The Poem of the Cid (The Song of the Cid)

The Song of the Cid opens quietly and mournfully, starting at the narrative’s lowest point. The hero and protagonist of the tale, the Cid, has been exiled from Castile, though the reader does not know why. Whether his banishment is never stated or has been lost with the first folio of the original manuscript, is unknown. Nevertheless, from the start it is clear that this exile is unjust, and the Cid is a loyal servant of the king. The opening stanzas of the text show a man who is loved by the people; the Cid’s reputation is known throughout the land, and villagers reluctantly turn him and his small group of men away, noting he is a “wonderful servant” (5) with an unjust lord.

Despite the morose tone at the beginning of the first Canto, the Cid is depicted as a loyal servant of King Alfonso, but firstly as a man devoted to God. His first words are praise to his God for his unjust situation, as he takes the situation in stride. He goes straight to Saint Mary’s cathedral to pray before leaving the town, putting his faith in God. Despite his current exile, he is a man of faith, “born at a lucky hour” (7), as the narrative offers some glimmers of optimism for his journey.

While the Cid begins with a small group of men, he attracts thousands of followers during the course of his exploits. The first is Martín Antolínez, who risks his life to join the Cid and remains one of his closest knights through the end of the text. As with many medieval literary characters, Martín Antolínez is a stock character who serves to exemplify the best qualities of a servant and follower. He represents the faith the people have in the Cid, the value of blind devotion to the Warrior, and the importance of the role common followers have in the success of heroes.

Now exiled, the Cid does not have access to his own resources to fund his small army. He must borrow from local money lenders Raguel and Vidas, whom readers and listeners of the tale would have likely known to be Jewish money lenders, as Christians could not lend money in the middle ages. It is an engagement he is reluctant to enter into given both the perceived disadvantage of being charged interest, and the unethical nature of usury. While the narrative does not explicitly resolve this encounter later, the Cid essentially tricks the moneylenders into letting him borrow a large sum, leaving empty money chests as his collateral. This plays into a common anti-Semitic trope in medieval literature: the Christian punishing the Jew through underhanded methods, and the Jew being perceived as having brought it upon themselves because of their participation in usury.

Having now funded his voyage out of Castile into Muslim Spain, the Cid sees to the care of his wife and daughters, who will figure prominently in the last Canto of the epic. The Cid is openly emotional with his family, embracing his daughters, crying over their separation, and praying for his safe return to his wife. His actions model responsibility for a father and husband, when he makes sure the abbot has enough money to care for them and protect them in his absence, and he promises to return once he has established a safe place for them in the future. Even though his girls are young, in stanza sixteen the Cid already expresses his desire to give his daughters away in good marriages, foreshadowing the conflict to come when the king gives them away to unworthy men.

On one of his first nights in exile, the Cid dreams of the angel Gabriel who encourages him, saying “whatever you start will always end well” (29). In a text that lacks fantastical or supernatural elements—which are common to medieval narratives—the dream heightens the sense of impending glory and boosts the optimism of his endeavors, which have now received divine blessing.

In this first Canto the tone of the text accelerates gradually, picking up the pace as the Cid leaves Castile. There is the tense urgency as he leaves the county, with the repeated reminder that his nine-day grace period has almost expired. But along with this pressing momentum is the building popular support for his cause among all sectors of society. The Cid, who is depicted as valiant, just, and loyal, easily attracts followers, who know his reputation and prowess as a warrior.

His success begins with raids, and the first thing they do is raid the Muslim village Castejón, as they need money to pay for the growing army of followers. Establishing a pattern that repeats throughout the epic, the Cid’s men are efficient, easily taking the village and capturing the townspeople. He continues to prove himself in strategically taking Alcocer and breaking a siege laid by the Moorish forces. His courage and tenacity are complemented by his mercy and fairness after the battle—accepting the ransom from neighboring cities, releasing the prisoners, and generously sharing his winnings with his men.

In the 11th century world of The Cid, much of the protection of the crown is dependent on the payment of pariahs or tributes, where villages pay for protection—or to avoid being raided. Here, the Cid raids the city but does not destroy it or its people, ransoming fairly within contemporary rules of engagement. The Moorish villages even bless him as he leaves, lamenting his departure. This is how fortunes are made when no fortune can be inherited; the Cid is obliged to raid the countryside while in exile, as it is his only way to survive.

The Cid’s exploits in the “wild” lands beyond Castile also reflect a common pattern in medieval literature, whereby the hero must journey beyond his own established society to create wealth and social order of his own. Often, conflict at home or lack of inheritance drives the knight out to conquer his own lands and ultimately win favor at home with his valor. The medieval Old French epic Charroi de Nimes is a contemporary example that is also based on a real historical figure who follows a similar trajectory seeking to please his king but also conquer his own lands.

In the first encounters with the Muslim world in Canto 1, the author sets up a dynamic that might undermine modern expectations of a “clash of cultures” between the Christian and Muslim world. The Cid certainly targets Muslim villages—with the explicit encouragement of the king—and, to an extent, justifies it because they are not Christian. But he also does not have much of a choice, as most Christian lands are under the protection of King Alfonso. Despite the targeted attacks, the Cid does not harm people needlessly, nor does he expect or force conversion to Christianity. Instead, the cities he conquers are depicted as being grateful for his leadership and generosity. Far from a crusading narrative, these first battles with Moorish villages work to establish the Cid as a fair protagonist with the right priorities—rather than waste his time in the details of prisoners and in needlessly punishing his captives, the Cid keeps his focus on rehabilitating his reputation and seeking a pardon from his king.

The neutrality of his exploits is demonstrated by his conflict with Ramón, Count of Barcelona, who reigns over a mixed Muslim-Christian community but holds a personal grudge against the Cid. The count is “boastful, stuffed with conceit, and reckless” (67), and therefore he is an easy foil for the Cid. The Cid easily wins the battle, taking the famous sword Colada and even treating the newly captured Count Ramón with kindness and good humor, eventually offering him freedom. His diplomacy with his prisoner ultimately wins him the Count’s loyalty, with their original conflict forgotten and an acceptance of the defeat.

While the First Canto begins at a low point, it concludes in high spirits and building momentum following a series of victories for the Cid. In addition to his growing wealth and army, the Cid also wins some political battles: he obtains permission from the king for others to join his cause without punishment, and he settles an old grudge with the Count of Barcelona. The first Canto thus sets into motion the Cid’s journey to Valencia and also his growing acceptance at court back in Castile, which will eventually trigger the marriage plot that unfolds in the Second Canto.