CHAPTER VIII.
Second Class. — Chronicles. — Origin. — Royal Chronicles. — General Chronicle by Alfonso the Tenth. — Its Divisions and Subjects. — Its more Poetical Portions. — Its Character. — Chronicle of the Cid. — Its Origin, Subject, and Character.
Chronicles.—Ballad poetry constituted, no doubt, originally, the amusement and solace of the whole mass of the Spanish people; for, during a long period of their early history, there was little division of the nation into strongly marked classes, little distinction in manners, little variety or progress in refinement. The wars going on with unappeased violence from century to century, though by their character not without an elevating and poetical influence upon all, yet oppressed and crushed all by the sufferings that followed in their train, and kept the tone and condition of the body of the Spanish nation more nearly at the same level than the national character was probably ever kept, for so long a period, in any other Christian country. But as the great Moorish contest was transferred to the South, Leon, Castile, and indeed the whole North, became comparatively quiet and settled. Wealth began to be accumulated in the monasteries, and leisure followed. The castles, instead of being constantly in a state of anxious preparation against the common enemy, were converted into abodes of a crude, but free, hospitality; and those distinctions of society that come from different degrees of power, wealth, and cultivation grew more and more apparent. From this time, then, the ballads, though not really neglected, began to subside into the lower portions of society, where for so long a period they remained; while the more advanced and educated sought, or created for themselves, forms of literature better suited, in some respects, to their altered condition, and marking at once more leisure and knowledge, and a more settled system of social life.
The oldest of these forms was that of the Spanish prose chronicles, which, besides being called for by the changed condition of things, were the proper successors of the monkish Latin chronicles and legends, long before known in the country, and were of a nature to win favor with men who themselves were every day engaged in achievements such as these very stories celebrated, and who consequently looked on the whole class of works to which they belonged as the pledge and promise of their own future fame. The chronicles were, therefore, not only the natural offspring of the times, but were fostered and favored by the men who controlled the times.[228]
I. General Chronicles and Royal Chronicles.—Under such circumstances, we might well anticipate that the proper style of the Spanish chronicle would first appear at the court, or in the neighbourhood of the throne; because at court were to be found the spirit and the materials most likely to give it birth. But it is still to be considered remarkable, that the first of the chronicles in the order of time, and the first in merit, comes directly from a royal hand. It is called in the printed copies “The Chronicle of Spain,” or “The General Chronicle of Spain,” and is, no doubt, the same work earlier cited in manuscript as “The History of Spain.”[229] In its characteristic Prologue, after solemnly giving the reasons why such a work ought to be compiled, we are told: “And therefore we, Don Alfonso, ... son of the very noble King Don Fernando, and of the Queen Doña Beatrice, have ordered to be collected as many books as we could have of histories that relate any thing of the deeds done aforetime in Spain, and have taken the chronicle of the Archbishop Don Rodrigo, ... and of Master Lucas, Bishop of Tuy, ... and composed this book”; words which give us the declaration of Alfonso the Wise, that he himself composed this Chronicle,[230] and which thus carry it back certainly to a period before the year 1284, in which he died. From internal evidence, however, it is probable that it was written in the early part of his reign, which began in 1252; and that he was assisted in its composition by persons familiar with Arabic literature and with whatever there was of other refinement in the age.[231]
It is divided, perhaps not by its author, into four parts: the first opening with the creation of the world, and giving a large space to Roman history, but hastening over every thing else till it comes to the occupation of Spain by the Visigoths; the second comprehending the Gothic empire of the country and its conquest by the Moors; the third coming down to the reign of Ferdinand the Great, early in the eleventh century; and the fourth closing in 1252, with the death of Saint Ferdinand, the conqueror of Andalusia and father of Alfonso himself.
Its earliest portions are the least interesting. They contain such notions and accounts of antiquity, and especially of the Roman empire, as were current among the common writers of the Middle Ages, though occasionally, as in the case of Dido,—whose memory has always been defended by the more popular chroniclers and poets of Spain against the imputations of Virgil,[232]—we have a glimpse of feelings and opinions which may be considered more national. Such passages naturally become more frequent in the Second Part, which relates to the empire of the Visigoths in Spain; though here, as the ecclesiastical writers are almost the only authority that could be resorted to, their peculiar tone prevails too much. But the Third Part is quite free and genial in its spirit, and truly Spanish; setting forth the rich old traditions of the country about the first outbreak of Pelayo from the mountains;[233] the stories of Bernardo del Carpio,[234] Fernan Gonzalez,[235] and the Seven Children of Lara;[236] with spirited sketches of Charlemagne,[237] and accounts of miracles like those of the cross made by angels for Alfonso the Chaste,[238] and of Santiago fighting against the infidels in the glorious battles of Clavijo and Hazinas.[239]
The last part, though less carefully compiled and elaborated, is in the same general tone. It opens with the well-known history of the Cid,[240] to whom, as to the great hero of the popular admiration, a disproportionate space is assigned. After this, being already within a hundred and fifty years of the writer’s own time, we, of course, approach the confines of more sober history, and finally, in the reign of his father, Saint Ferdinand, fairly settle upon its sure and solid foundations.
The striking characteristic of this remarkable Chronicle is, that, especially in its Third Part, and in a portion of the Fourth, it is a translation, if we may so speak, of the old poetical fables and traditions of the country into a simple, but picturesque, prose, intended to be sober history. What were the sources of those purely national passages, which we should be most curious to trace back and authenticate, we can never know. Sometimes, as in the case of Bernardo del Carpio and Charlemagne, the ballads and gestes of the olden time[241] are distinctly appealed to. Sometimes, as in the case of the Children of Lara, an early Latin chronicle, or perhaps some poetical legend, of which all trace is now lost, may have constituted the foundations of the narrative.[242] And once at least, if not oftener, an entire and separate history, that of the Cid, is inserted without being well fitted into its place. Throughout all these portions, the poetical character predominates much oftener than it does in the rest; for while, in the earlier parts, what had been rescued of ancient history is given with a grave sort of exactness, that renders it dry and uninteresting, we have in the concluding portion a simple narrative, where, as in the account of the death of Saint Ferdinand, we feel persuaded that we read touching details sketched by a faithful and affectionate eyewitness.
Among the more poetical passages are two at the end of the Second Part, which are introduced, as contrasts to each other, with a degree of art and skill rare in these simple-hearted old chronicles. They relate to what was long called “the Ruin of Spain,”[243] or its conquest by the Moors, and consist of two picturesque presentments of its condition before and after that event, which the Spaniards long seemed to regard as dividing the history of the world into its two great constituent portions. In the first of these passages, entitled “Of the Good Things of Spain,”[244] after a few general remarks, the fervent old chronicler goes on: “For this Spain, whereof we have spoken, is like the very Paradise of God; for it is watered by five noble rivers, which are the Duero, and the Ebro, and the Tagus, and the Guadalquivir, and the Guadiana; and each of these hath, between itself and the others, lofty mountains and sierras;[245] and their valleys and plains are great and broad, and, through the richness of the soil and the watering of the rivers, they bear many fruits and are full of abundance. And Spain, above all other things, is skilled in war, feared and very bold in battle; light of heart, loyal to her lord, diligent in learning, courtly in speech, accomplished in all good things. Nor is there land in the world that may be accounted like her in abundance, nor may any equal her in strength, and few there be in the world so great. And above all doth Spain abound in magnificence, and more than all is she famous for her loyalty. O Spain! there is no man can tell of all thy worthiness!”
But now reverse the medal, and look on the other picture, entitled “The Mourning of Spain,” when, as the Chronicle tells us, after the victory of the Moors, “all the land remained empty of people, bathed in tears, a byword, nourishing strangers, deceived of her own people, widowed and deserted of her sons, confounded among barbarians, worn out with weeping and wounds, decayed in strength, weakened, uncomforted, abandoned of all her own.... Forgotten are her songs, and her very language is become foreign and her words strange.”
The more attractive passages of the Chronicle, however, are its long narratives. They are also the most poetical;—so poetical, indeed, that large portions of them, with little change in their phraseology, have since been converted into popular ballads;[246] while other portions, hardly less considerable, are probably derived from similar, but older, popular poetry, now either wholly lost, or so much changed by successive oral traditions, that it has ceased to show its relationship with the chronicling stories to which it originally gave birth. Among these narrative passages, one of the most happy is the history of Bernardo del Carpio, for parts of which the Chronicle appeals to ballads more ancient than itself, while to the whole, as it stands in the Chronicle, ballads more modern have, in their turn, been much indebted. It is founded on the idea of a poetical contest between Bernardo’s loyalty to his king, on the one side, and his attachment to his imprisoned father, on the other. For he was, as we have already learned from the old ballads and traditions, the son of a secret marriage between the king’s sister and the Count de Sandias de Saldaña, which had so offended the king, that he kept the Count in prison from the time he discovered it, and concealed whatever related to Bernardo’s birth; educating him meantime as his own son. When, however, Bernardo grew up, he became the great hero of his age, rendering important military services to his king and country. “But yet,” according to the admirably strong expression of the old Chronicle,[247] “when he knew all this, and that it was his own father that was in prison, it grieved him to the heart, and his blood turned in his body, and he went to his house, making the greatest moan that could be, and put on raiment of mourning, and went to the King, Don Alfonso. And the king, when he saw it, said to him, ‘Bernardo, do you desire my death?’ for Bernardo until that time had held himself to be the son of the King, Don Alfonso. And Bernardo said, ‘Sire, I do not wish for your death, but I have great grief, because my father, the Count of Sandias, lieth in prison, and I beseech you of your grace that you would command him to be given up to me.’ And the King, Don Alfonso, when he heard this, said to him, ‘Bernardo, begone from before me, and never be so bold as to speak to me again of this matter; for I swear to you, that, in all the days that I shall live, you shall never see your father out of his prison.’ And Bernardo said to him, ‘Sire, you are my king, and may do whatsoever you shall hold for good, but I pray God that he will put it into your heart to take him thence; nevertheless, I, Sire, shall in no wise cease to serve you in all that I may.’”
Notwithstanding this refusal, however, when great services are wanted from Bernardo in troubled times, his father’s liberty is promised him as a reward; but these promises are constantly broken, until he renounces his allegiance, and makes war upon his false uncle, and on one of his successors, Alfonso the Great.[248] At last, Bernardo succeeds in reducing the royal authority so low, that the king again, and more solemnly, promises to give up his prisoner, if Bernardo, on his part, will give up the great castle of Carpio, which had rendered him really formidable. The faithful son does not hesitate, and the king sends for the Count, but finds him dead, probably by the royal procurement. The Count’s death, however, does not prevent the base monarch from determining to keep the castle, which was the stipulated price of his prisoner’s release. He therefore directs the dead body to be brought, as if alive, on horseback, and, in company with Bernardo, who has no suspicion of the cruel mockery, goes out to meet it.
“And when they were all about to meet,” the old Chronicle goes on, “Bernardo began to shout aloud with great joy, and to say, ‘Cometh indeed the Count Don Sandias de Saldaña!’ And the King, Don Alfonso, said to him, ‘Behold where he cometh! Go, therefore, and salute him whom you have sought so much to behold.’ And Bernardo went towards him, and kissed his hand; but when he found it cold, and saw that all his color was black, he knew that he was dead; and with the grief he had from it, he began to cry aloud and to make great moan, saying, ‘Alas! Count Sandias, in an evil hour was I born, for never was man so lost as I am now for you; for, since you are dead, and my castle is gone, I know no counsel by which I may do aught.’ And some say in their ballads (cantares de gesta) that the king then said, ‘Bernardo, now is not the time for much talking, and therefore I bid you go straightway forth from my land,’” etc.
This constitutes one of the most interesting parts of the old General Chronicle: but the whole is curious, and much of it is rich and picturesque. It is written with more freedom and less exactness of style than some of the other works of its noble author; and in the last division shows a want of finish, which in the first two parts is not perceptible, and in the third only slightly so. But everywhere it breathes the spirit of its age, and, when taken together, is not only the most interesting of the Spanish chronicles, but the most interesting of all that, in any country, mark the transition from its poetical and romantic traditions to the grave exactness of historical truth.
The next of the early chronicles that claims our notice is the one called, with primitive simplicity, “The Chronicle of the Cid”; in some respects as important as the one we have just examined; in others, less so. The first thing that strikes us, when we open it, is, that, although it has much of the appearance and arrangement of a separate and independent work, it is substantially the same with the two hundred and eighty pages which constitute the first portion of the Fourth Book of the General Chronicle of Spain; so that one must certainly have been taken from the other, or both from some common source. The latter is, perhaps, the more obvious conclusion, and has sometimes been adopted;[249] but, on a careful examination, it will probably be found that the Chronicle of the Cid is rather taken from that of Alfonso the Wise, than from any materials common to both and older than both. For, in the first place, each, in the same words, often claims to be a translation from the same authors; yet, as the language of both is frequently identical for pages together, this cannot be true, unless one copied from the other. And, secondly, the Chronicle of the Cid, in some instances, corrects the errors of the General Chronicle, and in one instance at least makes an addition to it of a date later than that of the Chronicle itself.[250] But, passing over the details of this obscure, but not unimportant, point, it is sufficient for our present purpose to say, that the Chronicle of the Cid is the same in substance with the history of the Cid in the General Chronicle, and was probably taken from it.
When it was arranged in its present form, or by whom this was done, we have no notice.[251] But it was found, as we now read it, at Cardenas, in the very monastery where the Cid lies buried, and was seen there by the youthful Ferdinand, great-grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella, who was afterwards emperor of Germany, and who was induced to give the abbot an order to have it printed.[252] This was done accordingly in 1512, since which time there have been but two editions of it, those of 1552 and of 1593, until it was reprinted in 1844, at Marburg, in Germany, with an excellent critical preface in Spanish, by Huber.
As a part of the General Chronicle of Spain,[253] we must, with a little hesitation, pronounce the Chronicle of the Cid less interesting than several of the portions that immediately precede it. But still, it is the great national version of the achievements of the great national hero who freed the fourth part of his native land from the loathed intrusion of the Moors, and who stands to this day connected with the proudest recollections of Spanish glory. It begins with the Cid’s first victories under Ferdinand the Great, and therefore only alludes to his early youth, and to the extraordinary circumstances on which Corneille, following the old Spanish play and ballads, has founded his tragedy; but it gives afterwards, with great minuteness, nearly every one of the adventures that in the older traditions are ascribed to him, down to his death, which happened in 1099, or rather down to the death of Alfonso the Sixth, ten years later.
Much of it is as fabulous[254] as the accounts of Bernardo del Carpio and the Children of Lara, though perhaps not more so than might be expected in a work of such a period and such pretensions. Its style, too, is suited to its romantic character, and is more diffuse and grave than that of the best narrative portions of the General Chronicle. But then, on the other hand, it is overflowing with the very spirit of the times when it was written, and offers us so true a picture of their generous virtues, as well as their stern violence, that it may well be regarded as one of the best books in the world, if not the very best, for studying the real character and manners of the ages of chivalry. Occasionally there are passages in it like the following description of the Cid’s feelings and conduct, when he left his good castle of Bivar, unjustly and cruelly exiled by the king, which, whether invented or not, are as true to the spirit of the period they represent, as if the minutest of their details were ascertained facts.
“And when he saw his courts deserted and without people, and the perches without falcons, and the gateway without its judgment-seats, he turned himself toward the East and knelt down and said, ‘Saint Mary, Mother, and all other Saints, graciously beseech God that he would grant me might to overcome all these pagans, and that I may gain from them wherewith to do good to my friends, and to all those that may follow and help me.’ And then he went on and asked for Alvar Fañez, and said to him, ‘Cousin, what fault have the poor in the wrong that the king has done us? Warn all my people, then, that they harm none, wheresoever we may go.’ And he called for his horse to mount. Then spake up an old woman standing at her door and said, ‘Go on with good luck, for you shall make spoil of whatsoever you may find or desire.’ And the Cid, when he heard that saying, rode on, for he would tarry no longer; and as he went out of Bivar, he said, ‘Now do I desire you should know, my friends, that it is the will of God that we should return to Castile with great honor and great gain.’”[255]
Some of the touches of manners in this little passage, such as the allusion to the judgment-seats at his gate, where the Cid in patriarchal simplicity had administered justice to his vassals, and the hint of the poor augury gathered from the old woman’s wish, which seems to be of more power with him than the prayer he had just uttered, or the bold hopes that were driving him to the Moorish frontiers,—such touches give life and truth to this old chronicle, and bring its times and feelings, as it were, sensibly before us. Adding its peculiar treasures to those contained in the rest of the General Chronicle, we shall find, in the whole, nearly all the romantic and poetical fables and adventures that belong to the earliest portions of Spanish history. At the same time, we shall obtain a living picture of the state of manners in that dark period, when the elements of modern society were just beginning to be separated from the chaos in which they had long struggled, and out of which, by the action of successive ages, they have been gradually wrought into those forms of policy which now give stability to governments and peace to the intercourse of men.