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 of Aragon and Barcelona, and harrying even the border lands of Castile. Among the enterprises of the Cid the most famous was that against Valencia, then the richest and most flourishing city of the peninsula, and an object of cupidity to both Christian and Moslem. The Cid appeared before the place at the head of an army of 7000 men, for the greater part Mahommedans. In vain did the Valencians implore succour from the emir of Cordova, and from their co-religionists in other parts of the peninsula. In defiance of an army which marched to the relief of the beleaguered city under Yusef the Almoravide, the Cid took Valencia after a siege of nine months, on the 15th of June 1094—the richest prize which up to that time had been recovered from the Moors. The conditions of the surrender were all violated—the cadi Ibn Djahhaff burnt alive, a vast number of the citizens who had escaped death by famine slaughtered, and the possessions divided among the Campeador’s companions. In other respects the Cid appears to have used his victory mildly, ruling his kingdom, which now embraced nearly the whole of Valencia and Murcia, for four years with vigour and justice. At length the Almoravides, whom he had several times beaten, marched against him in great force, inflicting a crushing defeat at Cuenca upon the Cid’s army, under his favourite lieutenant, Alvar Fanez. The blow was a fatal one to the aged and war-worn Campeador, who died of anger and grief in July 1099. His widow maintained Valencia for three years longer against the Moors, but was at last compelled to evacuate the city, taking with her the body of the Cid to be buried in the monastery of San Pedro at Cardeña, in the neighbourhood of Burgos. Here, in the centre of a small chapel, surrounded by his chief companions-in-arms, by Alvar Fanez Minaya, Pero Bermudez, Martin Antolinez and Pelaez the Asturian, were placed the remains of the mighty warrior, the truest of Spanish heroes, the embodiment of all the national virtues and most of the national vices. The bones have since been removed to the town hall of Burgos. Philip II. tried to get him canonized, but Rome objected, and not without reason.

Whatever were his qualities as a fighter, the Cid was but indifferent material out of which to make a saint,—a man who battled against Christian and against Moslem with equal zeal, who burnt churches and mosques with equal zest, who ravaged, plundered and slew as much for a livelihood as for any patriotic or religious purpose, and was in truth almost as much of a Mussulman as a Christian in his habits and his character. His true place in history is that of the greatest of the guerrilleros—the perfect type of that sort of warrior in which, from the days of Viriathus to those of Juan Diaz, El Empecinado, the soil of Spain has been most productive.

The Cid of romance, the Cid of a thousand battles, legends and dramas, the Cid as apotheosized in literature, the Cid invoked by good Spaniards in every national crisis, whose name is a perpetual and ever-present inspiration to Spanish patriotism, is a very different character from the historical Rodrigo Diaz—the freebooter, the rebel, the consorter with the infidels and the enemies of Spain. He is the Perfect One, the Born in a Happy Hour, “My Cid,” the invincible, the magnanimous, the all-powerful. He is the type of knightly virtue, the mirror of patriotic duty, the flower of all Christian grace. He is Roland and Bayard in one. In the popular literature of Spain he holds a place such as has no parallel in other countries. From an almost contemporary period he has been the subject of song; and he who was chanted by wandering minstrels in the 12th century has survived to be hymned in revolutionary odes of the 19th. In a barbarous Latin poem, written in celebration of the conquest of Almeria by Alphonso VII. in the year 1147, we have the bard testifying to the supereminence of the Cid among his country’s heroes:—

Within a hundred years of his death the Cid had become the centre of a whole system of myths. The Poema del Cid, written in the latter half of the 12th century, has scarcely any trace of a historical character. Already the Cid had reached his apotheosis, and Castilian loyalty could not consent to degrade him when banished by his sovereign:—

cry the weeping citizens of Burgos, as they speed the exile on his way.

The Poem of the Cid is but a fragment of 3744 lines; written in a barbarous style, in rugged assonant rhymes, and a rude Alexandrine measure, but it glows with the pure fire of poetry, and is full of a noble simplicity and a true epical grandeur, invaluable as a living picture of the age. The ballads relating to the Cid, of which nearly two hundred are extant, are greatly inferior in merit, though some of them are not unworthy to be ranked with the best in this kind. Duran believes the greater part of them to have been written in the 16th century. A few betray, not more by the antiquity of their language than by their natural and simple tone, traces of an earlier age and a freer national life. They all take great liberties with history, thus belying the opinion of Sancho Panza that “the ballads are too old to tell lies.” Such of them as are not genuine relics of the 12th century are either poetical versions of the leading episodes in the hero’s life as contained in the Chronicle, that Chronicle itself having been doubtless composed out of still earlier legends as sung by the wandering juglares, or pure inventions of a later time, owing their inspiration to the romances of chivalry. In these last the ballad-mongers, not to let their native hero be outdone by the Amadises, the Esplandians, and the Felixmartes, engage him in the most extravagant adventures—making war upon the king of France and upon the emperor, receiving embassies from the soldan of Persia, bearding the pope at Rome, and performing other feats not mentioned even in the Poem or the Chronicle. The last and the worst of the Cid ballads are those which betray by their frigid conceits and feeble mimicry of the antique the false taste and essentially unheroic spirit of the age of Philip II. As for the innumerable other poems, dramas and tales which have been founded on the legend of the Cid, from the days of Guillen de Castro and Diamante to those of Quintana and Trueba, they serve merely to prove the abiding popularity of the national hero in his native land.

CIDER, or (from the Fr. cidre, derived from the Lat. sicera or cisera, Gr. , Heb. shēkār, strong drink), an alcoholic beverage made from apples.

Cider and perry (the corresponding beverage made from pears) are liquors containing from as little as 2% of alcohol to 7 or 8%, seldom more, and rarely as much, produced by the vinous fermentation of the expressed juice of apples and pears; but cider and perry of prime quality can only be obtained from vintage fruit, that is, apples and pears grown for the purpose and unsuited for the most part for table use. A few table apples make good cider, but the best perry is only to be procured from pears too harsh and astringent for consumption in any other form. The making of perry is in England confined, in the main, to the counties of Hereford, Worcester and Gloucester. These three counties, together with Somerset and Devon, constitute, too, the principal cider-making district of the country; but the