M. Mazure, who appears an enthusiast for the Basque language, produces several words to show the sublimity contained in their signification: for instance, he says, "the radical name of _the Moon_, combined with other terms, gives occasion for superb expressions, full of thought, and of a character which no modern language could furnish: thus--_ilarquia_, the moon, signifies _its light_, or its _funereal_ light; and _illarguia, ilkulcha, ilobia, ilerria, ileguna_, signify the _coffin_, the _grave_, the _churchyard_, the _day of death_.

"The days of the week are also extremely expressive--as Friday, Sat.u.r.day, Sunday, which convey the idea of the _remembrance of the death of the Saviour--the last day of work--the great day_. A strictly Christian nation has left, in these words, their stamp." This being the case, how does it agree with the extraordinarily antique origin of the Basques? However, it appears that these are exceptions; other words being sufficiently unintelligible, that is to say, difficult to explain.

M. Mazure considers that the Basque language is, in some respects, the _most perfect_ that exists, from the _unity of the verb_ which it preserves: its system of conjugation alone were enough, in his opinion, to make it an object worthy of study and admiration to all grammarians.

To the uninitiated, the very opposite opinions of M. Mazure and M.

Pierquin are somewhat amusing: the former insists that the Basque has nothing to do with Hebrew or Phoenician, but inclines to think it a lost _African_ dialect, such as, _perhaps_, might have been spoken by the Moors of Ma.s.sinissa, who peopled Spain, and probably Aquitaine, at some period unknown.

One singular fact with respect to this mysterious dialect is, that it possesses no written nor printed books older than two centuries since; and no alphabet has been discovered belonging to it; consequently it has no literature; but it has preserved many songs and ballads, some of great delicacy and beauty; and its _improvvisatore_, by profession, are as fruitful as the Italians. One popular song, in the dialect of Labourd, may give an idea of the strange language which occupies so much attention.

BASQUE SONG.

"Tchorittoua, nourat houa Bi hegaliz, arian?

Espagnalat jouateko, Elhurra duk bortian: Algarreki jouanen gutuk Elhurra hourtzen denian.

"San Josefen ermitha, Desertian gorada Espagnalat jouateko Handa goure palissada.

Guibelerat so-guin eta, Hasperenak ardura.

Hasperena, babilona, Matiaren borthala Bihotzian sarakio Houra eni bezala; Eta guero eran izok Nik igorten hadala.

TRANSLATION.

Borne on thy wings amidst the air, Sweet bird, where wilt thou go?

For if thou wouldst to Spain repair, The ports are filled with snow.

Wait, and we will fly together, When the Spring brings sunny weather.

St. Joseph's hermitage is lone, Amidst the desert bare, And when we on our way are gone, Awhile we'll rest us there; As we pursue our mountain-track, Shall we not sigh as we look back?

Go to my love, oh! gentle sigh, And near her chamber hover nigh; Glide to her heart, make that thy shrine, As she is fondly kept in mine.

Then thou may'st tell her it is I Who sent thee to her, gentle sigh!

It appears to me, that there is a very remarkable similarity between the habits of the people of the Basque country and those of Brittany; although they of the South are not rich in beautiful legends, such as M.

de Villemarque has preserved to the world: they have dramas and mysteries just in the same manner: some of which last for days, and are played in the open air by the people. They name their rocks and valleys as the Bretons do: as, for instance, they have the _Vallee du Sang_, the _Col des Oss.e.m.e.ns_, the _Foret du Refuge_, the _Champ de la Victoire_; and traditions attach to each of these. There is, however, a gayer, livelier character amongst them than that which inspires the pathetic ballads of Brittany. The Basques are very ready to be amused; are more hilarious and less gloomy than the Bretons: yet they have the same love of their country, and regret at leaving it. An author[37] who has written on the subject, says: "To judge properly of the Basque, he should be seen amidst his pleasures and his games; for it is then that he exhibits his brilliant imagination. Often, in the joy of a convivial meeting--when his natural gaiety, excited by wine and good cheer, is arrived at that point of vivacity when man seems united to the chain of existence only by the link of pleasure--one of the guests will feel himself inspired: he rises; the tumult ceases; profound silence is established, and his noisy companions are at once transformed to attentive listeners. He sings: stanzas succeed each other, and poetry flows naturally from his lips. The measure he adopts is grave and quiet; the air seems to come with the words, without being sought for; and rich imagery and new ideas flash forth at every moment, whether he takes for his subject the praise of one of the guests, or the chronicles of the country. He will sing thus for hours together: but some other feels inspired in his turn; a kind of pastoral combat takes place--very like those between the troubadours of old--and the interest of the scene increases. Presently they start into dances, and their steps accompany the words, still more like the custom of the jongleurs. The rivals sing and dance alternately, as the words require it; their movements increase in expression, the most difficult and the prettiest are striven for by the dancers, the time being always well preserved, and the spirit of the poem not lost sight of. When they are obliged to give up, from mere fatigue, a censor p.r.o.nounces which is the victor: that is, which of the two has given the most gratification to the audience."

[Footnote 37: M. Boucher. "Souvenirs du Pays Basque."]

The Basque poet has no view in his compositions but the expression of his feelings: he has no idea of gain, or reputation, but sings because he requires to show the emotions which agitate him. It is not a little singular that, in this particular, he resembles the inhabitants of Otaheite; one of whom Bougainville describes as having sung in strophes all that struck him during a voyage.

The Basque language seems very well adapted for light poetry; and, indeed, is peculiarly fitted for rhyme, and has a natural ease which helps the verse along, in a manner which belongs to the Italian. The ideas are always tender and delicate, to a surprising degree, as the following songs may prove:

BASQUE SONG.

"Su garretan," &c.

I BURN in flames, because my heart Has loved thee through the dreary past; And in my eyes the tear-drops start, To think I lose thee at the last.

My days are pa.s.s'd in ceaseless weeping, And all my nights in vain regret; No peace awaits me--waking--sleeping, Until I die, and all forget: And thou who seest me thus repine, Hast not a tear for grief like mine!

The Basque poet can seldom read or write: he owes nothing to education: nature alone is his instructress, and she inspires him with ideas the most graceful, tender, and, at the same time, correct, for nothing exceptionable is ever heard in his songs. In many of these there is a strain which might parallel some of the sweetest odes of the Persians; from whom, it is not impossible but that they may have derived them; if, indeed, the early troubadours from the East have not left their traces in such lays as this:

BASQUE SONG.

"Ezdut uste baden ceruan aingeruric," &c.

I CANNOT think in heaven above Immortal angels there may be, Whose hearts can show so pure a love As that which binds my soul to thee:

And when, my ceaseless suff'rings past, The grave shall make me all forget, I only ask thee, at the last, One gentle sigh of fond regret.

Very often these songs take the form of dialogues: the following is one very well known in the country:

BASQUE SONG.

"Amodioac bainarabila chorinoa aircan bezala," &c.

_The Lover_.

LOVE lifts me gently in the air, As though I were a bird to fly, And nights to me, like days, are fair, Because my gentle love is nigh.

_The Mistress_.

Thou call'st me dear--ah! seest thou not Those words have only pow'r to grieve me?

Why is my coldness all forgot?

And why not, at my bidding, leave me?

_The Lover_.

The love I feel--and canst thou doubt-- I, who would traverse seas for thee!

Who have no power to live without, And own thy charms are life to me.

_The Mistress_.

If I have charms, thine eye alone Behold'st the beauty none can prize; Oh! in the world exists but one Who fills my soul and dims my eyes: That one--ask not who he may be, But leave me--for thou art not he!

The following may serve as a specimen of their pa.s.sionate expressions:

BASQUE SONG.

"Ene maitcac biloa hori," &c.

My fair one, with the golden tresses, With rosy cheeks and hands of snow, With hopeless care each heart oppresses, Around her step such graces glow.

A cloud, upon her brow descending, Has dimm'd that eye of dazzling ray, Upon whose glance, the light attending, Has led my giddy heart astray.

I see thee, like the flow'r of morning, In sweetness and in beauty shine; None like to thee the world adorning-- My life, my soul, my life is thine!

The Basques have compositions in various styles--complaints and satires--like the professors of the _gaie science_. War and peace are celebrated by them: there are poems on La Tour d'Auvergne; Napoleon; Wellington, and the Revolution of July: in tragedy and melo-drama they peculiarly succeed; and there exists a modern Basque drama, of singular merit, called Marie de Navarre, the scene of which is laid in the tenth century, in which great power is exhibited, and considerable dramatic effect produced.

There is a saying, well known in the country, _"Ce n'est pas un homme, c'est un Basque;"_ which is intended to express the superiority of the native of these regions over all others. It appears that the Basque is, in fact, of much finer form than the rest of the people of the Pyrenees; and the young women are proverbially handsome. I cannot speak from extensive observation; but of this often-named peculiarity of personal appearance I was by no means sensible in the few specimens I have seen--for all the people of this part of the South seemed to me extremely inferior in beauty to those of the North; and, taken in general, it strikes me that the handsomest natives of France I have seen are to be found in Normandy. I speak merely as comparing the people with the same cla.s.ses in England: and to one accustomed to the sparkling clear eye, fine delicate complexion, tall stature, and finely-developed figures of both our men and women, the inhabitants of the whole of France seem very inferior: there is a monotony in their tanned faces, spare figures, and black eyes and hair, which wearies, and ceases to create interest after the first. Some individuals in the Basque country, however, struck me as handsome and very intelligent.

The Basque is bold and brave, and the French armies never had finer soldiers, as far as regarded spirit, than the natives of these countries: but neither did any region produce so many deserters; for the _maladie du pays_ is strong upon them, and they take the first opportunity of returning to their home amongst the mountains. This is not confined to the Basque, but occurs to all the mountaineers of Bearn.

One instance will show this feeling; the story was related by a guide to the Breche de Roland, who knew the circ.u.mstances. A young man had been forced by the conscription to join Napoleon's army: he was very young at the time, and went through all the dangers, hardships, and privations like a mountaineer and a man of courage; but, as soon as he saw an opportunity, he deserted, and sought the land where all his wishes tended. He was pursued and traced from place to place; but, generally favoured by his friends and a.s.sisted by his own ingenuity, he always eluded search, and, with the precaution of never sleeping two nights in the same village, he managed for several years to continue free. He was in love with a young girl, and on one occasion, at a _fete_, had come far over the mountains to dance with her: he was warned by a companion that emissaries had been seen in the neighbourhood; but he determined nothing should interfere with the pleasure he antic.i.p.ated in leading out the la.s.s he loved. He had a rival, however, in the company, who gave notice to the officers of justice that the deserter would be at the dance, and, accordingly, in the midst of the revel--as they were executing one of those agile dances, called _Le Saut Basque_--the object of pursuit became aware that, amidst the throng, were several persons whom he had no difficulty in guessing were his pursuers. They kept their station close to the path he must take when he left the spot where they were dancing, and he, with great presence of mind and determined gallantry, finished the measure with his pretty partner: at the last turn, he looked briskly round, and observing that one of his companions was leaning on a thick stick, he suddenly caught it from his grasp, and with a leap and run, dashed past the party who were waiting for him, brandishing the weapon over his head and keeping all off. They were so taken by surprise, that they had no power to detain him; and the villagers closing round and impeding them as much as possible, the young hero got off to the mountains in safety. He was, however, taken some time after this scene, and carried to Bayonne to be tried, when every one expected that he would meet with capital punishment; but it was found impossible to identify him--no one could be induced to appear against him--and the magistrates, wearied out, at length gave him his discharge, and he returned to live quietly in his village, and marry his love, after having been a hunted man in the woods and mountains for nearly ten years.