Song and Legend from the Middle Ages Part 10

The Cid has been banished by King Alphonso, has entered the Moors, country and taken a city. The Moors rally, gather their allies and surround the Cid's army. He turns to consult with his men.

"From water they have cut us off, our bread is running low; If we would steal away by night, they will not let us go; Against us there are fearful odds if we make choice to fight; What would ye do now gentlemen, in this our present plight?"

Minaya was the first to speak: said the stout cavalier, "Forth from Castile the gentle thrust, we are but exiles here; Unless we grapple with the Moor bread he will never yield; A good six hundred men or more we have to take the field; In G.o.d's name let us falter not, nor countenance delay, But sally forth and strike a blow upon to-morrow's day."

"Like thee the counsel," said my Cid; "thou speakest to my mind; And ready to support thy word thy hand we ever find."

Then all the Moors that bide within the walls he bids to go Forth from the gates, lest they, perchance, his purpose come to know In making their defences good they spend the day and night, And at the rising of the sun they arm them for the fight.

Then said the Cid: "Let all go forth, all that are in our band; Save only two of those on foot, beside the gate to stand.

Here they will bury us if death we meet on yonder plain, But if we win our battle there, rich booty we shall gain.

And thou Pero Bermuez, this my standard thou shalt hold; It is a trust that fits thee well, for thou art stout and bold; But see that thou advance it not unless I give command."

Bermuez took the standard and he kissed the Champion's hand.

Then bursting through the castle gates upon the plain they is how; Back on their lines in panic fall the watchmen of the foe.

And hurrying to and fro the Moors are arming all around, While Moorish drums go rolling like to split the very ground, And in hot haste they ma.s.s their troops behind their standards twain, Two mighty bands of men-at-arms to count them it were vain.

And now their line comes sweeping on, advancing to the fray, Sure of my Cid and all his band to make an easy prey.

"Now steady, comrades"' said my Cid; "our ground we have to stand; Let no man stir beyond the ranks until I give command."

Bermuez fretted at the word, delay he could not brook; He spurred his charger to the front, aloft the banner shook: "O loyal Cid Campeador, G.o.d give the aid! I go To plant thy ensign in among the thickest of the foe; And ye who serve it, be it yours our standard to restore."

"Not so--as thou dost love me, stay!" called the Campeador.

Came Pero's answer, "Their attack I cannot, will not stay."

He gave his horse the spur and dashed against the Moors array.

To win the standard eager all the Moors await the shock, Amid a rain of blows he stands unshaken as a rock.

Then cried my Cid: "In charity, on to the rescue--ho!"

With bucklers braced before their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, with lances pointing low, With stooping crests and heads bent down above the saddle bow, All firm of hand and high of heart they roll upon the foe.

And he that in a good hour was born, his clarion voice rings out, And clear above the clang of arms is heard his battle shout, "Among them, gentlemen! Strike home for the love of charity!

The Champion of Bivar is here--Ruy Diaz--I am he!"

Then bearing where Bermuez still maintains unequal fight, Three hundred lances down they come, their pennons flickering white; Down go three hundred Moors to earth, a man to every blow; And when they wheel three hundred more, as wheeling back they go.

It was a sight to see the lances rise and fall that day; The s.h.i.+vered s.h.i.+elds and riven mail, to see how thick they lay; The pennons that went in snow-white come out a gory red; The horses running riderless, the riders lying dead; While Moors call on Mohammed, and "St. James!" the Christians cry, And sixty score of Moors and more in narrow compa.s.s lie.

Above his gilded saddle-bow there played the Champion's sword; And Minaya Alvar Fanez, Zurita's gallant lord; Add Martin Antolinez the worthy Burgalese; And Muno Gustioz his squire--all to the front were these.

And there was Martin Mufloz, he who ruled in Mont Mayor; And there was Alvar Alvarez, and Alvar Salvador; And the good Galin Garcia, stout lance of Arragon; And Felix Mufloz, nephew of my Cid the Champion.

Well did they quit themselves that day, all these and many more, In rescue of the standard for my Cid Campeador.

--Tr. by Ormsby.

THE BATTLE WITH KING BUCAR OF MOROCCO, AT VALENCIA.

Loud from among the Moorish tents the call to battle comes, And some there are, unused to war, awed by the rolling drums.

Ferrando and Diego most: of troubled mind are they; Not of their will they find themselves before the Moors that day.

"Pero Burmuez," said the Cid, "my nephew staunch and true, Ferrando and Diego do I give in charge to you; Be yours the task in this day's fight my sons-in-law to s.h.i.+eld, For, by G.o.d's grace to-day we sweep the Moors from off the field!"

"Nay," said Bermuez, "Cid, for all the love I bear to thee, The safety of thy sons-in-law no charge of mine shall be.

Let him who will the office fill; my place is at the front, Among the comrades of my choice to bear the battle's brunt; As it is thine upon the rear against surprise to guard, And ready stand to give support where'er the fight goes hard."

Came Alvar Fanez: "Loyal Cid Campeador," he cried, "This battle surely G.o.d ordains--He will be on our side; Now give the order of attack which seems to thee the befit, And, trust me, every man of us will do his chief's behest."

But lo! all armed from head to heel the Bishop Jeronie shows; He ever brings good fortune to my Cid where'er he goes.

"Ma.s.s have I said, and now I come to join you in the fray; To strike a blow against the Moor in battle if I may, And in the field win honor for my order and my hand.

It is for this that I am here, far from my native land.

Unto Valencia did I come to cast my lot with you, All for the longing that I had to slay a Moor or two.

And so in warlike guise I come, with blazoned s.h.i.+eld and lance, That I may flesh my blade to-day, if G.o.d but give the chance, Then send me to the front to do the bidding of my heart: Grant me this favor that I ask, or else, my Cid, we part."

"Good!" said my Cid. "Go, flesh thy blade; there stand thy Moorish foes.

Now shall we see how gallantly our fighting Abbot goes."

He said; and straight the Bishop's spurs are in his charger's flanks, And with a will he flings himself against the Moorish ranks.

By his good fortune, and the aid of G.o.d, that loved him well, Two of the foe before his point at the first onset fell.

His lance he broke, he drew his sword--G.o.d! how the good steel played!

Two with the lance he slew, now five go down beneath his blade.

But many are the Moors and round about him fast they close, And on his hauberk, and his s.h.i.+eld, they rain a shower of blows.

He in the good hour born beheld Don Jerome sorely pressed; He braced his buckler on his arm, he laid his lance in rest, And aiming where beset by Moors the Bishop stood at bay, Touched Bavieca with the spur and plunged into the fray; And flung to earth unhorsed were seven, and lying dead were four, Where breaking through the Moorish ranks came the Campeador.

G.o.d it so pleased, that this should be the finish of the fight; Before the lances of my Cid the fray became a flight; And then to see the tent-ropes burst, the tent-poles prostrate flung!

As the Cid's hors.e.m.e.n cras.h.i.+ng came the Moorish tents among.

Forth from the camp King Bucar's Moors they drove upon the plain, And charging on the rout, they rode and cut them down amain Here severed lay the mail-clad arm, there lay the steel-capped head, And here the charger riderless, ran trampling on the dead.

Behind King Bucar as he fled my Cid came spurring on; "Now, turn thee, Bucar, turn!" he cried; "here is the Bearded One: Here is that Cid you came to seek, King from beyond the main, Let there be peace and amity to-day between us twain."

Said Bucar, "Nay; thy naked sword, thy rus.h.i.+ng steed, I see; If these mean amity, then G.o.d confound such amity.

Thy hand and mine shall never join unless in yonder deep, If the good steed that I bestride his footing can but keep."

Swift was the steed, but swifter borne on Bavieca's stride, Three fathoms from the sea my Cid rode at King Bucar's side; Aloft his blade a moment played, then on the helmet's crown, Shearing the steel-cap dight with gems, Colada he brought down.

Down to the belt, through helm and mail, he cleft the Moor in twain.

And so he slew King Bucar, who came from beyond the main.

This was the battle, this the day, when he the great sword won, Worth a full thousand marks of gold--the famous Brand Tizon.

--Tr. by Ormsby.

CHAPTER III. SCANDINAVIAN LITERATURE.

Scandinavian literature embraces the literature of Norway, Sweden, Iceland, and their western colonies. In the Middle Ages this literature reached its fullest and best development in Iceland.

The earliest and greatest portion of this literature is the heroic poetry forming the collection called the Poetic or Elder Edda. Like all early poetry these were minstrel poems, pa.s.sing orally from singer (skald) to singer for centuries. Some of them were composed as early as the eighth century. The collection was probably made in the thirteenth century (1240). The collection consists of thirty-nine distinct songs or poems. They are based upon common Norse mythology and tradition. In one section of this collection is found in outline the story of the Nibelungs and Brunhild-the story which later formed the basis of the "Niebelungen-Lied". This fact connects the two literatures with the original common Teutonic traditions. Anderson says, "The Elder Edda presents the Norse cosmogony, the doctrines of the Odinic mythology, and the lives and doings of the G.o.ds. It contains also a cycle of poems on the demiG.o.ds and mythic heroes and heroines of the same period. It gives us as complete a view of the mythological world of the North as Homer and Hesiod do of that of Greece" (Norse Mythology). Almost equal in importance and interest is the Prose Edda, sometimes called the Younger Edda, arranged and in part written by Snorra Sturleson, who lived from 1178 to 1241. The chief portions of it are:

1. "Gylf.a.ginning," in which Odin recounts to Gylf the history of the G.o.ds.

2. "Bragaraethur, the conversations of Braga the G.o.d of poetry.

Other and less important varieties of Scandinavian literature are the romances of history and romances of pure fiction.

VOLUSPA. THE ORACLE OF THE PROPHETESS VALA.

The Voluspa is the first song in the Elder Edda. It is a song of a prophetess and gives an account of the creation of the world, of man, giants, and dwarfs; of the employments of fairies or destinies; of the functions of the G.o.ds, their adventures, their quarrels, and the vengeance they take; of the final state of the universe and its dissolution; of the battle of the lower deities and the evil beings; of the renovation of the world; of the happy lot of the good, and the punishment of the wicked. The first pa.s.sage selected gives the account of creation.

In early times, When Ymer[1] lived, Was sand, nor sea, Nor cooling wave; No earth was found, Nor heaven above; One chaos all, And nowhere gra.s.s:

Until Bor's[2] sons Th' expanse did raise, By whom Midgard [3]

The great was made.

From th' south the sun Shone on the walls; Then did the earth Green herbs produce.

The sun turned south; The moon did s.h.i.+ne; Her right hand held The horse of heaven.

The sun knew not His proper sphere; The stars knew not Their proper place; The moon know not Her proper power.

Then all the powers Went to the throne, The holy G.o.ds, And held consult: Night and c.o.c.k-crowing Their names they gave, Morning also, And noon-day tide, And afternoon, The years to tell.

The Asas[4] met On Ida's plains, Who altars raised And temples built; Anvils they laid, And money coined; Their strength they tried In various ways, When making songs, And forming tools.

On th' green they played In joyful mood, Nor knew at all The want of gold, Until there came Three Thursa maids, Exceeding strong, From Jotunheim:[5]