Ambassadors from Aquitaine and lords from Normandy,
When with noble marriage proffers in suppliance they came,
You would not hearken to at all, nor treat with courtesy."
"Of all the nobles of my court not one is there I see,
Except Count Yanno, who in wealth and lineage of pride
Can for a single instant seem a worthy spouse for thee,
And he has taken to his house a fair and noble bride.''
"O noble father of my soul, you 've named the very one.
If he already has a wife, and even children too,
He owes another pledge to me, for my weak heart he won.
He gave to me his solemn word, and I believed it true."
The king sent summons to the count to come where he awaits.
He had not thought what he should do, or e'en what he
should say.
"'T is but a single moment since I left the palace gates,
And now the king demands me back; what does it mean, I
pray?"
Count Yanno enters in the hall; the king straight to him goes.
"My lord, I humbly kiss your hands; what is your royal
will?"
"You may kiss them for the honor the king on thee bestows,
In wedlock take my daughter's hand, and your sworn troth
fulfill."
Count Yanno, when he heard these words, was struck with
mortal dread.
"My royal master, I 've a wife with whom I live in bliss."
"Go kill your wife without delay, and then my daughter wed."
"What! kill my wife, so innocent! What black command is
this!"
"Be silent, Count, your insolence I will not suffer now.
One cannot trick a royal maid like any simple slave."
"My lord, before your righteous rage in penitence I bow,
That I may pay the debt alone is all I humbly crave."
"That I should kill an innocent, who's never done a wrong,
Such deadly treason would o'erwhelm my soul with shame
and sin.
The life of earth in punishment to justice would belong,
And in the life beyond the grave no pardon could I win."
"The Countess is a burden here, and therefore must she die;
In that gilt basin bring her head, all dripping with its gore."
Count Yanno left the cruel king, his soul in agony,
And followed the dark page, whose arms the fatal basin bore.
The page was clad in mourning garb, the Count in sad array,
As if in pain of parting breath his heart with anguish
swelled,
The Countess ran to meet him, as she saw him far away;
Her husband and her little child in one embrace she held.
"Well come--well come, Count, for my joy;" but not a
word he said,
He mounted slowly up the steps, and locked and barred the
door;
Then bade the wondering servants the supper table spread:
The household marveled at a mien they 'd never seen before,
They did not touch the food or wine, but sat in sad unrest.
The tears welled from Count Yanno's eyes; he bent to kiss
the child,
That to his mother's warm, soft breast his rosy lips had prest:
The infant turned to meet the kiss, and like an angel smiled.
To see that mingled smile and kiss, her heart in sobs broke
out,
The echoes of her bursting grief filled all the lofty room:
"What troubles you, my best beloved; resolve this dreadful
doubt,
What is the order of the king that fills you so with gloom?"
The Count choked down his sudden sobs, he could no answer
make.
She clasped his neck and on his mouth she pressed a frantic
kiss.
"Take from my heart this agony I suffer for your sake,
Let me partake your sorrow, dear, and you shall share my
bliss."
The woeful pair from table rose, and sought in bed to rest,
But slumber came not to their eyes, to give their pains
relief.
"By the good God in heaven above, and Virgin Mary blest,
My very life I'd sooner give than see you in such grief."
"May death revenge such black command; perish his tyr
anny!
My Count, I do not understand what't is he bids thee do;
Upon my life and soul, my love, reveal it now to me,
This dreadful shadow of ill fate that comes between us
two."
"The fate of an ill-fated one, and no help can there be,
The king commands that I kill thee, and the Infanta wed."
Scarce had these dreadful words been spoke in stifled agony
When the unhappy Countess fell, as if her life had fled.
God did not give her death's relief, tho' better she had
died
For anguish deeper far than death recalled life to her heart,
"Wait, wait, Count Yanno, kill me not, but let me go and hide
In my dear father's distant house, where I can dwell apart.
"There I will live a maid again, and keep my true troth
plight;
There I will rear this infant, and guard him from all sin;
Though sorrow lies between us two, he 'll be my dear delight,
And I'll be faithful to my love as I have always been."
"How can that be, my best beloved, it is the king's black will
Within that gilded basin there to see your severed head."
"Wait, wait, Count Yanno, kill me not, I have a refuge still;
The cloistered nuns will guard me, when to their cells I've
fled.
"My bread be measured by the ounce, my drink quench not
my thirst,
Then speedily my death will come, nor will the princess
know."
"How can that be, my best beloved, since in that basin curst
I must thy severed head before the king and princess show."
"Enclose me in a dungeon dark, where neither sun nor moon
Shall light the hours I count by sighs until my life has fled."
"How can that be, my best beloved? the hour will come full
soon
When in that gilded basin there the king must see your
head."
The king knocked harshly at the door as these last words
were said:
"If the Countess still is living, quick, quick, make haste to
slay."
"The Countess says her orisons, but soon she will be dead,
And in a single moment's space her soul will pass away."
"Oh, let me say a final prayer to bid the world good-night."
"Make haste to say it, my beloved, for daybreak I can see."
"Oh, God and Virgin Mary blest, I cannot pray aright;
It is not death afflicts me so, but shameful treachery.
"I pity you more than myself, for your base cowardice;
With your own hand you take my life, though reason there
is none
Except the wicked princess' hand will pay the shameful price.
May God forgive you at the hour you stand before his
throne!
"Oh, let me say my last farewell to all I've loved so dear,
The flower of Alexandria, the roses red and white,
The little tender violets, the fountain waters clear,
I've tended you with love and care; the princess' hand will
blight.
"Give me my child, fruit of my womb, in my weak arms to
hold,
That he may feed upon the breast that swells with its last
breath.
It is my blood that he will drink, that runs so faint and cold.
Drink, little infant, drink the milk that's tinged with bitter
death.
To-day you have a mother dear, who loves you tenderly,
To-morrow a step-mother harsh, of loftiest degree."
The great church bell tolls heavily. Ah, Jesus, who is dead?
The infant's lips by miracle this wondrous answer made:
"The princess, choked with wickedness; her soul in sin has
fled;
To part such dear and faithful loves God's holy might for
bade!"
The ballad of The Ship Catharine is one of the best known and most
popular among the folk-songs of Portugal. Various attempts have
been made by Almeida Garrett, Braga, and others to attach it to some
historical event, but without satisfactory success, and, indeed, its
character is such that it is apparent that it belongs rather to the
order of indefinite romance. The incidents in regard to the drawing of
the lots to see who shall be eaten, and the ascent of the sailor to look
for land, are to be found in the folk-songs of various maritime nations.
One of them has been found in Brittany and has been preserved by M.
Luzel in the Gwerzion Breiz-Izel. It relates that a vessel, which had
been voyaging for twenty-seven years upon the high seas, naturally fell
short of provisions, and the crew were compelled to think of eating each
other:
"And when they had drawn for the short straw, it was the master of the
vessel to whom it fell--Great God, is it possible that my sailors will
eat me?"
"Little page, little page, you who are quick and nimble--go to the top
of the main mast to find out where we are."
"And he mounted singing, and descended weeping--I have been to the top
of the main mast and have not seen any land."
"Go again to the top of the main mast to find out where we are--It will
be for the last time."
"He mounted weeping, and he descended singing --I believe that we are
restored to land--I have seen the tower of Babylon," etc.
A ballad, The Little Midshipman, in the popular songs of Provence, is
very similar in incident and language to The Ship Catharine, with a
change in the localities, the midshipman seeing Toulon and Marseilles
instead of the coasts of Portugal and Spain. In later French folk-song
the ballad has become a burlesque after the fashion of Malbrook, and is
known as Il était un Petit Navire. This in its turn was developed in
the after-dinner song of Thackeray, "There were three sailors of Bristol
city," and is an instance of the persistence of folk-song, even though
changed in form and purpose. The supernatural element in The Ship
Catharine is rare in Portuguese popular poetry.
THE SHIP CATHARINE.
The Catharine was a gallant ship,
On which a wonder did befall
I'll tell the story as it happ'd,
If you will listen one and all.
The ship had ploughed the long, salt seas,
Until a year and day had gone.
Their stores of food were eaten out,
And beef and biscuit they had none.
They tried to soak a shoe to eat,
Its skin so hard they could not gnaw.
For who should serve his mates for food,
In turns the deadly lot they draw.
The shortest straw the captain drew.
I wot it caused him bitter pain:
"Little sailor, climb the top-mast,
And look for Portugal or Spain."
"The coast of Portugal or Spain
On either side I cannot see;
But seven swords drawn from their sheaths
Shine bright and bare to slaughter thee."
"Higher, higher, my little sailor,
On the top-gallant take your stand,
Try and see the coast of Portugal,
Or of Spain the shining strand."
"What reward, my gallant captain!
Both Spain and Portugal I see,
I also see three lovely maidens
Seated beneath an orange tree.
" The eldest of them sews a seam,
Another spins a shining thread,
The fairest sits between the two,
And hangs in tears her lovely head."
"My darling daughters are all the three,
I love them dearer than my life.
For your reward, my little sailor,
The loveliest shall be your wife."
"I do not wish your darling daughter;
The cost of love would be my bane."
"I 'll give you gold beyond your count."
"It cost you too much strife to gain."
"I 'll give to you my courier white,
A nobler never felt the rein."
"I do not want your courier white,
It cost you too much toil to train."
"I 'll give to you my gallant ship,
Upon the seas to sail at will."
"I do not want your gallant ship,
To navigate I have no skill."
"What reward then, little sailor,
Do you demand that I should pay?"
"I want your soul, my gallant captain,
Your soul with me to take away."
"Demon, your claim I do deny.
I will not yield my soul to thee.
My soul belongs to God above,
My body I 'll give to the sea."
An angel caught him in her arms,
And drew him from the boiling spray.
The demon flew; at eve the ship
Was anchored safe within the bay.
It is somewhat singular that with all the enterprise of the Portuguese
upon the sea during their period of national glory, their perilous and
adventurous navigations, and their many successful engagements in marine
warfare, there should be so few ballads relating to the sea-faring
exploits. There is one, however, Don Juan d'Armada, which seems to
relate to some definite victory over the Turks, but the occasion and
even the name of the hero are not recorded in authentic history. It has
many features, however, which would indicate that it was the account of
an actual event.
DON JUAN D'ARMADA.
His Majesty, God guard him, gave order for the fleet
To sail at early daybreak the Turkish foe to meet.
The admiral's ship at midnight fires the signal gun,
And to the quay distracted the maids and matrons run.
Sons and lovers they embrace; they weep with bitter tears;
Their voices break with sorrow; their hearts are swelled with
fears.
On board the busy vessels the noises grow more loud,
The masters and the boatswains rush eager in the crowd,
The captain of each frigate his silver whistle blows,
And on the lofty yard-arms the sailors stand in rows.
The white sails drop and belly out before the swelling breeze;
The white foam curls along the prow; the brave fleet seeks
the seas.
Don Juan held his course before the favoring gale,
At midday to the watchman he gave a roaring hail.
"Get higher to the mast-head!" he shouted strong and loud.
The sailor quickly mounted the thin and shaking shroud.
"Sail ho, sail ho," he shouted, "a mighty fleet's ahead,
Across the whole horizon the line of ships is spread."
A Spanish renegade commanded that proud fleet
Who by his beard had sworn Don Juan to defeat.
Don Juan trusted Christ and made a solemn vow,
The cross within his arms, and standing on the prow.
Oh, Son of Virgin Mary, give us the heart to fight
Those dogs of heathen pride, and scatter them in flight.
The midday sun was bright, when the two fleets grappled
close,
And from the roaring cannon a blinding smoke arose,
The bullets crashed in splinters and shattered plank and
beam.
To the sea the scuppers poured a hot and crimson stream.
The bleeding corpses lay in heaps upon the reeking decks,
With tattered sails and rudderless the ships were drifting
wrecks.
The Turkish captain's galley swung helpless on the sea.
Of its three hundred sailors were left but forty-three,
Along its shattered gunwales the masts and hamper drag,
And weltering in the wake trails its dishonored flag.
The Turkish fleet was beaten, and fled with sail and oar,
Until it reached the harbor and anchored by the shore.
Said the Sultan, "How came this? Who struck this deadly
blow?"
"'T was Don Juan d' Armada, who brought our pennons low."
"I do not mourn the galleys, for I can build me more,
But I regret my sailors that never will see shore.
For Don Juan d'Armada give him the honor due;
He is the king of captains, since he has conquered you."
As in the Spanish romances, there are numerous allusions in the
Portuguese ballads to the constant warfare waged with the Barbary
corsairs, and the adventures of the unhappy captives who fell into their
hands and were reduced to cruel servitude. A favorite theme with the
ballad-writers was the rescue of the captive through the means of the
Moorish damsel, who had fallen in love with him as she saw him laboring
at his tasks. No doubt some such adventures actually happened, and at
any rate the theme was one which appealed strongly to the imagination of
the popular poets. This one ends with a touch of sentiment which might
seem a modern addition, if the authenticity of the whole ballad was not
vouched for by so careful a collector as Braga.
THE CAPTIVE.
I sailed from Hamburg port one mom
Upon a bonny caravel.
'T was neither war nor peace at sea,
When pirate Moors upon us fell.
They took me as a slave to sell,
Unto their country of Salee,
But neither Moor nor Mussulman
Would give a silver groat for me.
'T was only a false Jewish dog,
Who wished to have me for his slave,
He made my life a bitter pain,
And beat me like a scurvy knave.
All day I wove esparto grass,
At night I turned the hard corn mill,
A wooden gag between my jaws
Lest of the meal I'd steal my fill.
But fortune brought me a kind dame,
Who pitied the sad life I led,
She sent me from her table rich
Fresh meat and wine and good white bread.
She gave me all things that I asked,
And something I asked not, as well,
Within Jewessa's arms I wept,
But not for her the salt tears fell.
"Christian, you need not weep," she said,
"I know your grief ere it is told."
"But how can I my home regain
Without a single piece of gold?"
"H't is to buy a horse you need,
I 'll give to you my pretty mare,
You need not wait to find a ship,
But take the shallop anchored there."
"Fair dame, 't is not a horse will serve,
For far is Ceuta and Castille,
To take a ship and run away,
Would be your father's slave to steal."
"Oh, take this purse of yellow silk,
My mother dying gave to me,
The golden pieces it contains
Will richly pay your ransom fee.
"And when at home returned again,
To Christian maidens you can say
How Jewish hearts can sacrifice
And show a deeper love than they."
As thus she spoke, the master came.
"Oh, master," said I, "God be praised,
Good news has come across the sea,
My friends the ransom price have raised."
"Ah, Christian, what is that you say,
Many cruzadoes it will need.
Who gives you enough of gold
To pay the heavy ransom's meed?"
"My sisters twain have sent me part,
The other I had kept in store.
An angel has brought me the gold,
An angel bright from heaven's door."
"Hearken, Christian, change your faith, '
And you shall wed my daughter dear,
My goods and wealth shall all be thine,
And joy and peace surround you here."
"I will not be a cursed Jew,
Nor heathen Turk of grace denied,
Nor will I change for all your wealth
The faith of Jesus crucified."
"Why are you pale, Rachael, my girl,
Beloved child, tell me the truth;
Have you been brought to shameful harm
By this accursed Christian youth?"
"Oh, let the Christian youth go free,
For his amend I have no claim,
If my flower of love he's had,
I gave it, and he 's not to blame."
He shut her in a dungeon tower,
Which he with heavy stone blocks made,
That the base Moors might never know
That shame had touched a Jewish maid.
Oh, mandolin, my mandolin,
Rest silent hung upon the wall,
My longing love across the sea
Is borne away beyond recall.
The Faithful Paladin has a more tragical ending for the captive. The
ballad had its origin in the province of Algarve, but there are several
variants in Portuguese as well as similar ballads in Spanish. Calderon
has made the theme the subject of a drama under the title of The
Constant Prince, relating to the captivity and sufferings of Don
Fernando, heir to the throne of Portugal, who was captured by the Moors
in 1438,
THE FAITHFUL PALADIN.
Adventured in a Moorish land,
A paladin, heartstrong and brave,
Fell into Miramolin's hands,
To serve him as a captive slave.
The Moorish king a daughter had,
More white and fair than jasmine flower.
Her eyes with sparkling light were glad,
And youth and bloom her beauty's dower.
To Safim as she looked one day
Celima saw the captive knight,
With pensive gaze turned far away,
And sadness in his empty sight.
The touch she felt within her heart
She sought with shamefaced care to hide,
None guessed the wound that gave the smart,
Or heard her weeping when she cried.
Since then her pastimes had no zest,
Nor could she even peace regain,
The longing love that filled her breast
Grew every day a deeper pain.
Upon the terrace hours and hours
She sat and watched the slave below
Dig at his task among the flowers,
In summer sunshine's burning glow.
At last her longing broke her pride,
She told her passion on her knees.
He silent stood, and only sighed
For her he loved beyond the seas.
Faithful and true to his fond love,
It fenced his heart with triple shield,
Not all Celima's charms could move
A more than pitying grace to yield.
"My gold and jewels shall be thine,
If only you but wish it so,
And with your freedom give me mine;
Tell me, Christian, yes or no."
"I wish no jewels from your hand,
Or aught that may belong to thee,
Some one will come from my far land,
And for my ransom pay the fee."
"Then let me be your humble slave
To serve you wheresoe'er you go.
No better fortune can I crave,
Tell me, Christian, yes or no."
"My humble slave you must not be,
A better fortune is your due;
How came your love to fix on me,
Who have no heart to give to you?"
"My God and father I 'll forswear,
And only yours will seek to know;
Every curse of heaven I 'll dare,
Tell me, Christian, yes or no."
"Your love and riches tempt me not.
Both love and riches wait for me.
Accursed be the fatal lot
That brought me o'er the sad, salt sea.
''I spurn a soul that turns to God,
A heart for me that suffers pain.
Be happy in the paths you've trod,
And love a youth who loves again."
When these sad words the captive said,
With sudden wrath she turned away.
In seven days the knight was dead.
Was it her deed? No one can say.
The epoch of the Crusades is beyond the limit of the popular ballads
which have been preserved, although it is probable that they may have
had their foundation in originals of that date. The story of the return
of the spouse from the Holy Land, and his making himself known after
various trials of his wife's fidelity, is a common one in the ballads
of all European nations, and is of a character to appeal to the dramatic
instincts of the popular poets. Close resemblances to the ballad of
The Fair Princess can be found in German, French, and Spanish popular
poetry, and the theme itself of course dates back to the return of
Ulysses, and to the ballads which were the origin of the Odyssey.
THE FAIR PRINCESS.
The princess sat in her garden fair;
With a golden comb she combed her hair.
She raised her eyes to the azure bay.
A brave fleet bore in with pennons gay.
"Good captain, say, in the Holy Land
Have you seen my spouse with his brave band?
"In Holy Land is many a knight.
With what point device was he bedight?"
"His steed bore saddle of silver gilt
The cross of Christ was his gold sword hilt."
" A knight with these I saw bravely fall
In fierce assault on a city's wall."
"A wretched widow I have become
To mourn and weep in a ruined home,
I have three daughters, lovely and sage,
But spouseless and weak in orphanage."
"What gift to him who returns your spouse?"
"All the gold and silver in the house."
"Of gold and silver I have no need,
Some other guerdon must be my meed."
"I have three great mills; all shall be thine.
They grind white wheat and benzoin fine,
The delicate flour, so finely wrought,
The royal stewards have always sought."
"For your three mills I have no desire,
Some other reward must pay my hire."
"My roof tile of gold and ivory."
"Your gold and iv'ry tiles are not for me."
"My daughters fair, you shall have them all;
Two to serve you in your banquet hall;
The third and fairest shall be your bride,
In love's nest to slumber by your side."
"Princess, your fair daughters count for nought,
A costlier gift is in my thought."
"I have nothing more to offer thee;
No other gift can you ask of me."
"But I only ask, and you can spare
The simple gift of your body fair."
"A fouler insult knight ne'er gave.
Haste, vassals, and scourge this loathly knave."
"The wedding ring with diamonds bright,
We broke in twain on our bridal night.
Where is the half you have kept so dear?
The other half you can see it here."
"How many tears you have made me shed!
How slow the lingering years have fled!
What pains and griefs lie in your debt!
When bliss like this cannot forget."
The ballad of Dom Duardos and Flerida has an antique flavor in its
simplicity and indefiniteness, as in its element of imaginative poetry,
which would lead to a belief in its ancient origin, dating beyond the
acquirement of more accomplished art in the popular poets. A similar
ballad is to be found in the Castilian.
DOM DUARDOS AND FLERIDA.
'T was in the month of April,
The day before May day,
When roses red, and lilies white,
Are blooming bright and gay.
The night was calm and cloudless,
With golden stars arrayed,
The Infanta, fair Flerida,
In her wide garden strayed.
"God guard you, tender flowers,
Great joy you've given me;
I go to a strange land;
Such is my fate's decree.
"If my father seeks me,
He who loves me well;
Tell him that love has drawn me
Within its fatal spell.
"Tell him that fateful love
Has seized me in its hold;
I know not where I go,
And none to me has told."
Then Dom Duardos spoke:
"Oh, weep not so, my dear,
In the great realm of England
Are fairer things than here.
"There are more limpid streams,
And gardens yet more fair.
A thousand flowers blooming,
And scenting all the air.
"Three hundred maids shall serve,
And all of noble strain,
And palaces of silver,
Where you shall nobly reign.
"With emeralds of green,
And finest Turkish gold,
Upon the shining walls
The story shall be told
"How, to do you honor,
I fought Primaleon.
I did not fear his strength,
When your bright glances shone."
When fair Flerida heard,
She wiped her tears away.
And hand in hand they went
To where his galleys lay.
The fifty galleys brave
Moved out upon the deep,
And to their chiming oars
Flerida fell asleep,
In Dom Duardos' arms,
Whose heart with joy did leap.
Know all men that are born,
How sure is fate's decree,
From neither love nor death
Can mortal man be free.