Chapter 12
_F._ 2^o. Voume: vos não sois sentido, sois muy duro do pescoço, 710 não val isso nemigalha: pesame de ver perdido hum homem fidalgo ençosso, pois tem a vida na palha.
FINIS
19. _milhaam_ B. _milhan_ C.
21. _desamparada_ B.
24. _gentes_ A, B. _gente_ C, D, E.
25. _raya_ A, B. _raiva_ C, D, E.
43. _Habofee_ B.
52. _o que_ A, B. _quanto_ C, D, E.
53. _perlongueis_ A, B. _prolongueis_ C, D, E.
57. _et negociatores_ C.
62. _d'outro_ C.
103. _Pedreneyra_ B.
115. _coma_ A. _como_ B.
128. _o gaiteyro_ A. _ó gaiteiro_ C, D, E.
135. _Uos trazeis_ A. _Trazeis_ C, D, E.
142. _da raça_ A. _de raça_ C.
153. _dizey ora_ B.
157. _Penonia_ A. _Per omnia_ C.
167. _perhi_ B.
174. _direyis_ A.
180. _honde_ B.
183. _oriuez_ and infra _our._ A; _oriuz_ B. _see_ A; _seee_ B; _s'he_ C.
191. _de occupar_ C.
198. _ja o sabeis_ A. _ja sabeis_ C.
205. B omits 205 and prints 206 twice.
236. _desfeyto_ B.
239. B. omits _mais_.
240. _que em_ C.
249. _ver o que faz_ C.
255. _com o_ A. _c'o_ C.
257. _anno_ B.
263-4. _capelam, ourives?_
268. _que m'abruquele_ C. B omits 268.
269. _s'he_ C.
271. _O recado qu'elle dá! Madraço,_ ?
286. _deixa_ C.
287. _o amais_ B. _o mais o_ C.
288. _com os outros_ B.
292. _ca a vinda_ C.
308. _acupado_ A, B. _occupado_ C.
325. _minha_ A, B. _a minha_ C.
346. _melancholia_ C. _chocallada_ B.
369. _uxtix, uxte_ C.
372. _Aa corpo_ A. _ao corpo_ C, D, E.
375. _vareja_ C.
377. _pa_ B.
383. _que nos_ A, B. _que vos_ C.
389. _a candeia morta, gaita_ C.
395. _cilha_ C.
397. _senhora_ B.
406. _e o seu_ C.
419. _as_ B.
422. _leixaste_ C.
425. _fretaste_ C.
443. _fogio_ B.
449. _t'ha_ C.
465. _Afonso_ B.
466. _Affonso_ B.
467. _Iam diz_ B. _Jan Diz_ C.
470. _gram noo_ A. _gran dó_ C.
471. _razam_ B.
484. _aa menhaa_ B.
488. _señora_ A, B.
491. _chocallos_ B.
495. _s'ha_ C.
503. _Cauaua andando o bacelo_ A, B. _Cavando andava bacelo_ C.
506. _Cobelo_ C.
513. _sou_ A; _sam_ C [cf. 591]. _señor_ B.
518. _ey de perchegar_ A, B. _hei de chegar_ C.
524. _bom frisado_ B.
535. _casalo_ B.
536. _sobem_ A, B. _sabem_ C.
549. _haqui_ B. _ha aqui_ C.
552. _lha a_ A. _lha_ B. _lhe ha_ C.
559. _da par_ B.
562. _frescaria_ B.
576. _astrologo_ C.
591. _sam_ A; _sou_ C [cf. 513]. _da Sertãy_ A, B; _do sertão_ C.
604. _maa_ A. _me a_ C. _& gran saber maa_ B.
617. B omits 617-626.
634. _nem migalha_ C.
644. _enfindos_ A. B omits 644.
666. _enteyro_ B.
671. que so _Los tus cabellos niña_ C.
675. _e se o disserem digão_--_Alma minha_ C.
681. _auangelhos_ A, B. _evangelhos_ C.
689. _onde eu vou_ C.
692. _subtil_ C.
703. _vender essa essa gente_ A. _a essa_ B, C.
704. _bom_ A, B. _boa_ C.
707. _vale_ A.
712. _ençosso_ A. _ensoço_ C.
FINIS. B omits _Finis_ and has: _Vanse estas figuras & acabouse esta farsa. Laus Deo_
ENGLISH TRANSLATION:
_The Carriers._
_The following farce was played before the very powerful and excellent King Dom João III of Portugal in his city of Coimbra in the year of the Lord 1526. Its argument is that a nobleman with a very small income lived in great state and had his own chaplain, goldsmith and other officials, whom he never paid. His chaplain seeing himself penniless and in tatters enters, saying:_
_Chaplain._ In such straits I cannot pray, So to lessen my distress And to win lightheartedness I'll walk along this Sandy Way And, the cares that on me press To soothe, the old romance I'll gloss "I was in Coimbra city" Since Coimbra without pity Brings us to such dearth and loss. 10 I was in Coimbra city That is built so gracefully, In the plains of the Mondego Straw nor barley could I see. Thereupon, ah me! I reckoned 'Twas a trap set artfully For the horses of the Court And the mule that carried me Ill I augured when I saw The young maize cut so lavishly 20 And selling for its weight in gold: O my mule, I grieve for thee! In the plain along the river I saw a host in battle free Not of men, of mice the host was, They were fighting furiously. There are cabbages--in Biscay And there's meat--in Brittany. I'm chaplain to a nobleman, Poor as a church-mouse is he; 30 On great show his heart is set Although his household famished be, Rustic louts he has for pages And all goes disastrously. Now will I ask leave of him And demand my salary.
_The chaplain arrives at the nobleman's room and converses with him thus:_
_C._ Sir, it is high time, I ween....
_N._ Say on, good padre, say on.
_C._ I say three years are wellnigh gone Since your chaplain I have been.
40 _N._ Say on, for such a truth convinces.
_C._ And I might have been the Prince's Yes, and might have been the King's.
_N._ In good sooth that's not so clear.
_C._ For I'm meant for higher things Though I stayed to serve you here. So then, sir, please to consider What I am to gain thereby, For besides priest's service I Served as buyer and as bidder.
50 _N._ That I surely won't deny. Come now, make out a petition Of all you would have me pay.
_C._ Sir, put me not off, I pray, For indeed your one condition Seems delay and still delay. In your service I became Priest and man of business too.
_N._ Yes, and I bestowed on you Many a favour for the same, 60 More than most are wont to do. What more should a priest require Of money or emolument Than his meals beside the fire --That's daily one penny spent-- All things to his heart's desire? And besides there is the glory: He's chaplain to Lord So-and-so.
_C._ Of dress you think not, nor the worry Of meals e'er taken in a flurry, 70 And sleeping with my head so low My tonsure touched the ground, and no Comfort nor pillow for my head, And early mass, and late to bed. And I, your favour for to win, Served out-of-doors as well as in, Bought shell-fish in the market-place, To many an errand set my face --You know, sir, it is as I say-- That ill became my dignity. 80 Your carrier on the highway --Gee-up, gee-wo, the livelong day-- Was I, and charge was given me Of the kitchen-negroes and the cats, I cleaned your boots, I brushed your hats, And might add other things to these.
_N._ Yes, for so 'twas my intent To trust you with my charities, And for the love of God you spent, Nor asked I how the money went.
90 _C._ For the three years of which I speak I'll tell you now without ado: To a blind man a farthing you Once bade me give in Holy Week.
_N._ I'm not denying that it's true.
_C._ And then just one year afterward, An orphan's dower to help to find, You bade give cloth--the roughest kind Of Alcobaça--half a yard. And also, perhaps you bear in mind, 100 Three lots of fish you bade divide Among the convents round about During these first three years: supplied Were they from Pederneira, out Of that same fund must I provide. Now in three years I did receive One hundred réis, and at this rate Just this one halfpenny they leave.
_N._ I see you are most accurate. But come now, without more debate, 110 Make one account of everything And give't my secretary, he Will the matter to my notice bring.
_C._ O Sir, leave all that for the King Our master, and speak seriously. My services your promise was, Sir, when we were at Santarem, That you would pay right well for them.
_N._ How often saw you me at Mass? --I mean when 'twas you said the same.
120 _C._ If that was so am _I_ to blame? They have been said on your behalf.
_N._ O keep them, keep them for yourself, You're very welcome to them--so, God will your due reward bestow. My money I waste not that way On masses muttered anyhow.
_C._ What, would you have your mummeries now And think you need no fiddler pay? This is presumption's height, I trow. 130 Unless your lordship's purse possesses Means for pomp and state so high To reduce them and spend less is Merely not a hawk to buy If you are without its jesses. Pages six in cloaks arrayed Wait upon you in the street In state that for a king were meet. Yet you have not, I'm afraid, The Pope's lands nor Guinea's trade. 140 For your revenues shrink and shrink Much like Alcobaça cloth.
_N._ Even so every noble doth Who to high birth small means must link. There's no other way, I think. But I see, padre, what you want, And my wish has always been To give you to the King or Queen.
_C._ That would be good wheat, I grant, If its flour could be seen. 150 Sir, if that should come to pass At your kindness I'll rejoice.
_N._ Well then, without more ado, That so I may judge your voice, Sing a preface of the Mass.
_C._ That will I most gladly do, But who will the responses say?
_N._ I. _C._ _Per omnia secula._
_N._ _Amen._ _C._ _Dominus vobiscum._
_N._ Sing on, padre. _C._ _Sursum corda._
160 _N._ Your voice, less soft than a recorder, Is thick as an elephant's that has fed Its fill of soup--and no more said.
_C._ Worse voice has Simão Vaz, I ween, Yet he's Treasurer and King's Chaplain, worse voice has the Dean --Like a pelican _he_ sings-- And others that may be seen In the palace. Let me end My singing and great things you'll see.
170 _N._ I think I'm rather tired, friend. But the King's you'll surely be, Nor need we further effort spend.
_C._ Sir, the difficulty's this: For you'll say: 'My chaplain he,' The King knows what your income is And he'll laugh right merrily And send me to the Treasury.
_N._ If you had but a good ear!
_C._ How sing well when 'tis your use 180 To give me everlasting cheer Of stockfish salted yesteryear, The worst that all the seas produce?
_One of the nobleman's pages comes and says:_
_Page._ My lord, the goldsmith's at the door.
_N._ Show him in.--He's come for more Money.--Come in, Sir, good-day. Put your hat on, I implore, I'm your great friend, you may say, Since I e'er your praises sing. Only last night to the King 190 You most highly I commended And I know that he intended To employ you. I'll insist Every time I see him, for Such mention oft advances more Than directly to assist, And these little things, you know, May to a great value grow As your name and fame have grown.
_G._ No other patron would I own, 200 Sir, I'll serve him with all zest.
_N._ Know you what I like the best In you? (To the King I said it And it's greatly to your credit) That you ne'er for payment pressed Nor your creditors molest. Ne'er such patience did I see, Such superiority And anxiety to please.
_G._ Our account's so small a thing 210 And is so long overdue, 'Tis half dead of promises, So that when I bring it you I but a dead promise bring.
_N._ How most cunningly inlaid And enamelled is each word! I rejoice not to have paid For the sake of having heard Phrases with such skill arrayed.
_G._ Sir, I kiss your hands, but still 220 What is mine would see in mine.
_N._ Another courtier's phrase so fine! 'Sir, I kiss your hands, but still What is mine would see in mine!' Fair flowers of speech are yours at will. What did the salt-cellar weigh?
_G._ A good two marks, most accurately.
_N._ The silver. And your work, I pray?
_G._ That may almost be ignored.
_N._ In all what may its value be?
230 _G._ Just nine thousand réis, my lord. And I can no longer wait For I'm killed by your delay.
_N._ Your insistence, Sir, is great And I shall have told a lie For quite differently I Praised you. Praise may turn to gibe: you Surely will not gain thereby.
_G._ With the cellar must I bribe you?
_N._ 'Tis of salt-cellars the worst 240 For which I e'er gave a shilling.
_G._ Though three years have passed since first I let you have it I am willing To retake it even now.
_N._ No, no, that I won't allow For I would not have you lose.
_G._ Why then pay me not my dues? For myself the charcoal bought With which you turn my hopes to nought.
_N._ Boy, go see what does the King, 250 And if there are ladies to be seen, The whole day shall not pass, I ween, In pay and won't pay: no such thing. And you return some other day: And if you find that I'm away Then speak unto my Chamberlain, He of all moneys that accrue Has charge and of the revenue That yearly comes from tithe and grain: And from him you will obtain 260 Most certainly what is your due.
_G._ And do you pay me with parade Of words and other bounties vain?
_N._ See to it you that you are paid.
_As the chaplain goes out he says:_
_C._ Shall such men go to paradise? If so I'll not believe in it. But I'll be even with them yet: Henceforth, proof against each device, I'll countermine them by my wit.
_The page comes with a message and says:_
_P._ The King be in the palace, Sir.
270 _N._ In what room?
_P._ No more I know.
_N._ Low-born villain, is it so That a message you deliver?
_P._ Arrah, I know what I'm about.
_N._ Arrah! just listen to the lout! Are any ladies present there?
_P._ Yes, I saw ladies, I aver, For they upon the terrace were.
_N._ Who were they?
_P._ They were ladies, Sir.
_N._ How called?
_P._ My lord, no one was calling.
280 _N._ These rustic churls are too appalling. And serve me right for keeping such. Henceforth I really must contrive To have a page of better stuff.
_P._ Sir, I'll grow speedily enough To please you, yes and will do much Provided God leaves me alive: And the rest I'll quickly learn As others who good wages earn.
_N._ Well do so, and then I will see 290 How you may come to serve the King And even page of the Chamber be.
_P._ So I did well to leave my home. Since even shepherds may become Attendants on the King, the King! So thrives with corn the land, bereft Of labourers, whom their fathers send To Court their fortunes for to mend, And soon there'll be no peasants left, For all will on the King attend.
300 _N._ What mockery's this?
_P._ Nay, Sir, I know That some poor Christians even so From toil shall have deliverance.
_Re-enter the Chaplain._
_C._ Have you, my lord, by any chance Yet spoken to the King of me?
_N._ I've had no opportunity.
_C._ The remedy may be delayed Another three years, I'm afraid.
_N._ The King's so busy, now with France, Now with the Turk, and now the Pope, 310 And other matters of high scope, And with such careful secrecy That I can see but little hope. I'm always there at the levée, But get no long talk with the King In which to settle anything. Meanwhile you may still serve with me Until I find an opening.
_C._ Sir, I would have the matter brought To a conclusion.
_N._ To conclusion? 320 Yes, and perhaps better than you thought.
_C._ Conclusion here I see in nought, In everything only confusion. Sir, a cope and a chasuble too Have I in your service quite worn out: Pay me the wages that are due.
_N._ Could you now but from East to West Discover us the latitude So, since your voice's not of the best, You might win the King's gratitude.
330 _C._ Sir, I perceive you do but jest: Would you pay me with a platitude?
(_He goes out._)
_P._ The King should take him, since he's cheap At any price, is such a fighter: He's from our village, and the sheep Was in his boyhood wont to keep, And now he's searching for a mitre. But there's no chaplain of them all Could ever bring him to a fall, And Labaredas is his name.
340 _N._ But here Cotão's yclept the same, The noblest in the land withal. Now he demands what's his by right As though 'twere not as easy quite For me all Turkey's lands to burn, Since any service to requite Gives one a melancholy turn.
_Pero Vaz, a carrier, comes with a parcel of clothes for the nobleman and enters with jingling of bells, singing:_
The snow is on the hills, the hills so cold and high, I saw a maiden of the hills, graceful and fair, pass by.
(_Speaking:_)
Go on there, _arré_, my fine mule, 350 You cost me in the market-place Seven thousand and nine hundred réis And a kick in the eye for the tax-gatherer fool. Get on, my roan. And add thereto The portion of five hundred too That Nuno Ribeiro had to pay: All this, my mule, was paid for you. Get on, _arré_, upon your way, For the afternoons now are the best of the day, Get on, you brute, get on, I say, 360 Look you the crupper's all awry And see, right round is pulled the girth: Candosa wines bring little mirth To any such poor fool as I.
(_He sings:_)
The snow is on the hills, the hills so cold and high, I saw a maiden of the hills, graceful and fair, pass by.
(_He speaks:_)
Curse you, go on, _arré_, I say, And now you're going all askew As one who would at skittles play: Come up, my mule, _arré_, _arré_. 370 But if I once begin with you I'll make you groan upon your way. By my Theresa, you'd lose your load, You would, would you, upon the road? But I'll not give you any rest Nor leave flies leisure to molest.
(_He sings:_)
I saw a maiden of the hills, graceful and fair, pass by, And towards her then went I with great courtesy.
(_He speaks:_)
Yes, and I would have you sigh For the Aveiro bakeress, 380 For the inn you'll come to by and by And then we'll off with the packsaddle And the innkeeper we'll straddle If he have not, to slake our thirstiness, Good wine at threepence and kid at less, And for hard bread soft buttermilk, A fair wench to serve and sheets of silk, If the floor's strewn with rushes the night be long, If it hails, be the roof both new and strong, When the lamp burns dim welcome fiddler's strain. 390 Hold up, there! At your tricks again? Bandy-legged brute, shall I prevail, If I rain down barnacles on your tail, To make you look where you are going. To the Devil with you! He'll be knowing How to handle your like without fail. 'And towards her then went I with great courtesy: Will you, said I, lady, of my company?'
_Vasco Afonso, another carrier, comes along and they meet on the road, and Pero Vaz says:_
_P._ Ho, Vasco Afonso, where goest thou?
_V._ Look you, I go along the road.
400 _P._ Without thy bells nor any load?
_V._ They were stolen from me even now By a cursed robber at the inn.
_P._ We had a drink there as we came.
_V._ Whose, Pero Vaz, is all this stuff?
_P._ A nobleman's, Devil take the same, Him and his suit of clothes and all.
_V._ Yes, 'tis a bundle large enough.
_P._ It takes the mule from head to tail.
_V._ One cannot say it's load is small.
410 _P._ Look you, now they will not graze And when through open moors we pass They nibble at the heather roots.
_V._ Leave them, Pero Vaz, to go their ways, For very parched is here the grass, And they won't touch the broom's green shoots. What is to thee for carriage given?
_P._ I do not know, so help me Heaven.
_V._ What! didst thou not then fix a price? Thou'st caught then in a pretty vice.
420 _P._ I left it to his good faith to pay Whate'er he saw was due to me.
_V._ Left it to his good faith, you say! And what then if he hasn't any And has to go to look for it? O thou hast done most foolishly: I'll wager thee an honest penny That thou'lt repent thy coming yet.
_P._ He put his hand--see here how-- Upon his beard and swore that I 430 Should be paid my money faithfully.
_V._ Was it a proper beard, look you now, On which this oath of his was heard, Or a mere straggling moustache?
_P._ Nay, as there is a God above, A judge who will the right approve, A nobleman will keep his word.
_V._ Thou knowest right well, Pero Vaz, There are nobles now who scarcely know Whether they're noblemen or no. 440 How is thy wife now? Is she well? And thy other property?
_P._ That's there all right.
_V._ Well, and she?
_P._ She ran away. _V._ Impossible! How sad thou must be feeling, why Bad luck to it. _P._ In faith not I. [_To his mule_] Come up there, must you ever go Just where the cork-trees come so low?-- What has it to do with me?
_V._ Thou must needs be hurt thereby 450 When the innkeepers laugh at thee.
_P._ No, that doesn't make me tremble. Vasco Afonso, look to thy mule, It's going to lie down on the ground.
_V._ Thou feelest it but canst dissemble.
_P._ O no, I don't. Thou know'st as a rule What women are all the summer round: So much for any regret that I Might feel for her now she is gone. 460 And as for people's laughter, why As was her will so has she done: She went away to her own loss And leaves me not one tooth the worse. I'm hale and hearty as I was, Vasco Afonso, no change there is: The son still of Afonso Vaz, Grandson of the mason Jan Diz And Branca Annes my grandmother Of Abrantes: nor one way nor the other 470 It touches me. And yet I grieve That she was partly in the right And was not utterly to blame, For I was ever wont to leave Her lonely there while every night To sleep at the inn with my mules I came. I wished thus that she might remain As a refuge for my old age, Like a Medina counterpane, But she saw through me and alack 480 Must view the matter in a rage And go off on another track.
_V._ And what wilt thou do now, I pray?
_P._ I'll sleep at Cornaga's inn to-day And at Cucanha's to-morrow. So get thee on upon thy way, And I'll on this errand to my sorrow And we'll see how it will pay.
_He goes singing:_
'Will you,' said I, 'lady, of my company?' But 'Sir knight, pass on your way,' said she unto me.