Bernardo Del Carpio

Spain, like France, had its hero of legend. The great French hero was

Roland, whose mighty deeds in the pass of Roncesvalles have been widely

commemorated in song and story. In Spanish legend the gallant opponent of

the champion of France was Bernardo del Carpio, a hero who perhaps never

lived, except on paper, but about whose name a stirring cycle of story has

grown. The tale of his life is a tragedy, as that of heroes is apt to b .

It may be briefly told.



When Charlemagne was on the throne of France Alfonso II. was king of

Christian Spain. A hundred years had passed since all that was left to

Spain was the cave of Covadonga, and in that time a small kingdom had

grown up with Oviedo for its capital city. This kingdom had spread from

the Asturias over Leon, which gave its name to the new realm, and the slow

work of driving back the Moslem conquerors had well begun.



Alfonso never married and had no children. People called him Alfonso the

Chaste. He went so far as to forbid any of his family to marry, so that

the love affairs of his sister, the fair infanta Ximena, ran far from

smooth. The beautiful princess loved and was loved again by the noble

Sancho Diaz, Count of Saldana, but the king would not listen to their

union. The natural result followed; as they dared not marry in public they

did so in private, and for a year or two lived happily together, none

knowing of their marriage, and least of all the king.



But when a son was born to them the truth came out. It threw the

tyrannical king into a violent rage. His sister was seized by his orders

and shut up in a convent, and her husband was thrown into prison for life,

some accounts saying that his eyes were put out by order of the cruel

king. As for their infant son, he was sent into the mountains of the

Asturias, to be brought up among peasants and mountaineers.



It was known that he had been sent there by Alfonso, and the people

believed him to be the king's son and treated him as a prince. In the

healthy out-door life of the hills he grew strong and handsome, while his

native courage was shown in hunting adventures and the perils of mountain

life. When old enough he learned the use of arms, and soon left his humble

friends for the army, in which his boldness and bravery were shown in many

encounters with the French and the Arabs. Those about him still supposed

him to be the son of the king, though Alfonso, while furnishing him with

all knightly arms and needs, neither acknowledged nor treated him as his

son. But if not a king's son, he was a very valiant knight, and became the

terror of all the foes of Spain.



All this time his unfortunate father languished in prison, where from time

to time he was told by his keepers of the mighty deeds of the young prince

Bernardo del Carpio, by which name the youthful warrior was known. Count

Sancho knew well that this was his son, and complained bitterly of the

ingratitude of the youth who could leave his father perishing in a prison

cell while he rode freely and joyously in the open air, engaged in battle

and banquet, and was everywhere admired and praised. He knew not that the

young warrior had been kept in ignorance of his birth.



During this period came that great event in the early history of Spain in

which Charlemagne crossed the Pyrenees with a great army and marched upon

the city of Saragossa. It was in the return from this expedition that the

dreadful attack took place in which Roland and the rear guard of the army

were slain in the pass of Roncesvalles. In Spanish story it was Bernardo

del Carpio who led the victorious hosts, and to whose prowess was due the

signal success.



This fierce fight in a mountain-pass, in which a valiant band of

mountaineers overwhelmed and destroyed the flower of the French army, has

been exalted by poetic legend into one of the most stupendous and romantic

of events. Ponderous epic poems have made Roland their theme, numbers of

ballads and romances tell of his exploits, and the far-off echoes of his

ivory horn still sound through the centuries. One account tells that he

blew his horn so loud and long that the veins of his neck burst in the

strain. Others tell that he split a mountain in twain by a mighty stroke

of his sword Durandal. The print of his horse's hoofs are shown on a

mountain-peak where only a flying horse could ever have stood. In truth,

Roland, whose name is barely mentioned in history, rose to be the greatest

hero of romance, the choicest and best of the twelve paladins of

Charlemagne.



Bernardo del Carpio was similarly celebrated in Spanish song, though he

attained no such worldwide fame. History does not name him at all, but the

ballads of Spain say much of his warlike deeds. It must suffice here to

say that this doughty champion marched upon Roland and his men while they

were winding through the narrow mountain-pass, and as they advanced the

mountaineers swelled their ranks.



"As through the glen his spears did gleam, the soldiers from the hills,

They swelled his host, as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills;

They round his banner flocked in scorn of haughty Charlemagne,

And thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain."



Roland and his force lay silent in death when the valiant prince led back

his army, flushed with victory, and hailed with the plaudits of all the

people of the land. At this moment of his highest triumph the tragedy of

his life began. His old nurse, who had feared before to tell the tale, now

made him acquainted with the true story of his birth, telling him that he

was the nephew, not the son, of the king; that his mother, whom he thought

long dead, still lived, shut up for life in a convent; and that his father

lay languishing in a dungeon cell, blind and in chains.



As may well be imagined, this story filled the soul of the young hero with

righteous wrath. He strode into the presence of the king and asked, with

little reverence, if the story were true. Alfonso surlily admitted it.

Bernardo then demanded his father's freedom. This the king refused.

Burning with anger, the valiant youth shut himself up in his castle,

refusing to take part in the rejoicings that followed the victory, and

still sternly demanding the release of his father.



"Is it well that I should be abroad fighting thy battles," he asked the

king, "while my father lies fettered in thy dungeons? Set him free and I

shall ask no further reward."



Alfonso, who was obstinate in his cruelty, refused, and the indignant

prince took arms against him, joining the Moors, whom he aided to harry

the king's dominions. Fortifying his castle, and gathering a bold and

daring band from his late followers, he made incursions deep into the

country of the king, plundering hamlet and city and fighting in the ranks

of the Moslems.



This method of argument was too forcible even for the obstinacy of

Alfonso. His counsellors, finding the kingdom itself in danger, urged him

to grant Bernardo's request, and to yield him his father in return for his

castle. The king at length consented, and Bernardo, as generous and

trusting as he was brave, immediately accepted the proposed exchange,

sought the king, handed him the keys of his castle, and asked him to

fulfil his share of the contract.



Alfonso agreed to do so, and in a short time the king and his nephew rode

forth, Bernardo's heart full of joy at the thought of meeting the parent

whom he had never yet seen. As they rode forward a train came from the

opposite direction to meet them, in the midst a tall figure, clad in

splendid attire and mounted on horseback. But there was something in his

aspect that struck Bernardo's heart deep with dread.



"God help me!" he exclaimed, "is that sightless and corpse-like figure the

noble Count of Saldana, my father?"



"You wished to see him," coldly answered the king. "He is before you. Go

and greet him."



Bernardo did so, and reverently took the cold hand of his father to kiss

it. As he did so the body fell forward on the neck of the horse. It was

only a corpse. Alfonso had killed the father before delivering him to his

son.



Only his guards saved the ruthless tyrant at that moment from death. The

infuriated knight swore a fearful oath of vengeance upon the king, and

rode away, taking the revered corpse with him. Unfortunately, the story of

Bernardo ends here. None of the ballads tell what he did for revenge. We

may imagine that he joined his power to the Moors and harried the land of

Leon during his after life, at length reaching Alfonso's heart with his

vengeful blade. But of this neither ballad nor legend tells, and with the

pathetic scene of the dead father's release our story ends.