Chapter XVI: Part II: VII (6)

This name is pronounced Ped-ro. The true character of the monarch is yet a disputed question, and has only within the last year been offered as a subject for inquiry by the Spanish Academy. The learned Llorente, in his ‘Historical Notices,’ vol. v., has, I think, clearly shown that Pedro was no more deserving of the epithet peculiarly than others of his age, including his half-brother and successor, by whose hand he fell, in retributive justice for the death of their other brother Fadrique. The legend of this prince’s death has been variously given, and thus Salvador Bermudez de Castro, who has also a poem on the subject, takes some different details to those repeated by the Duke de Rivas. The traditions of the people have handed down Don Pedro’s memory more favourably, and, perhaps, more justly, than the historians of the time, whose accounts no doubt were tinctured as darkly as they could be, partly to please the reigning monarch, and partly because Don Pedro had not been so submissive to priestly rule as they had desired.

39. Page 227. “Yet, ah! those lovely bowers along,” &c.

Mas, ay! aquellos pensiles
No he pisado un solo dia
Sin ver (sueños de mi mente!)
La sombra de la Padilla,
Lanzando un hondo gemido
Cruzar leve ante mi vista,
Como un vapor, como un humo
Que entre los àrboles gira:
Ni entrè en aquellos salones
Sin figuràrseme erguida
Del fundador la fantasma
En helada sangre tinta;
Ni en vestibulo oscuro
El que tiene en la cornisa
De los reyes los retratos,
El que en colunas estriba,
Al que adornan azulejos
Abajo, y esmalte arriba
El que muestra en cada muro
Un rico balcon, y encima
El hondo arteson dorado
Que lo corona y atrista,
Sin ver en tierra un cadaver.
Aun en las losas se mira
Una tenaz mancha oscura
Ni las edades limpian!
Sangre! sangre! oh, cielos, cuantos
Sin saber que lo es, la pisan!

This romance was originally printed with the ‘Moro Esposito,’ Paris 1834, vol. ii. p. 451. It was subsequently included among the ‘Romances Historicos,’ Madrid 1841, p. 19. The Alcazar of Seville has been described by so many travellers that it is unnecessary to add to their accounts of it, or to the graphic details of the romance. The stain on the floor may remind the reader of the legends of Holyrood and the Alhambra, as well as of other places.

40. Page 233. “Darting round fierce looks,” &c.

This description of anger, as again at p. 241, seems a favourite one with the Duke, as well as other poets; thus Virgil--

Totoque ardentis ab ore
Scintillæ absistunt, oculis micat acribus ignis.

41. Page 234. “The crackling of his arms and knees.”

From the peculiarity of this formation, the king was recognized by an old woman who had witnessed his killing a man he had met in a night rencontre in the street opposite her house, and she having given evidence to that effect, he ordered his statue to be beheaded, and so placed in the street in memorial of the sentence against himself.

42. Page 236.

“And more than Tello madly hates,
And more than Henry too.”

The two brothers of Fadrique, of whom Henry was his successor on the throne, after he had killed Don Pedro in fight by his own hand. In another romance, the Duke de Rivas describes this “fratricide,” and represents that Don Pedro had the advantage at first, but that the page of the other came to his master’s assistance, and attacking Don Pedro from behind, diverted his attention so as to enable him to give the King the death-wound. From the accounts handed down to us, it is clear that Don Pedro had sufficient grounds for suspecting treason from the brothers, which occasioned his animosity against them and their adherents, for which they afterwards blackened his memory.

43. Page 259. “Meagre soup bouillie.”

In the original, Gazpacho, “the name of a dish universal in and peculiar to Spain. It is a sort of cold soup, made of bread, pot-herbs, oil and water. Its materials are easily come by, and its concoction requires no skill.” Mr. W. G. Clark has taken this name for the title of his lively ‘Sketches of Spain,’ London 1850.

44. Page 260. “Whene’er Don Juan,” &c.

Siempre que tiene una broma
El señor don Juan me olvida
Como si estuviera en Roma;
Y à un entierro me convida
Para matarme de pena!
Sea enhorabuena.

Despues de melindres mil
Canta Celestina el duo
Que le han puesto en atril,
Y aunque canta como un buho
Todos la llaman Sirena.
Sea enhorabuena.

Cien abejas sin reposo
Labrando à porfia estàn
El dulce panal sabroso.
Ay! que un zàngano holgazàn
Se ha de tragar la colmena!
Sea enhorabuena.

El hombre à su semejante
Mueve guerra furibundo,
Cual si no fuera bastante
Para despoblar el mundo
El escuadron de Avicena.
Sea enhorabuena.

Hay en España usureros
Hay esbirros à montones,
Y chalanes y venteros,
Y dicen que los ladrones
Estan en Sierra Morena!
Sea enhorabuena.

En vano à tu puerta, Conde,
Llegan los pobres desnudos,
Que el perro solo responde,
Y gastas dos mil escudos
En un baile y una cena!
Sea enhorabuena.

Basta por hoy de sermon.
Aqui mi pluma suspendo
Hasta mejor ocasion.
Si el vicio en vano reprendo
Y escribo sobre la arena,
Sea enhorabuena.

The selections from Breton de los Herreros are taken from the edition of 1831, at pages 61, 63 and 71 respectively.

45. Page 269. “The celebrated Lista.”

This celebrated writer was born at Seville in 1775, and in early life adopted the ecclesiastical profession, having therein principally dedicated himself to the education of youth, in which he has been eminently successful. He has written a continuation of Mariana’s ‘History of Spain,’ and translated from the French Segur’s ‘Universal History,’ besides several mathematical and other elementary works. In 1822 he published a volume of poems, of which a second edition has been since published, highly praised by the different writers who have treated of modern Spanish literature. They are however avowedly of the classical school, and their greatest merit must be supposed to consist in their elegance of expression. His critical writings are numerous and valuable.

46. Page 271. “Twelve out of the nineteen stanzas.”

The stanzas 6, 9, 10, 11, 16 and 17 seem to be of his addition, and it must be acknowledged that they are in no respect inferior to the others. One stanza in Pindemonte he has not taken into his version.

47. Page 272. “Part of his first volume is taken up with imitations.”

Before observing that this part had been so expressed at the beginning, I made a translation of one small piece, which may give an idea of the others.

EN EL ALBUM DE UNA SENORITA.

Cual suele en màrmol sepulcral escrito
Un nombre detener al pasagero,
Pueda en aquesta pàgina mi nombre
Fijar tus ojos, ay! por los que muero.
Miralo, cuando ya de ti apartado,
No te pide mi amor mas recompensa;
De mi te acuerda como muerte y piensa
Que aqui mi corazon queda enterrado.

IN A LADY’S ALBUM.

As on sepulchral marble writ
A name to stay the passer-by,
So let my name on this page meet
Thine eyes, for which, alas! I die.
Look on it when I am far from thee;
My love asks no return more dear;
As of one dead remember me,
And think my heart is buried here.

It was only on translating the last line that I recognized them as Lord Byron’s.

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

As o’er the cold sepulchral stone
Some name arrests the passer-by,
Thus when thou view’st this page alone
May mine attract thy pensive eye.
And when by thee that name is read
Perchance in some succeeding year,
Reflect on me as on the dead,
And think my heart is buried here.

48. Page 275. “Sonnet, Dedication,” &c.

A MI ESPOSA.

Cuando en mis venas fèrvidas ardia
La fiera juventud, en mis canciones
El tormentoso afan de mis pasiones
Con dolorosas làgrimas vertia.
Hoy à ti las dedico, Esposa mia,
Cuando el amor mas libre de ilusiones
Inflama nuestros puros corazones,
Y sereno y de paz me luce el dia.
Asi perdido en turbulentos mares
Mìsero navegante al cielo implora,
Cuando le aqueja la tormenta grave;
Y del naufragio libre, en los altares
Consagra fiel à la Deidad que adora
Las hùmedas reliquias de su nave.

This sonnet, and the two following translations, are taken respectively from pages 8, 18 and 46 of the first volume of the Toluca edition. The imitation of Lord Byron is at page 83 of the same. The Odes to ‘Poesy’ and to ‘Night’ are at pages 13 and 72 of the second volume.

49. Page 282. “Milton elevated all beyond.”

Y Milton mas que todos elevado
A su angel fiero de diamante armado.

50. Page 305. “Josè de Espronceda.”

This name is to be pronounced Esprontheda. The translations, taken from the original poems, may be found in the Paris edition of 1848, at pages 49, 58, 73 and 79 respectively. The one translated, ‘The Condemned to Die,’ El Reo de Muerte, literally, ‘The Guilty of Death,’ has the signification given to this phrase by our translators of the New Testament, and it may be necessary to explain that the refrain “Your alms for prayers,” &c., is in the original merely “To do good for the soul of him who is about to be executed.”

Para hacer bien al alma
Del que van à ajusticiar!

In Spain, when a criminal is about to be executed, it is the custom for the Brothers of the religious order De la Humanidad, to go about the public ways, in their peculiar garb, with salvers for receiving alms for masses to be said for him, repeating words to the effect above given.

51. Page 315. “Sail on, my swift one, never fear.”

Navega, velero mio,
Sin temor,
Que ni enemigo navio,
Ni tormenta, ni bonanza,
Tu rumbo à torcer alcanza
Ni à sujetar tu valor.
Veinte presos
Hemos hecho
A despecho
Del Ingles,
Y han rendido
Sus pendones
Cien naciones
A mis piès.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro,
Que es mi Dios la libertad,
Mi ley la fuerza y el viento,
Mi ùnica patria la mar.

Allà muevan feroz guerra
Ciegos reyes
Por un palmo mas de tierra;
Que yo tengo aqui por mio
Cuanto abarca el mar bravio
A quien nadie impuso leyes.
Y no hay playa
Sea cual quiera
Ni bandera
De esplendor
Que no sienta
Mi derecho
Y dè pecho
A mi valor.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro.…

A la voz de ‘barco viene!’
Es de ver
Como vira, y se previene
A todo trapo à escapar;
Que yo soy el rey del mar
Y mi furia es de temer.
En las presas
Yo divido
Lo cogido
Por igual:
Solo quiero
Por riqueza
La belleza
Sin rival
Que es mi barco mi tesoro.…

Sentenciado estoy à muerte!
Yo me rio;
No me abandone la suerte,
Y al mismo que me condena

Colgarè de alguna entena
Quizà en su proprio navio.
Y si caigo
Que es la vida?
Por perdida
Ya la di,
Cuando el yugo
Del esclavo
Como un bravo
Sacudì.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro.…

Son mi música mejor
Aquilones;
El estrépito y temblor
De los cables sacudidos,
Del negro mar los bramidos,
Y el rugir de mis cañones;
Y del trueno
Al son violento,
Y del viento
Al rebramàr,
Yo me duermo
Sosegado,
Arrullado
Por el mar.
Que es mi barco mi tesoro,
Que es mi Dios la libertad,
Mi ley la fuerza y el viento,
Mi ùnica patria la mar.

52. Page 323. “Josè Zorrilla.”

The name of this eminently great poet is to be pronounced as Thorrillia; the translations made from his works are of the poems at pages 62, 99, 34, 97, 102, 28 and 65, respectively, of the first volume, as stated in the memoir, published at Madrid in 1837. The headings, for the sake of distinction, have been given somewhat differently from the originals, where they are generally only entitled ‘Oriental,’ or ‘A Romance;’ and the piece named ‘The Warning’ is but part of a longer poem, the conclusion of which is not in the same good taste as the beginning. All the other selections translated in this work, of the different authors, have been given fully.

53. Page 347. “The Tower of Munion.”

This tower is a shapeless ruin, the remains of an ancient castle in the plain of Arlanza near Burgos. The history of the castle is unknown, further than that Don Fernan Gonzalez assembled there, on one occasion, the Grandees of Castille, during his wars with the Moors.

54. Page 352. “Meditation.”

LA MEDITACION.

Sobre ignorada tumba solitaria,
A la luz amarilla de la tarde,
Vengo à ofrecer al cielo mi plegaria
Por la muger que amè.
Apoyada en el màrmol mi cabeza,
Sobre la hùmeda yerba la rodilla,
La parda flor que esmalta la maleza
Humillo con mi piè.

Aquì, lejos del mundo y sus placeres,
Levanto mis delirios de la tierra,
Y leo en agrupados caractères
Nombres que ya no son;
Y la dorada làmpara que brilla
Y al soplo oscila de la brisa errante,
Colgada ante el altar en la capilla
Alumbra mi oracion.

Acaso un ave su volar detiene
Del fùnebre ciprès entre las ramas
Que a lamentar con sus gorjeos viene
La ausencia de la luz:
Y se despide del albor del dia
Desde una alta ventana de la torre
O trepa de la cùpula sombria
A la gigante cruz.

Anegados en làgrimas los ojos
Yo la contemplo inmòvil desde el suelo
Hasta que el rechinar de los cerrojos
La hace aturdida huir.
La funeral sonrisa me saluda
Del solo ser que con los muertos vive,
Y me presta su mano àspera y ruda
Que un fèretro va a abrir.

* * * * *

Perdon! no escuches Dios mio
Mi terrenal pensamiento!
Deja que se pierda impio
Como el murmullo de un rio
Entre los pliegues del viento.

Por que una imàgen mundana
Viene à manchar mi oracion?
Es una sombra profana
Que tal vez serà mañana
Signo de mi maldicion.

Por que ha soñada mi mente
Ese fantasma tan bello?
Con esa tez transparente
Sobre la tranquila frente
Y sobre el desnudo cuello.

Que en vez de aumentar su encanto
Con pompa y mundano brillo,
Se muestra anegada en llanto
Al piè de altar sacrosanto
O al piè de pardo castillo.

Como una ofrenda olvidada
En templo que se arruinò
Y en la piedra cincelada
Que en su caida encontrò
La mece el viento colgada.

Con su retrato en la mente,
Con su nombre en el oido,
Vengo à prosternar mi frente
Ante el Dios omnipotente
En la mansion del olvido.

Mi crimen acaso ven
Con turbios ojos inciertos,
Y me abominan los muertos,
Alzando la hedionda sien
De los sepulcros abiertos.

Cuando estas tumbas visito,
No es la nada en que naci,
No es un Dios lo que medito,
Es un nombre que està escrito
Con fuego dentro de mi.

Perdon! no escuches Dios mio
Mi terrenal pensamiento!
Deja que se pierda impio
Como el murmullo de un rio,
Entre los pliegues del viento.

THE END.

PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR,
RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.

End of Project Gutenberg's Modern Poets and Poetry of Spain, by James Kennedy