Part 7

Eu muito me maravilho De sua gran’ discrição; Mais sinto sua paixão, Que a morte de meu filho... Não te quero mais dizer, Quero-a ir consolar, Pois tanto lhe faz mister. Não sei porque é enojar Por se justiça fazer!

Aqui se vai o imperador; e virá Reinaldos com o algoz, o qual trará a cabeça de Dom Carloto, e

DIZ REINALDOS

Jagora, senhor marquez, Vos podeis chamar vingado, Porque assás é castigado O que tanto mal vos fez, Poisque morreu degollado. Fazei por vos alegrar, Dae graças ao Redemptor, Pois assim vos quiz vingar, Sem nenhum de nós p’rigar E com mais vosso valor.

APPENDICE

Como natural appendice e illustração aos dois precedentes livros, transcreverei aqui a traducção ingleza de alguns romances do primeiro, que o meu amigo Sir John Adamson publicou no segundo volume da sua LUSITANIA ILLUSTRATA[141].

E approveito ésta occasião para agradecer publicamente ao illustre biographo de Camões a distincta honra que me fez associando o meu humilde nome ao do mais célebre homem d’estado de Portugal, o lamentado Duque de Palmella, quando nos dedicou os dois primeiros volumes d’aquella sua estimada collecção.

A versão ingleza tem o raro merecimento de ser em extremo fiel e quasi litteral, sacrificando muitas vezes a propria elegancia da linguagem á exacção do pensamento e até da propria phrase.

THE NIGHT OF ST. JOHN

‘Night reigns o’er Earth and Air— O St. John, my St. John, Ere fated hour speed on, Hear thou my prayer!

Hear me thou, blessed Saint! Christian Saint, hear my prayer, Tho’ my faith Moslem were, Thine without taint.

Far from Mohammed gone, Alkoran nought to me, I bow my heart to thee, Saint of Dom John!

As I consume this plant In the fire made to thee, Love glows anew in me— Hear my heart pant!

As burns this plant on floor In the fire lit for thee, So let the black beard be Of threatening Moor!

As burns the kindling light This thy devoted flow’r, So may Love’s genial pow’r Kindle my knight!

From height of heav’n amain Scatter the garlands gay That in this Love spell may Spring forth again—

Marvellous falling dews That cure Love’s burning grief, My Saint! their cool relief Do not refuse!

Saint! whom soft pitie’s move, O St. John, my St John, ‘Ere glide this blest night on Bring me my love!’

No more the fire you see— Hush’d is the gushing pray’r Yet still the maiden there Bends on the knee.

Upraised her anxious eye While throbs the glowing breast Where Faith and Meekness rest With Purity.

Kindly the Saint look’d on, And by his fav’ring aid Blooms now that happy maid Bride of Dom John!

ROSALINDA

It was the early morn of May Day, When the song birds wake the grove, And teeming trees and opening flowers Own the glow of kindling love;

It was the early morn of May Day, On the fresh bank of the wave Sat the Infanta Rosalinda Bent her flowing locks to lave.

Flowers they bring her red and rosy, Flowers they bring her virgin white— But on a blossom soft as she is Questing eye may never light.

Softer far is Rosalinda Than the rose that decks the thorn— Purer than the purest lily That opes to weep at dewy morn.

The Count High-Admiral passed by her In his galley of the sea— On each side so many rowers Told aright they may not be.

Of the captive bands who row’d it— All from Afric’s bosom torn— Some were proud and mighty nobles Some of kingly blood were born.

Betwixt Ceuta and Gibraltar If one Moor in safety be, Ill at ease the Lord Count saileth In his galley of the sea.

O! how gentle glides the galley Answering well the guiding oar— More gentle still he who commands it, Skill’d to leave or gain the shore.

—‘Count Lord Admiral tell me truly From your galley of the sea, If the captives that you conquer All to row compelled be?

—‘Fair Infanta! tell me truly Without equal, Rose so fair! The many slaves that gladly tend thee Tire they all thy flowing hair?’

—‘Art thou courteous, Count! so lordly Asking thus—not answering me?’ —‘Answer thou, and I will answer, To me thou must not silent be.

Of the slaves who round me muster, Each the allotted task doth know; Some aloft the sails to manage, Some upon the bench to row.

The lady captives soft and gentle Twine on deck the mazy dance— Deftly wearing flowery carpets, Couch for Lord in dreamy trance.’

—‘Thou’st answer’d, and I answer thee— For good the law that bids re-pay. I have slaves for every purpose— Slaves who all my will obey.

Some to fit my varied vestments Some to tire my flowing hair— For one I keep another office, But him my toils must yet ensnare!’

—‘He’s ta’en-be’s thine! So fully captur’d That ne’er would he be ransom’d more! Pull to the land—the land, ye vassals, And drive the galley high ashore!’

Then sweet with fairest Rosalinda And noble Count the moments sped— While orange groves her form o’ershadow’d And flowrets garlanded her head.

But crabbed fate, that will not suffer Any good without allay, Led the steps of the king’s huntsman, As he roam’d to walk that way.

—‘What thine eyes have seen, O huntsman! Huntsman! prithee do not tell. Purses fill’d with gold I give thee, As much as thou can carry well.’

All the royal huntsman witness’d Did he to the King make known, On study bent in private closet Thoughtful sitting and alone.

—‘Whisper low the news you bring me, And we give thee guerdon rare; Raise on high thy voice to sound it, And we hang thee high in air.

To arms—to arms, my faithful Archers, Without the rousing war-pipes sound, My Cavaliers, and trusty foot-men, Haste the grove to circle round!’

It is not yet the glow of mid-day, Loud and long the bell doth boom! It is not yet the gloom of midnight, Walk they both to meet their doom!

To the sound of Ave-Marias, Both are tomb’d in solemn state; She before the altar holy, He beneath the western gate.

Soon the grave of Rosalinda Did a Royal tree disclose, Soon the grave of Count so noble Show’d a bed of softest rose.

When the Monarch heard the marvels, Quick he bade them both destroy, Giving to the ruthless flame each Record of departed joy.

The trees they cut, and roses scatter, Still the emblems thrive again; E’en as the air which them embracing Feeleth neither wound nor pain.

The King when he was told the story Ceased he to speak for aye, And when the Queen the wonder heard Moan’d she thus her dying lay:

—‘Call me not Queen!—a Queen no longer, She who such dread deed hath done! Two spotless souls I’ve rent asunder, Whom heav’n would fain have joined in one!’

GREEN VINE LEAVES; OR, THE KING’S SLIPPER

Fresh green vine leaves hath the vineyard, There found I grapes both fine and sweet; So ripe are they—so highly colour’d— They are saying ‘come and eat.’

—‘I wish to know who ’tis that guards them: Hast, Mordomo! hast and know’ Says the King to his Mordomo, But why did the king say so?

Because the king saw in that mountain, How saw he her I do not know— That incomparable Dona... My reading does not tell me how.

Who to her sorrow is a Countess, Countess she of Valderey: Rather would she, by my halidom, Rather—a poor peasant be.

Fresh green vine leaves hath the vineyard, Grapes which the king will go to greet: So ripe are they, so highly colour’d, They are saying ‘come and eat.’

Comes the Mordomo from the mountain: —‘Best of news to you I bring; Though the vineyard is well guarded, Yet have I enter’d, Senhor King!

‘The owner is in other countries, When come he back, I cannot say; The gate is old—the yielding portress To key of gold gave ready way.

‘To a wonder that key serv’d me; All was soon adjusted so, That this eve at hour of midnight With you I’ll to the vintage go.’

—‘Your’e worth a kingdom’—my Mordomo! Grand reward I’ll make to thee. This eve then, at the hour of midnight Rich grapes shall be eat by me.’

Fresh green vine leaves hath the vineyard, More grapes than I before did meet: So beautiful and so ripe are they, They are saying ‘come and eat.’

In the dead of the midnight hour Went the Mordomo—went the king— Of doblas to the portress giv’n, ’Tis not for me the account to sing.

—‘Mordomo! stay you at the portal, The portal where I enter in, Let not guard—dogs with me grapple, Whil’st the grapes I’m gathering.’

The portress now to meet his wish, Exchange for what he gave doth bring; At the chamber of the Countess Behold there entereth the king.

She bore a lamp both rich and massy, It was of silver, I could see. Nought but of silver or of gold Is in the house of Valderey.

The fresh green leaves are in the vineyard, The grapes in it are ripe and sweet: So beautiful—so warmly colour’d— Ah me, of them when shall I eat?

All in the chamber of the Countess Gold was with silver suited well, It was the Heav’n of that Angel, No more hath my poor tongue to tell.

Rich silks were there of Millan, The towels were of Courtenay; The King he trembled—if from terror Or from good faith, I cannot say.

Green silk curtains hung before him, Still he ne’er essay’d to raise; The vision bright I may not sing, That daunted thus his baffled gaze.

It was a thing so passing lovely... What more to say I do not ween. Dainties other such as this, You may not see, nor have I seen.

Fresh green vine leaves hath the vineyard, Saw I there grapes ripe and sweet: So beautiful and so ripe are they— They are saying ‘come and eat.’

Slept she there so undisturb’d As I in heav’n above shall sleep— Jesus! when I find thee there, If innocent thy law I keep.

On his knees then all the night Good did the King ill thought withstand; Gazing, wond’ring thus to see her, Without moving foot or hand.

And thus he said —‘Oh God, my sire! Pardon what I ask’d before: This angel here so pure and bright It is not I will injure her.’

The vineyard hath fresh green leaves in it, Grapes found I in it ripe and sweet; But I fear to tamper with them... Ah! of them I will not eat.

Now came on the shining morrow, Then it was, as goes the tale, The Mordomo a whistle heard: —‘Jesus Lord, now me avail!’

This was the appointed signal The mode the Count was us’d to take— The king did not the curtains draw Saying: ‘I will not vintage make.’

Beautiful green leaves hath the vineyard, In it I found grapes lovely sweet; But my conscience inward grieves me, Grapes like these I will not eat.

Mordomo ran with rapid vigour In order that the king may flee. —‘Alas a slipper I have lost.’ —‘Take one of mine I give to thee.’

They fled, but in another instant Since the whistle they did hear, Descends the Count from off the mountain. —‘If he shall catch us, woe and fear!’

One fear barass’d the Mordomo, Other fear assail’d the King: Which of them had reason greater, Soon unto you will I sing.

Green leaves saw I in the vineyard, Grapes quite ripe and richly sweet; But, by his tender conscience guarded, Quoth the King:—‘I will not eat.’

Seeketh now the Count his tower, The valiant Count of Valderey; He lit upon the broider’d slipper... How it chanc’d I cannot say.

To the chamber of the Countess Goes he... Will he strike the blow? Serenely sleeping doth he see her: —‘Jesus! I know not what to do.’

In disorder is the household... —‘God have me in his holy keep! Either witch must be this woman, Or this same slipper mock’d my sleep.’

‘The slipper which I have before me, The slipper it bespeaks no good: Who could think that she could slumber In so pure and gentle mood.’

Wild the doubts that rise within him: —‘Help me Heaven! with guiding light, Baffling madness louring round Forbids me see my path aright.

Oh! my vineyard so well guarded! The precious grapes which there I left... Where is the fruit on which I counted? Tell me of which I am bereft?’

Straight the Count himself imprison’d In highest tower of Valderey: —‘Ne’er shall bread assuage my hunger, Ne’er shall wine my thirst allay.

Beard and hair grown rough and ragged, Care from me shall ne’er receive; Till the truth be plain before me, Ne’er will I this refuge leave.

Oh! ye green leaves of the vineyard Grapes that I no more may taste! Quickly may ye pine and wither, Quickly pine like me and waste.’

Thrice the sun hath sunk and ris’n, Still groaning thus he lonely sate, While faithful Countess grieving utter’d: ‘How shall I soothe his mournful state?’

Whither may she flee for succour? Who shall aid and solace bring? Innocence may challenge pity... Where shall she went? Unto the King!

—‘That I some remedy may find thee, Faithful Countess, quickly go: The secret of his sad affliction. Be’t mine or here or there to know.

On leal word of Cavalleiro Troth and faith I plight to thee, Pure you shall be found and spotless, Or I myself shall recreant be.’

Oh! the green leaves of the Vine tree! Grapes I sought with eager haste! To the soul their beauty touch’ me, Bloom so pure I dar’d not taste.

Quickly thence the Countess hurried; The king, he did not tarry more. What they say I wish to hear, So will I listen at the door.

Hist!—A voice of heavenly sweetness Steals upon his ravished ears— While this sad plaint the mourner sang Mocking music of the spheres.

—‘Once I was a Vine well guarded, Taught by tending Love to grow: Now I lack that fost’ring nurture... Why—I scarce dare ask to know.’

Then shone out the Royal goodness... Tears of pity dimm’d his eye: —‘Quick of the other side inform me, That the truth I may descry.’

—‘My fresh vineyard so well guarded, When I enter’d it again, Trace of plundering thief I noted... What he stole I ask in vain.’

Ceased the Count o’erwhelm’d with sorrow, But then laughing said the King: (Whether at self or at the mourner Aim’d that laugh, I cannot sing.)

—’Twas I who did the vineyard enter, Of plundering thief I left the trace; Grapes I saw—but Heav’n so save me— Not a grape did I displace.’

A fracture was there in the portal The slipper from his foot he tore: —‘Need’st thou proof? behold it here.’ Its fellow from within he bore.

Of the joy that followed after Little need I more impart, Glad the Count the truth admitted, And the King play’d the kingly part.

Fresh green leaves hath the vineyard, Richest grapes were those I saw; It was fear that kept them safely, Fear of God and of his law.

Em continuação do appendice, aqui juncto egualmente, para illustração do romance IX d’este livro que leva por titulo REGINALDO[142], as duas licções castelhanas que d’elle apparecem agora na última recente edição do ROMANCERO de Duran.

Na introducção áquelle romance disse eu que elle não apparecia nas collecções castelhanas, porque em nenhuma das anteriores a ésta de 1849-51 o tinha podido incontrar.

Essa parte do texto, assim como a nota correspondente[143] precisam pois d’esta correcção.

GERINELDO

I

Levantóse Gerineldo Que al rey dejara dormido: Fuese para la infanta Donde estaba en el castillo. —Abráisme, digo, señora, Abráisme, cuerpo garrido. —¿Quién sois vos, el caballero, Que llamais á mi postigo? —Gerineldo soy, señora, Vuestro tan querido amigo.— Tomárala por la mano En un lecho la ha metido, Y besando y abrazando Gerineldo se ha dormido. Recordado habia el rey De un sueño despavorido; Tres veces lo habia llamado, Ninguna le ha respondido. —Gerineldo, Gerineldo, Mi camarero polido, Si mi andas en traicion, Trátasme como á enemigo. O dormias con la infanta, O me has vendido el castillo.— Tomó la espada en la mano En gran saña va encendido: Fuérase para la cama Donde á Gerineldo vido. El quisieralo matar; Mas crióle de chiquito. Sacara luego la espada, Entre entrambos la ha metido, Porque desque recordase Viese cómo era sentido. Recordado habia la infanta, Y la espada ha conocido. —Recordados, Gerineldo, Que ya érades sentido, Que la espada de mi padre Yo me la he bien conocido[144].

II

—Gerineldo, Gerineldo, El mi page mas querido, Quisiera hablarte esta noche En este jardim sombrio. —Como soy vuestro criado, Señora, os burlais conmigo. —No me burlo, Gerineldo, Que de verdad te lo digo. —¿A qué hora, mi señora, Comprir heis lo prometido? —Entre las doce y la una, Que el rey estará dormido.— Tres vueltas da á su palacio Y otras tantas al castillo; El calzado se quitó Y del buen rey no es sentido: Y viendo que todos duermen Do posa la infanta ha ido. La infanta que oyera pasos Desta manera le dijo: —¿Quién a mi estancia se atreve? Quién á tanto se ha atrevido? —No vos turbeis, mi señora, Yo soy vuestro dulce amigo, Que acudo a vuestro mandado Humilde y favorecido.— Enilda le ase la mano Sin mas celar su cariño; Cuidando que era su esposo En el lecho se han metido, Y se hacen dulces halagos Como mujer y marido. Tantas caricias se hacen, Y con tanto fuego vivo, Que al cansacio se rindieron Y al fin quedaron dormidos. El alba salia apénas A dar luz a campo amigo, Quando el rey quiere vestirse, Mas no encuentra sus vestidos: —Que llamen á Gerineldo El mi buen page querido.— Unos dicen:—No está en casa.— Otros dicen:—No lo he visto.— Salta el buen rey de su lecho Y vistióse de proviso, Receloso de algun mal Que puede haberle venido, Al cuarto de Enilda entrara, Y en su lecho halla dormidos Á su hija y á su paje En estrecho abrazo unidos. Pasmado quedó y parado El buen rey muy pensativo: Pensándose qué hará Contra los dos atrevidos. —¿Mataré yo á Gerineldo, Al que cual hijo he querido? ¡Si yo mataré la infanta Mi reino tengo perdido!— En tal estrecho el buen rey, Para que fuese testigo, Puso la espada por medio Entre los dos atrevidos. Hecho esto, se retira Del jardin á un bosquecillo. Enilda al despertarse, Notando que estaba el filo De la espada entre los dos, Dijo asustada á su amigo: —Levántate, Gerineldo, Levántate, dueño mio, Que del rey la fiera espada Entre los dos ha dormido.— —¿Adónde iré, mi señora? ¿Adónde me iré, Dios mio? ¿Quién me librará de muerte, De muerte que he merecido? No te asustes, Gerineldo, Que siempre estaré contigo: Márchate por los jardines Que luego al punto te sigo.— Luego obedece á la infanta, Haciendo cuanto le ha dicho: Pero el rey, que está en acecho, Se la hace encontradizo: —¿Donde vas, buen Gerineldo? ¿Como estás tan sin sentido? —Paseaba estos jardines Para ver se han florecido, Y vi que una fresca rosa El calor ha deslucido.— —Miéntes, miéntes, Gerineldo, Que con Enilda has dormido.— Estando en esto el Sultan, Un gran pliego ha recebido: Abrelo luego, y al punto Todo el color ha perdido. —Que prendan á Gerineldo: Que no salga del castillo.— En esto la hermosa Enilda Cuidosa llega á aquel sitio. De lo que pasa informada, Y conociendo el peligro, Sin esperar á que torne El buen rey enfurecido, Salta las tapias lijera En pos de su amor querido. Huyendo se va á Tartaria Con su amante y fiel amigo, Que en un brioso caballo La atendia en el egido. Alli, ántes de casarse, Recibe Enilda el bautismo, Y las joias que lleva En dos cajas de oro fino Una vida regalada A su amante han prometido[145].

NOTAS

[1]

Alcançá-la não podia—TRAZ-OS-MONTES.

[2]

Alcançou-a descançando Debaixo da verde oliva.—TRAZ-OS-MONTES.

[3]

Qual debaixo, qual decima—TRAZ-OS-MONTES.

[4]

Logo debaixo cahia—TRAZ-OS-MONTES.

[5]

Eu te peço, romeirinha—TRAZ-OS-MONTES.

[6]

Eu te peço, ermitão, Por Deus e sancta Maria Que interres esse traidor Lá na tua sancta ermida.—TRAZ-OS-MONTES.

[7] Mais outro exemplo do que era frequente nos antigos cantares repetirem, de uns para outros, certos dizeres que cahiam em graça. Veja no ‘Reginaldo’ pag. 175, tom. II do ROMANCEIRO.

[8]

Senhor pae, eu tenho a culpa—AÇORES.

[9]

Antes que não rompa o dia—AÇORES.

[10]

A infanta vai a expirar—AÇORES.

[11] Veja o que, a este respeito e sôbre a repetição d’esta linda imagem, deixo escripto na ‘Rosalinda’, pag. 163-168, tomo I do ROMANCEIRO.

[12]

Um, nobre sangue deitava—TRAZ-OS-MONTES.

[13]

Sentava-se elrei á mesa, No hombro lhe iam poisar.—AÇORES.

[14] ROMANCEIRO, I, pag. 181, ed. de 1843.

[15]

Anda atrás do cavalleiro A princeza a bom andar.—MINHO.

Ésta licção do Minho dá por titulo ao romance ‘A Princeza’.

[16]

Está em casa o cavalleiro Que aqui deve de morar?—TRAS-OS-MONTES.

[17]

Que fazeis porqui princeza, Que andais a procurar?—MINHO.

[18]

Deixei meu pae, minha gente—TRAS-OS-MONTES.

[19]

Leva-a d’ahi, cavalleiro, E vai lançá-la no mar.—MINHO.

[20]

De raivosa, a castelhana Os mandou logo cortar.—MINHO.

[21]

Nasceu um triste pinhal—EXTREMADURA.

Noto ésta variante para marcar o uso indistincto das palavras ‘pinhal e pinheiral’ que a lingua consente.

[22]

E, por noite, a castellana—TRAS-OS-MONTES.

E, alta noite, a castellana—MINHO.

E, de noite, a castellana—TRAS-OS-MONTES.

A licção que segui no texto é a que veio do Porto, que Minho é; mas não a acho melhor do que qualquer das outras. Segui-a porque, no todo do romance, é a mais completa.

[23]

Aprestar—BEIRALTA.

[24]

Que me sellem meu cavallo, Depressa, não devagar.—EXTREMADURA.

[25]

Alviçaras, meu irmão, Que ja m’as devias de dar.—BEIRALTA.

[26]

Lá no mais alto da serra—EXTREMADURA.

[27] _Oiro_ em stylo camponez quer dizer—joias, ornatos de oiro de pessoa. O _meu oiro_ é o oiro com que me adorno—como em stylo de cidade a _minha prata_ é a prata de meu serviço de casa.

[28]

E as toucas da cabeça Despirá para o pençar.—EXTREMADURA.

[29]

Não póde á bôcca chegar.—BEIRALTA.

[30]

Mal hajam as linguas taes E ouvidos que lhe eu fui dar, Que por amor das más linguas Meu amor vim a mattar.—EXTREMADURA.

[31] Em algumas licções provinciaes, designadamente nas da Extremadura, começa assim:

Ergueu-se frei Joanico Um dia de madrugada, Vestido de ponto em branco E tangendo sua guitarra, Foi-se á porta de Morena, A Morena etc.—EXTREMADURA.

[32]

Que é isso, Morenita—ALEMTEJO.

[33]