cunning, his fondness for rustic ruses, and the sharp repartee or trick,
which puts to shame the person of a station above his own. The heroines
of many of his favorite ballads and songs are endowed with this quality,
and he chuckles with a hearty zest at the simple wit with which the
shrewd shepherdess puts down the amorous gallant learned in the schools,
or escapes the dangerous importunity of a gentleman on the highway or
a seignorial hunter in the fields. The folksongs of Poitou are full of
such examples, and M. Bugeaud, and M. Leon Pineau, who has followed him
in gleaning in the same field (Le Folk-Lore du Poitou), have given a
number of specimens. The following shows what simple repartee appeals to
the rustic sense of humor:--
NANON.
What is there, Nanon,
In these valleys green?
There is a fool, kind sir,
When you are therein.
Pray tell me, Nanon,
Where does this road go?
When you have found out,
Then you will know.
Come, my dear Nanon,
Under the green shade.
Would you have me think
Of heat you 're afraid?
Is he then happy,
The shepherd you know?
If he is unhappy,
He does n't seem so.
You love him, Nanon,
As I adore you?
Yes, indeed, kind sir,
And much better too.
Pray tell me, Nanon,
Who made you so smart?
You, too, have studied,
And learned things by heart.
In my father's house,
I have studied deep.--
I got my learning
In watching my sheep.
One of the favorite ruses is that by which the shepherd maid induces the
gallant to let her go, on some frivolous excuse and a promise to return,
and then mocks him for his credulity. A similar jest, with the proverb
that when you hold a quail in hand you should pluck it, is very common
in French folk-song, as, indeed, in that of all nations. This is one of
the Poitevin versions:--
THE SHEPHERDESS AND THE GENTLEMAN.
It was a gentleman returning from the army,
Upon the road he met a shepherd maid;
He dismounted quickly, and went to sit beside her.
Cunning was the maid, and wept as if afraid.
"Have mercy, gentleman, you 'll spoil my fine, white cap,
I 'll go and put it off, and come back quite soon."
The gallant gentleman found the time quite tedious,
The maiden did not come; he whistled a blank tune.
"John, my little John, go and tell the maiden
To come back at once, for she must be asleep."
"Good fortune it is to me that I have got away,
By the grace of God I have no shame to weep."
"Little John returned to where his master waited,
Whistling a blank tune beneath the willow tree,
"Alas, my master, the maid is very cunning;
She is safe at home, and sends you mockery."
The gallant ceased his tune, and swore in bitter anger,
"If again that maid I meet by any hap,
Either in the highroad, or on the flowery meadow,
I will have no mercy on her fine, white cap."
Then the love songs of Poitou have a light and humorous turn, a jest
at the fickleness of the runaway lover, and the easy consolation of the
young maiden, whose desire is more to have a lover than that he should
be any particular person. La Belle Rosalie illustrates this gay mockery
of youthful love.
THE FAIR ROSALIE.
The fair Rosalie
Has lost her lover bold,
Is n't she unhappy,
Only fifteen years old!
He promised to return,--
The deep woods were to blame,--
But she has waited vainly;
The traitor never came.
"Nightingale that sings,
Nightingale that flies,
Tell me, tell me truly,
Where my lover lies."
"Your lover, maiden fair,
Has gone across the Rhine.
Captains three are with him,
And he is brave and fine.
"Exchange your woman's dress
For a soldier's coat of blue:
In thirty days you 'll find him,
If you his route pursue."
When she arrived at Bruges,
She found her lover there,
Training with the soldiers,
With banners floating fair.
"If I had known, my dear,
You would have followed me,
You would not have found me,
For I'd have crossed the sea."
"Am I not unhappy,
To march so far to find
The traitor, whom I love,
And who is so unkind?
"Nightingale that sings,
And who hast flown so far,
Tell me, tell me truly,
Where other lovers are."
But all the other lads
Have sought for other brides,
And taken for their spouses
The sabres at their sides.
The Veille des Noces gayly mocks the impatience of the young maiden for
the dawn of her wedding day, which will not allow her to rest quiet in
bed, or endure without reply the rebuke of her more contented mother:--
THE NIGHT BEFORE MY WEDDING.
The night before my wedding,
Guess what happened me.
I rose up to the window,
If daybreak I could see--
The dawn of day,
The lovely dawn of day,
Of light and love so gay.
I rose up to my window,
If daybreak I could see,
The lovely moon still shining
Was all that greeted me.
The lovely moon still shining,
Was all the sign of light.
I thought it must be four o'clock,
But 't was not yet midnight.
I thought it must be four o'clock,
But midnight had not sped.
My mother, who was listening,
Heard the cross words I said.
My mother, who was listening,
Heard the sad sighs I drew.
"Be silent, little fool," she said,
"Or God will punish you!
"Be silent, little fool," she said,
Or God will bring you loss."
"O, mother dear, do you not know
What't is that makes me cross?
"O, mother dear, do you not know,
What't is that gives me pain,
You lie at ease, but I do not;
I must get up again."
There is also a flavor of mockery in the naïve dialogue between the
shepherd, Joseph, and his mistress, whom he has come to waken in the
morning, and to invite to spend the day with him on the mountain. The
shepherdess wants to be assured of something more substantial than mere
affection before she yields to the temptation.
JOSEPH.
Joseph, your faithful shepherd,
Has come to waken you,
Arise, my lovely maiden,
My lovely maiden, rise--
The sun shines bright and new.
Alas, my faithful shepherd,
Whither shall we go?
Above, upon the mountains
Where shining streamlets flow,
Where we will gather violets,
And rosemary also.
Alas, my faithful shepherd,
What shall be our food?
A pie of tender larks,
And cakes so sweet and good,
And see, beneath my mantle
A flask of grapes' rich blood.
Alas, my faithful shepherd,
In what place shall we sleep?
Above, in my thatched cottage,
Within the wood so deep.
I have a place of shelter
Wherein no cold can creep.
Alas, my faithful shepherd,
What if my father knew?
Tell him, my beloved,
That your shepherd true
Came upon the mountain
To keep the wolf from you.
In Le Berger qui me fait le Cour, the shepherdess displays more grace
and sentiment in refusing to point out the identity of her lover, while
avowing her charming and spontaneous affection.
THE SHEPHERD WHO MAKES LOVE TO ME.
The shepherd who makes love to me,
The shepherd who makes love to me,
Is the bravest you can see.
Ask me not to tell you more.
I lead my sheep upon the plain,
I lead my sheep upon the plain,
And my cows to browse again.
Ask me not to tell you more.
My lambkins feed along the glade,
My lambkins feed along the glade,
And I am seated in the shade.
Ask me not to tell you more.
My shepherd comes to see me there,
My shepherd comes to see me there,
And tells me I am sweet and fair.
Ask me not to tell you more.
In listening to his love words deep,
In listening to his love words deep,
My eyelids close; I'm charmed to sleep.
Ask me not to tell you more.
I dream my shepherd is a dove,
I dream my shepherd is a dove,
And my fond heart his cage of love,
Ask me not to tell you more.
The maiden surprised by her lover as she lies asleep beneath the shade
is a favorite subject in all folk-poetry, but it is seldom that it has
been treated with a greater grace and charm than in La Belle Endormie.
The sentiment has all the simplicity and purity of spontaneous love, and
the language the sweet naïveté of folk-song, however much of its charm
may have vanished in the translation.
THE FAIR ONE ASLEEP.
In walking in the garden,
To shun the burning light,
I saw beneath the leafage
A maid of beauty bright.
With noiseless feet I crept
To where the damsel slept.
With noiseless feet I tip-toed
To give her no alarm,
Her head had for a pillow
Her round and rosy arm,
As softly as the air
I kissed her dreaming there.
And while she lay in slumber,
I sought a garden bed,
And on her snowy bosom
I placed a rosebud red.
The flower's breath of balm
Dispelled her slumber's charm.
When slumber's charm had vanished,
She woke with laughing eyes;
Oh, magic love, how charming
To catch hearts by surprise!
To wake them like the dawn,
When spring-time is new-born.
In the bosquet of Pouzange
I meet my faithful loves.
They murmur in the leafage,
Sweet tender-throated doves.
They sing the whole day long,
And love is all their song.
But there is a sadder note which makes itself heard in these songs of
love in Poitou, as elsewhere,--the lamentation of the maiden who has
listened too fondly to the words of her shepherd lover, and experienced
his faithlessness. She must hide at home with her shame, and sadly find
that only her dog is faithful.
IT WAS THE SPRING SIX MONTHS AGO.
It was the spring six months ago,
And in the fresh, green fields below,
My bleating flock around me fed,
While watching them I spun my thread,
And naught of sin or shame did know.
But Colin came one evening fair,
With tender words beguiled me there;
"Dear shepherdess, come take my arm,
Lest lonely roads should bring you harm,
And ghosts or wolves in darkness scare."
In his my trusting hand I place,
While love invades me with its grace;
I could not check his passion's strength,
And wished the road of greater length,
While listening with a blushing face.
But Colin has a faithless mind,
Inconstant as the changing wind.
While I shamefaced must hide at home,
Vainly asking when my love will come,
But my dog alone is true and kind.
The conscription, which compels the peasant, who has drawn the fatal
number, to leave his native fields and his mistress, is an important and
disturbing influence in the rural life of France, and finds a frequent
place in its folk-song. Sometimes it is taken gayly, and the lover
departs in high spirits, singing along the road to the garrison with his
companions, and promising fidelity to his mistress to whom he hopes soon
to return. It is thus in the gay song Voici l'Hiver Passé.
THE WINTER IT IS PAST.
The winter it is past,
The freezing frost and snow,
The springtime it has come,
And to the fields we go.
Above, upon the hilltop,
The flowers bright and blue,
The little singing birds
Their joyful songs renew.
They say in tender tones,
In language sweet and clear,
That every pretty maiden
Should have a lover dear.
But mine has gone away,
A soldier's trade to learn
In service at Bordeaux,
But he will soon return.
We go, my comrades brave,
Let's bid our girls good-by,
Give them a parting kiss,
And tell them not to cry.
With knapsack on the back,
We make a brave convoy.
We march along the road
With gallant songs of joy.
At Bordeaux, when you come,
And other girls you see,
You 'll make another choice,
And think no more of me.
When I am at Bordeaux,
Fond letters I will write,
And give them to the clouds,
That pass with bosoms white.
There will be within them,
In letters deep and clear,
That I will always be
Your lover true and dear.
But the circumstances are not always so cheerful nor the songs so
gay. There is a tragedy, when, moved by an irresistible longing, the
unfortunate conscript has deserted the ranks, been captured by his
comrades, and condemned to suffer the penalty of his weakness in a
shameful death. The old songs have many subjects of that kind, whose
memory lingers, although the penalty for desertion is now less severe.
One of them is Le Deserteur, whose deeply plaintive air, and the
melopoeism of its verse, as well as its simple tragedy, have kept it
alive.
THE DESERTER.
"For eight long years within the troop I served,
Without a furlough to relieve my pain.
The longing took me to desert the ranks,
To my fair land to turn my steps again.
" I had a luckless meeting on my way,
Three grenadiers before me made a halt.
With handcuffs hard and cold they bound my hands,
And led me to Bordeaux to a prison vault.
"Ah, is it then for love of a brown maid,
That in a cell I lie in dismal mood;
My only couch the hard planks of the floor,
Water and black bread my only drink and food."
But when the maiden heard these words of grief,
Both night and day she walked her love to see.
" Courage, my dear love," through the grate she said,
"I will find out a way to rescue thee.
"I will run out, and seek your captain kind,
Your captain kind, and your brave colonel too.
I will beseech them, and implore a pardon,
I will give them gold to free my lover true!"
"I am deeply grieved, my little shepherdess,
That for this grenadier you should moan and cry.
Before the court of war he must soon appear,
And at the drum will be condemned to die!"
When the maiden heard the cruel words he said,
Her cheeks grew white that were so rosy red.
The captain threw his arm around her waist,
And kindly bade her lift her drooping head.
"Fair shepherdess, take me for your lover,
I will love you well, and free your heart from pain."
Tears within her eyes, and kerchief to her face,
"No, no," she said, "I cannot love again."
But the soldier or the sailor after long years of
service gets leave to return to his home on a furlough or a discharge.
Sometimes he is welcomed by his aged parents or his faithful wife, who
recognize him with joyful surprise, in spite of his rags and wounds; and
sometimes he finds that his long absence has wrought fatal changes, that
his parents are dead, or his wife, deceived by false news of his
death, has married again. Incidents of this latter kind are familiar
in folk-song, but there is none where the story is more simply and
dramatically told, or where the conduct of the unfortunate husband shows
such pathetic refinement of feeling, than in La Femme du Marin, which is
one of the best-known and popular of the old songs of Poitou. The air is
charmingly soft and melancholy, and the words display a skill in melody
which the most accomplished poet might envy. A more felicitous verse can
hardly be found in the whole annals of folk-song than this:--
Quand le marin revient de guerre,
Tout doux.
Quand le marin revient de guerre,
Tout doux.
Tout mal chaussé, tout mal vetu,
Pauvre marin du reviens tu?
Tout doux.
It is hardly necessary to apologize for the imperfection of an attempt
to render such a flower of poetry into another language.
THE WIFE OF THE MARINE. 1
When the marine came from the war,
Good and kind.
When the marine came from the war,
Good and kind.
With ragged coat and battered shoe.
1 I have translated marin as ''marine" instead of sailor, as
in the last verse it is said that he goes back to his
"regiment."
Poor marine, from whence come you?
Good and kind.
Madame, I come from the war,
Good and kind.
Madame, I come from the war,
Good and kind.
Bring me now a brimming glass,
That I may drink it as I pass,
Good and kind.
The brave marine begins to drink,
Good and kind.
The brave marine begins to drink,
Good and kind.
Drinks and sings a ballad gay,
While madame wipes the tears away,
Good and kind.
What troubles you, my fair hostess?
Good and kind.
What troubles you, my fair hostess?
Good and kind.
Do you regret the kindly glass,
That you give me as I pass?
Good and kind.
I don't regret my good white wine,
Good and kind.
I don't regret my good white wine,
Good and kind.
A husband's loss bedims my eyes,
For in your looks his image lies,
Good and kind.
Ah, tell me now, my fair hostess,
Good and kind.
Ah, tell me now, my fair hostess,
Good and kind.
Children three he left behind,
But now three more with you I find,
Good and kind.
I had a letter from the war,
Good and kind.
I had a letter from the war,
Good and kind.
Which said my brave marine was dead,
I thought it true; again I wed,
Good and kind.
The brave marine drank out his glass,
Good and kind.
The brave marine drank out his glass,
Good and kind.
Without a word, while soft tears flowed,
To his corps went back his road,
Good and kind.
SOME ANCIENT PORTUGUESE BALLADS.
|The larger and more important literature of
Spain has naturally drawn a wider attention than that of its smaller
neighbor in the Iberian peninsula. The great achievements of Spanish
genius in the era of its intellectual efflorescence have compelled the
intellectual world to study its language and familiarize itself with its
literature. And not only have the great works of Cervantes and Calderon
and Lope de Yega been studied and criticised, and reproduced in all the
cultivated languages of Europe, but the treasures of popular Spanish
poetry, with their rich elements of chivalry and romantic passion, have
been carefully studied and exemplified by foreign scholars, and been
the inspiration of foreign poets and translators. Hardly any country in
Europe has a more valuable collection of popular poetry in the times
of its military and intellectual greatness, or which more thoroughly
illustrates its history or the characteristics of its national
temperament. The long chronicles of the Cid, and the ballad narratives
of the exploits of the heroes of the great struggles for the expulsion
of the Moors, form in themselves a rich body of national poetry,
but they are supplemented by an immense number of episodical ballads
relating to events in national history, and lyrical poems and songs
expressing the strong feeling and intellectual energy of the people.
Many scholars and poets of eminence in European countries have devoted
themselves to the reproduction of these Spanish national poems in their
own languages, and in England during the early part of the present
century there was a strong bent of scholarship in that direction,
induced to a considerable extent, probably, by the national interest
in the Peninsular war. Southey, Scott, and John Hookham Frere gave
admirable translations of Spanish national poems, and the spirited
versions of ancient Spanish ballads by Lockhart have been justly
considered a permanent addition to English poetry.
But no such degree of attention has been paid to Portuguese literature,
although it possesses the same national characteristics as the Spanish,
and is not inferior, except in volume, as regards the product of popular
poetry and folk-song. This was natural enough. Except the great poem of
Camoens, Portuguese literature possesses no masterpiece to compel the
attention of the civilized world, and the product of its national
genius is not of the bulk and importance of that of Spain. Its national
characteristics were similar, so that independent study was not incited
by original features, while the difference in language was sufficient
to be a barrier to all except special scholars. The country was in
a measure overwhelmed and overshadowed by Spain, although possessing
independent and interesting features of its own, and has been regarded
as a province rather than as an original country. Very little attention
has been paid in foreign countries to Portuguese popular literature,
although some French and German scholars have included it in their
studies, and there is no volume in English, so far as I am aware,
which deals with it. At the same time it is well worth attention in
its richness and value in all the qualities which make a high order of
popular poetry, and in those elements of chivalric feeling, dramatic
incident, and intensity of passion which characterize Spanish poetry
of the same period. Fortunately Portugal itself has shared in that
interest, which has spread through all the civilized countries of Europe
in ancient popular literature and folk-song, and its national scholars
have devoted a painstaking care and interest to collecting and
elucidating its ancient ballads. The pioneer in this work was Almeida
Garrett, himself a distinguished poet, who, being compelled to take
refuge in England by the political disturbances of 1820, came under the
influence of Sir Walter Scott as regards the work which he had done
for the national literature of Scotland. Like Scott he at first wrote
imitations of the old ballads with their literary style and phrases.
These, like all other imitations of ancient ballads, although full
of strength and poetical power, had not the genuine naturalness of
antiquity and the inimitable flavor of primitive art. Later, on his
return to Portugal, Almeida Garrett set himself to work to collect the
ancient Portuguese ballads, as Scott had done those of the Scottish
border, and was almost equally successful. The backwardness of the
Portuguese peasantry in education, and their comparative seclusion from
the influences of modern civilization in their mountains and valleys,
contributed very much to the preservation of their ancient ballads, and
even to-day they are a part of the oral literature of the country. There
were of course many ancient ballads, in written and printed forms, which
were preserved in libraries and in the papers of old families, but
the great bulk of Almeida Garrett's collection was derived from oral
tradition. He followed the example of Scott in uniting the best forms of
varying versions into a complete and harmonious whole, and it is hardly
doubtful that he also supplied an occasional wanting or imperfect line.
But his general faithfulness and respect for the originals have been
abundantly proved by the work of later collectors. The popular poetry of
Portugal owes no less to Almeida Garrett than that of Scotland does
to Scott, and he inculcated a pride in national history and national
literature by his genius, as well as rescued the remains of ancient
popular poetry by his painstaking care. Since his time he has been
followed by other Portuguese scholars, who have worked under the
restrictions of more absolute faithfulness and historic research imposed
by the modern study of folk-lore. Notably Signor Braga has published two
very valuable volumes, Komanceiro Geral, relating to the popular poetry
of Portugal, and the Cantos Populares do Archipelago Açoriario, the
songs of the Azore islands, whose seclusion from the world has been
very favorable to the preservation of the ancient popular poetry and
folk-lore. There are others who have made national collections, and the
folk-songs of the various provinces, so that now the popular poetry of
Portugal has been as carefully gathered and preserved as that of any
other nation of Europe.
The popular poetry of Portugal had its period of efflorescence
contemporaneous with that of Spain, and covered the period of its
national energy and enterprise. The oldest specimens now extant are not
considered to date beyond the fifteenth century, although, of course,
they may have derived their origin from still more ancient ballads. The
greater part is included within the two centuries following, when
the national mind still preserved the spring and energy which had
accomplished such great achievements in navigation and enterprise,
and before its spirit had been crushed into the narrow bounds of a
restricted and decaying province. Contrary, however, to the condition
of the national poetry in Spain, the allusions to the actual events of
recorded history are somewhat rare, and, although the actions of kings
and national heroes make some figure, for the most part they relate
to popular traditions, which have but a vague connection with national
history. In style and manner, however, they bear a close resemblance
to the Spanish popular poems, and in many instances they appear but as
slightly differing variants, although it is doubtful which may have been
the original, the Spanish or the Portuguese. The ballad of Dom Yanno,
which is a specimen of the longer popular romances, is similar, except
in its termination, to the Castilian romance known under the title of
the Count Alarcos, and which has been translated by Lockhart under the
title of Count Alarcos and the Infanta Solisa. In the Spanish romance
the count actually fulfills the commands of the king by murdering his
spouse, but before her death she cites the king and the infanta to
appear within thirty days before the judgment seat of God, and it is
accomplished by their deaths in that time. There are numerous variants
to the ballad in Spanish popular literature, and it has been made the
subject of dramas by Lope de Vega and others. Its connection with actual
history is unknown.
DOM YANNO.
The princess wept and wept again; the reason for her tears
And that her life had little joy within her royal house,
Was that her father had forgot for slowly passing years
To dower her in marriage with some rich and noble spouse.
Her mourning was so deep one night, the king woke in his
bed.
"What, troubles you, my daughter dear, why do you weep
and mourn?"
"Of your three daughters, royal sire, alone I am not wed.
Therefore my days are dark and dull; therefore I am for
lorn."