The Month, 1880, xl. 515-527; Temple Bar, 1886, lxxviii. 534-540.



STANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE SONG OF ROLAND.

The Song of Roland, as chanted before the Battle of Hastings by the Minstrel Taillefer, Tr. from the French translation of Vitet by Mrs. Anne Caldwell Marsh, 1854;

The Song of Roland, Tr. into English verse by John O'Hagan, ed. 2, 1883;

La Chanson de Roland, Tr. from the seventh ed. of Leon Gautier, by Leonce Rabillon, 1885.



THE STORY OF THE SONG OF ROLAND.

For full seven years had Charlemagne tarried in Spain, and all the land lay conquered save the city of Saragossa. There, in an orchard, upon a terrace paved with blue marble, sat its king, Marsile, taking counsel with his lords.

"No army have I," said the king; "no people to array against the hosts of the great emperor. Advise me, my lords, what I shall do to save ourselves from disgrace and shame."

The wily Blancandrin, wisest and greatest among the pagans, advanced before him. "Where might cannot prevail, often craft gains the day. My lord, send gifts to mighty Carle. Drive forth a long train of camels; heap many mules with gold; send chariots filled with precious gifts. Advise him that on the day of Saint Michael's feast you will seek him at Aix, and there become a Christian, and his vassal. Yea, even send hostages; my own son shall go, even though he lose his head. Then will Carle depart for France. The day set by you will come, but he will hear naught from us. The hostages' heads will fall. What of it? Better this than for us to lose forever Spain the fair."

The king, pleased with the craft of Blancandrin, dismissed his council, and ordered ten of his fiercest barons to seek Charlemagne at Cordova, bearing the olive-branch, and make the offer suggested by Blancandrin.

Cordova, filled with rich spoils, had been taken, and its surviving inhabitants given the choice of the sword or Christian baptism. Therefore the happy emperor sat at his ease in a wide-spreading orchard. Around him stood Roland, Olivier, Samsun the duke, Anseis, Gefrei d'Anjou, and Gerier. At least fifteen thousand French knights were diverting themselves with different games in the beautiful orchard, where, under a pine-tree, the great King of France sat upon a golden chair. His white hair and flowing white beard added majesty to his already majestic figure, so that the olive-bearing messengers needed not to have great Carle pointed out to them.

The emperor heard the message of Marsile in silence, and dismissing the pagans for the night to a pavilion, called together in council his wisest barons, Duke Ogier, Archbishop Turpin, Gerier, Roland, Olivier, a thousand Franks, among them Ganelon, the step-father of Roland, and laid before them the message of Marsile.

"Rich gifts he offers me, but he demands that I return to France; thither will he follow me, and at Aix will become a Christian and a vassal. A fair promise, but what is in his heart I cannot tell."

After a moment's silence Roland stood forth.

"Sire, have no faith in the words of Marsile. When have we found aught but treachery in the Saracen? For seven years I have been winning victories for you here in Spain. Once before you yielded to such a message as this, from this same Marsile, and lost, in consequence, the heads of your Counts Bazan and Bazile. War on as you have begun. Besiege his city! subdue Saragossa!"

Then strode forth the angry Ganelon. "My king, this young hot-head is a fool; hearken not unto him. Accept the offer of Marsile, and lose no more lives by the foolhardiness of one who cares more for his own glory than for human life."

The voice of the others, among them Duke Naimes, Charlemagne's wisest counsellor and truest vassal, was with Ganelon. The emperor stroked his white beard. "My lords, whom shall we send to meet Marsile at Saragossa?"

"I will go," said Duke Naimes.

"Nay, I cannot spare you from my councils," replied the king.

"I am here!" cried Roland.

"Not you! You are too hot-headed to venture into the court of the enemy!" cried his friend Olivier. "Let me go instead, sire!"

"Nay!" cried the king. "Silence! Not one of the twelve peers sets his foot in the kingdom of the Moors."

"Then let my step-father go," suggested Roland. "No wiser man than he can be found."

"Come forward," said the king, as the Franks murmured assent, "and receive the staff and glove. The Franks have chosen you."

Ganelon rose, wrathful, casting off his fur robe. His eyes were gray, his face fierce, his form noble.

"This is Roland's work. I shall hate him forever, and Olivier, and the twelve peers, because they love him. Ne'er shall I return; full well I know it. If e'er I do, it will be to wreak vengeance on my enemy."

"Go!" said the king. "You have said enough!"

As Ganelon went forward, full of rage, to receive the king's glove, it fell ere he touched it. "A bad omen!" exclaimed the French.

"Sirs, ye shall hear of this!" said Ganelon.

On his way to Saragossa with the legates of Marsile, Ganelon laid the impious plot that was to result in the destruction of Roland and the peers. It saved his life at Saragossa, where Marsile threatened to kill him on reading Charlemagne's message. He explained carefully to the Saracens how the rear guard, left at Roncesvalles under the command of Roland and the twelve peers, could be destroyed by the pagan forces before the knowledge of the battle could reach Charlemagne, and that, with these props of his kingdom gone, the king's power would be so diminished that Marsile could easily hold out against him. Then the traitor hastened back to Cordova, laden with rich gifts.

When Ganelon rode back, the emperor was preparing to return to sweet France. "Barons," said Carle, "whom shall I leave in charge of these deep defiles and narrow passes?"

"My step-son Roland is well able to take the command," said Ganelon; "he your nephew, whom you prize most of all your knights."

Rage filled the hearts of both Roland and Carle; but the word was spoken, and Roland must remain. With him remained the twelve peers, his friends, Olivier, his devoted comrade, the gallant Archbishop Turpin, and twenty thousand valiant knights.

While Charlemagne's army toiled over the terrible gorges and high mountains into Gascony, the emperor, ever grieving over the untimely death his nephew might meet in the defiles of Spain, down came the pagans, who had been gathering on the high mountains and in the murky valleys,—emirs, sons of noble counts were they, brave as the followers of Charlemagne.

When Olivier descried the pagan horde he at once exclaimed,—

"This is the work of Ganelon!"

"Hush!" replied Roland. "He is my step-father. Say no more."

Then Olivier, when from the hill he saw the one hundred thousand Saracens, their helmets bedecked with gold, their shields shining in the sun, besought his friend to sound his horn, the olifant, and summon the king to their aid.

"Never will I so disgrace myself!" exclaimed Roland. "Never shall sweet France be so dishonored. One hundred thousand blows shall I give with my sword, my Durendal, and the Moors will fall and die!"

When Olivier found his pleading vain, he mounted his steed and rode with Roland to the front of the lines.

Long was the fight and terrible. If gallantry and strength sat with the twelve peers and their followers, they were with their opponents as well. No sooner had Roland, or Olivier, or Turpin, or Engelier cleft the body of a Moorish knight down to the saddle, than down fell a Christian, his helmet broken, his hauberk torn by the lance of his dreaded foe. The nephew of Marsile fell by the hand of Roland, who taunted him as he lay in death; Olivier struck down Marsile's brother. "A noble stroke!" cried Roland.

"A baron's stroke!" exclaimed the archbishop, as Samsun pierced the Almazour with his lance and he fell dead. Olivier spurred over the field, crushing the pagans and beating them down with his broken lance.

"Comrade, where is thy sword, thy Halteclere?" called Roland to his friend.

"Here, but I lack time to draw it," replied the doughty Olivier.

More than a thousand blows struck Turpin; the pagans fell by hundreds and by thousands, and over the field lay scattered those who would nevermore see sweet France.

Meanwhile, in France, hail fell and rain; the sky was vivid with lightning bolts. The earth shook, and the land lay in darkness at noonday. None understood the portent. Alas! it was Nature's grief at the death of Count Roland.

When Roland perceived that in spite of their mighty efforts the passes were still filled with heathen knights, and the French ranks were fast thinning, he said to Olivier, "What think you if we call the king?"

"Never!" exclaimed Olivier. "Better death now than shame!"

"If I blow, Carle will hear it now and return. I shall blow my olifant," cried Roland.

"When I begged you to blow it," said Olivier, "you refused, when you could have saved the lives of all of us. You will show no valor if you blow it now."

"Great is the strife," said Roland. "I will blow that Carle may come."

"Then," said Olivier, "if I return to France, I pledge you my word my sister Aude shall never be your wife. Your rashness has been the cause of our destruction. Now you shall die here, and here ends our friendship."

Across the field the archbishop spurred to reconcile the friends. "Carle will come too late to save our lives," said he, "but he will reach the field in time to preserve our mangled bodies and wreak vengeance on our foes."

Roland put his horn to his lips and blew with such force that his temples burst and the crimson blood poured forth from his mouth. Three times he sounded his horn, and each time the sound brought anguish to the heart of Carle, who heard it, riding thirty leagues away. "Our men make battle!" cried he; but this Ganelon hastened to deny, insisting that Roland was but hunting and blowing the horn, taking sport among the peers. But Duke Naimes exclaimed, "Your nephew is in sore distress. He who would deceive you is a traitor. Haste! Shout your war-cry, and let us return to the battle-field. You yourself hear plainly his call for help!"

Commanding Ganelon to be seized and given to the scullions of his house to be kept for punishment until his return, Carle ordered his men to arm and return to Roncesvalles, that they might, if possible, save the lives of the noble peers. All the army wept aloud as they thought of the doom of Roland. High were the mountains, deep the valleys, swift the rushing streams. The French rode on, answering the sound of the olifant; the emperor rode, filled with grief and rage; the barons spurred their horses, but in vain.

After Roland had sounded the horn he again grasped Durendal, and, mounted on his horse Veillantif, scoured the battle-field, cutting down the heathen. But still their troops pressed him, and when he saw the Ethiopian band led by the uncle of Marsile, he knew his doom had come. Olivier, riding forth to meet the accursed band, received his death-wound from the Kalif, but lived to cut his enemy down, and call Roland to him. Alas! sight had forsaken his eyes, and as he sat on his steed he lifted his bright sword Halteclere, and struck Roland a fearful blow that clove his crest but did not touch his head. "Was the blow meant for me, my comrade?" asked Roland softly. "Nay, I can see no more. God pity me! Pardon me, my friend!" and as the two embraced each other, Olivier fell dead.

Then, in the agony of his grief, Roland fainted, sitting firm in his saddle, and again recovering consciousness, became aware of the terrible losses of the French. Only himself, the archbishop, and the gallant Gaultier de l'Hum were left to defend the honor of the French. After Gaultier fell, Roland, unassisted save by Turpin, who fought transfixed by four spear shafts, put the enemy to flight. Feeling his death wounds, Roland besought Turpin to let him bring together the bodies of his fallen comrades that they might receive the blessing of the archbishop. Weak and trembling from loss of blood, Roland passed to and fro over the corpse-bestrewn field, and gathered together his comrades: here, Gerin and Gerier, Berengier and Otun; there, Anseis, Samsun, and Gerard de Roussillon, and last of all, his beloved Olivier, and placing them before the knees of Turpin, he saw them receive his blessing.

In his great grief at the sight of the dead Olivier, Roland again fainted, and Turpin hastened to a little brook near by for water to revive him. But the strain was too great for his already weakened body, and, when Roland revived, it was to find the archbishop dead.

Then Roland, realizing that his hour, too, had come, sought out a place in which to die. Upon a hill between two lofty trees, where was a marble terrace, he placed himself with his head towards the enemy's country; and there a Saracen, who had feigned death to escape it, tried to wrest from him his beloved Durendal.

Roland crushed the pagan's head with his olifant, but now he was troubled, for he feared that his sword would fall into other than Christian hands. Ill could he bear to be parted from his beloved sword. Its golden hilt contained rare relics,—a tooth of Saint Peter, blood, hair, and bones of other saints, and by the strength of these holy relics it had conquered vast realms. Ten and more mighty blows he struck with Durendal upon the hard rock of the terrace, in the endeavor to break it; but it neither broke nor blunted. Then, counting over his great victories, he placed it and the olifant beneath him, and committed his soul to the Father, who sent down his angels to bear it to Paradise.

When the French army, led by Charlemagne, found the passes heaped high with the bodies of the dead and no living soul to tell the story of the slaughter, they wept, and many fell swooning to the earth. But the enraged Charlemagne, unwilling then to give time for mourning, spurred on his soldiers, overtook the fleeing enemy, and drove them into the Ebro, so that those who survived the sword, perished by the wave. Then, returning to the field of Roncesvalles, he wept over his beloved Roland and the peers.

Great was his grief; handfuls of hair he tore from his head, and many times wished that his soul were in Paradise, and his body beside that of Roland. He commanded that the hearts of Roland, Olivier, and Turpin be taken from their bodies, wrapped, and inurned, and the bodies borne home in chariots. The bodies of the others were gathered together in one tomb, and assoiled and blessed by the priests who accompanied the army.

As Charlemagne prepared to start for France, he saw a new army approaching. The aged Emir Baligant, from Babylon, who had long ago been summoned by Marsile, had just arrived in Saragossa, and hastened forth to meet Charlemagne. The emir's army was countless, and Charlemagne's was weakened by its great loss. But the thought of the slaughtered peers spurred on the French, and with great Carle for their leader, they quickly put the pagans to flight.

The Franks pursued the enemy to Saragossa, where the wounded Marsile expired on hearing of his defeat. The city was taken, its inhabitants either slain, or converted and baptized, and Queen Bramimunde taken to France to be won to the true faith by gentler means.

When Charlemagne entered his stately palace at Aix, he was met by the fair lady Aude.

"Where is Roland, my betrothed?"

Carle wept, tearing his white beard.

"Thou askest of one who is no more. But in his place I will give thee my son. I can do no better."

"Nay, God forbid that I should live if Roland is dead;" and so saying, Aude, the beautiful, fell dead at the feet of the emperor.

From all his lands Carle summoned men to Aix for the trial of Ganelon.

"Judge him according to the law, my barons," said the king. "He lost me twenty thousand of my Franks. My nephew Roland, Olivier, my twelve peers, he sold."

"My king," pleaded Ganelon, "call it not treason. I was ever loyal to you. I thought not of gain, but of revenge against my rebellious and haughty step-son."

The sentiment of many was with Ganelon, and Pinabel offered to fight for him against Thierri, the champion of the king. Thirty knights of his kin gave themselves as legal sureties of his pledge, and the combat began. Pinabel was conquered and slain, and Ganelon was condemned to be torn to pieces by wild horses. His thirty sureties were also compelled to suffer death.

Ganelon was punished; Bramimunde was made a Christian, and the emperor thought at last to have peace. But as night fell and he sought rest in his lofty room, Gabriel appeared to him.

"Summon thy hosts and march into Bire to succor King Vivien. The Christians look to thee for help."

The king wept and tore his beard. "So troubled is my life!" said he.



SELECTIONS FROM THE SONG OF ROLAND.

THE HORN.

The Rear Guard of the French army, left behind at Roncesvalles, under Roland, was attacked by a great host of Moors. In the beginning of the battle Olivier besought Roland to recall the emperor by blowing the olifant, whose sound could be heard for many leagues, but Roland refused. But when he saw the overwhelming forces of the Moors, and the field strewn with the corpses of the French, he resolved to blow the horn.

Seeing so many warriors fall'n around, Rolland unto his comrade Olivier Spoke thus: "Companion fair and dear, for God Whose blessing rests on you, those vassals true And brave lie corses on the battle-field: Look! We must mourn for France so sweet and fair, From henceforth widowed of such valiant knights. Carle, 'would you were amongst us, King and friend! What can we do, say, brother Olivier, To bring him news of this sore strait of ours!" Olivier answers: "I know not; but this I know; for us is better death than shame." Aoi.

Rolland says: "I will blow mine olifant, And Carle will hear it from the pass. I pledge My word the French at once retrace their steps." Said Olivier: "This a great shame would be, One which to all your kindred would bequeathe A lifetime's stain. When this I asked of you, You answered nay, and would do naught. Well, now With my consent you shall not;—if you blow Your horn, of valor true you show no proof. Already, both your arms are drenched with blood." Responds the count: "These arms have nobly struck." Aoi.

"The strife is rude," Rolland says; "I will blow My horn, that Carle may hear."—Said Olivier: "This would not courage be. What I desired, Companion, you disdained. Were the king here, Safe would we be, but yon brave men are not To blame."—"By this my beard," said Olivier, "I swear, if ever I see again sweet Aude, My sister, in her arms you ne'er shall lie." Aoi.

Rolland asked Olivier—"Why show to me Your anger, friend?"—"Companion, yours the fault; True courage means not folly. Better far Is prudence than your valiant rage. Our French Their lives have lost, your rashness is the cause. And now our arms can never more give Carle Their service good. Had you believed your friend, Amongst us would he be, and ours the field, The King Marsile, a captive or a corse. Rolland, your valor brought ill fortune, nor Shall Carle the great e'er more our help receive, A man unequalled till God's judgment-day. Here shall you die, and dying, humble France, . . . This day our loyal friendship ends—ere falls The Vesper-eve, dolorously we part!" Aoi.

The archbishop heard their strife. In haste he drives Into his horse his spurs of purest gold, And quick beside them rides. Then chiding them, Says: "Sire Rolland, and you, Sire Olivier, In God's name be no feud between you two; No more your horn shall save us; nathless't were Far better Carle should come and soon avenge Our deaths. So joyous then these Spanish foes Would not return. But as our Franks alight, Find us, or slain or mangled on the field, They will our bodies on their chargers' backs Lift in their shrouds with grief and pity, all In tears, and bury us in holy ground: And neither wolves, nor swine, nor curs shall feed On us—" Replied Rolland: "Well have you said."

Rolland raised to his lips the olifant, Drew a deep breath, and blew with all his force. High are the mountains, and from peak to peak The sound re-echoes; thirty leagues away 'T was heard by Carle and all his brave compeers. Cried the king: "Our men make battle!" Ganelon Retorts in haste: "If thus another dared To speak, we should denounce it as a lie." Aoi.

The Count Rolland in his great anguish blows His olifant so mightily, with such Despairing agony, his mouth pours forth The crimson blood, and his swol'n temples burst. Yea, but so far the ringing blast resounds; Carle hears it, marching through the pass, Naimes harks, The French all listen with attentive ear. "That is Rolland's horn!" Carle cried, "which ne'er yet Was, save in battle, blown!" But Ganelon Replies: "No fight is there! you, sire, are old, Your hair and beard are all bestrewn with gray, And as a child your speech. Well do you know Rolland's great pride. 'Tis marvellous God bears With him so long. Already took he Noble Without your leave. The pagans left their walls And fought Rolland, your brave knight, in the field; With his good blade he slew them all, and then Washed all the plain with water, that no trace Of blood was left—yea, oftentimes he runs After a hare all day and blows his horn. Doubtless he takes his sport now with his peers; And who 'neath Heav'n would dare attack Rolland? None, as I deem. Nay, sire, ride on apace; Why do you halt? Still far is the Great Land." Aoi.

Rolland with bleeding mouth and temples burst, Still, in his anguish, blows his olifant; Carle hears it, and his Franks. The king exclaims: "That horn has a long breath!" Duke Naimes replies: "Rolland it is, and in a sore distress, Upon my faith a battle rages there! A traitor he who would deceive you now. To arms! Your war-cry shout, your kinsman save! Plainly enough you hear his call for help." Aoi.

Carle orders all the trumpeters to sound The march. The French alight. They arm themselves With helmets, hauberks and gold-hilted swords, Bright bucklers, long sharp spears, with pennons white And red and blue. The barons of the host Leap on their steeds, all spurring on; while through The pass they march, each to the other says: "Could we but reach Rolland before he dies, What deadly blows, with his, our swords would strike!" But what avails? Too late they will arrive. Aoi.

The ev'n is clear, the sun its radiant beams Reflects upon the marching legions, spears, Hauberks and helms, shields painted with bright flowers, Gold pennons all ablaze with glitt'ring hues. Burning with wrath the emperor rides on; The French with sad and angered looks. None there But weeps aloud. All tremble for Rolland.

* * * * *

The king commands Count Ganelon be seized And given to the scullions of his house. Their chief, named Begue, he calls and bids: "Guard well This man as one who all my kin betrayed." Him Begue received, and set upon the count One hundred of his kitchen comrades—best And worst; they pluck his beard on lip and cheek; Each deals him with his fist four blows, and falls On him with lash and stick; they chain his neck As they would chain a bear, and he is thrown For more dishonor on a sumpter mule, There guarded so until to Carle brought back. Aoi.

High are the mountains, gloomy, terrible, The valleys deep, and swift the rushing streams. In van, in rear, the brazen trumpets blow, Answering the olifant. With angry look Rides on the emp'ror; filled with wrath and grief, Follow the French, each sobbing, each in tears, Praying that God may guard Rolland, until They reach the battle-field. With him what blows Will they not strike! Alas? what boots it now? Too late they are and cannot come in time. Aoi.

Carle in great anger rides—his snow-white beard O'erspreads his breast-plate. Hard the barons spur, For never one but inwardly doth rage That he is far from their great chief, Rolland, Who combats now the Saracens of Spain: If wounded he, will one of his survive? O God! What knights those sixty left by him! Nor king nor captain better ever had.... Aoi. Rabillon's Translation.



ROLAND'S DEATH.

When all the French lay dead upon the field except Roland and the Archbishop Turpin, Roland gathered together the bodies of his dead comrades, the peers, that they might receive the archbishop's blessing. He then fell fainting from grief, and aroused himself to find the archbishop dead also.

Rolland now feels his death is drawing nigh: From both his ears the brain is oozing fast. For all his peers he prays that God may call Their souls to him; to the Angel Gabriel He recommends his spirit. In one hand He takes the olifant, that no reproach May rest upon him; in the other grasps Durendal, his good sword. Forward he goes, Far as an arblast sends a shaft, across A new-tilled ground and toward the land of Spain. Upon a hill, beneath two lofty trees, Four terraces of marble spread;—he falls Prone fainting on the green, for death draws near. Aoi.

High are the mounts, and lofty are the trees. Four terraces are there, of marble bright: There Count Rolland lies senseless on the grass. Him at this moment spies a Saracen Who lies among the corpses, feigning death, His face and body all besmeared with blood. Sudden he rises to his feet, and bounds Upon the baron. Handsome, brave, and strong He was, but from his pride sprang mortal rage. He seized the body of Rolland, and grasped His arms, exclaiming thus: "Here vanquished Carle's Great nephew lies! This sword to Araby I'll bear." He drew it; this aroused the count. Aoi.

Rolland perceived an alien hand would rob Him of his sword; his eyes he oped; one word He spoke: "I trow, not one of us art thou!" Then with his olifant from which he parts Never, he smites the golden studded helm, Crushing the steel, the head, the bones; both eyes Are from their sockets beaten out—o'erthrown Dead at the baron's feet he falls;—"O wretch," He cries, "how durst thou, or for good or ill, Lay hands upon Rolland? Who hears of this Will call thee fool. Mine olifant is cleft, Its gems and gold all scattered by the blow." Aoi.

Now feels Rolland that death is near at hand And struggles up with all his force; his face Grows livid; Durendal, his naked sword, He holds; beside him rises a gray rock On which he strikes ten mighty blows through grief And rage. The steel but grinds; it breaks not, nor Is notched; then cried the count: "Saint Mary, help! O Durendal! Good sword! ill starred art thou! Though we two part, I care not less for thee. What victories together thou and I Have gained, what kingdoms conquered, which now holds White-bearded Carle! No coward's hand shall grasp Thy hilt: a valiant knight has borne thee long, Such as none shall e'er bear in France the Free!" Aoi.

Rolland smites hard the rock of Sardonix; The steel but grinds, it breaks not, nor grows blunt; Then seeing that he cannot break his sword, Thus to himself he mourns for Durendal: "O good my sword, how bright and pure! Against The sun what flashing light thy blade reflects! When Carle passed through the valley of Moriane, The God of Heaven by his Angel sent Command that he should give thee to a count, A valiant captain; it was then the great And gentle king did gird thee to my side. With thee I won for him Anjou—Bretaigne; For him with thee I won Poitou, le Maine And Normandie the free; I won Provence And Aquitaine, and Lumbardie, and all The Romanie; I won for him Baviere, All Flandre—Buguerie—all Puillanie, Costentinnoble which allegiance paid, And Saxonie submitted to his power; For him I won Escoce and Galle, Irlande, And Engleterre he made his royal seat; With thee I conquered all the lands and realms Which Carle, the hoary-bearded monarch, rules. Now for this sword I mourn. . . . Far better die Than in the hands of pagans let it fall! May God, Our Father, save sweet France this shame!" Aoi.

Upon the gray rock mightily he smites, Shattering it more than I can tell; the sword But grinds. It breaks not—nor receives a notch, And upward springs more dazzling in the air. When sees the Count Rolland his sword can never break, Softly within himself its fate he mourns: "O Durendal, how fair and holy thou! In thy gold-hilt are relics rare; a tooth Of great Saint Pierre—some blood of Saint Basile, A lock of hair of Monseigneur Saint Denis, A fragment of the robe of Sainte-Marie. It is not right that pagans should own thee; By Christian hand alone be held. Vast realms I shall have conquered once that now are ruled By Carle, the king with beard all blossom-white, And by them made great emperor and lord. May thou ne'er fall into a cowardly hand." Aoi.

The Count Rolland feels through his limbs the grasp Of death, and from his head ev'n to his heart A mortal chill descends. Unto a pine He hastens, and falls stretched upon the grass. Beneath him lie his sword and olifant, And toward the Heathen land he turns his head, That Carle and all his knightly host may say: "The gentle count a conqueror has died. . . ." Then asking pardon for his sins, or great Or small, he offers up his glove to God. Aoi.

The Count Rolland feels now his end approach. Against a pointed rock, and facing Spain, He lies. Three times he beats his breast, and says: "Mea culpa! Oh, my God, may through thy grace, Be pardoned all my sins, or great or small, Until this hour committed since my birth!" Then his right glove he offers up to God, And toward him angels from high Heav'n descend. Aoi.

Beneath a pine Rolland doth lie, and looks Toward Spain. He broods on many things of yore: On all the lands he conquered, on sweet France, On all his kinsmen, on great Carle his lord Who nurtured him;—he sighs, nor can restrain His tears, but cannot yet himself forget; Recalls his sins, and for the grace of God He prays: "Our Father, never yet untrue, Who Saint-Lazare raised from the dead, and saved Thy Daniel from the lions' claws,—oh, free My soul from peril, from my whole life's sins!" His right hand glove he offered up to God; Saint Gabriel took the glove.—With head reclined Upon his arm, with hands devoutly joined He breathed his last. God sent his cherubim, Saint-Raphael, Saint Michiel del Peril. Together with them Gabriel came. All bring The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise. Aoi. Rabillon's Translation



THE SHAH-NAMEH.

The monarchs of ancient Persia made several attempts to collect the historic annals of their country, but both people and traditions were scattered by the Arabian conquest. The manuscript annals were carried to Abyssinia, thence to India, and were taken back to Persia just when the weakness of the conquerors was beginning to show itself. The various members of the Persian line, who had declared themselves independent of their conquerors, determined to rouse the patriotism of their countrymen by the recital of the stirring deeds of the warriors of old Persia.

The fame of Abul Kasin Mansur, born at Thus, in Khorasan, A. D. 920, reached Mahmoud of Ghaznin, who was searching for a poet to re-cast the annals of Persia. He called the poet to his court, and, on hearing him improvise, called him Firdusi (the paradisiacal). The poet was intrusted with the preparation of the Shah-Nameh, or Epic of Kings, for every one thousand distichs of which he was to receive a thousand pieces of gold. It had been the dream of the poet's life to build a bridge and otherwise improve his native town. He therefore asked that the payment be deferred until the completion of his work, that he might apply the entire sum to these improvements. But when the poem was completed, after thirty years' labor, the king, instigated by the slanders of the jealous prime minister, sent to the poet sixty thousand silver instead of gold dirhems. The enraged poet threw the silver to his attendants and fled from the country, leaving behind him an insulting poem to the sultan. He spent the remainder of his life at Mazinderan and Bagdad, where he was received with honor, and in his old age returned to Thus to die. Tradition relates that Mahmoud at last discovered the villainy of his minister, and sent the gold to Thus. But the old poet was dead, and his daughter indignantly refused the money. Mahmoud then applied the sum to the improvements of the town so long desired by Firdusi.

The Shah-Nameh is written in the pure old Persian, that Mohammed declared would be the language of Paradise. In its sixty thousand couplets are related the deeds of the Persian kings from the foundation of the world to the invasion by the Mohammedans; but it is of very little value as a historical record, the facts it purports to relate being almost lost among the Oriental exaggerations of the deeds of its heroes.

The only complete translation in a foreign language is the elaborate French translation of Julius Mohl.

The Shah-Nameh is still popular in Persia, where it is said that even the camel drivers are able to repeat long portions of it. Firdusi is sometimes called the Homer of the East, because he describes rude heroic times and men, as did Homer; but he is also compared to Ariosto, because of his wealth of imagery. His heroes are very different from those to whom we have been wont to pay our allegiance; but they fight for the same principles and worship as lovely maids, to judge from the hyperbole employed in their description. The condensation of the Shah-Nameh reads like a dry chronicle; but in its entirety it reminds one of nothing so much as a gorgeous Persian web, so light and varied, so brightened is it by its wealth of episode.



BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE SHAH-NAMEH.

Samuel Johnson's The Shah-Nameh, or Book of Kings (in his Oriental Religion, Persia, 1885, pp. 711-782);

E. B. Cowell's Persian Literature, Firdusi (in Oxford Essays, 1885, pp. 164-166);

Elizabeth A. Reed's Persian Literature, Ancient and Modern, 1893, pp. 214-283.



STANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE SHAH-NAMEH.

The Shah-Nameh, Tr. and abridged in prose and verse with notes and illustrations, by James Atkinson, 1832;

Abbreviated version taken from a Persian abridgment, half prose, half verse; The Epic of Kings, Stories re-told from Firdusi, by Helen Zimmern, 1882.



THE STORY OF THE SHAH-NAMEH.

Kaiumers was the first King of Persia, and against him Ahriman, the evil, through jealousy of his greatness, sent forth a mighty Deev to conquer him. By this Deev, Saiamuk, the son of Kaiumers, was slain, and the king himself died of grief at the loss of his son.

Husheng, his grandson, who succeeded Kaiumers, was a great and wise king, who gave fire to his people, taught them irrigation, instructed them how to till and sow, and gave names to the beasts. His son and successor, Tahumers, taught his people the arts of spinning, weaving, and writing, and when he died left his throne to his son Jemschid.

Jemschid was a mighty monarch, who divided men into classes, and the years into periods, and builded mighty walls and cities; but his heart grew proud at the thought of his power, and he was driven away from his land by his people, who called Zohak to the throne of Iran.

Zohak, who came from the deserts of Arabia, was a good and wise young man who had fallen into the power of a Deev. This Deev, in the guise of a skillful servant, asked permission one day to kiss his monarch between the shoulders, as a reward for an unusually fine bit of cookery. From the spot he kissed sprang two black serpents, whose only nourishment was the brains of the king's subjects.

The serpent king, as Zohak was now called, was much feared by his subjects, who saw their numbers daily lessen by the demands of the serpents. But when the children of the blacksmith Kawah were demanded as food for the serpents, the blacksmith defied Zohak, and raising his leathern apron as a standard,—a banner ever since honored in Persia,—he called the people to him, and set off in search of Feridoun, an heir of Jemschid. Under the young leader the oppressed people defeated the tyrant, and placed Feridoun on the throne.

Feridoun had three sons, Irij, Tur, and Silim. Having tested their bravery, he divided the kingdom among them, giving to Irij the kingdom of Iran. Although the other brothers had received equal shares of the kingdom, they were enraged because Iran was not their portion, and when their complaints to their father were not heeded, they slew their brother. Irij left a son, a babe named Minuchihr, who was reared carefully by Feridoun. In time he avenged his father, by defeating the armies of his uncles and slaying them both. Soon after this, Feridoun died, intrusting his grandson to Saum, his favorite pehliva, or vassal, who ruled over Seistan.

Saum was a childless monarch, and when at last a son was born to him he was very happy until he learned that while the child was perfect in every other way, it had the silver hair of an old man. Fearing the talk of his enemies, Saum exposed the child on a mountain top to die. There it was found by the Simurgh, a remarkable animal, part bird, part human, that, touched by the cries of the helpless infant, carried him to her great nest of aloes and sandal-wood, and reared him with her little ones.

Saum, who had lived to regret his foolish and wicked act, was told in a dream that his son still lived, and was being cared for by the Simurgh. He accordingly sought the nest, and carried his son away with great thanksgiving. The Simurgh parted tenderly with the little Zal, and presented him with a feather from her wing, telling him that whenever he was in danger, he had only to throw it on the fire and she would instantly come to his aid.

Saum first presented his son at the court of Minuchihr, and then took him home to Zaboulistan, where he was carefully instructed in every art and science.

At one time, while his father was invading a neighboring province, Zal travelled over the kingdom and stopped at the court of Mihrab, a tributary of Saum, who ruled at Kabul. Though a descendant of the serpent king, Mihrab was good, just, and wise, and he received the young warrior with hospitality. Zal had not been long in Kabul before he heard of the beauties of Rudabeh, the daughter of Mihrab, and she, in turn, of the great exploits of Zal. By an artifice of the princess they met and vowed to love one another forever, though they knew their love would meet with opposition. Saum and Zal both pleaded Zal's cause before Minuchihr, who relented when he heard from the astrologers that a good and mighty warrior would come of the union. Rudabeh's mother won the consent of Mihrab, so that the young people were soon married with great pomp. To them a son was born named Rustem, who, when one day old, was as large as a year-old child. When three years old he could ride a horse, and at eight years was as powerful as any hero of the time.

Nauder succeeded the good Minuchihr, and under him Persia was defeated by the Turanians, and Afrasiyab occupied the Persian throne. But Zal, whose father, Saum, had died, overthrew him and placed Zew upon the throne. Zew's reign was short, and Garshasp, his son, succeeded him. When he was threatened by the Turanians, his people went for aid to Zal, who, because he was growing old, referred them to Rustem, yet of tender age. Rustem responded gladly, and his father commanded that all the horses from Zaboulistan to Kabul be brought forth that his son might select a steed therefrom. Every horse bent beneath his grasp until he came to the colt Rakush, which responded to Rustem's voice, and suffered him to mount it. From that day to his death, this steed was his faithful companion and preserver.

Garshasp was too weak to rule over the kingdom, and Zal despatched Rustem to Mt. Alberz, where he had been told in a dream a youth dwelt called Kai-Kobad, descended from Feridoun. Kai-Kobad welcomed Rustem, and the two, with the noblest of the kingdom, defeated the power of Turan.

After a reign of a hundred years, the wise Kai-Kobad died, and was succeeded by his son, the foolish Kai-Kaus, who, not satisfied with the wealth and extent of his kingdom, determined to conquer the kingdom of Mazinderan, ruled by the Deevs. Zal's remonstrances were of no avail: the headstrong Kai-Kaus marched into Mazinderan, and, together with his whole army, was conquered, imprisoned, and blinded by the power of the White Deev.

When the news of the monarch's misfortune came to Iran, Rustem immediately saddled Rakush, and, choosing the shortest and most peril-beset route, set forth, unaccompanied, for Mazinderan. If he survived the dangers that lurked by the way, he would reach Mazinderan in seven days.

While sleeping in a forest, after his first day's journey, he was saved from a fierce lion by Rakush, who stood at his head.

On the second day, just as he believed himself perishing of thirst, he was saved by a sheep that he followed to a fountain of water; on the third night, Rakush, whom he had angrily forbidden to attack any animal without waking him, twice warned him of the approach of a dragon. The first time the dragon disappeared when Rustem awoke, and he spoke severely to his faithful horse. The second time he slew the dragon, and morning having dawned, proceeded through a desert, where he was offered food and wine by a sorceress. Not recognizing her, and grateful for the food, he offered her a cup of wine in the name of God, and she was immediately converted into a black fiend, whom he slew.

He was next opposed by Aulad, whom he defeated, and promised to make ruler of Mazinderan if he would guide him to the caves of the White Deev. A stony desert and a wide stream lay between him and the demon; but the undaunted Rustem passed over them, and choosing the middle of the day, at which time Aulad told him the Deevs slept, he slew the guards, entered the cavern, and after a terrible struggle, overcame and slew the great Deev.

He then released Kai-Kaus and his army, and restored their sight by touching their eyes with the blood from the Deev's heart.

Kai-Kaus, not satisfied with this adventure, committed many other follies, from which it taxed his warrior sorely to rescue him.

Once he was imprisoned by the King of Hamaveran after he had espoused his daughter; again he followed the advice of a wicked Deev, and tried to search the heavens in a flying-machine, that descended and left him in a desert waste. It was only after this last humiliation that he humbled himself, lay in the dust many days, and at last became worthy of the throne of his fathers.

At one time Rustem was hunting near the borders of Turan, and, falling asleep, left Rakush to graze in the forest, where he was espied by the men of Turan and at once captured. When Rustem awoke he followed his steed by the traces of its hoofs, until he came to the city of Samengan. The king received him kindly, and promised to restore the horse if it could be found. While his messengers went in search of it, he feasted his guest, and led him for the night to a perfumed couch.

In the middle of the night Rustem awoke, to see a beautiful young woman enter the room, accompanied by a maid. She proved to be the princess, who had fallen in love with Rustem. She pleaded with him to return her love, promising, if he did so, to restore his cherished horse. Rustem longed for his steed; moreover, the maiden was irresistibly beautiful. He accordingly yielded to her proposals, and the two were wedded the next day, the king having given his consent.

After tarrying some time in Samengan, Rustem was forced to return to Iran. Bidding his bride an affectionate farewell, he presented her with a bracelet.

"If thou art given a daughter, place this amulet in her hair to guard her from harm. If a son, bind it on his arm, that he may possess the valor of Nariman."

In the course of time, the princess bore a boy, who was like his father in beauty and boldness, whom she christened Sohrab. But for fear that she would be deprived of him, she wrote to Rustem that a daughter had been born to her. To her son she declared the secret of his birth, and urged him to be like his father in all things; but she warned him not to disclose the secret, for she feared that if it came to the ears of Afrasiyab, he would destroy him because of his hatred of Rustem.

Sohrab, who had already cherished dreams of conquest, was elated at the knowledge of his parentage. "Mother," exclaimed he, "I shall gather an army of Turks, conquer Iran, dethrone Kai-Kaus, and place my father on the throne; then both of us will conquer Afrasiyab, and I will mount the throne of Turan."

The mother, pleased with her son's valor, gave him for a horse a foal sprung from Rakush, and fondly watched his preparations for war.

The wicked Afrasiyab well knew that Sohrab was the son of Rustem. He was also aware that it was very dangerous to have two such mighty warriors alive, since if they became known to each other, they would form an alliance. He planned, therefore, to aid Sohrab in the war, keeping him in ignorance of his father, and to manage in some way to have the two meet in battle, that one or both might be slain.

The armies met and the great battle began. Sohrab asked to have Rustem pointed out to him, but the soldiers on his side were all instructed to keep him in ignorance. By some strange mischance the two men whom his mother had sent to enlighten him, were both slain. Rustem was moved at the sight of the brave young warrior, but remembering that Tahmineh's offspring was a daughter, thought nothing more of the thrill he felt at sight of him. At last Sohrab and Rustem met in single combat. Sohrab was moved with tenderness for his unknown opponent, and besought him to tell him if he was Rustem, but Rustem declared that he was only a servant of that chief. For three days they fought bitterly, and on the fourth day Rustem overthrew his son. When Sohrab felt that the end had come he threatened his unknown opponent. "Whoever thou art, know that I came not out for empty glory but to find my father, and that though I have found him not, when he hears that thou hast slain his son he will search thee out and avenge me, no matter where thou hidest thyself. For my father is the great Rustem."

Rustem fell down in agony when he heard his son's words, and realized that his guile had prevented him from being made known the day before. He examined the onyx bracelet on Sohrab's arm; it was the same he had given Tahmineh. Bethinking himself of a magic ointment possessed by Kai-Kaus, he sent for it that he might heal his dying son; but the foolish king, jealous of his prowess, refused to send it, and Sohrab expired in the arms of his father.

Rustem's heart was broken. He heaped up his armor, his tent, his trappings, his treasures, and flung them into a great fire. The house of Zal was filled with mourning, and when the news was conveyed to Samengan, he tore his garments, and his daughter grieved herself to death before a year had passed away.

To Kai-Kaus and a wife of the race of Feridoun was born a son called Saiawush, who was beautiful, noble, and virtuous. But his foolish father allowed himself to be prejudiced against the youth by slanderous tongues, so that Saiawush fled from the court and sought shelter with Afrasiyab in Turan. There he speedily became popular, and took unto himself for a wife the daughter of Afrasiyab. But when he and Ferandis his wife built a beautiful city, the hatred and jealousy of Gersiwaz was aroused, so that he lied to Afrasiyab and said that Saiawush was puffed up with pride, and at last induced Afrasiyab to slay his son-in-law.

Saiawush had a son, Kai-Khosrau, who was saved by Piran, a kind-hearted nobleman, and given into the care of a goatherd. When Afrasiyab learned of his existence he summoned him to his presence, but the youth, instructed by Piran, assumed the manners of an imbecile, and was accordingly freed by Afrasiyab, who feared no harm from him.

When the news of the death of Saiawush was conveyed to Iran there was great mourning, and war was immediately declared against Turan. For seven years the contest was carried on, always without success, and at the end of that time Gudarz dreamed that a son of Saiawush was living called Kai-Khosrau, and that until he was sought out and placed at the head of the army, deliverance could not come to Iran. Kai-Khosrau was discovered, and led the armies on to victory; and when Kai-Kaus found that his grandson was not only a great warrior, skilled in magic, but also possessed wisdom beyond his years, he resigned the throne and made Kai-Khosrau ruler over Iran.

Kai-Khosrau ruled many long years, in which time he brought peace and happiness to his kingdom, avenged the murder of his father, and compassed the death of the wicked Afrasiyab. Then, fearing that he might become puffed up with pride like Jemschid, he longed to depart from this world, and prayed Ormuzd to take him to his bosom.

The king; after many prayers to Ormuzd, dreamed that his wish would be granted if he set the affairs of his kingdom in order and appointed his successor. Rejoiced, he called his nobles together, divided his treasure among them, and appointed his successor, Lohurasp, whom he commanded to be the woof and warp of justice. Accompanied by a few of his faithful friends, he set out on the long journey to the crest of the mountains. At his entreaties, some of his friends turned back; those who stayed over night, in spite of his warnings, found on waking that they were covered by a heavy fall of snow, and were soon frozen. Afterwards their bodies were found and received a royal burial.

Lohurasp had a son Gushtasp who greatly desired to rule, and was a just monarch, when he succeeded to the throne. Gushtasp, however, was jealous of his son, Isfendiyar, who was a great warrior. When Gushtasp was about to be overcome by the forces of Turan, he promised Isfendiyar the throne, if he would destroy the enemy; but when the hosts were scattered, and Isfendiyar reminded his father of his promise, he was cast into a dungeon, there to remain until his services were again needed. When he had again gained a victory, he was told that the throne should be his when he had rescued his sisters from the brazen fortress of Arjasp, where they had been carried and imprisoned.

On his way to this tower Isfendiyar met with as many terrible foes as Rustem had encountered on his way to the White Deev, and as successfully overcame them. Wolves, lions, enchantresses, and dragons barred the way to the impregnable fortress, which rose three farsangs high and forty wide, and was constructed entirely of brass and iron. But Isfendiyar, assuming the guise of a merchant and concealing his warriors in chests, won his way into the castle, gained the favor of its inmates, and made them drunk with wine. This done, he freed his sisters, slew the guards, and struck down Arjasp.

Instead of keeping his promise, Gushtasp hastened to set his son another task. Rustem was his Pehliva, but it pleased him to send forth Isfendiyar against him, commanding him to bring home the mighty warrior in chains. Isfendiyar pleaded in vain with his father. Then he explained the situation to Rustem, and begged that he would accompany him home in peace to gratify his father. Rustem refused to go in chains, so the two heroes reluctantly began the hardest battle of their lives.

At the end of the first day, Rustem and Rakush were severely wounded, and on his return home Rustem happened to think of the Simurgh. Called by the burning of the feather, the kind bird healed the wounds of the hero and of Rakush, and instructed Rustem how to slay his foe. "Seek thou the tamarisk tree, and make thereof an arrow. Aim at his eye, and there thou canst blind and slay him."

Rustem followed the directions, and laid low the gallant youth. Isfendiyar died exclaiming, "My father has slain me, not thou, Rustem. I die, the victim of my father's hate; do thou keep for me and rear my son!"

Rustem, who had lived so long and accomplished such great deeds, died at last by the hand of his half-brother. This brother, Shugdad, stirred up the king of Kabul, in whose court he was reared, to slay Rustem because he exacted tribute from Kabul.

Rustem was called into Kabul by Shugdad, who claimed that the king mistreated him. When he arrived, the matter was settled amicably, and the brothers set out for a hunt with the king. The hunters were led to a spot where the false king had caused pits to be dug lined with sharp weapons. Rustem, pleased with his kind reception and suspecting no harm, beat Rakush severely when he paused and would go no further. Stung by the blows, the gallant horse sprang forward, and fell into the pit. As he rose from this, he fell into another, until, clambering from the seventh pit, he and Rustem fell swooning with pain.

"False brother!" cried Rustem; "what hast thou done? Was it for thee to slay thy father's son? Exult now; but thou wilt yet suffer for this crime!" Then altering his tone, he said gently: "But give me, I pray thee, my bow and arrows, that I may have it by my side to slay any wild beast that may try to devour me."

Shugdad gave him the bow; and when he saw the gleam in Rustem's eyes, concealed himself behind a tree. But the angry Rustem, grasping the bow with something of his former strength, sent the arrow through tree and man, transfixing both. Then thanking his Creator that he had been given the opportunity to slay his murderer, he breathed his last.



SELECTIONS FROM THE SHAH-NAMEH.

THE RAJA OF INDIA SENDS A CHESSBOARD TO NUSHIRVAN.

"This account of the game of chess, written by Ferdusi more than eight hundred years ago, is curious as showing the antiquity of the game, its resemblance to it as now played, and the tradition that it was invented in India, and came originally from that country."

A Mubid related, how one day the king Suspended his crown over the ivory throne, All aloes-wood and ivory, and all ivory and aloes; Every pavilion a court, and every court a royal one; All the Hall of Audience crowned with soldiers; Every pavilion filled with Mubids and Wardens of the Marches, From Balkh, and Bokhara, and from every frontier— For the King of the world had received advices From his vigilant and active emissaries, That an Ambassador had arrived from a King of India, With the parasol, and elephants, and cavalry of Sind, And, accompanied by a thousand laden camels, Was on his way to visit the Great King. When the circumspect Monarch heard this news, Immediately he despatched an escort to receive him. And when the illustrious and dignified Ambassador Came into the presence of the Great King, According to the manner of the great, he pronounced a benediction, And uttered the praise of the Creator of the world. Then he scattered before him abundance of jewels, And presented the parasol, the elephants, and the ear-rings; The Indian parasol embroidered with gold, And inwoven with all kinds of precious stones. Then he opened the packages in the midst of the court, And displayed each one, article by article, before the King. Within the chest was much silver, and gold, And musk, and amber, and fresh wood of aloes, Of rubies, and diamonds, and Indian swords. Each Indian sword was beautifully damascened; Everything which is produced in Kanuj and Mai Hand and foot were busy to put in its place. They placed the whole together in front of the throne, And the Chief, the favored of wakeful Fortune, Surveyed all that the Raja had painstakingly collected, And then commanded that it should be sent to his treasury. Then the Ambassador presented, written on silk, The letter which the Raja had addressed to Nushirvan; And a chessboard, wrought with such exceeding labor, That the pains bestowed upon it might have emptied a treasury. And the Indian delivered a message from the Raja: "So long as the heavens revolve, may thou be established in thy place! All who have taken pains to excel in knowledge, Command to place this chessboard before them, And to exert their utmost ingenuity To discover the secret of this noble game. Let them learn the name of every piece. Its proper position, and what is its movement. Let them make out the foot-soldier of the army, The elephant, the rook, and the horseman, The march of the vizier and the procession of the King. If they discover the science of this noble game, They will have surpassed the most able in science. Then the tribute and taxes which the King hath demanded I will cheerfully send all to his court. But if the congregated sages, men of Iran, Should prove themselves completely at fault in this science, Then, since they are not strong enough to compete with us in knowledge, Neither should they desire taxes or tribute from this land and country: Rather ought we to receive tribute from you, Since knowledge hath a title beyond all else."

Khosru gave heart and ear to the speaker, And impressed on his memory the words which he heard. They placed the chessboard before the King, Who gazed attentively at the pieces a considerable time. Half the pieces on the board were of brilliant ivory, The other half of finely imaged teak-wood. The nicely-observant King questioned him much About the figures of the pieces and the beautiful board. The Indian said in answer: "O thou great Monarch, All the modes and customs of war thou wilt see, When thou shalt have found out the way to the game; The plans, the marches, the array of the battle-field." He replied: "I shall require the space of seven days; On the eighth we will encounter thee with a glad mind." They furnished forthwith a pleasant apartment, And assigned it to the Ambassador as his dwelling.

Then the Mubid and the skilful to point out the way Repaired with one purpose to the presence of the King. They placed the chessboard before them, And observed it attentively, time without measure. They sought out and tried every method, And played against one another in all possible ways. One spoke and questioned, and another listened, But no one succeeded in making out the game. They departed, each one with wrinkles on his brow; And Buzarchamahar went forthwith to the king.

He perceived that he was ruffled and stern about this matter, And in its beginning foresaw an evil ending. Then he said to Khosru: "O Sovereign, Master of the world, vigilant, and worthy to command, I will reduce to practice this noble game; All my intelligence will I exert to point out the way." Then the king said: "This affair is thine affair; Go thou about it with a clear mind and a sound body, Otherwise the Raja of Kanuj would say, 'He hath not one man who can search out the road,' And this would bring foul disgrace on my Mubids, On my court, on my throne, and on all my wise men." Then Buzarchmahar made them place the chessboard before him, And seated himself, full of thought, and expanded his countenance. He sought out various ways, and moved the pieces to the right hand and to the left, In order that he might discover the position of every piece. When after a whole day and a whole night, he had found out the game, He hurried from his own pavilion to that of the King, And exclaimed: "O King, whom Fortune crowneth with victory, At last I have made out these figures and this chessboard, By a happy chance, and by the favor of the Ruler of the world, The mystery of this game hath found its solution. Call before thee the Ambassador and all who care about it; But the King of kings ought to be the first to behold it. You would say at once without hesitation, It is the exact image of a battle-field." The King was right glad to hear the news; He pronounced him the Fortunate, and the bearer of good tidings. He commanded that the Mubids, and other counsellors, And all who were renowned for their wisdom should be assembled; And ordered that the Ambassador should be summoned to the Presence, And that he should be placed on a splendid throne.

Then Buzarchamahar, addressing him, said: "O Mubid, bright in council as the sun, Tell us, what said the King about these pieces, So may intelligence be coupled with thee forever!"

And this was his answer: "My Master, prosperous in his undertakings, When I was summoned and appeared before him, Said to me: 'These pieces of teak and ivory Place before the throne of him who weareth the crown, And say to him: Assemble thy Mubids and counsellors, And seat them, and place the pieces before them. If they succeed in making out the noble game, They will win applause and augment enjoyment: Then slaves and money and tribute and taxes, I will send to him as far as I have the means; For a monarch is to be esteemed for his wisdom, Not for his treasure, or his men, or his lofty throne. But if the King and his counsellors are not able to do all this And their minds are not bright enough to comprehend it, He ought not to desire from us tribute or treasure, And his wise soul, alas! must come to grief; And when he seeth our minds and genius to be subtler than theirs. Rather will he send them to us in greater abundance.'"

Then Buzarchamahar brought the chess-men and board, And placed them before the throne of the watchful King, And said to the Mubids and counsellors: "O ye illustrious and pure-hearted sages, Give ear all of you to the words he hath uttered, And to the observations of his prudent chief."

Then the knowing-man arranged a battle-field, Giving to the King the place in the centre; Right and left he drew up the army, Placing the foot-soldiers in front of the battle. A prudent vizier he stationed beside the King, To give him advice on the plan of the engagement; On each side he set the elephants of war [our bishops], To support one another in the midst of the combat. Further on he assigned their position to the war-steeds [our knights], Placing upon each a horseman eager for battle. Lastly, right and left, at the extremities of the field, He stationed the heroes [the rooks] as rivals to each other. When Buzarchamahar had thus drawn up the army, The whole assembly was lost in astonishment; But the Indian Ambassador was exceedingly grieved, And stood motionless at the sagacity of that Fortune-favored man; Stupefied with amazement, he looked upon him as a magician, And his whole soul was absorbed in his reflections. "For never hath he seen," he said, "a chessboard before, Nor ever hath he heard about it from the experienced men of India. I have told him nothing of the action of these pieces, Not a word have I said about this arrangement and purpose. How then hath the revelation come down upon him? No one in the world will ever take his place!"

And Khosru was so proud of Buzarchamahar, Thou mightest say that he was looking Fortune in the face. He was gladdened at his heart, and loaded him with caresses, And ordered him a more than ordinary dress of honor, And commanded him to be given a royal cup Filled to the brim with princely jewels, And a quantity of money, and a charger and a saddle, And dismissed him from the Presence overwhelmed with praises. Robinson's Translation.



ZAL AND RUDABEH.

"Zal, recovered from the care of the Simurgh and arrived at manhood, is sent to govern the frontier province of Zabul; the adjoining province of Kabul, though tributary to the Persian emperor, being governed by its own king, called Mihrab. This episode commences with a visit which Mihrab pays to Zal, who receives him with distinguished honor, entertains him at a sumptuous banquet, and they separate with mutual respect."

Then a chief of the great ones around him Said: "O thou, the hero of the world, This Mihrab hath a daughter behind the veil, Whose face is more resplendent than the sun; From head to foot pure as ivory, With a cheek like the spring, and in stature like the teak-tree. Upon her silver shoulders descend two musky tresses, Which, like nooses, fetter the captive; Her lip is like the pomegranate, and her cheek like its flower; Her eyes resemble the narcissus in the garden; Her eyelashes have borrowed the blackness of the raven; Her eyebrows are arched like a fringed bow. Wouldst thou behold the mild radiance of the moon? Look upon her countenance! Wouldst thou inhale delightful odors? She is all fragrance! She is altogether a paradise of sweets, Decked with all grace, all music, all thou canst desire! She would be fitting for thee, O warrior of the world; She is as the heavens above to such as we are."

When Zal heard this description, His love leaped to the lovely maiden: His heart boiled over with the heat of passion, So that understanding and rest departed from him. Night came, but he sat groaning, and buried in thought, And a prey to sorrow for the not-yet-seen.

On returning from a second visit, Mihrab describes Zal to his wife and his daughter Rudabeh.

"O beautiful silver-bosomed cypress, In the wide world not one of the heroes Will come up to the measure of Zal! In the pictured palace men will never behold the image Of a warrior so strong, or so firm in the saddle. He hath the heart of a lion, the power of an elephant, And the strength of his arm is as the rush of the Nile. When he sitteth on the throne, he scattereth gold before him; In the battle, the heads of his enemies. His cheek is as ruddy as the flower of the arghavan; Young in years, all alive, and the favorite of fortune; And though his hair is white as though with age, Yet in his bravery he could tear to pieces the water-serpent.

"He rageth in the conflict with the fury of the crocodile, He fighteth in the saddle like a sharp-fanged dragon. In his wrath he staineth the earth with blood, As he wieldeth his bright scimitar around him. And though his hair is as white as is a fawn's, In vain would the fault-finder seek another defect! Nay, the whiteness of his hair even becometh him; Thou wouldst say that he is born to beguile all hearts!"

When Rudabeh heard this description, Her heart was set on fire, and her cheek crimsoned like the pomegranate. Her whole soul was filled with the love of Zal, And food, and peace, and quietude were driven far from her.

After a time Rudabeh resolves to reveal her passion to her attendants.

Then she said to her prudent slaves: "I will discover what I have hitherto concealed; Ye are each of you the depositaries of my secrets, My attendants, and the partners of my griefs. I am agitated with love like the raging ocean, Whose billows are heaved to the sky. My once bright heart is filled with the love of Zal; My sleep is broken with thoughts of him. My soul is perpetually filled with my passion; Night and day my thoughts dwell upon his countenance.

"Not one except yourselves knoweth my secret; Ye, my affectionate and faithful servants, What remedy can ye now devise for my ease? What will ye do for me? What promise will ye give me? Some remedy ye must devise, To free my heart and soul from this unhappiness."

Astonishment seized the slaves, That dishonor should come nigh the daughter of kings. In the anxiety of their hearts they started from their seats, And all gave answer with one voice: "O crown of the ladies of the earth! Maiden pre-eminent amongst the pre-eminent! Whose praise is spread abroad from Hindustan to China; The resplendent ring in the circle of the harem; Whose stature surpasseth every cypress in the garden; Whose cheek rivalleth the lustre of the Pleiades; Whose picture is sent by the ruler of Kanuj Even to the distant monarchs of the West— Have you ceased to be modest in your own eyes? Have you lost all reverence for your father, That whom his own parent cast from his bosom, Him will you receive into yours? A man who was nurtured by a bird in the mountains! A man who was a by-word amongst the people! You—with your roseate countenance and musky tresses— Seek a man whose hair is already white with age! You—who have filled the world with admiration, Whose portrait hangeth in every palace, And whose beauty, and ringlets, and stature are such That you might draw down a husband from the skies!"

To this remonstrance she makes the following indignant answer:

When Rudabeh heard their reply, Her heart blazed up like fire before the wind. She raised her voice in anger against them, Her face flushed, but she cast down her eyes. After a time, grief and anger mingled in her countenance, And knitting her brows with passion, she exclaimed: "O unadvised and worthless counsellors, It was not becoming in me to ask your advice! Were my eye dazzled by a star, How could it rejoice to gaze even upon the moon? He who is formed of worthless clay will not regard the rose, Although the rose is in nature more estimable than clay! I wish not for Caesar, nor Emperor of China, Nor for any one of the tiara-crowned monarchs of Iran; The son of Saum, Zal, alone is my equal, With his lion-like limbs, and arms, and shoulders. You may call him, as you please, an old man, or a young; To me, he is in the room of heart and of soul. Except him never shall any one have a place in my heart; Mention not to me any one except him. Him hath my love chosen unseen, Yea, hath chosen him only from description. For him is my affection, not for face or hair; And I have sought his love in the way of honor."

The slaves speak.

"May hundreds of thousands such as we are be a sacrifice for thee; May the wisdom of the creation be thy worthy portion; May thy dark narcissus-eye be ever full of modesty; May thy cheek be ever tinged with bashfulness! If it be necessary to learn the art of the magician, To sew up the eyes with the bands of enchantment, We will fly till we surpass the enchanter's bird, We will run like the deer in search of a remedy. Perchance we may draw the King nigh unto his moon, And place him securely at thy side."

The vermil lip of Rudabeh was filled with smiles; She turned her saffron-tinted countenance toward the slave, and said: "If thou shalt bring this matter to a happy issue, Thou hast planted for thyself a stately and fruitful tree, Which every day shall bear rubies for its fruit, And shall pour that fruit into thy lap."

The slaves arrange an interview between the lovers.

Then said the elegant cypress-formed lady to her maidens: "Other than this were once your words and your counsel! Is this then the Zal, the nursling of a bird? This the old man, white-haired and withered? Now his cheek is ruddy as the flower of the arghavan; His stature is tall, his face beautiful, his presence lordly! Ye have exalted my charms before him; Ye have spoken and made me a bargain!" She said, and her lips were full of smiles, But her cheek crimsoned like the bloom of pomegranate.

The interview takes place in a private pavilion of the princess.

When from a distance the son of the valiant Saum Became visible to the illustrious maiden, She opened her gem-like lips, and exclaimed: "Welcome, thou brave and happy youth! The blessing of the Creator of the world be upon thee; On him who is the father of a son like thee! May destiny ever favor thy wishes! May the vault of heaven be the ground thou walkest on! The dark night is turned into day by thy countenance; The world is soul-enlivened by the fragrance of thy presence! Thou hast travelled hither on foot from thy palace; Thou hast pained, to behold me, thy royal footsteps!"

When the hero heard the voice from the battlement, He looked up and beheld a face resplendent as the sun, Irradiating the terrace like a flashing jewel, And brightening the ground like a naming ruby.

Then he replied: "O thou who sheddest the mild radiance of the moon, The blessing of Heaven, and mine, be upon thee! How many nights hath cold Arcturus beholden me, Uttering my cry to God, the Pure, And beseeching the Lord of the universe, That he would vouchsafe to unveil thy countenance before me! Now I am made joyful in hearing thy voice, In listening to thy rich and gracious accents. But seek, I pray thee, some way to thy presence; For what converse can we hold, I on the ground, and thou on the terrace?"

The Peri-faced maiden heard the words of the hero; Quickly she unbound her auburn locks, Coil upon coil, and serpent upon serpent; And she stooped and dropped down the tresses from the battlement, And cried: "O hero, child of heroes, Take now these tresses, they belong to thee, And I have cherished them that they might prove an aid to my beloved."

And Zal gazed upward at the lovely maiden, And stood amazed at the beauty of her hair and of her countenance; He covered the musky ringlets with his kisses, And his bride heard the kisses from above. Then he exclaimed: "That would not be right— May the bright sun never shine on such a day! It were to lay my hand on the life of one already distracted; It were to plunge the arrow-point into my own wounded bosom." Then he took his noose from his boy, and made a running knot, And threw it, and caught it on the battlement, And held his breath, and at one bound Sprang from the ground, and reached the summit.

As soon as the hero stood upon the terrace, The Peri-faced maiden ran to greet him, And took the hand of the hero in her own, And they went like those who are overcome with wine.

Then he descended from the lofty gallery, His hand in the hand of the tall princess, And came to the door of the gold-painted pavilion, And entered that royal assembly, Which blazed with light like the bowers of Paradise; And the slaves stood like houris before them: And Zal gazed in astonishment On her face, and her hair, and her stately form, and on all that splendor.

And Zal was seated in royal pomp Opposite that mildly-radiant beauty; And Rudabeh could not rest from looking towards him, And gazing upon him with all her eyes; On that arm, and shoulder, and that splendid figure, On the brightness of that soul-enlightening countenance; So that the more and more she looked The more and more was her heart inflamed.

Then he kissed and embraced her, renewing his vows— Can the lion help pursuing the wild ass?— And said: "O sweet and graceful silver-bosomed maiden, It may not be, that, both of noble lineage, We should do aught unbecoming our birth; For from Saum Nariman I received an admonition. To do no unworthy deed, lest evil should come of it; For better is the seemly than the unseemly, That which is lawful than that which is forbidden. And I fear that Manuchahar, when he shall hear of this affair, Will not be inclined to give it his approval; I fear, too, that Saum will exclaim against it, And will boil over with passion, and lay his hand upon me. Yet, though soul and body are precious to all men, Life will I resign, and clothe myself with a shroud— And this I swear by the righteous God— Ere I will break the faith which I have pledged thee. I will bow myself before Him, and offer my adoration, And supplicate Him as those who worship Him in truth, That He will cleanse the heart of Saum, king of the earth, From opposition, and rage, and rancor. Perhaps the Creator of the world may listen to my prayer, And thou mayest yet be publicly proclaimed my wife."

And Rudabeh said: "And I also, in the presence of the righteous God, Take the same pledge, and swear to thee my faith; And He who created the world be witness to my words, That no one but the hero of the world, The throned, the crowned, the far-famed Zal, Will I ever permit to be sovereign over me."

So their love every moment became greater; Prudence was afar, and passion was predominant, Till the gray dawn began to show itself, And the drum to be heard from the royal pavilion. Then Zal bade adieu to the fair one; His soul was darkened, and his bosom on fire, And the eyes of both were filled with tears; And they lifted up their voices against the sun: "O glory of the universe, why come so quick? Couldst thou not wait one little moment"

Then Zal cast his noose on a pinnacle, And descended from those happy battlements, As the sun was rising redly above the mountains, And the bands of warriors were gathering in their ranks. Robinson's Translation.



THE POEM OF THE CID.

Rodrigo Ruy Diaz, El Cid Campeador, was born near Burgos, in Spain, about 1040. The name Cid was given him by the Moors, and means lord. Campeador means champion.

Ruy Diaz was the trusty lord of Sancho, King of Castile, who at his death divided his kingdom among his children. He then espoused the cause of the eldest son, Sancho, and assisted him in wresting their portion of the kingdom from his brothers Garcia and Alfonso. Sancho having been treacherously slain while besieging his sister Urraca's town of Zamora, the Cid attached himself to Alfonso, humiliating him, however, by making him and his chief lords swear that they had had no hand in Sancho's death. For this, Alfonso revenged himself by exiling the Cid on the slightest pretexts, recalling him only when his services were needed in the defence of the country.

This much, and the Cid's victories over the Moors, his occupation of Valencia, and his army's departure therefrom in 1102, led by his corpse seated on horseback, "clothed in his habit as he lived", are historical facts.

A great mass of romances, among them the story of his slaying Count Don Gomez because he had insulted his father, Diego Laynez; of Don Gomez's daughter Ximena wooing and wedding him; of his assisting the leper and having his future success foretold by him, and of his embalmed body sitting many years in the cathedral at Toledo, are related in the "Chronicle of the Cid" and the "Ballads."

The Poem of the Cid narrates only a portion of his career, and "if it had been named," says Ormsby, "would have been called 'The Triumph of the Cid.'"

The Poem of the Cid was written about 1200 A. D. Its authorship is unknown.

It contains three thousand seven hundred and forty-five lines, and is divided into two cantares. The versification is careless; when rhyme hampered the poet he dropped it, and used instead the assonant rhyme.

The Poem of the Cid is of peculiar interest because it belongs to the very dawn of our modern literature, and because its hero was evidently a real personage, a portion of whose history was recorded in this epic not long after the events took place. The Cid is one of the most simple and natural of the epic heroes; he has all a man's weaknesses, and it is difficult to repress a smile at the perfectly natural manner in which, while he slaughters enough Moors to secure himself a place in the heavenly kingdom, he takes good care to lay up gold for the enjoyment of life on earth. The poem is told with the greatest simplicity, naturalness, and directness, as well as with much poetic fire.



BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CRITICISM, THE CID.

Robert Southey's Chronicle of the Cid. . . . Appendix contains Poetry of the Cid by J. H. Frere, 1808, new ed., 1845;

Matthew Arnold's Poem of the Cid, MacMillan, 1871, vol. xxiv., pp. 471-485;

George Dennio's The Cid: A short Chronicle founded on the early Poetry of Spain, 1845;

Butler Clarke's The Cid (in his Spanish Literature, 1893, pp. 46-53); E. E. Hale and Susan Hale's The Cid (in their Story of Spain, 1893, pp. 248-261);

Stanley Lane Poole's The Cid (in his Story of the Moors in Spain, 1891, pp. 191-213);

Sismondi's Poem of the Cid (in his Literature of the South of Europe, 1884, vol. ii., pp. 95-140);

George Ticknor's Poem of the Cid (in his History of Spanish Literature, ed. 6, 1893, vol. i., pp. 12-26);

W. T. Dobson's Classic Poets, (1879, pp. 35-138);

J. G. von Herder's Der Cid, nach spanischen Romanzen besungen (in his works, 1852, vol. xiv.), translated.



STANDARD ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS, THE POEM OF THE CID.

The Poem of the Cid, Tr. by John Ormsby, 1879;

Translations from the Poem of the Cid by John Hookam Frere (in his works, 1872, vol. ii., p. 409);

Ballads of the Cid, Tr. by Lewis Gerard, 1883;

Ancient Spanish Ballads, Tr. by John Gibson Lockhart, 1823.



THE STORY OF THE POEM OF THE CID.

Tears stood in the eyes of the Cid as he looked at his pillaged castle. The coffers were empty, even the falcons were gone from their perches. "Cruel wrong do I suffer from mine enemy!" he exclaimed as they rode into Burgos. "Alvar Fanez, of a truth we are banished men."

From the windows of Burgos town the burghers and their dames looked down with tearful eyes upon the Cid and his sixty lances. "Would that his lord were worthy of him," said they.

He rode up to the gates of his house in Burgos; the king's seal was upon them. "My lord," cried a damsel from an upper casement, "thy goods are forfeited to the king, and he has forbidden that we open door or shelter thee upon pain of forfeiture of our goods, yea, even of our sight!"

Little hope then had the Cid of mercy from King Alfonso; and sooner than bring suffering on his beloved people of Burgos he betook himself without the city and sat him down to think of what to do. "Martin Antolinez," said he, "I have no money with which to pay my troops. Thou must help me to get it, and if I live I will repay thee double."

Then the two together fashioned two stout chests covered with red leather and studded with gilt nails, and these they filled with sand. Then Martin Antolinez without delay sought out the money lenders, Rachel and Vidas, and bargained with them to lend the Cid six hundred marks, and take in pawn for them the two chests filled with treasure that he dared not at that time take away with him. For a year they were to keep the chests and pledge themselves not to look in them. Glad were the hearts of the money lenders as they lifted the heavy chests, and happy was the Cid when he saw the six hundred marks counted out before him.

Seeking the monastery of San Pedro de Cardena, the Cid embraced his wife Ximena and his two daughters, and left them in the protection of the abbot, to whom he promised recompense. Hard was the pain of parting as when the finger nail is torn away from the flesh, but a banished man has no choice. And as they passed the night at Higeruela a sweet vision promising success comforted the Cid in his slumbers; and many from Castile, who heard of the departure of the hero, sought his banners to better their fortune.

Next day the Cid and his men took Castejon and sold the spoil to the Moors of Hita and Guadalajara, and then my Cid passed on and planted himself upon a lofty and strong hill opposite Alcocer, and levied tribute upon the neighboring peoples. When he had so besieged Alcocer for fifteen weeks he took it by stratagem, and Pero Bermuez, the slow of speech, planted his standard on the highest part. When the King of Valencia heard of this, he determined to capture my Cid, and accordingly sent three thousand Moors to lay siege to Alcocer.

When the water was cut off and bread became scarce, the six hundred Spanish men, acting upon the advice of Minaya, took the field against the three thousand Moors; and such was the valor of him that in a good hour was born, and of his standard bearer, Pero Bermuez, and of the good Minaya, that the Moors fell to the ground three hundred at a time, their shields shivered, their mail riven, their white pennons red with blood.

"Thanks be to God for victory!" said the Cid. In the Moorish king's camp was found great spoil,—shields, arms, and horses. Greatly the Christians rejoiced, for to them fell much spoil, and but fifteen of their men were missing. Even to the Moors my Cid gave some of his spoil, and from his share of one hundred horses he sent by Minaya thirty, saddled and bridled, with as many swords hung at the saddle bows, to King Alfonso. Also he sent by him a wallet of gold and silver for his wife and daughters, and to pay for a thousand Masses at Burgos.

Alfonso was well pleased to receive this token. "It is too soon to take him into favor, but I will accept his present, and I am glad he won the victory. Minaya, I pardon thee; go to the Cid and say that I will permit any valiant man who so desires to follow him."

Upon the hill now called the hill of the Cid, he who girt on the sword in a good hour, took up his abode and levied tribute on the people for fifteen weeks. But when he saw that Minaya's return was delayed, he went even unto Saragossa, levying tribute and doing much damage, insomuch that the Count of Barcelona, Raymond de Berenger, was provoked into making an assault upon him in the Pine Wood of Bivar, where he was ingloriously defeated and taken prisoner. The count was the more shamed at this because my Cid had sent him a friendly message, saying that he did not want to fight him, since he owed him no grudge. When Count Raymond had given up his precious sword, the great Colada, the good one of Bivar endeavored to make friends with his prisoner, but to no avail. The count refused meat and drink, and was determined to die, until the Cid assured him that as soon as he ate a hearty meal he should go free. Then he departed joyfully from the camp, fearing even to the last lest the Cid should change his mind, a thing the perfect one never would have done.

Cheered by this conquest, the Cid turned to Valencia, and met a great Moorish army, which was speedily defeated, the Cid's numbers having been greatly increased by men who flocked to him from Spain. Two Moorish kings were slain, and the survivors were pursued even to Valencia. Then my Cid sat down before the city for nine months, and in the tenth month Valencia surrendered. The spoil—who could count it? All were rich who accompanied the Cid, and his fifth was thirty thousand marks in money, besides much other spoil. And my Cid's renown spread throughout Spain. Wonderful was he to look upon, for his beard had grown very long. For the love of King Alfonso, who had banished him, he said it should never be cut, nor a hair of it be plucked, and it should be famous among Moors and Christians. Then he again called Minaya to him, and to King Alfonso sent a hundred horses, with the request that his wife and daughters might be allowed to join him. Also he sent him word that he had been joined by a good bishop, Don Jerome, and had created for him a bishopric.

Now were the enemies of the good one of Bivar incensed in proportion as the king was pleased with this noble gift. And when the king silenced the envious ones, and ordered an escort for Ximena and her daughters, and treated Minaya with consideration, the Infantes of Carrion talked together, commenting on the growing importance of my Cid. "It would better our fortunes to marry his daughters, but they are below us in rank." And so saying they sent their salutations to the Cid.

The Cid met his wife and daughters on his new horse, Babieca, the wonder of all Spain, and great was his joy to clasp them again in his arms. And he took them up in the highest part of Valencia, and their bright eyes looked over the city and the sea, and they all thanked God for giving them so fair a prize.

When winter was past and spring had come, the King of Morocco crossed the sea to Valencia with fifty thousand men, and pitched his tents before the city. Then the Cid took his wife and daughters up in the Alcazar, and showed them the vast army. "They bring a gift for us, a dowry against the marriage of our daughters. Because ye are here, with God's help, I shall win the battle."

He went forth on the good Babieca; four thousand less thirty followed him to attack the fifty thousand Moors. The Cid's arms dripped with blood to the elbow; the Moors he slew could not be counted. King Yucef himself he smote three times, and only the swiftness of the horse he rode saved the king from death. All fled who were not slain, leaving the spoil behind. Three thousand marks of gold and silver were found there, and the other spoil was countless. Then my Cid ordered Minaya and Pero Bermuez to take to Alfonso the great tent of the King of Morocco, and two hundred horses. And the king was greatly pleased, and the Infantes of Carrion, counselling together, said, "The fame of the Cid grows greater; let us ask his daughters in marriage." And the king gave their request to Minaya and Bermuez, who were to bear it to the Cid.

Said my Cid, when he heard the proposal: "The Infantes of Carrion are haughty, and have a faction in court. I have no taste for the match; but since my king desires it, I will be silent."

When the king heard his answer, he appointed a meeting, and when he that in a good hour was born saw his king, he fell at his feet to pay him homage. But the king said: "Here do I pardon you, and grant you my love from this day forth."

The next day when the king presented to the Cid the offer of the Infantes, my Cid replied: "My daughters are not of marriageable age, but I and they are in your hands. Give them as it pleases you." Then the king commissioned Alvar Fanez to act for him and give the daughters of my Cid to the Infantes.

The Cid hastened home to prepare for the wedding. The palace was beautifully decorated with hangings of purple and samite. Rich were the garments of the Infantes, and meek their behavior in the presence of my Cid. The couples were wedded by the Bishop Don Jerome, and the wedding festivities lasted for fifteen days. And for wellnigh two years the Cid and his sons-in-law abode happily in Valencia.

One day while my Cid was lying asleep in his palace, a lion broke loose from its cage, and all the court were sore afraid. The Cid's followers gathered around his couch to protect him; but Ferran Gonzalez crept beneath the couch, crying from fear, and Diego ran into the court and threw himself across a wine-press beam, so that he soiled his mantle. The Cid, awakened by the noise, arose, took the lion by the mane, and dragged him to his cage, to the astonishment of all present. Then my Cid asked for his sons-in-law, and when they were found, pale and frightened, the whole court laughed at them until my Cid bade them cease. And the Infantes were deeply insulted.

While they were still sulking over their injuries, King Bucar of Morocco beleagured Valencia with fifty thousand tents. The Cid and his barons rejoiced at the thought of battle; but the Infantes were sore afraid, for they were cowards, and feared to be slain in battle. The Cid told them to remain in Valencia; but stung by shame they went forth with Bermuez, who reported that both had fleshed their swords in battle with the Moor.

Great was the slaughter of the Moors on that field. Alvar Fanez, Minaya, and the fighting bishop came back dripping with gore, and as for my Cid, he slew King Bucar himself, and brought home the famous sword, Tizon, worth full a thousand marks in gold.

The Infantes, still wrathful at their humiliation, talked apart: "Let us take our wealth and our wives and return to Carrion. Once away from the Campeador, we will punish his daughters, so that we shall hear no more of the affair of the lion. With the wealth we have gained from the Cid we can now wed whom we please."

Sore was the heart of the Cid when he heard of their determination; but he gave them rich gifts, and also the priceless swords Colada and Tizon. "I won them in knightly fashion," said he, "and I give them to you, for ye are my sons, since I gave you my daughters; in them ye take the core of my heart." He ordered Feliz Munoz, his nephew, to accompany them as an escort, and sent them by way of Molina to salute his friend, Abengalvon the Moor.

The Moor received them in great state, and escorted them as far as the Salon; but when he overheard the Infantes plotting to destroy him, and seize his substance, he left them in anger. At night the Infantes pitched their tents in an oak forest full of tall trees, among which roamed fierce beasts. During the night they made a great show of love to their wives, and the next morning ordered the escort to go on, saying that they would follow alone. As soon as they were alone they stripped the daughters of the Cid of their garments, beat them with their saddle-girths and spurs, and left them for dead in the wild forest. "Now we are avenged for the dishonor of the lion," said they, as they departed for Carrion. But Feliz Munoz, who had suspected the Infantes, had gone forward but a little way, and then crept back, so that from a thicket he perceived the sufferings of his cousins. Straightway he went to their rescue, found them clothes, and helped them home again.

When the Cid heard of this insult to himself and his daughters, he grasped his beard and swore a mighty oath that the Infantes would rue the day when they had thus offended him. All of the Cid's friends strove to comfort the ladies Elvira and Sol, and Abengalvon the Moor made them a rich supper for love of the Cid.

At the request of my Cid, King Alfonso summoned a Cortes at Toledo, to try the cause of the Cid and the Infantes. Thither went the Cid, richly clad, so that all men wondered at his rich garments, his long hair in a scarlet and gold coif, and his uncut beard bound up with cords. He and his hundred men wore bright hauberks under their ermines, and trenchant swords under their mantles, for they feared treachery.

The king appointed some of his counts as judges, and announced that he held this, the third Cortes of his reign, for the love of the Cid. Then my Cid stood forth.

"I am not dishonored because the Infantes deserted my daughters," said the Cid, "for the king gave them away, not I; but I demand my swords, Colada and Tizon. When my lords of Carrion gave up my daughters they relinquished all claims to my property."

The Infantes, well pleased that he demanded no more, returned the swords; and when the blades were unsheathed and placed in the hands of the king, the eyes of the court were dazzled by their brightness.

The Cid presented Tizon to his nephew and Colada to Martin Antolinez. "Now, my king, I have another grievance. I now demand that the Infantes restore the three thousand marks in gold and silver they carried from Valencia. When they ceased to be my sons-in-law they ceased to own my gold." Then the Infantes were troubled, for they had spent the money; but the judges gave them no relief, and they were forced to pay it out of their heritage of Carrion.

"So please your grace," said the Cid, "still another grievance, the greatest of all, I have yet to state. I hold myself dishonored by the Infantes. Redress by combat they must yield, for I will take no other."

The Count Garcia ridiculed the Cid's claim. "The noble lords of Carrion are of princely birth; your daughters are not fitting mates for them." Then, while his enemies were taunting him and the court broke into an uproar, the Cid called on Pero Bermuez, "Dumb Peter," to speak.

When Pero spoke he made himself clear. For the first time he told how like a craven Ferrando had demeaned himself in battle, and how he himself had slain the Moor on whom the prince had turned his back. He also reminded Ferrando of the affair of the lion. When Diego attempted to speak, he was silenced by Martin Antolinez, who told of the figure he cut when he clung to the wine-press beam in an agony of fear, on the day the lion came forth from its cage. Then the king, commanding silence, gave them permission to fight. Martin Antolinez engaged to meet Diego, Pero Bermuez was to combat with Ferrando, and Muno Gustioz challenged the brawler, Assur Gonzalez. It was agreed that the combat should be held at the end of three weeks in the vega of Carrion.