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G. LOCKHART, ESQ IIW UBITIOF, MEVIS1EB. ; FROM DRAWINGS BY WILLIAM ALLAN, R.A WILLIAM SIMSON, HENRY WARREN, AND WILLIAM HARVEY. WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS DAVID ROBERTS, R.A., C. E. AUBREY, THE BORDERS AND ORNAMENTAL VIGNETTES BY OWEN JONES, ARCHITECT. LONDON JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET MDCCCXLI. v , r ;\ . £S£$£^&$ ^ v JEntrottuctton. HISTORICAL BALLABS. CIjc ILanmitation of Son Hotter id!. DESIGNED BY Don Roderick, after his last Battle . . . . H. Warren. CI)r Prnitrncr of Sou Hottcrttfe. Don Roderick and the Hermit ...... W. Simson. ©fje 3Hard) of Hrrnartto ttrl Carpio. The Gathering H. Warren. The Oath C. E. Aubrey. ’ CIjo Complaint of tljr Count of Jrafttana. &l)e Jfuncral of tijp Count of Aalttana. Bernardo at his Father’s Tomb . . . . . D. Roberts, R. A. CONTENTS AND LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Beruarbo anil aijiljantfo. designed by 2Tb e iJflatUnx Crtbutf. Saint Iago H. Warren. Cfjr escape of Count Jfernan ©onjalej. Gonzalez and the Infanta H. Warren. Cbr £>Pben ^eabsi. } Clje ©fugeance of iMuUara. MudaRa meeting Rodrigo H. Warren. Ctjp Mtemung of tbe ILaUj? Cbmsfa. Knight on Horseback (Madrid Armoury) . . H. Warren. CIjp ieouug Ctb. The Cid's departure from Burgos H. Warren. ftmena OpmanHS ©eugeancr. The Cid (M.A.) H. Warren. Ctjp CtiJ antJ tijr dFibs JHoorteb &tngS. Bavif.ca ...... C. E. Aubrey. ©be ©Or’* TOrtfbtng. Bridal Procession of thf. Cid . . . .... . . . H. Warren. ©be ©ttt aub tbe Ecper. ISabieca. Thf. Cid’s Body on Bavieca, conveyed to the Convent of San Pedro de Cardena, from a finished draw- ing by Richard Ford, Esq . W. Harvey. CONTENTS AND LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Babteca (CONTINUED). DKSIGNKD BY Bavieca C. E. Aubrey. The Cid and Bavieca C. El Aubrey. Horses around Moresque ornament C. E. Aubrey. Cfje (^communication of tfje Cttr. Crosier and Sword W. Harvey. The Cid crossing the Sea. The Seven Chairs . . W. Harvey. The Cid upsetting the Papal Chair W. Harvey. The Cid’s submission to the Pope W. Harvey. Cross and Keys, &c W. Harvey. tSarct perej tfe Vargas. Garci Perez vanquishes the Seven Moors . . H. Warren. (Efje pountrer. Moorish Arms, &c. (M. A.) H. Warren CTIje iHurtrer of tlje fHa^ter. Death of the Master of St. Iago in the Alcazar at Seville, from a sketch by Mrs. Montgomery' . H. Warren. The Architecture by Owen Jones. GCije EJeatl) of (Queen JJtancIje. Block and Executioner’s Knife (M.A.) H. Warren. Cfje CBcatf) af Han petrro. Struggle between Don Pedro and Don Henry W. Harvey. Don Pedro dead W. Harvey. Cfje proclamation of fting $?enrp. Knight on Horseback H. Warren. Maria de Padilla on the Battlement H. Warren. CONTENTS AND LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. (EIjp Hurt of JJutraso. dwwmibi) by CHIjc Htufl of Sirraflon. 0)E JFoto of lUOuau. Sabre and Shield W. Harvey. The Moorish Court, with assemblage of Warriors . W. Harvey. Departure of the Cavalcade W. Harvey. The Retreat from Jaf,n W. Harvey. CijE JFltflfjt from (SrauaOa. Entrance of the Christians into Granada and De- parture of the Moors H. Warren. Boabdil presenting the Keys of the City to Ferdi- nand and Isabella W. Simson. View of Granada from Ultimo Suspiro del Moro, SKETCHED ON THE SPOT BY RlClIARD FoRD, EsQ. H. WaRREN. HLfye SRatfj of Don aioujo of Ifltular. The Moorish Ambuscade H. Warren. Death of Don Alonzo W. Simson. (EIjp iBrparturp of Situs ^riiajRtan. Galleys quitting the mouth of the Tagus . . . . H. Warren. MOOEISH BAlLLABSo Cljp of (Sajul. Bull-fight at Granada C. E. Aubrey. Dying Bull C. E. Aubrey. Cf)£ Zzgci'Z JJrrtir. Moorish Weapons (M. A.) H. Warren. CONTENTS AND LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. (Eljc JoriUal of < Hu&aIIa. designed uy Xarifa and the Cushion .... H. Warren and Owen Jones. •Sara'tf eEarmnjjs'. Zara at the Well H. Warren. Cfjc ilamcnfatton for (Icltn. Interior of a Moorish Palace, from a sketch by Mrs. Montgomery .... Owen Jones and C. E. Aubrey. K0MAOTIC BAILJLABSo €Ijc iHoor elalamios. Tournament C. E. Aubrey. Cfjc of 6ayfcr ojS. Gayferos W. Simson. jWeluant&ra. Melisendra’s Descent from the Battlements . . . W. Harvey. ■ The Tower of Sansuena W. Harvey. CEfjr ftatty Ultra’S JSrcatn. The Dream H. Warren. Roncesvalles H. Warren. SDfje ^Xfmtral t. gjoijn tijr Baptist. Maidens decorating the Ram . . . . . . H. Warren. Vine and Olive L. Francais. Sultana. The Capture of Juliana jg>ang of tfjr (Sallrp. Maiden watching the Galleys W. Allan, R.A. Cfjc asaantrrrtng Untgljt’S £ang. The Wandering Knight J^crcnatic. The Serenade . H. Warren. Ct )t Capttbe l&ntgfjt anti tfje Blarbbtrtr. The Captive Knight SFallatroIttf. The Knight meeting the Palmer W. Harvey. Hragut, tfje Corsair. Spanish Captive Sinking of the Corsair’s Galley Count &Iarco£ anti tfjc Jnfanta g>oIt£a. The Infanta Solisa CONTENTS AND LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Count aiarcajS an& tfjc Infanta Jjfllt^a (CONTINUED). demon kd by The Kino and the Infanta W. Harvey. The King and Count Alarcos W. Harvey. Departure of the Count W. Harvey. Count Alarcos arriving at his home VV . Harvey. Alarcos and the Countess ^ • Harvey. The Countess praying W. Harvey. Death of the Countess W. Harvey. The Coloured Titles, Borders, and Ornamental Letters and Vignettes, by Owen Jones. HE intention of this Publication is to furnish the English reader with some notion of that old Spanish minstrelsy, which has been preserved in the different Cancioneros and Romanceros of the sixteenth century. That great mass of popular poetry has never yet received in its own country the attention to which it is entitled. While hun- dreds of volumes have been written about authors who were, at the best, ingenious imitators of classical or Italian models, not one, of the least critical merit, has been bestowed upon those old and simpler poets who were contented with the native raTmoBucTioHo inspirations of Castilian pride. No Spanish Percy, or Ellis, or Ritson, has arisen to perform what no one but a Spaniard can entertain the smallest hope of achieving. Mr. Bouterwelc, in his excellent History of Spanish Litera- ture (Book i., Sect. 1), complained that no attempt had ever been made even to arrange the old Spanish ballads in anything like chronological order. An ingenious countryman of his own, Mr. Depping, has since, in some measure, supplied this defect. He has arranged the historical ballads according to the chrono- logy of the persons and events which they celebrate ; for even this obvious matter had not been attended to by the original Spanish collectors; but he has modestly and judiciously re- frained from attempting the chronological arrangement of them as compositions ; feeling, of course, that no person can ever acquire such a delicate knowledge of a language not his own, as might enable him to distinguish, with accuracy, between the different shades of antiquity, — or even perhaps to draw, with certainty and precision, the broader line between that which is of genuine antiquity, and that which is mere modern imitation. By far the greater part of the following transla- tions are from pieces which the reader will find in Mr. Dep- ping’s Collection, published at Leipsig in 1817. It seems, therefore, in the present state of things, impos- sible to determine to what period the composition of the oldest Spanish ballads now extant ought to be referred. The first Can- IlTTIEOBUCTIOWo cionero, that of Ferdinand de Castillo, was published so early as 1510. In it, a considerable number, both of the historical and of the romantic class of ballads, are included : and, as the title of the book itself bears “ Obras de todos o de los mas principales Trobadores de Espana, assi antiguos como modernos," it is clear that at least a certain number of these pieces were considered as entitled to the appellation of “ ancient,” in the year 1510. The Cancionero de Romances, published at Antwerp in 1555, and afterwards often reprinted under the name of Romancero, was the earliest collection that admitted nothing but ballads. The Romancero Historiado of Lucas Rodriguez, appeared at Alcala, in 1579; the Collection of Lorenzo de Sepulveda, at Antwerp, in 1566. The ballads of the Cid were first published in a col- lected form in 1615, by Escobar. But there are not wanting circumstances which would seem to establish, for many of the Spanish ballads, a claim to an- tiquity much higher than is to be inferred from any of these dates. In the oldest edition of the Cancionero General, for example, there are several pieces which bear the name of Don Juan Manuel. If they were composed by the celebrated author of Count Lucanor (and it appears very unlikely that any person of less distinguished rank should have assumed that style with- out some addition or distinction), we must carry them back at least as far as the year 1362, when the Prince Don Juan Manuel IKTBOBITCTIOK. died. But this is not all. The ballads bearing the name of that illustrious author are so far from appearing to be among the most ancient in the Cancionero, that even a very slight examination must be sufficient to establish exactly the reverse. The regularity and completeness of their rhymes alone are, in fact, quite enough to satisfy any one who is acquainted with the usual style of the redondillas, that the ballads of Don Juan Manuel are among the most modern in the whole col- lection.* But, indeed, whatever may be the age of the ballads now extant, that the Spaniards had ballads of the same general character, and on the same subjects, at a very early period of their national history, is quite certain. In the General Chro- nicle of Spain, which was compiled in the thirteenth century, at * A single stanza of one of tliem will be enough “ Gritando va el caballero publicando su gran mal, Vestidas ropas de luto, aforradas en sayal ; For las montes sin camino con dolor y snspirar, Llorando a pie desalfo, jurando de no tornar.” Compare this with such a ballad as — - “No te espantes, caballero, ni tengas tamana grima; Hija soy del buen Rey y de la Reyna de Castilla.'' IHTOOBITCTIOHo the command of Alphonso the Wise, allusions are perpetually made to the popular songs of the Minstrels, or Joy lares. Now, it is evident that the phraseology of compositions handed down orally from one generation to another, must have undergone, in the course of time, a great many alterations ; yet, in point of fact, the language of by far the greater part of the Historical Ballads in the Romancero , does appear to carry the stamp of an antiquity quite as remote as that used by the compilers of the General Chronicle themselves. Nay, some of those very expressions from which Mr. Southey would seem to infer that the Chronicle of the Cid is a more ancient composition than the General Chronicle of Spain (which last was written before 1384), are quite of common occurrence in these same ballads, which Mr. Southey considers as of comparatively mo- dern origin.* All this, however, is a controversy in which few English readers can be expected to take much interest. And, besides, even granting that the Spanish ballads were composed but a short time before the first Cancioneros were published, it would still be certain that they form by far the oldest, as well as largest, collection of popular poetry, properly so called, that is to be found in the literature of any European nation what- See the Introduction to Mr. Southey’s Chronicle of the Cid, p. v. — (Note.) IOTISOBUCTIOE'o ever. Had there been published at London, in the reign of our Henry VIII., a vast collection of English ballads about the wars of the Plantagenets, what illustration and annotation would not that collection have received long ere now ! How the old Spaniards should have come to be so much more wealthy in this sort of possession than any of their neigh- bours, it is not very easy to say. They had their taste for warlike song in common with all the other members of the great Gothic family ; and they had a fine climate, affording, of course, more leisure for amusement than could have been en- joyed beneath the rougher sky of the north. The flexibility of their beautiful language, and the extreme simplicity of the versification adopted in their ballads, must, no doubt, have lightened the labour, and may have consequently increased the number of their professional minstrels. To tell some well-known story of love or heroism, in stanzas of four octosyllabic lines, the second and the fourth terminating in the same rhyme, or in what the musical accompaniment could make to have some appearance of being the same , — this was all that the art of the Spanish coplero, in its most perfect state, ever aspired to. But a line of seven or of six syllables was admitted whenever that suited the maker better than one of eight : the stanza itself varied from four to six lines, with equal ease ; and, as for the matter of rhyme, it was quite sufficient that the two corresponding syllables contained the same IE'TMOICDUCTIOE'o vowel.* In a language less abundant in harmonious vocables, such laxity could scarcely have satisfied the ear. But, the Spanish is, like the sister Italian, music in itself, though music of a bolder character. I have spoken of the structure of the redondillas, as Spanish writers generally speak of it, when I have said that the stanzas consist of four lines. But a distinguished German antiquary, Mr. Grimm, who published, a few years ago, a little sylva of Spanish ballads, expresses his opinion that the stanza was com- posed in reality of two long lines, and that these had subse- quently been cut into four, exactly as we know to have been the case in regard to our own old English ballad-stanza. Mr. Grimm, in his small, but very elegant collection, prints the * Fen- example: — “ Y arrastrando luengos lutos Entraron treynta fidalgos Escuderos de Xiniena Hija del conde Logctno .” Or,- “ A Don Alvaro de Luna Condestable de Castilla El rey Don Juan el Segundo Con mal semblante lo mira.” But, indeed, even this might be dispensed with. INTBOBUCTIOFo Spanish verses in what he thus supposes to have been their original shape ; * and I have followed his example in the form of the stanza which I have for the most part used in my trans- lations, as well as in quoting occasionally from the originals. So far as I have been able, I have followed Mr. Depping in the classification of the specimens which follow. The reader will find placed together at the beginning those ballads which treat of persons and events known in the au- thentic history of Spain. A few concerning the unfortunate Don Roderick, and the Moorish conquest of the eighth cen- tury, form the commencement ; and the series is carried down, though of course with wide gaps and intervals, yet so as to furnish something like a connected sketch of the gradual pro- gress of the Christian arms, until the surrender of Granada, in the year 1492, and the consequent flight of the last Moorish sovereign from the Peninsula. Throughout that very extensive body of historical ballads from which these specimens have been selected, there prevails an uniformly high tone of sentiment, — such as might have been expected to distinguish the popular poetry of a nation proud, haughty, free, and engaged in continual warfare against enemies of different faith and manners, hut not less proud and not less * “ Sylva ile Viejos Romances, publicada por Jacobo Grimm. Vienna, 1815." IOTBOBUCTIOS'o warlike than themselves. Those petty disputes and dissensions which so long divided the Christian princes, and, consequently, favoured and maintained the power of the formidable enemy whom they all equally hated ; those struggles between prince and nobility, which were productive of similar effects after the crowns of Leon and Castile had been united ; those domestic- tragedies which so often stained the character and weakened the arms of the Spanish kings ; in a word, all the principal features of the old Spanish history may be found, more or less distinctly shadowed forth, among the productions of these un- flattering minstrels. Of the language of Spain, as it existed under the reign of the Visigoth kings, we possess no monuments. The laws and the chronicles of the period were equally written in Latin ; and although both, in all probability, must have been frequently rendered into more vulgar dialects, no traces of any such ver- sions have survived the many storms and struggles of religious and political dissension, of which this interesting region has since been made the scene. To what precise extent, therefore, the language and literature of the Peninsula felt the influence of that great revolution which subjected the far larger part of her territory to the sway of a Mussulman sceptre, and how much or how little of what we at this hour admire or condemn in the poetry of Portugal, Arragon, Castile, is really not of Spanish, but of Moorish origin, — these are matters which have 3 rMTBOBTIJCTIOK'o divided all tlie great writers of literary history, and which we, in truth, have little chance of ever seeing accurately de- cided. No one, however, who considers of what elements the Christian population of Spain was originally composed, and in what shapes the mind of nations, every way kindred to that population, was expressed during the middle ages, can have any doubt that great and remarkable influence was exerted over Spanish thought and feeling — and, therefore, over Spanish language and poetry — by the influx of those Oriental tribes that occupied, for seven long centuries, the fairest provinces of the Peninsula. Spain, although of all the countries which owned the autho- rity of the Caliphs she was the most remote from the seat of their empire, appears to have been the very first in point of cultivation; — her governors having, for at least two centuries, emulated one another in affording every species of encourage- ment and protection to all those liberal arts and sciences which first flourished at Bagdad under the sway of Haroon Al-Raschid, and his less celebrated, but, perhaps, still more enlightened son, Al-Mamoun. Beneath the wise and munificent patronage of these rulers, the cities of Spain, within three hundred years after the defeat of King Roderick, had been everywhere pene- trated with a spirit of elegance, tastefulness, and philosophy, which afforded the strongest of all possible contrasts to the con- temporary condition of the other kingdoms of Europe. At Cor- ■i TNT JROBUJC TIOIo dova, Granada, Seville, and many now less considerable towns, colleges and libraries had been founded and endowed in the most splendid manner, — where the most exact and the most ele- gant of sciences were cultivated together with equal zeal. Aver- roes translated and expounded Aristotle at Cordova ; Ben-Zaid and Aboul-Mander wrote histories of their nation at Valencia; Abdel-Maluk set the first example of that most interesting and useful species of writing, by which Moreri and others have since rendered services so important to ourselves ; and even an Arabian Encyclopaedia was compiled, under the direction of Mohammed- Aba- Abdallah, at Granada. Ibn-el-Beither went forth from Malaga to search through all the mountains and plains of Europe for everything that might enable him to perfect his favourite sciences of botany and lithology, and his works still remain to excite the admiration of all who are in a condition to comprehend their value. The Jew of Tudela was the worthy successor of Galen and Hippocrates : while chemistry, and other branches of medical science, almost unknown to the ancients, received their first astonishing developments from Al-Rasi and Avicenna. Rhetoric and poetry were not less diligently studied; and, in a word, it would be difficult to point out, in the whole history of the world, a time or a country where the activity of the human intellect was more extensively, or usefully, or gracefully exerted, than in Spain, while the Mussulman sceptre yet retained any portion of that vigour IE'TMOBUCTIOE'o which it had originally received from the conduct and heroism of Tarifa. Although the difference of religion prevented the Moors and their Spanish subjects from ever being completely melted into one people, yet it appears that nothing could, on the whole, be more mild than the conduct of the Moorish government towards the Christian population of the country, during this their splendid period of undisturbed dominion. Their learning and their arts they liberally communicated to all who desired such participation ; and the Christian youth studied freely and honourably at the feet of Jewish physicians and Mahommedan philosophers. Communication of studies and acquirements, con- tinued through such a space of years, could not have failed to break down, on both sides, many of the barriers of religious prejudice, and to nourish a spirit of kindliness and charity among the more cultivated portions of either people. The in- tellect of the Christian Spaniards could not be ungrateful for the rich gifts it was every day receiving from their misbelieving masters; while the benevolence with which instructors ever re- gard willing disciples, must have tempered in the minds of the Arabs the sentiments of haughty superiority natural to the breasts of conquerors. By degrees, however, the scattered remnants of unsubdued Visigoths, who had sought and found refuge among the moun- tains of Asturias and Gallicia, began to gather the strength of lOTKOBITCTIONo numbers and of combination, and the Mussulmen saw different portions of their empire successively wrested from their hands by leaders whose descendants assumed the titles of Kings in Oviedo and Navarre ; and of Counts in Castile, Soprarbia, Arragon, and Barcelona. From the time when these princi- palities were established, till all their strength was united in the persons of Ferdinand and Isabella, a perpetual war may be said to have subsisted between the professors of the two religions ; and the natural jealousy of Moorish governors must have gra- dually, but effectually, diminished the comfort of the Christians who yet lived under their authority. Were we to seek our ideas of the period only from the events recorded in its chro- nicles, we should be led to believe that nothing could be more deep and fervid than the spirit of mutual hostility which pre- vailed among all the adherents of the opposite faiths : but external events are sometimes not the surest guides to the spirit whether of peoples or of ages, and the ancient popular poetry of Spain may be referred to for proofs, which cannot be considered as either of dubious or of trivial value, that the rage of hostility had not sunk quite so far as might have been imagined into the minds and hearts of very many that were engaged in the conflict. There is, indeed, nothing more natural, at first sight, than to reason in some measure from a nation as it is in our own day, back to what it was a few centuries ago : but nothing could 4 IMMOBUCTIOETo tend to the production of greater mistakes than such a mode of judging applied to the case of Spain. In the erect and high- spirited peasantry of that country, we still see the genuine and uncorrupted descendants of their manly forefathers ; but in every other part of the population, the progress of corruption appears to have been not less powerful than rapid ; and the higher we ascend in the scale of society, the more distinct and mortifying is the spectacle of moral not less than of physical deterioration. This universal falling off of men may be traced very easily to an universal falling off in regard to every point of faith and feeling most essential to the formation and preservation of a national character. We have been accustomed to consider the modern Spaniards as the most bigoted, and enslaved, and igno- rant of Europeans ; but we must not forget, that the Spaniards of three centuries back were, in all respects, a very different set of beings. Castile, in the first regulation of her constitu- tion, was as free as any nation needs to be, for all the purposes of social security and individual happiness. Her kings were her captains and her judges, the chiefs and the models of a gallant nobility, and the protectors of a manly and independent pea- santry: but the authority with which they were invested was guarded by the most accurate limitations; nay — in case they should exceed the boundary of their legal power — the statute- book of the realm itself contained exact rules for the conduct of a constitutional insurrection to recall them to their duty, or IOTJ5KD BUCTIO^o to punish them for its desertion. Every order of society had, more or less directly, its representatives in the national coun- cil ; every Spaniard, of whatever degree, was penetrated with a sense of his own dignity as a freeman — his own nobility as a descendant of the Visigoths. And it is well remarked by an elegant historian of our day,*' that, even to this hour, the in- fluence of this happy order of things still continues to be felt in Spain, — where manners, and language, and literature, have all received indelibly a stamp of courts, and aristocracy, and proud feeling, — which affords a striking contrast to what may be observed in modern Italy, where the only freedom that ever existed had its origin and residence among citizens and mer- chants. The civil liberty of the old Spaniards could scarcely have existed so long as it did, in the presence of any feeling so black and noisome as the bigotry of modern Spain ; but this was never tried ; for down to the time of Charles V. no man has any right to say that the Spaniards were a bigoted people. One of the worst features of their modern bigotry — their ex- treme and servile subjection to the authority of the Pope — is entirely a-wanting in the picture of their ancient spirit. — Tn the 12th century, the Kings of Arragon were the protectors of the Albigenses; and their Pedro II. himself died in 1213, * Sismondi’s Literature du Midi. IOTBOBUCTIOWo fighting bravely against the red cross, for the cause of tolerance. In 1268, two brothers of the King of Castile left the banners of the Infidels, beneath which they were serving at Tunis, with eight hundred Castilian gentlemen, for the purpose of coming to Italy and assisting the Neapolitans in their resistance to the tyranny of the Pope and Charles of Anjou. In the great schism of the West, as it is called (1378), Pedro IV. em- braced the party which the Catholic Church regards as schis- matic. That feud was not allayed for more than a hundred years, and Alphonso V. was well paid for consenting to lay it aside ; while, down to the time of Charles V., the whole of the Neapolitan Princes of the House of Arragon may be said to have lived in a state of open enmity against the Papal See; — sometimes excommunicated for generations together — seldom apparently — never cordially reconciled. When, finally, Ferdinand the Catholic made his first attempt to introduce the Inquisi- tion into his kingdom, almost the whole nation took up arms to resist him. The Grand Inquisitor was killed, and every one of his creatures was compelled to leave, for a season, the yet free soil of Arragon. But the strongest and best proof of the comparative libe- rality of the old Spaniards is, as I have already said, to be found in their Ballads. Throughout the far greater part of those compositions, there breathes a certain spirit of charity and humanity towards those Moorish enemies with whom the com- IMMOB ttJCTIOKo bats of the national heroes are represented. The Spaniards and the Moors lived together in their villages beneath the calmest of skies, and surrounded with the most beautiful of landscapes. In spite of their adverse faiths, in spite of their adverse interests, they had much in common. — Loves, and sports, and recreations, — nay, sometimes their haughtiest recollections, were in common, and even their heroes were the same. Bernardo del Carpio, Fernan Gonzalez, the Cid himself, — almost every one of the favourite heroes of the Spanish nation, had, at some period or other of his life, fought beneath the standard of the Crescent, and the minstrels of either nation might, therefore, in regard to some instances at least, have equal pride in the celebration of their prowess. The praises which the Arab poets granted to them in their Mouwachchah, or girdle verses, were repaid hy liberal encomiums on Moorish valour and generosity in Castilian and Arragonese Redondillas. Even in the ballads most exclu- sively devoted to the celebration of feats of Spanish heroism, it is quite common to find some redeeming compliment to the Moors mixed with the strain of exultation. Nay, even in the more remote and ideal chivalries celebrated in the Castilian Ballads, the parts of glory and greatness are almost as frequently attributed to Moors as to Christians ; — Calaynos was a name as familiar as Gayferos. At a somewhat later period, when the conquest of Granada had mingled the Spaniards still more effectually with the persons and manners of the Moors, we find I r! TJ&G’U'U € TIOIf o the Spanish poets still fonder of celebrating the heroic achieve- ments of their old Saracen rivals ; and, without doubt, this their liberality towards the “ Knights of Granada, Gentlemen, albeit Moors,” “ Caballeros Granadinos Aunque Moros liijos d’algo,” must have been very gratifying to the former subjects of “The Baby King.” It must have counteracted the bigotry of Con- fessors and Mollahs, and tended to inspire both nations with sentiments of kindness and mutual esteem. Bernard of Carpio, above all the rest, was the common property and pride of both peoples. Of his all-romantic life, the most romantic incidents belonged equally to both. It was with Moors that he allied himself when he rose up to demand vengeance from King Alphonso for the murder of his father. It was with Moorish brethren in arms that he inarched to fight against the Frankish army for the independence of the Spanish soil. It was in front of a half-Leonese, lialf-Moorish host, that Bernard couched his lance, victorious alike over valour and magic : — “ When Rowland brave and Olivier, And every Paladin and Peer On Roncesvalles died.” A few ballads, unquestionably of Moorish origin, and appa- rently rather of the romantic than of the historical class, are MTJROBUJCTIOHo given in a section by themselves. The originals are valuable, as monuments of the manners and customs of a most singular race. Composed originally by a Moor or a Spaniard (it is often very difficult to determine by which of the two), they were sung in the villages of Andalusia in either language, but to the same tunes, and listened to with equal pleasure by man, woman, and child, — Mussulman and Christian. In these strains, whatever other merits or demerits they may possess, we are, at least, pre- sented with a lively picture of the life of the Arabian Spaniard. We see him as he was in reality, “ like steel among weapons, — like wax among women,” — “ Fuerte qual azero entre annas, Y qual cera entre las damas.” There came, indeed, a time when the fondness of the Spa- niards for their Moorish Ballads was made matter of reproach, — but this was not till long after the period when Spanish bravery had won back the last fragments of the Peninsula from Moorish hands. It was thus that a Spanish poet of the after day ex- pressed himself : — “Vayase con Dios Gazul ! Lleve el diablo a Celindaxa ! Y buelvan estas marlotas A quien se las did prestadas ! CTTKOBIKDTIOW, “ Que quiere Dona Maria Ver baylar a Dona Juana, Una gallarda espanola, Que no ay dan^a mas gallarda : “ Y Don Pedro y Don Rodrigo Vestir otras mas galanas, Ver quien son estos danzantes Y conocer estas damas ; “ Y el Senor Alcayde quiere Saber quien es Abenamar, Estos Zegris y Aliatares, Adulces, Zaydes, y Andallas ; “ Y de que repartimiento Son Celinda y Guadalara, Estos Moros y Estas Moras Que en todas las bodas danzan ; “ Y por hablarlo mas claro, Assi tenguan buena pascua, Ha venido a su noticia Que ay Cristianos en Espana.” These sarcasms were not without their answer ; for, says another poem in the Romancero General : — “ Si es Espanol Don Rodrigo, Espanol fue el fuerte Andalla ; Y sepa el Senor Alcayde Que tambien lo es Guadalara.” IOTJ&OBUCTIOE'o But the best argument follows : — “No es culpa si de los Moros Los valientes liechos cantan, Pues tanto mas resplendecen Nuestras celebras hazanas.” The greater part of the Moorish Ballads refer to the period immediately preceding the downfall of the throne of Granada — the amours of that splendid court — the hull-feasts and other spectacles in which its lords and ladies delighted no less than those of the Christian courts of Spain — the bloody feuds of the two great families of the Zegris and the Abencerrages, which contributed so largely to the ruin of the Moorish cause — and the incidents of that last war itself, in which the power of the Mussulman was entirely overthrown by the arms of Ferdinand and Isabella. To some readers it may, perhaps, occur, that the part ascribed to Moorish females in these Ballads is not always exactly in the Oriental taste ; hut the pictures still extant on the walls of the Alhambra contain abundant proofs how unfair it would he to judge from the manners of any Mussulman nation of our day, of those of the refined and elegant Spanish Moors. The specimens of which the third and largest section consists, are taken from amongst the vast multitude of miscellaneous and romantic ballads in the old Cancioneros. The subjects of a number of these are derived from the fabulous Chronicle of IOTBOBUCTIOKo Turpin ; and the Knights of Charlemagne’s Round-Table appear in all their gigantic lineaments. But the greater part are formed precisely of the same sort of materials which supplied our own ancient ballad-makers, both the English and the Scottish. In the original Spanish collections, songs, both of the serious and of the comic kind, are mingled without scruple among their romantic ballads; and one or two specimens of these also have been attempted towards the conclusion of the following pages. Kbixburgu, 1S23. HE treason of Count Julian, and, indeed, the whole his- tory of King Roderick, and the downfall of the gothic monarchy in Spain, have been so effectually made known to the English reader by Mr. Southey and Sir Walter Scott, that it would be impertinent to say anything of these matters here. The ballad, a version of which follows, appears to be one of the oldest among the great number relating to the Moorish conquest of Spain. One verse of it is quoted, and several parodied, in the Second Part of Don Quixote, in the inimitable chapter of the Puppet-show : — ‘ The general rout of the puppets being over, Don Quixote’s fury began to abate; and, with a more pacified countenance, turning to the company, — Well, now, said lie, when all is done, long live knight-errantry ; long let it live, I say, above all things whatsoever in this world! — Ay, ay, said Master Peter, in a doleful tone, let it live long for me, so I may die ; for why should I live so un- happy as to say with King Rodrigo, Yesterday I was lord of Spain, to-day have not afoot of land I can call mine ? It is not half an hour, nay, scarce a moment, since I had kings and emperors at command. I had horses in abundance, and chests and bags full of fine things ; but now you see me a poor, sorry, undone man, quite and clean broke and cast down, and, in short, a mere beggar. What is worst of all, I have lost my ape too, who, I am sure, will make me sweat ere I catch him again.’ * But still where through the press of war he went, Half-armed, and like a lover seeking death, The arrows passed him by ; and right and left, The spear-point pierced him not ; the scymitar Glanced from his helmet : he, when he beheld The rout complete, saw that the shield of heaven Had been extended over him once more, And bowed before its will. Upon the banks Of Sella was Orelio found, his legs And flanks incarnadined, his poitrel smeared With froth and foam and gore, his silver mane Sprinkled with blood, which hung on every hair Aspersed like dew-drops : trembling there he stood From the toil of battle, and at times sent forth His tremulous cry, far echoing loud and shrill, A frequent, anxious cry, with which he seemed To call the master he had loved so well.’ — Southey. &i)t Hamentation of Bon 3£otimcfc. The hosts of Don Rodrigo were scattered in dismay, When lost was the eighth battle, nor heart nor hope had they ; He, when he saw that field was lost, and all his hope was flown, He turned him from his flying host, and took his way alone. His horse was bleeding, blind, and lame, — he could no farther go ; Dismounted, without path or aim, the king stepped to and fro ; It was a sight of pity to look on Roderick, For, sore athirst and hungry, he staggered, faint and sick. All stained and strewed with dust and blood, like to some smouldering brand Plucked from the flame, Rodrigo shewed : — his sword was in his hand, But it was hacked into a saw of dark and purple tint ; His jewelled mail had many a flaw, his helmet many a dint. He climbed unto a hill-top, the highest he could see, Thence all about of that wide rout his last long look took he ; He saw his royal banners, where they lay drenched and torn, He heard the cry of victory, the Arab’s shout of scorn. He looked for the brave captains that led the hosts of Spain, But all were fled except the dead, and who could count the slain ? tel — ^ yv ' a x N a "U THE LAMENTATION OF DON RODERICK. Where’er his eye could wander, all bloody was the plain, And, while thus he said, the tears he shed run down his cheeks like rain ‘ Last night I was the King of Spain, — to day no king am I ; Last night fair castles held my train, — to-night where shall I lie ? Last night a hundred pages did serve me on the knee, — To-night not one I call mine own : — not one pertains to me. 1 Oh, luckless, luckless was the hour, and cursed was the day, When I was born to have the power of this great signiory ! Unhappy me, that I should see the sun go down to-night ! O Death, why now so slow art thou, why fearest thou to smite ? ’ HIS ballad also is quoted in Don Quixote. ‘ And let me tell you again (quoth Sancho Panza to the Duchess), if you do n’t think fit to give me an island because I am a fool, I will be so wise as not to care whether you do or no. It is an old saying, The Devil lurks behind the cross. All is not gold that glisters. From the tail of the plough, Bamha was made King of Spain ; and from his silks and riches was Rodrigo cast to he devoured by the snakes, if the old ballads say true, and sure they are too old to tell a lie. — That they are indeed (said Dona Rodriguez, the old waiting-woman, who listened among the rest), for I remember, one of the ballads tells us how Don Rodrigo was shut up alive in a tomb full of toads, snakes, and lizards; and how, after two days, he was heard to cry out of the tomb in a loud and doleful voice, Now they eat me, now they gnaw me, in the part where T sinned most. And according to this the gentleman is in the right in saying he had rather be a poor labourer than a king, to be gnawed to death by vermin.’ Cervantes would scarcely have made this absurd story the subject of conversa- tion between any more intelligent personages than Sancho Panza and the vener- able Dona Rodriguez. Nevertheless, there is something very peculiar in the old ballad to which these interlocutors allude, — enough, perhaps, to make it worth the trouble of translation. There is a little difference between the text of the Cancionero, and the- copy which Dona Rodriguez quotes ; but I think the effect is better when there is only one snake, than when the tomb is full of them. Several chapters of the Ancient Chronicle of Spain, translated in the Appendix to Mr. Southey’s Roderick, relate to the adventures of the King 1 after he left the battle and arrived at a hermitage.’ STije penitence of Bon Hotorictt* It was when the King Rodrigo had lost his realm of Spain, In doleful plight he held his flight o’er Guadalete’s plain ; Afar from the fierce Moslem he fain would hide his woe, And up among the wilderness of mountains he would go. There lay a shepherd by the rill, with all his flock beside him ; He asked him where upon his hill a weary man might hide him. ‘ Not far,’ quoth he, ‘ within the wood, dwells our old Eremite ; He in his holy solitude will hide ye all the night.’ — ‘ Good friend,’ quoth he, ‘ I hunger.’ — ‘ Alas ! ’ the shepherd said, ‘ My scrip no more containeth but one little loaf of bread.’ — The weary King was thankful, the poor man’s loaf he took ; He by him sate, and, while he ate, his tears fell in the brook. From underneath his garment, the King unlocked his chain, A golden chain with many a link, and the royal ring of Spain ; He gave them to the wondering man, and, with heavy steps and slow He up the wild his way began, to the hermitage to go. PENITENCE OE DON RODERICK. THE PENITENCE OF DON RODERICK. The sun had just descended into the western sea, And the holy man was sitting in the breeze beneath his tree ; ‘ I come, I come, good father, to beg a boon from thee : This night within thy hermitage give shelter unto me.’ The old man looked upon the King, — he scanned him o’er and o’er, — He looked with looks of wondering, — he marvelled more and more. With blood and dust distained was the garment that he wore, And yet in utmost misery a kingly look he bore. ‘ Who art thou, weary stranger ? This path why hast thou ta’en ? ’ — ‘ I am Rodrigo ; — yesterday men called me King of Spain ; I come to make my penitence within this lonely place ; Good father take thou no offence, for God and Mary’s grace.’ — The Hermit looked with fearful eye upon Rodrigo’s face, ‘ Son, mercy dwells with the Most High, — not hopeless is thy case ; Thus far thou well hast chosen ; I to the Lord will pray ; He will reveal what penance may wash thy sin away.’ — Now, God us shield ! it was revealed that he his bed must make Within a tomb, and share its gloom with a black and living snake. Rodrigo bowed his humbled head, when God’s command he heard And with the snake prepared his bed, according to the word. THE PENITENCE OF DON RODERICK. The holy Hermit waited till the third day was gone, Then knocked he with his finger upon the cold tombstone ; ‘ Good King, good King,’ the Hermit said, ‘ an answer give to me How fares it with thy darksome bed and dismal company ? ’ ‘ Good father,’ said Rodrigo, ‘ the snake hath touched me not; Pray for me, holy Hermit, — I need thy prayers, God wot ; Because the Lord his anger keeps, I lie unharmed here ; The sting of earthly vengeance sleeps, — a worser pain I fear.’ The Eremite his breast did smite when thus he heard him say ; He turned him to his cell, — that night he loud and long did pray At morning hour he came again, — then doleful moans heard he ; From out the tomb the cry did come of gnawing misery. He spake, and heard Rodrigo’s voice ; ‘ O Father Eremite, He eats me now, he eats me now, I feel the adder’s bite ; The part that was most sinning my bedfellow doth rend ; There had my curse beginning, God grant it there may end ! ’ The holy man made answer in words of hopeful strain ; He bade him trust the body’s pang wordd save the spirit’s pain. Thus died the good Rodrigo, thus died the King of Spain, Washed from offence, his spirit hence to God its flight hath ta’en. 3T ! )t Matcf) of 15mtartJ0 tiel <2tarjpto. F Bernardo del Carpio, we find little or nothing in the French romances of Charlemagne. He belongs exclusively to Spanish History, or rather, perhaps, to Spanish Romance. The continence which procured for Alphonso (who suc- ceeded to the precarious throne of the Christians in the Asturias about 795) the epithet of ‘ The Chaste,’ was not universal in his family. By an intrigue with Sanclio Diaz, Count of Saldana, or Saldena, Dona Ximena, sister of this virtuous Prince, bore a son. Some chroniclers attempt to gloss over this incident, by alleging that a private marriage had taken place between the lovers : but King Alphonso, who was well nigh sainted for living only in platonic union with his wife Bertha, took the scandal greatly to heart. He shut up the peccant Princess in a cloister, and imprisoned her gallant in the castle of Luna, where he caused him to be deprived of sight. Fortunately, his wrath did not extend to the offspring of their stolen affections, Bernardo del Carpio. When the youth had grown up to manhood, Alphonso, according to the Spanish chroniclers, invited the Emperor Charlemagne into Spain, and having neglected to raise up heirs for the kingdom of the Goths in the ordi- nary manner, he proposed the inheritance of his throne as the price of the alliance of Charles. But the nobility, headed by Bernardo, remonstrated against the King’s choice of a successor, and would on no account consent to receive a Frenchman as the heir of their crown. Alphonso himself repented of the invitation he had given Charlemagne, and when that champion of Christendom came to expel the Moors from Spain, he found the conscientious and chaste Alphonso had united with the infidels against him. An engagement took place in the renowned pass of Roncesvalles, in which the French were defeated, and the celebrated Roland, or Orlando, was slain. The victory was ascribed chiefly to the prowess of Bernardo del Carpio. The following ballad describes the enthusiasm excited among the Leonese, when Bernardo first raised his standard to oppose the progress of Charlemagne’s army. Ef)t Jtflardj of 95mtarf>o M OTarpio. With three thousand men of Leon, from the city Bernard goes, To protect the soil Hispanian from the spear of Frankish foes : From the city which is planted in the midst between the seas, To preserve the name and glory of old Pelayo’s victories. The peasant hears upon his field the trumpet of the knight, — He quits his team for spear and shield and garniture of might ; The shepherd hears it ’mid the mist, — he flingeth down his crook, And rushes from the mountain like a tempest-troubled brook. The youth who shews a maiden’s chin, whose brows have ne’er been bound The helmet’s heavy ring within, gains manhood from the sound ; The hoary sire beside the fire forgets his feebleness, Once more to feel the cap of steel a warrior’s ringlets press. ‘ Our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak, No>r are our veins so bloodless, that we oiur vow should break, To sell our freedom for the fear of Prince or Paladin ; At least we ’ll sell our birthright dear, — no bloodless prize they ’ll win ‘ A t least King Charles, if God decrees he must be Lord of Spain, Shall witness that the Leonese were not airoused in vain ; He shall bear witness that we died as live:d our sires of old, — Nor only of Numantium’s pride shall ministrel tales be told. ‘ T he Lion that hath bathed his paws in seas of Lybian gore, Shall he not battle for the laws and liberties of yore ? Anointed cravens may give gold to wliomi it likes them well, Put steadfast heart and spirit bold, Alphomso ne’er shall sell.’ As through the glen his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills, They swelled his host, as mountain-strea.m receives the roaring rills ; They round his banner flocked, in scorn &4>f)on8o. HE incident recorded in this ballad may be supposed to have occurred immediately after the funeral of the Count of Saldana. As to what was the end of the knight’s history, we are almost left entirely in the dark, both by the Chronicle and by the Romancero. It appears to be intimated that, after his father’s death, he once more ‘ took service ’ among the Moors, who are represented in several of the ballads as accustomed to exchange offices of courtesy with Bernardo. IScntartio anti Elpfjonso With some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo hath appeared Before them all in the palace hall, the lying King to beard ; With cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise, But ever and anon he frowned, and flame broke from his eyes. thee,’ cries the King, ‘ who comest unbid to me ; But what from traitor’s blood should spring, save traitors like to thee ? His sire, lords, had a traitor’s heart ; perchance our champion brave were a pious part to share Don Sancho’s grave.’ A curse May think it ‘ Whoever told this tale the King hath rashness to repeat,’ Cries Bernard, ‘ here my gage I fling before the liar’s feet ! No treason was in Sancho’s blood, no stain in mine doth lie : Below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny ? ‘ The blood that I like water shed, when Roland did advance. By secret traitors hired and led, to make us slaves of France ; The life of King Alphonso I saved at Roncesval, — Your words, Lord King, are recompense abundant for it all. BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO. ‘ Your horse was down, — your hope was flown, — I saw the falchion shine, That soon had drunk your royal blood, had I not ventured mine ; But memory soon of service done deserteth the ingrate ; You ’ve thanked the son for life and crown by the father’s bloody fate. ‘ Ye swore upon your kingly faith, to set Don Sancho free ; But, curse upon your paltering breath, the light he ne’er did see ; He died in dungeon cold and dhn, by Alphonso’s base decree, And visage blind, and stiffened limb, were all they gave to me. ‘ The King that swerveth from his word hath stained his purple black : No Spanish lord will draw the sword behind a liar’s back ; But noble vengeance shall be mine, an open hate I ’ll shew, — The King hath injured Carpio’s line, and Bernard is his foe.’ ‘ Seize, seize him !’ loud the King doth scream : ‘ There are a thousand here Let his foul blood this instant stream : — What ! caitiffs, do ye fear ? Seize, seize the traitor ! ’ — But not one to move a finger dareth ; Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth. He drew the falchion from the sheath, and held it up on high, And all the hall was still as death : — cries Bernard, ‘ Here am I, — And here is the sword that owns no lord, excepting heaven and me ; Fain would I know who dares his point, — King, Conde, or Grandee.’ BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO. Then to his mouth the horn he drew (it hung below his cloak) ; His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake, And back the lordlings ’gan to stand, and the false King to quake. ‘ Ha ! Bernard,’ quoth Alphonso, ‘ what means this warlike guise ? Ye know full well I jested, — ye know your worth I prize.’ But Bernard turned upon his heel, and smiling passed away : — Long rued Alphonso and his realm the jesting of that day. m WKk Cije JHatton Critiute. HE reign of King Ramiro was short, but glorious. He had not been many months seated on the throne, when Ab- derahman, the second of that name, sent a formal embassy to demand payment of an odious and ignominious tribute, which had been agreed to in the days of former and weaker princes, but which, it should seem, had not been exacted by the Moors while such men as Bernardo del Carpio and Alphonso the Great headed the forces of the Christians. This tribute was a hundred virgins per annum. King Ramiro refused compliance, and marched to meet the army of Abderahman. The battle was fought near Albayda (or Alveida), and lasted for two entire days. On the first day, the superior discipline of the Saracen chivalry had nearly accomplished a complete victory, when the approach of night separated the combatants. During the night, Saint Iago stood in a vision before the King, and promised to be with him next morning in the field. Accordingly, the warlike apostle made his appearance, mounted on a milk-white charger, and armed cap-a-pee in radiant mail, like a true knight. The Moors sustained a signal defeat, and the Maiden Tribute was never afterwards paid, although often enough demanded. Such is, in sub- stance, the story, as narrated by Mariana (see Book vii. chap. 13), who fixes the date of the battle of Alveida in the year 844, being the second year after the accession of King Ramiro. Mr. Southey says that there is no mention of this battle of Alveida in the three authors who lived nearest the time ; but adds, that the story of Santiago’s making his first appearance in a field of battle on the Christian side is related at length by King Ramiro himself, in a charter granting a perpetual tribute of wine, corn, &c. to the Church of Compostella. Mr. Southey says that the only old ballad he has seen in the Portuguese language is founded upon a story of a Maiden Tribute. See the Notes to his “Cid,” p. 377. Ct)e JFlatton Crtfiutc The noble King Ramiro within the chamber sate, One day, with all his barons, in council and debate, When, without leave or guidance of usher or of groom, There came a comely maiden into the council-room. She was a comely maiden, — she was surpassing fair ; All loose upon her shoulders hung down her golden hair ; From head to foot her garments were white as white may be And while they gazed in silence, thus in the midst spake she. ‘ Sir King, I crave your pardon, if I have done amiss In venturing before ye, at such an hour as this ; But I will tell my story, and when my words ye hear, I look for praise and honour, and no rebuke I fear. ‘ I know not if I ’m bounden to call thee by the name Of Christian, King Ramiro ; for though thou dost not claim A heathen realm’s allegiance, a heathen sure thou art : Beneath a Spaniard’s mantle thou hidest a Moorish heart. THE MAIDEN TRIBUTE. ‘ For he who gives the Moor-King a hundred maids of Spain, Each year when in its season the day comes round again, — If he be not a heathen, he swells the heathen’s train ; ’T were better burn a kingdom than suffer such disdain. ‘ If the Moslem must have tribute, make men your tribute-money, Send idle drones to teaze them within their hives of honey ; For when ’t is paid with maidens, from every maid there spring Some five or six strong soldiers to serve the Moorish King, ‘ It is but little wisdom to keep our men at home, They serve but to get damsels, who, when their day is come, Must go, like all the others, the heathen’s bed to sleep in ; In all the rest they ’re useless, and no wise worth the keeping ‘ And if ’t is fear of battle that makes ye bow so low, And suffer such dishonour from God our Saviour’s foe, I pray you, sirs, take warning, — ye ’ll have as good a fright, If e’er the Spanish damsels arise themselves to right. ‘ T is we have manly courage within the breasts of women, But ye are all hare-hearted, both gentlemen and yeomen.’ — Thus spake that fearless maiden ; I wot when she was done, Uprose the King Ramiro and his nobles every one. f THE MAIDEN TRIBUTE. The King called God to witness, that come there weal or woe, Thenceforth no Maiden Tribute from out Castile should go ; ‘ At least I will do battle on God our Saviour’s foe, And die beneath my banner before I see it so.’ A cry went through the mountains when the proud Moor drew near. And trooping to Ramiro came every Christian spear ; The blessed Saint Iago, they called upon his name ; — That day began our freedom, and wiped away our shame. Cfje Escape of Utount dFernan <£on?ale?. HE story of Fernan Gonzalez is detailed in the Coronica Antigua de Espana with so many romantic circumstances, that certain modern critics have been inclined to consider it as entirely fabulous. Of the main facts recorded, there seems, however, to be no good reason to doubt ; and it is quite certain that, from the earliest times, the name of Fernan Gonzalez has been held in the highest honour by the Spaniards themselves, of every degree. He lived at the beginning of the tenth century. It was under his rule, according to the chronicles, that Castile first became an independent Christian state, and it was by his exertions that the first foundations were laid of that system of warfare, by which the Moorish power in Spain was at last overthrown. He was so fortunate as to have a wife as heroic as himself, and both in the chronicles, and in the ballads, abundant justice is done to her merits. THE ESCAPE OF COUNT FERNAN GONZALEZ. She twice rescued Fernan Gonzalez from confinement, at the risk of her own life. He had asked, or designed to ask, her hand in marriage of her father, Garcias, King of Navarre, and was on his way to that prince’s court, when he was seized and cast into a dungeon, in conse- quence of the machinations of his enemy, the Queen of Leon, sister to the King of Navarre. Sancha, the young princess, to whose alliance he had aspired, being informed of the cause of his journey, and of the suf- ferings to which it had exposed him, determined, at all hazards, to effect his liberation ; and having done so, by bribing his jailer, she accompanied his flight to Castile. Many years after, he fell into an ambush prepared for him by the same implacable enemy, and was again a fast prisoner in Leon. His countess, feigning a pilgrimage to Compostella, obtained leave, in the first place, to pass through the hostile territory, and afterwards, in the course of her progress, to spend one night in the castle where her husband was confined. She exchanged clothes with him ; and he was so fortunate as to pass in his disguise through the guards who attended on him- — his courageous wife remaining in his place — exactly in the same manner in which the Countess of Nithsdale effected the escape of her lord from the Tower of London, on the 23rd of February, 1715. There is, as might be supposed, a whole body of old ballads, con- cerning the adventures of Fernan Gonzalez. I shall, as a specimen, translate one of the shortest of these, — that in which the first of his romantic escapes is described. 2Tfje ISscape of (Count dFernan <&on ? v ale? They have carried afar into Navarre the great Count of Castile, And they have bound him sorely, they have bound him hand and heel ; Lhe tidings up the mountains go, and down among the valleys, To the rescue ! to the rescue, ho ! — they have ta’en Fernan Gonzalez !’ A pilgrim knight of Normandy was riding through Navarre, For Christ his hope he came to cope with the Moorish scymitar ; To the Alcayde of the Tower, in secret thus said he, ‘ These bezaunts fair with thee I ’ll share, so I this lord may see.’ — The Alcayde was full joyful, — he took the gold full soon ; He brought him to the dungeon, ere the rising of the moon ; He let him out at morning, at the grey light of the prime ; But many words between these lords had passed within that time. The Norman knight rides swiftly, for he hath made him bowne To a King that is full joyous, and to a feastful town ; For there is joy and feasting, because that lord is ta’en, — King Garci in his dungeon holds the doughtiest lord in Spain. The Norman feasts among the guests, but, at the evening tide, He speaks to Garci’s daughter, within her bower, aside ; ‘ Now God forgive us, lady, and God his mother dear, For on a day of sorrow we have been blithe of cheer. ‘ The Moors may well be joyful, but great should be our grief, For Spain has lost her guardian, when Castile has lost her chief ; The Moorish host is pouring like a river o’er the land, — Curse on the Christian fetters that bind Gonzalez’ hand ! ‘ Gonzalez loves thee, lady, — he loved thee long ago, But little is the kindness that for his love you shew ; The curse that lies on Cava’s* head, it may be shared by thee ; — Arise, let love with love be paid, and set Gonzalez free.’ — The lady answered little, but at the mirk of night, When all her maids are sleeping, she hath risen and ta’en her flight ; She hath tempted the Alcayde with her jewels and her gold, And unto her his prisoner that Jailer false hath sold. * Caba, or Cava, the unfortunate daughter of Count Julian. No child in Spain was ever christened by that ominous name after the downfall of the Gothic kingdom. She took Gonzalez by the hand, at the dawning of the day, She said, ‘ Upon the heath you stand,- — before you lies your way ; But if I to my father go, alas ! what must I do ? My father will be angry, — I fain would go with you.’ — - He hath kissed the Infanta, — he hath kissed her brow and cheek, And lovingly together the forest-path they seek ; Till in the greenwood hunting they met a lordly priest, With his bugle at his girdle, and his hawk upon his wrist. ‘ Now stop ! now stop !’ the priest he said (he knew them both right well), ‘ Now stop, and pay your ransom, or I your flight will tell ; Now stop, thou fair Infanta, for, if my words you scorn, I ’ll give warning to the foresters with the blowing of my horn. ’ — The base priest’s word Gonzalez heard ; ‘ Now, by the rood !’ quoth he, ‘ A hundred deaths I ’ll suffer, or ere this thing shall be.’ — But in his ear she whispered, she whispered soft and slow, And to the priest she beckoned within the wood to go. It was ill with Count Gonzalez, the fetters pressed his knees ; Yet as he could he followed within the shady trees ‘ For help, for help, Gonzalez ! — for help,’ he hears her cry, ‘ God aiding, fast I ’ll hold thee, until my lord come nigh.’ They wrapped him in his mantle, and left him there to bleed, And all that day they held their way, — his palfrey served their need ; Till to their ears a sound did come, might fill their hearts with dread, A steady whisper on the breeze, and horsemen’s heavy tread. The Infanta trembled in the wood, but forth the Count did go, And, gazing wide, a troop descried upon the bridge below ; ‘ Cramercy !’ quoth Gonzalez, ‘ or else my sight is gone, Methinks I know the pennon yon sun is shining on. ■ Come forth, come forth, Infanta, mine own true men they be,- Come forth, and see my banner, and cry Castile ! with me ; My merry men draw near me, I see my pennon shine, Their swords shine bright, Infanta, — and every blade is thine.’— He has come within the thicket, — there lay they on the green, — And he has plucked from off the grass the false priest’s javelin ; Firm by the throat she held him bound,— down went the weapon sheer,— Down through his body to the ground, even as the boar ye spear. Cfje joebcn Tatis'. T was, says Mariana, ‘ in the year 986, that the seven most noble brothers, commonly called the Infants of Lara, w r ere slain by the treachery of Ruy Velasquez, who was their uncle, for they w r ere the sons of his sister, Dona Sancha. By the father’s side, they were sprung from the Counts of Castile, through the Count Don Diego Porcellos, from whose daughter, and Nuno Pelchides, there came two sons, namely, ISuno Rasura, great-grandfather of the Count Garci Fernandez, and Gustio Gonzalez. The last-named gentleman was father of Gonzalo Gustio, Lord of Salas of Lara ; and his sons were those seven brothers famous in the history of Spain, not more by reason of their deeds of prow r ess, than of the disastrous death which was their fortune. They were all knighted in the same day by the Count Don Garcia, according to the fashion which prevailed in those days, and more especially in Spain. "1 THE SEVEN HEADS. ‘Now it happened that Ruy Velasquez, Lord of Villaren, celebrated his nuptials in Burgos with Doha Lambra, a lady of very high birth, from the country of Briviesca, and, indeed, a cousin-german to the Count Garci Fernandez himself. The feast was splendid, and great was the concourse of principal gentry ; and among others were present the Count Garci Fernandez, and those seven brothers, with Gonzalo Gustio, their father. ‘ From some trivial occasion, there arose a quarrel between Gonzalez, the youngest of the seven brothers, on the one hand, and a relation of Doha Lambra, by name Alvar Sanchez, on the other, without, however, any very serious consequences at the time. But Doha Lambra conceived herself to have been insulted by the quarrel, and, in order to revenge herself, when the seven brothers were come as far as Barvadiello, riding in her train the more to do her honour, she ordered one of her slaves to throw at Gonzalez a wild cucumber soaked in blood, a heavy insult and outrage, according to the then existing customs and opinions of Spain. The slave, having done as he was bid, fled for protection to his lady, Doha Lambra; but that availed him nothing, for they slew him within the very folds of her garment. ‘Ruy Velasquez, who did not witness these things with his own eyes, no sooner returned, than, filled with wrath on account of this slaughter, and of the insult to his bride, he began to devise how he might avenge himself of the seven brothers. ‘ With semblances of peace and friendship, he concealed his mortal hatred ; and, after a time, Gonzalo Gustio, the father, was sent by him, suspecting nothing, to Cordova. The pretence was to bring certain moneys which had been promised to Ruy Velasquez by the barbarian King, but the true purpose, that he might be put to death at a distance from his own country ; for Ruy V elasquez asked the Moor to do this, in letters written in the Arabic tongue, of which Gonzalo was made the bearer. The Moor, howevei - , whether moved to have compassion on the grey hairs of so principal a gentleman, or desirous of at least making a show of humanity, did not slay Gonzalo, but contented himself with THE SEVEN HEADS. imprisoning him. Nor was his durance of the strictest, for a certain sister of the Moorish King found ingress, and held communication with him there ; and from that conversation, it is said, sprung Mudara Gon- zalez, author and founder of that most noble Spanish lineage of the Manriques. ‘But the fierce spirit of Ruy Velasquez was not satisfied with the tribulations of Gonzalo Gustio ; he carried his rage still farther. Pre- tending to make an incursion into the Moorish country, he led into an ambuscade the seven brothers, who had, as yet, conceived no thought of his treacherous intentions. It is true that Nuno Sallido, their grand- father, had cautioned them with many warnings, for he, indeed, suspected the deceit ; hut it was in vain, for so God willed or permitted. They had some two hundred horsemen with them, of their vassals, but these were nothing against the great host of Moors that set upon them from the ambuscade ; and although, when they found how it was, they acquitted themselves like good gentlemen, and slew many, they could accomplish nothing except making the victory dear to their enemies. They were resolved to avoid the shame of captivity, and were all slain, together with their grandfather Sallido. Their heads were sent to Cordova, an agreeable present to that King, but a sight of misery to their aged father, who, being brought into the place where they were, recognised them in spite of the dust and blood with which they were disfigured. It is true, nevertheless, that he derived some benefit therefrom ; for the King, out of the com- passion which he felt, set him at liberty to depart to his own country. ‘ Mudara, the son born to Gonzalo (out of wedlock) by the sister of the Moor, when he had attained the age of fourteen years, was prevailed on by his mother to go in search of his father; and he it was that avenged the death of his seven brothers, by slaying with his own hand Ruy Velasquez, the author of that calamity. Dona Lambra likewise, who had been the original cause of all those evils, was stoned to death by him and burnt. * By this vengeance which he took for the murder of his seven brothers, he so won to himself the good-liking of his father’s wife, Dona Sancha, and of all the kindred, that he was received and acknowledged as heir to THE SEVEN HEADS. the signiories of his father. Doha Sancha herself adopted him as her son, and the manner of the adoption was thus, not less memorable than rude : — The same day that he was baptized and stricken knight, by Garci Fernandez, Count of Castile, the lady made use of this ceremony: — she drew him within a very wide smock by the sleeve, and thrust his head forth at the neck-hand, and then kissing him on the face, delivered him to the family as her own child. * * * * ‘ In the cloister of the monastery of Saint Peter of Arlanza, they shew the sepulchre of Mudara. But concerning the place where his seven brothers were buried, there is a dispute between the members of that house and those of the Monastery of Saint Millan at Cogolla.’ — (Mariana, Book viii., Chap. 9.) Such is Mariana’s edition of the famous story of the Infants of Lara, a story which, next to the legends of the Cid, and of Bernardo del Carpio, appears to have furnished the most favourite subjects of the old Spanish minstrels. The ballad, a translation of which follows, relates to a part of the history briefly alluded to by Mariana. In the Chronicle, we are informed more minutely, that, after the Seven Infants were slain, Almanzor, King of Cordova, invited his prisoner, Gonzalo Gustio, to feast with him in his palace ; but when the Baron of Lara came, in obedience to the royal invitation, he found the heads of his sons set forth in chargers on the table. The old man reproached the King bitterly for the cruelty and baseness of this proceeding, and suddenly snatching a sword from the side of one of the royal attendants, sacrificed to his wrath, ere he could be dis- armed and fettered, thirteen of the Moors who surrounded the person of Almanzor. Forty highly spirited engravings of scenes in this romantic history, by Tempesta, after designs of Otto Van Veen, were published at Antwerp, in 1612. ‘ Who bears such heart of baseness, a king I ’ll never call, — Thus spake Gonzalo Gustos within Almanzor’s hall ; To the proud Moor Almanzor, within his kingly hall, The grey-haired Knight of Lara thus spake before them all ‘ In courteous guise, Almanzor, your messenger was sent, And courteous was the answer with which from me he went ; For why ? — I thought the word he brought of a knight and of a king But false Moor henceforth never me to his feast shall bring. ‘ Ye bade me to your banquet, and I at your bidding came ; Accursed be the villany, eternal be the shame ; For ye have brought an old man forth, that he your sport might be Thank God, I cheat you of your joy, — thank God, no tear you see. THE SEVEN HEADS. ‘ My gallant boys,’ quoth Lara, ‘ it is a heavy sight These dogs have brought your father to look upon this night ; Seven gentler boys, nor braver, were never nursed in Spain, And blood of Moors, God rest your souls, ye shed on her like rain. ‘ Some currish plot, some trick (God wot !) hath laid you all so low, Ye died not all together in one fair battle so ; Not all the misbelievers ever pricked upon yon plain The seven brave boys of Lara in open field had slain. ‘ The youngest and the weakest, Gonzalez dear ! wert thou, Yet well this false Almanzor remembers thee, I trow ; Oh, well doth he remember how on his helmet rung Thy fiery mace, Gonzalez ! although thou wert so young. ‘ Thy gallant horse had fallen, and thou hadst mounted thee Upon a stray one in the field, — his own true barb had he ; Oh, hadst thou not pursued his flight upon that runaway, Ne’er had the caitiff ’scaped that night, to mock thy sire to-day ! ‘ False Moor, I am thy captive thrall ; but when thou badest me forth, To share the banquet in thy hall, I trusted in the worth Of kingly promise. — Think’st thou not my God will hear my prayer ? — Lord ! branchless be (like mine) his tree, — yea, branchless, Lord, and bare !’ THE SEVEN HEADS. So prayed the baron in his ire, but when he looked again, Then burst the sorrow of the sire, and tears ran down like rain ; Wrath no more could check the sorrow of the old and childless man, And like waters in a furrow, down his cheeks the salt tears ran. He took their heads up one by one, — he kissed them o’er and o’er, And aye ye saw the tears down run, — I wot that grief was sore. He closed the lids on their dead eyes all with his fingers frail, And handled all their bloody curls, and kissed their lips so pale. ‘ Oh, had ye died all by my side upon some famous day, My fair young men, no weak tears then had washed your blood away The trumpet of Castile had drowned the misbelievers’ horn, And the last of all the Lara’s line a Gothic spear had borne.’ With that it chanced a Moor drew near, to lead him from the place, Old Lara stooped him down once more, and kissed Gonzalez’ face ; But ere the man observed him, or could liis gesture bar, Sudden he from his side had grasped that Moslem’s scymitar. Oh ! swiftly from its scabbard the crooked blade he drew, And, like some frantic creature, among them all he flew ; — ‘ Where, where is false Almanzor ? — back, bastards of Mahoun !’ And here and there, in his despair, the old man hewed them down. THE SEVEN HEADS A hundred hands, a hundred brands, are ready in the hall, But ere they mastered Lara, thirteen of them did fall ; He has sent, I ween, a good thirteen of dogs that spurned his God, To keep his children company beneath the Moorish sod. THE VENGEANCE OF MUDAIIA. While Rodrigo rides on in the heat of his wrath, A stripling, armed cap-a-pee, crosses his path : ‘ Good morrow, young esquire.’ — ‘ Good morrow, old knight.’ ‘ Will you ride with our party, and share our delight ?’ — ‘ Speak your name, courteous stranger,’ the stripling replied ; ‘ Speak your name and your lineage, ere with you I ride.’ — ‘ My name is Rodrigo,’ thus answered the knight ; ‘ Of the line of old Lara, though barred from my right ; For the kinsman of Salas proclaims for the heir Of our ancestor’s castles and forestries fair, A bastard, a renegade’s offspring — Mudara — Whom I ’ll send, if I can, to the Infants of Lara.’ — ‘ I behold thee, disgrace to thy lineage ! — with joy, I behold thee, thou murderer !’ — answered the boy. ‘ The bastard you curse, you behold him in me ; But his brothers’ avenger that bastard shall be ; Draw ! for I am the renegade’s offspring, Mudara ; We shall see who inherits the life-blood of Lara!’ — ‘ I am armed for the forest-chase, — not for the fight ; Let me go for my shield and my sword,’ cries the knight ; — ‘ Now the mercy you dealt to my brothers of old, Be the hope of that mercy the comfort you hold ; Die, foeman to Sancha— die, traitor to Lara!’ — As he spake, there was blood on the spear of Mudara. €f)c of flatij) ftijemsa. ^ « \ips '?* 'I <*% : '- J \r ^ I HE following passage occurs in Mariana's History (Book viii. Chap. 5) : — ‘ There a;re who affirm that this Moor’s name was Abdalla, and that he had to wife Doha Theresa, sister to Alphonso, King of Learn, with consent of that prince. Great and flagrant dishonour ! The purpose was to gain new strength to his kingdom hy this Moorish alliance ; but some pretences were set forth that Abdalla had exhibited certain signs of desiring to he a Christian, that in a short time he was to> he baptized, and the like. ‘ The Lady Theresa, deceived with these representations, was conducted to Toledo, where the nuptials were celebrated in great splendour, with games and sports, and a banquet, which lasted untill night. The company having left the tables, the bride was then carried to be:d ; but when the amorous Moor drew near to her, — Away (said she) ; let sutch heavy calamity, such baseness, be far from me ! One of two things must be, — either be baptized, thou with thy people, and then come to my arms, or, refusing to do so, keep away from me for ever. If otherwise, fear the vengeance of men, who will not overlook my insult and suffering; and the wrath of God, above all, which will follow the violation of a Christian lady’s chastity. Take good heed, and let not luxury, that smooth pest, be thy ruin. But the Moor took no heed of her words, and lay with her against her will. Title Divine vengeance followed swiftly, for there fell on him a severe malady, amd he well knew within himself from what cause it arose. Immediately he semt back Doha Theresa to her brother’s house, with great gifts, which he had bestowed on her; but she made herself a nun, in the Convent of Las Huelgas (near Burgos), and there passed the remainder of her days in pious labours and devotions, in which she found her consolation for the outrage that had been committed on her.’ The ballad, of which a translation follows, tells the same story : — 1 En los reynos de Leon el qiuinto Alfonso reynava,’ &c. Cfje Mlrttfing of tf)e ilatij? Cfjevesa, ’T was when the fifth Alphonso in Leon held his sway, King Abdalla of Toledo an embassy did send ; He asked his sister for a wife, and in an evil day Alphonso sent her, for he feared Abdalla to offend : He feared to move his anger, for many times before He bad received in danger much succour from the Moor Sad heart had fair Theresa when she their paction knew ; With streaming tears she heard them tell she ’mong the Moors must go That she, a Christian damosell, a Christian firm and true, Must wed a Moorish husband, it well might cause her woe ; But all her tears and all her prayers they are of small avail ; •es, a victim sad and pale. At length she for her fate prepar THE WEDDING OF THE LADY THERESA. The King hath sent his sister to fair Toledo town, Where then the Moor Abdalla his royal state did keep ; M hen she drew near, the Moslem from his golden throne came down And courteously received her, and bade her cease to weep ; With loving words he pressed her to come his bower within ; With kisses he caressed her, but still she feared the sin. 4 Sir King, Sir King, I pray thee,’ — -’t was thus Theresa spake, 4 I P r &y thee have compassion, and do to me no wrong ; For sleep with thee I may not, unless the vows I break M hereby I to the holy church of Christ my Lord belong ; But thou hast sworn to serve Mahoun, and if this thing should be, The curse of God it must bring down upon thy realm and thee. 4 The angel of Christ Jesu, to whom my heavenly Lord Hath given my soul in keeping, is ever by my side ; If thou dost me dishonour, he will unsheath his sword, And smite thy body fiercely, at the crying of thy bride, Invisible he standeth ; his sword, like fiery flame, W ill penetrate thy bosom, the hour that sees my shame. The Moslem heard her with a smile ; the earnest words she said He took for bashful maiden’s wile, and drew her to his bower. In vain Theresa prayed and strove, — she pressed Abdalla’s bed, Perforce received his kiss of love, and lost her maiden flower. THE WEDDING OF THE LADY THERESA. A woful woman there she lay, a loving lord beside, And earnestly to (jod did pray her succour to provide. The Angel of Christ Jesu her sore complaint did hear, And plucked his heavenly weapon from out its sheath unseen ; He waved the brand in his right hand, and to the King came near, And drew the point o'er limb and joint, beside the weeping Queen. A mortal weakness from the stroke upon the King did fall, He could not stand when daylight broke, but on his knees must crawl. Abdalla shuddered inly, when he this sickness lelt, And called upon his barons, his pillow to come nigh ; ‘ Rise up,’ he said, * my liegemen,’ as round his bed they knelt, ‘ And take this Christian lady, else certainly I die ; Let gold be in your girdles, and precious stones beside, And swiftly ride to Leon, and render up my bride.’ — When they were come to Leon, Theresa would not go Into her brother’s dwelling, where her maiden years were spent , But o’er her downcast visage a white veil she did throw, And to the ancient nunnery of Las Huelgas went. There long, from worldly eyes retired, a holy life she led ; There she, an aged saint, expired,— there sleeps she with the dead. HE ballads in the collection of Escobar, entitled ‘ Romancero e Historia del muy valeroso Cavallero El Cid Ruy Diaz de Bivar,’ are said by Mr. Southey to be in general possessed of but little merit. Notwithstanding the opinion of that great scholar and poet, I have had much pleasure in reading them ; and have translated a very few, which may serve, perhaps, as a sufficient specimen. The following is a version of that which stands fifth in Escobar : — ‘ Cavalga Diego Laynez al buen Rey besar la mano,' &e. Now rides Diego Laynez to kiss the good King’s hand ; Three hundred men of gentry go with him from his land ; Among them, young Rodrigo, the proud Knight of Bivar The rest on mules are mounted, he on his horse of war. They ride in glittering gowns of soye, — he harnessed like a lord ; There is no gold about the boy, but the erosslet of his sword ; The rest have gloves of sweet perfume, — he gauntlets strong of mail ; They broidered cap and flaunting plume, — he crest untaught to quail All talking with each other thus along their way they passed, But now they ’ve come to Burgos, and met the King at last ; When they came near his nobles, a whisper through them ran. ‘ He rides amidst the gentry that slew the Count Lozan.’ — i T THE YOUNG CID. With very haughty gesture Rodrigo reined his horse, Right scornfully he shouted, when he heard them so discourse ; — ‘ If any of his kinsmen or vassals dare appear, The man to give them answer, on horse or foot, is here.’ — ‘ The devil ask the question ! ’ thus muttered all the band ; — With that they all alighted, to kiss the good King’s hand, — All but the proud Rodrigo, he in his saddle stayed, — - Then turned to him his father (you may hear the words I16 said). ‘ Now, ’light, my son, I pray thee, and kiss the good King’s hand, He is our Lord, Rodrigo ; we hold of him our land.’ — But when Rodrigo heard him, he looked in sulky sort, — I wot the words he answered, they were both cold and short. ‘ Had any other said it, his pains had well been paid, But thou, sir, art my father, thy word must be obeyed.’ — With that he sprung down lightly, before the King to kneel, But as the knee was bending, out leapt his blade of steel. The King drew back in terror, when he saw the sword was bare ; ‘ Stand back, stand back, Rodrigo ! in the devil’s name, beware ! Your looks bespeak a creature of father Adam’s mould, But in your wild behaviour you ’re like some lion bold.’ THE YOUNG CID. When Rodrigo heard him say so, he leapt into his seat, And thence he made his answer, with visage nothing sweet, ‘ I ’d think it little honour to kiss a kingly palm, And if my father ’s kissed it, thereof ashamed I am.’ — When he these words had uttered, he turned him from the gate, His true three hundred gentles behind him followed straight ; If with good gowns they came that day, with better arms they went And if their mules behind did stay, with horses they ’re content. Ximena trcmantis Uengcaitcc, HIS ballad represents Ximena Gomez as, in person, demand- ing of the King vengeance for the death of her father, whom the young Rodrigo de Bivar had fought and slain. ‘ Grande rumor se levanta De gritos, armas, y vozes, En el Palacio de Burgos Donde son los buenos homes . Baxa el Rey de su aposento, y con el toda la Corte ; Y a las puertas de Palacio hallan a Ximena Gomez, Desmelenado el eabello, llorando a su padre el Conde, Y a Rodrigo de Bivar ensangrentado el estoque.’ .Timnta tomantis Vengeance. Within the court at Burgos a clamour doth arise, Of arms on armour clashing, of screams, and shouts, and cries The good men of the King, that sit his hall around, All suddenly upspring, astonished at the sound. The King leans from his chamber, from the balcony on high : ‘ What means this furious clamour my palace-porch so nigh ?' But when he looked below him, there were horsemen at the gate, And the fair Ximena Gomez, kneeling in woful state. Upon her neck, disordered, hung down the lady's hair, And floods of tears were streaming upon her bosom fair XIMENA DEMANDS VENGEANCE. Sore wept she for her father, the Count that had been slain ; Loud cursed she Rodrigo, whose sword his blood did stain. They turned to bold Rodrigo, I wot his cheek was red ; With haughty wrath he listened to the words Ximena said : ‘ Good King, I cry for justice. Now, as my voice thou hearest, So God befriend the children, that in thy land thou rearest. ‘ The King that doth not justice hath forfeited his claim, Both to his kingly station, and to his knightly name ; He should not sit at banquet, clad in the royal pall, Nor should the nobles serve him on knee within the hall. ‘ Good King, I am descended from barons bright of old, Who with Castilian pennons Pelayo did uphold ; But if my strain were lowly, as it is high and clear, Thou still shouldst prop the feeble, and the afflicted hear. ‘ For thee, fierce homicide ! draw, draw thy sword once more, And pierce the breast which wide I spread thy stroke before ; Because I am a woman, my life thou need’st not spare : I am Ximena Gomez, my slaughtered father’s heir. ‘ Since thou hast slain the knight that did our faith defend, And still to shameful flight all the Almanzors send, X1MENA DEMANDS VENGEANCE. ’T is but a little matter that I confront thee so: Come, traitor, slay his daughter, she needs must be thy foe, Ximena gazed upon him, but no reply could meet ; His fingers held the bridle, he vaulted to his seat. She turned her to the nobles, I wot her cry was loud, But not a man durst follow ; slow rode he through the crowd HE reader will find the story of this ballad in Mr Southey’s Chronicle (Book i., Sect. 4). ‘And the Moors entered Cas- tile in great power, for there came with them five kings,’ &c. With fire and desolation the Moors are in Castile, Five Moorish kings together, and all their vassals leal ; They ’ve passed in front of Burgos, through the Oca-Hills they They ’ve plundered Belforado, San Domingo’s harm is done. In Najara and Logrono there ’s waste and disarray : — And now with Christian captives, a very heavy prey, With many men and women, and boys and girls beside, In joy and exultation to their own realms they ride. For neither king nor noble would dare their path to cross. Until the good Rodrigo heard of this skaith and loss ; In old Bivar the castle he heard the tidings told (He was as yet a stripling, not twenty summers old). THE CID AND THE FIVE MOORISH KINGS. He mounted Bavieca, his friends he with him took, He raised the country round him, no more such scorn to brook He rode to the hills of Oca, where then the Moormen lay, He conquered all the Moormen, and took from them their prey. To every man had mounted he gave his part of gain, Dispersing the much treasure the Saracens had ta’en ; The kings were all the booty himself had from the war. Them led he to the castle, his stronghold of Bivar. He brought them to his mother, proud dame that day was she They owned him for their Signior, and then he set them free ; Home went they, much commending B.odrigo of Bivar, And sent him lordly tribute, from their Moorish realms afar. Eije (Kmivtsfjtp. ee Mr. Southey’s Chronicle (Book i., Sect. 5), for this part of the Cid’ as given in the General Chronicle of Spain.] Now, of Rodrigo de Bivar great was the fame that run, How he five kings had vanquished, proud Moormen every one And how, when they consented to hold of him their ground, lie freed them from the prison wherein they had been bound. To the good King Fernando, in Burgos where he lay, Came then Ximena Gomez, and thus to him did say : — ‘ I am Don Gomez’ daughter, in Gorrnaz Count was he ; Him slew Rodrigo of Bivar in battle valiantly. ‘ Now am I come before you, this day a boon to crave, — And it is that I to husband may this Rodrigo have ; Grant this, and I shall hold me a happy damosell, Much honoured shall I hold me, — I shall be married well. ‘ I know he ’s born for thriving, none like him in the land ; I know that none in battle against his spear may stand ; Forgiveness is well pleasing in God our Saviour’s view, And I forgive him freely, for that my sire he slew.’— Right pleasing to Fernando was the thing she did propose ; He writes his letter swiftly, and forth his foot-page goes ; I wot, when young Rodrigo saw how the King did write, He leapt on Bavieea, — I wot his leap was light. With his own troop of true men forthwith he took the way, Three hundred friends and kinsmen, all gently born were they ; All in one colour mantled, in armour gleaming gay, New were both scarf and scabbard, when they went forth that day. The King came out to meet him, with words of hearty cheer ; Quoth he, ‘ My good Rodrigo, right welcome art thou here ; This girl Ximena Gomez would have thee for her lord, Already for the slaughter her grace she doth accord. ‘ I pray thee be consenting, my gladness will be great ; Thou shalt have lands in plenty, to strengthen thine estate.’ ‘ Lord King,’ Rodrigo answers, ‘ in this and all beside, Command, and I ’ll obey thee. The girl shall be my bride ! ’ But when the fair Ximena came forth to plight her hand, Rodrigo gazing on her, his face could not command : He stood and blushed before her ; — thus at the last said he, — ‘ I slew thy sire, Ximena, but not in villany : ‘ In no disguise I slew him, — man against man I stood ; There was some wrong between us, and I did shed his blood. I slew a man, I owe a man ; fair lady, by God’s grace ! An honoured husband thou shalt have in thy dead father’s place.’ 2Tf)(> (Eft's racing. HE following ballad, which contains some curious traits of rough and antique manners, is not included in Escobar s collection. There is one there descriptive of the same event, but apparently executed by a much more modern hand. Within his hall of Burgos the King prepares the feast ; He makes his preparation for many a noble guest. It is a joyful city, it is a gallant day, ’T is the Campeador’s wedding, and who will bide away ? Layn Calvo, the Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate ; Behind him comes Buy Diaz, in all his bridal state ; The crowd makes way before them as up the street they go ; For the multitude of people their steps must needs be slow. The King had taken order that they should rear an arch, From house to house all over, in the way that they must march ; They have hung it all with lances, and shields, and glittering helms, Brought by the Campeador from out the Moorish realms. They have scattered olive branches and rushes on the street. And the ladies fling down garlands at the Campeador’s feet With tapestry and broidery their balconies between, To do his bridal honour, their walls the burghers screen. 5', They lead the bulls before them all covered o’er with trappings ; The little boys pursue them with hootings and with clappings ; The fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing, Amidst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing t ML With antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter, §? They fill the streets of Burgos — and The Devil he comes after ; For the King has hired the horned fiend for twenty maravedis, And there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies. THE CID’S WEDDING. Then comes the bride Ximena, — the King he holds her hand ; And the Queen ; and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land. All down the street the ears of wheat are round Ximena flying, But the King lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there is lying. - 3 Quoth Suero, when he saw it (his thought you understand), ‘ ’T is a fine thing to be a King, — but Heaven make me a Hand !' The King was very merry, when he was told of this, And swore the bride, ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss. The King went always talking, but she held down her head, And seldom gave an answer to anything he said ; It was better to be silent, among such a crowd of folk, Than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke. S Lf ike our own Robert the Bruce, the great Spanish hero is represented as exhibiting, on many occasions, great gentle- )/ ness of disposition and compassion. But while old Barbour | is contented with such simple anecdotes as that of a poor laundress being suddenly taken ill with the pains of child- birth, and the king stopping the march of his army rather than leave her unprotected, the minstrels of Spain, never losing an opportunity of gratifying the superstitious propensities of their audience, are sure to let no similar inci- dent in their champion’s history pass without a miracle. He has ta’en some twenty gentlemen, along with him to go, For he will pay that ancient vow he to Saint James doth owe To Compostella, where the shrine doth by the altar stand, The good Rodrigo de Bivar is riding through the land. Where’er he goes, much alms he throws, to feeble folk and poor Beside the way for him they pray, him blessings to procure ; For, God and Mary Mother, their heavenly grace to win, His hand w r as ever bountiful : great was his joy therein. THE CID AND THE LEPER. And there, in middle of the path, a leper did appear ; In a deep slough the leper lay ; to help would none come near, Though earnestly he thence did cry, ‘ For God our Saviour’s sake, From out this fearful jeopardy a Christian brother take.’ When Roderick heard that piteous word, he from his horse came down ; For all they said, no stay he made, that noble champioun ; He reached his hand to pluck him forth, of fear was no account, Then mounted on his steed of worth, and made the leper mount. Behind him rode the leprous man ; when to their hostelrie They came, he made him eat with him at table cheerfully ; While all the rest from that poor guest with loathing shrunk away, To his own bed the wretch he led, heside him there he lay. All at the mid-hour of the night, while good Rodrigo slept, A breath came from the leprosite, which through his shoulders crept ; Right through the body, by the heart, passed forth that breathing cold ; I wot he leaped up with a start, in terrors manifold. He groped for him in the bed, but him he could not find, Through the dark chamber groped he, with very anxious mind ; Loudly he lifted up his voice, with speed a lamp was brought, Yet nowhere was the leper seen, though far and near they sought. THE CID AND THE LEPER. He turned him to his chamber, God wot ! perplexed sore With that which had befallen — when lo ! his face before, There stood a man all clothed in vesture shining white : Thus said the vision, ‘ Sleepest thou, or wakest thou, Sir Knight? ‘ I sleep not,’ quoth Rodrigo ; ‘ but tell me who art thou, For, in the midst of darkness, much light is on thy brow ? ‘ I am the holy Lazarus, I come to speak with thee ; I am the same poor leper thou savedst for charity. ‘ Not vain the trial, nor in vain thy victory hath been ; God favours thee, for that my pain thou didst relieve yestreen, There shall be honour with thee, in battle and in peace, Success in all thy doings, and plentiful increase. ‘ Strong enemies shall not prevail thy greatness to undo ; Thy name shall make men’s cheeks full pale — Christians and Moslem too A death of honour shalt thou die, such grace to thee is given, Thy soul shall part victoriously, and be received in heaven.’ — When he these gracious words had said, the spirit vanished quite, Rodrigo rose and knelt him down, — he knelt till morning light ; Unto the heavenly Father, and Mary Mother dear, He made his prayer right humbly, till dawned the morning clear. $3abteca. ontaigne, in liis curious Essay, entitled ‘ Des Destriers,’ says that all the world knows everything about Bucephalus. The name of the favourite charger of the Cid Ruy Diaz is scarcely less celebrated. Notice is taken of him in almost every one of the hundred ballads concerning the history of his master, — and there are some among them, of which the horse is more truly the hero than his rider. In one of these ballads, the Cid is giving directions about his funeral ; he de- sires that they shall place his body ‘in full armour upon Bavieca,’ and so conduct him to the church of San Pedro de Cardena. This was done accord- ingly ; and, says another ballad : — Truxeron pues a Babieca; Y en mirandole se puso Tan triste como si fuera Mas rasonable que bruto. BAVIECA. Ill the Cid’s last will, mention is also made of his noble charger. ‘When ye bury Bavieca, dig deep,’ says Ruy Diaz; ‘for shameful thing were it, that he should be eaten by curs, who hath trampled down so much currish flesh of Moors.’ He was buried near bis master, under the trees in front of the convent of San Pedro of Cardena. The King looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true ; Then to the King Ruy Diaz spake after reverence due, ‘ O King, the thing is shameful, that any man beside The liege lord of Castile himself should Bavieca ride : ‘ For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring So good as he, and certes, the best befits my king. But that you may behold him, and know him to the core, I ’ll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor, With that, the Cid, clad as he was in mantle furred and wide. On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side ; And up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career, Streamed like a pennon on the wind Ruy Diaz’ minivere. BAVIECA. And all that saw them praised them, — they lauded man and horse, As matched well, and rivalless for gallantry and force ; Ne’er had they looked on horseman might to this knight come near, Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier. Thus, to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed, He snapped in twain his hither rein : — ‘ God pity now the Cid ! God pity Diaz !’ cried the Lords, — but when they looked again, They saw Ruy Diaz ruling him, with the fragment of his rein ; They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm, Like a true lord commanding, — and obeyed as by a lamb. And so he led him foaming and panting to the King, — But ‘ No !’ said Don Alphonso, ‘ it were a shameful thing That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid By any mortal but Bivar, — mount, mount again, my Cid ! fJi V £Ci ) t ISxrommuntcatton of tljc ©it(. HE last specimen I shall give of the Cid-ballads, is one, the subject of which is evidently of the most apocryphal cast. It is, however, so far as I recollect, the only one of all that immense collection that is quoted or alluded to in Don Quixote. ‘Sancho,’ cried the knight, ‘ I am afraid of being excommunicated for having laid violent hands upon a man in holy orders, Juxta illud ; si quis suadente diabolo, See. But yet, now I think better on it, I never touched him with my hands, but only with my lance; besides, 1 did not in the least suspect I had to do with priests, whom I honour and revere as every good Catholic and faithful Christian ought to do, but rather took them to be evil spirits. Well, let the worst come to the worst, I remember what befel the Cid Ruy Diaz, when he broke to pieces the chair of a king’s ambassador in the Pope’s presence, for which he was excommunicated ; which did not hinder the worthy Rodrigo de Bivar from behaving himself that day like a valorous knight, and a man of honour.’ // jisa ■ — — -J — 2Tfjc ^communication of tfjc atth. It was when from Spain across the main the Cid had come to Rome, He chanced to see chairs four and three beneath Saint Peter’s dome : ‘ Now tell, I pray, what chairs be they V — ‘ Seven kings do sit thereon, As well doth suit, all at the foot of the holy Father’s throne. £ The Pope he sitteth above them all, that they may kiss his toe, Below the keys the Flower-de-lys doth make a gallant show ; For his great puissance, the King of France next to the Pope may sit, The rest more low, all in a row, as doth their station lit.’ 7 &/V. THE EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE CID. ‘ Ha!’ quoth the Cid, ‘ now, God forbid ! it is a shame, I wiss, To see the Castle planted below the Flower-de-lys. No harm, I hope, good Father Pope, — although I move thy chair. — In pieces small he kicked it all (’twas of t-he ivory fair): — * ( Jyt FCLKAtfD The Pope’s own seat he from his feet did kick it far away, 'And the Spanish chair he planted upon its place that day ; Above them all he planted it, and laughed right bitterly ; Looks sour and bad I trow he had, as grim as grim might be. Now when the Pope was aware of this, he was an angry man, His lips that night, with solemn rite, pronounced the awful ban : The curse of God, who died on rood, was on that sinner’s head ; To hell and woe man’s soul must go if once that curse be said. I wot, when the Cid was aware of this, a woful man was he, At dawn of day he came to pray at the blessed Father’s knee Absolve me, blessed Father ! have pity on my prayer, Absolve my soul, and penance I for my sin will bear. mm FOLK ARD HE crowns of Castile and Leon being at length joined in the person of King Ferdinand, surnamed El Santo, the authority of the Moors in Spain was destined to receive many severe blows from the united efforts of two Christian states, which had in former times too often exerted their vigour against each other. The most important event of King Ferdinand’s reign was the conquest of Seville, which great city yielded to his arms in the year 1248, after sustaining a long and arduous siege of sixteen months. Don Garci Perez de Vargas was one of the most distinguished warriors who on this occasion fought under the banners of Ferdinand ; and accordingly there are many ballads of which he is the hero. The incident celebrated in that which follows, is thus told, with a few variations, in Mariana (Book xiii., Chap. 7). ‘Above all others, there signalised himself in these affairs that Garci Perez de Vargas, a native of Toledo, of \vhose valour so many marvellous, and almost incredible achievements are related. One day, about the beginning of the siege, this Garci, and another with him, were riding by the side of the river, at some distance from the outposts, when, of a sudden, there came upon them a party of seven Moors on horseback. The companion of Perez was for returning imme- diately, but he replied, that, Never, even though he should lose his life for it, would he consent to the baseness of flight. With that, his companion riding GARCI PEREZ DE VARGAS. off, Perez armed himself, closed his visor, and put his lance in the rest. But the enemies, when they knew who it was, declined the combat. ‘ He had therefore pursued his way by himself for some space, when he perceived, that in lacing the head-piece and shutting the visor, he had, by inadvertence, dropped his scarf. He immediately returned upon his steps that he might seek for it. The King, as it happened, had his eyes upon Perez all this time, for the royal tent looked towards the place where he was riding ; and he never doubted that the knight had turned back for the purpose of provoking the Moors to the combat. But they avoided him as before, and he, having regained his scarf, came in safety to the camp. ‘The honour of the action was much increased by this circumstance, that, although frequently pressed to disclose the name of the gentleman who had deserted him in that moment of danger, Perez would never consent to do so, for his modesty was equal to his bravery.’ A little farther on, Mariana relates, that Garci Perez had a dispute with another gentleman, who thought proper to assert that Garci had no right to assume the coat-of-arms which he wore. ‘ A sally having been made by the Moors, that gentleman, among many more, made his escape, but Garci stood firm to his post, and never came back to the camp until the Moors were driven again into the city. He came with his shield all bruised and battered to the place where the gentleman was standing, and pointing to the effaced bearing which was on it, said, Indeed, sir, it must be confessed that you shew more respect than T do to this same coat-of-arms, for you keep yours bright and unsullied, while mine is sadly discoloured. The gentleman was sorely ashamed, and thenceforth Garci Perez bore his achievement without gainsaying or dispute.’ (Sam Pm? be Uargas King Ferdinand alone did stand one day upon the hill, Surveying all his leaguer, and the ramparts of Seville ; The sight was grand, when Ferdinand by proud Seville was h O’er tower and tree far off to see the Christian banners flying, Down chanced the King his eye to fling, where far the camp below Two gentlemen along the glen were riding soft and slow ; As void of fear each cavalier seemed to be riding there, As some strong hound may pace around the roebuck’s thicket lair. I GARCI PEREZ DE VARGAS. It was Don Garci Perez, and he would breathe the air, And he had ta’en a knight with him, that as lief had been elsewhere ; For soon this knight to Garci said, ‘ Ride, ride we, or we ’re lost ! I see the glance of helm and lance, — it is the Moorish host !’ The Lord of Vargas turned him round, his trusty squire was near, — The helmet on his brow he bound, his gauntlet grasped the spear ; With that upon his saddle-tree he planted him right steady, ‘ Now come,’ quoth he, ‘ whoe’er they be, I trow they ’ll find us ready.’ By this the knight who rode with him had turned his horse’s head, And up the glen in fearful trim unto the camp had fled. ‘ Ha ! gone ?’ quoth Garci Perez ; — he smiled, and said no more, But slowly, with his esquire, rode as he rode before. It was the Count Lorenzo, just then it happened so, He took his stand by Ferdinand, and with him gazed below ; ‘ My liege,’ quoth he, ‘ seven Moors I see a-coming from the wood, Now bring they all the blows they may, I trow they ’ll find as good ; But it is Don Garci Perez, — if his cognizance they know, I guess it will be little pain to give them blow for blow.’ The Moors from forth the greenwood came riding one by one, A gallant troop with armour resplendent in the sun ; GARCI PEREZ DE VARGAS. Full haughty was their bearing, as o’er the sward they came, While the calm Lord of Vargas his march was still the same. They stood drawn up in order, while past them all rode he, For when upon his shield they saw the sable blazonry, And the wings of the Black Eagle, that o’er his crest were spread, They knew Don Garci Perez, and never word they said. He took the casque from off his head, and gave it to the squire, ‘ My friend,’ quoth he, ‘ no need I see why I my brows should tire.’ But as he doffed the helmet, he saw his scarf was gone, — - ‘ I ’ve dropped it sure,’ quoth Garci, ‘ when I put my helmet on.’ He looked around and saw the scarf, for still the Moors were near, And they had picked it from the sward, and looped it on a spear ; ‘ These Moors,’ quoth Garci Perez, ‘ uncourteous Moors they be, — Now, by my soul, the scarf they stole, yet durst not question me ! ‘ Now, reach once more my helmet.’ — The esquire said him nay, ‘ For a silken string why should ye fling perchance your life away ?’ — ‘ I had it from my lady,’ quoth Garci, ‘ long ago, And never Moor that scarf, be sure, in proud Seville shall shew.’ — But when the Moslem saw him, they stood in firm array, —He rode among their armed throng, he rode right furiously ; / GARCI PEREZ DE VARGAS. — ‘ Stand, stand, ye thieves and robbers, lay down my lady’s pledge ! He cried, — and ever as be cried they felt his faulchion’s edge. That day the Lord of Vargas came to the camp alone ; The scarf, his lady’s largess, around his breast was thrown ; Bare was his head, his sword was red, and from his pommel strung, Seven turbans green, sore hacked I ween, before Don Garci hung. Cijc jauntier. BALLAD concerning another doughty knight of the same family, and most probably, considering the date, a brother of Garci Perez de Vargas. Its story is thus alluded to in Don Quixote, in the chapter of the Windmills : ‘ However, the loss of his lance was no small affliction to him ; and as he was making his complaint about it to his squire, I have read, said he, friend Sancho, that a certain Spanish knight, whose name was Diego Perez de Vargas, having broken his sword in the heat of an engagement, pidled up by the roots a wild olive-tree, or at least, tore down a massy branch, and did such wonderful execution, crushing and grinding so many Moors with it that day, that he won himself and his pos- terity the surname of The Pounder, or Bruiser. [. Machuca , from Machucar, to pound as in a mortar.] I tell this, because I intend to tear up the next oak, or holm-tree, we meet; with the trunk whereof I hope to perform such wondrous deeds that thou wilt esteem thyself particularly happy in having had the honour to behold them, and been the ocular witness of achievements which posterity will scarce be able to believe. — Heaven grant you may ! cried Sancho : I believe it all, because your worship says it.’ THE POUNDER. A gnarled branch he soon did wrench down from that olive strong, Which o’er his head-piece brandishing, he spurs among the throng. God wot ! full many a Pagan must in his saddle reel ! — What leech may cure, what beadsman shrive, if once that weight ye feel ? But when Don Alvar saw him thus bruising down the foe, Quoth he, ‘ I ’ve seen some flail-armed man belabour barley so Sure mortal mould did ne’er enfold such mastery of power ; Let’s call Diego Perez the pounder, from this hour.’ — ®f)e JJfhtrTjer of tf)e jffilaster. HE next four ballads relate to the history of Don Pedro, King of Castile, called the cruel. An ingenious person not long ago published a work, the avowed purpose of which was to prove that Tiberius was a humane and contemplative prince, who retired to the Island of Capreae only that he might the better indulge in the harmless luxury of philosophic meditation : — and, in like manner, Pedro the Cruel has found, in these latter times, his defenders and apologists ; above all, Voltaire. There may be traced, without doubt, in the circumstances which attended his accession, something to palliate the atrocity of several of his bloody acts. His father had treated his mother with contempt : he had not only entertained, as his mistress, in her lifetime, a lady of the powerful family of Guzman, but actually proclaimed that lady his queen, and brought up her sons as princes in THE MURDER OF THE MASTER. his palace ; nay, he had even betrayed some intentions of violating, in their favour, the order of succession, and the rights of Pedro. And, accordingly, no sooner was Alphonso dead, and Pedro acknowledged by the nobility, than Leonora de Guzman, and her sons, whether from consciousness of guilt, or from fear of violence, or from both of these causes, betook them- selves to various places of strength, where they endeavoured to defend themselves against the authority of the new king. After a little time, matters were accommodated by the interference of friends, and Donna Leonora took up her residence at Seville ; but Pedro was suddenly, while in that city, seized with a distemper which his physicians said must, in all probability, have a mortal termination ; and during his confinement, (which lasted for several weeks) many intrigues were set afoot, and the pretensions of various candidates for the throne openly canvassed among the nobility of Castile. Whether the king had, on his recovery, discovered anything indicative of treasonous intentions in the recent conduct of Leonora and her family (which, all things considered, seems not improbable), or whether he merely suffered himself, as was said at the time, to be over-persuaded by the vindictive arguments of his own mother, the queen-dowager, the fact is certain, that in the course of a few days, Donna Leonora was arrested, and put to death by Pedro’s command, in the Castle of Talaveyra. Don Fadrique, or Frederick, one of her sons, who had obtained the dignity of Master of the Order of St. Iago, fled upon this into Portugal, and for- tified himself in the city of Coimbra; while another of them, Don Enrique, or Henry, Lord of Trastamara, took refuge at the Court of Arragon, openly renouncing his allegiance to the crown of Castile, and professing himself henceforth, in all things, the subject and vassal of the prince who gave him protection. Henry of Trastamara was, from this time, the declared and active enemy of his brother; and in consequence of his influence, and that of his mother’s kindred, but most of all, in consequence of Don Pedro’s own atrocious proceedings, Castile itself was filled with continual tumults and insurrections. W THE MURDER OF THE MASTER. Don Fadrique, however, made his peace with Pedro. After a lapse of many months, he was invited to come to the court at Seville, and take his share in the amusements of an approaching tournament. He accepted the invitation, hut was received with terrible coldness, and immediately executed within the palace. The friends of Pedro asserted that the king had that very day detected Don Fadrique in a correspondence with his brother Henry and the Arragonese ; while popular belief attributed the slaughter of the Master to the unhappy influence which the too-celebrated Maria de Padilla had long ere this begun to exercise over Pedro’s mind. Maria was often, in consequence of her close intimacy with Jews, called by the name of their hated race ; but she was in reality not only of Christian, but of noble descent in Spain. However that might be, Pedro found her in the family of his minister, Albuquerque, where she had been brought up, loved her with all the violence of his temper, and made her his wife in all things but the name. Although political motives induced him, not long afterwards, to contract an alliance with a princess of the French blood royal, — the unfortunate Blanche of Bourbon, — he lived with the young queen but a few days, and then deserted her for ever, for the sake of this beautiful, jealous, and imperious mistress, whom he de- clared to be his true wife. The reader will observe that there is a strange peculiarity in the structure of the ballad which narrates the Murder of the Master of St. Iago. The unfortunate Fadrique is introduced at the beginning of it as telling bis own story, and so he carries it on, in the first person, until the order for his execution is pronounced by Pedro. The sequel is given as if by another voice. I can suppose this singularity to have had a musical origin. The Master was slain in the year 135S. Cfjc jafluvtier of tfje jftteter, I sax alone in Coimbra— tlie town myself had ta’en, When came into my chamber, a messenger from Spain ; There was no treason in his look, an honest look he wore ; I from his hand the letter took, — my brother’s seal it bore, ‘ Come, brother dear, the day draw's near’ (’t was thus bespoke the King), ‘ For plenar court and knightly sport, within the listed ring.’ — Alas ! unhappy Master, I easy credence lent ; Alas ! for fast and faster I at his biddim Lg went. When I set off from Coimbra, and passed the bound of Spain, I had a goodly company of spearmen in my train ; A gallant force, a score of horse, and sturdy mules thirteen : With joyful heart I held my course, — my years were young and green A journey of good fifteen days within the week was done, I halted not, though signs I got, dark tokens many a one ; A strong stream mastered horse and mule, — I lost my poniard fine, And left a page within the pool — a faithful page of mine. THE MURDER OP THE MASTER. Yet on to proud Seville I rode ; when to the gate I came, Before me stood a man of God, to warn me from the same ; The words he spake I would not hear, his grief I would not see, I seek, said I, my brother dear, — I will not stop for thee. No lists were closed upon the sand, for royal tourney dight ; No pawing horse was seen to stand, — I saw no armed knight ; Yet aye I gave my mule the spur, and hastened through the town, I stopped before his palace-door, then gaily leapt I down. IIIBSS THE MURDER OF THE MASTER. They shut the door, my trusty score of friends were left behind ; I would not hear their whispered fear, no harm was in my mind ; I greeted Pedro, but he turned, — I wot his look was cold ; His brother from his knee he spurned ; — ‘ Stand off, thou Master bold !’ — ‘ Stand off, stand off, thou traitor strong ! ’t was thus he said to me, 1 Thy time on earth shall not be long, — what brings thee to my knee ? My lady craves a new-year’s gift, and I will keep my word ; Thy head methinks may serve the shift, — Good yeoman, draw thy sword !’ The Master lay upon the floor ere well that word was said : Then in a charger off they bore his pale and bloody head ; They brought it to Padilla’s chair, — they bowed them on the knee ; * King Pedro greets thee, lady fair, his gift he sends to thee.’ — She gazed upon the Master’s head, her scorn it could not scare, And cruel were the words she said, and proud her glances were ; ‘ Thou now shalt pay, thou traitor base ! the debt of many a year ; My dog shall lick that haughty face ; no more that lip shall sneer.’ She seized it by the clotted hair, and o’er the window flung ; The mastiff smelt it in his lair, forth at her cry he sprung ; The mastiff that had crouched so low to lick the Master’s hand, He tossed the morsel to and fro, and licked it on the sand. THE MURDER OF THE MASTER And. ever as the mastiff tore, his bloody teeth were shewn, With growl and snort he made his sport, and picked it to the bone The baying of the beast was loud, and swiftly on the street There gathered round a gaping crowd, to see the mastiff eat. Then out and spake King Pedro, — ‘ What governance is this ? The rabble rout, my gate without, torment my dogs, I wiss.’ Then out and spake King Pedro’s page, ‘ It is the Master’s head The mastiff tears it in his rage, — therewith they him have fed.’ Then out and spake the ancient nurse, that nursed the brothers twain, ‘ On thee, King Pedro, lies the curse, — thy brother thou hast slain ; A thousand harlots there may be within the realm of Spain, But where is she can give to thee thy brother back again ? ’ Came darkness o’er King Pedro’s brow, when thus he heard her say He sorely rued the accursed vow he had fulfilled that day ; He passed unto his paramour, where on her couch she lay, Leaning from out her painted bower, to see the mastiff’s play. He drew her to a dungeon dark, a dungeon strong and deep ; ‘ My father’s son lies stiff and stark, and there are few to weep. Fadrique’s blood for vengeance calls, his cry is in mine ear ; Thou art the cause, thou harlot false ! in darkness lie thou here, Cfjc Beat!) of <3uecit 3Slancf)e. hat Pedro was accessary to the violent death of this young and innocent princess whom he had married, and imme- diately afterwards deserted for ever, there can be no doubt. This atrocious deed was avenged abundantly; for it cer- tainly led, in the issue, to the downfall and death of Pedro himself. Mariana says, very briefly, that the injuries sus- tained by Queen Blanche had so much offended many of Pedro’s own nobility^, that they drew up a formal remonstrance, and presented it to him in a style sufficiently formidable ; and that he, his proud and fierce temper being stung to madness by what he considered an unjustifiable inter- ference with his domestic concerns, immediately gave orders for the poisoning of Blanche in her prison. In the old French Memoirs of Du Guesclin, a much more improbable story is told at great length. The Queen Blanche, according to this account, had been banished to the Castle of Medina Sidonia, the adjoining territory being assigned to her for her maintenance. One of her vassals, a Jew, presumed to do his THE DEATH OF QUEEN BLANCHE. homage in the usual fashion, that is, by kissing Blanche on the cheek, ere his true character was suspected either by her or her attendants. No sooner was the man known to be a Jew, than he was driven from the presence of the queen with every mark of insult ; and this sunk so deeply into his mind, that he determined to revenge himself, if possible, by the death of Blanche. He told his story to Maria de Padilla, who prevailed on the king to suffer him to take his own measures ; and he accordingly surprised the castle by night, at the head of a troop of his own countrymen, and butchered the unhappy lady. The ballad itself is, in all likelihood, as trust-worthy as any other authority ; the true particulars of such a crime were pretty sure to be kept concealed. Cijc Beatlj of 1 ‘ God knows,’ quoth he, ‘ what fate may be ! — I may be slaughtered soon Thou still art mine, though scarce the sign of hope that bloomed whilere, A f But in my grave I yet shall have my Zayda’s token dear.’ Young Lisaro was musing so, when onwards on the path, He well could see them riding slow ; then pricked he in his wrath, The raging sire, the kinsmen of Zayda’s hateful house, Fought well that day, yet in the fray the Zegri won his spouse. Arise, arise, Xarifa ! I see Andalla’s face, — He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace ; Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquiver Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely never. Yon tall plume waving o’er his brow, of purple mixed with white, I guess ’twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night : — Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden cushion down ; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town ! \ IStiM of &nMlau HE following ballad has been often imitated by modern poets, both in Spain and in Germany : — ‘ Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! lay the golden cushion down ; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town ! From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing, And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet’s lordly blowing, And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere, And the tall tall plume of our cousin’s bridegroom floats proudly in the air Rise up, rise up, Xarifa ! lay the golden cushion down ; Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town ! ‘Pon te a las rcjas azules, dexa la manga que labras, Mclancholica Xarifa, veras al galan Andalla,' &c. " ' ‘ What aileth thee, Xarifa — what makes thine eyes look down ? Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town ? I ’ve heard you say on many a day, and sure you said the truth, Andalla rides without a peer, among all Granada’s youth. THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA. Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow : — Then rise, — oh ! rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down ; Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all the town ! The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down, Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town ; But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove, And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove ; One bonny rose-bud she had traced, before the noise drew nigh ; That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping from her eye. ‘ No — no !’ she sighs, — ‘ bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town !’ ‘ Why rise ye not, Xarifa — nor lay your cushion down ? Why gaze ye not, Xarifa — with all the gazing town ? Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry ! He stops at Zara’s palace-gate — why sit ye still — oh, why V ‘ At Zara’s gate stops Zara’s mate ; in him shall I discover The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover ? I will not rise, with weary eyes, nor lay my cushion down, To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town !’ H. WARREN Zara’s 3£ar=rings ‘ My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! they ’ve dropped into the well, And what to say to Mu^a, I cannot, cannot tell — ’T was thus, Granada’s fountain by, spoke Albuharez’ daughter — ‘ The well is deep, — far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water To me did Mu^a give them, when he spake his sad farewell, And what to say when he comes back, alas ! I cannot tell. ‘ My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! — they were pearls, in silver set, That, when my Moor was far away, I ne’er should him forget ; ZARA’S EAR-RINGS. That I ne’er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other’s tale, But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings pale. When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well, Oh ! what will Mu9a think of me ! — I cannot, cannot tell ! ‘ My ear-rings ! my ear-rings ! — he ’ll say they should have been Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen, Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere ; That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting well ; Thus will he think, — and what to say, alas ! I cannot tell. ‘ He ’ll think, when I to market went, I loitered by the way ; He ’ll think, a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say ; He ’ll think, some other lover’s hand, among my tresses noosed, From the ears where he had placed them my rings of pearl unloosed He ’ll think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well, ‘ He ’ll say, I am a woman, and we are all the same ; He ’ll say, I loved, when he was here, to whisper of his flame. But, when he went to Tunis, my virgin troth had broken, And thought no more of Muca, and cared not for his token. My ear-rings ! my ear-rings : oh ! luckless, luckless well, For what to say to Muca, — alas ! I cannot tell. ZARA’S EAR-RINGS. ' 1 11 tell the truth to Mu^a, — and I hope he will believe, — That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve : That, musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone, His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone ; And that my mind was o’er the sea, when from my hand they fell, And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well !’ lamentation: for