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sion of light in light! We swim through it all, between ocean and ocean,
on our rustling gold galley!

JVann. — Then, of course, you will no longer need my little vessel!
Throw back the shutters, Jonathan!

(Jonathan, ivho has looked in, opens the house door and the first faint
gleam of morning comes m through the hall )

Hellriegel. — Pippa!


fFann. — Here she is, take each other's hands! {He goes up to Michaely
iL'ho is standing with the expression of a blind seer on his face, and makes
motions as if Pippa stood near him and as if he laid Michael' s hand in hers.)
There! I marr\' you! I marry you to this shadow! He who is married
to shadows marries you to this one!

Hellriegel. — Not bad, Pippa, you are a shadow!

Wann. — Go forth, go out with her into the wide world — to your
water-palace, I meant to say! And here you have the key to it! That
monster can no longer prevent your entering! And outside a sleigh with
two curved horns stands ready —

Hellriegel [ivith great tears on his cheeks). — And there I shall make
water into balls!

Wann. — You are doing it now with your eyes! Now go! Don't
forget your ocarina!

Hellriegel. — O no! I shall not forget my sweet, beloved little wife!

fVann. — For it may yet be possible, that sometime you will have to
plav and sing here and there before people's doors. But don't lose your
courage because of that. For in the first place, you have the little key to
the palace, and when it grows dark, you have this torch which Pippa may
carry on before you; and then you \\'\\\ surely and certainly come to the
place where joy and peace await you. Only sing and play bravely and do
not despair.

Hellriegel. — Hurrah! I sing the song of the blind!

JVann. — What do you mean by that ?

Hellriegel. — I sing the song of the blind people who do not see the
ereat o-olden stairs!

fVann. — So much the higher will you mount the scala d'oro, the scala
dei Giganti!

Hellriegel. — And I sing the song of the deaf!

JVann. — Those who do not hear the stream of the universe flowing!

Hellriegel. — Yes !

Wann. — Be sure you do it! But, Michael, when they are not touched
and when they threaten you with hard words or with stone-throwing, which
is pretty sure to happen, then tell them how rich you are — a prince on
a journey with his princess! Talk to them of your water-palace and beg
them for God's sake to direct you to the next milestone on your road!

Hellriegel {chuckling). — And Pippa shall dance!

Wann. — And Pippa dances!

(It has now become broad daylight. Wann puts a cane into the hand
of the blind and helpless Michael^ puts his hat on and leads him to the outside


door, feeling his way, hut chuckling softly and happily. Now Michael puts
the ocarina to his mouth and plays a heart-hreakingly sad melody. In the
hall, Jonathan takes charge of the blind man and fVann comes back. He
listens to the ocarina, as the melody dies away farther and farther into the
distance, takes the little gondola from the table, looks at it and says with
pained renunciation in his tones). —

Sail away, sail away, little gondoletta!


By Isabel Moore


SINCE the time of Robert Southey almost no attention has been
paid to the hterature of Portugal. Yet Portugal, the 'medulla
Hispanica' (marrow of Spain, as it has been called) has not
only a vast but an exceedingly beautiful literature, entirely
distinctive from the Spanish of which it is so often and erro-
neously considered a part. Like the country itself, the liter-
ature has been peculiarly insecure and yet peculiarly lasting.

Long, long ago — when the Spanish Peninsular was in the making —
a certain Alfonso, ruler of Leon, conquered his brothers, Garcia of Galicia
and Coimbra, and Sancho of Castile, and was himself crowned king of
Castile, Leon, Galicia and Coimbra. His father was Don Fernando who
conferred the honor of knighthood, in the great Mosque of Coimbra, upon
Rodrigo Diaz de Bivar, the redoutable Cid, Champion of Christendom
and hero of Spanish Mediaeval history. And Alfonso — after he had
adjusted his domestic supremacy to his liking — had proceeded to the
conflict against his religious and territorial foes, the Moors, who, since the
defeat of Roderick the Goth in the Battle of the Guadelette, had ravaged
the Peninsular. He was successful to the extent of winning Santarem and
Lisbon from the Lusitanian Moors, but was finally in such straits and met
with such crushing reverses that he called upon other Christian princes to
help him. Among those to respond, was Count Henry of Burgundy, to
whom Alfonso gave the countries of Oporto and Coimbra in 1095 as a reward
for his services and assistance. And with this grant of lands began the
Kingdom of Portugal.

Alfonso Henriques, the first King of Portugal, was the son of this
French Prince; and the establishment of a Burgundian dynasty introduced
French words into the Coimbrian dialect, such as never found their way
into the Galician: — although, in the main, the dialects remained for a long
time practically the same. It was only in Coimbra, however, after it became
an integral part of Portugal, that there was a Court; and, therefore, it was
in Coimbra that the common dialect acquired a separate and distinctive
literature: taking precedence and wielding together the different elements
that went to the forming of the Portuguese national language.



Though, until the existence of Portugal as a nation, we cannot consider
her Hterature as separated from the CastiUan, there is every probability
that songs were sung in the Portuguese dialect long before they were in the
Castilian. The oldest Portuguese poetry of which we have authentic
record, however, are three curious fragments given by Manuel de Faria,
by Sousa in his Europe Portuguesa, written by Gonzalo Hermiguez and
Egaz Moniz Coelho; two poets who are said to have lived during the reign
of Alfonso Henriques, although some authorities maintain they came a little
later. Ticknor, however, is confident that their verse can not be placed
later than 1200, and says: 'Both show that the Galician in Portugal, under
less favorable circumstances than those which accompanied the Castilian
in Spain, rose at the same period to be a wTitten language and possessed,
perhaps quite as early, the materials for forming an independent literature.'
Alfonso Henriques, himself, was a poet as well as an able ruler, though
none of his verse has survived for our estimation; and Spain and Portugal
have in common the still extant fragment of a poem said to have been found
in 1 187, in a condition so injured by time that little more than thirty lines
were legible, ascribed to Roderick the Last of the Goths: — coeval, then,
with the Arab conquest of the Peninsular in the beginning of the eighth

It is a cause for wonder that Arabian poetry left no more trace than it
seems to have done on Spanish versification, and no trace at all — that is
descernible in our day, at least — on the Portuguese. Probably it enriched
the Peninsular dialects somewhat but, apparently, not much. It has been
claimed that the Spanish ballads are imitations of the Arabian; and, of
course, as it was inevitable that there should be, there were many Spanish
border ballads concerned with Moorish-Spanish international episodes and
incidents. But this was more particularly the case after the Fall of Grenada,
when cause for rejoicing over a vanquished foe most naturally found
expression. That there was little interchange of imitation is readily proved
by the internal simplicity of each. The Spanish ballads, particularly, are
so simple in form and so direct in feeling that they could hardly be anything
but the almost personal result of a popular need. Furthermore, it is easy
to believe that a chivalrous and energetic people would naturally evolve
their own ballad expression as they would their own architectural or political
expression; and the evidence to corroborate this natural belief is the fact
that not one single Arabic original has been found in the great mass of
Spanish ballads. Although Arabian poetry is almost entirely lyrical —
and the lyrical appeal was peculiarly poignant to the early Spanish, and
is to the Portuguese of all time — each nation held to a most ardent appre-


elation of the beauty of its own speech. This was, doubtless, a most
desirable state of affairs, ccMitnbutmii to the consolidation of what may be
called national individualism in the poetry of Spain and Portugal; yet we
cannot but regret to a degree that such a delightful possession of the Arabs,
for example, as the 'trembling meter' — iambics, rhyming in the same
syllable throughout: a measure which, according to the Arabs, resembles
the trot of a camel — found no place in either Spanish or Portuguese verse.
'The beautiful poetry with which Allah has adorned the Muslim' is a thing
apart; requiring independent appreciation and consideration.

The twelfth century has been likened unto a dusky dawn in which
could be heard a few twittering birds that have awakened before their mates.
There had come into existence what has been called 'a state of European
consciousness.' All civilized Europe awoke, and every creature proceeded
to produce after his kind. The Troubadour movement was the first
symmetrical expression in Art of Chivalry — that adventurous service of God
and woman — as the Crusades were its first expression in action. Love of
external nature, elemental emotion, simple sentiment, were the well-springs
of their lyric utterance; bubbling up into being from long-hidden, tranquil
depths of feeling. And, as the Romance languages — composed of the
Latin and the Teutonic tongues — in the first place all sprang from popular
and not from classic Latin, so, likewise, in turn, the Troubadours found
their expression in the homely speech of the common people after the bar-
baric invasions had led to the complete destruction of the Latin culture.
' They rank, ' writes one modern critic, ' in the scale between music and usual
verse.' And, again: 'Their words are like musical notes, not so much signs
of thought as symbols of feeling, which almost defy an arbitrary interpre-
tation and must be rendered in part by the temperament of the performer.'

That was it: — the Troubadours were the temperamental element of
their age, whether of noble birth or of humble origin. St. Francis of Assisi
himself, the typical saint of the Middle Ages, was at heart a bit of a tempera-
mental tramp as he went from village to village with a number of friars,
singing the Canticle of the Sun. Most truly did William of Poitiers — the
reputed father of Provencal song — express the impulse of the day in his
verse beginning:

'Desire of song hath taken me!'

'Desire of song,' — yea, verily. And the 'desire' would not, could
not, be denied. It found its voice, first of all and for the longest period,
in fair Provence, that 'home of song,' where from 1 194-1209 the Court of
Raimon VI of Toulouse was thronged with poets. It flourished in France
from 1080 on. Alfonso II of Arragon, who died in Portugal while trying


to arrange a general league against the Moors, was the Troubadour-King
in whose reign Troubadour poetry reached its finest outburst in Arragon.
Alfonso X of Castile was a devoted patron of the Gaya Sciencia. His
Cantigas in honor of the Madonna — strange minglings with regard to the
All-Mother of the original Pagan and overlaid Christianity — we still have
to the number of four hundred and one. They are in the Galician dialect,
bearing somewhat the impress of the Provencal, and are the oldest extant
specimens of Galician verse as distinct from the Portuguese with, possibly,
the exception of the ballad called 'The Fight of the Figwood.'

It has been said that Portugal did not, strictly speaking, belong to the
Troubadour world, and it is true that the name and poem of only one
undoubtedly Portuguese Troubadour of the earliest period has survived —
Joao de Penda ( 1 145-1204). But, although the individual record is meager,
Portugal in reality became even more Provencal that Castile, lor in Castile
there soon sprang up a strong French influence. The Troubadours —
most of them — spent their lives visiting different Courts, and the Court of
Portugal was so pleasant and welcoming that they frequently lingered there
for a long time. Of these wandering minstrels who reached Portugal,
the French Marcabrun is the most famous of this early period. He visited
Portugal in 1147, while Alfonso Henriques was in the prime of his glory,
and is said to have been the first of the French Troubadours to cross the
Pyrenees. The similarity in the literary languages of Castile and Portugal
undoubtedly led to considerable intercourse between the two countries, and
it is on record that the later Portuguese Troubadours, Pero Gomez Barroso,
Payo Gomez Charrinho and Concalo Fames do Vidal, were received with
honors at the Castilian Court. Among the Galician poets who frequented
the Court of Portugal during the reign of Sancho I (1185-1211) were Alfonso
Gomez, Fernam Con^alves de Senabria and Joao Scares de Paiva; whose
famous Proven9al rivals were Peire Valeria, Gavandan o Velho and Peire
Vidal, — the Peire Vidal of whom it was said that 'he was the best singer
in^^the world and a good finder; and that he was the most foolish man in the
world because he thought everything tiresome except verse.' And it is
interesting evidence of the community of feeling in the Troubadour world
to remember that Bonifaci Calvo, a Troubadour of Genoa, lived at the
Castilian Court for a long period, and that two of his seventeen extant poems
are in the Portuguese language; and that another Italian, Sordel — Brown-
ing's Sordello - visited the Courts of the Peninsluar in 1260, meeting
everywhere with courteous welcome. In Portugal he gained an honor
accorded no other foreign troubadour: — a place in their song books.
* As much — no more — one lives as one enjoys,' he sang.


It is quite possible that the Portuguese preceded the CastiHans in epic
or heroic poetry as well as in lyric verse. An earlier Castilian Alfonso than
he of the Cantigas — Alfonso III — had fostered the Franco-Provencal
school in his kmgdom b^• bringing with hiin from France, Trouveres as well
as Troubadours. Among these was Alfonso Lopez de Bayan, who wrote
the first grsta in the Portuguese language, a gesta de Maldizer. But, although
such names as Rodriguez Lobo, Eloi de Sa Sotonayor and Pires de Rebello —
of a little later day — made this form of verse illustrious, the heroic romance
never became thoroughly naturalized in Portugal and chiefly found its way
through Spain. Narrative romance never seems to have been so esteemed
by the Portuguese as by their Castilian neighbors.

In 1208 came the Albigensian Crusade in which Folquet de Marseilla,
himself once a Troubadour but since become Abbott of La Thoronet,
assisted Simon de Montfort against Toulouse in the siege that resulted in
the decisive battle of 1213 in which the Midi were conquered. 'The stream
must fall into the sea,' as Mistral sang of this event. Tides of fugitives fled
beyond the Pyrenees. Echoes of the Troubadour world reverberated the
length of Castile and Galicia and Portugal. Spain — used in a generic
sense — was their refuge and their dream. The Court of Dom Sancho II
of Portugal, particularly, was filled with gay and young knights and trou-
badours who had been under the most direct Provencal influence.

But the times were rapidly changing: the old order giving place to
the new. Men's ideas were expanding and becoming big with other plans
that found expression in other forms. Dante, when he came, was a typical
troubadour spiritualized. /// Paradiso is the culmination of the troubadour
feeling, as in Boccacio culminated the art of the Trouveres. Yet, though
the troubadour spirit has now become itself a fugitive, there are even unto
this day survivals and even revivals, and will ever be, so long as lyric poetry
lives in human hearts: lyric poetry being the very quintessence of human
sympathy and love and hope and the joy of life and the worship of nature.
No matter that it only lingers in the secret places: that the form is changed:
that it is overshadowed by the big worldly things of men. It is with the
troubadour spirit, as found among the folk-tales and folk-songs of a people,
as it was with the little maid in the old Portuguese folk-tale, who sings:

* Prince of love,

I have come many leagues

To see thee, O my Lord!

My shoes are torn;

My staff is travel-worn;

Yet here I am come back to thee!'



The Kingdom of Portugal was, however, rather to one side of the track
of change and the old spirit Hngered there for some time after the reign of
Sancho II, although with the passing of the thirteenth century the poHtical
conditions changed entirely from a period of war and territorial expansion
to one of consolidation, preluding the Idade d'Ouro of heroic exploration
and Asiatic conquest. It was a certain poised period: a stopping to take
breath before a new and vigorous burst of enterprise: a lying fallow unto
the end of renewed life and activity.

During the fourteenth century there were hardly any writers of verse
in Portugal except members of the royal family; and of these, by far the
most illustrious was the earliest, Dom Dinez (1279-1325) 'Brave Dinez'as
Camoens called him. He was a lover of letters and a true poet, promoting
the literature of his country in much the same fashion as did his contempo-
rar)', Alfonso X, that of Castile. Not only did he found the great University
that afterwards moved from Lisbon to Coimbra, but he and his poetic
courtiers developed the Portuguese dialect into a beautiful and flexible
literary^ language. His own verse shows the influence of the Troubadours
rather than that of the Trouveres who had come into evidence at his father's
Court: but, as time went on, he more and more threw off^ the trammels of
the Provencal forms and, perceiving the beauty of his people's lyrics, wrote
some quaint and graceful ' Pastorellas' in which — as in almost all pastoral
poetr>' — the buccolic touch is easily conformable to the primitive religious
feeling of the people. The poems of Dom Dinez are to be found only in old
manuscripts. They are collected into Cancioneiros, two in number, the
first containing his Cantigas to the Virgin — another touch in common with
his Castilian contemporary — and the second his temporal works.

Besides Dom Dinez, of the royal poets, his son, Alfonzo IV, wrote verse
that has never been printed, and the sonnet in praise of Vasco de Lobeira
is said to have been written by him, although some authorities attribute it
to Pedro, the son of John the Great. This Lobeira deserves particular
mention because there is little doubt that he gave to the literary world the
first version of Amadis of Gaul, though the earliest version we now have is
the Spanish of Garci-Ordonez de Montalvo which was written about 1495.
There is proof that the story of Amadis existed as early as 1325 and, until
the end of the sixteenth centur)-, a manuscript copy of Lobeira's work was
in the possession of the Dukes of Aveiro at Lisbon. It was probably in
verse, bur this is nor known wirh cerrainry and it has been lost sight ot since
the middle of the eighteenth century. Rather curiously, the last of the line


of the A modi s romances, as well as the first, is attrihuted to a Portuguese and
was entitled ' Penalava.' It is supposed to have dealt with the last exploits
and death of Lisuarte, King of Greece; but, if it ever really existed, no copy
of it seems ever to have been seen.

The second series of great Spanish romances — that of the Pal-
merins — was for a long time supposed to have had a Portuguese origin.
This was an error, however, arising from a misunderstanding of a state-
ment on the part of its translator from the Spanish. But the Seventh,
Eighth and Ninth (the Ninth being the last) of the Palmerin sequence were
written by Portuguese; the Eighth and Ninth by Balth; Gon^alvez Lobato,
and the Seventh (which has never been translated into any other language)
by Diogo Fernandez.

It was King Alfonzo IV (1325-1357), son and successor of Dom Dinez,
whose forces, united with those of Alfonzo of Castile, won the great victory
over the Moors in the battle of the Salado that was the inspiration of the
first Portuguese epic by Alfonzo Giraldes, the forerunner of Camoens. The
year 1348 of his reign was marked by the Black Death; and the next to the
last of his reign by the tragedy of Inez de Castro, which has been the subject
of manv poems in many tongues.

The whole stor)- of Inez de Castro is one of fierce passions of love and
hate, of cruelty and of tenderness, and of a wild disloyalty that was superbly
loyal. She was a Castilian in the suite of Beatrice of Castile, wife of Alfonzo
IV, with whom their son, Dom Pedro, fell deeply in love. Inez became
the mistress of Pedro, living in a house of Coimbra, of which a few ruined
walls are all that now remain. Tradition says that Pedro visited her through
a conduit that ran from the Fonte dos Amores (Fountain of Love) that was
in the Oumta das Lagrimas (Garden of Tears). Constancia, the wife of
Pedro, died of grief; and, the affair coming to the knowledge of the King
Inez de Castro was murdered by his order.

Such is the briefest possible outline of the epiosde; and, it must be
admitted, that in outline it is in no way distinctive from the usual amours
of princes. But the sequel is what raises it above their level and places it,
humanly, among the great love tragedies of the world. No passing fancy
had it been on the part of Dom Pedro. His first act on ascending the throne,
two years later, was to punish the murderers of Inez. Alvero Gonsalves
and Pedro Coelho were slowly tortured to death before the eyes of Dom
Pedro in front of the royal palace of Coimbra; but the third, Pacheco,
succeeded in escaping to England. The marriage with Inez was then
pronounced vahd. Her body was disinterred; taken from the royal
monastery of Alcoba^a; and placed on a magnificent throne, elevated on


many steps, in front of the great altar of the Cathedral of Coimbra. Her
robes were regal; a veil concealed her visage; a crown was on her head;
her hands were gloved, one grasping a scepter. Pedro stood on the right
side of the throne, in complete armour and bare-headed. The heralds
proclaimed the titles of Inez and called upon all true subjects to do honor
to their Queen. The two young princes, her sons, advanced and, it is said,
at first shrank back; but sustained and encouraged by the monks knelt on the
steps and kissed the dead hand that was raised and extended to them by the
officiating Bishops. The clergy, Ministers of State, officers of the Palace,
ladies of the Court, hereditary' nobles of the land, followed. Not a word was
spoken, not a sound heard, until the trumpets proclaimed that the royal ordi-
nance was accomplished and the Queen Consort of Portugal acknowledged by
her subjects. Then, attended by ever^- symbol of sovereignty, the dead body
of Inez de Castro was conducted from Coimbra back to the Alcobaca
Monastery — fifty-two miles — the road all the way being lined with people
on both sides, who bore lighted torches. The funeral procession was led
by Dom Pedro and his sons; attended by all the great of the kingdom, the
gentlemen dressed in long mourning robes, the ladies in white mourning

Once again was Inez de Castro taken from her grave. The second
time was by the French soldiers, during the Peninsular War, who dragged
her body and Pedro's forth in the mercenary hope of discovering concealed
treasure. Pedro was a mere skeleton in royal robes; but Inez had been
so skillfully embalmed that, it has been recorded, 'her beautiful face was
entirely unchanged, and her magnificent hair of a light lustrous auburn,
which had been the marvel of the whole nation during her life, so enriched
in length and volume that it covered her whole figure even to her feet and
excited the wonder and admiration of the very spoilers who tore away the
rich jewels by which her death garments were clasped.'

This story has been an inspiration to many literatures; and
the best literary version — with the exception of Camoens' episode and,

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