[Translated poetry] The Maiden Who Went To War

A recurring theme in European folk tales is that of the woman who disguises herself, and for some time lives as a man. In a German tale collected by the Brothers Grimm, in many of the Old Rus’ tales, in French and Romanian tales, we see those heroines dress in male attire, take a male name — and do battle, or be a guardsman, a hunter, a squire.

This Portuguese ballad is one of those stories.

“Heralded are now the wars
‘Twixt France and Aragon;
Woe is me! that I am old,
In the wars I’ll be undone!
That seven daughters have I
But not a single male son!”

‘Tis here the youngest answers
She’s full of resolution:
“Let me have a horse and arms,
I will be the male son.”

“Thine eyes are passing bright,
Daughter mine, thou wilt be known.”

“When I ride before the ranks
I’ll look upon the ground.”

“Thy shoulders are too high
Daughter mine, thou wilt be known.”

“Let me have a heavy armour
The shoulders will lower down.”

“Thy breasts are too high,
Daughter mine, thou wilt be known.”

“Let me have a doublet tight,
The breasts will sink down.”

“Too tender are thy hands,
Daughter mine, thou wilt be known.”

“Let me have two iron gloves
They will look rough and strong.”

“Too smallish are thy feet,
Daughter mine, thou wilt be known.”

“I’ll wear then boots with spurs,
My feet will ne’er be shown.”

                        *

“Lord my father, lady mother,
My heart is pained and wan;
For the eyes of Count Daros
Are of woman, not of man!”

“Invite thou him, my son,
To go the orchard see,
For if he is a woman
An apple will pick he.”

The maiden, e’er discreet,
The leathercoat (*) took she.

“Fine leathercoats these are,
Their scent a man doth please!
Beauteous apples for the ladies,
Someone should bring them these!”

“Lord my father, lady mother,
My heart is pained and wan;
For the eyes of Count Daros
Are of woman, not of man!”

“Invite thou him, my son,
With thee to sit and dine;
For if he is a woman
On the dais he will recline.”

The maiden, e’er discreet,
On a chair she took her seat.

“Lord my father, lady mother,
My heart is pained and wan;
For the eyes of Count Daros
Are of woman, not of man!”

“Invite thou him, my son,
To go and see the fair;
For if he is a woman
At the ribbons he will stare.”

The maiden, e’er discreet,
A sword she took up there.

“What a fine sword this is,
‘Gainst men to fight with ease!
Pretty ribbons for the ladies,
Someone should bring them these!”

“Lord my father, lady mother,
My heart is pained and wan;
For the eyes of Count Daros
Are of woman, not of man!”

“Invite thou him my son
To go and swim with thee;
For if he is a woman
Th’invitation he will flee.”

The maiden, e’er discreet,
She followed him to the sea...

Halfway to the shore,
A page rides up the steep;
Letters the page doth bring,
Letters of sorrow deep:
The maiden takes the letters,
Reads them, begins to weep.

“Oh, news have come to me,
As sad as never had I,
That my mother, she is dead,
My father, about to die.
The bells at my village home
I hear them toll on high,
Two sisters that I have,
Far off I hear them cry.
Mount now, sir knight, and ride,
If you would be by my side.”

They come to a lofty keep,
And off the saddles they leap.

“Lord my father, a son I bring you,
If as son you would him take:
In war he was my captain,
Of marriage once he spake.
If now he would still marry,
With my father let him speak.
Seven years I rode in wars
And played the male son,
Nobody knew me ever
But my captain, he has known:
He knew me by my eyes,
And by my eyes alone.”

*

In translating this old Portuguese ballad, my goals were to keep the ballad rhythm, to keep the verses rhyming, and to maintain the original images as much as possible.

The original rhyming scheme is very simple — there are only two word endings used throughout the entire poem. I could not reproduce this in the translation, but I did find rhymes — though not always perfect — for every section of it. And I kept the ballad rhythm throughout. I also used archaic words and phrases whenever I could.

For the main character’s name, I used the version in Almeida Garret’s Cancioneiro, “Count Daros”, which I believe is easier for English-speaking people to pronounce than the name in the version I translated, “Dom Martinho”.

Still, I’m not fully satisfied with this translation, so if you have any suggestions as to how to improve it, please do let me know in the comments.

(*) And by the way, if you don’t know what a “leathercoat” is — as I didn’t — it’s a variety of apple that has a very rough skin. It’s also called “rusticoat”, “russet” and “russeting”. In Portuguese, it’s a “camoês”. My thanks to Professor Saulo Thimóteo for explaining what a leathercoat is in a footnote on his blog.

*

A Donzela que foi à Guerra

“Pregoadas são as guerras
Entre França e Aragão;
Ai de mim, que já sou velho,
As guerras me acabarão!
De sete filhas que tenho
Sem nenhuma ser varão!”
 
Responde ali a mais nova,
Com toda resolução:
 
“Venham armas e cavalo,
Que eu serei filho varão.”
 
“Tendes os olhos mui vivos,
Filha, conhecer-vos-ão.”
 
“Quando passar pela armada,
Porei os olhos no chão.”
 
“Tendes os ombros mui altos,
Filha, conhecer-vos-ão.”
 
“Venham armas bem pesadas,
Os ombros abaixarão.”
 
“Tendes os peitos mui altos,
Filha, conhecer-vos-ão.”
 
“Venha gibão apertado,
Os peitos abaterão.”
 
“Tendes as mãos delicadas,
Filha, conhecer-vos-ão.”
 
“Venham já luvas de ferro,
Grosseiras parecerão.”
 
“Tendes os pés pequeninos,
Filha, conhecer-vos-ão.”
 
“Calçarei botas de esporas,
Nunca delas sairão.”
 
“Senhor pai, senhora mãe,
Grande dor do coração;
Que os olhos de Dom Martinho
São de mulher, de homem não!”
 
“Convidai-o vós, meu filho,
Para ir convosco ao pomar,
Porque se ele fôr mulher
À maçã se há de pegar.”
 
A donzela, por discreta,
O camoês foi apanhar.
 
“Oh, que belos camoezes
Para um homem cheirar!
Lindas maçãs para as damas,
Quem lhas pudera levar!”
 
“Senhor pai, senhora mãe,
Grande dor do coração;
Que os olhos de Dom Martinho
São de mulher, de homem não!”
 
“Convidai-o vós, meu filho,
Para convosco jantar,
Porque se ele fôr mulher
No estrado se há de encruzar.”
 
“A donzela, por discreta,
Cadeira mandou chegar.”
 
“Senhor pai, senhora mãe,
Grande dor do coração;
Que os olhos de Dom Martinho
São de mulher, de homem não!”
 
“Convidai-o vós, meu filho,
Para convosco feirar;
Porque se ele fôr mulher
Às fitas se há de pegar.”
 
A donzela, por discreta,
Foi uma espada apreçar.
 
“Oh, que bela espada esta
Para com homens brigar!
Lindas fitas para as damas,
Quem lhas pudera levar!”
 
“Senhor pai, senhora mãe,
Grande dor do coração;
Que os olhos de Dom Martinho
São de mulher, de homem não!”
 
“Convidai-o vós, meu filho,
Para convosco nadar;
Porque se ele fôr mulher
O convite há de escusar.”
 
A donzela, por discreta,
Com ele se foi ao mar...
 
Lá no meio do caminho
Um pagenzinho a acenar.
Cartas traz o pagenzinho,
Cartas de grande pesar:
Toma as cartas a donzela,
Põe-se a ler, põe-se a chorar.
 
“Novas me chegam agora,
Novas de grande pesar,
De que minha mãe é morta,
Meu pai se está a finar.
Os sinos de minha terra
Daqui os ouço dobrar,
E duas irmãs que eu tenho
Daqui as ouço chorar.
Monte, monte, cavaleiro,
Se me quiser acompanhar.”
 
Já chegam a uns altos paços,
Foram-se logo apear.
 
“Senhor pai, trago-lhe um genro,
Se o quiser aceitar:
Foi meu capitão na guerra,
Falou-me de querer casar.
Se ainda o quer agora,
Com meu pai há de falar.
Sete anos andei na guerra
E fiz de filho varão,
Ninguém me conheceu nunca
Senão o meu capitão:
Conheceu-me pelos olhos,
Que por outra coisa não.”

Extraído da Thesouro da Juventude, vol. IX. Imagem: livescience.com