II : "Tambourgi! Tambourgi! thy larum afar"

Growing up, I used to go to all kinds of military trainings at school as part of the political, cultural or who knows whatever kind of programs. I didn't care the least bit about the ideals, or ever looked forward to the ever so boring disciplinary routines: we would go to a training center in a park-like "resort" in the suburbs of Shanghai, where we'd march down the bridge in uniforms, and practice how to use a rifle... as if that'd ever be practical knowledge in your life. Of course, there's always something to look forward to, and the campfire nights are certainly in that category. The entire class of, well, class of 2008 if I remember it correctly, would be called a battalion, and each class a platoon. I'm not an expert on military terminologies, but you get the picture. The entire battalion, as I was saying, would sit in the square, each platoon occupying their own designated area. In the center of the square there's a gorgeous campfire, and we'd just stare at it all night; and there were performances from each group; and at the peak of the night, we'd start to sing. First each group their own songs, one by one, and gradually it becomes a unison of chanting, of something we all know, a melody engraved in our hearts whether you like it or not. Those are mostly songs from war times, with lyrics that no longer make much sense today other than something metaphorical, but sometimes they still make waves of emotions surge up inside of you, and make your spirits high.

 

I remember moments like that in my childhood, and moments like that in motion pictures. One of them, when I say it you'll recognize, was when those people all starting singing La Marseillaise in Casablanca. It's an emotional moment that makes you shed tears even if you're not French. And then there's that moment when the dwarfs sang in unison in the Hobbit. Their voices are almost as low as the center of earth, which makes you feel as if the memories of your past lives are flashing back right in front of your eyes, and the images of your ancestors fighting in the battle fields, relieved all over again.

Then there's the Souliotes' war song Byron offered, a complete translation of what he heard on that peaceful night after a stormy sail. Those "barbarians" with dark skin and wild locks and nimble limbs, chanting and calling out to the gods and to each other: it's war, war, hatred to the enemies and love to the comrades. In the miniseries version of Byron, which I mentioned before in previous posts, there's a modern rendition of Tambourgi, re-imagined by the screenwriter and director in order to recreate that moment that Byron remembered so well, which eventually carried him back to the shore on which he heard that song. I sincerely believe that the moment when Byron first heard the strange war song he couldn't entirely understand, is when he first felt a sense of belonging, a sense of serenity after all those years out on the sea and faraway from home.

It's not certain what the original tune would be like, but why does it matter? There are songs that doesn't requite a melody, but rather flow in the collective unconscious of human kind. it's also not certain whether the translation is entirely accurate. I'd like to believe that it's a combination of the original words and Byron's own reflection through his experience. If you read those words, it's quite understandable why Childe Harold's pilgrimage was considered controversial and threatening when it was first published in England. Giaours? Who would dare to use the word Giaours in the society where the church dominates political power?

There's a derogatory word for every race possible. People use them to drive away their own fear and cover up some levels of ignorance.

I doubt that common soldiers in the Souliotes tribe would sing specifically about Ali Pasha or the chieftain's weapon. Imagination can put words into moments in our memories, making songs personal to each one of us. Byron never forgot that song which turned his fear towards the Souliotes into understanding, and then respect. It's a strange yet not-so-uncommon thing to experience bonding with complete strangers with a culture you can hardly figure out... although today we call it democracy.