[This is the first and shorter of two articles (the second of the same title is found Essays in the Study of Folk-Songs, 1886 and has an extended section II. The Theft of the Shroud which has nothing to do with Lord Ronald) by Carrington. This article/essay was quoted by Barry in BBM, 1929.
R. Matteson 2014.]
The Antiquary: VOL. III January-June - 1881 Page 155 [not proofed]
Lord Ronald in Italy
by
Evelyn Carrington.
O this day you may count upon finding a blind ballad-singer in every Italian city. It is not, perhaps, a great exaggeration to say that, had there been no blind folks in the world, there would have been few ballads. Who knows, indeed, but that Homer (in whose existence we are old-fashioned enough to believe) would not have earned his bread by breadmaking instead of by enchanting the children and wise men of all after-ages, had he not been "one who followed a guide." Every one remembers how it was the singing of a "blinde crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style," that moved the heroic heart of Sidney more than the blare of trumpets. Every one may not know that in the east of Europe and in Armenia, "blinde crowders" still wander from village to village, carrying, wheresoever they go, the songs of a former day and the news of the latest hour: acting, after a fashion, as professors of history and "special correspondents," and keeping alive the sentiment of nationality under circumstances in which, except for their agency, it must almost without a doubt have expired.
But just now our business is not with them. We have to present to the readers of The Antiquary a certain Camillo, detto il Bianchino, cieco fiorentino, who sang ballads at Verona in the year 1629, and who had printed for the greater diffusion of his fame a sort of rhymed advertisement containing the first few lines of some twenty songs that belonged to his repertory. Last but one of these samples stands the following :—
Dov' andastu jersera,
Figlioul mio ricco, savio e gentil;
Dov' andastu jersera?
"When I come to look at it," adds Camillo, "this is too long; it ought to have been the first to be sung"—alluding, of course, to the song, not to the sample.
Later in the same century, the ballad mentioned above had the honour of being cited before a more polite audience than that which was probably in the habit of listening to- the blind Florentine. On the 24th of September, 1656, Canon Lorenzo Panciatichi reminded his fellow-academicians of the Crusca of what he called "a fine observation" that had been made regarding the song:—
Dov1 andastu a cena figlioul mio
Ricco, savio, e gentile?
The observation (continued the Canon)
turned on the answer the son makes to the
mother when she asks him what his sweet-
heart gave him for supper. "She gave me,"
says the son, "un' anguilla arrosto cotta nel
pentolin delP olio." The idea of a roasted
eel cooked in an oil pipkin offended the
academical sense of the fitness of things; it
had therefore been proposed to say instead
that the eel was hashed :—
Madonna Mad re,
II cuore sta male,
Per un anguilla in guazzetto.
Had we nothing to guide us beyond these fragments, there could be no question but
that in this Italian ballad we might safely recognize one of the most spirited pieces in the whole range of our own popular literature—the song of Lord Ronald, otherwise Rowlande, or Randal, or " Billy, my son" :—
"O where hae ye heen, Lord Ronald, my son? O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?" "I hae been to the wood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down."
"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?" "I dined wi' my love ; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down."
"What gat ye to dinner, Lord Ronald, my son? What gat ye to dinner, my handsome young man?" "I gat eels boil'd in broo ; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down."
"And where are your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my
son? And where are your bloodhounds, my handsome
young man?" '' O they swell'd and they died ; mother, make my bed
soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down."
"O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Ronald, my son!" O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!" "O yes, I am poison'd ! mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain would lie down."
This version, which we quote from Mr. Allingham's Ballad Booh (Macmillan & Co., 1864), ends here; so does that given by Sir Walter Scott in the Border Minstrelsy. There is, however, another version which goes on:—
"What will ye leave to your father, Lord Ronald, my
son? What will ye leave to your father, my handsome
young man?" "Baith my houses and land ; mither, mak' my bed
sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun."
"What will ye leave to your brither, Ix>rd Ronald,
my son? What will ye leave to your brither, my handsome
young man?" "My horse and my saddle ; mither, mak' my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down."
"What will ye leave to your sister, Lord Ronald, my
son? What will ye leave to your sister, my handsome young
man? "Baith my gold box and rings ; mither, mak' my bed
sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun." "What will ye leave to your true love, Lord Ronald,
ray son? What will ye leave to your true love, my handsome
young man?" "The tow and the halter, for to hang on yon tree, And let her hang there for the poisoning o' me."
I^ord Ronald has already been met with, though somewhat disguised, both in Germany and in Sweden, but his appearance two hundred and fifty years ago at Verona has a peculiar interest attached to it. That we share many of our ballads with the Northern nations is a fact familiar to all; but, unless we are mistaken, this is almost the first time of discovering a purely popular British ballad in an Italian dress.
It so happens that to the fragments quoted by Camillo and the Canon can be added the complete story as sung at the present date in Tuscany, Venetia, and Lombardy. Professor d'Ancona has taken pains to collate the slightly different texts, because few Italian folk-songs now extant can be traced even as far back as the seventeenth century. The learned Professor, whose great antiquarian services are well known, does not seem to be aware that the song has currency out of Italy. The best version is one set down from word of mouth in the district of Como, and of this we subjoin a literal rendering:—
"Where were you yester eve?
My son, beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
Where were you yester eve?'
"I with my love abode;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
I with my love abode;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What supper gave she you?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
What supper gave she you ?*
"I supped on roasted eel;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
I supped on roasted eel;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"And did you eat it all?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
And did you eat it all?"
"Only the half I eat;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
Only the half I eat;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"Where went the other half?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
Where went the other half?'
"I gave it to the dog;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
I gave it to the dog;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What did you with the dog? My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred, What did you with the dog?" "It died upon the way; O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
It died upon the way;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"Poisoned it must have been! My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred, Poisoned it must have been!" "Quick for the doctor send; O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
Quick for the doctor send;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"Wherefore the doctor call? My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred, Wherefore the doctor call?' "That he may visit me; O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
That he may visit me;
Alas, alas, that 1 should have to die."
"Quick for the parson send;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
Quick for the parson send;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"Wherefore the parson call? My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred, Wherefore the parson call ?*' "So that I may confess; O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
So that I may confess;
Alas, alas, that 1 should have to die."
"Send for the notary;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
Send for the notary;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"Why call the notary? My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred, Why call the notary?'' "To make my testament; O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
To make my testament;
Alas, alas, that 1 should have to die."
"What to your mother leave? My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred, What to your mother leave?' "To her my palace goes; O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
To her my palace goes;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What to your brothers leave? My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred, What to your brothers leave?" "To them the coach and team; O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
To them the coach and team; Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What to your sisters leave?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
What to your sisters leave?"
'' A dower to marry them;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
A dower to marry them;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What to your servants leave?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
What to your servants leave?"
"The road to go to mass;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
The road to go to mass;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What leave you to your tomb?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
What leave you to your tomb?'
"Masses seven score nnd ten;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
Masses seven score and ten;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
"What leave you to your love?
My son beloved, blooming, and gentle bred,
What leave you to your love?"
"The tree to hang her on;
O lady mother, my heart is very sick:
The tree to hang her on;
Alas, alas, that I should have to die."
At first sight it would seem that the supreme dramatic element of the English song—the circumstance that the mother does not know, but only suspects, with increasing conviction, the presence of foul play—is weakened in the Lombard ballad by the refrain "Alas, alas, that I should have to die." But a little more reflection will show that this is essentially of the nature of an aside. In many instances the office of the burden in old ballads resembles that of the chorus in a Greek play: it is designed to suggest to the audience a clue to the events enacting which is not possessed by the drama/is persona—at least not by all of them.
In the Northern songs Lord Ronald is a murdered child: a character in which he likewise figures in the Scotch lay of " The Croodlin Doo." It is not easy to decide which was the first version of the story. If ever the hero be found foreshadowed upon the heights of the Hindu Kush, it is most likely that the love-tale will turn out to be an after-thought. Meanwhile, it is plain that there is an absolute identitybetween the English and the Italian songs. It is not a case of a mere similarity of general ideas: mother, son, sweetheart, dog, and eel, appear as much in the one as in the other. The
versification of the Lombard ballad has a slightly exotic air with it; still, it is more likely, on the whole, that Lord Ronald came from Italy to England, than that he went from England to Italy. How he got into Italy is a question which for the present we will not attempt to solve.
Evelyn Carrington.