Legends & Romances of Spain Part 21

They have girded on his s.h.i.+rt of mail, his cuisses well they've clasp'd, And they've barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand the lance hath grasped, And they have caught the old grey horse, the horse he loved of yore, And he stands pawing at the gate--caparisoned once more.

Guarinos whispered in the old horse's ear, and it recalled the voice of its master.

Oh! lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree, And slowly riding down made halt before Marlotes' knee; Again the heathen laughed aloud--"All hail, sir knight," quoth he, "Now do thy best, thou champion proud. Thy blood I look to see."

With that Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode, Pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode.

Now ride, now ride, Guarinos--nor lance nor rowel spare-- Slay, slay, and gallop for thy life--the land of France lies there!

There would seem to be some connexion between this ballad and the French romance of "Ogier the Dane," and Erman tells us that it was sung in Russian in Siberia as late as 1828.

"The Lady of the Tree" tells how a princess was stolen by the fairies, and how a knight to whom she appealed for rescue turned a deaf ear to her request and was afterward scorned by her when she returned to her rightful station. "The False Queen" is a mere fragment, but "The Avenging Childe" is both complete and vivid. Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly declares that Gibson's version of this ballad is superior to that of Lockhart. Let us compare a verse of both.

Avoid that knife in battle strife, that weapon short and thin; The dragon's gore hath bath'd it o'er, seven times 'twas steeped therein; Seven times the smith hath proved its pith, it cuts a coulter through-- In France the blade was fas.h.i.+oned, from Spain the shaft it drew.

Gibson renders this:

'Tis a right good spear with a point so sharp, the toughest plough-share might pierce.

For seven times o'er it was tempered fine in the blood of a dragon fierce, And seven times o'er it was whetted keen, till it shone with a deadly glance, For its steel was wrought in the finest forge, in the realm of mighty France.

My preference is for Lockhart's rendering. Gibson's first line is extraordinarily clumsy and cacophonous, and the ugly inversions in the second line could scarcely be tolerated outside the boundaries of the nursery. The remaining lines are well enough, but no improvement, I think, upon those of Lockhart, only the whole has a better swing, a livelier lilt, even if in the first line this is roughened by the crudity occasioned by the juxtaposition of so many sibilants and explosives. The Avenging Childe duly accounts for his enemy.

Right soon that knife hath quenched his life--the head is sundered sheer, Then gladsome smiled the Avenging Childe, and fix'd it on his spear.

Pity it is that a sense of humour seldom chimes with a sense of the romantic. An 'avenging childe' who could smile gladly when fixing the head of a foe on his spear seems more fitted for a Borstal inst.i.tution than for the silken atmosphere of Courts. Yet he married the Infanta, and was knighted and honoured by the King. Possibly they found in him a kindred soul, if all we read in romance regarding kings and infantas be true.

Count Arnaldos

This very beautiful ballad, which is given in the Cancionero of Antwerp (1555), tells how Count Arnaldos, wandering by the seash.o.r.e one morning, hears the mystic song of a sailor in a pa.s.sing galley.

Heart may beat and eye may glisten, Faith is strong and Hope is free, But mortal ear no more may listen To the song that rules the sea.

When the grey-hair'd sailor chaunted, Every wind was hushed to sleep-- Like a virgin's bosom panted All the wide reposing deep.

Bright in beauty rose the star-fish From her green cave down below, Right above the eagle poised him-- Holy music charmed them so.

"For the sake of G.o.d, our Maker"

(Count Arnaldos' cry was strong), "Old man, let me be partaker In the secret of thy song."

"Count Arnaldos! Count Arnaldos!

Hearts I read and thoughts I know-- Wouldst thou learn the ocean secret In our galley thou must go."

Longfellow wrote a rather anaemic ballad, "The Seaside and the Fireside," on the Arnaldos episode, incorporating several of the lines. Some years ago I published an adaptation of it, altering the environment and changing the metre, and this the reader may perhaps be complacent enough to accept as an ill.u.s.tration of the manner in which "this sort of thing is done."

When the fleet s.h.i.+ps stand inward to the sh.o.r.e As a white tempest, 'tis then I implore The G.o.ds not treasure of red spice to spill Upon the marble quays beneath the hill, Nor scintillant dust from far Arabian streams, Nor weaves more brilliant than the hue of dreams, Nor feathers, pearls, or such things as belong To Eastern waters, but a wondrous song To send perchance upon a seaman's lips That once I heard when the departing s.h.i.+ps Swept from the arms of sea-bound Syracuse.

I know my evening vigil is in vain, That never shall I hear that song again.

Some splendid sea-spell in the sailor's soul, Swelling his heart, and bursting all control, Some white sea-spirit chanting from his mouth Sang the strange colours of a distant south.

Music deep-drowned within the siren sea Art thou beyond the call of ecstasy?

The "Song for the Morning of the Day of St John the Baptist" has little to do with ballad, so we may pa.s.s it by, as we may do the "Julian"

fragment, one of the Gayferos group. "The Song of the Galley," which Mr Kelly regards as "too dulcet," seems to me poorly rendered:

Ye galleys fairly built, Like castles on the sea, Oh, great will be your guilt If ye bring him not to me!

This seems to me facility run mad, and great would be my guilt did I quote more. To the very fine "Wandering Knight's Song" I have already made allusion. "Minguillo" enshrines a motif of almost world-wide usage:

Since for kissing thee, Minguillo, My mother scolds me all the day, Let me have it quickly, darling; Give me back my kiss, I pray.

A conceit current from Caithness to Capo d'Istria. "Serenade," from the Romancero General of 1604, is certainly not peasant work. For his translation of this Lockhart deserves high praise. Its music is reminiscent of Sh.e.l.ley's "Skylark," though of course it lacks the almost intolerable keenness of that song most magical.

All the stars are glowing In the gorgeous sky, In the stream scarce flowing Mimic l.u.s.tres lie: Blow, gentle, gentle breeze, But bring no cloud to hide Their dear resplendencies; Nor chase from Zara's side Dreams bright and pure as these.

It is inspired by a chaste and natural music all its own, beyond the conscious artistry of the material man. To do Lockhart justice, he loved the art of letters for itself alone. His was that natural modesty which is content to sing in the shadow; nor can one recall the memory of that fine and upright spirit, his labour and his sacrifice, without praise and grat.i.tude gladly bestowed. In this poem I seem to see the real Lockhart--a man with the heart of a child.

"Minguela's Chiding" tells of the woe of a rustic maid who loved to her destruction. "The Captive Knight and the Blackbird" is the prison plaint of a warrior who knows not how the seasons pa.s.s, or the moons wax and wane:

Woe dwells with me in spite of thee, thou gladsome month of May; I cannot see what stars there be, I know not night from day.

There was a bird whose voice I heard, oh, sweet my small bird sung, I heard its tune when night was gone, and up the morning sprung.

Some cruel hand had slain the blackbird which was wont to delight the poor prisoner's heart. But the King heard his plaint while pa.s.sing beneath his dungeon window, and set him free.

We may pa.s.s over the rather sepulchral "Valladolid," which tells of the visit of a knight to the tomb of his lady-love in that city. "The Ill-Married Lady" recounts the grief of a dame whose husband is faithless to her, and who consoles herself with another cavalier. They are surprised by her lord, and she artlessly asks: "Must I, must I die to-day?" and requests to be buried in the orange garden. The romance does not tell us if her last wishes were complied with, or even if her life was forfeited, but to a Spanish public of the seventeenth century it was probably a supererogation even to allude to such a sequel.

"Dragut" tells the story of a famous corsair whose s.h.i.+p was sunk by a vessel belonging to the Knights of Malta. Dragut saved himself by swimming ash.o.r.e, but the Christian captives with whom his barque was laden were all drowned save one, to whom the Maltese threw a rope.