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Y otro dia de mañana
Con cien Moros pelear,
Si à todos no los venciesse,
Mandassedesme matar.

Las palabras que prosigue
Eran para enamorar;
Conde Claros, Conde Claros,
El Señor de Montalvan,
Como haveis hermoso cuerpo
Para con Moros lidiar!
Respondiera el Conde Claros,
Tal respuesta la fue à dàr.
Mejor lo tengo, Señora,
Para con damas holgar.
Si yo os tuviesse Señora
Esta noche à mi mandar,

Calledes, Conde, calledes
Y no os querais alabar,
Que el que quiere servir damas,
Assi lo [qu. no] debe hablar.

Y al entrar en las battallas
Bien se suele escusar;
Sino lo creis Señora,
Por las obras se verà.

He then swears, as Doña Urraca did to the Moorish king who lost Valencia, that he has been for seven years desperately in love with her, with other the like approved fleurettes. She tells him he is a gay deceiver, and so forth; but the result is, that the Emperor, who is not quite as much pleased with Count Claros and his way of making love, as the princess had been, has him arrested, put in irons, and seated upon a mule; and not satisfied with thus disgracing him, though the Paladins all intercede for him, orders him to be sentenced to death by a jury of his peers—which is accordingly done. In this extremity, the Archbishop obtains leave to visit the unfortunate youth in prison, for the

purpose of administering to him the usual ghostly consolations. The first words which he addresses to the Count are very characteristic of the times and manners.

These words were most pathetic, says the book—they are as follows: Pesame de vos el Conde,

I feel as deeply for you, Count,
Quanto me puede pesar,

As it is possible I should feel,
Que yerros por amores

For the sins of lovers
Dignos son de perdonar.*

Deserve to be pardoned. He repeats this wise saw again soon after, and tells him he ought to meet death very cheerfully, considering in how good a cause he is to suffer. His Page is so much of the same way of thinking, that he tells the Count he would rather change places with him than with the crabbed, old Emperor, who has condemned him to this honourable martyrdom. The Count, however,

Count Claros had probably heard the same thing from his own father, if we may believe what Messer Lodovico says on the authority of the “good Turpin."

Pensò Rinaldo alquanto e poi rispose :
Una donzella dunque de' morire,
Perchè lasciò sfogar nell' amorose
Sue braccia al suo amator tanto desire ?
Sià maladetto che tal legge pose,
E maladetto che la puo patire.
Debitamente muore una crudele,
Non chi da vita al su 'amator fedele.

[ Orlando Fur. Cant. iv. 63.


calls upon his young friend for a much lighter service than to act as his substitute on the scaffold-be only sends by him a request to his mistress to place herself so that his last looks may be turned upon her, assuring her that her presence would disarm death of its terrors and its sting. The Infanta, as she is called in the ballad, is in despair, and her sorrow is extremely well-painted. She rushes forth with the eloquent abandon of a woman made desperate by a conflict of high passions, and at length prevails upon her stern father to spare the Count's life on condition of his marrying her, and atoning for the lover's indiscretion by the virtues and fidelity of the husband.

Charlemagne is represented in a still more trying situation in by far the longest, and, perhaps, the most celebrated of these ballads, we mean that of the Marquis of Mantua. He is there made to act the part of the elder Brutus, and to pass sentence upon his own son, Carloto. This is the story which takes possession of the knight's imagination, after he had undergone that unmerciful drubbing from the mule-driver, mentioned in the fourth chapter of Don Quixote. At the beginning of the next chapter, we see him sprawling upon the ground, from which he was utterly incapable of rising, so dreadfully belaboured, bad he been by that rascally churl. In this uncomfortable situation, he bethinks him, as usual, of his books, and “bis anger recalled to his memory the story of Valdovinos and the Marquis of Mantua, when Carloto left him wounded in the mountain-a story known by children, not forgotten by youth, celebrated and even believed by the old, and for all that, as apocryphal as the miracles of Mahomet."

The outline of this interesting tale is as follows:- The Marquis of Mantua-Danes Urgèl el Léal—is engaged in a stag chase, when a violent thunder storm arising, bis company is scattered, and he finds himself alone in the midst of the forest. At a loss whither to direct his course, he gives the rein to his gallant steed, who presses forward with such incredible expedition, that Danes Urgèl is presently at the distance of more than ten leagues. Here he enters a wood of pines, and thence descending into a valley—his attention is suddenly arrested by a fearful cry of distress. Dismounting from his steed, he advances on foot a few steps, and sees the carcase of a war-horse, caparisoned as for battle, and horribly maimed in almost every part of his body. A little further onward, he hears a voice uttering a devout and doleful prayer to the Virgin. His curiosity is now worked up to a painful pitch of excitement-he makes an opening by cutting down the thick bushes and foliage, and sees the ground all stained with gore-immediately after, he espies a

knight scated under an oak, cased in armour from head to foot, but without any offensive weapon. The Marquis pauses, and listens in breathless silence. The first words uttered by the wounded cavalier, are those quoted in the chapter of Don Quixote just referred to. It is, therefore, impossible to repeat them with any gravity, much less in that deeply pathetic tone with which they were, no doubt, uttered by a dying lover.

Donde estas, Señora mia

· Alas! where are you, lady dear Que no te pena mi mal ?

That for my pains you do not moan? O no lo sabes, Señora,

Thou little know'st what ails me here. O eres falsa è desleal.

Or art to me disloyal grown.'

Oxell. This address, to his lady fair, becomes gradually more affectionate and confiding as it proceeds, and is followed by an apostrophe to all and singular the Twelve Peers, whom he reproaches, for not knowing that he stands in need of their assistance—to the Emperor in whose justice he relies, even when it is invoked against his own son-to God, whose mercy he supplicates-to his assassin Don Carloto-to his own mother, and last of all, to the Marquis of Mantua himself. The Marquis now approaches him, and without disclosing who he is, inquires into the story of his calamity. Baldwin (for it was he) states that he is the son of the King of Dacia, one of the Doseperes that the Marquis of Mantua is his uncle—and that he was married to the beautiful “Infanta Sevilla or Sybilla," whose fatal charms had been the source of all his woe. For the Prince Don Carloto, being desperately enamoured of her, and having hitherto failed in his attempts upon her virtue, had determined to make away with her unfortunate husband, for the purpose of succeeding him in that relation to Sevilla. That, with this design, he had upon some fair pretext, decoyed bis victim into the forest, where the unhappy young man was set upon by three assassins, and left in his present deplorable situation. He beseeches the stranger Knight to bear these tidings to his friends. Here the feelings of the Marquis of Mantua become uncontrollable—and he gives vent to them in a truly pathetic manner; for, after losing all his own children, he had adopted this young man as his heir, and centered his affections in him. But he was now a desolate old man, and would not be comforted. This scene is interrupted by the arrival of Baldwin's squire, bringing with him a Hermit, who dwelt hard by in the forest. The holy recluse was a priest, and he was come to shrive the dying cavalier. After this melancholy office is performed, and Baldwin has breathed his last, the Marquis asks what wood that was and who was its lord.

Tal respuesta le fue à dàr:
Haveis de saber señor,
Que esta tierra es sin poblar;
Otro tiempo fue poblada,
Despoblòse por gran mal,
Por batallas muy

Que buvo en la Christiandad.
A esta llaman la floresta,
Sin ventura, y de pesar;
Porque nunca Caballero
En ellà aconteció entrar,
Que saliesse sin gran daño,
O desastre desigual.
Esta tierra es del Marquès
De Mantua, la gran Ciudad ;
Hasta Mantua son cien millas,
Sin poblacion, ni lugar:
Sino solo una Hermita,
Que à seis leguas de aqui està;
Donde yo estoy retraido,
Por el mundo me apartar.

• Thus the ancient Hermit answer'd,

You shall soon hear what he said, “Know, my Lord, from this wild country

“All the people long have fled. Once a region fair and fertile,

« Till a sad mischance befel; “Fatal wars throughout prevailing,

“Their disastrous horrors tell. “Of distress and lamentation

“ Is this gloomy forest call'd; “Never Knight its bounds hath enter'd

“But some dire mishap enthrall’d. To fair Mantua's noble Marquis

“Does this country appertain;
• 'Tis a hundred miles to Mantua,

" Yet between no souls remain,
“Six leagues hence, amidst the forest,

“Stands a lonely Hermit's cell ; “In it, from the world secluded, “There in gentle peace I dwell."

Vol. ii. pp. 100-103.

The Marquis now questions the squire, who gives him a detailed acconnt of the treachery of Carloto. He then binds bimself by the vow so pleasantly ridiculed by Cervantes in that pasage (c. xii. b. 2) where the knight, after his combat with the Biscayan, finding his helmet quite demolished, laying his hand upon his sword, and lifting up his eyes to heaven, pronounces the following oath, “ I swear by the creator of all things, and by all that is written in the four Evangelists, to lead the life which the Marquis of Mantua led when he made a vow to revenge the death of Baldwin; not to eat food upon a table cloth, norwith many other things which though I do not remember I here consider as expressed,* until I have taken vengeance upon him who has done me this injury.

* This vow being quite a curiosity, we publish it here for the readers of Spanish. Puso la mano en el ara,

De no comer en manteles, Que estaba sobre el altar,

Ni à la mesa me assentar. A los pies de un crucifixo

Hasta que muera Carloto, Jurando comenzò à hablar.

Por justicia, ò pelear, Juro por Dios poderoso,

O morir en la demanda, Y à Santa Maria su Madre,

Manteniendo la verdad. Y al Santo Sacramento,

Y si justicia me niegan, Que aqui suelen celebrar.

Sobre esta gran maldad, De nunca peynar mis canas,

De con mi estado, y persona Ni de mis barbas cortar,

Contra Francia guerrear, De no vestir otras ropas,

Y manteniendo la guerra, Ni renovar el calzar.

Vencer, ò en ella acabar. De nunca entrar en poblado,

Y por este juramento Ni las armas me quitar,

Prometo de no enterrar, Sino fuera solo una hora

El cuerpo de Baldovinos, Para mi cuerpo limpiar.

Hasta su merte vengar.

The second part of the Ballad is an account of the embassy sent by the Marquis to the Emperor to demand that the murderer of his nephew should be brought to justice. His delegates were the count of Irlos and the Duke of Sanson, men of the highest rank, and “ of the twelve who ate together at the Round Table.” They have an audience-open their business, and enforce the demand of their principal, by the most persuasive topics. The Emperor, as may naturally be supposed, was in very great tribulation, but he comes to the determination to see justice done, "as it was ever wont to be in France, without distinction of persons."

Assi al pobre, como al rico,
Assi al chico, como al grande
Y tambien al extrangero,

Como al proprio natural. He only begs to be excused from personally assisting at the trial, but appoints commissioners, with plenary powers, to conduct it, whether it be by witnesses or by wager of battle. A safe conduct is granted to the Marquis, who comes attended by a brilliant and formidable retinue, and encamps (according to his vow) without the walls of the city.

The third part contains the judgment of the court, which is drawn up with all the pedantic formality of the bar. The sentence passed upon the young Prince was less proportionate to his rank than to his base treachery. He is ordered to be dragged on the ground by a wild colt, and beheaded and quartered like a common felon. In great consternation at this harsh and ignominious doom, Carloto writes to his cousin Orlando, who determines to come to his rescue, but his intention being discovered, is prevented by an anticipated execution of the sentence. The fourth part describes the Exequies of Baldwin. It is much shorter than the other three parts, but is excellent in

The last stanza reminded us of the famous line in the dirge of Sir John Moore—“We left him alone with his glory." Lo meten en el sepulchro;

And then they lay him in the tomb Como usarse solea;

As all the dead must lieQuedando el cuerpo con fama Fame dwells there with his cold remains, Con glorià el alma subia.

His spirit has soar'd on high. We are so much beyond the limits which we had assigned to this article, that we must defer to a future opportunity, many of the remarks we purposed making in relation to the fortunes and the influence of the Moorish kingdom of Granada. This is the last of the three periods to which, as we remarked just now, VOL. V.NO. 9,


its way,

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