Legends & Romances of Spain. Lewis Spence

to other Spanish traditions. This version, however, is much later than the Poema, and is chiefly interesting as enshrining many traditions relative to the Cid as well as to the ancient folk-tales of Spain.

Metre of the “Poema del Cid”

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It would certainly seem as if, like all cantares, the poem had been especially written for public recitation. The expression “O señores,” encountered in places, may be taken as the equivalent of the English “Listen, lordings,” of such frequent occurrence in our own lays and romances, which was intended to appeal to the attention or spur the flagging interest of a medieval audience. The metre in which the poem is written is almost as unequal as its poetic quality. The prevailing line is the Alexandrine or fourteen-syllabled verse, but some lines run far over this average, while others are truncated in barbarous fashion, probably through the inattention or haste of the copyist.4 It seems to me that the Poema, although of the highest merit in many of its finest passages, has received the most extravagant eulogy, and I suspect that many of the English critics who descant so glibly upon its excellences have never perused it in its entirety. Considerable tracts of it are of the most pedestrian description, and in places it descends to a doggerel which recalls the metrical barbarities of the pantomime. But when the war-trump gives him the key it arouses the singer as it arouses Scott—the parallel is an apt and almost exact one—and it is a mighty orchestra indeed which breaks upon our ears. The lines surge and swell in true Homeric tempest-sound, and as we listen to the crash of Castilian spears upon the Moorish ranks we are reminded of those sounding lines in Swinburne’s Erechtheus beginning:

      With a trampling of drenched, red hoofs and an earthquake of men that meet,

      Strong war sets hand to the scythe, and the furrows take fire from his feet.

      But the music of the singer of the Poema does not depend upon reverberative effect alone. His is the true music of battle, burning the blood with keenest fire, and he has no need to rely solely upon the gallop of his metrical war-horse to excite our admiration, as does the English poet.

The Poem Opens

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      The opening of the Poema del Cid, as we possess it, is indeed sufficiently striking and dramatic to console us for the loss of the original commencement. The great commander, banished (c. 1088) by royal order from the house of his father through the treachery of the Leonese party at the Court of King Alfonso, rides away disconsolately from the broken gates of his castle. A fairly accurate translation of this fine passage might read as follows:

      He turns to see the ruined hold, the tears fall thick and fast,

      The empty chests, the broken gates, all open to the blast.

      Sans raiment are the wardrobes, reft of mantle and of vair,

      The empty hollow of the hall of tapestry is bare.

      No feather in the falconry, no hawk to come to hand,

      A noble beggar must the Cid renounce his fathers’ land.

      He sighed, but as a warrior sighs. “Now I shall not repine.

      All praise to Thee, our Father, for Thy grace to me and mine.

      The slanderous tongue, the lying tale, have wrought my wreck to-day,

      But Thou in Thy good time, O Lord, the debt wilt sure repay.”

      As they rode out of Bivar flew a raven to the right,

      By Burgos as they bridled the bird was still in sight.

      The Cid he shrugged his shoulders as the omen he espied;

      “Greetings, Cousin Alvar Fañez, we are exiles now,” he cried.

      The sixty lances of the Cid rode clattering through the town;

      From casement and from turret-top the burgher-folk looked down.

      Sore were their hearts and salt their eyen as Roderick rode by;

      “There goes a worthy vassal who has known bad mastery.”

      And many a roof that night had sheltered Roderick and his band

      But for the dread in Burgos of Alfonso’s heavy hand.

      The missive broad with kingly seals had run throughout the town:

      “Who aids the Cid in banishment, his house shall be cast down.”

      So as the train rode through the streets each eye was turned aside,

      All silent was the town-house where the Cid was wont to bide;

      Both lock and bar were on the gates, he might not enter there.

      Then from a casement spoke a maid who had the house in care:

      “My lord Don Roderick, who took the sword in happy hour,

      The King hath sent a letter broad to ban from hall and bower

      Both thee and all thy company, ’tis doom to shelter one;

      Never again who aids thee shall his eyes look on the sun.

      Now go, and Goddës help with thee, thy pity we implore;

      In all broad Spain thou canst not lack, O Cid Campéador.”

      Finding no place to lay their heads within the town, the Cid with his men rode disconsolately to the plain of Glera, to the east of Burgos, where he pitched his tents on the banks of the river Arlanzon. To him came Martin Antolinez, one of his former vassals, who brought food and wine for all his train and strove to comfort him. Not a maravedi had the Cid, and how to furnish his men with arms and food he knew not. But he and Antolinez took counsel together, and hit upon a plan by which they hoped to procure the necessary sinews of war. Taking two large chests, they covered them with red leather and studded them with gilt nails, so that they made a brave outward show. Then they filled the chests with sand from the river-banks and locked them securely.

Money-lending in the Eleventh Century

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      “Martin Antolinez,” said the Cid, “thou art a true man and a good vassal. Go thou to the Jews Raquel and Vidas, and tell them I have much treasure which I desire to leave with them since it is too weighty to carry along with me. Pledge thou these chests with them for what may seem reasonable. I call God and all His saints to witness that I do this thing because I am driven to extremity and for the sake of those who depend upon me.” Antolinez, rather fearful of his mission, sought out the Jews Raquel and Vidas where they counted out their wealth and their profits. He told them that the Cid had levied much tribute which he found it impossible to carry with him, and that he would pledge this with them if they would lend him a reasonable sum upon it. But he stipulated that they must solemnly bind themselves not to open the chests for a year to come. The Jews took counsel together, and consented to hide the chests and not to look upon their contents for a year at least.

      “But tell us,” they said, “what sum will content the Cid, and what interest will he give us for the year?”

      “Needy men gather to my lord the Cid from all sides,” replied Antolinez. “He will require at least six hundred marks.”

      “We will willingly give that sum,” said Raquel and Vidas, “for the treasure of such a great lord as the Cid must indeed be immense.”

      “Hasten