CHAPTER X: THE ROMANCEROS OR BALLADS--continued

There was crying in Granada as the sun was going down, Some calling on the Trinity, some calling on Mahoun; Here pa.s.sed away the Koran, there in the Cross was borne, And here was heard the Christian bell, and there the Moorish horn.

In this vivid verse, the first two lines of which seem to me especially successful, Lockhart, with a stroke or two of his pen, provides us with a moving sketch of the confusion and turmoil attending the Moorish flight from Granada, the last stronghold of the Moors in Spain, which fell to the victorious arms of Ferdinand and Isabella on the 6th of January, 1492, the year of the discovery of America. The remainder of the ballad is no better than Lorenzo de Sepulveda's rather unmusical original. It is pity that a ballad beginning with such a spirited couplet should be lost in the shallows and the miseries of such stuff as:

"Unhappy King, whose craven soul can brook" (she 'gan reply) "To leave behind Granada--who hast not heart to die-- Now for the love I bore thy youth thee gladly could I slay, For what is life to leave when such a crown is cast away?"

Here the spirit of the metre has deserted the body of the verse, which is now merely galvanized into life by an artificial current of pedantry. The striking inequalities in the work of Lockhart are surely eloquent of the tragedy of the half-talent.

Don Alonzo de Aguilar

Upon the fall of Granada the Catholic zeal of Ferdinand and Isabella insisted upon the conversion of the Moors of that province. Most of the defeated pagans concurred, outwardly at least, with the royal decree, but in the Sierra of Alpuxarra there remained a leaven of the infidel blood who refused baptism at the hands of the priests who were sent to seal them of the faith. A royal order at length went forth to carry out the ceremony by force of arms. For a season the Moors resisted with the stubborn courage of their race, but at length they were subdued and almost extirpated. But their ruin was not accomplished without severe losses on the side of their would-be proselytizers, one of the most notable of whom was Don Alonzo de Aguilar, brother of that Gonzalvo Hernandez de Cordova of Aguilar who gained widespread renown as 'the Great Captain.' But the ballad does not seem to square with the facts of history. Indeed it places Aguilar's death before the surrender of Granada, whereas in reality it took place as late as 1501. Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly thinks that "this points to the conclusion that the romance was not written till long after the event, when the exact details had been forgotten." But why blame an entire people for what may have been a lapsus memoriae on the part of a single balladeer? On the other hand, Mr Kelly might justly ask one to indicate any ballad springing from folk-sources the details of which square with the circ.u.mstances as known to history or ascertained by research.

Lockhart, as usual upon first mounting his destrier, dashes the spurs in its sides with a flourish:

Fernando, King of Arragon, before Granada lies, With dukes and barons many a one, and champions of emprise; With all the captains of Castile that serve his lady's crown, He drives Boabdil from his gates, and plucks the crescent down.

So far good. Now for the conclusion:

The Moorish maidens, while she spoke, around her silence kept, But her master dragged the dame away--then loud and long they wept: They wash'd the blood, with many a tear, from dint of dart and arrow, And buried him near the waters clear of the bank of Alpuxarra.

It will not serve to point out that this is just what one might expect in a ballad, for it bears not the shadow of resemblance to the original.

Que de chiquito en la cuna A sus pechos le criara.

A las palabras que dice, Cualquiera Mora lloraba:

"Don Alonso, Don Alonso, Dios perdone la tu alma, Pues te mataron los Moros, Los Moros de el Alpujarra."

I am sometimes tempted to think that the weary giant at Abbotsford wrote all Lockhart's first verses, as one heads a copy-book for a child!

Lockhart omits from his collection the very fine ballad beginning:

Rio verde, Rio verde, Tinto vas en sangre viva; Entre ti y Sierra Bermeja Murio gran caballeria

Murieron duques y condes, Senores de gran valia; Alli muriera Urdiales, Hombre de valor y estima,

which was rather inaccurately rendered by Bishop Percy as follows:

Gentle river, gentle river, Lo, thy streams are stained with gore; Many a brave and n.o.ble captain Floats along thy willow'd sh.o.r.e.

All beside thy limpid waters, All beside thy sands so bright, Moorish chiefs and Christian warriors Joined in fierce and mortal fight.

Perhaps a more accurate though less finished rendering of these opening verses might be:

Emerald river, emerald river, Stained with slaughter's evil cheer, 'Twixt Bermeja and thy meadows Perished many a cavalier.

Duke and count and valiant esquire Fell upon thy fatal sh.o.r.e; There died n.o.ble Urdiales Who the stainless t.i.tle bore.

I have translated these two verses chiefly for the purpose of showing how very freely those English authors who have attempted to render verse from the Castilian have dealt with the originals. And, as I have said before, I suspect that the princ.i.p.al reason for this looseness is a lack of idiomatic grasp. Indeed, it is obvious from most English translations that the sense of the original has been gathered rather than fully apprehended.

We can pa.s.s over "The Departure of King Sebastian," with its daring rhythm of

It was a Lusitanian lady, and she was lofty in degree,

recalling in some measure the irregular lilt of the old Scots ballads, and enter the division ent.i.tled by Lockhart "Moorish Ballads."

Moorish Ballads

We have already discussed the question of the 'Moorishness' (or otherwise) of these ballads. Let us now discuss them as ballads and as nothing more. The first, "The Bull-fight of Ganzul," is not only a famous piece, but in translating it Lockhart has risen to the occasion. It describes the dexterity of Ganzul, a n.o.ble Moor, in the bull-ring, and is certainly not without its quota of Moresque colour.

King Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound, He hath summoned all the Moorish lords, from the hills and plains around, From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil, They have come with helm and cuira.s.s of gold and twisted steel.

Eight Moorish lords of valour tried, with stalwart arm and true The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through.

The deeds they've done, the spoils they've won, fill all with hope and trust-- Yet ere high in heaven appears the sun they all have bit the dust.

Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tambour; Make room, make room for Ganzul, throw wide, throw wide the door-- Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still, more loudly strike the drum, The Alcayde of Agalva to fight the bull has come.

He defeats the bulls sent against him with the exception of one Harpado, a furious yet sagacious beast. The quatrain which describes him is well forged:

Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood within doth boil, And the dim hide glows as if on fire, as he paws to the turmoil.