THE following ballads are translated from an old book, now very scarce, written by Mendoza, and published by him in the 16th century. By its title ("Las guerras civiles de Granada”), it professes to be an account of the wars between Muleyhazen, the old king of Granada, and his son Boabdil el Chico, or the Less, at the time that Ferdinand and Isabella were invading their kingdom, and, having possessed themselves of many of their cities and places of strength, were advancing to the conquest of Granada, the earthly paradise of the Moors. But the reader who expects to find long detailed accounts of battles and sieges, plots and counterplots, will be wofully disappointed; it is far more the history of the court of Boabdil, the combats of his knights among themselves, and with the Christian warriors, who met them in all fair courtesy in single fight without the walls of their cities; their love for the ladies, their bull fights, tournaments,
and pageants. It abounds in picturesque de-
scription and imagery; is full of chivalrous
incident, told with all the quaint simplicity of
our own old chroniclers, and interspersed with
ballads as old as the story itself, and marking
their Arabic origin by their many curious
words, and the orientalism of their character.
In these old ballads they are very fond of in-
troducing the personages of the Greek and
Roman mythology, and their classic turn is
certainly not what would seem at first sight the
natural language of the age and nation; how-
ever, there seems nothing extraordinary in it,
when we remember that the Greek poets were
well known and read among the Moors of
Spain when they were sealed books to the rest
of Europe. Where the ballads are introduced,
the author also gives the story in his own
words; but those that are here translated tell
their own story so well, that it will need but a
few words between each to connect them. They
contain the history of Gazul and Lindaraxa, a
knight and lady of the court of Boabdil and his
beautiful queen.
Gazul had first loved Zaida
of Xeres, had for six years served her, as the
fashion was, wearing her colours and devices
at tilt and tourney, and electing her the lady
under whose blessing he fought, and to whose
glory all his bravery redounded. She, how-
ever, looked coldly on him, being poor, though
of noble family, well knowing her relations
would never suffer a marriage between them;
so, loving him in her heart, she was at last
forced into a match with a Moor of great riches,
but who Mendoza states at considerable length
was not the Alcayde of Seville, as stated in the
ballad, but his grand-nephew. "To forget the
love of six years, to me appears to be an evil
thing," is the observation of the chronicler
upon Zaida's conduct. Here may follow the
ballad. Zaida is to be married on the evening
of the day on which Gazul sets out from Si-
donia. The metre of the original is preserved
throughout.
The bright star of Venus glittered
As the summer sun was sinking,
And the enemy of daylight
Spread abroad her sable mantle,
When a gallant Moorish chieftain,
Like the warlike Rodamonte,
Sallied, armed, from fair Sydonia,
Crossing o'er the plain of Xeres;
Whence he entered Guadalete,
On the Spanish sea, whose harbour
From the holy Virgin Mary
Its illustrious name hath taken.
Desperate he journeyed onwards;
For although of noble lineage,
His ungrateful lady left him,
As they said he had no riches,
And that night she would be married
To a base Moor, darkly visaged,
For that he was Lord of Seville,
Of Alcazar and its high tower.
Grievously was he complaining,
With so heavy trouble on him;
To his words the fair broad Vega
And the echo, gave back answer.
"Zaida," said he, "is more cruel
Than the sea that drowns the vessels-
Harder, more immovable,
Than the stones within a mountain.
How canst thou permit it, cruel,
After favours all so many,
That a stranger should adorn him
With mine own most cherished pledges?
Can it be that thou embracest
The mere bark of an old oak tree,
While thine own green tree thou leavest
Stripped of its fruit and flowers?
For a poor man, but rich truly,
Thou a rich, but poor man, choosest;
And the riches of the body
Sett'st before those of the spirit.
Thou hast left the noble Gazul,
Who six years of love has served thee,
Given thy hand to Albenzayde,
Who to thee is but a stranger,
And my foe; may Alha grant me
That he hate thee, thou adoring,
That for jealousy thou sighest,
For his absence that thou weepest-
That both bed and board he shunneth,
While at night no sleep descendeth,
No rest in the weary daytime-
That in festival or dances
Thou may'st never see thy colours,
Nor the veil thou workest for him,
Nor the sleeve that thou embroiderest,
While he bears, with his own cipher
Woven, some fair friend's devices-
And to see him in the jousting
He will not permit thy presence,
Either at the door or window,
For so much doth he abhor thee.
If it happens thou should'st hate him,
Long be then the years he liveth;
But if he is much beloved,
Early may his death affright thee.
Greater curse than this can never
Unto wretched man be given.
Alha grant that this may happen
When in his thy hand he taketh!"
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With that came he unto Xeres,
As the midnight hour was sounding.
Gay he found the wedding palace;
All around with torch and trumpet,
And the warriors of the frontier,
From all quarters, have assembled,
With a thousand torches lighted,
Each and all in the same colours:
And before the knight betrothed
They have mounted in the stirrup;
Thus, they went along on horseback,
To the knight to do more honour.
Gazul has a sharp lance taken,
Through and through the bridegroom passed it ;
All the square was in commotion;
But the Moor unsheathed his weapon,
And through midst of those around him
Unto Mendia he wended.
It would seem now a matter of course that Gazul, having got rid of his rival in this cool and rather sanguinary fashion, should return to his lady and again endeavour to win the love he had so long striven for; but her falsehood, as it seemed to him, had taken away all the love he had felt for Zaida, and he devoted himself henceforward to the service of Lindaraxa. "To forget the love of six years, seemeth to me an evil thing," the chronicler had better have said here also ; but Gazul is manifestly a favourite, and may do as he pleases. In the next ballad he is starting for a tournament at Gelves, but wishes first for his lady's smile, to bless him in the fight; but Lindaraxa, knowing the history of his former love, will not so readily trust him.
Through the square San Lucar
Comes gayly passing onwards
Gazul, the brave and gallant,
In white, and green, and purple.
Thus gaily is he starting
For the tourney held at Gelves,
Where revels high the Alcayde,
For the peace between the monarchs.
Adored he an Abencerraga,
One fair relic of the warriors
Whom the Zegris and Gomelas
Falsely slew in fair Granada.
One farewell to give his lady,
To and fro he wandered often,
Striving with his eyes to fathom
The thrice happy walls that held her.
When an hour like years had ended
Of impatient hopes and wishes,
On the balcony he saw her,
Making all the years as nothing.
Then he spurred his gallant war-horse
When he saw that sun rise on him,
And he made him kneel right humbly
On the ground, and kiss it for him.
Then spake he, in troubled accents,
"Seeing thus thy smiling presence,
Evil none can now befal me;
In the absence I must suffer.
On my friends and duty urge me;
But my soul remains behind me;
Back my love will make me hasten,
To see if thine remaineth also.
Give me one thing as memorial,
Though I need nought to remind me,
Only give it to adorn me,
Guard, accompany, and strengthen."
Lindaraxa she was jealous,
Of her jealousy was dying,
Of fair Zaida of Xeres,
Fearing that her Gazul loved her.
For she had been told by others
That he loved her unto dying.
So to Gazul she made answer,
"If in strife the fate befals thee
That my heart desires most truly,
And that thy false heart doth merit,
To San Lucar thou returnest
Not so glorious as thy wont is,
Unto eyes that should adore thee,
But to eyes that do abhor thee.
Alha grant that 'mid the lances
Those who bear thee deadly hatred
May in secret point their weapons,
That thou diest for thy falsehood;
And may they a steel breastplate
Bear beneath their upper mantles,
That if seeking to avenge thee
Thou mayst die and have no vengeance;
May thy friends not come to aid thee,
But thy foemen tread thee under,
And upon their shoulders bear thee,
When, the tourney being over,
Thou shouldst come to serve the ladies,
And in place of wail and weeping
Over thee, the false deceiver,
May they then with curses aid thee,
And rejoice them in thy dying."
Gazul, like all true in spirit,
Deemed that these were words of mocking;
So he raised him in his stirrups,
And to take her hand he seeketh;
"The Moor lies," he said, "my lady,
Who would turn thy favour from me.
Upon his head be these curses—
Let them reach him to avenge me-
My soul hates the traitress Zaida!
Cursed be the years I served her;
That it was my lot to serve her,
Who for a base Moor could leave me,
Rich in this world's worthless treasure."
When she heard this, Lindaraxa
Lost all patience, and departed-
At that moment, with his palfrey,
Past a page before the window,
Decked were they in gallant fashion,
Floating plumes, and shining trappings,
The lance he had to enter Gelves
Took he, and he spurred his charger,
And against the walls that held her,
Broke it to a thousand pieces;
And he ordered that his palfrey
Should take off his plumes and trappings,
Change the hopeful green for murrey,
So to enter into Gelves.
Murrey-colour, among the Moors, was the sign of mourning, not merely as black is with us, to be worn on the death of a friend or relation, but when the mind was suffering under any trouble. Every colour with them was significant, and on a knight's entrance into the lists, it might instantly be seen whether he was sad or happy, jealous or trusting. Gazul had passed under the window of Lindaraxa with plume and mantle of green, hoping for her favour; she looked scornfully on him, and the bright colour was changed for the sombre mourning murrey. In an account that Mendoza gives of one of the knights, his whole courtship is shadowed out by the different colours he wears, according to the varying moods of his lady. One while in yellow, to signify
his jealousy; another time in green, another in blue, to show his love and satisfaction; and another, in the fatal murrey. The Moors were a highly imaginative race, and in symbol and device lay their great delight. Living in a spot one of the most beautiful on earth, no wonder their minds took some of the bright and romantic colouring of the scene around them. It was a common belief, from the charm that rested upon Granada from its beauty and its climate, that the paradise of Mahomet was situated in the heaven just above their beloved city. But to return to the story. Lindaraxa,
seeing how deeply her lover feels her unkindness, repents her hard words and hasty departure, and sends to him, by the hand of a page, many jewels, colours, and devices, to show her favour, and proclaim him her knight. So the murrey is cast off, and Gazul, in the sunshine of his heart, sets out for the tournament, strong in his lady's love, though a host should oppose him; for where the mind is strong, the arm will be also.
Adorned with gifts and jewels,
From his peerless Lindaraxa,
The brave Gazul departed
For the tournay held at Gelves.
Four light chargers bore him,
Gay with many trappings,
With a thousand golden ciphers,
Which spoke the Abencerraga.
The valiant Gazul's colours
Were blue, and white, and purple;
The same were in his helmet,
His plume was rosy-coloured,
His garment glittered gaily,
With finest gold and silver;
The gold was on the purple,
And on the red the silver;
For his device, a savage
A lion's fierce mouth rending
Upon his shield he carried;
Device long used and honoured
By the Abencerrages,
The flower of all Granada,
Well known of all the people,
Of many high esteemed;
The valiant Gazul bore it,
From love of his fair lady,
A bright Abencerraga,
Whom he loved devoutly.
The Moor bore as motto,
"There is no one like her."
The good Gazul, through Gelves,
Thus entered in the plaza,
With thirty of his squadron,
Together with him banded;
All in the self-same colours,
That all beholding marvelled.
And one device they carried,
From which no one differed,
Save brave Gazul only,
With his chosen ciphers.
To merry sound of clarions
Began the stirring contest.
So troubled was the melée,
In truth, it seemed a battle.
But the brave band of Gazul
Bore everything before them.
The Moor, he threw no weapon
But struck a foeman's buckler;
The Moorish dames were gazing
From balcony and window,
Among them was beholding
The lovely Mooress, Zaida--
She, whom they named of Xeres,
Had come to see the jousting;
Her robe was murrey colour,
For heavy sorrow on her,
Because her lord beloved
Had sunk 'neath Gazul's weapon.
Right well fair Zaida knew him,
As flew the rapid lances;
Then on her memory darkened
Many a thing departed,
When Gazul loved her truly,
And coldly she looked on him,
Ungrateful for his service,
And for his depth of loving;
Now she felt such sorrow for it,
That she grieved till nearly fainting.
Near the ending of the tourney,
Spoke to her a servant maiden-
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Tell me, lady mine, the reason
Why thou art so sorely troubled?
Thus replied the fair sad Zaida,
While her voice was low and trembling,-
"Look well at that Moorish chieftain
Who is now the weapon throwing;
Gazul is that chieftain namèd,
Far and wide his fame resoundeth.
Six years was I served by him,
Without winning favour from me;
He it was who slew my husband,
And, alas! I was the reason!
With all this, I love him fondly,
In my soul I hold him shrinèd!
I should gladden, did he seek me;
But as nothing now he holds me.
Loves he an Abencerraga,
For whose sake I live despised."
With that ended all the jousting,
Dance and festival were over;
Gazul parted for San Lucar,
Glorious with his added honour."
Lindaraxa was a daughter of a family glorious alike from its high birth and exalted qualities, and famous for 'the injustice committed against them. Six-and-thirty of them fell at once by the command of the king, Boaldil, who had been worked upon by the representation of some other families, who were jealous of their high reputation and the love that all the people bore them, and had accused them of crimes, which the king believing, signed their death-warrant. Their enemies must have sadly wanted accusations, when they made the humanity and kindness of the Abencerrages towards the Christian captives who were in Granada, one of them. The loss of Alhama. which was so bitter a grief to Boabdil after wards, he was told by the old Alfagui, was a retribution for the unjust doom he had passed upon his best and truest servants. In the ballad, Ay de mi Ahama," which Lord Byron has translated, Alfagui reproaches the king for his wickedness and cruelty in such bold terms, that Boabdil tells him—
"There is no law to say such things As may disgust the ear of kings;"
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