Note 53 — BOOK I. FROM THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH TO THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
Thomasina Ross translation
It will be sufficient to cite, in support of this opinion, the romance of the Conde Alarcos, which is, besides, distinguished from most of the other romances by greater richness of composition. It opens in a very simple manner with a description of the sorrow of the Infante Solesa, who, after being secretly betrothed to Count Alarcos, has been abandoned by him.
Retraida està la Infanta Bien assi como salia, Viviendo muy descontenta De la vida que tenia, Vienda ya que se pasava Toda la flor de su vida. The fair Infanta midst the court A look of sorrow wears, Told by an aching heart how she Is doom’d to pass her years; For far from her is ever flown The early bloom of life——
At length, after Count Alarcos has been long married, the forsaken princess discloses her seduction to her father. This scene is strongly painted, but not overcharged: the king is transported by rage and indignation; his honour appears to him so wounded, that nothing but the death of the Countess can be a sufficient satisfaction. He has an interview with the Count, addresses him courteously, represents the case to him with chivalrous dignity as a point of justice and honour, and concludes by categorically demanding the death of his lady. Thus the developement of the story commences in a manner, which, though most singular, is perhaps not unnatural, when the ideas of the age to which the composition belongs are considered. The Count conceives himself bound as a man of honour to give the king the satisfaction he desires. He promises to comply with his demand, and proceeds on his way home. There is a touching simplicity in the picture which is here drawn.
Llorando se parte el Conde, Llorando, sin alegria, Llorando a la Condessa, Que mas que a sì la queria. Lloraba tambien el Conde Por tres hijos que tenia, El una era de teta, Que la Condessa lo cria, Que no queria mamar De tres amas, que tenia, Sino era de su madre. Weeping he homeward wends his way, His grief nought can remove, Because his tears are shed for her He more than life doth love. He weepeth too for his three sons, In youth and beauty dear; The youngest boy a suckling still, The Countess’ self doth rear. For, save his mother, none he lov’d, Though he had nurses three, Nor by the milk of other breasts Would alimented be.
The pathetic interest now rises gradually to the highest pitch of tragic horror. The Countess, who receives her husband with the wonted marks of affection, in vain enquires the cause of his melancholy. He sits down to supper with his family, and again we have a situation painted with genuine feeling, though with little art.
Sentose el Conde a la mesa, No cenava, ni podia, Con sus hijos al costado, Que muy mucho los queria. Echo se sobre los hombros, Hizo, como se dormia, De lagrimas de sus ojos Toda la mesa cubria. The board is laid, he takes his place, Where viands tempt in vain, For near him his lov’d children are, Now lov’d, alas! with pain. In seeming sleep with head reclin’d, He tries to hide his woe; But from his eyes the big tears roll, And o’er the table flow.
The apparent fatigue of the Count induces the Countess to accompany him to his apartment. When they enter, the Count fastens the door, relates what has passed, and desires his lady to prepare for death.
De morir aveis, Condessa, Antes que amenesca el dia. O Countess, thou art doom’d to die, Before the morning’s dawn.
She begs him to spare her only for her children’s sake. The Count desires her to embrace for the last time the youngest, whom she has brought with her into the room asleep in her arms.
Abrazad este chiquito, Que aquesto es el que os perdia. Peso me de vos, Condessa, Quanta pesar me podia. Give to that babe one parting kiss, That babe for whom thou’rt lost; Beshrew me—but I pity thee— I who need pity most.
She submits to her hard fate, and only asks for time to say an ave maria. The Count desires her to be quick. She falls on her knees, and pours forth a brief but fervent prayer; she then requests a few moments more delay, that she may once more give suck to her infant son. What modern poet would have thought of introducing so exquisite a touch of nature? The Count forbids her to wake the child. The unfortunate lady forgives her husband, but predicts that, within thirty days, the king and his daughter will be summoned before the tribunal of the Almighty. The Count strangles her.
Echole por la garganta Una toca que tenia, Apreto con los dos manos, Con la fuerza que podia. No le afloxo la garganta, Mentre que vida tenia.
In the conclusion, the fulfilment of the unfortunate Countess’s prophecy is briefly related. On the twelfth day the princess died, on the twentieth the king, and on the thirtieth the Count himself expired.