History of Spanish Literature, vol. 1 (of 3)

by George Ticknor

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.