the gate — caparisoned once more.
XXVII.
When the knight
came out the Moors did shout, and loudly laughed the King,
For the horse he
pranced and capered, and furiously did fling;
But Guarinos
whispered in his ear, and looked into his face,
Then stood the old
charger like a lamb, with a calm and gentle grace.
XXVIII.
O! lightly did
Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree,
And slowly riding
down made halt before Marlotes’ knee;
Again the heathen
laughed aloud — “All hail, Sir Knight,” quoth he,
“Now do thy best,
thou champion proud. Thy blood I look to see.” —
XXIX
With that Guarinos,
lance in rest, against the scoffer rode,
Pierced at one
thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode.
Now ride, now ride,
Guarinos — nor lance nor rowel spare —
Slay, slay, and
gallop for thy life. — The land of France lies there! |
THE COMPLAINT OF
THE COUNT OF SALDENHA.
THIS ballad is
intended to represent the feelings of Don Sancho, Count of Saldenha or Saldaña,
while imprisoned by King Alphonso, and, as he supposed, neglected and forgotten,
both by his wife, or rather mistress, Donna Ximena, and by his son, the famous
Bernardo del Carpio.
|
I.
THE Count Don
Sancho Diaz, the Signior of Saldane,
Lies weeping in his
prison, for he cannot refrain:
King Alphonso and
his sister, of both doth he complain,
But most of bold
Bernardo, the champion of Spain.
II.
“The weary years I
durance brook, how many they have been,
When on these hoary
hairs I look, may easily be seen;
When they brought
me to this castle, my curls were black, I ween,
Woe worth the day!
they have grown grey these rueful walls between.
III.
“They tell me my
Bernardo is the doughtiest lance in Spain,
But if he were my
loyal heir, there’s blood in every vein
Whereof the voice
his heart would hear — his hand would not gainsay; —
Though the blood of
kings be mixed with mine, it would not have all the sway.
IV.
“Now all the three
have scorn of me — unhappy man am I!
They leave me
without pity — they leave me here to die.
A stranger’s feud,
albeit rude, were little dole or care,
But he’s my own,
both flesh and bone; his scorn is ill to bear.
V.
“From Jailer and
from Castellain I hear of hardiment
And chivalry in
listed plain on joust and tourney spent;
I hear of many, a
battle, in which thy spear is red,
But help from thee
comes none to me where I am ill bested.
VI.
“Some villain spot
is in thy blood to mar its gentle strain,
Else would it show
forth hardihood for him from whom ‘twas ta’en;
Thy hope is young,
thy heart is strong, but yet a day may be,
When thou shalt
weep in dungeon deep, and none thy weeping see.” |
THE FUNERAL OF THE
COUNT OF SALDENHA.
THE ballads
concerning Bernardo del Carpio are, upon the whole, in accordance with his
history as given in the Coronica General.
According to the Chronicle, Bernardo being at last wearied out of all patience
by the cruelty of which his father was the victim, determined to quit the Court
of his King, and seek an alliance among the Moors. Having fortified himself in
the Castle of Carpio, he made continual incursions into the territory of Leon,
pillaging and plundering wherever he came. The King at length besieged him in
his stronghold, but the defence was so gallant, that there appeared no prospect
of success; whereupon many of the gentlemen in Alphonso’s camp entreated the
King to offer Bernardo immediate possession of his father’s person, if he would
surrender his castle.
Bernardo
at once
consented; but the King gave orders to have Count Sancho Diaz taken off
instantly in his prison. “When he was dead they clothed him
in splendid attire,
mounted him on horseback, and so led him towards Salamanca,
where his son was
expecting his arrival. As they drew nigh the city, the King and
Bernardo rode
out to meet them; and when Bernardo saw his father approaching, he
exclaimed, —
‘O God! is the Count of Saldaña indeed
coming?’ — ‘Look where he
is,’ replied
the cruel King; ‘and now go and greet him whom you have so
long desired to
see.’ Bernardo went forward and took his father’s
hand to kiss it; but when he
felt the dead weight of the hand, and saw the livid face of the corpse,
he
cried aloud, and said, — ‘Ah, Don Sandiaz, in an
evil hour didst thou beget me!
Thou art dead, and I have given my stronghold for thee, and now I have
lost
all.’”
|
I.
ALL in the centre
of the choir Bernardo’s knees are bent,
Before him for his
murdered sire yawns the old monument.
II.
His kinsmen of the
Carpio blood are kneeling at his back,
With knightly
friends and vassals good, all garbed in weeds of black.
III.
He comes to make
the obsequies of a basely slaughtered man,
And tears are
running down from eyes whence ne’er before they ran.
IV.
His head is bowed
upon the stone; his heart, albeit full sore,
Is strong as when
in days bygone he rode o’er Frank and Moor;
V.
And now between his
teeth he mutters, that none his words can hear;
And now the voice
of wrath he utters, in curses loud and clear.
VI.
He stoops him o’er
his father’s shroud, his lips salute the bier;
He communes with
the corse aloud, as if none else were near.
VII.
His right hand doth
his sword unsheath, his left doth pluck his beard;
And while his
liegemen held their breath, these were the words they heard: —
VIII.
“Go up, go up, thou
blessed ghost, into the arms of God;
Go, fear not lest
revenge be lost, when Carpio’s blood hath flowed;
IX.
“The steel that
drank the blood of France, the arm thy foe that shielded,
Still, Father,
thirsts that burning lance, and still thy son can wield it.” |
THE incident
recorded in this ballad may be supposed to have occurred immediately after the
funeral of the Count of Saldenha. As to what was the end of the knight’s
history, we are left almost entirely in the dark, both by the Chronicle and by
the Romancero. It appears to be intimated, that after his father’s death, he
once more “took service" among the Moors, who are represented in several of the
ballads as accustomed to exchange offices of courtesy with Bernardo.
|
I.
WITH some good ten
of his chosen men, Bernardo hath appeared
Before them all in
the palace hall, the lying King to beard;
With cap in hand
and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise,
But ever and anon
he frowned, and flame broke from his eyes.
II.
“A curse upon thee,” cries the King, “who
comest unbid to me;
But what from
traitor’s blood should spring, save traitors like to thee?
His sire, Lords,
had a traitor’s heart; perchance our Champion brave
Made think it were
a pious part to share Don Sancho’s grave.”
III.
“Whoever told this
talc the King bath rashness to repeat,”
Cries Bernard,
“here my gage I fling before THE LIAR’s feet!
No treason was in
Sancho’s blood, no stain in mine doth lie —
Below the throne
what knight will own the coward calumny?
IV.
“The blood that I
like water shed, when Roland did advance,
By secret traitors
hired and led, to make us slaves of France; —
The life of King
Alphonso I saved at Roncesval, —
Your words, Lord
King, are recompense abundant for it all.
V.
“Your horse was
down — your hope was flown — I saw the falchion shine,
That soon had drunk
your royal blood, had not I ventured mine;
But memory soon of
service done deserteth the ingrate,
And ye’ve thanked
the son for life and crown by the father’s bloody fate.
VI.
“Ye swore upon your
kingly faith, to set Don Sancho free,
But curse upon your
paltering breath, the light he ne’er did see;
He died in dungeon
cold and dim, by Alphonso’s base decree,
And visage blind,
and stiffened limb, were all they gave to me.
VII.
“The King that
swerveth from his word hath stained his purple black,
No Spanish Lord
will draw the sword behind a Liar’s back;
But noble vengeance
shall be mine, an open hate I’ll show —
The King hath
injured Carpio’s line, and Bernard is his foe.” —
VIII.
“Seize — seize
him!” — loud the King doth scream — “There are a thousand here
Let his foul blood
this instant stream — What! Caitiffs, do ye fear?
Seize — seize the traitor!”
— But not one to move a finger dareth, —
Bernardo standeth
by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth.
IX.
He drew the
falchion from the sheath, and held it up on high,
And all the hall
was still as death: — cries Bernard, ‘‘Here am I,
And here is the
sword that owns no lord, excepting heaven and me;
Fain would I know
who dares his point — King, Condé, or Grandee.”
X.
Then to his mouth
the horn he drew — (it hung below his cloak)
His ten true men
the signal knew, and through the ring they broke;
With helm on head,
and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake,
And back the
lordlings ‘gan to stand, and the false king to quake.
XI.
“Ha! Bernard,”
quoth Alphonso, “what means this warlike guise?
Ye know full well I
jested — ye know your worth I prize.” —
But Bernard turned
upon his heel, and smiling passed away —
Long rued Alphonso
and his realm the jesting of that day. |
THE Ballads in the
Collection of Escobar, entitled “Romancero e Historia del muy valeroso Cavallero
El Cid Ruy Diaz de Bivar,” are said by Mr. Southey to be in general possessed
of but little merit. Notwithstanding the opinion of that great scholar and
poet, I have had much pleasure in reading them; and have translated a very few,
which may serve, perhaps, as a sufficient specimen.
The following is a
version of that which stands fifth in Escobar: —
Cavalga Diego
Laynez al buen Rey besar la mano, &c.
|
I.
Now rides Diego
Laynez, to kiss the good King’s hand,
Three hundred men
of gentry go with him from his land,
Among them, young
Rodrigo, the proud Knight of Bivar;
The rest on mules
are mounted, he on his horse of war.
II.
They ride in
glittering gowns of soye, — He harnessed like a lord;
There is no gold
about the boy, but the crosslet of his sword;
The rest have
gloves of sweet perfume, — He gauntlets strong of mail;
They broidered caps
and flaunting plume, — He crest untaught to quail.
III.
All talking with
each other thus along their way they passed,
But now they’ve
come to Burgos, and met the King at last;
When they came near
his nobles, a whisper through them ran, —
“He rides amidst
the gentry that slew the Count Lozan.” —
IV.
With very haughty
gesture Rodrigo reined his horse,
Right scornfully he
shouted, when he heard them so discourse,.
“If any of his
kinsmen or vassals dare appear,
The man to give
them answer, on horse or foot, is here.” —
V.
“The devil ask the
question!” thus muttered all the band;
With that they all
alighted, to kiss the good King’s hand, —
All but the proud
Rodrigo, he in his saddle stayed,
Then turned to him
his father (you may hear the words he said).
VI.
“Now, light, my
son, I pray thee, and kiss the good King’s hand,
He is our lord,
Rodrigo; we hold of him our land.”
But when Rodrigo
heard him, he looked in sulky sort,
I wot the words he
answered they were both cold and short.
VII.
“Had any other said
it, his pains had well been paid,
But thou, sir, art
my father, thy word must be obeyed.” —
With that he sprung
down lightly, before the King to kneel,
But as the knee was
bending, out leapt his blade of steel.
VIII.
The King drew back
in terror, when he saw the sword was bare;
“Stand back, stand
hack, Rodrigo, in the devil’s name beware,
Your looks bespeak
a creature of father Adam’s mould,
But in your wild
behaviour you’re like some lion bold.”
IX.
When Rodrigo heard
him say so, he leapt into his seat,
And thence he made
his answer, with visage nothing sweet,
“I’d think it
little honour to kiss a kingly palm,
And if my fathers
kissed it, thereof ashamed I am.” —
X.
When he these words
had uttered, he turned him from the gate,
His true three
hundred gentles behind him followed straight;
If with good gowns
they came that day, with better arms they went;
And if their mules
behind did stay, with horses they’re content.
|
XIMENA DEMANDS
VENGEANCE.
THIS ballad, the
sixth in Escobar, represents Ximena Gomez as, in person, demanding of the King
vengeance for the death of her father, whom the young Rodrigo de Bivar had
fought and slain.
|
I.
WITHIN the court at
Burgos a clamour doth arise,
Of arms on armour
clashing, and screams, and shouts, and cries;
The good men of the
King, that sit his hall around,
All suddenly
upspring, astonished at the sound.
II.
The King leans from
his chamber, from the balcony on high
“What means this
furious clamour my palace-porch so nigh?
But when he looked
below him, there were horsemen at the gate,
And the fair Ximena
Gomez, kneeling in woeful state.
III.
Upon her neck,
disordered, hung down the lady’s hair,
And floods of tears
were streaming upon her bosom fair.
Sore wept she for
her father, the Count that had been slain;
Loud cursed she
Rodrigo, whose sword his blood did stain.
IV.
They turned to bold
Rodrigo, I wot his cheek was red
With haughty wrath
he listened to the words Ximena said —
“Good King, I cry
for justice. Now, as my voice thou hearest,
So God befriend the
children, that in thy land thou rearest.
V.
“The King that doth
not justice hath forfeited his claim,
Both to his kingly
station, and to his kingly name;
He should not sit
at banquet, clad in the royal pall,
Nor should the
nobles serve him on knee within the hall.
VI.
“Good King, I am
descended from barons bright of old,
That with Castilian
pennons, Pelayo did uphold;
But if my strain
were lowly, as it is high and clear,
Thou till shouldst
prop the feeble, and the afflicted hear.
VII.
“For thee, fierce
homicide, draw, draw thy sword once more,
And pierce the
breast which wide I spread thy stroke before;
Because I am a
woman, my life thou needst not spare, —
I am Ximena Gomez,
my slaughtered father’s heir.
VIII.
“Since thou hast
slain the Knight that did our faith defend,
And still to
shameful flight all the Almanzors send,
‘Tis but a little
matter that I confront thee so,
Come, champion,
slay his daughter, she needs must be thy foe.” —
IX.
Ximena gazed upon
him, but no reply could meet;
His fingers held
the bridle, he vaulted to his seat.
She turned her to
the nobles, I wot her cry was loud,
But not a man durst
follow; slow rode he through the crowd. |
THE CID AND THE
FIVE MOORISH KINGS.
THE reader will
find the story of this ballad in Mr. Southey’s “Chronicle of the Cid.” “And the
Moors entered Castile in great power, for there came with them five kings,”
&c. Book I. Sect. 4.
|
I.
WITH fire and
desolation the Moors are in Castile,
Five Moorish kings
together, and all their vassals leal;
They’ve passed in
front of Burgos, through the Oca-Hills they’ve run,
They’ve plundered
Belforado, San Domingo’s harm is done.
II.
In Najara and
Lograno there’s waste and disarray:
And now with
Christian captives, a very heavy prey,
With many men and
women, and boys and girls beside,
In joy and
exultation to their own realms they ride.
III.
For neither king
nor noble would dare their path to cross,
Until the good
Rodrigo heard of this skaith and loss;
In old Bivar the
castle he heard the tidings told,
(He was as yet a
stripling, not twenty summers old.)
IV.
He mounted Bavieca,
his friends he with him took,
He raised the
country round him, no more such scorn to brook;
He rode to the
hills of Oca, where then the Moormen lay,
He conquered all
the Moormen, and took from them their prey.
V.
To every man had
mounted he gave his part of gain,
Dispersing the much
treasure the Saracens had ta’en;
The Kings were all
the booty himself had from the war,
Them led he to the
castle, his stronghold of Bivar.
VI.
He brought them to
his mother, proud dame that day was she:
They owned him for
their Signior, and then he set them free:
Home went they,
much commending Rodrigo of Bivar,
And sent him lordly
tribute, from their Moorish realms afar. |
SEE Mr. Southey’s
“Chronicle of the Cid” (Book I. Sect. 5), for this part of the Cid’s story, as
given in the General Chronicle of Spain.
|
I.
Now, of Rodrigo de
Bivar great was the fame that run,
How he five Kings
had vanquished, proud Moormen every one;
And how, when they
consented to hold of him their ground,
He freed them from
the prison wherein they had been bound.
II.
To the good King
Fernando, in Burgos where he lay,
Came then Ximena
Gomez, and thus to him did say:—
“I am Don Gomez’
daughter, in Gormaz Count was he;
Him slew Rodrigo of
Bivar in battle valiantly.
III.
“Now am I come
before you, this day a boon to crave,
And it is that I to
husband may this Rodrigo have;
Grant this, and I
shall hold me a happy damosell,
Much honoured shall
I hold me, I shall be married well.
IV.
“I know he’s born
for thriving, none like him in the land;
I know that none in
battle against his spear may stand;
Forgiveness is well
pleasing in God our Saviour’s view.
And I forgive him
freely, for that my sire he slew.” —
V.
Right pleasing to
Fernando was the thing she did propose;
He writes his
letter swiftly, and forth his foot-page goes;
I wot, when young
Rodrigo saw how the King did write,
He leapt on Bavieca
— I wot his leap was light.
VI.
With his own troop
of true men forthwith he took the way,
Three hundred
friends and kinsmen, all gently born were they;
All in one colour
mantled, in armour gleaming gay,
New were both scarf
and scabbard, when they went forth that day.
VII.
The King came out
to meet him, with words of hearty cheer;
Quoth he, “My good
Rodrigo, you are right welcome here;
This girl Ximena
Gomez would have ye for her lord,
Already for the
slaughter her grace she doth accord.
VIII.
“I pray you be
consenting, my gladness will be great;
You shall have
lands in plenty, to strengthen your estate. —
“Lord King,”
Rodrigo answers, “in this and all beside
Command, and I’ll
obey you. The girl shall be my bride.” —
IX.
But when the fair
Ximena came forth to plight her hand,
Rodrigo, gazing on
her, his face could not command:
He stood and
blushed before her; — thus at the last said he
“I slew thy sire,
Ximena, but not in villany: —
X.
“In no disguise I
slew him, man against man I stood;
There was some
wrong between us, and I did shed his blood.
I slew a man, I owe
a man; fair lady, by God’s grace,
An honoured husband
thou shalt have in thy dead father’s place.”
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THE following
ballad, which contains some curious traits of rough and antique manners, is not
included in Escobar’s Collection. There is one there descriptive of the same
event, but apparently executed by a much more modern hand.
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I.
WITHIN his hall of
Burgos the King prepares the feast
He makes his
preparation for many a noble guest.
It is a joyful
city, it is a gallant day,
‘Tis the
Campeador’s wedding, and who will bide away?
II.
Layn Calvo, the
Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate,
Behind him comes
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 needs be slow.
III.
The King had taken
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.
IV.
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
honour, their walls the burghers screen.
V.
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,
Amidst troops of
captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing.
VI.
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.
VII.
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 is lying.
VIII.
Quoth Suero, when
he saw it, (his thought you understand,)
“‘Tis a fine thing
to be a King; but Heaven make me a Hand!”
The King was very
merry, when he was told of this,
And swore the bride
ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss.
IX.
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 a crowd of folk,
Than utter words so
meaningless as she did when she spoke.
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LIKE our own Robert
the Bruce, the great Spanish hero is represented as exhibiting, on many occasions,
great gentleness of disposition and compassion. But while old Barbour is
contented with such simple anecdotes as that of a poor laundress being suddenly
taken ill with the pains of childbirth, and the king stopping the march of his
army rather than leave her unprotected, the minstrels of Spain, never losing an
opportunity of gratifying the superstitious propensities of their audience, are
sure to let no similar incident in their champion’s history pass without a
miracle.
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I.
He has ta’en some
twenty gentlemen, along with him to go,
For he will pay
that ancient vow he to Saint James doth owe;
To Compostella,
where the shrine doth by the altar stand,
The good Rodrigo de
Bivar is riding through the land.
II.
Where’er he goes,
much alms he throws, to feeble folk and poor;
Beside the way for
him they pray, him blessings to procure;
For,
God and Mary
Mother, their heavenly grace to win,
His hand was ever
bountiful: great was his joy therein.
III.
And there, in
middle of the path, a leper did appear;
In a deep slough
the leper lay, none would to help come near.
With a loud voice
he thence did cry, “For God our Saviour’s sake,
From out this
fearful jeopardy a Christian brother take.” —
IV.
When Roderick heard
that piteous word, he from his horse came down;
For all they said,
no stay he made, that noble champion;
He reached his hand
to pluck him forth, of fear was no account,
Then mounted on his
steed of worth, and made the leper mount.
V.
Behind him rode the
leprous man; when to their hostelrie
They came, he made
him eat with him at table cheerfully;
While all the rest
from that poor guest with loathing shrunk away,
To his own bed the
wretch he led, beside him there he lay.
VI.
All at the mid-hour
of the night, while good Rodrigo slept,
A breath came from
the leprous man, it through his shoulders crept;
Right through the
body, at the breast, passed forth that breathing cold;
I wot he leaped up
with a start, in terrors manifold.
VII.
He groped for him
in the bed, but him he could not find,
Through the dark
chamber groped he, with very anxious mind;
Loudly he lifted up
his voice, with speed a lamp was brought,
Yet nowhere was the
leper seen, though far and near they sought.
VIII.
He turned him to
his chamber, God wot, perplexèd sore
With that which had
befallen — when lo! his face before,
There stood a man,
all clothed in vesture shining white:
Thus said the
vision, “Sleepest thou, or wakest thou, Sir Knight?” —
IX.
“I sleep not,”
quoth Rodrigo; “but tell me who art thou,
For, in the midst
of darkness, much light is on thy brow?” —
“I am the holy
Lazarus, I come to speak with thee;
I am the same poor
leper thou savedst for charity.
X.
“Not vain the
trial, nor in vain thy victory hath been;
God favours thee,
for that my pain thou didst relieve yestreen.
There shall be
honour with thee, in battle and in peace,
Success in all thy
doings, and plentiful increase.
XI.
“Strong enemies
shall not prevail, thy greatness to undo;
Thy name shall make
men’s cheeks full pale — Christians and Moslem too;
A death of honour
shalt thou die, such grace to thee is given,
Thy soul shall part
victoriously, and be received in heaven.” —
XII.
When he these
gracious worn had said, the spirit vanished quite,
Rodrigo rose and
knelt him down — he knelt till morning light;
Unto the Heavenly
Father, and Mary Mother dear,
He made his prayer
right humbly, till dawned the morning clear. |
MONTAIGNE, in his curious Essay, entitled “Des Destriers,”
says that all the world knows everything about Bucephalus. The name of the
favourite charger of the Cid Ruy Diaz, is scarcely less celebrated. Notice is
taken of him in almost every one of the hundred ballads concerning the history
of his master, — and there are two or three of these, of which the horse is
more truly the hero than his rider. In one of these ballads, the Cid is giving
directions about his funeral; he desires that they shall place his body “in
full armour upon Bavieca,” and so conduct him to the church of San Pedro de
Cardeña. This was done accordingly; and, says another ballad —
Truxeron pues a
Babieca;
Y en mirandole se
puso
Tan triste como si
fuera
Mas rasonable que
bruto.
In the Cid’s last
will, mention is also made of this noble charger. “When ye bury Bavieca, dig
deep,” says Ruy Diaz; “for shameful thing were it, that he should be eat by
curs, who hath trampled down so much currish flesh of Moors.”
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I.
THE King looked on
him kindly, as on a vassal true;
Then to the King
Ruy Diaz spake after reverence due,
“O King, the thing
is shameful, that any man beside
The liege lord of
Castile himself should Bavieca ride:
II.
“For neither Spain
nor Araby could another charger bring
So good as he, and
certes, the best befits my King.
But that you may
behold him, and know him to the core,
I’ll make him go as
he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor.” —
III.
With that, the Cid,
clad as he was in mantle furred and wide,
On Bavieca
vaulting, put the rowel in his side;
And up and down,
and round and round, so fierce was his career,
Streamed like a
pennon on the wind Ruy Diaz’ minivere.
IV.
And all that saw
them praised them — they lauded man and horse,
As matched well,
and rivalless for gallantry and force;
Ne’er had they
looked on horseman might to this knight come near,
Nor on other
charger worthy of such a cavalier.
V
Thus, to and fro
a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed,
He snapt in twain
his hither rein: — “God pity now the Cid.”
“God pity Diaz,”
cried the Lords, — but when they looked again,
They saw Ruy Diaz
ruling him, with the fragment of his rein;
They saw him
proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm,
Like a true lord
commanding--and obeyed as by a lamb.
VI.
And so he led him
foaming and panting to the King,
But “No,” said Don
Alphonso, “it were a shameful thing
That peerless
Bavieca should ever be bestrid
By any mortal but
Bivar — Mount, mount again, my Cid.” |
THE
EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE CID.
THE last specimen I
shall give of the Cid-ballad, is one the subject of which is evidently of the
most apocryphal cast. It is, however, so far as I recollect, the only one of
all that immense collection that is quoted or alluded to in Don Quixote.
“Sancho,” cried Don Quixote, “I am afraid of being excommunicated for having
laid violent hands upon a man in holy orders,
Juxia illud; si quis suadente diabolo, &c. But yet, now I think
on it, I never touched him with my hands, but only with my lance; besides, I
did not in the least suspect I had to do with priests, whom I honour and revere
as every good Catholic and faithful Christian ought to do, but rather took them
to be evil spirits. Well, let the worst come to the worst, I remember what
befel the Cid Ruy Diaz, when he broke to pieces the chair of a king’s
ambassador in the Pope’s presence, for which he was excommunicated; which did
not hinder the worthy Rodrigo de Bivar from behaving himself that day like a
valorous knight, and a man of honour.”
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I.
IT was when from
Spain across the main the Cid had come to Rome,
He chanced to see
chairs four and three beneath Saint Peter’s dome.
“Now tell, I pray,
what chairs be they;’ — “Seven kings do sit thereon,
As well doth suit,
all at the foot of the holy Father’s throne.
II.
“The Pope he
sitteth above them all, that they may kiss his toe,
Below the keys the
Flower-de-lys doth make a gallant show:
For his great
puissance, the King of France next to the Pope may sit,
The rest more low,
all in a row, as doth their station fit.” —
III.
“Ha!” quoth the
Cid, “now God forbid! it is a shame, I wiss,
To see the Castle1
planted beneath the Flower-de-lys.2
No harm, I hope,
good Father Pope — although I move thy chair.” —
In pieces small he kicked it all, (‘twas of the ivory fair).
IV.
The Pope’s own seat
he from his feet did kick it far away,
And the Spanish
chair he planted upon its place that day;
Above them all he
planted it, and laughed right bitterly;
Looks sour and bad
I trow he had, as grim as grim might be.
V.
Now when the Pope
was aware of this, he was an angry man,
His lips that
night, with solemn rite, pronounced the awful ban;
The curse of God,
who died on rood, was on that sinner’s head —
To hell and woe
man’s soul must go if once that curse be said.
VI.
I wot, when the Cid
was aware of this, a woful man was he,
At dawn of day he
came to pray at the blessèd Father’s knee:
“Absolve me,
blessèd Father, have pity upon me,
Absolve my soul,
and penance I for my sin will dree.” —
VII.
“Who is this
sinner,” quoth the Pope, “that at my foot doth kneel?”
— “I am Rodrigo
Diaz — a poor Baron of Castile.” —
Much marvelled all
were in the hall, when that name they heard him say, —
“Rise up, rise up,”
the Pope he said, “I do thy guilt away; —
VIII.
“I do thy guilt
away,” he said — “and my curse I blot it out —
God save Rodrigo
Diaz, my Christian champion stout;
I trow, if I had
known thee, my grief it had been sore,
To curse Ruy Diaz
de Bivar, God’s scourge upon the Moor.’
__________________
1 The arms of Castile.
2 The arms of France. |
PART III.
COUNT
ALARCOS AND THE INFANTA SOLISA.
MR. BOUTERWECK has
analyzed this ballad, and commented upon it at some length, in his History of
Spanish Literature. See Book I. Section i.
He bestows particular praise upon a passage, which the
reader will find attempted in the fourth line of stanza xxxi. of the following
version —
Dedes me aça este
hijo amamare por despedida.
“What modern poet,”
says he, “would have dared to imagine that trait,
at once so natural and touching?”
Mr. Bouterweck
seems to be of opinion that the story of the ballad had been taken from some
prose romance of chivalry; but I have not been able to find any trace of it.
|
I.
ALONE, as was her
wont, she sate, — within her bower alone;
Alone, and very
desolate, Solisa made her moan,
Lamenting for her
flower of life, that it should pass away,
And she be never
wooed to wife, nor see a bridal day.
II.
Thus said the sad
Infanta — “I will not hide my grief,
I’ll tell my father
of my wrong, and he will yield relief.”
The King, when he
beheld her near, “Alas! my child,” said he,
“What means this
melancholy cheer? — reveal thy grief to me.” —
III.
“Good King,” she
said, “my mother was buried long ago,
She left me to thy
keeping, none else my griefs shall know:
I fain would have a
husband, ‘tis time that I should wed, —
Forgive the worn I
utter, with mickle shame they’re said.” —
IV.
‘Twas thus the King
made answer, — “This fault is none of mine,
You to the Prince
of Hungary your ear would not incline;
Yet round us here
where lives your peer? — nay, name him if you can, —
Except the Count
Alarcos, and he’s a married man.” —
V.
“Ask Count Alarcos,
if of yore his word he did not plight
To be my husband
evermore, and love me day and night?
If he has bound him
in new vows, old oaths he cannot break —
Alas! I’ve lost a
loyal spouse, for a false lover’s sake.” —
VI.
The good King sat
confounded in silence for some space,
At length he made
this answer, with very troubled face,‑
“It was not thus
your mother gave counsel you should do;
You’ve done much
wrong, my daughter; we’re shamed, both I and you.
VII.
“If it be true that
you have said, our honour’s lost and gone;
And while the
Countess is in life, remeed for us is none.
Though justice were
upon our side, ill-talkers would not spare —
Speak, daughter,
for your mother’s dead, whose counsel eased my care.”
VIII.
“How can I give you
counsel? — but little wit have I;
But certes, Count
Alarcos may make this Countess die:
Let it be noised
that sickness cut short her tender life,
And then let Count
Alarcos come and ask me for his wife.
What passed between
us long ago, of that be nothing said;
Thus none shall our
dishonour know, in honour I shall wed.” —
IX.
The Count was
standing with his friends, thus in the midst he spake —
“What fools we be!
what pains men dree for a fair woman’s sake!
I loved a fair one
long ago; — though I’m a married man,
Sad memory I can
ne’er forego, how life and love began.” —
X.
While yet the Count
was speaking, the good King came full near;
He made his
salutation with very courteous cheer.
“Come hither, Count
Alarcos, and dine with me this day,
For I have
something secret I in your ear must say.” —
XI.
The King came from
the chapel, when he had heard the mass;
With him the Count
Alarcos did to his chamber pass;
Full nobly were
they servèd there, by pages many a one;
When all were gone,
and they alone, ‘twas thus the King begun. —
XII.
“What news be
these, Alarcos, that you your word did plight,
To be a husband to
my child, and love her day and night?
If more between you
there did pass, yourself may know the truth,
But shamed is my
grey-head — alas! — and scorned Solisa’s youth.
XIII.
“I have a heavy
word to speak — a lady fair doth lie
Within my
daughter’s rightful place, and certes! she must die —
Let it be noised
that sickness cut short her tender life,
Then come and woo
my daughter, and she shall be your wife:
What passed between
you long ago, of that be nothing said,
Thus, none shall my
dishonour know — in honour you shall wed.”
XIV.
Thus spake the
Count Alarcos — “The truth I’ll not deny,
I to the Infanta
gave my troth, and broke it shamefully;
I feared my King
would ne’er consent to give me his fair daughter;
But, oh! spare her
that’s innocent — avoid that sinful slaughter.” —
XV.
“She dies, she
dies,” the King replies; “from thine own sin it springs,
If guiltless blood
must wash the blot which stains the blood of kings:
Ere morning dawn
her life must end, and thine must be the deed,
Else thou on
shameful block must bend: thereof is no remeed.”
XVI.
“Good King, my hand
thou mayst command, else treason blots my name!
I’ll take the life
of my dear wife — (God! mine be not the blame!)
Alas! that young
and sinless heart for others’ sin should bleed!
Good King, in
sorrow I depart.” — “May God your errand speed!” —
XVII.
In sorrow he
departed, dejectedly he rode
The weary journey
from that place, unto his own abode;
He grieved for his
fair Countess, dear as his life was she;
Sore grieved he for
that lady, and for his children three.
XVIII.
The one was yet an
infant upon its mother’s breast,
For though it had
three nurses, it liked her milk the best;
The others were
young children, that had but little wit,
Hanging about their
mother’s knee while nursing she did sit.
XIX.
“Alas!” he said,
when he had come within a little space,
“How shall I brook
the cheerful look of my kind lady’s face?
To see her coming
forth in glee to meet me in my hall,
When she so soon a
corpse must be, and I the cause of all!”
XX.
Just then he saw
her at the door with all her babes appear —
(The little page had run before to tell his lord was near)
“Now welcome home,
my lord, my life! — Alas! you droop your head:
Tell, Count
Alarcos, tell your wife, what makes your eyes so red?” —
XXI.
“I’ll tell you all
— I’ll tell you all: It is not yet the hour;
We’ll sup together
in the hall — I’ll tell you in your bower.”
The lady brought
forth what she had, and down beside him sate;
He sat beside her
pale and sad, but neither drank nor ate.
XXII.
The children to his
side were led (he loved to have them so),
Then on the board
he laid his head, and out his tears did flow
“I fain would sleep
— I fain would sleep,” — the Count Alarcos said: —
Alas! be sure, that
sleep was none that night within their bed.
XXIII.
They came together
to the bower where they were used to rest,
None with them but
the little babe that was upon the breast:
The Count had
barred the chamber doors, they ne’er were barred till then
“Unhappy lady,” he
began, “and I most lost of men!”
XXIV.
“Now, speak not so,
my noble lord, my husband and my life,
Unhappy never can
she be, that is Alarcos’ wife.”
“Alas! unhappy
lady, ‘tis but little that you know,
For in that very
word you’ve said is gathered all your woe.
XXV.
“Long since I loved
a lady, — long since I oaths did plight,
To be that lady’s
husband, to love her day and night;
Her father is our
lord the King, to him the thing is known,
And now, that I the
news should bring! she claims me for her own.
XXVI.
“Alas! my love,
alas! my life, the right is on their side;
Ere I had seen your
face, sweet wife, she was betrothed my bride;
But, oh! that I
should speak the word — since in her place you lie,
It is the bidding
of our Lord, that you this night must die.” —
XXVII.
“Are these the
wages of my love, so lowly and so leal?
O, kill me not,
thou noble Count, when at thy foot I kneel!
But send me to my
father’s house, where once I dwelt in glee,
There will I live a
lone chaste life, and rear my children three.” —
XXVIII.
“It may not be —
mine oath is strong — ere dawn of day you die!”
“O! well ‘tis seen
how all alone upon the earth am I
My father is an old
frail man, — my mother’s in her grave, —
And dead is stout
Don Garcia — Alas! my brother brave!
XXIX.
“‘Twas at this
coward King’s command they slew my brother dear,
And now I’m helpless
in the land: — It is not death I fear,
But loth, loth am I
to depart, and leave my children so —
Now let me lay them
to my heart, and kiss them ere I go.” —
XXX.
“Kiss him that lies
upon thy breast — the rest thou mayst not see.” —
“I fain would say
an Ave.” — “Then say it speedily.”
She knelt her down
upon her knee: “O Lord! behold my case —
Judge not my deeds,
but look on me in pity and great grace.” —
XXXI.
When she had made
her orison, up from her knees she rose“
Be kind, Alarcos,
to our babes, and pray for my repose —
And now give me my
boy once more upon my breast to hold,
That he may drink
one farewell drink, before my breast be cold.” —
XXXII.
“Why would you
waken the poor child? you see he is asleep —
Prepare, dear wife,
there is no time, the dawn begins to peep.” —
“Now hear me, Count
Alarcos! I give thee pardon free —
I pardon thee for
the love’s sake wherewith I’ve lovèd thee.
XXXIII
“But they have not
my pardon, the King and his proud daughter —
The curse of God be
on them, for this unchristian slaughter!
I charge them with
my dying breath, ere thirty days be gone,
To meet me in the
realm of death, and at God’s awful throne!” —
XXXIV.
He drew a kerchief
round her neck, he drew it tight and strong,
Until she lay quite
stiff and cold her chamber floor along;
He laid her then
within the sheets, and, kneeling by her side,
To God and Mary
Mother in misery he cried.
XXXV.
Then called he for
his esquires: — oh! deep was their dismay,
When they into the
chamber came, and saw her how she lay; —
Thus died she in
her innocence, a lady void of wrong,
But God took heed
of their offence — his vengeance stayed not long.
XXXVI.
Within twelve days,
in pain and dole, the Infanta passed away,
The cruel King gave
up his soul upon the twentieth day;
Alarcos followed
ere the Moon had made her round complete, —
Three guilty
spirits stood right soon before God’s judgment-seat. |
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