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Generative
Artif icial
Intelligence
Exploring the Power and Potential of
Generative AI
—
Shivam R Solanki
Drupad K Khublani
Generative Artificial
Intelligence
Exploring the Power and Potential
of Generative AI
Shivam R Solanki
Drupad K Khublani
Generative Artificial Intelligence: Exploring the Power and Potential of Generative AI
Shivam R Solanki Drupad K Khublani
Dallas, TX, USA Salt Lake City, UT, USA
v
Table of Contents
vi
Table of Contents
vii
Table of Contents
viii
Table of Contents
References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 443
Index��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 449
ix
About the Authors
Shivam R Solanki is an accomplished senior advisory data
scientist leading an AI team in solving challenging problems
using artificial intelligence (AI) in a worldwide partner
ecosystem. Shivam holds a master’s degree from Texas
A&M University with major coursework in applied statistics.
Throughout his career, he has delved into various AI fields,
including machine learning (ML), deep learning (DL), and
natural language processing (NLP). His expertise extends to
Generative AI, where his practical experience and in-depth
knowledge empower him to navigate its intricacies. As a
researcher in AI, Shivam has filed two patents for ML and NLP, co-authored a book on
DL, and published a paper on Generative AI.
xi
About the Technical Reviewer
Durgesh Gurnani is a key influencer in Generative AI,
earning a master’s degree in the United States and currently
residing in Delhi, India. He’s shared his deep knowledge on
TV and at international events. Universities around the world
invite him for special lectures and AI bootcamps. In addition
to his collaborations with multinational companies, Durgesh
conducts online classes every Sunday. Discover his insights
at https://gurnaninotes.com. Join the community and
explore the world of Generative AI with Durgesh.
xiii
Introduction
This book explains the field of generative artificial intelligence (Generative AI), focusing
on its potential and applications, and aims to provide you with an understanding of the
underlying principles, techniques, and practical use cases of Generative AI models.
The book begins with an introduction to the foundations of Generative AI, including
an overview of the field, its evolution, and its significance in today’s AI landscape. Next
it focuses on generative visual models, exploring the exciting field of transforming text
into images and videos. Then it covers text-to-video generation and provides insights
into synthesizing videos from textual descriptions, opening new possibilities for creative
content generation. The next chapter covers generative audio models and prompt-to-
audio synthesis using text-to-speech (TTS) techniques. Then it switched gears, diving
into the realm of generative text models and exploring the concepts of large language
models (LLMs), natural language generation (NLG), fine-tuning, prompt tuning, and
reinforcement learning. The chapters explore techniques for fixing LLMs and making
them grounded and instructible, along with practical applications in enterprise-
grade applications such as question answering, summarization, and knowledge base
generation.
After reading this book, you will understand generative text, audio, and visual
models and have the knowledge and tools necessary to harness the creative and
transformative capabilities of Generative AI.
xv
CHAPTER 1
Introduction to
Generative AI
Unveiling the Magic of Generative AI
Imagine a world where the lines between imagination and reality blur. Generative AI
refers to the subset of artificial intelligence focused on creating new content—from text
to images, music, and beyond—based on learning from vast amounts of data. A few
words whispered into a machine can blossom into a breathtaking landscape painting,
and a simple melody hummed can transform into a hauntingly beautiful symphony.
This isn’t the stuff of science fiction but the exciting reality of Generative AI. You’ve likely
encountered its early forms in autocomplete features in email or text editors, where it
predicts the end of your sentences in surprisingly accurate ways. This transformative
technology isn’t just about analyzing data; it’s about breathing life into entirely new
creations, pushing the boundaries of what we thought machines could achieve.
Gone are the days of static, preprogrammed responses. Generative AI models learn
and adapt, mimicking humans’ ability to observe, understand, and create. These models
decipher the underlying patterns and relationships defining each domain by analyzing
massive images, text, audio, and more datasets. Armed with this knowledge, they can
then transcend mere imitation, generating entirely new content that feels fresh, original,
and often eerily similar to its real-world counterparts.
This isn’t just about novelty, however. Generative AI holds immense potential to
revolutionize various industries and reshape our daily lives. Imagine the following:
1
© Shivam R Solanki, Drupad K Khublani 2024
S R Solanki and D K Khublani, Generative Artificial Intelligence, https://doi.org/10.1007/979-8-8688-0403-8_1
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
3
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
4
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
5
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
6
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
music composition software. Google’s Magenta project utilizes RNNs to create new
pieces of music, demonstrating RNNs’ prowess in understanding and generating
complex sequences, such as musical compositions, by learning from vast datasets of
existing music.
Transformers
Transformers have revolutionized the way machines understand and generate human
language, thanks to their ability to process words in relation to all other words in a
sentence, simultaneously. This architecture underpins some of the most advanced
language models like Generative Pre-trained Transformer (GPT), enabling a wide
range of applications from generating coherent and contextually relevant text to
translating languages and summarizing documents. Their unparalleled efficiency in
handling sequential data has made them the model of choice for tasks requiring a
deep understanding of language and context. OpenAI’s GPT-3 showcases the power of
transformer architectures through its ability to generate human-like text across a variety
of applications, from writing articles and poems to coding assistance, illustrating the
model’s deep understanding of language and context.
Transitioning from these architectures, it’s essential to appreciate the distinction
between generative and discriminative models in AI. While the former focuses on
generating new data instances, the latter is concerned with categorizing or predicting
outcomes based on input data. Understanding this difference is crucial for leveraging
the right model for the task at hand, ensuring the effective and responsible use of AI
technologies.
7
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
8
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
Primary focus Understanding and learning the Identifying and classifying data into
distribution of data to generate new categories
instances
Functionality Generates new data samples similar to Classifies input data into predefined
the input data categories
Learning Analyzes and learns the “rules” or Learns the decision boundary between
approach patterns of data creation different classes or categories of data
Key Creative and productive; can create Analytical and selective; focuses
characteristics something new based on learned patterns on distinguishing between existing
categories
Applications Image and text generation (e.g., DALL-E, Spam email filtering; image
GPT-3); music composition (e.g., Google’s recognition (e.g., identifying objects in
Magenta); drug discovery and design photos); fraud detection
Examples Creating realistic images from textual Categorizing emails as spam or not
descriptions; composing original music; spam; recognizing faces in images;
writing poems or stories predicting customer churn
Real-world GPT-3 by OpenAI: uses generative Google Photos: uses discriminative
example modeling to produce human-like text algorithms to categorize and label
photos by faces, places, or things
9
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
Diffusion Models
Diffusion models gradually transform data from a simple distribution into a complex
one and have revolutionized digital art and content creation. They generate realistic
images and animations from textual descriptions and are also applied in enhancing
image resolution, including medical imaging, where they can generate detailed images
for research and training purposes. While Chapter 2 will delve into diffusion models, let’s
build a foundational understanding with some pseudocode first.
import torch
from torch import nn
class DiffusionModel(nn.Module):
def __init__(self, channels):
super().__init__()
# ... (layers for diffusion process)
import torch
from torch import nn
class Generator(nn.Module):
# ... (generator architecture)
10
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
class Discriminator(nn.Module):
# ... (discriminator architecture)
Variational Autoencoders
Variational autoencoders (VAEs) are renowned for their ability to compress and reconstruct
data, making them ideal for image denoising tasks where they clean up noisy images.
Furthermore, in the pharmaceutical industry, VAEs are utilized to generate new molecular
structures for drug discovery, demonstrating their capacity for innovation in both digital and
physical realms. Let’s delve into the pseudocode to unravel the implementation specifics.
import torch
from torch import nn
class VAE(nn.Module):
def __init__(self, input_dim, latent_dim):
super().__init__()
self.encoder = nn.Sequential(
# ... (encoder layers)
)
self.decoder = nn.Sequential(
# ... (decoder layers)
)
import numpy as np
class RBM:
def __init__(self, visible_size, hidden_size):
self.weights = np.random.rand(visible_size, hidden_size)
self.visible_bias = np.zeros(visible_size)
self.hidden_bias = np.zeros(hidden_size)
import torch
from torch import nn
class PixelRNN(nn.Module):
def __init__(self, input_dim):
super().__init__()
self.rnn = nn.LSTM(input_dim, input_dim)
12
Chapter 1 Introduction to Generative AI
13
Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
we may be killed in it, for then we shall fly to Paradise, and never
again be separated from your mother, who is there.'"
The boy interrupted his story for a moment, bursting into sobs, and
then added—
"My father went to Paradise to see my mother, ... and he too did not
take me with him."
"Poor little fellow!" exclaimed the compassionate women, who
surrounded Ismael, caressing him and endeavouring to console him,
just as affected as he was.
"Unhappy child!" said Lambra; "what he wishes is to return to his
own country."
"Would you like to go back to your native country, my son?" asked
Teresa. "Do you wish to return to Molina?"
"My parents are not there now," answered the child in a despairing
tone. "I wish to remain with you, who are good and loving like my
mother."
"Well, then, remain with us; for we will love you, as your mother did,
my son."
"How good the Christians are, how good!" exclaimed the child, not
knowing how to show his gratitude to those who were pitying and
consoling him.
"And would you like to be a Christian?" asked Teresa Nuña.
"If you are to be my mothers, I will adore the Prophet whom you
adore. My mother used to say that children should adore the God
that their mother adored; and does not the Nazarene, your Prophet,
love children?"
"Yes, my son; children are the principal objects of His love: He
delighted, when He was on earth, to converse with them, He was
angry with those who ill-treated them and prevented them from
going to Him, and He leaves the gates of heaven always open for
them."
"Oh, how good your Prophet is! I wish to adore the Nazarene,"
exclaimed the child enthusiastically.
Teresa Nuña and Ximena then left him for a short time, feeling sure
that Lambra and Mayor would take good care of him while they were
away.
Soon after Fernan came in, whilst the two women were questioning
the child respecting his country and parents, and the boy was
replying to them with visible emotion.
"By the soul of Beelzebub," exclaimed the squire, "they are simply
fools to torment this poor little chap by reminding him of the good
things he has lost, which is the saddest of remembrances. That's the
way women always understand tenderness; they kiss just as cruelly
as they bite. I will ask my mistresses, Doña Teresa and Doña
Ximena, to entrust the training of this little Moor to me; he is worth
all the Moors in the world. They will soon see how I shall make him
a perfect horseman, and also able to give lance thrusts, which will
be worth a king's treasure."
The tone of Fernan was rough enough, and his words severe; but
the face and manners of the squire were stamped with such
frankness and goodness of heart, that Ismael, far from being
frightened, ran to meet him, and clasped his legs affectionately with
his little arms.
"May I turn Moor," said the soft-hearted squire, "if this young chap
isn't worth all the spoils we took in the Oca mountains! Every time I
think of it, I feel more inclined to give that fool of an Alvar a good
cudgelling for finding fault with Don Rodrigo because he put this
splendid little fellow into a litter."
And Fernan took up Ismael in his herculean arms, and kissed him
with enthusiasm, saying—
"I would give you a thousand kisses, only that I am afraid of rasping
your rosy cheeks with my beard; but I will shave, and then I can kiss
you as much as I like. Are you fond of arms and horses, my boy?"
"Oh yes!" cried the child, jumping with joy. "Have you arms and a
horse?"
"Of course I have," answered the squire. "To-morrow morning we
will go to the stables, and there I will teach you to ride, and to use a
lance and sword. I swear by Beelzebub, that when you grow up, you
must come to the wars with Don Rodrigo and me, and fight like
Bernardo at Roncesvalles."
"Bring me to the stables now," said the child, "and show me your
horse and arms."
"You are very impatient, little chap. But I suppose I must humour
you; and your vivacity pleases me."
And thus speaking, Fernan took the little Moor by the hand, who was
jumping with pleasure and impatience to get to the stables.
"Don't take the child away, Fernan," said Mayor, "for if my mistresses
ask for him, they will be annoyed with Lambra and me for not
having kept him with us."
And she went to take Ismael by the hand which was free, in order to
remove him from Fernan; the squire, however, pushed her away, and
disappeared with the boy, saying—
"He will go wherever I please, and all the women in the world shall
not take him from me. By the soul of Beelzebub, that is a nice way
to train up children—keeping them always tied to women's
petticoats! That's the way hens bring up their chickens—and they
become hens."
When the squire and the boy arrived at the stables, Fernan showed
the horses to Ismael, who was insisting on being put on the backs of
all of them. At last, to satisfy the child, Fernan mounted him on
Overo, which he saddled, and the animal, with a patience
comparable to that of his master, yielded to all the caprices of the
child; sometimes quickening his pace, sometimes going slowly, now
turning to the right, now to the left. They then went to the harness-
room, and Fernan prepared to give Ismael his first lesson in the use
of the lance. He made him mount, in a saddle placed on an arm-
stand, put into his hand, to serve as a lance, a stick a few feet long,
made a mark on a post in front, and fastened a strong piece of cord
to the front of the arm-stand; he then gave him, as a shield, the
cover of a tin vessel used for carrying water to the horses, through
the handle of which he put his arm; when he had thus accoutred
him, he lectured him on the proper way of holding both offensive
and defensive arms. Then the good Fernan ordered him to prepare
to charge, and to keep his feet well in, so that they might not be
hurt; the boy did this, and the squire, taking hold of the cord,
dragged on, by means of it, the arm-stand and him who was
mounted on it, very quickly. The boy made his thrust too soon, and
did not strike the mark.
"I vow to Judas Iscariot," exclaimed Fernan, "that he will spoil his
best strokes by his impetuosity."
"My horse did not gallop fast enough," replied the child.
"Well, then," said Fernan, "get ready for a second charge, and take
care not to miss your aim."
"You will see, you will see how I shall hit the mark this time."
The little Moor got ready again, and Fernan pulled the cord more
rapidly than before; Ismael, however, made the thrust too soon, and
went even farther from the mark than on the first occasion.
"By the soul of Beelzebub," cried the squire, stamping fiercely on the
ground, "that would put holy Job himself out of patience. He thinks,
I suppose, that he will do better by making his thrusts too soon."
"I won't charge any more now," said the boy, more vexed by his own
want of dexterity than by the annoyance of Fernan. Then throwing
away the tin cover and the stick, he began to run back to the place
from which the squire had taken him.
"Come back, my son, come back," cried Fernan; but it was in vain,
for Ismael was already with Lambra and Mayor.
"Curses on my impatience!" exclaimed Fernan, giving himself a cuff
on the side of his head. "What else could the poor little fellow do but
run away from me, when I treated him worse than a slave?"
He then went off in search of the little Moor, and shortly afterwards
they were playing together as if both were children.
Whilst Fernan was thus amusing himself with Ismael, another scene,
not less interesting, was being performed in a large apartment, in
which the De Vivar family usually assembled. Rodrigo was relating to
his parents and to his wife the innumerable brave deeds of his
soldiers at the battle of Oca, remaining silent as to his own, for the
noble cavalier was as modest as he was valiant. He spoke also of the
bravery of the enemy, for he was so just and honourable that he
could not refrain from praising merit wherever it might be found.
"The hostile army," he said, "was numerous; but there were very
many who fought for no other cause but that of pillage, and it was
those who first turned their backs on our swords and lances. The
Castilian troops fought with great bravery; but the victory could not
have been won so soon if the enemy had had a few hundred men as
brave as their leaders. Those Moorish kings, whom I brought here as
prisoners, in order that they might do homage to my parents and to
my Ximena, for you are all worthy of it—those kings, I say, and
especially Abengalvon of Molina, fought as valiantly as the most
perfect cavaliers in the world."
"Oh, how unfortunate they are, and how worthy of being well
treated!" exclaimed at the same time both Teresa and Ximena,
whose souls were always inclined to compassion.
"For that reason," said Rodrigo, "I have treated them not as
wretched captives, who are generally loaded with chains, but as
kings, to whom those who receive them in their houses allot the best
apartments, believing themselves honoured by having them under
their roof; for that reason I intend to restore them to liberty this very
day, if you, my parents, and you, Ximena, approve of my resolve."
"Yes, Rodrigo, yes," exclaimed all, with pleased accents. "Sad
captives!" added Teresa. "In their own land they have, most likely,
wives, children, or parents who weep over their absence, believing
them dead or lost to them for ever."
"My son," said old Diego, giving his trembling hand to Rodrigo, and
visibly affected, "your heart is worthy of a cavalier; not in vain was I
the author of your being, not in vain does my blood run in your
veins, not in vain are you descended from the noblest race of
Castile. Oh, if Lain Calvo, your grandfather, could raise his noble
head from the sepulchre! During my long life I have constantly
laboured for the cause of Castile—to make it greater and better—for
the honour of our house, and for the triumph of the faith; and God
has amply recompensed me by giving me a son as good as you are.
My strength is failing, my breathing is becoming difficult, my term of
life is but short; but what is death to a cavalier when he dies
honoured, as I am, and when he leaves a successor as good as you
are? Restore to freedom at once those royal captives; in the eyes of
your father, and in the eyes of all that are good, such an act of
generosity will be one of your best triumphs."
Yes, Diego was right; on that day Rodrigo achieved one of his
noblest triumphs, for to him, the most affectionate of sons and the
most loving of husbands, the greatest glory was the words which he
heard from his parents and from his wife, and the pleasure which
they experienced by his act.
"Dear parents and dear Ximena," he said, as moved as they were,
"let us go now to set the captives free. If they wish to acknowledge
themselves our vassals, let them do so, but if not, they shall be
equally free."
Rodrigo and his family then proceeded to the prison of the Moorish
kings. We have said to the prison, but the apartments of Abengalvon
and his companions did not deserve such a name. They were
situated in the ground floor of the building, having an entrance into
beautiful gardens, and were certainly in every respect suitable for
kings. Rodrigo and his family descended to them by a wide staircase,
which placed in communication the two habitable floors of which the
building consisted, and then requested permission of the Moors to
be permitted to present themselves to them. The royal captives
came forth to meet them with signs of respect and apprehension,
and were about to prostrate themselves before Rodrigo; but he
prevented them, with kind words, which filled the hearts of the
Moslems with confidence and gratitude.
"The chances of war," he said to them, "placed your destinies in my
hands, and for that reason it is my right to dispose of you as I may
wish. Do you acknowledge that right?"
"We are your slaves," humbly answered Abengalvon, who was more
conversant than the others with the Castilian language, and who
was also the youngest of the five Moorish kings, as he was only
about five-and-twenty years of age.
"Well, then," continued Rodrigo, "you were my enemies when I
conquered you on the field of battle, but you fought with valour, and
you bear the title of kings; for these reasons I treated you all, not as
slaves, but as friends."
"Who would not be ambitious to be considered as such?" exclaimed
Abengalvon.
"My desire is to be your friend," said Rodrigo. "Know," he continued,
"that I consider myself so good a subject, that I love and revere all
who bear the name of king, and I should consider myself
dishonoured if I retained kings as prisoners, even though they are
Moors, enemies of my faith and of my country. Return, then, to your
kingdoms, and be, according as your hearts may dictate, my friends
or my enemies. I comply with what my heart, and the hearts of my
parents and wife, whom you see here, dictate to us."
"Oh, blessed Allah!" exclaimed the Moors, raising their eyes, moist
with tears, to heaven. "The prayers of our children and wives have
reached you and caused you to feel compassion for love and
misfortune. We shall sound the praises, in the midst of our families,
of the noble Christian who to-day teaches us to be generous and
good."
And Abengalvon continued, addressing Rodrigo—
"No, we shall not be your enemies; we desire to become your
vassals, as such to respect you and to pay you tribute, and also to
become your friends, in order to love you. Let us kiss your hand."
"Come to my arms, if you believe me worthy of yours!" exclaimed
Rodrigo, as much moved as the Moors were.
They embraced him, weeping with joy, as did also the honoured old
Diego Lainez, Teresa, and Ximena, who were looking on the scene
with much emotion, and whose hands the Moors then kissed,
manifesting that they felt honoured by being allowed to do so.
"Mother!—Ximena!" said Rodrigo a moment after, "open the gates of
their prison for those who have been our captives, but who, from
this day, shall be our friends."
Teresa and Ximena then went to a door which gave egress to the
street, and pulled open the two wings of which it was composed.
"The gate of your prison is open to you," said Rodrigo to the Moors.
"Return to your homes, bring consolation to your wives and to your
children, and may God be with you, my friends! Outside you will find
good steeds to carry you, and squires who will accompany you as far
as the frontier, bearing my green standard, so that neither nobles
nor peasants shall dare to molest you."
"We are your vassals, and every year you shall receive tribute from
us," said Abengalvon.
He and his companions then left the palace of De Vivar, their eyes
dimmed with tears, and blessing Rodrigo, Diego, Teresa, and Ximena
with all the fervour of which their souls were capable.
CHAPTER XXII
HOW THE BAND OF THE VENGADOR ATTACKED THE CASTLE
OF CARRION
The following night had arrived, and was somewhat advanced when
the bandits retired to sleep. The much diminished band of the
Vengador remained in the same encampment, and Teresa and the
page in the same tent.
The night was dark and cold, for it had rained during the evening,
and to the rain had succeeded a thick fog, with which the day had
ended. Teresa and Guillen were sitting near some badly-burning
pieces of wood, the heat of which could not warm the page, for it
was deadened by the dampness of the ground, and by the fog,
which penetrated the canvas of the tent, almost like an icy fluid.
Teresa was shivering with cold, and a deadly pallor overspread her
face; but a pink circle extended around her sweet eyes, a sign that
the unhappy girl had been weeping. Tears also had come to the eyes
of the youth, although he had done his best to keep them in. Who
would formerly have said that the page, so manly, so brave, so
joyous, would one day mingle his tears with those of a weak girl?
What an affecting sight was that of the poor maiden, with a body so
frail and delicate, accustomed to all the comforts of a castle, almost
dying of cold and mental prostration, seated on an icy stone, with
her feet resting on the wet earth, her clothes saturated with
moisture, and with scarce strength enough to approach her hands to
the partially extinguished fire; and then that kind-hearted youth,
with the robust body, with the brave soul, accustomed to arms, and
to manly exercises, trying to cheer her with his words, and cover her
with his clothes, timidly warming the hands of the maiden between
his own, reviving the fire which was going out, and, after all, his
eyes filled with tears, feeling that all his tenderness, all his love, all
his efforts, were unavailing to bring comfort to that delicate girl.
"You are very cold, is it not so?" asked Guillen, with all the
tenderness, anxiety, and love with which a father could question a
dying daughter. "Oh! to see you dying of cold—I who would wish to
see you seated on a throne! Are you very cold?"
"Yes, Guillen," answered the girl, shivering, "I am very cold."
The page, who had already covered Teresa with his mantle, took off
a kind of jacket which he wore, and was about to put it also on her.
"No, no!" exclaimed Teresa, "I will not take your jacket; you will die
of cold."
"Have no fear for me," said the page, endeavouring to smile
pleasantly, "for I am strong, and accustomed to hardships. If I
should feel cold, I will put it on again as soon as it has warmed you
a little."
Teresa let him cover her with the jacket.
Guillen then considered how he could best keep up the fire. But how
could he do it? He did not know what was to be done, but he felt
that something must be done, one way or another, for the life of
Teresa depended on the fire being kept burning, and his own life
also, for he neither hoped nor desired to live if his lady died.
"I am going in search of wood; wait but a few moments," he said to
her, and he went out of the tent, walking with difficulty, for the cold
was paralysing his limbs. He had advanced a few steps, not knowing
in what direction he was going, when his foot struck against a solid
body, not hard enough to be either a stone or a block of wood. He
examined it with his fingers, and found that it was a saddle; with it
he returned, exceedingly rejoiced, to the tent.
"Cheer up, lady," he said on entering; "for I have brought something
with me that will make a fire warm enough to put heat into a dead
man."
"Oh, how kind you are, Guillen! You always come in time to save
me," exclaimed Teresa, with a weak and rather startled voice,—the
page, however, did not notice the latter.
He then broke the saddle in pieces; the leather with which it was
covered had prevented the rain from reaching the straw and the
wood of the framework. Thanks to the former, Guillen was able to
light a good fire, even though he had to be economical with the fuel,
for it was not plentiful, and the night would be long.
The heat of the fire soon warmed Teresa, and a slight smile began
to appear on her lips, which Guillen looked on as the return of life. If
the joy that shone in the dark, full eyes of the page could have been
seen, one would have believed that these moments were the
happiest of his life.
"Ah!" said Teresa, trying to smile, "if you but knew the terror I was
in, during the few minutes you were away from the tent in search of
wood."
"In terror—of whom, lady?"
"When you went this evening to the tent of the Vengador a bandit
approached ours, gazed on me with much attention, and then went
away, uttering some words, the meaning of which I did not catch.
Then, a moment before your return with the fuel, I thought I saw
again the face of the same man over there, at the entrance of the
tent; I was about to cry out, but I heard your footsteps, and the face
of the bandit disappeared."
"Have no fear, lady," said the page in a pleasant voice, "for the
Vengador promised me that he would hang up on a tree the first
who tried to injure us, and besides, I have a sword with which I
would strike dead anyone who dared to attempt such a thing. Be
tranquil, lean against—But there is nothing here on which you can
rest your head," exclaimed Guillen in a sad tone; and then he added,
timid and stammering, "Pardon me, lady—if you like—lean your head
on my shoulder."
"Thanks, Guillen," replied Teresa in a pleased tone of voice; "I do
not feel sleepy as yet, but when I do, I will rest myself in the way
you propose."
The page raised his hand to his eyes to brush away a tear, and was
near throwing himself on his knees before the young lady to thank
her for the happiness she promised him.
At the same moment a rough hand quickly raised the piece of
canvas which covered the entrance of the tent, and a bandit, with a
ferocious countenance and brutal manner, entered. Teresa uttered a
cry of terror, for she recognised the face, which she had seen twice
before. Guillen seized the sword which lay unsheathed by his side,
and asked the bandit threateningly:—
"What do you seek here?"
"Do you know, my gentle youth, that you are by no means
courteous to those who try to serve you?" answered the bandit very
calmly, and with an ironical smile.
"Go out of this tent at once," said the page to him.
"I have come to spend in it the remainder of the night."
"God's anger! Speak, for what are you come?"
"To relieve guard," replied the bandit, with his sinister smile.
"I do not understand you."
"It is a very simple matter, my gentle youth; as you have acted the
sentinel so long a time to this maiden, or whatever she is, I thought
that you must be fatigued, and I have come to relieve you for an
hour or so."
"Be off, ruffian! be off at once, if you wish to leave the tent alive!"
exclaimed Guillen, preparing to make use of his sword; but the
bandit replied, still in the same calm tone—
"I shall not do so, my gentle youth, for it pleases me to act as guard
over ladies, even though they may be thin and pale, like her who is
listening to us. You will see how the colour will have returned to her
face by the time you return."
"Treacherous ruffian!" cried Guillen, and he made a thrust of his
sword at the bandit, not being able to restrain his indignation; but
the fellow stepped rapidly back, and avoided the stroke, then
drawing his dagger, he continued, with agile leaps, to avoid the
sword strokes which Guillen aimed at him, until, taking advantage of
a false move which Guillen made, caused by the dampness of the
ground, he rushed on the page, and succeeded in wounding him in
the hand which held the sword. Teresa uttered a piercing and
dolorous cry on seeing Guillen wounded by the bandit; but the page,
far from losing his courage on feeling the point of the dagger in his
hand, rushed violently on his opponent, and reached him twice with
his sword, wounding him slightly. A furious fight was just
commencing, when the Vengador and Rui-Venablos suddenly
entered the tent; the former seized the bandit by the neck with the
strength of a giant, and threw him out of the tent, saying—
"Traitor, you shall atone for your villainy with your life. Do you
imagine that this youth alone guarded the lady?"
The page then approached the young girl.
"You are wounded, Guillen!" she exclaimed, as soon as her terror
allowed her to open her lips.
"It is nothing, lady," replied the page, trying to conceal his hand; "it
is but a slight scratch, which I scarcely feel."
"No, no, Guillen; you must let me bind it with my handkerchief. Oh,
my life would be but a small thing with which to repay your
sacrifices for me!"
Then Teresa took hold of his arm and forced him to let her bind the
hand, which she did with her handkerchief, which was wet with her
tears.
The page blessed, in the depths of his heart, the dagger of the
bandit, which was the cause of his receiving such care from Teresa,
whose eyes were shedding tears for him, for the humble servitor,
whose blood no other mistress but Teresa would have considered of
any value.
"Guillen, Guillen, for how many sacrifices am I not your debtor! how
good, how generous you are!" exclaimed the noble girl, raising her
mild, moist eyes to the youth, with such an expression of gratitude
and love, that the page was overcome with joy, and, not without
much difficulty, he murmured—
"You owe me nothing, lady; my life is worth less than the least of
the kindnesses which you have shown me."
"See, Guillen," interrupted Teresa, with an affectionate, almost
childlike tone of voice, "you must not call me lady, for—I know not
why—but I do not wish you to call me by that name. How am I to be
your lady, when you are my sole protector, my saviour, my angel
guardian? I cannot explain it, Guillen, but I feel an immense void in
my heart whenever you call me by that name. For a long time I have
recognised in you, not a servant, but a loyal and loving friend, and
now even the name of friend seems to me cold and ungracious. If
the word 'brother' did not make me tremble, if it were not so odious
to me, I would call you by that name, Guillen, for it would express
the feelings which your affection, your unselfishness, and your
protection inspire in me. Ah, Guillen! do not call me your lady, call
me simply Teresa."
The page knelt down before her, overcome by gratitude, by joy, and
by love.
"Well, then," he said, "I will call you Teresa, I will call you the holiest
and the kindest of women! I also find it necessary to call you by a
name which expresses the feelings of a heart full of gratitude, of
happiness, and of"—
The page stopped suddenly, for the word "love" was about to escape
his lips, and who was he, to make a declaration of love to her, the
noble heiress of the countship of Carrion? A poor page had little
claims on the love of one of the noblest ladies of Castile and Leon,
simply for having amused her a short time, now and then, with his
conversation in the Castle of Carrion; for having accompanied her to
the camp of the bandits, when she was carried off by them; for
having spent four-and-twenty hours in that tent near her, without
even having had the consolation of being able to protect her from
the rain and the cold; and for having shed a few drops of blood in
her defence. If such services deserved a recompense, were they not
amply rewarded by the kindness of Teresa, who had carried that so
far as to permit the humble page, the son of a poor peasant, to treat
her as her equal?
These considerations sealed the lips of Guillen, in order that he
might not reveal the intense love which burned in his heart.
"Teresa," he said, after a moment of silence, desirous of changing
the subject of their conversation in order to conceal his feelings, "it
is now late, and you have need of sleep, even for an hour or so;
who knows but that we shall have to pass all to-morrow in travelling
to the mountains of Oca?"
"You are right, Guillen," she replied; "but you think only of me, and
not at all of yourself. Have you not also need of rest?"
"I shall sleep at the same time as you, for we need now have no
anxiety; you know that the leaders of the bandits watch over us,"
said the page, sitting down beside the girl, so that she might rest
her head on his shoulder, as had been arranged between them.
Teresa understood the intention of the page, and leant her head on
his shoulder.
What Guillen felt at that moment may be understood, but it is
difficult to explain it; it is not necessary, however, to do so. We can
comprehend it if we identify ourselves with him, in his love and in his
situation; we can comprehend it if we have not souls of ice and
hearts of stone; we can understand it, best of all, if we have kept
concealed for a long time in our breasts a love, as pure as it was
ardent, equally distant from triumph and from despair.
Almost at once a deep and calm sleep fell upon Teresa, for pure
consciences and innocent souls find in the peace of their night's
sleep compensation for the cares and troubles of the day.
Whilst Teresa slept, leaning her head on his shoulder, the page
would not have exchanged his happiness for that of the most
powerful of the Castilian counts; for that of Rodrigo Diaz; for the
crown of Don Fernando. To feel on his shoulder the head of the
maiden, to breathe her breath, to be able to put his lips timidly on
her hair, to feel the beatings of her heart! Oh! the empire of the
world would have been but a small happiness for Guillen, compared
with that which he experienced during that short space of time.
The fire had nearly gone out, as the page had not been able to feed
it, fearful of awakening Teresa by making the slightest movement.
The chill of the morning, which was approaching, at last aroused her.
She, believing that Guillen was asleep, removed her head very gently
from his shoulder, but, seeing that he was awake, said—
"O, Guillen, how peacefully I slept resting on you! I dreamed that
this tent was the cabin of the labourer, which you pictured to me a
few evenings ago, and that I was not the Infanta of Carrion, but a
poor and simple country girl."
"Ah! would to God that you were!" cried Guillen, full of enthusiasm
and scarce knowing what he said.
"But I remember that it is only a very short time since you said you
would like to see me on a throne," responded Teresa, with an
affectionate and pleasant smile.
"Oh, pardon me, lady—pardon me, Teresa, if my natural rudeness
has made me say a stupid thing," said Guillen. "I only meant, that
perchance you would be more happy if that dream were a reality,—
and I also would be more happy if such were the case," he timidly
added.
The love of the page was so great that his heart was scarcely large
enough to contain it. The life which Teresa had reminded him of,
that life, rich with peace and with love, which he himself had
sketched—sketched only, for although he conceived it in all its
beauty, he had not skill enough to paint it in its completeness; that
life, we repeat, presented itself to his eyes, and the enamoured
youth had not the power to conceal his love any longer.
"And why, Guillen," asked Teresa, "why would you be more happy if
I were a poor peasant girl?"
"Because then I could always call you Teresa, and would be at
liberty to love you as no man ever loved in the world," replied the
page enthusiastically.
"Guillen!" said the Infanta in a voice trembling with joy and emotion,
whilst a glow of colour overspread her pale cheeks, and her blue
eyes shone with unusual brilliancy, "Guillen! I have already told you,
that for you I shall be only Teresa."
"My God!" exclaimed the page, falling on his knees before her, and
raising his eyes, moist with tears. "I am the happiest of men!"
He then added, looking up to her—
"Well, then, I will love Teresa now, whilst I am but a poor peasant,
and the Infanta of Carrion, when I shall be worthy of her."
"And why should you not love her now, Guillen? Is it a crime for a
man of humble birth to love the daughter of a count?"
"It is not so in the sight of God, but it is so in the eyes of men,
Teresa," he answered.
"Well, then, let us do what God does not find fault with, and let us
treat with contempt the injustice and the false laws of men. I, weak
and cowardly until now, shall be strong and courageous enough to
resist all the efforts of him who should be my protector, but who is
my executioner."
"Oh, what happiness can be compared with mine!" exclaimed
Guillen, wild, mad, with joy. "I also, weak, and timid, and humble
until to-day, consider myself strong and daring, and almost touching
the clouds with my brow. Teresa, you are my good angel; you fill my
soul with noble ambitions, you urge me on to all that is good and
exalting."
"Guillen, I am no longer an unhappy woman; when I despaired of
meeting noble hearts in the world, I found one in you, and loved it
as the captive loves the hand that breaks his chains."
The light of day was penetrating into the tent, the morning was very
cold, and the fire all but extinguished for want of fuel. Guillen went
forth from the tent, almost weeping with gladness, and walked
towards some trees which were near it. When he got to them he
raised his eyes to the branches of an oak, and saw hanging from
one of them the corpse of the bandit who, a few hours before, had
wounded his hand.
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