IN WHICH THE MAIDEN, IN ADDITION TO HER OWN STORY, RELATES CERTAIN MATTERS, WHICH WILL ROUSE THE ANGER OF THOSE WHO READ OF THEM

"My master will be glad to know how you happened to fall into the power of those ruffians," said Fernan to the girl, when they had rode a short distance from the inn, not being able to restrain the curiosity, which was also felt by Rodrigo, although the image of Ximena was not for a moment absent from his mind.

"I shall do so with much pleasure, courteous squire," replied the maiden; "for if the knowledge that I was forcibly carried away has been sufficient to induce this good knight to run to my succour, he will feel better pleased for having performed that kind action when he shall have learned more of my misfortunes."

"Relate them to us, relate them to us," said Rodrigo, impatient to hear the adventures of his protÉgÉe, whose gentleness and beauty had much struck him.

The young girl hastened to comply, saying, "God gave me very honourable parents, although their position was only that of peasants, and I always dwelt with them at Carrion, in this neighbourhood. They were vassals of Don Suero, and although continually crushed down by the exactions of the count, demanding constantly contributions from them, in which went the greater part of the fruits of their toil, they nevertheless lived contented; for the love which my parents had for each other made all their troubles bearable, and even sweet. I was born, the sole fruit of their marriage, and they loved me with such tenderness that, if I were removed from their side, life would have no charm left for them. To relate all the care they lavished on me, until I completed my fourteenth year, would be a never-ending story; I believe that the poor love better than the rich, for, since love is one of the pleasures, and perhaps the only one, which is not forbidden them, they devote themselves to it with all the strength of their souls. Poor as they were, my parents managed to give me an education much better than is usually received by girls of my position. Whether it was for that reason, or on account of the great care with which my mother guarded me, it is certain that I was always preferred to my companions by the young men, when we danced on the threshing-floors on Sunday evenings, when they sang in our praise under the windows, and when they returned from the woods with branches covered with May bloom, which they stuck in the ground near the doors of the houses. Near our house lived a young man, named Martin, who, amongst all those of his age, distinguished himself by the affection which he manifested for me, and by his many good qualities, especially by his kindly disposition and his valour. For my part, I grew to love him very much, as also did my parents; having demanded from them my hand, as he knew that my heart was his, they willingly assented, and the day of our marriage was arranged. You cannot know how much Don Suero was hated in the district, both by the nobles and by the country-people, on account of his tyranny as well as of his evil life, the report of which more than once reached the ears of the king. He, however, had not found an opportunity to punish him, as Don Suero is as powerful as he is cunning and daring. Not far from Carrion, in a valley covered with gloomy woods, there is a sanctuary to which, every year, the inhabitants of the country, for twenty miles round, go on a pilgrimage; and there they indulge in dances, banquets, and other amusements suitable for such festivals. This pilgrimage takes place in the pleasantest part of spring, and the rustic festivities render the joining in it very delightful. Early in the morning my parents, Martin, his parents, and I set out from Carrion, and, having arrived at the sanctuary and visited it with devotion, we retired to refresh ourselves by taking a meal and a rest under the shade of the trees, seated on the grassy sod, that was sprinkled over with flowers, which delighted us with their beauty and perfume. When our frugal but savoury repast was finished, a poor blind man approached us, playing a lute. We gave him what remained of our meal, which he thankfully accepted, also a draught of wine, which put him in good spirits. We then asked him to play his instrument, in order that Martin and I might dance to its music. The blind man did as we requested him, and we danced with much pleasure both to ourselves and to our parents, who warmly applauded us. Many persons approached, forming a circle round us; but suddenly the trampling of horses was heard, and all turned towards the path from whence the sounds proceeded, and then we all trembled when we saw the Count, Don Suero, who was riding on, not far from us, with a brilliant company of pages and cavaliers, and who kept his gaze riveted on me with an attention which terrified me. The blind man let his instrument fall on the ground when he heard the name of Don Suero, and began to tremble in such a way that those who were standing around felt compassion for him. He endeavoured to conceal himself amongst them, as if the eyes of the count were those of a basilisk, and he feared lest they might gaze on him. The crowd dispersed as soon as the music and the dancing, which had attracted them, ceased; Don Suero and his attendants continued their way, and shortly after our inquietude had almost disappeared. But not so with the blind man, who remained there full of terror, listening to the slightest noise which could be heard about us. We asked him what was the cause of his inquietude, and this is the lamentable story which he related to us, from time to time shedding copious tears: 'God, when He took my wife from me, left me a daughter, and also my eyes, with which I could gaze upon her beauty, for you cannot imagine how beautiful my Sancha was! Poor and rich envied me my treasure, for gold and silver and palaces could not be of so much value to me as my daughter. "Father," she used to say to me, "you are the centre of my affections on earth." "Daughter," I used to say to her, "you will be my glory in this world." Such was I to her, and such was she to me. One day we saw from our window a cavalier, who, riding across the fields which I cultivated, was directing his way towards our happy abode. He came up to the door and asked for a drink of water, for it was the month of July and the sun was so burning that Sancha and I had returned home from our work, in order to escape his rays. My daughter handed the water to him, and we invited him to rest beneath our roof. The cavalier thanked us, but did not accept our offer. "You have been hospitable to me," he said, "and I desire to show you that I am grateful; in exchange for the kindness you offer me I ask another from you; if at any time you should go to Carrion, where my estates are, come to the castle which I have there, and I shall be well pleased to see both of you and extend my hospitality to you; if you do not so, I shall be much vexed, for it will prove that you do not trust in my goodwill, as I do in yours." We promised to do as he requested, if the occasion should arise, and the cavalier went off by the way he came, leaving us delighted with his courtesy, and resolved to comply with his wishes, if ever we should be in the vicinity of Carrion. The opportunity came, and it appeared to us that it would be an act of discourtesy if we were to return home without seeing the count, for the offering of a favour is of more worth than the acceptance of it. We proceeded to his castle, and Don Suero received us and entertained us, not as peasants, which we are, but as if we were kings. He showed us his magnificent apartments, his richly-wrought furniture, brocades and tapestries worthy of an emperor, gold and silver vessels, and beds covered with silk and gold. My Sancha saw damsels there clad like queens. None of them were as beautiful as she was, but appeared so on account of the richness of their apparel and the fairness of their faces, not browned, like hers, by the rays of the sun in summer and the cold blasts of winter. When so great riches and such luxuries had made us lament secretly the misery in which we always had lived, without noticing it until then, the count asked us if we would like to remain in his palace, where a happy life would await us, compared with that which we had experienced, and which we should in future experience, working in the fields. Little would have made us accept his proposal, but my Sancha and I had heard that ambition, flattery, and calumny, which destroy both body and soul, reside in palaces, and we resisted the temptation and the importunities of Don Suero. We took leave of him, expressing our thanks; but, on reaching the gate of the castle, we found it shut, and when we were about to call out for someone to open it, two servants of the count seized on me, and two men on my daughter, and separated us, carrying us off with violence, Sancha I know not whither, and me into a dark prison cell. In vain I implored them, in vain I called the count by the name of traitor, in vain I questioned my jailers, for I remained many months in my cell, separated from the world, and without a ray of light falling on my eyes. From time to time I heard the bolts of my dungeon, and a person—I know not whether it was a man or woman, for the darkness was always complete, and no voice, except my own, ever sounded—brought to me the meagre food which prolonged my sad life. One day I took up the vessel in which water was left for me and raised it to my lips; I found in it a sweetish liquor, which I drank without distrust; in a short time I felt a great heaviness coming over my entire body, my senses were numbed, my eyelids closed, and in a few moments I fell into a heavy sleep. That sleep must have lasted very long, or at least so it seemed to me, on account of the torments I suffered during its continuance; at first there was a horrible nightmare, during which, at one time, my daughter appeared calling on me, in her desolation, to deliver her from the count; at another, weeping, in despair, over her lost honour; after that I felt an acute pain in my head, as if my eyes were being torn out, and I thought I heard footsteps of persons moving about me. At last I shook off that infernal sleep; my senses recovered their activity, and I only then felt a great weariness over my entire body, and an agonising pain in my eyes. I raised my hand to them and found my face bathed with a liquid, which I thought was sweat. A terrible suspicion seized on me at that moment: I feared that they had deprived me for ever of the light, and the pain which I felt in my eyes for some days confirmed that idea. From that time forth I desired more ardently than ever to be able to leave my prison, in order to find out if my suspicions were correct, if I were condemned to live for ever in darkness; and I incessantly demanded my liberty from my jailer, who at last, speaking to me for the first time, informed me that I was about to receive my liberty. He then took me by the hand, and guiding me through some winding passages, left me in a place, which appeared to me to be a field, for the air was circulating freely; the rustling of the leaves, moving over the ground, could be heard; my feet trod on a soft substance, which I knew to be grass; and the murmurings of the fountains and brooks arrived to my ears. Then—ay, then! a despairing cry escaped my lips; there was no longer any doubt, the Count of Carrion had condemned me to perpetual darkness; the sun, the sky, the verdure of the fields, and above all, the dangerous beauty with which God had endowed my daughter—my beloved Sancha—could never again be seen by me! "But what has become of her, my God!" I exclaimed. "Where shall I find her? Where is she, that she does not come to guide her poor blind father in the darkness which will perpetually surround him?" And from that time to this I seek my daughter everywhere, in the villages and in the cities, in palaces and in cabins—and nowhere can I find her. A hundred times have I gone to Don Suero to demand of him where she is, and he has always ordered his servants to drive me with blows from his palace, and now I fear to go near him again, for he would kill me, and I do not wish to die until I have clasped my daughter in my arms, and found a cavalier who will avenge the terrible injuries which have been inflicted on us.'"

"God's anger! what a wretch that count is!" exclaimed Rodrigo, when the girl had related thus far, and to whom he had listened with visible emotion. "I would give my life," he continued, "to prove against him the temper of my sword; and I pray God to grant me an opportunity of doing so."

"In such a way did Martin cry out," continued the maiden, "when the blind man terminated his sad history. You could have seen him, sir knight, clenching his strong hands, brandishing the stout stick which he used as a staff, and following with his eyes the road on which, but a few minutes before, the count had disappeared, as if seeking that infamous cavalier, in order to crush him with his righteous anger."

"I vow by Judas Iscariot," exclaimed Fernan, not less indignant than his master, "that if I can get my lance near that villainous wretch, I will spit him on it like a hen, not alone in the presence of the King of Leon and Castile, but even in that of the King of Heaven Himself. But continue your narrative, fair maid, for both my master and I are most anxious to hear the conclusion of your own adventure."

The maiden then returned to what concerned herself, and the knight and the squire approached their steeds as near hers as they possibly could, so as not to miss a word of what she might say.

"The sun was about to hide himself behind a distant hill; and the birds were bidding him farewell, singing plaintively in the trees which surrounded us; and the pilgrims were beginning to leave the sanctuary, as their songs and their joyous cries could be heard on the various roads which branched off in all directions. We took the one which led to Carrion, and the blind man with the lute was to get a night's lodging in the hermitage. His story had taken gladness from our hearts, and we were walking on, silent and uneasy, as if we foresaw some misfortune. Night had come on, and the moon was alternately lighting up the landscape and hiding herself behind the large black clouds which were moving across the sky. On entering a narrow road, bordered by thick trees, we perceived, in the obscurity, some dark objects which appeared to us to be men on horseback, and we were not wrong, for just then they advanced to meet us, calling out to us, 'Halt, ye rustics, or whoever ye are.' Martin recognised the voice as that of one of the servants of Don Suero, and told me so, placing himself before me, as if to protect me from a danger which he believed was threatening me. Two of the horsemen dismounted and came towards me with drawn swords; the moon then concealed herself behind a dark cloud, and a terrific fight took place between the ruffians and Martin, whose father, together with my father, ran to his aid, although they were armed even worse than he was. At last, however, the combat ceased; but the darkness prevented me from seeing what had happened to Martin and our fathers. One of the ruffians then lifted me up in his strong arms, without my being able to resist him, as terror had deprived me of all strength, and placed me in those of one of the men who had not dismounted; he then, placing me before him on the horse, gave it the spurs and galloped off, followed by his comrades, not, as I judged, by the road towards Carrion, but to a castle situated at the boundaries of the district.

"He who had carried me off was Don Suero, whom I afterwards saw lying insensible before the Inn of the Moor. An hour before your arrival we all dismounted at that hostelry, for the ride had been rapid and long, and both riders and horses were almost exhausted by hunger and fatigue. However, when they were about to resume their journey, the footsteps of your steeds were heard, and Don Suero, shutting me up in a room, sallied forth with his followers to meet you. You know now, sir knight, how grateful I should be for the service you have rendered me; but, even if saved from my abductor, I cannot but weep for my father and for the brave youth to whom I was to have been married, and of whose fate I am ignorant, as they are of mine."

Thus speaking, the girl gave vent to her tears, which even the kind words of Rodrigo and his squire were unavailing to restrain.

Not long after this the battlements of the Castle of Vivar were seen in the distance, and when the sun had about half finished his daily journey our travellers arrived at the end of theirs.