Nor does the Cid’s spirit, more than that of Burgos, appear to chime with the ruin. The Cid lived in the eleventh century. Shortly after his death, he was immortalized by the poet of _El Cantar de Mío Cid_, probably a Christian menestral, residing in the Moor country of Medinaceli. The _romancero_ painted the Cid afresh. He was a mobile scoundrel. His king, Alfonso of León, distrusted him and ordered him forth from his seigneurial seat Vivar. Ruy Díaz was penniless: but he possessed a trunk whose iron-thonged flanks you can still admire in the chapel of Corpus Christi of the cathedral. He filled this coffer with rock and sand, and sealed it. By his friend, Martín Antolínez, he caused it to be carried to Raquel and Vidas, rich Jews of Burgos. “These are my treasures,” he told the wily Jews. “I am exiled. Guard my wealth for me as security and loan me six hundred marks. The contents of my coffer are worth vastly more; but I am a simple knight and I need cash to pay my people at Vivar, and to lodge my wife with the monks of Cardeña. Six hundred modest marks.” The Cid crosses into the Moor country of Aragon and begins his raid on the Moslem. Like the Jew, the Moslem is free game--a wilder sort of boar. God sent him into the world for Catholics to prey on. The Cid is out for spoils. It does not occur to him to convert a Moor: he strips him. But he is canny: he never quite strips him bare. He wants him for a friend as he turns his back to go on other raids. At last, the Cid captures Valencia, by guile rather than arms. He is a rich man now! He has sent gifts to mollify Alfonso, and to Ximena and to the monks of Cardeña. (Of course, he does not repay the Jews.) But he imports a bishop to Valencia del Cid, one completely fitted out with all the latest golden implements of worship--quite as a millionaire of Pittsburgh imports a chef from Paris. Listen to mío Cid reflecting on his luck. All these winnings the Campeador made his. “Thanks be to God who of the world is master! “Before I was poor, today I am rich; “I have money and lands, I have gold and wide possessions, “And for sons-in-law I have the Counts of Carrión, “All battles do I win, it is the will of the Lord. “Muslim and Christian hold me in great fear. “Yonder in Morocco where are the Muslim mosques, “They might open to my attack. Who knows? perhaps they have “The dread that I may come: but I am not so minded. “I’ll not go seek the Moor; here in Valencia I’ll stay. “And let them bring me their wealth: with the help of the Lord “They’ll keep on paying me--or whomever I delegate.” This is the constant temper of the first hero of Castile whom the changing mood of Spain was to turn at the last into a fanatical crusader. He has conquered another Moorish town: