Kitabı oku: «Basque Legends; With an Essay on the Basque Language», sayfa 17

II

If we except the Pastorales, the whole of Basque poetry may be described as lyrical; either secular, as songs, or religious, as hymns and noëls. There is no epic in Basque,¹⁸⁸ and scarcely any narrative ballads; even those chiefly are of uncertain date. A few sonnets exist, but they are almost exclusively translations or imitations of French, Spanish, or classical poems, and cannot be considered as genuine productions of the Basque muse. Some of the religious poetry may be described as didactic, but this again is mostly paraphrase or translation. All that is really native is lyrical. But even in song the Basques show no remarkable poetical merit. The extreme facility with which the language lends itself to rhyming desinence has a most injurious effect upon versification. There are not verses only, but whole poems, in which each line terminates with the same desinence. Instead of striving after that perfection of form which the change of a single word or even letter would affect injuriously, the Basques are too often satisfied with this mere rhyme. Their compositions, too, if published at all, are usually printed only on single sheets of paper, easily dispersed and soon lost. Hence the preservation of Basque poetry is entrusted mainly to the memory, and thus it happens that one scarcely meets with two copies of the same song exactly alike. If the memory fails, the missing words and rhymes are so easily supplied by others that it is not worth the effort to recall the precise expression used. And so it comes to pass that, while versification is very common among the Basques, high-class poetry is extremely rare. They have no song writers to compare with Burns or with Béranger. And if it be alleged that poets like these are rare, even among people far more numerous and more cultivated, the Basques still fall short, when measured by a much lower standard. They have no poets to rival the Gascon, Jasmin, or to compare with the Provençal or the Catalan singers at the other end of the Pyrenean chain. There is no modern Basque song which can be placed by the side of “Le Demiselle” and others of the Biarritz poet, Justin Larrebat; and among the older poets neither Dechepare nor Oyhenart is equal to the Béarnais, Despourrins. While the Jacobite songs of Scotland are among the finest productions of her lyric muse, the Carlist songs, on the contrary, though telling of an equally brave and romantic struggle, are one and all below mediocrity. But, while fully admitting this, there is yet much that is pleasing in Basque poetry. If it has no great merits, it is still free from any very gross defects. It is always true and manly, and completely free from affectation. It is seldom forced, and the singer sings just because it pleases him to do so, not to satisfy a craving vanity or to strain after the name and fame of a poet. The moral tone is almost always good. If at times, as in the drinking songs, and in some few of the amatory, the expression is free and outspoken, vice is never glossed over or covered with a false sentimentality. The Basque is never mawkish or equivocal—with him right is right, and wrong is wrong, and Basque poetry leaves no unpleasant after-taste behind.¹⁸⁹

The only peculiarity, in a poetical sense, is the extreme fondness for, and frequent employment of, allegory. In the love songs the fair one is constantly addressed under some allegorical disguise. It is a star the lover admires, or it is the nightingale who bewails his sad lot. The loved one is a flower, or a heifer, a dove or a quail, a pomegranate or an apple, figures common to the poets of other countries; but the Basques, even the rudest of them, never confuse these metaphors, as more famous poets sometimes do—the allegory is ever consistently maintained throughout. Even in prose they are accustomed to this use of allegory, and catch up the slightest allusion to it; but to others it often renders their poetry obscure, and very difficult of successful translation. The stranger is in doubt whether a given poem is really meant only for a description of the habits of the nightingale, or whether the bird is a pseudonym for the poet or the poet’s mistress. Curiously enough, sometimes educated Basques seem to have almost as much difficulty in seizing this allegory as have foreigners. Thus, in a work now in course of publication,¹⁹⁰ one of the most famous of these allegorical complaints is actually taken for a poetical description of the nightingale itself.

The historical songs, like all other historical remains among the Basques, are few and doubtful. There are two songs, however, for which are claimed a greater historical importance and a higher antiquity than any others can pretend to. These are the so-called “Leloaren Cantua” and the “Altabiskarco Cantua.” Both these are reputed by some writers to be almost contemporaneous with the events which they relate. The first is said to be founded on the wars of the Roman Emperor Augustus with the Cantabri; the second is an account of the defeat of Charlemagne’s rearguard at Roncesvalles, A.D. 778. The former may be some three hundred years old, but the latter is certainly a production of the nineteenth century, though none the less it is the most spirited offspring of the Basque muse. We will give the text and translation of each, and then justify our conclusions.

^[10] The reader will remark that there is really no authority for treating these words as proper names. This, however, is the universal interpretation among Basques.

The history of the above song is as follows: At the close of the sixteenth century a notary of Zornoza, J. Iñiguez de Ibargüen, was commissioned by the Junta of Biscay to search the principal libraries of Spain for documents relating to the Basques. In the archives of Simancas he discovered an ancient MS. on parchment, containing verses in Basque, some almost, others wholly obliterated. Of these he copied what he could, and inserted them in p. 71 of his “Cronica general de España y sumaria de Vizcaya,” a work which still exists in manuscript in the town of Marquina. From this history of Ibargüen the song was first reproduced by the celebrated Wilhelm von Humboldt, and published by him in 1817 in a supplement to Vater’s “Mithridates.” The text above given is taken from that of the “Cancionero Vasco,” Series 2, iii., pp. 18, 20, and claims to be a new and literal copy from the MS. “Cronica” of Ibargüen. From the date of its publication by Humboldt, this piece has been the subject of much discussion. That it is one of the oldest fragments of Basque poetry hardly admits of doubt. But, when asked to believe that it is contemporary with Augustus, we must hesitate. The question arises: Did Ibargüen copy the almost defaced original exactly as it was, or did he suffer his declared predilections unconsciously to influence his reading of it?¹⁹¹ Many of the words are still very obscure, and the translation of them is almost guess work. The first verse has little or no apparent connection with the rest of the poem, and has given rise to the most fanciful interpretations. Lelo has been imagined by some to be the name of a Basque hero; Zara, or Zarat, who kills him, the name of another; and the two reproduce the story of Agamemnon and Ægisthus. Others, with more probability, take Lelo, as is certainly the case in other poems, for a mere refrain (the everlasting Lelo, as a Basque proverb has it) used by the singer merely to give the key to the tune or rhythm to which he modulates the rest. Chaho, with his usual audacity, would translate it “glory,” and render it thus:—

Finished is the glory! dead is the glory,

Our glory!

Old age has killed the glory,

Our glory!

But it has been very plausibly suggested¹⁹² that the verse bears a suspicious likeness to a vague reminiscence of the Moslem cry “Lâ Êlah Ulâ Allah!” &c.; and if so, this, in the north of Spain, would at one bound place the poem some eight centuries at least after the time of Augustus. The proper names have a too correct look. Octabiano, Roma, and Tiber are far too much like the Latin; for if Greeks and Romans complained, as do Strabo and Mela, of the difficulty of transcribing Basque or Iberian names into their own language, the Basques might possibly find a somewhat corresponding difficulty in transcribing Greek and Latin names into Basque. Moreover, in a later verse appears “Uchin,” a sobriquet for “Augustino,” as a baptismal name in use among the Spanish Basques to this day. What the poem really refers to we dare not assert. We present the “Leloaren Cantua” to our readers simply as one of the oldest curiosities of Basque verse, without pledging ourselves to any particular date or interpretation thereof.

Fortunately, we shall be able to speak with much more decision of the “Altabiskarco Cantua,” of which the following is the latest text:—

Altabiskarco Cantua.

1

 
Oyhu bat aditua izan da
Escualdunen mendien artetic,
Eta etcheco jaunac, bere athearen aitcinean chutic
Ideki tu beharriac, eta erran du: “Nor da hor? Cer nahi dautet?”
Eta chacurra, bere nausiaren oinetan lo zagüena,
Altchatu da, eta karrasiz Altabiscarren inguruac bethe ditu.
 

2

 
Ibañetaren lepoan harabotz bat aghertcen da,
Urbiltcen da, arrokac ezker eta ezcuin jotcen dituelaric;
Hori da urrundic heldu den armada baten burrumba.
Mendien copetetaric guriec errespuesta eman diote;
Beren tuten soinua adiaraci dute,
Eta etcheco jaunac bere dardac zorrozten tu.
 

3

 
Heldu dira! heldu dira! cer lantzazco sasia!
Nola cer nahi colorezco banderac heien erdian aghertcen diren
Cer simistac atheratcen diren heien armetaric!
Cembat dira? Haurra condatzic onghi!
Bat, biga, hirur, laur, bortz, sei, zazpi, zortzi, bederatzi, hamar, hameca, hamabi,
Hamahirur, hamalaur, hamabortz, hamasei, hamazazpi, hemezortzi, hemeretzi, hogoi.
 

4

 
Hogoi eta milaca oraino!
Heien condatcea demboraren galtcea liteque.
Urbilditzagun gure beso zailac, errotic athera ditzagun arroca horiec,
Botha ditzagun mendiaren patarra behera
Hein buruen gaineraino;
Leher ditzagun, herioz jo ditzagun.
 

5

 
Cer nahi zuten gure mendietaric Norteco guizon horiec?
Certaco jin dira gure bakearen nahastera?
Jaungoicoac mendiac eguin dituenean nahi izan du hec guizonec ez pasatcea.
Bainan arrokac biribilcolica erortcen dira, tropac lehertcen dituzte.
Odola churrutan badoa, haraghi puscac dardaran daude.
Oh! cembat hezur carrascatuac! cer odolezco itsasoa!
 

6

 
Escapa! escapa! indar eta zaldi dituzeneac!
Escapa hadi, Carlomano erreghe, hire luma beltzekin eta hire capa gorriarekin;
Hire iloba maitea, Errolan zangarra, hantchet hila dago;
Bere zangartasuna beretaco ez tu izan.
Eta orai, Escualdunac, utz ditzagun arroca horiec,
Jauts ghiten fite, igor ditzagun gure dardac escapatcen direnen contra.
 

7

 
Badoazi! badoazi! non da bada lantzazco sasi hura?
Non dira heien erdian agheri ciren cer nahi colorezco bandera hec?
Ez da gheiago simiztarik atheratcen heien arma odolez bethetaric.
Cembat dira? Haurra, condatzac onghi.
Hogoi, hemeretzi, hemezortzi, hamazazpi, hamasei, hamabortz, hamalaur, hamairur,
Hamabi, hameca, hamar, bederatzi, zortzi, zazpi, sei, bortz, laur, hirur biga, bat.
 

8

 
Bat! ez da bihiric aghertcen gheiago. Akhabo da!
Etcheco jauna, joaiten ahal zira zure chacurrarekin,
Zure emaztearen eta zure haurren besarcatcera,
Zure darden garbitcera eta alchatcera zure tutekin,
Eta ghero heien gainean etzatera eta lo gitera.
Gabaz, arranoac joainen dira haraghi pusca lehertu horien jatera,
Eta hezur horiec oro churituco dira eternitatean.
 

Song of Altabiscar

1

 
A cry is heard
From the Basque mountain’s midst.
Etcheco Jauna,¹⁹³ at his door erect,
Listens, and cries, “What want they? Who goes there?”
At his lord’s feet the dog that sleeping lay
Starts up, his bark fills Altabiscar¹⁹⁴ round.
 

2

 
Through Ibañeta’s¹⁹⁵ pass the noise resounds,
Striking the rocks on right and left it comes;
’Tis the dull murmur of a host from far,
From off the mountain heights our men reply,
Sounding aloud the signal of their horns;
Etcheco Jauna whets his arrows then.
 

3

 
They come! They come! See, what a wood of spears
What flags of myriad tints float in the midst!
What lightning-flashes glance from off their arms!
How many be they? Count them well, my child.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,
13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.
 

4

 
Twenty, and thousands more!
’Twere but lost time to count.
Our sinewy arms unite, tear up the rocks,
Swift from the mountain tops we hurl them down
Right on their heads,
And crush, and slay them all.
 

5

 
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 eagles¹⁹⁶ 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.”¹⁹⁷ 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.¹⁹⁸ 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.

Song of Altabiscar

^[18] Cf. lorea, from the Latin flos flore.

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.¹⁹⁹ 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,²⁰⁰ 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”:—

^[21] This song is prettily translated in Miss Costello’s “Béarn and the Pyrénées,” London, 1844, where are also translations of some other Basque songs, the originals of which I have failed to trace.

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—

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. 172.²⁰¹

^[23] More often the Cagots’ ears were said to be either completely round or with very long lobes, or with the lobes adhering. We have found examples of all of these in the Basque country, but not confined or peculiar to the Cagots. A case like that described in the verse above we have never seen.

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,”²⁰² 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:—

^[25] Michel, “Le Pays Basque,” p. 414.

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, inferior²⁰³:—

^[27] A line has dropped out of the MS. here. We supply the probable meaning. The composer is one P. Mendibel, 1859.

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).

The following belongs to a more quaint and popular class of lullaby, or cradle songs; as it is so simple we do not give the Basque:—