Part 21 (1/2)
They have girded on his s.h.i.+rt of mail, his cuisses well they've clasp'd, And they've barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand the lance hath grasped, And they have caught the old grey horse, the horse he loved of yore, And he stands pawing at the gate--caparisoned once more.
Guarinos whispered in the old horse's ear, and it recalled the voice of its master.
Oh! lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree, And slowly riding down made halt before Marlotes' knee; Again the heathen laughed aloud--”All hail, sir knight,” quoth he, ”Now do thy best, thou champion proud. Thy blood I look to see.”
With that Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode, Pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode.
Now ride, now ride, Guarinos--nor lance nor rowel spare-- Slay, slay, and gallop for thy life--the land of France lies there!
There would seem to be some connexion between this ballad and the French romance of ”Ogier the Dane,” and Erman tells us that it was sung in Russian in Siberia as late as 1828.
”The Lady of the Tree” tells how a princess was stolen by the fairies, and how a knight to whom she appealed for rescue turned a deaf ear to her request and was afterward scorned by her when she returned to her rightful station. ”The False Queen” is a mere fragment, but ”The Avenging Childe” is both complete and vivid. Mr Fitzmaurice Kelly declares that Gibson's version of this ballad is superior to that of Lockhart. Let us compare a verse of both.
Avoid that knife in battle strife, that weapon short and thin; The dragon's gore hath bath'd it o'er, seven times 'twas steeped therein; Seven times the smith hath proved its pith, it cuts a coulter through-- In France the blade was fas.h.i.+oned, from Spain the shaft it drew.
Gibson renders this:
'Tis a right good spear with a point so sharp, the toughest plough-share might pierce.
For seven times o'er it was tempered fine in the blood of a dragon fierce, And seven times o'er it was whetted keen, till it shone with a deadly glance, For its steel was wrought in the finest forge, in the realm of mighty France.
My preference is for Lockhart's rendering. Gibson's first line is extraordinarily clumsy and cacophonous, and the ugly inversions in the second line could scarcely be tolerated outside the boundaries of the nursery. The remaining lines are well enough, but no improvement, I think, upon those of Lockhart, only the whole has a better swing, a livelier lilt, even if in the first line this is roughened by the crudity occasioned by the juxtaposition of so many sibilants and explosives. The Avenging Childe duly accounts for his enemy.
Right soon that knife hath quenched his life--the head is sundered sheer, Then gladsome smiled the Avenging Childe, and fix'd it on his spear.
Pity it is that a sense of humour seldom chimes with a sense of the romantic. An 'avenging childe' who could smile gladly when fixing the head of a foe on his spear seems more fitted for a Borstal inst.i.tution than for the silken atmosphere of Courts. Yet he married the Infanta, and was knighted and honoured by the King. Possibly they found in him a kindred soul, if all we read in romance regarding kings and infantas be true.
Count Arnaldos
This very beautiful ballad, which is given in the Cancionero of Antwerp (1555), tells how Count Arnaldos, wandering by the seash.o.r.e one morning, hears the mystic song of a sailor in a pa.s.sing galley.
Heart may beat and eye may glisten, Faith is strong and Hope is free, But mortal ear no more may listen To the song that rules the sea.
When the grey-hair'd sailor chaunted, Every wind was hushed to sleep-- Like a virgin's bosom panted All the wide reposing deep.
Bright in beauty rose the star-fish From her green cave down below, Right above the eagle poised him-- Holy music charmed them so.
”For the sake of G.o.d, our Maker”
(Count Arnaldos' cry was strong), ”Old man, let me be partaker In the secret of thy song.”
”Count Arnaldos! Count Arnaldos!