MEDIÆVAL TALES
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY MORLEY
LL. D., LATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON
LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LTD.
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
CONTENTS
| [INTRODUCTION] | |
| [HISTORY OF CHARLES THE GREAT AND ORLANDO.] | |
| [THE DAYS OF CHARLEMAGNE AND OF THE CID CAMPEADOR.] | |
| [GESTA ROMANORUM.] | |
| [THE FAMOUS HISTORY OF DR. FAUSTUS.] |
INTRODUCTION.
This volume of "Mediæval Tales" is in four parts, containing severally, (1) Turpin's "History of Charles the Great and Orlando," which is an old source of Charlemagne romance; (2) Spanish Ballads, relating chiefly to the romance of Charlemagne, these being taken from the spirited translations of Spanish ballads published in 1823 by John Gibson Lockhart; (3) a selection of stories from the "Gesta Romanorum;" and (4) the old translation of the original story of Faustus, on which Marlowe founded his play, and which is the first source of the Faust legend in literature.
Turpin's "History of Charles the Great and Orlando" is given from a translation made by Thomas Rodd, and published by himself in 1812, of "Joannes Turpini Historia de Vita Caroli Magni et Rolandi." This chronicle, composed by some monk at an unknown date before the year 1122, professed to be the work of a friend and secretary of Charles the Great, Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, who was himself present in the scenes that he describes. It was--like Geoffrey of Monmouth's nearly contemporary "History of British Kings," from which were drawn tales of Gorboduc, Lear and King Arthur—romance itself, and the source of romance in others. It is at the root of many tales of Charlemagne and Roland that reached afterwards their highest artistic expression in Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso." The tale ascribed to Turpin is of earlier date than the year 1122, because in that year Pope Calixtus II. officially declared its authenticity. But it was then probably a new invention, designed for edification, for encouragement of faith in the Church, war against infidels, and reverence to the shrine of St. James of Compostella.
The Church vouched for the authorship of Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, "excellently skilled in sacred and profane literature, of a genius equally adapted to prose and verse; the advocate of the poor, beloved of God in his life and conversation, who often hand to hand fought the Saracens by the Emperor's side; and who flourished under Charles and his son Lewis to the year of our Lord eight hundred and thirty." But while this work gave impulse to the shaping of Charlemagne romances with Orlando (Roland) for their hero, there came to be a very general opinion that, whether the author of the book were Turpin or another, he too was a romancer. His book came, therefore, to be known as the "Magnanime Mensonge," a lie heroic and religious.
No doubt Turpin's "Vita Caroli Magni et Rolandi" was based partly on traditions current in its time. It was turned of old into French verse and prose; and even into Latin hexameters. The original work was first printed at Frankfort in 1566, in a collection of Four Chronographers—"Germanicarum Rerum." Mr. Rodd's translation, here given, was made from the copy of the original given in Spanheim's "Lives of Ecclesiastical Writers."
Publication of the songs and ballads of Spain began at Valencia in the year 1511 with a collection by Fernando del Castillo, who on his title-page professed to collect pieces "as well ancient as modern." From 1511 to 1573 there were nine editions of this "Cancionero." A later collection made between 1546 and 1550—The "Cancionero de Romances"—was made to consist wholly of ballads. A third edition of it, in 1555, is the fullest and best known. The greatest collection followed in nine parts, published separately between 1593 and 1597, at Valencia, Burgos, Toledo, Alcala, and Madrid. This formed the great collection known as the "Romancero General."
The chief hero of the Spanish Ballads is the Cid Campeador; and Robert Southey used these ballads as material for enriching the "Chronicle of the Cid," which has already been given in this Library. Songs of the Cid were sung as early as the year 1147, are of like date with the "Magnanime Mensonge" and Geoffrey of Monmouth's "History of British Kings." In 1248 St. Ferdinand gave allotments to two poets who had been with him during the Siege of Seville, and who were named Nicolas and Domingo Abod "of the Romances." There is also evidence from references to what "the juglares sing in their chants and tell in their tales," that in the middle of the thirteenth century tales of Charlemagne and of Bernardo del Carpio were familiar in the mouths of ballad-singers.
The whole number of the old ballads of Spain exceeds a thousand, and of these John Gibson Lockhart has translated some of the best into English verse. Lockhart was born in 1793, was the son of a Scottish minister, was educated at the Universities of Glasgow and Oxford, and was called to the bar at Edinburgh in 1816. Next year he was one of the keenest of the company of young writers whose genius and lively audacity established the success of "Blackwood's Magazine." Three years later, in 1820, he married the eldest daughter of Sir Walter Scott. Lockhart's vigorous rendering of the spirit of the Spanish Romances was first published in 1823, two years before he went to London to become editor of the "Quarterly Review." He edited the "Quarterly" for about thirty years, and died in 1854.
The "Gesta Romanorum;" is a mediæval compilation of tales that might be used to enforce and enliven lessons from the pulpit. Each was provided with its "Application." The French Dominican, Vincent of Beauvais, tells in his "Mirror of History" that in his time—the thirteenth century—it was the practice of preachers, to rouse languid hearers by quoting fables out of Æsop, and he recommends a sparing and discreet use of profane fancies in discussing sacred subjects. Among the Harleian MSS. is an ancient collection of 215 stories, romantic, allegorical and legendary, compiled by a preacher for the use of monastic societies. There were other such collections, but the most famous of all, widely used not only by the preachers but also by the poets, was the Latin story-book known as the "Gesta Romanorum." Its name, "Deeds of the Romans," was due to its fancy for assigning every story to some emperor who had or had not reigned in Rome; the emperor being a convenient person in the Application, which might sometimes begin with, "My beloved, the emperor is God." Perhaps the germ of the collection may have been a series of applied tales from Roman history. But if so, it was soon enriched with tales from the East, from the "Clericalis Disciplina," a work by Petrus Alfonsus, a baptized Jew who lived in 1106, and borrowed professedly from the Arabian fabulists. Mediæval tales of all kinds suitable for the purpose of the "Gesta Romanorum" were freely incorporated, and the book so formed became a well-known storehouse of material for poetic treatment. Gower, Shakespeare, Schiller are some of the poets who have used tales which are among the thirty given in this volume.
The "Gesta Romanorum" was first printed in 1473, and after that date often reprinted. It was translated into Dutch as early as the year 1484. There was a translation of forty-three of its tales into English, by Richard Robinson, published in 1577, of which there were six or seven editions during the next twenty-four years. A version of forty-five of its tales was published in 1648 as "A Record of Ancient Histories." The fullest English translation was that by the Rev. C. Swan, published in 1824. In this volume two or three tales are given in the earlier English form, the rest from Mr. Swan's translation, with a little revision of his English. Mr. Swan used Book English, and was apt to write "an instrument of agriculture" where he would have said "a spade." I give here thirty of the Tales, but of the "Applications" have left only enough to show how they were managed.
In the volume of this Library, which contains Marlowe's "Faustus" and Goethe's "Faust," reference has been made to the old German History of Faustus, first published at Frankfort in September 1587, and reprinted with slight change in 1588. There was again a reprint of it with some additions in 1589. This book was written by a Protestant in early days of the Reformation, but shaped by him from mediæval tales of magic, with such notions of demons and their home as had entered deeply in the Middle Ages into popular belief. From it was produced within two years of its first publication Marlowe's play of "Faustus," which has already been given, and that English translation of the original book which will be found in the present volume. It was reprinted by Mr. William J. Thoms in his excellent collection of "Early English Prose Romances," first published in 1828, of which there was an enlarged second edition, in three volumes, in 1858. That is a book of which all students of English literature would like to see a third and cheap edition.
H. M.
October 1884.
Turpin's History
of
Charles the Great and Orlando.
THE HISTORY
OF
Charles the Great and Orlando.
CHAPTER I.
Archbishop Turpin's Epistle to Leopander.
Turpin, by the grace of God, Archbishop of Rheims, the faithful companion of the Emperor Charles the Great in Spain, to Leopander, Dean of Aix-la-Chapelle, greeting.
Forasmuch as you requested me to write to you from Vienne (my wounds being now cicatrized) in what manner the Emperor Charles delivered Spain and Gallicia from the yoke of the Saracens, you shall attain the knowledge of many memorable events, and likewise of his praiseworthy trophies over the Spanish Saracens, whereof I myself was eyewitness, traversing France and Spain in his company for the space of forty years; and I hesitate the less to trust these matters to your friendship, as I write a true history of his warfare. For indeed all your researches could never have enabled you fully to discover those great events in the Chronicles of St. Denis, as you sent me word: neither could you for certain know whether the author had given a true relation of those matters, either by reason of his prolixity, or that he was not himself present when they happened. Nevertheless this book will agree with his history. Health and happiness.
CHAPTER II.
How Charles the Great delivered Spain and Gallicia
from the Saracens.
The most glorious Christian Apostle St. James, when the other Apostles and Disciples of our Lord were dispersed abroad throughout the whole world, is believed to have first preached the gospel in Gallicia. After his martyrdom, his servants, rescuing his body from King Herod, brought it by sea to Gallicia, where they likewise preached the gospel. But soon after, the Gallicians, relapsing into great sins, returned to their former idolatry, and persisted in it till the time of Charles the Great, Emperor of the Romans, French, Germans, and other nations. Charles therefore, after prodigious toils in Saxony, France, Germany, Lorraine, Burgundy, Italy, Brittany, and other countries; after taking innumerable cities from sea to sea, which he won by his invincible arm from the Saracens, through divine favour; and after subjugating them with great fatigue of mind and body to the Christian yoke, resolved to rest from his wars in peace.
But observing the starry way in the heavens, beginning at the Friezeland sea, and passing over the German territory and Italy, between Gaul and Aquitaine, and from thence in a straight line over Gascony, Bearne, and Navarre, and through Spain to Gallicia, wherein till his time lay undiscovered the body of St. James; when night after night he was wont to contemplate it, meditating upon what it might signify, a certain beautiful resplendent vision appeared to him in his sleep, and, calling him son, inquired what he was attempting to discover. At which Charles replied, "Who art thou, Lord?" "I am," answered the vision, "St. James the Apostle, Christ's disciple, the son of Zebedee, and brother of John the Evangelist, whom the Lord was pleased to think worthy, in his ineffable goodness, to elect on the sea of Galilee to preach the gospel to his people, but whom Herod the King slew. My body now lies concealed in Gallicia, long so grievously oppressed by the Saracens, from whose yoke I am astonished that you, who have conquered so many lands and cities, have not yet delivered it. Wherefore I come to warn you, as God has given you power above every other earthly prince, to prepare my way, and rescue my dominions from the Moabites, that so you may receive a brighter crown of glory for your reward. The starry way in the heavens signifies that you, with a great army, will enter Gallicia to fight the Pagans, and, recovering it from them, will visit my church and shrine; and that all the people from the borders of the sea, treading in your steps, will ask pardon of God for their sins, and return in safety, celebrating his praise; that you likewise will acknowledge the wonders he hath done for you in prolonging your life to its present span. Proceed then as soon as you are ready; I am your friend and helper; your name shall become famous to all eternity, and a crown of glory shall be your reward in heaven."
Thus did the blessed Apostle appear thrice to the Emperor, who, confiding in his word, assembled a great army, and entered Spain to fight the infidels.
CHAPTER III.
Of the Walls of Pampeluna, that fell of themselves.
The first city Charles besieged was Pampeluna; he invested it three months, but was not able to take it, through the invincible strength of the walls. He then made this prayer to God: "O Lord Jesus Christ, for whose faith I am come hither to fight the Pagans; for thy glory's sake deliver this city into my hands; and O blessed St. James, if thou didst indeed appear to me, help me to take it." And now God and St. James, hearkening to his petition, the walls utterly fell to the ground of themselves; but Charles spared the lives of the Saracens that consented to be baptized; the rest he put to the edge of the sword. The report of this miracle induced all their countrymen to surrender their cities, and consent to pay tribute to the Emperor. Thus was the whole land soon subdued.
The Saracens were amazed to see the French well clothed, accomplished in their manners and persons, and strictly faithful to their treaties; they gave them therefore a peaceful and honourable reception, dismissing all thoughts of war. The Emperor, after frequently visiting the shrine of St. James, came to Ferrol, and, fixing his lance in the sea, returned thanks to God and the Apostle for having brought him to this place, though he could then proceed no further.
The Pagan nations, after the first preaching of St. James and his disciples, were converted by Archbishop Turpin, and by the grace of God baptized; but those who refused to embrace the faith were either slain or made slaves by the Christians. Turpin then traversed all Spain from sea to sea.
CHAPTER IV.
Of the idol Mahomet.
The Emperor utterly destroyed the idols and images in Spain, except the idol in Andalusia, called Salamcadis. Cadis properly signifies the place of an island, but in Arabic it means God. The Saracens had a tradition that the idol Mahomet, which they worshipped, was made by himself in his lifetime; and that by the help of a legion of devils it was by magic art endued with such irresistible strength, that it could not be broken. If any Christian approached it he was exposed to great danger; but when the Saracens came to appease Mahomet, and make their supplications to him, they returned in safety. The birds that chanced to light upon it were immediately struck dead.
There is, moreover, on the margin of the sea an ancient stone excellently sculptured after the Saracenic fashion; broad and square at the bottom, but tapering upward to the height that a crow generally flies, having on the top an image of gold, admirably cast in the shape of a man, standing erect, with a certain great key in his hand, which the Saracens say was to fall to the ground immediately after the birth of a King of Gaul, who would overrun all Spain with a Christian army, and totally subdue it. Wherefore it was enjoined them, whenever that happened, to fly the country, and bury their jewels in the earth.
CHAPTER V.
Of the Churches the King built.
Charles remained three years in these parts, and with the gold given him by the kings and princes greatly enlarged the church of the blessed St. James, appointing an Abbot and Canons of the order of St. Isidore, martyr and confessor, to attend it: he enriched it likewise with bells, books, robes, and other gifts. With the residue of the immense quantity of gold and silver, he built many churches on his return from Spain; namely, of the blessed Virgin in Aix-la-Chapelle, of St. James in Thoulouse, and another in Gascony, between the city commonly called Aix, after the model of St. John's at Cordova, in the Jacobine road; the church likewise of St. James at Paris, between the river Seine and Montmartre, besides founding innumerable abbeys in all parts of the world.
CHAPTER VI.
Of the King's Return to France, and of Argolander,
King of the Africans.
After the King's return from Spain, a certain Pagan King, called Argolander, recovered the whole country with his army, driving the Emperor's soldiers from the towns and garrisons, which led him to march back his troops, under their General, Milo de Angleris.
CHAPTER VII.
Of the false Executor.
But the judgment inflicted on a false executor deserves to be recorded, as a warning to those who unjustly pervert the alms of the deceased. When the King's army lay at Bayonne, a certain soldier, called Romaricus, was taken grievously ill, and, being at the point of death, received the eucharist and absolution from a priest, bequeathing his horse to a certain kinsman, in trust, to dispose of for the benefit of the priest and the poor. But when he was dead his kinsman sold it for a hundred pence, and spent the money in debauchery. But how soon does punishment follow guilt! Thirty days had scarcely elapsed when the apparition of the deceased appeared to him in his sleep, uttering these words: "How is it you have so unjustly misapplied the alms entrusted to you for the redemption of my soul? Do you not know they would have procured the pardon of my sins from God? I have been punished for your neglect thirty days in fire; to-morrow you shall be plunged in the same place of torment, but I shall be received into Paradise." The apparition then vanished, and his kinsman awoke in extreme terror.
On the morrow, as he was relating the story to his companions, and the whole army was conversing about it, on a sudden a strange uncommon clamour, like the roaring of lions, wolves, and calves, was heard in the air, and immediately a troop of demons seized him in their talons, and bore him away alive. What further? Horse and foot sought him four days together in the adjacent mountains and valleys to no purpose; but the twelfth day after, as the army was marching through a desert part of Navarre, his body was found lifeless, and dashed to pieces, on the summit of some rocks, a league above the sea, about four days' journey from the city. There the demons left the body, bearing the soul away to hell. Let this be a warning, then, to all that follow his example to their eternal perdition.
CHAPTER VIII.
Of the War of the Holy Facundus, where the Spears grew.
Charles and Milo, his General, now marched after Argolander into Spain, and found him in the fields of the river, where a castle stands in the meadows, in the best part of the whole plain, where afterwards a church was built in honour of the blessed martyrs Facundus and Primitivus; where likewise their bodies rest, an abbey was founded, and a city built. When the King's army advanced, Argolander wished to decide the contest by set combat between twenties, forties, hundreds, thousands, or even by two champions only. Charles willingly consented, and marched a hundred of his soldiers against a hundred Saracens, when all of them were slain. Argolander then sent two hundred, who shared the same fate. Two thousand were then led against two thousand, part of whom were slain, and the rest fled. But on the third day Argolander cast lots, and, knowing that evil fortune threatened the Emperor, sent him word he would draw out his whole army on the open plain, on the morrow, which challenge was accepted.
Then did this miracle happen. Certain of the Christians, who carefully had been furbishing their arms against the day of battle, fixed their spears in the evening erect in the ground before the castle in the meadow, near the river, and found them early in the morning covered with bark and branches. Those, therefore, that were about to receive the palm of martyrdom were greatly astonished at this event, ascribing it to divine power. Then cutting off their spears close to the ground, the roots that remained shot out afresh, and became lofty trees, which may be still seen flourishing there, chiefly ash. All this denoted joy to the soul, but loss to the body; for now the battle commenced, and forty thousand Christians were slain, together with Milo, their General, the father of Orlando. The King's horse was likewise slain under him; but Charles resolutely continued the fight on foot, and with two thousand Christians gallantly hewed his way through the Saracens, cleaving many of them asunder from the shoulders to the waist.
The following day both Christians and Saracens remained quietly in their camps, but the day after four Marquisses brought four thousand fresh troops from Italy to the King's assistance; whereupon Argolander retreated with his army to Leon, and Charles led back his forces to France.
And here it is proper to observe we should strive for Christ's blessing; for as the soldiers prepared their arms against the day of battle, so we in like manner should prepare ours, namely, our virtues to resist our passions. For he that would oppose faith to infidelity, brotherly love to hatred, charity to avarice, humility to pride, chastity to lust, prayer to temptation, perseverance to instability, peace to strife, obedience to a carnal disposition, must fortify his soul with grace, and prepare his spear to flourish against the day of judgment. Triumphant indeed will he be in heaven who conquers on earth! As the King's soldiers died for their faith, so should we die to sin, and live in holiness in this world, that we may receive the palm of glory in the next, which shall be the reward of those who fight manfully against their three grand adversaries, the World, the Flesh, and the Devil.
CHAPTER IX.
Of King Argolander's Army.
Argolander now assembled together innumerable nations of Saracens, Moors, Moabites, Parthians, Africans, and Persians: Texephin, King of Arabia; Urabell, King of Alexandria; Avitus, King of Bugia; Ospin, King of Algarve; Facin, King of Barbary; Ailis, King of Malclos; Manuo, King of Mecca; Ibrahim, King of Seville; and Almanzor, King of Cordova. Then, marching to the city of Agen, he took it, and sent word to Charles he would give him sixty horse-load of gold, silver, and jewels, if he would acknowledge his right to the sceptre. But Charles returned this answer, "that he would acknowledge him no otherwise than by slaying him whenever it should be his chance to meet him in battle."
The Emperor had by this time approached within four miles of Agen, when, secretly dismissing his army, he proceeded with only sixty soldiers to the mountain near the city. There he left them, and changing his dress, came with his shield reversed, after the custom of messengers in time of war, accompanied by one soldier only to the city; and when the people inquired his business, he informed them he had brought a message from King Charles to Argolander, whereupon he was admitted into his presence, and addressed him in these words: "My King bids me say, you may expect to see him, provided you will come out with only sixty of your people to meet him." Now Argolander little thought it was Charles himself to whom he was speaking, who all the while took especial note of his person, and of the weakest parts of the walls of the city, as well as of the auxiliary kings that were then within it. Argolander then armed himself, and Charles rejoined his sixty soldiers, and soon after the two thousand that at first accompanied him. But Argolander came out with seven thousand men, thinking to slay the Emperor, but was himself compelled to fly.
The King then recruited his army, and besieged the city for six months. On the seventh his battering rams, wooden castles, and other engines, were ready to storm it; but Argolander and the rest of the Kings made their escape in the night through the common sewers, and, passing up the Garonne, got clear off. Charles entered the city in triumph the next day, and slew ten thousand of the remaining Saracens.
CHAPTER X.
Of the City of Xaintonge, where the Spears grew.
Argolander now came to Xaintonge, at that time under the dominion of the Saracens; but Charles pursuing him, summoned him to restore the city, which Argolander refused, resolving first to fight, and that it should be the conqueror's reward. But on the eve of battle, when the battering rams were ready to attack the castle in the meadows, called Taleburg, and that part of the city near the river Carenton, certain of the Christians fixed their spears in the ground before the castle, and on the morrow found them covered with bark and branches. Those therefore that were to receive the crown of martyrdom perished in the fight, after slaying a multitude of the Saracens, namely, about four thousand men. The King's horse was likewise slain under him, but valiantly placing himself at the head of his infantry, he slew so many of his enemies that they were forced back into the city, which Charles invested on every side but the river, through which Argolander made his escape, with the loss of the Kings of Algarve and Bugia, and about four thousand of his army.
CHAPTER XI.
Of Argolander's Flight, and of the King's Warriors.
Argolander fled beyond the passes of the Pyrenees, and came to Pampeluna, where he sent Charles word he would stay for him. Charles then returned to France, and with the utmost diligence summoned his troops from all parts to his assistance, proclaiming free pardon to all banished persons, on condition they would join him against the Pagans. What further? He liberated all the prisoners; made the poor rich; clothed the naked; reconciled the disaffected; bestowed honours on the disinherited; preferred the most experienced to the best commands; making friends of enemies, and associating both the civilized and the barbarian in the war of Spain, uniting them through the favour of God in the bond of love. Then did I, Turpin, absolve them from their sins, and give them my benediction.
These are the names of the warriors that attended the King:—Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, who by the precepts of Christ, and for his faith's sake, brought the people to fight valiantly, fighting likewise himself hand to hand with the Saracens. Orlando, General of the whole army, Count of Mans and Lord of Guienne, the King's nephew, son of Milo de Angleris and Bertha the King's sister. His soldiers were four thousand. Another Orlando likewise, of whom we are silent. Oliver, a General also, and a valiant soldier, renowned for strength and skill in war, led three thousand troops. Aristagnus, King of Brittany, seven thousand. Another King of Brittany, of whom little mention is made. Angelerus, Duke of Aquitaine, brought four thousand valiant bowmen. At this time likewise there was in the city of Poictiers another Duke of Aquitaine, but Angelerus was the son of Gascon, Duke of the city of Aquitaine, lying between Limorge, Bourges, and Poictiers, which city Augustus Cæsar founded; and the rest of the cities, as well as Xaintonge and Angoulême, with their provinces, were subject to it; the whole country was also called Aquitaine. But after the death of its lord, who perished with all his people in the fatal battle of Ronceval, it was never fresh colonized, and fell utterly to ruin.
Gayfere, King of Bordeaux, led three thousand warriors. Galerus, Galinus Solomon, Estolfo's friend and companion; Baldwin, Orlando's brother, Galdebode, King of Friezeland, led seven thousand heroes; Ocellus, Count of Nantes, two thousand, who achieved many memorable actions, celebrated in songs to this day. Lambert, Count of Berry, led two thousand men. Rinaldo of the White Thorn, Vulterinus Garinus, Duke of Lorraine, four thousand. Hago, Albert of Burgundy, Berard de Miblis, Gumard, Esturinite, Theodoric, Juonius, Beringaire, Hato, and Ganalon, who afterwards proved the traitor, attended the King into Spain. The army of the King's own territory was forty thousand horse and foot innumerable.
These were all famous heroes and warriors, mighty in battle, illustrious in worldly honour, zealous soldiers of Christ, that spread his name far and near, wherever they came. For even as our Lord and his twelve Apostles subdued the world by their doctrine, so did Charles, King of the French and Emperor of the Romans, recover Spain to the glory of God. And now the troops, assembling in Bordeaux, overspread the country for the space of two days' journey, and the noise they made was heard at twelve miles distance. Arnold of Berlanda first traversed the pass of the Pyrenees, and came to Pampeluna. Then came Astolfo, followed by Aristagnus; Angelerus, Galdebode, Ogier the King, and Constantine, with their several divisions. Charles and his troops brought up the rear, covering the whole land from the river of Rume to the mountains, that lie three leagues beyond them on the Compostella road. They now halted for eight days. In the interval Charles sent Argolander word, if he would restore the city he had built, he would return home, or otherwise wage cruel war against him: but Argolander, finding he could not keep possession of the city, resolved to march out, rather than tamely perish in it. Charles then granted him a truce to draw out his army and prepare for battle; expressing moreover his willingness to see him face to face, as Argolander wished.
CHAPTER XII.
Of the Truce, and of the Discourse between the King and Argolander.
A truce thus being granted, Argolander drew out his people from the city, and attended by sixty guards came into the King's presence, who was at this time encamped about a mile from Pampeluna. The two armies occupied a spacious plain six miles square, separated by the main road to Compostella.
When Charles perceived Argolander, he addressed him in these words:
"You are, then, he that have fraudulently taken possession of my territories in Spain and Gascony, which I conquered by the favour of God, and reduced to the faith of Christ. You have perverted the princes from my allegiance, and slain the Christians with the edge of the sword. Availing yourself of my return to Gaul, you have destroyed my towns and castles, and laid waste the territory with fire and sword. At present, therefore, you have the advantage of me."
Now when Argolander heard the King speak in the Arabic tongue, he was greatly pleased and astonished, for Charles had learnt it in his youth in the city of Thoulouse, where he had spent some time. Argolander then answered in these terms: "I wonder you should reason thus, for the territory did not belong to you; neither was it your father's, grandfather's, or great-grandfather's. Why then did you take possession of it?" "Because," replied Charles, "our Lord Jesus Christ, the creator of heaven and earth, elected us in preference to others, and gave us dominion over all the earth: therefore I endeavoured to convert the Saracens to the Christian faith."—"It would be unworthy of us to submit to you," rejoined Argolander, "when our own faith is best. We have Mahomet, a prophet of God, whose precepts we obey. Therefore we have a powerful God, who through his prophet has declared his will, and by him we live and reign." "O Argolander," said the King, "how widely do you err! You follow the vain precepts of a man; we believe and worship Father, Son, and Holy Ghost: you worship mortal man. After death our souls are received into Paradise, and enjoy everlasting life, but yours descend to the abyss of hell. Wherefore our faith is evidently best. Accept then baptism, or fight and perish."
"Far be it from me," said Argolander, "to accept baptism, and deny Mahomet and my God! But I will fight you on these terms: if your faith is best, you shall gain the victory, otherwise heaven shall give it to me; and let shame be the portion of the conquered, but eternal glory reward the conqueror. Furthermore, if my people are subdued, and I survive the contest, I will receive baptism."
These terms being mutually agreed, twenty Christians were sent against twenty Saracens, and the battle commenced. What further? Nearly all the Saracens fell. Forty were then sent against forty, and they were defeated also. A hundred then fought together; but the Saracens turned their backs from the face of the Christians, and were all slain. Are not these Christians then types for us? Does it not argue that we likewise should fight manfully against our sins; should face our spiritual enemies, and never ignobly yield to them, since they will infallibly lead us into perdition? He only, says the Apostle, shall receive the crown that fights the good fight, and overcomes.
Two hundred Saracens were then sent out, and were all slain; lastly a thousand, who shared the same fate. A truce being then granted, Argolander promised to be baptized on the morrow with all his people, and, calling his Kings and Captains together, told them his intention, to which they likewise assented, few only refusing to follow his example.
CHAPTER XIII.
Of the King's Banquet, and of the Poor, at whom Argolander took
so great Offence that he refused to be Baptized.
On the third day Argolander attended the King, as he promised, and found him at dinner. Many tables were spread at which the guests were sitting; some in military uniform; some in black; some in Priests' habits; which Argolander perceiving, inquired what they were? "Those you see in robes of one colour," replied the King, "are priests and bishops of our holy religion, who expound the gospel to us, absolve us from our offences, and bestow heavenly benediction. Those in black are monks and abbots; all of them holy men, who implore incessantly the divine favour in our behalf." But in the meantime Argolander espying thirty poor men in mean habiliments, without either table or table-cloth, sitting and eating their scanty meals upon the ground, he inquired what they were? "These," replied the King, "are people of God, the messengers of our Lord Jesus, whom in his and his Apostles names we feed daily." Argolander then made this reply: "The guests at your table are happy; they have plenty of the best food set before them; but those you call the messengers of God, whom you feed in his name, are ill fed, and worse clothed, as if they were of no estimation. Certainly he must serve God but indifferently who treats his messengers in this manner, and thus do you prove your religion false." Argolander then refused to be baptized, and, returning to his army, prepared for battle on the morrow.
Charles, seeing the mischief his neglect of these poor men had occasioned, ordered them to be decently clothed and better fed. Here then we may note the Christian incurs great blame who neglects the poor. If Charles, from inattention to their comfort, thereby lost the opportunity of converting the Saracens, what will be the lot of those who treat them still worse? They will hear this sentence pronounced—"Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire; for I was an hungered, and ye gave me no meat; naked, and ye clothed me not."
We must consider likewise that our faith in Christ is of little value without good works. As the body, says the Apostle, without the soul is dead, so is faith dead if it produce not good fruit. And as the Pagan King refused baptism because he found something wrong after it, so our Lord, I fear, will refuse our baptism at the day of judgment if superfluity of faults be found in us.
CHAPTER XIV.
Of the Battle of Pampeluna, and Argolander's Death.
Both armies now prepared for battle in the morning, contending for their different faiths. The King mustered one hundred and thirty thousand men, but Argolander only one hundred thousand. The Christians formed themselves into four squadrons; the Saracens into five; whose first corps being speedily discomfited, they all joined in one phalanx, with Argolander in the midst. The Christians then surrounded them on all sides. First Arnaldo de Berlanda and his troops; then Astolfo; next Aristagnus, Galdebode, Ogier, and Constantine; lastly the King himself, and his innumerable warriors. Arnaldo was the first that broke in upon the enemy, overthrowing them right and left till he reached Argolander himself in the centre, and slew him with his own hand. Then ensued a great shout, and the Christians, rushing in upon the Saracens, slew them on all sides, making so great a slaughter that none escaped but the Kings of Seville and Cordova, and a few of their troops. So great, indeed, was the effusion of blood, that the Christians waded in it to their very knees. They slew likewise all the Saracens left in the city. Charles fought for the faith, and therefore triumphed over Argolander. Note then, O Christian, that whatsoever thou undertakest thou likewise shalt accomplish if thou hast faith, for all things are possible to them that believe. Greatly rejoiced at this victory, the King marched forward, and came to the bridge of Arge in the Compostella road.
CHAPTER XV.
Of the Christians that returned unlawfully to Spoil the Dead.
Certain of the Christians however, coveting the spoils of the dead, returned that same night to the field of battle, and loaded themselves with heaps of gold and silver. But as they were returning to the camp, Almanzor, King of Cordova, who had fled for refuge to the mountains with the Saracens that made their escape, came pouring down, and slew them all to the number of a thousand men. These, then, are types of such as strive against sin, but afterwards relapse; who, when they have overcome, continue not stedfast, but seek unlawful pleasures, suffering themselves to be mastered in turn by their grand adversary. So likewise the religious, that forsake their vocations to re-engage in worldly concerns and profits, lose the reward of eternal life, and entail upon themselves everlasting perdition.
CHAPTER XVI.
Of the War of Furra.
The day after the King was informed that a certain King of Navarre, called Furra, designed to fight him at Mount Garzim. Charles therefore prepared for battle; but desiring to know who should perish in it, he entreated the Lord to show him; whereupon in the morning a red cross appeared on their shoulders behind. In order therefore to preserve them, he confined them in his Oratory. Then joining battle, Furra and three thousand of his troops were slain. These were all Saracens of Navarre. The King now returned to his Oratory, but found them all dead that he had left in it, to the number of one hundred and fifty men.
"O holy band of Christian warriors, though the sword slew you not, yet did you not lose the palm of victory, or the prize of martyrdom!" Charles then made himself master of the mountain and castle of Garzim, and subdued the whole country of Navarre.
CHAPTER XVII.
Of the War with Ferracute,
and of Orlando's admirable Dispute with him.
Charles now received news that a certain Giant, of the name of Ferracute, of the race of Goliath, was come to Nager, sent thither by Admiraldus, with twenty thousand Turks of Babylon, to fight him. This Giant neither feared spear nor dart, and was stronger than forty men. Charles therefore marched to Nager, and Ferracute, hearing of his arrival, sallied out from the city to challenge any warrior to single combat.
Charles then sent Ogier the Dacian, whom the Giant no sooner perceived, than, leisurely approaching, he caught him up under his right arm, as easily as he would a lamb, and bore him off in sight of all his friends to the city; for the Giant's stature was twelve cubits; his face a cubit long; his nose a palm; his arms and thighs four cubits; and his fingers three palms in length.
Rinaldo of the White Thorn was next sent against him, but he seized him in like manner, and imprisoned him with Ogier. The King then sent Constantine and Ocellus, but, seizing one under each arm, he bore them off likewise. He then sent twenty warriors by pairs against him, but they shared the same fate. Charles dared not then venture to send more warriors: but Orlando with the King's permission approached the Giant, who seized him instantly by the right arm, and seated him upon his steed before him.
But as he was bearing him to the city, Orlando, recovering his strength, and trusting in the Almighty, seized the Giant by the beard, and tumbled him from his horse, so that both came to the ground together. Orlando, then, thinking to slay the Giant, drew his sword, and struck at him, but the blow fell upon his steed, and pierced him through. The Giant being thus on foot, drew his enormous sword, which Orlando perceiving, who had remounted his own charger, struck him on the sword arm, and, though he did not wound him, struck the sword out of his hand; which greatly enraging Ferracute, he aimed a blow at Orlando with his fist, but, missing him, hit his horse on the forehead, and laid him dead on the spot. And now the fight lasted till noon with fists and stones. The Giant then demanded a truce till next day, agreeing to meet Orlando without horse or spear. Each warrior then retired to his post.
Next morning they accordingly met once more. The Giant brought a sword, but Orlando a long staff to ward off the Giant's blows, who wearied himself to no purpose. They now began to batter each other with stones, that lay scattered about the field, till at last the Giant begged a second truce, which being granted, he presently fell fast asleep upon the ground. Orlando, taking a stone for a pillow, quietly laid himself down also. For such was the law of honour between the Christians and Saracens at that time, that no one on any pretence dared to take advantage of his adversary before the truce was expired, as in that case his own party would have slain him.
When Ferracute awoke, he found Orlando awake also, who thereupon rose, and seated himself by the Giant's side, inquiring how it came to pass he was so very strong? "Because," replied the Giant, "I am only vulnerable in the navel." Ferracute spoke in the Spanish language, which Orlando understanding tolerably well, a conversation now followed between them, which Ferracute recommenced by inquiring his name, which Orlando told him. "And what race are you of?" said the Giant. "Of the race of the Franks."—"What law do you follow?" "The law of Christ, so far as his grace permits me."—"Who is this Christ in whom you profess to believe?" "The Son of God, born of a Virgin, who took upon him our nature, was crucified for us, rose again from the dead, and ascended into heaven, where he sitteth on the right hand of his Father."
"We believe," said Ferracute, "that the Creator of heaven and earth is one God, and that, as he was not made himself, so cannot another God spring from him. There is therefore only one God, not three, as I understand you Christians profess." "You say well," said Orlando; "there is but one God, but your faith is imperfect; for as the Father is God, so likewise is the Son, and so is the Holy Ghost. Three persons, but one God."—"Nay," said Ferracute: "if each of these three persons be God, there must be three Gods."
"By no means," replied Orlando; "he is both three and one. The three persons are co-eternal and co-equal. There is indeed distinction of person, but unity of essence, and equality of majesty. Abraham saw three, but worshipped one. Let us recur to natural things. When the harp sounds, there is the art, the strings, and the hand, yet but one harp. In the almond there is the shell, the coat, and the kernel. In the sun, the body, the beams, and the heat. In the wheel, the centre, the spokes, and the nave. In you, likewise, there is the body, the members, and the soul. In like manner may Trinity in Unity be ascribed to God."
"I now comprehend," replied Ferracute, "how God may be three in one, but I know not how he begot the Son." "Do you," answered Orlando, "believe that God made Adam?"—"I do." "Adam himself was not, then, born of any, and yet he begot sons. So God the Father is born of none, yet of his own ineffable grace begot the Son from all eternity."—"Your arguments," said the Giant, "please me exceedingly, but still I am at a loss to know how he that was God became man." "The Creator of heaven and earth, who made all things out of nothing, could certainly," said Orlando, "engender his Son of a pure Virgin, by divine afflation."—"There lies the difficulty," returned Ferracute, "how without human aid, as you affirm, he could spring from the womb." "Surely," said Orlando, "God, who formed Adam from no seed, could form his Son in like manner; and as from God the Father he was without Mother, so from his Mother did he spring without an earthly Father."—"It makes me blush," said the Giant, "to think that a virgin should conceive without a man." "He," answered Orlando, "that causes the worm in the bean, and many species of birds, beasts, and serpents, to engender without the help of the male, could procure God and Man of a pure Virgin without the help of Man. For as his power enabled him to produce the first man from the ground, so could he produce the second from a virgin."—"I grant it," replied the Giant; "he might be born of a virgin; but if he was the Son of God, how could he die, for God never dies?" "That indeed is true," said Orlando; "as God, he could not die; but when he took our nature upon him, and was made man, he became subject to death, for every man dies. As we believe his nativity, so may we likewise believe his passion and resurrection."
"And what is it we are to believe of his resurrection?" inquired Ferracute. "That he died, and rose again the third day."—The Giant, hearing this, was greatly astonished, and exclaimed to Orlando, "Why do you talk so idly? It is impossible that a man, after he is once dead, can return to life again." "Not only did the Son of God rise from the dead," replied Orlando, "but all the men that have died since the creation of the world shall rise again, and appear before his tribunal, where they shall be rewarded everyone according to his deeds, whether they be good or evil. That God, who makes the tree spring from the soil, and the grain of wheat to rot in the ground, that it may revive with fresh increase, can at the last day clothe the souls of men with their own bodies, and restore them to life. Take the mystic example of the lion, which on the third day revives his dead cubs with his breath by licking them. What wonder, then, that God should after three days revive his Son? Nor ought it to seem strange that, as the Son of God rose from the dead, many others of the dead should rise even before his own resurrection. If Elijah and Elisha by the power of God could perform this miracle, how much more easily could the Father restore the Son, whom it was indeed impossible that Death could retain in his fetters. Death fled at his sight, as he shall fly likewise at the sound of his voice, when the whole phalanx of the dead shall rise again."—"Enough," said Ferracute, "I clearly perceive all this; but how could he ascend into heaven?" "He that descended," answered Orlando, "could easily ascend. He that rose of himself could enter the skies in triumph. Does not the wheel of the mill descend low, and return to its height again? Does not the bird in the air ascend and descend? Can you not yourself come down from a mountain, and return thither? Did not the sun yesterday rise in the east and set in the west, and yet rise again in the east to-day? To that place from whence the Son of God descended, did he likewise ascend."
"Well," said Ferracute, "to end our arguments, I will fight you on these terms: If the faith you profess be the true faith, you shall conquer; otherwise the victory shall be mine; and let the issue be eternal honour to the conqueror, but dishonour to the vanquished." "Be it so!" said Orlando: whereupon they immediately fell to blows. But the very first which the Giant aimed at him would have certainly been fatal, if Orlando had not nimbly leaped aside, and caught it on his staff, which was however cut in twain. The Giant, seeing his advantage, then rushed in upon him, and both came to the ground together. Orlando then, finding it impossible to escape, instantly implored the divine assistance, and, feeling himself re-invigorated, sprung upon his feet, when, seizing the Giant's sword, he thrust it into his navel, and made his escape. Ferracute, finding himself mortally wounded, called aloud upon Mahomet; which the Saracens hearing, sallied from the city, and bore him off in their arms. Orlando returned safe to the camp; the Christians then boldly attacked the city, and carried it by storm. The Giant and his people were slain, his castle taken, and all the Christian warriors liberated.
CHAPTER XVIII.
The War of the Masks.
Soon after the Emperor heard that Ibrahim, King of Seville, and Almanzor, who escaped from the battle of Pampeluna, had gathered together at Cordova a body of troops from seven[1] of the neighbouring cities of Seville. Thither then did the King pursue his march with six thousand men, and found the Saracens, ten thousand strong, about three miles from the city. The King formed his army into three divisions. The first composed of his best troops, all cavalry; the two last, foot. The Saracens formed theirs in a similar manner. But when the King in person advanced against the first squadrons of Pagans, he found them all disguised in bearded masks, with horns upon their heads, like demons, making so strange a din with their hands upon their drums and other instruments, that the horses were terrified, and galloped back in spite of all their riders could do to prevent them. Whereupon the foot retreated likewise to an adjacent mountain, where, uniting in one squadron, they stopped for the Saracens, who would then advance no further, but gave our people time to pitch their tents, and encamp that night.
Charles then called a council of his captains, and agreed to tie bandages over their horses' eyes, and to stuff their ears, in order to disconcert this stratagem on the morrow. Admirable experiment! For now we fought the enemy from morning till night, and slew a great number, though it was by no means a general slaughter; for the Saracens, again joining in martial array, brought forward a castle, drawn by eight oxen, with a certain red banner waving upon it, which so long as they saw present, it was their rule never to fly. The King, knowing this, armed himself with a strong breast-plate, a mighty spear, and invincible sword, and, aided by divine assistance, hewed his way through his enemies, overturning them to right and left, till he reached the car, when, cutting the flag-pole with his sword, the Saracens instantly fled in all directions. Prodigious shouts were made by both armies. We then slew eight thousand Moors, together with Ibrahim, King of Seville. Almanzor made good his retreat into the city, but submitted to Charles the day after, consenting to be baptized, and to do homage for his dominions.
The King now divided the conquered countries of Spain amongst his soldiers. Navarre and Bearn he gave to the inhabitants of Brittany; Castile to the Franks; Nadres and Saragossa to the Apulians; Arragon to the Ponthieuse; Andalusia, on the sea-coast, to the Germans; and Portugal to the Dacians and Flemings. But the French would not settle in the mountain parts of Gallicia. Thus there seemed to be no more foes in Spain to hurt the Emperor.
CHAPTER XIX.
Of the Council the Emperor summoned; and of his
Journey to Compostella.
Charles then sent away the greatest part of his troops, and came to Gallicia, where he behaved very liberally to the Christians he found there, but either put to death or banished those that had revolted to the Moorish faith. He then appointed bishops and prelates in every city, and, assembling a council of the chief dignitaries in Compostella, decreed that the church of St. James should be henceforth considered as the Metropolitan, instead of Iria, as it was no city, subjecting Iria likewise to Compostella. In the same council I, Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, together with forty other Bishops and Prelates, dedicated, by the King's command, the church and altar of St. James, with extraordinary splendour and magnificence. All Spain and Gallicia were made subject to this holy place: it was moreover endowed with four pieces of money from every house throughout the kingdom, and at the same time totally freed from the royal jurisdiction; being from that hour styled the Apostolic See, as the body of the holy Apostle laid entombed within it. Here likewise the general councils of Spain are held; the Bishops ordained, and the Kings crowned by the hand of the Metropolitan Bishop, to the Apostle's honour. Here too, when any crying sin is committed, or innovations made in the faith and precepts of our Lord, through the meritoriousness of this venerable edifice the grievance is discovered, and atonement made. As the Eastern Apostolic See was established by St. John, the brother of St. James, at Ephesus, so was the Western established by St. James.
And those Sees are undoubtedly the true Sees. Ephesus on the right hand of Christ's earthly kingdom, and Compostella on the left, both which fell to the share of the sons of Zebedee, according to their request. There are, then, three Sees which are deservedly held pre-eminent, even as our Lord gave the pre-eminence to the three Apostles, Peter, James, and John, who first established them. And certainly these three places should be deemed more sacred than others, where they preached, and their bodies lie enshrined. Rome claims the superiority from Peter, Prince of the Apostles. Compostella holds the second place from St. James, the elder brother of St. John, and first inheritor of the crown of martyrdom. He dignified it with his preaching, consecrated it with his sepulchre, and ceases not to exalt it by miracles and dispensations of mercy. The third See justly is Ephesus; for there St. John wrote his gospel, "In the beginning was the Word," assembling there likewise the bishops of the neighbouring cities, whom he calls Angels in the Apocalypse. He established that church by his doctrines and miracles, and there his body was entombed. If, therefore, any difficulty should occur that cannot elsewhere be resolved, let it be brought before these Sees, and it shall, by divine grace, be decided. As Gallicia was freed in these early ages from the Saracen yoke, by the favour of God and St. James, and by the King's valour, so may it continue firm in the orthodox faith till the consummation of ages!
CHAPTER XX.
Of the Emperor's Person and Courage.
The Emperor was of a ruddy complexion, with brown hair; of a well-made handsome form, but a stern visage. His height was about eight of his own feet, which were very long. He was of a strong robust make; his legs and thighs very stout, and his sinews firm. His face was thirteen inches long; his beard a palm; his nose half a palm; his forehead a foot over. His lion-like eyes flashed fire like carbuncles; his eyebrows were half a palm over. When he was angry, it was a terror to look upon him. He required eight spans for his girdle, besides what hung loose. He ate sparingly of bread; but a whole quarter of lamb, two fowls, a goose, or a large portion of pork; a peacock, crane, or a whole hare. He drank moderately of wine and water. He was so strong, that he could at a single blow cleave asunder an armed soldier on horseback from the head to the waist, and the horse likewise. He easily vaulted over four horses harnessed together; and could raise an armed man from the ground to his head, as he stood erect upon his hand.
He was liberal, just in his decrees, and fluent of speech. Four days in the year, especially during his residence in Spain, he held a solemn assembly at court, adorning himself with his royal crown and sceptre; namely, on Christmas-day, at Easter, Whitsuntide, and on the festival of St. James. A naked sword, after the imperial fashion, was then borne before him. A hundred and twenty orthodox soldiers matched nightly round his couch, in three courses of forty each. A drawn sword was laid at his right hand, and a lighted candle at his left. Although many would delight to read his great actions, they would be too tedious to relate. How he invested Galifer, Admiral of Coleto, where he was banished, with the military order, and, in return for his kindness, slew Bramantes, his enemy, the proud Saracen King; how many kingdoms and countries he conquered; Abbeys he founded; bodies of the saints and relics he enshrined in gold; how he was made Emperor of Rome, and visited the holy supulchre, bringing back with him the wood of the Holy Cross, wherewith he endowed the shrine of St. James; of all this I shall say no more: the hand and the pen would sooner fail than the history. But what befel his army at his return to France, we now briefly proceed to tell.
CHAPTER XXI.
Of the Treachery of Ganalon;
the Battle of Ronceval,
and the Sufferings of the Christian Warriors.
When this famous Emperor had thus recovered Spain to the glory of our Lord and St. James, after a season he returned to Pampeluna, and encamped there, with his army. At that time there were in Saragossa two Saracen Kings, Marsir, and Beligard, his brother, sent by the Soldan of Babylon from Persia to Spain. Charles had bowed them to his dominion, and they served him always, but only with feigned fidelity. For the King having sent Ganalon to require them to be baptized, and to pay tribute, they sent him thirty horse-load of gold, silver, and jewels; forty load of wine likewise for his soldiers, and a thousand beautiful Saracen women. But at the same time they covenanted with Ganalon to betray the King's army into their hands for twenty horse-load of gold and silver; which wicked compact being accordingly made, Ganalon returned to the King with intelligence that Marsir would embrace the Christian faith, and was preparing to follow him into France to receive baptism there, and would then hold all Spain under oath of fealty to him. The old soldiers would accept the wine only, but the young men were highly gratified with the present of the women.
Charles, confiding in Ganalon, now began his march through the pass of the mountains, in his return to France; giving the command of the rear to his nephew, Orlando, Count of Mans and Lord of Guienne, and to Oliver, Count of Auvergne, ordering them to keep the station of Ronceval with thirty thousand men, whilst he passed it with the rest of the army. But many, who had on the night preceding intoxicated themselves with wine, and been guilty of fornication with the Saracen women, and other women that followed the camp from France, incurred the penalty of death. What more shall we say? When Charles had safely passed the narrow strait that leads into Gascony, between the mountains, with twenty thousand of his warriors, Turpin, the Archbishop, and Ganalon, and while the rear kept guard, early in the morning Marsir and Beligard, rushing down from the hills, where, by Ganalon's advice, they had lain two days in ambush, formed their troops into two great divisions, and with the first of twenty thousand men attacked our army, which making a bold resistance, fought from morning to the third hour, and utterly destroyed the enemy. But a fresh body of thirty thousand Saracens now poured furiously down upon the Christians, already faint and exhausted with fighting so long, and smote them from high to low, so that scarcely one escaped. Some were transpierced with lances; some killed with clubs; others beheaded, burnt, flayed alive, or suspended on trees: only Orlando, Baldwin, and Theodoric, were left; the two last gained the woods, and finally escaped. After this terrible slaughter the Saracens retreated a league from the field of battle.
And here it may be asked, why God permitted those to perish who in no wise had defiled themselves with women? It was, indeed, to prevent them from committing fresh sins at their return home and to give them a crown of glory in reward for their toils. However neither is it to be doubted but those who were guilty of this fault amply atoned for it by their death. In that awful hour they confessed his name, bewailing their sins, and the all-merciful God forgot not their past labours for the sake of Christ, for whose faith they lost their lives. The company of women is evidently baneful to the warrior: those earthly Princes Darius and Mark Antony were attended by their women, and perished; for lust at once enervates the soul and the body.
Those who fell into intoxication and lasciviousness typify the priests that war against vice, but suffer themselves to be overcome by wine and sensual appetites till they are slain by their enemy the devil, and punished with eternal death.
CHAPTER XXII.
Of the Death of Marsir, and the Flight of Beligard.
As Orlando was returning after the battle was over to view the Saracen army, he met a certain black Saracen, who had fled from the field, and concealed himself in the woods, whom he seized and bound to a tree with four bands. Then, ascending a lofty hill, he surveyed the Moorish army, and seeing likewise many Christians retreating by the Ronceval road he blew his horn, and was joined by about a hundred of them, with whom he returned to the Saracen, and promised to give him his life if he would show him Marsir; which having performed, he set him at liberty. Animating his little band, Orlando was soon amidst the thickest of the enemy, and finding one of larger stature than the rest, he hewed him and his horse in twain, so that the halves fell different ways. Marsir and his companions then fled in all directions, but Orlando, trusting in the divine aid, rushed forward, and overcoming all opposition, slew Marsir on the spot. By this time every one of the Christians was slain, and Orlando himself sorely wounded in five places by lances, and grievously battered likewise with stones. Beligard, seeing Marsir had fallen, retired from the field with the rest of the Saracens; whilst Theodoric and Baldwin, and some few other Christians, made their way through the pass, towards which Orlando, wandering, came likewise to the foot of it, and, alighting from his steed, stretched himself on the ground, beneath a tree, near a block of marble, that stood upright in the meadows of Ronceval.
Here drawing his sword, Durendal, which signifies a hard blow, a sword of exquisite workmanship, fine temper, and resplendent brightness, which he would sooner have lost his arm than parted with, as he held it in his hand, regarding it earnestly, addressed it in these words: "O sword of unparalleled brightness, excellent dimensions, admirable temper, and hilt of the whitest ivory, decorated with a splendid cross of gold, topped by a berylline apple, engraved with the sacred name of God, endued with keenness and every other virtue, who now shall wield thee in battle? who shall call thee master? He that possessed thee was never conquered, never daunted at the foe; phantoms never appalled him. Aided by Omnipotence, with thee did he destroy the Saracen, exalt the faith of Christ, and acquire consummate glory. Oft hast thou vindicated the blood of Jesus, against Pagans, Jews, and heretics; oft hewed off the hand and foot of the robber, fulfilling divine justice. O happy sword, keenest of the keen; never was one like thee! He that made thee, made not thy fellow! Not one escaped with life from thy stroke! If the slothful timid soldier should now possess thee, or the base Saracen, my grief would be unspeakable! Thus, then, do I prevent thy falling into their hands."—He then struck the block of marble thrice, which cleft it in the midst, and broke the sword in twain.
CHAPTER XXIII.
Of the Sound of Orlando's Horn; of his Confession, and Death.
He now blew a loud blast with his horn, to summon any Christian concealed in the adjacent woods to his assistance, or to recal his friends beyond the pass. This horn was endued with such power, that all other horns were split by its sound; and it is said that Orlando at that time blew it with such vehemence, that he burst the veins and nerves of his neck. The sound reached the King's ears, who lay encamped in the valley still called by his name, about eight miles from Ronceval, towards Gascony, being carried so far by supernatural power. Charles would have flown to his succour, but was prevented by Ganalon, who, conscious of Orlando's sufferings, insinuated it was usual with him to sound his horn on light occasions. "He is, perhaps," said he, "pursuing some wild beast, and the sound echoes through the woods; it will be fruitless, therefore, to seek him." O wicked traitor, deceitful as Judas! What dost thou merit?
Orlando now grew very thirsty, and cried for water to Baldwin, who just then approached him; but unable to find any, and seeing him so near his end, he blessed him, and, again mounting his steed, galloped off for assistance to the army. Immediately after Theodoric came up, and, bitterly grieving to see him in this condition, bade him strengthen his soul by confessing his faith. Orlando had that morning received the blessed Eucharist, and confessed his sins before he went to battle, this being the custom with all the warriors at that time, for which purpose bishops and monks attended the army to give them absolution. The martyr of Christ then cast up his eyes to heaven, and cried, "O Lord Jesus, for whose sake I came into these barbarous regions; through thy aid only have I conquered innumerable Pagans, enduring blows and wounds, reproach, derision, and fatigue, heat and cold, hunger and thirst. To thee do I commit my soul in this trying hour. Thou, who didst suffer on the cross for those who deserved not thy favour, deliver my soul, I beseech thee, from eternal death! I confess myself a most grievous sinner, but thou mercifully dost forgive our sins; thou pitiest every one, and hatest nothing which thou hast made, covering the sins of the penitent in whatsoever day they turn unto thee with true contrition. O thou, who didst spare thy enemies, and the woman taken in adultery; who didst pardon Mary Magdalen, and look with compassion on the weeping Peter; who didst likewise open the gate of Paradise to the thief that confessed thee upon the cross; have mercy upon me, and receive my soul into thy everlasting rest!
"Thou art he who preventest our bodies from perishing in the grave, changing them to greater glory; thou, O Lord, art he, who hast said, 'thou rather wouldst the sinner should live than die.' I believe in thee with my whole heart, and confess thee with my lips; therefore I beseech thee to receive me into the enjoyment of a better life when this is ended. Let my sense and intellects be in the same measure improved as the shadow differs from the substance." And now, grasping the flesh and skin near his heart (as Theodoric afterwards related), he continued his speech with bitter groanings. "O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, and of the blessed Virgin, with my inmost soul do I confess that thou, my Redeemer, dost live, and that at the day of judgment I shall rise, and in my flesh behold thee, my God and my Saviour!" And thrice, thus grasping his breast, did he repeat those words; and, laying his hand upon his eyes in like manner, he said, "And these eyes shall behold thee!" Uncovering them, he again looked up to heaven, and, signing himself with the sign of the cross, he uttered, "All earthly things are vain and unprofitable; I am now taught of Christ, that eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, the good things that God hath prepared for them that love him." Then, stretching his hands to heaven, he uttered this prayer for them that perished in the battle:—
"Let thy bowels of compassion, O Lord, be open to thy faithful servants, who have this day perished by the hand of the barbarians. Hither did they come to vindicate thy faith; for thy sake are they fallen. Do thou, O Lord, mercifully blot out their offences, accounting them worthy to be delivered from the pains of hell. Send thy archangels to rescue their souls from darkness, and bear them to the regions of light, where thy blessed martyrs eternally live and reign with thee, who dost live and reign with God the Father and the Holy Spirit, to all ages. Amen!"—Immediately after this confession and prayer, his soul winged its flight from his body, and was borne by angels to Paradise, where he reigns in transcendent glory, united by his meritorious deeds to the blessed choir of martyrs.
CHAPTER XXIV.
Of Orlando's Rank and Virtue.
No longer it becomes the heart to mourn
A hero of immortal joys possessed;
Of noble rank, and noble parents born,
For nobler deeds in heaven with glory blest.
To none inferior, thine was native worth;
Thy feet still tending to the temple's bounds;
A glorious model to the wondering earth,
A faithful balsam to thy country's wounds.
The Clergy's refuge, and the Widow's friend,
Bounteous to guests, and liberal to the poor;
To heaven thy parting steps may safely bend,
Whose works have opened wide salvation's door.
Thy tongue the fount of heavenly eloquence,
That still would slake the thirst, and never pall,
Endowed with graceful wit, and manly sense,
Proclaimed thee common father, friend of all.
Blest Chief, farewell! but not the marbled urn
That holds thy ashes can thy soul contain:
Our wondering eyes to heaven above we turn,
Where thou for ever dost triumphant reign.
CHAPTER XXV.
Archbishop Turpin's Vision, and the King's Lamentation for Orlando.
What more shall we say? Whilst the soul of the blessed Orlando was leaving his body, I, Turpin, standing near the King in the valley of Charles, at the moment I was celebrating the mass of the dead, namely, on the 16th day of June, fell into a trance, and, hearing the angelic choir sing aloud, I wondered what it might be. Now, when they had ascended on high, behold, there came after them a phalanx of terrible ones, like warriors returning from the spoil, bearing their prey. Presently I inquired of one of them what it meant, and was answered, "We are bearing the soul of Marsir to hell, but yonder is Michael bearing the Horn-winder to heaven." When mass was over, I told the King what I had seen; and whilst I was yet speaking, behold Baldwin rode up on Orlando's horse, and related what had befallen him, and where he had left the hero in the agonies of death, beside a stone in the meadows at the foot of the mountain; whereupon the whole army immediately marched back to Ronceval.
The King himself first discovered the hero, lying in the form of a cross, and began to lament over him with bitter sighs and sobs, wringing his hands, and tearing his hair and beard. "O right arm," cried he, "of thy Sovereign's body; honour of the French; sword of justice, inflexible spear, inviolable breast-plate, shield of safety; a Judas Maccabeus in probity, a Samson in strength; in death like Saul and Jonathan; brave, experienced soldier, great and noble defender of the Christians, scourge of the Saracens; a wall to the clergy, the widow's and orphan's friend, just and faithful in judgment!—Renowned Count of the French, valiant captain of our armies, why did I leave thee here to perish? How can I behold thee dead, and not die myself? Why hast thou left me sorrowful and alone? A poor miserable King! But thou art exalted to the kingdom of heaven, and dost enjoy the company of angels and martyrs. Without cease I shall lament over thee, as David did over Saul and Jonathan, and his son Absalom.
Thy soul is fled to happier scenes above,
And left us mourning to lament thee here;
Blest in thy God and Saviour's fav'ring love,
Who wipes from every eye the trickling tear.
Six lustres and eight years thou dwelledst below,
But snatched from earth to heaven, thou reign'st on high,
Where feasts divine immortal spirits know,
And joys transcendent fill the starry sky.
Thus did Charles mourn for Orlando to the very last day of his life. On the spot where he died he encamped; and caused the body to be embalmed with balsam, myrrh, and aloes. The whole camp watched it that night, honouring his corse with hymns and songs, and innumerable torches and fires kindled on the adjacent mountains.
CHAPTER XXVI.
How the Sun stood still for three Days;
the Slaughter of four thousand Saracens; and the
Death of Ganalon.
Early on the next day they came to the field of battle in Ronceval, and found the bodies of their friends, many of them still alive, but mortally wounded. Oliver was lying on his face, pinioned to the ground in the form of a cross, and flayed from the neck to his finger-ends; pierced also with darts and javelins, and bruised with clubs. The mourning was now dismal; every one wept for his friend, till the groves and valleys resounded with wailing. Charles solemnly vowed to pursue the Pagans till he found them; and, marching in pursuit with his whole army, the sun stood still for three days, till he overtook them on the banks of the Ebro, near Saragossa, feasting and rejoicing for their success. Attacking them valiantly, he then slew four thousand, and dispersed the rest. What further? We now returned to Ronceval, bearing with us the sick and wounded to the spot where Orlando fell. The Emperor then made strict inquiries after the treachery of Ganalon, which began to be universally rumoured about. Trial was ordained by single combat, Pinabel for Ganalon, and Theodoric for the Accuser; when, the latter gaining the victory, the treason was proved. Ganalon was now sentenced to be torn to pieces by four wild horses, which was accordingly his end.
CHAPTER XXVII.
The Embalming of the Dead.
They now embalmed the dead bodies of their friends; some with myrrh and balsam, some with salt, taking out the bowels, and filling the bodies with aromatic drugs, or with salt only. Some were buried on the spot; others conveyed to France; but many that became putrid and offensive were buried on the road. Wooden carriages were made for the dead, but the sick and wounded were borne away on litters upon their shoulders.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Of the consecrated Cemeteries of Arles and Bordeaux.
Two chief burying grounds were now consecrated at Arles and Bordeaux by seven Bishops: Maximin of Aix, Trophimus of Arles, Paul of Narbonne, Saturnine of Thoulouse, Frontorne of Perigord, Martial of Limoges, and Eutropius of Xaintonge; where the major part of the warriors were interred that fell in the battles of Ronceval and Mount Garzim.
CHAPTER XXIX.
Of the Burial of Orlando and his Companions
at Blaye and other Places.
Charles deferred the burial of Orlando till he came to Blaye. His body was laid upon gold tapestry on two mules, covered with a pall, and at length honourably interred in the Church of St Roman, which he had formerly built, and endowed with regular canons. His helmet was placed upon his head, and his ivory horn at his feet. But the body was afterwards translated to St. Severin in Bordeaux, the chief city of these provinces, where it was joyfully welcomed, as it had liberally tasted his munificence.
At Blaye likewise was buried Oliver, and Galdebode, King of Friezeland; Ogier, King of Dacia; Aristagnus, King of Brittany; Garin, Duke of Lorraine; and many other warriors. Happy town, graced with the sepulchres of so many heroes! At Bordeaux, in the cemetery of St. Severin, were buried Gayfere, King of Bordeaux; Angelerus, Duke of Aquitaine; Lambert, Prince of Bourges; Galerius Galin; Rinaldo of the White Thorn; Walter of the Olive Trees; Vulterinus, and five thousand of their soldiers. Ocellus, Count of Nantes, and most of the inhabitants of Brittany, were buried in that city. Charles gave twelve thousand pieces of silver and talents of gold for the repose of their souls, and fed the poor for many miles round the city of Blaye; endowing the church likewise with rich vestments and silver ornaments, for the love he bore Orlando; freeing the Canons from all service but prayers for him and his companions. He moreover clothed and entertained thirty poor men on the anniversary of their martyrdom, establishing Minstrels, Masses, and other solemnities, which the Canons were not to neglect on that day, as they hoped to merit a crown of glory, which they promised to perform.
CHAPTER XXX.
Of those Buried at Arles.
After this the King and his army proceeded by the way of Gascony and Thoulouse, and came to Arles, where we found the army of Burgundy, which had left us in the hostile valley, bringing their dead by the way of Morbihan and Thoulouse, to bury them in the plain of Arles. Here we performed the rites of Estolfo, Count of Champagne; of Solomon; Sampson, Duke of Burgundy; Arnold of Berlanda; Alberic of Burgundy; Gumard, Esturinite, Hato, Juonius, Berard, Berengaire, and Naaman, Duke of Bourbon, and of ten thousand of their soldiers. Constantine, Governor of Rome, and other Romans, were conveyed thither by sea, and buried in Apulia. The King gave twelve thousand pieces of silver, and as many talents of gold, for the repose of their souls, and to the poor of Arles.
CHAPTER XXXI.
Of the Council held at St. Denis.
We then came to Vienne, where I remained to be healed of the scars and wounds I received in Spain. The King, much fatigued, at length arrived at Paris; and, assembling a council of his chief princes and bishops at St. Denis, returned thanks to God for his victory over the Pagans, and gave all France as a manor to that church, in the same way as St. Paul and St. Clement had formerly endowed the bishopric of Rome. The French Bishops were likewise to be ordained there, and not made subject to the See of Rome. Then, standing by the tomb of St. Denis, he entreated the Lord for all who had died in his cause.
The very next night St. Denis appeared to the King in his sleep, assuring him that full pardon of sin was granted to all that followed him, and had fought and perished in the wars with the Saracens; that they likewise should recover of their wounds who had bestowed money on the church; which being made known by the King, very liberal offerings were made by the people, who thus acquired the name of Franks; and the whole land, formerly called Gaul, was now changed to France, as being freed from all servitude, and having dominion over other nations. The King then went to Aix-la-Chapelle, in the county of Liege, to bathe and drink the waters, where he liberally endowed St. Mary's Church with gold and silver, ordering it to be painted with ancient and modern histories, and his palace to be decorated with the representation of his wars in Spain; with emblems of the seven liberal arts and other excellent embellishments.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Of the King's Death.
Soon after, the King's approaching death was revealed to me; for, behold, as I was praying in the church of Vienne, I fell into a trance, as I was singing psalms, and saw innumerable companies of soldiers pass before me by the Lorraine road. A certain one, black as an Ethiop, followed them, of whom I inquired whither he was going, and received for answer that he was awaiting the death of Charles to take possession of his soul. "I conjure you, then," said I, "by the name of the Lord Jesus, to return when you have completed your errand." When I had rested some time, and begun to explain the psalms, behold they returned back, and, speaking to the same person I before addressed, I inquired whom he had been seeking, and was answered, "the Gallician;" but the stones and timber of the churches he founded balanced so greatly in his favour, that his good works outweighed his bad, and his soul was snatched from us, and at this the demon vanished. Thus I understood Charles died that day, and was carried into the bosom of God and St. James. But as I had requested him, before we parted at Vienne, to send me notice of his decease in case it preceded mine, being then grievously sick, and remembering his promise, he encharged a certain learned soldier to bring me word the moment he died. What more need I add? The messenger arrived on the fifteenth day after it happened. He had, indeed, been grievously afflicted with illness from the hour he left Spain, and suffered still more in mind than in body for the friends he lost on the unfortunate 16th of June. On the same day that I saw the vision, namely, on the 5th of February, in the year of our Lord 814, he departed this life, and was sumptuously buried in the round church of St. Mary, which he had himself built; and this sign I was credibly informed happened yearly for three years together before his death,—"The Sun and Moon became dark, and his name, Charles the Prince, inscribed on the church, was totally obliterated of itself; and the portico likewise, between the church and the palace, fell to the very foundation." The wooden bridge also which he built six years before over the Rhine at Mentz was destroyed by fire, self-kindled. And the same day, as a traveller was on his journey, he saw a great flame, like the flame of a funeral pile, pass from right to left before him; which terrifying him greatly, he fell from his horse, but was presently relieved by his friends.
We therefore believe that he now enjoys the crown of the blessed martyrs, whose labours he imitated, whose pattern and example he followed. Whereby we may understand, that whoever builds a church to God's glory, provides for himself a residence in his kingdom. For this cause was Charles snatched from the hands of demons, and borne by good angels to heavenly habitations.
BALLAD ROMANCE
TOUCHING
THE DAYS OF CHARLEMAGNE
AND OF
THE CID CAMPEADOR
WITH THE BALLAD OF COUNT ALARCOS
FROM THE SPANISH BALLADS TRANSLATED BY
JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.
CONTENTS.
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.
| 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 Urgel's 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 hath 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 Sir 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 spear to break."— O, sternly smiled Calaynos, when thus he heard him say,— O loudly as he mounted his 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 wot 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 ESCAPE OF GAYFEROS.
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.
| 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 them 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.[2] |
MELISENDRA.
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 kettle-drums 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 make 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."
| I. |
|
At Sansueña,[3]
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 Sansueña'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 pale cheek, and lifted her behind, Saint Denis speed the milk-white steed—no Moor their path shall find. |
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.
| I. |
|
With three thousand Men of Leon, from the city Bernard goes, 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 rills; 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 Lion[4]
that hath 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." |
LADY ALDA'S DREAM.
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.
| 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 Alda, 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. |
THE ADMIRAL GUARINOS.
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 waxed 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 bound in darkness deep, far off from sun and sky. |
| IX. |
|
With iron 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 due; 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 waxed King Marlotes, when he beheld them fail, The whisker trembled on his lip, and his cheek 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 scorned 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." |
BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO.
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 tale the King hath 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. |
PART II.
THE YOUNG CID.
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 back, 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 cursèd 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 still 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. |
THE CID'S COURTSHIP.
See Mr. Southey's "Chronicle of the Cid" (Book I. Sect. V) 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." |
THE CID'S WEDDING.
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.
| 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. |
THE CID AND THE LEPER.
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.
| 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 words 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. |
BAVIECA.
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."
| 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, Juxta 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."
| 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 Castle[5] planted beneath the Flower-de-lys.[6] 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." |
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 1.
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 words 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. |
TALES FROM THE
GESTA ROMANORUM.
CONTENTS.
| I. | [The Eight Pennies.] |
| II. | [The Three Truths.] |
| III. | [The Husband of Aglaes.] |
| IV. | [The Three Caskets.] |
| V. | [The Three Cakes.] |
| VI. | [The Hermit.] |
| VII. | [The Lost Foot.] |
| VIII. | [Placidus.] |
| IX. | [Dead Alexander.] |
| X. | [The Tree of Paletinus.] |
| XI. | [Hungry Flies.] |
| XII. | [The Humbling of Jovinian.] |
| XIII. | [The Two Physicians.] |
| XIV. | [The Falcon.] |
| XV. | [Let the Laziest be King.] |
| XVI. | [The Three Maxims.] |
| XVII. | [A Loaf for a Dream.] |
| XVIII. | [Lower than the Beasts.] |
| XIX. | [Of Real Friendship.] |
| XX. | [Royal Bounty.] |
| XXI. | [Wily Beguiled.] |
| XXII. | [The Basilisk.] |
| XXIII. | [The Trump of Death.] |
| XXIV. | [Alexander and the Pirate.] |
| XXV. | [A Tale of a Penny.] |
| XXVI. | [Of Avoiding Imprecations.] |
| XXVII. | [A Verse Exercise.] |
| XXVIII. | [Bred in the Bone.] |
| XXIX. | [Fulgentius.] |
| XXX. | [Vengeance Deferred.] |
I.—THE EIGHT PENNIES.
When Titus was Emperor of Rome, he made a decree that the natal day of his first-born son should be held sacred, and that whosoever violated it by any kind of labour should be put to death. Then he called Virgil to him, and said, "Good friend, I have made a certain law; we desire you to frame some curious piece of art which may reveal to us every transgressor of the law." Virgil constructed a magic statue, and caused it to be set up in the midst of the city. By virtue of the secret powers with which it was invested, it told the emperor whatever was done amiss. And thus by the accusation of the statue, an infinite number of persons were convicted and punished.
Now there was a certain carpenter, called Focus, who pursued his occupation every day alike. Once, as he lay in bed, his thoughts turned upon the accusations of the statue, and the multitudes which it had caused to perish. In the morning he clothed himself, and proceeded to the statue, which he addressed in the following manner: "O statue! statue! because of thy informations, many of our citizens have been taken and slain. I vow to my God, that if thou accusest me, I will break thy head." Having so said, he returned home.
About the first hour, the emperor, as he was wont, despatched sundry messengers to the statue, to inquire if the edict had been strictly complied with. After they had arrived, and delivered the emperors pleasure, the statue exclaimed: "Friends, look up; what see ye written upon my forehead?" They looked, and beheld three sentences which ran thus: "Times are altered. Men grow worse. He who speaks truth has his head broken." "Go," said the statue, "declare to his majesty what you have seen and read." The messengers obeyed, and detailed the circumstances as they had happened.
The emperor therefore commanded his guard to arm, and march to the place on which the statue was erected; and he further ordered, that if any one presumed to molest it, they should bind him hand and foot, and drag him into his presence.
The soldiers approached the statue and said, "Our emperor wills you to declare the name of the scoundrel who threatens you."
The statue made answer, "It is Focus the carpenter. Every day he violates the law, and, moreover, menaces me with a broken head, if I expose him."
Immediately Focus was apprehended, and conducted to the emperor, who said, "Friend, what do I hear of thee? Why hast thou broken my law?"
"My lord," answered Focus, "I cannot keep it; for I am obliged to obtain every day eight pennies, which, without incessant work, I have not the means of getting."
"And why eight pennies?" said the emperor.
"Every day through the year," returned the carpenter, "I am bound to repay two pennies which I borrowed in my youth; two I lend; two I lose; and two I spend."
"For what reason do you this?" asked the emperor.
"My lord," he replied, "listen to me. I am bound each day to repay two pennies to my father; for, when I was a boy, my father expended upon me daily the like sum. Now he is poor, and needs my assistance, and therefore I return what I borrowed formerly. Two other pennies I lend to my son, who is pursuing his studies; in order, that if by any chance I should fall into poverty, he may restore the loan, just as I have done to his grandfather. Again, I lose two pennies every day on my wife; for she is contradictious, wilful, and passionate. Now, because of this disposition, I account whatsoever is given to her entirely lost. Lastly, two other pennies I expend upon myself in meat and drink. I cannot do with less, nor can I earn them without unremitting labour. You now know the truth; and, I pray you, judge dispassionately and truly."
"Friend," said the emperor, "thou hast answered well. Go, and labour earnestly in thy calling."
Soon after this the emperor died, and Focus the carpenter, on account of his singular wisdom, was elected in his stead by the unanimous choice of the whole nation. He governed as wisely as he had lived; and at his death, his picture, bearing on the head eight pennies, was reposited among the effigies of the deceased emperors.
II.—THE THREE TRUTHS.
A certain king, named Asmodeus, established an ordinance, by which every malefactor taken and brought before the judge, should distinctly declare three truths, against which no exception could be taken, or else be hanged. If, however, he did this, his life and property should be safe. It chanced that a certain soldier transgressed the law and fled. He hid himself in a forest, and there committed many atrocities, despoiling and slaying whomsoever he could lay his hands upon. When the judge of the district ascertained his haunt, he ordered the forest to be surrounded, and the soldier to be seized, and brought bound to the seat of judgment.
"You know the law," said the judge.
"I do," returned the other. "If I declare three unquestionable truths I shall be free; but if not, I must die."
"True," replied the judge; "take then advantage of the law's clemency, or undergo the punishment it awards without delay."
"Cause silence to be kept," said the soldier undauntedly.
His wish being complied with, he proceeded in the following manner: "The first truth is this. I protest before ye all, that from my youth up, I have been a bad man."
The judge, hearing this, said to the bystanders, "He says true?" They answered: "Else he had not now been in this situation." "Go on, then," said the judge. "What is the second truth?"
"I like not," exclaimed he, "the dangerous situation in which I stand."
"Certainly," said the judge, "we may credit thee. Now then for the third truth, and thou hast saved thy life."
"Why," he replied, "if I once get out of this confounded place, I will never willingly re-enter it."