| 1. Chorittua, nurat hua Bi hegalez airian? Españalat juaiteko Elhürra dük borthian: Juanen gütük alkharreki Hura hurtü denian. 2. San-Josefan ermita Desertian gora da; Españalat juaitian. Han da ene phausada; Guibelilat so’ gin eta Hasperena ardüra! 3. Hasperena, habilua Maitenaren borthala: Habil, eta erran izok Nik igorten haidala; Bihotzian sar hakio Hura eni bezala. | 1. Little bird, where goest thou On thy two wings in the air? To Spain to go, The snow is on the passes: We will go together When the snow is melted. 2. The Hermitage of Saint Joseph Is high in the desert In going to Spain. There is my resting-place, There have I looked behind, and The sigh is frequent. 3. Sigh, go To the door of my beloved. Go, and tell her It is I who send you: Enter into her heart, As she (is) in mine.[21] |
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—
| Mortu, oihan illuna Deusere ez da neretzat. | Deserts and forests dark They are then nought to me. |
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.[22]
| 1. —Argi askorrian jinik ene arresekila, Bethi beha entzün nahiz numbaitik zure botza; Ardiak nun ützi tüzü? Zerentako errada Nigarrez ikhusten deizüt zure begi ederra? 2. —Ene aitaren ichilik jin nüzü zure gana, Bihotza erdiratürik, zihauri erraitera, Khambiatü deitadala ardien alhagia, Sekülakoz defendatü zureki minzatzia. 3. —Gor niza, ala entzün düt? erran deitadazia? Sekülakoz jin zaiztala adio erraitera? Etziradia orhitzen gük hitz eman dügüla Lürrian bizi gireno alkharren maithtzia? 4. —Atzo nurbait izan düzü ene ait’ ametara, Gük alkhar maite dügüla haien abertitzera; Hürüntaaztez alkhar ganik fite ditin lehia Eta eztitian jünta kasta Agotarekila. 5. —Agotak badiadila badizüt entzütia; Zük erraiten deitadazüt ni ere banizala: Egündano ükhen banü demendren leiñhüria Enündüzün ausartüren begila so’ gitera. 6. —Jentetan den ederrena ümen düzü Agota: Bilho holli, larrü churi eta begi ñabarra. Nik ikhusi artzaiñetan zü zira ederrena: Eder izateko aments Agot izan behar da? 7. —So’ izü nuntik ezagützen dien zuiñ den Agota: Lehen sua egiten zaio hari beharriala; Bata handiago dizü, eta aldiz bestia Biribil et’ orotarik bilhoz üngüratia. 8. —Hori hala balimbada haietarik etzira, Ezi zure beharriak alkhar üdüri dira. Agot denak chipiago badü beharri bata, Aitari erranen diot biak bardin tuzüla. 9. —Agot denak bürüa aphal, eta dizü begia Lürrean bethi sarturik gaizki egüinak bezala. Izan banintz ni aberatz zü zira din bezala, Aitak etzeyzün erranen ni Agobat nizala. | 1. Since daybreak arrived here with my flock, Always listening, wishing to hear somewhere thy voice. Where have you left the sheep? Whence is it I see your beautiful eye full of tears? 2. Unknown to my father I have come towards you, Heart-broken, to tell you yourself That he has changed for me the sheep-pasture, Forbidden me for ever speaking with you. 3. Am I deaf, or have I heard it? Did you say it? That you are come to bid farewell for ever? Do you not remember that we have given our word To love each other as long as we live upon the earth? 4. Yesterday some one came to my father and mother To warn them that we loved each other; That they should hasten at once to separate us from each other, And that they should not ally themselves with the Agots’ caste. 5. That there are Agots I have heard tell; You tell me, too, that I am of them! If I had ever had only the shadow of them, I had not had the boldness to lift my eyes to you. 6. Of all men, they say, the Agot is the handsomest; Fair hair, white skin, and blue eye. Of the shepherds I have seen you are the handsomest: In order to be handsome, must one be an Agot? 7. It is by this one recognises who is an Agot— One gives the first glance at his ear; He has one too large, and, as for the other, It is round and covered all over with hair.[23] 8. If that is so, you are not of those folk; For your ears resemble each other perfectly. If he who is Agot has one of his ears smaller, I will tell my father you have the two alike. 9. The Agot walks with his head low, and his eye Is fixed on the earth like a criminal. If I had been rich, like you, Your father would not have said that I was Agot. |
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,”[24] 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:—
| Dote Galdia.[25] 1. Aitac eman daut dotia, Neuria, neuria, neuria; Urdeño bat bere cherriekin, Oilo corroca bere chituekin, Tipula corda hayekin. 2. Oxuac jan daut urdia, Neuria, neuria, neuria; Acheriac oilo coroca, Garratoinac tipula corda; Adios ene dotia. | The Lost Dowry. 1. My father has given me my dowry, Mine, mine, mine; A sow with pigs ten, Her chicks with the hen, And of onions a rope to stow by. 2. But the wolf has devoured my sow, Mine, mine, mine; My chickens are killed by the cats, My onions are gnawn by the rats; Good-bye to my dowry now. |
More literally:—
1.
My father has given me the dowry,