El Cid
Dear Friends,
My life has become substantially more busy over the past couple of weeks due to new jobs and projects. While they are adventures and very interesting for me, they’re not suitable for blog posts. All to say, my posts here are probably going to be more irregular, but I do not intend to stop writing completely.
A few weeks ago, I wrote about how grateful I am to not live in medieval Spain and about how there was much less tolerance there than is usually believed. In conjunction with that book, I also read:
“The Cid.” Translated by W.S. Merwin. In Medieval Epics. New York: Random House, Inc., 1959.
“The Cid” is a medieval Spanish poem about Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, a paragon of chivalry and knighthood. It was written around 1140A.D., about forty years after the death my Cid or the Campeador (my Lord or the Master of the Battlefield, respectively). Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar served King Sancho II and then Sancho’s brother Alfonso VI. As clearly described in the poem (and other historical records), the relationship between Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar and Alfonso VI was turbulent. Alfonso continually has his mind poisoned against Diaz but welcomes him back because the Cid is always a good vassal and serves his king despite repeatedly being exiled.
It is a fun poem to read. Totally devoid of mythological elements, it presents images more akin to the Wild West cowboys’ tales…except instead of cowboys and Indians, there are Christian knights and Moors (Muslims). Like cowboys and Indians, sometimes the groups are friendly to each other, sometimes they fight each other, and sometimes they persuade the other to help them fight someone else within their own group.
To give you a taste of the poem, here is laisse 74 of the 2nd cantare wherein the Cid lays siege and captures Valencia. As a side note, after his death, Diaz’s wife Jimena would maintain lordship over Valencia for three years.
This he spoke, My Cid, the loyal Campeador.
He returned to Murviedro, which he had already taken.
The cries went out, you may know, in all directions;
At the odor of riches they do not wish to delay;
Great numbers gather to him from good Christendom.
The fame of him resounds in every direction;
More flock to My Cid, you may know, than go from him
And his wealth increases, My Cid’s of Bivar.
When he saw so many assembled he rejoiced.
My Cid Don Rodrigo did not wish to delay;
He set out for Valencia and will attack them.
My Cid besieges it closely; there was no escape.
He permits no one to enter or depart.
He gave them a term of grace if any would come and save them.
Nine full months his tents surrounded them;
When the tenth began they were forced to surrender.
Great is the rejoicing in that place
When My Cid took Valencia and entered the city.
Those who had gone on foot became knights on horses,
And who could count the gold and the silver?
All were rich, as many as were there.
My Cid Don Rodrigo sent for his fifth of the spoils;
In coined money alone thirty thousand marks fell to him;
And the other riches, who could count them?
My Cid rejoiced, and all who were with him,
When his flag flew from the top of the Moorish palace.
Lest you think this poem is polemical, allow me to reassure you. My Cid has various friends among the Moors and many enemies among the Christians. In fact, his own sons-in-law are the only true bad guys in the net of loyalty and betrayal surrounding Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar. It is an easy poem to read (at least this translation was) and is worth reading, so enjoy, friends!
Pax,
DS
