Kotharian Lightning

From the folklore of Spain

The Infanta Soliza, daughter of the King of Spain, had been secretly betrothed to Count Alarcos, but was abandoned by him for another lady, by whom he had several children. In the agony of her grief and shame at her seduction and desertion, the miserable princess shot herself off from the world, and consumed the summer of her days in sorrow and bitter disappointment. Her royal father, not conscious of the manner in which she had been betrayed, questioned her as to the meaning of her grief, and she answered him that she mourned because she was not a wife, like other ladies of her station.

“Daughter,” replied the King, “this fault is none of mine. Did not the noble Prince of Hungary offer you his hand? I know of no suitable husband for you in this land of Spain, saving the Count Alarcos, and he is already wed.”

“Alas!” said the Infanta, “it is the Count Alarcos who has broken my heart, for he vowed to wed me, and plighted his troth to me long ere he wedded. He is true to his new vows, but has left his earlier oaths unfulfilled. In word and deed he is my husband.”

For a space the King sat silent. “Great wrong has been done, my daughter,” he said at last, “for now is the royal line of Spain shamed in all men’s eyes.”

Then dark and murderous jealousy seized upon the soul of the Infanta. “Certes,” she cried, “this Countess can die. Must I be shamed that she should live? Let it be bruited abroad that sickness cut short her life. Thus may Count Alarcos yet wed me.”

Exasperated by the thought of his daughter’s dishonour, the King summoned Alarcos to a banquet, and when they were alone broached the subject of his perfidy to the Infanta.

“Is it true, Don Alarcos,” he asked, “that you plighted your troth to my daughter and deceived her? Now hearken; your Countess usurps my daughter’s rightful place. She must die. Nay, start not! It must be reported that sickness has carried her off. Then must you wed the Infanta. You have brought your King to dishonour, and he now demands the only reparation that it is within your power to make.”

“I cannot deny that I deceived the Infanta,” replied Alarcos. “But I pray you, in mercy spare my innocent lady. Visit my sin upon me as heavily as you will, but not upon her.”

“It may not be” replied the stern old King. “She dies I say, and that tonight. When the escutcheon of a king is stained, it matters not whether the blood that washes the blot away be guilty or innocent. Away, and do my behest, or your life shall pay the forfeit.”

Terrified at the thought of a traitor’s death, for such an end was more dreaded than any other by the haughty Castilian nobles, Alarcos agreed to abide by the King’s decision, and rode homeward in an agony of remorse and despair. The thought that he must be the executioner of the wife whom he dearly loved, the mother of his three beautiful children, drove him to madness, and when at last he met her at the gate of his castle, accompanied by her infants, and displaying every sign of joy at his return, he shrank from her caresses, and could only mutter that he had bad news, which he would divulge to her in her bower.

Taking her youngest babe, she led him to her apartment, where supper was laid. But the Count Alarcos neither ate nor drank, but laid his head upon the board and wept bitterly out of a breaking heart. Then, recalling his dreadful purpose, he barred the doors, and, standing with folded arms before his lady, confessed his sin.

“Long since I loved a lady,” he said. “I plighted my troth to her, and vowed to love her like a husband. Her father is the King. She claims me for her own, and he demands that I make good the promise. Furthermore, alas that I should say it! The King has spoken your death, and has decreed that you die this very night.”

“What!” cried the Countess, amazed. “Are these then the wages of my loyal love for you, Alarcos? Wherefore must I die? Oh, send me back to my father’s house where I can live in peace and forgetfulness, and rear my children as those of thy blood should be reared.”

“It may not be,” answered the wretched Coun. “I have pledged mine oath.”

“Friendless am I in the land,” cried the miserable lady. “But at least let me kiss my children ere I die.”

“Thou mayst kiss the babe upon thy breast,” groaned Alarcos. “The others thou mayst not see again. Prepare thee.”

The doomed Countess kissed her babe, muttered an Ave, and, rising from her knees, begged her merciless lord to be kind to their children. She pardoned her husband, but laid upon the King and his daughter the awful curse, the Assize of the Dying, the virtue of which the victim summoned their murderers to meet them before the throne of God ere thirty days were past.

The Count strangled his wife with a silken kerchief, and when the horrid deed had been done, and she lay cold and dead, he summoned his esquires, and gave himself up to a passion of woe. Within twelve days the revengeful Infanta perished in agony. The merciless King died on the twentieth day, and ere the moon had completed her round Alarcos too drooped and died.

Sources:

Legends and Romances of Spain, Lewis Spence