{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_38530/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_38530","id":"gutenberg_38530","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38530","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads, Spanish","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Legends -- Spain","Spanish literature -- History and criticism"],"text":"Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net/ for Project\nGutenberg.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                      LEGENDS & ROMANCES OF SPAIN\n\n                                   By\n                         LEWIS SPENCE F.R.A.I.\n\n              Author of \"Legends and Romances of Brittany\"\n                 \"Hero-Tales and Legends of the Rhine\"\n         \"A Dictionary of Medieval Romance and Romance-writers\"\n                               Etc. Etc.\n\n\n\n                                 London\n                    George G. Harrap & Company Ltd.\n                 2 & 3 Portsmouth Street Kingsway W.C.\n                             and at Sydney\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nSince the days of Southey the romantic literature of Spain has\nnot received from English writers and critics the amount of study\nand attention it undoubtedly deserves. In no European country did\nthe seeds of Romance take root so readily or blossom so speedily\nand luxuriantly as in Spain, which perhaps left the imprint of its\nnational character more deeply upon the literature of chivalry than did\nFrance or England. When we think of chivalry, do we not think first of\nSpain, of her age-long struggle against the pagan invaders of Europe,\nher sensitiveness to all that concerned personal and national honour,\nof the names of the Cid Campeador, Gayferos, and Gonzalvo de Cordova,\ngigantic shadows in harness, a pantheon of heroes, which the martial\nlegends of few lands can equal and none surpass. The epic of our\nBritish Arthur, the French chansons de gestes, are indebted almost\nas much to folklore as to the imagination of the singers who first\ngave them literary shape. But in the romances of Spain we find\nthat folklore plays an inconsiderable part, and that her chivalric\nfictions are either the offspring of historic happenings or of that\nbrilliant and glowing imagination which illumines the whole expanse\nof Peninsular literature.\n\nI have given more space to the proofs of connexion between the French\nchansons de gestes and the Spanish cantares de gesta than most of my\npredecessors who have written of Castilian romantic story. Indeed,\nwith the exception of Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly, whose admirable work\nin the field of Spanish letters forms so happy an exception to our\nnational neglect of a great literature, I am aware of no English\nwriter who has concerned himself with this subject. My own opinion\nregarding the almost total lack of Moorish influence upon the Spanish\nromanceros is in consonance with that of critics much better qualified\nto pass judgment upon such a question. But for my classification of\nthe ballad I am indebted to no one, and this a long devotion to the\nstudy of ballad literature perhaps entitles me to make. I can claim,\ntoo, that my translations are not mere paraphrases, but provide\nrenderings of tolerable accuracy.\n\nI have made an earnest endeavour to provide English readers with\na conspectus of Spanish romantic literature as expressed in its\ncantares de gesta, its chivalric novels, its romanceros or ballads,\nand some of its lighter aspects. The reader will find full accounts and\nsummaries of all the more important works under each of these heads,\nmany of which have never before been described in English.\n\nIf the perusal of this book leads to the more general study of the\nnoble and useful Castilian tongue on the part of but a handful of\nthose who read it, its making will have been justified. The real\nbrilliance and beauty of these tales lie behind the curtains of a\nlanguage unknown to most British people, and can only be liberated\nby the spell of study. This book contains merely the poor shadows\nand reflected wonders of screened and hidden marvels.\n\n\nL. S.\n\nEdinburgh\nJune 1920\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\n    Chapter                                               Page\n\n       I The Sources of Spanish Romance                     11\n      II The \"Cantares de Gesta\" and the \"Poema del Cid\"    48\n     III \"Amadis de Gaul\"                                   90\n      IV The Sequels to \"Amadis de Gaul\"                   139\n       V The Palmerin Romances                             169\n      VI Catalonian Romances                               187\n     VII Roderic, Last of the Goths                        201\n    VIII \"Calaynos the Moor,\" \"Gayferos,\" and\n         \"Count Alarcos\"                                   213\n      IX The Romanceros, or Ballads                        222\n       X The Romanceros, or Ballads--continued             245\n      XI Moorish Romances of Spain                         263\n     XII Tales of Spanish Magic and Sorcery                333\n    XIII Humorous Romances of Spain                        351\n         Bibliography                                      407\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I: THE SOURCES OF SPANISH ROMANCE\n\n\n                                Romance, Romance, the songs of France,\n                                The gestes of fair Britaine,\n                                The legends of the sword and lance\n                                That grew in Alemaine,\n                                Pale at thy rich inheritance,\n                                Thou splendour of old Spain!\n\n                                                                   Anon.\n\n\nIf, spent with journeying, a stranger should seat himself in some\ngarden in old Granada, and from beneath a tenting of citron and\nmulberry leaves open his ears to the melody of the waters of the City\nof Pomegranates and his spirit to the sorcery of its atmosphere,\nhe will gladly believe that in the days when its colours were less\nmellow and its delicious air perhaps less reposeful the harps of its\npoets were the looms upon which the webs of romance were woven. Almost\ninstinctively he will form the impression that the Spaniard, having\nregained this paradise after centuries of exile, and stirred by the\nenchanted echoes of Moorish music which still lingered there, was\nroused into passionate song in praise of those heroes of his race who\nhad warred so ceaselessly and sacrificed so much to redeem it. But\nif he should climb the Sierra del Sol and pass through the enchanted\nchambers of the Alhambra as a child passes through the courts of dream,\nhe will say in his heart that the men who builded these rooms from the\nrainbow and painted these walls from the palette of the sunset raised\nalso the invisible but not less gorgeous palace of Spanish Romance.\n\nOr if one, walking in the carven shadows of Cordova, think on the\nmosque Maqsura, whose doors of Andalusian brass opened to generations\nof poets and astrologers, or on the palace of Azzahra, built of\nrose and sea-coloured marbles rifled from the Byzantine churches of\nIfrikia, will he not believe that in this city of shattered splendours\nand irretrievable spells the passion-flower of Romance burst forth\nfull-blown?\n\nBut we cannot trace the first notes of the forgotten musics nor piece\ntogether the mosaic of broken harmonies in the warm and sounding\ncities of the Saracens, neither in \"that mine of silk and silver,\" old\nGranada, nor among the marble memories of Cordova, whose market-place\noverflowed with the painted parchments of Moorish song and science. We\nmust turn our backs on the scarlet southern land and ascend to the\nbare heights of Castile and Asturias, where Christian Spain, prisoned\nfor half a thousand years upon a harsh and arid plateau, and wrought\nto a high passion of sacrifice and patriotism, burst into a glory of\nmartial song, the echoes of which resound among its mountains like\nghostly clarions on a field of old encounter.\n\nIsolation and devotion to a national cause are more powerful as\nincentives to the making of romance than an atmosphere of Eastern\nluxuriance. The breasts of these stern sierras were to give forth\nmilk sweeter than the wine of Almohaden, and song more moving if less\nfantastic arose in Burgos and Carri\u00f3n than ever inspired the guitars\nof Granada. But the unending conflict of Arab and Spaniard brought\nwith it many interchanges between the sensuous spirit of the South\nand the more rugged manliness of the North, so that at last Saracen\ngold damascened the steel of Spanish song, and the nets of Eastern\nphantasy wound themselves about the Spanish soul. In a later day\nan openly avowed admiration for the art and culture of the Moslem\nleavened the ancient hate, and the Moorish cavalier imitated the\nchivalry, if not the verse, of the Castilian knight. [1]\n\n\n\n\nThe Cradle of Spanish Song\n\nThe homeland of Spanish tradition was indeed a fitting nursery for the\nrace which for centuries contested every acre of the Peninsula with\nan enemy greatly more advanced in the art of warfare, if inferior in\nresolution and the spirit of unity. Among the flinty wastes of the\nnorth of Spain, which are now regarded as rich in mineral resources,\nare situated at intervals luxuriant and fertile valleys sunk deep\nbetween the knees of volcanic ridges, the lower slopes of which\nare covered with thick forests of oak, chestnut, and pine. These\ndepressions, sheltered from the sword-like winds which sweep down\nfrom the Pyrenees, reproduce in a measure the pleasant conditions of\nthe southern land. Although their distance one from another tended\nto isolation, it was in these valleys that Christian Spain received\nthe respite which enabled her to collect her strength and school her\nspirit for the great struggle against the Saracen.\n\nIn this age-long contest she was undoubtedly inspired by that subtle\nsense of nationhood and the possession of a common tongue which have\nproved the salvation of many races no less desperately situated, and\nperhaps her determination to redeem the lost Eden of the South is the\nbest measure of the theory that, prior to the era of Saracen conquest,\nthe Castilian tongue was a mere jargon, composed of the elements of\nthe Roman lingua rustica and the rude Gothic, and, according to some\nauthorities, still lacking in grammatical arrangement and fixity\nof idiom. [2] It is certainly clear that the final phases in the\nevolution of Castilian took place subsequently to the Arabic invasion,\nbut it is a straining of such scanty evidence as we possess to impute\nto the form of Castilian speech current immediately before that time\nthe character of an undisciplined patois.\n\n\n\n\nRoman and Visigoth\n\nWhen in the early part of the fifth century the Visigoths, following\nin the wake of the Vandal folk, entered Romanized Spain, they did not\nbuild upon the ruins of its civilization, but retained the habits of\ntheir northern homeland and for some generations seem to have been\nlittle impressed with Roman culture. Nor did the Latin speech of the\npeople they had conquered at first find favour among them, although,\ndwelling as they had done on the very flanks of the Empire, they were\ncertainly not ignorant of it. They found the people of the Peninsula\nas little inclined to relinquish the cultivated language in which their\ncompatriots Martial, Lucan, and Seneca had contributed to the triumphs\nof Roman letters. A military autocracy is not usually successful\nin imposing its language upon a subject people unless it possesses\nthe dual advantages of an ascendancy in arms and literary capacity,\nand the Visigoths, unable to compete in this latter respect with the\nhighly civilized colonists of Hispania, fell, with the passing of\nthe generations, into the easy acceptance of the Roman tongue. Their\nilliteracy, however, was not the sole reason for their partial defeat\nin the give-and-take of linguistic strife, for, though powerful in\nmilitary combination, they were greatly outmatched in numbers. As\ninvaders they had brought few women with them, and had perforce to\nintermarry with native wives, who taught their children the Roman\ntongue. The necessary intercourse between conqueror and conquered in\ntime produced a sort of pidgin-Latin, which stood in much the same\nrelation to the classic speech of Rome as the trade languages of the\nPacific did to English. [3]\n\nThe use of Latin as a literary tongue in that part of Spain where the\nCastilian speech was evolved considerably retarded its development\nfrom the condition of a patois to a language proper. Nevertheless it\ncontinued to advance. The processes by which it did so are surprisingly\nobscure, but the circumstance of its literary fixity in the early\neleventh century is proof that it must have achieved colloquial\nperfection at least before the era of the Moorish invasion. The\nSaracen conquest, by forcing it into the bleak north-west, did it\nsmall disservice, for there it had to contend with other dialects\nof the Roman tongue, which enriched its vocabulary, and over which,\nultimately, it gained almost complete ascendancy as a literary\nlanguage.\n\n\n\n\nThe Romance Tongues of Spain\n\nThree Romance or Roman languages were spoken in that portion of\nSpain which remained in Christian hands: in Catalonia and Aragon the\nProven\u00e7al, Catalan, or Limousin; in Asturias, Old Castile, and Leon\nthe Castilian; and in Galicia the Gallego, whence the Portuguese had\nits origin. The Catalan was almost entirely similar to the Proven\u00e7al or\nlangue d'oc of Southern France, and the accession of Raymond Berenger,\nCount of Barcelona, to the throne of Provence in 1092 united the\nCatalonian and Proven\u00e7al peoples under one common rule. Proven\u00e7al,\nthe language of the Troubadours, was of French origin, and bears\nevidence of its evolution from the Latin of Provincial Gaul. It\nappears to have been brought into Catalonia by those Hispani who\nhad fled to Provence from Moorish rule, and who gradually drifted\nsouthward again as the more northerly portions of Spain were freed from\nArab aggression. The political connexion of Catalonia with Provence\nnaturally brought about a similarity of custom as well as of speech,\nand indeed we find the people of the Catalan coast and the province\nof Aragon deeply imbued with the chivalry and gallantry of the more\nnortherly home of the Gai Saber.\n\nThroughout the whole Proven\u00e7al-Catalan [4] tract were held those\nromantic courts of love in which the erotic subtleties of its men\nand women of song were debated with a seriousness which shows that\nthe art of love had entered into competition with the forces of law\nand religion, and had, indeed, become the real business of life with\nthe upper classes of the country. Out of this glorification of the\nrelations of the sexes arose the allied science of chivalry, no less\npunctilious or extravagant in its code and spirit. This spirit of\nProven\u00e7al chivalry gradually found its way into Castile, heightened\nand quickened the imagination of its people, and prepared the Spanish\nmind for the acceptance and appreciation of Romantic literature. But at\nno time was Castilian imagination passively receptive. It subjected\nevery literary force which invaded it to such a powerful alchemy\nof transmutation that in time all foreign elements lost their alien\ncharacter and emerged from the crucible of Spanish thought as things\nalmost wholly Castilian.\n\nThe perfection of rhyming verse was undoubtedly accomplished by the\nTroubadour poets of Provence and Catalonia, and opened the way for a\nlyric poetry which, if it never attained any loftiness of flight or\nmarked originality of expression, has seldom been surpassed in melody\nand finish. But it is remarkable that this extensive body of verse,\nif a few political satires be excepted, has but one constant theme--the\nexaltation of love. A perusal of the poetry of the pleasant Proven\u00e7al\ntongue pleases the ear and appeals to the musical sense. The melody is\nnever at fault, and we can count upon the constancy of a pavane-like\nstateliness, which proceeds, perhaps, as much from the genius of\nthe language as from the metrical excellences of its singers. But\nthe monotonous repetition of amatory sentiment, for the expression\nof which the same conceptions and even the same phrases are again\nand again compelled to do duty, the artificial spirit which inspires\nthese uniform cadences, and the lack of real human warmth soon weary\nand disappoint the reader, who will gladly resign the entire poetical\nkingdom of Provence to the specialist in prosody or the literary\nantiquary in exchange for the freer and less formal beauties of a\nmusic better suited to human needs and less obviously designed for\nthe uses of a literary caste. The poetry of Provence reminds us of\nthose tapestries in which the scheme is wholly decorative, where\nstiff, brocaded flowers occupy regular intervals in the pattern and a\nmonotonous sameness of colour is the distinctive note. No episode of\nthe chase nor pastoral scene charms us by its liveliness or reality,\nnor do we find the silken hues distributed in a natural and pleasing\nmanner. [5]\n\nThe Proven\u00e7al and Catalan troubadours had, indeed, a certain influence\nupon the fortunes of Castilian poetry and romance, and proofs of their\nearly intercourse with Castile are numerous. The thirteenth-century\nBook of Apollonius, an anonymous poem, is full of Proven\u00e7alisms, as\nis the rather later History of the Crusades. During the persecution\nthey suffered at the period of the Albigensian wars numbers of them\nfled into Spain, where they found a refuge from their intolerant\nenemies. Thus Aimeric de Bellinai fled to the Court of Alfonso IX,\n[6] and was later at the Court of Alfonso X, as were Montagnagunt and\nFolquet de Lunel, as well as Raimond de Tours and Bertrand Carbunel,\nwho, with Riquier, either dedicated their works to that monarch or\ncomposed elegies on the occasion of his death. King Alfonso himself\nwrote verses of a decidedly Proven\u00e7al cast, and even as late as 1433\nthe Marquis de Villena, a kinsman of the famous Marquis de Santillana,\nwhom we shall encounter later, wrote a treatise upon the art of\nthe Troubadours, [7] which, following the instincts of a pedant,\nhe desired to see resuscitated in Castile. [8]\n\nThe Galician, a Romance language which sprang from the same root as the\nPortuguese, is nearly allied to the Castilian. But it is not so rich in\nguttural sounds, from which we may be correct in surmising that it has\nless of the Teutonic in its composition than the sister tongue. Like\nPortuguese, it possesses an abundance of hissing sounds, and a nasal\npronunciation not unlike the French, which was in all probability\nintroduced by the early establishment of a Burgundian dynasty upon\nthe throne. But Galician influence upon Castilian literature ceased\nat an early period, although the reverse was by no means the case.\n\n\n\n\nThe Rise of Castilian\n\nThe evolution of Castilian from the original Latin spoken by the Roman\ncolonists in Spain was complicated by many local circumstances. Thus\nin contracting the vocables of the Roman tongue it did not omit the\nsame syllables as the Italian, nor did it give such brevity to them\nas Proven\u00e7al or Galician. Probably because of the greater admixture\nof Gothic blood among those who spoke it, it is rich in aspirates, and\nhas a stronger framework than almost any of the Romance tongues. Thus\nthe Latin f is in Castilian frequently altered to h, as hablar =\nfabulari, 'to speak.' The letter j, which is strongly aspirated, is\nfrequently substituted for the liquid l, so that filius, 'a son,'\nbecomes hijo. Liquid ll in its turn takes the place of Latin pl,\nand we find Latin planus, 'smooth,' appearing in Castilian as llano\n(pron. ly\u00e1h-no). The Spanish ch supplies the place of the Latin ct,\nas facto = hecho, dictu = dicho, and so on.\n\nOther proofs of Teutonic association are not lacking. Thus the g\nbefore c and i, which in Gothic and German is a guttural, has the\nsame character in Castilian. The Spanish conversion of o into ue also\nresembles the similar change in German, if, for example, we compare\nCastilian cuerpo and pueblo with the German K\u00f6rper and P\u00f6bel.\n\n\n\n\nSouthward Spread of Castilian\n\nThe rise of Castilian as a colloquial and literary tongue was achieved\nby the ceaseless struggle of the hardy race who spoke it against the\nSaracen occupation of their native land. As the Castilian warriors by\ngenerations of hard fighting gradually regained city after city and\ndistrict by district rather than province by province, their language\nencroached by degrees upon the area of that of their Arab enemies,\n[9] until at length the last stronghold of the Moors fell and left\nthem not a foothold in the Peninsula. \"It was indeed a rude training\nwhich our forefathers, mighty and hardy, had as a prelude to so many\nglories and to the conquest of the world,\" says Martinez in his novel\nIsabel de Solis. [10] \"Weighed down by their harness and with sword\nin hand, they slept at ease no single night for eight centuries.\"\n\nFrom the period of the defeat of Roderic, \"last of the Visigoths,\"\nat the battle of Xerez de la Frontera in 711 until the fall of Granada\nin 1492, Spain was indeed a land of battles. Almost immediately after\ntheir first defeat by Arab arms the armies of the Visigoths were\npursued to the north-western limits of the Peninsula, where they,\nfound a rallying-place in the mountains of Biscay and Asturias. There,\nlike the Welsh after the Saxon invasion of Britain, they might have\nbecome reconciled to the comparatively narrow area left to them,\nbut the circumstances of their virtual imprisonment served only to\nunite them more closely in a common nationality and a common resolve\nto win back their original possessions.\n\nFor many generations their efforts were confined to border forays\nand guerrilla fighting, in which they were by no means uniformly\nsuccessful, for the fiery courage of the Saracens would permit of no\nmere defensive policy, and nearly every victory of which the Castilians\ncould boast was counterbalanced by reverses and losses which their\ninferior numbers could ill sustain. But by degrees their valorous\nobstinacy was rewarded, and ere a century had passed they had regained\nthe greater part of Old Castile. The very name of this province,\nmeaning as it does 'the Land of Castles,' shows that even when regained\nit was held only by fortifying its every hill-top with strongholds,\nso that at last this castellated tract gave its name to the race\nwhich held it so dearly. Before another twenty years had passed the\nCastilian warriors had established a footing in New Castile, and from\nthis time onward seem to have been assured of ultimate success.\n\nThe fall of Toledo in 1085, after three centuries and a half of\nSaracen occupation, marked a further epoch in the southern advance of\nthe Castilians, and by the taking of Saragossa in 1118 the tables were\nturned upon the Arab invaders, who were now driven into a more confined\npart of the country, to the south and south-west. This circumstance,\nhowever, seems to have consolidated rather than crippled their\nresisting powers, and they had yet to be reckoned with for nearly four\ncenturies ere, with the fall of Granada, Boabdil, or Abu-Abdallah, the\nlast of the Moorish kings, gave up its keys to Ferdinand of Castile,\nlooked his last upon the city, and crossed to Africa to fling away\nhis life in battle.\n\nIn these circumstances of constant strife and unrest the Romantic\nliterature of Spain was born. It is by no means remarkable that its\ndevelopment coincided with the clash of arms. Trumpets re-echo in its\nevery close. As it expresses the spirit of a martial race, it was also\nthe nursling of necessity, for from the songs and fables of mighty\nheroes the knights of Castile drew a new courage and experienced an\nemulous exhilaration which nerved them on the day of battle. Well\nmight the wandering knight of Castile chant, as in the old ballad:\n\n\n    Oh, harness is my only wear,\n    The battle is my play:\n    My pallet is the desert bare,\n    My lamp yon planet's ray. [11]\n\n\nBorder warfare, with its frequent change of scene and constant alarms,\nwas a fitting introduction to errantry.\n\n\n\n\nThe Literary Development of Castilian\n\nCastilian, although more than one alien influence impinged upon it,\nevolved a literary shape peculiarly its own, especially as regards\nits verse, as will be seen when we come to deal separately with\nits several Romantic forms. Thus it owed nothing to the literary\nmethods of Proven\u00e7al or Catalan, though much to their spirit and\noutward manners. When the courtly and rather pedantic poetic system\nof the Troubadours encountered the grave and vigorous Castilian, it\nwas ill fitted to make any prolonged resistance. As political causes\nhad hastened their encounter, so they quickened the victory of the\nCastilian. The ruling power in Aragon had from an early period been\nconnected with Castilian royalty, and Ferdinand the Just, who came\nto the throne of Aragon in 1412, was a Castilian prince. The Courts\nof Valencia and Burgos were, therefore, practically open to the same\npolitical influences. If our conclusions are correct, it was during\nthe reigns of Ferdinand the Just and Alfonso V (1412-58) that the\ninfluence of Castilian first invaded the sphere of Catalan. We find\nit definitely recognized as a poetic tongue on the occasion of a\ncontest of song in honour of the Madonna held at Valencia in 1474,\nthe forty poems sung at which were afterward collected in the first\nbook printed in Spain. Four of these are in the Castilian tongue,\nwhich was thus evidently regarded as a literary medium sufficiently\ndeveloped to be represented at such a contest. Valencia, indeed,\nat first wholly Catalan in speech and art, seems to have possessed\na school of Castilian poets of its own from 1470 to 1550, who did\nmuch to popularize their adopted tongue. But the Catalonians were\nnot minded that their language should lose the literary hegemony\nof Spain so easily, and they made every endeavour to sustain it by\ninstituting colleges of professional troubadours and vaunting its\nbeauties at their great public contests of song. It was in vain. They\nhad encountered a language more vigorous, more ample in vocabulary,\nmore rich in idiomatic construction, and backed by a stronger political\npower than their own.\n\n\n\n\nThe Poetical Courts of Castile\n\nThe evolution of Castilian as a literary language was also\nassiduously fostered by the scholarly character of many of the rulers\nof Castile. Alfonso the Wise was himself a poet, and cultivated his\nnative tongue with judiciousness and care, affording it purity and\nprecision of expression. Under his supervision the Scriptures were\ntranslated into Castilian, and a General Chronicle of Spain as well as\na history of the First Crusade were undertaken at his instance. He made\nit the language of the law-courts, and attempted to infuse into its\nverse a more exact spirit and poetical phraseology by the imitation\nof Proven\u00e7al models.\n\nAlfonso XI composed a General Chronicle in the easy, flowing rhyme of\nthe native redondillas, instead of the stiff, monkish Alexandrines\nthen current in literary circles, and caused books to be written\nin Castilian prose on the art of hunting and the genealogy of the\nnobility. [12] His relative Don Juan Manuel did much to discipline\nSpanish imagination and give fixity to Spanish prose in his Conde\nLucanor, [13] a volume of ethical and political maxims, the morals\nof which are well pointed by tales and fables drawn from history and\nclassical literature. Juan II, [14] although a weak and idle monarch,\nwas a great patron of letters, wrote verses, associated with poets,\nand caused a large collection of the best existing Spanish verse to\nbe made in 1449. But the spirit of his Court was a pedantic one; it\nstrayed after Italian models, and he himself affected the Proven\u00e7al\nmanner. Despite such artificial barriers, however, Castilian speech\ncontinued to advance upon its conquering way. It had definitely become\nthe language of Romance, and Romance, within a generation of this\nperiod, was to become the most powerful literary form in the Peninsula.\n\n\n\n\nThe Rise of Romance\n\nThe development of Romance in Spain, its evolution and the phases\nthrough which it passed, has not, as a theme, met with that painstaking\ntreatment at the hands of English writers on Spanish literature\nthat might have been expected at this late day, when the literary\nspecialist has to search diligently into the remotest corners of\nthe earth if he seek new treasures to assay. Its several phases are\nrather hinted at than definitely laid down, not because of the poverty\nor dubiety of the evidential material so much as through the laxity\nand want of thoroughness which characterize most Britannic efforts\nat epochal fixation or attempts to elucidate the connexion between\nsuccessive literary phases. I can scarcely hope to succeed in a task\nwhich other and better equipped authorities have neglected, perhaps\nfor sound reasons. But I had rather fail in an attempt to reduce the\ndetails of the evolution of Spanish Romance to orderly sequence than\nplace before the reader an array of unrelated facts and isolated tags\nof evidence which, however interesting, present no definite picture,\npermit of no reasonable deduction, and are usually accompanied by a\ntheoretical peradventure or so by way of dubious enlightenment.\n\nIf we regard the literary map of Europe from the eleventh to\nthe thirteenth century we behold the light shining from two\nquarters--Jewish-Arabic Spain and France. With the first we have,\nat the moment, no concern. Its literature was at the time alien and\ninimical to Christian Spain, which, as we shall see later, did not\nregard anything Saracen with complacence until its sword crossed no\nlonger with the scimitar. But in France Castile had an illustrious\nexemplar, whose lessons it construed in its own peculiar manner--a\nmanner dictated both by national pride and political necessity.\n\nWith the influence of Southern France we have already dealt. At the\nera alluded to, Northern France, the country of the langue d'o\u00efl,\nalthough in a measure disturbed by unrest, was yet in a much better\ncase to produce great literature than Castile, whose constant vendetta\nwith the Moslem left her best minds only a margin of leisure for the\nproduction of pure literature--a margin, however, of which the fullest\nadvantage was taken. The rise of a caste of itinerary poets in France\nsupplied the popular demand for story-telling, and the trouv\u00e8res of\nthe twelfth century recognized in the glorious era of Charlemagne a\nfitting and abundant source for heroic fiction such as would appeal\nto medieval audiences. The poems, or rather epics, which they based\nupon the history of the Carlovingian period were known as chansons de\ngestes, 'songs of the deeds' of the great Frankish emperor and his\ninvincible paladins, or, to the trouv\u00e8res themselves, as mati\u00e8re de\nFrance, as the Arthurian tales were designated mati\u00e8re de Bretagne,\nand those based upon classical history mati\u00e8re de Rome.\n\nUntil comparatively recent times these immense works, many of which\ncomprise six or seven thousand lines of verse, were practically\nunknown, even to the generality of literary authorities. [15] As\nwe now possess them they are comparatively late in form, and have\nundergone much revisal, probably for the worse. But they are the\noldest examples of elaborate verse in any modern language, with the\nexception of English and Norse, and undoubtedly stand in an ancestral\nrelation to all modern European literature.\n\nThese chansons were intended to be sung in the common halls of feudal\ndwellings by the itinerant trouv\u00e8res, who composed or passed them\non to one another. Their subject-matter deals more with the clash of\narms than the human emotions, though these are at intervals depicted\nin a masterly manner. The older examples among them are written in\nbatches of lines, varying from one to several score, each of which\nderives unity from an assonant vowel-rhyme, and known as laisses or\ntirades. Later, however, rhyme crept into the chansons, the entire\nlaisse, or batch, ending in a single rhyme-sound.\n\n\n\n\nCastilian Opposition to the Chansons de Gestes\n\nIn these poems, which probably originated in the north of France,\nthe genre spreading southward as time progressed, Charlemagne is\nrepresented as the great bulwark of Christianity against the Saracens\nof Spain. Surrounded by his peers, Roland, Oliver, Naymes, Ogier,\nand William of Orange, he wages constant warfare against the Moors\nor the 'Saracens' (pagans) of Saxony. Of these poems Gautier has\npublished a list of one hundred and ten, a moiety of which date from\nthe twelfth century. A number of the later chansons are in Proven\u00e7al,\nbut all attempts to refer the entire cycle in its original condition\nto that literature have signally failed.\n\nThat this immense body of romantic material found its way into\nCastile is positively certain. Whether it did so by way of Provence\nand Catalonia is not clear, but it is not impossible that such was the\ncase. It might be thought that Christian Spain, in the throes of her\nstruggle with the Moors, took kindly to a literature so constant in its\nreference to the discomfiture of her hereditary foes. At first she did\nso, and certainly accepted the chanson form. But two barriers to her\nundivided appreciation of it presently appeared. In the first place,\nthe Castilian of the twelfth century seems to have been aware that\nif Charlemagne invaded Spain at all, he encountered not only the Moor\nbut the Spaniard as well. This is not borne out, as some authorities\nimply, by a piece in the popular poetry of the Basques known as the\nAltobiskarko Cantar, or Song of Altobiskar, which tacitly asserts that\nthe defeat of Charlemagne's rearguard at Roncesvalles was due not to\nSaracens, but to Basques, who resented the passage of the Frankish\narmy through their mountain passes. The whole piece is an effusion\nwritten in Basque by a Basque student named Duhalde, who translated\nit from the French of Fran\u00e7ois Garay de Montglave (c. 1833). [16]\nA second battle of Roncesvalles took place in the reign of Louis le\nDebonair in 824, when two Frankish counts returning from Spain were\nagain surprised and defeated by the Pyrenean mountaineers. But there\nappears to have been a still earlier battle between Franks and Basques\nin the Pyrenees in the reign of Dagobert I (631-638). The folk-memory\nof these contests seems to have been kept alive, so that the Spaniard\nfelt that the Frank was somewhat of a traditional enemy. Archbishop\nRoderic of Toledo inveighed against those Spanish juglares who sang\nthe battles of Charlemagne in Spain, and Alfonso the Learned belittles\nthe mythical successes of the Frankish emperor.\n\nBut this was not all. The idea that Charlemagne had entered Spain\nas a conqueror, carrying all before him, was offensive to the highly\nwrought pride and patriotism of the Castilians, who chose to interpret\nthe spirit of the chansons de gestes in their own way, and, instead\nof copying them slavishly, raised an opposing body of song to their\ndetriment. Accepting as the national hero of the Carlovingian era an\nimaginary knight, Bernaldo de Carpio, they hailed him as the champion\nof Castile, and invented songs of their own in which he is spoken\nof as slaying and defeating Roland at Roncesvalles at the head of a\nvictorious army composed not of Arabs or Basques, but Castilians.\n\n\n\n\nThe Cantares de Gesta\n\nBut if the Castilians did not accept the matter of the chansons, they\nassuredly adopted their form. Their literary revolt against the alien\nspirit and politics of the chansons seems to have taken place at some\ntime soon after the diffusion of these throughout Spain. A Spanish\npriest of the early twelfth century wrote the fabulous chronicle\nof Archbishop Turpin of Rheims, which purported to be the work of\nthat warlike cleric, but in reality was intended to popularize the\npilgrimage to Compostella to which it had reference. Many Franks\ntravelled to the shrine, among them trouv\u00e8res, who in all likelihood\npassed on to the native Castilian singers the spirit and metrical\nsystem of the chansons, so that later we hear of Spanish cantares de\ngesta, most of which, however, unlike their French models, are lost\nto us. The famous Poema del Cid, dealing with the exploits of a great\nCastilian hero, is nothing but a cantar de gesta in form and spirit,\nand we possess good evidence that many of the late romanceros or\nballads upon such heroes as Bernaldo de Carpio, Gonzalvo de Cordova,\nand Gayferos are but ancient cantares 'rubbed down,' or in a state\nof attrition.\n\nAs in France, so in Spain, degeneration overtook the cantares de\ngesta. In course of time they were forced into the market-place and\nthe scullions' hall. Many of them were worked into the substance of\nchronicles and histories; but the juglares who now sang them altered\nthem, when they passed out of fashion, into corrupt abridgments,\nor broke them up into ballads to suit the taste of a more popular\naudience. [17]\n\n\n\n\nThe Chronicles\n\nBut if the majority of the cantares de gesta are irreplaceable as\nregards their original form, we find fragments of them in the ancient\nchronicles of Spain. Thus the General Chronicle of Spain (c. 1252),\nwhich, according to the latest research, is believed to have undergone\nat least three specific alterations or rearrangements of its text,\ntells the stories of Bernaldo de Carpio, Fern\u00e1n Gonz\u00e1lez, and the\nseven Children of Lara, and provides sketches of Charlemagne, while\nits latter portion recounts the history of the Cid, and at times\neven appeals to the cantares as its authority for such and such an\nepisode. Many of the passages in the chronicles, too, are obviously\ncopied in their entirety from certain cantares. So strongly, indeed,\ndo they retain the assonant verse-formation typical of the cantares\nthat many of the later balladeers seem easily to have cast them into\nverse again, especially those relating to Bernaldo de Carpio and the\nInfantes de Lara, and in this manner they appeared once more in the\ncancioneros, or collections of folk-songs.\n\n\n\n\nThe Ballads\n\nThe immortal ballads of Spain have been the subject of the sharpest\ncontroversy, and their importance as Romantic material demands\nspecial treatment in a separate chapter. Regarding the period\nto which they belong and their relations to the larger narrative\npoems and chronicles, we must deal briefly with them here. Some\nauthorities ascribe them to an early age and insist upon their\npriority to such poems as the Poema del Cid and such chronicles as\nthat of Alfonso the Learned, while others are equally assured of\nthe late date of the greater number. It seems to me that the truth\nresides in both hypotheses, and that in this case, as frequently\nin literary navigation, it is wise to steer a middle course. In my\nview the ballads of Spain are of four fundamental types: those which\narose spontaneously in Northern Spain at some time subsequent to\nthe formation of the Castilian language, and which, if we possess\nany remnants of them at all, have probably come down to us in such\na form as would render them unrecognizable to those who first sang\nthem; ballads which are based on passages in cantares de gesta as\nchronicles; folk-ballads of a later date, more or less altered; and,\nlastly, the more modern productions of conscious art.\n\nI also believe that the ballads or romanceros are again of two broad\nclasses: those of spontaneous folk-origin, owing nothing to literary\nsources, and those which are mainly cantares de gesta, or chronicle\npassages in a lyric state of attrition. With the great body of\nauthorities upon ancient Spanish literature I do not believe that the\ncantares or chronicles owe anything to the ballads of any age, which\nseem to me wholly of popular origin. Of course the two classes lastly\nindicated do not include the more 'poetic' or sophisticated ballads\nwritten after the ballad became an accepted form for experiments\nin conscious versification, and it is plain that such efforts could\nbelong to neither category.\n\nNo definite proof exists as to the degree of sophistication and\nalteration which the ballads underwent before their ultimate collection\nand publication. It would be strange, however, if no ballads of\nrelatively early date had reached us, altered or otherwise, and it\nseems to me merely a piece of critical affectation to deny antiquity\nto a song solely because it found its way into print at a late period,\nor because it is not encountered in ancient MSS., just as it would be\nto throw doubt upon the antiquity of a legend or folk-custom current\nin our own day--unless; indeed, such should display obvious marks of\nrecent manufacture. At the same time few of these ballads seem to\nme to bear the stamp of an antiquity more hoary than, for example,\nthose of Scotland or Denmark.\n\nFew of the ballad systems of Europe are better worthy of study than\nthat of Spain. But in this place we are considering it merely from\nthe point of view of its bearings upon Romance. That it has a close\naffinity with the Romantic literature of the Peninsula is evident\nfrom the name given to these poems by the Spaniards, who call them\nromanceros. [18] Some of them are, indeed, romances or cantares de\ngesta in little, and in fact they deal with all the great subjects\nsung of in the cantares or prosed upon in the chronicles, such as the\nCid, Bernaldo de Carpio, Count Alarcos, and so forth. But they seem to\nhave little in common with the later romances proper, such as Amadis,\nPalmerin, or Felixmarte, for the good reason that by the time these\nwere in fashion the ballad had become the sole property of the common\npeople. As the Marquis de Santillana (1398-1458), himself a poet\nof note, remarks in a letter famous for the light it throws on the\ncondition of Spanish literature in his day: \"There are contemptible\npoets who, without order, rule, or rhythm, make those songs and\nromances in which vulgar folk and menials take delight.\" So might\nLovelace or Drummond of Hawthornden have written of our own balladeers.\n\nThe ballads thus relegated to the peasantry and lower classes, those of\nthe upper classes who found time for reading were accordingly thrown\nback upon the chronicles and the few cantares de gesta which had been\nreduced to writing. But on the destruction of the Moorish states in\nSpain the increase in wealth and leisure among the upper classes,\nand the introduction of printing, aroused a demand for books which\nwould provide amusement. A great spirit of invention was abroad. At\nfirst it resuscitated the Romantic matter lying embedded and almost\nfossilized in the chronicles. It is, indeed, but a step from some\nof these to the romances proper. But Spain hungrily craved novelty,\nand the eyes of romance-makers were turned once more to France, whose\nfictional wealth began to be exploited by Spanish writers about the\nbeginning of the fifteenth century.\n\n\n\n\nThe Heyday of Romance\n\nPerhaps the first literary notice that we possess of the romance\nproper in Spain is that by Ayala, Chancellor of Castile (d. 1407), who,\nin his Rimado de Palacio, deplores the time he has wasted in reading\nsuch \"lying stuff\" as Amadis de Gaul. He might have been much worse\noccupied, but, be that as it may, in his dictum we scarcely have a\nforecast of the manner in which this especial type of romance was to\nseize so mightily upon the Castilian imagination, which, instead of\nbeing content with mere servile copying from French models, was to\nre-endow them with a spirit and genius peculiarly Spanish. Perhaps\nin no other European country did the seed of Romance find a soil so\nfitting for its germination and fruition, and certainly nowhere did\nit blossom and burgeon in such an almost tropical luxuriance of fruit\nand flower.\n\nAmadis had for sequel a long line of similar tales, all of which the\nreader will encounter later in these pages. By general consent of\ncritics, from Cervantes onward, it is the best and most distinctive\nof the Spanish romances, and was translated into French, Italian, and\nindeed into most European languages, [19] a special translation, it\nis said, even being made for Jewish readers. At a stroke Peninsular\nromanticism had beaten French chivalric fiction upon its own\nground. But Amadis was not, as Cervantes seems to think, the first\nbook of chivalry printed in Spain, for this distinction belongs to\nTirante the White (1490) which, according to Southey, is lacking in\nthe spirit of chivalry. [20] Among other figures it introduces that\nof Warwick the King-maker, who successfully withstands an invasion\nof England by the King of the Canary Islands, and ultimately slays\nthe invader single-handed and routs his forces. But if Cervantes\nerrs in his bibliography, his barber's summing-up of Amadis as \"the\nbest of all books of its kind that has been written\" is not far from\nthe truth. [21] Tasso thought it \"the most beautiful and perhaps the\nmost profitable story of its kind that can be read.\" Did he merely\nfollow the tonsorial critic's opinion, as his language would tempt\none to believe?\n\nAmadis was followed by a host of imitations. Its enormous success,\nfrom a popular point of view, brought into being a whole literature\nof similar stamp and intention, if not of equal quality. The first of\nsuch efforts, in consequence if not in chronology, is that of Palmerin\nde Oliva, the earliest known edition of which appeared at Seville in\n1525, and was followed, like the Amadis, by similar continuations,\nPrimale\u00f3n, Platir, and Palmerin of England, perhaps the best of the\nseries. [22] Regarding the alleged Portuguese origin of Amadis and\nPalmerin I have more to say elsewhere, and will content myself here by\nobserving that no Portuguese original, printed or manuscript, exists,\nalthough the priority of such seems undoubted. But these romances\nbecame as Castilian as the Arthurian series became English, despite the\nlatter's Brythonic or other origin, and Spanish they have remained in\nthe belief and imagination of all Europe, popular as well as critical.\n\nThe Palmerin series only fed and increased the passion for romantic\nfiction, so hungry was Spain for a literary diet which seemed so\nnatural and acceptable to her appetite that those who sought to\nprovide her with romantic reading could scarce cope with the call\nfor it. The natural result ensued. A perfect torrent of hastily\nwritten and inferior fiction descended upon the public. Invention,\nat first bold, became shameless, and in such absurdities of distorted\nimagination as Belianis of Greece, Olivante de Laura, and Felixmarte\nof Hyrcania the summit of romantic extravagance was reached. But\nridiculous and insulting to human intelligence and decent taste as\nmost of these productions were, still they found countless thousands\nof readers, and there is every indication that publishing in the\nSpain of the late sixteenth and the seventeenth centuries must have\nbeen extremely lucrative. These preposterous and chimerical tales,\nlacking the beauty and true imaginative skill and simplicity of the\nolder romances, stood in much the same relation to them as a host\nof imitative novels published in the early years of the nineteenth\ncentury did to the romances of Scott. Mexia, the sarcastic historian of\nCharles V, writing of romance in 1545, deplores the public credulity\nwhich battened on such feeble stuff. \"For,\" he says, \"there be men\nwho think all these things really happened, just as they read or hear\nthem, though the greater part of the things themselves are absurd.\" So\nmight a critic of our own day descant upon the popular predilection\nfor the cheap novel, or the whole desert of sensation-fodder which\npours from the all too rapid machines of the Fiction Trusts.\n\nStill another extravagant and more unpleasant manifestation of\nthe popular craze for romance arose in such religious tales as\nThe Celestial Chivalry, The Knight of the Bright Star, and others\nof little worth, in which Biblical characters are endowed with the\nattributes of chivalry and go on adventure bound. The time occupied\nby the appearance of these varying types, and indeed in the whole\nlatter-day evolution of Spanish romance, was strikingly brief. But\nhalf a century elapsed between the publication of Amadis and the\nmost extreme of its worthless imitations. But it is not difficult to\naccount for the rapid manufacture and dissemination of such a mass\nof literature, good and bad, when we recall that Spain had been for\nages the land of active knighthood, that her imagination had been\nwrought to a high pitch of fervour in her long struggle with her pagan\nenemies, and that in the tales of chivalry she now gazed upon with\nsuch admiration she saw the reflection of her own courtly and heroic\nspirit--the most sensitive and most fantastically chivalrous in Europe.\n\n\n\n\nPossible Moorish Influence on Spanish Romance\n\nThere is indeed evidence--pressed down and flowing over--that the\nage-long death-grapple with the Saracen powerfully affected Spanish\nromantic fiction. But was this influence a direct one, arising out of\nthe contiguity and constant perusal of the body of Moorish fiction,\nor did it proceed from the atmosphere of wonder which the Saracen left\nbehind him in Spain, the illusions of which were mightily assisted by\nthe marvels of his architecture and his art? One can scarcely find\na Spanish romance that is not rich in reference to the Moor, who is\nusually alluded to as a caballero and a worthy foe. But is it the real\nMoor whom we encounter in these tall folios, which beside our modern\nvolumes seem as stately galleons might in the company of ocean-going\ntramps, or is it the Saracen of romance, an Oriental of fiction,\nlike the Turk of Byronic literature? The question of the influence\nof Moorish literature upon Spanish romance has been shrouded by the\nmost unfortunate popular misconceptions. Let us briefly examine the\nspirit of Arabic literary invention, and see in how far it was capable\nof influencing Castilian art and imagination.\n\nThe history of the development of the Arabic language from the dialect\nof a wandering desert people to a tongue the poetic possibilities and\ncolloquial uses of which are perhaps unrivalled is in itself sufficient\nto furnish a whole volume of romantic episode. The form in which it\nwas introduced into Spain in the early eighth century can scarcely\nfail to arouse the admiration of the lover of literary perfection. As\na literary medium its development was rapid and effective. It is,\nindeed, as if the tones of a harsh trumpet had by degrees become\nmerged into those of a silver clarion whose notes ring out ever more\nclearly, until at length they arrive at a keenness so intense as to\nbecome almost intolerably piercing. This eloquent language, the true\nspeech of the literary aristocrat, has through the difficulty of its\nacquirement and the bewildering nature of its written characters\nremained almost unknown to the great mass of Europeans--unknown,\ntoo, because the process of translation is inadequate to the proper\nconveyance of its finer shades and subtler intimations. Even to the\ngreater number of the Arabs of Spain the highly polished verse in\nwhich their literature was so rich was unknown. How much more, then,\nwas it a force removed from the Castilian or the Catalan?\n\n\n\n\nArabic Poetry\n\nThe desert life of the Arabs while they were yet an uncultured people,\nalthough it did not permit of the development of a high standard of\nliterary achievement, fostered the growth of a spirit of observation so\nkeen as to result in the creation of a wealth of synonyms, by means of\nwhich the language became greatly enriched. Synonymous meaning and the\ndiscovery of beautiful and striking comparisons are the very pillars\nof poetry, and within a century of the era of Moslem ascendancy in\nthe East we find the brilliant dynasty of the Abbassides (c. A.D. 750)\nthe generous patrons of a poetic literature which the language was so\nwell prepared to express. Story-telling had been a favourite amusement\namong the Arabs of the desert, and they now found the time-honoured,\nspontaneous exercise of the imaginative faculty stand them in good\nstead. The rapidity of the progress of Arabic literature at this\nperiod is, indeed, difficult of realization. Poetry, which we are\nnow assured has 'no market value,' was to the truly enlightened upper\nclasses of this people an art of the first importance, more precious\nthan those bales of the silks of Damascus, those gems of Samarkand,\nor those perfumes of Syria the frequent allusion to which in their\nlegends encrusts them, like the walls of the cavern of Ala-ed-din,\nwith fairy jewels. But words were jewels to the Arab. When Al-Mamoun,\nthe son of Haroun-al-Raschid, dictated terms of peace to the Greek\nemperor Michael the Stammerer, the tribute which he demanded from his\nconquered enemy was a collection of manuscripts of the most famous\nGreek authors. A fitting indemnity to be demanded by the prince of\na nation of poets!\n\nBut conquered Spain was more especially the seat and centre of\nArabian literature and learning. Cordova, Granada, Seville--indeed,\nall the cities of the Peninsula occupied by the Saracens--rivalled\none another in the celebrity of their schools and colleges, their\nlibraries, and other places of resort for the scholar and man of\nletters. The seventy libraries of Moorish Spain which flourished\nin the twelfth century put to shame the dark ignorance of Europe,\nwhich in time rather from the Arab than from fallen Rome won back its\nenlightenment. Arabic became not only the literary but the colloquial\ntongue of thousands of Spaniards who dwelt in the south under Moorish\nrule. Even the canons of the Church were translated into Arabic,\nabout the middle of the eighth century, for the use of those numerous\nChristians who knew no other language. The colleges and universities\nfounded by Abderahman and his successors were frequented by crowds\nof European scholars. Thus the learning and the philosophy if not the\npoetry of the Saracens were enabled to lay their imprint deeply upon\nplastic Europe. If, however, we inquire more closely into the local\norigins of this surprising enlightenment, we shall find it owing even\nmore to the native Jews of Spain than to the Moors themselves.\n\nThe phase of Arabian culture with which we are most nearly concerned\nis its poetic achievement, and the ultimate influence which it brought\nto bear upon Spanish literary composition. The poetry of this richly\nendowed and imaginative people had at the period of their entrance\ninto Spain arrived, perhaps, at the apogee of splendour. Its warm\nand luxuriant genius was wholly antagonistic to the more restrained\nand disciplined verse of Greece and Rome, which it regarded as cold,\nformal, and quite unworthy of translation. It surpassed in bold and\nextravagant hyperbole, fantastic imagery, and emotional appeal. The\nArab poet heaped metaphor upon metaphor. He was incapable of seeing\nthat that which was intrinsically beautiful in itself might appear\nsuperfluous and lacking in taste when combined with equally graceful\nbut discordant elements. Many critics hasten to reassure us regarding\nhis judgment and discrimination. But even a slight acquaintance\nwith Arabic literature will show that they have been carried away\nby their prejudice in favour of the subject on which they wrote. In\nthe garden of the Arabian poet every flower is a jewel, every plot\nis a silken carpet, tapestried with the intricate patterns of the\nweavers of Persia, and every maiden is a houri, each of whose physical\nattributes becomes in turn the subject of a glowing quatrain. The\nconstant employment of synonym and superlative, the extravagance of\namorous emotion, and the frequent absence of all message, of that\nlarge utterance in which the poets of the West have indicated to the\ngeneration they served how it might best grapple with problems of\nmind and soul--these were the weaknesses of the Arab singers. They\nmade apophthegm take the place of message. They were unaware that\nthe fabric of poetry is not only a palace of pleasure, but a great\nacademy of the soul.\n\nThe true love of nature, too, seems to have been as much lacking in\nthe Arab as in the Greek and the Roman. He enamelled his theme with the\nmeticulous care of a jeweller. Not content with painting the lily, he\nburnished it until it seemed a product of the goldsmith's art. To him\nnature was a thing not only to be improved upon, but to be surpassed,\na mine of gems in the rough, to be patiently polished.\n\nBut it would be wrong to refuse to the imaginative literature of the\nArabs a high place among the world's achievements, and we must regret\nthat, for causes into which we cannot enter here, opportunities for\ndevelopment and discipline were not vouchsafed it. As we read the\nhistory of the Arabian states with their highly developed civilization,\ntheir thronged academies, and their far-flung dominions, reaching\nfrom Central Asia to the western gates of the Mediterranean, and turn,\nto-day to the scenes where such things flourished, we must indeed be\nunimaginative if we fail to be impressed by the universal wreck and\nruin to which these regions have been exposed. The great, emulous,\nand spirited race which conquered and governed them gathered the world\nto its doors, and the rude peoples of Europe clustered about its knees\nto listen to the magical tales of unfolding science which fell from\nits lips. From the desert it came, and to the desert it has returned.\n\n\n    Djamsh\u00eed, the palace is a lions' lair\n    Where ye held festival with houris fair;\n    The desert ass bounds upon Barlaam's tomb:\n    Where are the pomps of yesterday, ah, where?\n\n\n\n\nMoorish 'Fashion' in Spanish Romance\n\nOf Moorish grandeur of thought and luxuriance of emotion we find\nlittle in Spanish literature, at least until the beginning of the\nfifteenth century. Its note is distinctively, nay almost aggressively,\nEuropean, as will be readily understood from the circumstances of its\norigin. [23] But it would seem that with the Castilian occupation\nof the Moorish parts of Spain the atmosphere which the Saracen had\nleft behind him powerfully affected the Spaniard, who appears to\nhave cast a halo of romance round the character of his ancient foe,\nwith whose civilization, as expressed in its outward manifestations\nof architecture and artifact, he could scarcely have failed to\nbe deeply impressed. If our conclusions are well founded it would\nappear that about the era alluded to a Moorish 'fashion' set in in\nSpanish literature, just as did an Oriental craze in the England of\nByron and Moore, when English people began to travel in the Levantine\ncountries. But this fashion was in great measure pseudo-Saracenic,\nunaffected by literary models and derived indirectly more from\natmosphere and art than directly from men or books. Long before the\nfifteenth century, however, with its rather artificial mania for\neverything Moresque, the Arab spirit had been at work upon Spanish\nliterature, although in a feeble and unconscious manner. Spanish\nliterary forms, whether in verse or prose, owe absolutely nothing\nto it, and especially is this the case in regard to the assonance\nwhich characterizes Castilian poetry, a prosodic device found in the\nverse of all Romance tongues at an early period. The Moors, however,\nseem to have sophisticated, if they did not write, the ballads of\nthe Hispano-Moorish frontiers, especially those which have reference\nto the loss of Alhamia. In any case these are founded upon Moorish\nlegends. Certain metrical pedants, like the Marquis de Santillana,\ntoyed with Arabic verse-forms as Swinburne did with the French rondeau\nor Dobson with the ballade, or as the dry-as-dusts of our universities\nwith Greek hexameters, neglecting for the alien and recondite the\ninfinite possibilities of their mother-tongue. These preciosities, to\nwhich many men of letters in all ages have been addicted, had no more\neffect upon the main stream of Castilian literature than such attempts\never have upon the literary output of a country. Some of the popular\ncoplas, or couplets, however, seem to be direct translations from\nthe Arabic, which is not surprising when we remember the considerable\nnumber of half-breeds to be found in the Peninsula until the middle of\nthe seventeenth century. There can be no doubt, too, that Arabic was\nthe spoken language of thousands of Christians in Southern Spain. But\nthat it had a determined opponent in the native Spanish is becoming\nmore and more clear--an opponent which it found as merciless as the\nMoor found the Spaniard. [24]\n\nPerhaps the best measure of the decline of Arabic as a spoken language\nin Spain is the fact that the authors of many romances declare them to\nbe mere translations from the Arabic--usually the writings of Moorish\nmagicians or astrologers. These pretensions are easily refuted by\nmeans of internal evidence. But regarding the question broadly and\nsanely, Spanish literature could no more remain unaffected by Arab\ninfluence than could Spanish music, architecture, or handicrafts. All\nsuch influences, however, were undoubtedly late, and, as regards the\nromances, were much more 'spiritual' than 'material.' Christian Spain\nhad held off the Saracen for eight hundred years, and when at last\nshe consented to drink out of the Saracen cup she filled it with her\nown wine. But the strange liquor which had brimmed it before left\nbehind it the mysterious odours and scents of the Orient, faint,\nyet unmistakable.\n\n\n\n\nThe Type of Spanish Romance\n\nThe type of Spanish romance at its best is that in which the spirit\nof wonder is mingled with the spirit of chivalry. Old Spain, with\nher glorious ideas of honour, her finely wrought sense of chivalry,\nand her birthright of imagination, provided almost a natural crucible\nfor the admixture of the elements of romance. Every circumstance\nof climate and environment assisted and fostered the illusions with\nwhich Spanish story teemed, and above all there was a more practical\ninterest in the life chivalric in Spain than, perhaps, in any other\ncountry in Europe. The Spaniard carried the insignia of chivalry more\nproperly than Frenchman or Englishman. It was his natural apparel, and\nhe brought to its wearing a dignity, a gravity, and a consciousness of\nfitness unsurpassed. If he degenerated into a Quixote it was because of\nthe whole-hearted seriousness with which he had embraced the knightly\nlife. He was certainly the first to laugh when he found that his\nmanners, like his mail, had become obsolete. But even the sound of\nthat laughter is knightly, and the book which aroused it has surely\nwon at least as many hearts for romanticism as ever it disillusioned.\n\nThe history of Spanish conquest is a chronicle of champions, of\nwarriors almost superhuman in ambition and endurance, mighty carvers\nof kingdoms, great remodellers of the world's chart, who, backed by a\nhandful of lances, and whether in Valencia, Mexico, Italy, or Araucan,\nsurpassed the fabulous deeds of Amadis or Palmerin. In a later day the\niron land of Castile was to send forth iron men who were to carry her\nbanners across an immensity of ocean to the uttermost parts of the\nearth. What inspired them to live and die in harness surrounded by\ndangers more formidable than the enchantments of malevolent sorcerers\nor than ever confronted knights-errant in the quest of mysterious\ncastles? What heartened them in an existence of continuous strife,\nprivation, and menace? Can we doubt that the hero-tales of their\nnative land magically moved and inspired them--that when going into\nbattle the exploits of the heroes of romance rang in their ears like\na fanfare from the trumpets of heralds at a tournament?\n\n\n    And as we gat us to the fight\n    Our armour and our hearts seemed light\n    Thinking on battle's cheer,\n    Of fierce Orlando's high prowess,\n    Of Felixmarte's knightliness\n    And the death of Olivier. [25]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II: THE \"CANTARES DE GESTA\" AND THE \"POEMA DEL CID\"\n\n\n                                When meat and drink is great plentye\n                                Then lords and ladyes still will be,\n                                  And sit and solace lythe.\n                                Then it is time for mee to speake\n                                Of kern knights and kempes great,\n                                  Such carping for to kythe.\n\n                                           \"Guy and Colbrand,\" a romance\n\n\nThe French origin of the cantares de gesta has already been alluded\nto. Their very name, indeed, bespeaks a Gallic source. But in justice\nto the national genius of Spain we trust that it has been made\nabundantly clear that the cantares speedily cast off the northern\nmode and robed themselves in Castilian garb. Some lands possess an\nindividuality so powerful, a capacity for absorption and transmutation\nso exceptional, that all things, both physical and spiritual, which\ninvade their borders become transfigured and speedily metamorphosed to\nsuit their new environment. Of this magic of transformation Spain,\nwith Egypt and America, seems to hold the especial secret. But\ntransfigure the chansons of France as she might, the mould whence\nthey came is apparent to those who are cognisant of their type and\nmachinery. Nor could the character of their composers and professors\nbe substantially altered, so that we must not be surprised to find\nin Spain the trouv\u00e8res and jongleurs of France as trovadores and\njuglares. The trovador was the poet, the author, the juglar merely\nthe singer or declaimer, although no very hard-and-fast line was drawn\nbetwixt them. Some juglares of more than ordinary distinction were also\nthe authors of the cantares they sang, while an unsuccessful trovador\nmight be forced to chant the verses of others. Instrumentalists or\naccompanists were known as juglares de p\u00e9\u00f1ola in contradistinction\nto the reciters or singers, juglares de boca.\n\n\n\n\nThe Singers of Old Spain\n\nWith the juglar, indeed, was left the final form of the cantar, for he\nwould shape and shear it, add to or suppress, as his instinct told him\nthe taste of his audience demanded. Not infrequently he would try to\npour the wine of a cantar into the bottle of a popular air, and if it\noverflowed and was spilt, so much the worse for the cantar. Frequently\nhe was accompanied not only by an instrumentalist, but by a remendador,\nor mimic, who illustrated his tale in dumb show. These sons of the\ngay science were notoriously careless of their means of livelihood,\nand lived a hand-to-mouth existence. A crust of bread and a cup of wine\nsufficed them when silver was scarce. Unsullied by the lust of hire,\nthey journeyed from hall to hall, from castle to castle, unmindful\nof all but their mission--to soothe the asperities of a barbarous age.\n\n\n    Our long-dead brothers of the roundelay,\n    Whose meed was wine, who held that praise was pay,\n    Hearten ye by their lives, ye singers of to-day!\n\n\nBut this simple state did not last. As the taste for the cantares grew,\nthe trovadores and their satellites, after the manner of mankind,\nbecame clamorous for the desirable things of life, making the age-long\nplea of the artist that the outward insignia of beauty are his very\nbirthright, and forgetting how fatal it is to\n\n\n    Stain with wealth and power\n    The poet's free and heavenly mind.\n\n\nThese \"spirits from beyond the moon\" did not, alas! \"refuse the\nboon.\" Kings, infantes, and peers indulged the trovador out of full\npurses, flattered him by imitating his art and his life, and even\nenrolled themselves in his brotherhood. Few men of genius are so\nconstituted as to be able to control altogether a natural hauteur\nand superiority. In these early days poetical arrogance seems to\nhave been as unchecked as military boastfulness, and the trovadores,\npampered and f\u00eated by prince and noble, at length grew insufferable\nin their insolence and rapacity. The land swarmed with singers, real\nand pretended, the manner of whose lives became a scandal, even in a\nday when scandal was cheap. The public grew weary of the repetition of\nthe cantares and the harping on a single string. It became fashionable\nto read romances instead of listening to them, and eventually we see\nthe juglares footing it on the highways of Spain, and declaiming at\nstreet-corners in a state of mendicancy more pitiable by far than\ntheir old indigent yet dignified conditions.\n\nFew of the ancient cantares of Spain have survived, in\ncontradistinction to the hundred or more chansons that France can\nshow. But what remains of them suffices to distinguish their type with\nsufficient clearness. As has been indicated, we owe our knowledge of\nmore than one of them to the circumstance that they became embedded\nin the ancient chronicles of Spain. An excellent illustration of\nthis process of literary embalming is provided by the manner in which\nthe cantar of Bernaldo de Carpio has become encrusted in the rather\ndreary mass of the General Chronicle of Spain which was compiled\nby King Alfonso the Wise (c. 1260), in which it will be found in\nthe seventh and twelfth chapters of the third part. The poet-king\nstates that he has founded his history of Bernaldo upon \"old lays,\"\nand in the spirit as well as the form of his account of the legendary\nchampion we can trace the influence of the cantar.\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Bernaldo de Carpio\n\nYoung Bernaldo de Carpio, when he arrived at manhood, was, like many\nanother hero of romance, unaware that he was of illustrious parentage,\nfor his mother was a sister of Don Alfonso of Castile, and had wed in\nsecret the brave and noble Count de Sandias de Salda\u00f1a. King Alfonso,\nbitterly offended that his sister should mate with one who was her\ninferior in rank, cast the Count into prison, where he caused him to be\ndeprived of sight, and immured the princess in a cloister. Their son\nBernaldo, however, he reared with care. While still a youth, Bernaldo\nrendered his uncle important services, but when he learned that his\nfather languished in prison a great melancholy settled upon him, and\nhe cared no more for the things that had once delighted him. Instead\nof mingling in the tourney or the dance, he put on deep mourning,\nand at last presented himself before King Alfonso and beseeched him\nto set his father at liberty.\n\nNow Alfonso was greatly troubled when he knew that Bernaldo was aware\nof his lineage and of his father's imprisonment, but his hatred for the\nman who had won his sister was greater than his love for his nephew. At\nfirst he made no reply, but sat plucking at his beard, so taken aback\nwas he. But kings are not often at a loss, and Alfonso, thinking to\nbrush the matter aside by brusque words, frowned, and said sternly:\n\"Bernaldo, as you love me, speak no more of this matter. I swear to\nyou that never in all the days of my life shall your father leave\nhis prison.\"\n\n\"Sire,\" replied Bernaldo, \"you are my king and may do whatsoever you\nshall hold for good, but I pray God that He will change your heart\nin this matter.\"\n\nKing Alfonso had no son of his own, and in an ill moment proposed that\nCharlemagne, the mighty Emperor of the Franks, should be regarded\nas his successor. But his nobles remonstrated against his choice,\nand refused to receive a Frank as heir to the throne of Christian\nSpain. Charlemagne, learning of Alfonso's proposal, prepared to invade\nSpain on the pretext of expelling the Moors, but Alfonso, repenting of\nhis intention to leave the crown to a foreigner, rallied his forces\naround him and allied himself with the Saracens. A battle, fierce\nand sustained, took place in the Pass of Roncesvalles, in which the\nFranks were signally defeated, chiefly by the address of Bernaldo,\nwho slew the famous champion Roland with his own hand.\n\nThese and the other services of Bernaldo King Alfonso endeavoured to\nreward. But neither gift nor guerdon would young Bernaldo receive at\nhis hands, save only the freedom of his father. Again and again did the\nKing promise to fulfil his request, but as often found an excuse for\nbreaking his word, until at last Bernaldo, in bitter disappointment,\nrenounced his allegiance and declared war against his treacherous\nuncle. The King, in dread of his nephew's popularity and warlike\nability, at last had recourse to a stratagem of the most dastardly\nkind. He assured Bernaldo of his father's release if he would agree\nto the surrender of the great castle of Carpio. The young champion\nimmediately gave up its keys in person, and eagerly requested that\nhis father might at once be restored to him. The treacherous Alfonso\nin answer pointed to a group of horsemen who approached at a gallop.\n\n\"Yonder, Bernaldo, is thy father,\" he said mockingly. \"Go and\nembrace him.\"\n\n\"Bernaldo,\" says the chronicle, \"went toward him and kissed his\nhand. But when he found it cold and saw that all his colour was black,\nhe knew that he was dead; and with the grief he had from it he began\nto cry aloud and to make great moan, saying: 'Alas! Count Sandias,\nin an evil hour was I born, for never was man so lost as I am now for\nyou; for since you are dead and my castle is gone, I know no counsel\nby which I may do aught.'\" Some say in their cantares de gesta that\nthe King then said: \"Bernaldo, now is not the time for much talking,\nand therefore I bid you go straightway forth from my land.\"\n\nBroken-hearted and utterly crushed by this final blow to his hopes,\nBernaldo turned his horse's head and rode slowly away. And from that\nday his banner was not seen in Christian Spain, nor the echoes of his\nhorn heard among her hills. Hopeless and desperate, he took service\nwith the Moors. But his name lives in the romances and ballads of\nhis native country as that of a great champion foully wronged by the\ntreachery of an unjust and revengeful King.\n\nAlthough the cantares of Fern\u00e1n Gonz\u00e1lez and the Children of Lara also\nlie embedded in the chronicles, I have preferred to deal with them\nin the chapter on the ballads, the form in which they are undoubtedly\nbest known.\n\n\n\n\nThe \"Poema del Cid\"\n\nBut by far the most complete and characteristic of the cantares\nde gesta is the celebrated Poema del Cid, the title which has\nbecome attached to it in default of all knowledge of its original\ndesignation. That it is a cantar must be plain to all who possess\neven a slight familiarity with the chansons de gestes of France. Like\nmany of the chansons heroes, the Cid experiences royal ingratitude,\nand is later taken back into favour. The stock phrases of the\nchansons, too, are constantly to be met with in the poem, and the\natmosphere of boastful herohood arising from its pages strengthens\nthe resemblance. There is also pretty clear proof that the author\nof the Poema had read or heard the Chanson de Roland. This is not\nto say that he practised the vile art of adaptation or the viler\nart of paraphrase, or in any way filched from the mighty epic\nof Roncesvalles. But superficial borrowings of incident appear,\nwhich are, however, amply redeemed by originality of treatment and\ninspiration. The thought and expression are profoundly national; nor\ndoes the language exhibit French influence, save, as has been said,\nin the matter of well-worn expressions, the clich\u00e9s of medieval epic.\n\n\n\n\nIts Only Manuscript\n\nBut one manuscript of the Poema del Cid is known, the handiwork of\na certain Per or Pedro the Abbot. About the third quarter of the\neighteenth century, Sanchez, the royal librarian, was led to suspect\nthrough certain bibliographical references that such a manuscript might\nexist in the neighbourhood of Bivar, the birthplace of the hero of\nthe poem, and he succeeded in unearthing it in that village. The date\nat the end is given as Mille CCXLV, and authorities are not agreed\nas to its significance, some holding that a vacant space showing an\nerasure after the second C is intentional, and that it should read\n1245 (1207 new style). Others believe that 1307 is the true date of\nthe MS. However that may be, the poem itself is referred to a period\nnot earlier than the middle of the twelfth nor later than the middle\nof the thirteenth century.\n\nAs we possess it, the manuscript is in a rather mutilated and damaged\ncondition. The commencement and title are lost, a page in the middle\nis missing, and the end has been sadly patched by an unskilful\nhand. Sanchez states, in his Poes\u00edas Castellanas anteriores al Siglo\nXV (1779-90) that he had seen a copy made in 1596 which showed that\nthe MS. had the same deficiencies then as now.\n\n\n\n\nIts Authorship Unknown\n\nThe personality of the author of the Poema del Cid will probably\nfor ever remain unknown. He may have been a churchman, as Ormsby\nsuggests, but I am inclined to the opinion that he was a professional\ntrovador. The trouv\u00e8res, rather than ecclesiastics, were responsible\nfor such works in France, and why not the trovadores in Spain? [26]\nThat the writer lived near the time of the events he celebrated\nis plain, probably about half a century after the Cid sheathed his\nfamous sword Colada for the last time. On the ground of various local\nallusions in the poem he has been claimed as a native of the Valle de\nArbujuelo and as a monk of the monastery of Carde\u00f1a, near Burgos. But\nthese surmises have nothing but textual references to recommend them,\nand are only a little more probable than that which would make him\nan Asturian because he does not employ the diphthong ue. We have good\ngrounds, however, for the assumption that he was at least a Castilian,\nand these are to be found in his fierce political animus against the\nkingdom of Leon and all that pertained to it. That Pedro the Abbot\nwas merely a copyist is clear from his mishandling of the manuscript;\nfor though we have to thank him for the preservation of the Poema,\nour gratitude is dashed with irritation at the manner in which he has\npassed it on to us, for his copy is replete with vain repetitions,\nhe frequently runs two lines into one, and occasionally even transfers\nthe matter of one line to another in his haste to be free of his task.\n\n\n\n\nOther Cantares of the Cid\n\nThat other cantares relating to the Cid existed is positively\nknown through the researches of Se\u00f1or Don Ram\u00f3n Men\u00e9ndez Pidal,\nwho has demonstrated that one of them was used in the most ancient\nversion of the Cr\u00f3nica General, of which three recensions evidently\nexisted at different periods, and it is now clear that the passage in\nquestion does not come from the Poema as we have it, as was formerly\nbelieved. [27] The passages on the Cid in the second version of the\nCr\u00f3nica are also derived from still another cantar on the popular\nhero, known as the Cr\u00f3nica Rimada, [28] or Cantar de Rodrigo,\nevidently the work of a juglar of Palencia, and which seems to be a\nm\u00e9lange of several lost cantares relating to the Cid, as well as to\nother Spanish traditions. This version, however, is much later than\nthe Poema, and is chiefly interesting as enshrining many traditions\nrelative to the Cid as well as to the ancient folk-tales of Spain.\n\n\n\n\nMetre of the \"Poema del Cid\"\n\nIt would certainly seem as if, like all cantares, the poem had been\nespecially written for public recitation. The expression \"O se\u00f1ores,\"\nencountered in places, may be taken as the equivalent of the English\n\"Listen, lordings,\" of such frequent occurrence in our own lays and\nromances, which was intended to appeal to the attention or spur the\nflagging interest of a medieval audience. The metre in which the poem\nis written is almost as unequal as its poetic quality. The prevailing\nline is the Alexandrine or fourteen-syllabled verse, but some lines\nrun far over this average, while others are truncated in barbarous\nfashion, probably through the inattention or haste of the copyist. [29]\nIt seems to me that the Poema, although of the highest merit in many\nof its finest passages, has received the most extravagant eulogy, and\nI suspect that many of the English critics who descant so glibly upon\nits excellences have never perused it in its entirety. Considerable\ntracts of it are of the most pedestrian description, and in places\nit descends to a doggerel which recalls the metrical barbarities of\nthe pantomime. But when the war-trump gives him the key it arouses\nthe singer as it arouses Scott--the parallel is an apt and almost\nexact one--and it is a mighty orchestra indeed which breaks upon our\nears. The lines surge and swell in true Homeric tempest-sound, and\nas we listen to the crash of Castilian spears upon the Moorish ranks\nwe are reminded of those sounding lines in Swinburne's Erechtheus\nbeginning:\n\n\n    With a trampling of drenched, red hoofs and an earthquake of men\n                                                              that meet,\n    Strong war sets hand to the scythe, and the furrows take fire\n                                                          from his feet.\n\n\nBut the music of the singer of the Poema does not depend upon\nreverberative effect alone. His is the true music of battle, burning\nthe blood with keenest fire, and he has no need to rely solely upon\nthe gallop of his metrical war-horse to excite our admiration, as\ndoes the English poet.\n\n\n\n\nThe Poem Opens\n\nThe opening of the Poema del Cid, as we possess it, is indeed\nsufficiently striking and dramatic to console us for the loss of the\noriginal commencement. The great commander, banished (c. 1088) by\nroyal order from the house of his father through the treachery of the\nLeonese party at the Court of King Alfonso, rides away disconsolately\nfrom the broken gates of his castle. A fairly accurate translation\nof this fine passage might read as follows:\n\n\n    He turns to see the ruined hold, the tears fall thick and fast,\n    The empty chests, the broken gates, all open to the blast.\n    Sans raiment are the wardrobes, reft of mantle and of vair,\n    The empty hollow of the hall of tapestry is bare.\n    No feather in the falconry, no hawk to come to hand,\n    A noble beggar must the Cid renounce his fathers' land.\n    He sighed, but as a warrior sighs. \"Now I shall not repine.\n    All praise to Thee, our Father, for Thy grace to me and mine.\n    The slanderous tongue, the lying tale, have wrought my wreck to-day,\n    But Thou in Thy good time, O Lord, the debt wilt sure repay.\"\n    As they rode out of Bivar flew a raven to the right,\n    By Burgos as they bridled the bird was still in sight.\n    The Cid he shrugged his shoulders as the omen he espied;\n    \"Greetings, Cousin Alvar Fa\u00f1ez, we are exiles now,\" he cried.\n    The sixty lances of the Cid rode clattering through the town;\n    From casement and from turret-top the burgher-folk looked down.\n    Sore were their hearts and salt their eyen as Roderick rode by;\n    \"There goes a worthy vassal who has known bad mastery.\"\n    And many a roof that night had sheltered Roderick and his band\n    But for the dread in Burgos of Alfonso's heavy hand.\n    The missive broad with kingly seals had run throughout the town:\n    \"Who aids the Cid in banishment, his house shall be cast down.\"\n    So as the train rode through the streets each eye was turned aside,\n    All silent was the town-house where the Cid was wont to bide;\n    Both lock and bar were on the gates, he might not enter there.\n    Then from a casement spoke a maid who had the house in care:\n    \"My lord Don Roderick, who took the sword in happy hour,\n    The King hath sent a letter broad to ban from hall and bower\n    Both thee and all thy company, 'tis doom to shelter one;\n    Never again who aids thee shall his eyes look on the sun.\n    Now go, and Godd\u00ebs help with thee, thy pity we implore;\n    In all broad Spain thou canst not lack, O Cid Camp\u00e9ador.\"\n\n\nFinding no place to lay their heads within the town, the Cid with his\nmen rode disconsolately to the plain of Glera, to the east of Burgos,\nwhere he pitched his tents on the banks of the river Arlanzon. To him\ncame Martin Antolinez, one of his former vassals, who brought food\nand wine for all his train and strove to comfort him. Not a maravedi\nhad the Cid, and how to furnish his men with arms and food he knew\nnot. But he and Antolinez took counsel together, and hit upon a plan\nby which they hoped to procure the necessary sinews of war. Taking two\nlarge chests, they covered them with red leather and studded them with\ngilt nails, so that they made a brave outward show. Then they filled\nthe chests with sand from the river-banks and locked them securely.\n\n\n\n\nMoney-lending in the Eleventh Century\n\n\"Martin Antolinez,\" said the Cid, \"thou art a true man and a good\nvassal. Go thou to the Jews Raquel and Vidas, and tell them I have much\ntreasure which I desire to leave with them since it is too weighty\nto carry along with me. Pledge thou these chests with them for what\nmay seem reasonable. I call God and all His saints to witness that\nI do this thing because I am driven to extremity and for the sake of\nthose who depend upon me.\" Antolinez, rather fearful of his mission,\nsought out the Jews Raquel and Vidas where they counted out their\nwealth and their profits. He told them that the Cid had levied much\ntribute which he found it impossible to carry with him, and that he\nwould pledge this with them if they would lend him a reasonable sum\nupon it. But he stipulated that they must solemnly bind themselves not\nto open the chests for a year to come. The Jews took counsel together,\nand consented to hide the chests and not to look upon their contents\nfor a year at least.\n\n\"But tell us,\" they said, \"what sum will content the Cid, and what\ninterest will he give us for the year?\"\n\n\"Needy men gather to my lord the Cid from all sides,\" replied\nAntolinez. \"He will require at least six hundred marks.\"\n\n\"We will willingly give that sum,\" said Raquel and Vidas, \"for the\ntreasure of such a great lord as the Cid must indeed be immense.\"\n\n\"Hasten then,\" said Antolinez, \"for night approaches, and my lord\nthe Cid is under decree of banishment to quit Castile at once.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said the Jews, after the manner of their kind. \"Business is not\ndone thus, but by first taking and then giving.\" They then requested\nto be taken to where the Cid lay, and having greeted him, paid over\nthe sum agreed upon. They were surprised and delighted at the weight\nof the chests, and departed well satisfied, giving Antolinez a present\nor commission of thirty golden marks for the share he had taken in\nthe business.\n\n\n\n\nDonna Ximena\n\nWhen they had gone the Cid struck his camp and galloped through the\nnight to the monastery of San Pedro de Carde\u00f1a, where his lady, Donna\nXimena, and his two young daughters lay. He found them deeply engaged\nin prayer for his welfare, and they received him with heartfelt\nexpressions of joy. Taking the Abbot aside, the Cid explained to\nhim that he was about to fare forth on adventure in the country of\nthe Moors, and tendered him such a sum as would provide for the\nmaintenance of Donna Ximena and her daughters until his return,\nas well as a goodly bounty for the convent's sake.\n\nBy this time tidings of the Cid's banishment had gone through the land\nbroadcast, and so great was the fame of his prowess that cavaliers from\nnear and far flocked to his banner. When he put foot in stirrup at\nthe bridge of Arlanza a hundred and fifty gentlemen had assembled to\nfollow his fortunes. The parting with his wife and daughters presents\na poignant picture of leave-taking:\n\n\n    Sharp as the pain when finger-nails are wrenched from off the hand,\n    So felt the Cid this agony, but turned him to his band,\n    And vaulted in the saddle, and forth led his menie,\n    But ever and anon he turned his streaming eyes to see\n    Dear faces he might see no more, till blunt Minaya, irked\n    To see the yearning and regret that on his heartstrings worked,\n    Cried out, \"O born in happy hour, [30] let not thy soul be sad:\n    The heart of knight on venture bound should never but be glad.\n    The heavy sorrow of to-day will prove to-morrow's joy.\n    What grief can bide the trumpets' sound, what woe the battle's\n                                                                  ploy?\"\n\n\nGiving rein to their steeds, they galloped forth of the bounds of\nChristian Spain and, crossing the river Duero on rafts, stood upon\nMoorish soil. Far to the west they could see the slender minarets\nof the Saracen city of Ahilon glittering in the high sun of noon,\nemblematic of the rich treasure they had come to win in the land\nof the paynim. At Higeruela still more good lances rallied to the\nCid's banners, border men to whom the foray was a holiday and the\nbreaking of spears the sweetest music. As he slept that night the\nCid dreamed that the Archangel Gabriel appeared to him and said:\n\"Mount, O Cid Campeador, mount and ride. Thy cause is just. Whilst\nthou livest thou shalt prosper!\"\n\nWith three hundred lances behind him, the Cid rode into the land\nof the Moors. He lay in ambush while Alvar Fa\u00f1ez and other knights\nmade a foray toward Alcal\u00e1. In their absence the Cid observed that\nthe men of Castijon, a Moorish town hard by, came out of the place\nto work in the fields, leaving the gates open. He and his men made\na dash at the gates, slew the handful of heathens who guarded them,\nand took the town without striking a score of blows. The men were\nwell content at the treasure of gold and silver they found in the\nquaint Moorish houses. But they were merciful to the inhabitants,\nof whom they made servitors rather than slaves.\n\n\n\n\nThe Taking of Alcocer\n\nAfter they had rested at Castijon, the Cid and his array rode down\nthe valley of the Henares, passing by way of Alhamia to Bubierca and\nAteca, and as he was in unknown country, and environed round by hosts\nof enemies, he took up a position upon a \"round hill\" near the strong\nSaracen city of Alcocer, to which he set siege. But the place was\nwell guarded, and he saw that if he were to penetrate its defences\nit must be by stratagem and not by fighting alone. So one morning,\nafter he had beleaguered Alcocer for full fifteen weeks, he withdrew\nhis men as if retreating in disgust, leaving but one pavilion behind\nhim. When the Moors beheld his withdrawal they exulted, and in their\neagerness to see what spoil the solitary tent might contain they\nrushed out of the town, leaving the gates open and unguarded. Now\nwhen the Cid saw that there was a wide space between the Moors and\nthe gates of Alcocer, he ordered his men to turn and fall upon the\nexcited rabble of Saracens. Small need had he to ask them to smite\nthe paynim. Dashing among the dense crowd with levelled lances, the\ncavaliers of Castile did fearful execution. The wretched Moors, taken\ncompletely by surprise, fled wildly in all directions, and soon the\nplain was littered with white-robed corpses. Meanwhile the Cid himself,\nwith a few trusted followers, galloped to the gates and secured them,\nso that with, much triumph the Spaniards entered Alcocer. As before,\nthe Campeador was merciful to such of the Moors as made full surrender,\nsaying: \"We cannot sell them, and we shall gain nothing by cutting\noff their heads. Let us make them rather serve us.\"\n\nThe Saracens of the neighbouring towns of Ateca and Zerrel were\naghast at the manner in which Alcocer had been taken, and sent word\nto the Moorish King of Valencia how one called Roderigo Diaz of\nBivar, a Castilian outlaw, had come into their land to spoil it,\nand had already taken the strong city of Alcocer. When King Tamin\nof Valencia heard these tidings he was greatly wroth, and sent an\narmy of three thousand well-appointed men against the Campeador. In\nhis anger he charged his captains that they should take this Spanish\nrenegade alive, and bring him where justice might be done upon him.\n\nThe Cid knew nothing of the coming of this host, and one morning his\nsentinels, pacing the walls of Alcocer, were surprised to see the\nsurrounding country alive with Moorish scouts, flitting from point\nto point upon their active jennets, and shaking their scimitars in\nmenace. His own outposts soon brought in word that he was surrounded,\nand his knights and men-at-arms clamoured to be led forth to do battle\nwith the infidels. But the Cid was old in Moorish warfare, and denied\nthem for the moment. For days the enemy paraded around the walls of\nAlcocer. But the Cid, with three hundred men, knew well the folly of\nattacking three thousand, and bided his time.\n\n\n\n\nThe Combat with the Moorish King\n\nAt last the Moors succeeded in cutting off the water-supply of\nAlcocer. Provisions, too, were running low, and the Cid saw clearly\nthat such a desperate situation demanded a desperate remedy. Alvar\nFa\u00f1ez, ever panting for the fight like a war-horse that hears the\ntrumpet, urged an immediate sally in force, and the Cid, knowing the\nhigh spirit of his men, consented. First he sent all the Moors out\nof the city and looked to its defences. Then, leaving but two men to\nguard the gate, he marshalled his array and issued forth from Alcocer\nwith dressed ranks and in strict order of battle. And here prose must\nonce more give place to verse. [31]\n\n\n    Huzza! huzza! the Moorman mounts and waves his crescent blade\n    Hark to the thunder of the drums, the trump's fanfaronade!\n    Around two glittering gonfanons the paynim take their stand,\n    Beneath each waving banner's folds is massed a swarthy band.\n    The turbaned sons of Termagaunt sweep onward like the sea;\n    So trust they to engulf and drown the Christian chivalry.\n    \"Now gentles, keep ye fast your seats,\" cries the Campeador,\n    \"And hold your ranks, for such a charge saw never knight before.\"\n    But the fierce heart of Bermuez that echoed to the drum,\n    Cried, \"Santiago, shall I stay the while these heathen come?\n    With this bold banner shall I pierce yon pride of paynimrie.\n    So follow, follow, cavaliers, for Spain and Christendie!\"\n    \"Nay, comrade, stay!\" implored the Cid, but Pero shook his head.\n    His hand was loose upon the rein. \"It may not be,\" he said;\n    Then in his destrier's flank he drove the bright speed-making spur:\n    Like a spray-scattering ship he clove the sands of Alcocer.\n    Lost in a sea of Saracens, whose turbans surge as foam,\n    He stands unshaken as a cliff when on its bosom come\n    Madness of ocean and the wrath of seas that overwhelm.\n    So rain the hounds of M\u00e1homet fierce blows on shield and helm.\n    \"A rescue, rescue,\" cries the Cid, \"and strike for Holy Rood!\n    Up, gentlemen of Old Castile, and charge the heathen brood!\"\n    As forth the hound when from the leash the hunter's hand is ta'en,\n    As the unhooded falcon bounds, her jesses cast amain,\n    But fiercer far than falcon or the hound's unleash\u00e8d zeal\n    Comes crashing down upon the foe the fury of Castile.\n    Now rally, rally, to the flash of Roderigo's blade,\n    The champion of Bivar is here who never was gainsaid.\n    Three hundred levelled lances strike as one upon the foe.\n    Down, down in death upon the sand three hundred heathen go.\n    The lances rise, the lances fall, how fast the deadly play!\n    Ah, God! the sundered shields that lie in dreadful disarray.\n    The snow-white bannerets are dyed with blood of Moorish slain,\n    And chargers rush all masterless across the littered plain.\n    As lightning circles Roderick's sword above the huddled foe,\n    With Alvar Fa\u00f1ez, Gustioz, and half a hundred moe\n    He reaps right bloodily. But stay, the Saracens have slain\n    Bold Alvar Fa\u00f1ez' destrier; to aid him comes amain\n    The Cid Campeador, for sore the brave Minaya's need.\n    His way is barred, his stride is marred by a tall emir's steed.\n    His falchion swoops, his falchion stoops, down sinks the turbaned\n                                                                   lord.\n    \"Mount in his place, Minaya, mount! I need thy trenchant sword.\n    The phalanx of the foe is firm, unbroken still they stand.\"\n    The stout Minaya leaps in selle, and falchion in hand\n    Strews death to left and right, his trust to rout the Moor\n                                                             right soon.\n    But see, the Cid hath fiercely rid with blood-embroidered shoon\n    Upon the Moorish capitan, he cleaves his shining shield:\n    The haughty Moslem turns to fly--that blow hath won the field.\n    Bold Martin Antolinez aims a stroke at Galve's head;\n    The jewelled casque it cracks in twain, the infidel hath fled\n    Rather than bide its fellow; he and Fariz make retreat:\n    They caracoled to victory, they gallop from defeat.\n    Ne'er was a field so worthy sung since first men sang of war.\n    Its laurels unto thee belong, O Cid Campeador!\n\n\nFierce and sanguinary was the pursuit. The Moorish rout was complete,\nand the little Castilian band had lost but fifteen men. Five hundred\nArab horses, heavily caparisoned, each with a splendid sword at the\nsaddle-bow, fell into the hands of the Cid, who kept a fifth share for\nhimself, as was the way with the commanders of such free companies as\nhe led. But greatly desiring to make his peace with King Alfonso of\nCastile, he sent the trusty Alvar Fa\u00f1ez to Court with thirty steeds\nsaddled and bridled in the Moorish fashion.\n\nBut the Moors, even with the dust of defeat in their mouths, were not\nminded to leave the Cid the freedom of their borders, and seeing that\nhe would not be able to hold Alcocer for long against their numbers,\nhe bargained with the Saracens of the neighbouring cities for the\nransom of Alcocer. This they gladly agreed to for three thousand marks\nof gold and silver, so, quitting the place, the Campeador pushed\nsouthward, and took up a position on a hill above the district of\nMont'real. He laid all the Moorish towns in the neighbourhood under\ntribute, remaining in his new encampment full fifteen weeks.\n\nMeanwhile Alvar Fa\u00f1ez had journeyed to the Court and had presented\nthe King with the thirty good steeds taken in battle. \"It is yet\ntoo soon to take the Cid back into favour,\" said Alfonso, \"but since\nthese horses come from the infidel, I scruple not to receive them. I\npardon thee, Alvar Fa\u00f1ez, and withdraw my banishment from thee. But\nas to the Cid, I say no more than that any good lance who cares to\njoin him may do so without hindrance from me.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe War with Raymond Berenger\n\nNow the Count of Barcelona, Raymond Berenger, a haughty and arrogant\nlord, conceived the presence of the Cid in a territory so near his\nown dominions to be an insult to himself, and in a high passion he\nmustered all his forces, Moorish as well as Christian, so that he\nmight drive the Cid from the lands he held in tribute. The Campeador,\nhearing of the advance of this host, sent a courteous message to Count\nRaymond, assuring him of pacific intentions toward himself. But the\nCount felt that his personal dignity had been offended, and refused\nto receive the messenger.\n\nWhen the Cid beheld the army of Raymond marching against his position\non the heights of Mont'real, he knew that his overtures for peace\nhad been in vain, and, dressing his ranks for the fierce combat that\nhe knew must follow, took up a position upon the plain suitable for\ncavalry. The lightly armed Moorish horsemen of Berenger's host rushed\nprecipitately to the attack, but were easily routed by the Castilian\ncavaliers. The Count's Frankish men-at-arms, a band of skilful and\nwarlike mercenaries, then thundered down-hill upon the lances of\nthe Cid. The shock was terrific, but brief was the combat, for the\nknights of Castile, hardened by constant warfare, speedily overthrew\nthe Frankish horsemen. The Cid himself attacked Count Berenger, took\nhim prisoner, and forced him to deliver up his famous sword Colada,\nwhich figures so prominently in the mighty deeds which follow. A\nfalchion which tradition states is none other than this celebrated\nblade, the Spanish Excalibur, is still shown at the Armeria at Madrid,\nand all pious lovers of chivalry will gladly believe that it is the\nsword taken by the Campeador from the haughty Berenger, even though the\nprofane point out that its hilt is obviously of the fifteenth century!\n\nGreatly content were they of the Cid's company with the victory no\nless than with the spoil, and a feast worthy of princes was prepared\nto celebrate the occasion.\n\nIn courtesy the Cid invited the defeated Count Raymond to feast\nwith him, but he refused the invitation with hauteur, saying that\nhis capture by outlaws had taken away his appetite. Nettled at this\ndisplay of rudeness, the Cid told him that he would not see his\nrealms again until he broke bread and drank wine with him. Three\nwhole days did the Count refuse to touch all provender, and on the\nthird day the Cid promised him immediate freedom if he would break\nhis fast. This was too much for the haughty Berenger, whose hunger\nnow outmatched his scruples. \"Powers above!\" exclaims the poet,\n\"with what gust did he eat! His hands plied so quickly that my Cid\n[32] might not see their play.\" The Cid then gave him his liberty,\nand they parted on good terms.\n\n\n    \"Ride on, ride on, my noble Count, a free Frank as thou art;\n    For all the spoil thou leavest me I thank thee from my heart.\n    And if to turn the chance of fate against me thou shalt come,\n    Right gladly shall I listen for the echoes of thy drum.\"\n    \"Nay, Roderick, I leave in peace and peace I shall maintain;\n    From me thou sure hast spoil enow to count a twelvemonth's gain.\"\n    He drove the spur, but backward glanced, he feared for treachery;\n    So black a thought the Cid had harboured not for Christendie.\n    No, not for all the wealthy world, who kept his soul in light.\n    Whose heart as his so free from guile, the very perfect knight?\n\n\n\n\nThe Cid Makes War Seaward\n\nTurning from Huesca and Montalvan, the Cid began to make war toward the\nsalt sea. His eastward march struck terror to the hearts of the Moors\nof Valencia. They took counsel together, and resolved to send such a\nhost against him as they thought he might not withstand. But he routed\nthem with such a slaughter that they dared face him no more. Three\nyears did the Cid war in that country, and his many conquests there\nwere long to tell. He and his men sat themselves down in the land as\nkings, reaped its corn, and ate its bread. And a great famine came\nupon the Moors, so that thousands perished.\n\nNow the Cid sent messengers to Castile and Aragon, who made it known\nthat all Christians who came to dwell beneath his rule should fare\nwell. Hearing this, thousands flocked to his banner, and so greatly\nwas he reinforced that in time he was able to march against Valencia\nitself, the capital of the Moors of that country. With all his host he\nsat down before that city and beleaguered it. Nine months he environed\nit, and in the tenth month the men of Valencia opened the gates and\nsurrendered the place. Great was the booty of gold and silver and\nprecious stuffs, so that there fell to his share alone treasure to\nthe amount of thirty thousand marks, and he grew in greatness so that\nnot only his own followers but the Moors of Eastern Spain began to\nlook upon him almost as their rightful lord.\n\nBeholding his puissance, the Moorish King of Seville grew greatly\nafraid, and resolved to bring the whole power of his kingdom against\nhim. Collecting an army of thirty thousand men, he marched against\nValencia. But the Cid encountered him on the banks of the Huerta,\nand defeated him so completely that never again was he able to do\nhim scathe.\n\nThe heart of the Cid now began to grow hopeful that his King would\nreceive him into friendship and confidence once more. And he swore a\ngreat oath that for love of Alfonso he would never let his beard be\nshorn. \"So,\" he said, \"will my beard be famous among both Moors and\nChristians.\" Once more he sent Alvar Fa\u00f1ez to Court with the gift\nof a hundred splendidly appointed horses of the purest Arab blood,\npraying that he might be permitted to bring his wife, Donna Ximena,\nand their daughters, to the possessions which he had carved out for\nhimself by his good sword.\n\nMeanwhile there had come to Valencia from the East a holy man, one\nBishop Don Jerome, who had heard afar of the prowess of the Cid and\nlonged to cross swords with the infidel. The Cid was well pleased with\nhim, and founded a bishopric of Valencia for the doughty Christian,\nwhose one thought was but to spread the worship of God and slay\nSaracens.\n\nWhen Alvar Fa\u00f1ez reached the Court, he sought audience of King Alfonso,\nwho was heartened to hear of the deeds of the Campeador, how he had\nrouted the Moors in five pitched battles, made their lands subject\nto the crown of Castile, and erected a bishopric in the heart of\npaynimrie, so that he readily granted permission that Donna Ximena\nand the ladies Elvira and Sol should go to Valencia. Hearing this,\nCount Garcia Ordo\u00f1ez, of the Leonese party, who had secured the Cid's\nbanishment and who cordially hated him, was greatly vexed. But the\ntwo Infantes or Princes of Carri\u00f3n, in Leon, seeing how the Cid grew\nin power and importance, resolved to ask his daughters in marriage\nfrom the King, but meanwhile kept their counsel.\n\nThe time had long passed when the Cid should have discharged his debt\nto the Jews Raquel and Vidas, and hearing that Alvar Fa\u00f1ez was at\nCourt they came to him and begged that it might be paid. Fa\u00f1ez assured\nthem that all should be done as the Cid had promised, and that only\nstress of constant warfare had kept his master from fulfilling his\nobligation to them. They were perfectly satisfied with this assurance,\nand so greatly had they trusted the Cid that they had never opened\nthe chests to examine the nature of the security he had given them.\n\n\n\n\nThe Cid Welcomes his Family\n\nAlvar Fa\u00f1ez now made ready to set out for Valencia with Donna\nXimena and the Cid's daughters, whom he safely conveyed to their new\nhome. When he heard that they were near at hand, the Cid, who had only\na few days before won his famous steed Babieca in a skirmish with the\nMoors, leapt upon the charger's back, and rode off at a gallop to\nmeet them and welcome them to their new possessions. Greeting them\nwith much affection, he led them to the castle, from the towers of\nwhich he showed them the lands he had won for them. And they gave\nthanks to God for a gift so fair.\n\nNow there was great stirring among the Moors of Africa when they heard\nof the deeds of the Cid, and they held it for dishonour that he should\nhave redeemed so great a part of Spain from their brothers of the\nPeninsula. Their king, Yussef, levied a mighty army of fifty thousand\nmen, and, crossing the seas to Spain, marched upon Valencia, hoping\nto regain it for the Crescent. When the Cid heard this, he exclaimed:\n\"I thank God and the blessed Mother that I have my wife and daughters\nhere. Now shall they see how we do battle with the Moors and win our\nbread in the land of the stranger!\"\n\nThe host of Yussef soon came in sight, and environed Valencia so\nclosely that none might enter or leave it, and when the ladies beheld\nthe great army which surrounded the city they were much afraid. But\nthe Cid bade them be of good cheer. \"Hearten ye,\" he said, \"for, see,\nmarvellous great wealth comes to us. Here comes a dowry against the\nmarriage of your daughters!\" [33]\n\n\n\n\nThe Battle with King Bucar\n\nSpringing upon Babieca, the Cid led his lances against the Moors of\nAfrica. Then began a contest great and grim. The Spanish spears were\nred that day, and the Cid plied his good blade Colada so terribly that\nthe Saracens fell before his strokes like corn before the sickle. He\naimed a great blow at King Yussef's helm, but the Moorish chieftain,\navoiding it, gave his horse the rein and galloped off the field,\nhis dusky host following him in headlong rout. Countless was the\nspoil in gold, silver, richly caparisoned horses, shields, swords,\nand body-armour.\n\nToo wearied with ceaseless slaughter to give chase, the Cid rode back\nto where his wife and daughters had sat watching the progress of the\nbattle, his dripping sword in his hand. \"Homage to you, ladies,\"\nhe cried. \"Thus are Moors vanquished on the field of battle.\" But\never mindful of his King and liege-lord, he at once dispatched Alvar\nFa\u00f1ez and Pero Bermuez to Court, with the tent of King Yussef and two\nhundred horses with their caparisons. Greatly pleased was Alfonso. \"I\nreceive the gift of the Cid willingly,\" he said, \"and may the day of\nour reconciliation soon arrive.\"\n\nThe Infantes of Carri\u00f3n, seeing that the reputation of the Cid\nincreased daily, were now fully resolved to ask the daughters of the\nCampeador in marriage from the King. Alfonso agreed to enter into\nnegotiations with the Cid, not only for the hands of his daughters,\nbut with the idea of effecting a reconciliation with him, for he was\nwell aware of all the service which the Campeador had done him. So\nhe sent for Alvar Fa\u00f1ez and Pero Bermuez and acquainted them with\nthe offer of the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n, requesting them to convey it\nto the Cid without loss of time and assuring him of his esteem.\n\nThe envoys hastened to Valencia and told the Cid how the King had\nsent him a gracious message, asking for the hands of his daughters\nfor the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n. The Cid was right joyful on hearing\nthis. \"What the King desires is my pleasure,\" he said, \"though the\nInfantes of Carri\u00f3n are haughty, and bad vassals to the Throne. But\nbe it as God and the King wills.\"\n\nThen the Campeador made great preparations and set out for the Court,\nand when the King knew he was approaching he went out to meet him. And\nthe Cid went on his knees before the King and took the grass of\nthe field in his teeth to humble himself before his lord. But Don\nAlfonso was troubled at the sight, and, raising him, assured him\nof his grace and affection, at which the Cid was greatly moved and\nwept joyfully. Then the King feasted the Cid bravely, and when the\nbanquet was at an end asked for the hands of his daughters for the\nInfantes of Carri\u00f3n. The Cid made reply that he and his daughters\nwere in the King's hands and that Alfonso himself might give the\ndamsels in marriage.\n\n\n\n\nThe Cid's Daughters Wed\n\nAfter some days spent in feasting and rejoicing, the Campeador\nreturned to Valencia with the two Infantes of Carri\u00f3n. He told his\nwife and daughters that the marriage was of the King's making and\nnot of his, as he was not without misgivings as to the result of\nthe alliance. Nevertheless he made great preparations, as befitted\nthe importance of such a ceremony with two of the greatest lords in\nSpain, and Donna Elvira and Donna Sol were espoused to the Infantes\nof Carri\u00f3n in the church of Santa Maria by the good warrior-bishop\nJerome. The wedding celebrations lasted fifteen days, and the Cid had\nno reason to be dissatisfied with his sons-in-law, who bore themselves\nas gallantly in the lists as in the dance.\n\n\n\n\nThe Adventure of the Lion\n\nThe Infantes of Carri\u00f3n and their wives had remained in Valencia\nfor about two years when a mishap befell. One day, during the time\nof the afternoon siesta, a lion, kept for baiting in the ring, broke\nloose from its cage and made its way into the palace. The Campeador\nreclined upon a couch asleep, but his dauntless followers gathered\nround him to protect him, all except the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n, one of\nwhom crept beneath the couch on which the Cid slept, while the other\nmade such speed to quit the palace that he fell across the beam of a\nwine-press and rent his robes. The clamour awoke the Cid, who rose,\nand, going to where the lion crouched, firmly placed his hand on the\nbrute's bristling mane and led him back to his cage. Nor did the lion\nresist, evidently knowing his master.\n\nThe Infantes of Carri\u00f3n, when they knew all danger was past, came\nout of hiding, looking so pale and terrified that the hardy soldiers\nof the Cid could not restrain their laughter. At this the haughty\nnorthern grandees felt deep insult and resentment and an unmanly\nfeeling of revenge awoke in their hearts.\n\nWithin a few days of this incident news reached Valencia that Abu Bekr,\nthe commander of the armies of the King of Morocco, was marching upon\nthe city. The Cid and his captains rejoiced at the news, but not so\nthe Infantes of Carri\u00f3n, who took counsel together as to how they\nmight avoid the fighting and return to their own territories.\n\nHere a break occurs in the narrative, and from a later passage it is\nclear that the missing lines relate to a test of the courage of at\nleast one of the Infantes, who, stung by an imputation of cowardice,\narmed himself and set out to fight a Moor, who, however, put him\nto flight. But Pero Bermuez, to save the Cid's feelings, slew the\nSaracen and made it appear that the Infante had done so.\n\n\n\n\nA 'Secret Service' Story of \"The Cid\"\n\nA most romantic tale hangs upon the first line of the next passage:\n\n\n    \"May the time come when I deserve as much of both of you.\"\n\n\nThe line is supposed to be the last in the speech of Pero Bermuez\nto the Infante Don Ferrando, who had probably expressed gratitude\nto him. The first English author to attempt a translation of the\nPoema del Cid was John Hookham Frere, the translator of the plays of\nAristophanes, who was for some years British Minister at Madrid. He\nmade a conjectural reading of the above line, which he communicated\nto the Marquis de la Romana. Some years later, in 1808, when the\nMarquis was commanding a body of troops in the French service in\nDenmark, Frere was able to accredit a confidential messenger to him,\nassuring the Spanish commander of the genuineness of the message he\ncarried by mention of the amended line, the correction in which was\nknown only to the Marquis and himself. The circumstance led to one\nof the most important movements in the war against Napoleon.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fighting Bishop\n\nThe Infantes of Carri\u00f3n, who did not relish the idea of a protracted\nstruggle with the Moors, resolved to betake themselves to the\nsecurity of their own estates at the first opportunity. But, as if\nto shame them, the warlike Bishop Jerome appeared before the Cid\narmed cap-\u00e0-pie and entreated his permission to take part in the\nfighting. The Cid smilingly gave his assent, and no sooner had he\ndone so than the doughty churchman mounted a great war-horse and,\nissuing out of the gates, galloped headlong against the Saracens. At\nthe first onset he slew two of them outright, but had the misfortune\nto break his lance. Nothing daunted, however, this ardent disciple\nof the Church militant drew his sword and, brandishing it about his\nhead like a trained knight-at-arms, flung himself once more upon the\nMoorish ranks with all the weight of his charger. Laying about him\nleft and right, he killed or wounded a heathen with every blow. But\nthe enemy closed round him, and it would have gone hard indeed with\nthe fighting bishop had not the Cid, who had witnessed his gallantry\nwith all a warrior's admiration for the deeds of another brave man,\nlaid his lance in rest and, setting spurs to Babieca, plunged into\nthe thickest of the fray. Beneath his terrific onset the lightly\narmed Moors gave way in terror. Wheeling, he came at them again,\ncrashing through their ranks like a tempest, and dealing death and\ndestruction wherever he went. The Moors wavered, broke, and fled\namain. The whole army of the Cid now bore down upon them, horse and\nman, bursting into their camp, breaking the tent-ropes, and dashing\naside the gaudy Eastern pavilions where they had lodged.\n\n\n    Upon the terror-stricken ranks the horsemen of Castile\n    Came thundering down; King Bucar's men the iron tempest feel.\n    And down to dust the severed arm, the severed steel-capped head\n    Fall lifeless, and the charger's hoofs trample the gory dead.\n    \"Ha! stay, King Bucar!\" cries the Cid. \"Now tarry, Moorish lord;\n    You came to seek me o'er the sea, mine is the peaceful word.\"\n    \"If peace is in thy naked sword and in thy charging steed,\n    Then I would flee it,\" cried the King, and spurred his horse\n                                                               to speed.\n    With hasty stride the King doth ride straight for the open sea;\n    Spain's champion is at his side, never again will he\n    Know the delights of Algiers' halls; Colada shines on high:\n    Now whether by the sword or sea, King Bucar, wilt thou die?\n    The good blade shears the Moor in twain, down to the saddle-bow;\n    So perished the Algerian lord--may every Moor die so!\n    And thus upon this day of fame the Cid his guerdon won,\n    Worth many a purse of minted marks, the noble blade Tizon!\n\n\nRiding back from the fray, the Cid espied the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n\nand welcomed them. \"Now that they are brave will they be welcomed by\nthe brave,\" he said, rather wistfully, to Alvar Fa\u00f1ez. The proud and\nshallow princes were wrathful when they overheard this, and the shadow\nof vengeance once more arose within their haughty hearts. \"Let us take\nour leave of the Cid and return to Carri\u00f3n,\" they said. \"We have been\nflouted and insulted here by these banditti and their leader. On the\nway home we shall know how to avenge ourselves upon his daughters.\"\n\nWith this cowardly purpose they smilingly requested the Campeador\nto permit them to depart. Sorrowfully he granted it, and loading\nthem with presents and bestowing upon them the famous swords Colada\nand Tizon, which he had himself taken in battle from the Moors, he\nrequested Feliz Mu\u00f1oz, his nephew, to accompany the Infantes and his\ndaughters to Carri\u00f3n.\n\n\n\n\nThe Infantes' Revenge\n\nGreat was the grief of the Cid and Donna Ximena at parting with the\nladies Elvira and Sol, and they were not without some misgivings. But\nthey charged Feliz Mu\u00f1oz to keep good watch over their daughters,\nand this he promised to do. After journeying for some days the party\nhad to traverse the great forest of Corpes, where in a glade they\npitched pavilions and spent the night. In the morning the Infantes\nsent their suite on ahead, and, taking the saddle-girths from the\nhorses, beat the unfortunate daughters of the Cid most cruelly. The\nwretched ladies begged for death rather than suffer such disgrace,\nbut the cowardly Infantes, laughing scornfully, mocked them, cast them\noff, and so dealt with them that they left them for dead. \"Thus,\"\nthey said, \"the dishonour of the affair of the lion is avenged,\"\nand mounting their horses they rode off.\n\nAs the deserted and dishonoured wives of the cowardly pair lay bleeding\non the grass, Feliz Mu\u00f1oz, their cousin, who had lodged during\nthe night in another part of the forest, rode up, and seeing their\npiteous condition hastened to their relief. Having dressed their hurts\nto the best of his ability, he rode quickly to the nearest town and\npurchased clothing and horses for them as befitted their station. When\nthese tidings reached the Cid in Valencia great anger rose in his\nheart. He did not give it vent, however, but sat moodily pondering\nupon the dishonour done to his daughters. At last, after many hours,\nhe spoke. \"By my beard!\" he cried, \"the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n shall not\nprofit by this.\" Soon the ladies Sol and Elvira arrived at Valencia,\nand he received them lovingly, but not compassionately. \"Welcome, my\ndaughters,\" said he. \"God keep ye from evil! I accepted this marriage,\nfor I dared not gainsay it. God grant that I see you better married\nhereafter, and that I have my revenge upon my sons-in-law of Carri\u00f3n.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Court at Toledo\n\nThen the Cid dispatched messengers to King Alfonso, acquainting him of\nthe great wrong done to his daughters by the Infantes, and pleading\nfor justice. The King was greatly wroth at the news, and ordered the\nCourt to sit at Toledo and the Infantes to be summoned before him to\nanswer for their crime. They begged to be excused attendance, but\nthe King peremptorily refused to accept any apology or subterfuge,\nand demanded their instant compliance with his summons. With great\nmisgivings they journeyed to Toledo, taking with them the Count Don\nGarcia, Asur Gonz\u00e1lez, Gonzalo Asurez, and a great band of dependents,\nthinking thereby to overawe the Cid. The Campeador himself soon arrived\nat Court, with many a trusted veteran, all armed to the teeth. He wore\na rich robe of red fur broidered with gold, and his beard was bound\nwith a cord to preserve it. When he entered the Court with his men all\nrose to greet him save the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n and their party, for he\nseemed a great baron and the Infantes might not look at him for shame.\n\n\"Princes, barons, and hidalgos,\" said King Alfonso, \"I have summoned\nye here that justice may be done the Cid Campeador. As ye all know,\nfoul wrong has been done his daughters, and I have set judges apart to\nmoderate in this business and to search out the right, for wrong I will\nnot have in Christian Spain. I swear by the bones of San Isidro that he\nwho disturbs my Court shall quit my kingdom and forfeit my love, and\nhe who shall prove his right, on his side am I. Now let the Cid make\nhis demand and we shall hear the answer of the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n.\"\n\nThen rose the Cid, and in the Court among all these great barons and\nlords there was no nobler figure. \"My lord the King,\" he said, \"it is\nnot I alone whom the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n have wronged, but yourself\nalso, who gave them my daughters in marriage. Let them first restore\nmy swords Colada and Tizon, since they are no longer my sons-in-law.\"\n\nThe Infantes, hearing the Cid speak thus, thought that he would urge\nno more against them if they restored the swords, and so they formally\nhanded them over to the King. But it was the Campeador's intention\nto punish them by every means in his power, so when he received the\nwondrous falchions from the hands of Alfonso he at once presented\nthem to Feliz Mu\u00f1oz and Martin Antolinez, thus showing that it was\nnot for himself that he desired them. Having done this, he turned\nonce again to the King.\n\n\"My liege,\" he said, \"when the Infantes left Valencia I bestowed upon\nthem three thousand marks in gold and silver. Let them now restore\nthis, since they are no longer my sons-in-law.\"\n\n\"Nay, if we do this,\" cried the Infantes, \"we must even pay it out of\nour lands in Carri\u00f3n.\" But the judges demanded that the sum be paid\nin Court without delay. The treacherous princelings could not raise\nsuch a treasure in money, so the Court decided that it must be paid in\nkind. Then the Infantes saw that there was no help but to acquiesce,\nand brought many a steed and trained palfrey with their furniture to\nrepay the Cid, borrowing from the members of their suite and entering\ninto such obligations as would burden them for many a day.\n\n\n\n\nRedress by Combat\n\nWhen this matter had at last been settled, the Cid then advanced his\nprincipal grievance against the Infantes, and asked for redress by\ncombat in the lists for the great wrong they had done his daughters. At\nthis Count Garcia, their spokesman, rose to defend the Infantes. He\npleaded that they were of princely degree, and for that reason alone\nwere justified in casting off the daughters of the Cid. Then Fern\u00e1n\nGonz\u00e1lez, the elder of the Infantes, himself rose to approve the speech\nof his vassal, and cast fresh scorn upon the alliance he had made,\njustifying his cowardly action by his princely rank as a thing quite\nnatural and fitting. At this Pero Bermuez opened the vials of his\nwrath upon the Infantes, taunting them with cowardice in the affair\nof the lion and casting defiance of battle in their teeth.\n\n\n\n\nEnter Asur Gonz\u00e1lez\n\nThe argument waxed high, when at that moment Asur Gonz\u00e1lez, a haughty\nvassal of the Infantes, entered the hall.\n\n\n    With early viands and with wine flushed were his face and brow,\n    Disordered were his garments and his mantle hung full low.\n    He scanned the Court with bearing rude, right clownish was\n                                                              his vaunt:\n    \"How now, my lords? What have we here? Thinkst Carri\u00f3n to daunt?\n    What bruit is this about the Cid, the lordling of Bivar?\n    At drawing tithes from dusty millers better is he far\n    Than ruffling at a Cort\u00e9s; he to match with Carri\u00f3n!\"\n    Then up leapt Mu\u00f1o Gustioz: \"Ha' done, thou knave, ha' done!\n    Drunkard, who lookest on the wine before ye tell a bead,\n    Who never yet did keep thy troth, evil in word and deed,\n    The only boon I crave is but to have thee where my sword\n    May cut the false tongue from thy throat and cease thy lying word.\"\n    \"Enough, enough,\" Alfonso cried, \"I give thee my consent\n    To meet each other in the lists; so ends this Parliament.\"\n\n\nThe tumult which the King had endeavoured to abate had hardly died\naway when two cavaliers entered the Court. The new-comers were\nambassadors from the Infantes of Navarre and Aragon, who had come to\nrequest the King to bestow the hands of the Cid's daughters upon their\nmasters. Alfonso turned to the Cid and requested his permission to\nratify the marriage at once, and when the Campeador had humbly given\nhis consent he answered to the assembled nobles that the espousals\nwould duly take place, adding that the combat between the disputants\nwould be fought out on the morrow.\n\nThis was right woeful news to the Infantes of Carri\u00f3n, who, in great\nfear, requested him to permit them some delay to procure fitting\nhorses and arms, so that at last the King scornfully fixed the day of\ncombat at three weeks from that date, and the place where it was to\nbe fought out as Carri\u00f3n itself, so that the Infantes should have no\ngrounds of excuse for absence or be able to plead that the champions\nof the Cid had been granted any undue advantage.\n\nThe Cid then took his leave of the King, and on parting pressed him to\naccept his courser Babieca. But Alfonso refused the proffered gift,\nsaying courteously that if he accepted it Babieca would not have so\ngood a lord. Turning to those who were to uphold his cause in the\nlists, the Campeador bade them an affectionate farewell, and so he\ndeparted for Valencia, and the King for Carri\u00f3n to see justice done.\n\n\n\n\nThe Trial by Combat\n\nWhen the time of truce was over the contending parties sought the\nlists. The Cid's men did not waste much time in arming themselves,\nbut the treacherous Infantes of Carri\u00f3n had brought with them a\nnumber of their vassals in the hope that they might be able to slay\nthe Cid's champions by night, when they were off their guard. But\nAntolinez and his comrades kept good watch and frustrated their\ndesign. When they saw that there was no help for it but to meet their\nchallengers \u00e0 outrance, they prayed the King that the Cid's men might\nnot be permitted to use the famous swords Colada and Tizon, for they\nsuperstitiously dreaded the trenchancy of these marvellous weapons,\nand bitterly repented that they had restored them. Alfonso, however,\nrefused to listen to this appeal.\n\n\"Ye have swords of your own,\" he said brusquely. \"Let them suffice\nyou, and see that you wield them like men, for, believe me, there\nwill be no shortcoming on the side of the Campeador.\"\n\nThe trumpets sounded and the Cid's three champions leapt upon their\nimpatient destriers, first having made the sign of the Cross upon\ntheir saddles. The Infantes of Carri\u00f3n also mounted, but none so\nblithely. The marshals or heralds who were to decide the rules of the\ncombat, and give judgment in case of dispute, took their places. Then\nsaid King Alfonso: \"Hear what I say, Infantes of Carri\u00f3n. This combat\nye should have fought at Toledo, but ye would not, so I have brought\nthese three cavaliers in safety to the land of Carri\u00f3n. Take your\nright; seek no wrong: who attempts it, ill betide him.\"\n\nThe description of the scene that follows has more than once been\ncompared with Chaucer's description of the combat between Palamon\nand Arcite in The Knight's Tale, and, as will be seen, a resemblance\ncertainly exists. [34]\n\n\n    And now the marshals quit the lists and leave them face to face;\n    Their shields are dressed before their breasts, their lances are\n                                                               in place.\n    Each charger's flank now feels the spur, each helm is bending low,\n    The earth doth shake as horse and man hurl them upon the foe.\n    The echo of their meeting is a sound of meikle dread,\n    And all who hear the deadly shock count them as good as sped.\n    The false Ferrando and Bermuez strike lance on either's shield,\n    The Infant's spear goes through the boss, but the stout shaft\n                                                              doth yield\n    And splinters ere the point can pass thorough the other's mail.\n    But Pero's shaft struck home, nor did the seasoned timber fail;\n    It pierced Ferrando's corselet and sank into his breast,\n    And to the trampled ground there drooped the Infant's haughty crest.\n    Bermuez then drew Tizon's bright blade; ere ever he could smite\n    The Infant yielded him and cried, \"Thou hast the victor's right.\"\n\n\nWhile this combat was proceeding Antolinez and the other Infante\ncame together. Each of their lances smote the other's shield and\nsplintered. Then, drawing their swords, they rode fiercely against one\nanother. Antolinez, flourishing Colada, struck so mightily at Diego\nthat the good blade shore its way clean through the steel plates of his\ncasque, and even cut half the hair from Diego's head. The terrified\nprinceling wheeled his courser and fled, but Antolinez pursued him\nwith mock fury and struck him across the shoulders with the flat of\nhis sword. So had the hound the chastisement of cowards. As he felt\nthe blade across his withers Diego shrieked aloud and spurred past the\nboundaries of the lists, thus, according to the rules of the combat,\nadmitting himself vanquished.\n\nWhen the trumpets of the pursuivants sounded, Mu\u00f1o Gustioz and Asur\nGonz\u00e1lez ran swiftly and fiercely together. The point of Asur's spear\nglanced off Mu\u00f1o's armour, but that of the Cid's champion pierced the\nshield of his opponent and drove right through his breast, so that\nit stuck out a full fathom between the shoulder-blades. The haughty\nAsur fell heavily to the ground, but had enough of life left in him\nto beg for mercy.\n\nKing Alfonso then duly credited the Cid's champions with the victory,\nand without loss of time they returned to Valencia to acquaint their\nmaster with the grateful news that his honour had been avenged.\n\nShortly afterward the espousals of the Cid's daughters to the noble\nInfantes of Navarre and Aragon were celebrated with much pomp. The\nPoema del Cid, however, concludes as abruptly as it begins:\n\n\n    So in Navarre and Aragon his daughters both did reign,\n    And princes of his blood to-day sit on the thrones of Spain.\n    Greater and greater grew his name in honour and in worth;\n    At last upon a Pentecost he passed away from earth.\n    Upon him be the grace of Christ, Whom all of us adore.\n    Such is the story, gentles, of the Cid Campeador.\n\n\n\n\nThe Real Cid\n\nCervantes' summing-up upon the Poema del Cid is perhaps the sanest on\nrecord. The Cid certainly existed in the flesh; what matter, then,\nwhether his achievements occurred or not? For the Cid of romance is\na very different person from the Cid of history, who was certainly a\nborn leader of men, but crafty, unscrupulous, and cruel. The Poema\nis thus romance of no uncertain type, and as this book deals with\nromance and not with history, there is small need in this place to\nprovide the reader with a chronicle of the rather mercenary story of\nRoderigo of Bivar the real.\n\n\"Mio Cid,\" the title under which he is most frequently mentioned, is\na half Arabic, half Spanish rendering of the Arabic Sid-y, \"My lord,\"\nby which he was probably known to his Moorish subjects in Valencia,\nand it is unlikely that he was given this appellation in Spain during\nhis lifetime. But even to this day it is a name to conjure with in\nthe Peninsula. So long as the heart of the Briton beats faster at the\nname of Arthur and the Frenchman is thrilled by the name of Roland\nthe Spaniard will not cease to reverence that of the great romantic\nshadow which looms above the early history of his land like a very\ngod of war--the Cid Campeador.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III: \"AMADIS DE GAUL\"\n\n\n                        There stands a castle on a magic height\n                        Whose spell-besetten pathways ye may climb\n                        If that ye love fair chivalry sublime.\n                        Come, its enchanted turrets yield the sight,\n                        As long ago to demoiselle and knight,\n                        Of many a satrapy of ancient rhyme,\n                        And in its carven corridors shall Time\n                        Display us trophies of a dead delight:\n\n                        The damascene of armour in the dusk,\n                        Shadows of banners torn from infidels,\n                        The fragments of an unremembered glory,\n                        Fragrant with faint, imperishable musk\n                        Of Moorish fantasy. Dissolve, ye spells!\n                        Open, ye portals of Castilian story!\n\n                                                                   L. S.\n\n\nMany a casement in the grey castle of Spanish Romance opens upon\nvistas of fantastic loveliness or gloomy grandeur, but none commands a\nprospect so brilliant, so infinitely varied, or so rich in the colours\nof fantasy as that aery embrasure overlooking the region of marvel\nand high chivalry where is enacted the gallant and glorious history\nof Amadis de Gaul. The window of which I speak is perched high in a\nturret of the venerable fortalice, and displays such a landscape as\nwas dear to the weavers of ancient tapestries or the legend-loving\npainters of old Florence. Beneath is spread a princely domain of noble\nmeadow-land, crossed and interlaced by the serpent-silver of narrow\nrivers and rising northward to dim, castellated hills. Far beyond\nthese, remote and seeming more of sky than of earth, soar the blue\nand jagged peaks of dragon-haunted mountains. This scene of almost\nsupernatural beauty presents, at the first glance, an unbroken richness\nof colour and radiance. The meadow-land is populous with pavilions\nand the air is painted with pennons and gilded with the blazonry of\nbanners. The glitter of armour thrills the blood like the challenge\nof martial music. Strange palaces of marble, white as sculptured ice,\nrise at the verges of magic forests, or glitter on the edges of the\npromontories, their gardens and terraces sloping to silent and forlorn\nbeaches. The scene is indeed \"Beautiful as a wreck of Paradise.\"\n\nSuch seems the book of Amadis when first we glance through its\nrainbow-coloured pages. But when we gain a nearer view by the aid of\nthe romancer's magical glass we find that the radiant scene is deeply\nshadowed in places. Ravines profound as night lie near the castled\nhills, in which all manner of noxious things swarm and multiply. The\nprincely fortresses, the gay palaces, are often the haunts of desperate\noutlaws or malignant sorcerers. Hideous giants dwell in the mountains,\nor in the shadowy islands which rise from the pale sea, and dragons\nhave their lairs in fell and forest. But whether it breed light or\ngloom, the atmosphere of Amadis is suffused with such a glamour that\nwe come to love the darker places; we feel that the horror they hold\nis but the stronger wine of romance, a vintage which intoxicates.\n\nAnd if we remain at our point of vantage until nightfall and watch the\nillumination of this wondrous region by the necromancy of moonshine\nwe shall be granted an even more inspiring draught from the strange\nchalice of romance. In the mystery of moonlight armour is silvered\nto an unearthly whiteness, blood-red lights gleam from the turrets\nof the magicians, and the sylph-like shapes of sorceresses flit from\nsea to forest like living moonbeams. From the deserts between the\nhills and the distant mountains come the cries of ravening monsters,\nand all the fantastic world of Fa\u00ebry is vivid with life.\n\nWhat marvel then that when this surpassing picture was unveiled to\nthe eyes of a nation of knights it aroused such a fervour of applause\nand appreciation as has been granted to few works in the history of\nliterary effort? The author of Amadis displayed to the chivalry of\nSpain such a world as it had dreamed of. Every knight felt himself\na possible Amadis and every damsel deemed herself an Oriana. The\nphilosophy and atmosphere of the book took complete possession of the\nsoul of Spain, banishing grosser ideals and introducing a new code of\nmanners and sentiment. The main plot and the manifold incidents which\narise from it were coherently and skilfully arranged, and were not\nmade up of isolated and disconnected accounts of combats, or tedious\ndescriptions of apparel, appointments, or architecture, interspersed\nwith the boastful bellowings of rude paladins or vociferous kings,\nas the 'plots' of the cantares de gesta had been. Moreover, the\nwhole was powerfully infused with the love-philosophy of chivalry,\nin which woman, instead of being the chattel and plaything of man,\nfound herself exalted to heights of worship, and even of omnipotence,\nundreamed of by the ruder singers of the cantares.\n\n\n\n\nOrigin of the \"Amadis\" Romances\n\nThe first Peninsular version of Amadis appeared in a Portuguese dress,\nand was the work of a Lusitanian knight, Joham de Lobeira (1261-1325),\nwho was born at Porto, fought at Aljubarrota, where he was knighted\nupon the field by King Joham of happy memory, and died at Elvas. But\nSouthey's protestations notwithstanding, everything points to France as\nbeing the original home of the romance, and there is even a reference\nin Portuguese literature to the circumstance that a certain Pedro de\nLobeira translated Amadis from the French by order of the Infante Dom\nPedro, son of Joham I. The original French tale has vanished without\nleaving a trace that it ever existed, save in the Peninsular versions\nto which it gave birth, and we are no more fortunate as regards the\nPortuguese rendering. A manuscript copy of Lobeira's romance was\nknown to exist at the close of the sixteenth century in the archives\nof the Dukes of Arveiro at Lisbon, and appears to have been extant\nas late as 1750. After that period, however, it disappears from the\nsight of the bibliophile, and all the evidence points to its having\nbeen destroyed at the earthquake at Lisbon in 1755, along with the\nducal palace in which it was housed.\n\nIts fame, as well as its matter, was, however, kept alive by the\nSpanish version, and if we must regard Portugal as the original\nhome of Amadis in the Peninsula, it is to the genius of Castile that\nwe owe not only its preservation, but its possible improvement. At\nsome time between 1492 and 1508 Garcia Ordo\u00f1ez de Montalvo, governor\nof the city of Medina del Campo, addressed himself to the task of\nits translation and adaptation. At what precise date it was first\nprinted is obscure. Early copies are lacking, but we learn that\nthe Spanish conquerors of Mexico remarked upon the resemblance of\nthat city to the places of enchantment spoken of in Amadis. This\noccurred in 1519, not 1549, as stated by Southey. They may, perhaps,\nhave referred to the Portuguese version, but in any case an edition\nof Amadis is known to have been published in that year, and another\nat Seville in 1547. Reference has already been made to the numerous\ntranslations of the romance in all languages, and to the equally\nmanifold continuations of it by several hands, but it is necessary\nto remark that only the first four books of Amadis--that is, those\nwhich constitute the Amadis proper--were written by Montalvo, the\nremainder being the independent and original work of imitators. [35]\n\n\n\n\nElisena and Perion\n\nThe action of the romance begins at an obscure and indefinite period,\ndescribed as following almost immediately upon the death of our\nRedeemer, at which time, we are told, there flourished in Brittany\na Christian king named Garinter, who was blessed with two lovely\ndaughters. The elder, known as 'the Lady of the Garland,' because of\nher fondness for wearing a coronel of flowers, had some years before\nthe period of the story's commencement been wed to King Languines\n(Angus) of Scotland, and had two beautiful children, Agrayes and\nMabilia. Elisena, the younger daughter, was famed for her beauty\nthroughout the lands of Christendom, but though many powerful monarchs\nand princes had asked her hand in marriage, she would wed with none,\nbut gave herself up to a life of holiness and good works. In the\nopinion of all the knights and ladies of her father's realm, one so\nfair grievously transgressed the laws of love by remaining single,\nand it came to pass that the beautiful and saintly Elisena earned from\nthe more worldly of her gay critics the name of 'the Lost Devotee.'\n\nIf Elisena was devoted to a life of austerity her royal father was\nequally partial to the pleasures of the chase, and spent much of\nhis time in the green forest-land which occupied the greater part\nof Lesser Britain in those remote days. On one of those occasions,\nas he rode unattended in the greenwood, as was his wont, he chanced\nto hear the clash of arms, and, riding to a clearing whence came the\nsounds of combat, he saw two knights of Brittany attacking an armed\nstranger, whom he guessed by his armour and bearing to be a person\nof rank and distinction, and who bore himself with such courage and\naddress that he succeeded in slaying both his opponents.\n\nAs the stranger was in the act of sheathing his weapon he observed\nGarinter, and rode forward to meet him, saluting him with a courteous\nmien. He complained that in a Christian country an errant knight did\nnot expect such treatment from its inhabitants as had been meted out\nto him, to which the King sagely replied that in all countries evilly\ndisposed people were to be found as well as good folk, and that the\nslain knights had been traitors to their liege lord and well deserved\ntheir fate.\n\nThe stranger then proffered the information that he sought the King\nof Brittany with tidings of a friend, and on learning this Garinter\nrevealed his identity. The knight then informed him that he was\nKing Perion of Gaul, who had long desired his friendship. Garinter\ninsisted that his brother monarch should accompany him to his palace,\nand Perion consenting, they turned their horses' heads toward the city.\n\nArrived at the palace, they sat down to a rich banquet, which was\ngraced by the Queen and the Princess Elisena. No sooner did Elisena\nand Perion behold one another than they knew that a great and deathless\nlove had sprung up between them. When the Queen and Princess had risen\nfrom the banquet Elisena divulged her love for Perion to her damsel\nand confidante, Darioleta, and asked her to discover whether the\nKing of Gaul had pledged his troth to any other lady. Darioleta, who\nwas not easily abashed, went straight to Perion, who avowed his love\nfor Elisena in passionate terms and promised to take her to wife. He\nbegged the damsel to bring him to where Elisena was, that he might\nhave the happiness of expressing his love in person, and she returned\nto the Princess with his message. So impatient was Elisena to hear\nfrom Perion's own lips that he loved her, that, recking not of time\nor tide, she sought the apartment in which he was lodged, where she\nremained until dawn, detained by his protestations of affection and\nher own devotion to the noble and knightly monarch who had so suddenly\nmade her regard her former mode of life as savourless and melancholy.\n\nTen days did Perion sojourn at the Court of Garinter. At the end of\nthat time it became necessary that he should depart, but before he\ntook his leave he plighted his troth to Elisena, and left her one of\ntwo duplicate rings he wore, as a pledge of his faith. Search as he\nmight, however, he failed to find his good sword, a tried and trusty\nweapon, and at last was forced to abandon the search for it.\n\n\n\n\nThe Birth and Casting Away of Amadis\n\nWhen her lover had gone Elisena was plunged in the deepest grief,\nand all the comfort which Darioleta could bestow upon her failed to\nrouse her from the lethargy of sorrow into which she had fallen. In\nher father's kingdom, as in modern Scotland, an old law existed which\nprovided that if two persons solemnly took each other in marriage by\noath no further ceremony was necessary to render the union legal,\nalthough it was usual to have it ratified later by both Church and\nlaw. Perion and Elisena had taken these vows upon themselves, but\nthe Princess dreaded the wrath of her father, whom the lovers had\nnot consulted, and when a little son was born to her she was in great\nfear of the consequences, for she knew her father to be both proud and\nhasty and prone to act before he learned the truth of a matter. The\nworldly and quick-witted Darioleta had, however, no scruples regarding\nthe manner in which she resolved to save her mistress and herself\nfrom the King's wrath, and despite the protestations of Elisena,\nwho in her weakness was unable to restrain her, she built a little\nark of wood, made it water-tight with pitch, and, regardless of the\ntears and lamentations of her mistress, placed the new-born baby\nboy therein with Perion's sword, which she had abstracted from his\nsleeping-chamber. Then she wrote upon a piece of parchment, \"This is\nAmadis, son of a king,\" covered the writing with wax so that it might\nbe preserved from obliteration, and, securing it to the betrothal ring\nwhich Perion had given to Elisena, fastened it by a silken cord round\nthe infant's neck. Then with the utmost caution, lest any one should\nobserve her action, she carried the tiny vessel to the river which\nran at the foot of the palace garden and launched it upon the swift,\ndeep waters.\n\nThe little ark was rapidly carried out to sea, which was not more than\nhalf a league distant, and it had scarcely emerged upon the tossing\nbillows when it was sighted by the mariners of a Scottish vessel which\nbore a Caledonian knight, Gandales, back from Gaul to his home in the\nNorth. At his orders the sailors launched a boat, and having secured\nthe tiny vessel, brought it to the ship, when the wife of Gandales,\ndelighted with the beauty of the infant it held, decided to adopt him\nas her own. In a few days the vessel put into the Scottish port of\nAntalia, [36] and Gandales carried the little Amadis to his castle,\nwhere he brought him up with his own son, Gandalin.\n\nSome years afterward, when Amadis was about five years old, Languines,\nthe King of Scotland, and his Queen, 'the Lady of the Garland,' and\nsister to Elisena, paid a visit to the castle of Gandales, and were so\ngreatly attracted by the child's grace and beauty that they expressed\na desire to adopt him as their own. Gandales acquainted them with what\nhe knew of Amadis's history, and the royal pair promised to regard him\nas their own son. Amadis, because of the circumstances of his strange\ndiscovery, was known to every one as 'the Child of the Sea,' and indeed\nthis mysterious and poetic name cleaved to him until his identity had\nbeen proven beyond cavil. He showed no reluctance to accompany his new\nguardians, although he was grieved at having to part with his first\nfoster-parents, but the little Gandalin would in no wise be separated\nfrom him, and begged so hard to be permitted to share his fortunes\nthat at last King Languines took both the boys under his protection.\n\n\n\n\nPerion's Dream\n\nLet us return to King Perion. Occupied once more with the affairs\nof his kingdom, he still knew great heaviness of spirit because of\na dream that he had had while at the Court of Garinter. It seemed to\nhim in his dream that some one entered his sleeping-apartment, thrust\na hand through his side, and, taking out his heart, cast it into the\nriver that flowed through King Garinter's garden. Crying out in his\nanguish, he was answered by a voice that another heart was still left\nto him. Troubled by memory of the dream, which he could not unriddle,\nhe called together all the wise men of his realm and requested them\nto attempt its solution. Only one of them could unravel the mystery,\nand the sage who did so assured him that the heart which had been\nabstracted represented a son which a noble lady had borne him, while\nthe remaining heart symbolized another son who would in some manner\nbe taken away against the will of her who had cast away the first.\n\nAs the King left the wise man's presence he encountered a mysterious\ndamsel, who saluted him and said: \"Know, King Perion, that when thou\nrecoverest thy loss the kingdom of Ireland shall lose its flower\";\nand ere the King could detain or question her she had gone.\n\nIn course of time King Garinter died, and Perion and Elisena were\nformally wedded. But when Perion asked his wife if she had borne him\na son, so bitterly ashamed was she of the part she had been forced\nto play in the matter of the child's disappearance that she denied\neverything. Later, two beautiful children were born to them, a son\nand a daughter, called Galaor and Melicia. When Galaor was but two\nand a half years old, the King and Queen, at that time sojourning at\na town called Banzil, near the sea, were walking in the gardens of\nthe palace there, when suddenly a monstrous giant rose out of the\nwaves and, catching up the little Galaor, made off with him before\nanyone could prevent him.\n\nThe monster, dashing into the water, clambered on board a ship and\nput out to sea, crying out joyfully, as he did so: \"The damsel told\nme true!\" The parents were deeply afflicted at the loss of their son,\nand in her grief Elisena admitted the casting away of Amadis. Then\nPerion knew that what the wise man had told him regarding the loss\nof the two hearts was the truth indeed.\n\nNow the giant who had stolen the little Galaor was not of the race\nof evil monsters, but was generous in disposition and gentle in\ndemeanour. Indeed, he took as much care of the child as if he had\nbeen one of his own gigantic brood. He was a native of Lyonesse, was\nknown as Gandalue, and was the master of two castles in an island of\nthe sea. He had peopled this island with Christian folk, and gave the\nlittle Galaor into the keeping of a holy hermit, with strict orders\nto educate him as a brave and loyal knight. He told the hermit that a\ndamsel--the same who had addressed King Perion so strangely, and who\nwas a powerful sorceress--had assured him that only a son of Perion\ncould conquer his lifelong and ruthless enemy, the giant Albadan,\n[37] who had slain his father, and had taken from him the rock\nGaltares. And so Galaor was left in the care of the hermit.\n\n\n\n\nOriana\n\nAbout this time King Lisuarte of Britain chanced to put into a port\nof Scotland, where he was honourably received by King Languines. With\nLisuarte was his wife Brisena, and his beautiful little daughter\nOriana, the fairest creature in the world. And because she suffered so\nmuch at sea, her parents decided to leave her for a space at the Court\nof Scotland. Amadis was now twelve years old, but seemed fifteen, so\ntall and hardy was he, and the Queen bestowed him upon Oriana for her\nservice. Oriana said that 'it pleased her,' and Amadis cherished those\nwords in his heart, so that they never faded from his memory. But he\nknew not that Oriana loved him, and was greatly in awe of the lovely\nand serious little maiden of ten, for whom he conceived a high and\nnoble affection. Very beautiful was the silent love of these children\nfor one another. But silent it remained, for Amadis was fearful of\npresumption and Oriana the most modest of little damsels.\n\nHigh thoughts of chivalry now began to stir in the heart of Amadis,\nso that at last he requested King Languines to grant him the boon of\nknighthood. Languines was greatly surprised that a mere boy should\ncrave such a heavy burden of honour, but approved his desire, and\ngave orders that arms should be made for him. He sent to Gandales,\nthe knight who had found Amadis in the sea, acquainting him with the\nlad's purpose, and Gandales dispatched a messenger to Court with the\nsword, ring, and parchment which he had found in the ark along with\nthe sea-borne baby. [38]\n\nThese things were delivered to Amadis as belonging to him, and when\nhe showed them to Oriana she begged for the wax that contained the\nparchment, not knowing it held anything of moment, and accordingly\nhe gave it to her. Shortly after this King Perion arrived on a\nvisit to Languines, to ask his help against King Abies of Ireland,\nwho had invaded Gaul with all the force of his kingdom. Amadis,\nknowing Perion's great reputation as a warrior, much desired to be\nknighted by his hand, and asked the Queen to crave the boon on his\nbehalf. But she seemed sad and distraught, and heeded him not. He\ninquired of Oriana the cause of the Queen's sadness, and she replied:\n\"Child of the Sea, this is the first thing ye ever asked of me.\"\n\n\"Ah, lady,\" replied Amadis, \"I am not worthy to ask anything from\nsuch as you.\"\n\n\"What?\" she exclaimed. \"Is then your heart so feeble?\"\n\n\"Aye, lady,\" he replied, \"in all things toward you, save that it\nwould serve you like one who is not his own, but yours.\"\n\n\"Mine!\" said Oriana, mystified; \"since when?\"\n\n\"Since 'it pleased you,'\" replied Amadis, with a smile. \"Do you not\nremember your words when the Queen offered me for your service?\"\n\n\"I am well pleased that it should be so,\" said Oriana shyly, and\nbeholding Amadis much overcome at her gracious answer, she slipped\naway to ask the Queen the cause of her sorrow.\n\nThe Queen told her that she was deeply distressed because of her\nsister Elisena, whose kingdom had been invaded, and, returning to\nAmadis, Oriana explained to him why his royal mistress had left his\nappeals unanswered. Amadis at once expressed a desire to proceed to\nGaul to fight against the Irish invaders, and Oriana applauded his\nintention. \"You shall go to the wars as my knight,\" she said, simply\nbut graciously. Amadis kissed her hand, and requested her to ask the\nPrincess Mabilia, Perion's daughter (and Amadis's sister) to bring\nit about that her father should confer the honour of knighthood upon\nhim. The little damsel readily consented to do so, and King Perion\njoyfully acquiesced in the young man's eager desire to embrace the\nprofession of arms. So, asking him to kneel, he bestowed upon him the\naccolade, fastened the knightly spurs upon his heels, and girded the\nsword to his side.\n\n\n\n\nAmadis Goes on Adventure\n\nNow Amadis resolved to set out for Gaul at once, so, taking a tender\nleave of Oriana and accompanied by Gandalin, his foster-brother, he\nrode off from the palace at nightfall. They had not gone far when they\nencountered the mysterious sorceress who, as we have seen, took such\nan interest in the fate of our hero, and whose name was Urganda. [39]\n\nThe fay greeted Amadis in a most gracious manner, and presented\nhim with a lance, which she told him would, within three days,\n\"preserve the house from which he was descended from death.\" With\nher was another damsel, and when Urganda had departed her companion\nremained and announced to Amadis that she would journey with him for\nthree days, and that she was not a familiar of the sorceress, but had\nencountered her by chance. They had not ridden far when they came to\na castle, where they heard a squire lamenting loudly that his master\nwas beset therein by its inmates. Amadis spurred his horse into the\ncourtyard, and beheld King Perion fiercely attacked by two knights\nand a number of men-at-arms. With a cry of defiance he fell upon the\nattackers, striking left and right and dealing such terrific blows\nthat the caitiff knights who had assailed the King were slain and\ntheir retainers put to flight.\n\nPerion at once recognized Amadis as the youth he had knighted not long\nsince. Leaving the castle, they came to a fork in the road, where\nthey parted, with mutual promises to meet in Gaul. The damsel who\nhad so far accompanied him now told Amadis that she was in reality a\nmessenger from Oriana, whereat Amadis trembled so with joy at hearing\nhis lady's name that had not Gandalin supported him he had fallen\nfrom the saddle. The damsel then took her leave, saying that she\nwould acquaint her mistress of his welfare.\n\nAfter several other adventures which it would be tedious to recount,\nAmadis arrived with Gandalin at the Court of King Perion, in Gaul. They\nhad scarcely rested themselves when they heard the clarions of King\nAbies of Ireland sound for an attack upon the city, and, mounting\ntheir destriers, sallied forth, with Agrayes and other knights, to\ngive the men of Ireland battle. A stubborn contest ensued, in which\nAmadis performed prodigies of valour. Perion came up with his men, but\nthey found themselves greatly outnumbered by the host of King Abies,\nand were forced to give ground. However, the day was retrieved by\nAmadis, who charged with such fury that neither horse nor man might\nwithstand him, and in the press he slew, among others, Daugavel,\na favourite of Abies. Hearing this, Abies grieved full sorely, and,\nencountering Amadis, challenged him to a mortal combat on the following\nday. They met, and after a fierce duel, which lasted several hours,\nAbies was slain, and the war was thus ended at a blow.\n\nNow Melicia, Perion's daughter, lost a ring which had been given her by\nher father, the same indeed as that which the King had worn when first\nhe met Elisena, and the exact counterpart of the ring he had bestowed\nupon her, and which she had tied to the neck of Amadis when he was cast\nadrift. Rather than that her father should know of this loss, Amadis\ngave Melicia his own ring. But the King himself recovered the lost\njewel, and made inquiries regarding the resemblance between the rings,\nasking his daughter where she had procured its counterpart. Through her\nexplanation, and his recognition of the sword which Amadis wore, Perion\nfelt certain that Amadis could be no other than his long-lost son,\nand when the young knight recounted the circumstances of his history,\nhow that he had been found in the sea, the last doubts of his parents\nregarding his identity were quite dissipated, and they were overjoyed\nat recovering him, publicly acknowledging him as prince of the realm.\n\nWe must now follow the fortunes of Galaor, brother of Amadis, who\nhad been so suddenly snatched away in his infancy by the giant. In\ndue time he grew to be a youth of courage and address, and as he had\nheard that at no Court did chivalry flourish so gallantly as at that\nof King Lisuarte of Britain, he resolved to journey thither in the\nhope of receiving the honour of knighthood. His giant foster-father\naccompanied him, and they had travelled but two days when they came\nto the castle of a felon knight, whom, with his retainers, they\nsaw attacking a single champion. Galaor spurred to the rescue, and\nby his aid the caitiff crew were slain or routed. Galaor conceived\nsuch an affection for the stranger that he requested knighthood at\nhis hands. This was cheerfully granted, and after Amadis--for the\nstranger knight was none other--had taken his departure, Galaor,\nbeholding a damsel close at hand, asked her if she was aware of\nthe name of the knight he had assisted. The damsel, who was the\nsorceress Urganda, replied that his name was Amadis, and that he\nwas own brother to Galaor. On hearing this Galaor was overjoyed,\nbut his satisfaction was mingled with a deep regret that he had not\ndiscovered their relationship ere they had taken leave of one another.\n\nNot content with having enlightened Galaor, Urganda hastened\nafter Amadis, who was on his way to the Court of King Lisuarte at\nWindsor. She told him that his rescuer was his brother Galaor, who\nhad been stolen in youth, whereat he was both overjoyed and sorrowful.\n\nGreatly heartened by the strange encounter, Galaor still pressed on\nto the goal of his adventure, the rock Galtares, which he hoped to\nfree for ever from the tyrannous rule of the monster who usurped\nit. A few days' journey brought him to the fortalice, and at his\ndefiance the giant issued from his castle, armed at all points,\nmounted upon a gigantic charger, and mouthing the most terrible\nthreats imaginable. He rode fiercely at the young knight, hoping to\nend the combat at a blow. But, striking out wildly with his club, he\nsmote down his own horse, came thundering to the ground, and Galaor\nspurred his courser over his prostrate body. In doing so, however,\nhe fell from his charger, and received a terrible buffet from the\ngiant. Recovering himself, he drew his sword and severed the monster's\narm at the shoulder. This blow practically ended the combat, for Galaor\nwith another sweep of his good blade beheaded his gigantic adversary.\n\nAmadis, arriving at the Court of King Lisuarte, mingled with its\nchivalry, and partook of its adventures with such zest that he came to\nbe known as one of the most illustrious knights in Christendom. His\nadventures at the Court of Lisuarte would fill a goodly volume, and\nincluded a war of extermination against the giants, the defeat of\nthe usurper Barsinan and the enchanter Archelaus, as well as a score\nof other exploits, even a meagre account of which would overflow the\npages set apart for the description of this romance. His adventures are\nintertwined with those of his brother Galaor, whom he even once meets\nin fierce combat, neither recognizing the other because of his armour.\n\n\n\n\nLisuarte's Vow\n\nNow, while Lisuarte held court in London an aged knight entered\nand displayed such a marvellously wrought crown and mantle that\nthe King eagerly offered him any price he might ask for them. The\nknight declared that he would return on a certain day and claim his\nreward, and the King agreed to keep the crown and mantle with all\ncare, upon pain of losing that which he loved best. The knight was\nan emissary of the false enchanter Archelaus, and the gauds he had\nshown Lisuarte were made by magic art, so that when the King desired\nto wear them and unlocked the coffer in which they were kept he\nfound they had vanished. The aged knight returned, and demanded his\nrecompense. Lisuarte was forced to admit the loss of the crown and\nmantle, and the creature of the cunning magician demanded the Princess\nOriana in pledge of the King's vow. In true romantic compliance\nwith his promise, Lisuarte weakly acquiesced, and the knight rode\noff with Oriana, whom he at once placed in the power of Archelaus,\nand Lisuarte himself fell into a trap set by the artful enchanter.\n\nLearning of this treason while at some distance from the Court,\nAmadis and Galaor hurried to Windsor, resolved to frustrate the\nnecromancer's wicked intention, which was to wed Oriana to the\npretender to the British throne, the false Barsinan, whom Amadis had\nalready worsted. Galaor speedily delivered Lisuarte from his enemies,\nand Amadis, searching high and low for his lady, at last encountered\nher in a forest, through which she was being carried by Archelaus. On\nbeholding the doughty champion, whose reputation was only too well\nknown to him, the enchanter hastily made off, leaving Oriana with\nher lover, who conducted her back to Court.\n\n\n\n\nThe Firm Island\n\nWith the commencement of the Second Book we enter a strange and mystic\natmosphere. Indeed the book may be called the cor cordium of romance,\nits mirror, its quintessence. It introduces us to Apolidon, son of a\nKing of Greece, who is described as a valiant knight and powerful\nnecromancer. Abandoning his inheritance to a younger brother,\nhe sailed from Greece into the Great Sea, where he discovered an\nisland inhabited by peasants only, and ruled by a frightful giant,\nwhich was known as the Firm Island, fated to be celebrated in the\npages of romance along with many another insular paradise.\n\nSlaying the monstrous tyrant, Apolidon dwelt in the isle until,\non the death of his brother, he returned to sit upon the Grecian\nthrone. But ere he left the place he laid a potent enchantment upon\nit to the purpose that no knight or lady might dwell there save such\nas were equal in valour to himself or in beauty to his lady Grymenysa.\n\nThe wonders of this magical island well merit description, and as\nmuch of the action of our romance centres there let us embark upon\nthe fairy galley which lies ever ready in the harbours of legend,\nsail thither, and set foot upon its enchanted beaches. Perhaps it is\nonly through the rainbow lenses of poesy that we can view this wondrous\nregion aright, so I have essayed a description of the isle in verse.\n\n\n    THE FIRM ISLAND\n\n    Prince Apolidon the Mage\n    Raised a mystic hermitage\n    On an island in a shipless sea\n    By necromantic potency,\n    Carving the granite gateways of its cliffs\n    With interdicting seals and hieroglyphs,\n    That his unequals might not habit there,\n    Nor drink that island's consecrated air.\n    White terraces o'erhung the black abyss,\n    Fair as the gardens Queen Semiramis\n    Piled above Babylon: the glittering height\n    Seemed as the day empillared on the night.\n    And from the ocean-green of myrtle's shadow\n    Rose a pavilion, which from afar\n    Seemed to the eyes of shipmen as a star\n    Shattered on a distant meadow.\n    Betwixt this palace and the shipless sea\n    The wizard set an arch of glamourie,\n    Byzantine, builded as from golden air.\n    Its fretted alcove held an image rare,\n    In whose uplifted hand there burned and shone\n    The brazen brightness of a clarion.\n    And should a lady or a knight,\n    Lesser in beauty or in might\n    Than wise Apolidon the wight\n    Or Grymenysa fair\n    Seek to traverse the magic vault,\n    Or make the palace by assault,\n    The brazen trump would blare,\n    And vomit such a horrid blast\n    That, fainting from the garden cast,\n    The wretch would perish there.\n    But, should a knight of equal fame\n    Or lady of unblemished name\n    Seek entrance by the port,\n    The trumpet, with a high fanfare\n    Of praise, would waken all the air\n    Of that celestial court.\n    Two crystal pillars marked the magic line;\n    A tablature of jasper, serpentine,\n    Surround by arabesques like carven flame,\n    On which would flash the lineage and name\n    Of that illustrious paladin or dame,\n    Gleamed in the Grecian pavement; who did pass\n    Those pillars frozen in Phoenician glass\n    Would see, 'mid splendour like reflecting ice,\n    The lord and lady of that paradise\n    Moulded in immortality of brass.\n    Still deeper in those labyrinths of pleasure\n    A siege right perilous the Mage did make\n    For Grymenysa's fair, mysterious sake,\n    For glory of a love withouten measure,\n    Setting nine seals of Babylonian doom\n    Upon the entrance to her ivory room,\n    That but the highest hearts the world had seen\n    Might know the rapture of its air serene.\n    And that no sordidness might pass therein\n    He sentinelled the door with savage jinn,\n    Invisible and with the flaming powers\n    Of Sheol in their guarding scimitars.\n    And all the webs of his weird soul were woven,\n    In mazy mystery of charm and spell,\n    Around the shadows of that citadel,\n    Where oft his wizard prowess had been proven.\n    So did he leave the place of his delight\n    To sinful spirits in a magic night,\n    Calling on Siduri and Sabitu,\n    And Baphomet, in syllables of might.\n    And when the moon was in her thinnest phase\n    He left that island in the shipless sea,\n    No man knew how, nor evermore did he\n    Return unto its labyrinthine ways.\n    Still in the dawn's white fire the shepherd sees\n    Shapes whiter than the dawn, and whisperings\n    Sigh through the shadows of the myrtle-trees,\n    Like to the mutterings of invisible kings\n    Who speak of blessed, heart-remembered things.\n\n\nBefore he had quitted this marvellous island Prince Apolidon had\nplaced a governor over it, and had commanded that any who failed to\npass the Arch of Honour and still survived the dread blast of the\ntrumpet should without ceremony be cast out of the island, but that\nsuch as sustained the ordeal were to be entertained and served with\nall honour. And he willed that when the island should have another\nlord the enchantment should cease.\n\nNow the spell had been laid upon the island for about a hundred\nyears when Amadis, who had taken a fond farewell of Oriana, and was\non adventure bound, encountered a damsel who told him of the wonders\nof the Firm Island, which, she said, was scarcely two days' sail from\nwhere he then sojourned. Amadis replied that he could desire nothing\nbetter than to essay such an adventure, and the damsel's father,\na knight of large estate, agreed to guide him there so that he might\nessay the perilous adventure. When at last they came to the Firm Island\nthey beheld the pavilion, the walls of which were hung with the shields\nof those who had tried the adventure but failed, for though several had\npassed the arch none had penetrated to the pavilion. And when Amadis\nsaw that so many good knights had been undone his heart misgave him.\n\n\n\n\nAmadis Passes the Archway\n\nAmadis was accompanied by Agrayes, son of King Languines of Scotland,\nwho decided to attempt the passage of the arch at once. As he passed\nthrough it the trumpet held by the image emitted sweet music, and\nhe entered the pavilion. Then Amadis approached the archway, and\nthe trumpet blew louder and more melodiously than it had ever done\nbefore. Both knights approached the forbidden chamber. They saw the\njasper slab, on which they read: \"This is Amadis of Gaul, the true\nlover, son of King Perion.\" As they looked upon it Amadis's dwarf,\nArdian, ran to his master and told him that Galaor and Florestan, his\nbrothers, who had also accompanied him on the adventure, had attempted\nthe passage of the arch, but had been attacked on all sides by unseen\nhands, and left for dead. Amadis and Agrayes at once retraced their\nsteps, and found the young knights lying as in a deep swoon. While\nAmadis was giving his brothers such assistance as he could, Agrayes\ntried to enter the forbidden chamber, but he too was struck senseless.\n\nWhen Galaor and Florestan had somewhat recovered from the effects\nof the blows they had received from invisible assailants, Amadis\nfelt that for the honour of his lady, Oriana, he must attempt the\ngreat adventure of entering the forbidden chamber, into which no\nknight had yet penetrated. Summoning all his courage to his aid, he\ncrossed the line of the spell between the pillars, and immediately\nfelt himself assaulted by the unseen warriors who had defeated his\ncomrades. A terrific uproar of voices arose, as if all the knights\nin the world were assailing him, and the blows were doubled in force\nand violence. But, nothing daunted, and strong in memory of his lady,\nhe fought on. Sometimes he was beaten to his knees, and once his sword\nfell from his hand, yet he struggled on until he reached the door of\nthe chamber, which opened as if to admit him. A hand came forth and,\nseizing his, drew him in, and a voice exclaimed: \"Welcome is the\nknight who shall be lord here, because he surpasses in prowess him\nwho made the enchantment and who had no peer in his time.\" The hand\nthat led him was large and hard, like that of an old man, and the\narm was sleeved with green satin. As soon as he was in the chamber\nit vanished, and Amadis felt his strength return to him.\n\nWhen Florestan and Galaor and the people of the island heard that\nthe adventure had at last been achieved, they crowded into the now\ndisenchanted palace and gazed upon its wonders. It was full of the\nmost marvellous treasures and works of art, but nothing more excellent\nwas there than the statues of Apolidon and Grymenysa.\n\n\n\n\nOriana's Cruelty\n\nAt the time Amadis had left Britain and had said farewell to Oriana\nhe dispatched his dwarf, Ardian, back to the palace for the pieces of\na sword which a lady had given him in all good faith, asking him to\navenge her father's death on a cowardly murderer. Amadis, like a good\nknight, had promised to keep the broken blade until he had avenged\nthe dead man. Oriana, seeing the dwarf return, asked him the reason,\nand Ardian told her that Amadis had promised a lady ever to keep a\ncertain sword, for which he had been sent back. Then he fetched the\nblade and galloped off. Oriana, putting a wrong construction upon the\ndwarf's words, and suspecting Amadis of unfaithfulness to her, wrote\nhim a cruel letter, which she entrusted to a page with instructions\nto find him at all costs. After much journeying he traced Amadis to\nthe Firm Island, and delivered the letter into his hands.\n\nWhen Amadis had perused the cold and bitter words of his lady he\nseemed to the messenger as a man distraught. The page told him that\nhe was forbidden to carry any reply to Oriana. Amadis in terrible\ngrief called for Ysanjo, the governor of the island, and requested\nhim as a loyal knight to keep secret all that he might see till after\nhis brothers had heard Mass on the morrow. Then he commanded Ysanjo\nto open the gate of the palace privily so that he might withdraw his\nhorse and arms therefrom without being observed by anyone. Accompanied\nby the honest Ysanjo, for whom he had formed a high esteem, he betook\nhimself to a chapel of the Virgin hard by. He prayed fervently that she\nwould intercede with her Divine Son to have mercy upon him, as he felt\nthat his days would be few. Then he rose and, taking an affectionate\nleave of the Governor, mounted his horse and, without shield, spear,\nor helmet, rode off.\n\nNow Gandalin, squire to Amadis, and son of the Scottish knight\nGandales, who throughout all these adventures had never left his\nmaster, took counsel with Durin, the messenger who had brought\nOriana's cruel letter to the Firm Island, and resolved to follow the\ndistraught knight, lest he should come to harm. They soon found him\nsleeping beside a fountain, worn out with the violence of his sorrow,\nand mercifully allowed him to slumber on. But when night had fallen\nAmadis awoke and, remembering his wretchedness, broke into pitiful\nlamentations for his evil fate. The youths concealed themselves, for\nthey did not wish him to know of their presence. But Amadis, catching\nsight of Gandalin, was angry with him for having followed him. To\narouse him from his lethargy Gandalin told him that a knight, like\nhimself abandoned by his lady, was in the neighbourhood, threatening\nvengeance upon any whom he might encounter. Amadis, minded to throw\naway his life, leapt on his horse at hearing this, and accompanied\nGandalin in search of the crazy challenger. They soon came up with\nthe unknown, and Amadis hurled a fierce defiance at him. A stubborn\ncombat ensued, and Amadis, by a desperate blow, struck his opponent\nsenseless. Leaving the wounded knight with Durin, Amadis rode on,\nstill followed by the faithful Gandalin.\n\nGalaor, Florestan, and Agrayes, hearing of Amadis's plight and his\nhurried departure, resolved to follow him. Meanwhile the object of\ntheir search rode onward, allowing his horse to choose its own path,\nand given over to weeping and lamentation. While the anxious Gandalin\nslept, the crazed lover eluded him, and traversed the wildest parts\nof the savage country which they had penetrated. Ere long he came to\na plain at the foot of a mountain, where he encountered a hermit,\nand begged the holy man for leave to remain with him. The hermit\ngreeted him kindly, and Amadis confided his history to the good old\nman, who told him that he dwelt on a high rock full seven leagues\nout at sea. And the hermit gave him the name Beltenebros, or 'the\nFair Forlorn,' as he was at once so comely and so sore distracted.\n\n\n\n\nThe Poor Rock\n\nIn due time they reached the sea-shore, and, giving his horse to\nthe mariners, Amadis accompanied the hermit on board a vessel and\nsailed to the Poor Rock, as the holy man had named his place of\nhermitage. And here Amadis partook of the austerities of the hermit,\n\"not for devotion but for despair, forgetting his great renown in\narms and hoping and expecting death--all for the anger of a woman!\"\n\nDurin, Oriana's messenger, journeyed back to the British Court\nand told his mistress how Amadis had received her letter, and of\nthe manner in which her knight had achieved the adventure of the\nFirm Island. Then Oriana knew that Amadis must have remained true\nto her. When she learned that he had gone into the desert to die,\nher shame and anguish knew no bounds, and she wrote a letter of deep\ncontrition to her lover, and dispatched it to him by one of her women\ncalled 'the Damsel of Denmark,' a sister of Durin.\n\nAfter they had set out, the knight whom Amadis had vanquished on the\nevening of the day on which he learned of Oriana's cruelty arrived\nat the British Court, bringing with him the armour of Amadis, which\nhe had found, some time after his encounter with him, at the edge\nof a deep fountain. And when she heard his story Oriana believed her\nlover to be dead, and in great grief shut herself in her apartments,\nrefusing all comfort.\n\nMeanwhile, calling to mind the great misery he had endured, Amadis\nmade this song in his passion:\n\n\n    Farewell to victory,\n    To warlike glory and to knightly play.\n    Ah, wherefore should I live to weep and sigh?\n    Far greater honour would it be to die!\n\n    With kindly death my wretchedness shall cease,\n    And from my torments shall I find release.\n    Love will be unremembered in the shade,\n    The deep unkindness of a cruel maid,\n    Who in her pride hath slain not me alone,\n    But all the deeds for glory I have done! [40]\n\n\nAt this time the lady Corisanda, who loved Florestan, chanced to visit\nthe Poor Rock, and her damsels heard the story of Amadis, who told\nthem that his name was Beltenebros, but that the song had been made\nby one Amadis, whom he had known. On her return to the British Court,\nCorisanda's maidens sang the song to Oriana as the composition of\nAmadis. And she knew that Amadis and Beltenebros were one and the same.\n\nNow the Damsel of Denmark, who had been sent to search for Amadis,\nwas driven by tempest to the foot of the Poor Rock. [41] Landing with\nDurin and an attendant, Enil, she found Amadis praying in the chapel,\nand when he beheld the Damsel's face he fainted away.\n\nThis extreme sensitiveness to love is characteristic of the late\nMiddle Ages, however absurd and overdrawn it may appear to us. That\nAmadis fainted at the mere sight of one who had served his lady seems\nto us ridiculous, and that he should imprison himself upon a barren\nrock for the remainder of his life because she had been unkind to\nhim is to the modern reader more than a little grotesque.\n\n\n    Shall I, wasting in despair,\n    Die because a woman's fair?\n\n\nBut we must deal gently with the ideas of the past, as with one\nof those faded samplers of our great-grandmothers, which, if we\nhandle it carelessly, is apt to fall to pieces. When we think of\nthe manner in which Dante and Petrarch had established the worship\nof woman, and how the Courts of Love had completed the work they\nhad begun, can we wonder that men bred in this creed, and regarding\nthe worship of womankind as second to that of God alone, were apt to\nbecome disconsolate and despairing if the object of their devotion\ncondemned or deserted them? Again, exalted and sensitive minds in\nall ages have been peculiarly amenable to feminine criticism, as we\ncan see in perusing the biographies of such men as Goethe. Genius,\ntoo, which itself nearly always abundantly partakes of the nature\nof the feminine, is prone to adopt this ultra-reverent attitude,\nas the sonnets of Shakespeare and the poems of Lovelace and many\nanother singer show. The rough, manly common sense of the average\nmale is too often denied it, and, man and woman in itself, it must\nsuffer the emotions of both sexes.\n\nBut, if maintained within rational bounds, this reverence for women\nin general and for the best type of woman in particular must be\nregarded as one of the great binding forces of humanity, a thing\nwhich has accomplished perhaps more than aught else for the world's\nrefinement and advance. And here, even in a work of romance, which\nperhaps, after all, is the fitting place for such an exhortation,\nI would appeal to the younger generation of to-day to look backward\nwith eyes of kindness upon the tender beauty and infinite charm of a\ncreed which, if it is not entirely dead, is in a manner moribund. I\ndo not ask our youths and maidens to imitate its fantastic features\nor its extravagances. But I do entreat them to regard its fine spirit,\nits considerate chivalry, and, above all, the modest reserve and lofty\nintention which were its chief characteristics. It is a good sign of\nthe times that the sexes are growing to know each other better. But we\nmust be wary of the familiarity that breeds contempt. Let us retain a\nlittle more of the serious beauty of the old intercourse between man\nand woman, and learn to beware of a flippancy of attitude and laxity\nof demeanour which in later years we shall certainly look back upon\nwith a good deal of vexation and self-reproach.\n\nWhen he had regained consciousness, the Damsel of Denmark gave Amadis\nOriana's letter, beseeching him to return to her and receive her\natonement for the wrong she had done him. He took leave of the good\nhermit, and, embarking upon the ship in which the Damsel had arrived,\nset sail for the Firm Island, where he rested, as he was yet too weak\nto make the long journey to England. But at the end of ten days he\ntook Enil for his squire and, accompanied by Durin and the Damsel,\nset out for the English Court.\n\n\n\n\nOriana Repentant\n\nMeanwhile Galaor, Florestan, and Agrayes, having searched in vain\nfor Amadis, arrived at London in a most disconsolate frame of\nmind. Oriana, hearing of their want of success, betook her to the\ncastle of Miraflores, some leagues from the city. In its ancient\ngarden she came to feel that Amadis was still alive, and, full of\nremorse for the manner in which she had dealt with him, she resolved\nthat no further shadow should fall upon their love. The description\nof Miraflores in the romance is very beautiful, and the impression\nwe receive of Oriana walking in its quiet and umbrageous alleys may\nperhaps best be rendered in verse.\n\n\n    Miraflores, fountain-girded,\n    Where the trees are many-birded,\n    And the orchard and the garden\n    Of the forest seem a part;\n    In the stillness of thy meadows,\n    In the solace of thy shadows,\n    I await the blessed pardon\n    That will ease a breaking heart.\n    Miraflores, name of beauty!\n    May I learn a lover's duty,\n    In the evening and the morning,\n    In this fair and fragrant place;\n    May I know the bliss of pardon\n    In thy battlemented garden;\n    Come to hate the hate of scorning,\n    And to love the love of grace!\n\n\nNow a herald came to King Lisuarte at Windsor giving him defiance in\nthe name of Famongomadan, the giant, Cartadaque, his nephew, giant of\nthe Defended Mountain, and Madanfaboul, giant of the Vermilion Tower;\nfrom Quadragante, brother of King Abies of Ireland, and Archelaus\nthe Enchanter, all of whom were to join against Britain on behalf of\nKing Cildadan [42] of Ireland, who had quarrelled with Lisuarte. The\nknight, however, made one condition which he said would ensure peace,\nand that degrading enough. For he announced that, should Lisuarte give\nhis daughter Oriana as damsel and servant to Madasima, the daughter of\nFamongomadan, or in marriage to Basagante, his son, the allied giants\nand kings would not advance against him, but would remain in their\nown lands. Lisuarte rejected the proffered terms with quiet dignity.\n\nNow Amadis had slain King Abies long before, and it was revenge against\nhim the ill-assorted allies desired, and Florestan, who was present,\nhearing this, challenged the ambassador to battle. This the knight,\nwhose name was Landin, promised him on the completion of the war,\nand they exchanged gages of battle.\n\nWhen the knight had departed, Lisuarte called for his little daughter\nLeonora to come with her damsels and dance before him, a thing he\nhad not done since the news that Amadis was lost. And he asked her\nto sing a song which Amadis, in sport, had made for her. So the child\nand her companions made music and chanted this little lay:\n\n\n    White rosebud, Leonore,\n    Unblemished flower,\n    Pure as a morning in the fields of May,\n    Thy perfume haunts my heart,\n    Why dost thou bloom apart,\n    Hid in the shadows of thy modesty?\n\n    Or, if thou mayst not be,\n    Blossom of purity,\n    Mine own to wear and cherish, as the leaves\n    Embrace thee and enfold,\n    Be not so white, so cold:\n    Bloom also for the lonely heart that grieves! [43]\n\n\nGandalin journeyed to Miraflores to acquaint Oriana with the\nnews that Corisanda had arrived at Court and had been reunited to\nFlorestan. Delighted as she was at this intelligence, she could\nnot help comparing the happy condition of the lovers with her own,\nand burst into tears. But even as she wept the Damsel of Denmark\nwas announced. Oriana listened to her tidings with a beating heart,\nand when the Damsel gave her a letter from Amadis, in which she found\nhis ring enclosed, she all but swooned with excess of joy.\n\nAmadis lay in a distant nunnery, recovering from the wasting sorrow\nfrom which he had suffered so long. When he felt stronger, he\ndonned green armour, so that he might not be known, and travelled\ntoward London. On the eighth day of his journey he encountered\nthe giant knight Quadragante, he who among others had defied King\nLisuarte. Amadis unhorsed the gigantic warrior, who yielded himself\nvanquished and promised to deliver himself up to Lisuarte.\n\n\n\n\nAmadis Slays Famongomadan\n\nProceeding on his way, Amadis passed some tents pitched in a meadow\nwhich were occupied by a party of knights and damsels in the service of\nthe Princess Leonora. The knights insisted upon his breaking a lance\nwith them. He unhorsed them all and rode on. While he was in the act\nof drinking from a well not many miles farther on, he espied a wagon\nfull of captive knights and damsels in chains. Before it, on a huge\nblack horse, rode a giant so immense that he was terrible to behold,\nand Amadis knew him for Famongomadan, who had sent his challenge\nto Lisuarte. Amadis, who was much wearied by his recent encounter\nwith the knights, did not then desire to meet him, but when he saw\nthat Leonora was in the wagon along with the other damsels he leapt\non his destrier and, looking toward Miraflores, where Oriana was,\nawaited the giant's onset.\n\nSeeing him, Famongomadan thundered down upon him like a human\navalanche. His great boar-spear transfixed Amadis's horse, but the\nlance of the paladin ran its way clean through the monster's carcass\nand broke off short in his body. At this his son Basagante ran to the\nrescue, but Amadis, disengaging himself from his fallen steed, drew\nhis sword and severed one of Basagante's legs from the trunk. But his\nfalchion snapped in twain with the violence of the blow, and a fierce\nstruggle for Basagante's axe ended in Amadis wrenching it from his\nopponent's grasp and smiting off his head. Then he slew Famongomadan\nwith his own spear, and, releasing the knights in the wagon, requested\nthem to carry the bodies of the dead giants to King Lisuarte and say\nthat they were sent by a strange knight, Beltenebros. And mounting\nthe great black horse of Famongomadan, he galloped off.\n\nAt long last Amadis came to Miraflores and met with Oriana, and great\nwas the love between them. Eight days he sojourned in the castle with\nhis lady; then he rode away to assist Lisuarte in his war against\nCildadan of Ireland, who, as we have seen, had challenged the King's\nsupremacy in Britain. Cildadan and his giant allies were vanquished\nand the Irish king sorely wounded by Amadis.\n\nNow Briolania, the lady from whom Amadis had received the broken sword,\nvisited Oriana, and told her in confidence that she was enamoured of\nAmadis, who on his part had told her that he loved her not, whereat\nOriana was both relieved and not a little amused. And now the whole\nCourt knew that Beltenebros and Amadis were one and the same, and\ngreat was the wonder at the puissance of his single arm.\n\nBut Amadis, who knew that adventure was the duty and lot of a knight,\ndesired once more to go in quest of it, and with him went ten knights,\nhis friends and kinsmen, greatly to the discontent of Lisuarte,\nwhom mischief-makers tried to incense against Amadis, for removing\nthe best and bravest of his Court.\n\nMeanwhile Briolania had betaken herself to the Firm Island, where she\nwas much disturbed by signs and portents of a very terrible nature. She\npassed between the Arch of True Lovers. But when she attempted to\npenetrate to the Forbidden Chamber she was violently cast out. So,\nsad at heart, she returned to her own country. Shortly after this\nAmadis arrived at the island, greatly to the joy of all therein.\n\nHere we learn something further regarding the topography and natural\nhistory of the Firm Island, which was nine leagues long and seven\nwide, full of villages and rich dwelling-houses. Apolidon had built\nhimself four wonderful palaces in the isle. One was that of the Serpent\nand the Lions, another that of the Hart and the Dogs. The third was\ncalled the Whirling Palace, for three times a day, and as often in\nthe night, it whirled round, so that they who were in it thought it\nwould be dashed to pieces. The fourth was that of the Bull, because\nevery day a wild bull issued out of an old covered way and ran among\nthe people as though he would destroy them. Then he entered a tower,\nfrom which he emerged ridden by an aged ape, which flogged him back\nto the place whence he had come. [44]\n\nNews reached the island that Gromadaza of the Boiling Lake, the wife\nof Famongomadan, had sent her defiance to Lisuarte, who in consequence\nhad resolved to behead her daughter Madasima and other damsels of the\nrace of giants unless she gave up her castles and yielded her kingdom\nto him. Amadis and his knights thought it ill in Lisuarte to take such\nmeasures against women, and dispatched twelve of their number to act\nas champions to the distressed giantesses. This action naturally gave\ncolour to the stories of the mischief-makers at Lisuarte's Court,\nwho desired to put Amadis to shame. But Lisuarte was of too noble a\nmind to listen to them, and on the arrival of the knights he set the\ndamsels free.\n\n\n\n\nAmadis Quarrels with Lisuarte\n\nBut Fate and the counsels of wicked men are often stronger than the\nnobility of kings. His advisers urged Lisuarte to attempt the siege of\nthe Island of Mongaza, the last stronghold of the giants, and held only\nby their womenkind. Amadis and his company conceived this proposal as\nunchivalrous, and when Lisuarte heard of their opinion he grew wroth\nand sent his defiance to Amadis in the Firm Island. Amadis replied\nthat Madasima, the daughter of Famongomadan, having wed with Galvanes,\na friend of both Lisuarte and himself, the island could not be held\nas sheltering the enemies of Lisuarte any longer, and that he would\ndefend it with his whole force. And he set sail for the island with\na large and well-equipped army. There they found a garrison which had\ntaken possession in the name of Lisuarte, and which they dispossessed.\n\nLeaving a suitable force in the island, Amadis, who was becoming\nanxious regarding Oriana, set sail for his own land of Gaul, and,\nputting in at an island for supplies, chanced then to rescue his\nbrother Galaor and King Cildadan from the clutches of a tyrannous\ngiant, who had entrapped them. Arrived in Gaul, Amadis greeted his\nparents, whom he had not seen for some years. In the meantime Lisuarte\nhad himself landed in the Isle of Mongaza, and had defeated the troops\nof Galvanes, its rightful lord, but he dealt reasonably and kindly\nwith his vanquished foes and contented himself with making Galvanes,\nand Madasima, his wife, do homage to him.\n\nFor some time Amadis led a life of ease, hunting and feasting, and\ncontenting himself with such news of his lady as he could obtain. We\nare told that by these means his great renown became obscured, although\nthe unbiased reader might think that he had already achieved sufficient\nfame to last a lifetime. \"Damsels who went to him to seek revenge for\ntheir wrongs cursed him for forsaking arms in the best of his life.\"\n\nBut Amadis had strong reasons for acting as he did, for a letter\nfrom Oriana had informed him that she had borne him a little son,\nand she beseeched him not to leave Gaul until such time as he heard\nfurther from her. She did not acquaint him with the circumstance that\nthe infant had been lost, but of this we shall hear more anon. Later\nOriana wrote desiring Amadis not to take arms against her father, and\nnot to quit Gaul, unless it were to take his part. So Amadis resolved\nto assist Lisuarte against the Kings of the Isles, with whom he was\nabout to do battle, and who had invaded his kingdom.\n\nNow the Damsel of Denmark had taken the little son of Amadis and Oriana\nand had carried him by night through a gloomy forest, in order that her\nmistress might not be disgraced. Left alone for a moment, the child\nhad been carried off by a lioness, from which it had been rescued by\na hermit, Nasciano, who had called him Esplandian, and educated him\nalong with his own nephew. The good man brought the lads up as hunters,\nand not the least strange thing about this remarkable child was the\ncircumstance that a lioness had affectionately attached herself to him,\nrefusing to leave him, either when at home or in the chase.\n\nMeanwhile Amadis, calling himself 'Knight of the Green Sword,'\nhad resolved to do away with the ill reports of his unchivalrous\nsloth. Taking only Ardian the dwarf with him, he entered Germany,\nwhere he passed four years in adventure without word or message from\nOriana. Passing into Bohemia, he remained at its Court for a space.\n\nOne day Lisuarte, going to the chase with the Queen and his daughters,\ncame to the mountain where the hermit Nasciano dwelt, and encountering\nEsplandian, resolved to adopt him, and the hermit showed him a letter,\nwritten by Urganda, which had been tied to Esplandian's neck when\nNasciano found him. The letter was addressed to King Lisuarte himself,\nand advised him to cherish the boy, who one day would deliver him\nfrom the greatest danger. So Lisuarte resolved to attach Esplandian,\nand Sargil, his foster-brother, to his service. And when the hermit\ntold how he had rescued Esplandian from the lioness Oriana knew him\nto be none other than her own son, for she had heard that the infant\nleft on the threshold of the nunnery had been seized by a wild beast\nand carried off.\n\nIn the course of his adventures, which were numerous and stirring,\nAmadis was sorely wounded by a monster which he had slain, and was\ncured of his hurt by a certain lady called Grasinda, to whom he was\ngrateful for her kindness and assistance, and he promised to do her\nwill in any adventure she might choose for him.\n\nAbout the same time El Patin, Emperor of Rome, resolved to ask King\nLisuarte for the hand of Oriana. Hearing this, Queen Sardamira\nof Sardinia, who loved El Patin, came to Britain along with the\nambassadors of the Roman Emperor, and, meeting Oriana, gave her some\naccount of Amadis, telling her how on one occasion he had conquered\nEl Patin in battle and how that emperor owed him a mortal grudge.\n\nGalaor, who suspected the love of Amadis and Oriana, went to Lisuarte,\nstrongly advising him not to give Oriana in marriage to the Emperor,\nand set out for Gaul, hoping to receive some news of Amadis. At the\nsame time Florestan betook himself to the Firm Island, to acquaint\nAgrayes of the troubles besetting Oriana, and to carry him news of\nhis lady Mabilia, who longed to see him once more.\n\n\n\n\n'The Greek Knight'\n\nBut, as fortune would have it, Amadis, now calling himself 'the Greek\nKnight,' accompanied by the lady Grasinda, arrived in Britain. Amadis,\ndesiring to remain incognito, gave explicit orders to all in his\ntrain not to divulge his name. He learned that Oriana was about\nto be given to the Emperor, and resolved to take his measures\naccordingly. Grasinda, however, mindful of his vow to her to embark in\nany adventure she might choose for him, sent a letter to King Lisuarte\nstating that she held herself fairer than any lady at his Court, and\nthat did any knight deny this he must do battle with her champion,\nthe Greek Knight. The Roman ambassadors requested of Lisuarte that they\nmight be permitted to take up the challenge, and to this he acceded.\n\nThe combat duly took place between Amadis and the knights of Rome,\nto the entire discomfiture of the latter. But the day came on which\nLisuarte had promised the Emperor to send Oriana to him, and although\nshe swooned at the thought of being taken to Rome, her stubborn father\nhad her carried on board ship, said farewell to her, not unkindly,\nand watched the Roman galley as it bore his daughter from the white\nshores of Britain.\n\nAmadis, hearing of the King's intention, went on board his own ship,\nand lay in wait for the Roman vessel which was carrying off his\nadored lady. Attacking the Italian craft with impetuosity, he quickly\novercame those on board, rescued Oriana, and at once set sail with\nher for the golden shores of the Firm Island.\n\nAfter a voyage of seven days the vessel of Amadis anchored in the\nhaven of the Firm Island. The lady Grasinda had by this time arrived\nthere, and now came out to welcome Oriana, whom of all ladies in the\nworld she most desired to see, because of her great renown, which\nwas everywhere spread abroad. And when she beheld Oriana \"she could\nnot believe that such beauty was possible in any mortal creature.\"\n\nOriana and the other ladies were lodged in a tower of the palace\nwrought by the magic skill of Apolidon, and by her request no\nknight was permitted to enter this tower till some terms might\nbe made with the King, her father. Amadis was well aware that the\ndefiance he had thrown in the teeth of Lisuarte and the Emperor of\nRome by his abduction of Oriana must lead to serious consequences,\nso he dispatched messengers to his many friends throughout the world\nasking that they would send succour to him in his necessity.\n\nThe enmity which had arisen betwixt his two ancient enemies, Amadis\nand King Lisuarte, presented an opportunity to the wily enchanter\nArchelaus which he had no intention of letting slip. He therefore\napproached several other spirits of discord and proposed to them that\nif strife commenced between Amadis and the British King they with\ntheir forces should conceal themselves in the neighbourhood of the\nengagement, and when one side or the other had achieved victory,\nthey should fall upon the remnants of both armies and overwhelm\nthem in a common ruin. This dastardly plan commended itself to the\nmalcontent lords and petty kings to whom the wizard proposed it,\nand they resolved to carry it into effect.\n\n\n\n\nWar with Lisuarte\n\nMeanwhile Amadis had dispatched an embassy to the Court of Lisuarte,\nrequesting the hand of Oriana, but the stubborn old monarch gave a\nstern refusal and sent him his defiance. El Patin, Emperor of Rome,\nhad by this time arrived in Britain, and was busy concerting measures\nagainst Amadis. Soon a mighty host was gathered together, and marched\nto seek the army of Amadis, who, taking time by the forelock, had\ninvaded Britain, and now advanced to meet the forces of Lisuarte and\nthe Emperor.\n\nThe friends of Amadis had not failed him. In the first place\nhis father, King Perion, was behind him with the whole force of\nGaul. Ireland had sent a large contingent, and his old friends,\nthe King of Bohemia and the Emperor of Constantinople, had furnished\nhim with well-equipped legions, all of which were under the skilled\nleadership of King Perion. Moreover, the army was accompanied by\nOriana, Grasinda, and the other dames and princesses who had come to\nthe Firm Island, and their presence heartened the champions to deeds\nof high emprise. Meanwhile Archelaus the enchanter and his allies\ndogged the progress of Lisuarte's forces in the hope of taking them\nat a disadvantage.\n\nPresently the armies came within sight of one another. Their\nmeeting-place was a great plain, and for miles nothing was to be seen\nbut the blaze of armour and gay surcoats, the waving of plumes and\nbanners, and all the proud circumstance of chivalry. For two days the\narmies lay in sight of one another. Then they advanced to the charge\nwith such a tumult of drums and cymbals, trumpets and clarions that it\ncould be heard many a league away. They met with a crash like thunder,\nand the noise which arose from the clash of swords upon armour was\nlike that of a thousand hammers upon as many anvils.\n\nAmadis led the van. Challenged by Gasquilan, the haughty King of\nSweden, he charged him, and dashed him from the saddle with such\nforce that he lay as dead. But in the encounter Amadis fell from his\nhorse. Quadragante, who was close to him, unhorsed a Roman knight, and\ngave his destrier to the steedless hero, who, followed by Gandalin\nand other paladins, attacked the flank of the Romans with great\nfierceness. Meanwhile Quadragante did fearful execution on their front,\nfew of the enemy being able to withstand his giant might for long.\n\nThe Roman army now showed signs of falling into confusion, but at that\nmoment the Emperor came up with a reinforcement of five thousand\nmen. He headed the charge in person, crying, \"Rome! Rome!\" and\nbrandishing a great sword in his hand. Encountering Quadragante, he\nreceived such a buffet from the giant knight as made him give back\nand seek shelter among his own men.\n\nNow Amadis, surrounded by his bravest paladins, performed deeds of\nvalour which were a wonder in the eyes of both friends and enemies. The\nRomans began to give ground before the terrific blows he dealt on all\nsides, and at last broke and fled. So greatly had his forces suffered,\nhowever, that he refrained from pursuing his beaten enemies, and as\nyet the army of Lisuarte had taken no part in the fighting, so that\nhe thought it better to spare his own men, who must meet Lisuarte's\nforce anon.\n\nOn the following day King Lisuarte marshalled his army, and now King\nPerion came up with his forces, which had been held in reserve. The\nbattle had not been long in progress, however, when Amadis encountered\nthe Roman Emperor, and with such a blow as even he had seldom delivered\nended his career. When the Romans and Britons saw that their leader\nwas slain they began to give way, and Lisuarte, observing this,\nsought to withdraw his men in good order. Seeing that he retreated,\nand fearing for Lisuarte's personal safety, Amadis took advantage of\nthe darkness which was now falling to withdraw his troops rather than\npursue, so that the King was able to effect an orderly retiral.\n\nWhen the holy hermit Nasciano heard of the great discord between the\nkings he resolved to make an endeavour to prevent further slaughter,\nand although he was old and infirm he succeeded in making his way\nto the camp of King Lisuarte. He did not arrive, however, until the\ntwo battles which have just been described had been fought. Making\nhimself known to the King, he revealed to him that Oriana had promised\nmarriage to Amadis and that Esplandian was their son. On hearing\nthis the King was greatly troubled, and blamed the lovers for their\nsecrecy, remarking, with justice, that many valuable lives would have\nbeen spared had they seen fit to trust him. He requested the hermit\nto approach Amadis with a view to the conclusion of peace between\nthem, and this the good man was only too pleased to do. Accompanied\nby Esplandian, he betook himself to the camp of Amadis, where he was\ncourteously received. The hermit first revealed Esplandian's identity\nto the boy's father, and Amadis cordially embraced his son. But he\ndid not forget his pacific mission. Before he left Amadis he had\nsmoothed over all the differences between him and the proud old King\nLisuarte, and it was arranged that their ambassadors should meet,\nwith the object of cementing a generous and lasting peace.\n\n\n\n\nThe Treachery of Archelaus\n\nMeanwhile the vindictive enchanter Archelaus, with his malcontent\nassociates, had been anxiously watching the trend of affairs,\nand when their spies informed them that hostilities were at an end\nbetween Lisuarte and Amadis they resolved to attack the old King's\nforces without delay. But the sight of their army on the march was\nwitnessed by Esplandian as he was returning to Lisuarte's headquarters,\nand he hastily retraced his steps to the camp of Amadis to warn him\nthat treachery was on foot. On learning his tidings Amadis and King\nPerion at once set out to rescue Lisuarte's exhausted forces from\nthe danger which menaced them. But before Amadis and his knights\ncould come up with the army of Archelaus, Lisuarte and his remaining\nsquadrons had been attacked by the troops of the wizard and his allies,\nwho had inflicted upon them a crushing defeat. The aged monarch was\ncompelled to escape as best he could from the stricken field, and,\nseeking refuge in a neighbouring town, prepared for a last desperate\ndefence against his implacable enemies. The place was fiercely attacked\nby Archelaus, and as fiercely defended by Lisuarte and such knights\nas remained to him. But as the sorcerer was on the point of taking\nthe town by storm Amadis and his paladins appeared, and routed him\nafter a sanguinary struggle. Archelaus and his associates were bound\nin chains, and were rather foolishly released upon giving security\nfor their future good behaviour.\n\nThe meeting of Lisuarte and Amadis was cordial in the extreme,\nand it was apparent that their old friendship would speedily be\nrenewed. Lisuarte summoned his barons and nobles together, and when\nthey had all assembled publicly announced the espousal of Amadis\nand Oriana.\n\nNow the whole company, including Lisuarte, Perion, and their queens,\nFlorestan, Galaor, Agrayes, and many others, journeyed to the Firm\nIsland, where it was unanimously considered that the nuptials of Amadis\nand Oriana might most appropriately take place. On their arrival at\nthat enchanted spot princely preparations were made to mark the event\nin a manner befitting such an occasion, for not only were Amadis and\nOriana at last to be united, but numbers of their friends were to take\nupon them the vows of marriage at the same time. In the midst of the\npreparations the beneficent sorceress Urganda made her appearance,\nriding upon a great dragon, and was affectionately welcomed by those\nover whose fortunes she had so diligently presided.\n\n\n\n\nThe Wedding of Amadis and Oriana\n\nWhen all was ready and the day of the wedding had at last arrived, a\nbrilliant assembly mounted their palfreys and proceeded to the church,\nwhere the hermit Nasciano [45] celebrated Mass. When the ceremony\nhad duly been performed, Amadis asked of Lisuarte that ere the revels\nbegan Oriana might be permitted to make test of the adventure of the\nArch of True Lovers, as the enchantment still held good so far as\nladies were concerned. To this the King gave his consent. As Oriana\napproached the image raised its trumpet and blew such a strain of\nsweetness as had never yet been heard in the island, and from the\nmouth of the trumpet fell flowers and roses in such abundance that\nthey covered the ground. Without any hesitation Oriana passed on to\nthe adventure of the Forbidden Chamber. As she passed between the\npillars she felt hands invisible violently pushing her backward, and\nthree times did they thrust her past the pillars. But by reason of\nher surpassing faithfulness and beauty she won, despite opposition,\nto the enchanted portal, where the hand which had admitted Amadis was\nthrust out, and she entered the chamber, while the voices of viewless\nsingers softly chanted the praises of her beauty and constancy.\n\nNow all the assembled company who had beheld this last marvel entered\nthe chamber, and the marriage feast was spread therein. The long\nendurance of Amadis and Oriana was over, and at length united to each\nother and to their son Esplandian they looked forward to an existence\nof such happiness as is only vouchsafed to mortals in the unclouded\npages of old romance.\n\nSo ends this brave old tale, in which we read of manners and modes\nof thought so widely removed from those of our own time as almost\nto appear like those of the people of another planet. The conduct of\nknight and damsel is, perhaps, a little strained. No matter how absurd\na promise or fantastic the circumstances in which it was extracted,\nit is still regarded as binding, and if we admire the romantic nature\nof such a code we are tempted to smile at the seriousness with which\nbearded knights and all-powerful monarchs give way before the quibble\nof magicians whose lures and devices would be laughed at by a modern\nschoolboy. Nevertheless, in perusing the story we experience a strong\nconviction of its author's purity of soul and integrity of purpose.\n\nFrom the reader who has followed me through the mazes of this\nenchanting romance I must ask pardon for having omitted in my rendering\nof it many passages of rare beauty and touching humanity. My business\nin this volume, however, is to present the thread of the story, to\ndescribe its main incidents, and, keeping as closely as possible to\nthe adventures and doings of its principal characters, to supply an\noutline of the whole. I might readily have enhanced the brilliancy\nand readableness of my account if I had chosen to narrate isolated\nadventures and the incidents of more surpassing excellence with which\nit teems. But my purpose, as I have said, is to provide readers who\nhave little time to peruse an original text with the story in brief. At\nthe same time I have attempted to conserve the true spirit of the\nromance, and if I have failed to do so that must in some measure\nbe attributed to the difficult task of compression with which I was\nconfronted. In the words of one who 'set' Amadis to verse, I may say,\nwith justice:\n\n\n    To tell as meet the costly feast's array,\n    My tedious tale would hold a summer's day.\n    I let [46] to sing who mid the courtly throng\n    Did most excel in dance or sprightly song,\n    Who first, who last, were seated on the dais,\n    Who carped of love and arms in courtliest phrase. [47]\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV: THE SEQUELS TO \"AMADIS DE GAUL\"\n\n\n                   \"Inferior as these after-books of Amadis certainly\n                    are, they form so singular an epoch in the history\n                    of literature that an abridgment of the whole series\n                    into our language is to be desired.\"--Southey\n\n\nIn dealing with the literatures of the Peninsula, a task for which he\nwas eminently well equipped, Southey followed an instinct of natural\ndiscrimination which seldom played him false. Feeble as some of the\n'after-books' of Amadis undoubtedly are, we cannot afford to ignore\nthem, if only because of the literary phenomena they present. In these\nfantastic tales the imagination which had flowered so luxuriantly in\nAmadis became overblown. They are, indeed, the petals fallen from\nthe fading rose--so quickly did the wonderful blossom of chivalric\nfiction droop and wither.\n\nThe first of these sequels, called The Fifth Book of Amadis, is\nmore generally known as Esplandian, as it chiefly refers to the\nadventures of that hero. Cervantes is, perhaps, rather more unkind\nto this romance than its peculiar merits deserve, for he makes his\ncritical curate say of it: \"Verily the father's goodness shall not\nexcuse the want of it in the son. Here, good mistress housekeeper,\nopen that window and throw it into the yard. Let it serve as a\nfoundation to that pile which we are to set a-blazing presently.\"\n\nThe first edition of Esplandian was published at Seville in 1542. The\ngreater part of it seems to have been composed by Montalvo, the\noriginal translator of Amadis. But whereas when he penned that work\nhe acted the part of a translator only, in Esplandian he undertook\nthe r\u00f4le of authorship proper, and that he failed to discern the\nwide distinctions which separate these tasks is rather painfully\napparent. It seems to me, however, a mistaken criticism which brands\nEsplandian as entirely lacking in merit, and I suspect that more than\none of the censorious folk who have thus entreated it have not perused\nit in the original, or have merely taken Cervantes' word regarding\nits lack of quality. It is notorious that many English critics\nseem to believe it possible to pass a verdict upon works written in\nSpanish without possessing more than a nodding acquaintance with the\nlanguage, and the absurd idea obtains among many men of letters, who\nought to know better, that, given a knowledge of Latin and French,\nthe acquisition of the Castilian tongue is merely a matter of a\nlittle reading.\n\nEsplandian possesses many quaint beauties, and the fairy 'machinery'\nand rather distinguished simplicity of its atmosphere make it most\npleasant and delectable to peruse. Where, too, may we encounter a\nbetter or more representative example of romantic extravagance at its\nbest?--for Esplandian, without exhibiting the grosser faults of its\ndescendants, has the rich and varied colour of that imaginative excess\nwhich is the birthright of all true poets, and in the discipline of\nwhich all are not successful. I quite admit, however, that Esplandian\nis food for the enthusiast, and I do not recommend its perusal to\nunromantic souls. It is not for the barbers and curates of this world,\nand pity 'tis that they who cannot appreciate its spirit should\nattempt to influence others to its detriment.\n\nEsplandian spent his childhood at the Court of his grandfather, King\nLisuarte, and had scarcely been knighted when he felt the call of\nhigh adventure. His wishes in this respect were speedily gratified,\nfor shortly after the gilt spurs had been placed on his heels he\nfell into a deep swoon, which seemed to portend enchantment of no\ncommon order. As he slept, the people of the Firm Island, whence he\nhad journeyed to have knighthood conferred upon him, beheld a vast\nmountain of fire approach the shore, from which issued the sylph-like\nform of the enchantress Urganda the Unknown, sailing through the air\nupon the back of an enormous dragon. Some time prior to these events\nAmadis, to whose custody the malicious Archelaus had been entrusted,\nhad injudiciously released that firebrand of the magical world, only\nto learn shortly afterward that the unscrupulous wizard had taken\nadvantage of his new-found liberty to work his wiles once more upon\nthe all too unsuspecting Lisuarte, who seemed incapable of profiting\nby experience, and who now paid for his credulity by incarceration in\nthe deepest dungeons of the necromancer's castle. Urganda announced\nto the distracted son-in-law that it would be necessary for Esplandian\nto execute a mission of vengeance, and ere it was possible to question\nher further she bore away the youth on the back of the winged monster\nshe bestrode.\n\nThe enchantress conveyed the sleeping Esplandian to a mysterious\nvessel called the Ship of the Great Serpent, and on waking it was\nwith no little exaltation of spirit that he found himself on its\ndeck. As he was wafted across the smooth ocean he felt a thrill\nof pleasure arising from the magical ease with which the enchanted\ngalley skimmed the waves. In time he beheld a rocky islet standing\nin the midst of a forsaken sea, and going ashore he found it to be\nbarren and showing no other sign of habitation than a tall tower,\nwhich crowned its topmost height. He climbed the eminence upon which\nit stood, and discovered the ancient fortalice to be completely\ndeserted. Exploring its recesses, he observed a stone in which a\nrichly ornamented sword was firmly embedded, but as he attempted to\ngrasp this the air was rent by the bellowings of a frightful dragon,\nwhich descended upon him with such velocity that ere he could prepare\nhimself for its onset it had coiled its enormous folds round his body\nin an effort to break through the plates of his armour and crush him\nto death. Man and monster wrestled to and fro in a death-grapple,\nand so terrific were their exertions that the earth shook and the\ncastle rocked beneath them as they swayed and writhed in a deadly\nembrace. At length Esplandian succeeded in freeing his right hand\nfrom the dragon's encircling folds, and, drawing a magic sword which\nUrganda had bestowed upon him, passed it through the monster's scaly\nhide. Mortally wounded, the dragon relaxed its grip, and its huge\nbody became rigid in death. When he had assured himself that it was\nquite dead, Esplandian quitted the castle and returned to the shore, a\nweird light which came from the enchanted sword, which he had extracted\nfrom the boulder, guiding his footsteps through the gathering dusk.\n\nRe-embarking on the Ship of the Great Serpent, he was speedily wafted\nto a rugged country known as the Forbidden Mountain, a stronghold\non the borders of Turkey and Greece. At a distance he perceived a\ncastle, and was making his way thither when he encountered a hermit,\nwho warned him to avoid it, and told him that a prince of renown\nwas imprisoned therein. At once it occurred to Esplandian that this\nmust be none other than Lisuarte, and the castle the stronghold of\nthe wicked Archelaus, and this surmise naturally made him resolve to\ninquire into the character of the place. As he neared the gate he saw\nthat it was guarded by a giant sentinel, who, on espying him, rushed\nat him fiercely, brandishing a formidable club. Avoiding the onset of\nhis gigantic adversary, Esplandian slew him with the sword of power,\nand was about to enter the castle when he was suddenly confronted\nby Archelaus in person. A bitterly contested struggle ensued. The\nenchanter, enraged at the stripling's audacity in seeking to probe\nthe mysteries of his stronghold, and in the knowledge that he came\nof the race of his detested enemy Lisuarte, attacked Esplandian with\ngreat fury. But his blind rage could not avail against the cooler\ncourage of his youthful antagonist, who succeeded in dispatching him\nwith the magic sword, thus for ever putting an end to his necromantic\nenormities. A nephew of the slain enchanter next assaulted the young\nknight, but he too fell before the magic falchion of Urganda. Next\nArcobone, the mother of Archelaus, a witch deeply versed in the\nmysteries of the occult arts, sought to vanquish him by the force\nof her anathemas, but the powers of counter-charm concealed in\nEsplandian's blade saved him from the fury of the dread sybil, who\nfelt herself bound to obey his behests. He commanded her to reveal\nthe place of Lisuarte's confinement, and had the satisfaction of\nreleasing his aged relative.\n\nAs Esplandian and Lisuarte were about to leave the island, the fleet\nof Matroed, eldest son of Arcobone, arrived off its shores, and the\nyoung hero found himself forced to do battle with a fresh enemy,\nfor, relying upon his ability to defeat such a youthful adversary\nwith ease, Matroed made the combat a strictly personal one, and he\nand Esplandian were engaged in deadly fight until the waning of the\nsun. But at length the many wounds which the pagan warrior had received\nforced him to discontinue the struggle, and he begged Esplandian to\npermit him to die in peace. At this juncture a holy man arrived, and\nthe expiring heathen requested his blessing, which was piously granted.\n\nAssuming the name of 'the Black Knight,' from the colour of his armour,\nEsplandian now ruled in the Forbidden Mountain as lord of the castle\nhe had subdued. But he was not permitted to remain in quiet for long,\nas the fortalice was speedily invested by Armato, the Soldan of\nTurkey, with a great army. Attracting numerous followers to himself,\nhowever, Esplandian defeated the paynims, and took their sovereign\nprisoner. Encouraged by this success, he carried the war into the\nheart of the Turkish dominions and captured the principal city.\n\nBefore entering upon his career of adventure Esplandian had met\nLeonorina, daughter of the Emperor of Constantinople, of whom he\nhad become greatly enamoured, and during the course of his war with\nthe Turks he had dispatched many messengers to her, assuring her of\nhis undying affection. He now learned that she had taken umbrage\nat his long absence, so, when the capital of Turkey had fallen to\nhis sword, he speedily set out for Constantinople. Arrived there, he\npurchased a cedar chest of exquisite workmanship, which he entrusted\nto certain messengers, commanding them to bear it to the lady. When\nshe opened it in the privacy of her own apartment, to her mingled\nconfusion and delight her long-absent lover himself emerged from its\nrecesses. In Spanish romance it is inevitable that the loves of the\nhero and heroine should remain unknown to the lady's relatives, not\nonly because this was demanded by the romantic susceptibilities of\nthe average Spanish reader, but because Spanish opinion would have\nbeen seriously affronted by the idea of parental compliance in any\nintercourse between the lovers prior to marriage, save of the most\nformal kind. This sorry condition of affairs still obtains among the\nmiddle and upper classes of Spain and Spanish America, and we can\nscarcely suppress amusement when we hear of ardent youths unable to\nconverse confidentially with the maidens to whom they are formally\naffianced otherwise than by assuming some ridiculous disguise,\nor through the kind offices of servants. Not infrequently young\nSpanish couples whose engagement is quite en r\u00e8gle, and to whose\nunion not the slightest opposition is made, arrange and carry out\nan elopement, purely because of the romantic atmosphere surrounding\nsuch a proceeding. It is circumstances such as these which enable us\nto appreciate the firm hold of romance upon the Spanish heart.\n\nBut Esplandian had but little time for dalliance, as the Turks\nwere once more arrayed against him in the field. He had, however,\na firm ally in Urganda, but, to counterbalance this, the infidels\nwere supported by the enchantress Melia, the sister of Armato,\nthe defeated soldan, who had succeeded in making his escape upon\nthe back of a flying dragon, dispatched for that purpose by this\nTurkish witch. With all speed he levied a large army, and set siege\nto Constantinople. Numerous as the sands of the sea were his allies,\none of whom was a beautiful Amazonian queen, who brought with her to\nthe scene of hostilities a squadron of fifty griffins, which flew\nover the city much in the manner of devastating aircraft, belching\nfire and smoke on the heads of the unhappy folk below.\n\nSo dire was the loss of life in this combat between the forces\nof Christendom and paganism that at last it was agreed that the\nquestion of pre-eminence should be settled by the issue of a double\ncombat. Amadis and Esplandian were selected on the one side, and the\nAmazon queen and a celebrated pagan soldan on the other. The heathens\nwere defeated, but so enraged were they at their downfall that they\nrushed to the attack with every available man (and woman) in their\nhosts. But the Christians, mightily encouraged by the victory of their\nchampions, repulsed them with terrific loss, and drove them from the\nbounds of the Grecian dominions. The Greek Emperor, probably only too\nhappy to rid himself of the burden of such a troublous inheritance,\nresigned his crown to Esplandian, who espoused his Leonorina and\nsettled down to the task of governing the Hellenic realm.\n\nRelieved from the pressure of military duties, in which she had proved\nherself no inefficient ally, the sage Urganda had now leisure to\npay some attention to the private affairs of her mortal charges. On\nconsulting her magic mirror and other divinatory apparatus, she was\ndesolated to find that Amadis, Galaor, Esplandian, and indeed all of\nher favourite champions, were soon to pay the debt of nature. Had her\nprophetic soul been enabled to envisage the immensities of fiction to\nwhich their future adventures were to give rise, she would undoubtedly\nhave allowed nature to take its course, so we must conclude that her\npowers of vision were limited. Resolved to frustrate unkindly Fate,\nshe summoned her prot\u00e9g\u00e9s to the Firm Island, and advised them, if\nthey desired to escape mortality, to obey the injunctions she would\nnow place upon them. They anxiously assured her that these would be\ncarried out to the letter, and with the best possible grace submitted\nto be cast into a magic sleep, from which, it was decreed, they were\nnot to awaken until disenchanted by Lisuarte, son of Esplandian, who,\non gaining possession of a certain magic sword, would be enabled to\nbring them once more to life with renewed vigour.\n\nThe Sixth Book of the Amadis series is concerned with the adventures\nof Florisando, his nephew, but as its hero is not in the line direct,\nand is, moreover, intolerably tiresome, we may well pass him over\nwith a mere mention of his existence.\n\n\n\n\nLisuarte of Greece\n\nMore sprightly is Lisuarte of Greece, hero of the seventh and eighth\nbooks, which are believed to have been written by Juan Diaz, Bachelor\nof Canon Law, and published in 1526. Lisuarte is not, however,\nthe sole hero of this romance, Perion, a later son of Amadis and\nOriana, claiming a considerable share of the exploits which fall to be\nrecounted in the volume. This young warrior, hearing of the prowess and\naddress in arms of the King of Ireland, resolved to gratify a desire\nto be knighted by him, and for this purpose embarked for the Green\nIsle. While traversing St George's Channel, or its romantic equivalent,\nhe encountered a damsel cruising in a boat managed by four apes. The\nanimals begged Perion to accompany their mistress for the fulfilment\nof a great enterprise, so, quitting his own vessel, he embarked in the\nboat along with the apes and the lady. His attendants, chagrined by his\nacceptance of the adventure thus thrust upon him, turned their vessel\neastward and sailed on until they eventually arrived at Constantinople,\nwhere they reported his virtual disappearance, on learning of which\nhis kinsman Lisuarte decided to go in quest of him.\n\nIn the meantime young Perion had arrived with his strange\nfellow-wanderers in the kingdom of Trebizond, which, as we are all\naware, is readily accessible from the Irish coast. In that city he\nhad seen and fallen in love with the daughter of the Emperor, but did\nnot have much leisure to pay his addresses to her, as the Lady of the\nApes rather unduly hurried him in the preliminaries of the task she\nhad set him. They had scarcely left Trebizond when Lisuarte arrived\nin the city, and promptly fell in love with Onoloria, the Emperor's\nremaining daughter. But one day, as the lovers were enjoying each\nother's society, an enormous giantess entered the Court and requested\na boon from Lisuarte, which, in true romantic fashion, he granted\nwithout inquiring its nature. It proved to be his attendance for a\nyear wherever the gigantic damsel chose to demand it. The giantess\nwas, indeed, a pagan spy, and had concocted this device to withdraw\nLisuarte, who was one of the great props of Christian Greece, from\nthe support of the Hellenic throne at a difficult and dangerous time.\n\nWhen Lisuarte had quitted Trebizond on the adventure in which he was\nan unwilling partaker, the Emperor of that country, father of his\ninamorata, was informed of the true character of the prodigious damsel\nwho had carried him off by a letter which was closed with sixty-seven\nseals and which announced that Constantinople was about to be besieged\nby Armato, the Turkish Soldan, who had placed himself at the head of a\nleague of sixty-seven princes for the purpose of waging war against the\nimperial city. Meanwhile Lisuarte was given into the care of the King\nof the Giants' Isle, whose daughter Gradaffile fell in love with him,\nprocured his escape, and followed him to Constantinople, whence he\nat once betook himself for the purpose of combating the infidels who\ninvested it. In this task he was assisted by Perion, who now arrived in\nGreece, after having accomplished the behest of the Lady of the Apes.\n\nIn course of time Lisuarte became conscious that duty now called\nhim to effect the release of his sleeping ancestors from the\nspell in which they had been cast for the purpose of prolonging\ntheir existences. After many adventures, which we spare the\nreader, he obtained possession of the fatal sword and proceeded\nto the Firm Island, where he broke the enchanted sleep into which\nAmadis, Esplandian, and the rest had been lulled by the far-sighted\nUrganda. These, naturally refreshed by their long slumber, and longing\nfor martial exercise, at once assisted him in routing the pagan forces\nbefore Constantinople, and achieving peace once more. Lisuarte, freed\nfrom his patriotic labours, now bethought himself of his lady-love,\nand turned his steps to the city of Trebizond. Perion had also gone\nthither from a similar reason, but on the request of the Duchess of\nAustria had accompanied that lady to her dominions, which were in\nthe grip of a usurper. On his return from this chivalrous task he\nencountered his kinsman Lisuarte, and both champions were in the act\nof preparing their wedding festivities when Perion and the Emperor\nof Trebizond were carried off by pagan treachery in the midst of a\nhunting expedition. Lisuarte, following on their track, was also seized\nby the enemy, and imprisoned along with those he had sought to succour.\n\n\n\n\nAmadis of Greece\n\nThe Ninth Book carries on the adventures and exploits of the race of\nAmadis, who in more senses than one may be said to be immortal. It\nwas first published in 1535 at Burgos, a place of many literary\nassociations, and purports to have been imitated in Latin from the\nGreek, after the manner of the famous Troy romance Dares and Dictys,\nand at a later time translated into the Romance language by the potent\nand wise magician Alquife, evidently a supposititious Moor pressed\ninto the service of the most imaginative but undisciplined writer\nwho fabricated it. Amadis of Greece, indeed, approaches the sublime\nof imaginative excess and fictional unreason, and in its extravagant\npages we are confronted with such a maze of marvel that to provide\nan intelligent account of it is a task of no little difficulty.\n\nFollowing the wild career of the romancer with the halting step\nof modern incredulity, we learn that Amadis of Greece was, like his\nforbears, a child unwanted, the son of Lisuarte and Onoloria, Princess\nof Trebizond, born shortly after the period of their interrupted\nwedding. While the infant was being baptized at a fountain in a wild\nand deserted place, to which he had been conveyed for the purposes of\nsecrecy, he was carried off by corsairs, who sold him to the Moorish\nKing of Saba. Distinguished by the representation of a sword upon his\nbreast, he adopted the name, when knighted by the pagan monarch, of\n'The Knight of the Flaming Sword.' Soon after he had entered the ranks\nof chivalry he was falsely accused of cherishing a secret love for\nthe Queen of Saba, and, dreading the wrath of his benefactor, he made\nhis escape, and embarked upon a career of adventure--which, indeed,\nit would have been difficult for anyone of his lineage to have avoided.\n\nA pagan in religion and sentiment, he came to the vicinity of the\nForbidden Mountain which his grandfather had been instrumental in\nliberating from the clutches of the infidel, and, reversing the pious\nwork then accomplished, he defeated and expelled those who held it\nfor the Emperor of Greece. Aroused by the menacing turn events had\ntaken, the great Esplandian himself, now Emperor of Constantinople,\nhastened to the scene of hostilities and engaged in single combat\nwith the doughty new-comer, only, however, to suffer defeat at his\nhands, an event which never could have entered into the calculation\nof the enthusiastic author who composed the romance of that hero, who\nwould have been horrified at the mere thought of the eclipse of his\ninvincible 'star.' Shortly after this Amadis encountered the King of\nSicily. Their acquaintance commenced with a combat, as it was indeed\nessential that it should, as the only fitting means of introduction\nbetween gentlemen of errant tendencies, but when they came to know\nand esteem each other they patched up a comradeship which was the\nmore powerfully cemented by the passion of Amadis for the martial\nmonarch's lovely daughter.\n\nIn the course of his voyage to Sicily, Amadis chanced to visit an\nisland, where he found the Emperor of Trebizond, Lisuarte, Perion,\nand Gradaffile in a state of enchanted slumber. As we have seen, they\nhad been spirited away by the emissaries of paganism. It chanced\nthat at this time Amadis of Gaul, who was evidently not yet too\nold for adventurous pursuits, encountered the Queen of Saba, who was\neverywhere searching for a champion to defend her against her husband's\nfalse charges of conjugal infidelity. Amadis espoused her quarrel,\nand accompanied her to Saba, where he did battle with and overcame\nher accuser. He also succeeded in establishing her innocence, and\nthat of his namesake, Amadis of Greece, to the satisfaction of the\nKing her husband.\n\nAfter he had freed his ancestors from their charmed sleep, Amadis of\nGreece betook himself to Sicily. He had not been long in the island\nwhen he heard a knight reciting amorous verses in the vicinity of\nthe palace. At once his jealous heart leapt to the conclusion that\nthe singer was chanting the praise of his princess. Almost crazed\nby his suspicions, he searched everywhere for his supposed rival,\nbut without success, dogging his footsteps, but always failing to\ncome up with him. During this chase he met with many adventures. But\nat last he seems to have convinced himself that his suspicions were\ngroundless and that the singer he had heard had had no designs upon\nthe heart of his inamorata.\n\nWhilst these events were passing, Lisuarte, the father of our hero,\nhad returned to Trebizond, and had formally requested the hand of\nOnoloria. But Zairo, Soldan of Babylon, had seen this princess in a\ndream, and, accompanied by his sister Abra, had arrived at Trebizond\nto demand her in marriage. The Emperor was quite prepared to grant\nhis suit, but not so Lisuarte, who had prior claims to the lady,\nand his opposition so enraged the Soldan that he resorted to warlike\nmeasures and set siege to \"many-towered Trebizond.\" After the siege\nhad progressed for some time champions were selected from either army\nto decide the pretensions of the rival parties. But the Soldan's\npaladins were defeated by Gradaffile, daughter of the King of the\nGiant's Isle, who disguised herself as a knight, and whose Amazonian\nfury the unfortunate Babylonians could scarcely be expected to confront\nwith any chance of success. The Soldan, however, after the manner of\nthe baffled in romance, broke the rules of the tourney and carried\noff Onoloria by a stratagem.\n\nAs his fleet sailed with all speed from Trebizond, it encountered\nthat of Amadis of Gaul, who was hastening to the relief of that city,\nand had evidently not been retarded in his passage of the Dardanelles\nby any considerations of international law. In the circumstances it\nis scarcely necessary to chronicle the Soldan's overthrow, or dwell\nupon his untimely fate.\n\nBut the will to evil of the race of Babylon was not extinguished by\nthe decease of the short-lived if romantically named Zairo. By his\ndeath his sister Abra succeeded to the throne of Semiramis. While\nsojourning at Trebizond in the happy days before hostilities had\nbroken out between her brother and Lisuarte, she had fallen under\nthe spell of that champion's attractions, and after the manner of\nEastern womanhood as depicted by the writers of romance, made the\nfirst advances to the object of her affections. Let us hope that\nhe did not repulse her as rudely as did blunt Sir Bevis of Hamton,\nwhen the fair Saracen Josiana sent her envoys to him to acquaint him\nwith her passion:\n\n\n    He said, if ye ne were messengers,\n    I should ye slay, ye lossengers.\n    I ne will rise one foot fro' grounde\n    For to speak with an heathen hounde.\n    She is a hound, also be ye:\n    Out of my chamber swith ye flee.\n\n\nBut repulse her Lisuarte did, and all the fury of a woman scorned\nburned in the breast of the fair Babylonian. Out of the depths of\nher vengeance she sent emissaries to all the kingdoms of the earth,\nasking that the knighthood of every realm should assist her to destroy\nLisuarte. One of her damsels while on this quest met with Amadis of\nGreece, who, still a pagan, was easily inveigled into promising that\nhe would never rest until he had presented the lady Abra with the\nhead of Lisuarte. On the arrival of Amadis at Trebizond a dreadful\ncombat between father and son ensued, which was mercifully broken off\nby the timely appearance of Urganda, who, following her usual custom,\nmade parent and child known to one another.\n\nBut the young Amadis was not to be exempt from the amorous advances\nof pagan princesses any more than his father had been. Niquea, the\ndaughter of an Eastern soldan, had fallen in love with him by report,\nand had sent him her picture by the hands of a favourite dwarf. The\nlady's undoubted attractions were, however, seriously counterbalanced\nby the circumstance that all who beheld her resplendent beauty either\ndied on the spot or were deprived of reason. Her father, in the\nexercise of ordinary wisdom, shut her up in an almost inaccessible\ntower, to which her relatives (who, like most family friends, were\nrather apt to discount her charms) alone had the entr\u00e9e.\n\nNotwithstanding the former strong attachment of Amadis to the Princess\nof Sicily, he had no sooner set eyes on the portrait of Niquea than\nhe renounced his former allegiance and devoted his affections to the\nOriental beauty. In order that he might delight his eyes with the\noriginal of the portrait which had so enchanted him, he disguised\nhimself as a female slave, and gained access to the tower in which\nNiquea was interned. They plighted their troth to each other,\nand Amadis remained in the tower in his disguise. Needless to say,\nNiquea's good looks wrought him no bale.\n\nWe now return to the fair but vindictive Abra, who, having marshalled\nan immense army, marched against Trebizond. After a furious encounter,\nthe forces of paynimrie were duly routed. But as Onoloria had in the\nmeantime been so obliging as to shake off the trammels of mortality,\nLisuarte, at the persuasion of his platonic friend Gradaffile,\nagreed to cement a lasting peace by espousing the Babylonian queen,\nwho was thus lucky in love if unlucky in war.\n\nNiquea, tiring of her virtual imprisonment, succeeded in eloping with\nAmadis, and soon afterward arrived with him at Trebizond, where their\nnuptials were celebrated. Later she gave birth to a son named Florisel\nde Niquea, the subject of a future tale.\n\nThis romance, like that of Esplandian, ends with the enchantment of\nthe Greek heroes and princesses in the Tower of the Universe by the\nspells of the wise magician Zirfea, who warned them that by this means\nalone could they escape mortality. But, unlike the enchantment of the\nFirm Island, the spell which they must needs undergo in this tower\nof marvels was not of a somnolent character, so that the enchanted\npaladins and their lady-loves were enabled to cultivate each other's\nsociety for a century or so, an advantage at which they had small\noccasion to grumble, when their long separation as relatives is taken\ninto account. Even did they tire of one another's society, they were\nnot likely to fall under the more dreadful spell of boredom, since the\naccommodating magician who undertook their enchantment had provided\nan apparatus by means of which they could behold every event which\ntook place in the world, a vehicle of solace and amusement which\nMadame d'Aulnoy introduced into one of her fairy fictions.\n\nCervantes' barber and priest were especially caustic regarding Amadis\nof Greece and its immediate successors. \"Into the yard with them all,\"\nquoth the priest, \"for rather than not burn the queen Pintiquinestra\nand the shepherd Darinel with his eclogues and the devilish intricate\ndiscourses of its author, I would burn the father who begot me,\ndid I meet him in the garb of a knight errant.\"\n\n\n\n\nFlorisel of Niquea\n\nThe composition which chiefly seems to have excited the wrath of\nCervantes' unromantic churchman and even more unpoetic barber is the\nTenth Book of Amadis, which is entitled as above, and is feigned to\nbe written by no less a person than Cirfea, Queen of the Argives,\nwho doubtless composed it in the intervals of repose stolen from\nthe more important duties of royalty. Her Majesty does not degrade\nher exalted position by revealing to us the fee which she received\nfrom the Valladolid publishers who produced the work in 1532, but\nif one may place a value on her compositions without breaking the\ndread law of l\u00e8se-majest\u00e9, it might be suggested that a penny a line\nwould amply remunerate the literary output of this most imaginative\nsovereign. In a word, Cirfea, or the scribbler who sought to shelter\nhimself behind her royal robes, is tiresome to a degree, and her\npastoral absurdities can scarcely be described otherwise than in\na vein of humorous tolerance. The one thing that renders her work\nof any importance is that she was probably the first to import the\nsylvan element into romance, and is thus the creator of that long\nline of artificial and over-amorous shepherds and shepherdesses\nwhose tears and sighs fall upon or are wafted over the poetic pages\nof the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and the insistence of\nwhose plaints makes one dread to open a volume which seems in any\nway reminiscent of l'esprit de berg\u00e8res.\n\nThe romance introduces us to Sylvia, the daughter of Lisuarte\nand Onoloria, who was, in the course of nature, removed from her\nparents in infancy, and was brought up to a pastoral life in the\nneighbourhood of Alexandria, which, if it enjoyed a reputation in her\nday as a sheep-rearing district, must have owed it to the well-known\nproperties of sand as a medium for the fattening of those animals for\nthe market. As Sylvia grew up she became conscious of her beauty, and,\nrelying upon her good looks, and no doubt also upon her pretty name,\nshe enslaved to her will the handsome swain Darinel, whose appellation,\nlike that of his lady-love, is racy of the land of the Pharaohs. Sylvia\nconceived it as being correct in a shepherdess to be 'cruel' to her\nlover, who, thus setting the fashion for many a future sonneteer,\ncomplained bitterly of her indifference, and signified his intention\nof ending his days by exposing himself to the fury of the elements\non a mountain-top--rather a prolonged operation, one would think, in\na region especially suited to pulmonary patients. Probably finding\nthat the climate of Egypt scarcely lent itself to the consummation\nof such a fate, he betook himself to the region of Babylonia,\nwhere, in the intervals of searching for mountains in a land where\nthey are tantalizingly absent, he found time to make a friendship\nwith Florisel, whose good nature must have been sorely tried by his\nplaintive apostrophes to his mistress's eyebrow. So glowing, indeed,\nwere Darinel's descriptions of Sylvia's charms that Florisel became\ninfected with his unhappy comrade's emotion, so that at last, unable\nto combat the passion which was consuming him, he disguised himself\nas a shepherd and prevailed upon the luckless Darinel to conduct\nhim to Sylvia's abode. But although Florisel had paid her the great\ncompliment of walking all the way from Babylon for a glance from her\nbright eyes, she showed herself every whit as cold to him as she had\nbeen to Darinel.\n\nOne evening, when Florisel deigns to grant the reader a blessed\nintermission from his pleadings to the fair shepherdess, he described\nto her how the prince Anastarax, brother of Niquea, had been enclosed\nin a fiery palace by the enchantments of the potent magician Zirfea. On\nhearing the story, the petulant Sylvia fell headlong in love with\nAnastarax, and persuaded Florisel and Darinel, who no longer hankered\nafter Alpine rigours, to attempt the deliverance of the fire-encircled\nprince. But when they arrived in the vicinity of the tower in which\nhe was detained they learned that the adventure was reserved for\nAlastraxare, a fair Amazon, daughter of Amadis of Greece and the\nQueen of Caucasus. The reader is now compelled to follow the fortunes\nof this female Hercules, whose tongue-encircling name has proved a\nstumbling-block to generations of printers. These are spread over\nmany pages. The little party from Alexandria went in search of this\nheroine, and encountered many adventures, as per arrangement with\nthe booksellers. Chief among these was the amorous dalliance with\nArlanda, princess of Thrace, who had fallen in love with Florisel\nby report, as ladies had a disconcerting habit of doing in the days\nof high romance. She donned the clothes of the immaculate Sylvia,\nand thus beguiled him to a moonlight rendezvous, where she succeeded\nin gaining his favour while he was under the impression that she was\nthe shepherdess whom he had vainly pursued so long.\n\nIn the course of their wanderings Sylvia became separated from the\nrest of the party during a great storm, and, retracing her steps,\nmade her way back to the flaming prison of Anastarax. Meanwhile\nFlorisel and Darinel arrived on the coast of Apollonia, where the\nformer happily forgot the charms of the capricious little shepherdess,\nwho by this time had been duly discovered as the daughter of Lisuarte,\nand had been united to her beloved Anastarax. But it was not because\nhe suffered from a failing memory that Florisel became oblivious\nof Sylvia, but rather on account of the bright eyes of the Princess\nHelena of Apollonia.\n\nThe sequence of the tale is now broken up in a manner calculated to\naggravate the most hardened of readers. Florisel was not left much\nleisure to enjoy the society of the fascinating Apollonian princess, as\nthe deliverance of his kindred from the enchanted tower had all along\nbeen reserved for him. When at last he had satisfied the promptings\nof duty, he set his face once more toward Apollonia, but was not, of\ncourse, destined to arrive on the shores of that delectable kingdom\nwithout undergoing still further adventures. Landing at Colchos,\nhe met with Alastraxare, who had found happiness with Falanges, a\nbrilliant warrior of Florisel's train. Arriving at last in Apollonia,\nhe found the Princess Helena on the eve of a marriage with the Prince\nof Gaul, a match ordained by the lady's politic father. But Florisel\nwould have belied the adventurous blood which he drew from a long line\nof heroes who had never yet remained inactive in such a contingency\nif he had failed to defeat the tyrannical father's intentions, so,\nas our royal authoress remarks, he repeated the exploit of Paris in\nthe tale of Troy by carrying off this second Helen.\n\nLike its prototype of Homeric story, this action very naturally\nprecipitated the kingdoms of the East and West, real and apocryphal,\ninto a condition of chaotic warfare. Assisted by the Russians, who even\nat that distant epoch appear to have had a predilection for the task\nof social demolition, the countries of the West poured their myriads\nupon the plains of Constantinople, and inflicted a serious reverse\nupon the Hellenic arms. But the erratic Slavs, true to type, turned\nlater upon their allies of the Occident, drove them from the shores\nof the Golden Horn, and finally secured Florisel in the possession\nof the capital of the East and the Princess Helena.\n\nHere the august Cirfea might with all judiciousness have written\n\"Finis\" with her golden pen to this amazing history. But at this\nstage of events, if a phrase so familiarly colloquial may be employed\nregarding one so exalted, she 'gets her second wind,' probably in\nview of the circumstance that her bargain with the booksellers of\nValladolid stipulated that their patrons were to be regaled with so\nmany thousand lines of her glowing periods, an arrangement in which\nshe was probably loath to disappoint them, for reasons to which,\nas a crowned head, she should have been superior. But her domain of\nArgolis is proverbially a poor country, whose populace possesses a\nrooted and hereditary bias against taxation. Be that as it may, she\nwas not the last Balkan sovereign to supply herself with pin-money\nby literary labours. Equipping herself, therefore, with a fresh ream\nof parchment from the Department of Archives (for Government paper\nhas proverbially been everybody's property, even from the times of\nKhammurabi), she cast about for fresh situations and addressed herself\nto the task of 'spinning out.'\n\nWhen the treacherous Russians had accounted for the armies of the West,\nthey embarked for their own country, there to hatch fresh schemes for\nthe further disturbance of a harassed Europe. But Amadis of Greece was\nin no mind that a people who owed so many debts to civilization (to\nsay nothing of vast pecuniary obligations) should escape unpunished for\ntheir original adherence to the enemy. Pursuing them, but losing track\nof their vessels, he came to the inevitable desert island, where he\nresolved to stay and do penance for his infidelity to the Princess of\nSicily. Quite naturally, that lady herself landed on its shores, and,\nafter upbraiding her unfaithful lover, very sensibly advised him to\nreturn to his sorrowing wife Niquea, which he at last consented to do.\n\nWhen, after a reasonable interval, Amadis did not return to\nConstantinople, the imperial city was in an uproar, and Florisel and\nFalanges elected to go in quest of him. They arrived in time at the\nisland, where, under the assumed name of Moraizel, the former fell\nin love with and espoused its queen, Sidonia, who, however, did not\nscruple to show her preference for his companion. But Florisel soon\ntired of his island bride, who bore him a beautiful little daughter,\nDiana, destined to prove the heroine of the eleventh and twelfth\nbooks of this interminable history.\n\n\n\n\nAgesilan of Colchos\n\nThe young Agesilan of Colchos was prosecuting his studies at Athens\nwhen he chanced to see a statue of the beauteous Diana. Irresistibly\nattracted by it, he resolved to search for and behold the original,\nso, donning the garb of a female minstrel, he fared to the Court of\nQueen Sidonia, the royal maiden's mother. Here he was employed as a\ncompanion to the princess. But when a succession of adventurous knights\narrived in the island he could not refrain from giving them battle\nin the guise of an Amazon, with results invariably in his favour.\n\nLearning from the Queen how she had been neglected by Florisel,\nAgesilan obligingly offered to bring her the head of the erring\nwarrior, revealing, at the same time, his own personality. Sidonia,\nwho bore her husband a deep grudge for his desertion of her, readily\naccepted his championship. So Agesilan repaired to Constantinople\nand defied the recreant to mortal combat. It was arranged that the\nencounter should take place in the dominions of Sidonia, but on\nthe would-be combatants arriving in these regions they found them\nbeleaguered by the ubiquitous Russians, who, not content with the\nfreedom of their own vast steppes, seem to have hankered after a\nplace in the sun in a more genial clime. It was scarcely fair to\nthe ebullient Slavs to launch two such renowned paladins upon them\nat one and the same time, but, the brief battle over, victory seems\nto have made Florisel and Sidonia forget their estrangement, and all\nwent merry as a marriage bell, Agesilan being duly affianced to Diana.\n\nIt was agreed, however, that the splendours of Constantinople would\nprovide a more fitting background to their nuptials, and accordingly\nall set sail for the Golden Horn, having first been honoured by a visit\nfrom Amadis of Gaul in person, who, notwithstanding his patriarchal\nyears, still continued to prove the delights of errantry. He was\naccompanied by Amadis of Greece, who, though almost as venerable as\nhis great-grandfather, could yet break a lance with any like-minded\nchampion.\n\nThey had not proceeded far from the shores of the island when they were\nbeset by a furious tempest, in which Agesilan and Diana were separated\nfrom the rest of their kindred and cast upon a desert rock, where they\nwould have perished had not an accommodating knight, mounted upon\na hippogriff, who chanced to be flying overhead, picked them up and\ncarried them to his home in the Canary Islands. But their preserver's\ndisinterestedness vanished on beholding the beauty of Diana, so,\nwhen Agesilan was off his guard, he bore her to a distant part of\nthe Green Island, as his demesne was called. His amorous dream was,\nhowever, destined to be rudely broken in upon, for at that moment a\nparty of corsairs landed, and seeing in Diana a prize who would bring\nthem a large sum in the nearest slave-market, promptly bore her off.\n\nAgesilan, on being unable to find Diana, suspected treachery, so\nmounted the hippogriff and set out in search of her. Having in vain\nsurveyed the island from the back of the winged monster, in his despair\nhe took to flying at large. Whether from 'engine trouble' or causes\neven more obscure, he was forced to alight in the country of the\nGaramantes, the king of which had been struck blind as a punishment\nfor his overweening pride. Moreover, the unfortunate monarch was\ndoomed to have the food prepared for him devoured daily by a hideous\ndragon. From this monster Agesilan delivered him. The whole incident is\nan unblushing imitation of a passage in Orlando Furioso (can. xxxiii,\nst. 102 ff.), in which Senapus, King of Ethiopia, is visited by a like\nmisfortune, and has his food daily destroyed by harpies until relieved\nby Astolpho, who descends in his dominions on a winged steed. But\nthe author of Agesilan is no whit more guilty than Ariosto himself,\nfor both incidents are derived originally from the story of Phineus\nand the harpies in the Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius.\n\nAgesilan, pursuing the quest of Diana, arrived at the Desolate\nIsle. The god Tervagant (Termagaunt, Tyr Magus='Tyr the Mighty')\nhad fallen in love with the queen of this country, and on being\nrepulsed by her let loose a band of demons upon her possessions,\nwho ravaged them far and wide. The god's oracle had announced that he\nwould not be appeased unless the inhabitants daily exposed a maiden\non the sea-shore until such time as he found one as much to his taste\nas the Queen. Each day a hapless damsel was chained to a rock on the\ndesolate shores of the island, and was promptly devoured by a monster\nwhich rose out of the sea. This naturally rendered the supply of\nmaidens in the vicinity rather scarce, so in order to save one of the\nlocal ladies for another occasion, Diana, who had been brought to the\nisland, was tied to the rock one morning and, like another Andromeda,\nof whose myth the incident is a paraphrase, was left to the mercy of\nthe monster. Agesilan, soaring through the air on his hippogriff,\nwitnessed her plight, descended to her aid, and, after a terrific\ncombat, slew the monster which had been about to devour her.\n\nHaving accounted for the grisly satellite of Tervagant, he placed the\nalmost unconscious Diana upon his aery steed, whose head he turned\nin the direction of Constantinople; but on the way thither this now\npractised airman caught sight of the ship of Amadis from which he\nand his mistress had been separated in the tempest. Alighting on\nthe vessel with all the skill of a sea-plane pilot on the deck of\na 'mother-ship,' he greeted his astonished kindred, and the party\neventually reached Constantinople, where the wedding of the principal\ncharacters was solemnized.\n\n\n\n\nSilvio de la Selva\n\nSilvio de la Selva, son of Amadis of Greece and a certain Finistea,\nis the hero of the twelfth and last book of the Amadis series. He\nfirst came into prominence by the gallant display he made against\nthe Russians at the siege of Constantinople, and when the Tsar\nof that turbulent folk showed a desire to plunge Europe into the\ndistractions of war once more he was not the last to unsheath his\nfalchion and assure the twelve dwarfish ambassadors of the Muscovite\nthat the confederacy of one hundred and sixty monarchs which he had\nbrought together had a small chance of returning to their respective\ndominions. The resultant siege, with its sallies and combats \u00e0\noutrance, we shall forbear to describe, only remarking en passant\nthat, in the mercantile phrase, its details are 'up to sample.' But\nif the Greek princes bethought them to escape the consequences of\nhaving incurred the enmity of the turbulent Russ merely by defeating\nhim in the field, they were destined to receive a rude awakening, for\nby one fell stroke of necromantic art the entire galaxy was spirited\naway. Once more the inhabitants of the romantic city on the Bosphorus\nwere plunged into the deepest consternation; but, nothing daunted at\nthe task which now confronted them, the knights and paladins of the\nfamily--in themselves an army of no mean dimensions--set out in search\nof their honoured relatives. But we are not yet liberated from the\ntangle of plot and counter-plot excogitated by the expiring hackery of\nCastile, and the dying candle of the great romance of Amadis does not\nflare up and flicker out with the rescue of the heroes and heroines\nwho have swaggered through its pages in almost immortal sequel of\nintrigue and battle. For, the princesses having been brought safely\nback to Constantinople, it was discovered that during their absence\nsome of them had been blessed with little olive branches, many of whose\nadventures are related, until the bewildered reader, lost in the maze\nof their story, like Milton's Satan, looks round in desperation for\nany outlet of escape, exclaiming with the fallen great one:\n\n\n    \"Me miserable, which way shall I fly?\"\n\n\nBut, like the doomed archangel, he must 'dree his weird,' and wade\nthrough the adventures of Spheramond, son of Rogel of Greece, and\nAmadis of Astre, son of Agesilan--or, better still, he may do as we\ndid, and, reverently closing the worm-eaten volume, restore it to the\nlibrary, where its embossed back is, perhaps, rather more appreciated\nthan its grotesque contents.\n\nInstead of being hurled from the throne by an incensed and neglected\npopulace, the line of Amadis continued to flourish exceedingly, and\nperhaps the secret of its success as a dynasty lies in the fact that\nit was more habitually resident in fire-ringed castles or enchanted\nislands than in its palace in the metropolis, which it seems to have\nchiefly employed as a convalescent establishment in which to recover\nfrom wounds delivered by magic swords and the poisonous bites of\n'loathly' dragons, rather than as a seat of governmental activity\nand imperial direction.\n\nWe have seen how the great theme of Amadis of Gaul burst upon Spain\nin a blaze of glory, and how, mangled by the efforts of fluent hacks,\nit sank into insignificance amid the derision of the enlightened and\nthe gibes of the vulgar. It is as if our own peerless British epos\nof Arthur, that thrice heroic treasury of the deeds of those who\n\n\n    Jousted in Aspremont or Montalban,\n    Damasco, or Morocco, or Trebizond,\n\n\nhad been seized upon by Grub Street and prostituted to the necessities\nof scribblers. We cannot give thanks enough to the god of letters\nthat it has escaped such a doom, though this has been more by virtue\nof good hap than through that of any protecting influence. The\nsequels of Amadis descend by stages of lessening excellence until at\nlength they approach the limits of drivel. But does this sorrowful\ncircumstance in any way dim the glory of the first fine rapture? Nay,\nno more than darkness can cloud the memory of morning. The knightly\neloquence of the original characters may degenerate in rodomontade;\nthe lofty and delicate imagery of the primary books may merge into\nunspeakable vulgarities of invention; the tender beauty which enchants\nthe first love idyll may become coarse intrigue. But no work of art\nis to be judged by its imitations. With the exception of the Fifth\nBook, the remaining Amadis romances are as oleographs placed beside\na noble painting. Unrestrained in execution, daubed in colours of the\nharshest crudity, uneven in outline and distressing in ensemble, they\nare more fitted for the scullions' hall than the picture-gallery. Yet\nthey may not be passed over in a work dealing with Spanish romance,\nand they point a moral which in this twentieth century it is\nfitting that we should digest--that if a nation acquiesce in the\ndebasement of its literary standards and revel in the worthless and\nthe excitement of meretricious fiction, it will cease to excel among\nthe comity of peoples. Literature is the expression of a nation's\nsoul. And what species of soul is that which voices itself in crudely\njacketed novelettes, redolent of a psychology at once ridiculous and\nunhealthy? Have we no Cervantes to shatter this ignoble thing to the\nsound of inextinguishable laughter? Is not the sad lesson of Amadis\none for the consideration of our own people? Spain was never so great\nas when its first books roused her chivalry to an ardour of knightly\npatriotism, and she was never so little as when the printing-presses\nof Burgos and Valladolid and Saragossa flooded her cities with a\nmercenary and undistinguished fiction, prompted by commercial greed,\nand joyfully received by a public avid for the drug of sensation.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V: THE PALMERIN ROMANCES\n\n\n                            Let Palmerin of England be preserved as a\n                            singular relic of antiquity.\n\n                                                               Cervantes\n\n\nIt would seem to have been a foible with the early critics of Spanish\nromance to seek to discover a Portuguese origin for practically all\nof its manifestations. They appear to have argued from the analogy of\nAmadis that all romantic effort hailed from the Lusitanian kingdom,\nyet they are never weary of descanting upon the Proven\u00e7al and Moorish\ninfluences which moulded Spanish romance! It is precisely as if one\nsaid: \"Yes, the Arthurian story displays every sign of Norman-French\ninfluence, but all the same, it was first cast into literary form in\nWales. England? Oh, England merely accepted it, that's all.\"\n\nThe Palmerin series ran almost side by side with Amadis in a\nchronological sense, and tradition ascribed its first book to an\nanonymous lady of Augustobriga. But there is reason to believe, from\na passage in Primale\u00f3n, one of its sections, that it was the work of\nFrancisco Vasquez de Ciudad Rodrigo. No early Portuguese version is\nknown, and the Spanish edition of the first romance of the series,\nPalmerin de Oliva, printed at Seville in 1525, was certainly not the\nearliest impression of that work. The English translation, by Anthony\nMunday, was published in black letter in 1588.\n\n\n\n\nPalmerin de Oliva\n\nNo sooner did Palmerin de Oliva appear than it scored a success only\nsecond to that of Amadis, its resemblance to which can scarcely be\ncalled fortuitous, and, as in the case of that romance, translations\nand continuations were multiplied with surprising rapidity.\n\nThe commencement of Palmerin de Oliva carries us once more to\nthe enchanted shores of the Golden Horn. Reymicio, the Emperor of\nConstantinople, had a daughter named Griana, whom he had resolved\nto give in marriage to Tarisius, son of the King of Hungary, and\nnephew to the Empress. But Griana had given her heart to Florendos\nof Macedon, to whom she had a son. Dreading the wrath of her father,\nshe permitted an attendant to carry the infant to a deserted spot,\nwhere it was found by a peasant, who took it to his cottage, and\nbrought it up as his own son, calling the child Palmerin de Oliva,\nbecause he had been found on a hill which was covered with a luxuriant\ngrowth of palm and olive trees.\n\nWhen the boy grew up he accepted his humble lot with equanimity. But\non learning that he was not the son of a peasant he longed for a life\nof martial excitement. Adventure soon afforded him a taste of its\ndazzling possibilities. While traversing a gloomy forest in search\nof game he encountered a merchant beset by a ferocious lion. He slew\nthe beast, and learned that the traveller was returning to his own\ncountry from Constantinople. Attaching himself to the man of commerce,\nPalmerin accompanied him to the city of Hermide, where his grateful\ncompanion furnished him with arms and a horse. Thus accoutred for\nthe life chivalric, he betook himself to the Court of Macedon, where\nhe received the honour of knighthood from Florendes, the son of the\nking of that country, and his own father.\n\nA quest soon presented itself to him. Primale\u00f3n, King of Macedon,\nhad long been a sufferer from a grievous sickness. His physicians\nassured him that could he obtain water from a certain fountain his\nmalady would disappear. But the spring in question was guarded by\nan immense serpent of such ferocity that to approach its lair meant\ncertain death. Knight after knight had essayed the adventure, only to\nbe crushed in the monster's venomous folds, so that the life-giving\nwaters the ailing King so sorely required continued to be withheld\nfrom him. This condition of affairs seemed to Palmerin to present him\nwith an opportunity for distinguishing himself, and without realizing\nthe strenuous nature of the task before him he leapt into the saddle\nand cantered off in the direction of the serpent-guarded fountain.\n\n\n\n\nThe Fairy Damsels\n\nVery conscious of the honour of knighthood which but so lately\nhad been conferred upon him, and inordinately proud of the gilded\nspurs which glittered on his mailed heels, Palmerin was not a little\npleased that he had succeeded in attracting the attention of a bevy\nof young and beautiful ladies, who stood where field and forest met,\nwatching his rather haughty progress with laughing eyes. Had he been\nless occupied with himself and his horse, which he forced to curvet\nand caracole in the most outrageous fashion, he would have seen that\nthe damsels before whom he wished to cut such a fine figure were of\na beauty far too ethereal to be human, for the ladies who watched\nhim with such amusement were princesses of the race of Faery, and\nhad waylaid the young knight with the intention of giving him such\naid as fairies have in their power.\n\nPalmerin greeted them with all the distinction of which he was capable.\n\n\"God save you, fair damsels,\" he said, bowing almost to his horse's\nmane. \"Can you tell me if I am near the serpent-guarded fountain?\"\n\n\"Fair sir,\" replied one of the sylphs, \"you are within a league of\nit. But let us entreat you to turn back from such a neighbourhood\nas this. Many famous knights have we seen pass this way to do battle\nwith the monster who guards its waters, but none have we seen return.\"\n\n\"It is not my custom to turn my back upon an enterprise,\" said\nPalmerin loftily. \"Did I understand you to say the fountain lies\nwithin a league of this place?\"\n\n\"Within a short league, Sir Knight,\" replied the fairy. Then, turning\nto her companions, she said: \"Sisters, this would seem to be the\nyouth we have awaited so long. He appears bold and resolute. Shall\nwe confer upon him the gift?\"\n\nHer companions having given their assent to this proposal, the fairy\nthen enlightened Palmerin regarding the true character of herself\nand her attendant maidens, and assured him that wherever he went,\nor whatever adventure he undertook, neither monster nor magician\nwould have the power to cast enchantment upon him. Then, directing\nhim more particularly to the lair of the serpent, they disappeared\nin the recesses of the forest.\n\nRiding on, he speedily came within view of the fountain, but had\nscarcely beheld its silver waters bubbling from a green hill-side\nwhen a horrible hissing warned him of the proximity of its loathly\nguardian. All unafraid, however, he spurred his terrified horse\nforward. A blast of fire, belched from the monster's mouth, surged\nover him, but he bent low in the saddle and avoided it. Then,\ndashing at the bristling head, poised on a neck thick as a pillar,\nand armoured with dazzling scales, he struck fiercely at it with his\nfalchion. The serpent tried to envelop horse and man in its folds,\nbut ere it could bring its grisly coils to bear upon them Palmerin\nhad smitten off its head.\n\nReturning to Macedon, the young hero was at once overwhelmed by the\napplications of importunate monarchs that he should assist them in\none enterprise or another. All of these Palmerin achieved with such\nconsummate address that his fame spread into all parts of Europe,\nand we find him as far afield as Belgium, where he delivered the\nEmperor of Germany from certain traitor knights who besieged him\nin the town of Ghent. It was during this adventure that he met and\nbecame enamoured of the Emperor's daughter, the beauteous Polinarda,\nwho had on one occasion appeared to him in a dream. But the young\npaladin felt that if he were to render himself worthy of such a\npeerless lady he must subdue many knights in her name, and undertake\nadventures even more onerous than those through which he had already\ncome scathless. Learning, therefore, of a great tournament in the\nland of France, he journeyed thither, and bore off the prize.\n\nReturning to Germany, Palmerin found the Emperor engaged in a war\nwith the King of England, at the instance of the King of Norway,\nwho had requested his assistance against the British monarch. This\npartisanship did not, however, appeal to Trineus, the Emperor's son,\nwho, enamoured of the princess Agriola, daughter of the English king,\nprivately departed with Palmerin, his object being to aid the father\nof his lady-love. After undergoing many adventures, the companions\nsucceeded in carrying off the English princess, but while voyaging\nhomeward were attacked by a furious tempest and were driven on the\nshores of the Morea. When the elements subsided Palmerin landed on\nthe neighbouring island of Calpa, to engage in the sport of hawking,\nand during his absence the vessel in which he had left his friends\nwas seized by Turkish pirates, who carried Agriola as a present to\nthe Grand Turk. Trineus was even less happily situated, for being\nmarooned upon an island, which we must surely regard as that of Circe,\nhe was immediately transformed into a dog. To add to this indignity,\nhis transformation did not take the shape of any of the more noble\nvarieties of the canine race, but that of a tiny lap-dog, such as\nare found in ladies' boudoirs.\n\nIn the meantime Palmerin, all unconscious of the fate of his friends,\nwas discovered in the island of Calpa by Archidiana, daughter of\nthe Soldan of Babylon, who at once pressed him into her service,\nrefusing to allow him to depart. Archidiana had from the first\nconceived a violent passion for the handsome young adventurer,\nwhose embarrassment was heightened by the knowledge that her cousin,\nArdemira, had likewise fallen in love with him. The knight, however,\nstoutly repelled the fair advances, and Ardemira took her repulse so\nmuch to heart that she burst a blood-vessel and expired, shortly after\nthe party had arrived at the Babylonian Court. Hearing of her demise,\nAmaran, son of the King of Phrygia, to whom she had been affianced,\nhastened to Babylon, and precipitately accused Archidiana of her death,\noffering to make good his assertion by an appeal to arms. Palmerin,\nas in duty bound, espoused the princess's quarrel, slew Amaran in\nsingle combat, and by doing so won the good graces of the Soldan,\nwhom he assisted in the war with Phrygia which followed.\n\nThe Soldan, elated by his military successes, resolved to extend his\nempire, and with this object in view fitted out a great expedition\nagainst Constantinople, which Palmerin was forced to accompany. But\nduring a tempest which the Babylonian fleet encountered he commanded\nthe seamen of his own vessel to steer for the German coast. On reaching\nit he made his way to the capital, and made himself known in secret\nto Polinarda, with whom he spent some time.\n\nBut his heart misgave him regarding the fate of his friend Trineus,\nand he resolved to set out in quest of that unhappy prince. Journeying\nacross Europe, he arrived at the city of Buda, where he learned that\nFlorendos, Prince of Macedon, had recently slain Tarisius, who, it\nwill be remembered, was his rival for the hand of the Princess Griana,\nand whom she had been forced to marry by her tyrannous father, the\nEmperor of Constantinople. Florendos had, however, been taken captive\nby the kinsmen of Tarisius, and had been sent to Constantinople,\nwhere he was condemned to be burnt at the stake, along with Griana,\nwho was believed to be his accomplice. On hearing of the impending\nfate of those who, unknown to him, were his parents, Palmerin at once\nrepaired to Constantinople, where he maintained their innocence,\ndefeated their accusers, the nephews of Tarisius, in a combat \u00e0\noutrance, and succeeded in saving them from the terrible fate which\nhad awaited them. While he lay in bed recovering from his wounds he\nwas visited by the grateful Griana, who, from a mark upon his face\nand the account of his exposure as an infant, knew that he must be\nher son. On hearing her story the Emperor joyfully received Palmerin\nand acknowledged him as his successor.\n\n\n\n\nThe Quest for Trineus\n\nBut his new accession to power did not render Palmerin unmindful\nof his vow to search for his lost friend Trineus. Sailing over the\nMediterranean in quest of him, he fell in with an overwhelming force of\nTurks, and was taken prisoner. Brought to the palace of the Grand Turk,\nhe succeeded in liberating the princess Agriola from the power of that\ntyrant. Effecting his own escape, he came to the palace of a princess\nto whom Trineus in his shape of a lap-dog had been presented by those\nwho had found him. This lady had contracted a severe inflammation in\nthe nose (unromantic detail!), and requested Palmerin to accompany\nher to Mussabelin, a Persian magician, whom she believed to be able\nto remove the distressing complaint. But the sage informed her that\nonly by means of the flowers of a tree which grew near the Castle of\nthe Ten Steps could she be cured.\n\nNow the castle of which the magician spoke was guarded by\nenchantment. But that dread power was harmless to Palmerin, ever\nsince the fairy sisters had provided him with an antidote against\nit. Making his way to the magic castle, he secured the flowers of\nthe healing tree, and also took captive an enchanted bird, which was\ndestined to announce the hour of his death by an unearthly shriek. He\nfurther ended the enchantments of the castle, and when they finally\ndissolved, Trineus, who had accompanied him in canine shape, was\nrestored to his original form.\n\nThe subsequent adventures of Palmerin bear such a strong likeness\nto those already related of him as to render their recital a work\nof supererogation. From the Court of one soldan he proceeds to that\nof another, enchantment follows enchantment, as combat treads upon\nthe heels of combat. Finally Palmerin and Trineus return to Europe,\nand wed their respective ladies.\n\nCervantes' curate is perhaps too hard upon Palmerin de Oliva. \"Then,\nopening another volume, he found it to be Palmerin de Oliva. 'Ha! have\nI found you?' cried the curate; 'here, take this Oliva; let it be\nhewn in pieces and burnt, and the ashes scattered in the air.'\" This\nnotwithstanding, there are some brilliant passages in the romance we\nhave just outlined--grains of golddust in a desert of unrestrained\nand undisciplined narrative--such flashes of genius as we find here\nand there in Shelley's Zastrozzi, St Irvyne, and the other hysterical\noutpourings of his Oxford days.\n\n\n\n\nPrimale\u00f3n\n\nThere is no doubt regarding the thoroughly Spanish character and\norigin of Primale\u00f3n, son and successor to Palmerin de Oliva, although,\nowing to the prejudice of the time for mystery and Orientalism, its\nauthor, Francisco Delicado, saw fit to announce it as a translation\nfrom the Greek. The first edition was printed in 1516, and several\ntranslations shortly followed, that in English, by Anthony Munday,\nbeing dedicated to Sir Francis Drake, and published in 1589. This\ntranslation, however, dealt only with that portion of the romance which\nrelated to the exploits of Polendos, but Munday completed the whole\nin editions published in 1595 and 1619. The adventures of Polendos\nconstitute, however, by far the best part of the work.\n\nPolendos was the son of the Queen of Tharsus. Returning one day from\nthe chase, he beheld a little old woman sitting on the steps of the\npalace, from which he removed her by a most ungallant but forceful\nkick. \"It was not in this manner that your father Palmerin succoured\nthe unfortunate,\" cried the crone, on picking herself up. Polendos\nthus learned the secret of his birth, for he was indeed the son of\nPalmerin and the Queen of Tharsus, and, exalted by the intelligence,\nhe burned to distinguish himself by feats of arms worthy of his\nsire. Departing for Constantinople to make himself known to his\nfather, he encountered many adventures on the way. Arrived at the\nimperial city, he did not long remain there, but set out to rescue the\nPrincess Francelina from the power of a giant and a dwarf, who held\nher in bondage in an enchanted castle. Returning to Constantinople,\nhe greatly distinguished himself at a tournament held on the occasion\nof the marriage of one of the Emperor's daughters, and Primale\u00f3n,\nthe real hero of the story, son of Palmerin and Polinarda, desirous\nof emulating the exploits of his half-brother, was duly knighted,\nand took part in the m\u00eal\u00e9e. The rest of the romance is occupied\nwith the adventures of this young hero and those of Duardos (Edward)\nof England. In the course of his adventures Palmerin had slain the\nson of the Duchess of Armedos, who vowed that she would only give\nher daughter in marriage to the man who could bring her the head\nof Primale\u00f3n. One by one Primale\u00f3n slew the lovers of Gridoina,\nthe Duchess's daughter, so that in time she came to detest the mere\nmention of his name. But one evening Primale\u00f3n arrived at her castle,\nand, not knowing who he was, she fell deeply in love with him. The\nchild of their affections was Platir, whose exploits were recounted\nby the same author, and published at Valladolid in 1533. We may well\npass over this very indifferent romance, and bestow our attention\nand interest upon its more entertaining successor.\n\n\n\n\nPalmerin of England\n\nThis is perhaps the best of the series. The first Spanish edition was\nbelieved to be lost; but a French translation from it was published\nat Lyons in 1553, and an Italian one at Venice in 1555. Southey\nmaintained that there never was a Spanish original of this story,\nand that it was first written in Portuguese. But this hypothesis was\nupset by Salva's discovery of a copy of the lost Spanish original,\nwritten by Luis Kuxtado [48] and published at Toledo in two parts, in\n1547 and 1548. Southey attempted to show in his English translation\nof Palmerin of England that a consideration of its mise en sc\u00e8ne\nwould afford irrefragable proof of its Lusitanian origin--surely\na good illustration of the dangers and fallacies connected with\nthis species of reasoning. An argument of equal cogency could be\nadvanced for its original English authorship, as most of its action\ntakes place within the borders of the 'perilous isle' of Britain,\nin which respect it follows Amadis, its model.\n\nIn Palmerin of England we are provided with a biographical sketch of\nthe hero's parents. Don Duardos, or Edward, son of the King of England,\nwas wedded to Flerida, daughter of Palmerin de Oliva. While engaged\nin the chase, he lost his way in the depths of an English forest,\nand sought shelter in a mysterious castle, where he was detained by\na giantess, Eutropa, whose brother he had slain. But Dramuziando,\nher nephew, son of the giant whom Duardos had sent to his death,\nwas of milder mood than his terrible aunt, and conceived a strange\nfriendship for the captive Duardos.\n\nIn the meantime Flerida, alarmed at Duardos' absence, set out to search\nfor him, accompanied by a train of attendants, and while traversing the\nforest in the hope of tracing him gave birth to twin sons, who were\nbaptized in the greenwood by her chaplain. The ceremony had scarcely\ncome to an end when a wild man, an inhabitant of the forest recesses,\nburst from the undergrowth, and, seizing upon the infant princes,\ncarried them off. None might stay him, for he was accompanied by two\nlions of such size and ferocity that their appearance struck terror\ninto the hearts of the stoutest of Flerida's retainers.\n\nThe savage conveyed the infants, who had been named Palmerin\nand Florian, to his den, where he resolved to give them to the\nlions. Flerida returned disconsolately to the palace, and dispatched\na messenger to Constantinople with news of her losses. On receiving\nthis intelligence, Primale\u00f3n and a number of the Grecian knights took\nship for England, and, learning of the imprisonment of Duardos in the\ncastle of the giantess, they essayed his deliverance. But they made\nthe mistake, common to errantry, of attempting to do so singly and not\nin a body, and so, one by one, fell a rather easy prey to the giant\nDramuziando, who forced them to combat each new enemy who approached.\n\nThe sylvan savage who had destined the royal twins as food for his\nlions had reckoned without his wife, whose motherly instincts prompted\nher to save the children from a fate so dire. Having prevailed upon\nher uncouth mate to spare them, she brought them up along with her\nown son Selvian. In course of time they became expert in the chase\nand woodcraft, and on one of his excursions in the forest while\nfollowing the slot of a red deer Florian encountered Sir Pridos,\nson of the Duke of Wales, who took him to the English Court, where\nhe was brought before his mother, Flerida. Attracted to the savage\nyouth, she adopted him, and trained him in the usages of civilization,\ncalling him 'the Child of the Desert.'\n\nFlorian had not long been lost to the sylvan family when Palmerin and\nSelvian, wandering one day by the sea-coast, observed a galley cast\nupon the shore by the violence of a tempest. From this vessel Polendos\n(whose prior adventures were recited in the romance of Primale\u00f3n)\ndisembarked, having come to England with other Greek knights in search\nof Duardos. Palmerin and Selvian requested him to take them on board\nhis vessel, which put to sea once more, and shortly afterward arrived\nat Constantinople, where they were brought before the Emperor, who,\nof course, was in ignorance of the extraction of Palmerin, but knew of\nhis high rank from letters he had received from a certain Lady of the\nBath, who seems to have acted as the hero's good genius. The Emperor,\nimpressed by such an introduction, knighted Palmerin, whose sword was\ngirded to his side by Polinarda, the daughter of Primale\u00f3n. During\nPalmerin's residence at Constantinople a tournament was held, in\nwhich he and a stranger knight, who bore for his device a savage\nleading two lions, greatly distinguished themselves. The stranger\ndeparted still incognito, but was afterward discovered to be Florian,\nwho was thenceforth known as 'the Knight of the Savage.'\n\nPalmerin fell an easy victim to the charms of the princess Polinarda,\nbut the precipitate nature of his wooing, prompted, probably, by\nhis sylvan upbringing, offended the courtly damsel, and she forbade\nhim her presence. In despair at her coldness, he quitted the Grecian\ncapital, and journeyed toward England, under the name of 'the Knight\nof Fortune,' taking Selvian as his squire. On the way he encountered\na wealth of adventure, in which he was uniformly successful, and at\nlast arrived in the dominions of his grandfather. But while passing\nthrough the forest inhabited by his savage foster-father he came\nface to face with him, and recounted his adventures. Pressing on,\nhe came to a castle in the neighbourhood of London, the castellan\nof which begged of him to do battle with the Knight of the Savage,\nwho had slain his son. Arriving in London, he defied Florian, but\nthe Princess Flerida intervened and forbade the combat, which was\nnot resumed, for Palmerin having at last overcome Dramuziando and\nset Duardos at liberty, the birth of the twin brothers was revealed\nby Doliarte, a magician, and confirmed by their savage foster-father.\n\n\n\n\nThe Castle of Almaurol\n\nSpurred on by the love of adventure, Florian and Palmerin disdained\nto lead a life of ease at Court, and set out on their travels. We\ncannot follow them here through the maze of exploit into which they\nare plunged, but many of their trials, especially those undergone\nby Palmerin in the Perilous Isle, are among the most interesting\nand attractive in the series which bears his name. In several of\nthe passages the amiable giant Dramuziando figures to advantage,\nbut his aunt, the vindictive Eutropa, still retains her ill-will\nto the family of the Palmerins, and is constant in the exercise of\nher machinations against them. These are, however, challenged and\ncountered by the skill of the magician Doliarte. The chief scene\nof adventure is the castle of Almaurol, where, under the care of a\ngiant, dwelt the beautiful but haughty Miraguarda, whose lineaments\nwere pictured on a shield which was suspended over the gate of the\ncastle. It was guarded by a body of knights, who had become enamoured\nof the original, and when other paladins arrived vaunting the charms\nof their ladies these gave them battle. Among these victims of the\nfair Miraguarda was the giant Dramuziando, but during his custody\nof the picture it was purloined by Alhayzar, the Soldan of Babylon,\nwhose lady, Targiana, daughter of the Grand Turk, had commanded him\nto bring it to her as a trophy of his prowess.\n\nThe writer of the romance appeared to think it necessary at this\npoint to recall his heroes to Constantinople in order to espouse\nthem to their respective ladies. Palmerin was united to Polinarda,\nand his brother Florian to Leonarda, Queen of Thrace, so that the\nlovers were made happy. These espousals, however, by no means bring\nthe romance to a conclusion, for we learn that matters had become\ncomplicated by the passion of the daughter of the Grand Turk for the\nnewly wedded Florian. That gay young prince, while residing at the\nCourt of the lady's father, had taken the liberty of eloping with\nher, and although she was now safely married to Alhayzar, Soldan of\nBabylon and picture-thief, she still retained a strong affection for\nher former lover, which was mingled with resentment that he should\nhave deserted her charms for those of the Queen of Thrace. To ease\nthe clamours of her jealous heart, she employed a magician to work\nwoe upon the Thracian queen, who, while she took the air in the\ngardens of her palace, was pounced upon by two enormous griffins,\nand conveyed to a magic castle, where she was transformed into a\nhuge serpent. Her disconsolate husband found in her deliverance an\nadventure quite to his taste, and, having consulted the wise Doliarte,\nsucceeded in discovering the place where his wife was imprisoned and\nin freeing her from the enchantment which had been laid upon her.\n\nIn accomplishing this, however, he seriously offended the proud\nAlhayzar, who determined to avenge the affront placed upon his\nqueen, and demanded the person of Florian from the Emperor of\nConstantinople. On receiving the imperial refusal which naturally\nfollowed his request, he invaded the Greek territories, with an\narmy of two hundred thousand men, recruited from all the kingdoms\nand satrapies of the Orient, real and imaginary. Three sanguinary\nbattles occurred, in one of which Alhayzar was slain and the pagan\narmy totally annihilated.\n\n\n\n\nCervantes' Eulogy\n\nCervantes launches into an extravagant eulogy of this romance. \"This\nPalmerin of England,\" he says, \"let it be kept and preserved as a\nthing unique, and let another casket be made for it such as Alexander\nfound among the spoils of Darius.... This book, Sir Comrade, is of\nauthority, for two reasons: the one because it is a right good one\nin itself, and the other because the report is that a wise king of\nPortugal composed it. All the adventures at the Castle of Miraguarda\nare excellent, and managed with great skill; the discourses are courtly\nand clear, observing with much propriety and judgment the decorum of\nthe speaker. I say then, saving your good pleasure, Master Nicholas,\nthis and Amadis de Gaul should be saved from the fire, and all the\nrest be, without further search, destroyed.\"\n\nSaving your good pleasure, Master Cervantes, I would come to an issue\nwith you regarding this. For though Palmerin of England is the best\nromance of those which recount the adventures of that line, still\nit does not bear away the bell quite so easily as you say. Indeed,\nits merits are not transcendently above those of its kind, and its\nfaults are of the same character. Again, true Spaniard as you are,\ndo you not praise it so greatly because you believe it to be the\nwork of a king? And do you not demean yourself to the level of a\nnewspaper critic when you doom to extinction those romances which\nyou have not read? Further, as a Castilian gentleman, do you agree\nwith the author's most despiteful entreatment of that sweet sex for\nwhose sake all romances were written? No good knight, no good man,\ncould have penned so many stupidities concerning their envy, their\nfickleness, their lack of reason, as he has done; and still worse,\nhe has made them mere puppets, moving as the strings are pulled. For\none thing I thank him, however--his character of the magician Doliarte,\na wise sage dwelling in the Valley of Perdition, lost in contemplation\nof mysterious things. Nay, for a greater thing I have to thank him\nalso, the colours of the marvellous, the intoxicating magic with which\nhe has suffused his story; and if the rush of it, the spell of it,\ntransported you to the forests of Faery and blinded you to the book's\ndemerits, you are perhaps to be excused if your enchanted eyes refused\nto behold them and saw only the outward glamours of that rainbow world.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI: CATALONIAN ROMANCES\n\n\n                Romances from a coast of love and wine,\n                Echoing the music of adventurous swords,\n                Murmur of necromancy's dark ingyne,\n                And speech that holds the ghosts of curious words.\n\n\nThe literary genius of Catalonia was unquestionably a lyrical one,\nas befitted a province so happily endowed by nature, clothed with the\npurple mantle of vineyards, and laved by the calm beauty of a dreamy\nocean. Epic has her home in rugged and wind-swept lands, where the\nelemental trumpets of the air arouse the soul of man to fiercer song\nand fill the memory with the clash of war. But on sheltered strands,\nmellow with sun and painted in the ripe colours of plenty, a softer\nand more dreamy music mimics the \u00e6olian sound of the zephyrs which\nsteal like melodious spirits through orchard and vineyard. Yet this\nprovince of the Trovadores was not without its legends of chivalric\nenterprise, and indeed produced two romances of such intrinsic merit\nthat they may be regarded as occupying an unassailable position in\nthe literature of the Peninsula.\n\n\n\n\nPartenopex de Blois\n\nThe beautiful and highly finished romance of Partenopex de Blois\nwas written in the Catalonian dialect in the thirteenth century,\nand printed at Tarragona in 1488. That the tale was originally French\nis highly probable, but it is no mere translation, and the treatment\nit has received in the course of adaptation has undoubtedly made it\na thing as wholly Catalonian as The Cid is Castilian. Here is the\nstory of the knight Partenopex.\n\nOn the death of the Emperor Julian of Greece the rule of his kingdom\ndevolved upon his daughter Melior, a maiden of extraordinary talents,\nwho was, moreover, possessed of a deep knowledge regarding the hidden\nsciences. Notwithstanding her ability, however, her advisers did\nnot think it fitting that she should rule alone, and insisted that\nshe should address herself to the task of selecting a husband. They\ngranted her a space of two years in which to make choice of a suitable\nconsort, and in order that she might be able to select a parti of a\nrank sufficiently illustrious to match with her own, she dispatched\nembassies to all the principal courts of Europe, bidding their members\nto inquire diligently into the credentials of all eligible princes.\n\nAt this time there lived in France a youth of much beauty and promise\nin arms called Partenopex de Blois, nephew to the King of Paris. While\nfollowing the train of his royal uncle in the chase one day, in the\ngreen shades of the Forest of Ardennes, he became separated from the\nrest of the party and lost his way. Forced to spend the night in the\nforest, he awoke with the dawn, and, in trying to find his bearings,\ncame to the seashore. To his surprise, he beheld a splendid vessel\nmoored near to the land. In the hope that its crew would be able\nto direct him as to the path he should take to reach home, he went\non board the ship, but found her deserted. He was about to quit the\nvessel when she began to move, and, gaining speed, cleaved the water\nwith such velocity that to attempt to leave her was impossible. After\na voyage as short as it was swift, Partenopex found himself moored\nin a bay in a country of the most enchanting description.\n\nDisembarking, the youth walked inland, and soon came to the walls\nof a stately castle. He entered, and, to his surprise, found it as\ndeserted as the vessel which had brought him thither. The principal\nchamber was illuminated by the sparkle of countless diamonds, and the\nyoung knight, who was by this time famished with hunger, was pleased\nto see an exquisite repast spread on the table before him. He was soon\nto learn the magical nature of all things in that enchanted castle,\nfor the dainties with which the table groaned found their own way to\nhis lips, and when he had refreshed himself sufficiently a lighted\ntorch appeared as if suspended in the air, and preceded him to a\nbed-chamber, where he was undressed by invisible hands.\n\nAs he lay in bed thinking upon the extraordinary nature of the\nadventure which had befallen him a lady entered the apartment, and\nintroduced herself as Melior, the Empress of Greece. She told the young\nknight that she had fallen in love with him from the account of her\nambassadors, and had contrived to bring him to her castle by dint of\nthe powers of magic she possessed. She commanded him to remain at the\ncastle, but warned him that if he attempted to see her again before two\nyears had elapsed the result would be the loss of her affection. She\nthen quitted the apartment, which was entered in the morning by her\nsister Uracla, who brought him the most splendid apparel.\n\n\n\n\nThe Mysterious Castle\n\nIn the mysterious castle of Melior Partenopex found no lack of\nentertainment, for the extensive grounds by which it was surrounded\nafforded him the pleasures of the chase, and in the evenings he\nwas amused by the sweet strains of invisible musicians. Everything\npossible and impossible was done to render his stay pleasant and\nmemorable. But in the midst of the delights with which he was\nsurrounded he learned that his country had been attacked by a host\nof enemies. He communicated to his invisible mistress his desire\nthat he should be permitted to fight for the land of his birth, and\nwhen she had received his assurance that he would return she placed\nat his service the magic vessel in which he had come to her coasts,\nand by its aid he shortly regained the shores of France.\n\nPartenopex was making his way as quickly as possible to Paris to\nplace his sword at the service of his king, when he encountered a\nknight whose conduct toward him brought matters to the arbitrament\nof a combat. When they had fought for a space Partenopex discovered\nthat his opponent was none other than Gaudin, the lover of Uracla,\nthe sister of Melior, and from being at daggers drawn the two young\nknights became the closest companions, and rode on together to where\nthe Court sat at Paris.\n\nShortly after his return to the capital Partenopex was presented to\nthe Lady Angelica, niece of the Pope, who promptly fell in love with\nhim. Animated by the mistaken belief that 'All's fair in love,' she\nintercepted his letters from Melior, and thus learned of his passion\nfor the wonder-working Empress of Constantinople. Enlisting on her\nside a hermit of great sanctity, she bade him repair to Partenopex\nand denounce his lady-love as a demon of darkness, who was so lost\nto all good that she even partook of the outward semblance of a\nfiend in possessing a serpent's tail, black skin, white eyes, and\nred teeth. This story Partenopex stoutly refused to credit, but when\nhostilities had come to an end and he had returned to the enchanted\ncastle the hermit's tale still agitated his mind, and he resolved\nto put it to the test, for Melior had visited him in the dark and he\nknew not how she appeared.\n\nSo one fateful night, when all the castle was plunged in slumber,\nthe young knight equipped himself with a lamp and made his way to the\nchamber where he knew Melior slept. Entering softly, he held the lamp\nabove the form of his sleeping mistress, and when he beheld her warm\nhuman beauty he knew that false slander had been spoken of her. But,\nalas! as he gazed at her recumbent loveliness a drop of oil from\nthe lamp he held fell upon her bosom and she awoke. Furious that\nher commands had been broken, she would have slain her unhappy lover\non the spot, but at the intercession of Uracla, who had entered the\nchamber on hearing her sister's exclamations of anger, the incensed\nEmpress at last permitted him to depart without scathe.\n\nThe unfortunate Partenopex quitted the castle in all haste, and\nin time came once more to the green shadows of Ardennes, where he\nresolved to perish in strife with the savage beasts which haunted\nits dark recesses. But although they devoured his steed they seemed\nunwilling to encounter the knight himself. The neighings of his\ncharger brought Uracla, who had been searching for him, to the spot,\nand she succeeded in inducing him to accompany her to her castle in\nTenedos, there to await a more complacent attitude on the part of her\nsister. Returning to the wrathful Empress, she at last persuaded her\nto send forth a decree that she would bestow her hand upon the victor\nin a tournament she was about to proclaim.\n\nPreparations for the tournament proceeded apace, and Partenopex awaited\nthe day in Uracla's castle in Tenedos. But he was not permitted to\nremain in peace, for Parseis, one of Uracla's maidens, conceived a\npassionate attachment to him, which she avowed to him while they were\ntaking a short trip in a boat. Partenopex, taken aback, was about to\nprotest, when the frail vessel was caught up by a terrific tempest,\nand the pair were driven upon the coast of Syria. On landing they\nwere seized by the people of that country, who bore the knight to\ntheir king, Hermon, and he was cast into prison.\n\nA sad plight was that of Partenopex, for he heard that Hermon and other\nknights had departed to the tournament of Melior at Constantinople,\nwhile he had perforce to remain in durance vile and renounce all hope\nof regaining his place in the affections of his lady by force of arms.\n\nBut Partenopex succeeded in interesting the Queen in his affairs,\nand she assisted in his escape from his Syrian prison. He arrived at\nConstantinople just in time to participate in the tournament. Many and\npowerful were his opponents, the most formidable being the Soldan of\nPersia, but at length he overcame them all, and when he asked to be\npermitted to claim his reward he was received by Melior with every\nmark of forgiveness and rejoicing.\n\n\n\n\nThe Type of 'Partenopex'\n\nThe romance of Partenopex is undoubtedly of the same class as those\nof Cupid and Psyche and Melusine, in which one spouse must not behold\nanother on pain of loss. The loss invariably occurs, but poetical\njustice usually demands that recovery should take place after many\ntrials. Frequently the husband or wife takes beast or reptile shape,\nas in the grand old romance of Melusine, to which Partenopex bears\na strong resemblance, and by which I think it has certainly been\nsophisticated. But in the story with which we have been dealing the\nreputed semi-reptilian form which the heroine is said to possess is\nproved to be the figment of the brain of a jealous rival, and in this\nwe have a valuable variant of the main form of the legend, illustrating\nthe rise within it of more modern ideas and the skilful utilization\nof an antique form to the uses of the writer of fiction. The tale of\nPartenopex de Blois certainly deserves fuller study at the hands of\nfolklorists than it has yet received, and I hope they will peruse its\nCatalonian as well as its French form, thus rendering their purview\nof the tale more embracive.\n\n\n\n\nTirante the White\n\nThe grand old tale of Tirante the White was the work of two Catalonian\nauthors, Juan Martorell and Juan de Gilha, the latter completing the\nwork of the former. Martorell states that he translated the romance\nfrom the English, and it certainly seems as if portions of the work had\nbeen sophisticated or influenced by the old English romance of Sir Guy\nof Warwick. I cannot, however, discern any signs of direct translation,\nand think it very probable that the author's statement in this regard\nis one of those polite fictions employed by the romance-writers\nof Old Spain to render their efforts more mysterious or to guard\nthemselves against the merciless critics with whom the Peninsula\nseems to have swarmed in a period when well-nigh everybody was bitten\nwith the craze for belles-lettres. The romance was first printed at\nValencia in 1490. It contains reference to the Canary Islands, which\nwere first discovered in 1326, and were not well known even in Spain\nuntil the beginning of the fifteenth century, so that we may perhaps\nbe justified in fixing the date of its composition about that period,\nespecially as it alludes to a work on chivalry entitled L'Arbre des\nBatailles, which was not published until 1390. The book was translated\ninto Castilian and produced at Valladolid in 1511, and was followed by\nItalian and French translations by Manfredi and the Comte de Caylus\nrespectively, but the latter has dreadfully mutilated the original,\nand has even altered its main plot as well as many of its lesser\nincidents, and has imported into it an unhealthy atmosphere which we\ndo not find in the work as given us by Martorell.\n\nOn the occasion of the marriage of a certain King of England with a\nbeautiful and accomplished princess of France the most extraordinary\nefforts were made to signalize the entente thus ratified by a\ntournament of the most splendid description. Learning of these\nmartial preparations, Tirante, a young knight of Brittany, resolved\nto participate in them, and with a number of youthful companions who\nhad a like object in view he took ship for England, where in due time\nhe landed, and proceeded to Windsor. But the fatigues of the voyage\novertook him and he fell asleep, lulled into slumber by the jog-trot\nof his weary charger.\n\nIt is not to be wondered at that in this manner he became separated\nfrom his brisker companions, and that on awaking he found himself\nalone on the broad highway. Setting spurs to his destrier, he pushed\non for a few miles, but feeling the necessity for rest and refreshment\nhe cast about for a halting-place, and was cheered by the sight of a\nhumble lodging, which he believed to be a hermitage, nestling among the\ntrees at some distance from the roadside and almost concealed in the\nleafy shadows. Dismounting, he entered the place, and was confronted\nby a person whose hermit's garb ill suited him, and whose disguise was\nsoon penetrated by the practised eye of knighthood, so that Tirante was\nscarcely surprised to observe that the recluse was engaged in reading\nthe book known as L'Arbre des Batailles, a work which descants with\nlearning and insight upon the precepts and practice of chivalry.\n\n\n\n\nThe Hermit Earl\n\nThe hermit was, indeed, none other than William, Earl of Warwick,\na renowned champion, who, tired of the frivolities of the Court,\nhad gone on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Arrived at the Holy Sepulchre,\nhe had spread a report of his death, had returned to England in the\ndisguise of a pilgrim or palmer, and had taken up his abode in the\nhermitage where Tirante discovered him, and which was not far from the\ncastle where his countess resided. But his retirement was not destined\nto last long, for when the great King of the Canary Islands landed\nin England with a formidable army, the Earl, beholding the widespread\nconsternation occasioned by his invasion, took up arms once more. The\nadvance of the raiders was, however, so swift that the King of England\nwas speedily driven from Canterbury and London, and was compelled to\nseek refuge in the town of Warwick, where he was hotly besieged by the\nCanarese forces. At this crisis the Earl came to his assistance, slew\nthe King of the Canaries in single combat, and dispersed his army in a\npitched battle. This accomplished, he revealed himself to his countess,\nand once more retired to his hermitage. All of these details agree in\na measure with those of the old English romance of Sir Guy of Warwick.\n\nTirante made himself known to the hermit Earl, told him that he was\nso called because his father was lord of the marches of Tirraine,\nsituated in that part of France which was opposite the coast of\nEngland, and that his mother was daughter to the Duke of Brittany. He\nfurther told his host that he was resolved to take part in the great\ntournament held to celebrate the royal wedding, whereupon the Earl\nread him a chapter from the book he had been perusing regarding the\nwhole duty of a knight. This he followed by a lecture upon the use\nof arms and the exploits of ancient paladins. When he had finished\nhe observed that the hour was late and that as Tirante was ignorant\nof the roads he had better hasten upon his way, and, pressing the\nyouthful champion to accept the book from which he had been reading,\nhe bade him farewell.\n\nA twelvemonth passed. Tirante, having shown his superiority at the\ntournament, was returning with some forty of his companions from the\nCourt, when they once more passed the Earl's retreat, and halted to\npay their duty to him. Interested to learn of the warlike pageant,\nhe inquired who had most distinguished himself, and was told that\nTirante had borne off the prize. A French lord called Villermes,\nhaving objected to his wearing a favour given him by the fair Agnes,\ndaughter of the Duke of Berri, had defied him to mortal combat, and\nhad required that they should fight armed with bucklers of paper and\nhelmets of flowers. Villermes was slain in the encounter, but Tirante,\nhaving recovered from eleven wounds, shortly afterward slew four\nknights, brothers-in-arms, who proved to be the Kings of Poland and\nFriesland and the Dukes of Burgundy and Bavaria. A certain subject\nof the King of Friesland, rejoicing in the name of Kyrie Eleison, or\n'Lord have mercy upon us,' and descended from the ancient giants,\nnow arrived in England to avenge his master's death. On beholding\nhis sovereign's tomb, however, he expired from grief on seeing the\narms of Tirante suspended over the Frisian standard. His place was\nsupplied by his brother, Thomas of Montauban, a champion of stature\nstill more gigantic, who was, however, defeated by the young Breton\nknight and forced to sue for his life.\n\nHaving paid his respects to the Earl, Tirante returned to his native\nBrittany, but he had been only a few days in the castle of his fathers\nwhen a messenger arrived with the news that the Knights of Rhodes were\nclosely besieged by the Genoese and the Soldan of Cairo. Accompanied\nby Philip, youngest son of the King of France, Tirante set out to\nthe relief of the island, and in the course of the voyage anchored in\nthe roads of Palermo, where he sojourned for a space. When at length\nhe arrived at Rhodes the besiegers beat a hasty retreat, and having\nfreed the island from their presence Tirante and his men returned to\nSicily, where Prince Philip espoused the princess of that country.\n\nBut the wedding festivities had scarcely come to an end when a herald\nfrom the Emperor of Constantinople arrived at the Sicilian Court with\nthe moving information that his master's territories had been invaded\nby the Grand Turk and the Soldan of the Moors. Once more chivalric\nhonour demanded that a Christian land should be rescued from the\nclutches of the paynim, and Tirante, setting sail for Constantinople,\nwas, on his arrival there, entrusted with the supreme command of\nthe Hellenic forces. A great part of the romance is occupied by the\ndetails of the war carried on against the Turks, who were invariably\ndefeated in battle after battle, so that at length they called for\na truce. This was granted, and the interval of repose was occupied\nwith splendid festivals and tournaments.\n\nAt this juncture of affairs no less a personage than the celebrated\nUrganda arrived in Constantinople in quest of her brother, the\nrenowned Arthur, King of Britain. The Emperor, searching among those\nof his prisoners who were kept in the most obscure dungeons, found\nthe hero of heroes pining out his old age in an iron cage, reduced\nto the lowest level of physical debility. Restored to his ancient\nweapon, the good sword Excalibur, the hapless monarch was able to\nanswer any questions put to him with address. But when the blade was\nwithdrawn from his grasp he sank ever lower into the second childhood\nof senility. After giving a splendid supper, Urganda disappeared with\nher ancient brother, nor was anyone aware whither they had gone.\n\nUp to this time Tirante had contrived to remain fancy-free, but at last\nhe fell a willing victim to the bright eyes of the Emperor's daughter,\nthe Princess Carmesina. His affair went smoothly enough until one of\nher attendants, Reposada, having fallen passionately in love with\nthe young knight, succeeded in arousing his jealousy by a wretched\nstratagem, and, offended to the soul at what he believed to be the\nbaseness of his mistress, he set out once more for the army without\ntaking his leave of her. But the vessel in which he set sail was caught\nin a violent tempest and driven upon the coasts of Africa. Wandering\ndisconsolate on the shore, Tirante encountered an ambassador of the\nKing of Tormecen, who conducted him to Court and presented him to\nhis master, whom he assisted in the wars in which that monarch was\nnaturally engaged. On one occasion he besieged the city of Montagata,\nwhen a lady issued from its gates to sue for peace on behalf of its\ninhabitants. To his surprise he found her to be one of the Princess\nCarmesina's attendants, who told him the truth regarding the trick\nplayed upon him by the false Reposada. He at once raised the siege,\nand returned to Constantinople at the head of an enormous army to\nsuccour the Greek Emperor. Burning the Turkish fleet, he rendered\nthe retreat of the Soldan's forces impracticable, and secured an\nadvantageous peace.\n\nSplendid preparations were now made for the wedding of Tirante\nand Carmesina. But while on his return to Constantinople after the\nconclusion of the treaty he received orders, at the distance of a\nday's journey from the city, to wait until the completion of those\npreparations before entering Constantinople. While walking on the banks\nof a river in conversation with the Kings of Ethiopia, Fez, and Sicily,\nhe was seized with a deadly pleurisy, and, despite all the efforts of\nhis attendants, expired shortly afterward. The Emperor and Princess,\non learning of his demise, were unable to restrain their grief,\nand died on the day they heard of his death.\n\nWe have at last encountered a romance which does not end happily. In\nwhat manner such a d\u00e9nouement was received by the Spanish public\nwe know not, but at least they cannot but have been struck by its\noriginality. That Tirante the White was a popular favourite, however,\nis clear from the praise lavished upon it by Cervantes. \"By her\ntaking so many romances together,\" he says, \"there fell one at the\nbarber's feet, who had a mind to see what it was, and found it to be\nTirante the White. 'God save me,' quoth the priest in a loud voice,\n'is Tirante the White there? Give me him here, neighbour, for I shall\nfind him a treasure of delight, and a mine of entertainment.'\" He\nthen advised the housewife to take it home and read it, \"for though\nthe author deserves to be sent to the gallows for writing so many\nfoolish things seriously, yet in its way it is the best book in the\nworld. Here the knights eat and sleep and die in their beds, and make\ntheir wills before their death, with several things which are wanting\nin all other books of this kind.\"\n\nIs not this the essence of the revolt against the unnatural absurdities\nwhich so often characterized romance, expressed succinctly by the\nman who headed the mutiny?\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII: RODERIC, LAST OF THE GOTHS\n\n\n    Last night I was a King of Spain--to-day no King am I.\n    Last night fair castles held my train, to-night where shall I lie?\n    Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee,\n    To-night not one I call my own; not one pertains to me.\n\n                                               Lockhart, Spanish Ballads\n\n\nThe tragic and tumultuous story of the manner in which Spain was\ndelivered into the hands of the Moors is surely a theme worthy of\ntreatment by the highest genius. But either because it offended the\nnational pride or otherwise failed to make an appeal to the Castilian\ntemperament, its epic remains unwritten. Few passages in history\nafford such an opportunity for the delineation of the deeper human\npassions as the episode which resulted in the betrayal of an entire\ncountry for the gratification of a private wrong. It presents such a\ncatastrophe as urged \u00c6schylus to compose the moving and majestic drama\nof Electra. Yet it has found no more potent expression than in the\ndreary parchment of the latest Spanish chronicle and the pedestrian\nverse of Southey's Roderick, the Last of the Goths, which draws its\ninspiration from the pseudo-history of that account. [49]\n\nBefore we examine the romantic material embedded in The Chronicle of\nDon Roderic, with the Destruction of Spain, it will be well to trace\nthe story of the downfall of the Gothic empire in Spain by the aid\nof such materials as we can trust to supply us with a more or less\naccurate account of it. These are to be found in the General Chronicle\nof Spain and in the pages of the Moorish historians. Summarized,\nthe facts relating to the incident are probably as follows:\n\nFrom the period of the settlement of the Mohammedan Arabs in Mauretania\ntheir fleets had frequently ravaged the coasts of Andalusia, by which\nname the entire Spanish peninsula was known to them. An enmity arose\nbetween Spanish Goth and Moorish Arab which was heightened not only\nby the difference in their religion but by the circumstance that the\nfortress of Ceuta in Mauretania still remained in Gothic hands. This\noutpost of the Gothic empire was held by the vigilance and courage\nof Count Julian, a leader of experience, who retained the fortress\nagainst tremendous odds.\n\nThe ruler of Spain at this period was one Don Roderic, who does\nnot appear to have held the throne by hereditary right. Witiza,\nhis predecessor, had slain Roderic's father, the governor of a\nprovince, and, whether to gratify his revenge or purely because of\nhis ambitions, Roderic succeeded in having the claims of Witiza's\ntwo sons set aside and in securing the crown for himself. But the\nmonarchy among the Goths of Spain was still elective, and it may be\nthat Roderic had been legally placed on the throne by the suffrages\nof his fellow-peers. It is probable that Count Julian was a member\nof the unsuccessful faction headed by the royal brothers, and that,\nin despair of displacing Roderic by force of arms, he sought the\nassistance of his Moorish enemies to accomplish his downfall.\n\nBut tradition, whether rightly or otherwise, disdains to accept the\ncircumstances of a cold political issue as an adequate reason for\nCount Julian's defection from loyalty, and has a much more romantic\nexplanation to advance for his traitorous act. Roderic, we are told,\nwas a ruler of evil and scandalous character. He conceived a violent\npassion for Cava, the young and beautiful daughter of Count Julian,\nwhom he abducted and dishonoured. Roused to fury and despair at\nRoderic's act, Julian instantly resolved upon a terrible revenge,\nand, not content with handing over the fortress which he had so\nlong maintained against a powerful enemy, he suggested to Musa,\nthe Moorish king or satrap, the invasion of Spain, binding himself\neven more closely to the infidels by accepting their religion and\nconforming to their customs. He impressed upon Musa the natural\nadvantages of his native land, and laid stress upon its distracted and\ndefenceless condition, the effeminacy and degeneracy of its warriors,\nand the unprotected state of its cities. Musa recognized that an\nopportunity offered itself to extend the Arab dominions, and sent\nan embassy to Walid, the Caliph, his suzerain, asking his opinion\nof such an enterprise. Walid encouraged him to proceed with it. But\nMusa, although a brave and active leader, was shrewd and cautious,\nand instead of launching a great armada against a country of whose\ndefensive capacity he knew little, contented himself in the first\ninstance by making a raid, in July a.d. 710, on the Spanish coast,\nas if to test the fighting qualities of its defenders. The expedition\nconsisted of only five hundred men, who, landing at Tarifa, marched\nsome eighteen miles through Spanish territory to the castle and town\nof Julian. There they were joined by the disaffected adherents of\nthat nobleman, and, meeting with no opposition, returned to Africa\nwith an abundance of spoil.\n\nEncouraged by the success of their preliminary enterprise, the Saracens\nnow levied an army of five thousand men, and in the spring of 711,\nunder the leadership of a certain Tarik, landed upon Spanish soil\nat a spot which still bears the name of their commander, Gibraltar,\nfor Gebel al Tarik signifies 'the Mountain of Tarik.' They speedily\ndefeated a Spanish force under Edeco, but Roderic, now fully aroused\nto the danger by which his rule was threatened, summoned his vassals to\nthe royal standard, their number, we are told, amounting to nearly one\nhundred thousand men. Tarik had by this time been reinforced, but could\nmuster only some twelve thousand troops of Moorish race, though these\nwere augmented by a host of Africans and disaffected Goths. The armies\nmet near Cadiz, Roderic himself leading the Gothic host, resplendent\nin his princely robes of silk and gold embroidery, and reclining in a\ncar drawn by white mules. The Gothic attack almost succeeded by sheer\nweight of numbers, and sixteen thousand of the Moorish army were slain\nin the first encounter. But Tarik encouraged his flagging forces by\npointing out to them that retreat was impossible. \"The enemy is before\nyou,\" he said, \"the sea behind you. Whither would ye fly? Follow me,\nmy brethren. I shall trample on yon King of the Romans or perish.\"\n\n\n\n\nRoderic's Fate\n\nBut assistance for the Moors was at hand, for the two sons of\nWitiza, who occupied the most important posts in the Spanish army,\nsuddenly broke away from the main body. This brought about a general\npanic. Roderic, mounting his fleet charger Orelia, was drowned while\nattempting to swim the Guadalquivir, leaving his diadem and robes\non the bank. At the instigation of Count Julian, Tarik pressed on to\nToledo, which, however, held out for three months, and dispatched a\nforce to reduce the kingdom of Granada. This was duly accomplished,\nand Toledo surrendered on the Moor's assurance that its inhabitants\nwould be permitted to leave with their possessions, a promise which\nwas faithfully kept. The Jews, who had especially assisted the\npagan invaders, were richly rewarded by them, and, indeed, formed an\nalliance with them which lasted until both were eventually and happily\nexpelled from the country. From Toledo Tarik spread his conquests over\nCastile and Leon, penetrating north as far as the town of Gijon in\nAsturias, where further progress was barred by the waters of the Bay\nof Biscay. In a few months practically the whole of Spain had become\na Mohammedan province, and only a handful of Gothic warriors were able\nto hold out in the valleys of Asturias against the conquering Moor.\n\nWe may now leave the path of definite history for the more picturesque\nif also more uncertain road of romance. The chronicles recount Don\nRoderic's abandoned wickedness, and tell how the invasion of the Moors,\ninstigated by Julian, broke as a thunderclap upon the unprincipled\nruler. The strife with the Saracens is described, and Roderic's flight\nis painted in gloomy colours. But just as popular legend refused to\ncredit the death of Arthur on that day at Camelot, or the fate of James\nIV of Scotland on Flodden Field, or the death of Harold at Hastings,\nso it refused to believe in that of Roderic. Racial sentiment refuses\nto admit the death of a popular leader, and have not legends been\nafloat even in our own day concerning the lamented Lord Kitchener?\n\nTradition [50] has it, then, that as Roderic was about to plunge\ninto the waters of the Guadalquivir a divine light burst upon him,\nand a secret voice adjured him to repent of his sins and live. Acting\nupon the advice of this inward counsellor, he divested himself of\nhis royal insignia, and taking from the dead the garment of a humble\npeasant, stole from the field. All night he fled, haunted by fearful\nvisions of the wrath to come. On all sides he beheld the dreadful\nconsequences of his defeat. Staggering on through scenes of misery\nand ruin which wrung his heart, he came at length, after seven days'\ntravel, to the monastery of Canlin, on the banks of the river Ana,\nnear Minda. The place was deserted, but the wretched fugitive cast\nhimself down beside the altar to await his doom in prayer, for he\nfully believed that sooner or later the infidels would trace him\nto this retreat and dispatch him. He fed the lamps with oil, only\nleaving the holy shrine from time to time to see if the Saracens\napproached. Beneath the crucifix he lay, clasping the feet of the\nRedeemer's image, and weeping icy tears of penitence. As he grovelled\nthere he became aware that some one had entered the chapel, and,\nraising his eyes in hope of a speedy death by the scimitar of a Moorish\nsoldier, to his surprise he beheld a monk, who gently addressed him,\nand explained that he had returned to the place which for threescore\nyears and five he had called home, trusting to die there by the hand\nof an infidel and thus to gain the crown of a martyr.\n\nRoderic revealed his name to the father, who, deeply impressed by the\ntone of penitence in his voice, knelt beside him and ministered to\nthe stricken monarch throughout the long night hours. He assured him\nthat he must live to work out his salvation, and when morning broke\nthe aged priest and he who yesterday had been one of the proudest\nkings in Christendom quitted the chapel and went on their way.\n\nThe holy father led the crownless King to a hermitage, where he gave\nhim further ghostly counsel, enjoining him to remain in that place so\nlong as it should please God. \"As for me,\" he said, \"on the third day\nfrom hence I shall pass out of this world, and thou shalt bury me and\ntake my garments and remain here for the space of a year at least,\nthat thou mayst endure hunger and cold and thirst in the love of our\nLord, that He may have compassion on thee.\"\n\nOn the third day, as he had prophesied, the hermit expired. Deeply\ngrieved at his death, Roderic busied himself in carrying out his\nlast wishes, and with an oaken staff and his bare hands dug a grave\nfor the holy man's body. When he was in the act of laying him in the\nground he found a scroll in his hand covered with writing, addressed\nto himself, and containing advice concerning the life he should lead\nwhile an inmate of the hermitage. This Roderic reverently perused,\nand resolved to follow its injunctions to the letter.\n\nBut the Father of Evil was not minded that the King should proceed\nundisturbed in his quest for salvation, and that night appeared to him\nas he was in the act of committing the hermit to the grave. He came\nin monkish garb, his features hooded by a great cowl, and further\ndisguised by a beard of venerable length and silvery whiteness,\nsupporting himself by a staff as if he were lame. Roderic took him\nfor a friend of the dead hermit, and would have kissed his hand, but\nthe Fiend drew back, saying: \"It is not meet that a king should kiss\nthe hand of a poor servant of God.\" The King, hearing his identity\nthus revealed, believed the Devil to be a holy man, speaking by aid\nof a revelation. \"Alas!\" he said, \"I am not a king, but a miserable\nsinner, who had better never have been born, so much woe has visited\nthe land through my misdoing.\"\n\n\"Thou hast not so much fault as thou thinkest,\" replied Satan,\n\"for the calamity of which thou speakest would have occurred in any\ncase. It was ordained, and the fault was not thine. My words are those\nof a spirit created by the will of God, and not mine own.\" The Evil\nOne then pretended that he had journeyed all the way from Rome to\nhelp Roderic in his distress, and hearing this the King rejoiced,\nand listened reverently as the Devil attempted to controvert the\nteaching of the dead hermit by specious arguments. But when the King\nrequested the seeming holy man to assist him in burying the anchorite's\nremains he was surprised to see him turn and make off at a good speed,\ndespite his alleged lameness.\n\nAt the hour of noon next day the Devil returned with a basket\nfull of savoury food. But the dead hermit had enjoined Roderic to\neat of nothing but the rye bread which the shepherds would bring\nhim once a week, and obedient to this, he withstood the tempter's\nproffered meat and wine. The argument betwixt the King and Satan\nis then elaborated with medieval prolixity and due regard to the\nhair-splitting, logic-chopping theology of the time. Even a medieval\nsense of decency might have prompted the writer to omit the King's\ninterview with the Holy Ghost, as to which I will only say here that\nat the word of the Holy Spirit the foul fiend fled in the shape of\na horrid devil, bristling with the insignia of hell.\n\n\n\n\nSatan's Stratagem\n\nBut the Enemy was not yet finished with Don Roderic, for one evening\nat set of sun the hermit King saw one approach with a great power of\narmed men and every display of pomp and circumstance. As the train\ndrew nearer, Roderic, to his amazement, beheld in its leader Count\nJulian, who came to him and would have kissed his hand with every\nsign of homage, offering himself up to the King's vengeance and\njustice, and freely acknowledging his treason. The seeming Julian\nbegged him to rise up and take once more his proper place at the\nhead of the Spanish forces, so that the infidel might be thrust\nout of Spain. But Roderic, suspecting another fiendish stratagem,\nshook his head, and requested Julian to accept the leadership of the\nGothic army himself, as his vows did not permit him to engage any\nlonger in worldly affairs. Julian turned to the great company behind\nhim, among whom Roderic beheld many whom he had thought to have been\nslain in battle, and these enthusiastically seconded their leader's\narguments. But when the fiendish crew saw that their pleading was\nwithout avail they withdrew to the plain below, where they formed\nthemselves in battle array, as if awaiting the onset of an enemy. And\nlo! against them came a multitude of seeming pagans, so that a great\nand fierce carnage followed. To the anxious eyes of the King, those who\nrepresented the Christian host seemed to put the paynim to the rout,\nand messengers spurred to the hermitage, announcing to him that his\npeople had gained a glorious victory. But as the cock crowed the whole\npageant of battle passed away like smoke borne before the breeze, and\nthe King knew that he had once more withstood the wiles of the Enemy.\n\nNow for three months the Devil refrained from tormenting Don Roderic,\nbut at the end of that time he sent upon him a more grievous trial\nthan any that had gone before. As he was saying his prayers at\nthe hour of vespers, he beheld a train of cavaliers ride up to the\nhermitage, and when they halted and alighted there came toward him\na damsel in the guise of that Cava, the daughter of Count Julian,\nwhom he had so foully wronged. At sight of her the wretched man's\nheart almost ceased to beat, but ere he could speak she told him that\nher father had turned his sword on the Moors and had conquered them,\nthat Eliaca, his Queen, was no more, and that a holy man had told\nher that she must forthwith find Don Roderic and wed with him, and\nthat she should bring forth a son called Elbersan, who should bring\nthe whole world under the sceptre of Spain.\n\nWhen Roderic heard these words he trembled exceedingly, for greatly had\nhe loved Cava. She ordered a pavilion to be pitched near the hermitage,\nand her train set out a sumptuous repast. Seeing how beautiful she\nwas, the King shook as with a palsy. But he clasped his hands and,\ncommending himself to God, begged to be delivered from temptation. As\nhe made the sign of the Cross the false Cava fled shrieking, and her\ninfernal train followed with such a rout and noise that the whole world\nseemed to be falling to pieces. Once more the Holy Spirit admonished\nRoderic to guard against such stratagems of the Devil, and far into\nthe day the repentant but victorious King prayed without ceasing in\nthanksgiving for his deliverance from the snares of hell.\n\n\n\n\nThe Death of Roderic\n\nThe time now came when it was appointed that the King should leave the\nretreat where he had passed through trials so many and so terrible,\nand, following a cloud appointed for his guidance, he girded up his\nloins and set forth on his journey. Before nightfall of the first\nday he came to another hermitage, where he lodged during the hours\nof darkness. After two days' journeying he came to a place unnamed,\nwhich was destined to be that of his burial. The Elder of this place\ntold him that he must go to a fountain below the hermitage in which\nhe had taken up his abode, and that he should there find a smooth\nstone. This he was instructed to raise, when he would find below it\nthree little serpents, one having two heads. This two-headed serpent\nhe must place in a jar and nourish secretly, so that none should know\nof its existence, and so hide it until it grew large enough to wind\nits coils three times within the jar and put its head out. Then he\nmust place it in a tomb and lie down himself with it, naked, for such,\nit pleased God, should be his penance, according to a voice the Elder\nhad heard speaking in the church of that place.\n\nRoderic scrupulously followed the Elder's injunctions, found the\nreptile, and waited patiently till the two-headed serpent had waxed\ngreat within the jar. Then, in company with the Elder, he divested\nhimself of his raiment and sought the tomb, wherein he laid himself\ndown. And when he had done so the Elder took a lever and laid a great\nstone upon the top. Having lain there three days, during which the\nElder prayed and watched devoutly, the serpent raised its heads and\nbegan with one head to devour his sinful nature and with the other to\neat his heart. In great torment did Roderic lie in that place. But\nat length the serpent broke through the web of the heart, so that\nincontinently the King gave up his spirit to God, Who by His holy\nmercy took him into His glory. And at the hour when he expired all\nthe bells of the place rang of themselves, as if they had been rung\nby the hands of men.\n\nSo, in the strange spirit of medieval mysticism, ends the piteous\nlegend of Don Roderic of Spain. Who shall unriddle the weird\nsignificance of its close, unless, like old Thomas Newton in his\nNotable History of the Saracens, they believe \"that the serpent with\ntwo heads signifieth his sinful and gylty conscience\"? Requiescas in\npace, Domine Roderice!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII: \"CALAYNOS THE MOOR\" \"GAYFEROS\" AND \"COUNT ALARCOS\"\n\n\nI bracket these three romances together in this chapter not only\nbecause they appear to have been held in the highest favour by the\npeople of Old Spain, but for the equally good reason that they seem\nto me to manifest the national taste and genius more markedly than\nothers of the same class, if, indeed, they did not belong to a class by\nthemselves, as I have always suspected they did, for in all Castilian\naccounts of romantic fiction they are frequently mentioned together,\nand this traditional treatment of them may arise from the consciousness\nof their similarity of genre. But above and beyond this they possess\nand enshrine that grave and austere spirit so typical of all true\nSpanish literature, and at least one of them is deeply tinged with\nthe atmosphere of fatal and remorseless tragedy which only the Latin\nor the Hellene knows how to evoke, for not the greatest masters of the\nNorthern races, neither Marlowe nor Massinger, Goethe nor Shakespeare,\ncan drape such sombre curtains around their stage as Calderon or Lope.\n\n\n\n\nCalaynos\n\nCalaynos, one of the most renowned of the Moorish knights, is the\nhero of more than one romance in verse. But that which is best known,\nand most regular in its sequence of events, is the Coplas de Calainos,\nwhich has been translated so successfully by Lockhart in his Spanish\nBallads. The Moorish champion, it tells us, was enamoured of a maiden\nof his own nation, and in order to win her favour offered her broad\nestates and abundant wealth. But in her petulance she refused this\ncomfortable homage, and demanded the heads of three of the most valiant\nchampions of Christendom--Rinaldo, Roland, and Oliver! Bestowing on\nhis lady a farewell kiss, Calaynos immediately set out for Paris,\nand when he had arrived there displayed the crescent banner of his\nfaith before the Church of St John. He caused a blast to be blown\nupon his trumpet, the sound of which was well known to Charlemagne\nand his twelve peers, and was heard by them as they hunted in the\ngreenwood, some miles from the city. Shortly afterward the royal train\nencountered a Moor, and the Emperor haughtily demanded of him how he\ndared to show his green turban within his dominions. He replied that\nhe served Calaynos, who sent his defiance to Charlemagne and all his\npeers, whose onset he awaited at Paris.\n\nAs they rode back to encounter the bold infidel Charlemagne suggested\nto Roland that he should take the chastisement of Calaynos upon\nhimself, but that haughty paladin proposed that the task should\nbe delegated to some carpet-knight, as he considered it beneath his\nprowess to do battle with a single Moor. Sir Baldwin, Roland's nephew,\nboasted that he would bring Calaynos' green turban to the dust, and,\nspurring ahead, soon came face to face with the stern Moorish lord,\nwho, with a sneer, offered to take him into the service of his lady\nas a page.\n\nRight angry was Baldwin when he heard these words, and, hurling his\ndefiance at Calaynos, bade him prepare for battle. The Moor vaulted\nupon his barb, and, levelling his lance, rode fiercely at Baldwin\nand bore him to earth, where he made him sue for mercy. But Roland,\nthe youth's uncle, was at hand, and, winding his terrible horn,\nshouted to Calaynos to prepare for combat.\n\n\"Who art thou?\" asked Calaynos. \"Thou wearest a coronet in thy helm,\nbut I know thee not.\"\n\n\"No words, base Moor!\" replied Roland. \"This hour shall be thy last,\"\nand, so saying, he charged his enemy at full speed. Down crashed the\nhaughty infidel, and Roland, leaping from the saddle, stood over him,\ndrawn sword in hand.\n\n\"Thy name, paynim,\" he demanded; \"speak or die.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" replied Calaynos, \"I serve a haughty maiden of Spain, who would\nhave no gift of me but the heads of certain peers of Charlemagne.\"\n\n\"So!\" laughed Roland. \"Fool that thou art, she could not have loved\nthee when she bade thee beard our fellowship. Thou hast come here\nto thy death,\" and with these words he smote off Calaynos' head,\nand spurned his crescent crest in twain. \"No more shall this moon\nrise above the meads of Seine,\" he cried, as he sheathed his falchion.\n\nThus was Calaynos fooled by a maiden's pride and by his own. The\nstory is, of course, wildly improbable, and that a Moorish knight\ncould have reached Paris on such a quest is unthinkable. But the tale\nhas a very human accent, and is not without its moral.\n\n\n\n\nGayferos\n\nGayferos was a figure dear to Spanish romance. His story was connected\nwith the Charlemagne cycle, and was included in the pseudo-chronicle\nof Archbishop Turpin, but, though a knight of France, he appears to\nhave possessed a special attraction for the Castilian mind, owing,\nprobably, to the circumstance of his seven years' search for his wife\nin Spanish territory.\n\nGayferos of Bordeaux was a kinsman of Roland, the invincible hero\nof the chansons de gestes, and husband of Charlemagne's daughter\nMelisenda. Shortly after their marriage the lady was kidnapped by the\nSaracens and confined in a strong tower at Saragossa. Determined to\nrescue her from pagan custody, Gayferos set out in search of his wife,\nbut after spending seven long years in diligent inquiry failed to\nlocate the place where she was imprisoned. From province to province,\nfrom castle to castle of sunny Spain he journeyed, until at length,\ndisconsolate and dejected, he returned to Paris.\n\nIn the hope of drowning the remembrance of his loss, Gayferos plunged\ninto the recreations of the Court. One day as he played dice with the\nEmperor's admiral, Charlemagne, seeing him thus employed, said to him:\n\"How is it, Gayferos, that you waste your time on a paltry game,\nwhile your wife, my daughter, languishes in a Moorish prison? Were\nyou as ready to handle arms as to throw dice, you would hasten to the\nrescue of your lady.\" The Emperor's speech was unmerited, for he had\nonly just learned of the place in which Melisenda was held in durance,\nwhereas the faithful Gayferos was not yet aware of it. But gathering\nfrom Charlemagne the name of the castle in which she was confined, he\nmade speed to his uncle Roland, and begged him for armour and a horse.\n\nRoland, seeing the dismay in which his nephew was plunged, pressed\nupon him his own famous arms and his favourite charger, and, thus\nequipped, Gayferos once more turned his face to the land of Spain. In\ndue time he arrived at Saragossa, and, meeting with no opposition at\nits gates, he entered and rode straight to the house where his captive\nwife lay. Beholding him from the window, she begged him as he was a\nChristian knight to send the tidings of her to her husband Gayferos.\n\n\n    \"Seven summers, seven winters have I waited in this tower,\n    While my lord Gayferos holdeth dalliance in hall and bower;\n    Hath forgotten Melisenda, hopes that she hath wed the Moor;\n    Yet the kindness of his memory shall I cherish evermore.\"\n\n    Stands the champion in his stirrups. \"Lady, dry the useless tear,\n    For thy husband and thy lover, thy devoted knight is here.\n    Spring to saddle from the casement, leap into my fond embrace\n    That shall hold thee and enfold thee from the Moor and all\n                                                              his race.\"\n\n\nLeaping from the casement into the arms of her faithful knight,\nMelisenda placed herself on the saddle before him, and setting spurs\nto his horse Gayferos made all speed to reach the gates. But a Moor\nwho had witnessed the rescue gave the alarm, and soon the fugitives\nfound themselves pursued by seven columns of horsemen.\n\nThe pursuers pressed hard upon them, but at the critical juncture\nMelisenda recognized the horse on which they rode to be Roland's,\nand remembered that by loosening the girth, opening the breastplate,\nand driving the spurs into its sides it could be made to leap across\nany barrier with complete safety to those it carried. She hastily\ninformed her husband of this, and, acting as she directed, he drove\nthe steed toward the city wall, which it cleared with ease. On seeing\nthis the Moors very naturally gave up the chase. In due time Gayferos\nand his wife returned to Paris, and their future was as bright as\ntheir past had been clouded.\n\n\n\n\nCount Alarcos\n\nGloomy with the hangings of tragedy is the grim story of The Count\nAlarcos, an anonymous romance, distinguished by great richness of\ncomposition. It has been translated into English by both Lockhart\nand Bowring, with but little distinction in either case, having\nconsideration to the moving character of the original. The story\nopens with the simplicity which marks high tragedy. The Infanta\nSoliza, daughter of the King of Spain, had been secretly betrothed\nto Count Alarcos, but was abandoned by him for another lady, by whom\nhe had several children. In the agony of her grief and shame at her\nseduction and desertion, the miserable princess shut herself off from\nthe world, and consumed the summer of her days in sorrow and bitter\ndisappointment. Her royal father, not conscious of the manner in which\nshe had been betrayed, questioned her as to the meaning of her grief,\nand she answered him that she mourned because she was not a wife,\nlike other ladies of her station.\n\n\"Daughter,\" replied the King, \"this fault is none of mine. Did not\nthe noble Prince of Hungary offer you his hand? I know of no suitable\nhusband for you in this land of Spain, saving the Count Alarcos,\nand he is already wed.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said the Infanta, \"it is the Count Alarcos who has broken\nmy heart, for he vowed to wed me, and plighted his troth to me long\nere he wedded. He is true to his new vows, but has left his earlier\noaths unfulfilled. In word and deed he is my husband.\"\n\nFor a space the King sat silent. \"Great wrong has been done, my\ndaughter,\" he said at last, \"for now is the royal line of Spain shamed\nin all men's eyes.\"\n\nThen dark and murderous jealousy seized upon the soul of the\nInfanta. \"Certes,\" she cried, \"this Countess can die. Must I be\nshamed that she should live? Let it be bruited abroad that sickness\ncut short her life. Thus may Count Alarcos yet wed me.\"\n\nExasperated by the thought of his daughter's dishonour, the King\nsummoned Alarcos to a banquet, and when they were alone broached the\nsubject of his perfidy to the Infanta.\n\n\"Is it true, Don Alarcos,\" he asked, \"that you plighted your troth\nto my daughter and deceived her? Now hearken: your Countess usurps\nmy daughter's rightful place. She must die. Nay, start not! It must\nbe reported that sickness has carried her off. Then must you wed the\nInfanta. You have brought your King to dishonour, and he now demands\nthe only reparation that it is within your power to make.\"\n\n\"I cannot deny that I deceived the Infanta,\" replied Alarcos. \"But\nI pray you, in mercy spare my innocent lady. Visit my sin upon me as\nheavily as you will, but not upon her.\"\n\n\"It may not be,\" replied the stern old King. \"She dies, I say,\nand that to-night. When the escutcheon of a king is stained, it\nmatters not whether the blood that washes the blot away be guilty or\ninnocent. Away, and do my behest, or your life shall pay the forfeit.\"\n\nTerrified at the thought of a traitor's death, for such an end was\nmore dreaded than any other by the haughty Castilian nobles, Alarcos\nagreed to abide by the King's decision, and rode homeward in an agony\nof remorse and despair. The thought that he must be the executioner\nof the wife whom he dearly loved, the mother of his three beautiful\nchildren, drove him to madness, and when at last he met her at the gate\nof his castle, accompanied by her infants, and displaying every sign of\njoy at his return, he shrank from her caresses, and could only mutter\nthat he had bad news, which he would divulge to her in her bower.\n\nTaking her youngest babe, she led him to her apartment, where supper\nwas laid. But the Count Alarcos neither ate nor drank, but laid his\nhead upon the board and wept bitterly out of a breaking heart. Then,\nrecalling his dreadful purpose, he barred the doors, and, standing\nwith folded arms before his lady, confessed his sin.\n\n\"Long since I loved a lady,\" he said. \"I plighted my troth to her, and\nvowed to love her like a husband. Her father is the King. She claims me\nfor her own, and he demands that I make good the promise. Furthermore,\nalas that I should say it! the King has spoken your death, and has\ndecreed that you die this very night.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried the Countess, amazed. \"Are these then the wages of my\nloyal love for you, Alarcos? Wherefore must I die? Oh, send me back\nto my father's house, where I can live in peace and forgetfulness,\nand rear my children as those of thy blood should be reared.\"\n\n\"It may not be,\" answered the wretched Count. \"I have pledged mine\noath.\"\n\n\"Friendless am I in the land,\" cried the miserable lady. \"But at\nleast let me kiss my children ere I die.\"\n\n\"Thou mayst kiss the babe upon thy breast,\" groaned Alarcos. \"The\nothers thou mayst not see again. Prepare thee.\"\n\nThe doomed Countess kissed her babe, muttered an Ave, and, rising\nfrom her knees, begged her merciless lord to be kind to their\nchildren. She pardoned her husband, but laid upon the King and his\ndaughter the awful curse known to the people of the Middle Ages as\n\"the Assize of the Dying,\" so often taken advantage of by those who\nwere falsely accused and condemned to die, and by virtue of which the\nvictim summoned his murderers to meet him before the throne of God\nere thirty days were past and answer for their crime to their Creator.\n\nThe Count strangled his wife with a silken kerchief, and when the\nhorrid deed had been done, and she lay cold and dead, he summoned\nhis esquires, and gave himself up to a passion of woe.\n\nWithin twelve days the revengeful Infanta perished in agony. The\nmerciless King died on the twentieth day, and ere the moon had\ncompleted her round Alarcos too drooped and died. Cruel and inevitable\nas Greek tragedy is the tale of Alarcos. But while perusing it\nand under the spell of its tragic pathos we can scarcely regard\nit as of the nature of legend, and we know not whom to abhor the\nmost--the revengeful Princess, the cruel King, or the coward husband\nwho sacrificed his innocent and devoted wife to the shadow of that\naristocratic 'honour' which has to its discredit almost as great a\nholocaust of victims as either superstition or fanaticism.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX: THE ROMANCEROS OR BALLADS\n\n\n                                            Iliads without a Homer.\n\n                                                            Lope de Vega\n\n\nThe word romancero in modern Spanish is more or less strictly applied\nto a special form of verse composition, a narrative poem written\nin lines of sixteen syllables which adhere to one single assonance\nthroughout. Originally the term was applied to those dialects or\nlanguages which were the offspring of the Roman or Latin tongue--the\nspoken language of old Rome in its modernized forms. Later it came\nto imply only the written forms of those vernaculars, and lastly\nthe poetic lyrico-narrative form alone, as above indicated. The\nromancero therefore differs from the romance in that it is written\nin verse, and it is plain from what has just been said that the name\n'romance' was the product of the transition period when the term was\nintended to describe the written output of the more modern forms of\nLatin-Castilian, Portuguese, French, and Proven\u00e7al, whether couched in\nprose or verse. We have seen that practically all the romances proper,\nas apart from the cantares de gesta--that is, such compositions as\nAmadis, Palmerin, and Partenopex--were written in prose. But the\nromancero was first and last a narrative in verse. Indeed, the three\ntales recounted in the last chapter are of the romancero type--a form,\nas we shall see, which gained quite as strong a hold upon the lower\nclasses of the Peninsula as the romance proper did upon the affections\nof the hidalgo and the caballero. In a word, the romancero is the\npopular ballad of Spain.\n\nIn a previous chapter I attempted to outline the several types of\nthe Spanish ballad, or romancero, as follows:\n\n\n    (1) Those of spontaneous popular origin and early date.\n    (2) Those based upon passages in the chronicles or cantares\n        de gesta.\n    (3) Folk-ballads of a relatively late date.\n    (4) Those later ballads which were the production of conscious art.\n\n\nWe can thus class Spanish ballads more broadly into:\n\n\n    (1) Those of popular origin.\n    (2) Those which have their rise in literary sources.\n\n\nAs regard class (1) of the first quaternion, like Sancho Panza I\nhave no intention of indicating how old these may be. The fiercest\ncontroversy has raged round this question, but, as I have already\nindicated, it would be strange indeed if no vestiges of early Castilian\nfolk-song had come down to us in an altered form. Folk-song, in my\nview, has as great a chance of survival as custom or legend, and we\nknow how persistent these are in undisturbed areas, so I see no reason\nto doubt that a certain number of the original ballads of Spain have\ncome down to us in such an altered form as would, perhaps, render\nthem unrecognizable to their makers, just as the ancient Scottish\nromance of Thomas the Rhymer would not have been recognized in its\nlater form by the singer who composed it.\n\nAll the arguments, arch\u00e6ological and philological, erected and advanced\nby mere erudition will not convince me to the contrary. To some people\nantiquity is a living thing, a warm and glowing environment, a world\nwith the paths and manners of which they are better acquainted than\nwith the streets of every day. To others it is--a museum. I have no\nquarrel with the curators of that museum, and I enjoy reading their\nbooks--records of a land which few of them have visited. But when they\ninsist upon controverting the evidence supplied by senses which they do\nnot possess they become merely tiresome. Like art, arch\u00e6ology has also\nits inspirations, its higher vision. Alas that those who do not share\nit should attempt to justify their conclusions by lifeless logic alone!\n\nTherefore I shall say no more concerning the age of the ballads of\nOld Spain, but will only remark with Sancho that \"they are too old\nto lie.\" I have clearly shown, too, that a number of them were based\non passages in the chronicles and cantares, a circumstance which in\nitself vouches for their relative antiquity. With the later artificial\nimitations of G\u00f3ngora and Lope de Vega, and others of similar stamp,\nwe are not concerned here. After all, we can only take the ballads of\nSpain as we find them in the cancioneros. It is much too late in the\nday now to do anything else. Like the ballads of Scotland and Denmark,\nthose of Spain have been collected and published for centuries, and\nin the pages of the cancioneros old and new, popular and literary,\nare mingled together in almost inextricable confusion. Let us glance,\nthen, at the history of these cancioneros, these treasure-houses\nof a people's poetry, and attempt to realize their plan and scope\nas perhaps the best method by which to approach the subject of the\nSpanish ballad generally. Having done this, we can then discuss\nmatters of origin with critics of insight and sympathy.\n\n\n\n\nThe \"Cancionero General\"\n\nIf we except the fragmentary collection of Juan Fern\u00e1ndez de\nConstantina, the Cancionero General, or \"Universal Song-book,\" as it\nmight be translated, was originally brought together and published\nat the beginning of the sixteenth century by a certain Fernando\ndel Castillo. The arrangement of the ballads it contains is neither\nchronological nor thoroughly systematic, although the productions of\neach author are kept distinct. Later editions of this work quickly\nmultiplied, and as the collection extended the additions were always\ninserted at the end of the book. The collection consists for the most\npart of the ballads of authors of the fifteenth and early sixteenth\ncenturies, such as Tallante, Nicolas N\u00fa\u00f1ez, Juan de Mena, Porticarrero,\nand the still earlier Marquis de Santillana.\n\nThe first portion of the work is confined to the spiritual songs\n(obras de devoci\u00f3n). These are monotonous and informed with a\nrigid fanaticism. Nor are the \"Moral Poems\" which follow any more\nattractive, allegorizing virtues and vices according to the definitions\nof scholastic philosophy. The amatory verses in the collection are\nmore ingenious than truly poetic; they lack true feeling, and appear\nstiff and artificial in their reiteration of burning passion and the\noverwhelming woes of unrequited love, mingled with pseudo-philosophical\nappeals to reason. But gay and graceful love songs are not lacking,\nas, for example, the \"Muy m\u00e1s clara que de luna\" of Juan de Meux or\nthe \"Pensamienti, pues mostrays\" of Diego Lopez de Haro. But these\ntrail off into philosophical disquisition, and the tender sentiment\nin which they were conceived and commenced is lost in the shallows\nof paltry argument.\n\nMuch more promising are the canciones, or lyrical poems of a\nsemi-conventional cast, which have a character and metrical form all\ntheir own. They usually consist of twelve lines, divided into two\nparts. The first four lines comprehend the idea on which the song\nis founded, and this is developed or applied in the eight succeeding\nlines. The Cancionero General contains one hundred and fifty-six of\nthese little songs, some of which are the best poems contained in it,\nand perhaps they owe their excellence to the verbal restraint which\ntheir form compels. An allied form is the villancico, or conceit,\nusually of three or four lines, a fugitive piece, enshrining some\nfleeting emotion, and often packed with the matter of poesy.\n\n\n\n\nThe \"Romancero General\"\n\nThe title Romancero General was applied to many collections of\nSpanish songs and narrative romances in verse published during\nthe seventeenth century and later. Of these only the older require\nillustration here. The first in point of date was the collection of\nMiguel de Madrigal, published in 1604, although another work containing\nupward of a thousand romances and songs was produced in the same year,\nand bears the same title. Another collection of primary importance\nis that of Pedro de Flores (1614). This is obviously a bookseller's\ncompilation, but is none the worse for that, save that it pretends to\nembrace the entire sum of Spanish romanceros, whereas it contains not\none of those appearing in the Cancionero General. All of these works\ncontain numerous amatory poems of the kind so liberally exemplified\nin the Cancionero General, but with these we have little concern,\nand our attention may be better employed in examining the romanceros\nproper which it contains. These for the most part would seem to belong\nto the fifteenth century, and relate to the civil wars of Granada,\nthe last Moorish principality in Spain, and the heroic and gallant\nadventures of Moorish knights. It is, indeed, in this work that we\nfirst perceive the trend toward a literary fashion in things Moorish\nto which we have referred in a previous chapter, but, as has been\nindicated, this is very far from saying that these poems owe their\norigin to Moorish models. But there are not wanting Castilian themes\nand stories, such as those relating to Roderic, Bernaldo de Carpio,\nFern\u00e1n Gonz\u00e1lez, the Infantes of Lara, and the Cid. Most of these\nwere written by men of humble station, the true poets of the people,\nthe late representatives of those juglares who had sung or recited\nthe cantares de gesta. [51]\n\nMr James Fitzmaurice Kelly is at once the best informed and most\nsympathetic of modern critics on the subject of the romancero. In\nhis admirable Chapters on Spanish Literature, a delightful series\nof excursions into several of the most interesting provinces of\nSpanish letters, he reviews the romancero in some forty vivid pages,\nremarkable alike for critical insight and the sanity of the conclusions\nto which they point. Taking Lockhart's Spanish Ballads as a basis for\ncomment, he addresses himself to the racy criticism of the collection\nof the Scottish translator. A better plan for the initiation of the\nEnglish-speaking reader into the mysteries of the romancero could\nscarcely be conceived, for there are few who possess no acquaintance\nwith Lockhart's work, one of the most persistent of the drawing-room\nbooks of Victorian days. Following Mr Kelly's admirable lead, then,\nthough not in the spirit of base imitation, let us take Lockhart as\nour 'document' and examine the more interesting of his translations,\nnot only as regards their subject-matter, but their excellences\nand shortcomings, comparing them also with those of Bowring and\nothers. Following Depping, Lockhart divides his volume of ballads into\nthree sections: Historical, Moorish, and Romantic. With the first two\ngroups of poems, or rather with their subject-matter--those relating\nto King Roderic and Bernaldo de Carpio--we have dealt elsewhere.\n\n\n\n\nThe Maiden Tribute\n\nThe next in order, \"The Maiden Tribute,\" deals with a demand of the\nMoorish monarch Abderahman that a hundred Christian virgins should\nannually be delivered into his hands. King Ram\u00edro refused to comply\nwith such a shameful custom, and marched to meet the Moor. A two days'\nbattle was fought near Alveida, and at the conclusion of the first\nday's hostilities the superior discipline of the Saracens had told\nheavily against the Castilians. During the night, St Iago, the patron\nsaint of Spain, appeared to the King in a vision and promised his\naid in the field next day. With morning the battle was joined once\nmore, the Saint, true to his word, led the Spanish charge, and the\nSaracens were cast into headlong rout. The maiden tribute was never\nafterward paid.\n\nLockhart's ballad, or rather translation, certainly does not enhance\nthe original.\n\n\n    If the Moslem must have tribute, make men your tribute-money,\n    Send idle drones to tease them within their hives of honey,\n\n\nis the commonest of crambo, and\n\n\n    Must go, like all the others, the proud Moor's bed to sleep in--\n    In all the rest they're useless, and nowise worth the keeping,\n\n\nis reminiscent of the pantomime days of our youth. Mr Fitzmaurice\nKelly contents himself by remarking about this ballad that it scarcely\ncalls for comment.\n\n\n\n\nCount Fern\u00e1n Gonz\u00e1lez\n\n\"The Escape of the Count Fern\u00e1n Gonz\u00e1lez, which is based on the old\nEstoria del noble caballero Fern\u00e1n Gonz\u00e1lez,\" a popular arrangement\nof the Cr\u00f3nica General (1344), is later than two other ballads which\nMr Kelly and others believe represent a lost epic which was worked\ninto the Cr\u00f3nica in question. A wealth of legend certainly clustered\nround the name of this cavalier, and he has a string of romanceros to\nhis credit. But are we to believe that in every case where ballads\ncrystallize round a great name these are the broken lights of a\ndisintegrated epic, worn down by attrition into popular songs? Is\nthere, indeed, irrefragable proof that such a process ever took place\nanywhere? Or its reverse, for that matter? Practical writers of verse\n(if a writer of verse can be practical) do not take kindly to the\nhypothesis. They recognize the generic differences between the spirit\nof epic and that of folk-poetry, and prefer to believe that when both\nhave fixed upon the same subject the choice was fortuitous and not\nnecessarily evolutionary.\n\nFern\u00e1n Gonz\u00e1lez of Castile owed not a little of his romantic\nreputation to his wife, who delivered him from captivity on at least\ntwo occasions. On that celebrated in the ballad she played the part of\na faithful lover and a true heroine. Gonz\u00e1lez, taken by his enemies,\nhad been carried to a stronghold in Navarre. A Norman knight passing\nthrough that country requested the governor of the castle for an\naudience with the captive, and as he offered a suitable bribe the\nofficial gladly conceded the request. The interview over, the knight\ndeparted and sought the palace of King Garcia of Navarre, who held\nGonz\u00e1lez in bondage. One of the counts against the prisoner seems\nto have been that he had asked Garcia for the hand of his daughter,\nand to this princess, who secretly loved the captive, the knight now\naddressed himself:\n\n\n    The Moors may well be joyful, but great should be our grief,\n    For Spain has lost her guardian when Castile has lost her chief.\n    The Moorish host is pouring like a river o'er the land:\n    Curse on the Christian fetters that bind Gonz\u00e1lez' hand!\n\n\nAt 'mirk of night' the Infanta rose, and, proceeding alone to the\ncastle where Gonz\u00e1lez was confined, proffered such a heavy bribe to\nthe governor to set him at liberty that he permitted his prisoner to\ngo free. But the hero was still hampered by his chains, and when the\npair were stopped by a hunter-priest who threatened to reveal their\nwhereabouts to the King's foresters unless the Infanta paid him a\nshameful ransom, Gonz\u00e1lez was unable to punish him as he deserved. But\nas the wretch embraced the princess she seized him by the throat, and\nGonz\u00e1lez grasped the spear which he had let fall and drove it through\nhis body. Shortly afterward they encountered a band of Gonz\u00e1lez'\nown men-at-arms, with which incident their night of adventure came\nto a close.\n\n\n\n\nThe Infantes of Lara\n\nFew Spanish romanceros celebrate incidents more tragic or memorable\nthan those which cluster round the massacre of the unfortunate\nInfantes or Princes of Lara by their treacherous uncle, Ruy or Roderigo\nVel\u00e1squez. Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly thinks that one of these originated\nfrom a lost epic written between 1268 and 1344, \"or perhaps from\na lost recast of this lost epic.\" Strange that such epics should\nall be lost! He pleads that Lockhart might have utilized other more\n'energetic' ballads to illustrate this legend, but I think in this\ndoes some despite to the very fine and spirited translation entitled\n\"The Vengeance of Mudara\":\n\n\n    Oh, in vain have I slaughter'd the Infants of Lara;\n    There's an heir in his halls--there's the bastard Mudara,\n    There's the son of the renegade--spawn of Mahoun:\n    If I meet with Mudara, my spear brings him down.\n\n\nAs I read these lines I recall a big drawing-room, the narrow\ncasements of which look upon a wilderness of garden woodland made\nmagical by the yellow shadows of the hour when it is neither evening\nnor afternoon. Upon a table of mottled rosewood lies a copy of the\nSpanish Ballads in the embossed and fretted binding of the days when\nsuch books were given as presents and intended for exhibition. A child\nof ten, I had stolen into this Elysium redolent of rose-leaves and\npotpourri, and, opening the book at random, came upon the lines just\nquoted. For the first time I tasted the delights of rhythm, of music\nin words. The verses photographed themselves on my brain. Searching\nthrough the book until darkness fell, it seemed to me that I could\nfind nothing so good, nothing that swung along with such a gallop. But\nthe cup had been held to my lips, and my days and nights became a\nquest for words wedded to music. I had to look for some time before I\nencountered anything better than, or equal to, the haunting rhythm of\n\"The Vengeance of Mudara.\" The years have brought discoveries beside\nwhich the first pales into insignificance, adventures in books of\na spirit more subtle, carrying the thrill of a keener amazement;\nbut none came with the force of such revelation as was vouchsafed by\nthat page in an unforgotten book in an unforgettable room.\n\nThe first of the ballads in which Lockhart deals with the subject\nof the Infantes of Lara--for the one we have been discussing follows\nit--is entitled \"The Seven Heads,\" and details the circumstance of the\nmassacre of the unhappy princes. From the Historia de Espa\u00f1a of Juan\nde Marinia (1537-1624) we learn that in the year 986 Ruy Vel\u00e1squez,\nlord of Villaren, celebrated his marriage with Donna Lombra, a lady\nof high birth, at Burgos. The festivities were on a scale of great\nsplendour, and among the guests were Gustio Gonz\u00e1lez, lord of Salas\nof Lara, and his seven sons. These young men, of the blood of the\nCounts of Castile, were celebrated for their chivalric prowess,\nand had all been knighted on the self-same day.\n\nAs evil chance would have it, a quarrel arose between Gonz\u00e1lez, the\nyoungest of the seven brothers, and one Alvar Sanchez, a relation\nof the bride. Donna Lombra thought herself insulted, and in order to\navenge herself, when the young knights rode in her train as she took\nher way to her lord's castle, she ordered one of her slaves to throw at\nGonz\u00e1lez a wild cucumber soaked in blood, \"a heavy insult and outrage,\naccording to the then existing customs and opinions of Spain.\" What\nthis recondite insult signified does not matter. But surely, whatever\nits meaning, and making all allowance for the rudeness of the age of\nwhich she was an ornament, the lady did greater despite to herself than\nto her enemy by the perpetration of such an act of crude vulgarity. The\nslave, having done as he was bid, fled for protection to his mistress's\nside. But that availed him nothing, for the outraged Infantes slew him\n\"within the very folds of her garment.\"\n\nRuy Vel\u00e1squez, burning with Latin anger at what he deemed an insult\nto his bride, and therefore to himself, was determined upon a\ndreadful vengeance. But he studiously concealed his intention from\nthe young noblemen, and behaved to them as if nothing of moment had\noccurred. Some time after these events he sent Gustio Gonz\u00e1lez, the\nfather of the seven young champions, on a mission to Cordova, the\nostensible object of which was to receive on his behalf a tribute of\nmoney from the Moorish king of that city. He made Gustio the bearer\nof a letter in Arabic, which he could not read, the purport of which\nwas a request to the Saracen chieftain to have him executed. But the\ninfidel displayed more humanity than the Christian, and contented\nhimself with imprisoning the unsuspecting envoy.\n\nIn furtherance of his plans Vel\u00e1squez pretended to make an incursion\ninto the Moorish country, in which he was accompanied by the Infantes\nof Lara with two hundred of their followers. With fiendish ingenuity he\nsucceeded in leading them into an ambuscade. Surrounded on all sides\nby the Saracen host, they resolved to sell their lives at the highest\npossible price rather than surrender. Back to back they stood, taking\na terrible toll of Moorish lives, and one by one they fell, slain but\nunconquered. Their heads were dispatched to Vel\u00e1squez as an earnest\nof a neighbourly deed by the Moorish king, and were paraded before\nhim and in front of their stricken father, who had been released in\norder that Vel\u00e1squez might gloat over his grief. When he had satisfied\nhis vengeance the lord of Villaren permitted the stricken father to\nreturn to his empty home.\n\nBut Ruy Vel\u00e1squez was not destined to go unpunished. While Gustio\nGonz\u00e1lez had been imprisoned in the dungeons of the Moorish King of\nCordova he had contracted an alliance with that monarch's sister,\nby whom he had a son, Mudarra. When this young man had attained the\nage of fourteen years his mother prevailed upon him to go in search\nof his father, and when he had found his now aged parent he learned of\nthe act of treachery by which his brothers had been slain. Determined\nto avenge the cowardly deed, he bided his time, and, encountering Ruy\nVel\u00e1squez when on a hunting expedition, slew him out of hand. Gathering\naround him a band of resolute men, he attacked the castle of Villaren,\nand executed a fearful vengeance upon the haughty Donna Lombra, whom\nhe stoned and burnt at the stake. In course of time he was adopted\nby his father's wife, Donna Sancha, who acknowledged him as heir to\nthe estates of his father.\n\nWe have already indicated the stirring nature of the ballad in\nwhich Mudarra takes vengeance upon the slayers of his brethren. Its\npredecessor in Lockhart's collection, that in which the agonized\nfather beholds the seven heads of his murdered sons, falls far short\nof it in power.\n\n\n    \"My gallant boys,\" quoth Lara, \"it is a heavy sight\n    These dogs have brought your father to look upon this night;\n    Seven gentler boys, nor braver, were never nursed in Spain,\n    And blood of Moors, God rest your souls, ye shed on her like rain.\"\n\n    ..................................................................\n\n    He took their heads up one by one,--he kiss'd them o'er and o'er,\n    And aye ye saw the tears run down--I wot that grief was sore.\n    He closed the lids on their dead eyes, all with his fingers frail,\n    And handled all their bloody curls, and kissed their lips so pale.\n\n    \"O had ye died all by my side upon some famous day,\n    My fair young men, no weak tears then had washed your blood away.\n    The trumpet of Castile had drowned the misbeliever's horn,\n    And the last of all the Lara's line a Gothic spear had borne.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Wedding of the Lady Theresa\n\n\"The Wedding of the Lady Theresa\" is a semi-historical ballad\nwhich tells of the forced alliance of a Christian maiden to a noble\nworshipper of Mahoun. Alfonso, King of Leon, desirous of strengthening\nhis alliance with the infidel, intended to sacrifice his sister,\nDonna Theresa, to his political necessities. He paved the way for\nthis betrayal by pretending that Abdalla, King of the Moors, had\nbecome a Christian, and by indicating to her the benefits of a union\nwith the pagan prince. Totally deceived by these representations,\nthe lady consented to the match, was taken to Toledo, and wed to\nthe Moor with much splendour. But on the day of the marriage she\nlearned of her brother's perfidy, and when she found herself alone\nwith the Moorish lord she repulsed him, telling him that she would\nnever be a wife to him in aught but name until he and his people\nembraced the Christian faith. But Abdalla ridiculed her scruples,\nand took advantage of her unprotected state. As she had prophesied, a\nscourge fell upon him as the consequence of his wicked act. Terrified,\nhe sent Theresa back to her brother, with an abundance of treasure,\nand she entered the monastery of St Pelagius, in Leon, where she\npassed the remainder of her days in pious labours and devotions.\n\n\n    Sad heart had fair Theresa when she their paction knew;\n    With streaming tears she heard them tell she 'mong the Moors\n                                                                must go:\n    That she, a Christian damosell, a Christian firm and true,\n    Must wed a Moorish husband, it well might cause her woe.\n    But all her tears and all her prayers, they are of small avail;\n    At length she for her fate prepares, a victim sad and pale.\n\n\nThis ballad is no earlier than the sixteenth century, and seems to be\nbased upon historic fact, and, as Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly points out,\nit confuses Almanzor and the Toledan governor Abdalla on the one\nhand and Alfonso V of Leon with his father, Bermudo II, on the other,\nand introduces chronological difficulties.\n\nPassing by the ballads of the Cid, to the subject-matter of which we\nhave already done ample justice, we come to that of\n\n\n\n\nGarcia P\u00e9rez de Vargas\n\nThis Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly dismisses in a word, although it seems to\nme to merit some attention. De Vargas distinguished himself greatly\nat the siege of Seville in the year 1248. One day, while riding by\nthe banks of the river, accompanied only by a single companion, he\nwas attacked by a party of seven mounted Moors. His comrade rode off,\nbut P\u00e9rez, closing his visor, and setting his lance in rest, faced the\npaynim warriors. They, seeing who awaited them, made all speed back\nto their own lines. As he made his way back to camp P\u00e9rez noticed\nthat he had dropped his scarf, and immediately returned to seek for\nit. But although he rode far into the danger zone ere he found it,\nthe Moors still avoided him, and he returned to the Spanish camp\nin safety. The ballad makes P\u00e9rez recover the scarf from the Moors,\nwho had found it and \"looped it on a spear.\"\n\n\n    \"Stand, stand, ye thieves and robbers, lay down my lady'spledge!\"\n    He cried; and ever as he cried they felt his faulchion's edge.\n\n    That day when the Lord of Vargas came to the camp alone,\n    The scarf, his lady's largess, around his breast was thrown;\n    Bare was his head, his sword was red, and, from his pommel strung,\n    Seven turbans green, sore hack'd, I ween, before Don Garci hung.\n\n\nThis last verse shows how strongly Lockhart was indebted to Scott\nfor the spirit and style of his compositions. [52]\n\n\n\n\nPedro the Cruel\n\nWe come now to those ballads which recount the vivid but sanguinary\nhistory of Don Pedro the Cruel. Many attempts have been made to prove\nthat Pedro was by no means such an inhuman monster as the balladeers\nwould have us believe. But probability seems to be on the side of the\nsingers rather than on that of the modern historians, who have done\ntheir best to remove the stain of his ferocious acts from Pedro's\nabhorred name. His first act of atrocity was that celebrated in\nthe ballad entitled \"The Master of St Iago,\" which refers to his\nillegitimate brother. On the death of that nobleman, his father,\nwell aware of Pedro's vindictive temperament, fled to the city of\nCoimbra, in Portugal. But, believing Pedro's asseverations that he\nhad no intention of offering him violence, he accepted his invitation\nto the Court of Seville, where a gallant tournament was about to be\nheld. No sooner had he arrived, however, than he was secretly put to\ndeath (1358), it is believed at the instance of the notorious Maria\nde Padilla, Pedro's mistress.\n\n\n    \"Stand off, stand off, thou traitor strong,\" 'twas thus he said\n                                                                  to me.\n    \"Thy time on earth shall not be long--what brings thee to my knee?\n    My lady craves a New Year's gift, and I will keep my word;\n    Thy head, methinks, may serve the shift--Good yeoman, draw\n    thy sword.\"\n\n\nThe ballad recounts how Pedro, relenting somewhat, imprisoned the false\nMaria de Padilla, but there is no evidence that she either suggested\nthe crime or suffered for it. Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly gives it as his\nopinion that the dramatic power of the romance is undeniable. Had\nhe spoken of its melodramatic power I might feel inclined to agree\nwith him.\n\n\"That Pedro was accessory to the violent death of the young and\ninnocent princess whom he had married, and immediately afterward\ndeserted for ever, there can be no doubt,\" says Lockhart, referring to\nthe marriage of Pedro with Blanche de Bourbon. But whether he murdered\nhis queen or not, his paramour, Maria de Padilla, was innocent of\nall complicity in the affair, although the ballad makes her the\ninstigator of the horrid deed, and it is plain that the poems which\nrefer to her were written with a sinister political motive.\n\nMariana, who is sufficiently reliable, states that Pedro's conduct\ntoward his queen had aroused the anger of many of his nobles,\nwho presented him with a remonstrance in writing. His fierce and\nhomicidal temper aroused to fury at what he considered an unwarranted\ninterference in his private concerns, he immediately gave the order\nthat his unfortunate French consort should be put to death by poison\nin the prison where she, was confined. The poem makes Pedro and his\nparamour plot upon the death of the unhappy Queen in the crude manner\nof the balladeer all the world over.\n\n\n    \"Maria de Padilla, be not thus of dismal mood,\n    For if I twice have wedded me, it all was for thy good,\"\n\n\nmay be good ballad-writing, but I confess the barbarous inversion in\nthe second line appears to me to be unnecessary.\n\n\n    \"But if upon Queen Blanche ye will that I some scorn should show,\n    For a banner to Medina my messenger shall go.--\n    The work shall be of Blanche's tears, of Blanche's blood the\n                                                                 ground,\n    Such pennon shall they weave for thee, such sacrifice be found.\"\n\n\nWith the example of many enchanted passages of allusion no less\nrecondite occurring in the ballads of his own country-side, Lockhart\nmight reasonably have been expected to have done much better than\nthe last couplet.\n\n\n    Fause luve, ye've shapit a weed for me\n    In simmer amang the flowers;\n    I will repay thee back again\n    In winter amang the showers.\n\n    The snow so white shall be your weed,\n    In hate you shall be drest,\n    The cauld east wind shall wrap your heid\n    And the sharp rain on your breist.\n\n\nBut I question if folk-poetry ever captured a lilt more exquisite\nthan that of the first four lines of \"The Gardener\" or a sharper note\nof anguish than that of the last quatrain. [53] To me at least Old\nScots must always remain the language of the ballad par excellence,\nby virtue of the subtlety, the finely wrought and divinely coloured\nwealth of expressive idiom which bursts from its treasure-chest in\na profusion of begemmed and enamelled richness, more various, more\nmagical than any Spanish gold. Much of this Lockhart filched to give\nhis Castilian bullion a replating. But in places he falls back most\nwretchedly upon the poetical trickeries of his day, falls to the level\nof Rogers and Southey, to the miserable devices and tinsel beggary of\nthose bravely bound annuals beloved by the dames and damsels of the\nday before yesterday. In places, however, he outballads the ballad\nin pure gaucherie.\n\n\n    These words she spake, then down she knelt, and took the bowman's\n                                                                   blow,\n    Her tender neck was cut in twain, and out her blood did flow.\n\n\nThe next, and not the last of the series, as Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly\nhas it, is obviously the handiwork of Walter Scott, than whom none\ncould fail more miserably on occasion. We can picture him doling \"The\nDeath of Don Pedro\" from out the great thesaurus of his brain (that\nsadly drained mint, ever at the service of a friend or a publisher),\nas a dinted and defaced coin. Only in the last verse does the old\nfire blaze up.\n\n\n    Thus with mortal gasp and quiver,\n    While the blood in bubbles well'd,\n    Fled the fiercest soul that ever\n    In a Christian bosom dwell'd.\n\n\nOn such a subject the composer of \"Bonnie Dundee\" might well have felt\nthe blood run faster, and the pen quiver in his fingers like an arrow\non a tightened bow-string. Two royal brothers strive with hateful\nponiards for each other's lives. Pedro, a prisoner in the hands of\nHenry of Trastamara, his natural brother, is wantonly insulted by the\nvictorious noble, and replies by flying at his throat in an outburst\nof animal courage and kingly rage. Dumbfounded at the death-struggle\nof monarch and usurper, Henry's allies look on, among them the great\nDu Guesclin. Pedro pins the lord of Trastamara to the ground. His\ndagger flashes upward. Du Guesclin turns to Henry's squire. \"Will ye\nlet your lord die thus, you who eat his bread?\" he scoffs. The esquire\nthrows himself upon Pedro, clings to his arms and turns him over, and,\nthus aided, Henry rises, searches for a joint in the King's armour,\nand thrusts his dagger deep into that merciless heart. The murderer,\nthe friend of Jew and Saracen, is slain. His head is hacked off,\nand his proud body trampled beneath mailed feet. Surely a subject\nfor a picture painted in the lights of armour and the red shadows of\nblood and hate.\n\n\n    Down they go in deadly wrestle,\n    Down upon the earth they go.\n    Fierce King Pedro has the vantage,\n    Stout Don Henry falls below.\n\n    Marking then the fatal crisis,\n    Up the page of Henry ran,\n    By the waist he caught Don Pedro,\n    Aiding thus the fallen man.\n\n\nThey had better have let the ballad alone, those two at Abbotsford. It\ndoes not seem to me \"a very striking ballad,\" as Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly\nobserves, but in its Castilian dress it is sufficiently dramatic\nand exciting.\n\n\n    Los fieros cuerpos revueltos\n    Entre los rubustos brazos\n    Est\u00e1 el cruel rey Don Pedro\n    Y Don Enrique, su hermano.\n\n    No son abrazos de amor\n    Los que los dos se est\u00e1n dando;\n    Que el uno tiene una daga,\n    Y otro un pu\u00f1al acerado.\n\n\nSo run the first two verses, which I leave the reader to translate\nfor himself, lest further damage be done them.\n\nThe proclamation of Don Henry takes up the story where the preceding\nballad left it off. In the translation of this, it seems to me,\nLockhart has been much more successful than his great father-in-law\nproved himself in that of its companion ballad. I do not think it\npossible, however, to render adequately by an English pen the dignified\nrhythm of the Castilian in which this romancero is dressed. But the\nsecond verse,\n\n\n    So dark and sullen is the glare of Pedro's lifeless eyes,\n    Still half he fears what slumbers there to vengeance may arise.\n    So stands the brother, on his brow the mark of blood is seen,\n    Yet had he not been Pedro's Cain, his Cain had Pedro been,\n\n\nis really fine, expressive, and ascends a whole scale of terrible\nthought and realization. Are these awful eyes dead? Can the threat\nthey hold be imaginary? My hands are wet with brother's blood, but it\nis only by virtue of a slender chance that his are not imbrued with\nmine. The verse is horribly eloquent of the death-cold atmosphere\nof the moment which follows murder--simple, appalling, desperately\ntragic. The mad grief of the slain King's paramour is drawn with a\ntouch almost as successful.\n\n\n    In her hot cheek the blood mounts high, as she stands gazing down,\n    Now on proud Henry's royal stole, his robe and golden crown,\n    And now upon the trampled cloak that hides not from her view\n    The slaughtered Pedro's marble brow, and lips of livid hue.\n\n\n\n\nThe Moor Reduan\n\nWe may pass by \"The Lord of Butrayo\" and \"The King of Arragon\" and\ncome to the ballad of \"The Moor Reduan,\" a piece based on the siege\nof Granada, last stronghold of the Moors, and the first of those in\nwhich Lockhart deals with the romanceros fronterizos, or romances\nof the frontier, which, as we have before remarked, may have been\ninfluenced by Moorish ideas, or may even represent borrowings or\ndonn\u00e9es of a kind more or less direct. In his critique of this\nromancero Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly says: \"Lockhart is, of course, not\nto blame for translating the ballad precisely as he found it in the\ntext before him. Any translator would be bound to do the same to-day\nif he attempted a new rendering of the poem; but he would doubtless\nthink it advisable to state in a note the result of the critical\nanalysis which had scarcely been begun when Lockhart wrote. It now\nseems fairly certain that P\u00e9rez de Hita ran two romanceros into one,\nand that the verses from the fourth stanza onward in Lockhart,\n\n\n    They passed the Elvira gate with banners all displayed,\n\n\nare part of a ballad on Boabdil's expedition against Lucena in\n1483.\" This is only partially correct. Lockhart knew perfectly well\nthat the piece was not homogeneous. Indeed he says, \"The following\nis a version of certain parts of two ballads,\" although he seems to\nhave been unaware that one of them was that dealing with Boabdil's\nexpedition. That portion, indeed, provides by far the best elements\nin the composition.\n\n\n    What caftans blue and scarlet, what turbans pleach'd of green;\n    What waving of their crescents, and plumages between;\n    What buskins and what stirrups, what rowels chased in gold,\n    What handsome gentlemen, what buoyant hearts and bold!\n\n\nReduan had registered a rash vow to take the city of Jaen so that he\nmight win the daughter of the Moorish king. The ninth verse is full\nof a grateful music, not too often found in the poetry of the Britain\nof 1823:\n\n\n    But since in hasty cheer I did my promise plight,\n    (What well might cost a year) to win thee in a night,\n    The pledge demands the paying, I would my soldiers brave\n    Were half as sure of Jaen as I am of my grave;\n\n\nalthough, I confess, the internal rhyming of \"paying\" and \"Jaen\"\ndetracts from the melody of the whole. And this is the besetting sin\nof Lockhart, that he mars his happiest efforts by crudities which he\nevidently confounded with the simplicity of the ballad form. In all\nBritish balladry, if memory serves me, there is no such vulgarism\nas this.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X: THE ROMANCEROS OR BALLADS--continued\n\n\n    There was crying in Granada as the sun was going down,\n    Some calling on the Trinity, some calling on Mahoun;\n    Here passed away the Koran, there in the Cross was borne,\n    And here was heard the Christian bell, and there the Moorish horn.\n\n\nIn this vivid verse, the first two lines of which seem to me especially\nsuccessful, Lockhart, with a stroke or two of his pen, provides us\nwith a moving sketch of the confusion and turmoil attending the Moorish\nflight from Granada, the last stronghold of the Moors in Spain, which\nfell to the victorious arms of Ferdinand and Isabella on the 6th of\nJanuary, 1492, the year of the discovery of America. The remainder of\nthe ballad is no better than Lorenzo de Sep\u00falveda's rather unmusical\noriginal. It is pity that a ballad beginning with such a spirited\ncouplet should be lost in the shallows and the miseries of such\nstuff as:\n\n\n    \"Unhappy King, whose craven soul can brook\" (she 'gan reply)\n    \"To leave behind Granada--who hast not heart to die--\n    Now for the love I bore thy youth thee gladly could I slay,\n    For what is life to leave when such a crown is cast away?\"\n\n\nHere the spirit of the metre has deserted the body of the verse,\nwhich is now merely galvanized into life by an artificial current\nof pedantry. The striking inequalities in the work of Lockhart are\nsurely eloquent of the tragedy of the half-talent.\n\n\n\n\nDon Alonzo de Aguilar\n\nUpon the fall of Granada the Catholic zeal of Ferdinand and Isabella\ninsisted upon the conversion of the Moors of that province. Most of the\ndefeated pagans concurred, outwardly at least, with the royal decree,\nbut in the Sierra of Alpuxarra there remained a leaven of the infidel\nblood who refused baptism at the hands of the priests who were sent\nto seal them of the faith. A royal order at length went forth to carry\nout the ceremony by force of arms. For a season the Moors resisted with\nthe stubborn courage of their race, but at length they were subdued and\nalmost extirpated. But their ruin was not accomplished without severe\nlosses on the side of their would-be proselytizers, one of the most\nnotable of whom was Don Alonzo de Aguilar, brother of that Gonzalvo\nHern\u00e1ndez de Cordova of Aguilar who gained widespread renown as 'the\nGreat Captain.' But the ballad does not seem to square with the facts\nof history. Indeed it places Aguilar's death before the surrender\nof Granada, whereas in reality it took place as late as 1501. Mr\nFitzmaurice Kelly thinks that \"this points to the conclusion that\nthe romance was not written till long after the event, when the exact\ndetails had been forgotten.\" But why blame an entire people for what\nmay have been a lapsus memori\u00e6 on the part of a single balladeer? On\nthe other hand, Mr Kelly might justly ask one to indicate any ballad\nspringing from folk-sources the details of which square with the\ncircumstances as known to history or ascertained by research.\n\nLockhart, as usual upon first mounting his destrier, dashes the spurs\nin its sides with a flourish:\n\n\n    Fernando, King of Arragon, before Granada lies,\n    With dukes and barons many a one, and champions of emprise;\n    With all the captains of Castile that serve his lady's crown,\n    He drives Boabdil from his gates, and plucks the crescent down.\n\n\nSo far good. Now for the conclusion:\n\n\n    The Moorish maidens, while she spoke, around her silence kept,\n    But her master dragged the dame away--then loud and long they wept:\n    They wash'd the blood, with many a tear, from dint of dart\n                                                              and arrow,\n    And buried him near the waters clear of the bank of Alpuxarra.\n\n\nIt will not serve to point out that this is just what one might\nexpect in a ballad, for it bears not the shadow of resemblance to\nthe original.\n\n\n    Que de chiquito en la cuna\n    A sus pechos le criara.\n    A las palabras que dice,\n    Cualquiera Mora lloraba:\n\n    \"Don Alonso, Don Alonso,\n    Dios perdone la tu alma,\n    Pues te mataron los Moros,\n    Los Moros de el Alpujarra.\"\n\n\nI am sometimes tempted to think that the weary giant at Abbotsford\nwrote all Lockhart's first verses, as one heads a copy-book for\na child!\n\nLockhart omits from his collection the very fine ballad beginning:\n\n\n    R\u00edo verde, R\u00edo verde,\n    Tinto vas en sangre viva;\n    Entre t\u00ed y Sierra Bermeja\n    Muri\u00f3 gran caballer\u00eda\n\n    Murieron duques y condes,\n    Se\u00f1ores de gran val\u00eda;\n    All\u00ed muriera Urdiales,\n    Hombre de valor y estima,\n\n\nwhich was rather inaccurately rendered by Bishop Percy as follows:\n\n\n    Gentle river, gentle river,\n    Lo, thy streams are stained with gore;\n    Many a brave and noble captain\n    Floats along thy willow'd shore.\n\n    All beside thy limpid waters,\n    All beside thy sands so bright,\n    Moorish chiefs and Christian warriors\n    Joined in fierce and mortal fight.\n\n\nPerhaps a more accurate though less finished rendering of these\nopening verses might be:\n\n\n    Emerald river, emerald river,\n    Stained with slaughter's evil cheer,\n    'Twixt Bermeja and thy meadows\n    Perished many a cavalier.\n\n    Duke and count and valiant esquire\n    Fell upon thy fatal shore;\n    There died noble Urdiales\n    Who the stainless title bore.\n\n\nI have translated these two verses chiefly for the purpose of showing\nhow very freely those English authors who have attempted to render\nverse from the Castilian have dealt with the originals. And, as I have\nsaid before, I suspect that the principal reason for this looseness\nis a lack of idiomatic grasp. Indeed, it is obvious from most English\ntranslations that the sense of the original has been gathered rather\nthan fully apprehended.\n\nWe can pass over \"The Departure of King Sebastian,\" with its daring\nrhythm of\n\n\n    It was a Lusitanian lady, and she was lofty in degree,\n\n\nrecalling in some measure the irregular lilt of the old Scots ballads,\nand enter the division entitled by Lockhart \"Moorish Ballads.\"\n\n\n\n\nMoorish Ballads\n\nWe have already discussed the question of the 'Moorishness' (or\notherwise) of these ballads. Let us now discuss them as ballads\nand as nothing more. The first, \"The Bull-fight of Ganzul,\" is not\nonly a famous piece, but in translating it Lockhart has risen to the\noccasion. It describes the dexterity of Ganzul, a noble Moor, in the\nbull-ring, and is certainly not without its quota of Moresque colour.\n\n\n    King Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound,\n    He hath summoned all the Moorish lords, from the hills and\n                                                          plains around,\n    From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil,\n    They have come with helm and cuirass of gold and twisted steel.\n\n    ..............................................................\n\n    Eight Moorish lords of valour tried, with stalwart arm and true\n    The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through.\n    The deeds they've done, the spoils they've won, fill all with\n                                                        hope and trust--\n    Yet ere high in heaven appears the sun they all have bit the dust.\n\n    Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tambour;\n    Make room, make room for Ganzul, throw wide, throw wide the door--\n    Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still, more loudly strike the drum,\n    The Alcayd\u00e9 of Agalva to fight the bull has come.\n\n\nHe defeats the bulls sent against him with the exception of one\nHarpado, a furious yet sagacious beast. The quatrain which describes\nhim is well forged:\n\n\n    Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood within doth boil,\n    And the dim hide glows as if on fire, as he paws to the turmoil.\n    His eyes are jet and they are set in crystal rings of snow;\n    But now they stare with one red glare of brass upon the foe.\n\n\nBut it is not surpassingly like the original:\n\n\n    Vayo en color encendido,\n    Y los ojos como brasa,\n    Arrugada frente y cuello,\n    La frente vellosa y ancha.\n\n\nBut proud as is Harpado, he must give way to the knightly Moor,\nregarding whom many other tales are told, especially with reference\nto his love affairs with a fair lady of his own race.\n\n\n\n\nThe Zegris' Bride\n\n\"The Zegris' Bride\" tells in ballad form of the fierce feud between\nthe two Moorish parties in Granada, the Zegris and the Abencerrages,\nthe Montagues and Capulets of the last of the Moorish strongholds,\nwhen factious strife certainly accelerated the fall of their city. The\nballad is well turned, and attractive in rhythm:\n\n\n    Of all the blood of Zegri, the chief is Lisaro,\n    To wield rejon like him is none, or javelin to throw;\n    From the place of his dominion, he ere the dawn doth go,\n    From Alcala de Henares, he rides in weeds of woe.\n\n\nSuch a phrase as \"the place of his dominion\" is not suited to ballad\ncomposition, nor is the four-line rhyming grateful to the ear,\nalthough the measure is all that could be desired. Once more I think\nI see the hand of Scott in this translation, his 'equestrian' rhythm,\nhis fondness for introducing words intended to assist local colour, as\n\n\n    Of gold-wrought robe or turban--nor jewelled tahali,\n\n\nwhich he must, perforce, explain in a note as 'scimitar.' The young\nZegri, we are told, is attired for action, not for the cavalcade or\nprocession. Indeed, his armour and even his horse are camouflaged to\nassist his passage through an enemy's country without observation.\n\n\n    The belt is black, the hilt is dim, but the sheathed blade\n                                                              is bright;\n    They have housen'd his barb in a murky garb, but yet her hoofs\n                                                              are light.\n\n\nAnd again:\n\n\n    In darkness and in swiftness rides every armed knight,\n    The foam on the rein ye may see it plain, but nothing else is white.\n\n\nLisaro wears on his bonnet a sprig of bay given him by Zayda, his lady.\n\n\n    And ever as they rode, he looked upon his lady's boon.\n    \"God knows,\" quoth he, \"what fate may be--I may be slaughtered\n                                                                  soon.\"\n\n\nBut he lives to win his bride, as we are told in the curt final verse:\n\n\n    Young Lisaro was musing so, when onwards on the path\n    He well could see them riding slow; then prick'd he in his wrath.\n    The raging sire, the kinsmen of Zayda's hateful house,\n    Fought well that day, yet in the fray the Zegri won his spouse.\n\n\n\n\nThe Bridal of Andella\n\n\"The Bridal of Andella\" is brilliant with Oriental colouring:\n\n\n    Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down;\n    Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.\n    From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing,\n    And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly\n                                                                blowing,\n    And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere,\n    And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly\n                                                             in the air:\n    Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down;\n    Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town.\n\n\nSkilful weaving this. The lady would not look, however, because\nAndella, who was about to wed another, had been false to her. Ballad\nliterature is scarcely a record of human constancy. In Ballad-land the\npercentage of faithless swains, black or white, clown or knight, is\na high one. Was the law regarding breach of promise first formulated\nby a student of ballad lore, I wonder? Whatever else it may have\neffected, it seems to have put an end to ballad-writing, perhaps\nbecause it ended the conditions and circumstances which went to the\nmaking of balladeering.\n\n\n\n\nZara's Earrings\n\nThe intriguing ballad of \"Zara's Earrings\" bears upon it the stamp of\nnatural folk-song. It may come from a Moorish original, but appearances\nare often deceptive. In any case it is worth quoting in part.\n\n\n    \"My earrings, my earrings, they've dropt into the well,\n    And what to say to Mu\u00e7a, I cannot, cannot tell.\"\n    'Twas thus Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter.\n    \"The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold, blue water.\n    To me did Mu\u00e7a give them when he spake his sad farewell,\n    And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell.\"\n\n\nThe lady resolves in the end to do the best thing she can--that is,\nto tell the truth. There is a sequence of romances about this Mu\u00e7a,\nwho seems to have been a Saracen of worth, and the same must be\nremarked about Celin or Selim, his successor in the collections of\nLockhart and Depping. Had Lockhart been well advised, he would have\nsubstituted the ringing and patriotic \"Las soberbias torres mira,\"\nwhich is certainly difficult of translation, for the very sombre\n\"Lamentation for the Death of Celin,\" fine though it is. Anything in\nthe nature of a ceremony or a procession seems to have attracted him\nlike a child. But let us have a verse of the first poem. Even should\nwe not know Spanish its music could not fail to haunt and hold us.\n\n\n    Las soberbias torres mira\n    Y los lejos las almenas\n    De su patria dulce y cara\n    Celin, que el rey le destierra;\n    Y perdida la esperanza\n    De jam\u00e1s volver a vella\n    Con suspiros tristes dice:\n    \"Del cielo luciente estrella,\n    Granada bella,\n    Mi llanto escucha, y du\u00e9late mi pena!\"\n\n\n\n\nRomantic Ballads\n\nWe now come to consider the romantic ballads, the third and last\nsection of Lockhart's collection. \"The Moor Calaynos\" we have already\ndescribed, and the same applies to \"Gayferos\" and \"Melisendra,\"\nits sequel. The ballad which follows these, \"Lady Alda's Dream,\"\nis alluded to by Lockhart as \"one of the most admired of all the\nSpanish ballads.\" It is no favourite of mine. I may judge it wrongly,\nbut it seems to me inferior, and I much prefer the stirring \"Admiral\nGuarinos,\" which treads upon its halting heels with all the impatience\nof a warlike rhythm to spur it on.\n\nGuarinos was admiral to King Charlemagne. In my boyhood days the\ncondition of the British Navy was a newspaper topic of almost constant\nrecurrence, and I was wont to speculate upon the awful inefficiency\nwhich must have crept into the Frankish fleet during the enforced\nabsence of its chief in the country of the Moors, for Guarinos was\ncaptured by the Saracens at Roncesvalles. His captor, King Marlotes,\ntreated him in a princely manner, but pressed him to become a convert\nto Islam, promising to give him his two daughters in marriage did\nhe consent to the proposal. But the Admiral was adamant and refused\nto be bribed or coaxed into the acceptance of the faith of Mohammed\nand Termagaunt. Working himself up into one of those passions which\nseem to be the especial privilege of Oriental potentates, Marlotes\ncommanded that Guarinos should be incarcerated in the lowest dungeon\nin his castle keep.\n\nIt was the Moorish custom to hale captives to the light of day three\ntimes in every year for the popular edification and amusement. On\none of these occasions, the Feast of St John, the King raised a\nhigh target beneath which the Moorish knights rode in an attempt to\npierce it with their spears. But so lofty was it that none of them\nmight succeed in the task, and the King, annoyed at their want of\nskill, refused to permit the banquet to commence until the target was\ntransfixed. Guarinos boasted that he could accomplish the feat. The\nroyal permission was accorded him to try, and his grey charger and\nthe armour he had not worn for seven long years were brought to him.\n\n\n    They have girded on his shirt of mail, his cuisses well they've\n                                                                clasp'd,\n    And they've barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand the\n    lance hath grasped,\n    And they have caught the old grey horse, the horse he loved of yore,\n    And he stands pawing at the gate--caparisoned once more.\n\n\nGuarinos whispered in the old horse's ear, and it recalled the voice\nof its master.\n\n\n    Oh! lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree,\n    And slowly riding down made halt before Marlotes' knee;\n    Again the heathen laughed aloud--\"All hail, sir knight,\" quoth he,\n    \"Now do thy best, thou champion proud. Thy blood I look to see.\"\n\n    With that Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode,\n    Pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode.\n    Now ride, now ride, Guarinos--nor lance nor rowel spare--\n    Slay, slay, and gallop for thy life--the land of France lies there!\n\n\nThere would seem to be some connexion between this ballad and the\nFrench romance of \"Ogier the Dane,\" and Erman tells us that it was\nsung in Russian in Siberia as late as 1828.\n\n\"The Lady of the Tree\" tells how a princess was stolen by the fairies,\nand how a knight to whom she appealed for rescue turned a deaf ear\nto her request and was afterward scorned by her when she returned\nto her rightful station. \"The False Queen\" is a mere fragment, but\n\"The Avenging Childe\" is both complete and vivid. Mr Fitzmaurice\nKelly declares that Gibson's version of this ballad is superior to\nthat of Lockhart. Let us compare a verse of both.\n\n\n    Avoid that knife in battle strife, that weapon short and thin;\n    The dragon's gore hath bath'd it o'er, seven times 'twas steeped\n                                                                therein;\n    Seven times the smith hath proved its pith, it cuts a coulter\n                                                               through--\n    In France the blade was fashioned, from Spain the shaft it drew.\n\n\nGibson renders this:\n\n\n    'Tis a right good spear with a point so sharp, the toughest\n                                              plough-share might pierce.\n    For seven times o'er it was tempered fine in the blood of a\n                                                          dragon fierce,\n    And seven times o'er it was whetted keen, till it shone with a\n                                                          deadly glance,\n    For its steel was wrought in the finest forge, in the realm of\n                                                          mighty France.\n\n\nMy preference is for Lockhart's rendering. Gibson's first line is\nextraordinarily clumsy and cacophonous, and the ugly inversions in\nthe second line could scarcely be tolerated outside the boundaries of\nthe nursery. The remaining lines are well enough, but no improvement,\nI think, upon those of Lockhart, only the whole has a better swing,\na livelier lilt, even if in the first line this is roughened by the\ncrudity occasioned by the juxtaposition of so many sibilants and\nexplosives. The Avenging Childe duly accounts for his enemy.\n\n\n    Right soon that knife hath quenched his life--the head is\n                                                         sundered sheer,\n    Then gladsome smiled the Avenging Childe, and fix'd it on his\n                                                                  spear.\n\n\nPity it is that a sense of humour seldom chimes with a sense of the\nromantic. An 'avenging childe' who could smile gladly when fixing the\nhead of a foe on his spear seems more fitted for a Borstal institution\nthan for the silken atmosphere of Courts. Yet he married the Infanta,\nand was knighted and honoured by the King. Possibly they found in\nhim a kindred soul, if all we read in romance regarding kings and\ninfantas be true.\n\n\n\n\nCount Arnaldos\n\nThis very beautiful ballad, which is given in the Cancionero of\nAntwerp (1555), tells how Count Arnaldos, wandering by the seashore\none morning, hears the mystic song of a sailor in a passing galley.\n\n\n    Heart may beat and eye may glisten,\n    Faith is strong and Hope is free,\n    But mortal ear no more may listen\n    To the song that rules the sea.\n\n    When the grey-hair'd sailor chaunted,\n    Every wind was hushed to sleep--\n    Like a virgin's bosom panted\n    All the wide reposing deep.\n\n    Bright in beauty rose the star-fish\n    From her green cave down below,\n    Right above the eagle poised him--\n    Holy music charmed them so.\n\n    \"For the sake of God, our Maker\"\n    (Count Arnaldos' cry was strong),\n    \"Old man, let me be partaker\n    In the secret of thy song.\"\n\n    \"Count Arnaldos! Count Arnaldos!\n    Hearts I read and thoughts I know--\n    Wouldst thou learn the ocean secret\n    In our galley thou must go.\"\n\n\nLongfellow wrote a rather an\u00e6mic ballad, \"The Seaside and the\nFireside,\" on the Arnaldos episode, incorporating several of the\nlines. Some years ago I published an adaptation of it, altering the\nenvironment and changing the metre, and this the reader may perhaps be\ncomplacent enough to accept as an illustration of the manner in which\n\"this sort of thing is done.\"\n\n\n    When the fleet ships stand inward to the shore\n    As a white tempest, 'tis then I implore\n    The gods not treasure of red spice to spill\n    Upon the marble quays beneath the hill,\n    Nor scintillant dust from far Arabian streams,\n    Nor weaves more brilliant than the hue of dreams,\n    Nor feathers, pearls, or such things as belong\n    To Eastern waters, but a wondrous song\n    To send perchance upon a seaman's lips\n    That once I heard when the departing ships\n    Swept from the arms of sea-bound Syracuse.\n    I know my evening vigil is in vain,\n    That never shall I hear that song again.\n    Some splendid sea-spell in the sailor's soul,\n    Swelling his heart, and bursting all control,\n    Some white sea-spirit chanting from his mouth\n    Sang the strange colours of a distant south.\n    Music deep-drowned within the siren sea\n    Art thou beyond the call of ecstasy?\n\n\nThe \"Song for the Morning of the Day of St John the Baptist\" has little\nto do with ballad, so we may pass it by, as we may do the \"Julian\"\nfragment, one of the Gayferos group. \"The Song of the Galley,\" which\nMr Kelly regards as \"too dulcet,\" seems to me poorly rendered:\n\n\n    Ye galleys fairly built,\n    Like castles on the sea,\n    Oh, great will be your guilt\n    If ye bring him not to me!\n\n\nThis seems to me facility run mad, and great would be my guilt did I\nquote more. To the very fine \"Wandering Knight's Song\" I have already\nmade allusion. \"Minguillo\" enshrines a motif of almost world-wide\nusage:\n\n\n    Since for kissing thee, Minguillo,\n    My mother scolds me all the day,\n    Let me have it quickly, darling;\n    Give me back my kiss, I pray.\n\n\nA conceit current from Caithness to Capo d'Istria. \"Serenade,\" from\nthe Romancero General of 1604, is certainly not peasant work. For\nhis translation of this Lockhart deserves high praise. Its music is\nreminiscent of Shelley's \"Skylark,\" though of course it lacks the\nalmost intolerable keenness of that song most magical.\n\n\n    All the stars are glowing\n      In the gorgeous sky,\n    In the stream scarce flowing\n      Mimic lustres lie:\n    Blow, gentle, gentle breeze,\n      But bring no cloud to hide\n    Their dear resplendencies;\n      Nor chase from Zara's side\n    Dreams bright and pure as these.\n\n\nIt is inspired by a chaste and natural music all its own, beyond\nthe conscious artistry of the material man. To do Lockhart justice,\nhe loved the art of letters for itself alone. His was that natural\nmodesty which is content to sing in the shadow; nor can one recall the\nmemory of that fine and upright spirit, his labour and his sacrifice,\nwithout praise and gratitude gladly bestowed. In this poem I seem to\nsee the real Lockhart--a man with the heart of a child.\n\n\"Minguela's Chiding\" tells of the woe of a rustic maid who loved to\nher destruction. \"The Captive Knight and the Blackbird\" is the prison\nplaint of a warrior who knows not how the seasons pass, or the moons\nwax and wane:\n\n\n    Woe dwells with me in spite of thee, thou gladsome month of May;\n    I cannot see what stars there be, I know not night from day.\n    There was a bird whose voice I heard, oh, sweet my small bird sung,\n    I heard its tune when night was gone, and up the morning sprung.\n\n\nSome cruel hand had slain the blackbird which was wont to delight the\npoor prisoner's heart. But the King heard his plaint while passing\nbeneath his dungeon window, and set him free.\n\nWe may pass over the rather sepulchral \"Valladolid,\" which tells of\nthe visit of a knight to the tomb of his lady-love in that city. \"The\nIll-Married Lady\" recounts the grief of a dame whose husband is\nfaithless to her, and who consoles herself with another cavalier. They\nare surprised by her lord, and she artlessly asks: \"Must I, must I die\nto-day?\" and requests to be buried in the orange garden. The romance\ndoes not tell us if her last wishes were complied with, or even if her\nlife was forfeited, but to a Spanish public of the seventeenth century\nit was probably a supererogation even to allude to such a sequel.\n\n\"Dragut\" tells the story of a famous corsair whose ship was sunk by\na vessel belonging to the Knights of Malta. Dragut saved himself by\nswimming ashore, but the Christian captives with whom his barque was\nladen were all drowned save one, to whom the Maltese threw a rope.\n\n\n    It was a Spanish knight, who had long been in Algiers,\n    From ladies high descended and noble cavaliers,\n    But forced for a season a false Moor's slave to be,\n    Upon the shore his gardener, and his galley-slave at sea.\n\n\nWe have already recounted the tale of the Count Alarcos, and with it\nLockhart's collection comes to an end.\n\nBut it is not in the pages of Lockhart alone that we should look\nfor good translations of the Spanish romanceros. John Bowring in\nhis Ancient Poetry and Romances of Spain (1824) has undoubtedly done\nmuch to render some of the lesser lyrics of Castilian balladeers into\nsuccessful English verse. His translation of the celebrated \"Fonte\nFrida\" is, perhaps, the best version of that much-discussed poem to\nbe met with in our language. It is clear that Ticknor's rendition\nof this piece is practically a paraphrase of Bowring's translation,\nof which I give the first two verses:\n\n\n    Fount of freshness, fount of freshness,\n    Fount of freshness and of love,\n    Where the little birds of spring-time\n    Seek for comfort as they rove;\n    All except the widow'd turtle,\n    Widow'd, sorrowing turtle-dove.\n\n    There the nightingale, the traitor,\n    Lingered on his giddy way;\n    And these words of hidden treachery\n    To the dove I heard him say:\n    \"I will be thy servant, lady,\n    I will ne'er thy love betray.\"\n\n\nBut no English translation, however fine, can possibly do justice to\nthis beautiful lyric:\n\n\n    Fonte frida, fonte frida,\n    Fonte frida, y con amor,\n    Do todas las avezicas\n    Van tomar consolacion,\n    Sino es la tortolica\n    Que esta viuda y con dolor,\n    Por ay fue a passar\n    El traydor del ruyse\u00f1or\n    Las palabras que el dezia\n    Llenas son de traicion:\n    \"Si tu quisiesses, Se\u00f1ora,\n    Yo seria tu servidor.\"\n\n\nTicknor speaks truly when he says of the Spanish ballads: \"To feel\ntheir true value and power we must read large numbers of them, and read\nthem, too, in their native language; for there is a winning freshness\nin the originals, as they lie embedded in the old romanceros, that\nescapes in translations, however free, or however strict.\"\n\nThe romancero entitled \"Sale la estrella de Venus\" recounts a tragic\nstory. A Moorish warrior, flying from the city of Sidonia because\nof the cruelty of his lady, who had taunted him with poverty and had\nbestowed her hand upon another, makes the rocks and hills re-echo with\nhis plaints. He pronounces a terrible and bitter curse upon the proud\nand wanton maiden who has spurned him. Maddened, he seeks the palace\nof the Alcalde to whom his faithless fair one is to be espoused that\nnight. The building is bright with torches and gay with song.\n\n\n    And the crowds make way before him\n    While he pays his courtesies.\n    Ha! his bloody lance has traversed\n    The Alcalde's fluttering breast,\n    And his life-blood now is flowing,\n    Flowing through his purple vest.\n    O what horror! What confusion,\n    Desolation and dismay!\n    While the stern, unnoticed murderer,\n    To Medina takes his way.\n\n\nWe have examined every type of Spanish ballad poetry. The general\nnote struck, we will observe, is a grave and romantic one, the fruit\nof the thoughts of a proud and imaginative people. Nor can we fail\nto notice the national note which rings through these poems, the\nracial individuality which informs them. \"Poor Spain!\" How often do\nwe hear the expression employed by men of Anglo-Saxon race! Let these\nundeceive themselves. What can material poverty signify to a people\ndowered with such treasures of the imagination? Poor Spain! Nay,\nopulent Spain; treasure-house of the minted coin of story, of the\npriceless jewels of romance, of drama, and of song!\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI: MOORISH ROMANCES OF SPAIN\n\n\nThese are, of course, more of the nature of romances of the Moors than\nby the Moors--tales embedded in Spanish folk-lore relating to Saracen\ntimes and themes, rather than written fictions existing in ancient\nArab manuscripts. The Arab literature of Spain was rather didactic,\ntheological, and philosophical than romantic. Fiction was, perhaps,\nthe province of the itinerant story-teller, as it still is in the\nEast. But that many Moorish legends and stories were handed down\namong the Spanish peasantry, especially in the more southerly parts\nof the Peninsula, can hardly be doubted. These, however, have been\nmuch neglected by compilers, and but few of them are available. Such\nas exist in written form make up for their scantiness in number by\nthe qualities of wonder and beauty which inform them. Perhaps no\ncollection of the traditions of the Moors of Spain equals that of\nWashington Irving in his Tales of the Alhambra. These, he tells us,\nhe \"diligently wrought into shape and form, from various legendary\nscraps and hints picked up in the course of my perambulations, in the\nsame manner that an antiquary works out a regular historical document\nfrom a few scattered letters of an almost defaced inscription.\" The\nfirst of our Moorish legends, therefore, I shall retell from the\nenchanted pages of the great American wizard in words, apologizing to\nhis shade for the alterations in verbiage which I have been forced to\nmake in view of the requirements of modern readers. I have, indeed,\nentirely recast the tale for twentieth-century use.\n\n\n\n\nThe Arabian Astrologer\n\nAben Habuz, King of Granada, had in his old age earned the right to\nrepose. But the young and ardent princes whose territories marched\nwith his were in no mind that his old age should be free from the\nalarms of war, and although he took every precaution to ensure his\npossessions against the incursions of such hotheads, the constant\nmenace of an attack from one or other of them, no less than the\nunrest which occasionally raised its head within his own dominions,\nfilled his declining years with irritation and anxiety.\n\nHarassed and perplexed, he cast about him for an adviser capable of\nassisting him to strengthen his position, but among the sages and\nnobles of his Court he experienced such a cold selfishness and lack\nof patriotic fervour as restrained him from adopting any of them as\nhis confidant in high affairs of state. While he meditated upon his\nfriendless condition it was announced to him that an Arabian sage had\narrived in Granada, whose fame as a man of wisdom and understanding\nwas proverbial throughout the East. The name of this pundit was Ibrahim\nEbn Abu Ajib, and it was whispered of him that he had existed since the\ndays of Mohammed, of one of whose personal friends he was the son. As\na child he had accompanied the army of Amru, the Prophet's general,\ninto Egypt, where he had remained for generations, employing his time\nin the study of those occult sciences of which the Egyptian priests\nwere such consummate masters. Old as he was--and his appearance was\nmost venerable--he had walked the whole way from Egypt on foot, aided\nonly by a staff, on which were engraved hieroglyphs of deep and hidden\nimport. His beard descended to his girdle, his piercing eyes bespoke\ninsight and intelligence almost superhuman, and his bearing was more\ngrave and majestic than that of the most reverend mullah in Granada. It\nwas said that he possessed the secret of the elixir of life, but as\nhe had attained this knowledge when already well on in years, he had\nperforce to be content with his aged exterior, although he had already\nsucceeded in prolonging his existence for upward of two hundred years.\n\nKing Aben Habuz, gratified at being able to extend his hospitality\nto a visitor of such consequence, entertained him with marked\ndistinction. But the sage refused all his offers of soft living, and\nestablished himself in a cave in the side of the hill on which the\nfamous palace of the Alhambra was later to be erected. This cavern he\ncaused to be altered in such a manner that it bore a resemblance to\nthe interiors of those lofty temples of the Egyptian land in which he\nhad passed so many years of his long life. Through the living rock\nwhich formed its roof he commanded the Court architect to drive a\ndeep shaft, so that from the gloom of his cavernous abode he might be\nable to behold the stars even at midday; for Ibrahim was pre-eminent\nin the study of that lore of the heavenly bodies, that thrice noble\nscience of astrology, which the truly wise of all ages have recognized\nas the real source of all divine knowledge, and the shallow erudition\nof a later day foolishly despises. But only for a day in the round of\neternity shall that great and golden book be set aside; nor shall its\npages, arabesqued with mysterious and awful characters, ever be wholly\nclosed to man. The weird, serpentine script of this language of the\nsages ornamented the walls of the astrologer's cavern, interspersed\nwith the no less mystic symbols of ancient Egypt, and, surrounded by\nthese hieroglyphs and provided with the primitive telescope we have\ndescribed, the wise Ibrahim busied himself in deciphering the history\nof events to come as written in the glittering pages of the heavens.\n\nIt was only natural that the distressed Aben Habuz should avail\nhimself of the wisdom and foresight of the astrologer to the fullest\ndegree. Indeed, Ibrahim became indispensable to him, and was consulted\nin every emergency. He responded graciously, and placed his marvellous\ngifts entirely at the service of the harassed monarch. On one occasion\nAben Habuz complained bitterly of the constant vigilance he was forced\nto maintain against the attacks of his restless neighbours. For a space\nthe astrologer was lost in thought. Then he replied: \"O King, many\nyears since I beheld a marvel in Egypt, wrought by a wise priestess of\nthat land. Above the city of Borsa towers a lofty mountain, on which\nwas placed the image of a ram, and above it the figure of a cock,\nboth cast in brazen effigy and turning upon a pivot. Should the land\nbe threatened by invasion the ram would turn in the direction of the\nenemy and the cock would crow, and by this means the inhabitants of\nBorsa were enabled to take timely measures for defence.\"\n\n\"Would that such a contrivance might be erected at Granada,\" said\nthe King fervently. \"Then might we rest in peace.\"\n\nThe astrologer smiled at the King's earnestness. \"I have already\ntold you, O King,\" he said, \"that I have spent many years in Egypt\nmastering the hidden knowledge of that mysterious land. One day\nwhile seated on the banks of the Nile speaking with a priest of that\ncountry, my companion pointed to the mighty pyramids which cast their\nshadows on the place where we reclined. 'My son,' remarked the sage,\n'thou beholdest these mountains in stone, the memorials of kings who\ndied while Greece was yet in the cradle and Rome was unthought of;\nall the lore that we can teach thee is as a drop of water to the\nocean compared with the secrets contained in those monuments. In the\nheart of the Great Pyramid is a death-chamber where rests the mummy\nof the high priest who designed and builded that stupendous pile. On\nhis breast lies a wondrous book containing magical secrets of great\npotency--that book, indeed, which was given to Adam after the fall\nand by the aid of which Solomon built the temple at Jerusalem.' From\nthe moment I heard those words, O King, I might not rest. I resolved\nto find my way into the Great Pyramid and possess myself of the\nmagic volume. Collecting a number of the soldiers of the victorious\nAmru and many of the native Egyptians, I addressed myself to the\ntask of piercing the solid masonry which concealed this ineffable\ntreasure, until, after unheard-of labours, I came upon one of its\nhidden passages. Long time I searched in the labyrinths of the vasty\npyramid ere I arrived at the sepulchral chamber. At length, groping\nin profound darkness, and haunted by the rustling of the wrappings of\nmummied Pharaohs, I came upon the shrine where the corpse of the high\npriest lay in grim state. I opened the sarcophagus, and, unwrapping\nthe voluminous bandages, found the mystic tome lying among spices and\namulets on the shrivelled breast. Seizing it, I hastened through the\nblack corridors, nor stayed until I beheld the fierce Egyptian day\nand the friendly green of the languid river.\"\n\n\"But in what manner may all this assist me in my dilemma, O son of\nAbu Ajib?\" asked the King querulously.\n\n\"This have I told thee, O King, because by the aid of this book\nmost magical I can call to my assistance the spirits of earth and\nair--jinns, and afreets, and peris--by whose help I shall construct\na talisman like that which surmounted the hill above Borsa.\"\n\nThe astrologer was as good as his word. With all the resources of\nthe kingdom at his command, he built a great tower on the steeps of\nthe hill of Albayan. At his words of power spirits conveyed great\nstones from the pyramids of Egypt, and of these the edifice was\nbuilt. In the summit of this tower he made a circular hall with\nwindows looking toward every point of the compass, and before each\nwindow he set a table on which was arranged, as on a chessboard, a\nmimic army of horse and foot, with the effigy of the potentate who\nruled in that direction, carved out of wood. Along with each table\nthere was a small lance engraved with magical characters. And this\nhall he closed with a gate of brass, the key of which was kept by\nthe King. Surmounting the tower was a figure of a Moorish horseman\ncast in bronze and fixed on a revolving pivot. He bore a shield and\nspear, the latter held perpendicularly. This image looked toward the\ncity, but when a foeman approached it the horseman would face in his\ndirection and would level the lance as if about to charge.\n\nNow, averse as Aben Habuz had been to war, he was all impatience to\ntest the virtues of this talisman. He had not long to wait, for one\nmorning he was informed that the face of the bronze horseman was turned\ntoward the mountains of Elvira, and that his lance was directed against\nthe pass of Lope. The trumpets were at once commanded to sound the\nalarm, but Ibrahim requested the King not to disturb the city nor\ncall his troops together, but only to follow him to the secret hall\nin the tower.\n\nWhen they entered they found the window overlooking the pass of Lope\nwide open. \"Now, O King,\" said the astrologer, \"behold the mystery of\nthe table.\" Aben Habuz looked at the table covered with tiny effigies\nof horse- and foot-soldiers, and to his astonishment saw that they\nwere all in motion, that the warriors brandished their weapons,\nand the steeds neighed, but these sounds were no louder than the hum\nwhich rises from a beehive.\n\n\"Your Majesty,\" said the astrologer, \"if you desire to cause panic and\nconfusion among your enemies, you have only to strike with the butt\nof the magic lance; but if you wish to bring death and destruction\namong them, then strike with the point.\"\n\nAben Habuz, seizing the tiny lance, thrust it into some of the figures,\nbelabouring others with the butt. The former dropped upon the board\nas dead, and the rest fell upon one another in confusion. Scouts sent\nto confirm the destruction caused among the real invaders told how a\nChristian army had advanced through the pass of Lope, but had turned\ntheir weapons upon one another and had retreated across the border\nin great confusion.\n\nDelighted, the King requested Ibrahim to name his own reward. \"My\nwants are few,\" replied the astrologer; \"if my cave be fitted up as\na suitable abode for a philosopher, I crave no more.\"\n\nSurprised at his moderation, the King summoned his treasurer and\ncommanded him to take a note of the astrologer's requirements. The\nsage desired that an entire suite of apartments should be hewn out\nof the solid rock, and this having been done, he caused them to be\nfurnished with the most lavish magnificence. Princely ottomans and\nmagnificent divans filled every corner, and the damp walls were hung\nwith the luxurious silks of Damascus, while the rocky floors were\ncarpeted with the glowing fabrics of Ispahan. Seductive baths were\nconstructed, and provided with every kind of Oriental perfume. The\napartments were hung with innumerable silver and crystal lamps,\nwhich Ibrahim filled with a fragrant and magical oil, which burned\nperpetually and could not be exhausted.\n\nAmazed at the profligacy of the astrologer, the treasurer made\ncomplaint of it to the King, but as his Majesty had passed his word\nto the sage and had, indeed, invited his extravagance, he could not\ninterfere, and could only hope that the furnishing of the cavern\nwould soon come to an end. When at last the hermitage was replete\nwith the luxuries of three continents, the treasurer inquired of the\nastrologer if he was satisfied.\n\n\"I have only one small request more to make,\" replied the sage. \"I\ndesire that several dancing women be provided for my amusement.\"\n\nThe treasurer, rather scandalized, carried out the sage's instructions,\nas he was bound to do, and Ibrahim, having all his wants supplied,\nenclosed himself in his retreat. Meanwhile the King occupied himself\nin the tower with mimic battles, and as the hand of the astrologer\nwas not there to moderate his warlike propensities, he amused himself\nby scattering armies like chaff and smashing whole battalions by\na stroke of the magic lance. His enemies, terrified at the fate of\nsuch expeditions as approached his territory, ceased to trouble him,\nand for many months the bronze horseman remained stationary. Robbed\nof his amusement, Aben Habuz pined and grew peevish. But one glorious\nmorning news was brought him that the bronze cavalier had lowered\nhis lance toward the mountains of Guadix.\n\nThe King at once repaired to the tower, but the magic table placed\nin the direction indicated by the horseman was placid. Not a mimic\nwarrior stirred, not a toy charger neighed. Perplexed, Aben Habuz\ndispatched a scouting party, which returned after three days' absence\nto report that they had encountered no warlike array, nothing more\nformidable, indeed, than a beauteous Christian damsel, whom they had\nfound sleeping by a fountain, and made captive.\n\nAben Habuz commanded that the damsel should be brought to him. Her\nstately bearing and the lavish ornaments she wore bespoke her of\nexalted station. In answer to the King, she explained that she was\nthe daughter of a Gothic prince, whose armies had been destroyed in\nthe mountains as if by magic.\n\n\"Beware of this woman, O King,\" whispered the astrologer, who stood\nby. \"Methinks she is a sorceress who has been sent hither to work\nevil upon thee. Beware, I say.\"\n\n\"Tush, Ibrahim,\" replied Aben Habuz, \"thou art a wise man enow, but\nlittle versed in the ways of women. Which of them, pray, is not a\nsorceress? The damsel finds favour in mine eyes.\"\n\n\"O King,\" said Ibrahim, \"many victories have I given thee, but of all\nthe spoil thou hast won I have received nothing. Give me then this\nChristian captive, who, I see, carries a silver lyre, and who will make\nsweet music for me in my retreat below ground. If she be a sorceress,\nas I suspect, I have spells that will render her harmless. But as\nfor thee, she will speedily overcome thee if thou takest her into\nthy house.\"\n\n\"What?\" cried the incensed monarch. \"By the beard of the Prophet, thou\nart a strange hermit indeed! Know that this damsel is not for thee.\"\n\n\"So be it,\" said the sage, in wavering tones. \"But I fear for thee,\nroyal Aben Habuz. Beware, I say to thee again, beware!\" And the\nastrologer retired to his subterranean abode.\n\nNow Aben Habuz had fallen over head and ears in love with the fair\ndaughter of the Goths, and in his desire to please her strained the\nresources of his kingdom to their utmost limits. He lavished upon her\nall that was most exquisite and most magnificent in his storehouses\nand treasuries. He devised for her pastime a hundred spectacles and\nfestivities, pageants, bull-fights, and tournaments. All these the\nhaughty beauty took quite as a matter of course. Indeed it almost\nseemed as if she urged the infatuated monarch to greater extravagance\nand more lavish expenditure. But no matter how profuse was his bounty,\nshe refused to listen to a single amorous word from the lips of Aben\nHabuz, and whenever he essayed to speak his love she swept her fingers\nacross the strings of her silver lyre and smiled enigmatically. When\nshe acted thus the King invariably felt a drowsiness steal over\nhis senses, and as the dulcet sound gained ascendancy over him he\nwould sink into a sleep from which he usually awoke refreshed and\nreinvigorated.\n\nHis subjects were, however, by no means so satisfied with this\ncondition of affairs as he was. Irritated by his profligate\nexpenditure, and virtual enslavement by a woman of hostile race, they\nat length broke into open revolt. But, like Sardanapalus of Babylon,\nhe roused himself from silken dalliance and, putting himself at the\nhead of his guards, crushed the outbreak almost before it had come to\na head. The episode disquieted him, however, and he recalled the words\nof the wise Ibrahim, how that the Gothic princess would bring him woe.\n\nHe sought the astrologer in his cavern, and requested his\nadvice. Ibrahim assured him that his position would be insecure so\nlong as the princess remained one of his household. To this Aben Habuz\nrefused to listen, and begged the sage to find him some retreat where\nhe might pass the remainder of his days in tranquillity along with\nthe princess of whom he was so deeply enamoured.\n\n\"And my reward if I can procure thee such a retreat?\" asked Ibrahim.\n\n\"That thou shalt name thyself, O Ibrahim,\" replied the infatuated\nold man.\n\n\"Thou hast heard of the garden of Irem, O King, that jewel of Arabia?\"\n\n\"Aye, in fable. Dost thou mock me, astrologer?\"\n\n\"No more than these eyes have mocked me, O King, for I myself have\nbeheld that most delectable of all paradises.\n\n\"As a youth I stumbled upon it when searching for my father's\ncamels. Once the country of the Addites, its capital was founded\nby Sheddad, son of Ad, great-grandson of Noah, who determined to\nbuild in it a palace surrounded by gardens that should rival Paradise\nitself. But the curse of heaven fell upon him for his presumption. He\nand his subjects were swept from the earth, and his palace and gardens\nwere laid under an enchantment that hides them from human sight. When\nI had recovered the book of Solomon I revisited the garden of Irem,\nand wrung from the jinns who guard it the secret of the spells which\nrender it invisible to mortal sight. By virtue of these spells I can\nrear for thee, O King, such a retreat even here on the mountain above\nthy city.\"\n\n\"O wise philosopher!\" cried Aben Habuz, \"ill was it of me to doubt\nthee. Do as thou dost promise, and name thy reward.\"\n\n\"All the reward I ask is the first beast of burden with its load\nthat shall enter the gate of thy paradise,\" said Ibrahim; \"a moderate\nrequest, surely.\"\n\n\"Moderate indeed!\" cried the King, transported by the thought of joys\nto come, \"and I grant it immediately.\"\n\nThe astrologer at once set to work. On the summit of the hill above\nhis cavern he built a strong tower pierced by a great gateway, and on\nthe keystone of this portal he wrought the figure of a great key. The\ngateway had also an outer guard, on which he engraved a gigantic\nhand. Then on a night of unexampled darkness he ascended the hill\nand wrought many incantations. In the morning he sought Aben Habuz\nand intimated that his labours were at an end, and that the paradise\nwhich should be invisible to all save him and his beloved awaited him.\n\nOn the following morning the King, accompanied by the princess,\nascended the hill, the latter riding on a white palfrey. Beside them\nstalked the astrologer, assisted by his hieroglyph-covered staff. They\ncame to the arch, and the sage pointed out the mystic hand and key. \"No\nmortal power can prevail against the lord of this paradise,\" he said,\n\"until yonder hand shall seize that key.\"\n\nAs he spoke the princess on her palfrey passed through the portal.\n\n\"Behold!\" cried the astrologer. \"Did we not agree that the first\nanimal with its burden which should pass through the magic gateway\nshould be mine?\"\n\nAben Habuz smiled at first at what he regarded as a humorous sally\non the part of the sage; but when he discovered him to be in earnest\nhe waxed wroth.\n\n\"Presumptuous astrologer!\" he cried. \"Dare you raise your thoughts\nto her whom I have chosen from among many women?\"\n\n\"Thy royal word is pledged,\" replied Ibrahim. \"I claim the princess\nin virtue of thine oath.\"\n\n\"Dog of the desert!\" cried Aben Habuz. \"Thou shalt feel the weight\nof my anger for this, juggler though thou art.\"\n\n\"I laugh at thee, Aben Habuz,\" cried Ibrahim derisively. \"Mortal hand\ncannot harm me. Farewell. Remain in thy fool's paradise and continue to\nreign over thy province. As for me, I go where thou canst not follow\nme.\" And with these words he seized the bridle of the palfrey, smote\nthe earth with his magic staff, and sank with the princess through\nthe centre of the barbican. The earth closed over them, and left not\na trace of the aperture through which they had disappeared.\n\nWhen Aben Habuz recovered from his astonishment he ordered gangs of\nworkmen to be brought to the spot, and commanded them to dig. But the\nearth seemed to fill in as fast as they threw it out. The opening of\nthe astrologer's cavern too had disappeared. Worse still, the talismans\nby which the astrologer had secured peace to Granada refused to work,\nand the old unrest recommenced.\n\nBut one morning a peasant came before Aben Habuz and told him that\nwhile wandering on the hill he had found a fissure in the rock through\nwhich he had crept until he had looked down into a subterranean hall,\nin which sat the astrologer on a magnificent divan, dozing, while\nthe princess played to him on her silver lyre. The distracted monarch\nfailed, however, to find the fissure. Nor could he enter the paradise\nbuilt by his rival. The summit of the hill appeared a naked waste,\nand received the name of 'the Fool's Paradise.' The remainder of the\nwretched King's life was made a burden to him by the inroads of his\nwarlike neighbours.\n\nSuch is the story of the hill of the Alhambra, the palace on which\nalmost realizes the fabled delights of the garden of Irem. The\nenchanted gateway still exists entire, and is now known as the Gate of\nJustice. Under that gateway, it is said, the old astrologer remains\nin his subterranean hall, lulled to constant slumber by the silver\nlyre of the princess. They are, indeed, each other's captives, and\nwill remain so until the magic key shall be grasped by the magic hand\nand the spell which lies upon this enchanted hill be dissolved.\n\n\n\n\nCleomades and Claremond\n\nThe wonderful tale of Cleomades and Claremond is almost certainly of\nMoorish origin in a secondary sense. In his preface to Aden\u00e8s' Berte\naux grans Pi\u00e9s (Paris, 1832), M. Paulin Paris says: \"I am strongly\ninclined to believe that the original of the fiction of Cleomades\nis really Spanish or Moorish. All the personages are Saracens or\nSpaniards; the scene is in Spain; the character of the fiction is\nakin to that of the fictions of the East.\" Keightley believed that\nBlanche of Castile, the wife of Louis VIII of France, had heard\nthe tale in Spain, and had narrated it to the French poet Aden\u00e8s,\nwho cast it into literary form.\n\nEctriva, Queen of Southern Spain, held a great tournament at Seville,\nat which Marchabias, Prince of Sardinia, so distinguished himself as\nto win her heart. She bestowed her hand upon the youthful champion,\nand their union was a happy one, being blessed in time with three\ndaughters and a son. To the boy they gave the name of Cleomades,\nwhile his sisters were called Melior, Soliadis, and Maxima.\n\nCleomades was dispatched upon his travels at an early age. But after\nhe had visited several foreign countries he was summoned home to be\npresent at the wedding of his sisters, who were about to be married\nto three great princes, all of whom were famous as practitioners of\nthe magic art. They were Melicandus, King of Barbary; Bardagans, King\nof Armenia; and Croppart, King of Hungary. The last-named monarch was\nso unfortunate as to be a hunchback, and to his deformity he added\na bitter tongue and a wicked heart.\n\nThe three monarchs had encountered one another while still some\ndistance from Seville, and had agreed to give such presents to the King\nand Queen as would necessitate a gift in return. Melicandus presented\nthe royal pair with the golden image of a man, holding in his right\nhand a trumpet of the same metal, which he sounded if treason came\nnear him. Bardagans gave a hen and six chickens of gold, so skilfully\nmade that they picked up grain and seemed to be alive. Every third\nday the hen laid an egg of pearl. Croppart gave a large wooden horse\nmagnificently caparisoned, which he told his hosts could travel over\nland and sea at the rate of fifty leagues an hour.\n\nThe King and Queen, generous to a fault, invited the strangers to ask\nanything that it was in their power to bestow. Melicandus requested\nthe hand of the Princess Melior, Bardagans that of Soliadis, while\nCroppart demanded that Maxima should be given him as a consort. The two\nelder sisters were pleased with their suitors, who were both handsome\nand amiable, but when Maxima beheld the hideous and deformed Croppart\nshe ran to her brother Cleomades and begged him to deliver her from\nsuch an unsightly monster.\n\nCleomades represented to his father the wrong done by him in consenting\nto such a match. But Croppart insisted that the King's word had been\npassed and that he could not retire from his promise. Cleomades,\ncasting about for an argument, told the Hungarian king that the value\nof the gifts of Melicandus and Bardagans had been proved, but that,\nso far as any one knew, his story about the wooden horse might be\na mere fable. Croppart offered to test the capacity of his wooden\nsteed. At this the golden man blew his trumpet loudly, but all were so\ninterested in the proposed trial that no one noticed it. The prince\nmounted the gaudily harnessed hobby, and at the request of Croppart\nturned a pin of steel in its head, and was immediately carried into\nthe air with such velocity that in a few moments he was lost to sight.\n\nThe King and Queen, filled with indignation, had Croppart seized,\nbut he argued that the prince should have waited until he had shown\nhim how to manage the wooden horse. Meanwhile Cleomades sped onward\nfor miles and miles. His strange steed continued to cleave the air\nat a terrific speed, and at length darkness fell without any signs\nof its slackening its pace. All night Cleomades continued to fly,\nand during the hours of gloom had plenty of time to ponder upon\nhis awkward situation. Recollecting that there were pins upon the\nhorse's shoulders like those upon its head, he resolved to try their\neffect. He found that by turning one of them to right or left the\nhorse went in either direction, and that when the other was turned the\nwooden hippogriff slackened speed and descended. Morning now broke,\nand he saw that he was over a great city. By skilful manipulation of\nhis steed he managed to alight upon a lofty tower which stood in the\ngarden of a great palace.\n\nDescending through a trap-door in the roof, he entered a gorgeous\nsleeping apartment, and beheld a beautiful lady reclining on a\nsumptuous couch. At his entrance she awoke, and cried out: \"Rash man,\nhow have you presumed to enter this apartment? Are you perchance that\nKing Liopatris to whom my father has affianced me?\"\n\n\"I am that monarch,\" replied Cleomades. \"May I not speak with\nyou?\" he continued, for on beholding the princess he had at once\nfallen violently in love with her.\n\n\"Retire to the garden,\" she said, \"and I will come to you there.\"\n\nThe prince obeyed. In a few moments the princess joined him. But they\nhad not been long together when the lady's father, King Cornuant of\nTuscany, appeared, and at once denounced Cleomades as an impostor,\ncondemning him to death. The prince begged that he might be\npermitted to meet his fate mounted upon his wooden horse. To this\nthe King assented, and the magical steed was brought. Mounting it,\nhe immediately turned the pin, and rose high in the air, calling out\nto the princess, as he did so, that he would remain faithful to her.\n\nShortly he arrived again in Seville, to the immense relief of his\nparents. Croppart was requested to quit the country. But he had no\nmind to do so, and in the guise of an Eastern physician remained\nin the city. The two elder princesses were married to Melicandus\nand Bardagans. As for Cleomades, he could not forget the beautiful\nPrincess Claremond, and, once more mounting his aery steed, he set\noff in the direction of her father's kingdom.\n\nOn this occasion he had timed his visit so as to arrive by night\nat the palace of his lady-love. Alighting in the garden, he made\nhis way to the chamber of Claremond, whom he found fast asleep. He\nawoke her gently, and told her his name and station, avowed his love,\nand placed himself at her mercy.\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed the princess. \"Are you indeed that Cleomades whom\nwe regard as the very mirror of knighthood?\" The prince assured her\nthat such was the case, and taking from his arm a splendid bracelet\ncontaining his mother's portrait and his own, he presented her with it\nas an assurance that he spoke truly. The princess confessed her love,\nand at his entreaty mounted behind him on the magic horse. As they\nrose, Cleomades beheld the King in the gardens beneath, surrounded\nby his courtiers. He called to him to fear nothing for his daughter,\nand, setting the head of his mount toward Seville, sped onward.\n\nAlighting at a small rural palace some distance from the Court,\nCleomades left the princess there to recover from her journey,\nwhile he proceeded to acquaint his royal parents with the result of\nhis adventure. Claremond, having refreshed herself, was walking in\nthe garden for exercise, as she felt somewhat stiff after her aerial\nvoyage, when, as ill-luck would have it, she was observed by Croppart,\nwho, in the guise of an Indian physician, had entered the garden,\nostensibly to cull simples for medicinal purposes, but in reality to\nspy out the land.\n\nCroppart, seeing his own wooden horse, and hearing the princess murmur\nthe name of Cleomades, speedily formed a plan to carry the damsel\noff. Approaching her, he offered to take her to Cleomades at once on\nthe back of the enchanted horse, and, fearing no evil, she accepted\nhis offer, and permitted herself to be placed on its back. Croppart\nimmediately turned the pin, and the horse ascended with terrific\nvelocity. At first Claremond was quite unsuspicious of the designs\nof her abductor, but as time passed her fears were aroused, and,\nlooking down, she beheld, instead of populous cities, only gloomy\nforests and deserted mountains. She begged Croppart to return with\nher to the palace garden, but he merely laughed at her entreaties,\nand at last, worn out with grief and disappointment, she swooned away.\n\nDescending near a fountain, Croppart sprinkled the princess with its\nwater until she revived. Then he acquainted her with his intention\nto make her Queen of Hungary. But the princess did not lack wit,\nand told him that she was merely a slave-girl whom Cleomades had\npurchased from her parents. This intelligence made the ferocious\nCroppart treat her with even less respect than before, so that to\nsave herself from his violence she consented to wed him at the first\ncity to which they might chance to come.\n\nWhen he had wrung this promise from Claremond, Croppart, who\nsuffered greatly from thirst, drank deeply of the fountain. So icy\ncold were its waters that on quaffing them he fell to the ground,\nalmost insensible. Claremond, overcome by fatigue and anxiety, fell\nfast asleep. In this condition they were discovered by Mendulus, King\nof Salerno, who at once conceived a strong attachment to the sleeping\ndamsel, and had her conveyed to his palace, where he lodged her in\na fair apartment. As for Croppart, so severe was the disorder which\nhe had contracted by drinking of the icy fountain that he expired\nshortly afterward.\n\nClaremond told King Mendulus that she was only a foundling\nwhose name was Trouv\u00e9e, and that she had accompanied Croppart, a\ntravelling physician, from one place to another, seeking a precarious\nlivelihood. This did not prevent him, however, from offering her his\nhand and crown. To save herself from this new danger, Claremond had\nrecourse to feigned madness, and so convincingly did she play her\npart that Mendulus had perforce to confine her under the charge of\nten chosen women, whose duty it was to restrain her.\n\nMeanwhile the Court of Spain was thrown into the utmost\nconfusion. Cleomades, returning to the summer palace with his parents,\ncould find no trace of Claremond, and, overcome with grief, was\nbrought back to the capital in a state bordering upon frenzy. When\nhe recovered he set out for the kingdom of Tuscany in the hope that\nthere he might obtain tidings of his lady. Riding alone, he came to a\ncastle, where he encountered and overthrew two knights who refused to\nlet him pass. From them he learned that when a prince named Liopatris,\nwho had been betrothed to Claremond, arrived at the Court of Tuscany,\nthree of his knights had accused three of Claremond's maids of honour\nof being accomplices in the abduction of their mistress. The knights\nwhom Cleomades had worsted were suitors for the hands of two of\nthose ladies, and had challenged their detractors, but as one of\nthem had been wounded by Cleomades, they could not now make good\ntheir challenge. Cleomades graciously offered to take the place of\nthe wounded man, and with his unwounded comrade set out for the Court\nof King Cornuant.\n\nNext morning the combatants appeared in the lists. The three accusers\nwere overthrown, and the maids of honour pronounced innocent, according\nto the laws of chivalry. Taking the damsels with them, Cleomades and\nhis new brother-in-arms returned to the castle whence they had come,\nand when he had doffed his armour the prince-errant was recognized by\nthe ladies whom he had helped to rescue. Great was their grief when\nthey learned of the fate of Claremond. But one of them begged Cleomades\nto seek the assistance of a famous astrologer who dwelt at Salerno,\n\"who saw most secret things right clear.\" Cleomades instantly resolved\nto go and consult this sage, and accordingly next morning he set out\nfor the city of Salerno, after having taken an affectionate leave of\nthe lovers.\n\nArrived at Salerno, Cleomades put up at an inn, and lost no time in\ninquiring of the landlord where the astrologer might be found.\n\n\"Alas, sir!\" said the host, \"it is now a year since he passed\naway. Never did we need him more. For had he been alive, he might have\nserved our King by restoring to reason the most beautiful creature\nwho ever lived.\" And he told Cleomades the story of how Mendulus had\nfound the hunchback and the maid. At the mention of the wooden horse\nCleomades started, but kept his presence of mind, and assured the\ninnkeeper that he possessed an infallible cure for madness. He begged\nthe man to lead him to the King, and, on the plea that his arms might\nexcite suspicion, donned a false beard and the dress of a physician.\n\nHe was at once admitted to the royal presence, and on hearing\nof his skill the King led him to the place where Claremond was\nconfined. Cleomades had taken with him a glove belonging to his\nlady-love, which he had stuffed with herbs, and on the pretence that\nthese would cure her he placed it upon her cheek. Seeing her own\nglove, she regarded the seeming physician earnestly, and succeeded\nin penetrating his disguise. But, still feigning insanity, she begged\nthat her wooden horse might be brought, so that it could dispute with\nthe learned doctor. It was carried into the garden where they were,\nand the princess pretended to have a whim that she could only be cured\nif she and the physician mounted the wooden steed. To this Mendulus\nconsented, and when they bestrode the artificial hippogriff Cleomades\nturned the pin, and in a moment they rose like an arrow from the bow.\n\nNext morning the happy pair arrived in Seville. Their nuptials were\nimmediately performed, and Liopatris was consoled with Princess Maxima,\nso that no one was left lamenting.\n\n\n\n\nThe Three Beautiful Princesses\n\nLegend tells us that when Mohammed el Haygari, or 'the Left-handed,'\nreigned in Granada he once encountered a train of horsemen riding\nback from a foray in Christian lands. He observed in the ranks of\ntheir captives a beautiful damsel richly attired, and learned that\nshe was the daughter of the commander of a frontier fortress which\nhad been taken and sacked in the course of the expedition. The lady\nwas accompanied by a duenna, and Mohammed ordered that both women\nshould be conveyed to his harem.\n\nDay by day he urged the captive damsel to become his queen. But his\nfaith as well as his age caused her family to reject his advances. In\nhis perplexity he resolved to enlist the good graces of her duenna,\nwho undertook to plead his cause with her young mistress. She told\nthe lady that she was foolish to pine in a beautiful palace, who had\nhenceforth been used only to a dull old frontier castle, and that by\nmarrying Mohammed she could make herself mistress of all she surveyed\ninstead of remaining a captive. At last her arguments prevailed. The\nSpanish lady consented to unite herself to the Moorish monarch,\nand even outwardly conformed to his religion, which the duenna also\nembraced with all the fervour of a proselyte, being re-named Kadiga.\n\nIn course of time the Spanish lady presented her lord with three\ndaughters at a single birth. The Court astrologers cast the nativities\nof the infants, and with many ominous warnings cautioned their father\nto keep strict guard over them when they arrived at a marriageable age.\n\nShortly afterward his queen died, and Mohammed, with the astrologers'\nwarning ringing in his ears, resolved to shut the princesses up in\nthe royal castle of Salobre\u00f1a, a place of great strength, overlooking\nthe Mediterranean, where he felt certain no harm could come to them.\n\nYears passed and at length the princesses became of marriageable\nage. Although they had been brought up by the discreet Kadiga with\nthe greatest care, and had always been together, their characters\nwere of course very different one from another. Zayda, the eldest,\nwas of an intrepid spirit, and took the lead in everything. Zorayda,\nthe second, had a strong sense of beauty, which probably accounted\nfor the fact that she spent a large portion of her time gazing in the\nglass, or in the fountain which plashed and sang in the marble court\nof the castle. Zorahayda, the youngest, was soft and timid, and given\nto reverie. All three were surpassingly beautiful, and as she gazed\nupon them the shrewd old Kadiga would shake her head and sigh. When\nthey inquired of her why she did so, she would turn the question aside\nwith a laugh and direct the conversation to a less dangerous topic.\n\nOne day the princesses were seated at a casement which commanded a\nnoble view of the heaven-blue Mediterranean, the dreamy waters of\nwhich whispered musically to the palm-shadowed shores which skirted\nthe height upon which the towers of Salobre\u00f1a stood. It was one of\nthose evenings on which we feel it difficult to believe that we are\nnot temporary sojourners in a land of vague deliciousness, where\nall is beautiful as it is unreal. Mists dyed in the sunset rose\nlike incense from the urns of twilight, hiding the far distances\nof sea and sky. From between the curtains of sea-shadows there\ndrifted a white-sailed galley, which glided toward the shore,\nwhere it anchored. A number of Moorish soldiers landed on the beach,\nconducting several Christian prisoners, among whom were three Spanish\ncavaliers richly dressed. These, though loaded with chains, carried\nthemselves in a lofty and distinguished manner, and the princesses\ncould not refrain from gazing upon them with intense and breathless\ninterest. Never before had they seen such noble-looking youths, who had\nso far only beheld black slaves and the rude fishermen of the coast,\nso small wonder was it that the sight of these brave cavaliers should\narouse commotion in their bosoms.\n\nThe princesses remained gazing until the prisoners were out of\nsight. Then with long-drawn sighs they turned from the window and\nsat down, musing and pensive, on their ottomans. The discreet Kadiga,\nfinding them thus, learned from them what they had seen, and in answer\nto their inquiries regarding such beings related to them many a tale\nof cavalier life in Christian Spain, which only served to heighten\nthe curiosity which the appearance of the captives had excited. But\nit did not take the sage old woman long to discover the mischief she\nwas doing, and, full of fears for which she could scarcely account,\nshe dispatched a slave to her royal master, with the symbolic message\nof a basket filled with leaves of the fig and vine, on which lay a\npeach, an apricot, and a nectarine, all in the early stage of tempting\nripeness, which Mohammed, skilled in the Oriental language of fruits\nand flowers, rightly interpreted as meaning that his daughters had\narrived at marriageable age.\n\nRecalling the advice of the astrologers, he resolved to bring the\nprincesses under his immediate guardianship, and at once commanded\nthat a tower of the Alhambra should be prepared for their reception. He\nhimself set out for Salobre\u00f1a to conduct them thither, and on beholding\nthem, and perceiving how beautiful they were, he felt glad that he\nhad wasted no time in bringing them to Court. So conscious was he\nof the danger that three such beauties would run that he prepared\nfor his return to Granada by sending heralds before him, commanding\nevery one to keep out of the road by which he was to pass, on pain of\ndeath. Then, escorted by a troop of the most hideous black horsemen\nhe could find, he set forth on the journey to his capital.\n\nAs the cavalcade was approaching Granada it chanced to overtake a\nsmall body of Moorish soldiers with a convoy of prisoners. It was too\nlate for the soldiers to retire, so they threw themselves on their\nfaces on the earth, ordering their captives to do likewise. Among\nthe prisoners were the three cavaliers whom the princesses had seen\nfrom the window of the castle of Salobre\u00f1a, and they, too proud to\nobey the order to grovel before their pagan enemy, remained standing.\n\nThe anger of the royal Mohammed was aroused by this flagrant defiance\nof his orders, and, drawing his scimitar, he was about to decapitate\nthe unfortunate captives, when the princesses gathered round him and\nimplored mercy for them. The captain of the guard, too, assured him\nthat they could not be injured without great scandal, on account of\ntheir high rank, and described to the irate monarch the manner in\nwhich these illustrious youths had been taken captive while fighting\nlike lions beneath the royal banner of Spain. Somewhat mollified by\nthese representations, Mohammed sheathed his weapon. \"I will spare\ntheir lives,\" he said, \"but their rashness must meet with fitting\npunishment. Let them be taken to the Vermilion Towers and put to\nlabour.\"\n\nIn the agitation of the moment the veils of the three princesses\nhad blown aside so that their radiant beauty was revealed. In those\nromantic times to see was often to love at once, and the three noble\ncavaliers fell sudden victims to the charms of the royal damsels who\npleaded so eloquently for their lives. Singularly enough, each of them\nwas enraptured with a separate beauty; but it would be as impertinent\nas illogical to ask the reason of this sleight of cunning Dame Nature,\nwho in romance, perhaps, is represented as being more judicious than\nshe really is.\n\nThe royal cavalcade now pressed onward, and the captives were conducted\nto their allotted prison in the Vermilion Towers. The residence\nprovided for the princesses was all that imagination could ask and\nsplendour devise. It was situated in a tower somewhat apart from\nthe main palace of the Alhambra, and on one side was cheered by the\nprospect of a garden beautiful as the first step into paradise, while\non the other it overlooked a deep and umbrageous ravine that separated\nthe grounds of the Alhambra from those of the Generalife. But to the\nbeauties of this delightful place the princesses were blind. They\nlanguished visibly, and by none was their indisposition remarked so\nshrewdly as by old Kadiga, who guessed its cause without any great\ndifficulty. Taking pity upon their forlorn condition, she told them\nthat as she was passing the Vermilion Towers on the preceding evening\nshe heard the cavaliers singing after the day's labours to the strains\nof a guitar, and at the request of the princesses she arranged with\ntheir jailer that they should be set to work in the ravine, beneath\nthe windows of the damsels' apartments.\n\nThe very next day the captives were given labour which necessitated\ntheir presence in the ravine. During the noontide heat, while\ntheir guards were sleeping, they sang a Spanish roundelay to the\naccompaniment of the guitar. The princesses listened, and heard that\nit was a love ditty addressed to themselves. The ladies replied to\nthe sound of a lute played by Zorayda, the burden of which was:\n\n\n    The rose by the screen of her leaves is concealed,\n    But the song of the nightingale pierces the shield.\n\n\nEvery day the cavaliers worked in the ravine, and an intercourse was\nmaintained between them and the no less captive princesses by songs\nand romances which breathed the feelings of either party. In time\nthe princesses showed themselves on the balcony when the guards were\nwrapped in noonday slumber. But at length this desirable condition\nof affairs was interrupted, for the three young nobles were ransomed\nby their families and repaired to Granada to commence their homeward\njourney. They approached the aged Kadiga, and requested her to assist\nthem to fly with the princesses to Spain. This proposal the old dame\ncommunicated to her young mistresses, and finding that they embraced it\nwith alacrity a plan of escape was arranged. The rugged hill on which\nthe Alhambra is built was at that time tunnelled by many a subterranean\npassage leading from the fortress to various parts of the city, and\nKadiga arranged to conduct the royal damsels by one of these to a\nsally-port beyond the walls of Granada, where the cavaliers were to be\nin waiting with swift horses to bear the whole party over the borders.\n\nThe appointed night arrived, and when the Alhambra was buried in\ndeep sleep the princesses, accompanied by their duenna, descended\nfrom their apartments to the garden by means of a rope-ladder--all\nsave Zorahayda, the youngest and most timorous, who at the decisive\nmoment could not endure the idea of leaving her father. The advance\nof the night patrol which guarded the palace made it necessary for\nher sisters and Kadiga to fly without her. Groping their way through\nthe fearful labyrinth, they succeeded in reaching the gate outside\nthe walls. The Spanish cavaliers were waiting to receive them. The\nlover of Zorahayda was frantic when he learned that she had refused\nto leave the tower, but there was no time to waste in lamentations;\nthe two princesses mounted behind their lovers, Kadiga behind another\nrider, and, dashing the spurs into the flanks of their steeds, the\nparty galloped off at top speed.\n\nThey had not proceeded far when they heard the noise of an alarm\nfrom the battlements of the Alhambra, while a lurid watch-fire\nburst into flame on its topmost turret. Lashing their horses to a\nfrenzy of speed, they succeeded in outdistancing their pursuers,\nand by taking unfrequented paths and hiding in wild barrancas they\nwere at last so fortunate as to reach the city of Cordova, where the\nprincesses were received into the bosom of the Church and united to\ntheir respective lovers.\n\nMohammed was well-nigh demented at the loss of his daughters, but,\nrather unnecessarily, took pains to redouble his watch over the one\nwho had remained. The unfortunate Zorahayda, thus closely guarded,\nrepented of her vacillation, and we are told that many a night she\nwas seen leaning on the battlements of the tower in which she was\nconfined, looking in the direction of Cordova. Legend, never very\nmerciful either to heroine or reader, says that she died young, and\nher melancholy fate gave birth to many a sad ballad, both Moorish and\nCastilian, so that she was at least successful in inspiring song--a\ncelebrity to which her more fortunate sisters did not attain.\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Prince Ahmed\n\nOnce again the ancient city of Granada is the scene of the legend\nwe are about to relate. But, from considerations which we will\nadduce later, there is good reason to believe the story to be of\nPersian origin. It recounts the history of Prince Ahmed, surnamed\n'al Kamel,' or 'the Perfect,' because of the beauty and equability\nof his temperament. At the birth of this prince of happy disposition\nthe Court astrologers predicted that his career would be singularly\nfortunate, provided one difficulty could be overcome; but that\ndifficulty was sufficiently great to daunt the heart of any monarch,\nso that we cannot be surprised when we learn that his royal father\ngrew pessimistic regarding his chances of happiness when the wise men\ninformed him that in order to circumvent a cruel fate his son must be\nkept from the allurements of love until he attained the age of manhood.\n\nThe perplexed King acted as most fathers in romances do--that is,\nhe confined his son from his earliest infancy in a delightfully\nsecluded palace which he built for the purpose on the brow of the\nhill above the Alhambra. This building, which is now known as the\nGeneralife, is surrounded by lofty walls, and here the young prince\ngrew up under the care of Eben Bonabben, an Arabian sage of wisdom\nand other formidable qualities, which made him a suitable guardian\nfor a budding royalty in such case as Ahmed.\n\nUnder the tuition of this grave preceptor the prince attained to\nhis twentieth year totally ignorant of the tender passion. About\nthis time a change came over his habitual docility, and instead\nof listening attentively to the discourses of Eben Bonabben, he\nneglected his studies and took to strolling in the gardens of his\nabode. His instructor, who saw how it was with him, and that the\nlatent tenderness of his nature had awakened, redoubled his care,\nand shut him up in the most remote tower of the Generalife. In order\nto interest him in something that would remove his thoughts from\nspeculations which might prove dangerous, he instructed his pupil in\nthe language of birds, and the Prince, taking kindly to this recondite\nsubject, soon mastered it completely. After trying his skill upon a\nhawk, an owl, and a bat with indifferent success, he listened to the\nchorus of birds in his garden. It was spring-time, and each and every\nfeathered songster was pouring out his heart in an ecstasy of love,\nrepeating the word again and yet again.\n\n\"Love!\" cried the prince at length. \"What may this love be?\" He\ninquired of Eben Bonabben, who at the question felt his head roll\nominously on his shoulders, as if in pledge of what would happen to\nit did he not avert the question. He informed Ahmed that love was one\nof the greatest evils which poor humanity has to endure; that it made\nstrife between friends and brethren, and had brought about the ruin\nof some of the greatest of men. Then he departed in perturbation,\nleaving the Prince to his own thoughts.\n\nBut Ahmed observed that the birds which sang so lustily of love\nwere far from unhappy, and therefore doubted the arguments of his\npreceptor. Next morning as he lay on his couch, lost in the pursuit\nof the enigma which had presented itself to his thoughts, a dove,\nchased by a hawk, flew through the casement and fluttered to the\nfloor. The Prince took up the terrified bird and smoothed its ruffled\nplumage. But it seemed disconsolate, and on his asking for what it\ngrieved, it replied that its discontent was caused by separation from\nits mate, whom it loved with all its heart.\n\n\"Tell me, beautiful bird, what is this thing called love that these\nbirds in the garden sing of so constantly?\"\n\n\"Love,\" said the bird, \"is the great mystery and principle of\nlife. Every created being has its mate. Hast thou spent so many of\nthe precious days of youth without experiencing it? Has no beautiful\nprincess or lovely damsel ensnared thine heart?\"\n\nThe Prince released the dove and sought out Bonabben. \"Miscreant!\" he\ncried, \"why hast thou kept me in this abject ignorance--why withheld\nfrom me the great mystery and principle of life? Why am I alone\ndebarred from the enjoyment of love?\n\nBonabben saw that further subterfuge was useless, so he revealed to his\ncharge the predictions of the astrologers and the consequent necessity\nfor the precautions with which his youth had been surrounded. He\nfurther assured the prince that did the King learn how his trust had\nfailed his head would pay forfeit. The Prince, horrified to learn\nthis, promised to conceal his knowledge, and this in some measure\nquieted the fears of the philosopher.\n\nSome days after this episode the Prince was reclining in the garden\nwhen his friend the dove alighted fearlessly upon his shoulder. He\nasked it whence it came, and it answered that it came from a far\nland, where it had seen a beautiful princess, who, like himself, had\nbeen enclosed within the high walls of a secret retreat and kept in\nignorance of the existence of love. The knowledge that a being of the\nopposite sex existed who had been brought up in like circumstances\nto himself acted like a spark of fire to the heart of Ahmed. He at\nonce wrote a letter couched in the most impassioned language, which\nhe addressed, \"To the unknown beauty, from the captive Prince Ahmed,\"\nand this he entrusted to the dove, who promised to convey it to the\nobject of his adoration without a moment's delay.\n\nDay after day Ahmed watched for the return of the messenger of\nlove, but in vain. At last, one evening the bird fluttered into\nhis apartment, and falling at his feet expired. The arrow of some\nwanton archer had pierced its breast, yet it had struggled on to\nthe fulfilment of its mission. Ahmed, picking up the little body,\nfound it encircled by a chain of pearls, attached to which was a\nsmall enamelled picture representing a lovely princess in the flower\nof youth and beauty. The prince pressed the picture to his lips in\na fervour of passion, and at once resolved upon flight, his object\nbeing to seek the original of the portrait, whatever dangers and\nobstacles might lie in the accomplishment of his purpose.\n\nSeeking the advice of the wise owl, whom he had not spoken to since\nhe had been a beginner in the study of the language of birds, he\ncollected all his jewels, and on the same night lowered himself\nfrom the balcony, clambered over the outer walls of the Generalife,\nand, accompanied by the wise old bird, who had agreed to act as his\ncicerone, set out for Seville, his purpose being to seek a raven\nwhom the owl knew to be a great necromancer, who might assist him\nin his quest. In time they arrived at the southern city, and sought\nthe high tower in which the raven dwelt. They found the gifted bird,\nand were advised by it to go to Cordova and seek the palm-tree of\nthe great Abderahman, which stood in the courtyard of the principal\nmosque, at the foot of which they would encounter a great traveller,\nwho would give them information regarding the object of their search.\n\nFollowing the raven's instructions, they travelled to Seville, and\nwere annoyed to find at the foot of the tree in question an immense\ncrowd, listening attentively to the chattering of a parrot, whose\nplumage was of the most brilliant green, and whose pragmatical eye\nheld much wisdom. When the crowd had departed, the prince consulted\nthe bird regarding his quest, and was amazed to hear it burst into\ncries of discordant laughter when it gazed upon the picture.\n\n\"Poor youth,\" it cackled, \"are you another victim of love? Know that\nthis picture you worship so devoutly is that of the Princess Aldegonda,\ndaughter of the Christian King of Toledo.\"\n\n\"Help me in this matter, good bird,\" cried the prince, \"and I shall\nfind you a distinguished place at Court.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said the parrot. \"All I ask is that it be a\nsinecure, for we clever folk have a great dislike for hard work!\"\n\nAccompanied by the owl and the parrot, Ahmed proceeded upon his journey\nto Toledo in search of the Princess Aldegonda. Their progress through\nthe stern passes of the Sierra Morena and across the sun-drenched\nplains of La Mancha and Castile was slow, but at long last they came\nin sight of Toledo, at the foot of whose steeps the Tagus rushed in\nbrawling cascades. The garrulous parrot at once pointed out the abode\nof the Princess Aldegonda, a stately palace rising out of the bowers\nof a delightful garden.\n\n\"Ah, Toledo!\" cried the owl in ecstasy. \"Toledo, thou city of magic\nand mystery! What spells, what enchantments of ancient wizardry\nhave not been recited among thy carven shadows! City of learning,\nof strange miracles, of a thousand profundities----\"\n\n\"City of a thousand fiddlesticks!\" piped the parrot. \"A truce to your\nraptures, friend philosopher. O Toledo,\" he apostrophized, with wings\noutspread in mimicry of the owl, \"city of nuts and wine, of figs and\noil, of banquets, jousts, and enchanting se\u00f1oritas! Now, my prince,\nshall I not fly to the Princess Aldegonda and acquaint her with the\nfact of our arrival?\"\n\n\"Do so, best of birds,\" replied the Prince enthusiastically. \"Tell her\nthat Ahmed, the pilgrim of love, has come to Toledo in quest of her.\"\n\nThe parrot immediately spread his wings and flew off on his mission. He\nbeheld the princess reclining on a couch, and, alighting, he advanced\nwith the air of a courtier.\n\n\"Beautiful princess,\" he said, with a low bow, \"I come as ambassador\nfrom Prince Ahmed, of Granada, who has journeyed to Toledo to bask\nin the light of thine eyes.\"\n\n\"O joyful news!\" cried the princess. \"I had begun to doubt the\nconstancy of Ahmed. Hie thee back to him as fast as thy green wings\nwill take thee, and tell him that his poetry has been the food of my\nsoul, and that his letters are engraven on my heart. But, alas! he\nmust prepare to prove his love by force of arms. To-morrow is my\nseventeenth birthday, in honour of which the King my father is to\nhold a great tournament, and my hand is to be the prize of the victor.\"\n\nAhmed was delighted with the news which the parrot brought him, but his\nhappiness at finding the princess had remained faithful was shadowed by\nthe knowledge that he would have to do battle for her; for he had not\nbeen trained in the exercises of chivalry. In his dilemma he turned\nto the wise owl, who, as usual, threw much light on the matter, for\nhe unfolded to him that in a neighbouring mountain there was a cave\nwhere lay on an iron table a suit of magical armour and near it an\nenchanted steed that had been shut up there for generations. After\na search the cavern was located. A lamp of everlasting oil shed a\nsolemn light among the profound shadows of the place, and by its\ngleam the armour and the bespelled charger were soon found, as the\nowl had said. Donning the mail, Ahmed leapt upon the destrier's back,\nand with a loud neighing the steed awoke and bore him from the place,\nthe owl and the parrot flying one on either side of him.\n\nNext morning Ahmed proceeded to the lists, which were situated in\na large plain near the city. They presented a scene of unparalleled\nbrilliance, and noble knights and lovely ladies had congregated in\nhundreds to try their skill in arms or display their beauty. But all\nthe latter were quite eclipsed by the Princess Aldegonda, who shone\nlike the moon among the stars. At the appearance of Ahmed, who was\nannounced as 'The Pilgrim of Love,' excitement ran high, for he made\na most gallant and resplendent figure in his glittering armour and\nbejewelled casque. He was informed, however, that none but princes\nmight encounter in the tournament, and on learning this he disclosed\nhis rank and name. On hearing that he was a Moslem a universal scoffing\narose among the Christian champions, and Ahmed, incensed, challenged\nthe knight who displayed the bitterest enmity. The course was run,\nand the brawny scoffer tilted out of his saddle. But the prince now\nfound that he had to deal with a demoniac horse and armour. Once in\naction, nothing could control them. The Arabian steed charged into\nthe thickest of the throng. Down went Ahmed's opponents before his\nlevelled lance like ninepins, so that the lists were soon strewn with\ntheir recumbent forms. But at midday the spell which had been laid\nupon the charger resumed its power. The Arabian steed scoured across\nthe plain, leaped the barrier, plunged into the Tagus, swam its raging\ncurrent, and bore the prince, breathless yet avenged, to the cavern,\nwhere it resumed its station like a statue beside the iron table,\non which the prince laid the armour.\n\nAhmed's feelings were most unenviable, for among those whom he had\nunhorsed in his wild career had been the King himself, the father\nof Aldegonda, who, on witnessing the overthrow of his guests, had\nangrily rushed to their assistance. Full of anxiety, he dispatched\nhis winged messengers to gather tidings. The parrot returned with a\nworld of gossip. Toledo, he said, was in consternation; the princess\nhad been carried home senseless, and the general opinion was that\nthe prince was either a Moorish magician or a demon such as tradition\nsaid dwelt in the mountain caverns.\n\nIt was morning when the owl came back. He had peered through the\nwindows of the palace, and had seen the princess kiss Ahmed's letter,\nand give way to loud lamentations. Later, she was conveyed to the\nhighest tower in the palace, every avenue to which was strictly\nguarded. But a melancholy, deep and devouring, had settled upon her,\nand it was thought that she was the victim of magic, so that at last\na great reward--the richest jewel in the royal treasury--was offered\nto anyone who should effect her cure.\n\nNow the wise owl chanced to know that in the royal treasury was\ndeposited a certain box of sandal-wood secured by bands of steel, and\ninscribed with mystic characters known only to the learned few. This\ncoffer contained the silken carpet of Solomon the Great, which had\nbeen brought to Spain by exiled Jews. All this caused the prince to\nponder deeply. Next day he laid aside his rich attire, and arrayed\nhimself in the simple garb of an Arab of the desert, dyeing his face\nand hands a tawny brown. Thus disguised, he repaired to the royal\npalace, and after some delay, was admitted. When the King asked him\nhis business, he boldly claimed his ability to cure the princess, who,\nhe said, was certainly possessed of a devil, which he could exorcise\nby the power of music alone, as the folk of his tribe were wont to do.\n\nThe King, seeing him so confident, immediately conducted him to the\nlofty tower where the princess lay, the windows of which opened upon\na terrace commanding a view over the city and surrounding country. On\nthis terrace the prince seated himself, and began to play on his\npipe. But the princess remained insensible. Then, as if chanting an\nexorcism, he repeated the verses of the letter which he had sent to\nthe princess, in which he had first declared his passion. Rousing,\nshe recognized the words with emotion, and asked that the prince\nshould be brought into her presence. Ahmed was conducted into her\nchamber, but the lovers, knowing their danger, were discreet, and\ncontented themselves with the exchange of glances more eloquent than\nspeech. Never was triumph of music more complete. The roses returned\nto the pale cheeks of the princess, and so delighted was the King that\nhe at once requested Ahmed to select the most precious jewel in his\ntreasury. The prince, feigning modesty, replied that he disdained\njewels, and desired only an old carpet enclosed in a sandal-wood\ncoffer, which had been handed down by the Moslems who once owned\nToledo. The box was immediately brought, and the carpet spread out\non the terrace.\n\n\"This carpet,\" said the prince, \"once belonged to Solomon the Wise. It\nis worthy of being placed beneath the feet of beauty. Let the Princess\nstand upon it.\"\n\nThe King motioned his daughter to accede to the Arab's request,\nand she at once complied. Then Ahmed took his place beside her, and,\nturning to her astonished father, said:\n\n\"Know, O King, that your daughter and I have long loved one\nanother. Behold in me the Pilgrim of Love.\"\n\nHe had scarcely spoken when the carpet rose in the air, and, to\nthe consternation of all, the lovers were borne off, and swiftly\ndisappeared.\n\nThe magical carpet descended at Granada, where Ahmed and the princess\nwere espoused to one another with fitting splendour. In course of time\nhe reigned in his father's stead long and happily. But although he had\nbecome a king he did not forget the services of his bird friends. He\nappointed the owl his vizier, and the parrot his master of ceremonies,\nand we may be sure by these tokens that in all his royal and domestic\ncircumstances he was attended by wisdom and magnificence.\n\nThis striking tale is, of course, manufactured out of a number of\noriginal and separate elements--the lovers destined to be kept in\nignorance of love because of some danger prophesied at their birth,\nthe old theme of the language of birds, the 'helpful animal' theme,\nand that of the magic carpet. The latter is merely an adaptation of the\nidea that a magician was able to transport himself through the air in\na non-natural manner, and this ability he seems to have handed on to\nthe witches of the Middle Ages, whose broomsticks were merely magical\nsubstitutes for the 'flying horse.' [54] But the appearance of the\ncarpet in such a tale makes it probable that it drew its inspiration\nfrom Persia, the land where carpets were first manufactured, as the\nwizards of more primitive folk adopted other and simpler means of\nsupernatural flight.\n\n\n\n\nThe Paynim's Promise\n\nA singular story which shows that tolerance and even generosity\nwere occasionally to be found between Moor and Christian in ancient\nSpain is narrated in connexion with the exploits of Narvaez, the\ngeneral who commanded the garrison of Medina Antequara, a Moorish\ntown that had fallen into the hands of the Spaniards. Narvaez made\nthe city a centre from which he launched a series of incursions into\nthe neighbouring districts of Granada for the purpose of obtaining\nprovisions and relieving the unfortunate inhabitants of any booty\nwhich might happen to be left to them.\n\nOn one of these occasions Narvaez had dispatched a large body of horse\nto scour the surrounding country. They had started on their raid at\nan early hour of the morning and while it was yet dark, so that by\nthe hour of sunrise they had penetrated far into hostile country. The\nofficer in command of the expedition rode a few bow-shots ahead, and to\nhis surprise suddenly encountered a Moorish youth who had lost his way\nin the darkness, and who was now returning home. With great boldness\nthe young man faced the Spanish horsemen, but was quickly overpowered,\nand when they learned from him that the district in which they were was\nlittle more than a desert, having been stripped of all its resources\nby the inhabitants who had abandoned it, they returned to Antequara,\nwhere they brought their captive before Narvaez.\n\nThe prisoner, a young man of about twenty-three years of age, was\nof handsome and dignified appearance. He was dressed in a flowing\nrobe of rich mulberry-coloured silk, gorgeously decorated in the\nMoorish manner, and was mounted on a magnificent horse of the Arab\nbreed. From these indications, Narvaez judged him to be a cavalier\nof importance. He inquired his name and lineage, and was told that\nhis prisoner was the son of the Alcayde of Ronda, a Moor of high\ndistinction, and an implacable enemy of the Christians. But when\nNarvaez questioned the young man himself, to his astonishment he\nfound that he was unable to reply to him. Tears streamed down his\nface, and his utterance was choked by sobs which seemed to rise from\na heart overflowing with grief.\n\n\"I marvel to see thee,\" said Narvaez. \"That thou, being as thou art,\na cavalier of good race, and the son of a noble so valiant as is thy\nfather, should be thus cast down and weep like a woman, knowing too\nwhat are the chances of war and having all the appearance of a brave\nsoldier and a good knight--this surpasses my understanding.\"\n\n\"I do not weep because I have been taken captive,\" replied the\nyouth. \"The tears flow from mine eyes because of a much deeper sorrow,\ncompared with which my fallen state is as nothing.\"\n\nStruck by the young man's earnestness, and pitying his position,\nNarvaez asked him sympathetically to confide to him the cause of his\nsorrow. The cavalier, touched by the general's kindness, sighed deeply,\nand replied:\n\n\"Lord Governor, I have long loved a lady, daughter of the Alcayde of\na certain fortress. Many times have I fought in her honour against\nthe men of your race. In time the lady came to return my affection,\nand declared herself willing to become my wife, and I was on my way\nto her when, by evil chance, I encountered your horsemen and fell\ninto their hands. Thus I have lost not only my liberty, but all the\nhappiness of my life, which I believed I held in my hand. If this does\nnot seem to you to be worthy of tears, I know not for what purpose\nthey are given to the eyes of man, or how to make you understand the\nmisery I am suffering.\"\n\nThe bold Narvaez was much affected at the pitiful nature of his\nprisoner's story, and being a man of sympathetic instincts and generous\nheart, he at once resolved to do what he could to lighten the captive's\nsorrowful predicament.\n\n\"Thou art a cavalier of good family,\" he said, \"and if thou wilt pledge\nme thy word to return to this place, I will give thee permission to\ngo to thy beloved and acquaint her with the cause of thy failure to\nbe with her this day.\"\n\nThe Moor gladly availed himself of his captor's indulgence, gave\nNarvaez the required assurance, and that same night reached the castle\nwherein his lady dwelt. Entering the garden, he gave the signal by\nwhich he usually signified his presence there, and she immediately\ncame to the trysting-place agreed upon between them. She at once\nexpressed the greatest surprise that he had not arrived at the time\nhe had promised to be with her, and he explained the circumstances\nwhich had attended his delay. On hearing what had occurred the lady\nwas cast into the deepest grief, and as her lover was attempting to\nconsole her by every means in his power the hour of dawn reminded him\nof his pledge to Narvaez, and how he had given his word as a soldier\nand a cavalier to return to his captivity.\n\n\"There is nothing left but that I should return,\" he said. \"I have\nlost my own liberty, and God forbid that, loving you as I do, I should\nbear you to a place where yours also would be in danger. We must wait\npatiently until the time when I can obtain my ransom, when I shall\nimmediately return to you.\"\n\n\"Before this hour,\" replied the lady, \"you have given me many proofs\nthat you truly love me, but now you show your attachment more plainly\nthan ever in your desire for my safety, and for that very reason\nI should be most ungrateful if I did not go with you to share your\ncaptivity. Therefore I shall accompany you to the Christian prison for\nwhich you are destined. If you must be a slave, so also shall I be.\"\n\nThe lady then commanded her waiting damsel to bring her jewel-case,\nand when this had been done she mounted behind her lover. All\nnight they rode, and in the morning they arrived at Antequara,\nwhere they presented themselves to Narvaez, who was no less struck\nwith the constancy of the lady than with the honour and fidelity of\nthe young Moorish cavalier. He immediately gave both their liberty,\nand, loading them with presents and other marks of honour, accorded\nthem permission to return to their own land, providing an escort of\ntroops to accompany them until they had reached a place of safety.\n\nThis adventure, the love of the lady, the loyalty of the Moor, and more\nthan all the generosity of the high-souled Christian commander, were\ngreatly celebrated and applauded by the noble Saracens of Granada, and\nwere sung in the lays of their most distinguished poets and chronicled\nby their annalists. And although this story in every way partakes of\nthe nature of romance, it has the additional merit of being true.\n\n\n\n\nThe Dream of King Alfonso\n\nA mysterious story indeed is that which tells of the manner in which\nDon Alfonso, King of Galicia, one of the Christian states which\nheld out against the Moors, was haunted by a dream which came to him\nagain and again in the watches of the night, and which no one might\ninterpret, until at last he was forced to call to his aid the occult\nscience of those very enemies against whom the vision warned him.\n\nIn the year 1086 the territories of Alfonso and other Christian\nsovereigns were invaded by a vast army of Almoravide Moors, who,\nsweeping over from Africa, menaced Central and Northern Spain. When\nhe learned of their advance Alfonso was engaged in the siege of\nSaragossa, but in view of the danger which confronted him he joined\nhis allies at Toledo and prepared to give battle to the invaders,\nwho, numerous in themselves, had been reinforced by the Moors of the\nvarious Mohammedan states in Spain. Before leaving Toledo Alfonso\nwas visited by one of those terrible visions of the night which,\nhistory tells us, have so often prophesied the fall of nations. It\nappeared to him that he was mounted on an elephant, and that beside\nhim, on the flank of the great beast, was placed an atambore or\nMoorish drum, which he beat with his own hands. But the clamours\nwhich pealed forth from the instrument were so loud and terrifying\nthat he instantly awoke in terror and amazement. At first he scoffed\nat the dream as nothing but a nightmare, but when it returned again\nand again on the succeeding nights of his stay at Toledo he began to\nfeel that it must contain some element of awful warning. Night after\nnight he awoke in great terror, drenched with perspiration, and with\nthe echoes of the Eastern drum thundering in his ear, until at last,\nin great disquietude, he resolved to ask the advice of the learned\nmen of his Court regarding what the vision might portend.\n\nWith this object in view, he summoned to his presence the scholars and\nsages of his retinue, as well as the bishops and priests, and even the\nrabbis of the Jews who were his vassals, and who were more profoundly\nskilled in divination and the interpretation of dreams than any of\nhis Christian subjects. When they had come before him, he related the\nsubstance of his dream, which he described very minutely, concluding\nhis narration by saying: \"That which most amazes and alarms me in this\nmatter is the peculiarity of the elephant which I see in my visions,\nand which is an animal not reared in our country nor seen therein. In\nlike manner, the atambore is not of the form and kind which we have\nin use among us, nor is that either to be seen in Spain. Wherefore\ndo ye consider what these may portend, and give me the signification\nthereof without delay.\"\n\nThe wise men thereupon retired, and having considered the dream,\nreturned to the royal presence. \"Lord King,\" they said, \"we are of\nopinion that this dream of yours was sent to signify that you shall\nvanquish these great armies that the Moslems have brought against\nyou, that you shall despoil their camp and plunder it of the riches\nit contains, and that you shall occupy their territory and return\nvictorious, with great honour and glory. Moreover, we believe that\nyour triumph will be made known through all parts of the East,\nsince the elephant which you nightly appear to bestride can be no\nother than Juzef Aben Taxfin, King of the Moslems and lord of the\nfar-extending lands of Africa, who, like that animal, has been reared\nin the deserts of that country. The strangely formed atambore which\nyou have sounded on these many nights implies the fame which shall\necho throughout the world, to every part of which it shall carry the\nknowledge of your illustrious victories.\"\n\nAlfonso listened to this interpretation with the utmost attention,\nand when it concluded he said: \"It appears to me that you have gone far\nfrom the true interpretation of my dream, seeing that the explanation\nwhich my heart gives me is of a widely different kind, for it announces\nto me nothing better than events of terror and dismay.\"\n\nHaving thus spoken, the King turned his head, and, looking toward\ncertain Moorish knights who were his vassals, he asked them if\nperchance they knew of any wise man of their nation who had skill\nin the interpretation of dreams. They replied that they did know of\none such, and that there was in Toledo at that moment a wise man who\ntaught in one of the mosques and who would interpret the vision to\nthe satisfaction of the King.\n\nAlfonso at once commanded that they should bring the sage before him,\nand in a short space the Moorish cavaliers returned with the man of\nwhom they had spoken, the Faki Mohammed Aben Iza, who, however, sternly\nrefused to interpret the dream of an infidel, and when he learned for\nwhat purpose he was required would not even set foot in the palace. The\nMoorish knights in their dilemma told Alfonso that the Faki's religious\nscruples would not permit him to appear in a Christian court, and\nthe King, who well knew the niceties of Mohammedan law, contented\nhimself with their assurance that they would bring him the wise man's\ninterpretation of the dream. They then entreated the Faki to consider\nit, and as they pressed him urgently he replied: \"Go to the King\nAlfonso and say that the accomplishment of his vision is very near,\nand that its significance is after this wise. He shall be vanquished,\nyea, in a disgraceful defeat, and with great slaughter. He shall fly,\nwith but few of his people, and the victory shall remain with the Sons\nof the Prophet. Tell him, moreover, that this declaration is derived\nfrom the Koran: 'Know ye not what your God has prepared for him of the\nElephant? Hath he not brought his force to nothing and rendered his\nevil intentions of no avail? See ye not that he hath sent over them\nthe vultures of Babel?' These words,\" continued the Faki, \"foretold\nthe downfall of Ibrahim, King of the Abbassides, when he went forth\nwith his army against Arabia, riding on a great elephant. But God\nsent for his destruction the wild vultures of Babel, who cast balls\nof glowing fire upon that host and turned his pomp into wretchedness\nand the vileness of dust. As to the atambore which Alfonso described,\nthat signifies that the hour of his desolation is approaching.\"\n\nThe Moorish cavaliers, as in duty bound, returned to the King and\nacquainted him with the prophetic words of the Faki. On hearing them\nhe turned pale, and ejaculated: \"By the God of my worship, let this\nyour Al Faki tremble if he hath lied, for be sure that I will make\nof him a warning.\"\n\nShortly after this King Alfonso assembled his host, an innumerable\nmultitude of foot-soldiers and more than eighty thousand cavalry,\nnearly thirty thousand of whom were Arabs. With this array he marched\nto the encounter with King Taxfin and his allies, and came face to face\nwith him near Badajoz, among the groves and plains called Zalacca,\nabout twelve miles from that city. The armies were divided by a\nriver, and across this Taxfin sent an insulting message to Alfonso,\nbidding him either abjure the Christian faith or acknowledge himself\nhis vassal. When Alfonso read this missive he cast it to the earth\nin great anger, and, turning haughtily to the envoy, said: \"Go and\nbid Taxfin not to conceal himself in the battle, which if he do not,\nwe shall see each other.\"\n\nCertain circumstances affected the combat. Friday was the holy day\nof the Moslems, Saturday was the Sabbath of the Jews, of whom there\nwere many in the Christian host, and Sunday that of the Christians,\nand Alfonso had already requested Taxfin that truce should be\nobserved on these days, and the Moor had consented. But Alfonso\nconsidered himself justified in attacking at the hour of dawn on\nthe Friday morning. He marshalled his host into two divisions, and\nset on. The Moorish King of Seville had asked his astrologer to cast\na horoscope with the intention of discovering the fate of the day,\nand as this had been entirely unfavourable to the Moslems they were\nsomewhat disheartened. But as they succeeded in withstanding Alfonso's\nfirst attack, the student of the stars cast another mystical diagram,\nand on this occasion found his prognostication more auspicious. The\nKing of Seville, inspired by the favourable prophecy, sat down in his\npavilion and, taking pen and parchment, dashed off the following verse,\nwhich he sent for the inspiration of his ally, Taxfin:\n\n\n    God's anger on the Christian horde\n    Sends cruel slaughter by thy sword,\n    While favouring stars announce to thee\n    And to thy Moslems victory!\n\n\nTaxfin was greatly inspirited by these words, and rode up and down\nhis ranks encouraging his men, but he had not much time to do so,\nfor King Alfonso, heading a terrific charge, dashed down on him with\nall the mail-clad chivalry of Spanish Christendom. A sanguinary and\nmurderous conflict ensued. The Moslems stood their ground bravely,\nbut the heavy cavalry of the Spaniards bore them down, and overwhelmed\nthem on all sides. The Moorish allies of the Christian force now came\ninto action, surrounding and hemming in the Arabs of Andalusia, and\nthe Moslem chroniclers tell us that the darkness produced by that mass\nof men and horses was so great that those who fought could no longer\nsee each other, and grappled hand to hand, as in an obscure night. At\nlast Taxfin's forces began to retreat, and broke into disorderly rout,\nclosely pressed by the Christian cavalry. The Moors of Seville alone\nstood their ground. Taxfin placed himself at the head of his reserve\nand, charging with great fury, threw his mounted columns directly at\nthe pavilion of King Alfonso. This was but slightly defended, and\neasily fell a prey to the Moslems, with all its treasure. Alfonso,\nnoting the advance of Taxfin, charged him in flank, and the two\nprincipal leaders were soon engaged in furious battle. The Moorish\nmonarch rode among his men, exhorting them to constancy, and crying out\nthat the reward of their valour would be the crown of paradise. As the\nresult of his repeated charges the Christian host began to give way,\nand on the renewed attack of Taxfin's allies, who had before been\nbeaten, fled in precipitate rout. Alfonso, seeing that all was lost,\nand accompanied by five hundred followers only, rode fast before the\nconquering Moors. It was with difficulty that he made his escape to\nthe city of Toledo, where he arrived with only a hundred men.\n\nFrom that day King Alfonso never regained heart, and some years later,\non learning of the death of his son and the defeat of his people in\nbattle with the infidel, he fell sick and died. So was the prophecy\nof the Faki fulfilled.\n\n\n\n\nThe Prince who Changed Crowns\n\nDuring the age-long struggle between the Gothic and Arab races in\nSpain many small kingdoms on both sides rose and fell, the names of\nwhich have long since been forgotten. Perhaps two hundred years after\nthe infidels had gained a footing in the Peninsula, it chanced that\nin the central portion of the country there existed side by side two\ndiminutive kingdoms, or rather principalities, the more northerly of\nwhich preserved its Spanish nationality with the most jealous care,\nwhile that which existed upon its borders was equally conservative\nin its Moslem prejudices. At this period the Spanish principality\nhad at the head of its fortunes a prince of exceptional enlightenment\nand ability, Don Fernando. His training had naturally been of a kind\nwhich had led him to regard his Moslem neighbours with the profoundest\ndistrust and dislike. They were, he was told by his instructors, a race\nof men lost to all humanity, deficient in honour, cruel, malicious,\nand revengeful--in short, it is not to be wondered at that, having the\ndemerits of his Saracen neighbours so constantly dinned into his ears,\nthe young Fernando began to regard them with the utmost repugnance.\n\nThe low range of hills which divided the two principalities rather\nassisted than hindered the constant raids which Moslem and Christian\nmade upon each other's territory, as they constituted a description of\nNo Man's Land, where the forces of either might be carefully marshalled\nfor a lightning foray. In these raids Fernando himself occasionally\ntook part, as it was thought necessary that the prince of a state\nwhich lived in a condition of almost constant warfare should be well\nacquainted with the practical side of military affairs. During one\nof these constantly recurring miniature invasions, the company which\nFernando commanded had ridden far into Moorish territory without\nencountering any resistance, and, advancing in loose formation and\nwithout sufficient care, suddenly encountered an ambuscade of the\nenemy, who, taking it in flank, succeeded in penetrating its ranks and\ncutting them in two. The little band of Spaniards, thus separated,\nfled in opposite directions, and Fernando, accompanied by only a\nhandful of followers, turned his horse's head in the direction of\nhis own country and galloped out of the range of immediate danger.\n\nThe route which he was now forced to take to regain his own dominions\nnecessitated his following a wide d\u00e9tour, and as he and his companions\nhad already ridden far that day their horses shortly became so jaded\nthat further progress was almost impossible. They also became aware,\nto their dismay, that the foremost of the enemy were now not far\ndistant. In the dilemma in which they found themselves they resolved\nto sell their lives dearly, as befitted Christian knights, and they\nwere about to dismount from their horses to seek a spot which might\nafford them some advantage in such a struggle when they beheld,\nsome little way off, a building of rough stone standing on a little\neminence. \"There, if anywhere,\" said Fernando, \"we shall be able\nto make a good defence. Let us secure that position and take full\nadvantage of the shelter it offers us.\"\n\nSpurring their beaten horses to a last effort, they soon gained\nthe summit of the little hill. Dismounting, Fernando sought for the\nentrance to the rather dilapidated building, and having found it,\nwas about to make his way inside, when he was surprised to see a man\nkneeling on its flagstones, engaged in earnest prayer. His long beard,\nhis patched clothing, and his general appearance signified that he\nwas a Moslem hermit, one of those who had retired from the haunts\nof men to practise his religious austerities in peace. Fernando was\nabout to address him roughly and bid him begone, when the holy man,\nhearing the ring of his mailed foot upon the pavement, looked up and\nasked him what he required.\n\n\"Get you gone,\" said Fernando, \"for we are about to defend this place\nto the last extremity against your infidel brethren.\"\n\nThe hermit smiled. \"Young man,\" he said, \"what possible defence can\nyou hope to make in this poor place against the numbers which will\nshortly surround you? Your sword and that of your companions will be\nof little more avail than these poor walls, which, almost ruined as\nthey are, would soon be beaten down. Trust me, there is a much better\ndefence against the violence of man than either stone or steel.\"\n\n\"I know not of what you speak, old man,\" said Fernando, \"but in those\nthings which you deride, I, as a soldier, have been accustomed to\nplace my trust.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said the hermit, \"that it should be so! Have you not been\ntaught, young man, in your own country that God is a surer defence\nto those who trust Him than those vain material bulwarks which men\nof blood erect against one another's rage? Put your trust in God,\nI say, and He will be able to succour you, even through the least of\nHis servants.\"\n\n\"Were it the God of the Christians of whom you speak,\" replied\nFernando, \"I would agree that your words were those of wisdom, but\nin the mouth of an unbeliever they have naught but a blasphemous ring.\"\n\n\"Sir Knight,\" said the hermit, \"you are yet a young man, but as you\ngrow older it will be given you to understand that God is the same\nin all lands, and that division of His personality is one of the\nfictions with which the Father of Lies seeks to make enmity between\nthe righteous. Argue no longer, I pray you, but take heed to what I\nsay. This remnant of stone is the last remaining turret of an ancient\nfortalice, beneath which extends a labyrinth of dungeons. Secrete\nyourselves speedily in the darkness of this labyrinth, I beg you,\nso that you may evade your pursuers and regain your own country\nafter nightfall.\"\n\n\"Have a care, Don Fernando,\" cried one of the prince's comrades. \"This\ninfidel seeks to beguile us into a trap, where his countrymen will\nbe able to murder us at their leisure.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" replied the prince, \"for I can see that the mind of this good\nand holy man holds a better purpose toward us, and I willingly yield\nmyself to his care. Lead the way, good father, to the hiding-place of\nwhich you speak.\" The hermit immediately requested the cavaliers to\nenter the building, and indicated to them a dark and sloping passage,\ndown which they led their horses. They had scarcely had time to conceal\nthemselves in the gloomy recesses to which it led when with a loud\nclamour the infidels who had been pursuing them rode up. Their leader\nchallenged the hermit and asked him if he had observed any Christian\nknights pass that way. \"Assuredly no Christian knights have passed\nthis way, my son,\" replied the man of God; \"go in peace.\" The Moslem\ncaptain with a grave salutation immediately remounted his horse,\nand the band swept on.\n\nThe hermit having entertained the Christian knights to the best of\nhis poor resources, returned to them within a few hours and told\nthem that darkness had now fallen. \"You will now be able,\" he said,\n\"to make a safe return to your own land.\"\n\n\"How can I reward you?\" cried Fernando, whose generous heart had been\ndeeply stirred by the old man's unaffected kindness.\n\n\"There is one way in which you can do so, young cavalier,\" said the\nrecluse, \"and that is by trying to form a better opinion of the men\nof my race.\"\n\n\"You ask a difficult thing,\" said the prince sadly, \"for truth compels\nme to say that I have heard great evil of the Moors, and but little\ngood.\"\n\n\"That is not surprising,\" said the hermit, with a smile, \"since you\nwill readily admit that you have not encountered them otherwise than\nwith sword in hand or as prisoners whose hearts are burning with the\nbitterness of defeat. Open your mind, young man, or rather pray that\nits doors, until now closed, should be thrown wide to admit the rays\nof celestial wisdom. Seek for the best in your enemies, and believe\nme you will not fail to find it.\"\n\nAs he spoke, Fernando indeed felt as if the doors of his spirit, until\nnow rusty with prejudice, had been unbarred. \"I shall not forget your\nadvice,\" he said, \"for surely nothing evil can come from one so good\nand noble,\" and with a respectful gesture of farewell he mounted his\nhorse and, followed by his companions, rode away.\n\nHe arrived safely in his capital in the early hours of the morning,\nand having bathed and refreshed himself, sought his audience chamber,\nwhere, surrounded by his anxious ministers, he told them of the\nadventure which had befallen him.\n\n\"Great has been your good fortune, your Majesty,\" said one of his\nadvisers. \"But for the services of this good man you would certainly\nnow have been a captive in the citadel of your enemies. Surely few\nsuch spirits can reside in Moorish bodies.\"\n\n\"How so, se\u00f1or?\" replied the prince. \"May it not be otherwise? When all\nis said and done, what do we know of the Moors, save that knowledge\nwhich is gained by constant strife with them? Would it not be well\nfor us to strive to know them better?\"\n\n\"What!\" cried another councillor, \"do we not know them for dogs\nand infidels, for perjured blasphemers and worshippers of false\ngods? Heaven forbid that we should have further converse with them\nthan that of the herald, which serves to call us into the same field\nas they, so that we may bring our lances to bear upon their infidel\nbodies.\"\n\n\"These words seem to me neither good nor wise,\" said Fernando gently;\n\"and I tell you, se\u00f1ors, that while riding home this morning I made\na resolution to know those Moors better, even to travel into their\ncountry, study their institutions and their faith, and meet them as\nmen rather than as enemies.\"\n\n\"Madness!\" cried the Chancellor. \"The rash vow of a young and\ninexperienced prince.\"\n\n\"That is not my opinion,\" replied Fernando, \"but in order to avoid all\nunnecessary risks I have resolved to disguise myself as a Moslem. As\nyou are aware, I have a perfect acquaintance with the Moorish tongue,\nand the manners and religious customs of our neighbours I know by\nreport. I have taken this resolve, and am not to be dissuaded from it.\"\n\n\"Your Majesty's word is law,\" replied the Chancellor, who saw in the\nprince's resolve an opportunity for the extension of his personal\npower. Others of his suite did their best to turn aside Fernando's\nresolution by every argument in their power, but to no avail. His\npreparations were speedily made, and within three days of announcing\nhis determination the prince, disguised as a Moslem of rank, set out\nby night for the frontiers of his enemies.\n\nOn entering their country he resolved to make in the first place\nfor the capital, a town of considerable importance, on reaching\nwhich he dismounted from his Arab steed and put up at a khan, or\npublic hostelry. Here he found himself in the company of travellers\nof all sorts and conditions. The merchant sat at the same table\nwith the mullah, or priest, and the soldier shared his meal with\nthe pilgrim. The first thing that Fernando noticed regarding these\npeople was their great abstemiousness. They ate but little food, and\ndrank not at all, unless of milk or water. The atmosphere of gravity\nprevalent in the inn surprised him. These sober, sallow-faced men sat,\nfor the most part, with downcast eyes, speaking rarely, and without\ngesticulation, and in a low and decorous tone of voice. If asked a\nquestion, they did not answer at once, but appeared to cogitate upon\ntheir reply, which was invariably courteous and couched in formal\nbut agreeable language. All their conduct seemed to be subservient\nto decency and dignity. Fernando noticed that they were spotless in\ntheir cleanliness. Not only was this so as regards their garments,\nbut they were constantly performing ablutions, either in the inn\nitself during the stipulated hours of prayer, or in the magnificent\npublic baths of the city.\n\nOn the other hand, the disguised prince could not but see that these\nmen were one and all within the grip of a powerful formalism, which\nhad the effect of cramping and limiting their ideas, and which was\nonly too painfully evident in their speech and manners. There seemed\nto be no room for individuality in their system of life. He entered\ninto conversation with one of the shaven mullahs, who had retired\ninto a corner the better to read his copy of the Koran. At first he\nevinced but little inclination to talk, but seeing that the prince\nwished to exchange ideas with him, he soon brought the conversation\nround to the especial point of Moslem law he was studying, upon which\nhe split so many hairs that the hapless Fernando deeply regretted\nthat he had ever approached him.\n\n\n\n\nFernando Makes Comparison\n\nThat night as Fernando lay in bed he summed up his impressions of\nthe day.\n\n\"These people seem to me exceedingly formal and conventional,\"\nhe thought, \"but against that we have to place the garrulity and\nboisterousness of men of European race, their frequent lack of dignity\nand too great familiarity of manner. That mullah, too, was terribly\nlong-winded, but have we not bores of our own, and in plenty? Is it\nnot the case that in all parts of the world selfish introspection\nand scholarly pride frequently turn a man into a public nuisance? It\nseems to me that the great bulk of mankind merely acts in imitation\nof its fellows, and that only here and there does one meet with a\nperson of any outstanding individuality.\"\n\nWhen he arose next morning Fernando paid a visit to the great\nmosque of the city. It was the first time he had entered a Moorish\nplace of worship, and he was struck by the circumstance that the\natmosphere which prevailed within it closely resembled that to be\nfound in a Christian cathedral. The same hushed silence was distinctly\nnoticeable. Here and there stood a mullah, or teacher, instructing his\ndisciples in Mohammedan law and ritual, and this Fernando was rather\npleased than otherwise to notice, as direct instruction in the tenets\nof the Christian faith was but seldom to be procured in the churches\nof his own country. Another thing he could not but observe was the\nmanifest learning and erudition of the speakers. This seemed to him far\nin advance of the monkish accomplishments of his own priestly subjects,\nwhose learning was of the most slender description, and but few of whom\nwere able to write, and he was deeply interested to find that in an\nannexe to the mosque, which was fitted as a scrivenry or writing-room,\na number of mullahs, old and young, sat at desks writing swiftly in\nthe Arabic script and engaged in the multiplication of copies of the\nKoran and other works of a religious nature.\n\nFrom the mosque Fernando speedily found his way to the university,\nand was soon lost in wonder at the rich intellectual life which\nflourished there. In one room a white-robed teacher was lecturing\nupon the practice of medicine with an acumen and ability he had\nnever heard equalled. His knowledge of drugs and chemistry and of the\nproperties of plants and herbs appeared to be both wide and exact,\nand when Fernando thought upon the wretched leeches to whom so many\nof the lives of his subjects annually paid forfeit he experienced a\ndeep feeling of shame that these swarthy yet studious foreigners were\nso easily able to eclipse them in both theory and application. But he\nwas acute enough to discern that the lecturer spoke of the medical art\nas a thing the principles of which were already fixed beyond the power\nof expansion. He spoke of experiment in the past tense, and all his\nreferences were to the great teachers of the old world, to Galen and\nHippocrates, to Avicenna and to Rhazes. If he did chance to allude to\nthe teachers of his own day, it was in rather an apologetic manner,\nand by no means in a complimentary sense. Antiquity was everything\nto him, and the tenets of the old masters of medicine appeared to\nhim quite as sacred in their way as the words of the Prophet himself.\n\nIn an adjoining classroom Fernando lingered some time to listen to\na professor of astrology. This ancient art had always held a certain\nfascination for him, and he was well aware that the Moors were among\nits greatest interpreters. The lecturer described at length the\ninfluences which the various planets had upon the destinies of man,\nthe manner in which their conjunctions and oppositions affected human\naffairs, and the characters of persons born under certain astrological\nconditions. This science too appeared to him incapable of extension or\nfresh effort, and while hearkening to the speaker he found that though\nhe heard much that his common sense told him was incapable of definite\nproof, he gleaned nothing of the nature of those planets themselves,\ntheir physical movement, or their scientific relation to the earth. In\nthe geography classroom he found that instruction was based upon\nmore modern lines. The works of Arab travellers who had journeyed\nextensively in Asia and Africa were touched upon. The conditions of\nlife in distant countries of the world were discussed, and as a general\nrule with much greater exactitude than in the European schools which\nhe had visited, where fact was often subordinated to fancy and where\nthe extraordinary was prized at a much higher rate than the probable.\n\nLeaving the university, the court of which was filled to overflowing\nwith scholars who appeared to be disputing on various phases of\nerudition, Fernando walked to the crowded market-place, a portion\nof which, he observed, was given over to the sale of manuscripts,\nand this part, he could not help noticing, was much better patronized\nthan those where food-stuffs and wearing apparel were for sale. In\nthe more open spaces jugglers and mountebanks, usually accompanied by\nperforming animals, went through all sorts of gambols and antics. Here\nand there small knots of men discussed the more obscure points of\nthe Koran or of Mohammedan law, while others sat in shady corners,\nlazily drinking sherbet or drowsing away the hot morning hours. In\nthe booths which surrounded the market-place he saw various tradesmen\nat work--carpenters, smiths, sandal-makers, tailors--but he noticed\nthat the efforts of these were of the most leisurely description,\nand that their tools were of a type much more antiquated than those\nin use among the tradesmen of his own country. The hand of time was\nindeed heavy upon the whole race. In some things it appeared to have\nmade great advances, while in others it seemed to have retained the\nprimitive ideas of the Dark Ages. Its progress seemed to have been\nmade in the realm of thought alone, but even here everything was\nderivative and had reference to the experiments of an older age.\n\nStrangely enough, however, Fernando felt that much of this conservatism\ntouched a responsive chord within his own nature.\n\n\"Are these people not right,\" he argued with himself, \"when they\nlet well alone, as the proverb says? If they have brought about a\ncondition of things which suits them as a race, would it not be folly\nin them to embark upon a career of experiment which might prove wholly\nunsuitable to them? They seem reasonably happy and contented. Suppose\na condition of affairs such as obtains within my own principality\nwere suddenly to be forced upon them, would their happiness not be\nchanged into wretchedness? It must be that long experience has taught\nthem that their present manner of life is by far the most convenient\nfor them. Can it be that their dislike of us arises from the great\ndifferences between our institutions and theirs? But, again, is it not\npossible that these things are very much on the surface? Their real\nnatural sympathies and antipathies are, after all, very similar to our\nown. They are entirely dependent upon the changes of the seasons and\nupon the tillage of the earth for their food; they live constantly\nin fear of warfare; the same private troubles between man and man,\nbetween neighbour and neighbour, arise among them as among ourselves;\nthey are subject to the rule of authority precisely as we are. The\nmodifications of all these things are, after all, those of place and\ncircumstance, nor is it possible for any one individual among them to\nbreak away from established custom, any more than it is in Spain. We\ndo not differ from them in the salient things of life, but only in its\nsurface details. Their religion teaches that the good are rewarded\nand the bad punished, that a man must be constant in his patriotic\nand domestic affections. After all, had one of these brown men been\nreared in Spain, at the age of twenty years he would have been moved\nby the same prejudices as myself, and have become so like me in every\nparticular as to be indistinguishable from an ordinary Spaniard.\"\n\nPassing through one of the gates of the city, Fernando walked into\nthe country. It very much resembled the rural portions of his own\nprincipality, except that it was cultivated with greater care. Here\nand there tiny, snow-white farm-steadings nestled in hollows, and\nfrom these streams of reapers and gleaners spread across the fields in\nevery direction, for it was harvest-time. Fernando joined one of these\ngroups, and was surprised to find that there was little difference\nbetween it and a similar party in Christian Spain. At intervals the\nwork of garnering the grain was relaxed, and the reapers sat in a\ncircle and listened to the music made by one of their number on the\npipe, which possessed a strange melancholy of its own. Fernando found\nin them the same simple and easily satisfied disposition that he had\ndiscovered among his own peasantry. They shared their bread and cheese\nwith him, and tendered him a draught of goat's milk from a large skin\nbottle, which he made shift to swallow with rather a wry face, for\nprinces as a rule do not accustom themselves to the pungent odours of\nsuch a beverage. Thus refreshed, he passed on, walking slowly through\nthe heat of the day, which was now well advanced, and resting every\nnow and then beneath the shadows of the roadside trees.\n\nHe had advanced perhaps a mile and a half farther on when he came to a\nwide, open plain upon which he beheld a large body of Moorish cavalry\nperforming military evolutions. His soldier's eye took in the scene\nwith interest, and he was quick to see that the rapid movements of\nthese lightly armed horsemen were greatly superior to those of his\nown heavily accoutred warriors. At the word of command the squadrons\nwheeled and charged with surprising unanimity and rapidity, and\nwhen the word was given to halt they did so on the instant, without\nscattering or losing the alignment of their ranks. The evolutions of\none of the squadrons brought it quite close to where the prince was\nstanding, and the officer in command, evidently regarding him as a\npilgrim of sanctity, gave him a courteous salutation.\n\n\"I take it, reverend sir,\" he said, \"from the evident pleasure\nwith which you regard this scene, that you have once been a soldier\nyourself?\"\n\n\"That is quite true,\" replied Fernando; \"I was a soldier for many\nyears, and saw a good deal of service in another part of the country;\nbut war is no longer my business, and I do not, as I once did,\ncherish it for itself alone.\"\n\n\"But surely,\" said the soldier, \"war is the only career to which a\nnoble mind can turn? You are young, and have evidently left its ranks\ntoo early.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" rejoined the prince, \"I am ready, if necessity enjoins, to take\nup the sword once more, but only in case of unrighteous invasion or\nto settle a grievous wrong. As I have said, I no longer desire war\nfor its own sake.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the soldier, smiling, \"you do not mean that we should be\nunprepared for attack? We know not the moment at which the rude and\nsavage Christians from the north may send a multitude of warriors\nagainst us.\"\n\n\"Nor do they know, my friend, when we shall take it into our heads\nto make a foray into their lands,\" said Fernando.\n\n\"But,\" said the officer, \"if we were to do so, it would only be as\na protective measure after all, for we are well aware that they will\nnever become reconciled to us.\"\n\n\"Have we ever tried to discover that?\" asked Fernando. \"I fear not. We\nhave certainly made treaties with them, but these seem to have been\nmade for the very purpose of being broken.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the officer, his lip curling, \"they are treacherous dogs,\nthese Spaniards, upon whose word no honest man can rely. They have\nbroken treaty after treaty.\"\n\n\"If I'm not mistaken,\" said Fernando, \"we have done the same, only\nour rulers take extraordinary care that the people shall not be\nacquainted with the full measure of our national dishonesties, but\nshall be told that it was necessary to act in such and such a manner\nbecause of the untrustworthy nature of our enemies. May I ask, sir,\nif you have ever travelled in Christian Spain, or have known other\nChristians than those whom you may have chanced to take as prisoners?\"\n\nThe cavalryman shook his head. \"Now I come to think of it,\" he said,\n\"I have crossed swords with more Spaniards than I have bandied words\nwith, but I do not doubt, as you imply, that there are noble spirits\namong that people, for I know out of my own experience that they are\nstout men of war, and a brave soldier can scarcely be other than an\nhonourable man. But you will excuse me, sir; I can remain no longer. In\nthe name of God, I wish you a pleasant journey.\"\n\n\n\n\nFernando Meets his \"Double\"\n\nFernando passed on his way, and this day in his wanderings may\nbe taken as representative of many another. For three months he\nwandered through the Moorish land, studying its institutions and\nits people at first hand, and gleaning a practical insight into the\nnational characteristics. At the end of that time he had conceived\nsuch a high opinion of his one-time foes that it was with heartfelt\nsorrow that he turned his steps northward to the borders of his own\nprincipality. Loath to cross them, he resolved to spend the night\nat a small khan on the Moorish side of the hills. It was a poor\nplace, but beautifully situated at the entrance to a peaceful little\nvalley. Giving his horse to the white-robed ostler, he entered. To\nhis utter amazement, the first person he encountered was a young man\nwho so closely resembled himself that he started back in surprise and\ndismay, for there was not a lineament in the stranger's countenance\nwhich was not mirrored in his own. The young man thus confronted\nalso halted abruptly, and stared at his living counterpart; then\na smile broke over his pleasant face, and he said, with a laugh:\n\"I see, sir, you are as surprised as myself, but I hope you are not\nangry that God has made us so alike, for I have heard that people\nwho closely resemble one another are apt to cherish a mutual distrust.\"\n\n\"There is small danger of that, friend,\" said Fernando, \"for if God has\nmade our minds as like each other as He has fashioned our bodies, I am\nconvinced that you are of a liberal and unconventional disposition,\"\nand, laughing heartily, he indicated a table. \"It would be fitting,\"\nhe continued, \"that we should break bread together.\"\n\n\"Agreed!\" cried the other; \"I accept your invitation with all the\ngoodwill in the world.\" And, seating themselves at the rough board,\nthe two young men were soon engaged in an animated conversation. Much\nas they had been surprised at the physical resemblance between them,\nthey were even more astonished at the close similarity they bore to\none another in taste and disposition. For hours they sat in close\ndiscussion. At last the stranger said: \"I feel as if we had known\neach other for a lifetime, and as I am certain that I can trust you\nthoroughly, I will reveal to you my secret. Know then that I am Muza,\nthe prince of this country, and that I am even now returned from a\nprolonged journey in the land of the Christians, whose character and\ncustoms it had long been my desire to study.\"\n\n\"I am indeed honoured by your Majesty's condescension and confidence,\"\nreplied Fernando, \"and you may rest assured that your secret will\nremain inviolate with me. But may I ask what opinion you formed of\nthe inhabitants of Christian Spain during your sojourn among them?\"\n\n\"Such a high opinion,\" replied Muza, \"that it is with the greatest\nregret that I quit their country, for I find among them a spirit so\nmuch more in consonance with my own than that of my native subjects\nthat I solemnly assure you I had much rather rule over them than over\nmy own people.\"\n\n\"Have then your wish, noble Muza,\" said Fernando, rising, \"for I am\nnone other than Fernando, prince of the Christians, who, impelled by\na similar desire, has been travelling in your dominions, and who has\nconceived such a strong predilection for the character and customs of\nits people that he asks nothing better than to be permitted to guide\ntheir destinies. That I am what I represent myself to be you may know\nby this token,\" and, searching beneath his burnous, Fernando drew out\na gold chain, from which was suspended his royal signet. \"There is,\nso far as I can see,\" he continued, \"but one possible bar to our\ncompact, and that is the difference between our religions.\"\n\n\"Nay, Fernando,\" said Muza, with uplifted hands, \"I find no difficulty\nin that, for, as I understand the matter, the difference is merely\none of exteriors. The inward spirit of our faiths is the same, and\nit is only in their outward manifestations that they present any\ndivergency. Both spring from the one God, Who designed them for the\nuses of differently constituted races, and if you agree with me that\nthis is so, there should be no greater difficulty in our embracing\nthe religions of each other's people than in accepting their customs.\"\n\n\"I heartily agree,\" replied Fernando, \"but what I fear is that we\nshall not be able to convince our respective peoples of the purity\nof our motives. They certainly must not share our secret.\"\n\n\"Our great safeguard,\" said Muza, \"is the extraordinary resemblance\nbetween us, but it will be necessary that we should instruct each other\nin our past histories, and in the intricacies of our personal affairs,\nin order that ignorance of these may not give rise to suspicion.\"\n\n\"You speak like a wise man,\" rejoined Fernando; \"let us address\nourselves to this business at once.\"\n\nFar into the night the two young princes sat initiating each other\ninto the intimacies of their respective national diplomacies and\npersonal relationships, and at last, when morning broke, they parted\nwith every mark of mutual esteem, mounted their horses, and rode off,\nFernando to the capital of the Moor, Muza to that of the Christian. But\nere they parted they agreed to meet at the inn where they had first\nforgathered at least once in three months, in order to discuss any\neventualities which might arise.\n\nThree months passed rapidly, and, prompt to the day, the two young\nrulers met once more at the inn. There was a noticeable stiffness in\nthe manner of their greeting.\n\n\"And how fare you, noble Muza, in the kingdom of my fathers?\" asked\nFernando.\n\n\"Alas! your Majesty,\" replied Muza, \"I am constrained to say that I\nfare but ill. Every day your advisers present to me new schemes of\naggression against my late kingdom to which I can give no manner of\ncountenance, and they upbraid me bitterly with what they are pleased\nto call my disloyalty.\"\n\n\"Precisely the same thing has happened to myself,\" said Fernando,\n\"and may I say, with all due regard to the race from which you spring,\nthat they do not compare in liberality of outlook with my own, that\nthey are extremely conservative, and difficult of comprehension!\"\n\n\"On the other hand,\" said Muza, \"I find your people much too active\nand unruly, and I do not encounter the same implicit obedience to\nwhich I have hitherto been accustomed. If I may say so, there is a\nwant of dignity----\"\n\n\"I find some of my personal relations awkward too,\" groaned Fernando;\n\"your matrimonial arrangements, for example.\"\n\n\"And your lack of the same,\" replied Muza.\n\n\"On the whole I think----\" said Fernando.\n\n\"I fully agree,\" replied Muza.\n\n\"If we put the matter in a nutshell,\" remarked Fernando, \"it is better\nfor a man--even a liberal-minded one--to remain in the bosom of his\nown people, for no matter how broad his views may be, among strangers\nhe must constantly be doomed to encounter much which will tend to\nstrengthen his prejudices against them and create odious comparisons\nand regrets.\"\n\n\"Once more I agree,\" said Muza. \"When once the novelty wears off----\"\n\n\"Exactly,\" responded Fernando. \"After all, what country can compare\nwith that in which one has been born?\"\n\nSo the two princes parted, each to take his way to his native\nland. But, despite the threats and entreaties of their advisers,\nneither of them would ever again consent to make war upon the dominions\nof the other, and it was even hinted by disgruntled and badly disposed\npersons that Fernando and Muza met occasionally on their common\nfrontiers for the sole purpose of settling difficulties which had\narisen between their respective states--an unnatural proceeding which\nthey avowed was bound sooner or later to end in political disaster.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII: TALES OF SPANISH MAGIC AND SORCERY\n\n\nSpain seems to have been regarded by the other countries of Western\nEurope as the special abode of superstition, sorcery, and magic,\nprobably because of the notoriety given to the discoveries of\nthe Moorish alchemists, the first scientists in Europe. But with\nthe coming of the Inquisition a marked and natural falling off is\nnoticeable in the prevalence of occult belief, for anything which\nin the least tended to heresy was repressed in the most rigid manner\nby that illiberal institution. In this way much of the folk-lore and\npeasant belief of Spain, many fascinating legends, and many a curious\ncustom have been lost, never to be recovered. The Brothers, in their\nzeal for the purity of their Church, banished not only the witch,\nthe sorcerer, and the demon from Spain, but also the innocent fairy,\nthe spirits of wood and wold, and those household familiars which\nharm no one, but assist the housewife and the dairymaid.\n\nThe first information we receive that the authorities intended a\ncampaign against the whole demonhood, good and evil, of Spain is\ncontained in a work by Alfonso de Speria, a Castilian Franciscan, who\nwrote, about 1458 or 1460, a work specially directed against heretics\nand unbelievers, in which he gives a chapter on those popular beliefs\nwhich were derived from ancient pagan practices. The belief in witches,\nwhom he calls xurguine (jurguia) or bruxe, seems to have been imported\nfrom Dauphin\u00e9 or Gascony, where, he tells us, they abounded. They\nwere, he says, wont to assemble at night in great numbers on a high\ntableland, carrying candles with them, for the purpose of worshipping\nSatan, who appeared to them in the form of a boar, rather than in\nthat of the he-goat in which he so frequently manifested himself in\nother localities.\n\nLlorente, in his History of the Inquisition in Spain, states that the\nfirst auto-de-f\u00e9 against sorcery was held at Calabarra in 1507, when\nthirty women charged with witchcraft by the Inquisition were burnt. In\nthe first treatise on Spanish sorcery, that of Martin de Castanaga,\na Franciscan monk (1529), we learn that Navarre was regarded as the\nmotherland of Spanish witchcraft, and that that province sent many\n'missionaries' to Aragon to convert its women to sorcery. But we\nfind that the Spanish theologians of the sixteenth century were\nso much more enlightened than those of other countries that they\nadmitted that witchcraft was merely a delusion, and the punishment\nthey meted out to those who believed in it was inflicted in respect\nthat the belief, erroneous though it was, was contrary to the tenets\nof the Church. Pedro de Valentin, in a treatise on the subject (1610),\nentirely adopts the opinion that the acts confessed to by the witches\nwere imaginary. He attributed them partly to the manner in which the\nexaminations were carried out, and to the desire of the ignorant people\nexamined to escape by saying what seemed to please their persecutors,\nand partly to the effect of the ointments and draughts which they had\nbeen taught to use, which were composed of ingredients that produced\nsleep and acted upon the imagination and the mental faculties.\n\n\n\n\nThe Religion of Witchcraft\n\nThis view is very generally held at the present time as accounting for\nthe phenomena of witchcraft. But the researches of Charles Godfrey\nLeland, Miss M. A. Murray, and others, seem to indicate that the\ncult of witchcraft is by no means a thing of the imagination. The\nlast-named writer, indeed, claims that it is the detritus of an\nancient pagan faith surviving into modern times, having a priesthood\nand well-defined ritual of its own, and in a measure conserving the\npractice of child-sacrifice.\n\nThere can be little doubt that this conception of witchcraft is the\ncorrect one. In the records of the caste there are numerous proofs\nthat it had a definite ritual and an established priesthood, and\nthat imagination played but a small part in shaping the belief of\nthe adherents of the cult. [55]\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of Dr Torralva\n\nSpain had not in the sixteenth century ceased to be celebrated for its\nmagicians, who still retained a modicum of the occult philosophy of\nthe Moorish doctors of Toledo and Granada. Perhaps the most celebrated\nof these comparatively modern masters of magic was Doctor Eugenio\nTorralva, physician to the family of the Admiral of Castile. Educated\nat Rome, he early became a pronounced sceptic, and formed an intimacy\nwith a certain Master Alfonso, a man who, after changing his Jewish\nfaith for Islam, and that again for Christianity, had at last become\na free-thinker. Another evil companion was a Dominican monk called\nBrother Pietro, who told Torralva that he had in his service a good\nangel called Zequiel, who had no equal in the spiritual world as a\nseer, and was besides of such a disinterested temperament that he\nserved only those who had complete confidence in him and deserved\nhis attachment.\n\nAll this excited Torralva's curiosity to an unbounded degree. He\nwas one of those people, fortunate or otherwise, in whom the love of\nmystery has been deeply implanted, and when Pietro generously proposed\nto resign his familiar spirit to his friend's keeping he eagerly\naccepted the offer. Nor did Zequiel himself offer any opposition\nto this change of master, and, appearing at the summons of Pietro,\nassured Torralva that he would follow his service as long as he lived,\nand wherever he was obliged to go. There was nothing very startling\nin the appearance of the spirit, who was dressed in a flesh-coloured\nhabit and black cloak, and had the appearance of a young man with an\nabundance of fair hair.\n\nFrom this time onward Zequiel appeared to Torralva at every change\nof the moon, and as often as the physician required his services,\nwhich was generally for the purpose of transporting him in a short\nspace of time to distant places. Sometimes the spirit assumed the\nappearance of a hermit, at others that of a traveller, and even\naccompanied his master to church, from which circumstance Torralva\nconcluded that he was a beneficent and Christian-minded spirit. But,\nalas! Dr Torralva was to find, like many another, that attendance at\nthe sacred edifice is not necessarily a guarantee of piety.\n\nFor many years Torralva continued to reside in Italy, but in the year\n1502 he felt a strong desire to return to the land of his birth. He\ndid so, but seems to have made Rome his headquarters once more in\nthe following year, placing himself under the protection of his old\npatron, the Bishop of Volterra, now become a cardinal. The influence\nthis connexion brought him proved of the greatest service to him, and\nhe soon rose to high repute for his skill in medicine. But neither the\npious cardinal nor any of the other distinguished patients who sought\nhis aid knew that he drew practically all his medical knowledge from\nhis unseen famulus, who taught him the secret virtues of young plants,\nwith which other physicians were not acquainted. Zequiel, however,\nwas untainted by the love of lucre; for when his master pocketed\nthose 'thumping' fees to which all good physicians aspire the spirit\nrebuked him, telling him that since he had received his knowledge\nfor nothing he ought to impart it gratuitously. On the other hand,\ndid the doctor require funds, he never failed to find a supply of\nmoney in his private apartment, which he knew implicitly must have\nbeen placed there by his familiar.\n\nTorralva returned to Spain in 1510, and lived for some time at the\nCourt of Ferdinand the Catholic. One day Zequiel confided to him that\nthe King would shortly receive some very disagreeable news. Torralva at\nonce communicated this piece of intelligence to Ximenes de Cisneros,\nArchbishop of Toledo, and to the Grande Capitan, Gonzalvo Hern\u00e1ndez\nde Cordova. On the same day a courier arrived from Africa bearing\ndispatches which informed his Majesty that an expedition against the\nMoors had met with disaster, and that its commander, Don Garcia de\nToledo, son of the Duke of Alva, had been slain.\n\nWhen in Rome it appears that Torralva had been so indiscreet as\nto summon Zequiel to appear before his patron, Cardinal Volterra,\nwho now, hearing of the manner in which his prot\u00e9g\u00e9 had 'prophesied'\nthe disaster to the Spanish arms, acquainted the Archbishop of Toledo\nwith the means by which the doctor had received intelligence of the\ndefeat. Torralva, ignorant of this, continued in his forecasts of\npolitical and other events, and soon found his reputation as a seer\ngreatly enhanced. Among others who consulted him was the Cardinal\nof Santa Cruz, to whom a certain Donna Rosales had complained that\nher nights were disturbed by a frightful phantom, which appeared in\nthe form of a murdered man. Her physician, Morales, had watched at\nnight with the lady, but although she had pointed out the precise\nspot where the grisly vision took its stand, he could discern nothing.\n\nTorralva accompanied Morales to the lady's house, and, seated in\nan ante-chamber, they heard her cry of alarm about an hour after\nmidnight. Entering her apartment, Morales again confessed his inability\nto see the apparition, but Torralva, who was better acquainted with\nthe spiritual world, perceived a figure resembling a dead man, behind\nwhich appeared a shadowy female form. \"What dost thou seek here?\" he\ninquired, in a firm voice, whereupon the foremost spirit replied:\n\"I seek a treasure,\" and immediately vanished. Torralva consulted\nZequiel upon the subject, and upon his advice the cellars of the house\nwere dug up, whereupon the corpse of a man who had been stabbed to\ndeath with a poignard was discovered, and upon its receiving Christian\nburial the visitations ceased.\n\nAmong Torralva's intimate friends was one Don Diego de Zu\u00f1iga,\na relative of the Duke of Bejar, and brother of Don Antonio, Grand\nPrior of the Order of St John in Castile. Zu\u00f1iga had consulted the\nlearned doctor as to how he could gain money at play by magical means,\nand Torralva informed him that this could be accomplished by writing\ncertain characters on paper, using for ink the blood of a bat. This\ncharm Torralva advised him to wear about his neck, so that he might\nexperience good luck at the gaming-table.\n\nIn 1520 Torralva went once more to Rome. Ere he left Spain he told\nZu\u00f1iga that he would be able to travel there astride a broomstick,\nthe course of which would be guided by a cloud of fire. On his arrival\nat Rome he interviewed Cardinal Volterra, and the Grand Prior of the\nOrder of St John, who earnestly begged him to abandon all commerce with\nhis familiar spirit. Because of their exhortations, Torralva requested\nZequiel to leave his service, but met with a stern refusal. The spirit,\nhowever, advised him to return to Spain, assuring him that he would\nobtain the place of physician to the Infanta Eleanora, Queen-Dowager\nof Portugal, and later consort of Francis I of France. Acting upon\nthis counsel, Torralva sailed once more for the land of his birth,\nand obtained the promised appointment.\n\nIn 1525 an incident occurred which greatly enhanced Torralva's\ncelebrity as a seer. On the 5th of May of that year Zequiel assured\nhim that the troops of the Emperor would take Rome on the following\nday. Torralva desired the spirit to carry him to Rome so that he might\nwitness this great event with his own eyes. Zequiel gave him a stick\nfull of knots, and commanded him to shut his eyes. Torralva obeyed the\nrequest of the famulus, and when after a space the spirit told him to\nopen his eyes once more, he found himself in Rome, standing on a high\ntower. The hour was midnight, and when day dawned he duly witnessed the\nterrible events which followed--the death of the Constable of Bourbon,\nthe flight of the Pope into the Castle of St Angelo, the slaughter\nof the citizens, and the wild riot of the conquerors. Returning to\nValladolid by the same means as that by which he had come, Torralva\nimmediately made public all he had seen, and when, a week or so later,\nnews arrived of the capture and sack of Rome, the Court of Spain was\nvery naturally filled with unbounded surprise.\n\nMany persons of high rank had been accomplices of the gifted doctor\nin his practice of the black art, and one of these, in a fit of\nremorse, notified the Holy Inquisition of his dealings with the\nsupernatural. Zu\u00f1iga too, who had benefited so greatly by the occult\nknowledge of Torralva, now turned against him, and denounced him\nto the Holy Office of Cuen\u00e7a, which had him arrested and cast into\nprison. The terrified magician immediately confessed all his doings\nwith Zequiel, whom he persisted in regarding as a beneficent spirit,\nand penned no less than eight declarations of his dealings with the\nsupernatural, some of which contradicted statements made in others\nin a most ludicrous manner. In view of their unsatisfactory nature,\nthe unhappy necromancer was put to the torture, and an admission\nof the demonic nature of his familiar was quickly extracted from\nhim. In March 1529 the Inquisitors suspended his process for a year,\na common practice of the Inquisition, which thus attempted to wear\nits victims down. But, to the dismay of Torralva, a new witness made\nhis appearance, who testified that in his early days at Rome the\nimprisoned medico was prone to indulgence in occult arts, so that in\nJanuary 1530 Torralva was once more put upon his trial. The Inquisition\nappointed two learned theologians to labour for his conversion, to whom\nTorralva promised amendment in everything, except the renunciation of\nthe evil spirit with whom he had been associated for so long, assuring\nhis mentors that he had not the power to dismiss Zequiel. At length,\non his making a pretence to cast off his familiar and abjure his\nheresies, he was released, and entered the service of the Admiral of\nCastile, who had employed all his influence to obtain a pardon for\nhim. Immortalized in the pages of Don Quixote, he remains for all\ntime the archetype of the Spanish magician of the sixteenth century.\n\n\n\n\nMoorish Magic\n\nBy no race was the practice of the occult arts studied with such\nperseverance as by the Moors of Spain, and it is strange indeed that\nonly fragmentary notices of their works in this respect remain to\nus. The statement that they were famous for magical and alchemical\nstudies is reiterated by numerous European historians, but the majority\nof these have refrained from any description of their methods, and\nthe Moors themselves have left so few undoubted memorials of their\nlabours in this direction that we remain in considerable ignorance of\nthe trend of their efforts, so that if we desire any knowledge upon\nthis most recondite subject we must perforce collect it painfully\nfrom the fragmentary notices of it in contemporary European and\nArabic literature.\n\nThe first name of importance which we encounter in the broken annals\nof Moorish occultism is a great one--that of the famous Geber, who\nflourished about 720-750, and who is reported to have penned upward\nof five hundred works upon the philosopher's stone and the elixir of\nlife. In common with his fellow-alchemists, he appears to have failed\nsignally in his search for those marvellous elements, but if he was\nunable to point the way to immortal life and boundless wealth, he is\nsaid to have given mankind the nitrate of silver, corrosive sublimate,\nand nitric acid. He believed that a preparation of gold would heal\nall diseases in both animals and plants, as well as in human beings,\nand that all metals were in a condition of chronic sickness in so\nfar that they had departed from their natural and original state\nof gold. His works, all of which are in Latin, are not considered\nauthentic, but his Summa Perfectionis, a manual for the alchemical\nstudent, has frequently been translated.\n\nThe Moorish alchemists taught that all metals are composed of varying\nproportions of mercury and sulphur. They laboured strenuously to\nmultiply drugs out of the various mixtures and reactions of the\nfew chemicals at their disposal, but although they believed in the\ntheory of transmutation of metals they did not strive to effect\nit. It belonged to their creed rather than to their practice. They\nwere a school of scientific artisans and experimentalists, first and\nlast. They probably owed their alchemical knowledge to Byzantium,\nwhich in turn had received it from Egypt; or it may be that the Arabs\ndrew their scientific inspiration at first hand from the land of the\nNile, where the 'great art' of alchemy undoubtedly had its birth.\n\n\n\n\nAstrology\n\nAstrology was also an important branch of occult study with the Moors\nof Spain, whose consideration of it greatly assisted the science\nof mathematics, especially that branch of it which still retains\nits Arabic name--algebra (al = the, jabara = to set, compute). It is\nprobable that the Arabs first received an insight into the practice of\nforetelling events by the position of the planets at a given time from\nthe Chaldeans, who undoubtedly were its earliest students. References\nto astrology are plentifully encountered in Spanish story, as the\nreader will have observed. But high as it stood in the estimation\nof the Moorish sages, it was still subservient to the grander and\nmore mysterious art of magic, whereby the spirits of the air could\nbe forced to do the will of the magus, and carry out his behests in\nfour elements. Most unfortunately, we are almost entirely ignorant of\nthe tenets of Moorish magic, owing probably to the circumstance that\nit was averse to the spirit of Islam. But we know that it was founded\nupon Alexandrian magic, and therefore recognized the principles of that\nart as laid down by the great Hermes Trismegistus, who was none other\nthan the Egyptian Thoth, the god of writing, computation, and wisdom.\n\nAbout the end of the tenth century the learned men of Europe began\nto resort to Spain for the purpose of studying the arts, occult\nand otherwise. Among the first to do so was Gerbert, afterward Pope\nSylvester II, who spent several years in Cordova, and who introduced\ninto Christendom the knowledge of the Arabic numerals and the no\nless useful art of clock-making. Strange that he did not apply his\nknowledge of the one to the other, and that even to-day our timepieces\nare burdened with the old and cumbrous Roman numerals! William\nof Malmesbury assures us that Gerbert made many discoveries of\ntreasure through the art of necromancy, and relates how he visited a\nmagnificent subterranean palace, which, though dazzling to the sight,\nwould not remain when its splendours were subjected to the test of\nhuman touch. Ignorant Europe took Gerbert's mathematical diagrams\nfor magical signs, and his occult reputation increased as his moral\ncharacter withered. It was said that the Devil had promised him that\nhe should not die until he had celebrated high mass at Jerusalem. One\nday Gerbert celebrated his office in the Church of the Holy Cross\nof Jerusalem at Rome, and, feeling ill, asked where he was, observed\nthe double entendre of the Evil One, and expired. Such was the tale\nthat benighted ignorance cast round the memory of this single-minded\nand enlightened man, much in the same spirit as it bedevilled the\nrecollections of our own Michael Scot and Roger Bacon.\n\n\n\n\nThe Dean of Santiago\n\nIn the Conde Lucanor, a Spanish collection of tales and homilies\nof the fourteenth century, already alluded to, is a story of the\nDean of Santiago, who went to Illan, a magician of Toledo, to be\ninstructed in necromancy. The magus raised a difficulty, saying that\nas the Dean was a man of influence, and would attain a high position,\nhe would probably forget all past obligations. The Dean, however,\nprotested that no matter to what eminence he attained he would not\nfail to remember and assist his former friends, and particularly his\ntutor in things supernatural. Satisfied with the churchman's promises,\nthe necromancer led his pupil to a remote apartment, first requesting\nhis housekeeper to purchase some partridges for supper, but not to\ncook them until she had definite orders to do so.\n\nWhen the Dean and his instructor had settled themselves to the business\nbefore them, they were interrupted in their labours by a messenger,\nwho came to inform the Dean that his uncle, the Archbishop, had\nsummoned him to his death-bed. Being unwilling, however, to forgo\nthe instruction he was about to receive, he excused himself from the\nduty. Four days later, another messenger arrived, informing the Dean of\nthe Archbishop's death, and later he learned that he had been appointed\nArchbishop in his uncle's place. On hearing this, Illan requested the\nvacant deanery for his son. But the new Archbishop preferred his own\nbrother, inviting, however, Illan and his son to accompany him to\nhis see. Later the deanery became vacant once more, and once again\nthe magician begged that his son might be appointed to it. But the\nArchbishop refused his suit, in favour of one of his own uncles. Two\nyears later the Archbishop became a cardinal, and was summoned to Rome,\nwith liberty to appoint his successor in the see. Once more Illan was\ndisappointed. At length the Cardinal was elected Pope, and Illan, who\nhad accompanied him to Rome, reminded him that he had now no excuse\nfor not fulfilling the promises he had so often made to him. The\nPope, in anger, threatened to have Illan cast into prison and starved\nas a heretic and sorcerer. \"Ingrate!\" cried the incensed magician,\n\"since you would thus starve me, I must perforce fall back upon the\npartridges I ordered for to-night's supper.\"\n\nWith these words he waved his wand, and called to his housekeeper\nto prepare the birds. Instantly the Dean found himself once more in\nToledo, still Dean of Santiago, for, indeed, the years he had spent\nas Archbishop, Cardinal, and Pope were illusory, and had existed only\nin his imagination at the suggestion of the magus. This was the means\nthe sage had taken to test his character, before committing himself to\nhis hands, and so crestfallen was the churchman that he had nothing to\nreply to the reproaches of Illan, who sent him off without permitting\nhim to sup upon the partridges!\n\nIt is strange that physicians and priests figure most notably as the\nheroes of Spanish magical story--strange, until we reflect upon the\nmanner in which the learned classes were regarded by an illiterate\nand illiberal commonalty. Torquemada tells a story of a youth of his\nacquaintance, a young man of great ability, who was afterward physician\nto the Emperor Charles V. When he was a student at Guadalupe, and\nwas travelling to Granada, he was invited by a traveller, dressed\nin the garments of a churchman, whom he had obliged in some manner,\nto mount behind him on his horse, and he would carry him to his\ndestination. The horse seemed a sorry jade, unable to carry the\nweight of two able-bodied men, and at first the student refused the\nmount, but, on pressure, at length accepted a seat behind the seeming\necclesiastic. The horseman requested his companion not to fall asleep\nin the saddle, and they jogged on, without any appearance of their\ngoing at an extraordinary rate. At daybreak, to the student's surprise,\nhe found himself near the city of Granada, where the horseman left him,\nmarvelling that the distance between two places so widely separated\ncould have been covered in a single night.\n\n\n\n\nSpectres and Apparitions\n\nAs might be imagined, the strong vein of superstition in the Spanish\ncharacter, if subdued to some extent by the harsh dictates of the Holy\nOffice, yet rose triumphant in other spheres of occult belief. We find,\nfor example, a widely diffused belief in the power of the dead to\nreturn to the scenes of previous existence, and this superstition is\nwell illustrated by a weird passage in the thrilling and mysterious\npages of Goulart, who in his Tr\u00e9sor des Histoires admirables [56]\nknows well how to mingle shadows with the colours on his palette.\n\nHe tells us how Juan Vasquez Ayala and two other young Spaniards,\non their way to a French university, were unable to find suitable\naccommodation at a certain village where they had halted for the night,\nand were obliged to take shelter in a deserted house, the reputation\nof which as a haunted vicinity had flourished for a considerable time\namong the villagers.\n\nThe young men made the best of matters, borrowed articles of\nfurniture from several neighbouring houses, and resolved to give a\nwarm reception to any supernatural visitant who should have a mind\nto pay them a call. But on the first night of their occupancy they\nhad scarcely fallen asleep when they were awakened by a noise as of\nclanking chains, which seemed to proceed from the lower regions of\ntheir temporary dwelling.\n\nAbsolutely fearless, young Ayala leaped from his bed and, donning his\nclothes, sallied downstairs in search of the cause of the clamour which\nhad awakened himself and his comrades. In one hand he carried his drawn\nsword, in the other a lighted candle, and on coming to a door which\nled to the courtyard of the house he perceived a dreadful spectre--a\ngrisly skeleton, standing in the entrance. The grim apparition which\nconfronted him was loaded with chains, which clanked with a doomful\nand melancholy sound on the ears of the gallant young student, who,\nhowever, undismayed by the spectacle before him, advanced the point\nof his sword and demanded the intruder's reason for disturbing his\nrest. The phantom waved its arms, shook its bony head, and beckoned\nwith its hand, as if asking Ayala to follow it. The student expressed\nhis willingness to do so, on which the ghost commenced to descend\na flight of steps, dragging its legs as it went like a man whose\nlimbs were weighted with iron shackles. Ayala followed fearlessly,\nbut as he advanced his candle suddenly flickered and went out, a\ncircumstance which did little to reinforce his courage. \"Hold!\" he\ncalled to the phantom. \"You perceive my candle has gone out. If you\nwill wait till I relight it, I shall return in a moment.\"\n\nRushing to a light which burned in the hall, he relit his candle, and\nreturned to the spot where he had left the apparition. He entered the\ngarden, where he saw a well, close by which he perceived the ghost,\nwhich signed to him to continue his progress, and having gone a little\nway forward, vanished.\n\nPuzzled, the student returned to his apartment, and told his comrades\nto accompany him to the garden, but search as they might, nothing\ncould they find. Next day they reported what had occurred to the\nalcalde of the village, who had the garden examined, with the result\nthat immediately beneath the spot where the phantom had disappeared\na skeleton was exhumed, loaded with chains. When proper burial had\nbeen given to the remains the noises in the house abruptly ceased,\nbut the adventure proved too much for the superstitious Spaniards, who\nreturned home abruptly, without fulfilling the object of their journey.\n\nThis tale is a capital example of the typical ghost story in\nits earliest phase. I will not descant upon it here, as a book on\nSpanish romance and legend is scarcely the place for a disquisition\non the occult. But we are learning, slowly and painfully perhaps,\nto regard these matters from another point of view than our Victorian\ngrandfathers, whose materialism pooh-poohed the supernatural without\ntrying to account for it. In any case I am one of those who believe\nin it and who desire to believe in it, so that the reflections of\nsuch a biased person are perhaps better dispensed with.\n\nTorquemada tells a gruesome story of one Antonio Costilla, a Spanish\ngentleman, who one day left his mansion, well mounted, on a matter of\npersonal business. When he had ridden several leagues, night suddenly\nfell, and he resolved to return to his home, but to his dismay he was\novertaken by the darkness, and seeing a light ahead rode his horse\nat a walk in its direction. He saw that it proceeded from a small\nhermitage, and, dismounting, he entered the little chapel and engaged\nin prayer. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he saw that\nhe was not alone, for the hermitage was occupied by three persons, who\nlay upon the ground, wrapped in black mantles. They did not address\nhim, but lay regarding him with wild, melancholy eyes. Terrified,\nhe knew not by what, he leaped into the saddle and rode off. In a\nlittle while the moon shone out, and showed him the three men whom he\nthought he had left in the chapel riding a little in front of him on\nblack horses. In order to avoid them, he turned down a by-path, but\nto his horror still observed them riding a few paces ahead. Spurring\nmadly on, yet always preceded by those whom he desired to avoid, he\ncame in time to the gate of his own house, where he dismounted, and\nled his horse into the courtyard--only to find there the three cloaked\nfigures awaiting him. He rushed into the house, and entered his wife's\napartment, calling for help. Instantly the entire household came to\nhis assistance, but although he screamed loudly that the three fiends\nor apparitions stood by the couch on which he had thrown himself,\nthey were invisible to all others. A few days later the wretched\nCostilla died, maintaining to the last that three forms with glaring\neyes stood over his bed, menacing him with frightful gestures.\n\nPity it is that our knowledge of the supernatural as manifested in\nSpain is so slight and fragmentary. But the dread of the sorcerer's\nfate was heavy upon the people, and the fear of torture by rack or\nfire successfully banished witch, wizard, fay, and phantom from the\nfields and cities of the Peninsula.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII: HUMOROUS ROMANCES OF SPAIN\n\n\n                            Cervantes, the bold metal of thy lance\n                            Shatters the crystal turrets of Romance;\n                            Down falls the wreck in ruin most immense\n                            Upon the dreary plains of common sense.\n\n                                                                   L. S.\n\n\nCervantes' \"Don Quixote\"\n\nCervantes was one of the world's great satirists, a man gifted with\na keen and peculiar sense of the ridiculous. He would himself have\nbeen the first to laugh at those modern critics who professed to\nsee in him a great poet, and indeed, at the end of his days, when\nhe assessed his life's work in his mock-heroic Voyage to Parnassus,\nhe admitted that he had not the poetic gift. That he had a golden\nimagination is obvious to anyone who cares to read his Galatea,\nimitative as it is, and Don Quixote overflows with imagination and\ninvention, although certain later passages of the wondrous satire\nare extremely reminiscent of some of its earlier pages.\n\nTo me Don Quixote has always seemed one of the most precious and\ncurious of books, but probably for very different reasons from those by\nwhich it makes its appeal to the majority of people, for it is because\nof the information it affords concerning romantic literature and\ncustoms that I treasure it most. Where the satire is really legitimate\nI revel in the fun as much as it is possible for anyone to do, but\nI feel that many of its passages are rather shabbily iconoclastic,\nand that some of its strictures are levelled not only against the\nabsurdities of chivalric extravagance, but against the whole spirit\nand structure of romance. It had been well, too, for Cervantes had\nhe confined himself entirely to the satiric vein, for when he essays\nto employ the very literary vehicle at which he chiefly scoffed he\nfrequently becomes more maudlin--that is the only word for it--than\nthe most sentimental writers against whom he girds. His shepherds\nand shepherdesses and his runaway nuns are long-winded and pedantic,\nand he was indeed badly bitten by that tiresome Arcadian phase in\nEuropean literature which culminated in the prose pastoral, which\nhad its roots in false conventions and employed as its mise en sc\u00e8ne\nan atmosphere of sham rural felicity. Sannazaro, in his Arcadia,\nhad indeed piped the tune to which Cervantes danced for many a day\nere his own strong common sense showed him the fatuity of the models\nwhich he followed. The author of the Pastor de Filida, Luiz Galvez\nde Montalvo, was his own close friend, and there is every evidence\nthat he made wholesale raids upon the distinctly minor efforts of\nsuch poetasters as Hebrao and Alonso Perez. The works of the men who\ncomposed this school of pseudo-Arcadianism had none of the charm of\nthe delightful canvases of Watteau and Fragonard, silk-coated and\nsatin-gowned though their shepherds and shepherdesses be. The country\nof the Spanish pastoral had a background of pasteboard scenery, and\ntheatrical effects of lighting flashed across its stage. It was peopled\nby bores of the most intolerable description, who, instead of looking\nafter their live stock, as they were paid to do, wearied each other and\nthe wretched traveller who was unhappy enough to encounter them with\ntheir amorous bellowings and interminable tales of misfortune. Little\nwonder that the native good sense of Cervantes recoiled later from\nthis unworthy and unmanly nonsense. But it is extraordinary that\nalthough he meted out such merciless treatment to chivalric romance,\nhe still retained a weakness for the follies of Arcady, from which,\nto the last, he was unable to free himself.\n\nThe circumstances of Cervantes' career undoubtedly assisted him\nto discipline his ideas. As a collector of taxes he had, perforce,\nto come into contact with the seamy side of life, and much of his\ntime was spent in the Bohemian atmosphere of inns, where he was\ncompelled to lodge while he worked the district allotted to him. In\nthese circumstances and in these places he encountered men and women\nof flesh and blood, and came up against the iron wall of hard,\nsolid reality. Such an experience is undoubtedly most valuable\nto a man of romantic or imaginative temperament, gifted with\ncreative ability. It tempers his natural capacities and enlarges\nhis views. Doubtless Cervantes, when he first went his rounds, had\nbeen in the habit of regaling his fellow-travellers in the posadas\nin which he sojourned with high-falutin stories of errant shepherds\nand wandering shepherdesses. We can imagine the degree of amusement\nwith which the rough muleteer, the blunt soldier, and the travelling\nquack would greet those sallies. The criticism of such people is not\nstrained--it is annihilating! Can we doubt that the laughter with\nwhich his earlier rhapsodies were received in company of this sort\nblew away the fantastic cobwebs from Cervantes' brain?\n\nI have already indicated that in the age in which he lived the romance\nproper had fallen into considerable popular disfavour. This was due\npartly to the circumstances of a changed environment, and partly to\nthe type of literary opinion which had recently been fostered by the\nrise of the Spanish drama, which had brought about an entirely new\nliterary ideal. Can it be that Cervantes, finding that his audiences\nregarded the Arcadian type of tale with disfavour, attributed this\nto the circumstance that it was fashionable in high circles, and\nfell back upon the romance, only to find that it too was greeted\nwith guffaws and laughed out of the inn parlour? Was it in the quips\nand sneers of such audiences, the very antithesis of the romantic\npersonages of whom he had dreamed, that the idea of Don Quixote took\nshape in his brain, and that in the laughter of clowns and men of the\nhard world, of the struggling lower middle class, he perceived the\ncertain popularity which a caricature of chivalry would enjoy? So,\nit seems to me, it may have been.\n\nFor many a year the sham romance of chivalry had been regarded as\na pest. Serious and responsible writers had thundered against it,\nand there is every evidence that in a measure it stood between\na certain section of the people of Spain and anything like mental\nadvancement. It had, indeed, turned the heads of that portion of the\nnation unaccustomed to think for itself, and unable to form a rational\nopinion regarding its demerits. In all countries and at all times,\nthis class, usually impressionable and easily led, falls an easy prey\nto the blandishments of the hack writer of sensational proclivities. It\nis not too much to say that unhealthy sensationalism in literature\nconstitutes a real and active danger to national well-being. It seduces\nthe people from their duties, unfits them for the serious business of\nlife, renders them pretentious rather than independent, and leads them\nto the belief that they reflect the virtues or vices of the absurd\nheroes and heroines of their favourite tales. The one weapon which\nthe more sensible portion of the community can bring to bear against\nsuch a pernicious condition of affairs is healthy ridicule, which\nit usually meets with from the rational and the well-balanced. But\nthe danger exists that in the revulsion of public feeling against\nliterary extravagance not only the absurdities which have obsessed\nthe thoughtless and irritated the sensible will undergo destruction\nand banishment, but those higher virtues and graces of which they\nare the distorted reflection will not be discriminated against, but\nwill be demolished along with them. Such, indeed, was the fate which\nbefell the greater romances, those jewels of human imagination, which,\nalthough Cervantes himself made an effort to save them, shared in the\ngeneral wreck and ruin of the fiction of which they were the flower,\nuntil the taste and insight of a later day excavated them from the\nsuper-incumbent mass under which they lay buried.\n\n\n\n\nThe Figure of Don Quixote\n\nDon Quixote, the central figure of the mighty satire which gave its\ndeath-blow to chivalry, is perhaps typical of the romance reader of\nCervantes' day. Crack-brained and imaginative to the verge of madness,\nhe is entirely lost to the uses of everyday existence. He lives in a\nworld of his own, and has nothing in common with that of his time,\nto the spirit of which he cannot adapt himself. In this gentleman\nof La Mancha the vices of the imagination are well portrayed, but\nthey are unaccompanied by those gifts through which imagination\ncan be rendered of utility to the community. Don Quixote dwells on\nthe heights of a chivalric Parnassus, a land of magic peopled by\nthe spectres and shadows which he has encountered in the books with\nwhich his library is so well furnished. His imagination is thus not\neven creative, but derivative; reliance upon the \"idols he has loved\nso long\" has \"done his credit in men's eyes much wrong,\" and he is\nregarded by his neighbours as an amiable lunatic of no importance. But\nthe dreamer, when roused to action, can be a very terrible person if\nhis visions chance to direct him astray, and if he attempt to realize\na nightmare. Thus it was with Don Quixote. Scarcely mad enough for\nconfinement, but yet sufficiently crazy to become a public nuisance,\nif not a public menace, he justly typifies the kind of person in\nwhom romance runs mad, and is thus of the same class as the small boy\nwho is incited to acts of petty larceny by the perusal of detective\nstories, or the young lady behind the ribbon-counter who is under\nthe impression that she is the long-lost daughter of a mysterious peer.\n\nIt is symptomatic of such craziness that it craves companionship. It\nis indeed a species of vanity which must have an audience, however\nsmall or however unsuited to its purposes. Again, the element of\nconspiracy is as the apple of its eye, and it must confide its ideas\nand aspirations to one sympathetic ear at least. In Sancho Panza, Don\nQuixote finds a strange confidant. The luckless peasant is completely\nunable to comprehend his master's point of view, but is carried away\nby his rodomontades and the glib and gorgeous promises of preferment\nand prosperity which the crack-brained knight holds out to him. To\nhis participation in the wild scheme of the visionary Don, Sancho's\nshrewd spouse violently objects, but when dreamer and dunce get\ntogether common sense may hold its tongue and content itself with the\nknowledge that it is not until windmills have been tilted at and sound\ntrouncings have been received that its advice will be listened to.\n\nBut though he begins his travels as a dunce, Sancho by no means remains\none. He profits from his experiences, and almost every page shows him\nincreasing in judgment and in that humour which is the salt of good\njudgment. As his master grows madder, Sancho grows wiser, until at\nlast he becomes capable of direction and guidance toward the rueful\nknight. As we proceed we begin to suspect that the peasant-squire\nexists as a kind of chorus to illustrate the excesses of his master\nand criticize his absurdities. But apart altogether from Don Quixote,\nSancho Panza is a striking and arresting figure in modern fiction,\npossessing a philosophy of his own, rich in worldly wisdom and\nabounding with practical ability. On the humorous side he is equal to\nFalstaff, only whereas Falstaff's humour is typically English that\nof Sancho Panza is universal. He is a world-clown, with the outlook\nof a philosopher and the unconscious humour of a Handy Andy.\n\n\n\n\nThe Adventure at the Inn\n\nThe true measure of the character of Don Quixote is perhaps met with\nin that chapter which recounts what occurred to him in the inn which he\ntook for a castle. The place seems to have been a very ordinary Spanish\nposada. The host and hostess were kindly folk whom the knight at once\nexalted to the rank of a castellan and ch\u00e2telaine, and in the dowdy\nmaidservant, who has been immortalized under the name of Maritornes,\nhe saw a great lady who dwelt in their company. After the terrible\ntrouncing he had received from the Yanguesian carriers the wretched\nknight was glad to rest his battered limbs in a miserable garret\nof the place, while Sancho explained to the inn-folk the nature of a\nknight-errant and the vicissitudes of errantry, which one day compelled\nits adherents to undergo such hardship as the Don now suffered from,\nand the next exalted them to the heights of sovereignty over many\nempires. These explanations were seconded by the Knight of the Rueful\nCountenance himself, who, sitting up in bed, entertained the hostess\nand maidservant to a speech so grandiloquent that, lost in wonder at\nhis eloquence, \"they admired him as a man of another world.\" But Don\nQuixote, anxious to recover from his injuries, begged his squire to\nprocure from \"the governor of the castle\" the ingredients of a magical\nbalm of which he had read in some book of chivalry. These he obtained,\nand Don Quixote busied himself by concocting the enchanted liquor\nover the fire, saying over it many credos and paternosters. Then\nhe drank deeply of the awful compound, with distressing effect, and\nSancho, following his example, underwent a similar but more violent\nexperience, and was assured by his master that the balsam disagreed\nwith him because he had not received the order of knighthood!\n\nSaddling his horse, the knight was about to proceed on his journey,\nbut before he set out he assured \"the lord governor of the castle\"\nhow deeply grateful he was for the honours he had received while\nunder his roof. The innkeeper suggested that the time for paying his\nreckoning had come, but Don Quixote retorted that it was impossible\nfor him to do so, as no knight-errant of whom he had ever read was\nwont to pay for board and lodging. The innkeeper protested loudly,\nwhereupon, clapping spurs to Rozinante, the knight rode out at the\ngate. The innkeeper then attempted to extort his dues from Sancho\nPanza, but without avail, as the squire quoted the same authorities\nas his master, whereupon some of those who sojourned at the inn seized\nhim and tossed him in a blanket. Don Quixote, hearing his cries, rode\nback, but although he stormed loudly the travellers still continued\nto toss Sancho in the blanket, until at length, tired of the exercise,\nthey let him go.\n\n\n\n\nDon Quixote's Love-Madness\n\nIn the space at our disposal it would be impossible to follow Don\nQuixote step by step through the land of false romance which he had\ncreated for himself. We will recall how Amadis on the Firm Island\nbemoaned his separation from his lady-love, and how, when he came\nto a locality known as the Black Mountain, Don Quixote resolved to\nfollow the example of the great hero of chivalry. Before he left his\nnative village he had placed his affections upon a country wench,\nto whom he gave the romantic name of Dulcinea del Toboso, and now\nthat he had come to the Black Mountain he resolved to spend his time\nin meditation upon the virtues and beauties of this super-excellent\ndamsel. After lecturing Sancho Panza upon the duty of a knight-errant\nin meditation upon his lady, he became irritated with the squire\nbecause he could not understand the reason for his amorous fury.\n\n\"Pray, sir,\" quoth Sancho, \"what is it that you mean to do in this\nfag-end of the world?\"\n\n\"Have I not already told thee,\" answered Don Quixote, \"that I intend\nto copy Amadis in his madness, despair and fury? Nay, at the same\ntime I will imitate the valiant Orlando Furioso's extravagance when\nhe ran mad, at which time in his frantic despair he tore up trees\nby the roots, troubled the waters of the clear fountains, slew the\nshepherds, destroyed their flocks, and committed a hundred thousand\nother extravagances worthy to be recorded in the eternal register\nof fame.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" quoth Sancho, \"I dare say the knight who did these penances\nhad some reason to be mad. But what lady has sent you a-packing,\nor even so much as slighted you?\"\n\n\"That is the point,\" cried Don Quixote, \"for in this consists the\nsingular perfection of my undertaking. It is neither strange nor\nmeritorious for a knight to run mad upon any just occasion. No, the\nrarity is to run mad without a cause, without the least constraint\nor necessity, for thus my mistress must needs have a vast idea of\nmy love. Waste no more time, therefore, in trying to divert me from\nso rare, so happy, and so singular an imitation. I am mad and will\nbe mad until you return with an answer to the letter which you must\ncarry from me to the Lady Dulcinea. If it be favourable, my penance\nshall end, but if not, then shall I be emphatically mad.\"\n\n\"Body o' me!\" quoth Sancho, \"why run you on at such a rate, Sir\nKnight? All these tales of yours of the winning of kingdoms and\nbestowing of islands rather appear to me as so much braggartry,\nand now this latest mood of yours----\"\n\n\"Now as I love bright arms,\" cried the Don, \"I swear that thou art an\naddle-pated ass. Know you not that all the actions and adventures of\na knight-errant seem to be mere chim\u00e6ras and follies? Not that they\nare so, but merely have that appearance through the malice and envy\nof powerful enchanters.\"\n\nAs they talked they came near to a high rock, round which the wild\ntrees, plants, and flowers grew in profusion, and here the Knight of\nthe Woeful Figure resolved to perform his amorous penance. Throwing\nhimself on the ground, he broke into a loud frenzy of grief. \"Go not\nyet,\" he cried to Sancho, \"for I desire that thou shalt be a witness\nof what I will do for my lady's sake, that thou mayst give her an\naccount of it.\"\n\n\"Bless us,\" cried Sancho, \"what can I see more that I have not seen\nalready?\"\n\n\"Nothing as yet,\" replied Don Quixote. \"Thou must see me throw away\nmine armour, tear my clothes, knock my head against the rocks, and\ndo a thousand other things of that kind that will fill thee with\nastonishment.\"\n\n\"Beware, sir,\" cried the squire. \"If you needs must knock your noddle,\ndo so gently, I pray you.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Army of Sheep\n\nBut surely the most mirth-provoking of all the adventures of Don\nQuixote is that in which he takes a flock of sheep for an army. He\nand Sancho were riding at bridle-pace over a wide plain, when they\nperceived a thick cloud of dust in the distance.\n\n\"The day is come,\" cried the knight, \"the happy day that fortune\nhas reserved for me, and in which the strength of my arm shall be\nsignalized by such exploits as shall be transmitted even to the\nlatest posterity. Seest thou yonder cloud of dust? Know then that it\nis raised by a prodigious army marching this way and composed of an\ninfinite number of nations.\"\n\nThe wretched Don's brain was of course full to overflowing of the\naccounts of those stupendous battles of myriads of paynims which,\nas we have seen, are so frequently encountered in the old romances,\nand he was delighted when Sancho pointed out that two separate hosts\nseemed to be approaching from different points of the compass.\n\n\"Ha, so!\" cried Don Quixote, flourishing his lance, \"then shall\nwe assist the weaker side. Know, Sancho, that the host which now\nconfronts us is commanded by the great Alifanfaron, Emperor of the\nIsland of Taprobana. The other that advances behind us is his sworn\nenemy, Pentapolin of the Naked Arm, King of the Garamantians.\"\n\n\"Pray, sir,\" quoth Sancho, \"what is the cause of this quarrel between\ntwo such great men?\"\n\n\"It is a simple matter,\" answered Don Quixote. \"The pagan Alifanfaron\ndares to make his addresses to the daughter of Pentapolin, who has\ntold him that he will have naught of him unless he abjure his false\nbeliefs.\"\n\n\"If a battle be at hand,\" said Sancho nervously, \"where shall I place\nmy ass, for I fear he will not prove of much avail in the charge.\"\n\n\"True,\" answered Don Quixote. \"We will soon provide a destrier for\nthee when the knights begin to fall from their saddles. But let\nus scan their ranks. He who wears the gilded arms and bears on\nhis shield a crowned lion couchant at the feet of a lady is the\nvaliant Lord Luarcalco, Lord of the Silver Bridge. Yonder is the\nformidable Micocolembo, the great Duke of Quiracia, wearing armour\npowdered with flowers of gold. The gigantic form upon his right is\nthe dauntless Brandabarbaran, sovereign of the Three Arabias, whose\narmour is made of serpents' skins, and who carries for a shield the\ngate of the temple which Samson pulled down at his death. But our\nallies also advance. Yonder marches Timonel of Carcaxona, Prince\nof New Biscay, who bears on his shield a cat or in a field gules,\nwith the motto 'Miau.' Beside him rides Espartafilardo of the Wood,\nwhose blue shield is powdered with asparagus plants. But the pagans\npress on. To the right cluster those who drink the pleasant stream\nof the Xanthus, there the rude mountaineers of Massilia, behind them\nthose who gather gold from the sands of Arabia Felix, the treacherous\nNumidians, the bowmen of Persia, the Medes and Parthians who fight\nflying, the houseless Arabians, and the sooty Ethiopians.\"\n\n\"Upon my soul,\" cried Sancho, \"surely thy magicians are at work again,\nfor not a single knight, giant or man can I see of all those you talk\nof now.\"\n\n\"Blockhead!\" cried Don Quixote. \"Hark to the neighing of countless\nhorses, the fanfare of the trumpets, and the thunder of many drums.\"\n\n\"Surely this is sorcery,\" replied the puzzled Sancho, \"for I hear\nnothing but the bleating of sheep.\"\n\n\"Retreat, if thou fearest the engagement,\" replied the Don, with a\nhaughty sneer, \"for I with my single arm am sufficient to give the\nvictory to that side which I shall favour with my assistance,\" and\nwith a loud and warlike cry he couched his lance, clapped spurs to\nthe lean side of Rozinante, and charged like a thunderbolt into the\nplain, crying: \"Courage, brave knights! Woe upon that great infidel\nAlifanfaron of Taprobana.\"\n\nIn another moment he was among the flock of sheep, charging through and\nthrough it, and piercing an animal at each thrust of his lance. The\nshepherds, in great dismay, unloosed their slings and began to ply\nhim with stones as big as their fists. But, disdainful of this petty\nartillery, he cried upon Alifanfaron, whom in imagination he was\nabout to engage, when a stone as big as a good-sized pippin struck\nhim heavily upon the short ribs. Thinking himself desperately wounded,\nhe pulled out the earthen flask which contained his magic balsam; but\njust as he was in the act of raising this to his lips, a stone from the\nsling of a shepherd struck it so forcibly as to shiver it to atoms,\nand passing through it broke three of his teeth and tumbled him from\nthe saddle. The shepherds, fearing that they had killed him, picked\nup the dead sheep and made off, leaving him more dead than alive.\n\n\n\n\nMambrino's Helmet\n\nNo less notable is Cervantes' account of the adventure in which Don\nQuixote succeeded in obtaining the helmet of Mambrino. At a distance\nhe espied a horseman who wore upon his head something that glittered\nlike gold. Turning to Sancho, he said:\n\n\"Behold, yonder comes he who wears upon his head the helmet of\nMambrino, which I have sworn to make mine own.\"\n\n\"Now the truth of the story,\" says Cervantes, \"was this: there were\nin that part of the country two villages, one of which was so little\nthat it had not so much as a shop in it, nor any barber; so that the\nbarber of the greater village served also the smaller. And thus a\nperson happening to have occasion to be let blood, and another to\nbe shaved, the barber was going thither with his brass basin, which\nhe had clapped upon his head to keep his hat, that chanced to be a\nnew one, from being spoiled by the rain; and as the basin was new\nscoured, it made a glittering show a great way off. As Sancho had\nwell observed, he rode upon a grey ass, which Don Quixote as easily\ntook for a dapple-grey steed as he took the barber for a knight,\nand his brass basin for a golden helmet; his distracted brain easily\napplying every object to his romantic ideas. Therefore, when he saw\nthe poor imaginary knight draw near, he fixed his lance, or javelin,\nto his thigh, and without staying to hold a parley with his thoughtless\nadversary, flew at him as fiercely as Rozinante would gallop, resolved\nto pierce him through and through; crying out in the midst of his\ncareer: 'Caitiff! wretch! defend thyself, or immediately surrender\nthat which is so justly my due.'\"\n\nThe barber, seeing this awful apparition come thundering down upon him,\nand in terror lest he should be run through by Don Quixote's lance,\nthrew himself off his ass on to the ground and, hastily rising, ran off\nat the top of his speed, leaving both his ass and his basin behind him.\n\n\"Of a truth,\" said Don Quixote, \"the miscreant who has left this helmet\nhas shown himself as prudent as the beaver, who, finding himself hotly\npursued by the hunters, to save his life cuts off with his teeth that\nfor which his natural instinct tells him he was followed.\"\n\n\"Upon my word,\" cried Sancho, \"it is a right good basin, and worth\nat least a piece of eight.\"\n\nDon Quixote at once placed it on his head, but could find no visor,\nand when he perceived that it had none, \"Doubtless,\" said he, \"the\npagan for whom this famous helmet was first made had a head of a\nprodigious size, but unfortunately part of it is wanting.\"\n\nAt this Sancho laughed outright.\n\n\"I fancy,\" continued Don Quixote, \"that this enchanted helmet has\nfallen by some strange accident into the hands of some one who for\nthe lucre of a little money, and finding it to be of pure gold,\nmelted one half of it and of the other made this headpiece, which as\nthou sayest has some resemblance to a barber's basin.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Adventure of the Windmills\n\nThe most celebrated, if not the most amusing of Don Quixote's\nadventures is certainly that of the windmills. Indeed \"tilting at\nwindmills\" has passed into a proverb. The dismal Don and his squire\nhad entered a certain plain where stood thirty or forty windmills,\nand as soon as the knight espied them he cried: \"Fortune directs\nour affairs better than we ourselves could have wished. See, Sancho,\nthere are at least thirty outrageous giants whom I intend to encounter,\nand with whose spoils we shall enrich ourselves.\"\n\n\"What giants?\" quoth Sancho Panza.\n\n\"Those whom thou seest yonder,\" answered Don Quixote, \"with their long,\nextended arms.\"\n\n\"By your leave, sir,\" said the squire, \"those things yonder are no\ngiants, but windmills.\"\n\n\"Alas, Sancho,\" said Don Quixote, \"thou art but little acquainted with\nadventures. I tell thee they are giants, and therefore if thou art\nafraid, turn aside and say thy prayers, for I am resolved to engage in\nan unequal combat against them all.\" Without another word he clapped\nspurs to his horse, crying out: \"Stand your ground, ignoble creatures,\nand fly not basely from a single knight who dares encounter you\nall!\" At that moment the wind rose and the mill-sails began to move,\nat which the Don cried aloud: \"Base miscreants! though you move more\narms than the giant Briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance.\" Then,\ndevoutly recommending himself to his lady, he bore down upon the first\nwindmill, and running his lance into the sail, transfixed it. The sail,\nhowever, continued to rise, drawing up both knight and horse along\nwith it, until at last the lance broke into shivers and Rozinante\nand his master fell a good distance to the ground.\n\nSancho Panza at once ran up to the dismounted knight, who seemed to\nhave fared badly. \"Alas, your worship,\" he cried, \"did not I tell you\nthey were windmills, and that nobody could think otherwise unless he\nhad windmills in his head.\"\n\n\"Peace!\" replied Don Quixote, who had been badly shaken by the fall. \"I\nam verily persuaded that the cursed necromancer Freston, who continues\nto persecute me, has transformed these giants into windmills. But,\nmark you, in the end all his pernicious wiles and stratagems shall\nprove ineffectual against the prevailing edge of my sword.\"\n\n\n\n\nThe Story of the Captive\n\nOne of the most remarkable of the tales which are interspersed\nthroughout the history of Don Quixote is that of the captive which the\nhero encounters at a certain inn, and which, if it is not actually\nbased upon the facts of Cervantes' own personal captivity among the\nMoorish pirates, certainly draws much of its substance and colour\ntherefrom. On 26th September, 1575, the Spanish vessel Sol, on which\nCervantes served as a private soldier, was separated from the rest\nof the Spanish squadron in the neighbourhood of Marseilles, and,\nfalling in with a flotilla of Moorish pirates, was captured after a\ndesperate resistance. Cervantes himself was sold as a slave to one\nDali Mami, a Greek renegade, who found upon his prisoner certain\nhighly eulogistic letters from Don John of Austria and the Duke of\nSessa. These flattering credentials led his new master to suppose that\nCervantes was a man of consequence, and that he would presumably be\nable to draw a large ransom for him. But although the great are often\nquite ready to provide genius with grandiloquent testimonials which\ncost them only the expense of a little ink and paper, they are by no\nmeans prone to back their assertions of ability by tabling large sums\nof money, and Cervantes continued to languish in captivity. In 1576\nhe attempted to escape with other prisoners, but their Moorish guide\nplayed them false, and, threatened by hunger, the party was forced\nto return to Algiers. In the following year Cervantes' brother was\nransomed, and he undertook to send a vessel to carry off Miguel and his\nfriends. Meanwhile the author of Don Quixote enlisted the sympathies of\na Spanish renegade, a Navarrese gardener named Juan. Between them they\ndug a cave in a garden near the sea, and secreted in it, one by one,\nfourteen Christian slaves, who were secretly fed during several months\nby the help of another renegade known as El Dorador. The vessel sent\nby Rodrigo de Cervantes stood in to the shore, and was on the point of\nembarking those hidden in the cave when a Moorish fishing-boat passed\nby, and so alarmed the rescuers that they put to sea again. Meanwhile\nthe treacherous El Dorador had revealed the plan to Hassan Pasha,\nthe Dey of Algiers, and when several of the crew of rescuers landed\non a second occasion to convey the fugitives on board, the Dey's\ntroops surrounded the garden, and the entire band of Christians was\ncaptured. Cervantes, with that true nobility which characterized\nhim throughout life, took the entire blame of the conspiracy upon\nhimself. Dragged bound before Hassan, he adhered to his statement,\nand although the unfortunate gardener was hanged, Hassan decided to\nspare Cervantes' life, and for some reason known to himself purchased\nthe poet from Dali Mami for five hundred crowns. Perhaps the tyrant\nexpected an immense ransom from a man whose nobility of bearing must\nhave impressed him. But be that as it may, Cervantes at once began to\nset on foot a third scheme of escape. He sent a letter to the Spanish\nGovernor of Oran, asking for assistance, but this was intercepted,\nand the poet was sentenced to two thousand blows, which, however,\nwere never inflicted. Cervantes now conceived the idea of inducing the\nChristian population of Algiers to rise and capture the city. In this\nproject he was assisted by some Valencian traders, but the scheme was\nrevealed to Hassan by a Dominican monk, and the Valencians, hearing\nof the priest's treachery, and fearing lest they might be implicated,\nbegged Cervantes to make his escape on a ship which was about to start\nfor Spain. But Cervantes refused to desert his friends, and when he\nwas once more dragged before Hassan with a hangman's rope round his\nneck, and threatened with instant death unless he revealed the names\nof his accomplices, he obstinately refused to betray them.\n\nMeanwhile his family were doing their utmost to procure his release,\nand in order that they might collect his ransom, his mother, the better\nto inspire pity, actually passed herself off as a widow, though her\nhusband, a medical practitioner of great age, was still alive. By\ntremendous exertions they succeeded in collecting two hundred and\nfifty ducats, which they paid to a certain monk who went regularly to\nAlgiers, but this Hassan refused to accept, asking for one prisoner\nof distinction, called Palafox, the sum of one thousand ducats. The\nmonk seems to have acted as an official ransomer to the Spaniards,\nand when Hassan found that he would pay no more than five hundred\nducats for Palafox, he offered to ransom Cervantes for that sum by\nway of making a bargain. So after five years of slavery the author\nof Don Quixote was set free, and returned to his native soil. But\nthe Dominican monk who had revealed to Hassan his attempted escape,\nand who was probably afraid that Cervantes would charge him with\nthis treachery, no sooner heard that he had landed in Spain than\nhe spread false reports regarding his conduct. These, however,\nCervantes was easily able to rebut, and his character as a heroic\nleader among the captives was amply vindicated. The captive's story,\nfor which Cervantes had had the mournful privilege of collecting so\nmuch 'local colour,' is recounted to Don Quixote by an escaped slave,\nwho, with his Moorish lady-love, has come to the inn where the woeful\nknight is sojourning. I shall adhere to Cervantes' manner of recounting\nit in the first person, but as it occupies a considerable portion of\nthe first part of his famous history, considerations of space will\nnecessitate its condensation.\n\n\"My family had its origin in the mountains of Leon, and although my\nfather had considerable substance, he had by no means been prudent in\nhis expenditure, and at an early age my brothers and myself were faced\nwith the necessity for carving out our own fortunes. One of my brothers\nresolved to go to the Indies, the youngest embraced Holy Orders, and\nI concluded that for my part I would be a soldier. With a thousand\nducats in my pocket I travelled to Alicant, whence I took ship to\nGenoa. From that city I went to Milan, where I joined the forces of\nthe great Duke of Alva and saw service in Flanders. Some time after\nmy arrival in that country there came news of the league concluded by\nPope Pius V in conjunction with Spain against the Turks, who had at\nthat time taken the island of Cyprus from the Venetians. Hearing that\nDon John of Austria had been given the conduct of this expedition,\nI returned to Italy, enrolled myself in his service, and was present\nat the great battle of Lepanto, on which glorious day the fable that\nthe Turk was invincible, which had so long deluded Christendom,\nwas dissipated. But instead of participating in this victory, I\nwas so unfortunate as to be made a prisoner in the course of the\nengagement. Vehali, the bold pirate king of Algiers, having boarded\nand taken the galley Capitana of Malta, the vessel of Andrea Doria,\nto which I had been commissioned, bore up to assist it. I leaped\non board the enemy's ship, which, however, succeeded in casting off\nthe grappling-irons thrown upon it, and I found myself surrounded by\nenemies who quickly bore me down. I was carried to Constantinople,\nand was made a slave in the captured Capitana at Navarino.\n\n\"As I did not wish to burden my father with the collection of a ransom,\nI refrained from letting him know of my circumstances. My master Vehali\ndying, I fell to the share of a Venetian renegade called Azanaga,\nwho sailed for Algiers, where I was shut up in prison. As it was\nthought that I might be ransomed, the Moors placed me in a bagnio,\nand I was not forced to labour like those captives who had no hope of\nredemption. Upon the courtyard of this place there opened the windows\nof the house of a wealthy Moor, and it chanced one day that I was\nstanding underneath one of these, when there appeared from it a long\ncane, to which was attached a piece of linen. This was moved up and\ndown, as if it was expected that some of us should lay hold upon it,\nand one of our number stood immediately beneath it to see if it would\nbe lowered. But just as he came to it, the cane was drawn up and shaken\nto and fro sideways, as if in denial. Another of my comrades advanced,\nand had the same success as the former. Seeing this, I resolved to try\nmy fortune also, and as I came under the cane, it fell at my feet. I\nuntied the linen, and found wrapped up in it about ten gold coins\ncalled zianins. I took the money, broke the cane, and looking upward,\nbeheld a white hand close the window in haste. Shortly afterward\nthere appeared out of the same casement a little cross made of cane,\nand by this token we concluded that some Christian woman was a slave\nin that house. But the whiteness of the hand and the richness of the\nbracelets upon the arm made us think that perhaps we had to deal with\na Christian lady who had turned Mohammedan.\n\n\"For more than fifteen days we received no other token of the lady's\npresence, although we watched carefully for the same, but we learned\nthat the house belonged to a Moor of high rank, called Agimorato. At\nthe end of this time the cane appeared once more, and on this occasion\nI found that the linen bundle contained no less than forty crowns\nof Spanish gold, with a paper written in Arabic, at the top of which\nwas a great cross. But none of us understood Arabic, and it was with\ndifficulty that we could find an interpreter. At last I resolved\nto trust a renegade of Murcia, who had shown me great proofs of his\nkindness. He agreed to translate it, and I found the contents were\nas follow:\n\n\"'As a child I had a Christian nurse who taught me much of your\nreligion, and especially of Lela Marien, whom you call the Virgin. When\nthis good slave died, she appeared to me in a vision and bid me go\nto the land of the Christians to see the Virgin, who had a great\nkindness for me. I have seen many Christians out of this window,\nbut none has appeared to me so much of a gentleman as thyself. I am\nyoung and handsome and can carry with me a great deal of money and\nother riches. Pray consider how we may escape together, and thou shalt\nbe my husband in thine own country, if thou art willing. But if not,\nit does not matter, for the Virgin will provide me a husband. Trust\nno Moor with this letter, for they are all treacherous.'\n\n\"The renegade to whom I had given the letter for translation promised\nto assist us in every way in his power, should we venture upon making\nour escape, and indeed the hearts of all of us rose high, for we argued\nthat the influence and means of the lady who had befriended me might\ngreatly help us in our efforts for freedom. I dictated a reply to the\nrenegade, who translated it into the Arabic tongue, offering the lady\nmy services and those of my companions, and promising on the word of\na Christian to make her my wife. Soon the cane was let down from the\nwindow once more. I attached the note to it and it was drawn up. That\nnight we prisoners discussed the best means of effecting our escape,\nand at last we agreed to wait for the answer of Zoraida (for such we\ndiscovered was the lady's name), feeling assured that she could best\nadvise us how to proceed.\n\nFor some days the bagnio was full of people, during which time the\ncane was invisible, but when we were once more left to ourselves it\nwas thrust through the window, and on this occasion the bundle which\ndepended from it contained a letter and a hundred crowns in gold. The\nrenegade speedily translated the missive, which stated that although\nthe writer could not contrive the manner of our escape, she could still\nfurnish us with sufficient money to enable us to buy our ransoms. She\nsuggested that having done this one of us should proceed to Spain,\npurchase a ship there, and return for the others. She concluded by\nsaying that she was now about to proceed to the country with her\nfather, and that she would pass all the summer in a place near the\nseaside, which she closely described.\n\n\"Every one of our company offered to be the man who should go to\nSpain and purchase the ship which was to deliver the rest, but the\nrenegade, who was experienced in such matters, strongly opposed this\nproposal, saying that he had seen too many such enterprises wrecked\nby placing trust in a single individual. He offered to purchase a ship\nin Algiers, and pretend to turn merchant, by which means, he said, he\ncould contrive to get us out of the bagnio and the country. Meanwhile\nI answered Zoraida, assuring her that we would do all she advised,\nand in reply to this she gave us, by means of the cane, two thousand\ncrowns in gold. Of this sum we gave the renegade five hundred crowns to\nbuy the ship, and through the good offices of a merchant of Valencia,\nthen in Algiers, I effected my own ransom with another eight hundred\ncrowns. But on the advice of this trader the money was not paid down\nto the Dey at once, lest his suspicions should be aroused, but he\nwas informed that it would shortly be forthcoming from Spain, and\nmeanwhile I remained in the Valencian's house upon parole. Before\nZoraida finally departed for her father's summer residence she gave\nus another thousand crowns, explaining, by letter, that she kept the\nkeys of her father's treasury, and on this occasion I made arrangements\nfor ransoming three of my friends.\n\n\n\n\nThe Flight from Algiers\n\n\"Soon after this the renegade purchased a vessel capable of carrying\nabove thirty people, in which he pretended to make several voyages\nin company with a Moorish partner whom he took in order to avoid\nsuspicion. Each time he passed along the coast he cast anchor in\na little bay close to the house where Zoraida lived, so that the\npeople of the place should get used to his doing so. He even landed\non several occasions and begged fruit from Zoraida's father, which\nhe always received, for the old Moor was of a liberal spirit. But he\ncould never succeed in having speech with Zoraida herself. Our plan\nwas now upon such a footing that he asked me to fix a day upon which\nwe might make the great effort upon which everything depended. So I\ncollected twelve Spaniards known to be good oarsmen and whose comings\nand goings were not very closely watched. It was arranged among us that\nwe should steal out of the town upon the evening of the next Friday,\nand rendezvous at a certain spot near Agimorato's dwelling. But\nit was necessary that Zoraida herself should be apprised of our\nintention, and with this object in view I entered her garden one day\nupon pretence of gathering a few herbs. Almost at once I encountered\nher father, who asked me what I did there. I told him I was a slave\nof Arnaut Mami, who I knew was a friend of his, and that I wanted a\nfew herbs to make up a salad. While we spoke Zoraida came out of the\ngarden house, and as it was quite the custom for the Moorish women\nto be seen before Christian slaves, her father called her to come\nto him. She was most richly dressed and wore a profusion of jewels,\nand now that I beheld her for the first time I was astounded by her\nbeauty. Her father told her for what purpose I was there, and she\nasked me if I were about to be ransomed. Speaking in lingua franca,\nI replied that I had already been ransomed, and that I intended to\nembark on the morrow upon a French ship.\n\n\"At that juncture the old Moor was called away upon business, and I\nat once assured Zoraida that I would come for her on the morrow. She\nimmediately threw her arms around my neck and began to walk toward\nthe house, but her father returning at that moment espied us, and\ncame running to us in some alarm. Immediately Zoraida pretended to\nbe in a fainting condition, and explained to Agimorato that she had\nsuddenly felt indisposed. I yielded her up to him and they retired\ninto the house.\n\n\"Next evening we embarked and dropped anchor opposite Zoraida's\ndwelling. When darkness had come we walked boldly into the garden,\nand finding the gate of the house open entered the courtyard. Zoraida\nimmediately emerged from the house carrying a small trunk full of\ntreasure, and told us that her father was asleep, but as misfortune\nwould have it, some slight noise that we made awakened him and\nhe came to a window calling out, 'Thieves, thieves! Christians,\nChristians!' The renegade at once rushed upstairs and secured him,\nand we carried father and daughter on board. We also made prisoners\nof the few Moors who remained on the vessel, bent to the oars, and\nset out to sea.\n\n\"At first we endeavoured to make for Majorca, but a strong wind\narising, we were driven along the coast. We were in great fear that\nwe might encounter some of the Moorish cruisers which we knew to be in\nthe vicinity. I made every effort in my power to assure Agimorato that\nwe would give him his liberty on the very first occasion, and told him\nthat his daughter had become a Christian and desired to live the rest\nof her life in a Christian land. On hearing this the old man behaved\nas if suddenly seized with a frenzy, and rising cast himself into\nthe sea, whence we succeeded with difficulty in rescuing him. Shortly\nafterward we drove into a small bay, where we set Agimorato ashore. I\nshall never forget his curses and imprecations upon his daughter,\nbut as we sailed away he called out, begging her to return. However,\nshe hid her face in her hands and commended him to the Virgin.\n\n\"We had proceeded some little distance from the coast when the light of\nthe moon became obscured. All at once we nearly collided with a large\nvessel, which hailed us in French, bidding us to heave to. Perceiving\nthat it was a French pirate, we made no answer, but pressed onward,\nwhereupon its crew launched a boat, boarded us and dragged us on board,\nstripping Zoraida of all her jewels and throwing us into the hold. As\nwe neared the Spanish shore next morning they placed us in their\nlong-boat with two barrels of water and a small quantity of biscuits,\nand the captain, touched with some remorse for the lovely Zoraida,\ngave her at parting about forty crowns in gold. We rowed on through\nthe early dawn, and after some hours of plying the oars landed. After\nproceeding some miles inland we came upon a shepherd, who on seeing\nour Moorish dresses, made off and gave the alarm. Soon we encountered\na company of horsemen, one of whom chanced to be related to one of\nour number. They placed us on their horses and we soon reached the\ncity of Velez Malaga. There we went straight to church to thank God\nfor His great mercy to us, and there for the first time Zoraida saw\nand recognized a picture of the Virgin. With some of the money the\npirate had given Zoraida I bought an ass and resolved to discover\nwhether or no my father and brothers were still alive. That is,\ngentlemen, the sum of our adventures.\"\n\nThe escaped Christian had scarcely finished his narration when a\nsplendid coach drove up to the door of the inn. From this equipage\nthere alighted a richly dressed gentleman and lady, who entered the\nposada and were met with great courtesy by Don Quixote. The Christian\nrefugee recognized the gentleman as his brother, now a judge of the\nCourt of Mexico, who greeted him affectionately and introduced the\nlady as his daughter. The man of many adventures with his Moorish bride\nresolved to return with the judge to Seville, whence they intended to\nadvise their father of these strange happenings, that he might come to\nsee the baptism and marriage of Zoraida, for whose future, and that of\nhis sorely tried brother, the grandee resolved to make ample provision.\n\n\n\n\nThe Growth of Cervantes\n\nIt is in such a tale as the above that we observe how Cervantes'\nstyle grows more supple and adaptable as his work proceeds. It is\nclear that he has made an effort to shake off the literary trammels\nof his time, and that he has succeeded. No longer does he find it\nnecessary to imitate such writers as Antonio de Guevara, as in the\npassage in which Don Quixote describes the Age of Gold. He has shaken\noff the rather recondite euphuism of some of the earlier passages,\nand has become more human and familiar. His speeches are appropriate\nto his characters; his dialogue is full of life and his narrative of\nincident. But although in these pages we behold the evolution of a\nrealist, Cervantes never altogether throws off the cloak of academic\neloquence--only it becomes a carefully restrained eloquence which\nhas left affectation far behind.\n\nThe great and immediate success of Don Quixote was, however,\nprincipally due to its large humour, and to its faithful portraiture of\nthe Spanish types of Cervantes' day. Into juxtaposition with figures\nthat were familiar to all he brought the extraordinary character of\nthe Knight of the Rueful Countenance, a burlesque original out of\nanother age, and yet not lacking in the dignity and greater qualities\nof the times whose spirit he strove to imitate. Into the environment of\nseventeenth-century Spain stalked the antiquated figure of Don Quixote,\ndisturbing its ordinary routine and quarrelling with its conventions,\ncarrying the days of chivalry in his head, and projecting their\nphantasms on the landscape by means of the all too powerful light\nof his imagination. But if the incongruity of the Don in a modern\nsetting roused grave and sober Spain to inextinguishable laughter, his\ncharacter and that of Sancho Panza were still recognized as triumphs\nof creative fiction--the representatives of imagination run mad and\nof the grossest common sense.\n\nThe perfection and finish of Don Quixote, and the consummate\ncraftsmanship with which it is conceived, cannot fail to commend\nthemselves to readers of discretion. It is full of the knowledge of\nthe man of the world; it breathes leisure and urbanity, its spirit is\nthat which stamps the work of the great master. Here there are no loose\nends, no clumsy constructions, no weaknesses of diction. It does not\nseem to me that Cervantes wrote with any great facility, and herein\nprobably lies the measure of his great literary excellence. On the\nother hand, no drudgery is apparent in his composition. He strikes\nthe happy medium between brilliant facility and that meticulous and\noften nervously apprehensive mode which so frequently disgraces the\nwork of modern stylists. He is precise and wonderfully sure-footed,\nand we cannot imagine him grasping in alarm at every projection\nin the course of his ascent. Whatever the secret of his style, it\nsucceeded in producing a wonderfully equable yet varied narrative,\njust and appropriate in expression. His entire canvas is filled in\nand completed with a masterly eye to the smallest detail.\n\n\n\n\nThe Second Part of \"Don Quixote\"\n\nWe can see by the time which he permitted to elapse between the first\nand second parts of his great romance how careful Cervantes was not\nto hazard his well-won reputation upon an unfortunate sequel, and the\nfictioneer of our own time, harassed by a public greedy for sensation\nand flushed by momentary success, might well turn to him for an example\nin this respect. It is often alleged that the circumstances of modern\nliterature do not permit of that leisure which is necessary to the\nexcogitation of a carefully developed technique or a sound style. This,\nalas! is only too true. The successful author of to-day can scarcely\npermit ten months, much less ten years, to elapse between one effort\nand another, and to this feverish condition of things we undoubtedly\nowe those disappointing sequels to great novels with which all of\nus must be only too familiar. Ours is emphatically not an age of\nconnoisseurs. We eat, drink, and read pretty much what is given us,\nand if we grumble a little at the quality thereof, we feel that no\ncomplaints will alter the conditions which produce the things against\nwhich we inveigh. The Spain of Cervantes' day offered a much more\ncritical environment. Bad or hastily conceived work it would not\ntolerate. But there were elements within it which frequently did\nmuch to hasten the publication of a sequel, and the chief of these\nwas undoubtedly literary piracy. Cervantes appears to have been\nspurred on in the publication of the second part of Don Quixote by\nthe appearance in 1614 of a book by Alonso Fern\u00e1ndez de Avellaneda,\na spurious sequel to the first portion of his great work, the preface\nof which is filled with personalities of the most insolent kind. That\nhe resented the piracy is shown by the circumstance that he put all\nhis other work aside and brought Don Quixote to a hurried conclusion.\n\nIn the last chapters of Don Quixote he was forced to write hastily\nbecause his rival had stolen his plan, and it was necessary for him\nto recast it as well as to bring out his novel with all speed. But,\nthese blemishes notwithstanding, much of the sequel is truly epical\nin its grandeur. Don Quixote, if less amusing, is greatly more\nthought-provoking, and Sancho Panza becomes even richer in common sense\nand clear-sightedness. The portraiture of the remaining characters,\ntoo, is sharper in outline than in the first part. The sequel, indeed,\nis a great mirror in which the Spanish society of Cervantes' day is\nreflected with all the thaumaturgy of genius. The immense success\nwhich followed it must have afforded the greatest gratification to the\ndying novelist, and must in great measure have consoled him for the\ndisappointments of a career spent in the shallows of exile and poverty.\n\n\n\n\nLazarillo de Tormes\n\nThe greatest humorous romance which Spain had produced prior to Don\nQuixote was the Lazarillo de Tormes of Diego Hurtado de Mendoza,\na many-sided man and once Spanish Ambassador to England. He was of\nnoble extraction on both sides, and was born in Granada in 1503. As\na younger son he was destined for the Church, and studied at the\nuniversity of Salamanca, where, while still a student, he wrote\nthe novel which rendered him famous. Its graphic descriptions, its\npenetration into character, and its vivacity and humour instantly\ngained for it a high place in contemporary Spanish literature. But\nMendoza soon exchanged the clerical for the political sphere of\nactivity, and Charles V created him Captain-General of Siena, a small\nItalian republic which had been brought beneath Spanish rule. Haughty\nand unfeeling, Mendoza exercised a most tyrannical sway over the\nwretched people committed to his care. They complained bitterly to\nthe Emperor regarding his conduct, and when this remained without\neffect, his life was attempted by assassination. On one occasion,\nindeed, his horse was killed under him by a musket-shot aimed at\nhimself. During his absence Siena was captured by a French army,\nand as the weakness of the city was attributed to his withdrawal of\ncertain troops he was recalled to Spain in 1554.\n\nBut while thus employed in Italy as a statesman and a soldier Mendoza\nhad not been idle in a literary sense, for he had written his political\ncommentaries, a paraphrase of Aristotle, a treatise on mechanics,\nand other notable works, none of which, however, have achieved for\nhim a tithe of the popularity of his first literary effort.\n\nLazaro, or, to give him his diminutive name, Lazarillo, was the son\nof a miller who plied his trade by the banks of the river Tormes,\nfrom which he took his name. When he was only ten years old his\nfather was killed in a campaign against the Moors, and as his mother\nwas unable to support him she gave him into the charge of a blind\nman who wandered about the country as a beggar. While at the bridge\nof Salamanca the boy noticed an animal carved in stone in the form\nof a bull, and was told by his master that if he placed his ear to\nthe effigy he would hear it roar. He did so, when the old man gave\nhis head such a violent thump against it as almost to bereave him of\nsense, and, laughing brutally, told him that a blind man's boy must\nneeds have his wits about him. \"I have no silver or gold to give you,\"\nsaid he, \"but what is far better, I can impart to you the result of\nmy experiences, which will always enable you to live.\"\n\nThe little Lazarillo had much difficulty in getting enough food to\nkeep body and soul together. The old beggar kept his bread and meat\nin a linen knapsack, the neck of which was tightly secured. But the\nboy made a small rent in one of the seams of the bag, and thus helped\nhimself to the choicest pieces of meat, bacon, and sausage. It was\nhis task also to receive the alms which charitable people bestowed\non the blind man, and part of this he secreted in his mouth, until,\nby dint of practice, he was able to hide a goodly treasure of copper\nmoney in that receptacle. It irked him on a hot day to watch the\nbeggar drinking his wine while he himself went thirsty. The wine was\nkept in a large jar, and from time to time he managed to get a sip of\nthe cooling liquor. But his master soon discovered the practice and\nkept the jar between his knees, with his hand on its mouth. Lazarillo\ntherefore bored a small hole in the bottom of the jar, which he\nclosed with wax. At dinner-time, when the blind beggar sat over the\nfire, the wax melted, and Lazarillo, putting his mouth to the hole,\nabsorbed the wine. His master was enraged and surprised when he found\nthat the liquor had vanished, and attributed its disappearance to\nmagical means. But the next time his charge attempted the feat the\ncrafty old mendicant seized the jar with both hands and dealt him\nsuch a blow on the face with it as to break the vessel and wound\nthe boy severely. From that day Lazarillo bore a grudge against the\nsightless old tyrant, and took a sly revenge by guiding him over the\nworst roads he could find and through the deepest mud.\n\nResolving to quit a service the perquisites of which were all kicks\nand no halfpence, Lazarillo led his master to the Arcade at Escalona,\nbeside which a brook ran rather swiftly. In order to cross this it was\nnecessary either to jump or to wade almost up to the neck in water, and\nwhen this was explained to him the old beggar chose the former method\nof negotiating it. The crafty Lazarillo told him that the narrowest\nplace was opposite a great stone pillar, and the wretched mendicant,\ntaking a step or two backward to give him impetus, leapt with such\nforce that he crashed into the pillar, at the bottom of which he\nimmediately fell unconscious. With a shout of triumph Lazarillo ran\noff, and from that day never set eyes upon the blind man again.\n\nThe next master whose service he entered was a priest, and if his\nexperiences with the beggar had been unhappy, they were as nothing\nto what he now had to bear, for the holy man was a miser of the most\npitiful description, and starved him in a shameful manner. He kept his\nbread in a large wooden chest, to which Lazarillo got a travelling\ntinker to fit a key during the priest's absence, and was thus able\nto regale himself daily, until his miserly master discovered the\nshortage. This he attributed to rats, and as there were several holes\nin the box he carefully mended it with small pieces of wood; but still\nthe bread disappeared, and as one of the neighbours had seen a snake\nin the priest's domicile the padre concluded that this reptile was\nthe cause of the depredations. To avoid discovery, Lazarillo slept\nwith the key of the chest in his mouth, but one night his breathing\ncaused a whistling sound upon the orifice of the implement, and the\nold priest, taking this for the hissing of the snake, delivered such a\nshrewd blow in the direction of the noise as to render the unfortunate\nLazarillo an invalid for some considerable time. When he had recovered,\nthe old priest took him by the hand and, leading him into the street,\nsaid to him: \"Lazarillo my son, thou hast great natural gifts; thou\nart indeed far too clever for an old man like me, and I assure thee\nthat I do not wish to see thee more. Farewell.\"\n\nLazarillo, however, was not long in attaching himself to another\nmaster, who appeared to be a gentleman of birth and breeding. But\nnow he found that he was in worse straits than ever, as though his\nmaster seemed a cavalier of family, he had not a penny in the world,\nand was entirely dependent for his daily bread upon what the boy\ncould beg from charitably disposed persons. One day the landlord\ncalled for the rent, and the gentleman, assuring him that he would\nfetch it from his banker's, sallied forth and never returned, so that\nonce more the wretched urchin was without a master.\n\nHe next succeeded in obtaining the patronage of a pardoner who\ntravelled from place to place selling indulgences and relics. On one\noccasion they stayed at an inn, where his master struck up a friendship\nwith an alguazil, or constable. One night the pair sat late carousing,\nwhen a quarrel arose between them, and next day, as the pardoner was\npreaching in the church preparatory to selling his wares, the alguazil\nentered and denounced him as an impostor. The pardoner, with a great\nshow of piety, prayed loudly that the heavenly powers would vindicate\nhis character and would punish the alguazil, who immediately fell to\nthe ground in the most dreadful convulsions. Some of the congregation\nprayed the pardoner that he would attempt some mitigation of the wrath\nof heaven upon his traducer, and the holy man stepped from the pulpit\nand laid a bull which he pretended he had received from the Pope upon\nthe sufferer's forehead. The man instantly rose as if cured, and the\npeople, convinced that a miracle had occurred, at once bought up the\npardoner's entire stock. But the acute Lazarillo soon discovered that\nthe pair had been in league with one another.\n\nThe last master to whose service Lazarillo attached himself was the\nArch-priest of Salvador, in whose service he flourished exceedingly,\nand one of whose servants he married. But scandal crept into his\nhousehold, and with the death of his wife he found himself as poor\nas ever.\n\nHere the tale ends. It is impossible in such a brief sketch as this\nto do justice to the great degree of insight into the workings of the\nhuman heart which characterizes the authorship of this little novel,\nthe first of its kind. Lazarillo de Tormes was the forerunner and\nexemplar of the entire school of the Picaresque novel, which at a\nlater date became almost typical of Spanish fiction, and which gave\nrise to such masterpieces as Guzman de Alfarache, the Gil Blas of\nLe Sage, and the novels of Scarron, and the spirit of which to some\nextent was mirrored in our own Laurence Sterne; nor is its influence\nby any means defunct, as can readily be seen by reference to certain\nof the works of Mr Maurice Hewlett and Mr Jeffery Farnol.\n\n\n\n\nGuzman de Alfarache\n\nMateo Aleman, the author of the great Picaresque romance of Guzman\nde Alfarache, was a native of Seville. Throwing up a Government\nappointment in early life, he crossed the sea to Mexico, where in 1609\nhe published a work on Spanish orthography and several treatises\nin Latin. But the effort which has gained for him the title of\nnovelist was his Vita del Picaro Guzman de Alfarache, a work which\nhas been translated into every European language from the date of\nits first appearance in 1599. Although written in the most correct\nand approved literary style, it is yet easy and familiar in manner,\nand is unrivalled in the picture it presents not only of the lowest\ngrades of Castilian society, but of the more exclusive orders of life\nat the period in which he wrote.\n\n\"My ancestors,\" he says, \"were originally from the Levant, but settled\nin Genoa and employed themselves in the mercantile life of that city\nin such a manner that they were accused of usury.\"\n\nThus the stock from which the lively adventurer came was of such\na character as to bring him at an early age into contact with the\nrealities of roguery. But if his relations were by no means particular\nin trade, they concealed their ignominious conduct under the cloak of\nhypocrisy and social correctness. They never failed to be present at\nMass, and the finger of reproach could not be pointed against their\nfamily life. Before Guzman was born his father learned that one of\nhis correspondents at Seville had become bankrupt, and setting out\nfor Spain in order to investigate his affairs on the spot, he was\ncaptured by an Algerine pirate, adopted the religion of Mohammed,\nand married a Moorish lady. His agent at Seville, having heard of\nwhat had happened to his principal creditor, adjusted his affairs\nwithout him, and was soon in a better condition than ever. But the\nelder de Alfarache succeeded in making his escape, and, coming to\nSeville, demanded a reckoning from his rascally business confr\u00e8re,\nfrom whom he succeeded in extorting a considerable sum. He set himself\nup in business at Seville, and bought an estate, which he named St\nJuan de Alfarache. Here he lived right royally, and, having married\nthe wealthy widow of an old knight, he found himself in a fortunate\nposition. Soon after this his son Guzman was born. But de Alfarache\nwas unfortunately prone to the distractions of company, splendour,\nand show, and having dissipated most of his means, ere long became\nhimself bankrupt, and shortly afterward paid the debt of nature.\n\nHis widow and the little Guzman were only indifferently provided for,\nand when the boy had entered his fourteenth year he resolved to seek\nhis fortune, and set out for Genoa, in the hope that his father's\nrelations would extend their assistance to him. Soon he arrived at a\nmiserable tavern, where he asked for something to eat, and was given\nan omelet, which, he says, might more properly have been called an \"egg\npoultice,\" but which he attacked \"as hogs do acorns.\" Leaving the inn,\nhe soon felt very ill, and in a condition bordering upon collapse he\nencountered a muleteer, to whom he described the unsavoury meal he\nhad just eaten, and who laughed heartily at his story. The kindly\nfellow told him to jump on one of his mules, and soon they were\ntrotting nimbly eastward. Shortly after this they met two friars,\nand arrived at an inn, where they were given another indifferent\nmeal, which the host extolled so much that the simple boy was fain\nto swallow the mess without making any great ado. But to his horror\nhe later discovered that it had been made from the flesh of a young\nmule. On being challenged with this the innkeeper drew a long sword,\nwhereupon the muleteer seized a pitchfork, and murder would have been\ndone had not the town police separated the parties. The dishonest\nlandlord was taken to prison, but although he confessed to passing\noff the mule for veal he would not admit that he had stolen Guzman's\ncloak, which had gone amissing, and the boy had perforce to leave\nthe place minus this article of apparel.\n\nRiding on their way, Guzman and the muleteer were soon overtaken\non the road by two persons on mules, who examined them with the\ngreatest attention, and then quite suddenly threw themselves upon the\nunfortunate lad, asserting that he had stolen some jewels of value. The\nmuleteer interfered, but only to receive a rough handling, and the\nstrangers tied the comrades to their mules with cords. At this juncture\nthe party was joined once more by the friars, who amused themselves by\ntelling tales, the morals of which hinged upon the mutability of human\naffairs; but these are much too long and too slightly connected with\nthe thread of our story to be repeated here. The party then arrived at\nthe gates of Cazalla, and the officers of the law, finding that they\nhad made a mistake in arresting Guzman, gave him his liberty. He put up\nat the best inn that the place afforded, and on the following morning\ntook the direct road to Madrid on foot. At an inn on the outskirts of\nthe capital he met with a beneficent priest, who shared his meal with\nhim, but in the morning the landlord attempted to overcharge him, and\nwas about to take his coat in payment of his bill when the muleteer,\nwho had rejoined him, interfered, and gave it as his opinion that\nGuzman had run away from home. The villainous landlord, seeing in\nthis some hope of enriching himself, offered to take the lad into his\nservice as a kind of stable-boy, his duty being to hand out straw and\noats to the muleteers who put up at the place. Here the young Guzman\nwas initiated into habits of dishonesty and sharp practice, for when\na cavalier or person of consequence visited the inn he usually doled\nout a mere handful of provender to his horses or mules, while charging\nhim the usual sum for it. The place was, indeed, a regular sink of\niniquity, and for Guzman life became so miserable that, relying upon\nthe little money he had saved, and selling his coat and waistcoat, he\nabsconded, and joined a passing company of beggars. These people lived\nright royally on what they begged and what they poached. They were\ninveterate gamblers, and in the evening Guzman found every opportunity\nof picking up tricks with playing-cards. Soon after, however, he took\nemployment as scullion to a cook in the service of a nobleman.\n\n\n\n\nGuzman as Scullion\n\nIn this situation Guzman passed a jovial time, for there was no lack\nof good cheer in the knight's establishment. Albeit the lad did his\nwork to admiration. But the vice of gambling seized upon him, and\nevery day he joined the lackeys and pages at cards, often sitting up\nall night to indulge in this pastime. In this way he soon got rid\nof the money he received in gratuities, and being short of funds\nwherewith to gratify his passion for gaming, began to pilfer such\nsmall articles as he could find about the house, excusing himself by\nsaying that he only did as others did. One day his master had given a\ngreat carouse to some friends, and Guzman entered the room where they\nhad been drinking to find them fast asleep. On the table he observed\na large silver goblet, and this he purloined. The cook's wife soon\nmissed the article, and inquiries with regard to it were set afoot,\nwhereupon the cunning youngster, taking the cup to a jeweller, had\nit cleaned in such a manner that it resembled a new one. Carrying\nit back to the woman, who was in great fear that her master would\nhear of the loss, he told her that he had found a similar goblet\nat a jeweller's, which he could procure for fifty-six reales, and,\nanxious to avert trouble, she at once gave him the sum to purchase\nit. The money thus dishonestly won was instantly thrown in gaming,\nand Guzman was no better off than before.\n\nAbout this time the cook was requested to prepare a splendid dinner\nfor a foreign nobleman who had newly arrived at Madrid. A large sack\ncontaining game was entrusted to the lad, and this he carried home,\nbut as it was late he took it up to his own garret. In the middle\nof the night he was wakened by cats, who fought over one of the\nhares which he had brought home. Seeing that this was not missed,\nand that his brother lackeys stole the provisions right and left,\nGuzman presently slipped half a dozen eggs into his pocket. But the\nhead cook observed him do so, and dealt him such a furious kick that\nhe fell, and the broken eggs gushed from his pocket, to the amusement\nof all present. Guzman, however, managed to embezzle a couple of\npartridges and some quails. These he took to sell to another cook,\nbut his master, suspecting him, followed and discovered what he was\nabout, and immediately dismissed him after thrashing him soundly.\n\nAfter this nothing was left for the young adventurer but to return to\nhis old trade of running errands. He soon heard that certain troops\nwere about to be embarked for Genoa, and resolved to follow them and\nenlist. A certain old apothecary, who had always found him honest in\nhis dealings, sent him to a foreign merchant with a large quantity of\nsilver, and this Guzman secreted in a large hole by the riverside. In\nthe morning he returned to the place, and, digging up the bags of\nmoney, found that they contained two thousand five hundred reales in\nsilver and thirty pistoles in gold. Slinging the bags on his back,\nto resemble a traveller's pack, he set off in the direction of Toledo,\nmaking his way across the fields and carefully avoiding the high road.\n\nArriving within two leagues of Toledo, he entered a wood, where he\nintended to rest the whole of the day, as he did not wish to approach\nthe city till nightfall. His plan was to betake himself to Genoa\nand introduce himself to his relations, and he was thinking of the\nbest way to lay out his money in order to reach them and make a good\nappearance before them, when he heard a noise and, turning hastily,\nbeheld a young man of about his own age reclining on the ground,\nwith his head against a tree. Guzman shared his wine with him, and\nthe youth informed him that he was penniless. Guzman offered to buy\nsome of the clothes he carried with him in a bundle, and, opening\none of his money-bags, reassured him as to his ability to pay. For\na hundred reales a handsome suit changed hands, and, taking leave of\nthe stranger, Guzman entered Toledo, where he at once put up at the\nbest inn. Next day he fitted himself out with such articles of attire\nas he required, but his vanity got the better of him, and he ordered\na most magnificent suit, which cost him a long price. On Sunday he\nbetook himself to the cathedral, where he met a very fine lady,\nwho asked him to accompany her home to supper. For this occasion\nGuzman ordered a magnificent feast, but the pair had hardly sat down\nto partake of it when a loud knocking was heard at the door, and the\nlady cried out in alarm that her brother had returned and that he had\nbetter conceal himself. The only place in which he could do so with\nadvantage was inside a great inverted bath, and from this place of\nconcealment he had the mortification of beholding the gentleman who\nentered devour the gorgeous supper which he had provided and drink\nevery drop of the four bottles of wine he had purchased for his own\nuse. Soon the gentleman, having eaten and drunk thus sumptuously,\nfell sound asleep, and Guzman took the opportunity of stealing from\nthe house, a sadder but a wiser lad.\n\nHearing that an alguazil had been inquiring very particularly\nregarding him, Guzman hurriedly left Toledo, and, arriving at the\ntown of Almagro, joined the company of soldiers who were bound\nfor Genoa. Their captain, taken with his distinguished appearance,\nhailed him as a brother in arms, and treated him as an equal. Guzman\nhad engaged the services of a page at Toledo, and this little rascal\nassisted him greatly in his new sphere by spreading the report that\nhe was a gentleman of consequence. But our hero's purse was now sadly\ndepleted, although he had still about half of his ill-gotten gains\nleft. Instead of embarking at once the company remained at Barcelona\nfor three months, so that his resources soon gave out, and he was\nneglected by the officers, and even avoided by the soldiers. His\ncaptain, indeed, condoled with him, and offered him a place in his\nhousehold at the servants' table, assuring him that this was all\nhe could do for him, as he himself was compelled to dine out from\nhis utter incapacity to receive his friends at home. Guzman assured\nhim of his gratitude, and hinted that he might in turn be able to\nassist him. The soldiers were billeted in the village, and Guzman\ncommenced a system of imposing a larger number of men upon each\nhouse than was necessary, or at least threatening to do so, so that\nthe anxious inhabitants were only too glad to buy him off. In this\nmanner he completely re-established the captain's finances, and as\npresents of provisions poured in from the frightened villagers the\nyoung rascal and his chief lived well. But he now grew bolder, and,\nselecting half a dozen of the most desperate men in the company,\nbegan to rob passengers on the high road. His captain, learning of\nthis, however, immediately put a stop to such dangerous proceedings.\n\nOne day Guzman observed that among the few jewels the captain still\nhad left to him there was a very handsome gold reliquary set with\ndiamonds, and this he begged his superior to lend him for a few\ndays. The audacious stripling at once took it to a jeweller's,\nto whom he offered it for two hundred crowns. But the man would\nonly tender him a hundred and twenty, and this Guzman refused. The\njeweller called upon him next day to renew his offer, which the lad\naccepted. Guzman handed him the purse in which the reliquary was kept,\nreceiving the hundred and twenty crowns in exchange. But the old fellow\nhad scarcely left the house when the young adventurer raised a cry\nof \"Stop thief! Stop thief!\" Some soldiers immediately arrested the\njeweller, and Guzman cried out that he had robbed him of the captain's\nreliquary. The jeweller assured the arquebusiers that he had paid a\nhundred and twenty crowns for the article, but this Guzman denied. The\nwretched goldsmith was haled before a magistrate, and, as he had a\nbad reputation for usury, was forced to disgorge the reliquary. But\nalthough the captain was glad enough to get the money thus scurvily\ngained, he feared that further association with such a rascal as de\nAlfarache would ruin him. In a few days the company set sail for Genoa,\nand when they had arrived there his superior intimated that they must\npart, at the same time thrusting a pistole into his hand.\n\n\n\n\nTormented by Devils\n\nThe young adventurer now began to make inquiries about his relations,\nand was informed that they were the most rich and powerful persons\nin the republic. He inquired the way to their mansion, where he\nwas but ill received, all the more so as his appearance was shabby\nin the extreme. But as he had taken care to make his relationship\nto them public property, they could not very well repulse him. One\nevening he met a venerable-looking old man, who told him that he had\nknown his father, and that he felt quite indignant at the behaviour\nof his relations toward him, and offered him an asylum at his own\nhouse. Without giving him anything to eat, he at once sent him to bed,\nwhere the wretched lad lay tormented by the pangs of hunger. Before he\nwent to sleep the old man informed him that the room he occupied had\nthe reputation of being haunted by evil spirits. Famished and restless,\nGuzman lay awake, when to his horror four figures in the shape of\ndevils entered the chamber and dragged him out of bed. Throwing him\ninto a blanket, they tossed him in the air with such violence that he\nstruck the ceiling again and again, until, exhausted by the exercise,\nthey placed him in bed once more and departed. In the early morning,\nstiff, sore, and dejected, Guzman crawled from the mansion, but he\nregistered an oath never to forget the detestable manner in which his\nacquaintance had treated him, and resolved to be avenged upon him at\nthe first opportunity.\n\n\n\n\nGuzman Joins the Beggars of Rome\n\nLeaving Genoa in this miserable plight, in which he compares himself\nto one of those who escaped from the battle of Roncesvalles,\nGuzman resolved to make his way to Rome. Italy, he says, is the\nmost charitable country in the world, and anyone who can beg can\ntravel within its bounds without concerning himself about his next\nmeal. In a few weeks he found himself in the Roman Catholic capital,\nwith money enough in his pocket to buy a new suit of clothes, but\nhe resisted the temptation to do so, and wandered about the streets\nof the Imperial city seeking alms. He soon fell in with a comrade in\ndistress, who enlightened him regarding the manners and customs of the\nbeggars of Rome and who gave him such good instructions that he soon\nreceived more money than he could spend. In a short time Guzman was\na perfect master of the trade of begging. After spending some weeks\nin this kind of life he fell in with one of the master-beggars of the\ncity, who instructed him in the laws of begging, which he sets forth\nat length in his autobiography. These laws Guzman got by heart. The\nbeggars lived together, and met in the evening to practise and invent\nnew exclamations to excite pity. In the morning there was usually a\nscramble among them to see who could get nearest the holy water at\nthe entrance to the churches, for there it was that the greatest\nharvest was reaped, and in the evening the beggars usually made\na round of the country seats in the neighbourhood of Rome, whence\nthey returned laden with provisions. Nearly all of the beggars were\nadepts at simulating bodily malformations or loathsome diseases. On one\noccasion, in the town of Gaeta, Guzman simulated a terrible disease of\nthe head, and the Governor, who was passing, gave him alms. Next day\nhe sat at the porch of a church with what appeared to be a grievous\naffection of the leg, and much money was flowing in upon him, when\nunhappily the Governor chanced to pass, and recognizing him, told him\nthat he would give him some cast-off clothing if he would follow him\nhome. Arrived there the Governor asked him by what singular remedy\nhe had contrived to cure himself of his former complaint within the\nshort space of one day, and without waiting for an answer sent for a\nsurgeon, who, on examining the leg, assured the Governor that it was\nperfectly sound. The Governor then handed Guzman over to his lackeys,\nwho trounced him severely and thrust him forth from the town.\n\nOne morning our rascally hero had posted himself at the gate of a\ncertain Cardinal celebrated for his compassionate disposition, who,\non passing and hearing his plaint, told his domestics to convey\nthe seeming sufferer to a chamber in his mansion and attend to his\nwants. Guzman had once more simulated a terrible disease of the leg,\nand the Cardinal, observing this, sent for two of the most celebrated\nsurgeons in Rome. Their preparations were of such a nature that Guzman\nfeared they were about to amputate his leg, so when they consulted\ntogether in an adjoining room he went to the door to listen to what\nthey were saying. One of them gave it as his opinion that the disorder\nwas merely a bogus one, but the other as warmly maintained that it\nwas genuine. At length they agreed to lay their deliberations before\nthe Cardinal, and were about to do so when Guzman, entering the room\nwhere they consulted, admitted his fraud, and proposed that they should\ncombine in deceiving the Cardinal. To this the surgeons agreed, and\nwhen his Eminence appeared they made the most alarming and touching\nreport regarding Guzman's sham disorder. The Cardinal, who was a man\nof lofty character and unsuspicious nature, begged them to take as\nmuch time as they thought proper in effecting a cure, and to neglect\nnothing that might contribute to the patient's recovery. So anxious\nwere the surgeons to pile up their fees that they compelled Guzman\nto keep his bed for three months, which appeared three ages to him,\nso keen was his desire to return to the gaming which had become second\nnature to him. At the end of this time they presented their bill to the\nCardinal, telling him that a complete cure had been effected, and so\npleased was the churchman at having assisted in so remarkable a case,\nand so keen his appreciation of Guzman's native wit, that he ended\nby taking the youthful charlatan into his service as one of his pages.\n\nGuzman was, however, not very well satisfied with his new life, which\nin great measure consisted in waiting in ante-chambers and serving at\ntable. The discipline was rigorous, and all that he could purloin was\na few candle-ends. But he found that a large quantity of very fine\npreserved fruit was kept in a certain chest, and to this he applied\nhimself. The Cardinal discovered the peculation, yet failed to trace\nit to its source; but when Guzman was rifling the chest on a second\noccasion his Eminence entered and caught him in the act. He received\na thorough castigation at the hands of the major-domo, which put an\nend to his knaveries for some considerable time.\n\n\n\n\nGuzman Cheats a Banker\n\nBut Guzman played so many tricks in the Cardinal's palace that at\nlength this excellent prelate had to dispense with his services. He\nthen entered the service of the Spanish Ambassador, who was a friend\nof the Cardinal's, and who knew all about our hero's capacities. After\nsome considerable time spent in the service of this dignitary, Guzman\nresolved to leave Rome for a tour through Italy. Shortly before this he\nhad encountered a Spaniard called Sayavedra, with whom he became very\nfriendly. Provided with about three hundred pistoles and some jewels,\nwhich he had purloined from the ambassador, Guzman set out on his\ntravels. But Sayavedra had taken a wax impression of Guzman's keys,\nand pilfered his luggage before he left, so that if it had not been\nfor the generosity of the ambassador he could not have left Rome. At\nSiena, however, Guzman fell in with Sayavedra once more, who entreated\nhim to pardon his perfidy, and offered to become his servant. Guzman,\nwho was sorry for his miserable condition, agreed to the proposal, and\nthe pair, going to Florence, began to concert measures for improving\ntheir position. It was bruited abroad that Guzman was a nephew of\nthe Spanish Ambassador, and he even had the insolence to present\nhimself at Court, where he was received by the Grand Duke in that\ncapacity. Here he met a charming widow of great wealth, with whom he\nfell violently in love. But her relatives, making inquiries about him,\ndiscovered that he had once begged in the streets of Rome, and he was\nforced to leave the city. At Bologna he gained a good deal of money\nat play, and on arriving at Milan he and Sayavedra took apartments\nin that city and cast about for some means of putting their newly\nacquired funds to use. Here they soon fell in with a rascally friend\nemployed as clerk in a banker's house, and concerted with him as to\nhow they should relieve his master of his surplus wealth. Guzman\ncalled upon the banker and told him he wished to deposit with him\nabout twelve thousand francs in gold. He was well received, and the\nfinancier entered his name and other particulars in his daybook. On\nhis way home he bought a gilt casket, which he filled with pieces of\nlead, and, giving this to Sayavedra, along with a bag of real money,\nenjoined that he should get into conversation with the landlord of\nthe inn where they were staying, and tell him that he was taking the\ncash to the banker's house--which of course he was not to do. The\nbanker's clerk got false keys made to fit his master's coffer, and,\nwhen the latter was at Mass on Sunday, he opened it and placed therein\nthe gilt casket, which, instead of lead, now contained ten quadruples,\nthirty Roman crowns, and a written account of its contents. He then\ncounterfeited his master's handwriting, and completed the entry in\nthe daybook which he had begun, making it appear that not only the\ncasket, but all the money in the coffer, had been credited to Guzman.\n\nOn the Monday Guzman called at the banker's and asked him very politely\nto return the cash that had been sent to him a few days before. The\nman naturally denied that any sum had been lodged with him at all,\nwhereupon Guzman made so great an outcry that a large crowd collected,\nand the quarrel assumed such a serious aspect that a constable appeared\non the scene, accompanied by the landlord of the inn at which Guzman\nwas staying. Guzman asserted that if the banker's books were examined\nthe sum he mentioned would be found noted in them, and on the daybook\nbeing produced this was proved to be the case. The wretched banker\nadmitted that part of the writing was in his own hand, and this was\nsufficient to incense the crowd, with whom he had a very bad reputation\nfor usury and sharp practice. Guzman, too, was able to give a most\ncircumstantial account of the contents of the coffer, which, on being\nopened, was found, to the banker's amazement, to contain the gilt\ncasket he spoke of and the exact sum named by him, including even\nthe various coinages he had enumerated and the written note of its\ncontents. The landlord was able to corroborate Guzman's ownership of\nthe casket, and as the evidence seemed conclusive the local magistrate\nawarded him the money, which he divided with his confederates.\n\nGuzman now resolved to return to Genoa for the purpose of being\nrevenged upon the relatives who had treated him so scurvily upon his\nprevious visit to that city. Disguising himself as a Spanish abbot of\nconsequence, he put up at the best inn of the place, and his relatives,\nlearning of his arrival, and of the pomp he displayed, hastened to pay\ntheir respects to him. They failed to identify him with the ragged and\nfriendless urchin who had sought their assistance some years before,\nand his uncle even retailed the adventure of the devils to him as if\nit had been played upon an impostor. Guzman completely gained their\nconfidence, and as he had plenty of money to spare they readily\nentrusted to his keeping a valuable collection of jewels, which he\ntold them a friend desired to borrow for his wedding ceremony. With\nthese he and Sayavedra made off to Spain, but on the way the latter\nfell ill of a fever, and, rushing on the deck of the galley, threw\nhimself overboard and was drowned.\n\nGuzman, reaching his native country, after a number of adventures\narrived in Madrid, where he sold his jewels to a rich merchant, who,\nbelieving him to be a person of consequence, gave him his daughter in\nmarriage. The merchant relied upon Guzman's supposed wealth to further\nhis financial operations, Guzman relied upon his father-in-law's\nequally supposititious resources, and as the extravagant young wife\nrelied on both, all were soon plunged into bankruptcy. The shock\nwas too much for the lady, and she expired, but her cunning parent\nsucceeded in saving sufficient from the wreck to commence business\nonce more.\n\nGuzman, however, was tired of the world of finance, and decided to\ninvest the remainder of his ill-gotten gains in studying for the\nChurch. With this object in view, he betook himself to the university\nof Alcal\u00e0 de Henares, where he took his Bachelor of Arts degree, and\nafter four years' hard reading at divinity only awaited a benefice to\npermit him to graduate as a full-fledged priest, when evil influences\nonce more began to beset him. He made the acquaintance of a lady who\nhad a family of daughters, with one of whom he became infatuated,\nand whom he married. The pair betook themselves to Madrid, where they\nembarked upon an adventurous career, after some years of which the\nlady eloped, taking with her everything of value which she could lay\nhands upon. By this time Guzman had presented himself to his mother,\nwho, so far from dissuading him from his evil courses, assisted him\nin his schemes of roguery, so that shortly, going from bad to worse,\nhe found himself doomed to a long period of servitude in the royal\ngalleys. But here he was able to assist the authorities in discovering\na mutiny, for which he was rewarded with his freedom.\n\nAt this stage we take our leave of the most consummate rogue in\nfiction; but if Guzman de Alfarache is perhaps the most wily scoundrel\nin the records of romance, he is certainly one of the most original\nand amusing. It is noticeable, however, that his career, on the whole,\nwas not a remunerative one, and that when he makes his farewell bow to\nus he is no better off than when we first encountered him. Perhaps the\nmost amusing thing about his narrative is the sham propriety of tone\nin which it is couched--a style which was almost slavishly copied by\nLe Sage in his Gil Blas, who was not only obliged to this novel for\nits general atmosphere, but for many of the incidents which occur in\nhis celebrated work.\n\n\n\n\nConclusion\n\nWe have trodden the ways of Spanish story, sublime, mock-heroic, and\nhumorous. Perhaps no chapter in the world's literature is so rich\nin colour, or displays such a variety of mood and sentiment. Still\nthe key-note is one of noble and dignified beauty, of chivalrous\ndistinction, of exquisite propriety, courteous, immaculate, and\nunspotted by vulgarity or sordid meanness. The wine-cup of Spanish\nromance is filled with the heart's blood of a nation august, knightly,\nimaginative, a people who have preferred ideals to gross realities,\nand the heights of national aristocracy to the deserts of false\ndemocracy. \"Poor Spain!\" How often does the Anglo-Saxon utter\nthe phrase in complacent self-assurance? With the solace of such\na treasure-house of poetic and romantic wealth as she possesses,\nSpain may well rest in assured hope of the return of the brave days\nin praise of which her trovadores struck the lyre and her poets sang\nin stately epic. Poor Spain! Nay, golden Spain--enchanted cavern,\nglowing with the spoil of song, the rainbow treasure of legend,\nand the gem-like radiance of immortal romance!\n\n\n    Her citizens, imperial spirits,\n    Rule the present from the past;\n    On all this world of men inherits\n    Their seal is set.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nSHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY OF WORKS IN ENGLISH DEALING WITH SPANISH ROMANCE\n\n\n(The English translations of each romance have been carefully noted\nthroughout the book, so that it is unnecessary to include them here.)\n\n\n\nHistory of Spanish Literature, by George Ticknor. Boston, 1872.\n\nSpanish Literature, by H. Butler Clarke. London, 1893.\n\nSpanish Literature, by J. Fitzmaurice Kelly. London, 1893.\n\nChapters on Spanish Literature, by J. Fitzmaurice Kelly. London, 1912.\n\nThe Spanish Pastoral Romances, by H. A. Rennert. Baltimore, 1892.\n\nHistory of Fiction, by A. Dunlop. Edinburgh, 1816.\n\nDon Quixote. Edition published by David Nutt, 1898. Skelton's early\nEnglish version (1612-20), reprinted by Henley in \"Tudor Translations,\"\nLondon, 1896.\n\nHistory of Spanish Literature, by Bouterwek. Bohn Library.\n\nSee further the exhaustive bibliography of chivalric literature in\nvol. iv of Ormsby's Don Quixote (1885), and the bibliography of Mr\nFitzmaurice Kelly's Spanish Literature.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n\n[1] The moro latinado, or Spanish-speaking Moor, is a prominent figure\nin later Spanish story.\n\n[2] Bishop Odoor's will (747) shows the break-up of Hispanic Latin, and\nCharles the Bald in an edict of 844 alludes to the usitato vocabulo\nof the Spaniards--their \"customary speech.\" On the Gothic period\nsee P\u00e8re Jules Tailham, in the fourth volume of Cahier and Martin's\nNouveaux M\u00e9langes d'Arch\u00e9ologie, d'Histoire, et de Litt\u00e9rature sur\nle Moyen Age (1877).\n\n[3] This jargon owed much more to the lingua rustica than to Gothic,\nwhich has left its mark more deeply upon the pronunciation and syntax\nof Spanish than on its vocabulary.\n\n[4] Catalan differed slightly in a dialectic sense from Proven\u00e7al. It\nwas divided into pl\u00e1 Catal\u00e1 and Lemos\u00e9, the common speech and the\nliterary tongue.\n\n[5] \"On the whole,\" says Professor Saintsbury, \"the ease,\naccomplishment, and, within certain strict limits, variety of the\nform, are more remarkable than any intensity or volume of passion or of\nthought\" (Flourishing of Romance and Rise of Allegory, pp. 368-369). He\nfurther remarks that the Proven\u00e7al rule \"is a rule of 'minor poetry,'\naccomplished, scholarly, agreeable, but rarely rising out of minority.\"\n\n[6] D. 1214.\n\n[7] It was entitled El Arte de Trobar, and is badly abridged in\nMayan's Or\u00edgenes de la Lengua Espa\u00f1ola (Madrid, 1737).\n\n[8] On Proven\u00e7al influence upon Castilian literature see Manuel Mil\u00e1\ny Fontanal, Trovadores en Espa\u00f1a (Barcelona, 1887); and E. Baret,\nEspagne et Provence (1857), on a lesser scale.\n\n[9] Still they found many Spanish-speaking people in that area; and\nit was the Romance speech of these which finally prevailed in Spain.\n\n[10] Madrid, 1839.\n\n[11] In the Cancionero de Romances (Antwerp, 1555).\n\n[12] See the article on Alfonso XI in N. Antonio, Bibliotheca Hispana\nVetus.\n\n[13] English translation by James York.\n\n[14] Reigned 1407-54.\n\n[15] Gaston Paris, La Litt\u00e9rature Fran\u00e7aise au Moyen Age (Paris,\n1888), and L\u00e9on Gautier, Les \u00c9pop\u00e9es Fran\u00e7aise (Paris, 1878-92), are\nthe leading authorities upon the chansons de gestes. Accounts of these\nin English can be found in Ludlow's Popular Epics of the Middle Ages\n(1865) and in my Dictionary of Medieval Romance (1913).\n\n[16] See W. Wentworth Webster, in the Boletin of the Academia de\nHistoria for 1883.\n\n[17] See Manuel Mil\u00e1 y Fontanal, Poes\u00eda her\u00f3ico-popular Castellana\n(Barcelona, 1874).\n\n[18] The term, first employed by Count William of Poitiers, the\nearliest troubadour, at first implied any work written in the\nvernacular Romance languages. Later in Spain it was used as an\nequivalent for cantar, and finally indicated a lyrico-narrative poem\nin octosyllabic assonants.\n\n[19] In German it was known from 1583, and in English from\n1619. Southey's translation (London, 1803) is (happily) an abridgment,\nand has been reprinted in the \"Library of Old Authors\" (1872). I\nprovide full bibliographical details when dealing with the romance\nmore fully.\n\n[20] Omniana, t. ii, p. 219 (London, 1812).\n\n[21] Don Quixote, Part I, chap. vi.\n\n[22] English translation by Southey, 4 vols. (London, 1807).\n\n[23] In the chapter entitled \"Moorish Romances of Spain\" the reader\nwill find specimens of the romantic fictions of that people, from\nwhich he can judge for himself of their affinity or otherwise with\nthe Spanish romances.\n\n[24] See Dozy, History of the Moors in Spain, Eng. trans., and\nRecherches sur l'Histoire politique et litt\u00e9raire de l'Espagne (1881);\nF. J. Simonet, Introduction to his Glosario de Voces iberias y latinas\nusadas entre los Muz\u00e1rabes (1888); Renan, Averro\u00ebs et Averro\u00efsme\n(1866). Gayangos' Mohammedan Dynasties in Spain (London, 1843) is\nsomewhat obsolete, as is Conde's Dominaci\u00f3n de los Arabes.\n\n[25] \"The Raid,\" an old Spanish poem.\n\n[26] Ormsby (The Poem of the Cid), who wrote in 1879, seems to have had\nthe most elementary notions of what a cantar was, and states that the\nPoema \"was nearly contemporary with the first chansons de gestes.\" But\nhe is probably at least a century out in his reckoning, as the first\nchansons date from about the middle of the eleventh century. Of\ntrovador and juglar he had evidently never heard. Yet he is anything\nbut superficial, and on the whole his book is the best we have in\nEnglish on the Poema. It is unlucky, too, as Saintsbury remarks, that\nneither Ticknor nor Southey, who wrote so widely on ancient Spanish\nliterature, were acquainted with the chansons de gestes. Still more\nluckless is it that so much in the way of Spanish translation was\nleft to Longfellow, who shockingly mangled and Bowdlerized many fine\nballads. Probably no poet was so well qualified as he to divest a\nballad of all pith and virility in the course of translation. Bad as\nare his Spanish renderings, however, they are adequate when compared\nwith his exploits in the field of Italian translation.\n\n[27] See his Poema del Cid (1898).\n\n[28] See Manuel Rivadeneyra, Biblioteca de Autores espa\u00f1oles, vol. xvi\n(1846-80).\n\n[29] A good deal of controversy has arisen concerning the metre of the\nPoema. Professor Cornu of Prague (see M. Gaston Paris, in Romania,\nxxii, pp. 153, 531) has stated that the basis of it is the ballad\noctosyllable, full or catalectic, arranged as hemistichs of a longer\nline, but this theory presupposes that the copyists of the original\nMS. must have mistaken such a simple measure, which is scarcely\ncredible. Professor Saintsbury (Flourishing of Romance, p. 403)\ngives it as his opinion that \"nobody has been able to get further in a\ngeneralization of the metre than that the normal form is an eight and\nsix (better a seven and seven) 'fourteener,' trochaically cadenced,\nbut admitting contraction and extension with a liberality elsewhere\nunparalleled.\" No absolute system of assonance or rhyme appears,\nand we are almost forced to the conclusion that the absence of this\nis in a measure due to the kind offices of Abbot Pedro.\n\n[30] By this phrase the Cid seems to have been widely known; in fact\nit appears to have served him as a sort of cognomen or nickname.\n\n[31] The passage in the Poema del Cid which tells of the combat that\nfollowed has perhaps a better right than any other in the epic to\nthe title 'Homeric' The translation which I furnish of it may not\nbe so exact as those of Frere or Ormsby. But although I am only too\nconscious of its many shortcomings, I cannot bring myself to make use\nof the pedestrian preciseness of the one or the praiseworthy version\nof the other of my predecessors, both of which, in my view, fail to\nrender the magnificent spirit and chivalric dash of the original. All\nthat I can claim for my own translation is that it does not fail so\nutterly as either in this regard. I have in places attempted the\nrestoration of lines which seemed to me omitted or coalesced with\nothers, and I must admit that this rendering of a great passage is\nmore consciously artificial than the others--a fault which I am unable\nto rectify. But allowances must be made for the rendition of such a\npassage, and the whole must be accepted by the reader faute de mieux.\n\n[32] Throughout the Poema and elsewhere the Cid is constantly alluded\nto as \"Mio Cid\" (\"My lord\"). I deal with the etymology of the name\nfarther on, but hold to the form 'the Cid' as being most familiar to\nEnglish readers.\n\n[33] This passage is reminiscent of the saying of the famous Border\noutlaw Jock Eliot, when he and his men came upon a large haystack\nof which they resolved to make fodder for their horses. \"Eh, man,\"\nexclaimed the humorous raider, \"if ye had legs, wouldna' ye run!\"\n\n[34] The commencement of the passage in question is as follows\n(lines 1741-50):\n\n\n    The heraldz laften here prikyng up and doun;\n    Now ryngede the tromp and clarioun:\n    Ther is no more to say, but est and west\n    In goth the speres ful sadly in arest;\n    Ther seen men who can juste, and who can ryde;\n    In goth the scharpe spore into the side,\n    Ther schyveren schaftes upon schuldres thykke;\n    He feeleth through the herte-spon the prikke.\n    Up sprengen speres on twenty foot on hight;\n    Out goon the swerdes as the silver bright.\n\n\nThe balance is, however, greatly in favour of Chaucer, whose lines,\nif properly accented, beat the original Spanish on its own ground,\nand this notwithstanding the absurd remark of Swinburne that \"Chaucer\nand Spenser scarcely made a good poet between them.\"\n\n[35] See the work of Rivadeneyra, Biblioteca de Autores espa\u00f1oles,\nvol. xl (1846-48), where the romance is prefaced in a brilliant\nand scholarly manner by Gayangos. Its origins are ably discussed by\nEug\u00e8ne Baret, \u00c9tudes sur la Redaction Espagnole de l'Amadis de Gaule\n(1853); T. Braga, Historia das Novellas Portuguezas de Cavalleria\n(1873); and L. Braunfels, Kritischer Versuch \u00fcber den Roman Amadis\nvon Gallien (1876).\n\n[36] Anstruther, in Fife? The Spaniards would know the place through\ntheir intercourse with the Flemings, who traded considerably with\nit. A Spanish vessel put into Anstruther during the flight of the\nArmada round the coasts of Scotland.\n\n[37] I think I can see in this giant Albadan the giant Albiona, one of\nthe two monsters, sons of Neptune, who, according to Pomponius Mela,\nattacked Hercules in Liguria. The name Albion was once given to the\nwhole of Britain, and later, as Alba and Albany, to Scotland, whose\npeople were known as Albannach. This is said to mean 'the White,'\nin allusion to the cliffs of Dover! It is much more probable that it\nsignified 'the place or region of the god Alba,' 'the country of the\nwhite god.' All the Scottish gods were giants, like the Fomorians\nof Ireland.\n\n[38] Strange that a sword and a ring should so often be the test\nof identity in such tales! So it was, as regards the first of these\ntokens at least, with Theseus, Arthur, and many another hero. On this\nhead see Hartland, The Legend of Perseus (1894-96).\n\n[39] Urganda, as Southey remarks, is a true fairy, resembling Morgan\nle Fay in her attributes, but, as Scott says, she has no connexion\nwith the more classic nymphid\u00e6. But is not this dea phantastica\nidentical with Morgan, and her name merely a Hispanic rendering of\nthe Celtic fairy's?\n\n[40] Scott girds fiercely against Southey's interpolation of\nAnthony Munday's translation of these verses in his Amadis, and with\njustice. The above translation is only slightly more tolerable, but\nit is at least sense. Poor Tony was bitten by the absurdities of\neuphuism, and his lines are mere nonsense. But there is even less\nexcuse for a modern translation to backslide into the style of the\neighteenth century.\n\n[41] She had previously visited Scotland and embarked there \"for Great\nBritain,\" and while on this voyage was driven on the Poor Rock, which\nwould seem to have been 'somewhere' in the Mediterranean! Strange\nthat geography should have been so shaky at such a period and among\na people who had done so much for discovery and navigation.\n\n[42] 'Cildadan' I take to be Cuchullin (pron. Coohoolin, or Coolin),\nthe hero of the well-known Irish epic.\n\n[43] It was Munday's translation of these verses from the French which\nchiefly aroused the scorn of Scott, and it is in dread of the memory\nof that scorn that I offer these lines, which partake much more of\nthe nature of an adaptation than a translation, the original Spanish\nbeing much too stiff and artificial for rendition in English.\n\n[44] I take this incident to be a reminiscence of the Minotaur\nstory. Indeed the Firm Island appears to me, both from its geographical\nproximities and its whole phenomena, as a borrowing of Cretan or\nMinoan story. The \"old covered way\" from which the bull emerges is\nsurely the Labyrinth. Is the wise old ape D\u00e6dalus?\n\n[45] It is scarcely necessary to indicate to the reader that the\nname Nasciano is borrowed from that of Nasciens, the hermit king of\nGrail romance.\n\n[46] Forbear.\n\n[47] William Stewart Rose, Amadis de Gaul: A Poem in Three Books\n(London, 1803).\n\n[48] For a brief account of this Toledan poet, who translated Ovid's\nMetamorphoses, see Antonio, Bib. Nov., t. ii, p. 44.\n\n[49] Unless the Anseis de Carthage be excepted--a romance which\nattributes the downfall of Spain to a son of Charlemagne, who acts\nas does Don Roderick. The Anseis is in French.\n\n[50] As enshrined in the Cr\u00f3nica Sarrazyna, of Pedro de Carrel, which\nfounds on the Cr\u00f3nica General, the Chronicle of the Moor Rasis, and\nthe Cr\u00f3nica Trayana, the ballads relating to Roderic are all later\nthan this compilation.\n\n[51] Besides the collection of romances alluded to, which may be said\nto represent the standard sources of the subject, collections were\npublished at Antwerp and Saragossa, in the middle of the sixteenth\ncentury, by Martin Nucio and Esteban de N\u00e1jera respectively. The reader\nmay also consult the Primavera y Flor de Romance, by Wolf and Hofman,\nin the reprint published by Se\u00f1or Men\u00e9ndez y Pelayo, the collection\nof Depping (two vols., Leipzig, 1844), and the English translations\nof Lockhart and Bowring.\n\n[52] If Scott wrote this verse himself (as Lockhart admits), he\nwrote others.\n\n[53] I take these two quatrains from two different versions.\n\n[54] The witch-cult in Europe seems to me to have a connexion with\nthe horse. Occasionally witches proceed to the sabbat on flying\nhorses. One of the tests of a witch was to look in her eyes for the\nreflection of a horse. In Scotland even to-day a 'Horseman's Society'\nexists which has a semi-occult initiation and strange rites.\n\n[55] The reader who wishes to follow this phase of the subject further\nshould consult Miss M. A. Murray's recent articles in Man.\n\n[56] T. i, p. 543.","title":"Legends & Romances of Spain","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":114794}