Part 20

What would they in our hills, these Northern men? Why come they here our quiet to disturb? God made the hills intending none should pass. Down fall the rolling rocks, the troops they crush! Streams the red blood! Quivers the mangled flesh! Oh! what a sea of blood! What shattered bones!

6.

Fly, to whom strength remaineth and a horse! Fly, Carloman, red cloak and raven plumes! Lies thy stout nephew, Roland, stark in death; For him his brilliant courage naught avails. And, now, ye Basques, leaving awhile these rocks, Down on the flying foe your arrows shower!

7.

They run! They run! Where now that wood of spears? Where the gay flags that flaunted in their midst? Rays from their bloodstained arms no longer flash! How many are they? Count them well, my child. 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

8.

One! There is left not one. 'Tis o'er! Etcheco Jauna home with thy dog retire. Embrace thy wife and child, Thine arrows clean, and stow them with thine horn; And then, lie down and sleep thereon. At night yon mangled flesh shall eagles [198] eat, And to eternity those bones shall bleach.

(This translation is due to the kindness of a friend.)

The history of this song is very curious, and shows the little value of subjective criticism in any but the most competent hands. The MS. of it is alleged to have been found on the 5th of August, 1794, in a convent at Fuenterrabia, by La Tour d'Auvergne, the celebrated "premier grenadier" of the French Army. It was printed about the year 1835, by Monglave, and accepted as a genuine contemporary document by Fauriel, Chaho, Cenac-Moncaut, and many other French writers; by Lafuente, Amador de los Rios, and other Spanish authors; by Araquistain, and by the Editors of the "Revista Euskara" and of the "Cancionero Vasco" among the Basques. It is needless to say that all guide-books, tourist sketches, et hoc genus omne, have adopted it. It was inserted as genuine by Fr. Michel, in the Gentleman's Magazine, in 1858, and in more recent years a translation appeared in another London magazine. In the "Basques et Navarrais" of M. Louis Lande, lately published, it is alluded to as genuine; and the Saturday Review of the 17th of August, 1878, quotes it as a corroboration of the "Chanson de Roland." [199] There have been some, however, who have stoutly opposed these claims; among them M. Barry, of Toulouse, M. Gaston Paris, and M. J. F. Blade, which last writer, both in a separate pamphlet and in his "Études sur l'Origine des Basques" (Paris, 1859), has shown from internal grounds its want of authenticity. M. Alexandre Dihinx, a Basque, in a series of articles in the Impartial, of Bayonne, for 1873, which have since been reprinted by M. J. Vinson, in L'Avenir, of Bayonne, May of the present year, conclusively proved both the incorrectness and the modern character of its Basque. But all these authors seem either to have been unaware of, or to have unaccountably overlooked, the true history of the piece. When M. Fr. Michel published this, and another song called "Abarcaren Cantua," in the Gentleman's Magazine, in 1858, as specimens of ancient Basque poetry, a letter from M. Antoine d'Abbadie, Membre de l'Institut, appeared forthwith in the number for March, 1859, stating that the Abarca song had actually been among the unsuccessful pieces submitted for the prize in the poetical competition at Urrugne, of the previous August; and he adds:--

"I am sorry that the Altabiscarraco cantua, mentioned in your same number, is acknowledged as a gem of ancient popular poetry. Truth compels me to deny that it is universally admitted as such, for one of my Basque neighbours has often named the person who, about twenty four years ago, composed it in French, and the other person, who translated it into modern but indifferent Basque. [200] The latter idiom, on purely philological ground, stands peerless among the most ancient languages in Europe, and I have felt it my duty to disclaim unfounded pretensions of which it has no need.--I am, etc.,

"Antoine d'Abbadie,

"London, Jan. 31, 1859." Correspond. de l'Institut de France.

In the next number M. Fr. Michel writes, "henceforth I will believe that the songs called Abarcaren Cantua and Altabiscarraco Cantua are forgeries"; this testimony is decisive. It has often been repeated by M. d'Abbadie, with the additional assurance that he knows not only the house, but the very room in which the song was first composed. That the language is modern and indifferent Basque is very evident in the text given by M. Fr. Michel in "Le Pays Basque, Paris, 1857." That above, taken from the "Cancionero Vasco" of the present year, is considerably corrected and improved. All attempts, and many efforts have been made, to force these irregular lines into any known form of Basque rhythm have hitherto signally failed. For the amusement of some of our readers we give below a list of the more evident foreign words in this and in the "Leloaren Cantua." The relative antiquity will thus be seen at a glance:--

L, Latin; S, Spanish; F, French; G, German words.

SONG OF LELO.

Romako Roma L Armac arma L Octabiano Octavianus L Munduco mundus L Lecu (?) locus L Tiber Tiber L Grandoya / grandis L \ grandioso S

SONG OF ALTABISCAR.

Copetetaric (?) caput L Armada armada S Errespuesta respuesta S Dardac dard F Colorezco color S Banderac bandera S Simistac / quimista S | chimiste F \ both from Arabic Tropac tropa S Arroca roca S Escapa escapar S Carlomano Karlomann G Errolan Roland F Erreghe rex, rege L Luma [201] (?) pluma S Fite vite F Capa capa S Condatcea contar S Milaca / mille L \ mil S Demboraren tempus tempora L Norteco norte S Pasatcea pasar S Contra contra L Lantzazco lanza S Akhabo acabar S Besarcatcera besar S Eternitatean eternidad S

With reference to the above list we may observe that the Basque never begins a word with r, but always prefixes a euphonic er, ar, ir; hence er-respuesta, ar-roca, Er-rolan, er-rege, hir-risko, risque, F. In later copies editors have altered "Romaco," in the "Song of Lelo," into "Er-romaco," to give it more of a Basque look. Aren, or aen, eco-aco-co are case terminations; tcea-cea marks the verbal noun. Carlomann was never the name of Charlemagne, but of his brother and his uncle. Er-rolan is evidently from the French Roland; neither from the Hruotlandus of Einhardus, nor from the Spanish Roldan. Defenders of the authenticity of the piece allege that these words are only corruptions, introduced in the course of ages; but our readers can judge for themselves how far they enter into the very structure of the composition.

The first book printed in Basque, the "Linguæ Vasconum Primitiæ, per Dominum Bernardum Echepare" (Bordeaux, 1545), is a collection of his poems, religious and amatory, the latter predominating. Echepare was the parish priest of the pretty little village of St. Michel, on the Béhérobie Nive, above St. Jean Pied de Port; and, if Nature alone could inspire a poet, he ought at least to have rivalled those of our own English Lakes. But, in truth, his verses are of scant poetical merit, and of little interest save as a philological curiosity. [202] They belong so distinctly to that irritating mediocrity which never can be excused in a poet. After Echepare the next author is Arnauld Oyhenart, of Mauléon, who published a collection of his youthful Basque poems in Paris, 1657. These have, if anything, less poetical value than Echepare's; but Oyhenart's collection of proverbs and his "Notitia Utriusque Vasconiæ" will always make his name stand high among Basque writers. Except hymns and noëls (Christmas carols), of which many collections and editions have been published from 1630 downwards, and some of which are noteworthy on account of higher than mere poetical merit, the deep and evidently genuine spirit of piety they evince, [203] little else is preserved much older than the present century. One ballad indeed there is, "The Betrothed of Tardetz," which may be somewhat older. No two versions of it are exactly alike, though the outline of the story is always the same. The Lord of the Castle of Tardetz wishes to give the elder of his two daughters in marriage to the King of Hungary, or of Portugal, as some have it. But the lady's heart has been already won by Sala, the son of the miller of Tardetz, and she bitterly bewails being "sold like a heifer." The bells which ring for her wedding will soon toll for her funeral. The romance in its present form is evidently incomplete, but apparently ended with the corpse of the bride being brought back to her father's castle.

Most of the Basque songs, except the drinking ones, are set, more or less, in a minor key. The majority of the love songs would have been described by our forefathers as "complaints." One of the prettiest, both in words and music, is the fragment entitled "The Hermitage of St. Joseph":--

1. 1.

Chorittua, nurat hua Little bird, where goest thou Bi hegalez airian? On thy two wings in the air? Españalat juaiteko To Spain to go, Elhürra dük borthian: The snow is on the passes: Juanen gütük alkharreki We will go together Hura hurtü denian. When the snow is melted.

2. 2.

San-Josefan ermita The Hermitage of Saint Joseph Desertian gora da; Is high in the desert Españalat juaitian. In going to Spain. Han da ene phausada; There is my resting-place, Guibelilat so' gin eta There have I looked behind, and Hasperena ardüra! The sigh is frequent.

3. 3.

Hasperena, habilua Sigh, go Maitenaren borthala: To the door of my beloved. Habil, eta erran izok Go, and tell her Nik igorten haidala; It is I who send you: Bihotzian sar hakio Enter into her heart, Hura eni bezala. As she (is) in mine. [204]

The songs of the Agots, or Cagots, those Pariahs of the Pyrénées, who dwelt apart shunned and despised by all, are, as might be expected, uniformly sad. The misery of the labourer's lot, and even of that of the contrabandista, is more frequently dwelt upon than the compensations to the poverty of the one, or the transient gleams of good fortune of the other. At least, such is the case in all those which are really songs of the people. In these there are not many delights of "life under the greenwood tree," as in Robin Hood, or our factitious gipsies' songs. The forest is an object of dread to the Basque poet, and it requires courage and all the powerful attraction of a loved one to induce him to traverse by night its gloomy shades; but then--

Mortu, oihan illuna Deserts and forests dark Deusere ez da neretzat. They are then nought to me.

The following is an illustration of the Cagots' or Agots' songs. This piece, of which the author was the hero, was written about 1783, when he was eighteen years old. Cf. Fr. Michel, "Les Races Maudites de France et de l'Espagne," vol. ii. p. 150, and "Le Pays Basque," p. 270; and, for the music, Sallaberry, "Chants Populaires du Pays Basque," p. 172. [205]

1.

--Argi askorrian jinik ene arresekila, Bethi beha entzün nahiz numbaitik zure botza; Ardiak nun ützi tüzü? Zerentako errada Nigarrez ikhusten deizüt zure begi ederra?

2.

--Ene aitaren ichilik jin nüzü zure gana, Bihotza erdiratürik, zihauri erraitera, Khambiatü deitadala ardien alhagia, Sekülakoz defendatü zureki minzatzia.

3.

--Gor niza, ala entzün düt? erran deitadazia? Sekülakoz jin zaiztala adio erraitera? Etziradia orhitzen gük hitz eman dügüla Lürrian bizi gireno alkharren maithtzia?

4.

--Atzo nurbait izan düzü ene ait' ametara, Gük alkhar maite dügüla haien abertitzera; Hürüntaaztez alkhar ganik fite ditin lehia Eta eztitian jünta kasta Agotarekila.

5.

--Agotak badiadila badizüt entzütia; Zük erraiten deitadazüt ni ere banizala: Egündano ükhen banü demendren leiñhüria Enündüzün ausartüren begila so' gitera.

6.

--Jentetan den ederrena ümen düzü Agota: Bilho holli, larrü churi eta begi ñabarra. Nik ikhusi artzaiñetan zü zira ederrena: Eder izateko aments Agot izan behar da?

7.

--So' izü nuntik ezagützen dien zuiñ den Agota: Lehen sua egiten zaio hari beharriala; Bata handiago dizü, eta aldiz bestia Biribil et' orotarik bilhoz üngüratia.

8.

--Hori hala balimbada haietarik etzira, Ezi zure beharriak alkhar üdüri dira. Agot denak chipiago badü beharri bata, Aitari erranen diot biak bardin tuzüla.

9.

--Agot denak bürüa aphal, eta dizü begia Lürrean bethi sarturik gaizki egüinak bezala. Izan banintz ni aberatz zü zira din bezala, Aitak etzeyzün erranen ni Agobat nizala.

1.

Since daybreak arrived here with my flock, Always listening, wishing to hear somewhere thy voice. Where have you left the sheep? Whence is it I see your beautiful eye full of tears?

2.

Unknown to my father I have come towards you, Heart-broken, to tell you yourself That he has changed for me the sheep-pasture, Forbidden me for ever speaking with you.

3.

Am I deaf, or have I heard it? Did you say it? That you are come to bid farewell for ever? Do you not remember that we have given our word To love each other as long as we live upon the earth?

4.

Yesterday some one came to my father and mother To warn them that we loved each other; That they should hasten at once to separate us from each other, And that they should not ally themselves with the Agots' caste.

5.

That there are Agots I have heard tell; You tell me, too, that I am of them! If I had ever had only the shadow of them, I had not had the boldness to lift my eyes to you.

6.

Of all men, they say, the Agot is the handsomest; Fair hair, white skin, and blue eye. Of the shepherds I have seen you are the handsomest: In order to be handsome, must one be an Agot?

7.

It is by this one recognises who is an Agot-- One gives the first glance at his ear; He has one too large, and, as for the other, It is round and covered all over with hair. [206]

8.

If that is so, you are not of those folk; For your ears resemble each other perfectly. If he who is Agot has one of his ears smaller, I will tell my father you have the two alike.

9.

The Agot walks with his head low, and his eye Is fixed on the earth like a criminal. If I had been rich, like you, Your father would not have said that I was Agot.

There are, too, verses of grim and bitter humour, which tell better than the pen of the historian how wretched was formerly the lot of the peasant, even in this favoured corner of France. Famine is personified, and has a name given it, drawn in biting irony from that of the highest Saint of the Church Calendar, Petiri Sanz (S. Peter). He wanders round the country seeking where to settle permanently; at one place he is driven off by (the sale of) rosin, at another little maize, at another by cheese and cherries; but at last he fixes his abode definitively at St. Pée (another form of Peter), on the Nivelle, where they have nothing at all to sell, and where he torments the inhabitants by forcing them to keep many a fast beyond those of ecclesiastical obligation. The same strain of gloomy humour appears in another form in a poem entitled "Mes Méditations," [207] in which a young priest of Ciboure, slowly dying of consumption, traces in detail all the physical and mental agonies of his approaching dissolution. A much less grim example, however, is contained in the following, which we quote mainly because of its brevity. It may remind some of our readers of a longer but similar strain which used often to be sung at harvest-homes in the Midland Counties:--

DOTE GALDIA. [208] THE LOST DOWRY.

1. 1.

Aitac eman daut dotia, My father has given me my dowry, Neuria, neuria, neuria; Mine, mine, mine; Urdeño bat bere cherriekin, A sow with pigs ten, Oilo corroca bere chituekin, Her chicks with the hen, Tipula corda hayekin. And of onions a rope to stow by.

2. 2.

Oxuac jan daut urdia, But the wolf has devoured my sow, Neuria, neuria, neuria; Mine, mine, mine; Acheriac oilo coroca, My chickens are killed by the cats, Garratoinac tipula corda; My onions are gnawn by the rats; Adios ene dotia. Good-bye to my dowry now.

More literally:--

1.

My father has given me the dowry, Mine, mine, mine; A sow with her little pigs, A brood hen with her chickens, A cord of onions with them.

2.

The wolf has eaten my sow, Mine, mine, mine; The fox my brood hen, The rats my cord of onions, Good-bye, my dowry.

The lack of good poetry in Basque is certainly not due to want of encouragement. Moreover, the wish to produce it is there, but the power seems lacking. For over twenty years prizes have been annually given, first at Urrugne, and then at Sare, by M. Antoine d'Abbadie, of Abbadia. But among the multitude of competing poems few have been of any real value, and both in merit and in the number presented they seem to diminish annually. The best of them have been written by men of the professional class, whose taste has been formed on French, or Spanish, or classical, rather than on native models. The following is considered by native critics to be among the best, though several others are very little, if at all, inferior [209]:--

ARTZAIN DOHATSUA.

1.

Etchola bat da ene jauregia Aldean, salhatzal, hariztegia; Arthalde bat Halakorik ez baita hambat, Bazait niri behar besembat. Ai! etzait itsusi! Ni naiz etchola huntako nausi

2.

Goiz-arratsak bethi deskantsu ditut, Deuseren beldurrik nihondik ez dut; Hemen nago, Erregue baino fierrago. Nik zer behar dut gehiago? Ha! ez da itsusi! Etchola huntan Piarrez nausi.

3.

Goizetan jaikirik argialdera, Igortzen ditut ardiak larrera; Eta gero Itzalpean jarririk nago, Nor da ni baino urusago? Ez! etzait itsusi! Ni naiz arthalde huntako nausi.

4.

Aitoren semeak gasteluetan, Bihotzak ilhunik daude goguetan. Alegera (Bethi naiz; tristatucera) [210] Nik ez dut dembora sobera. Ai! etzait itsusi! Etcholan nor da ni baizen nausi.

5.

Jan onegiak barnea betherik, Aberatsak nihoiz ez du goserik; Eta bethi Ene trempuaz da bekhaizti; Diruz ez baitaite erosi. Ha! ez da itsusi! Etchola gasteluaren nausi.

6.

Noizbait Jaunari nik dainu egunik, Igortzen banindu aberasturik; Zorigaitzez Hesturik nindauke bihotzez, Ene etchola hemen minez. Jauna! ba ha niri! Utz nezazu etcholako nausi.

THE HAPPY SHEPHERD.

1.

A cottage my castle is, By the side of willows, wood, and oak copse; A flock Such as mine is of no great worth, Yet it is all I need. Ah! my lot is not so bad! I am master of this little house.

2.

Tranquil I live by night and day, Of aught from no quarter afraid am I; Here dwell No king more proud. What need I more? Ha! it is not so bad! Peter is master in this little house.

3.

Almost at daybreak each morn I rise, My sheep I drive to the pastures; And then 'Neath the shade reclined I pass the day. Where is there one more happy than I? No! my lot is not so bad! I of my flock the master am.

4.

The sons of the nobles in the castles, Their hearts are black, their thoughts dull. Joyful (Always am I; to be sad) I have not time enough for that. Ah! my lot is not so bad! In the cottage of which I the master am.

5.

Eating too much, and ever full, The rich they never feel hunger; Yet always My rude good health they envy; With money they cannot purchase that. Ha! it is not so bad! The cottage the lord of the castle is.

6.

Once on a time I grieved the Lord, Sending me full of riches; Of sorrow Full then was I at heart, My little house here suffering. Lord! spare me! Leave me the master of my little house.

A pretty cradle song, "Lo! Lo! ene Maitea" ("Sleep! Sleep! my Darling"), by M. Larralde, a physician of St. Jean de Luz, won the prize at Urrugne in 1859. It is written to a tune composed by the Vicomte de Belzunce; the words have been printed in the "Lettres Labourdines," par H. L. Fabre (Bayonne, 1869).

1. 1.

Lo! Lo! nere maitea! Sleep! Sleep! my darling! Lo! ni naiz zurekin! Sleep! I am with thee! Lo! Lo! paregabea! Sleep! Sleep! without peer! Nigarrik ez-eghin; Shed no tears; Goizegui da! Munduko It is too soon! Of the world, Gelditzen bazira, If thou seest long days, Nigarretan urtzeco For tears thou wilt have Baduzu dembora. Enough time.

2. 2.

Lo! nik zaitut higitzen, Sleep! I am rocking thee, Lo! Lo! nombait goza. Sleep! Sleep! and be still. Es duzuya ezagutzen Dost thou not recognise Amattoren boza? Of thy mother the voice? Exai guzietaric From every foe Zure begiratzen To guard thee Bertze lanak utzirik. I quit all else. Egonen naiz hemen. I am watching here.

3. 3.