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diff --git a/10085-0.txt b/10085-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e14062d --- /dev/null +++ b/10085-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12099 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10085 *** + +MOORISH LITERATURE + +COMPRISING + +ROMANTIC BALLADS, TALES OF THE BERBERS, STORIES OF THE KABYLES, FOLK-LORE, +AND NATIONAL TRADITIONS + +TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH FOR THE FIRST TIME + +WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY + +RENÉ BASSET, PH.D. + +OF THE UNIVERSITY OF FRANCE, AND DIRECTOR OF THE ACADÉMIE D'ALGER + + +1901 + + + + + +SPECIAL INTRODUCTION. + + +The region which extends from the frontiers of Egypt to the Atlantic Ocean, +and from the Mediterranean to the Niger, was in ancient times inhabited by +a people to whom we give the general name of Berbers, but whom the +ancients, particularly those of the Eastern portion, knew under the name of +Moors. "They were called Maurisi by the Greeks," said Strabo, "in the first +century A.D., and Mauri by the Romans. They are of Lybian origin, and form +a powerful and rich nation."[1] This name of Moors is applied not only to +the descendants of the ancient Lybians and Numidians, who live in the nomad +state or in settled abodes, but also to the descendants of the Arabs who, +in the eighth century A.D., brought with them Islamism, imposed by the +sabre of Ogbah and his successors. Even further was it carried, into Spain, +when Berbers and Arabs, reunited under the standard of Moussa and Tarik, +added this country to the empire of the Khalifa. In the fifteenth century +the Portuguese, in their turn, took the name to the Orient, and gave the +name of Moors to the Mussulmans whom they found on the Oriental coast of +Africa and in India. + +[1] Geographica, t. xviii, ch. 3, Section ii. + +The appellation particularizes, as one may see, three peoples entirely +different in origin--the Berbers, the Arabs of the west, and the Spanish +Mussulmans, widely divided, indeed, by political struggles, but united +since the seventh and eighth centuries in their religious law. This +distinction must be kept in mind, as it furnishes the necessary divisions +for a study of the Moorish literature. + + +The term Moorish Literature may appear ambitious applied to the monuments +of the Berber language which have come down to us, or are gathered daily +either from the lips of singers on the mountains of the Jurgura, of the +Aures, or of the Atlas of Morocco; under the tents of the Touaregs of the +desert or the Moors of Senegal; in the oases of the south of Algeria or in +Tunis. But it is useless to search for literary monuments such as have been +transmitted to us from Egypt and India, Assyria and Persia, ancient Judea, +Greece and Rome; from the Middle Ages; from Celt, Slav, and German; from +the Semitic and Ouralo-altaique tongues; the extreme Orient, and the modern +literature of the Old and New World. + +But the manifestations of thought, in popular form, are no less curious and +worthy of study among the Berbers. I do not speak of the treatises on +religion which in the Middle Ages and in our day were translated from the +Arabic into certain dialects: that borrowed literature, which also exists +among the Sonalulis of Eastern Africa and the Haussas and the Peuls of the +Soudan, has nothing original. But the popular literature--the stories and +songs--has an altogether different importance. It is, above all, the +expression of the daily life, whether it relates to fêtes or battles or +even simple fights. These songs may be satirical or laudatory, to celebrate +the victory of one party or deplore the defeat of the True Believers by the +Christians, resounding on the lips of children or women, or shouted in +political defiance. They permit us, in spite of a coarse rhythm and +language often incorrect, an insight into their manner of life, and to feel +as do peoples established for centuries on African soil. Their ancestors, +the Machouacha, threatened Egypt in the time of Moses and took possession +of it, and more than twenty centuries later, with the Fatimides, converted +Spain to the Mussulman faith. Under Arab chiefs they would have overcome +all Eastern Europe, had it not been for the hammer of Charles Martel, which +crushed them on the field of Poitiers. + +The richest harvest of Berber songs in our possession is, without doubt, +that in the dialect of the Zouaous, inhabiting the Jurgura mountains, which +rise some miles distant from Algiers, their crests covered with snow part +of the year.[2] All kinds of songs are represented; the rondeaux of +children whose inspiration is alike in all countries: + +[2] Hanoteau, Poésies Populaires de la Khabylie du Jurgura, Paris, 1867, +8vo. + + "Oh, moonlight clear in the narrow streets, + Tell to our little friends + To come out now with us to play-- + To play with us to-night. + If they come not, then we will go + To them with leather shoes. (Kabkab.)[3] + + "Rise up, O Sun, and hie thee forth, + On thee we'll put a bonnet old: + We'll plough for thee a little field-- + A little field of pebbles full: + Our oxen but a pair of mice." + + "Oh, far distant moon: + Could I but see thee, Ali! + Ali, son of Sliman, + The beard[4] of Milan + Has gone to draw water. + Her cruse, it is broken; + But he mends it with thread, + And draws water with her: + He cried to Ayesha: + 'Give me my sabre, + That I kill the merle + Perched on the dunghill + Where she dreams; + She has eaten all my olives.'"[5] + +[3] A sort of sandal. + +[4] Affectionate term for a child. + +[5] Hanoteau, v. 441-443. + +In the same category one may find the songs which are peculiar to the +women, "couplets with which they accompany themselves in their dances; the +songs, the complaints which one hears them repeat during whole hours in a +rather slow and monotonous rhythm while they are at their household labors, +turning the hand-mill, spinning and weaving cloths, and composed by the +women, both words and music."[6] + +One of the songs, among others, and the most celebrated in the region of +the Oued-Sahal, belonging to a class called Deker, is consecrated to the +memory of an assassin, Daman-On-Mesal, executed by a French justice. As in +most of these couplets, it is the guilty one who excites the interest: + + "The Christian oppresses. He has snatched away + This deserving young man; + He took him away to Bougre, + The Christian women marvelled at him. + Pardieu! O Mussulmans, you + Have repudiated Kabyle honor." [7] + +[6] Hanoteau, Preface, p. iii. + +[7] Hanoteau, p. 94. + +With the Berbers of lower Morocco the women's songs are called by the Arab +name Eghna. + +If the woman, as in all Mussulman society, plays an inferior rôle--inferior +to that allowed to her in our modern civilizations--she is not less the +object of songs which celebrate the power given her by beauty: + + "O bird with azure plumes, + Go, be my messenger-- + I ask thee that thy flight be swift; + Take from me now thy recompense. + Rise with the dawn--ah, very soon-- + For me neglect a hundred plans; + Direct thy flight toward the fount, + To Tanina and Cherifa. + + "Speak to the eyelash-darkened maid, + To the beautiful one of the pure, white throat; + With teeth like milky pearls. + Red as vermillion are her cheeks; + Her graceful charms have stol'n my reason; + Ceaselessly I see her in my dreams."[8] + + "A woman with a pretty nose + Is worth a house of solid stone; + I'd give for her a hundred reaux,[9] + E'en if she quitted me as soon. + + "Arching eyebrows on a maid, + With love the genii would entice, + I'd buy her for a thousand reaux, + Even if exile were the price. + + "A woman neither fat nor lean + Is like a pleasant forest green, + When she unfolds her budding charms, + She gleams and glows with springtime sheen."[10] + +[8] Hanoteau, p. 350-357 + +[9] Reais + +[10] Hanoteau, pp. 302, 303 + +The same sentiment inspires the Touareg songs, among which tribe women +enjoy much greater liberty and possess a knowledge of letters greater than +that of the men, and know more of that which we should call literature, if +that word were not too ambitious: + + "For God's sake leave those hearts in peace, + 'Tis Tosdenni torments them so; + She is more graceful than a troop + Of antelopes separated from gazelles; + More beautiful than snowy flocks, + Which move toward the tents, + And with the evening shades appear + To share the nightly gathering; + More beautiful than the striped silks + Enwrapped so closely under the haiks, + More beautiful than the glossy ebon veil, + Enveloped in its paper white, + With which the young man decks himself, + And which sets off his dusky cheek."[1] + +[1] Masqueray, Observations grammaticales sur la grammaire Touareg et +textes de la Tourahog des Tailog, pp. 212, 213. Paris, 1897. + +The poetic talent of the Touareg women, and the use they make of this +gift--which they employ to celebrate or to rail at, with the accompaniment +of their one-stringed violin, that which excites their admiration or +inspires them with disdain--is a stimulant for warriors: + + "That which spurs me to battle is a word of scorn, + And the fear of the eternal malediction + Of God, and the circles of the young + Maidens with their violins. + Their disdain is for those men + Who care not for their own good names.[2] + + "Noon has come, the meeting's sure. + Hearts of wind love not the battle; + As though they had no fear of the violins, + Which are on the knees of painted women-- + Arab women, who were not fed on sheep's milk; + There is but camel's milk in all their land. + More than one other has preceded thee and is widowed, + For that in Amded, long since, + My own heart was burned. + Since you were a young lad I suffered-- + Since I wore the veil and wrapped + My head in the folds of the haik."[3] + +[2] Masqueray, p. 220. + +[3] Masqueray, p. 227. + +War, and the struggle of faction against faction, of tribe against tribe, +of confederation against confederation, it is which, with love, above all, +has inspired the Berber men. With the Khabyles a string of love-songs is +called "Alamato," because this word occurs in the first couplet, always +with a belligerent inspiration: + + "He has seized his banner for the fight + In honor of the Bey whose cause he maintains, + He guides the warriors with their gorgeous cloaks, + With their spurs unto their boots well fastened, + All that was hostile they destroyed with violence; + And brought the insurgents to reason." + +This couplet is followed by a second, where allusion is made to the snow +which interrupts communication: + + "Violently falls the snow, + In the mist that precedes the lightning; + It bends the branches to the earth, + And splits the tallest trees in twain. + Among the shepherds none can pasture his flock; + It closes to traffic all the roads to market. + Lovers then must trust the birds, + With messages to their loves-- + Messages to express their passion. + + "Gentle tame falcon of mine, + Rise in thy flight, spread out thy wings, + If thou art my friend do me this service; + To-morrow, ere ever the rise of the sun, + Fly toward her house; there alight + On the window of my gracious beauty."[4] + +[4] Hanoteau, pp. 348-350. + +With the Khabyles of the Jurgura the preceding love-songs are the +particular specialty of a whole list of poets who bear the Arab name of +_T'eballa_, or "tambourinists." Ordinarily they are accompanied in +their tours by a little troop of musicians who play the tambourine and the +haut-boy. Though they are held in small estimation, and are relegated to +the same level as the butchers and measurers of grain, they are none the +less desired, and their presence is considered indispensable at all +ceremonies--wedding fêtes, and on the birth of a son, on the occasion of +circumcision, or for simple banquets. + +Another class, composed of _Ameddah_, "panegyrists," or _Fecia_, +"eloquent men," are considered as much higher in rank. They take part in +all affairs of the country, and their advice is sought, for they dispense +at will praise or blame. It is they who express the national sentiment of +each tribe, and in case of war their accents uplift warriors, encourage the +brave, and wither the cowardly. They accompany themselves with a Basque +drum. Some, however, have with them one or two musicians who, after each +couplet, play an air on the flute as a refrain.[5] + +[5] Hanoteau, Introduction. + +In war-songs it is remarkable to see with what rapidity historical memories +are lost. The most ancient lay of this kind does not go beyond the conquest +of Algiers by the French. The most recent songs treat of contemporary +events. Nothing of the heroic traditions of the Berbers has survived in +their memory, and it is the Arab annalists who show us the role they have +played in history. If the songs relating to the conquest of Algeria had not +been gathered half a century ago, they would doubtless have been lost, or +nearly so, to-day. At that time, however, the remembrance was still alive, +and the poets quickly crystallized in song the rapidity of the triumph of +France, which represents their civilization: + + "From the day when the Consul left Algiers, + The powerful French have gathered their hosts: + Now the Turks have gone, without hope of return, + Algiers the beautiful is wrested from them. + + "Unhappy Isle that they built in the desert, + With vaults of limestone and brick; + The celestial guardian who over them watched has withdrawn. + Who can resist the power of God? + + "The forts that surround Algiers like stars, + Are bereft of their masters; + The baptized ones have entered. + The Christian religion now is triumphant, + O my eyes, weep tears of blood, weep evermore! + + "They are beasts of burden without cruppers, + Their backs are loaded, + Under a bushel their unkempt heads are hidden, + They speak a _patois_ unintelligible, + You can understand nothing they say. + + "The combat with these gloomy invaders + Is like the first ploughing of a virgin soil, + To which the harrowing implements + Are rude and painful; + Their attack is terrible. + + "They drag their cannons with them, + And know how to use them, the impious ones; + When they fire, the smoke forms in thick clouds: + They are charged with shrapnel, + Which falls like the hail of approaching spring. + Unfortunate queen of cities-- + City of noble ramparts, + Algiers, column of Islam, + Thou art like the habitation of the dead, + The banner of France envelops thee all."[6] + +[6] Hanoteau, pp. 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 11. + +It is, one may believe, in similar terms that these songs, lost to-day, +recount the defeat of Jugurtha, or Talfarinas, by the Romans, or that of +the Kahina by the Arabs. But that which shows clearly how rapidly these +songs, and the remembrance of what had inspired them, have been lost is the +fact that in a poem of the same kind on the same subject, composed some +fifty years ago by the Chelha of meridional Morocco, it is not a question +of France nor the Hussains, but the Christians in general, against whom the +poet endeavors to excite his compatriots. + +It is so, too, with the declamatory songs of the latest period of the +Middle Ages, the dialects more or less precise, where the oldest heroic +historical poems, like the Song of Roland, had disappeared to leave the +field free for the imagination of the poet who treats the struggles between +Christians and Saracens according to his own fantasy. + +Thanks to General Hanoteau, the songs relating to the principal events of +Khabyle since the French conquest have been saved from oblivion, viz., the +expedition of Marêchal Bugeaud in 1867; that of General Pelissier in 1891; +the insurrection of Bon Bar'la; those of Ameravun in 1896, and the divers +episodes of the campaign of 1897 against the Aith Traten, when the +mountains were the last citadel of the Khabyle independence: + + "The tribe was full of refugees, + From all sides they sought refuge + With the Aith Traten, the powerful confederation. + 'Let us go,' said they, 'to a sure refuge,' + For the enemy has fallen on our heads,' + But in Arba they established their home."[7] + +[7] Hanoteau, p. 124. + +The unhappy war of 1870, thanks to the stupidity of the military +authorities, revived the hope of a victorious insurrection. Mograne, Bon +Mazrag, and the Sheikh Haddad aroused the Khabyles, but the desert tribes +did not respond to their appeal. Barbary was again conquered, and the +popular songs composed on that occasion reproached them for the folly of +their attempt. + +Bon Mezrah proclaimed in the mountains and on the plain: + + "Come on, a Holy War against the Christians, + He followed his brother until his disaster, + His noble wife was lost to him. + As to his flocks and his children, + He left them to wander in Sahara. + Bon Mezrag is not a man, + But the lowest of all beings; + He deceived both Arabs and Khabyles, + Saying, 'I have news of the Christians.' + + "I believed Haddad a saint indeed, + With miracles and supernatural gifts; + He has then no scent for game, + And singular to make himself he tries. + + "I tell it to you; to all of you here + (How many have fallen in the battles), + That the Sheikh has submitted. + From the mountain he has returned, + Whoever followed him was blind. + He took flight like one bereft of sense. + How many wise men have fallen + On his traces, the traces of an impostor, + From Babors unto Guerrouma! + This joker has ruined the country-- + He ravaged the world while he laughed; + By his fault he has made of this land a desert."[8] + +[8] R. Basset, L'insurrection Algerienne, de 1871 dans les chansons +populaires Khabyles Lourain, 1892. + +The conclusion of poems of this kind is an appeal to the generosity of +France: + + "Since we have so low fallen,[9] + You beat on us as on a drum; + You have silenced our voices. + We ask of you a pardon sincere, + O France, nation of valorous men, + And eternal shall be our repentance. + From beginning to the end of the year + We are waiting and hoping always: + My God! Soften the hearts of the authorities." + +[9] J.D. Luciani, Chansons Khabyles de Ismail Azekkion. Algiers, 1893. + +With the Touaregs, the civil, or war against the Arabs, replaces the war +against the Christians, and has not been less actively celebrated: + + "We have saddled the shoulders of the docile camel, + I excite him with my sabre, touching his neck, + I fall on the crowd, give them sabre and lance; + And then there remains but a mound, + And the wild beasts find a brave meal."[10] + +[10] Masqueray, pp. 228, 229. + +One finds in this last verse the same inspiration that is found in the +celebrated passage of the Iliad, verses 2 and 5: "Anger which caused ten +thousand Achaeans to send to Hades numerous souls of heroes, and to make +food of them for the dogs and birds of prey." It is thus that the Arab poet +expresses his ante-Islamic "Antarah": + + "My pitiless steel pierced all the vestments, + The general has no safety from my blade, + I have left him as food for savage beasts + Which tear him, crunching his bones, + His handsome hands and brave arms."[1] + +[1] Mo'allagah, v. 49, 50. + +The Scandinavian Skalds have had the same savage accents, and one can +remember a strophe from the song of the death of Raynor Lodbrog: + + "I was yet young when in the Orient we gave the wolves a bloody + repast and a pasture to the birds. When our rude swords rang on the + helmet, then they saw the sea rise and the vultures wade in + blood."[2] + +[2] Marmier, Lettres sur l'Islemde. + +Robbery and pillage under armed bands, the ambuscade even, are celebrated +among the Touaregs with as great pleasure as a brilliant engagement: + + "Matella! May thy father die! + Thou art possessed by a demon, + To believe that the Touaregs are not men. + They know how to ride the camel; they + Ride in the morning and they ride at night; + They can travel; they can gallop: + They know how to offer drink to those + Who remain upon their beasts. + They know how to surprise a + Courageous man in the night. + Happy he sleeps, fearless with kneeling camels; + They pierce him with a lance, + Sharp and slender as a thorn, + And leave him to groan until + His soul leaves his body: + The eagle waits to devour his entrails."[3] + +[3] Hanoteau, Essaie de grammaire de la langue Tamachek, pp. 210, 211. +Paris, 1860. + +They also show great scorn for those who lead a life relatively less +barbarous, and who adorn themselves as much as the Touaregs can by means of +science and commerce: + + "The Tsaggmaren are not men, + Not lance of iron, nor yet of wood, + They are not in harness, not in saddles, + They have no handsome saddle-bags, + They've naught of what makes mankind proud; + They've no fat and healthy camels, + The Tsaggmaren; don't speak of them; + They are people of a mixed race, + There is no condition not found with them. + Some are poor, yet not in need; + Others are abused by the demon, + Others own nothing but their clubs. + There are those who make the pilgrimage, and repeat it, + There are those who can read the Koran and learn by that + They possess in the pasturage camels, and their little ones, + Besides nuggets of gold all safely wrapped."[4] + +[4] Hanoteau, p. 213. + +Another style, no less sought for among the Berbers inhabiting cities, is +the "complaint" which flourished in lower Morocco, where it is known under +the Arab name of Lqist (history). When the subject is religious, they call +it _Nadith_ (tradition). One of the most celebrated is that wherein +they tell of the descent into the infernal regions of a young man in search +of his father and mother. It will give an idea of this style of composition +to recite the beginning: + + "In the name of God, most clement and merciful, + Also benediction and homage to the prophet Mohammed, + In the name of God, listen to the words of the author, + This is what the Talebs tell, according to the august Koran. + Let us begin this beautiful story by + Invoking the name of God. + Listen to this beautiful story, O good man, + We will recite the story of a young man + In Berbere; O God, give to us perfection; + That which we bring to you is found in truthful tradition, + Hard as a rock though thy heart be, it will melt; + The father and mother of Saba died in his childhood + And left him in great poverty; + Our compassionate Lord guided him and showed him the way, + God led him along toward the Prophet, + And gave to him the Koran."[5] + +[5] R. Basset, Le Poème de Sabi, p. 15 et suis. Paris, 1879. + +Other poems--for instance, that of Sidi Hammen and that of Job--are equally +celebrated in Morocco. The complaints on religious subjects are accompanied +on the violin, while those treating of a historical event or a story with a +moral have the accompaniment of a guitar. We may class this kind of poems +among those called _Tandant_, in lower Morocco, which consist in the +enumeration of short maxims. The same class exist also in Zouaona and in +Touareg. + +But the inspiration of the Khabyle poets does not always maintain its +exaltation. Their talents become an arm to satirize those who have not +given them a sufficiently large recompense, or--worse still, and more +unpardonable--who have served to them a meagre repast: + + "I went to the home of vile animals, + Ait Rebah is their name; + I found them lying under the sun like green figs, + They looked ill and infirm. + They are lizards among adders, + They inspire no fear, for they bite not. + Put a sheepskin before them, they + Will tear your arms and hands; + Their parched lips are all scaly, + Besides being red and spotted. + + "As the vultures on their dung heaps, + When they see carrion, fall upon it, + Tearing out its entrails, + That day is for them one of joy. + Judging by their breeches, + And the headdresses of their wives, + I think they are of Jewish origin."[6] + +[6] Hanoteau, Poèmes Populaires de la Khabyle, pp. 179-181, Du Jurgura. + +This song, composed by Mohammed Said or Aihel Hadji, is still repeated when +one wishes to insult persons from Aith Erbah, who have tried several times +to assassinate the poet in revenge. + +Sometimes two rival singers find themselves together, and each begins to +eulogize himself, which eulogy ends in a satire on the other. But the joust +begun by apostrophes and Homeric insults finishes often with a fight, and +the natural arm is the Basque drum until others separate, the +adversaries.[7] We have an example in a dialogue of this kind between +Youssuf ou Kassi, of the Aith Djemnad, and Mohand ou Abdaha, of the Aith +Kraten. The challenge and the jousts--less the blows--exist among the +chellahs of lower Morocco, where they are called _Tamawoucht_; but +between man and woman there is that which indicates the greatest liberty of +manners. The verses are improvised, and the authors are paid in small +money. Here is a specimen: + + _The woman_: "When it thunders and the sky is overcast, + Drive home the sheep, O watchful shepherd." + + _The man_: "When it thunders, and the sky is overcast, + We will bring home the sheep." + + _The woman_: "I wish I had a bunch of switches to strike you with! + May your father be accursed, Sheepkeeper!" + + _The man_: "Oh, God, I thank thee for having created + Old maids to grind meal for the toilers."[8] + +[7] Hanoteau, p. 275 et seq. + +[8] Stemme, p. 7, 8. + +Another manifestation, and not less important of the popular Berber +literature, consists in the stories. Although no attempt has been made in +our days to gather them, many indications permit us to believe that they +have been at all times well treasured by these people. In the story of +Psyche that Apuleius inserted at the end of the second century A.D., in the +romance of Metamorphoses,[9] we read that Venus imposed on Psyche, among +other trials, that of sorting out and placing in separate jars the grains +of wheat, oats, millet and poppy pease, lentils and lima beans which she +had mixed together. This task, beyond the power of Psyche, was accomplished +by the ants which came to her aid, and thus she conquered the task set by +her cruel mother-in-law. + +[9] Hanoteau, Essai de Grammaire Khabyle, p. 282 et seq. Alger. + +This same trial we find in a Berber story. It is an episode in a Khabyle +story of the Mohammed ben Sol'tan, who, to obtain the hand of the daughter +of a king, separated wheat, corn, oats, and sorghum, which had been mingled +together. This trait is not found in Arab stories which have served as +models for the greater part of Khabyle tales. It is scarcely admissible +that the Berbers had read the "Golden Ass" of Apuleius, but it is probable +that he was born at Madaure, in Algeria, and retained an episode of a +popular Berber tale which he had heard in his childhood, and placed in his +story. + +The tales have also preserved the memory of very ancient customs, and in +particular those of adoption. In the tales gathered in Khabyle by General +Hanoteau,[10] T. Rivière,[1] and Moulieras,[2] also that in the story of +Mizab, the hero took upon himself a supernatural task, and succeeded +because he became the adopted son of an ogress, at whose breast he +nursed.[3] This custom is an ancient one with the Berbers, for on a _bas +relief_ at Thebes it shows us a chief of the Machouacha (the Egyptian +name of the Berbers) of the XXII Dynasty nursed and adopted by the goddess +Hathor. Arab stories of Egypt have also preserved this trait--for instance, +"The Bear of the Kitchen,"[4] and El Schater Mohammed.[5] + +[10] Hanoteau, p. 266. Le chasseur. + +[1] Contes Populaires de la Khabylie du Jurgura, p. 239. Paris, 1892. Le +chausseur. + +[2] Legendes et contes merveilleuses de la grande Khabylie, p. 20. 2 vols. +Tunis, 1893-1898. Le fils du Sultan et le chien des Chrétiens, p. 90. +Histoire de Ali et sa mère. + +[3] R Basset, Nouveaux Contes Berbers, p. 18. Paris, 1897. La Pomme de +jeunesse. + +[4] Spitta-bey, Contes Arabes modernes, p. 12. Ley de 1883. + +[5] Arless Pasha, Contes Populaire de la vallée du Nil. Paris, 1895. + +During the conquest of the Magreb by the Arabs in the seventh century A.D., +Kahina, a Berber queen, who at a given moment drove the Mussulman invaders +away and personified national defiance, employed the same ceremony to adopt +for son the Arab Khaled Ben Yazed, who was to betray her later. + +Assisted by these traits of indigenous manners, we can call to mind ogres +and pagans who represent an ancient population, or, more exactly, the +sectarians of an ancient religion like the Paganism or the Christianity +which was maintained on some points of Northern Africa, with the Berbers, +until the eleventh century A.D. Fabulous features from the Arabs have +slipped into the descriptions of the Djohala, mingled with the confused +souvenirs of mythological beings belonging to paganism before the advent of +Christianity. + +It is difficult to separate the different sources of the Berber stories. +Besides those appearing to be of indigenous origin, and which have for +scene a grotto or a mountain, one could scarcely deny that the greater +part, whether relating to stories of adventure, fairy stories, or comical +tales, were borrowed from foreign countries by way of the Arabs. Without +doubt they have furnished the larger part, but there are some of which +there are no counterparts in European countries. "Half a cock," for +instance, has travelled into the various provinces of France, Ireland, +Albania, among the Southern Slavs, and to Portugal, from whence it went to +Brazil; but the Arabs do not know it, nor do they know Tom Thumb, which +with the Khabyles becomes H'ab Sliman. In the actual state of our +knowledge, we can only say that there is a striking resemblance between a +Berber tale and such or such a version. From thence comes the presumption +of borrowed matter. But, for the best results to be gained, one should be +in possession of all the versions. When it relates to celebrated personages +among the Mussulmans, like Solomon, or the features of a legend of which no +trace remains of the names, one can certainly conclude that it is borrowed +from the Arabs. It is the same with the greater number of fairy tales, +whose first inventors, the Arabs, commenced with the "Thousand and One +Nights," and presented us with "The Languages of the Beasts," and also with +funny stories. + +The principal personage of these last is Si Djeha, whose name was borrowed +from a comic narrative existing as early as the eleventh century A.D. The +contents are sometimes coarse and sometimes witty, are nearly all more +ancient, and yet belong to the domain of pleasantries from which in Germany +sprung the anecdotes of Tyll Eulenspiegel and the Seven Suabians, and in +England the Wise Men of Gotham. In Italy, and even in Albania, the name of +Djeha is preserved under the form of Guifa and Guicha; and the Turks, who +possess the richest literature on this person, have made him a Ghadji Sirii +Hissar, under the name of Nasr-eddin Hodja (a form altered from Djoha). The +traits attributed to such persons as Bon Idhes, Bon Goudous, Bon +Kheenpouch, are equally the same as those bestowed upon Si Djeha. + +But if the Berbers have borrowed the majority of their tales, they have +given to their characters the manners and appearance and names of their +compatriots. The king does not differ from the Amir of a village, or an +Amanokul of the Touaregs. The palace is the same as all those of a +Haddarth, and Haroun al Raschid himself, when he passes into Berber +stories, is plucked of the splendor he possesses in the "Thousand and One +Nights," and in Oriental stories. This anachronism renders the heroes of +the tales more real, and they are real Berbers, who are alive, and who +express themselves like the mountaineers of Jurgura, the Arabs of the +Atlas; like the men of Ksour, or the nomads of Sahara. In general there is +little art in these stories, and in style they are far below other +collections celebrated through the entire world. + +An important place is given to the fables or stories of animals, but there +is little that is not borrowed from foreign lands, and the animals are only +such as the Berbers are familiar with. The adventures of the jackal do not +differ from those of the fox in European stories. An African trait may be +signalled in the prominence which it offers the hare, as in the stories of +_Ouslofs_ and _Bantous_. Also, the hedgehog, neglected so +lamentably in our fables, holds an important place; and if the jackal +manages to deceive the lion, he is, in spite of his astute nature, duped by +the hedgehog when he tries a fall with him. As to the lion, the serpent, +the cock, the frog, the turtle, the hyena, the jackal, the rat, their rôles +offer little of the place they play in the Arab tales, or even the +Europeans. + +If we pass from Berber we find the Arab tongue as spoken among the Magreb, +and will see that the literature is composed of the same elements, +particularly in the tales and songs. There are few special publications +concerning the first, but there are few travellers who have not gathered +some, and thus rendered their relations with the people more pleasant. In +what concerns the fairy tales it is, above all, the children for whom they +are destined, "when at night, at the end of their wearisome days, the +mothers gather their children around them under the tent, under the shelter +of her Bon Rabah, the little ones demand with tears a story to carry their +imaginations far away." "Kherrfin ya summa" ("Tell us a story"), they say, +and she begins the long series of the exploits of Ah Di Douan.[6] Even the +men do not disdain to listen to the tales, and those that were gathered +from Tunis and Tripoli by Mr. Stemme,[7] and in Morocco by Messrs. Souin +and Stemme,[8] show that the marvellous adventures, wherein intervene the +Djinns, fairies, ogres, and sorcerers, are no less popular among the Arab +people than among the Berbers. + +[6] Deeplun, Recueil de textes pour l'étude de l'Arabe parlé, v. 12, p. iv. +Paris, 1891. + +[7] Iumsche Märchen und Gedichte. Leipzig, 1898. 2 vols. Märchen und +Gedichte. Aus der Stadt Tripolis in Nord Afrika. Leipzig. + +[8] Zum Arabischen Dialekt. Von Markko. Leipzig, 1893. Vers. 8. + +We must not forget that these last-named have borrowed much from the first +ones, and it is by them that they have known the celebrated Khalif of +Bagdad, one of the principal heroes of the "Thousand and One Nights," +Haroun al Raschid, whose presence surprises us not a little when figuring +in adventures incompatible with the dignity of a successor of the Prophet. + +As in the Berber tales, one finds parallels to the Arab stories among the +folk-lore of Europe, whether they were borrowed directly or whether they +came from India. One will notice, however, in the Arab tales a superior +editing. The style is more ornate, the incidents better arranged. One feels +that, although it deals with a language disdaining the usage of letters, it +is expressed almost as well as though in a cultivated literary language. +The gathering of the populations must also be taken into consideration; the +citizens of Tunis, of Algiers, and even in the cities of Morocco, have a +more exact idea of civilized life than the Berber of the mountains or the +desert. As to the comic stories, it is still the Si Djeha who is the hero, +and his adventures differ little with those preserved in Berber, and which +are common to several literatures, even when the principal person bears +another name. + +The popular poetry consists of two great divisions, quite different as to +subject. The first and best esteemed bears the name of Klam el Djedd, and +treats of that which concerns the Prophet, the saints, and miracles. A +specimen of this class is the complaint relative to the rupture of the Dam +of St. Denis of Sig, of which the following is the commencement: + + "A great disaster was fated:[9] + The cavalier gave the alarm, at the moment of the break; + The menace was realized by the Supreme Will, + My God! Thou alone art good. + The dam, perfidious thing, + Precipitated his muddy Legions, + With loud growlings. + No bank so strong as to hold him in check. + + "He spurred to the right, + The bridges which could not sustain his shock fell + Under his added weight; + His fury filled the country with fear, and he + Crushed the barrier that would retain him." + +[9] Delphin et Genis. Notes sur la Poesie et la musique Arabes dans le +Maghreb Algerien, pp. 14-16. Paris, 1886. + +As to the class of declamatory poems, one in particular is popular in +Algiers, for it celebrates the conquest of the Maghreb in the eleventh +century by the divers branches of the Beni-Hilal, from whom descend almost +the whole of the Arabs who now are living in the northwest of Africa. This +veritable poem is old enough, perhaps under its present form, for the +historian, Ten Khaldoun, who wrote at the end of the fourteenth century and +the beginning of the fifteenth, has preserved the resumé of the episode of +Djazza, the heroine who abandoned her children and husband to follow her +brothers to the conquest of Thrgya Hajoute. To him are attributed verses +which do not lack regularity, nor a certain rhythm, and also a facility of +expression, but which abound in interpolations and faults of grammar. The +city people could not bear to hear them nor to read them. In our days, for +their taste has changed--at least in that which touches the masses--the +recital of the deeds of the Helals is much liked in the Arab cafés in +Algeria and also in Tunis. Still more, these recitals have penetrated to +the Berbers, and if they have not preserved the indigenous songs of the +second Arab invasion, they have borrowed the traditions of their +conquerors, as we can see in the episode of Ali el Hilalien and of +Er-Redah. + +The names of the invading chiefs have been preserved in the declamatory +songs: Abou Zeid, Hassan ben Serhan, and, above all, Dyab ben Ghanum, in +the mouth of whom the poet puts at the end of the epic the recital of the +exploits of his race: + + "Since the day when we quitted the soil and territory of the Medjid, I + have not opened my heart to joy; + We came to the homes of Chokir and Cherif ben Hachem who pours upon thee + (Djazzah) a rain of tears; + We have marched against Ed-Dabis ben Monime and we have overrun his + cities and plains. + We went to Koufat and have bought merchandise from the tradesmen who come + to us by caravan. + We arrived at Ras el Ain in all our brave attire and we mastered all the + villages and their inhabitants. + We came to Haleb, whose territory we had overrun, borne by our swift, + magnificent steeds. + We entered the country of the Khazi Mohammed who wore a coat of mail, + with long, floating ends, + We traversed Syria, going toward Ghaza, and reached Egypt, belonging to + the son of Yakoub, Yousof, and found the Turks with their + swift steeds. + We reached the land of Raqin al Hoonara, and drowned him in a deluge of + blood. + We came to the country of the Mahdi, whom we rolled on the earth and as + to his nobles their blood flowed in streams. + We came to the iron house of Boraih, and found that the Jewish was the + established religion. + We arrived at the home of the warrior, El Hashais: + The night was dark, he fell upon us while we slept without anxiety, + He took from us our delicate and honored young girls, beauties whose eyes + were darkened with kohol. + Abou Zeid marched against him with his sharp sword and left him lying on + the ground. + Abou So'dah Khalifah the Zemati, made an expedition against us, and + pursued us with the sword from all sides. + I killed Abou So'dah Khalifah the Zemati, and I have put you in + possession of all his estates. + They gave me three provinces and So'dah, this is the exact truth that I + am telling here. + Then came an old woman of evil augur and she threw dissension among us, + and the Helals left for a distant land. + Then Abou Ali said to me: 'Dyab, you are but a fool,' + I marched against him under the wing of the night, and flames were + lighted in the sheepfolds. + He sent against me Hassan the Hilali, I went to meet him and said, 'Seize + this wretched dog.' These are the words of the Zoght Dyab + ben Ghanem and the fire of illness was lighted in his + breast."[10] + + +[10] R. Basset. Un Episode d'une chanson de geste Arabe sur la seconde +conquête de l'Afrique Septentrionale par les Mussulmans. Bulletin de +Correspondence Africaine, p. 147. Alger, 1885, in 8vo. See also Stemme. +Tripolitanisches Bederinenlieder. Leipzig, 1804, in 8vo. + +The second style of modern Arabic poetry is the "Kelamel hazel." It +comprises the pieces which treat of wine, women, and pleasures; and, in +general, on all subjects considered light and unworthy of a serious mind. +One may find an example in the piece of "Said and Hyza," and in different +works of Mr. Stemme cited above. It is particularly among the nomad Arabs +that this style is found, even more than the dwellers in cities, on whom +rests the reproach of composing verses where the study and sometimes the +singularity of expression cannot replace the inspiration, the energy, and +even the delicacy of sentiment often found among the nomads: + + "The country remains a desert, the days of heat are ended, the trees of + our land have borne the attack of Summer, that is my grief. + After it was so magnificent to behold, its leaves are fallen, one by one, + before my eyes. + But I do not covet the verdure of a cypress; my sorrow has for its cause + a woman, whose heart has captivated mine. + I will describe her clearly; you will know who she is; since she has gone + my heart fails me. + Cheika of the eye constantly veiled, daughter of Mouloud, thy love has + exhausted me. + I have reached a point where I walk dizzily like one who has drunken and + is drunk; still am I fasting; my heart has abandoned me. + Thy thick hair is like the ostrich's plumes, the male ostrich, feeding in + the depressions of the dunes; thy eyebrows are like two + _nouns_ [Arab letters] of a Tlemcen writing. + Thy eyes, my beautiful, are like two gleaming gun barrels, made at + Stamboul, city defiant of Christians. + The cheek of Cherikha is like the rose and the poppy when they open under + the showers. + Thy mouth insults the emerald and the diamond; thy saliva is a remedy + against the malady; without doubt it is that which has + cured me[1]." + +[1] Joly, Poesie Arnaduno chez les Nomades Algeriennes. Revue Africaine, +XLV, pp. 217-219. Alger, 1901, 8vo. + +To finish with the modern literature of the northwest of Africa, I should +mention a style of writings which played a grand rôle some five centuries +ago, but that sort is too closely connected with those composing the poems +on the Spanish Moors, and of them I shall speak later. It remains now to +but enumerate the enigmas found in all popular literature, and the satiric +sayings attributed to holy persons of the fifteenth century, who, for +having been virtuous and having possessed the gift of miracles, were none +the less men, and as such bore anger and spite. The most celebrated of all +was Sidi Ahmed ben Yousuf, who was buried at Miliana. By reason of the +axiom, "They lend but to the rich," they attributed to him all the +satirical sayings which are heard in the villages and among the tribes of +Algeria, of which, perhaps, he did pronounce some. Praises are rare: + + "He whom you see, wild and tall, + Know him for a child of Algiers," + + "Beni Menaur, son of the dispersed, + Has many soldiers, + And a false heart." + + "Some are going to call you Blida (little village), + But I have called you Ourida (little rose)." + + "Cherchel is but shame, + Avarice, and flight from society, + His face is that of a sheep, + His heart is the heart of a wolf; + Be either sailor or forge worker, + Or else leave the city."[2] + + [2] R. Basset. Les dictionnaires satiriques attribues à Sidi ben Yousof. + Paris, 1890, 8vo. + + "He who stands there on a low hill + All dressed in a small mantle, + Holding in his hand a small stick + And calling to sorrow, 'Come and find me,' + Know him for a son of Medea." + + "Miliana; Error and evil renown, + Of water and of wood, + People are jealous of it, + Women are Viziers there, + And men the captives." + + "Ténès; built upon a dunghill, + Its water is blood, + Its air is poison, + By the Eternal! Sidi Ahmed will not pass the night here, + Get out of the house, O cat!" + + "People of Bon Speur, + Women and men, + That they throw into the sea." + + "From the Orient and Occident, + I gathered the scamps, + I brought them to Sidi Mohammed ben Djellal. + There they escaped me, + One part went to Morocco, + And the rest went down into Eghrès." + + "Oran the depraved, + I sold thee at a reasonable price; + The Christians have come there, + Until the day of the resurrection." + + "Tlemcen: Glory of the chevaliers; + Her water, her air, + And the way her women veil themselves + Are found in no other land." + + "Tunis: Land of hypocrisy and deceit, + In the day there is abundance of vagabonds, + At night their number is multiplied, + God grant that I be not buried in its soil." + +Another no less celebrated in Morocco, Sidi Abdan Rahman el Medjidont, is, +they say, the author of sentences in four verses, in which he curses the +vices of his time and satirizes the tribes, and attacks the women with a +bitterness worthy of Juvenal: + + "Morocco is the land of treason; + Accursed be its habitants; + They make guests sleep outside, + And steal their provisions."[3] + + [3] H.J. Castries. Les Gnomes de Sidi Abdir Rahman El Medjedoub. Paris, + 1896. + + "Deceptive women are deceivers ever, + I hastened to escape them. + They girdle themselves with vipers, + And fasten their gowns with scorpions." + + "Let not thyself fall victim to a widow, + Even if her cheeks are bouquets, + For though you are the best of husbands, + She will repeat ceaselessly, 'God, be merciful to the dead.'" + + "No river on the mountains, + No warm nights in the winter, + No women doing kind actions, + No generous-hearted enemies." + +The battle of the Guadalete, where sank the Visigoth empire, delivered +Spain almost defenceless to the Arab and Berber conquest. There developed +then a civilization and an intellectual culture far superior to those of +the barbarous Christian refugees in the Asturias, where they led a rude and +coarse life which but seasoned them for future struggles. Of their literary +monuments, there remain to us but mediocre Latin chronicles. The court of +the Omayades at Cordova saw a literature blossom which did not disappear +even after the fall of the Khalifate. On the contrary, it seemed to regain +a new vigor in the small states which surged up about the Iberian +Peninsula. The Christians, under the domination of the Mussulmans, allowed +themselves to be seduced by the Arabian literature. "They loved to read +their poems and romances. They went to great expense and built immense +libraries. They scarcely knew how to express themselves in Latin, but when +it was necessary to write in Arabic, they found crowds of people who +understood that language, wrote it with the greatest elegance, and composed +poems even preferable in point of view to the art of the Arab poets +themselves."[4] + +[4] Dozy. Histoire des Mussulmans de l'Espagne, pp. 103-166. Leyden, 1861, +in 12mo, 4to. + +In spite of the complaints of fanatics like Euloge and Alvaro, the literary +history of that time was filled with Christian names, either those of +Spanish who had remained faithful to the ancient faith, or renegades, or +children of renegades. By the side of the Arab names, like that of the +Bishop Arib ben Said of Cordova, are found those of Ibn Guzman (Son of +Guzman), Ibn el Goutya (son of Gothe), Ibn Loyon (son of Leon), Ibn er +Roumaye (son of the Greek), Ibn Konbaret (son of Comparatus), Ibn +Baschkoual (son of Paschal), and all have left a name among letters. + +One magnificent period in literature unfolded itself in the eleventh +century A.D., in the little courts of Seville, of Murcie, of Malaga, +Valence, Toledo, and Badajos. The kings, like El Nis Sasim, El Mo'hadhid, +El Mishamed, Hbn Razin, rank among the best poets, and even the women +answered with talent to the verses which they inspired. They have preserved +the names and the pieces of some of them: Aicha, Rhadia, Fatima, Maryam, +Touna, and the Princess Ouallada. Greek antiquity has not left us more +elegant verses, nor elegies more passionate, than these, of which but a +small portion has been saved from forgetfulness in the anthologies of Hbn +Khayan, Hbn el Abbar, Hbn Bassam de Turad-eddin, and Ibn el Khatib el +Maggari. They needed the arrival of the Berbers to turn them into Almoran. +Those Berbers hastened there from the middle of Sahara and the borders of +Senegal to help the cause of Islamism against Spanish rule, as it was +menaced through the victories of Alfonso of Castile. The result would have +been to stifle those free manifestations of the literary art under a +rigorous piety which was almost always but the thin varnish of hypocrisy. + +To the Almoravides succeeded the Almohades coming from the Atlas of +Morocco. To the Almohades, the Merias coming from Sahara in Algeria, but in +dying out each of these dynasties left each time a little more ground under +the hands of the Christians, who, since the time in Telage, when they were +tracked into the caverns of Covadonga, had not ceased, in spite of ill +fortune of all sorts, to follow the work of deliverance. It would have been +accomplished centuries before if the internal struggle in Christian Spain +in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries had not accorded some years of +respite to the kingdom which was being founded at Granada, and revived, +although with less brilliancy, the splendor of the times before the twelfth +century. + +In the course of the long struggle the independent Christians had not been +able to avoid feeling in a certain measure something of the influence of +their neighbors, now their most civilized subjects. They translated into +prose imitations of the tales such as those of the book of Patronis, +borrowing from the general chronicles or in translations like the "Kalila +and traditions, legendary or historic, as they found them in the Dimna," or +the book of "The Ruses of Women," in verse. + +In their oldest romances--for instance, that of the "Children of Sara,"[5] +and in those to which they have given the name of _romances +fronterizos_, or romances of the frontier--they give the facts of the +war between the Mussulmans and the Christians. + +[5 ] T. Ramon Manendez Pidal. La legende de les Infantes de Sara. Madrid, +1896. 8vo. + +But they gave the name of Mauresques to another and different class of +romances, of which the heroes are chevaliers, who have nothing of the +Mussulman but the name. The talent of certain _littérateurs_ of the +sixteenth century exercised itself in that class where the persons are all +conventional, or the descriptions are all imaginative, and made a portrait +of the Mussulman society so exact that the romances of Esplandian, Amadis +de Gaul, and others, which evoked the delicious knight-errantry of Don +Quixote, can present a picture of the veritable chivalry of the Middle +Ages. We possess but few verses of the Mussulmans of Granada. Argot de Moll +preserved them in Arabic, transcribed in Latin characters, one piece being +attributed to Mouley Abou Abdallah: + + "The charming Alhambra and its palaces weep + Over their loss, Muley Boabdil (Bon Abdallah), + Bring me my horse and my white buckler, + That I may fight to retake the Alhambra; + Bring me my horse and my buckler blue, + That I may go to fight to retake my children. + + "My children are at Guadia, my wife at Jolfata; + Thou hast caused my ruin, O Setti Omm el Fata. + My children are at Guadia, my wife at Jolfata, + Thou hast caused my ruin, O Setti Omm el Fata!"[6] + +[6] A. de Circourt. Histoire des Moors mudijares et des Moresques. Paris, +1846. + +As may be seen, these verses have no resemblance to those called Moorish. +These are of a purely Spanish diction.[7] + +[7] T.A. de Circourt. I. iii., p. 327-332. + +Some romances, but not of these last-named, have kept traces of the real +legends of the Arabs. There is among them one which treats of the +adventures of Don Rodrigues, the last king of the Visigoths--"The Closed +House of Toledo."[8] "The Seduction of la Cava," "The Vengeance of Count +Julien," "The Battle of Guadalete," are brought back in the same fashion by +the historians and writers of Mussulman romances. + +[8] R. Basset. Legendes Arabes d'Espagne. La Maison fermée de Tolède. Oran, +1898, in 8vo. + +The romance on the construction of the Alhambra has preserved the character +of an Arabic legend which dates from before the prophet.[9] There is also a +romance on the conquest of Spain, attributed to an Arab writer, the same +man whom Cervantes somewhat later feigned to present as the author of Don +Quixote, the Moor, Cid Hamet ben Engels.[10] + +[9] R. Basset. D'Alhambra et le Chateau de Khanumag: Revue des traditions +populaires. Fairier, 1871, p. 459-465. + +[10] Histoire des Conquêtes d'Espagne par les Mores. Par Ali Aven Sufran. +Paris, 1720. + +It is another style of writing, less seductive, perhaps, than that of the +Moorish romances, in spite of their lack of vivacity and their bad taste. +But why mark this as the expression of the Mussulman sentiment under +Christian domination? Conquered by the Castilians, the Aragons, and the +Portuguese, the Moors had lost the use of Arabic, but they had preserved +the exterior sign-writing, just as their new converts retained their usages +and their national costumes. We possess a complete literature composed in +Spanish, but written in Arabic characters. They called it by the name of +_Aljaniado_. Its chief characteristic is that it treats of the +principal legends of the Mussulmans; those of Solomon and Moses, of Jesus; +the birth, childhood, and the marriage of Mohammed; Temins ed Daria, the +war of the king El Mohallal, the miracle of the moon, the ascension of +Mohammed to heaven, the conversion of Omar, the battle of Yarmouk, the +golden castle, the marvels that God showed to Abraham, Ali and the forty +young girls, the anti-Christ and the day of judgment[1] etc.; the legend of +Joseph, son of Jacob; that of Alexander the Great,[2] to which could be +added the story of the princess Zoraida,[3] without speaking of the pious +exhortations, magic formulas, conjurations, and charms.[4] + +[1] Guillon Robles. Legendas Moriscas. Madrid, 1885-86. 36 petit in 8vo. + +[2] Guillon Robles. La Legenda de Jose, hijo de Jacob, ye do Alexandro +Magna. Zaragoza, 1888, en 8vo. + +[3] L de Eguilas el Hditz, de La Princess Zoraida. Granada, 1892, 16mo. + +[4] P. Gil y Ribera et Mar Sanches. Colleccion el textos Aljamiados. +Zaragoza, 1888, 8vo. + +The Moors held to these documents all the more that they were written in +Arabic, and that the fury of the Inquisition was let loose upon them. To +save them from the flames, their owners hid them with the greatest care, +and but recently, at El Monacid, they found a whole library in Arabic and +Aljamiado, hidden more than two centuries between the double walls of an +old house.[5] The Mussulman proprietor of these books and his descendants +were dead, or had emigrated to Africa, abandoning the treasure which was to +see the light in a more tolerant epoch. + +[5] Pamo. Las coplas del Peregrino de Puey Monçon. Zaragoza, 1897. Pet. en +8vo. + +Political relations also existed between those of the Moors who remained in +Spain as converts and such as had fled from persecution and carried to the +populations of the north of Africa the hatred of the Spanish Christians. +Thus we find among the popular literature of the Magreb the same legends, +but edited in Arabic. Only a small number has been published.[6] Whether in +one language or the other, editing does not offer anything remarkable. The +stories have been developed, after the traditions of the Mussulmans, by the +_demi-littérateurs,_ and by that means they have become easier and +more accessible to the multitude. + +[6] R. Basset. Les Aventures Merveilleuses de Tunis et Dais. Rome, 1891, en +8vo. L'expédition du Chateau d'or, et la combat d'Ali et du dragon. Rome, +1893, en 8vo. M'lle Florence Groff. Les sept dormants, La ville de Tram, et +l'excursion contre la Makke, Alger, 1891, en 8vo. + +It is thus that a literature in Spain sadly ends which, during seven +centuries, had counted historians and poets, philologists, philosophers and +savants, and which the Christian literature replacing it can possibly equal +in some points, but never surpass.[7] + +[Illustration (Signature Facsimile): Rene Basset] + +[7] M. Basset's "Special Introduction" was written in French; the English +translation was made by Robert Arnot. + + + +PREFACE + + +The Moorish ballads which appear in this volume are selected from a unique +department of European literature. They are found in the Spanish language, +but their character is oriental; their inspiration comes from the Mahometan +conquerors of northern Africa, and while they exhibit a blending of Spanish +earnestness and chivalry with the wild and dashing spirit of the Arab, they +present a type of literature which is quite unparalleled in the Latin and +Teutonic countries of the Mediterranean basin. + +Spain is especially rich in ballad literature, infinitely richer than any +other civilized nation. These ballads take various forms. By Cervantes and +his countrymen they are styled romances, and the romance generally consists +in a poem which describes the character, sufferings, or exploits of a +single individual. The language is simple; the versification, often artless +though melodious, is seldom elaborated into complexity of rhyme. But the +heroic Moor is set before us in the most vivid colors. The hues and +material of his cloak, his housings, his caftan, and his plumes are given, +and quite a vocabulary is exhausted in depicting the color, sex, and breed +of his war-horse. His weapons, lance, scimitar, and corslet of steel are +dwelt upon with enthusiasm. He is as brave as Mars, and as comely as +Adonis. Sometimes he dashes into a bull-ring and slays wild creatures in +the sight of fair ladies and envious men. He throws his lance of cane, +which is filled with sand, so high that it vanishes in the clouds. He is +ready to strike down, in his own house, the Christian who has taken from +him and wedded the lady of his choice. He is almost always in love with +some lady who is unkind and cold, and for her he wanders at times in dark +array, expressing his sombre mood in the device and motto which he paints +upon his shield. Some of the ballads picture love more fortunate in the +most charming manner, and the dark tortures of jealousy are powerfully +described in others. The devotion of the Moor to his lady is scarcely +caricatured in the mocking language of Cervantes, and is not exceeded by +anything to be found in the history of French chivalry. But the god of +these ballads is Allah, and they sometimes reveal a trace of ferocity which +seems to be derived from religious fanaticism. Nor can the reader fail to +be struck by the profound pathos which many of them express so well. The +dirges are supremely beautiful, their language simple and direct, but +perfect in descriptive touches and in the cadence of the reiterated burden. + +Beside the ballads of warlike and amorous adventures, there are sea-songs, +songs of captivity, and songs of the galley slave. The Spanish Moor is +seized by some African pirate and carried away to toil in the mill of his +master on some foreign shore, or he is chained to the rowing-bench of the +Berber galley, thence to be taken and sold when the voyage is over to some +master who leaves him to weep in solitary toil in the farm or garden. +Sometimes he wins the love of his mistress, who releases him and flies in +his company. + +All these ballads have vivid descriptions of scenery. The towers of Baeza, +the walls of Granada, the green _vegas_ that spread outside every +city, the valley of the Guadalquivir, and the rushing waters of the Tagus, +the high cliffs of Cadiz, the Pillars of Hercules, and the blue waves of +the Mediterranean make a life-like background to every incident. In the +cities the ladies throng the balconies of curling iron-work or crowd the +plaza where the joust or bull-fight is to be witnessed, or steal at +nightfall to the edge of the _vega_ to meet a lover, and sometimes to +die in his arms at the hands of bandits. + +There is a dramatic power in these ballads which is one of their most +remarkable features. They are sometimes mere sketches, but oftener the +story is told with consummate art, with strict economy of word and phrase, +and the _dénouement_ comes with a point and power which show that the +Moorish minstrel was an artist of no mean skill and address. + +The authors of the Moorish romances, songs, and ballads are unknown. They +have probably assumed their present literary form after being part of the +_répertoire_ of successive minstrels, and some of the incidents appear +in more than one version. The most ancient of them are often the shortest, +but they belong to the period when southern Spain under Mahometan rule was +at the height of its prosperity, and Arabian learning, art, and literature +made her rank among the first countries in Europe. The peninsula was +conquered by the Moors in the caliphate of Walid I, 705-715 A.D., and the +independent dynasty of the Ommiades was founded by Abderrhaman at Granada +in 755 A.D. It was from this latter date that the Spanish Moors began to +assume that special character in language, manners, and chivalric +enthusiasm which is represented in the present ballads; the spirit of +Christian knighthood is here seen blended with Arabian passion, +impetuosity, and impulsiveness, and the Spanish language has supplanted, +even among Mahometan poets, the oriental idiom. We may roughly estimate the +period in which the Moorish romance flourished as comprised in the years +between 1100 and 1600 A.D. + +The term Moorish is somewhat indefinite, and is used in Spanish history as +a synonym of Saracen or Mahometan. It cannot be called a national +appellation, though originally in the Augustan age it was applied to the +dwellers in Mauretania, with whom the Romans had first come in contact when +the war with Hannibal was transferred from Italy and Spain to Africa. In +the present day, it may be applied to all the races of northwestern Africa +who have accepted Mahometanism; in which case it would include the +aborigines of that region, who live not on the coast and in towns, but in +the Atlas Mountain and the Sahara Desert. While these races, all Berbers +under different local names, are Mussulmans in profession, they are not so +highly civilized as their co-religionists who people the coast of the +Mediterranean. They live a tribal life, and are blood-thirsty and +predatory. They are of course mixed in race with the Arabians, but they are +separate in their life and institutions, and they possess no written +literature. Their oral literature is, however, abundant, though it is only +within quite recent years that it has become known to America and Europe. +The present collection of tales and fables is the first which has hitherto +been made in the English language. The learned men who collected the tales +of the Berbers and Kabyles (who are identical in ethnical origin) underwent +many hardships in gathering from half-savage lips the material for their +volume. They were forced to live among the wild tribesmen, join their nomad +life, sit at their feasts, and watch with them round their camp-fire, while +it was with difficulty they transferred to writing the syllables of a +barbarous tongue. The memory of the Berber story-teller seems to be +incredibly capacious and retentive, and the tales were recited over and +over again without a variation. As is to be expected these tales are very +varied, and many of them are of a didactic, if not ethical, cast. They are +instructive as revealing the social life and character of these mountain +and desert tribes. + +We find the spirit of the vendetta pervading these tales with more than +Corsican bitterness and unreasoning cruelty, every man being allowed to +revenge himself by taking the life or property of another. This private and +personal warfare has done more than anything else to check the advance in +civilization of these tribesmen. The Berbers and Kabyles are fanatical +Mahometans and look upon Christians and Jews as dogs and outcasts. It is +considered honorable to cheat, rob, or deceive by lies one who does not +worship Allah. The tales illustrate, moreover, the degraded position of +women. A wife is literally a chattel, not only to be bought, but to be sold +also, and to be treated in every respect as man's inferior--a mere slave or +beast of burden. Yet the tribesmen are profoundly superstitious, and hold +in great dread the evil spirits who they think surround them and to whom +they attribute bodily and mental ills. An idiot is one who is possessed by +a wicked demon, and is to be feared accordingly. + +There are found current among them a vast number of fairy tales, such as +equal in wildness and horror the strangest inventions of oriental +imagination. Their tales of ogres and ogresses are unsoftened by any of +that playfulness and bonhomie which give such undying charm to the +"Thousand and One Nights." The element of the miraculous takes many +original forms in their popular tales, and they have more than their share +of the folk-lore legends and traditions such as Herodotus loved to collect. +It was said of old that something new was always coming out of Africa, and +certainly the contribution which the Berbers and Kabyles have made to the +fund of wonder-stories in the world may be looked upon as new, in more than +one sense. It is new, not only because it is novel and unexpected, but +because it is fresh, original and highly interesting. + +The fables of these tribes are very abundant and very curious. The great +hero of the animal fable in Europe has always been the fox, whose cunning, +greed, and duplicity are immortalized in the finest fable the world's +literature possesses. The fables of northwest Africa employ the jackal +instead of Reynard, whose place the sycophant of the lion not inaptly +fills. + +There are a number of men among the Kabyles and other Berber tribes who +make a profession of reciting poems, tales, and proverbs, and travel from +one village or encampment to another in search of an audience. They know +the national traditions, the heroic legends, and warlike adventures that +pertain to each community, and are honored and welcomed wherever they go. +It was from these men that the various narratives contained in this +collection were obtained, and the translation of them has engaged the +talents and labors of some of the world's foremost oriental scholars. + +[Illustration (Facsimile Signature): Epiphanius Wilson] + + + + +CONTENTS + + +MOORISH BALLADS + +Fatima's Love +The Braggart Rebuked +The Admiral's Farewell +Moriana and Galvan +The Bereaved Father +The Warden of Molina +The Loves of Boabdil and Vindaraja +The Infanta Sevilla and Peranguelos +Celin's Farewell +Celin's Return +Baza Revisited +Captive Zara +The Jealous King +The Lovers of Antequera +Tarfe's Truce +The Two Moorish Knights +The King's Decision +Almanzar and Bobalias +The Moorish Infanta and Alfonzo Ramos +The Bull-fight of Zulema +The Renegade +The Tower of Gold +The Dirge for Aliatar +The Ship of Zara +Hamete Ali +Zaide's Love +Zaida's Jealousy +Zaida of Toledo +Zaide Rebuked +Zaida's Inconstancy +Zaide's Desolation +Zaida's Lament +Zaida's Curse +The Tournament of Zaide +Zaide's Complaint +Guhala's Love +Azarco of Granada +Azarco Rebuked +Adelifa's Farewell +Azarco's Farewell +Celinda's Courtesy +Gazul's Despondency +Gazul in Love +Celinda's Inconstancy +The Bull-fight +Lovers Reconciled +Call to Arms +Gazul Calumniated +Gazul's Despair +Vengeance of Gazul +Gazul and Albenzaide +Gazul's Arms +The Tournament +Abunemeya's Lament +The Despondent Lover +Love and Jealousy +The Captive of Toledo +The Blazon of Abenamar +Woman's Fickleness +King Juan +Abenamar's Jealousy +Adelifa's Jealousy +Funeral of Abenamar +Ballad of Albayaldos +The Night Raid of Reduan +Siege of Jaen +Death of Reduan +The Aged Lover +Fickleness Rebuked +The Galley Slave of Dragut +The Captive's Lament +Strike Sail +The Captive's Escape +The Spaniard of Oran + + +MOORISH ROMANCES + +The Bull-fight of Gazul +The Zegri's Bride +The Bridal of Andalla +Zara's Ear-rings +The Lamentation for Celin + + +THE STORY OF SIDI BRAHIM OF MASSAT + + +FIVE BERBER STORIES + +Djokhrane and the Jays +The Ogre and the Beautiful Woman +The False Vezir +The Soufi and the Targui +Ahmed el Hilalieu and El Redah + + +POEMS OF THE MAGHREB + +Ali's Answer +In Honor of Lalla +Sayd and Hyzyya +The Aïssaoua in Paris +Song of Fatima +The City Girl and the Country Girl + + +POPULAR TALES OF THE BERBERS + +The Turtle, the Frog, and the Serpent +The Hedgehog, the Jackal, and the Lion +The Stolen Woman +The King, the Arab, and the Monster +The Lion, the Jackal, and the Man +Salomon and the Griffin +Adventure of Sidi Mahomet +The Haunted Garden +The Woman and the Fairy +Hamed ben Ceggad +The Magic Napkin +The Child and the King of the Genii +The Seven Brothers +Half-a-Cock +Strange Meetings +The King and His Family +Beddou +The Language of the Beasts +The Apple of Youth + + +POPULAR TALES OF THE KABYLES + +Ali and Ou Ali +The Infidel Jew +The Sheik's Head +The Wagtail and the Jackal +The Flute-player +The Child +The Monkey and the Fisherman +The Two Friends +The Robber and the Two Pilgrims +The Little Child +The Wren +The Mule, the Jackal, and the Lion +Thadhellala +The Good Man and the Bad One +The Crow and the Child +H'ab Sliman +The King and His Son +Mahomet ben Soltan + + + + +MOORISH BALLADS + +ROMANCEROS MORISCOS + +[_Metrical Translation by Epiphanius Wilson, A.M._] + + + +MOORISH BALLADS + + +FATIMA'S LOVE + + On the morn of John the Baptist, just at the break of day, + The Moors upon Granada's fields streamed out in bright array. + Their horses galloped o'er the sod, their lances flashed in air, + And the banners that their dames had wrought spread out their colors + fair. + Their quivers bright flashed in the light with gold and silk brocade, + And the Moor who saw his love was there looked best in the parade, + And the Moor who had no lady love strove hard some love to gain. + 'Mong those who from Alhambra's towers gazed on that warrior train, + There were two Moorish ladies there whom love had smitten sore; + Zarifa one, and Fatima the name the other bore. + Knit by warm friendship were their hearts till, filled with jealous pain, + Their glances met, as one fair knight came prancing o'er the plain. + Zarifa spoke to Fatima, "How has love marred thy face! + Once roses bloomed on either cheek, now lilies take their place; + And you, who once would talk of love, now still and silent stay. + Come, come unto the window and watch the pageant gay! + Abindarraez is riding by; his train is full in view; + In all Granada none can boast a choicer retinue." + "It is not love, Zarifa, that robs my cheek of rose; + No fond and anxious passion this mournful bosom knows; + My cheeks are pale and I am still and silent, it is true,-- + For, ah! I miss my father's face, whom fierce Alabey slew. + And did I crave the boon of love, a thousand knights were fain + To fight for me in service true on yonder flowery plain. + And all the love I give to each to give me back again. + And for Abindarraez, whose heart and valiant might, + You praise and from the window watch, with rapturous delight----" + The lady stopped, for at their feet knelt down the well-loved knight. + + + +THE BRAGGART REBUKED + + "If thou art brave in battle's hour + As thou art bold in pleasure's rout; + If thou canst make the lances fly + As thou canst fling thy words about; + + "If thou canst in the vega fight + As thou the ladies' eyes canst praise; + And show on horseback half the skill + That marks thee in the dance's maze; + + "Meet with the briskness of the joust + The challenge of the deadly lance, + And in the play of scimitars + Be sprightly as in festive dance; + + "If thou art ready in the field + As thou art nimble on the square; + And canst the front of battle face + As though thou flirtest with the fair; + + "If thou dost don thy shining mail + As lightly as thy festive suit, + And listenest to the trumpet call + As though it were thy lady's lute; + + "And if, as in the gamesome hour + Thou flingest round the rattling reed + Against the foeman's moated camp, + Thou spurrest on thy thundering steed; + + "If, when the foe is face to face, + Thou boastest as thou oft hast done + When far away his ranks were ranged, + And the fierce fight had not begun;-- + + "Go, Zaide, to the Alhambra go, + And there defend thy soldier fame; + For every tongue is wagging there, + And all, derisive, speak thy name. + + "And if thou fear to go alone, + Take others with thee to thine aid; + Thy friends are ready at thy beck, + And Zaide need not be afraid! + + "It is not in the palace court, + Amid the throng of ladies bright, + That the good soldier, by his tongue, + Proves himself valorous in the fight. + + "It is not there his hands can show + What in the battle he can do; + But where the shock of onset tests + The fearless heart, the iron thew. + + "Betake thee to the bloody field + And let thy sword thy praises sing; + But silence is most eloquent + Amid the courtiers of the King." + + Thus Tarfe wrote, the Moorish knight, + His heart so filled with furious rage + That where his fiery pen had passed + It pierced and rent the flimsy page. + + He called his varlet to his side, + "Now seek the Alhambra's hall," said he, + "And privately to Zaide say + That this epistle comes from me; + + "And whisper, that none else may hear, + And say that I his coming wait, + Where Genil's crystal torrent laves + The pillars of yon palace gate." + + + +THE ADMIRAL'S FAREWELL + + The royal fleet with fluttering sail is waiting in the bay; + And brave Mustapha, the Admiral, must start at break of day. + His hood and cloak of many hues he swiftly dons, and sets + Upon his brow his turban gay with pearls and amulets; + Of many tints above his head his plumes are waving wide; + Like a crescent moon his scimitar is dangling at his side; + And standing at the window, he gazes forth, and, hark! + Across the rippling waters floats the summons to embark. + + Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain! + Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain. + Let the shrill fife, the flute, the sackbut ring + A summons to our Admiral, a salvo to our King! + + The haughty Turk his scarlet shoe upon the stirrup placed, + Right easily he vaulted to his saddle-tree in haste. + His courser was Arabian, in whose crest and pastern show + A glossy coat as soft as silk, as white as driven snow. + One mark alone was on his flank! 'twas branded deep and dark; + The letter F in Arab script, stood out the sacred mark. + By the color of his courser he wished it to be seen + That the soul of the King's Admiral was white and true and clean. + Oh, swift and full of mettle was the steed which that day bore + Mustapha, the High Admiral, down to the wave-beat shore! + The haughty Turk sails forth at morn, that Malta he may take, + But many the greater conquest his gallant men shall make; + For his heart is high and his soul is bent on death or victory, + And he pauses, as the clashing sound comes from the distant sea; + + Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain! + Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain. + Let fife and flute, and sackbut in accord + Proclaim, Aboard! Aboard! + Thy pinnace waits thee at the slip, lord Admiral, aboard! + + And as he hears the summons Love makes for him reply, + "O whither, cruel fortune, wilt thou bid the warrior fly? + Must I seek thee in the ocean, where the winds and billows roar? + Must I seek thee there, because in vain I sought thee on the shore? + And dost thou think the ocean, crossed by my flashing sail, + With all its myriad waters and its rivers, can avail + To quench the ardent fire of love that rages in my breast, + And soothe the fever of my soul into one hour of rest?" + And as he mused, in bitter thought, Mustapha reached in haste + A balcony; till dawn of day before that house he paced, + And all his heart's anxieties he counted o'er and o'er, + And, when the darkness of the night toward opening twilight wore, + Upon the balcony there came the cause of all his sighs, + But a smile was on her rosy lips and a light was in her eyes. + "O lovely Zaida," he began, and gazed into her face, + "If my presence at thy window is a burden to thy peace, + One pledge bestow upon me, one pledge of love, I pray, + And let me kiss thy lily hand before I sail away." + "I grieve for thy departure," the lady made reply, + "And it needs no pledge to tell thee I am faithful till I die, + But if one token thou must have, take this ere thou depart; + ('Twas fashioned by these hands of mine) and keep it on thy heart!" + The Moor rose in his stirrups, he took it from her hand, + 'Twas a piece of lace of gold and silk shaped for a helmet band. + There was the wheel of fortune with subtile needle drawn, + (Ah, Fortune that had left him there dejected and forlorn!) + And as he paused, he heard the sound tumultuous come again, + 'Twas from the fleet, down in the bay, and well he knew the strain. + + Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain; + Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain. + Let fife and flute, and sackbut in accord + Proclaim, Aboard! Aboard! + Thy pinnace waits thee at the slip, lord Admiral, aboard! + + Oh, stay my foes, nor in such haste invite me to the field! + Here let me take the triumphs that softer conquests yield! + This is the goal of my desire, the aim of my design, + That Zaida's hand in mine be placed and her heart beat close to mine! + Then spake the fair Sultana, and she dropped a tender tear, + "Nay mourn not for the present pain, for future bliss is near. + The wings of Time are swift, and they bear a brighter day; + And when once the longed-for gift is here 'twill never pass away!" + Then the Moor's heart beat high with joy; to smiles were changed his + sighs, + In silent ecstasy he gazed into the lady's eyes. + He rode to meet his waiting fleet, for favoring was the wind, + But while his body went on board, he left his heart behind! + + Blow, trumpets; clarions, sound your strain! + Strike, kettle-drum, the alarum in refrain. + Let the shrill fife, the flute, the sackbut ring + A summons to our Admiral, a salvo to our King. + + + +MORIANA AND GALVAN + + Twas Princess Moriana, + Upon a castle's height, + That played with Moorish Galvan + At cards for her delight; + And oft he lost the stakes he set, + Full many a coin I wis; + When Moriana lost, she gave + Her hand for him to kiss. + And after hours of pleasure + Moor Galvan sank to sleep; + And soon the lady saw a knight + Descend the mountain steep; + His voice was raised in sorrow, + His eyes with tears were wet, + For lovely Moriana + His heart could ne'er forget. + For her, upon St. John's Day, + While she was gathering flowers, + The Moors had made a captive, + Beneath her father's towers. + And Moriana raised her eyes + And saw her lover ride, + And on her cheeks her Moorish lord + The sparkling tears descried. + With anger raged his spirit, + And thus to her he cried: + "What ails thee, gentle lady? + Why flows with tears thine eye? + If Moors of mine have done thee wrong, + I swear that they shall die; + If any of thy maidens + Have caused thee this distress, + The whip across their shoulders + Shall avenge their wickedness. + Or, if the Christian countrymen + Have sorrow for thee made, + I will, with conquering armies, + Their provinces invade. + The warlike weapons that I don + Are festal robes to me; + To me the din of battle + Is sweet tranquillity; + The direst toils the warrior bears + With steadfast joy I meet; + To me the watch that nightlong lasts + Is like a slumber sweet." + "No Moors of thine within these halls + Have caused to me this pain; + No maidens waiting in my bower + Have showed to me disdain; + Nor have my Christian kinsmen + To mourn my spirit made, + Provoking thee in vengeance + Their province to invade. + Vain the deep cause of my distress + From Galvan's eye to hide-- + 'Tis that I see down yonder mount + A knight in armor ride. + 'Tis such a sight that does my tears + From very heart-springs move; + For yonder knight is all to me, + My husband and my love." + Straight the Moor's cheek with anger flushed, + Till red eclipsed the brown, + And his clenched fist he lifted + As if to strike her down. + He gnashed his teeth with passion, + The fangs with blood were red, + He called his slaves and bade them + Strike off the lady's head. + He bade them bind and take her + First to the mountain's height, + That she the doom might suffer + Within her husband's sight; + But all the lady answered, + When she was brought to death, + Were words of faith and loyalty + Borne on her parting breath: + "Behold, I die a Christian, + And here repeat my vows + Of faithfulness to yonder knight, + My loved and lawful spouse." + + + +THE BEREAVED FATHER + + "Rise up, rise up, thou hoary head, + What madness causes thy delay? + Thou killest swine on Thursday morn, + And eatest flesh on fasting day. + + "'Tis now seven years since first I trod + The valley and the wandering wood; + My feet were bare, my flesh was torn, + And all my pathway stained in blood. + + "Ah, mournfully I seek in vain + The Emperor's daughter, who had gone + A prisoner made by caitiff Moors, + Upon the morning of St. John. + + "She gathered flowers upon the plain, + She plucked the roses from the spray, + And in the orchard of her sire + They found and bore the maid away." + + These words has Moriana heard, + Close nestled in the Moor's embrace; + The tears that welled from out her eyes + Have wet her captor's swarthy face. + + + + +THE WARDEN OF MOLINA + + The warden of Molina, ah! furious was his speed, + As he dashed his glittering rowels in the flank of his good steed, + And his reins left dangling from the bit, along the white highway, + For his mind was set to speed his horse, to speed and not to stay. + He rode upon a grizzled roan, and with the wind he raced, + And the breezes rustled round him like a tempest in the waste. + In the Plaza of Molina at last he made his stand, + And in a voice of thunder he uttered his command: + + To arms, to arms, my captains! + Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow; + And let the thundering kettle-drum + Give challenge to the foe. + + "Now leave your feasts and banquetings and gird you in your steel! + And leave the couches of delight, where slumber's charm you feel; + Your country calls for succor, all must the word obey, + For the freedom of your fathers is in your hands to-day. + Ah, sore may be the struggle, and vast may be the cost; + But yet no tie of love must keep you now, or all is lost. + In breasts where honor dwells there is no room in times like these + To dally at a lady's side, kneel at a lady's knees. + + To arms, to arms, my captains! + Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow; + And let the thundering kettle-drum + Give challenge to the foe. + + "Yes, in the hour of peril away with pleasure's thrall! + Let honor take the lance and steed to meet our country's call. + For those who craven in the fight refuse to meet the foe + Shall sink beneath the feet of all struck by a bitterer blow; + In moments when fair honor's crown is offered to the brave + And dangers yawn around our State, deep as the deadly grave, + 'Tis right strong arms and sturdy hearts should take the sword of might, + And eagerly for Fatherland descend into the fight. + To arms, to arms, my captains! + Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow; + And let the thundering kettle-drum + Give challenge to the foe. + + "Then lay aside the silken robes, the glittering brocade; + Be all in vest of leather and twisted steel arrayed; + On each left arm be hung the shield, safe guardian of the breast, + And take the crooked scimitar and put the lance in rest, + And face the fortune of the day, for it is vain to fly, + And the coward and the braggart now alone are doomed to die. + And let each manly bosom show, in the impending fray, + A valor such as Mars himself in fury might display. + To arms, to arms, my captains! + Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow; + And let the thundering kettle-drum + Give challenge to the foe. + + He spoke, and at his valiant words, that rang through all the square, + The veriest cowards of the town resolved to do and dare; + And stirred by honor's eager fire forth from the gate they stream, + And plumes are waving in the air, and spears and falchions gleam; + And turbaned heads and faces fierce, and smiles in anger quenched, + And sweating steeds and flashing spurs and hands in fury clenched, + Follow the fluttering banners that toward the vega swarm, + And many a voice re-echoes the words of wild alarm. + To arms, to arms, my captains! + Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow; + And let the thundering kettle-drum + Give challenge to the foe. + + And, like the timid lambs that crowd with bleatings in the fold, + When they advancing to their throats the furious wolf behold, + The lovely Moorish maidens, with wet but flashing eyes, + Are crowded in a public square and fill the air with cries; + And tho', like tender women, 'tis vain for them to arm, + Yet loudly they re-echo the words of the alarm. + To heaven they cry for succor, and, while to heaven they pray, + They call the knights they love so well to arm them for the fray. + To arms, to arms, my captains! + Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow; + And let the thundering kettle-drum + Give challenge to the foe. + + The foremost Moorish nobles, Molina's chosen band, + Rush forward from the city the invaders to withstand. + There marshalled in a squadron with shining arms they speed, + Like knights and noble gentlemen, to meet their country's need. + Twelve thousand Christians crowd the plain, twelve thousand warriors + tried, + They fire the homes, they reap the corn, upon the vega wide; + And the warriors of Molina their furious lances ply, + And in their own Arabian tongue they raise the rallying cry. + To arms, to arms, my captains! + Sound, clarions; trumpets, blow; + And let the thundering kettle-drum + Give challenge to the foe. + + + +THE LOVES OF BOABDIL AND VINDARAJA + + Where Antequera's city stands, upon the southern plain, + The captive Vindaraja sits and mourns her lot in vain. + While Chico, proud Granada's King, nor night nor day can rest, + For of all the Moorish ladies Vindaraja he loves best; + And while naught can give her solace and naught can dry her tear, + 'Tis not the task of slavery nor the cell that brings her fear; + For while in Antequera her body lingers still, + Her heart is in Granada upon Alhambra's hill. + There, while the Moorish monarch longs to have her at his side, + More keen is Vindaraja's wish to be a monarch's bride. + Ah! long delays the moment that shall bring her liberty, + A thousand thousand years in every second seem to fly! + For she thinks of royal Chico, and her face with tears is wet, + For she knows that absence oft will make the fondest heart forget. + And the lover who is truest may yet suspicion feel, + For the loved one in some distant land whose heart is firm as steel. + And now to solve her anxious doubts, she takes the pen one day + And writes to royal Chico, in Granada far away. + Ah! long the letter that she wrote to tell him of her state, + In lonely prison cell confined, a captive desolate! + She sent it by a Moorish knight, and sealed it with her ring; + He was warden of Alhambra and stood beside the King, + And he had come sent by the King to Antequera's tower, + To learn how Vindaraja fared within that prison bower. + The Moor was faithful to his charge, a warrior stout and leal, + And Chico took the note of love and trembling broke the seal; + And when the open page he saw and read what it contained, + These were the words in which the maid of her hard lot complained: + + + +THE LETTER OF VINDARAJA + + "Ah, hapless is the love-lorn maid like me in captive plight, + For freedom once was mine, and I was happy day and night. + Yes, happy, for I knew that thou hadst given me thy love, + Precious the gift to lonely hearts all other gifts above. + Well mightest thou forget me, though 'twere treachery to say + The flame that filled thy royal heart as yet had passed away. + Still, though too oft do lovers' hearts in absent hours repine. + I know if there are faithful vows, then faithful will be thine! + 'Tis hard, indeed, for lovers to crush the doubting thought + Which to the brooding bosom some lonely hour has brought. + There is no safety for the love, when languish out of sight + The form, the smile, the flashing eyes that once were love's delight; + Nor can I, I confess it, feel certain of thy vow! + How many Moorish ladies are gathered round thee now! + How many fairer, brighter forms are clustered at thy throne, + Whose power might change to very wax the heart of steel or stone! + And if, indeed, there be a cause why I should blame thy heart, + 'Tis the delay that thou hast shown in taking here my part. + Why are not armies sent to break these prison bars, and bring + Back to her home the Moorish maid, the favorite of the King? + A maid whose eyes are changed to springs whence flow the flood of tears, + For she thinks of thee and weeps for thee through all these absent years. + Believe me, if 'twere thou, who lay a captive in his chain, + My life of joy, to rescue thee, my heart of blood I'd drain! + O King and master, if, indeed, I am thy loved one still, + As in those days when I was first upon Alhambra's hill, + Send rescue for thy darling, or fear her love may fade, + For love that needs the sunlight must wither in the shade. + And yet I cannot doubt thee; if e'er suspicion's breath + Should chill my heart, that moment would be Vindaraja's death. + Nor think should you forget me or spurn me from your arms, + That life for Vindaraja could have no other charms. + It was thy boast thou once did love a princess, now a slave, + I boasted that to thy behest I full obedience gave! + And from this prison should I come, in freedom once again, + To sit and hear thy words of love on Andalusia's plain, + The brightest thought would be to me that thou, the King, has seen + 'Twas right to free a wretched slave that she might be thy Queen. + Hard is the lot of bondage here, and heavy is my chain, + And from my prison bars I gaze with lamentation vain; + But these are slight and idle things--my one, my sole distress + Is that I cannot see thy face and welcome thy caress! + This only is the passion that can my bosom rend; + 'Tis this alone that makes me long for death, my sufferings end. + The plagues of life are naught to me; life's only joy is this-- + To see thee and to hear thee and to blush beneath thy kiss! + Alas! perchance this evening or to-morrow morn, may be, + The lords who hold me here a slave in sad captivity, + May, since they think me wanton, their treacherous measures take + That I should be a Christian and my former faith forsake. + But I tell them, and I weep to tell, that I will ne'er forego + The creed my fathers fought for in centuries long ago! + And yet I might forswear it, but that that creed divine + 'Tis vain I struggle to deny, for, ah, that creed is thine!" + King Chico read his lady's note and silent laid it down; + Then to the window he drew nigh, and gazed upon the town; + And lost in thought he pondered upon each tender line, + And sudden tears and a sigh of grief were his inward sorrow's sign. + And he called for ink and paper, that Vindaraja's heart + Might know that he remembered her and sought to heal its smart. + He would tell her that the absence which caused to her those fears + Had only made her dearer still, through all those mournful years. + He would tell her that his heart was sad, because she was not near-- + Yes, far more sad than Moorish slave chained on the south frontier. + And then he wrote the letter to the darling Moorish slave, + And this is the tender message that royal Chico gave: + + + +THE LETTER OF THE KING + + "Thy words have done me grievous wrong, for, lovely Mooress, couldst thou + think + That he who loves thee more than life could e'er to such a treachery + sink? + His life is naught without the thought that thou art happy in thy lot; + And while the red blood at his heart is beating thou art ne'er forgot! + Thou woundest me because thy heart mistrusts me as a fickle fool; + Thou dost not know when passion true has one apt pupil taken to school. + Oblivion could not, could not cloud the image on his soul impressed, + Unless dark treachery from the first had been the monarch of his breast + And if perhaps some weary hours I thought that Vindaraja's mind + Might in some happier cavalier the solace of her slavery find, + I checked the thought; I drove away the vision that with death was rife, + For e'er my trust in thee I lost, in battle I'd forego my life! + Yet even the doubt that thou hast breathed gives me no franchise to + forget, + And were I willing that thy face should cease to fill my vision, yet + 'Tis separation's self that binds us closer though the centuries roll, + And forges that eternal chain that binds together soul and soul! + And even were this thought no more than the wild vision of my mind, + Yet in a thousand worlds no face to change for thine this heart could + find. + Thro' life, thro' death 'twere all the same, and when to heaven our + glance we raise, + Full in the very heart of bliss thine eyes shall meet my ardent gaze. + For eyes that have beheld thy face, full readily the truth will own + That God exhausted, when he made thee, all the treasures of his throne! + And my trusting heart will answer while it fills my veins with fire + That to hear of, is to see thee; and to see, is to desire! + Yet unless my Vindaraja I could look upon awhile, + As some traveller in a desert I should perish for her smile; + For 'tis longing for her presence makes the spring of life to me, + And allays the secret suffering none except her eye can see. + In this thought alone my spirit finds refreshment and delight; + This is sweeter than the struggle, than the glory of the fight; + And if e'er I could forget her heaving breast and laughing eye, + Tender word, and soft caresses--Vindaraja, I should die! + If the King should bid me hasten to release thee from thy chain, + Oh, believe me, dearest lady, he would never bid in vain; + Naught he could demand were greater than the price that I would pay, + If in high Alhambra's halls I once again could see thee gay! + None can say I am remiss, and heedless of thy dismal fate; + Love comes to prompt me every hour, he will not let my zeal abate. + If occasion call, I yield myself, my soul to set thee free; + Take this offering if thou wilt, I wait thy word on bended knee. + Dost thou suffer, noble lady, by these fancies overwrought? + Ah, my soul is filled with sorrow at the agonizing thought; + For to know that Vindaraja languishes, oppressed with care, + Is enough to make death welcome, if I could but rescue her. + Yes, the world shall know that I would die not only for the bliss + Of clasping thee in love's embrace and kindling at thy tender kiss. + This, indeed, would be a prize, for which the coward death would dare-- + I would die to make thee happy, tho' thy lot I might not share! + Then, though I should fail to lift the burden on my darling laid, + Though I could not prove my love by rescuing my Moorish maid, + Yet my love would have this witness, first, thy confidence sublime, + Then my death for thee, recorded on the scroll of future time! + Yes, my death, for should I perish, it were comfort but to think + Thou couldst have henceforth on earth no blacker, bitterer cup to drink! + Sorrow's shafts would be exhausted, thou couldst laugh at fortune's + power. + Tho' I lost thee, yet this thought would cheer me in my parting hour. + Yet I believe that fate intends (oh, bear this forecast in thy mind!) + That all the love my passions crave will soon a full fruition find; + Fast my passion stronger grows, and if of love there measure be, + Believe it, dearest, that the whole can find its summary in me! + Deem that thou art foully wronged, whose graces have such power to bless, + If any of thy subject slaves to thee, their queen, should offer less, + And accept this pledged assurance, that oblivion cannot roll + O'er the image of thy beauty stamped on this enamored soul. + Then dismiss thy anxious musings, let them with the wind away, + As the gloomy clouds are scattered at the rising of the day. + Think that he is now thy slave, who, when he wooed thee, was thy King; + Think that not the brightest morning can to him contentment bring, + Till the light of other moments in thy melting eyes he trace, + And the gates of Paradise are opened in thy warm embrace. + Since thou knowest that death to me and thee will strike an equal blow, + It is just that, while we live, our hearts with equal hopes should glow. + Then no longer vex thy lover with complaints that he may change; + Darling, oft these bitter questions can the fondest love estrange; + No, I dream not of estrangement, for thy Chico evermore + Thinks upon his Vindaraja's image only to adore." + + + +THE INFANTA SEVILLA AND PERANZUELOS + + Upon Toledo's loftiest towers + Sevilla kept the height; + So wondrous fair was she that love + Was blinded at the sight. + + She stood amid the battlements, + And gazed upon the scene + Where Tagus runs through woodland + And flowers and glades of green. + + And she saw upon the wide highway + The figure of a knight; + He rode upon a dappled steed, + And all his arms were bright. + + Seven Moors in chains he led with him, + And one arm's length aloof + Came a dog of a Moor from Morocco's shore + In arms of double proof. + + His steed was swift, his countenance + In a warlike scowl was set, + And in his furious rage he cursed + The beard of Mahomet! + + He shouted, as he galloped up: + "Now halt thee, Christian hound; + I see at the head of thy captive band + My sire, in fetters bound. + + "And the rest are brothers of my blood, + And friends I long to free; + And if thou wilt surrender all, + I'll pay thee gold and fee." + + When Peranzuelos heard him, + He wheeled his courser round. + With lance in rest, he hotly pressed + To strike him to the ground; + His sudden rage and onset came + Swift as the thunder's sound. + + The Moor at the first encounter reeled + To earth, from his saddle bow; + And the Christian knight, dismounting, + Set heel on the neck of his foe. + + He cleft his head from his shoulders, + And, marshalling his train, + Made haste once more on his journey + Across Toledo's plain. + + + +CELIN'S FAREWELL + + He sadly gazes back again upon those bastions high, + The towers and fretted battlements that soar into the sky; + And Celin, whom the King in wrath has from Granada banned + Weeps as he turns to leave for aye his own dear native land; + No hope has he his footsteps from exile to retrace; + No hope again to look upon his lady's lovely face. + Then sighing deep he went his way, and as he went he said: + "I see thee shining from afar, + As in heaven's arch some radiant star. + Granada, queen and crown of loveliness, + Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress. + + "I see outstretched before my eyes thy green and beauteous shore, + Those meadow-lands and gardens that with flowers are dappled o'er. + The wind that lingers o'er those glades received the tribute given + By many a trembling calyx, wet with the dews of heaven. + From Genil's banks full many a bough down to the water bends, + Yon vega's green and fertile line from flood to wall extends; + There laughing ladies seek the shade that yields to them delight, + And the velvet turf is printed deep by many a mounted knight. + I see thee shining from afar, + As in heaven's arch some radiant star. + Granada, queen and town of loveliness, + Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress. + + "Ye springs and founts that sparkling well from yonder mountain-side, + And flow with dimpling torrent o'er mead and garden wide, + If e'er the tears that from my breast to these sad eyes ascend + Should with your happy waters their floods of sadness blend, + Oh, take them to your bosom with love, for love has bidden + These drops to tell the wasting woe that in my heart is hidden. + I see thee shining from afar, + As in heaven's arch some radiant star. + Granada, queen and crown of loveliness, + Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress. + + "Ye balmy winds of heaven, whose sound is in the rippling trees, + Whose scented breath brings back to me a thousand memories, + Ye sweep beneath the arch of heaven like to the ocean surge + That beats from Guadalquivir's bay to earth's extremest verge. + Oh, when ye to Granada come (and may great Allah send + His guardian host to guide you to that sweet journey's end!), + Carry my sighs along with you, and breathe them in the ear + Of foes who do me deadly wrong, of her who holds me dear. + Oh, tell them all the agony I bear in banishment, + That she may share my sorrow, and my foe the King relent. + I see thee shining from afar, + As in heaven's arch some radiant star. + Granada, queen and crown of loveliness, + Listen to my lament, and mourn for my distress." + + + +CELIN'S RETURN + + Now Celin would be merry, and appoints a festal day, + When he the pang of absence from his lady would allay: + The brave Abencerrages and Gulanes straight he calls, + His bosom friends, to join him as he decks his stately halls. + And secretly he bids them come, and in secret bids them go; + For the day of merriment must come unnoticed by his foe; + For peering eyes and curious ears are watching high and low, + But he only seeks one happy day may reparation bring + For the foul and causeless punishment inflicted by the King. + "For in the widest prison-house is misery for me, + And the stoutest heart is broken unless the hand is free." + + His followers all he bade them dress in Christian array, + With rude and rustic mantles of color bright and gay; + With silken streamers in their caps, their caps of pointed crown, + With flowing blouse, and mantle and gaberdine of brown. + But he himself wore sober robes of white and lion gray, + The emblems of the hopeless grief in which the warrior lay. + And the thoughts of Adalifa, of her words and glancing eyes, + Gave colors of befitting gloom to tint his dark disguise. + And he came with purpose to perform some great and glorious deed, + To drive away the saddening thoughts that made the bosom bleed. + "For in the widest prison-house is misery to me, + And the stoutest heart is broken unless the arm be free." + + There streams into Granada's gate a stately cavalcade + Of prancing steeds caparisoned, and knights in steel arrayed; + And all their acclamations raise, when Celin comes in sight-- + "The foremost in the tournament, the bravest in the fight"-- + And Moorish maiden Cegri straight to the window flies, + To see the glittering pageant and to hear the joyous cries. + She calls her maidens all to mark how, from misfortune free, + The gallant Celin comes again, the ladies' knight is he! + They know the story of his fate and undeserved disgrace, + And eagerly they gaze upon the splendor of his face. + Needs not his exploit in the fields, his valorous deeds to tell-- + The ladies of Granada have heard and know them well! + "For in the widest prison-house is misery to me, + And the stoutest heart must break unless the warrior's arm be free." + + The beauty of Granada crowds Elvira's gate this night; + There are straining necks and flushing cheeks when Celin comes in sight; + And whispered tales go round the groups, and hearts indignant swell, + As they think what in Granada that hero knight befell. + Now a thousand Moorish warriors to Celin's fame aspire, + And a thousand ladies gaze on him with passionate desire. + And they talk of Adalifa, to whom he made his vow, + Though neither speech nor written page unites them longer now. + "For in the widest prison-house is misery to me, + And the stoutest heart must break unless the warrior's arms be free." + + The city waits his coming, for the feast has been prepared, + By rich and poor, by high and low the revel shall be shared; + And there are warriors high in hope to win the jousting prize, + And there are ladies longing for a smile from Celin's eyes. + But when the news of gladness reached Adalifa's ear, + Her loving heart was touched with grief and filled with jealous fear; + And she wrote to Celin, bidding him to hold no revel high, + For the thought of such rejoicing brought the tear-drop to her eye; + The Moor received the letter as Granada came in sight, + And straight he turned his courser's head toward Jaen's towering height, + And exchanged for hues of mourning his robe of festal white. + "For in the widest prison-house is misery to me, + And the stoutest heart is broke unless the warrior's arm be free." + + + +BAZA REVISITED + + Brave Celin came, the valiant son of him the _castelain_ + Of the fortress of Alora and Alhama's windy plain. + He came to see great Baza, where he in former days + Had won from Zara's father that aged warrior's praise. + The Moor gazed on that fortress strong, the towers all desolate, + The castle high that touched the sky, the rampart and the gate. + The ruined hold he greeted, it seemed its native land, + For there his bliss had been complete while Zara held his hand. + And Fortune's cruel fickleness he furiously reviled, + For his heart sent madness to his brain and all his words were wild. + "O goddess who controllest on earth our human fate, + How is it I offend thee, that my life is desolate? + Ah! many were the triumphs that from Zara's hands I bore, + When in the joust or in the dance she smiled on me of yore. + And now, while equal fortune incessantly I chase, + Naught can I gather from thy hand but disaster and disgrace. + Since King Fernando brought his host fair Baza to blockade, + My lot has been a wretched lot of anguish unalloyed. + Yet was Fernando kind to me with all his kingly art, + He won my body to his arms, he could not win my heart." + While thus he spoke the mantle that he wore he cast away; + 'Twas green, 'twas striped with red and white, 'twas lined with dismal + gray. + "Best suits my fate, best suits the hue, in this misfortune's day; + Not green, not white nor purple, but the palmer's garb of gray. + I ask no plumes for helm or cap of nature's living green, + For hope has vanished from my life of that which might have been! + And from my target will I blot the blazon that is vain-- + The lynx whose eyes are fixed upon the prey that it would gain. + For the glances that I cast around meet fortune's foul disdain; + And I will blot the legend, as an accursed screed. + 'Twas writ in Christian letters plain that all the world might read: + 'My good right arm can gain me more altho' its range be short, + Then all I know by eye-sight or the boundless range of thought.' + The blue tahala fluttering bright upon my armored brow + In brilliant hue assorts but ill with the lot I meet with now. + I cast away this gaudy cap, it bears the purple dye; + Not that my love is faithless, for I own her constancy; + But for the fear that there may be, within the maiden's sight, + A lover worthier of her love than this unhappy knight." + With that he took his lance in hand, and placed it in its rest, + And o'er the plain with bloody spur the mournful Celin pressed. + On his steed's neck he threw the reins, the reins hung dangling low, + That the courser might have liberty to choose where he would go; + And he said: "My steed, oh, journey well, and make thy way to find + The bliss which still eludes me, tho' 'tis ever in my mind. + Nor bit nor rein shall now restrain thy course across the lea, + For the curb and the bridle I only use from infamy to flee." + + + +CAPTIVE ZARA + + In Palma there was little joy, so lovely Zara found; + She felt herself a slave, although by captive chain unbound. + In Palma's towers she wandered from all the guests apart; + For while Palma had her body, 'twas Baza held her heart. + And while her heart was fixed on one, her charms no less enthralled + The heart of this brave cavalier, Celin Andalla called. + Ah, hapless, hapless maiden, for in her deep despair + She did not know what grief her face had caused that knight to bear; + And though the Countess Palma strove with many a service kind + To show her love, to soothe the pang that wrung the maiden's mind, + Yet borne upon the tempest of the captive's bitter grief, + She never lowered the sail to give her suffering heart relief. + And, in search of consolation to another captive maid, + She told the bitter sorrow to no one else displayed. + She told it, while the tears ran fast, and yet no balm did gain, + For it made more keen her grief, I ween, to give another pain. + And she said to her companion, as she clasped her tender hand: + "I was born in high Granada, my loved, my native land; + For years within Alhambra's courts my life ran on serene; + I was a princess of the realm and handmaid to a queen. + Within her private chamber I served both night and day, + And the costliest jewels of her crown in my protection lay. + To her I was the favorite of all the maids she knew; + And, ah! my royal mistress I loved, I loved her true! + No closer tie I owned on earth than bound me to her side; + No closer tie; I loved her more than all the world beside. + But more I loved than aught on earth, the gallant Moorish knight, + Brave Celin, who is solely mine, and I his sole delight. + Yes, he was brave, and all men own the valor of his brand; + Yes, and for this I loved him more than monarchs of the land. + For me he lived, for me he fought, for me he mourned and wept, + When he saw me in this captive home like a ship to the breakers swept. + He called on heaven, and heaven was deaf to all his bitter cry, + For the victim of the strife of kings, of the bloody war, was I; + It was my father bade him first to seek our strong retreat. + Would God that he had never come to Baza's castle seat! + Would God that he had never come, an armored knight, to stand + Amid the soldiers that were ranked beneath my sire's command. + He came, he came, that valiant Moor, beneath our roof to rest. + His body served my father; his heart, my sole behest; + What perils did he face upon that castle's frowning height! + Winning my father's praise, he gained more favor in my sight. + And when the city by the bands of Christians was assailed, + My soul 'neath terrors fiercer still in lonely terror quailed. + For I have lost my sire, and I have lost my lover brave, + For here I languish all alone, a subject and a slave. + And yet the Moor, altho' he left with me his loving heart, + I fear may have forgotten that I own his better part. + And now the needle that I ply is witness to the state + Of bondage, which I feel to-day with heart disconsolate. + And here upon the web be writ, in the Arabian tongue, + The legend that shall tell the tale of how my heart is wrung. + Here read: 'If thou hast ta'en my heart when thou didst ride away, + Remember that myself, my living soul, behind thee stay.' + And on the other side these words embroidered would I place: + 'The word shall never fail that once I spake before thy face.' + And on the border underneath this posy, written plain: + 'The promise that I made to thee still constant shall remain.' + And last of all, this line I add, the last and yet the best: + 'Thou ne'er shalt find inconstancy in this unchanging breast.' + Thus runs the embroidery of love, and in the midst appears + A phoenix, painted clear, the bird that lives eternal years. + For she from the cold ashes of life at its last wane, + Takes hope, and spreads her wings and soars through skyey tracks again. + And there a hunter draws his bow outlined with skilful thread, + And underneath a word which says, 'Nay, shoot not at the dead.'" + Thus spake the Moorish maiden, and in her eyes were tears of grief, + Tho' in her busy needle she seemed to find relief. + And the kindly countess called from far: "Zara, what aileth thee? + Where art thou? For I called, and yet thou didst not answer me." + + + +THE JEALOUS KING + + 'Twas eight stout warriors matched with eight, and ten with valiant ten, + As Aliatare formed a band allied with Moslem men, + To joust, with loaded canes, that day in proud Toledo's ring, + Against proud Adelifa's host before their lord the King. + The King by proclamation had announced the knightly play, + For the cheerful trumpets sang a truce upon that very day; + And Zaide, high Belchite's King, had sworn that war should cease, + And with Tarfe of Valentia had ratified the peace. + But others spread the news, that flew like fire from tongue to tongue, + That the King was doting-mad with love, for then the King was young; + And had given to Celindaja the ordering of the day. + And there were knights beside the King she loved to see at play. + And now the lists are opened and, lo! a dazzling band, + The Saracens, on sorrel steeds leap forth upon the sand; + Their trailing cloaks are flashing like the golden orange rind, + The hoods of green from their shoulders hang and flutter in the wind. + They carry targets blazoned bright with scimitars arow, + But each deadly blade is deftly made into a Cupid's bow. + A shining legend can be seen in letters ranged above; + And "Fire and Blood" the motto runs. It speaks of war and love. + In double file a company of warriors succeed; + The bold Aliatares come mounted on Arab steeds. + The livery that they wear is dyed in tint of crimson red; + And flower and leaf in white relief its surface overspread. + The globe of heaven, which many a star and constellation strow, + Borne upon Atlas' shoulders, is the blazon that they show. + And a Moor of Aliatar this motto does express, + Written upon a streamer, "I Endure through Weariness." + The Adelifas follow; a mighty race are they. + Their armor is more costly, their mantles are more gay. + Of bright carnation is the web, enriched with saffron streaks, + And for favors there are fluttering veils upon their helmet peaks. + A globe they blazon on their shields, but it is bruised and broke + By a savage with a bludgeon, who deals it many a stroke; + And a rod, and underneath it this motto tells the tale, + All written in Arabian scrip. It says, "The Strong Prevail." + The eight Azarques following these into the plaza spring, + With air of haughty arrogance they gallop round the ring. + Of blue and purple and pale gold are the mantles that they wear, + And for plumes they carry amulets that dangle high in air. + On their left arm are their targets, painted a dazzling green. + The orb of heaven is outlined there on which two hands are seen, + The motto, "Green is paramount," is lettered full in view; + Its arrogance explains to all those targets' vivid hue. + Then foams the King in rage to see his doting love was fleered, + And his heart is filled with bitter thought as that proud shield + appeared. + And he called the warden of his keep, Celin his henchman tried, + And he pointed to Azarque, and, flushed with anger, cried-- + "The sun upon that haughty shield myself will bid it set; + It works some mischief upon me, like an evil amulet." + Azarque drew his ready lance, his strong arm hurled it high, + The light shaft soared amid the clouds, and vanished in the sky. + And those whose vision followed it grew dizzy at the sight, + They knew not whither it had flown, nor where it would alight. + The ladies of the burgesses at many a window press + To see the javelin from his hand rise with such readiness, + And those who on the platform were seated with the King + Bent back to see how well the cane that gallant Moor could fling. + And as Azarque forward rides, as in retreat he flies, + "Now, Allah guard thee, gallant knight," with shouts the people cries. + "My curse upon him; he shall die," the jealous King replies. + But Celindaja paid no heed to all that cavalcade; + Her lips were parched, her throat was dry, her heart was sore dismayed. + She asked that they would bring her fruit, but yet she strove in vain + With juice of any earthly tree to slake her fevered pain. + "Now let the sport be ended," the angry King decreed. + The joust was late, and every judge in weariness agreed. + And as they closed the empty lists, they heard the King's command, + "Now seize, now seize Azarque, a traitor to this land." + The double lines of cavaliers who led the jousting train + Threw down upon the open square the spear of idle cane; + Then swiftly seized the lance of steel and couching it for fight, + According to the royal wish rode down upon the knight. + For arms and plea must ever bootless prove + To curb the passions of a king in love. + + The other band came forth to save Azarque from his foes, + But the stout Moor waves his hand to them ere they in battle close. + Then calmly cries: "Tho' love, it seems, has no respect for law, + 'Tis right that ye keep peace to-day and from the lists withdraw! + Nay, gentlemen, your lances lower before it be too late; + And let our foes their lances raise, in sign of passion's hate; + Thus without blood accorded be a victory and defeat. + 'Tis only bloodshed makes the one more bitter or more sweet, + For arms or reason unavailing prove + To curb the passions of a king in love." + + At last they seize the struggling Moor, the chains are on his hands; + And the populace, with anger filled, arrange themselves in bands. + They place a guard at every point, in haste to set him free, + But where the brave commander who shall lead to victory? + And where the leader who shall shout and stir their hearts to fight? + These are but empty braggarts, but prowlers of the night, + Cut-throats and needy idlers--and so the tumult ends-- + Azarque lies in prison, forsaken by his friends. + For, ah, both arms and reason powerless prove + To turn the purpose of a king in love. + + Alone does Celindaja the coward crowd implore, + "Oh, save him, save him, generous friends, give back to me my Moor." + She stands upon the balcony and from that lofty place + Would fling herself upon the stones to save him from disgrace. + Her mother round the weeping girl has flung her withered arm. + "O fool," she whispers in her ear, "in Mary's name be calm!" + Thou madly rushest to thy death by this distracted show. + Surely thou knowest well this truth, if anyone can know, + How arms and reason powerless prove + To turn the purpose of a king in love. + + Then came a message of the King, in which the monarch said + That a house wherein his kindred dwelt must be a prison made. + Then Celindaja, white with rage: "Go to the King and say + I choose to be my prison-house for many and many a day, + The memory of Azarque, in which henceforth I live: + But the treachery of a monarch my heart will not forgive. + For the will of one weak woman shall never powerless prove + To turn the foolish purpose of a king who is in love. + + "Alas for thee, Toledo! in former times they said + That they called thee for vengeance upon a traitor's head. + But now 'tis not on traitors, but on loyal men and true + That they call to thee for vengeance, which to caitiff hearts are due. + And Tagus gently murmurs in his billows fresh and free + And hastens from Toledo to reach the mighty sea." + E'er she said more, they seized the dame, and led her to the gate, + Where the warden of the castle in solemn judgment sate. + + + +THE LOVERS OF ANTEQUERA + + The brave Hamete reined his steed and from the crupper bent, + To greet fair Tartagona, who saw him with content, + The daughter of Zulema, who had many a foe repelled + From the castle on the hill, which he in Archidora held; + For six-and-thirty years he kept the Christian host at bay, + A watchful warden, fearless of the stoutest foes' array. + And now adown the well-known path, a secret path and sure, + Led by the noble lady, hurried the gallant Moor. + The sentinels beneath the wall were careless, or they slept; + They heeded not Hamete as down the slope he crept. + And when he reached the level plain, full twenty feet away, + He hobbled fast his courser, lest he should farther stray. + Then to the Moorish lady he turned, as if to speak, + Around her waist he flung his arms and kissed her on the cheek. + "O goddess of my heart," he said, "by actions I will prove, + If thou wilt name some high emprise, how faithful is my love! + And in Granada I am great, and have much honored been, + Both by the King Fernando and Isabel his Queen. + My name is high, my lineage long, yet none of all my line + Have reached the pitch of glory which men allow is mine. + Narvarez is a knight of name, in love and arms adept, + In Antequera's castle he well the marches kept. + Jarifa was a captive maid, he loved Jarifa well, + And oft the maiden visited within her prison cell. + And, if the thing with honor and virtuous heart may be, + What he did with Jarifa, that would I do with thee." + A star was shining overhead upon the breast of night, + The warrior turned his course, and led the lady by its light. + They reached the foot of one tall rock, and stood within the shade, + Where thousand thousand ivy leaves a bower of beauty made. + They heard the genet browsing and stamping as he fed, + And smiling Love his pinions over the lovers spread. + But ere they reached the pleasant bower, they saw before them stand, + Armed to the teeth, with frowning face, a strange and savage band. + Yes, seventy men with sword in hand surrounded dame and knight, + The robbers of the mountain, and they trembled at the sight! + With one accord these freebooters upon Hamete fell, + Like hounds that on the stag at bay rush at the hunter's call, + Burned the Moor's heart at once with wrath, at once with passion's flame, + To save the life and, more than life, the honor of his dame. + Straight to his feet he sprung and straight he drew his mighty sword, + And plunged into the robber crowd and uttered not a word. + No jousting game was e'er so brisk as that which then he waged; + On arm and thigh with deadly blow the slashing weapon raged; + Though certain was his death, yet still, with failing heart, he prayed + That till his lady could escape, that death might be delayed. + But, in the dark, a deadly stone, flung with no warning sound, + Was buried in his forehead and stretched him on the ground. + The breath his heaving bosom left and, from his nerveless hand, + The sword fell clattering to the ground, before that bloody band. + And when the damsel saw herself within those caitiffs' power, + And saw the city mantled in the darkness of the hour, + No grief that ever woman felt was equal to her pain, + And no despair like that of hers shall e'er be known again. + Those villains did not see those locks, that shone like threads of gold; + Only the summer sunlight their wondrous beauty told. + They did not mark the glittering chain of gold and jewels fine, + That in the daylight would appear her ivory throat to twine. + But straight she took the scimitar, that once her lover wore, + It lay amid the dewy grass, drenched to the hilt in gore. + And, falling on the bloody point, she pierced her bosom through, + And Tartagona breathed her last, mourned by that robber crew. + And there she lay, clasping in death her lover's lifeless face, + Her valor's paragon, and she the glass of woman's grace. + And since that hour the tale is told, while many a tear-drop falls, + Of the lovers of the vega by Antequera's walls. + And they praise the noble lady and they curse the robber band, + And they name her the Lucretia of fair Andalusia's land. + And if the hearer of the tale should doubt that it be true, + Let him pass along the mountain road, till Ronda comes in view, + There must he halt and searching he may the story trace + In letters that are deeply cut on the rocky mountain's face. + + + +TARFE'S TRUCE + + "Oho, ye Catholic cavaliers + Who eye Granada day and night, + On whose left shoulder is the cross, + The crimson cross, your blazon bright. + + "If e'er your youthful hearts have felt + The flame of love that brings delight, + As angry Mars, in coat of steel, + Feels the fierce ardor of the fight; + + "If 'tis your will, within our walls, + To join the joust, with loaded reed, + As ye were wont, beneath these towers + The bloody lance of war to speed; + + "If bloodless tumult in the square + May serve instead of battle's fray, + And, donning now the silken cloak, + Ye put the coat of steel away; + + "Six troops of Saracens are here; + Six Christian troops, with targe and steed + Be ready, when the day is fixed, + To join the jousting of the reed. + + "For 'tis not right that furious war, + Which sets the city's roofs in flames, + Should kindle with a fruitless fire + The tender bosom of our dames. + + "In spite of all we suffer here + Our ladies are with you arrayed, + They pity you in this fierce war, + This labor of the long blockade. + + "Amid the hardships of the siege + Let pleasure yield a respite brief; + (For war must ever have its truce) + And give our hardships some relief. + + "What solace to the war-worn frame, + To every soul what blest release, + To fling aside the targe and mail, + And don one hour the plumes of peace! + + "And he who shall the victor be + Among the jousters of the game, + I pledge my knightly word to him, + In token of his valorous fame, + + "On his right arm myself to bind + The favor of my lady bright; + 'Twas given me by her own white hand, + The hand as fair as it is white." + + 'Twas thus that Tarfe, valiant Moor, + His proclamation wrote at large; + He, King Darraja's favored squire, + Has nailed the cartel to his targe. + + 'Twas on the day the truce was made, + By Calatrava's master bold, + To change the quarters of his camp, + And with his foes a conference hold. + + Six Moorish striplings Tarfe sent + In bold Abencerraje's train-- + His kindred both in race and house-- + To meet the leaguers on the plain. + + In every tent was welcome warm; + And when their challenge they display, + The master granted their request + To join the joust on Easter day. + + In courteous words that cartel bold + He answered; and a cavalcade + Of Christians, with the Moorish guards, + Their journey to Granada made. + + The guise of war at once was dropped; + The armory closed its iron door; + And all put on the damask robes + That at high festival they wore. + + The Moorish youths and maidens crowd, + With joyful face, the city square; + These mount their steeds, those sit and braid + Bright favors for their knights to wear. + + Those stern antagonists in war, + Like friends, within the town are met; + And peacefully they grasp the hand, + And for one day the past forget. + + And gallant Almarada comes + (Not Tarfe's self more brave, I ween), + Lord of a lovely Moorish dame, + Who rules her lover like a queen. + + A hundred thousand favors she + In public or in private gives, + To show her lover that her life + Is Almarada's while she lives! + + And once upon a cloudy night, + Fit curtain for his amorous mood, + The gallant Moor the high hills scaled + And on Alhambra's terrace stood. + + Arrived, he saw a Moorish maid + Stand at a window opened wide; + He gave her many a precious gem; + He gave her many a gift beside. + + He spoke and said: "My lady fair, + Though I have never wronged him, still + Darraja stands upon the watch, + By fair or foul, to do me ill. + + "Those eyes of thine, which hold more hearts + Than are the stars that heaven displays; + That slay more Moors with shafts of love + Than with his sword the master slays; + + "When will they soften at my smile? + And when wilt thou, my love, relent? + Let Tarfe go, whose words are big, + While his sword-arm is impotent! + + "Thou seest I am not such as he; + His haughty words, so seldom true, + Are filled with boasting; what he boasts + This sturdy arm of mine can do. + + "My arm, my lance, ah! well 'tis known + How oft in battle's darkest hour + They saved Granada's city proud + From yielding to the Christian's power." + + Thus amorous Almarada spoke + When Tarfe came and caught the word; + And as his ear the message seized, + His right hand seized upon his sword. + + Yet did he deem some Christian troop + Was in the darkness hovering by; + And at the thought, with terror struck, + He turned in eager haste to fly! + + Darraja roused him at the din; + And with loud voice to Tarfe spoke; + He knew him from his cloak of blue, + For he had given the Moor that cloak! + + + +THE TWO MOORISH KNIGHTS + + Upon two mares both strong and fleet, + White as the cygnet's snowy wing, + Beneath Granada's arching gate + Passed Tarfe and Belchite's King. + + Like beauty marks the dames they serve; + Like colors at their spear-heads wave; + While Tarfe kneels at Celia's feet, + The King is Dorelice's slave. + + With belts of green and azure blue + The gallant knights are girded fair; + Their cloaks with golden orange glow, + And verdant are the vests they wear. + + And gold and silver, side by side, + Are glittering on their garment's hem; + And, mingled with the metals, shine + The lights of many a costly gem. + + Their veils are woven iron-gray, + The melancholy tint of woe-- + And o'er their heads the dusky plumes + Their grief and desolation show. + + And each upon his target bears + Emblazoned badges, telling true + Their passion and their torturing pangs, + In many a dark and dismal hue. + + The King's device shines on his shield-- + A seated lady, passing fair; + A monarch, with a downcast eye, + Before the dame is kneeling there. + + His crown is lying at her feet + That she may spurn it in disdain; + A heart in flames above is set; + And this the story of his pain. + + "In frost is born this flame of love"-- + Such legend circles the device-- + "And the fierce fire in which I burn + Is nourished by the breath of ice." + + Upon her brow the lady wears + A crown; her dexter hand sustains + A royal sceptre, gilded bright, + To show that o'er all hearts she reigns. + + An orb in her left hand she bears, + For all the world her power must feel; + There Fortune prostrate lies; the dame + Halts with her foot the whirling wheel. + + But Tarfe's shield is blank and bare, + Lest Adelifa should be moved + With jealous rage, to learn that he + Her Moorish rival, Celia, loved. + + He merely blazons on his targe + A peaceful olive-branch, and eyes + That sparkle in a beauteous face, + Like starlets in the autumn skies. + + And on the branch of olive shines + This legend: "If thy burning ray + Consume me with the fire of love, + See that I wither not away." + + They spurred their horses as they saw + The ladies their approach surveyed; + And when they reached their journey's end + The King to Dorelice said: + + "The goddesses who reign above + With envy of thy beauty tell; + When heaven and glory are thy gifts, + Why should I feel the pangs of hell? + + "Oh, tell me what is thy desire? + And does heaven's light more pleasure bring + Than to own monarchs as thy slaves, + And be the heiress to a king? + + "I ask from thee no favor sweet; + Nor love nor honor at thy hand; + But only that thou choose me out + The servant of thy least command. + + "The choicest nobles of the realm + The glory of this office crave; + The lowliest soldier, with delight, + Would die to prove himself thy slave. + + "Each life, each heart is at thy feet; + Thou with a thousand hearts mayst live; + And if thou wouldst not grant my prayer, + Oh, take the warning that I give. + + "For there are ladies in the court + To my desires would fain consent, + And lovely Bendarrafa once + These jealous words but lately sent: + + "'Those letters and those written lines, + Why dost thou not their sense divine? + Are they not printed on thy heart + As thy loved image is on mine? + + "'Why art thou absent still so long? + It cannot be that thou art dead?'" + Then ceased the King and silent stood, + While Tarfe to his Celia said: + + "Celestial Celia be thy name; + Celestial calm is on thy brow; + Yet all the radiance of thy face + Thy cruelty eclipses now. + + "A witch like Circe dost thou seem; + For Circe could o'ercloud the sky; + Oh, let the sun appear once more, + And bid the clouds of darkness fly! + + "Ah, would to God that on the feast, + The Baptist's consecrated day, + I might my arms about thee fling + And lead thee from thy home away. + + "Yet say not that 'tis in thy power + To yield or all my hopes to kill; + For thou shalt learn that all the world, + In leaguer, cannot bend my will. + + "And France can tell how many a time + I fought upon the tented field, + And forced upon their bended knee + Her loftiest paladins to yield. + + "I vanquished many a valiant knight + Who on his shield the lilies bore; + And on Vandalia's plain subdued + Of Red Cross warriors many a score. + + "The noblest I had brought to yield + Upon Granada's gory plain, + Did I not shrink with such vile blood + The honor of my sword to stain." + + At this the trumpets called to arms; + Without one farewell word each knight + Turned from the lady of his heart + And spurred his steed in headlong flight. + + + +THE KING'S DECISION + + Amid a thousand sapient Moors + From Andalusia came, + Was an ancient Moor, who ruled the land, + Rey Bucar was his name. + + And many a year this sage had dwelt + With the lady he loved best; + And at last he summoned the Cortes, + As his leman made request. + + The day was set on which his lords + And commoners should meet, + And they talked to the King of his wide realm's need, + As the King sat in his seat. + + And many the laws they passed that day; + And among them a law that said + That the lover who took a maid for his love + The maid of his choice must wed; + And he who broke this ordinance + Should pay for it with his head. + + And all agreed that the law was good; + Save a cousin of the King, + Who came and stood before him, + With complaint and questioning; + + "This law, which now your Highness + Has on your lieges laid, + I like it not, though many hearts + It has exultant made. + + "Me only does it grieve, and bring + Disaster on my life; + For the lady that I love the best, + Is already wedded wife; + + "Wedded she is, wedded amiss; + Ill husband has she got. + And oft does pity fill my heart + For her distressful lot. + + "And this one thing I tell thee, King, + To none else has it been told: + If I think her love is silver, + She thinks my love is gold." + + Then spake Rey Bucar in reply, + This sentence uttered he: + "If thy love be wedded wife, the law + Hath no penalty for thee." + + + +ALMANZOR AND BOBALIAS + + The King Almanzor slept one night, + And, oh! his sleep was blest; + Not all the seven Moorish kings + Could dare to break his rest. + + The infante Bobalias + Bethought of him and cried: + "Now rouse thee, rouse thee, uncle dear! + And hasten to my side. + + "And bid them fetch the ladders + Owned by my sire the King; + And the seven mules that carry them + Into my presence bring. + + "And give to me the seven stout Moors + Who shall their harness set, + For the love, the love of the countess + I never can forget." + + "Ill-mannered art thou, nephew, + And never wilt amend; + The sweetest sleep I ever slept, + Thou bringest to an end." + + Now they have brought the ladders + Owned by his sire the King. + And, to bear the load along the road, + Seven sturdy mules they bring; + + And seven stout Moors, by whom the mules + In housings are arrayed. + And to the walls of the countess + Their journey have they made. + There, at the foot of yonder tower, + They halt their cavalcade. + + In the arms of the count Alminique + The countess lay at rest; + The infante has ta'en her by the hand, + And caught her to his breast. + + + +THE MOORISH INFANTA AND ALFONZO RAMOS + + Beneath the shade of an olive-tree + Stood the infanta fair; + A golden comb was in her hands, + And well she decked her hair. + + To heaven she raised her eyes, and saw, + That early morning-tide, + A clump of spears and an armored band + From Guadalquivir ride. + + Alfonzo Ramos with them came, + The admiral of Castile. + "Now welcome, Alfonzo Ramos! + Now welcome, steed and steel, + What tidings do you bring of my fleet, + What tidings of woe or weal?" + + "I'll tell thee tidings, lady, + If my life thou wilt assure." + "Tell on, Alfonzo Ramos, + Thy life shall be secure." + + "Seville, Seville has fallen, + To the arms of the Berber Moor." + + "But for my word thy head this day + To the vultures had been tost!" + "If head of mine were forfeited, + Tis thine must pay the cost." + + + +THE BULL-FIGHT OF ZULEMA + + He was a valorous gentleman, a gay and gallant knight, + Like stars on heaven's fifth circle was the splendor of his might. + In peace, accomplished in the arts of great Apollo's choir, + In war, the brilliant swordsman that Mars might well admire. + His great exploits were written on history's brightest page, + And rightly was he reckoned as the mirror of his age; + Great deeds he did with point of lance and won bright honor's crown, + Before the year when each red cheek was clothed in manly down. + And such he was through all the world by minstrel harps extolled, + Both for the vigor of his arm and for his bearing bold. + His very foes, whom he had made surrender in the fight, + While trembling at his valor, asked blessings on the knight. + And Fame herself, whose pace is swift, whose voice like fire can run, + Grew weary with reciting the deeds that he had done. + To tell aright his jeopardies, escapes, and rescues wrought, + A swifter-flying pinion and a louder tongue she sought! + Such was Zulema, such was he, the warrior of renown, + The son of that Zulema who ruled Toledo's town. + Ah! bright the fame the father left, for it shall never die-- + The glory of his greater son shall keep its memory. + Now once it happened that he reached a city's towering gate; + 'Twas Avila, and there that day the games they celebrate. + The mighty square, when he arrived, was changed into a bower; + And every knight wore fluttering plumes and every dame a flower. + The scene was strange, because the Moor, in southern cities reared, + Had never seen how gay Castile on festal days appeared. + He marked the Adelifas in the King's pavilion stand, + And he asked, and his prayer was granted, to join the champion band. + Yet when they gave consent they feared that great Zulema's might + Would surely quite excel in joust the best Castilian knight. + But a thousand times they asked that heaven would give to him success, + And a thousand times they wondered at his glorious Moorish dress. + Full many a lady's beck and smile were on the warrior bent, + And they looked on his manly beauty and they sighed with deep content. + But now Zulema by the hand the wardens take and greet, + And 'mid the highest noblemen they yield the knight a seat. + His seat was placed in honor 'mid ladies gay and bright, + Mid warriors of Castile, the first in courage and in might. + Then suddenly, more swift than wind, more wild than comet's glare, + Jerama's bull, far famed was he, rushed on the crowded square. + Ah! brave was he in flashing eyes, and fierce was he in heart, + His brow was like a storm-cloud, each horn a giant's dart, + His wide-spread nostrils snorted fire, his neck was short and deep, + His skin was black as the thunder-cloud that crowns the mountain's steep. + Before his coming fled the crowd, until the sunny square + Was emptied of the multitude, and every stone was bare. + Those only who on horseback sat remained to face the foe. + Now trembling with alarm they stand, and now with hope they glow. + Good sport they looked to have with him, and lay him in the dust, + But the Andalusian hero evaded every thrust. + And sometimes, with a gallant charge he threw them from their seat, + He gored them with his savage horn, and trod them with his feet! + Ah! great the shame of the vanquished knights; they dared not raise their + eyes + To the ladies who looked down and smiled from banks and balconies. + For those soft eyes were fixed no more upon each vanquished knight, + But on the monster proud and strong who conquered them in fight. + The dames upon the royal seat to Zulema turned their eyes, + And one, the loveliest of them all, who wore a strange disguise, + Yet through her veil such rays she shot that she seemed like the sun on + high + When he rises, quenching all the stars that filled the midnight sky. + She made a sign to him and spoke directly from her heart, + Whose tongue is in a woman's eye. Ah! well it plays its part! + She bade him to redeem the day and avenge each gallant knight + Who had fallen in the dust before the foe in stubborn fight. + And the Moor with gracious mien assents, and from his seat descends; + But first with glance and waving scarf a tender message sends + To the lovely Moorish damsel who had called him to the fray, + And had filled his heart with sudden love upon the festal day. + And as he leapt into the sand it was as if he flew, + For love lent wings at his lady's nod, some glorious deed to do. + And when the bull beheld approach, upon the bloody sand, + His bold and tall antagonist, a dagger in his hand, + He roared like thunder, with his hoofs he pawed the dusty ground, + The plaza shook, the castle tower re-echoed to the sound! + Long subject to the hand of man, and in subjection born, + He thought to subject human foe to hoof and mighty horn. + Zulema started toward the beast, loud cries would hold him back, + But well he knew that victory would follow his attack. + The bull was on him with a bound, and, glaring face to face, + They stood one moment, while a hush fell on the crowded place. + With bold right hand Zulema drew his keen and mighty blade; + Blow after blow 'mid blood and dust upon his foe he laid; + The startled beast retired before such onslaught of his foe, + And the people shouted loud applause and the King himself bowed low. + The bull with tossing head roared forth a challenge to the knight, + As Zulema turned, and with a bound rushed to the desperate fight. + Ah! cruel were the strokes that rained upon that foaming flank! + Into the sand that life-blood like a shower of autumn sank. + He roars, he snorts, he spurns the ground, the bloody dust flies high, + Now here, now there, in angry pain they see the monster fly. + He turns to see what new-found foe has crossed his path to-day; + But when Zulema faces him he stops to turn away. + For the third time the fight begins; the bull with many a roar + Turns to his foe, while from his lips run mingled foam and gore. + The Moor enraged to see the beast again before him stand, + Deals him the deep, the fatal wound, with an unerring hand. + That wound, at last, has oped the gate through which may enter death, + And staggering to the dust the beast snorts forth his latest breath. + As the bull falls, the crowded square rings with a loud acclaim, + And envy burns in many a knight, and love in many a dame. + The highest nobles of the land the conqueror embrace; + He sees the blush of passion burn on many a damsel's face. + And Fame has blown her trumpet and flies from town to town, + And Apollo takes his pen and writes the hero's title down. + + + +THE RENEGADE + + Through the mountains of Moncayo, + Lo! all in arms arrayed, + Rides pagan Bobalias, + Bobalias the renegade. + + Seven times he was a Moor, seven times + To Christ he trembling turned; + At the eighth, the devil cozened him + And the Christian cross he spurned, + And took back the faith of Mahomet, + In childhood he had learned. + + He was the mightiest of the Moors, + And letters from afar + Had told him how Sevila + Was marshalling for war. + + He arms his ships and galleys, + His infantry and horse, + And straight to Guadalquivir's flood + His pennons take their course. + + The flags that on Tablada's plain + Above his camp unfold, + Flutter above three hundred tents + Of silk brocade and gold. + + In the middle, the pavilion + Of the pagan they prepare; + On the summit a ruby stone is set, + A jewel rich and rare. + + It gleams at morn, and when the night + Mantles the world at length, + It pours a ray like the light of day, + When the sun is at its strength. + + + +THE TOWER OF GOLD + + Brave Arbolan a prisoner lay + Within the Tower of Gold; + By order of the King there stood + Four guards to keep the hold. + 'Twas not because against his King + He played a treacherous part; + But only that Guhala's charms + Had won the captive's heart. + + "Guhala, Guhala, + My longing heart must cry; + This mournful vow I utter now-- + To see thee or to die." + + No longer free those sturdy limbs! + Revenge had bid them bind + The iron chain on hands and feet; + They could not chain his mind! + How dolorous was the warrior's lot! + All hope at last had fled; + And, standing at the window, + With sighing voice he said: + + "Guhala, Guhala, + My longing heart must cry; + This mournful vow I utter now-- + To see thee or to die." + + He turned his eyes to where the banks + Of Guadalquivir lay; + "Inhuman King!" in grief he cried, + "Thy mandates I obey; + Thou bidst them load my limbs with steel; + Thy cruel sentinel + Keeps watch beside my prison door; + Yet who my crime can tell? + + "Guhala, Guhala, + My longing heart must cry; + This mournful vow I utter now-- + To see thee or to die." + + + +THE DIRGE FOR ALIATAR + + No azure-hued tahalia now + Flutters about each warrior's brow; + No crooked scimitars display + Their gilded scabbards to the day. + The Afric turbans, that of yore + Were fashioned on Morocco's shore, + To-day their tufted crown is bare; + There are no fluttering feathers there. + In mourning garments all are clad, + Fit harness for the occasion sad; + But, four by four the mighty throng + In slow procession streams along. + Ah! Aliatar! well he knew + The soldiers of his army true, + The soldiers whose afflicted strain + Gives utterance to their bosom's pain. + + Sadly we march along the crowded street, + While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat. + + The phoenix that would shine in gold + On the high banner's fluttering fold, + Scarce can the breeze in gladness bring + To spread aloft its waving wing. + It seemed as if the fire of death + For the first time had quenched her breath. + For tribulation o'er the world + The mantle of despair had furled; + There was no breeze the ground to bless, + The plain lay panting in distress; + Beneath the trailing silken shroud + Alfarez carried through the crowd. + + Sadly we march along the crowded street, + While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat. + + For Aliatar, one sad morn, + Mounted his steed and blew his horn; + A hundred Moors behind him rode; + Fleeter than wind their coursers strode. + Toward Motril their course is made, + While foes the castle town blockade; + There Aliatar's brother lay, + Pent by the foes that fatal day. + Woe work the hour, the day, when he + Vaulted upon his saddle-tree! + Ne'er from that seat should he descend + To challenge foe or welcome friend, + Nor knew he that the hour was near, + His couch should be the funeral bier. + + Sadly we march along the crowded street, + While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat. + + That day the master's knights were sent, + As if on sport and jousting bent; + And Aliatar, on his way, + By cruel ambush they betray; + With sword and hauberk they surround + And smite the warrior to the ground. + And wounded deep from every vein + He bleeding lies upon the plain. + The furious foes in deadly fight + His scanty followers put to flight, + In panic-stricken fear they fly, + And leave him unavenged to die. + + Sadly we march along the crowded street, + While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat. + + Ah sadly swift the news has flown + To Zaida in the silent town; + Speechless she sat, while every thought + Fresh sorrow to her bosom brought; + Then flowed her tears in larger flood, + Than from his wounds the tide of blood. + Like dazzling pearls the tear-drops streak + The pallid beauty of her cheek. + Say, Love, and didst thou e'er behold + A maid more fair and knight more bold? + And if thou didst not see him die, + And Zaida's tears of agony, + The bandage on thine orbs draw tight-- + That thou mayst never meet the sight! + + Sadly we march along the crowded street, + While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat. + + Not only Zaida's eyes are wet, + For him her soul shall ne'er forget; + But many a heart in equal share + The sorrow of that lady bare. + Yes, all who drink the water sweet + Where Genil's stream and Darro meet, + All of bold Albaicins's line, + Who mid Alhambra's princes shine-- + The ladies mourn the warrior high, + Mirror of love and courtesy; + The brave lament him, as their peer; + The princes, as their comrade dear; + The poor deplore, with hearts that bleed, + Their shelter in the time of need. + + Sadly we march along the crowded street, + While trumpets hoarsely blare and drums tempestuous beat. + + + +THE SHIP OF ZARA + + It was the Moorish maiden, the fairest of the fair, + Whose name amid the Moorish knights was worshipped everywhere. + And she was wise and modest, as her race has ever been, + And in Alhambra's palace courts she waited on the Queen, + A daughter of Hamete--of royal line was he, + And held the mighty castle of Baja's town in fee. + Now sad and mournful all the day the maiden weeping sat, + And her captive heart was thinking still of the distant caliphat, + Which in the stubborn straits of war had passed from Moslem reign, + And now was the dominion of King Ferdinand of Spain. + She thought upon the dreary siege in Baja's desert vale + When the fight was long and the food of beasts and men began to fail, + And her wretched father, forced to yield, gave up his castle hold, + For falling were the towers, falling fast his warriors bold. + And Zara, lovely Zara, did he give into the care + Of the noble Countess Palma, who loved the maiden fair. + And the countess had to Baja come when Queen Isabella came, + The lovely vega of the town to waste with sword and flame. + And the countess asked of Zara if she were skilled in aught, + The needle, or the 'broidery frame, to Christian damsels taught. + And how she made the hours go by when, on Guadalquivir's strand, + She sat in the Alhambra, a princess of the land. + And, while her eyes were full of tears, the Moorish maid replied: + "'Twas I the silver tinsel fixed on garments duly dyed; + 'Twas I who with deft fingers with gold lace overlaid + The dazzling robes of flowery tint of velvet and brocade. + And sometimes would I take my lute and play for dancers there; + And sometimes trust my own weak voice in some romantic air; + But now, this moment, I retain but one, one mournful art-- + To weep, to mourn the banishment that ever grieves my heart. + And since 'tis thou alone whose bread, whose roof my life didst save, + I weep the bitterest tears of all because I am a slave! + Yet wouldst thou deign, O lady dear, to make more light to me + The hours I pass beneath thy roof, in dark captivity,-- + I bid thee build for me, if thou approve of the design, + An ocean bark, well fitted to cross the surging brine; + Let it be swift, let it be strong, and leave all barks behind, + When on the surges of the main it feels the favoring wind. + We'll launch it from the sloping shore, and, when the wind is high, + And the fierce billows threatening mix their foam-tops with the sky, + We'll lower the mainsail, lest the storm should carry us away, + And sweep us on the reefs that lurk in some deep Afric bay. + And on the lofty topmast shall this inscription stand, + Written in letters which they use in every Christian land: + 'This ship is tossed in many a storm, it lands on many a shore, + And the wide sea, beneath the wind, it swiftly travels o'er; + 'Tis like the human heart which brings no treasure and no gain, + Till, tossed by hard misfortune, it has known the sea of pain.' + And let there be upon the fringe round this inscription hung + Another legend which shall say in the Arabian tongue: + 'Oh, might it be that Allah, the merciful, would send + To all my captive miseries a swift and happy end.'" + The countess said: "To build this ship methinks would please me well, + Such tasks the sorrows of thy heart might lighten or dispel; + And, Zara, when the summer comes, and winds and floods are free, + We'll build our bark, we'll hoist our sail, and start across the sea." + + + +HAMETE ALI + + Hamete Ali on his way toward the city goes, + His tunic is a brilliant green with stripes of crimson rose, + In sign that no despondency this daring wanderer knows. + His arm, that wears the twisted steel, reflects the sunlight sheen, + And bound to it by many a knot is hung his hood of green. + And o'er his bonnet azure-blue, two feathery plumes there fly; + The one is green as the summer and one is blue as sky. + He does not wear these hues to show that he is passion's slave, + They are emblems of the life that beats within his bosom brave. + Yet dusky is his lance's hue and dusky is his shield, + On which are serpents scattered upon a golden field. + Their venomed tongues are quivering and ears before them stand, + To show how slanderous hearts can spread their poison o'er the land. + A lettered motto in the midst which everyone may read, + Is written in Arabian script, ah! good that all should heed! + "'Tis naught but innocence of heart can save me from the blow + With which the slanderous serpents would lay their victim low." + Upon a piebald colt he rode along the valley's side, + The bravest of the valiant Moors and once Granada's pride. + In furious rage descending from bold Ubeda's steep, + He crossed the vale and mounted to Baza's castle keep. + Defiant still of Fortune's power, his thoughts at last found vent, + For Fortune had been cruel, and in words of discontent, + As if he blamed the serpent upon his shield displayed, + The torrent of his heart broke forth and in wrath the warrior said: + "O wasters of the brightest hope I knew in years long past! + O clouds by which the blazing sun of bliss is overcast! + O blight of love, O ruin of aspirations pure! + Vile worms, that gnaw and waste away the treasures most secure! + Attempt no more to banish me from my own native land, + That in my place of honor ye, envious slaves, may stand; + I, too, have friends, whose swords are keen, whose love is strong and + leal. + To them I look for my defence by stratagem or steel. + And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant, + By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment. + + "Permit it not that in the generous breasts of those whose blood + Flows in my veins, who by my side as faithful champions stood, + Those cursed asps, whose effigies my shield's circumference fill, + Could plant the thoughts of villany by which they work me ill. + Just heaven forbids their words should blot the honor of my name, + For pure and faithful is my heart, howe'er my foes defame; + And Zaida, lovely Zaida, at a word that did me wrong, + Would close her ears in scornful ire and curse the slanderous tongue. + And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant, + By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment. + + "Nay, Fortune, turn no more thy wheel, I care not that it rest, + Nor bid thee draw the nail that makes it stand at man's behest + Oh, may I never say to thee, when for thy aid I call, + Let me attain the height of bliss whate'er may be my fall! + And when I roam from those I love, may never cloud arise + To dim my hope of a return and hide me from their eyes. + Yet doubtless, 'tis the absent are oftenest forgot, + Till those who loved when they were near in absence love them not. + And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant, + By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment. + + "And since 'tis my unhappy lot, through slander's cruel wiles, + I should be robbed so many years of Zaida's cheering smiles, + Yet those who say that I am false, and name Celinda's name, + Oh, may they gain no end at length but obloquy and shame! + It is not just that to these words and to these anxious fears, + These wild complaints, the god of love should close his heedless ears! + Yes, I deserve a better fate, the fate that makes more sure; + The fame of those whose slanderous tongue in banishment endure. + And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant, + By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment." + + He spoke, and, lo! before him he saw the city stand, + With walls and towers that frowned in might upon that fertile land. + And he saw the glittering banners of Almanzor set on high, + And swaying in the gentle breeze that filled the summer sky. + And those who stood upon the walls, soon as he came in sight, + Streamed forth from the portcullis with welcome for the knight, + For they marvelled at the prancing steed that rushed across the plain, + They marvelled at his thundering voice and words of deep disdain. + And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant, + By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment. + + And as he rode into the town and galloped to the square, + Upon the balconies he saw bright dames with faces bare; + They stood, they gazed with eyes of love and gestures of delight, + For they joyed to see among them so stout, so fair a knight. + And all of Baza's people with cries his coming greet, + And follow at his horse's tail from street to crowded street. + His heart with gratitude was filled, his bosom filled with pride, + And with doffed bonnet, lo, he bowed and once again he cried: + "And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant, + By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment." + + They led him to the warden's house, and there was feasting high. + Brave men and beauteous women in crowds were standing by. + The trumpets blew in merry strain, the Moorish horns resound, + And the strain of joy was echoed from every castle round. + And from his colt dismounting he laid his lance aside, + And greeted all the multitude that filled the plaza wide. + Then to the strong tower of the place he hurried from the street, + And as he went a thousand times his lips would still repeat: + "And, Fortune, do thy worst; it is not meant, + By Allah, that his knight should die in banishment." + + + +ZAIDE'S LOVE + + Then Zaide stood enraptured and gazed with placid eye, + For the moment when his heart's desire should be fulfilled was nigh. + Propitious was the moment, and happy was the hour, + When all that he had longed for had come into his power. + And he said: "Thrice happy is the wall, and happy is the bar, + Tho' from my fond embraces, Zaida, it keeps thee far; + For long as thou shalt live on earth, my Zaida, thou art mine; + And the heart that in my bosom beats, long as it beats, is thine. + And happy is the green, green sod on which thy feet are set, + For the pressure of thy tender foot the grass shall ne'er forget, + Shall ne'er forget the white, white heel that o'er the pathway came, + Leaving behind it, everywhere, the print of snow and flame. + But far more happy is the knight, if e'er should Allah send + To this dark separation a bright and peaceful end. + For seems to me the hours that pass, without thy presence dear, + Wear the dark robe of sorrow, that orphaned children wear. + I seek to have thee with me, for it is only to the weak + That the happiness is wanting that they do not dare to seek. + And if the doom of death is ours, it will not haste the more + Because we scorn to think of it upon this happy shore. + But ere it come, that doom of death which fills us with alarms, + May Allah grant to me the boon of resting in thine arms! + And if, in that supremest bliss, fate favors my design, + And love is crowned, the lot of life contented I resign. + O darling Zaida, blest is he, 'mid thousands, who can say + That on that bosom, in those arms he for one moment lay! + Come, darling, to thy Zaide's side, and yield to him thy love; + Thou knowest him brave and good and kind, all other knights above; + In owning him thy lover true, thou wilt a partner count + Who above all in valor's list is champion paramount. + Thy beauty's sway should be unchecked as death's prevailing might, + But, ah, how many worlds would then sink into endless night! + But come, fair Zaida, quickly come to these expectant arms, + And let me win at last the prize of victory o'er thy charms. + It is a debt thou owest me, oh, let the debt be paid." + Then Zaida rose and showed herself in beauty's robe arrayed, + And the Moor cried: "May Allah grant thy sun may ever shine, + To light with its full splendor this lonely life of mine! + And tho' my stammering tongue be dumb, and like a broken lute, + And in its loudest efforts to speak thy praise be mute, + It can at least announce to thee, loud as the thunder's peal, + The service that I owe to thee, the passion that I feel." + The Moorish lady smiled at this, and spake in tender tone; + "If all this silent tongue of thine has said be loyal shown, + If all thy vows be from thy heart, and all thy heavy sighs + From out a breast unchanging, a constant spirit rise, + I swear that I would grant thy wish and follow thy behest; + But, ah, I fear lest thy fierce love should bring to me no rest, + I fear these honeyed words that from thy lips so lightly fly + At last should prove a serpent's fang to sting me till I die." + Then swore to her the Moor: "If this the end should ever be, + May the firm earth beneath my feet yawn wide and swallow me! + And may the blessed sunlight, the symbol of my hope, + Wither these orbs and leave me in eternal night to grope!" + At this the lovers joined their hands and hearts, and, with a kiss, + Sealed all their vows of friendship and promises of bliss-- + Their love was strong and solid and constant should remain, + Till death should end their bondage and break the golden chain. + + + +ZAIDA'S JEALOUSY. + + Kind friend of Bencerraje's line, what judgment dost thou hold + Of all that Zaida's changeful moods before thine eyes unfold? + Now by my life I swear that she to all would yield her will; + Yet by my death I swear that she to all is recreant still. + Come near, my friend, and listen while I show to you this note, + Which to the lovely lady in bitter grief I wrote; + Repeat not what I read to thee, for 'twere a deadly shame, + Since thou her face admirest, should slander smirch her name: + "O Moorish maiden, who like time, forever on the wing, + Dost smiles and tears, with changing charm, to every bosom bring, + Thy love is but a masquerade, and thou with grudging hand + Scatterest the crumbs of hope on all the crowds that round thee stand. + With thee there is no other law of love and kindliness + But what alone may give thee joy and garland of success. + With each new plume thy maidens in thy dark locks arrange, + With each new tinted garment thy thoughts, thy fancies change. + I own that thou art fairer than even the fairest flower + That at the flush of early dawn bedecks the summer's bower. + But, ah, the flowers in summer hours change even till they fade, + And thou art changeful as the rose that withers in the shade. + And though thou art the mirror of beauty's glittering train, + Thy bosom has one blemish, thy mind one deadly stain; + For upon all alike thou shed'st the radiance of thy smile, + And this the treachery by which thou dost the world beguile. + I do not plead in my complaint thy loveliness is marred, + Because thy words are cruel, because thy heart is hard; + Would God that thou wert insensible as is the ocean wild + And not to all who meet thee so affable and mild; + Ah, sweetest is the lingering fruit that latest comes in time, + Ah, sweetest is the palm-tree's nut that those who reach must climb. + Alas! 'twas only yesterday a stranger reached the town-- + Thou offeredst him thy heart and bade him keep it for his own! + O Zaida, tell me, how was this? for oft I heard thee say + That thou wert mine and 'twas to me thy heart was given away. + Hast thou more hearts than one, false girl, or is it changefulness + That makes thee give that stranger guest the heart that I possess? + One heart alone is mine, and that to thee did I resign. + If thou hast many, is my love inadequate to thine? + O Zaida, how I fear for thee, my veins with anger glow; + O Zaida, turn once more to me, and let the stranger go. + As soon as he hath left thy side his pledges, thou wilt find, + Were hollow and his promises all scattered to the wind. + And if thou sayst thou canst not feel the pains that absence brings, + 'Tis that thy heart has never known love's gentle whisperings. + 'Tis that thy fickle mind has me relinquished here to pine, + Like some old slave forgotten in this palace court of thine. + Ah, little dost thou reck of me, of all my pleasures flown, + But in thy pride dost only think, false lady, of thine own. + And is it weakness bids me still to all thy faults be blind + And bear thy lovely image thus stamped upon my mind? + For when I love, the slight offence, though fleeting may be the smart, + Is heinous as the treacherous stroke that stabs a faithful heart. + And woman by one look unkind, one frown, can bring despair + Upon the bosom of the man whose spirit worships her. + Take, then, this counsel, 'tis the last that I shall breathe to thee, + Though on the winds I know these words of mine will wasted be: + I was the first on whom thou didst bestow the fond caress, + And gave those pledges of thy soul, that hour of happiness; + Oh, keep the faith of those young days! Thy honor and renown + Thou must not blight by love unkind, by treachery's heartless frown. + For naught in life is safe and sure if faith thou shouldst discard, + And the sunlight of the fairest soul is oft the swiftest marred. + I will not sign this letter nor set to it my name; + For I am not that happy man to whom love's message came, + Who in thy bower thy accents sweet enraptured heard that day, + When on thy heaving bosom, thy chosen love, I lay. + Yet well thou'lt know the hand that wrote this letter for thine eye, + For conscience will remind thee of thy fickle treachery. + Dissemble as thou wilt, and play with woman's skill thy part, + Thou knowest there is but one who bears for thee a broken heart." + Thus read the valiant castellan of Baza's castle tower, + Then sealed the scrip and sent it to the Moorish maiden's bower. + + + +ZAIDA OF TOLEDO + + Upon a gilded balcony, which decked a mansion high, + A place where ladies kept their watch on every passer-by, + While Tagus with a murmur mild his gentle waters drew + To touch the mighty buttress with waves so bright and blue, + Stands Zaida, radiant in her charms, the flower of Moorish maids, + And with her arching hand of snow her anxious eyes she shades, + Searching the long and dusty road that to Ocaña leads, + For the flash of knightly armor and the tramp of hurrying steeds. + The glow of amorous hope has lit her cheek with rosy red, + Yet wrinkles of too anxious love her beauteous brow o'er-spread; + For she looks to see if up the road there rides a warrior tall-- + The haughty Bencerraje, whom she loves the best of all. + At every looming figure that blots the vega bright, + She starts and peers with changing face, and strains her eager sight; + For every burly form she sees upon the distant street + Is to her the Bencerraje whom her bosom longs to greet. + And many a distant object that rose upon her view + Filled her whole soul with rapture, as her eager eyes it drew; + But when it nearer came, she turned away, in half despair, + Her vision had deceived her, Bencerraje was not there. + "My own, my Bencerraje, if but lately you descried + That I was angry in my heart, and stubborn in my pride, + Oh, let my eyes win pardon, for they with tears were wet. + Why wilt thou not forgive me, why wilt thou not forget? + And I repented of that mood, and gave myself the blame, + And thought, perhaps it was my fault that, at the jousting game, + There was no face among the knights so filled with care as thine, + So sad and so dejected, yes, I thought the blame was mine! + And yet I was, if thou with thought impartial wilt reflect, + Not without cause incensed with thee, for all thy strange neglect. + Neglect that not from falseness or words of mine had sprung + But from the slanderous charges made by a lying tongue; + And now I ask thee pardon, if it be not too late, + Oh, take thy Zaida to thy heart, for she is desolate! + For if thou pardon her, and make her thine again, I swear + Thou never wilt repent, dear love, thou thus hast humored her! + It is the law of honor, which thou wilt never break, + That the secret of sweet hours of love thou mayst not common make. + That never shouldst thou fail in love, or into coldness fall, + Toward thy little Moorish maiden, who has given thee her all." + She spoke; and Bencerraje, upon his gallant bay, + Was calling to her from the street, where he loitered blithe and gay, + And quickly she came down to him, to give him, e'er they part, + Her rounded arms, her ivory neck, her bosom, and her heart! + + + +ZAIDE REBUKED + + "See, Zaide, let me tell you not to pass along my street, + Nor gossip with my maidens nor with my servants treat; + Nor ask them whom I'm waiting for, nor who a visit pays, + What balls I seek, what robe I think my beauty most displays. + 'Tis quite enough that for thy sake so many face to face + Aver that I, a witless Moor, a witless lover chase. + I know that thou art a valiant man, that thou hast slaughtered more, + Among thy Christian enemies, than thou hast drops of gore. + Thou art a gallant horseman, canst dance and sing and play + Better than can the best we meet upon a summer's day. + Thy brow is white, thy cheek is red, thy lineage is renowned, + And thou amid the reckless and the gay art foremost found. + I know how great would be my loss, in losing such as thee; + I know, if I e'er won thee, how great my gain would be: + And wert thou dumb even from thy birth, and silent as the grave, + Each woman might adore thee, and call herself thy slave. + But 'twere better for us both I turn away from thee, + Thy tongue is far too voluble, thy manners far too free; + Go find some other heart than mine that will thy ways endure, + Some woman who, thy constancy and silence to secure, + Can build within thy bosom her castle high and strong, + And put a jailer at thy lips, to lock thy recreant tongue. + Yet hast thou gifts that ladies love; thy bearing bold and bright + Can break through every obstacle that bars them from delight. + And with such gifts, friend Zaide, thou spreadest thy banquet board, + And bidst them eat the dish so sweet, and never say a word! + But that which thou hast done to me, Zaide, shall cost thee dear; + And happy would thy lot have been hadst thou no change to fear. + Happy if when thy snare availed to make the prize thine own, + Thou hadst secured the golden cage before the bird was flown. + For scarce thy hurrying footsteps from Tarfe's garden came, + Ere thou boastedst of thine hour of bliss, and of my lot of shame. + They tell me that the lock of hair I gave thee on that night, + Thou drewest from thy bosom, in all the people's sight, + And gav'st it to a base-born Moor, who took the tresses curled, + And tied them in thy turban, before the laughing world. + I ask not that thou wilt return nor yet the relic keep, + But I tell thee, while thou wearest it, my shame is dire and deep: + They say that thou hast challenged him, and swearest he shall rue + For all the truths he spake of thee--would God they were not true! + Who but can laugh to hear thee blame the whispers that reveal + Thy secret, though thy secret thyself couldst not conceal. + No words of thine can clear thy guilt nor pardon win from me, + For the last time my words, my glance, have been addressed to thee." + Thus to the lofty warrior of Abencerraje's race + The lady spoke in anger, and turned away her face: + "'Tis right," she said, "the Moor whose tongue has proved to me unkind + Should in the sentence of my tongue fit retribution find." + + + +ZAIDA'S INCONSTANCY + + O fairest Zaida, thou whose face brings rapture to mine eyes! + O fairest Zaida, in whose smile my soul's existence lies! + Fairest of Moorish maidens, yet in revengeful mood, + Above all Moorish maidens, stained by black ingratitude. + 'Tis of thy golden locks that love has many a noose entwined, + And souls of free men at thy sight full oft are stricken blind; + Yet tell me, proud one, tell me, what pleasure canst thou gain + From showing to the world a heart so fickle and so vain? + And, since my adoration thou canst not fail to know, + How is it that thy tender heart can treat thy lover so? + And art thou not content my fondest hopes to take away, + But thou must all my hope, my life, destroy, in utter ruin lay? + My faithful love, sweet enemy! how ill dost thou requite! + And givest in exchange for it but coldness and despite; + Thy promises, thy pledge of love, thou to the gale wouldst fling; + Enough that they were thine, false girl, that they should all take wing. + Remember how upon that day thou gavest many a sign + Of love and lavished'st the kiss which told me thou wert mine. + Remember, lovely Zaida, though memory bring thee pain, + Thy bliss when 'neath thy window I sang my amorous strain. + By day, before the window, I saw my darling move, + At night, upon the balcony, I told thee of my love. + If I were late or absence detained me from thy sight, + Then jealous rage distraught thy heart, thine eyes with tears were + bright. + But now that thou hast turned from me, I come thy face to greet, + And thou biddest me begone, and pass no longer through thy street. + Thou biddest me look on thee no more, nor even dare to write + The letter or the _billet-doux,_ that caused thee once delight. + Yes, Zaida, all thy favors, thy love, thy vows, are shown + To be but false and faithless, since thou art faithless grown. + But why? thou art a woman, to fickle falseness born; + Thou prizest those who scorn thee--those who love thee thou dost scorn. + I change not, thou art changed, whose heart once fondly breathed my name; + But the more thy bosom turns to ice, the fiercer burns my flame; + For all thy coldness I with love and longing would repay, + For passion founded on good faith can never die away. + + + +ZAIDE'S DESOLATION + + It was the hour when Titan from Aurora's couch awoke, + And on the world her radiant face in wonted beauty broke, + When a Moor came by in sad array, and Zaide was his name. + Disguised, because his heart was sad with love's consuming flame; + No shield he bore, he couched no lance, he rode no warrior steed; + No plume nor mantle he assumed, motto or blazon screed; + Still on the flank of his mantle blank one word was written plain, + In the Moorish of the people, "I languish through disdain." + A flimsy cape his shoulders clad, for, when the garb is poor, + Nobility is honored most because 'tis most obscure. + If he in poverty appeared, 'twas love that made him so; + Till love might give the wealth he sought thus mourning would he go. + And still he journeys through the hills and shuns the haunts of men; + None look upon his misery in field or lonely fen. + Fair Zaida ne'er forgets that he is prince of all the land, + And ruler of the castles that at Granada stand; + But gold or silver or brocade can ne'er supply the lack + Of honor in a noble line whose crimes have stained it black; + For sunlight never clears the sky when night has spread her cloak, + But only when the glory of the morning has awoke. + He lives secure from jealous care, holding the priceless dower + Which seldom falls to loving hearts or sons of wealth and power. + Poor is his garb, yet at his side a costly blade appears, + 'Tis through security of mind no other arms he bears. + + 'Tis love that from Granada's home has sent him thus to rove, + And for the lovely Zaida he languishes with love-- + The loveliest face that by God's grace the sun e'er shone above. + From court and mart he lives apart, such is the King's desire; + Yet the King's friend Alfaqui is the fair maiden's sire. + Friend of the King, the throne's support, a monarch's son is he, + And he has sworn that never Moor his daughter's spouse shall be. + He has no ease till the monarch sees his daughter's loveliness. + But she has clasped brave Zaide's hand, and smiled to his caress, + And said that to be his alone is her sole happiness. + And after many journeys wide, wearied of banishment, + He sees the lofty tower in which his Moorish maid is pent. + + + +ZAIDA'S LAMENT + + Now the hoarse trumpets of the morn were driving sleep away; + They sounded as the fleeting night gave truce unto the day. + The hubbub of the busy crowd ceased at that dulcet sound, + In which one moment high and low peace and refreshment found. + The hoot of the nocturnal owl alone the silence broke, + While from the distance could be heard the din of waking folk; + And, in the midst of silence, came the sound as Zaida wept, + For all night long in fear of death she waked while others slept. + And as she sighed, she sang aloud a melancholy strain; + "And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from pain?" + For evil tongues, who thought to win her favor with a lie, + Had told her that the bold Gazul ordained that she should die; + And so she donned a Moor's attire, and put her own away, + And on the stroke of midnight from Xerez took her way. + And as she sighed, she sang aloud a melancholy strain; + "And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from + pain?" + + She rode a nimble palfrey and scarce could great Gazul + Excel the ardent spirit with which her heart was full. + Yet at every step her palfrey took, she turned her head for fear, + To see if following on her track some enemy were near. + And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain; + "And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from + pain?" + + To shun suspicion's eye, at last she left the king's highway, + And took the journey toward Seville that thro' a bypath lay; + With loosened rein her gallant steed right swiftly did she ride, + Yet to her fear he did appear like a rock on the rough wayside. + And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain; + "And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from + pain?" + + So secretly would she proceed, her very breath she held, + Tho' with a rising storm of sighs her snowy bosom swelled. + And here and there she made a halt, and bent her head to hear + If footsteps sounded; then, assured, renewed her swift career. + And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain; + "And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from + pain?" + + Her fancy in the silent air could whispering voices hear; + "I'll make of thee a sacrifice, to Albenzaide dear;" + This fancy took her breath away, lifeless she sank at length, + And grasped the saddle-bow; for fear had sapped her spirit's strength. + And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain; + "And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from + pain?" + + She came in sight of proud Seville; but the darkness bade her wait + Till dawn; when she alighted before a kinsman's gate. + Swift flew the days, and when at last the joyful truth she learned, + That she had been deceived; in joy to Xerez she returned. + And as she went, she sang aloud a melancholy strain; + "And who would wish to die," she said, "though death be free from + pain?" + + + +ZAIDA'S CURSE + + And Zaida Cegri, desolate, + Whom by the cruel cast of fate, + Within one hour, the brandished blade + From wife had mourning widow made, + On Albenzaide's corse was bowed, + Shedding hot tears, with weeping loud. + Bright as the gold of Araby + Shone out her locks unbound; + And while, as if to staunch the blood, + Her hand lay on the wound, + She fixed her glances on Gazul, + Still by his foes attacked. + "'Twas cruel rage, not jealous love, + That urged this wicked act." + (Thus she began with trembling voice.) + "And I to God will pray + That for thy treacherous violence + Thy dastard life shall pay. + And midway, on thy journey down + To fair Sidonia's castled town, + Mayst thou alone, with no retreat, + The valiant Garci-Perez meet; + And mayst thou, startled at the sight, + Lose all the vigor of thy might; + Thy reins with palsied fingers yield; + And find no shelter in thy shield. + There sudden death or captive shame + Blot all thy valor but the name. + Thy warrior garb thou turnest + To the livery of the slave; + Thy coat of steel is no cuirass, + No harness of the brave; + When to Sidonia thou art come, + To meet thy amorous mate, + May foul suspicion turn her heart + From love to deadly hate. + Begone! no more the course pursue + Of faithless love and vows untrue. + To remain true to such as thee + Were naught but blackest perjury. + I fear not, hound, thy sword of might; + Turn, traitor, turn and leave my sight, + For thou wert born to change thy mind, + And fling all fealty to the wind. + Ignoble origin is thine, + For lovers of a noble line + Have no such rancorous hearts as thine. + And here I pray that God will bring + His curse upon thy soul, + That thou in war, in peace, in love + May meet with failure foul, + And that Sanlucar's lady, + Whom thou wishest for a bride, + Thee from her castle entrance + May spurn thee in her pride. + A widowed wife with bleeding heart, + Hear me one moment ere we part! + Thy knightly service I distrust, + I hear thy voice with deep disgust." + Cut to the heart by words so rude, + The Moor within the palace stood; + Say what he could, 'twas but to find + His vain word wasted on the wind. + + + +THE TOURNAMENT OF ZAIDE + + By Zaide has a feast been pledged to all Granada's dames, + For in his absence there had been dire lack of festive games, + And, to fulfil the promise the noble man had made, + He called his friends to join him in dance and serenade. + There should be sport of every kind; the youths in white arrayed + Were, to the ladies all unknown, to lead the camisade. + And ere the radiance of dawn could tint the valley-side, + The merry Moor had come abroad, his friends were at his side. + He gathered round a company, they formed a joyous train; + There were fifty gentlemen, the noblest names in Spain. + Before the dawn they sallied forth the ladies to surprise + And all that snowy gowns conceal to see with open eyes. + They bound their brows with garlands of flowerets sweet and bright, + In one hand each a cane-stalk bore, in one a taper white, + And the clarions began to blow, and trump and Moorish horn, + And whoop and shout and loud huzzas adown the street were borne. + From right to left the clamor spread along the esplanade. + And envious Abaicin a thousand echoes made. + The startled horses galloped by, amid the people's yells; + The town to its foundation shook with the jingle of their bells. + Amid the crowd some run, some shout, "Stop, stop!" the elders say; + Then all take order and advance to Alcazaba's way; + Others from Vavataubin to Alpujarra fare, + Down the street of the Gomelas or to Vivarrambla Square. + Now the whole town is on its feet, from wall to towering wall + They surge with shouts or flock around the tower and castle tall. + The ladies who are tenderest and given most to sleep + Awaken at the hubbub and from their windows peep. + And there are seen dishevelled locks clasped by the lily hand; + And snowy throat and bosom bare, revealed in public, stand; + And in their drowsy disarray, and in their anxious fear, + Each Moorish lady is surprised with many a sudden tear; + And many a heart was filled that night with feverish unrest, + As one tall maid looked through the pane with white and heaving breast. + And many a Moorish girl was seen by revellers that night + Or running in confusion or halting from affright; + But no one saw fair Zaida, except by memory's sight; + And Zaide in the darkness, with Muza as his guide, + Hurried about the city; what a crowd was at their side! + What racket, and what riot, what shout and prank and play! + It would have had no end unless the sun had brought the day, + And now the leading revellers mustered their ranks once more; + To close the frolic with one word; "Go home; the game is o'er." + + + +ZAIDE'S COMPLAINT + + Brave Zaide paces up and down impatiently the street + Where his lady from the balcony is wont her knight to greet, + And he anxiously awaits the hour when she her face will show + Before the open lattice and speak to him below. + The Moor is filled with desperate rage, for he sees the hour is fled + When day by day the dazzling ray of sunlight gilds that head, + And he stops to brood in desperate mood, for her alone he yearns + Can aught soothe the fire of fierce desire with which his bosom burns. + At last he sees her moving with all her wonted grace, + He sees her and he hastens to their old trysting-place; + For as the moon when night is dark and clouds of tempest fly + Rises behind the dim-lit wood and lights the midnight sky, + Or like the sun when tempests with inky clouds prevail, + He merges for one moment and shows his visage pale; + So Zaida on her balcony in gleaming beauty stood, + And the knight for a moment gazed at her and checked his angry mood. + Zaide beneath the balcony with trembling heart drew near; + He halted and with upward glance spoke to his lady dear: + "Fair Moorish maiden, may thy life, by Allah guarded still, + Bring thee the full fruition of that that thou dost will; + And if the servants of thy house, the pages of my hall, + Have lied about thine honor, perdition seize them all; + For they come to me and murmur low and whisper in my ear + That thou wishest to disown me, thy faithful cavalier; + And they say that thou art pledged to one a Moor of wealth and pride, + Who will take thee to his father's house and claim thee as his bride, + For he has come to woo thee from the wide lands of his sire; + And they say that his scimitar is keen and his heart a flame of fire. + And if, fair Zaida, this is true, I kneel before thy feet + Imploring thou wilt tell me true, and fling away deceit; + For all the town is talking, still talking of our love, + And the tongues of slander, to thy blame, to my derision move." + The lady blushed, she bowed her head, then to the Moor replied: + "Dear heart of mine, of all my friends the most undoubted friend, + The time has come our friendship should have an early end; + If all, indeed, these tidings know, as you yourself declare, + Pray tell me who of all the town first laid this secret bare. + For if the life that now I lead continue, I shall die. + 'Tis cheered by love, but tortured by hopeless agony. + God only knows why I the sport of cruel fate should be. + God only knows the man who says that I am false to thee. + Thou knowest well that Zaida has loved thee long and true, + Tho' her ancient lineage, Moorish knight, is more than is thy due, + And thou knowest well the loud expostulations of my sire. + Thou knowest how my mother curses me with curses dire + Because I wait for thee by day, for thee by night I wait. + Tho' far thou comest in the eve, yet dost thou tarry late. + They say to hush the common talk 'tis time that I be wed, + And to his home by some fond Moor in bridal veil be led. + Ah! many are the lovely dames, tall and of beauteous face, + Who are burning in Granada to take my envied place. + They look at thee with loving eyes and from the window call; + And, Zaide, thou deservest well the brightest of them all, + For thou thyself thine amorous eyes have turned and yet will turn + Upon the Moorish maidens who for thy embraces burn." + Then with dejected visage the Moor this answer made, + While a thousand thoughts of sorrow his valorous breast invade: + "Ah, little did I think," he said, "and little did I know + That thou, my lovely Zaida, would ever treat me so; + And little did I think thou wouldst have done this cruel deed + And by thy changeful heart would thus have made my heart to bleed. + And this for one unworthy, a man who could not claim + That thou should sacrifice to him thy love, thy life, thy name. + And art thou she who long ago, when evening veiled the sky, + Didst say to me with tender smile from the lofty balcony, + 'Zaide, I am thine own, thine own, thine own I still shall be, + And thou the darling of my soul art life itself to me'?" + + + +GUHALA'S LOVE + + The bravest youth that e'er drew rein + Upon Granada's flowery plain, + A courteous knight, of gentle heart, + Accomplished in the jouster's art; + Well skilled to guide the flying steed, + And noted for each warlike deed; + And while his heart like steel was set + When foeman in the battle met, + 'Twas wax before his lady's eyes + And melted at her amorous sighs; + And he was like a diamond bright + Amid the sword-thrusts of the fight, + And in the zambra's festive hour + Was gracious as the summer's flower. + In speech he showed the generous mind, + Where wit and wisdom were combined; + And, while his words no envy woke, + He weighed each sentence that he spoke. + And yet his mantle was of blue, + And tinged with sorrow's violet hue; + For fair Guhala, Moorish maid, + Her spell upon his heart had laid; + And thus his cape of saffron bare + The color emblem of despair; + On turban and on tassel lie + The tints that yield an August sky; + For anxious love was in his mind; + And anxious love is ever blind. + With scarce a word did he forsake + The lady pining for his sake; + For, when the festal robe he wore, + Her soul the pall of sorrow wore. + And now he journeyed on his way + To Jaen, for the jousting day, + And to Guhala, left alone, + All relic of delight was gone. + Tho' the proud maid of matchless face + A thousand hearts would fain embrace, + She loved but one, and swiftly ran + And spake her mind to Arbolan. + "O Arbolan, my Moor, my own, + Surely thy love is feeble grown! + The least excuse can bid thee part, + And tear with pain this anxious heart. + Oh, that it once were granted me + To mount my steed and follow thee; + How wouldst thou marvel then to see + That courage of true love in me, + Whose pulse so feebly throbs in thee." + Thus to see Arbolan depart + So fills with grief Guhala's heart. + The Moorish maid, while on he sped, + Lies sickening on her mournful bed. + Her Moorish damsels strive to know + The secret of this sudden blow; + They ask the cause that lays her low; + They seek the sad disease to heal, + Whose cause her feigning words conceal. + And less, indeed, the doubling folds + The Moor within his turban holds, + Than are the wiles Guhala's mind + In search of secrecy can find. + To Zara only, whom she knows, + Sole friend amid a ring of foes, + The sister of her lover leal, + She will the secret cause reveal. + And seeking an occasion meet + To tell with truth and tongue discreet, + While from her eyes the tear-drops start, + She opens thus her bleeding heart: + "O Zara, Zara, to the end, + Thou wilt remain my faithful friend. + How cruel is the lot I bear, + Thy brother's peril makes me fear! + 'Tis for his absence that I mourn. + I sicken, waiting his return!" + Such were the words Guhala said. + The love-lorn and afflicted maid + Nor further power and utterance found, + But, fainting, sank upon the ground; + For strength of love had never art + To fill with life a pining heart. + + + +AZARCO OF GRANADA + + Azarco left his heart behind + When he from Seville passed, + And winsome Celindaja + As hostage held it fast. + The heart which followed with the Moor + Was lent him by the maid, + And at their tearful parting, + "Now guard it well," she said. + "O light of my distracted eyes, + When thou hast reached the fight, + In coat of double-proof arrayed, + As fits a gallant knight, + Let loyal love and constancy + Be thy best suit of mail, + In lonely hours of absence, + When faith is like to fail. + The Moorish girls whom thou shalt meet + Are dazzling in their grace, + Of peerless wit and generous heart, + And beautiful of face. + These in the dance may lure thy heart + To think of me no more, + But none will e'er adore thee + As I, thy slave, adore. + For to live lonely without thee + Untouched by jealous fear, + Is more than my poor heart can brook, + Thou art to me so dear. + If e'er in festal halls thou meet + Some peril to my peace, + Azarco, turn thy look away, + And check thine eyes' caprice. + For 'tis by wandering eyes the foes + Of constancy increase. + May Allah and the prophet + Make thy pathway safe and clear; + And may one thought be thine abroad + And Celindaja's here." + + + +AZARCO REBUKED + + "Draw rein, draw rein one moment, + And calm thy hurrying steed, + Who bounds beneath the furious spur + That makes his flank to bleed. + Here would I, by my grief distraught, + Upon the very spot, + Remind thee of the happy hours + Thou, faithless, hast forgot. + When thou, upon thy prancing barb, + Adown this street would pace, + And only at my window pause + To gaze into my face. + At thought of all thy cruelty + A stricken slave I pine; + My heart is burning since it touched + That frozen breast of thine. + How many pledges didst thou give, + To win me for thine own! + Our oaths were mutual; I am true, + Whilst thou art recreant grown. + My eyes, they thrilled thee yesterday, + To-day thou hast no fears; + For love is not alike two days + Within a thousand years. + I thought thy name a pledge to me + Of fondest hope; no less + That thou wouldst take as pledges true + My kiss and soft caress. + What were thy glowing words but lures + Thy victim's eyes to blind? + Now safe from treachery's hour I bear + No rancor in my mind. + But better had I known the truth, + When I desired to know, + And listened to thy pleading words, + And read thy written vow. + Nay, give me no excuses vain, + For none of them I ask, + Plead truth to her thou cozenest now-- + They'll serve thee in the task. + And if my counsel thou wilt take, + Forget these eyes, this heart, + Forget my grief at thy neglect-- + Forget me--and depart." + Thus to the Moor, Azarco, + The lovely Zaida cried, + And closed her lattice, overwhelmed + With sorrow's rising tide. + He spurred his barb and rode away, + Scattering the dust behind, + And cursed the star that made his heart + Inconstant as the wind. + + + +ADELIFA'S FAREWELL + + Fair Adelifa tore her hair, + Her cheeks were furrowed o'er with care, + When brave Azarco she descried + Ascending the tall galley's side. + She flung the dust upon her head, + She wrung her lily hands and shed + Hot tears, and cursed the bitter day + That bore her heart's delight away. + "Thou, who my glory's captain art, + And general of my bleeding heart, + Guardian of every thought I know, + And sharer of my lot of woe; + Light that illumes my happy face, + The bliss of my soul's dwelling-place; + Why must thou disappear from me, + Thou glass wherein myself I see? + Azarco, bid me understand + What is it thou dost command-- + Must I remain and wait for thee? + Ah, tedious will that waiting be. + To war thou farest, but I fear + Another war awaits thee here. + Thou thinkest in some rural nest + Thou'lt set me to be safe at rest. + Ah, if my absence cause thee pain, + My love attend thee on yon plain. + Thy valiant arms' unaided might + Shall win thee victory in the fight. + My faith, Azarco, is thy shield; + It will protect thee in the field. + Thou shalt return with victory, + For victory embarks with thee. + But thou wilt say, Azarco dear, + That women's lightness is to fear. + As with armed soldiers, so you find, + Each woman has a different mind. + And none shall ever, without thee, + Me in the dance or revel see; + Nor to the concert will I roam, + But stay in solitude at home. + The Moorish girls shall never say + I dress in robes of holiday; + 'Twere vain to make the body fine + Whose soul is on the sea with thine." + With this Celinda came in sight, + Bahata's sister tall and bright; + This to an end her farewell brought, + But not her dark and anxious thought. + + + +AZARCO'S FAREWELL + + "Now saddle me the silver gray, + The steed of noble race, + And give to me the shield of Fez, + And my strong corslet lace; + Give me a double-headed lance, + With points of temper fine; + And, with the casque of stubborn steel, + That purple cap of mine. + Its plumes unite the saffron's tint + With heron's crest of snow, + And one long spray of fluttering gray. + Then give it e'er I go, + And I'll put on the hood of blue + That Celin's daughter fair, + My Adelifa, best-beloved, + Once gave to me to wear. + And the square boss of metal bring, + That circling boughs entwine + With laurels, in whose leaves of gold + The clustered emeralds shine. + Adonis, hastening to the hunt, + His heavenly mistress shuns, + The mountain boars before him flee, + And, 'Die,' the motto runs." + 'Twas thus the Moor Azarco spoke, + Just as the war begun, + To stout Almoralife + Of Baza, Zelma's son. + Almoralife, brave and wise, + Full many a minstrel sings, + A knight who in Granada + Was counted with its kings. + And when they bring the boss of gold + He heaves a thousand sighs + O'er brave Adonis and his doom, + Who by the wild boar dies. + "O Adelifa, soul of mine, + Rejoice, and murmur not, + Up to the end be merry, + When worms shall be thy lot. + My day of life must needs be short, + Thy firmness must be long; + Although thou art a woman, + Unlike thy sex, be strong. + Be not like Venus, tho' in form + Thou art indeed her peer, + For she forgot in absence, + And did to death her dear. + And when alone, upon my face + And likeness fix thine eyes, + And none admit to do me wrong, + And thy soft heart surprise. + 'Twixt sadness and repining + Love runs his changing way, + The gay he oft makes sorrowful, + The sorrowful makes gay. + Then, mark, love, in my portrait mark, + The wide eyes' mute appeal, + For this enchanted painting + Can speak and breathe and feel. + Think how those eyes shed many a tear, + When for thy face they yearn; + And let those tears thy patience win + To tarry my return." + At this Galvano came to say + That ship and favoring gale + Awaited him, and all his host + Were eager to set sail. + The Moor went forth to victory, + He was not pleasure's slave; + His gallant heart was ever prompt + To keep the pledge he gave. + + + +CELINDA'S COURTESY + + Azarco on his balcony + With humble Cegri stood. + He talked, and Cegri listened + In a sad and listless mood; + For of his own exploits he read, + Writ in an open scroll, + But envious Cegri heard the tale + With rage and bitter dole. + And thro' Elvira's gate, where spreads + A prospect wide and free, + He marked how Phoebus shot his rays + Upon the Spanish sea; + And bending to the land his eye + To notice how the scene + Of summer had its color changed + To black from radiant green, + He saw that, thro' the gate there passed + A light that was not day's, + Whose splendor, like a dazzling cloud, + Eclipsed the solar rays. + That presence changed the tint of earth, + Drew off the dusky veil, + And turned to living verdure + The leafage of the dale. + "Till now," Azarco said, "the scene + Has filled my heart with pain; + 'Tis freshened by Celinda's face, + Or passion turns my brain. + Ah, well may men her beauty praise, + For its transcendent might + Elates the human spirit, + And fills it with delight." + And as he saw her coming in, + The Moor his bonnet doffed, + And bowed to do her honor, + And spoke in accents soft. + Celinda court'sied to the ground, + Such favor was not slight, + Her kindly greeting gratified + The fond hopes of the knight. + And glad and gloomy, each in turn, + For such a quick success, + He checked a thousand words of love, + That might his joy express. + And following her with eager eyes-- + "I owe thee much," said he, + "Who dost reward with such a boon + My merest courtesy. + That favor, tho' unmerited, + Sweet lady, shall remain + Counted among those choicest gifts + Our reckoning cannot gain. + Its memory shall suffice to chase + The grinding pangs of care; + And softening turn the ills of life + To glory's guerdon rare." + On this Celinda took her leave, + And vanished from his view, + And, thinking proudly of her smile, + Azarco straight withdrew. + + + +GAZUL'S DESPONDENCY + + Scarce half a league from Gelva the knight dismounted stood, + Leaning upon his upright spear, and bitter was his mood. + He thought upon Celinda's curse, and Zaida's fickle mind, + "Ah, Fortune, thou to me," he cried, "hast ever proved unkind." + And from his valiant bosom burst a storm of angry sighs, + And acts and words of anguish before his memory rise. + "Celinda's loss I count as naught, nor fear her wicked will; + I were a fool, thus cursed by her, to love the lady still." + In rage from out the sod he drew his spear-head, as he spoke, + And in three pieces shivered it against a knotted oak. + He tore away the housings that 'neath his saddle hang, + He rent his lady's favor as with a lion's fang-- + The silken ribbon, bright with gold, which in his crest he bore, + By loved Celinda knotted there, now loved by him no more. + He drew, as rage to madness turned, her portrait from his + breast; + He spat on it, and to that face derisive jeers addressed. + "Why should I dress in robes of joy, whose heart is wounded + sore, + By curses, that requite so ill the duteous love I bore? + Stripped as I am of every hope, 'tis better I go bare, + For the black mantle of my soul is but tormenting care; + I vengeance take on yonder oak, pierced by my lance's steel-- + I dote, for, ah! the trees I wound, cannot, like women, feel." + He took the bridle off his steed, "Roam as thou wilt," said he. + "As I gave Zaida her release, I give release to thee." + The swift horse galloped out of sight; in melancholy mood, + The knight, unhorsed and helmetless, his lonely path pursued. + + + +GAZUL IN LOVE + + Not greater share did Mars acquire of trophies and renown, + Than great Gazul took with him from Gelva's castled town; + And when he to Sanlucar came his lady welcomed him, + His cup of happiness at last was beaded to the brim. + Alone the joyful lovers stood within a garden glade; + Amid the flowers, those happy hours fled to the evening shade. + With fingers deft Celinda wove a wreath, in which were set + The rose's rudy petals and the scented mignonette. + She plaited him a baldric, with violets circled round, + For violets are for lovers, and with this his waist she bound. + And then the flowery garland she tied upon his head, + "Thy face is delicate and fair as Ganymede's," she said; + "And if great Jove beheld thee now, he'd send his eagle down, + To take thee to the palace halls that high Olympus crown." + The brave Gazul his lady took and kissed her with a smile; + "She could not be so fair," said he, "the girl, who by her guile + Brought ruin on the Trojan realm, and set its towers afire, + As thou art, lady of my heart and queen of my desire." + "If I, indeed, seem fair to thee, then let the bridal rite + Me and the husband of my heart for evermore unite." + "Ah, mine will be the gain," he said, and kissed her with delight. + + + +CELINDA'S INCONSTANCY + + Gazul, like some brave bull that stands at bay to meet his fate, + Has fled from fair Celinda's frown and reached Sanlucar's gate. + The Moor bestrides a sorrel mare, her housings are of gray, + The desperate Moor is clad in weeds that shall his grief display. + The white and green that once he wore to sable folds give room, + Love's purple tints are now replaced by those of grief and gloom. + His Moorish cloak is white and blue, the blue was strewn with stars, + But now a covering like a cloud the starry radiance mars. + And from his head with stripes of black his silken streamers flow, + His bonnet blue he dyes anew in tints of grief and woe. + Alone are seen the tints of green upon his sword-belt spread, + For by that blade the blood of foes in vengeance shall be shed. + The color of the mantle which on his arm he bore + Is like the dark arena's dust when it is drenched in gore. + Black as the buskins that he wears, and black his stirrup's steel, + And red with rust of many a year the rowels at his heel. + He bears not lance or headed spear, for that which once he bore + Was shivered into splinters beside Celinda's door. + He bears a rounded target, whose quarterings display + The full moon darting through the clouds her ineffectual ray. + For though her orb be full the clouds eclipse her silver light; + The motto: "Fair but cruel, black-hearted though so bright." + And as Celinda stripped the wings which on adventure brave + Sustained his flight--no more shall plume above his helmet wave. + 'Twas noon one Wednesday when Gazul to Gelva's portal came, + And straight he sought the market-place to join the jousting game; + The ruler of the city looked at him with surprise, + And never lady knew the knight, so dark was his disguise. + As they had been as soft as wax, he pierced the targets through + With javelins of the hollow cane that in the vega grew; + Not one could stand before the Moor; the tilters turned and fled, + For by his exploits was revealed the warrior's name of dread. + The lists were in confusion, but calm was on his brow, + As, lifting up his eyes to heaven, he breathed a desperate vow; + "Would God the malediction of Celinda had come true! + And the spears of my assailant had pierced my bosom through! + And that the dames who pitied me had cursed me where I stand! + And bravely falling I became a hero of the land! + That never succor came to me, for that were rapture high + To her the angry lioness who prays that I may die!" + He spoke, he spurred his courser fleet, and started for the plain, + And swore within Celinda's sight he'd ne'er return again. + + + +THE BULL-FIGHT + + The zambra was but ended, and now Granada's King + Abdeli called his court to sit on Vivarrambla's ring; + Of noble line the bride and groom whose nuptials bade prepare, + The struggle between valiant knights and bulls within the square. + And, when on the arena the mighty bull was freed, + Straight to the deadly conflict one warrior spurred his steed; + His mantle was of emerald of texture damascene, + And hope was in his folded hood as in his mantle green; + Six squires went with him to the ring beside their lord to stand; + Their livery was brilliant green, so did their lord command. + Hope was the augury of his love; hope's livery he wore; + Yet at his side each squire of his a trenchant rapier bore. + Each rapier true was black in hue and sheathed in silver ore; + At once the people knew the knight from his audacious mien-- + Gazul the brave was recognized as soon as he was seen! + With graceful dignity he took his station on the sand, + And like a second Mars he seized his rapier in his hand; + With courage strong he eyed the bull, who pawed the ground till high + The dust of the arena was mingled with the sky. + All at the sight were terrified, and now with deadly speed, + His horns as keen as points of steel, he rushes at the steed. + The brave Gazul was on the watch, to ward the threatened blow, + And save his steed, and with one stroke to lay the assailant low. + The valiant bull, with lowered head advancing to the strife, + Felt from skilled hand the tempered brand pierce to his very life. + Deep wounded to the gory ground, where he had stoutly stood, + The hornèd warrior sank at last, bathed in his own heart's blood. + Still, on his ruddy couch he lay, his courage quenched at last. + At this exploit the plaudits of the assembly filled the blast; + They hailed the knight whose bravery and skill had done the deed, + And slain the hero of the ring, and saved his goodly steed, + And done such pleasure to the King, and to Celinda fair, + To the Queen of Spain and all her train who sat assembled there. + + + +LOVERS RECONCILED + + Soon as in rage Celinda had closed her lattice fast + And scorned the Moor ungrateful for his service in the past, + Her passion with reflection turns and in repentance ends; + She longs to see the Moor again and make to him amends; + For in the dance of woman's love through every mood they range + And those whose hearts are truest are given most to change. + And when she saw the gallant knight before the people all + Shiver his lance to splinters against her palace wall, + And when she saw his cloak of green was changed to mourning gray, + She straightway took her mantle with silver buttons gay, + She took her hood of purple pleached with the gold brocade, + Whose fringes and whose borders were all in pearls arrayed, + She brought a cap with sapphires and emeralds bespread; + The green was badge of hope, the blue of jealous rancor dead. + With waving plumes of green and white she decked a snowy hood, + And armed with double heads of steel a lance of orange-wood-- + For colors of the outer man denote the inner mood. + A border too of brilliant green around a target set, + The motto this, "Tis folly a true lover to forget." + And first she learned where bold Gazul was entertained that day, + And they told her how his coming had put off the tilters' play, + And at her pleasure-house she bade him meet her face to face; + And they told him how Celinda longed for his loved embrace, + And thrice he asked the messenger if all were not a jest, + For oft 'tis dangerous to believe the news we love the best, + For lovers' hopes are often thorns of rancor and unrest. + They told him that the words were true; and without further speech + The glory of his lady's eyes he sallied forth to reach. + He met her in a garden where sweet marjoram combined + With azure violets a scent that ravished every wind. + The musk and jasmine mingled in leaf and branch and flower, + Building about the lovers a cool and scented bower. + The white leaf matched her lily skin, the red his bounding heart. + For she was beauty's spotless queen, he valor's counterpart. + For when the Moor approached her he scarcely raised his eye, + Dazed by the expectation that she had raised so high. + Celinda with a trembling blush came forth and grasped his hand; + They talked of love like travellers lost in a foreign land. + Then said the Moor, "Why give me now love's sweetest paths to trace, + Who in thy absence only live on memories of thy face? + If thou should speak of Xerez," he said with kindling eye, + "Now take my lance, like Zaida's spouse this moment let me die, + And may I some day find thee in a rival's arms at rest, + And he by all thy arts of love be tenderly caressed; + Unless the Moor whose slander made me odious in thy eyes + In caitiff fraud and treachery abuse thine ear with lies." + The lady smiled, her heart was light, she felt a rapture new; + And like each flower that filled their bower the love between them grew, + For little takes it to revive the love that is but true; + And aided by his lady's hand he hastes her gems to don, + And on his courser's back he flings a rich caparison, + A head-stall framed of purple web and studded o'er with gold; + And purple plumes and ribbons and gems of price untold; + He clasped the lady to his heart, he whispered words of cheer, + And then took horse to Gelva to join the tilting there. + + + +CALL TO ARMS + + What time the sun in ocean sank, with myriad colors fair, + And jewels of a thousand hues tinted the clouds of air, + Brave Gazul at Acala, with all his host, drew rein-- + They were four hundred noblemen, the stoutest hearts in Spain-- + And scarcely had he reached the town when the command was given: + "Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven! + Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain; + Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain, + And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train." + And though at night he entered no torch or lamp he hath, + For glorious Celinda is the sun upon his path; + And as he enters in the town at once the word is given: + "Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven! + Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain; + Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain, + And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train." + Gazul dismounted from his steed and hastened to his bride; + She sat there mournful and alone and at his sight she sighed; + He flung his arms about the girl; she shrank from his embrace, + And while he looked in wonder, she hid her blushing face; + He said, "And can it be that thou should'st shrink from my embrace?" + Before she answered with one voice the air around was riven-- + "Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven! + Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain; + Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain, + And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train." + "Ah, traitor," she replied to him, "four months wert thou away, + And I in vain expected some tidings day by day." + And humbly did the Moor reply, "Do I deserve the blame? + Who drops the lance to take the pen, he does a deed of shame." + They sank into each other's arms just as the word was given: + "Now let your shots, your cross-bows, sound to the vault of heaven! + Let kettle-drums and trumpets and clarions blend their strain; + Zulema, Tunis' King, now lands upon the coast of Spain, + And with him ride, in arms allied, Marbello and his train." + + + +GAZUL CALUMNIATED + + Gazul, despairing, issues + From high Villalba's gate, + Cursing the evil fortune + That left him desolate. + Unmoved he in Granada saw + What feuds between the foes + The great Abencerrajes + And the Andallas rose. + He envied not the Moors who stood + In favor with the King! + He did not crave the honors + That rank and office bring. + He only cared that Zaida, + Her soft heart led astray + By lying words of slander, + Had flung his love away. + And thinking on her beauteous face, + Her bearing proud and high, + The bosom of the valiant Moor + Heaved with a mournful sigh. + "And who has brought me this disdain, + And who my hope betrayed, + And thee, the beauteous Zaida, + False to thy purpose made? + And who has caused my spoils of war, + The palm and laurel leaf, + To wither on my forehead, bowed + Beneath the load of grief?' + 'Tis that some hearts of treachery black + With lies have crossed thy way, + And changed thee to a lioness, + By hunters brought to bay. + O tongues of malediction! + O slanderers of my fame! + Thieves of my knightly honor! + Ye lay up naught but shame. + Ye are but citadels of fraud, + And castles of deceit; + When ye your sentence pass, ye tread + The law beneath your feet. + May Allah on your cruel plots + Send down the wrath divine, + That ye my sufferings may feel, + In the same plight as mine. + And may ye learn, ye pitiless, + How heavy is the rod + That brings on human cruelty + The chastisement of God. + Ye who profess in word and deed + The path of truth to hold + Are viler than the nightly wolves + That waste the quiet fold." + So forth he rode, that Moorish knight, + Consumed by passion's flame, + Scorned and repulsed by Zaida, + The lovely Moorish dame. + Then spake he to the dancing waves + Of Tagus' holy tide, + "Oh, that thou hadst a tongue, to speak + My story far and wide! + That all might learn, who gaze on thee + At evening, night, or morn, + Westward to happy Portugal, + The sufferings I have borne." + + + +GAZUL'S DESPAIR + + Upon Sanlucar's spacious square + The brave Gazul was seen, + Bedecked in brilliant array + Of purple, white, and green. + The Moor was starting for the joust, + Which many a warrior brings + To Gelva, there to celebrate + The truce between the kings. + A fair Moor maiden he adored, + A daughter of the brave, + Who struggled at Granada's siege; + Granada was their grave. + And eager to accost the maid, + He wandered round the square; + With piercing eyes he peered upon + The walls that held the fair. + And for an hour, which seemed like years, + He watched impatient there; + But when he saw the lady mount + Her balcony, he thought, + That the long hour of waiting + That vision rendered short. + Dismounting from his patient steed, + In presence of his flame, + He fell upon his knees and kissed + The pavement in her name. + With trembling voice he spoke to her, + "I cannot, cannot meet, + In any joust where you are near, + Disaster and defeat. + Of yore I lived without a heart, + Kinsmen, or pedigree; + But all of these are mine, if thou + Hast any thought of me. + Give me some badge, if not that thou + Mayst recognize thy knight, + At least to deck him, give him strength, + And succor in the fight." + Celinda heard in jealous doubt; + For some, with envious art, + Had told her that fair Zaida still + Ruled o'er the warrior's heart. + She answered him in stormy rage: + "If in the joust thou dost engage + With such success as I desire, + And all thy broken oaths require, + Thou wilt not reach Sanlucar's square + So proud as when thou last wert there. + But there shalt meet, disconsolate, + Eyes bright with love and dark with hate. + God grant that in the deadly joust + The enemies that thou hast roused, + May hurl at thee the unparried dart + And pierce thee, liar, to the heart. + Thy corpse within thy mantle bound + May horses trail along the ground. + Thou comest thy revenge to seek, + But small the vengeance thou shalt wreak. + Thy friends shall no assistance yield; + Thy foes shall tread thee in the field; + For thou the woman-slayer, then, + Shall meet thy final fate from men. + Those damsels whom thou hast deceived + Shall feel no pang of grief; + Their aid was malediction, + Thy death is their relief. + The Moor was true in heart and soul, + He thought she spake in jest. + He stood up in his stirrups, + Her hand he would have pressed. + "Lady," he said, "remember well + That Moor of purpose fierce and fell + On whom my vengeance I did wreak + Hast felt the curse that now you speak. + And as for Zaida, I repent + That love of mine on her was spent. + Disdain of her and love of thee + Now rule my soul in company. + The flame in which for her I burned + To frost her cruelty has turned. + Three cursed years, to win her smile, + In knightly deeds I wrought, + And nothing but her treachery + My faithful service brought, + She flung me off without a qualm, + Because my lot was poor, + And gave, because the wretch was rich, + Her favor to a Moor." + Celinda as these words she heard + Impatiently the lattice barred, + And to the lover's ardent sight + It seemed that heaven was quenched in night. + A page came riding up the street, + Bringing the knight his jennets fleet, + With plumes and harness all bedight + And saddled well with housings bright; + The lance which he on entering bore + Brandished the knight with spirit sore, + And dashed it to the wall, + And head and butt, at that proud door, + In myriad fragments fall. + He bade them change from green to gray; + The plumes and harness borne that day + By all the coursers of his train. + In rage disconsolate, + He rode from Gelva, nor drew rein + Up to Sanlucar's gate. + + + +VENGEANCE OF GAZUL + + Not Rodamont the African, + The ruler of Argel, + And King of Zarza's southern coast, + Was filled with rage so fell, + When for his darling Doralice + He fought with Mandricard, + As filled the heart of bold Gazul + When, past Sidonia's guard, + He sallied forth in arms arrayed, + With courage high prepared + To do a deed that mortal man + Never before had dared. + It was for this he bade them bring + His barb and coat of mail; + A sword and dusky scabbard + 'Neath his left shoulder trail; + In Fez a Christian captive + Had forged it, laboring + At arms of subtile temper + As bondsman of the King. + More precious 'twas to bold Gazul + Than all his realms could bring. + A tawny tinted _alquizel_ + Beneath his arms he wore; + And, to conceal his thoughts of blood, + No towering spear he bore. + He started forth for Jerez, + And hastening on his course, + Trampled the vega far and wide + With hoof-prints of his horse. + And soon he crossed the splashing ford + Of Guadelate's tide, + Hard by the ancient haven + Upon the valley-side. + They gave the ford a famous name + The waters still retain, + Santa Maria was it called, + Since Christians conquered Spain. + The river crossed, he spurred his steed, + Lest he might reach the gate + Of Jarez at an hour unfit, + Too early or too late. + For Zaida, his own Zaida, + Had scorned her lover leal, + Wedding a rich and potent Moor + A native of Seville; + The nephew of a castellan, + A Moorish prince of power, + Who in Seville was seneschal + Of castle and of tower. + By this accursed bridal + Life's treasure he had lost; + The Moor had gained the treasure, + And now must pay the cost. + The second hour of night had rung + When, on his gallant steed, + He passed thro' Jerez' gate resolved + Upon a desperate deed. + And lo! to Zaida's dwelling + With peaceful mien he came, + Pondering his bloody vengeance + Upon that house of shame. + For he will pass the portal, + And strike the bridegroom low; + But first must cross the wide, wide court, + Ere he can reach his foe. + And he must pass the crowd of men, + Who in the courtyard stand, + Lighting the palace of the Moor, + With torches in their hand. + And Zaida in the midst comes forth, + Her lover at her side; + He has come, amid his groomsmen, + To take her for his bride. + And bold Gazul feels his heart bound + With fury at the sight; + A lion's rage is in his soul, + His brow is black as night. + But now he checks his anger, + And gently on his steed + Draws near, with smile of greeting, + That none may balk the deed. + And when he reached the bridal, + Where all had taken their stand, + Upon his mighty sword-hilt + He sudden laid his hand; + And in a voice that all could hear + "Base craven Moor," said he, + "The sweet, the lovely Zaida + Shall ne'er be bride to thee. + And count me not a traitor, I + Defy thee face to face, + Lay hand upon thy scimitar + If thou hast heart of grace." + And with these words he dealt one stroke, + A cruel stroke and true, + It reached the Moor, it struck his heart + And pierced it through and through. + Down fell the wretch, that single stroke + Had laid him with the dead-- + "Now let him die for all his deeds," + The assembled people said. + Gazul made bravely his defence, + And none could check his flight; + He dashed his rowels in his steed, + And vanished in the night. + + + +GAZUL AND ALBENZAIDE + + "Tho' thou the lance can hurl as well + As one a reed might cast, + Talk not of courage for thy crimes + Thy house's honor blast. + Seek not the revel or the dance, + Loved by each Moorish dame. + The name of valor is not thine, + Thou hast a coward's name; + And lay aside thy mantle fair + Thy veil and gaberdine, + And boast no more of gold and gems-- + Thou hast disgraced thy line. + And see thine arms, for honor fit, + Are cheap and fashioned plain; + Yet such that he whose name is lost + May win it back again. + And Albenzaide keep thy tastes + Proportioned to thy state; + For oft from unrestrained desires + Spring hopes infatuate. + Flee from thy thoughts, for they have wings, + Whose light ambition lifts + Thy soul to empty altitudes, + Where purpose veers and drifts. + Fling not thyself into the sea, + From which the breezes blow + Now with abrupt disdain, and now + With flattering whispers low. + For liberty once forfeited + Is hard to be regained, + And hardest, when the forfeit falls + On heart and hand unstained." + Thus spake Gazul, the Moorish lord + Of fame and honor bright; + Yet, as a craven beggar, + Fair Zaida scorned the knight. + + + +GAZUL'S ARMS + + "Now scour for me my coat of mail, + Without delay, my page, + For, so grief's fire consumes me, + Thy haste will be an age; + And take from out my bonnet + The verdant plumes of pride, + Which once Azarco gave me, + When he took to him his bride. + And in their place put feathers black, + And write this motto there: + 'Heavy as lead is now his heart, + Oppressed with a leaden care,' + And take away the diamonds, + And in their place insert + Black gems, that shall to all proclaim + The deed that does me hurt, + For if thou take away those gems + It will announce to all + The black and dismal lot that does + Unfortuned me befall. + And give to me the buskins plain, + Decked by no jewels' glow, + For he to whom the world is false + Had best in mourning go. + And give to me my lance of war, + Whose point is doubly steeled, + And, by the blood of Christians, + Was tempered in the field. + For well I wish my goodly blade + Once more may burnished glow; + And if I can to cleave in twain + The body of my foe. + And hang upon my baldric, + The best of my ten swords. + Black as the midnight is the sheath, + And with the rest accords. + Bring me the horse the Christian slave + Gave to me for his sire, + At Jaen; and no ransom + But that did I require. + And even though he be not shod, + Make haste to bring him here; + Though treachery from men I dread, + From beasts I have no fear. + The straps with rich enamel decked + I bid you lay aside; + And bind the rowels to my heel + With thongs of dusky hide." + Thus spake aloud the brave Gazul, + One gloomy Tuesday night; + Gloomy the eve, as he prepared + For victory in the fight. + For on that day the news had come + That his fair Moorish maid + Had wedded with his bitterest foe, + The hated Albenzaide. + The Moor was rich and powerful, + But not of lineage high, + His wealth outweighed with one light maid + Three years of constancy. + Touched to the heart, on hearing this, + He stood in arms arrayed, + Nor strange that he, disarmed by love, + 'Gainst love should draw his blade. + And Venus, on the horizon, + Had shown her earliest ray + When he Sidonia left, and straight + To Jerez took his way. + + + +THE TOURNAMENT + + His temples glittered with the spoils and garlands of his love, + When stout Gazul to Gelvas came, the jouster's skill to prove. + He rode a fiery dappled gray, like wind he scoured the plain; + Yet all her power and mettle could a slender bit restrain; + The livery of his pages was purple, green, and red-- + Tints gay as was the vernal joy within his bosom shed. + And all had lances tawny gray, and all on jennets rode, + Plumes twixt their ears; adown their flanks the costly housings flowed. + Himself upon his gallant steed carries the circling shield, + And a new device is blazoned upon its ample field. + The phoenix there is figured, on flaming nest it dies, + And from its dust and ashes again it seems to rise. + And on the margin of the shield this motto is expressed: + "Tis hard to hide the flames of love once kindled in the breast." + And now the ladies take their seats; each jouster mounts his steed; + From footmen and from horsemen flies fast the loaded reed. + And there appears fair Zaida, whom in a luckless day + The Moor had loved, but since, that love in loathing passed away. + Her treachery had grieved his heart, and she who did the wrong + Mourned with repentant heart amid that gay and happy throng. + And with her was Zafira, to whom her husband brings + More bliss and happiness than reign amid Granada's kings. + And when she looked at brave Gazul his deeds her grief renew; + The more she sees, the more her heart is ravished at the view. + And now she blushes with desire, now grows with envy pale; + Her heart is like the changing beam that quivers in the scale. + Alminda sees the lovely dame with sudden anguish start, + And speaks with hope she may reveal the secret of her heart. + And troubled Zaida makes reply, "A sudden thought of ill + Has flashed across my mind and caused the anguish that I feel." + "'Twere better," said Alminda, "to check thy fancy's flight, + For thought can rob the happiest hours of all their deep delight." + Then said the maid of Xerez, "To me thou showest plain + Thou hast not felt black envy's tooth nor known what is disdain. + To know it, would thy spirit move to pity my despair, + Who writhe and die from agony, in which thou hast no share." + Zafira seized the lady's hand, and silence fell around, + As mixed in loud confusion brushed the jousters to the ground. + In came the Berber tribesmen, in varied cloaks arrayed; + They ranged themselves in companies against the palisade. + The sound of barbarous trumpets rang, the startled horses reared, + And snort and neigh and tramp of hoofs on every side was heard, + Then troop meets troop, and valiant hearts the mimic fight pursue; + They hurl their javelins o'er the sand and pierce the bucklers through. + Long time the battling hosts contend, until that festive day, + The shout, the clash, the applauding cry, in silence die away. + They fain had prayed that time himself would stop Apollo's car. + They hate to see the sunset gloom, the rise of evening's star. + And even when the sun is set, he who a foe discerns, + With no less vigor to his targe the loaded javelin turns, + The onset joined, each lance discharged, the judge's voice is heard; + He bids the heralds sound a truce, and the wide lists are cleared. + + + +ABENUMEYA'S LAMENT + + The young Abenumeya, Granada's royal heir, + Was brave in battle with his foe and gallant with the fair. + By lovely Felisarda his heart had been ensnared, + The daughter of brave Ferri; the captain of the guard. + He through the vega of Genii bestrode his sorrel steed, + Alone, on melancholy thoughts his anxious soul to feed, + The tints that clothed the landscape round were gloomy as the scene + Of his past life, wherein his lot had naught but suffering been. + His mantle hue was of iron gray bestrewn with purple flowers, + Which bloomed amid distress and pain, like hope of happier hours. + And on his cloak were columns worked, (his cloak was saffron hued,) + To show that dark suspicion's fears had tried his fortitude; + His shield was blazoned with the moon, a purple streak above, + To show that fears of fickleness are ever born with love. + He bore an azure pennant 'neath the iron of his spear, + To show that lovers oft go wrong deceived by jealous fear. + The hood he wore was wrought of gold and silk of crimson clear; + His bonnet crest was a heron plume with an emerald stone beneath; + And under all a motto ran, "Too long a hope is death." + He started forth in such array, but armed from head to heel + With tempered blade and dagger and coat of twisted steel. + And hangling low at his saddle-bow was the helmet for his head; + And as he journeyed on his way the warrior sighed and said: + "O Felisarda, dearest maid, him in thy memory keep + Who in his soul has writ thy name in letters dark and deep. + Think that for thee in coat of mail he ever rides afield, + In his right hand the spear must stand, his left must grasp the shield. + And he must skirmish in the plain and broil of battle brave, + And wounded be, for weapons ne'er from jealousy can save." + And as he spoke the lonely Moor from out his mantle's fold + With many a sigh, that scorched the air, a lettered page unrolled. + He tried in vain to read it but his eyes with tears were blind, + And mantling clouds of sorrow hid the letters from his mind. + The page was moistened by the tears that flowed in plenteous tide, + But by the breath of sighs and sobs the softened page was dried. + Fresh wounds he felt at sight of it, and when the cause he sought, + His spirit to Granada flew upon the wings of thought. + He thought of Albaicin, the palace of the dame, + With its gayly gilded capitals and its walls of ancient fame. + And the garden that behind it lay in which the palm was seen + Swaying beneath the load of fruit its coronet of green. + "O mistress of my soul," he said, "who callest me thine own, + How easily all bars to bliss thy love might trample down! + But time, that shall my constancy, thy fickleness will show, + The world shall then my steadfast heart, thy tongue of treachery know. + Woe worth the day when, for thy sake, I fair Granada sought, + These anxious doubts may cloud my brow, they cannot guard thy thought. + My foes increase, thy cruelty makes absence bitterer still, + But naught can shake my constancy, and none can do me ill." + On this from Alpujarra the tocsin sounded high. + He rushed as one whose life is staked to save the maid or die. + + + +THE DESPONDENT LOVER + + He leaned upon his sabre's hilt, + He trod upon his shield, + Upon the ground he threw the lance + That forced his foes to yield. + His bridle hung at saddle-bow, + And, with the reins close bound, + His mare the garden entered free + To feed and wander round. + Upon a flowering almond-tree + He fixed an ardent gaze; + Its leaves were withered with the wind + That flowers in ruin lays. + Thus in Toledo's garden park, + Did Abenamar wait, + Who for fair Galliana + Watched at the palace gate. + The birds that clustered on the towers + Spread out their wings to fly, + And from afar his lady's veil + He saw go floating by. + And at this vision of delight, + Which healed his spirit's pain, + The exiled Moor took courage, + And hope returned again. + "O Galliana, best beloved, + Whom art thou waiting now? + And what has treacherous rendered + My fortune and thy vow? + Thou swearedst I should be thine own, + Yet 'twas but yesterday + We met, and with no greeting + Thou wentest on thy way. + Then, in my silence of distress, + I wandered pondering-- + If this is what to-day has brought, + What will to-morrow bring? + Happy the Moor from passion free, + In peace or turmoil born, + Who without pang of hate or love, + Can slumber till the morn. + O almond-tree, thou provest + That the expected hours + Of bliss may often turn to bane, + As fade thy dazzling flowers. + A mournful image art thou + Of all that lays me low, + And on my shield I'll bear thee + As blazon of my woe. + For thou dost bloom in many a flower, + Till blasted by the wind, + And 'tis of thee this word is true-- + 'The season was not kind.'" + He spoke and on his courser's head + He slipped the bridle rein, + And while he curbed his gentle steed + He could not curb his pain, + And to Ocana took his course, + O'er Tagus' verdant plain. + + + +LOVE AND JEALOUSY + + "Unless thou wishest in one hour + Thine April hope shouldst blighted be, + Oh, tell me, Tarfe, tell me true, + How I may Zaida chance to see. + I mean the foreigner, the wife + New wedded, her with golden hair, + And for each lock a charm besides + She counts--for she is passing fair. + Her, whom the Moorish nobles all + To heaven in their laudation raise, + Till the fine ladies of the land + Are left to languish in dispraise. + The mosque I visit every day, + And wait to see her come in sight; + I wait to see her, where the rout + And revel lengthen out the night. + However, cost me what it may, + I cannot meet the lovely dame. + Ah, now my eyes are veiled in tears, + Sure witness of my jealous flame. + And tell me, Tarfe, that my rage + Has cause enough, for since I've been + Granada's guest (and would to God + Granada I had never seen!) + My lord forsakes me every night, + Nor till the morning comes again; + He shuns as painful my caress, + My very presence brings him pain; + Little indeed he recks of me, + If only he may elsewhere reign. + For if we in the garden meet, + Or if we in the chamber be, + His actions his estrangement prove, + He has not even words for me. + And if I say to him, 'My life!' + He answers me, 'My dearest dear,' + Yet with a coldness that congeals + My very heart with sudden fear. + And all the while I strive to make + His soul reveal a traitorous thought, + He turns his back on me, as if + To him my trembling fear was naught. + And when about his neck I cling, + He drops his eyes and bows his face, + As if, from thought of other arms + He longed to slip from my embrace. + His bosom heaves with discontent, + Deep as from hell the sigh is wrenched; + My heart with dark suspicion beats, + And all my happiness is quenched. + And if I ask of him the cause, + He says the cause in me is found; + That I am vain, the rover I, + And to another's bosom bound. + As if, since I have known his love, + I at the window show my face, + Or take another's hand in mine, + Or seek the bull-ring, joust, or race; + Or if my footsteps have been found + To wander a suspected place, + The prophet's curse upon me fall, + Unless to keep the nuptial pact + And serve the pleasure of my lord. + I kept the Koran's law exact! + But wherefore should I waste the time + These tedious questions to recall? + Thou knowest the chase on which he hies, + And yet in silence hidest all. + Nay, swear not--I will naught believe; + Thine oaths are but a fowler's net, + And woe betide the dame who falls + Into the snare that thou hast set. + For men are traitors one and all; + And all their promises betray; + Like letters on the water writ, + They vanish, when love's fires decay. + For to fulfil thy promise fair, + What hours thou hast the whole day long, + What chances on the open road, + Or in the house when bolts are strong. + O God! but what a thought is this? + I strangle, in the sudden thrall + Of this sharp pang of agony, + Oh, hold me, Tarfe, lest I fall." + Thus Adelifa weeping cried + At thought of Abenamar's quest: + In Moorish Tarfe's arms she fell, + And panting lay upon his breast. + + + +THE CAPTIVE OF TOLEDO + + Upon the loftiest mountain height + That rises in its pride, + And sees its summits mirrored + In Tagus' crystal tide, + The banished Abenamar, + Bound by a captive chain, + Looks on the high-road to Madrid + That seams the dusty plain. + He measures, with his pining eyes, + The stretching hills that stand + Between his place of banishment + And his sweet native land. + His sighs and tears of sorrow + No longer bear restraint, + And thus in words of anguish + He utters his complaint: + "Oh, dismal is the exile + That wrings the heart with woes + And locks the lips in silence, + Amid unfeeling foes. + + O road of high adventure, + That leadest many a band + To yon ungrateful country where + My native turrets stand, + The country that my valor + Did oft with glory crown, + The land that lets me languish here, + Who won for her renown. + Thou who hast succored many a knight, + Hast thou no help for me, + Who languish on Toledo's height + In captive misery? + 'Tis on thy world-wide chivalry + I base my word of blame, + 'Tis that I love thee most of all, + Thy coldness brings me shame. + Oh, dismal is the exile, + That wrings my heart with woes, + And locks my lips in silence + Among unfeeling foes. + + The warden of fierce Reduan + With cruelty more deep + That that of a hidalgo, + Has locked this prison keep; + And on this frontier set me, + To pine without repose, + To watch, from dawn to sunset, + Over his Christian foes. + Here like a watch-tower am I set + For Santiago's lord, + And for a royal mistress + Who breaks her plighted word. + And when I cry with anguish + And seek in song relief, + With threats my life is threatened, + Till silence cloak my grief. + Oh, dismal is the exile, + That wrings my heart with woes, + And locks my lips in silence + Among unfeeling foes. + + And when I stand in silence, + Me dumb my jailers deem, + And if I speak, in gentle words, + They say that I blaspheme. + Thus grievously perverting + The sense of all I say, + Upon my lips the raging crowd + The gag of silence lay. + Thus heaping wrong on wrong my foes + Their prisoner impeach, + Until the outrage of my heart + Deprives my tongue of speech. + And while my word the passion + Of my sad heart betrays, + My foes are all unconscious + Of what my silence says. + Now God confound the evil judge + Who caused my misery, + And had no heart of pity + To soften his decree. + Oh, dismal is the exile, + That wrings my heart with woes, + And locks my lips in silence + Among unfeeling foes. + + + +THE BLAZON OF ABENAMAR + + By gloomy fortune overcast, + Vassal of one he held in scorn, + Complaining of the wintry world, + And by his lady left forlorn, + The wretched Abenamar mourned, + Because his country was unkind, + Had brought him to a lot of woe, + And to a foreign home resigned. + A stranger Moor had won the throne, + And in Granada sat in state. + Many the darlings of his soul + He claimed with love insatiate, + He, foul in face, of craven heart, + Had won the mistress of the knight; + Her blooming years of beauteous youth + Were Abenamar's own by right. + But royal favor had decreed + A foreign tyrant there should reign, + For many a galley owned him lord + And master, in the seas of Spain. + Oh, haply 'twas that Zaida's self, + Ungrateful like her changing sex, + Had chosen this emir, thus in scorn + Her Abenamar's soul to vex. + This was the thought that turned to tears + The eyes of the desponding knight, + As on his sufferings past he thought, + His labors and his present plight; + His hopes, to disappointment turned; + His wealth, now held in alien hands, + His agony o'er love betrayed, + Lost honor, confiscated lands. + And as his loyalty had met + Such ill requital from the King, + He called his page and bade him straight + A limner deft before him bring. + For he would have him paint at large, + In color, many a new device + And write his sufferings on his shield. + No single blazon would suffice. + And first a green field parched and seared; + A coal, in myriad blazes burned, + And like his ardent hopes of yore, + At length to dust and ashes turned. + And then a miser, rich in gold, + Who locks away some jewel bright, + For fear the thief a gem may steal, + Which yet can yield him no delight. + A fair Adonis done to death + Beneath the wild boar's cruel tusk. + A wintry dawn on pallid skies, + A summer's day that turns to dusk. + A lovely garden green and fair + Ravaged and slashed by strokes of steel; + Or wasted in its trim parterres + And trampled by the common heel. + So spake the brave heart-broken Moor; + Until his tears and struggling sighs + Turned to fierce rage; the painting then + He waited for with eager eyes. + He asks that one would fetch a steed, + Of his good mare no more he recks, + For womankind have done him wrong, + And she is woman in her sex. + The plumes of yellow, blue, and white + From off his bonnet brim he tears, + He will no longer carry them; + They are the colors Zaida wears. + He recks no more of woman's love, + His city now he bids farewell, + And swears he will no more return + Nor in Granada seek to dwell. + + + +WOMAN'S FICKLENESS + + A stout and valorous gentleman, + Granada knew his worth, + And rich with many a spoil of love, + Went Abenamar forth. + Upon his bonnet, richly dyed, + He bore a lettered scroll, + It ran, "'Tis only love that makes + The solace of my soul." + His bonnet and his brow were hid + Beneath a hood of green, + And plumes of violet and white + Above his head were seen. + And 'twixt the tassel and the crown + An emerald circlet shone. + The legend of the jewel said, + "Thou art my hope alone." + He rode upon a dappled steed + With housings richly dight, + And at his left side clanking hung + A scimitar of might. + And his right arm was sleeved in cloth + Of tawny lion's hue, + And at his lance-head, lifted high, + A Turkish pennon flew. + And when he reached Daraja's camp + He saw Daraja stand + Beside his own perfidious love, + And clasp her by the hand. + He made to her the wonted sign, + Then lingered for a while, + For jealous anguish filled his heart + To see her tender smile. + He spurred his courser to the blood; + One clattering bound he took, + The Moorish maiden turned to him. + Ah, love was in her look! + Ah, well he saw his hopeless fate, + And in his jealous mood + The heart that nothing feared in fight + Was whelmed in sorrow's flood. + "O false and faithless one," he said, + "What is it that I view? + Thus the foreboding of my soul + I see at last come true; + Shame that a janizary vile, + Of Christian creed and race, + A butt of bright Alhambra's feasts, + Has taken now my place. + Where is the love thou didst avow, + The pledge, the kiss, the tear, + And all the tender promises + Thou whisperedst in my ear? + Thou, frailer than the withered reed, + More changeful than the wind, + More thankless than the hardest heart + In all of womankind; + I marvel not at what I see, + Nor yet for vengeance call; + For thou art woman to the core, + And in that name is all." + The gallant Moor his courser checked, + His cheek with anger burned, + Men saw, that all his gallant mien + To gloom and rage was turned. + + + +KING JUAN + + "Abenamar, Abenamar," said the monarch to the knight, + "A Moor art thou of the Moors, I trow, and the ladies' fond delight, + And on the day when first you lay upon your mother's breast, + On land and sea was a prodigy, to the Christians brought unrest; + The sea was still as a ruined mill and the winds were hushed to rest. + And the broad, broad moon sank down at noon, red in the stormy west. + If thus thou wert born thou well mayst scorn to ope those lips of thine, + That out should fly a treacherous lie, to meet a word of mine." + "I have not lied," the Moor replied, and he bowed his haughty head + Before the King whose wrath might fling his life among the dead. + "I would not deign with falsehood's stain my lineage to betray; + Tho' for the truth my life, in sooth, should be the price I pay. + I am son and squire of a Moorish sire, who with the Christians strove, + And the captive dame of Christian name was his fair wedded love; + And I a child from that mother mild, who taught me at her knee + Was ever told to be true and bold with a tongue that was frank and free, + That the liar's art and the caitiff heart would lead to the house of + doom; + And still I must hear my mother dear, for she speaks to me from the tomb. + Then give me my task, O King, and ask what question thou mayst choose; + I will give to you the word that is true, for why should I refuse?" + "I give you grace for your open face, and the courteous words you use. + What castles are those on the hill where grows the palm-tree and the + pine? + They are so high that they touch the sky, and with gold their pinnacles + shine." + "In the sunset's fire there glisten, sire, Alhambra's tinted tiles; + And somewhat lower Alijire's tower upon the vega smiles, + And many a band of subtile hand has wrought its pillared aisles. + The Moor whose thought and genius wrought those works for many moons + Received each day a princely pay--five hundred gold doubloons-- + Each day he left his labor deft, his guerdon was denied; + Nor less he lost than his labor cost when he his hand applied. + And yonder I see the Generalifé with its orchard green and wide; + There are growing there the apple and pear that are Granada's pride. + There shadows fall from the soaring wall of high Bermeja's tower; + It has flourished long as a castle strong, the seat of the Soldan's + power." + The King had bent and his ear had lent to the words the warrior spoke, + And at last he said, as he raised his head before the crowd of folk: + "I would take thee now with a faithful vow, Granada for my bride, + King Juan's Queen would hold, I ween, a throne and crown of pride; + That very hour I would give thee dower that well would suit thy will; + Cordova's town should be thine own, and the mosque of proud Seville. + Nay, ask not, King, for I wear the ring of a faithful wife and true; + Some graceful maid or a widow arrayed in her weeds is the wife for you, + And close I cling to the Moorish King who holds me to his breast, + For well I ween it can be seen that of all he loves me best." + + + +ABENAMAR'S JEALOUSY + + Alhambra's bell had not yet pealed + Its morning note o'er tower and field; + Barmeja's bastions glittered bright, + O'ersilvered with the morning light; + When rising from a pallet blest + With no refreshing dews of rest, + For slumber had relinquished there + His place to solitary care, + Brave Abenamar pondered deep + How lovers must surrender sleep. + And when he saw the morning rise, + While sleep still sealed Daraja's eyes, + Amid his tears, to soothe his pain, + He sang this melancholy strain: + "The morn is up, + The heavens alight, + My jealous soul + Still owns the sway of night. + Thro' all the night I wept forlorn, + Awaiting anxiously the morn; + And tho' no sunlight strikes on me, + My bosom burns with jealousy. + The twinkling starlets disappear; + Their radiance made my sorrow clear; + The sun has vanished from my sight, + Turned into water is his light; + What boots it that the glorious sun + From India his course has run, + To bring to Spain the gleam of day, + If from my sight he hides away? + The morn is up, + The heavens are bright, + My jealous soul + Still owns the sway of night." + + + +ADELIFA'S JEALOUSY + + Fair Adelifa sees in wrath, kindled by jealous flames, + Her Abenamar gazed upon by the kind Moorish dames. + And if they chance to speak to him, or take him by the hand, + She swoons to see her own beloved with other ladies stand. + When with companions of his own, the bravest of his race, + He meets the bull within the ring, and braves him to his face, + Or if he mount his horse of war, and sallying from his tent + Engages with his comrades in tilt or tournament, + She sits apart from all the rest, and when he wins the prize + She smiles in answer to his smile and devours him with her eyes. + And in the joyous festival and in Alhambra's halls, + She follows as he treads the dance at merry Moorish balls. + And when the tide of battle is rising o'er the land, + And he leaves his home, obedient to his honored King's command, + With tears and lamentation she sees the warrior go + With arms heroic to subdue the proud presumptuous foe. + Though 'tis to save his country's towers he mounts his fiery steed + She has no cheerful word for him, no blessing and godspeed; + + And were there some light pretext to keep him at her side, + In chains of love she'd bind him there, whate'er the land betide. + Or, if 'twere fair that dames should dare the terrors of the fight, + She'd mount her jennet in his train and follow with delight. + For soon as o'er the mountain ridge his bright plume disappears, + She feels that in her heart the jealous smart that fills her eyes with + tears. + Yet when he stands beside her and smiles beneath her gaze, + Her cheek is pale with passion pure, though few the words she says. + Her thoughts are ever with him, and they fly the mountain o'er + When in the shaggy forest he hunts the bristly boar. + In vain she seeks the festal scene 'mid dance and merry song, + Her heart for Abenamar has left that giddy throng. + For jealous passion after all is no ignoble fire, + It is the child of glowing love, the shadow of desire. + Ah! he who loves with ardent breast and constant spirit must + Feel in his inmost bosom lodged the arrows of distrust. + And as the faithful lover by his loved one's empty seat + Knows that the wind of love may change e'er once again they meet, + So to this sad foreboding do fancied griefs appear + As he who has most cause to love has too most cause for fear. + And once, when placid evening was mellowing into night, + The lovely Adelifa sat with her darling knight; + And then the pent-up feeling from out her spirit's deeps + Rose with a storm of heavy sighs and trembled on her lips: + "My valiant knight, who art, indeed, the whole wide world to me, + Clear mirror of victorious arms and rose of chivalry, + Thou terror of thy valorous foe, to whom all champions yield, + The rampart and the castle of fair Granada's field, + In thee the armies of the land their bright example see, + And all their hopes of victory are founded upon thee; + And I, poor loving woman, have hope in thee no less, + For thou to me art life itself, a life of happiness. + Yet, in this anxious trembling heart strange pangs of fear arise, + Ah, wonder not if oft you see from out these faithful eyes + The tears in torrents o'er my cheek, e'en in thy presence flow. + Half prompted by my love for thee and half by fears of woe, + These eyes are like alembics, and when with tears they fill + It is the flame of passion that does that dew distil. + And what the source from which they flow, but the sorrow and the care + That gather in my heart like mist, and forever linger there. + And when the flame is fiercest and love is at its height, + The waters rise to these fond eyes, and rob me of my sight, + For love is but a lasting pain and ever goes with grief, + And only at the spring of tears the heart can drink relief. + Thus fire and love and fear combined bring to my heart distress, + With jealous rage and dark distrust alarm and fitfulness. + These rage within my bosom; they torment me till I'd weep. + By day and night without delight a lonely watch I keep. + By Allah, I beseech thee, if thou art true to me, + That when the Moorish ladies turn round and gaze on thee, + Thou wilt not glance again at them nor meet their smiling eye, + Or else, my Abenamar, I shall lay me down and die. + For thou art gallant, fair, and good; oh, soothe my heart's alarms, + And be as tender in thy love as thou art brave in arms. + And as they yield to thee the prize for valor in the field + Oh, show that thou wilt pity to thy loving lady yield." + Then Abenamar, with a smile, a kiss of passion gave. + "If it be needful," he replied, "to give the pledge you crave + To tell thee, Adelifa, that thou art my soul's delight + And lay my inmost bosom bare before thy anxious sight, + The bosom on whose mirror shines thy face in lines of light, + Here let me ope the secret cell that thou thyself may see, + The altar and the blazing lamp that always burn for thee. + And if perchance thou art not thus released from torturing care, + Oh, see the faith, the blameless love that wait upon thee there. + And if thou dost imagine I am a perjured knight, + I pray that Allah on my head may call down bane and blight, + And when into the battle with the Christian I go + I pray that I may perish by the lances of the foe; + And when I don my armor for the toils of the campaign, + That I may never wear the palm of victory again, + But as a captive, on a shore far from Granada, pine, + While the freedom that I long to have may never more be mine. + Yes, may my foes torment me in that sad hour of need; + My very friends, for their own ends, prove worthless as a reed. + My kin deny, my fortune fly, and, on my dying day, + My very hopes of Paradise in darkness pass away. + Or if I live in freedom to see my love once more, + May I meet the fate which most I hate, and at my palace door + Find that some caitiff lover has won thee for his own, + And turn to die, of mad despair, distracted and alone. + Wherefore, my life, my darling wife, let all thy pain be cured; + Thy trust in my fidelity be from this hour assured. + No more those pearly tears of thine fall useless in the dust + No more the jealous fear distract thy bosom with mistrust. + Believe me by the oath I swear my heart I here resign, + And all I have of love and care are, Adelifa, thine. + Believe that Abenamar would his own life betray + If he had courage thus to throw life's choicest gem away." + Then Adelifa smiled on him and at the words he said, + Upon his heaving bosom her blushing cheek she laid. + And from that hour each jealous thought far from her mind she thrust + And confidence returned again in place of dark distrust. + + + +FUNERAL OF ABENAMAR + + The Moors of haughty Gelves have changed their gay attire. + The caftan and the braided cloak, the brooch of twisted wire, + The gaudy robes, the mantles of texture rich and rare, + The fluttering veils and tunic bright the Moors no longer wear. + And wearied is their valorous strength, their sinewy arms hang down; + No longer in their lady's sight they struggle for the crown. + Whether their loves are absent or glowing in their eyes, + They think no more of jealous feud nor smile nor favor prize; + For love himself seems dead to-day amid that gallant train + And the dirge beside the bier is heard and each one joins the strain, + And silently they stand in line arrayed in mourning black + For the dismal pall of Portugal is hung on every back. + And their faces turned toward the bier where Abenamar lies, + The men his kinsmen silent stand, amid the ladies' cries + And thousand thousands ask and look upon the Moorish knight, + By his coat of steel they weeping kneel, then turn them from the sight. + And some proclaim his deeds of fame, his spirit high and brave, + And the courage of adventure that had brought him to the grave. + Some say that his heroic soul pined with a jealous smart, + That disappointment and neglect had broke that mighty heart; + That all his ancient hopes gave way beneath the cloud of grief, + Until his green and youthful years were withered like a leaf; + And he is wept by those he loved, by every faithful friend, + And those who slandered him in life speak evil to the end. + They found within his chamber where his arms of battle hung + A parting message written all in the Moorish tongue: + "Dear friends of mine, if ever in Gelves I should die, + I would not that in foreign soil my buried ashes lie. + But carry me, and dig my grave upon mine own estate, + And raise no monument to me my life to celebrate, + For banishment is not more dire where evil men abound, + Than where home smiles upon you, but the good are never found." + + + +BALLAD OF ALBAYALDOS + + Three mortal wounds, three currents red, + The Christian spear + Has oped in head and thigh and head-- + Brave Albayaldos feels that death is near. + + The master's hand had dealt the blow, + And long had been + And hard the fight; now in his heart's blood low + He wallows, and the pain, the pain is keen. + + He raised to heaven his streaming face + And low he said: + "Sweet Jesus, grant me by thy grace, + Unharmed to make this passage to the dead. + + "Oh, let me now my sins recount, + And grant at last + Into thy presence I may mount, + And thou, dear mother, think not of my past. + + "Let not the fiend with fears affright + My trembling soul; + Though bitter, bitter is the night + Whose darkling clouds this moment round me roll. + + "Had I but listened to your plea, + I ne'er had met + Disaster; though this life be lost to me, + Let not your ban upon my soul be set. + + "In him, in him alone I trust, + To him I pray, + Who formed this wretched body from the dust. + He will redeem me in the Judgment Day. + + "And Muza, one last service will I ask, + Dear friend of mine: + Here, where I died, be it thy pious task + To bury me beneath the tall green pine. + + "And o'er my head a scroll indite, to tell + How, on this sod, + Fighting amid my valiant Moors, I fell. + And tell King Chico how I turned to God, + + "And longed to be a Christian at the last, + And sought the light, + So that the accursed Koran could not cast + My soul to suffer in eternal night." + + + +THE NIGHT RAID OF REDUAN + + Two thousand are the Moorish knights that 'neath the banner stand + Of mighty Reduan, as he starts in ravage thro' the land. + With pillage and with fire he wastes the fields and fruitful farms, + And thro' the startled border-land is heard the call to arms; + By Jaen's towers his host advance and, like a lightning flash, + Ubeda and Andujar can see his horsemen dash, + While in Baeza every bell + Does the appalling tidings tell, + "Arm! Arm!" + Rings on the night the loud alarm. + + So silently they gallop, that gallant cavalcade, + The very trumpet's muffled tone has no disturbance made. + It seems to blend with the whispering sound of breezes on their way, + The rattle of their harness and the charger's joyous neigh. + But now from hill and turret high the flaming cressets stream + And watch-fires blaze on every hill and helm and hauberk gleam. + From post to post the signal along the border flies + And the tocsin sounds its summons and the startled burghers rise, + While in Baeza every bell + Does the appalling tidings tell, + "Arm! Arm!" + Rings on the night the loud alarm. + + Ah, suddenly that deadly foe has fallen upon the prey, + Yet stoutly rise the Christians and arm them for the foe, + And doughty knights their lances seize and scour their coats of mail, + The soldier with his cross-bow comes and the peasant with his flail. + And Jaen's proud hidalgos, Andujar's yeomen true, + And the lords of towered Ubeda the pagan foes pursue; + And valiantly they meet the foe nor turn their backs in flight, + And worthy do they show themselves of their fathers' deeds of might, + While in Baeza every bell + Does the appalling tidings tell, + "Arm! Arm!" + Rings on the night the loud alarm. + + The gates of dawn are opened and sunlight fills the land, + The Christians issuing from the gates in martial order stand, + They close in fight, and paynim host and Christian knights of Spain, + Not half a league from the city gate, are struggling on the plain. + The din of battle rises like thunder to the sky, + From many a crag and forest the thundering echoes fly, + And there is sound of clashing arms, of sword and rattling steel, + Moorish horns, the fife and drum, as the scattering squadrons reel, + And the dying moan and the wounded shriek for the hurt that none can + heal, + While in Baeza every bell + Does the appalling tidings tell, + "Arm! Arm!" + Rings on the night the loud alarm. + + + +SIEGE OF JAEN + + Now Reduan gazes from afar on Jaen's ramparts high, + And tho' he smiles in triumph yet fear is in his eye, + And vowed has he, whose courage none charged with a default, + That he would climb the ramparts and take it by assault, + Yet round the town the towers and walls the city's streets impale, + And who of all his squadrons that bastion can scale? + He pauses until one by one his hopes have died away, + And his soul is filled with anguish and his face with deep dismay. + He marks the tall escarpment, he measures with his eye + The soaring towers above them that seem to touch the sky. + Height upon height they mount to heaven, while glittering from afar + Each cresset on the watch-towers burns like to a baleful star. + His eyes and heart are fixed upon the rich and royal town, + And from his eye the tear of grief, a manly tear, flows down. + His bosom heaves with sighs of grief and heavy discontent, + As to the royal city he makes his sad lament: + "Ah, many a champion have I lost, fair Jaen, at thy gate, + Yet lightly did I speak of thee with victory elate, + The prowess of my tongue was more than all that I could do, + And my word outstripped the lance and sword of my squadron strong and + true. + And yet I vowed with courage rash thy turrets I would bring + To ruin and thy subjects make the captives of my King. + That in one night my sword of might, before the morrow's sun, + Would do for thy great citadel what centuries have not done. + I pledged my life to that attempt, and vowed that thou shouldest fall, + Yet now I stand in impotence before thy castle tall. + For well I see, before my might shall win thee for my King, + That thou, impregnable, on me wilt rout and ruin bring, + Ah, fatal is the hasty tongue that gives such quick consent, + And he who makes the hasty vow in leisure must repent. + Ah! now too late I mourn the word that sent me on this quest, + For I see that death awaits me here whilst thou livest on at rest, + For I must enter Jaen's gates a conqueror or be sent + Far from Granada's happy hills in hopeless banishment; + But sorest is the thought that I to Lindaraja swore: + If Jaen should repulse me I'd return to her no more; + No more a happy lover would I linger at her side, + Until Granada's warrior host had humbled Jaen's pride." + Then turning to his warriors, the Moorish cavalier + Asks for their counsel and awaits their answer while with fear. + Five thousand warriors tried and true the Moors were standing near, + All armed with leathern buckler, all armed with sword and spear. + "The place," they answer, "is too strong, by walls too high 'tis bound, + Too many are the watch-towers that circle it around. + The knights and proud hidalgos who on the wall are seen, + Their hearts are bold, their arms are strong, their swords and spears are + keen. + Disaster will be certain as the rising of the day, + And victory and booty are a slippery prize," they say, + "It would be wise in this emprise the conflict to forego; + Not all the Moors Granada boasts could lay proud Jaen low." + + + +THE DEATH OF REDUAN + + He shrank not from his promise, did Reduan the brave, + The promise to Granada's King with daring high he gave; + And when the morning rose and lit the hills with ruddy glow, + He marshalled forth his warriors to strike a final blow. + With shouts they hurry to the walls, ten thousand fighting men-- + Resolved to plant the crescent on the bulwarks of Jaen. + The bugle blast upon the air with clarion tone is heard, + The burghers on the city wall reply with scoffing word; + And like the noise of thunder the clattering squadrons haste, + And on his charger fleet he leads his army o'er the waste. + In front of his attendants his march the hero made, + He tarried not for retinue or clattering cavalcade, + And they who blamed the rash assault with weak and coward minds + Deserted him their leader bold or loitered far behind. + And now he stands beneath the wall and sees before him rise + The object of the great campaign, his valor's priceless prize; + He dreams one moment that he holds her subject to his arms, + He dreams that to Granada he flies from war's alarms, + Each battlement he fondly eyes, each bastion grim and tall, + And in fancy sees the crescents rise above the Christian wall. + But suddenly an archer has drawn his bow of might, + And suddenly the bolt descends in its unerring flight, + Straight to the heart of Reduan the fatal arrow flies, + The gallant hero struck to death upon the vega lies. + And as he lies, from his couch of blood, in melancholy tone, + Thus to the heavens the hero stout, though fainting, makes his moan, + And ere his lofty soul in death forth from its prison breaks, + Brave Reduan a last farewell of Lindaraja takes: + "Ah, greater were the glory had it been mine to die, + Not thus among the Christians and hear their joyful cry, + But in that happy city, reclining at thy feet, + Where thou with kind and tender hands hast wove my winding-sheet. + Ah! had it been my fate once more to gaze upon thy face, + And love and pity in those eyes with dying glance to trace, + Altho' a thousand times had death dissolved this mortal frame, + Soon as thy form before me in radiant beauty came, + A thousand times one look of thine had given me back my breath, + And called thy lover to thy side even from the gate of death. + What boots it, Lindaraja, that I, at Jaen's gate, + That unsurrendered city, have met my final fate? + What boots it, that this city proud will ne'er the Soldan own, + For thee and not for Jaen this hour I make my moan; + I weep for Lindaraja, I weep to think that she + May mourn a hostage and a slave in long captivity. + But worse than this that some proud Moor will take thee to his heart, + And all thy thoughts of Reduan new love may bid depart. + And dwelling on thy beauty he will deem it better far, + To win fair Lindaraja than all the spoils of war, + Yet would I pray if Mahomet, whose servant I have been, + Should ever from the throne of God look on this bloody scene, + And deem it right to all my vows requital fit to make, + And for my valor who attacked the town I could not take, + That he would make thy constancy as steadfast as the tower + Of Jaen's mighty fortress, that withstood the Moorish power; + Now as my life be ebbing fast, my spirit is oppressed, + And Reduan the warrior bold is sinking to his rest, + Oh, may my prayers be answered, if so kind heaven allow, + And may the King forgive me for the failure of my vow, + And, Lindaraja, may my soul, when it has taken its flight, + And for the sweet Elysian fields exchange these realms of night, + Contented in the joys and peace of that celestial seat, + Await the happy moment when we once more shall meet." + + + +THE AGED LOVER + + 'Twas from a lofty balcony Arselia looked down + On golden Tagus' crystal stream that hemmed Toledo's town; + And now she watched the eddies that dimpled in the flood + And now she landward turned her eye to gaze on waste and wood, + But in all that lay around her she sought for rest in vain, + For her heart, her heart was aching, and she could not heal the pain. + 'Tis of no courtly gallant the Moorish damsel dreams, + No lordly emir who commands the fort by Tagus' streams, + 'Twas on the banks of Tornes stood the haughty towers of note + Where the young alcaydé loved by the maid from cities dwelt remote. + And never at Almanzor's court had he for honor sought, + Though he dwelt in high Toledo in fair Arselia's thought; + And now she dreams of love's great gift, of passion's deep delight, + When far away from her palace walls a stranger came in sight. + It was no gallant lovelorn youth she saw approaching fast, + It was the hero Reduan whose vernal years were past. + He rode upon a sorrel horse and swiftly he came nigh, + And stood where the dazzling sun beat down upon her balcony; + And with a thoughtful air upon the maiden turned his eye, + For suddenly the aged knight feels all his heart on fire, + And all the frost of his broken frame is kindling with desire. + And while he fain would hide his pain he paces up and down + Before the palace turrets that Toledo's rampart crown. + With anger glows the maiden's mind, "Now get thee gone," she cries, + "For can it be that love of me in blood like thine can rise? + I sicken at the very thought; thy locks, old man, are gray, + Thy baldness and thy trembling hand a doting age betray. + Ah, little must thou count my years of beauty and of bloom, + If thou wouldst wed them with a life thus tottering to the tomb, + Decrepitude is now thy lot, and wherefore canst thou dare + To ask that youthful charms these vile infirmities should share?" + And Moorish Reduan heard her words, and saw the meaning plain. + Advancing to the balcony he answered her again: + "The sun is king of everything, o'er all he holds his sway, + And thou art like the sun--thy charms I own and I obey; + Thy beauty warms my veins again, and in its rays, forsooth, + I feel the blithe, courageous mood of long-forgotten youth; + Sure love of mine can harm thee not, as sunlight is not lost + When its kind radiance dissolves the fetters of the frost." + Then turning round, a parchment did Reduan unfold, + And on it was a writing in characters of gold; + The meaning of the posy at once the maiden caught: + "Since I can venture, I can have; as yet, I am not naught." + He shows upon his shield a sun, circled with burning rays; + And on the rim was written a little verse which says, + "Two suns, one on my shield, and one in beauty's eyes, I trace." + Then at the cold disdain he saw upon her lovely face, + He covered with a gauzy veil the blazon of his shield, + "The sun upon my targe," he cried, "before thy light must yield." + But as the maid still pouted and eyed him with disdain, + "The mimic sun," continued he, "which here is blazoned plain, + Is overcast and hides itself from the true orb of day, + And I by beauty's radiance eclipsed must ride away." + And as he spoke the Moor struck deep the rowels in his steed, + And rode away from Tagus' side across the grassy mead. + The Moorish maiden recked not if he were far or near, + Her thoughts returned to fancies sweet of her absent cavalier. + + + +FICKLENESS REBUKED + + While in the foeman's ruddy gore + I waded to the breast, + And for mine own, my native shore + Fought braver than the best, + While the light cloak I laid aside, + And doffed the damask fold, + And donned my shirt of mail, the spoil + Of foeman brave and bold, + Thou, fickle Mooress, puttest on + Thine odorous brocade, + And hand in hand with thy false love + Wert sitting in the shade. + Thus on the scutcheon of thy sires + Thou plantest many a stain; + The pillars of thine ancient house + Will ne'er be firm again. + But, oh, may Allah vengeance take + For thine unkind deceit, + And sorely weeping mayst thou pay + The vengeance that is meet. + Thus shalt thou pay--thy lover's bliss + Thou shalt not, canst not share, + But feel the bitter mockery + Thy day-long shame must bear. + And what revenge 'twill be to note + When thou dost kiss his brow, + How thy gold tresses, soft and light, + Blend with his locks of snow; + And what revenge to hear him + To thee his loves recount, + Praising some Moorish lass, or mark + His sons thy staircase mount. + Yes, thou shalt pay the penalty, + When, from sweet Genil's side, + Thou passest to the stormy waves + Of Tagus' rushing tide; + Abencerrajes are not there, + And from thy balcony + Thou shalt not hear the horsemen + With loud hoof rushing by. + Thoughts of lost days shall haunt thee then + And lay thy spirit waste, + When thy past glories thou shalt see + All faded and effaced; + All gone, those sweet, seductive wiles-- + The love note's scented scroll-- + The words, and blushing vows, that brought + Damnation to thy soul. + Thus the bright moments of the past + Shall rise to memory's eye, + Like vengeance-bearing ministers + To mock thy misery. + For time is father of distress; + And he whose life is long + Experiences a thousand cares, + A thousand shapes of wrong. + Thou shalt be hated in the court, + And hated in the stall, + Hated in merry gathering, + In dance and festival. + Thou shalt be hated far and wide; + And, thinking on this hate, + Wilt lay it to the black offence + That thou didst perpetrate. + Then thou wilt make some weak defence, + And plead a father's will, + That forced thee shuddering to consent + To do the act of ill. + Enjoy then him whom thus constrained + Thou choosest for thine own; + But know, when love would have his way, + He scorns a father's frown. + + + +THE GALLEY-SLAVE OF DRAGUT + + Ah, fortune's targe and butt was he, + On whom were rained the strokes from hate + From love that had not found its goal, + From strange vicissitudes of fate. + A galley-slave of Dragut he, + Who once had pulled the laboring oar, + Now, 'mid a garden's leafy boughs, + He worked and wept in anguish sore. + "O Mother Spain! for thy blest shore + Mine eyes impatient yearn; + For thy choicest gem is bride of mine, + And she longs for my return. + They took me from the galley bench; + A gardener's slave they set me here, + That I might tend the fruit and flowers + Through all the changes of the year; + Wise choice, indeed, they made of me! + For when the drought has parched the field, + The clouds that overcast my heart + Shall rain in every season yield. + O mother Spain! for thy blest shore + Mine eyes impatient yearn; + For thy choicest gem is bride of mine, + And she longs for my return. + + "They took me from the galley's hold; + It was by heaven's all-pitying grace. + Yet, even in this garden glade, + Has fortune turned away her face. + Though lighter now my lot of toil, + Yet is it heavier, since no more + My tear-dimmed eyes, my heart discern, + Across the sea, my native shore. + O mother Spain! for thy blest shore + Mine eyes impatient yearn; + For thy choicest gem is bride of mine, + And she longs for my return. + + "And you, ye exiles, who afar + In many a foreign land have strayed; + And from strange cities o'er the sea + A second fatherland have made-- + Degenerate sons of glorious Spain! + One thing ye lacked to keep you true, + The love no stranger land could share; + The courage that could fate subdue. + O mother Spain! for thy blest shore + Mine eyes impatient yearn; + For thy choicest gem is bride of mine, + And she longs for my return." + + + +THE CAPTIVE'S LAMENT + + Where Andalusia's plains at length end in the rocky shore, + And the billows of the Spanish sea against her boundaries roar, + A thousand ruined castles, that were once the haughty pride + Of high Cadiz, in days long past, looked down upon the tide. + And on the loftiest of them all, in melancholy mood, + A solitary captive that stormy evening stood. + For he had left the battered skiff that near the land wash lay, + And here he sought to rest his soul, and while his grief away, + While now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, + And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. + + Ah, yes, beneath the fierce levant, the wild white horses pranced; + With rising rage the billows against those walls advanced; + But stormier were the thoughts that filled his heart with bitter pain, + As he turned his tearful eyes once more to gaze upon the main. + "O hostile sea," these words at last burst from his heaving breast; + "I know that I return to die, but death at least is rest. + Then let me on my native shore again in freedom roam, + For here alone is shelter, for here at last is home." + And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, + And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. + + 'Twas Tagus' banks to me a child my home and nurture gave; + Ungrateful land, that lets me pine unransomed as a slave. + For now to-day, a dying man, am I come back again, + And I must lay my bones on this, the farthest shore of Spain. + It is not only exile's sword that cuts me to the heart; + It is not only love for her from whom they bade me part; + Nor only that I suffer, forgot by every friend, + But, ah! it is the triple blow that brings me to my end." + And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, + And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. + + "The fire with which my bosom burns, alas! thy coolest breeze + Can never slake, nor can its rage thy coolest wave appease; + The earth can bring no solace to the ardor of my pain, + And the whole ocean waters were poured on it in vain. + For it is like the blazing sun that sinks in ocean's bed, + And yet, with ardor all unquenched, next morning rears its head. + Thus from the sea my suffering's flame has driven me once more, + And here I land, without a hope, upon this arid shore." + And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, + And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. + + "Oh, call me not, oh, call me not, thou voice of other years, + The fire that flames within my heart has dried the spring of tears. + And, while my eyes might well pour forth those bitter drops of pain, + The drought of self-consuming grief has quenched the healing rain. + Here, let me cry aloud for her, whom once I called mine own, + For well I wot that loving maid for me has made her moan. + 'Tis for her sake my flight I urge across the sea and land, + And now 'twixt shore and ocean's roar I take my final stand." + And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, + And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. + + Then stooping to the earth he grasped the soil with eager hand, + He kissed it, and with water he mixed the thirsty sand. + "O thou," he said, "poor soil and stream, in the Creator's plan + Art the end and the beginning of all that makes us man! + From thee rise myriad passions, that stir the human breast, + To thee at last, when all is o'er, they sink to find their rest. + Thou, Earth, hast been my mother, and when these pangs are o'er, + Thou shalt become my prison-house whence I can pass no more." + And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, + And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. + + And now he saw the warring winds that swept across the bay + Had struck the battered shallop and carried it away. + "O piteous heaven," he cried aloud, "my hopes are like yon bark: + Scattered upon the storm they lie and never reach their mark." + And suddenly from cloudy heavens came down the darkling night + And in his melancholy mood the captive left the height. + He gained his boat, with trembling hand he seized the laboring oar + And turning to the foaming wave he left his native shore. + "Ah, well I wot on ocean's breast when loud the tempest blows + Will rest be found when solid ground denies the heart repose. + Now let the hostile sea perceive no power of hers I dread, + But rather ask her vengeance may fall upon my head." + Into the night the shallop turned, while floated far behind + The captive's lamentation like a streamer on the wind. + And now, like furies, from the east the gale began to blow, + And with the crash of thunder the billows broke below. + + + +STRIKE SAIL! + + A Turkish bark was on the sea, the sunny sea of Spain, + In sight of cliffs that Hercules made boundaries of the main; + And one, Celimo's captive slave, as fierce the billows grew, + Was listening as the ship-master this order gave the crew: + "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale + Is rising fast! Strike sail!" + + Fierce fell on them the opposing winds, the ship was helpless driven; + And with the ocean's flood were blent the thunder-drops of heaven. + And as the inky clouds were rent, the fiery lightning flared, + And 'mid the terror-stricken crew one voice alone was heard: + "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale + Is rising fast! Strike sail!" + + And one there sat upon the deck, in captive misery, + Whose tears ran mingling with the flood, the flood of sky and sea. + Lost in the tempest of his thoughts, he fondly breathed a prayer, + Whose mournful words were echoed by the mount of his despair: + "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale + Is rising fast! Strike sail!" + + "If I am captive and a slave, the time shall come when God + Will bring me freed, to tread once more my own, my native sod! + Then all my ancient glory shall return to me for aye. + Till then, my soul, be patient and wait that happy day!" + "Strike sail! Strike sail! The furious gale + Is rising fast! Strike sail!" + + + +THE CAPTIVE'S ESCAPE + + The fair Florida sat at ease, upon a summer's day, + Within a garden green and fair that by the river lay, + And gayly asked that he her spouse would tell his darling wife + The cause of his captivity, the history of his life. + "Now tell me, dearest husband, I pray thee tell me true, + Who were thy parents, and what land thy birth and nurture knew? + And wherefore did they take thee a captive from that place, + And who has given thee liberty, thy homeward path to trace?" + "Yes, I will tell thee, gentle wife, and I will tell thee true, + For tender is the light I see within thine eyes of blue. + In Ronda did my father raise his castle on the height; + And 'twas in Antequera first my mother saw the light. + Me, to this dark captivity, the dastard Moors ensnared, + Just as the peace had ended and war was not declared. + They took me off in fetters, to barter me for gold, + Velez-de-la-Gomèra was the town where I was sold. + Seven weary days, and for each day a long and weary night, + They set me on the auction-block, before the people's sight. + Yet not a Moorish gentleman and not a Moorish wife + A maravedi offered for the mournful captive's life. + At last there came a Moorish dog, in rich attire, and gave + A thousand golden pieces to have me for his slave. + He led me to his lofty house, and bade me there remain, + Mocked by his lowest underlings, and loaded with a chain. + Ah! vile the life he led me, and deep revenge I swore; + Ah! black the life he gave me, and hard the toils I bore! + By day I beat the piled-up hemp cut from the vega plain; + By night, within the darkened mill, I ground for him the grain. + And though the very corn I ground, I longed to take for meat, + He placed a bridle on my mouth that I should nothing eat! + Therefore, it pleased the God who rules the heavens, the land, the sea, + That the mistress of that mighty house looked tenderly on me. + And when the Moor a-hunting went, one happy autumn day, + She came into my prison-house and took my chains away; + She bade me sit upon her lap, I answered with delight; + Ah, many a gallant present she made to me that night! + She bathed me and she washed my wounds, and garments fresh she gave, + Far brighter than were fit to deck the body of a slave; + And love's delight we shared that night, for I grew gay and bold! + And in the morn she gave to me a hundred crowns of gold. + She oped the gates, she bade me, with smiles, once more be free; + We fled, for fear that Moorish hound would slay both her and me. + And so it pleased the God who rules the earth and heavens above, + To prove his deep compassion and the greatness of his love; + And thus my sad captivity, my days of wandering, o'er, + Florida, in thy loving arms I nestle as of yore!" + + + +THE SPANIARD OF ORAN + + Right gallant was that gentleman, the warlike knight of Spain, + Who served the King in Oran, with sword and lances twain; + But, with his heart's devotion and passion's ardent fire, + He served a gentle Afric maid of high and noble sire. + And she was fair as noble, and well could she requite + The devotion of a lover and the courage of a knight. + And when one summer evening they paid their vows again, + They heard the alarum ring to arms across the darkling plain; + For the foes' approach had roused the watch and caused the war-like + sound. + The silver moon had shed its ray upon their targes round, + The targes shot the message to the silent watch-towers by, + And watch-towers sent their tidings by flames that lit the sky; + And the fires had called the bells on high to ring their clear alarms-- + That tocsin roused the lover locked in the lady's arms. + Ah, sorely felt he in his heart the spur of honor prick, + But love's appeal that held him, it pierced him to the quick. + 'Twas cowardice to dally and shrink that foe to face, + But, ah, it was ingratitude to leave her in that case. + And hanging round her lover's neck, she saw that he turned pale, + And seized his sword and cast one glance upon his coat of mail; + And, with a burst of sighs and tears she bowed her beauteous head; + "Oh, rise, my lord, gird on thy arms, and join the fray," she said; + "Oh, let my tears this couch bedew; this couch of joy shall be + As dolorous as the dreary field of battle, without thee! + Arm, arm thyself and go to war! Hark, hark! the foes approach. + Thy general waits; oh, let him not thy knightliness reproach! + Oh, direly will he visit thee for cowardice to-day, + For dire the crime in any clime of soldiers who betray. + Well canst thou glide unnoticed to the camp, without thy sword; + Wilt thou not heed my tears, my sighs--begone without a word! + Thy bosom is not made of flesh, for, ah! thou canst not feel, + Thou hast no need of arms in fight, for it is hard as steel." + The Spaniard gazed upon her, his heart was full of pride; + She held him fast and even her words retained him at her side. + "Lady," he said, and kissed her, "spite of thy words unwise, + Thou art as sweet as ever in thy lover's faithful eyes. + And since to love and honor this night thou hast appealed, + I take my arms and go, for right it is to thee I yield; + I go into the battle and my body seeks the fight, + But my soul behind me lingers in thy bosom of delight; + Oh, grant me, Lord and Master, to seek the camp below, + Oh, let me take the name to-night and I will cheerful go, + Bearing the sword, the lance, and coat of mail against the foe!" + + + + +MOORISH ROMANCES + +[_Metrical Translation by J. Lockhart_] + + + + +MOORISH ROMANCES + + +THE BULL-FIGHT OF GAZUL + +[Gazul is the name of one of the Moorish heroes who figure in the +"_Historia de las Guerras Civiles de Granada_." The following ballad +is one of very many in which the dexterity of the Moorish cavaliers in the +bull-fight is described. The reader will observe that the shape, activity, +and resolution of the unhappy animal destined to furnish the amusement of +the spectators, are enlarged upon, just as the qualities of a modern +race-horse might be among ourselves: nor is the bull without his name. The +day of the Baptist is a festival among the Mussulmans, as well as among +Christians.] + + King Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound, + He hath summonded all the Moorish lords, from the hills and plains + around; + From vega and sierra, from Betis and Xenil, + They have come with helm and cuirass of gold and twisted steel. + + Tis the holy Baptist's feast they hold in royalty and state, + And they have closed the spacious lists beside the Alhambra's gate; + In gowns of black and silver laced, within the tented ring, + Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed in presence of the King. + + Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stalwart arm and true, + The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through; + The deeds they've done, the spoils they've won, fill all with hope and + trust, + Yet ere high in heaven appears the sun they all have bit the dust. + + Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tambour, + Make room, make room for Gazul--throw wide, throw wide the door; + Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still, more loudly strike the drum, + The Alcaydé of Algava to fight the bull doth come. + + And first before the King he passed, with reverence stooping low, + And next he bowed him to the Queen, and the Infantas all a-row; + Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to him did throw + A scarf from out her balcony was whiter than the snow. + + With the life-blood of the slaughtered lords all slippery is the sand, + Yet proudly in the centre hath Gazul ta'en his stand; + And ladies look with heaving breast, and lords with anxious eye, + But firmly he extends his arm--his look is calm and high. + + Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and two come roaring on, + He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his rejón; + Each furious beast upon the breast he deals him such a blow + He blindly totters and gives back, across the sand to go. + + "Turn, Gazul, turn," the people cry--the third comes up behind, + Low to the sand his head holds he, his nostrils snuff the wind; + The mountaineers that lead the steers, without stand whispering low, + "Now thinks this proud alcaydé to stun Harpado so?" + + From Guadiana comes he not, he comes not from Xenil, + From Gaudalarif of the plain, or Barves of the hill; + But where from out the forest burst Xarama's waters clear, + Beneath the oak-trees was he nursed, this proud and stately steer. + + Dark is his hide on either side, but the blood within doth boil, + And the dun hide glows, as if on fire, as he paws to the turmoil. + His eyes are jet, and they are set in crystal rings of snow; + But now they stare with one red glare of brass upon the foe. + + Upon the forehead of the bull the horns stand close and near, + From out the broad and wrinkled skull, like daggers they appear; + His neck is massy, like the trunk of some old knotted tree, + Whereon the monster's shaggy mane, like billows curled, ye see. + + His legs are short, his hams are thick, his hoofs are black as night, + Like a strong flail he holds his tail in fierceness of his might; + Like something molten out of iron, or hewn from forth the rock, + Harpado of Xarama stands, to bide the alcaydé's shock. + + Now stops the drum--close, close they come--thrice meet, and thrice give + back; + The white foam of Harpado lies on the charger's breast of black-- + The white foam of the charger on Harpado's front of dun-- + Once more advance upon his lance--once more, thou fearless one! + + Once more, once more;--in dust and gore to ruin must thou reel-- + In vain, in vain thou tearest the sand with furious heel-- + In vain, in vain, thou noble beast, I see, I see thee stagger, + Now keen and cold thy neck must hold the stern alcaydé's dagger! + + They have slipped a noose around his feet, six horses are brought in, + And away they drag Harpado with a loud and joyful din. + Now stoop thee, lady, from thy stand, and the ring of price bestow + Upon Gazul of Algava, that hath laid Harpado low. + + + +THE ZEGRI'S BRIDE + +[The reader cannot need to be reminded of the fatal effects which were +produced by the feuds subsisting between the two great families, or rather +races, of the Zegris and the Abencerrages of Granada. The following ballad +is also from the "_Guerras Civiles_."] + + Of all the blood of Zegri, the chief is Lisaro, + To wield rejón like him is none, or javelin to throw; + From the place of his dominion, he ere the dawn doth go, + From Alcala de Henares, he rides in weed of woe. + + He rides not now as he was wont, when ye have seen him speed + To the field of gay Toledo, to fling his lusty reed; + No gambeson of silk is on, nor rich embroidery + Of gold-wrought robe or turban--nor jewelled tahali. + + No amethyst nor garnet is shining on his brow, + No crimson sleeve, which damsels weave at Tunis, decks him now; + The belt is black, the hilt is dim, but the sheathed blade is bright; + They have housened his barb in a murky garb, but yet her hoofs are light. + + Four horsemen good, of the Zegri blood, with Lisaro go out; + No flashing spear may tell them near, but yet their shafts are stout; + In darkness and in swiftness rides every armed knight-- + The foam on the rein ye may see it plain, but nothing else is white. + + Young Lisaro, as on they go, his bonnet doffeth he, + Between its folds a sprig it holds of a dark and glossy tree; + That sprig of bay, were it away, right heavy heart had he-- + Fair Zayda to her Zegri gave that token privily. + + And ever as they rode, he looked upon his lady's boon. + "God knows," quoth he, "what fate may be--I may be slaughtered soon; + Thou still art mine, though scarce the sign of hope that bloomed whilere, + But in my grave I yet shall have my Zayda's token dear." + + Young Lisaro was musing so, when onward on the path, + He well could see them riding slow; then pricked he in his wrath. + The raging sire, the kinsmen of Zayda's hateful house, + Fought well that day, yet in the fray the Zegri won his spouse. + + + +THE BRIDAL OF ANDALLA + +[The following ballad has been often imitated by modern poets, both in +Spain and in Germany: + + "_Pon te a las rejas azules, dexa la manga que labras, + Melancholica Xarifa, veras al galan Andalla." etc_.] + + "Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; + Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town. + From gay guitar and violin the silver notes are flowing, + And the lovely lute doth speak between the trumpet's lordly blowing, + And banners bright from lattice light are waving everywhere, + And the tall, tall plume of our cousin's bridegroom floats proudly in the + air: + Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; + Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town. + + "Arise, arise, Xarifa, I see Andalla's face, + He bends him to the people with a calm and princely grace. + Through all the land of Xeres and banks of Guadalquivir + Rode forth bridegroom so brave as he, so brave and lovely never. + Yon tall plume waving o'er his brow of purple mixed with white, + I guess 'twas wreathed by Zara, whom he will wed to-night; + Rise up, rise up, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; + Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town. + + "What aileth thee, Xarifa, what makes thine eyes look down? + Why stay ye from the window far, nor gaze with all the town? + I've heard you say on many a day, and sure you said the truth, + Andalla rides without a peer, among all Granada's youth. + Without a peer he rideth, and yon milk-white horse doth go + Beneath his stately master, with a stately step and slow; + + Then rise, oh, rise, Xarifa, lay the golden cushion down; + Unseen here through the lattice, you may gaze with all + the town." + + The Zegri lady rose not, nor laid her cushion down, + Nor came she to the window to gaze with all the town; + But though her eyes dwelt on her knee, in vain her fingers strove, + And though her needle pressed the silk, no flower Xarifa wove; + One bonny rose-bud she had traced, before the noise drew nigh-- + That bonny bud a tear effaced, slow drooping from her eye. + "No--no," she sighs--"bid me not rise, nor lay my cushion down, + To gaze upon Andalla with all the gazing town." + + "Why rise ye not, Xarifa, nor lay your cushion down? + Why gaze ye not, Xarifa, with all the gazing town? + Hear, hear the trumpet how it swells, and how the people cry! + He stops at Zara's palace gate--why sit ye still--oh, why?" + "At Zara's gate stops Zara's mate; in him shall I discover + The dark-eyed youth pledged me his truth with tears, and was my lover? + I will not rise, with dreary eyes, nor lay my cushion down, + To gaze on false Andalla with all the gazing town!" + + + +ZARA'S EAR-RINGS + + "My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropped into the well, + And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell." + 'Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spoke Albuharez' daughter, + "The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the cold blue water-- + To me did Muça give them, when he spake his sad farewell, + And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell. + + "My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they were pearls in silver set, + That when my Moor was far away, I ne'er should him forget, + That I ne'er to other tongue should list, nor smile on other's tale, + But remember he my lips had kissed, pure as those ear-rings pale-- + When he comes back, and hears that I have dropped them in the well, + Oh, what will Muça think of me, I cannot, cannot tell. + + "My ear-rings! my ear-rings! he'll say they should have been, + Not of pearl and of silver, but of gold and glittering sheen, + Of jasper and of onyx, and of diamond shining clear, + Changing to the changing light, with radiance insincere-- + That changeful mind unchanging gems are not befitting well-- + Thus will he think--and what to say, alas! I cannot tell. + + "He'll think when I to market went, I loitered by the way; + He'll think a willing ear I lent to all the lads might say; + He'll think some other lover's hand, among my tresses noosed, + From the ears where he had placed them, my rings of pearl unloosed; + He'll think, when I was sporting so beside this marble well, + My pearls fell in,--and what to say, alas! I cannot tell. + + "He'll say, I am a woman, and we are all the same; + He'll say I loved when he was here to whisper of his flame-- + But when he went to Tunis my virgin troth had broken, + And thought no more of Muça, and cared not for his token. + My ear-rings! my ear-rings! O luckless, luckless well, + For what to say to Muça, alas! I cannot tell. + + "I'll tell the truth to Muça, and I hope he will believe-- + That I thought of him at morning, and thought of him at eve; + That, musing on my lover, when down the sun was gone, + His ear-rings in my hand I held, by the fountain all alone; + And that my mind was o'er the sea, when from my hand they fell, + And that deep his love lies in my heart, as they lie in the well." + + + +THE LAMENTATION FOR CELIN + + At the gate of old Granada, when all its bolts are barred, + At twilight at the Vega gate there is a trampling heard; + There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow, + And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound of woe. + "What tower is fallen, what star is set, what chief come these + bewailing?" + "A tower is fallen, a star is set. Alas! alas for Celin!" + + Three times they knock, three times they cry, and wide the doors they + throw; + Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go; + In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch, + Each horseman grasping in his hand a black and flaming torch; + Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing, + For all have heard the misery. "Alas! alas for Celin!"-- + + Him yesterday a Moor did slay, of Bencerraje's blood, + 'Twas at the solemn jousting, around the nobles stood; + The nobles of the land were by, and ladies bright and fair + Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share; + But now the nobles all lament, the ladies are bewailing, + For he was Granada's darling knight. "Alas! alas for Celin!" + + Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two, + With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to view; + Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in sable veil, + Between the tambour's dismal strokes take up their doleful tale; + When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brotherless bewailing, + And all the people, far and near, cry--"Alas! alas for Celin!" + + Oh! lovely lies he on the bier, above the purple pall, + The flower of all Granada's youth, the loveliest of them all; + His dark, dark eyes are closed, his rosy lip is pale, + The crust of blood lies black and dim upon his burnished mail, + And evermore the hoarse tambour breaks in upon their wailing, + Its sound is like no earthly sound--"Alas! alas for Celin!" + + The Moorish maid at the lattice stands, the Moor stands at his door, + One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore-- + Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they strew + Upon their broidered garments of crimson, green, and blue-- + Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the loud bewailing, + From door and lattice, high and low--"Alas! alas for Celin!" + + An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the people cry; + Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazèd eye. + Twas she that nursed him at her breast, that nursed him long ago; + She knows not whom they all lament, but soon she well shall know. + With one deep shriek she thro' doth break, when her ears receive their + wailing-- + "Let me kiss my Celin ere I die--Alas! alas for Celin!" + + + +THE STORY OF SIDI BRAHIM OF MASSAT + +[_Translated by Réne Basset and Chauncey C. Starkweather_] + + + +THE STORY OF SIDI BRAHIM OF MASSAT + +I + +The Taleb Sidi Brahim, son of Amhammed of Massat, in the province of Sous, +tells the following story about himself: When he was still a child at his +father's house he went to the mosque to read with a taleb. He studied with +him for twelve and a half years. His father gave him bread and kouskous, +and he ate eight deniers' worth a day. I will make known the country of +Massat. It contains seventeen towns. In the middle of these is a market. +The Jews have a refuge in the village of the chief named +Mobarek-ben-Mahomet. He lives with a sheik called +Brahim-Mahomet-Abon-Djemaa. These two chiefs levy a tax on the Jews. They +receive from them four ounces per family at the beginning of each month. If +the festival of the Mussulmans coincides with the Sabbath of the Jews, the +latter pay to each of the chiefs one ounce for a Jew or a Jewess, boy or +girl, little or big. The following are the details of the population of +Massat. It includes 1,700 men. As to the women, little boys or girls, only +the Lord knows their number. There are 1,250 houses. The horses amount to +180. They ride them and make them work like oxen and mules. They also fight +on horseback. The country has trees, vines, figs, cacti, dates, oranges, +lemons, apples, apricots, melons, and olives. There is a river which flows +from there to the sea. The commerce is considerable. There are Jews and +Mussulmans. The number of books in the mosque is unknown, unless it be by +God. The teachers are numerous as well as the pilgrims, the descendants of +Mahomet, and the saints. May God aid us with his blessing! + +We will now speak of the tribute which the people of Massat pay yearly to +Prince Mouley-Abd-Er-Rahman. Up to our days they had, for fifty-one years, +given him 5,000 livres of silver. The prince said to them, "You must pay +1,000 livres more." They answered, "By the Lord, we will only give you as +before, 5,000 livres, a slave, a servant, and a horse." The kaid +Abd-el-Cadik, who was caliph of the King of Taroundant, hastened to send +against them forty-five horsemen, and said to them: "You must give me six +thousand livres of silver, and a slave, a servant, and a horse in +addition." They refused and drove away the cavalry, saying, "Return to the +kaid who sent you against us, and say to him that we will not increase our +tribute as he demands." The horsemen returned and arrived at Taroundant. +The kaid asked him, "Tell me what happened to you with the people of +Massat." They answered him, "They read in their assembly the letter that +you sent them, and told us to go back, and that they would pay no larger +sum." The kaid called a council and asked what had better be done with the +people of Massat. The sheiks of the Achtouks answered, "Make complaints to +the Sultan at Morocco." He wrote to the Sultan, asking him to send an army +to destroy the rebels of Massat. The Sultan sent a force of 3,500 horsemen, +to whom he gave for chief, Ettaib Eddin, who rejoined them near the +khalifah of the King at Taroundant. When the royal troops arrived, the +fourth night, he started and led them to the taleb Mahomet of the Aggars, +in the midst of the country of the Achtouks. The taleb said to him: "Return +to Taroundant. Let your lieutenant go with them and we will talk about it." +The kaid answered, "Very well." The chiefs of the Achtouks mounted their +horses and led the army toward the country of Hama, in the mountain which +is between the Achtouks and Ida-Oultit. The troops hastened toward the foot +of the mountain, near the river Alras, in the country of Takourt. The +mountaineers marched against them and fought for three days until the holy +men and the sherifs arrived and quieted them. The mountaineers came down +toward the army. The kaid betrayed them. He seized fourteen of their +leaders and sent them to the kaid at Taroundant. He cut off their heads and +hung them up at the gate. As to the army that was above the river Alras, it +attacked the people of Massat on account of the tribute demanded by the +kaid. It made the onset with cavalry, and destroyed the country. The +natives received them with powder, and they fought half a day. The natives +gained the advantage in the fight. The enemy abandoned their cannons. The +natives slew them until the Sultan's troops retreated. They captured 700 +horses. The troops of the Sultan abandoned their baggage except six chests +of silver. Many guns were broken on that day, until the flying invaders +reached, the country of the Achtouks. The people of Massat had for allies +the tribes of Aglou and Tizpit, who equalled them in number. As for the +cannons abandoned the day of the battle, the conquerors took two of them to +their country. They kept them until they were repaid the 6,500 livres of +silver, which had been taken from them. Then they gave back the cannons. +Such is the complete story of that which happened between the tribe of +Massat, the Khalifah of the King, and the neighboring tribes. + + +II + +Information about the country of Tazroualt. The Taleb Sidi Brahim, son of +Mahomet, of Massat in Sous, tells the following: He started for the zaouiah +of Tazroualt, to study there during seven months with the taleb Sidi +Mahomet Adjeli, one of the greatest lights. The number of students was +seventy-four. Forty-two of these studied the law. The others read the +Koran. None of the students paid for his living. It was furnished by the +chief of the country, Hecham. He gave to the zaouiah mentioned, six +servants and six slaves to cook the food of the students. The number of the +villages of this country is nine. The Kashlah of Hecham is situated in the +middle of the country. The Jewish quarter is at the left. The market is +held every day at the entrance to the fort. This latter is built of stone, +lime, and pine planks and beams. Riches abound. Caravans go from there to +Timbuctoo, the Soudan, Sahara, and Agadir-Ndouma. They go to these +countries to buy ivory, ostrich feathers, slaves, gold and silver. If it +hurries, a caravan consumes a whole year in visiting these places. The +people of the different countries buy from them and give in exchange other +merchandise, such as linen, cotton, silks, iron, steel, incense, corals, +cloves, spikenard, haberdashery, pottery, glass, and everything that comes, +as they say, from the country of Christians. When these goods enumerated +above have arrived, the merchants, both Jews and Mussulmans, come forward +and buy them according to the needs of their business. I will add here, +with more details, some words about Hecham. He has twelve sons, all +horsemen, who have thirty-six horses. As for oxen, sheep, and camels, God +alone could tell the figure. The number of the wives that Hecham has +married is four white and six slaves--the latter black. His only son has as +many white wives as his father, but more black ones. The men of Tizeroualt +are of the number of 1,400. But for the women, boys, and girls, God alone +knows the figure. They possess 200 horses, beside those of Hecham. There +are 750 houses; the number of books in the mosque is 130--in the Chelha +language. + + +III + +The sheik Sidi Hammad, son of Mahomet Mouley Ben-Nacer, has written his +book in Amazir. It is entitled the "Kitab-amazir." This work treats of +obligations and traditions of things permitted and forbidden. + + +IV + +There are 3,500 men in the Aglou country. They have 2,200 houses and 960 +horses. This district is on the sea-coast and possesses a stone-harbor. +There are barks which are used in fishing. The inhabitants were living in +tranquillity when one day, as they were starting out to fish, a ship +arrived off shore. They fled in fear and left it in the sea. The ship +waited till midnight. Then it entered the port and ran up a red flag. It +remained at anchor for fifteen days. The people of Aglou assembled day and +night, big and little, even the horsemen before it. No one was missing. The +chiefs of the town wrote letters which they sent to all the villages. They +sent one to Sidi Hecham couched in these words: "Come at once. The +Christians have made an expedition against us, and have taken this port." +Sidi Hecham sent messengers to all the provinces over which he ruled and +said in his letters: "You must accompany me to the country of Aglou, for +the Christians have made an expedition against us." All the neighboring +tribes assembled to march against the Christians. When Sidi Hecham had +joined them he said, "You must raise a red flag like theirs." + +They raised it. When it was seen by those on the ship, a sailor came ashore +in a small boat and approached the Mussulmans there assembled. + +"Let no one insult the Christian," said Sidi Hecham, "until we learn his +purpose in landing here." + +They asked him, "What do you want?" + +The Christian replied, "We wish to receive, in the name of God, pledges of +security." + +All who were present said, "God grants to you security with us." + +The Christian then continued, "My object is to trade with you." + +"That is quite agreeable to us," answered Hecham. Then Hecham asked the +Christian what he wanted to purchase." + +"Oil, butter, wheat, oxen, sheep, and chickens," said he. + +When the Mussulmans heard this they gathered together wheat, oil, oxen, and +everything he had mentioned. He made his purchases, and was well supplied. +The master of the ship then said: + +"Our business is finished. We must go back home. But we shall return to +you." Hecham answered: + +"That which I have done for you is not pleasing to the people of Aglou. It +is only on account of the pledge of security that I have been able to +restrain them. I have given you all you asked. Next time you come, bring us +fifty cannons and ten howitzers." + +"Very well," answered the Christian, "I shall return this time next year." + +"Do as you promise," replied Hecham, "and I will give you whatever you want +in the country of the Mussulmans." + + +V + +A STORY ABOUT THE COUNTRY OF AIT-BAMOURAN + +There arrived in this country at the beginning of the year another ship +which stopped at a place called Ifni, in the tribe of Ait-Bamouran, and +stayed there three days. Then one of the sailors got into a small boat, +came ashore, and said to the inhabitants, "I will buy bread, meat, and +water from you." + +The Mussulmans brought him bread, figs, and water, saying: "You must send +two of your men ashore while we go on board the ship with you." + +"It is well," replied the Christian. Then he went to get two of his men +whom he brought ashore and said to the Mussulmans: "You must give me one of +your men." + +They gave him a hostage to remain on board the Christian ship. Then they +filled a boat, and boarded the ship themselves to deliver what they had +sold. They ran all over the ship looking at everything. Then they said, +"Come with us to the spring and we will draw water." The Christians +accompanied them to the fountain to fill their water-casks. The other +natives, to the number of fifteen, got into a boat and went to the ship. +With the water-party and the hostages ashore there were only four +Christians on the ship when the Mussulmans boarded it. + +"Don't come aboard till our men have come back," said the Christians. + +"We will come aboard by force," he was answered, and the attack began. One +of the Christians killed a native with a gun. Then they fought until the +Christians were overcome. Two Christians were killed and the rest captured +and taken ashore and imprisoned with the others of the water-party. The +ship was sold for 180 mithkals. The Christians were all sold and dispersed +among the tribes. The news of this spread to Taccourt. The merchants there +sent to Ait-Bamouran and bought all the Christians at any price. They +secured seven. Three were missing, of whom two were in the country of +Ait-bou-Bekr with the chief of that tribe named Abd-Allah, son of Bou-Bekr. +The third, who was a boy, was with the sheik of Aglou, who said: + +"I will not sell this one, for he has become as dear to me as a son." Then +addressing the young boy he said, "I wish to convert you; be a Mussulman." +The boy acquiesced and embraced Islamism. The day of his abjuration the +sheik killed in his honor an ox for a festival, and gave to the convert the +name of Mahomet. Then he sent to say to all his tribe: + +"Come to my house. I have prepared a repast." The Mussulmans came and +diverted themselves with their horses and gunpowder. The chief told them, +"I have given a fourth of my possessions, a slave, and a servant to this +young man." He added, "He shall live with my son." They both occupied the +same room, and the master taught the young convert the whole Koran. The +Mussulmans called him Sidi Mahomet, son of AH. Seven Christians were +ransomed and sent back to their own country. + + +VI + +Information about the country Tiznit: This place is a kind of a city +surrounded on all sides by a wall, and having only two gates. The water is +in the centre, in a fountain. The fortress is built above the fountain, in +the middle of the city. It is entirely constructed of mortar, cut stone, +marble, and beams, all from Christian countries. It was the residence of +the khalifah of the King in the time of Mouley-Soliman. When this prince +died, the people of Tiznit revolted, drove away the lieutenant, and made a +concerted attack upon the citadel, which they completely destroyed. They +took the stones and beams and built a mosque on the spot, near the fountain +of which we have spoken. But when Mouley-Abd-Er-Rahman came to the throne +he sent a caliph to Tiznit. He gave him 300 horsemen. When the caliph +arrived near the town he waited three days and they gave him food and +barley. At the end of this time he made a proclamation summoning all the +people to him. When they came he read them the royal edict and said: + +"I must enter your city to occupy the fortress of the King!" They said: +"No; go back whence you came and say to your master: 'You shall not rule +over us. Your fortress is totally destroyed, and with the material we have +built a big mosque in the middle of our city.'" + +Prince Mouley-Abd-Er-Rahman sent at once against them his son Sidi-Mahomet +with the khalifah and 6,000 horsemen. The people of Tiznit were informed of +the approach of the army under the Sultan's son, and that the advancing +guard was near. The soldiers arrived in the middle of the country of the +Achtouks and camped in the city of Tebouhonaikt near the river Alras. There +was a day's march between them and Tiznit. The inhabitants, frightened, +sent deputies to the other districts, saying: + +"Come and help us, for the Sultan's son has come and ordered us to build +him a fort in the space of one month or he will fall upon us, cut a +passage, and destroy our city." The tribes around Tiznit assembled and +marched against the royal army. The Sultan's son stayed twenty-two days at +Tebouhonaikt, then he crossed the river Alras and marched against the +rebels. He surrounded Tiznit on all sides. The inhabitants made a sortie, +engaged in battle, and fought till the morning star. At the fall of day the +battle recommenced. The royal army was defeated and driven across the river +Alras. The son of the Sultan killed eight rebels and thirty-five horses, +but many of his soldiers fell. He retreated to Morocco. + + +VII + +Information about the country of Taragoust: This is a unique district +situated near the source of the Ourd-Sous. It is distant from Taroundant +about a day and a half's march. When a young man becomes of age his father +buys him a gun and a sabre. The market is in the middle of the country. But +no man goes there without his weapons. The sheiks judge each one in the +market for four months in the year in turn and during their period of +office. They decided who was guilty and demanded price of blood for those +killed in the market. One of them said: + +"I will give nothing. Find the murderer. He will give you the price of +blood." + +The sheik replied: "Pay attention. Give us part of your goods." + +"I will give you nothing," he answered. + +In this way they quarrelled, until they began fighting with guns. Each +tried to steal the other's horses and oxen in the night and kill the owner. +They kept acting this way toward each other until Ben-Nacer came to examine +the villages where so many crimes were committed, and he reestablished +peace and order. + + +VIII + +Concerning guns and sabres: They were all brought into the city of Adjadir +in the government of Sidi Mahomet-ben-Abd-Alla. They introduced guns, +poniards, sabres, English powder, and everything one can mention from the +country of the Christians. Sidi Mahomet-ben-Abd-Allah sent there his +khalifah, called Ettaleb Calih. He busied himself during his administration +in amassing a great fortune. The guns imported into the provinces were +called merchandise of the taleb Calih. This officer revolted against the +Sultan, sent him no more money, and consulted him no longer in the +administration of affairs. When the prince ordered him to do such and such +a thing with the Christians, Mussulmans, or others, he replied: + +"I shall do as I please, for all the people of Sous are under my hand. I +leave the rest to you." The Sultan sent much money to Sidi +Mahomet-ben-Abd-Allah, and ordered him with troops against the rebel. The +latter fought against the divan until he was captured and put in fetters +and chains. The partisans of the Emperor said to him: + +"We have captured your khalifah Ettaleb Calih and his accomplices." + +The prince responded: "Make him a bonnet of iron and a shirt of iron, and +give him but a loaf of bread a day." In a letter that he sent he said also: + +"Collect all the goods you can find and let the Christian ships take them +all to Taccourt, leaving nothing whatever." Guns, sabres, powder, sulphur, +linens, cottons, everything was transported. + +During the reign of Sidi Mouley Soliman he built the city as it is at +present. He increased it, and said to the Christians: + +"You must bring me cannons, mortars, and powder, and I will give you in +exchange wheat, oil, wool, and whatever you desire." + +The Christians answered: "Most willingly, we shall return with our +products." They brought him cannons, mortars, and powder. In return he +supplied them with woollens, wheat, oil, and whatever they desired. + +The Ulmas reproached him, saying: "You are not fulfilling the law in giving +to the Christians wheat, oil, and woollens. You are weakening the +Mussulmans." + +He answered them: "We must make sacrifices of these goods for two or three +years, until the Christians have stocked us with cannons, powder, and so +forth. These I will place in the coast towns to drive off the infidels when +they arrive." + + +IX + +More words about guns: They only make them in three cities in the interior +of Sous. The workmen are very numerous. They make also gun-barrels, +pistols, gun-locks, and all such things. As for sabres and poniards, they +are made by Arab armorers. They make powder in every province, but only in +small quantities. + + + + +FIVE BERBER STORIES + +[_Translated by G. Mercier and Chauncey C. Starkweather_] + + + +DJOKHRANE AND THE JAYS + +The ancestor of the grandfather of Mahomet Amokrane was named Djokhrane. He +was a Roman of old times, who lived at T'kout at the period of the Romans. +One of his countrymen rose against them, and they fought. This Roman had +the advantage, until a bird of the kind called jays came to the assistance +of Djokhrane, and pecked the Roman in the eyes until he saved his +adversary. From that time forth he remained a friend to Djokhrane. The +latter said to his children: + +"As long as you live, never eat this bird. If you meet anyone who brings +one of these birds to eat, buy it and set it free." To this day when anyone +brings a jay to one of his descendants, he buys it for silver and gives it +liberty. This story is true, and is not a lie. + + + +THE OGRE AND THE BEAUTIFUL WOMAN + +Some hunters set out with their camels. When they came to the +hunting-ground they loosed their camels to let them graze, and hunted until +the setting of the sun, and then came back to their camp. One day while one +of them was going along he saw the marks of an ogre, each one three feet +wide, and began to follow them. He proceeded and found the place where the +ogre had lately made his lair. He returned and said to his companions: + +"I've found the traces of an ogre. Come, let us seek him." + +"No," they answered, "we will not go to seek him, because we are not +stronger than he is." + +"Grant me fourteen days," said the huntsman. "If I return, you shall see. +If not, take back my camel with the game." + +The next day he set out and began to follow the traces of the ogre. He +walked for four days, when he discovered a cave, into which he entered. +Within he found a beautiful woman, who said to him: + +"What brings thee here, where thou wilt be devoured by this ogre?" + +"But thou," answered the hunter, "what is thy story and how did the ogre +bring thee here?" + +"Three days ago he stole me," she replied. "I was betrothed to the son of +my uncle, then the ogre took me. I have stayed in the cavern. He often +brings me food. I stay here, and he does not kill me." + +"Where does he enter," asked the hunter, "when he comes back here?" + +"This is the way," she answered. The hunter went in to the middle of the +cave, loaded his gun, and waited. At sunset the ogre arrived. The hunter +took aim and fired, hitting the ogre between the eyes as he was sitting +down. Approaching him he saw that he had brought with him two men to cook +and eat them. In the morning he employed the day in collecting the hidden +silver, took what he could, and set out on the return. On the fourteenth +day he arrived at the place where he had left his comrades, and found them +there. + +"Leave the game you have secured and return with me to the cave," he said +to them. When they arrived they took all the arms and clothing, loaded it +upon their camels, and set out to return to their village. Half way home +they fought to see which one should marry the woman. The powder spoke +between them. Our man killed four, and took the woman home and married her. + + + +THE FALSE VEZIR + +A king had a wife who said to him: "I would like to go and visit my +father." + +"Very well," said he; "wait to-day, and to-morrow thou shalt go with my +vezir." The next day they set out, taking the children with them, and an +escort lest they should be attacked on the way. They stopped at sunset, and +passed the night on the road. The vezir said to the guards, "Watch that we +be not taken, if the robbers should come to seize us." They guarded the +tent. The vezir asked the King's wife to marry him, and killed one of her +sons because she refused. The next day they set out again. The next night +he again asked the King's wife to marry him, threatening to kill a second +child should she refuse. She did refuse, so he killed the second son. The +next morning they set out, and when they stopped at night again he asked +the King's wife to marry him. + +"I'll kill you if you refuse." + +She asked for delay, time to say her prayers. She prayed to God, the Master +of all worlds, and said: "O God, save me from the vezir." The Master of the +worlds heard her prayer. He gave her the wings of a bird, and she flew up +in the sky. + +At dawn she alighted in a great city, and met a man upon the roadside. She +said: "By the face of God, give me your raiment and I'll give thee mine." + +"Take it, and may God honor you," he said. Then she was handsome. This city +had no king. The members of the council said: + +"This creature is handsome; we'll make him our king." The cannon spoke in +his honor and the drums beat. + +When she flew up into the sky, the vezir said to the guards: "You will be +my witnesses that she has gone to the sky, so that when I shall see the +King he cannot say, 'Where is she?'" But when the vezir told this story, +the King said: + +"I shall go to seek my wife. Thou hast lied. Thou shalt accompany me." They +set out, and went from village to village. They inquired, and said: "Has a +woman been found here recently? We have lost her." And the village people +said, "We have not found her." They went then to another village and +inquired. At this village the Sultan's wife recognized them, called her +servant, and said to him, "Go, bring to me this man." She said to the King, +"From what motive hast thou come hither?" + +He said, "I have lost my wife." + +She answered: "Stay here, and pass the night. We will give thee a dinner +and will question thee." + +When the sun had set she said to the servant, "Go, bring the dinner, that +the guests may eat." When they had eaten she said to the King, "Tell me +your story." + +He answered: "My story is long. My wife went away in the company of a +trusted vezir. He returned and said: 'By God, your wife has gone to +heaven.' + +"I replied: 'No, you have lied. I'll go and look for her.'" + +She said to him, "I am your wife." + +"How came you here?" he asked. + +She replied: "After having started, your vezir came to me and asked me to +marry him or he would kill my son, 'Kill him,' I said, and he killed them +both." + +Addressing the vezir, she said: "And your story? Let us hear it." + +"I will return in a moment," said the vezir, for he feared her. But the +King cut off his head. + +The next day he assembled the council of the village, and his wife said, +"Forgive me and let me go, for I am a woman." + + + +THE SOUFI AND THE TARGUI + +Two Souafa were brothers. Separating one day one said to the other: "O my +brother, let us marry thy son with my daughter." So the young cousins were +married, and the young man's father gave them a separate house. It happened +that a man among the Touareg heard tell of her as a remarkable woman. He +mounted his swiftest camel, ten years old, and went to her house. Arrived +near her residence, he found some shepherds. + +"Who are you?" he said. + +"We are Souafa." + +He confided in one of them, and said to him: "By the face of the Master of +the worlds, O favorite of fair women, man of remarkable appearance, tell me +if the lady so and so, daughter of so and so, is here." + +"She is here." + +"Well, if you have the sentiments of most men, I desire you to bring her +here, I want to see her." + +"I will do what you ask. If she'll come, I'll bring her. If not, I will +return and tell you." + +He set out, and, arriving at the house of the lady, he saw some people, and +said "Good-evening" to them. + +"Come dine with us," they said to him. + +"I have but just now eaten and am not hungry." He pretended to amuse +himself with them to shorten the night, in reality to put to sleep their +vigilance. These people went away to amuse themselves while he met the +lady. + +"A man sends me to you," he said, "a Targui, who wants to marry you. He is +as handsome as you are, his eyes are fine, his nose is fine, his mouth is +fine." + +"Well, I will marry him." She went to him and married him, and they set out +on a camel together. When the first husband returned, he found that she had +gone. He said to himself: "She is at my father's or perhaps my uncle's." +When day dawned he said to his sister, "Go see if she is in thy father's +house or thy uncle's." She went, and did not find her there. He went out to +look for her, and perceived the camel's traces. Then he saddled his own +camel. + +The women came out and said: "Stay! Do not go; we will give thee our own +daughters to marry." + +"No," he replied, "I want to find my wife." He goes out, he follows the +tracks of the camel, here, here, here, until the sun goes down. He spends +the night upon the trail. His camel is a runner of five years. When the sun +rises he starts and follows the trail again. + +About four o'clock he arrives at an encampment of the Touareg, and finds +some shepherds with their flocks. He confides in one of these men, and says +to him: "A word, brave man, brother of beautiful women, I would say a word +to thee which thou wilt not repeat." + +"Speak." + +"Did a woman arrive at this place night before last?" + +"She did." + +"Hast thou the sentiments of a man of heart?" + +"Truly." + +"I desire to talk to her." + +"I will take thee to her. Go, hide thy camel; tie him up. Change thy +clothing. Thou wilt not then be recognized among the sheep. Bring thy sabre +and come. Thou shalt walk as the sheep walk." + +"I will walk toward you, taking the appearance of a sheep, so as not to be +perceived." + +"The wedding-festival is set for to-night, and everybody will be out of +their houses. When I arrive at the tent of this lady I will strike a stake +with my stick. Where I shall strike, that is where she lives." + +He waits and conceals himself among the flocks, and the women come out to +milk. He looks among the groups of tents. He finds his wife and bids her +come with him. + +"I will not go with thee, but if thou art hungry, I will give thee food." + +"Thou'lt come with me or I will kill thee!" + +She goes with him. He finds his camel, unfastens him, dons his ordinary +clothing, takes his wife upon the camel's back with him, and departs. The +day dawns. She says: + +"O thou who art the son of my paternal uncle, I am thirsty." Now she +planned a treachery. + +He said to her: "Is there any water here?" + +"The day the Targui took me off we found some in that pass." They arrived +at the well. + +"Go down into the well," said the Soufi. + +"I'm only a woman. I'm afraid. Go down thyself." He goes down. He draws the +water. She drinks. He draws more water for the camel, which is drinking, +when she pours the water on the ground. + +"Why dost thou turn out the water?" + +"I did not turn it out; thy camel drank it." And nevertheless she casts her +glances and sees a dust in the distance. The Targui is coming. The woman +says: + +"Now I have trapped him for thee." + +"Brava!" he cries, and addressing the Soufi: "Draw me some water that I may +drink." He draws the water, and the Targui drinks. The woman says to him: +"Kill him in the well. He is a good shot. Thou art not stronger than he +is." + +"No," he answered, "I do not want to soil a well of the tribes. I'll make +him come up." The Soufi comes up till his shoulders appear. They seize him, +hoist and bind him, and tie his feet together. Then they seize and kill his +camel. + +"Bring wood," says the Targui to the woman; "we'll roast some meat." She +brings him some wood. He cooked the meat and ate it, while she roasted +pieces of fat till they dripped upon her cousin. + +"Don't do that," says the Targui. + +She says, "He drew his sword on me, crying, 'Come with me or I will kill +thee.'" + +"In that case do as you like." She dropped the grease upon his breast, +face, and neck until his skin was burnt. While she was doing this, the +Targui felt sleep coming upon him, and said to the woman, "Watch over him, +lest he should slip out of our hands." + +While he slept the Soufi speaks: "Word of goodness, O excellent woman, bend +over me that I may kiss thy mouth or else thy cheek." She says: "God make +thy tent empty. Thou'lt die soon, and thou thinkest of kisses?" + +"Truly I am going to die, and I die for thee. I love thee more than the +whole world. Let me kiss thee once. I'll have a moment of joy, and then +I'll die." She bends over him, and he kisses her. + +She says, "What dost thou want?" + +"That thou shalt untie me." She unties him. He says to her: "Keep silent. +Do not speak a word." Then he unfastens the shackles that bind his feet, +puts on his cloak, takes his gun, draws out the old charge and loads it +anew, examines the flint-lock and sees that it works well. Then he says to +the woman, "Lift up the Targui." The latter awakes. + +"Why," says he, "didst thou not kill me in my sleep?" + +"Because thou didst not kill me when I was in the well. Get up. Stand down +there, while I stand here." + +The Targui obeys, and says to the Soufi: "Fire first." + +"No, I'll let thee fire first." + +The woman speaks: "Strike, strike, O Targui, thou art not as strong as the +Soufi." + +The Targui rises, fires, and now the woman gives voice to a long +"you--you." It strikes the _chechias_ that fly above his head. At his +turn the Soufi prepares himself and says: + +"Stand up straight now, as I did for thee." He fires, and hits him on the +forehead. His enemy dead, he flies at him and cuts his throat. + +He then goes to the camel, cuts some meat, and says to the woman: "Go, find +me some wood, I want to cook and eat." + +"I will not go," she says. He approaches, threatening her, and strikes her. +She gets up then and brings him some wood. He cooks the meat and eats his +fill. He thinks then of killing the woman, but he fears that the people of +his tribe will say, "Thou didst not bring her back." So he takes her on the +camel and starts homeward. His cousins are pasturing their flocks on a +hill. When he had nearly arrived a dust arose. He draws near, and they see +that it is he. His brother speaks, "What have they done to thee?" + +He answers, "The daughter of my uncle did all this." + +Then they killed the woman and cut her flesh in strips and threw it on a +jujube-tree. And the jackals and birds of prey came and passed the whole +day eating it, until there was none left. + + + +AHMED EL HILALIEU AND EL REDAH + +Ahmed el Hilalieu was not loved by people in general. His enemies went and +found an old sorceress, and spoke to her as follows: "O sorceress, we want +you to drive this man out of our country. Ask what you will, we will give +it to you!" + +She said to them: "May God gladden your faces. Call aloud. Our man will +come out and I will see him." They obeyed her, crying out that a camel had +escaped. Straightway Ahmed goes to find his father, and tells him his +intention of going to join in the search. He starts forth mounted on his +courser, and on the way meets some people, who tell him, "It is nothing." +He makes a half turn, not forgetting to water his horse, and meets at the +fountain the sorceress, who was drawing water. + +"Let me pass," he said to her, "and take your buckskin out of my way." + +"You may pass," she answered. He started his horse, which stepped on the +buckskin and tore it. + +"You who are so brave with a poor woman," she said, "would you be able to +bring back Redah Oum Zaid?" + +"By the religion of Him whom I adore, you shall show me where this Redah +lives or I'll cut off your head." + +"Know, then, that she lives far from here, and that there is between her +and you no less than forty days' journey." + +Ahmed went home, and took as provisions for the journey forty dates of the +deglet-nour variety, putting them into his pocket. He mounted his steed and +departed. + +He goes and goes without stopping, until he comes to the country of the +sand. The charger throws his feet forward and buries himself in the sand up +to his breast, but soon stops, conquered and worn out by fatigue. Ahmed el +Hilalieu then addresses him: + + "My good gray horse, of noble mien, the sand, + The cruel sand would eat your very eyes. + The air no longer thy loud whinnies bears, + No strength is left thee in thy head or heart. + The prairies of Khafour I'll give to thee, + With Nouna's eyes I'll quench thy thirst, by God + A mule's whole pack of barley shalt thou have + That Ben Haddjouna shall bring here for thee." + +In his turn the steed spoke and said: "Dismount, unfasten the breast-strap, +tighten the girth, for some women are coming to show themselves to us in +this country." Ahmed unfastened the breast-strap, then remounts and +departs. While he proceeds he sees before him the encampment of a tribe, +and perceives a horseman coming, mounted on a white mare, engaged in +herding camels. + +"Blessings upon you!" cried Ahmed; "you behind the camels!" The horseman +kept silence, and would not return his salutations. + +"Greetings to you," cried Ahmed again, "you who are in the middle of the +camels." The same obstinate silence. + +"Greetings to you, you who are before the camels." The horseman still was +silent. Ahmed then said: "Greetings to you, you who own the white mare." + +"Greetings to you!" replied the horseman. + +"How comes it that you would not answer my greetings for so long?" + +The horseman answered: "You cried to me, 'Greetings to you, you who are +behind the camels,' Now, behind them are their tails. Then you said, +'Greetings to you, you who are in the middle of the camels,' In the middle +of them are their bellies. You said, again, 'Greetings to you, you who are +before the camels.' Before them are their heads. You said, 'Greetings to +you, O master of the white mare,' And then I answered to you, 'Greetings to +you also,'" + +Ahmed el Hilalieu asked of the shepherd, "What is your name?" + +"I am called Chira." + +"Well, Chira, tell me where Redah lives. Is it at the city of the stones or +in the garden of the palms?" + +"Redah dwells in the city. Her father is the Sultan. Seven kings have +fought for her, and one of them has refreshed his heart. He is named +Chalau. Go, seek the large house. You will be with Redah when I see you +again." + +Ahmed sets out, and soon meets the wife of the shepherd, who comes before +him and says, "Enter, be welcome, and may good luck attend you!" She ties +his horse, gives him to drink, and goes to find dates for Ahmed. She takes +care to count them before serving him with them. He takes out a pit, closes +the date again, puts them all together, and puts down the pit. He ate +nothing, and he said to the woman: "Take away these dates, for I have eaten +my fill." She looks, takes up the tray, counts the dates again, and +perceives that none of them has been eaten. Nevertheless, there is a pit, +and not a date missing. She cries out: + + "Alas! my heart for love of this young man + Is void of life as is this date of pit." + +Then she heaved a sigh and her soul flew away. + +Ahmed remained there as if in a dream until the shepherd came back. "Your +wife is dead," he said to him, "and if you wish, I'll give you her weight +in gold and silver." + +But the shepherd answers: "I, too, am the son of a sultan. I have come to +pay this woman a visit and desire to see her. Calm yourself. I will take +neither your gold nor silver. This is the road to follow; go, till you +arrive at the castle where she is." + +Ahmed starts, and when he arrives at the castle, he stands up in his +stirrups and throws the shadow of his spear upon the window. + +Redah, addressing her negress, said to her: "See now what casts that +shadow. Is it a cloud, or an Arab's spear?" + +The negress goes to see, comes back to her mistress, and says to her, "It +is a horseman, such as I have never seen the like of before in all my +life." + +"Return," said Redah, "and ask him who he is." Redah goes to see, and says: + + "O horseman, who dost come before our eyes, + Why seekest thou thy death? Tell me upon + Thine honor true, what is thine origin?" + +He answers: + + "Oh, I am Ahmed el Hilalieu called. Well known + 'Mongst all the tribes of daughters of Hilal. + I bear in hand a spear that loves to kill, + Who'er attacks me counts on flight and dies." + +She says to him: + + "Thou'rt Ahmed el Hilalieu? Never prowls + A noble bird about the Zeriba; + The generous falcon turns not near the nests, + O madman! Why take so much care + About a tree that bears not any dates?" + +He answers: + + "I will demand of our great Lord of all + To give us rain to cover all the land + With pasturage and flowers. And we shall eat + Of every sort of fruit that grows on earth." + +Redah: + + "We women are like silk. And only those + Who are true merchants know to handle us." + +Ahmed el Hilalieu then says: + + "I've those worth more than thou amid the girls + Of Hilal, clad in daintiest of silk + Of richest dye, O Redah, O fifth rite." + +And, turning his horse's head, he goes away. But she recalls him: + + "I am an orange, them the gardener; + I am a palm and thou dost cut my fruit; + I am a beast and thou dost slaughter me. + I am--upon thine honor--O gray steed, + Turn back thy head. For we are friends henceforth." + +She says to the negress, "Go open wide the door that he may come." + +The negress admits him, and ties up his horse. On the third day he sees the +negress laughing. + +"Why do you laugh, negress?" + +"You have not said your prayers for three days." + + + + +POEMS OF THE MAGHREB + +[_Translated by M.C. Sonneck and Chauncey C. Starkweather_] + + + +ALI'S ANSWER + +[ARGUMENT.--It is related that a young man named Aly ben Bou Fayd, falling +in love with a young woman, begged his father to ask her in marriage for +him. His father refused. Angered, Aly procured a gun, engraved his name +upon it, and betook himself to the chase. His father having claimed this +gun he answered:] + + You ask the gun I have that bears my name. + I will not give it, save against my will. + + How comes it, father, that you treat me thus? + You say, "Bring back the gun to put in pledge." + Now, may God pardon you for acting thus! + I leave you in your land, and, all for you, + I swear by God I never shall return. + + Your conduct is unwise. Our enemies + Insult me, O my father. And I think + That you will give up your ancestral home + And garden too. And can I after that + Recover my good gun? + + I shall not be + Enfeebled that I am no more with you. + No longer are you father unto me, + And I shall be no more your cherished son. + I think, my sire, that you are growing old. + Your teeth are falling out from day to day. + They whom you visit will not serve you more. + + Your friends won't serve you longer, and your sire, + He who begot you, will not help you now. + In your adversity no help will come + From all your kindred's high nobility. + May God make easy all the paths you tread! + +His uncle having threatened him with death, he answered: + + Keep far away from him who has not come + To thee in his misfortune. Leave him free. + My uncle writes to me this very day + That if he held in his own hands the leaf + Of my life's destiny he'd blot it out. + If he had in his hands this leaf, O say to him: + + Let him efface it openly, nor hide + You'll not be able, save with God's own help + To bear the separation. As for those + Who are so evil, we will spare them now. + The barrel of this gun is rusted red. + The lock is forceless, 'twill no longer act. + Misfortune overtake the man who leaves + His child to perish! For the least of things + He says to me, "Come, give me up this gun." + + I go to seek the desert. I will go + Among the tribe they call Oulad Azyz, + And live by force. But, pray you say to her, + The fair one with the deftly braided hair, + I leave the tribe, but shall return for her. + + I disappear, but shall come back for her. + And while I live, I never shall forget. + I swear it by the head of that sweet one + Who for the sake of Ali was accused. + The cup of passion which I offered her + O'ercame her lovely spirit's tenderness. + + The cup of love intoxicated her. + O God, Creator of us all, give her + The strength to bear my absence! Sad for me + The hour I dream of her I love so well. + Her love is in my heart and burns it up. + + My heart is sad. 'Tis love that crushes it. + It leaves my heart reduced to naught but dust. + So that I am consumed by vigils long, + And never taste refreshing sleep at all. + So that I'm like a bird with broken wings, + + Just like a bird who tries to lift its wings! + And so my spirit is not healed. There comes + To me no comfort nor relief. The eyes + Of my beloved are as bright as day. + One word from her would send the friends to death. + + + +IN HONOR OF LALLA AYCHA-EL-MANNOUBYYA + + A fire burns at the bottom of my heart, + For love has conquered me, and I am now + His hostage and his prisoner. My soul + Is torn out from my body, and sweet sleep + Keeps far aloof from my tired eyelids' need. + 'Tis Aycha causes this, the pretty one. + With blackest eyes, Aycha the pure, from whom + I'm parted now, whose name is finest gold. + Why? why? Oh, tell me, El Mannoubyya. + + Why all this coldness, O my best beloved? + For thy dear love I have drunk deep of scorn. + For thy love, maiden with the darksome looks, + I wither while thou bear'st a port of oak. + The fire that burns me eats my very soul. + My spirit is distracted by these proofs. + O thou, rebellious to my warm desires, + My black-eyed beauty, if thou'rt vexed with me + I'll make apology before the world, + I'll bring an offering to thee at once, + The symbol of my homage. May it please! + + Instruct me, sympathetic with my pain + Have you not said: "I'll bring thee soon good news"? + O come! That in my sleep my eyes may see + Thee coming toward me, my black-pupilled one! + Awaiting thy fair image I'm consumed, + I am exhausted. Why, El Mannoubyya? + + I long have hoped to see thee, O my sweet. + And ever farther off appears the end + Of my awaiting. All my nights are passed + In cries for thee, as some poor mariner + Cries to the angry floods that dash aloft. + For thee I'm mad with love, my pretty one, + Struck with thy mien so full of nobleness. + And I alone must wither, 'mongst my friends. + O unpersuadable, with teasing eyes, + I am in a most pitiable state. + Since thou repell'st me and declin'st to keep + Thy promise to me, I'll not hesitate + To call thee before God. + + Unless thou deign'st + To cast thy looks on me the coming day, + I shall, all clad in vestments rich, make plaint + Unto the envoy of our God, the last + Of all the prophets. For thou said'st to me, + "I'll draw thee from the sea of thy despair." + I worship at thy sanctuary, sweet, + My beauty, with large eyes of darkest night. + Why? why? El Mannoubyya, tell me why. + + Let thyself bend and call thy servitor, + Inhabitant of Tunis--city green. + I will apologize and come to thee, + O cruel one, with heavy frontlets dark. + We've heard the story of thy deeds so fine. + From common brass whene'er thou walk'st abroad, + Thou drawest silver pure, queen of thy time, + 'Mongst men illumined by thy piety. + The wretch, led on by love, accosted thee. + Receiving grace, despite his base design + He was, nathless, forgiven and saved from sin; + So was it from eternity decreed. + They all consulted thee, queen of thy day, + And thou didst answer: "This man truly loved. + Pour him a cup of wine." By thee he came + Unto perfection's acme, step by step. + Our Lord, all-powerful, gave to thee this power. + + These are thy merits, fairest citizen! + To whom God gave strength irresistible. + O beauty with enchanting eyes, Aycha, + Our queen. + + Si Alimed Khoudja, greatest bard + Of all that time, has said: "I wrote these words + The year one thousand one hundred just, + But thou who read'st these lines, where'er it be, + Add to these numbers, after ninety-eight." + Now I salute all those united here + And him who hates me here I steep in scorn. + Why? why? El Mannoubyya! Why? + + + +SAYD AND HYZYYA + + Give me your consolation, noble friends; + The queen of beauties sleeps within the tomb. + A burning fire consumes my aching breast; + I am undone. Alas! O cruel fate! + My heart's with slim Hyzyya in the grave. + + Alas! we were so happy a short while + Ago, just like the prairie flow'rs in spring; + How sweet to us was life in those dear days! + Now like a phantom's shadow she has gone, + That young gazelle, of utter loveliness. + Removed by stern, inevitable fate. + + When she walked forth, not looking right or left, + My beauteous loved one rendered fools the wise. + Impressed thus was the great bey of the camp. + A gleaming poniard rested in his belt. + He went hemmed in by soldiers and a horde + Of horsemen, glad to follow where he led. + All haste to bring him costly gifts. He bore + A sabre of the Ind, and with one stroke + He cleaved a bar of iron, split a rock. + How many rebels fell beneath his blow! + Haughty and proud, he challenged all who came. + Enough now we have glorified the bey. + Speak, singer, in a song that's sweet and new, + The praises of the dainty girl I loved, + The daughter of good Ahmed ben el Bey. + + Give me your consolation, noble friends; + The queen of beauties sleeps within the tomb. + A burning fire consumes my aching breast; + I am undone! Alas! O cruel fate! + + She lets her tresses flow in all the breeze, + Exhaling sweet perfume. Thy brows are arched + In beauty's curve. Thy glance is like a ball + Shot from a Christian's gun, which hits the mark. + Thy cheek is lovely as the morning rose + Or bright carnation, and thy ruby blood + Gives it the shining brightness of the sun. + Thy teeth are ivory-white, and thy warm kiss + Is sweet as milk or honey loved by all. + Oh, see that neck, more white than palm-tree's heart, + That sheath of crystal, bound with bands of gold. + Thy chest is marble, and thy tender breasts + Are apples whose sweet scent makes well the ill. + Thy body is, like paper, shining, white, + Or cotton or fine linen, or, again, + Just like the snow that falls in a dark night. + Hyzyya lets her sash hang gracefully, + Down-falling to the earth, in fold on fold. + Her fine limbs jingle with gems she wears. + Her slippers clink with coupled rings of gold. + + We were encamped at Bazer. Every day + At dawn I saw the beauty, and we were + So glad together! Every dawn I brought + My wishes to my love and followed fate + More happy than if I alone possessed + All riches and all treasures of the earth. + Wealth equals not the tinkle of her gems. + When I had crossed the mountain there I met + Hyzyya, and she walked amid the fields + With every grace, and made her bracelets ring. + My reason wandered, heart and head were vexed. + + After a happy summer passed at Tell, + We came, my dearest one and I, Sahara-ward. + + The litters now are closed, the powder sounds. + My gray horse to Hyzyya bears me swift. + The palanquin of my coquette's on route. + At Azal when night comes we pitch our tents. + Sydy-l-Ahsen is before us now: + Ez-Zerga, too. Then faring on we go + To Sydy Sayd, and Elmetkeouk, + And Medoukal-of-palms, where we arrive + At eventide. We saddle up at dawn, + Just when the breeze begins. Our halting-place, + Sydy Mehammed, decks this peaceful earth. + From there the litters seek El Mekheraf. + My charger gray straight as an eagle goes. + I wend to Ben Seryer with my love, + Of tattooed arms. When we had crossed Djedy + We passed the wide plain, and we spent the night + At Rous-et-toual, near the gleaming sands. + Ben Djellal was our next day's resting-place; + And, leaving there, I camped at El Besbas, + And last at El-Herymek, with my love. + + How many festivals beheld us then! + In the arena my good steed of gray + Fled like a ghost. And sweet Hyzyya there, + Tall as a flagstaff, bent her gaze on me, + Her smile disclosing teeth of purest pearl. + She spoke but in allusions, causing thus + That I should understand whate'er she meant. + Hamyda's daughter then might be compared + Unto the morning-star or a tall palm, + Alone, erect among the other trees. + The wind uprooted it, and dashed it down. + I did not look to see it fall, this tree + I hoped forever to protect. I thought + That God, divinely good, would let it live. + But God, the Master, dashed it to the earth. + + I take up now my song. We made but one + Encampment, at Oned Itel. 'Twas there + My friend, the queen of damsels, said farewell. + 'Twas in the night she paid the debt of death. + 'Twas there my dark-eyed beauty passed away. + She pressed her heart to mine and, sighing, died. + My cheeks were flooded with a sea of tears. + I thought to lose my reason. I went forth + And wandered through the fields, ravines, and hills. + She bore my soul away, my black-eyed love. + The daughter of a noble race. Alas! + She still increased the burnings of my heart. + + They wrapped her in a shroud, my noble love. + The fever took me, burning up my brain. + They placed her on a bier, all decked with gems. + And I was in a stupor, dull to see + All that was passing on that dreadful day. + They bore my beauty in a palanquin-- + Her pretty palanquin--this lovely girl, + Cause of my sorrows, tall as a straight staff. + Her litter is adorned with odd designs, + Shining as brilliant as the morning-star, + And like the rainbow glowing 'midst the clouds, + All hung with silk and figured damask-cloth. + And I, like any child, was in despair, + Mourning Hyzyya. Oh, what pangs I felt + For her whose profile was so pure! She nevermore + Will reappear upon this earth again. + She died the death of martyrs, my sweet love, + My fair'st one, with Koheul-tinted lids! + + They took her to a country that is called + Sydy Kaled, and buried her at night, + My tattooed beauty. And her lovely eyes, + Like a gazelle's, have never left my sight. + O sexton, care now for my sweet gazelle, + And let no stones fall on Hyzyya's grave. + I do adjure thee by the Holy Book + And by the letters which make up the name + Of God, the Giver of all good, let no + Earth fall upon the dame with mirror decked. + + Were it to claim her from a rival's arms + I would attack three troops of warriors. + I'd take her from a hostile tribe by force. + Could I but swear by her dear head, my love, + My black-eyed beauty--I would never count + My enemies, 'though they a hundred were. + Were she unto the strongest to belong + I swear she never would be swept from me. + + In the sweet name Hyzyya I'd attack + And fight with cavaliers innumerable. + Were she to be the spoil of conqueror, + You'd hear abroad the tale of my exploits. + I'd take her by main strength from all who vied. + Were she the meed of furious encounters + I'd fight for years for her, and win at last! + For I am brave. But since it is the will + Of God, the mighty and compassionate, + I cannot ward away from me this blow. + I'll wait in patience for the happy day + When I shall join thee. For I only think + Of thee, my dearest love, of thee alone! + + My gray steed fell dead as he leaped. O friends, + After my love, he's gone and left me, too. + My charger, 'mid these hills, was of all steeds + The fleetest, and in fiercest war's attack + All saw him at the head of the platoon. + What prodigies he wrought in war's red field! + He showed himself ahead of all his peers. + A blood-mare was his mother. He excelled + In all the contests 'twixt the wandering camps; + I tourneyed with him careless of my fate. + When just a month had passed I lost the steed. + Hyzyya first, and then this noble horse. + He did not long survive my well-beloved. + They both are gone, leaving their last farewells. + O grief! my charger's reins have fallen down. + God made my life a death, in leaving me + Behind. For them I die. Oh, cruel hurt! + I weep for this just as a lover weeps. + Each day my heart burns fiercer, and my joy + Has fled away. Now tell me, O my eyes, + Why shed so many tears? Beyond a doubt + The pleasures of the world will capture you. + And will you grant no mercy? My sad soul + But sees its torments grow. My pretty one, + With lashes black, who was my heart's delight, + Now sleeps beneath the sod. I do but weep + And my head whitens for the beauteous one, + With pearly teeth. My eyes no longer can + Endure the separation from their friend. + + The sun that lights us to the zenith climbs, + Then gains the west. It disappears from sight + When it has gained the summit of the vault + Celestial. And the moon, which comes and shines + At Ramadan, beholds the hour approach + Of sleep, and says farewell to all the world. + To these would I compare the lovely queen + Of all this age, the daughter of Ahmed, + Descendant of a race illustrious, + The daughter of Donaonda. + + Such is + The will of God, all-powerful Lord of men. + The Lord hath shown his will and borne away + Hyzyya. Grant me patience, O my Lord! + My heart dies of its hurt. Hyzyya's love + Did tear it from me when she left the earth. + + She's worth a hundred steeds of noble race, + A thousand camels, and a grove of palms + In Zyban. Yes, all Djryd is she worth, + From near to far. The country of the blacks, + Haoussa and its people is she worth, + Arabians of Tell and dry Sahara, + And the encampments of the tribes, as far + As caravans can reach by all the ways, + All nomads and all travellers, she's worth, + And those who settle down as citizens. + The treasurer of all riches is she worth, + My black-eyed beauty. And if thou dost think + This all too small, add all the cities' folk. + She's worth all flocks and nicely chisel'd gold, + She's worth the palms of Dra and Chaouyya; + All that the sea contains, my love is worth, + The fields and cities from beyond Djebel + Amour, as far as Ghardaya. She is worth + All Mzab, the plains of Zab. She pleases, too, + The people of the Goubba, holy folk, + And friends of God. She's worth all noble steeds + However richly housed--or evening's star + When twilight comes. Too small--'tis all too small + For my sweet love, sole cure of all my woes. + O God majestic, pardon this poor wretch! + Pardon, O Lord and Master, him who grieves! + + Just three-and-twenty years! That was the age + Of her who wore the silken sash. My love + Has followed her, ne'er to revive within + My widowed heart. Console me, Mussulmans, + My brothers, for the loss of my sweet one, + Gazelle of all gazelles, who dwelleth now + In her cold, dark, eternal home. + Console me, O young friends, for having lost + Her whom you'd call a falcon on its nest. + Naught but a name she left behind which I + Gave to the camp wherein she passed away. + Console me, men, for I have lost my fair, + Dear one, that silver _khelkals_ wore. + Now is she covered with a veil of stone, + On strong foundation laid. Console me, friends, + For all this loss, for she loved none but me. + With my own hands my love's chest I tattooed, + Likewise her wrists, with checkered patterns odd, + Blue as the collar of the gentle dove. + Their outlines did not clash, so deftly drawn, + Although without _galam_--my handiwork. + I drew them 'twixt her breasts, and on her wrists + I marked my name. Such is the sport of fate! + + Now Sa'yd, always deep in love with thee, + Shall never see thee more! The memory + Of thy dear name fills all his heart, my sweet. + + Oh, pardon, God compassionate, forgive + Us all. Sa'yd is sad, he weeps for one + Dear as his soul. Forgive this love, Lord! + Hyzyya--join them in his sleep, O God most high. + Forgive the author of these verses here! + It is Mahomet that recites this tale. + + O Thou who hast the future in thy hand, + Give resignation to one mad with love! + Like one exiled from home, I weep and mourn. + My enemies might give me pity now. + All food is tasteless, and I cannot sleep. + I write this with my love but three days dead. + She left me, said farewell, and came not back. + + This song, O ye who listen, was composed + Within the year twelve hundred finished now, + The date by adding ninety-five years more. [1295.] + + This song of Ould-es-Serge we have sung + In Ayd-el-Rebye, in the singing month, + At Sydy-Khaled-ben Sinan. A man, + Mahomet ben Guytoun, this song has sung + Of her you'll never see again alive. + My heart lies there in slim Hyzyya's tomb. + + + +THE AÏSSAOUA IN PARIS[A] + + Come, see what's happened in this evil year. + The earthquake tumbled all the houses down, + Locusts and crickets have left naught behind. + + Hear what has happened to those negro scamps, + Musicians--rogues, and Aïssaoua. + They spoke of nothing but their project great. + Bad luck to him who lacks sincerity! + + On learning of the tour of Rayyato + They all began to cry and run about, + Half with bare feet, although the rest were shod. + The Lord afflicts them much in this our world. + 'Twas only negroes, poor house-colorers, + Who did not follow them about in crowds. + + The Christian Salvador put them on ship. + One felt his breast turn and exclaimed, "I'm sick." + A wench poured aromatics on the fire, + And thus perfumed the air. For Paris now + They're off, to see the great Abd-el-Azyz. + + The Christians packed them like a cricket-swarm, + Between the sea and church, upon the wharf + He drew them, wonders promising, and led + Them but to beggary. + + He takes them to + His land to show them to the chief of all + His masters, to the Emperor. He hopes + To get a present and thus pay them back, + Retaining all the money he advanced. + + +[A] Former student of the Medersa of Algiers, bookbinder, lutemaker, and +copier of manuscripts, Qaddour ben Omar ben Beuyna, best known among his +coreligionists as Qaddour el Hadby (the hunchback), who died during the +winter of 1897-1808, has sung for thirty years about all the notables of +his city. + +This lively poem was composed by him on they occasion of the departure for +Paris of a band of musicians, singers, and Aissaoua, who figured at the +Exposition of 1867, under the direction of a professor of music named +Salvador Daniel. The original is in couplets of six hemistichs. + + Perhaps they'll show themselves upon some stage + Or elsewhere as his fancy leads. The blacks + Begin to dance to sound of castanets. + The Christians bet on what will happen next. + + They say a letter has arrived which says + That they've suppressed ablutions and their prayers. + One has been very ill--"I do not know + What is the matter with me"--but the cause + Of all his illness was because he fell + On the perfuming-pans that they had brought. + + For Imam they have ta'en the dancing-girl + Who leads the dances. With her boxes small + In basket made of grass, a picture fine! + Come, see it now; you'd think it was a ghost. + + The Christian works them all, and most are seized + With folly. Would you know the first of all? + Well, sirs, 'tis Et-Try, and he is the son + Of one Et-Germezlyya. Never has + He thought of doing well, he lives for crime. + + The shrewd "Merkanty" made a profit on them. + Et-Try served them as an interpreter. + The Christian ought to make them this year gain + A thousand d'oros. But I pray to God + To send those two men to the fires of hell. + + Now Aly Et-Try is their manager; + He runs about all day, with naught achieved. + The Christian kept them in a stable shut, + And like a squad of soldiers took them out. + He herded them like oxen there, and naught + Was lacking but the drover's lusty cries. + + Consider now the plight of Ould Sayyd, + The big-jawed one. He gained ten thousand francs, + And lost them all at gambling. Naught remains + Except the benches and some coffee-grounds. + + The leader of musicians, wholly daft, + Whose beard is whiter than the whitest wool, + Has gone to Paris gay to see the sights. + (I hope he'll bring up in the fires of hell!) + If he comes back deceived, at least he'll say + He's been abroad, and dazzle all his friends. + + The oboe-player, Sydy Ali, was + Barber and cafekeeper, eager for + A change, and crazy to get gold. "This trip," + He told his friends, "is but a pilgrimage." + There's nothing lacking but the telbyya. + + "I've taken trips before and with good luck. + I was the master, with my art acclaimed. + I was director of the Nouba, at + The court, when Turkey held the reins of power. + I was a court buffoon and broke my heart. + O Lord, why send'st thou not thy servant death? + + "I left a workman in my shop so that + I might not lose my trade. I went to show + My oboe, for someone might ask for it. + I used to travel with musicians once." + + God bless him!--what a workman. He conversed + With all the customers who passed that way. + He took them in the shop and told his case-- + "I'm here for a short while." Then he began + To praise his patron, who, he said, would have + A gift for him. + + And his lieutenant, named + Oulyd-el-Hadj Oualy, is a fool + Who thinks his word superior to all, + And that there's no one like him in this world. + When he has gone there and come back again, + He will be perfect. All he contradicts + Who speak to him, and will not let them lift + A finger. Little love he hath for those + Who speak with candor, but he's very fond + Of liars, and always bids them come to him. + + "My childhood was so pampered!" he remarks, + And flies into a passion if one doubts. + He only lives on semolina coarse, + And empty is his paunch, all slack and limp. + Yet every day he tells you how he's dined. + + "I have discovered," he is wont to say + "A certain semolina lately brought + By a Maltese, who lives some distance off. + You never saw the like. I'm going to have + Some fine cakes made of it, and some _meqrout_." + + And El-Hadj Mostefa was dragged along + By all these lies and by the love of gain. + If God had not abandoned him, he'd be + Still making lasts. But 'twas the crowd that led + Him on, and that is how it came to pass. + + With them is donkey-faced Hamyda, who + Sold flowers in the market-place. He left + His family no coins to live upon, + But told them only: "Moderate your pace. + I'll buy a house for you when I get back, + And we shall live in plenty evermore." + + Sydy Ahmed et Tsoqba timbals had + As big as goat-skin bottles. He desired + To play in unison, but the musicians all + Abhorred him, for he could not keep in time. + + The heart of Sydy Ahmed glows with love + For Ayn-bou-Sellouf, who is very fair. + I hope that cares and fainting-fits may swell + Him out, and yellow he will straight become + As yellow as a carrot in a field. + + I love Sydy-t-Tayyeb when he sings + And plays the tambourine. Such ugliness + My eyes have never seen. You'd think he was + A clown. He says: "No one could vanquish me + Were I not just a trifle ill to-day." + + Qaddour, the little cock, the drummer-boy, + Who hangs on walls and colors houses here + Or tars roofs with his mates, exclaims: "I took + This voyage just to get a bit of air." + + Koutchouk stayed here, he did not go away. + Fresh apricots he sells down in the square. + "Repose," he murmurs, "is the best of foods, + And here my little heart shall stay in peace." + + When Abd-el-Quader, undertaker's son. + Falls in his fits of folly, he binds round + His figure with a cord and does not lie + Inert and stiff. But still they scorpions see + In Altai's hand, Chaouch of Aïssaoua. + + Faradjy--fop--eats fire and fig-leaves now; + The while Hasan the Rat excites him on + To doughty deeds with his loud tambourine. + Playing with all his might and all his soul. + They dragged the hedge-rows green of El Qettár + To pay this tribute to the Emperor. + + That fop, Ben Zerfa, who chopped hashish seeds + Among us here, said: "We have had good luck + This summer, and I'm going to pay my debts. + I'll execute my drill with stick and sword + And serve my sheik the very best I can." + + If you had seen Ben Zerfa as he ran, + So lightly, bearing on his sturdy back + A basket filled with, heaven alone knows what! + It looked like cactus-pears, the basket closed. + + El Hadj Batâta--see his silly trance! + With shirt unbuttoned and with collar off, + And cap on eyes, at beating of the drums, + He shows his tuft denuded all of hair. + Even Móstafa ben el Meddâh desired + To go to Paris and his fortune make. + "On my return," he said, "I'll buy a lamp, + A coffee-tray, and goodly sugar-bowl; + A big and little mattress, too, I'll buy, + A carpet and a rug so soft and fine." + Es Snybla, bellows-faced, who used to work + For our good mayor, off to Paris went + To make the soldiers' coffee. When he comes + Back home again, so much he will have earned. + He will be richer than a merchant great. + + Oh, welcome, Sydy Omar! All of Paris + Is charmed to see you, O my Snybla dear! + If he would only go to Mexico, + And stay there it would be a riddance good. + + He is a cafékeeper, and his son + A baker. For associate he has + Sydy Aly Mehraz, who does his work + Astride a thorn; he surely doth deserve + Our compliments. All three you see are dressed + In duck, in fashion of the Christian men. + There's de Merzong; the people say he's good, + But still they fear him, he is so uncouth. + Good God! When he begins aloud to cry + In Soudanese, it is enough to make + You fly to the antipodes away. + + Oulyd ben Zamoum saw his cares increase-- + Since he is a musician, as he thinks, + The world is rid of him. And when he starts + To play the first string of the violin, + The while the Jewess doth begin to sing! + + With him two Jews departed, and the like + You never saw on earth. A porcupine + The first resembled, and the other one + Was one-eyed. You should hear them play the lute! + + Some persons heard my story from afar, + Oulyd Sydy Sáyd, among them, and + Brymat, who laughed abundantly. And with + Them was the chief of Miliana. All + Were seated on an iron bench, within + The right-hand shop. They called me to their booth + Where I had coffee and some sweets. But when + They said, "Come take a smoke," I was confused. + "Impossible," I answered, "for I have + With Sydy Hasan Sydy Khelyl studied, + And the Senousyya. So I cannot." + + Ben Aysa came to me, with angry air, + "The Antichrist," he said, "shall spring from thee. + I saw within that book you have at home + His story truly told." "You're right," said I, + "Much thanks!" And then I laughed to see + Him turn his eyes in wrath. + + He said to me + 'Tis not an action worthy of a man; + He glared at me with eyes as big as cups + And face an egg-plant blue. He wanted to + Get at me, in his rage, and do me harm. + + With him my uncle was, Mahomet-ben-El-Haffaf, + who remains at prayer all day. + He heard this prelude and he said to them, + "It is not an affair." "Fear not," they said, + "For they will put you also in the song." + + He's tickled by the urchins' eulogies, + Who praise him as the master of chicane. + "'Tis finished now for thee to climb up masts." + They add: "You're but a laughing-stock for all. + You've stayed here long enough. You'd better go + And teach Sahary oxen how to read!" + + When I recited all these lines to Sy + Mahomet Oulyd el-Isnam, who has + To the supreme degree the gift of being + A bore he said to me, "Now this is song + Most flat." The mice in droves within his shop + Have eaten an ounce of wool. + + He is installed + Within the chamber of El Boukhary. + In posture of a student, in his hands + Some sky-blue wool. "It is," he says, "to make + Some socks for little children, for I have + But little wool." + + When I had finished quite + This dittyramb, and El-Hadj-ben-er-Rebha + Became acquainted with it, he began + To laugh, telling his beads the while, and then + His decoration from his wallet took, + Which had been there enclosed. + + My song spread wide. + They found it savory. Respected sirs, + It is the latest Friday in the month + Of El Mouloud and in the year we call + Twelve hundred ninety-four, that I complete + This tale fantastic. + + Would you know my name? + I am Qaddour, well known to all the world, + Binder to Sydy Boû Gdour, and attired + In gechchabyya-blouse. And if my back + Were not deformed, none could compete with me. + + They told me, "When those folk come back again + Thou'd better hide thyself for fear of harm. + They'll break thy hump and send thee home to heaven." + "Oh, I'll protect myself," I said, "or else complain + To the police." + + If I were not so busy + I'd still have many other things to say. + Those who have heard my prattle say it's good; + So say the singers and musicians, too, + Ez Zohra ben-el-Foul among them, who + Pays compliments to me, from window-seat. + + He who hath nothing found that's useful here + Will find in this my song what suits him best. + But if he wants to see here something more, + Then stretch him 'neath the stick and give him straight + A thousand blows upon the belly; then + Take him away to the physician, who + Will bleed him well. + + And now may hearts not be + Made sad by what I have so lightly said. + I've placed myself among you, so that I + May not incur your blame, O brothers mine. + I've told you my deformity, and all + My miseries unveiled before your gaze. + + + +SONG OF FATIMA[1] + + My spirit is in pain, for it cannot + Forget my sweet gazelle, with eyes so black. + A fire burns in my heart, and all my frame + But wastes and withers. Where's thy cure, O Taleb? + + I find no medicine that cureth love, + In vain I search. Sweet Fatima's the cause + Of all my woes, with _khelkal_ tinted blue. + My heart endureth passion's pangs, my grief + Continues. Where's thy remedy, O Taleb? + Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. + + Pray God for me, O Taleb, I implore. + But how to cure the malady of love? + There is no remedy, and all is lost. + I die for lack of strength to bear my trials. + It is to thee that I intrust myself, + The healer who must bring rest to my heart; + For now a living brand burns in my breast. + If thou art skilful, find a cure for me. + +[1] This elegy is the work of a celebrated sheik of Tlemcen, +Mahomet-Ben-Sahla, whose period was the first half of the eighteenth +century. He left a son, Ben Medien, a poet, too, and his descendants still +live, near Tlemcen, in a village called Feddan-es-Seba. + + Look in thy book and calculate for me + If thou canst quench the burning brand within. + I will become thy slave, and thou may'st keep + Me or at auction sell. Where is thy cure! + Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. + + The Taleb looked at me and said: "Take heart, + O lover, courage! Thou hast sipped, I see, + The cup of death already, and thou hast + Not long to live. But hear my counsel now. + Have patience! Tis the only thing that will + Sustain thee. Thou shalt thus obtain the gifts + Of Him who only knows thy future days. + Thy fate shall be unrolled according to + The will of God, the sovereign Lord most high. + + "Turn to thy God. Beseech him constantly. + He hears with mercy and he knows all souls. + He turns away no one who comes to him. + He sees the bottom of their hearts, and lists. + Bear his decrees with patience camels show. + They walk from land to land and hope to lose + At last their burdens." Where's thy cure, O Taleb? + Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. + + O Taleb, search within thy book and find + The letters that give birth to friendship sweet. + Write them for me, and skilful be, I pray, + So God may give me happiness by them, + And cause my dear gazelle to pardon me, + And drive nay bitter sorrows all away. + My punishment too long has lasted. I + Am tired of waiting. Never was adventure + More strange than mine. + + My cares continue, and + I am fatigued with efforts obstinate. + The trouble that I've taken to deserve + That pretty one, has been for me like that + Of daring merchant who doth undertake + A venture and gets nothing back but loss + And weariness. Where is thy cure, O Taleb? + Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. + + The Taleb answered unto me and said: + "Support her rigors. Listen now to me, + And I will give thee counsel sound and good. + Turn thy true heart aside from memory. + Forget thy love as she's forgotten thee. + Courage! Her loss now wastes and makes thee pale. + For her thou hast neglected everything. + And sacrificed a good part of thy days. + + "My counsels heed and turn me not aside. + Hear what sages in their proverbs say: + 'That which is bitter never can turn sweet,' + 'Leave him whose intercourse is troublesome, + And cleave to one who hath an easy way,' + 'Endure the pangs of love until they pass,'" + Where is thy cure, O Taleb? Tell me where. + Thy remedy is lost, O good Lord Taleb. + + If thou art powerful, Taleb, my excuse + Accept, and give assistance to my cause. + Thy words are all in vain, they but increase + My woes. For ne'er can I forget my love, + My dear accomplished beauty. While I live, + I love her, queen of beauties, and she is + Soul of my soul, light of my eyes, my sweet. + + And, oh, how grows my love! A slave I'd be, + Obedient to a man despised. Perhaps + That which is far removed, the nearest comes. + And if the moment comes, thou know'st it well + Who knoweth all the proverbs! He that's well + Shall perish, and the invalid be cured. + Where is thy cure, O Taleb? Tell me where. + Thy remedy is lost, my good Lord Taleb. + + And then the Taleb answered him and said: + "Thou'rt taken in the snares of Qeys--thou know'st. + He laid strong siege to Leyla's heart and then + Awaited trembling at the trysting-place. + Thou now hast wooed thy love for two long years + And she will not relent, nor speak to thee. + God bless us both!" + + The Lord is generous. + He sees. If trouble comes, he'll make it pass. + My lot is sad and I am full of fear. + The mountains tall would melt and turn to sand + If I to them my sorrows should relate. + Where is thy cure, O Taleb? Tell me where. + Thy remedy is lost, O good Lord Taleb. + + O Taleb, should I tell my tale of grief + Unto a sabre of the Ind, 'twould melt + On hearing my laments. My heart cannot + Endure these tortures, and my breast's on fire. + + My tale is finished, here I end my song, + And publish forth my name along with it; + It is Ben Sahla. I do not conceal + How I am called, and in my black despair + I do not cease my lamentations loud. + + O ye who have experienced the stings + Of love, excuse me now and blame me not + In this affair. I know that I shall die, + O'ercome by woe. The doctor of my heart + Protracts my suffering. He cures me not, + Nor yet cuts short the thread of my sad life. + Where is thy cure, O Taleb? Tell me where. + Thy remedy is lost, O good Lord Taleb. + + + +THE CITY GIRL AND THE COUNTRY GIRL + + O thou who hearest me, I will recite + One of these stories I am master of-- + A tale that's true. By these I move the hearts + Of lovers like to thee, and I divert + Their minds with pleasant stories. As I hear, + So I relate them, and they please my friends, + By flow of wit and eloquence of thought. + I tell of beauties' battle. And my song + Is written in perfection, straight and clear. + + Thinking of naught I walked along one day + When I had gone to see some beauties fair + Whose like I ne'er have seen in city nor + In country yet. I should have said + That they were sun and moon, and that the girls + Of that time were bright stars surpassing far + The Pleiades. The stars are envious + In their far firmaments, each of + The other. That's the reason why we see + Eclipses of the sun and moon. + + My tale + Is true. The women, like unto the stars, + Are jealous also. Two young virgins met + The day I saw them, a sad day for them, + For one was jealous of the other one. + + The citizeness said to the Bedouine: + "Look at thy similars and thou shalt see + In them but rustics, true dogs of the camp. + Now what art thou beside a city girl? + Thou art a Bedouine. Dost thou not dream + Of goat-skin bottles to be filled at dawn? + And loads of wood that thou must daily cut? + And how thou'rt doomed to turn the mill all night, + Fatigued, harassed? Thy feet, unshod, are chapped + And full of cracks. Thy head can never feel + The solace of uncovering, and thou, + All broken with fatigue, must go to sleep + Upon the ground, in soot and dust to lie, + Just like a serpent coiled upon himself. + Thy covering is the tatters of old tents, + Thy pillow is the stones upon the hearth. + All clad in rags thou hast a heavy sleep + Awaking to another stupid day. + Such is the life of all you country folk. + What art thou then compared to those who live + In shade of walls, who have their mosques for prayer + Where questions are discussed and deeds are drawn?" + + The Arab woman to the city girl + Replied: "Get out! Thou'rt like a caverned owl. + And who art thou beside the Arab girls, + The daughters of those tribes whose standards wave + Above brave bands of horsemen as they speed? + Look at thy similars. The doctor ne'er + Can leave their side. Without an illness known + They're faded, pale, and sallow. The harsh lime + Hath filled thy blood with poison. Thou art dead, + Although thou seem'st alive. Thou ne'er hast seen + Our noble Arabs and their feats of strength, + Who to the deserts bring prosperity + By their sharp swords! If thou could'st see our tribe + When all the horsemen charge a hostile band, + Armed with bright lances and with shields to break + The enemy's strong blow! Those who are like + To them are famed afar and glorified. + They're generous hosts and men of nature free. + Within the mosques they've built and lodgings made + For _tolba_ and for guests. All those who come + To visit them, bear gifts away, and give + Them praises. Why should they reside in town + Where everything's with price of silver bought?" + + The city girl replied: "Oh, Bedouine, + Thou dost forget all that thou hast to do. + Thou go'st from house to house, with artichokes + And mallows, oyster-plants, and such, + Thy garments soaked all through and through with grease. + This is thy daily life. I do not speak + Of what is hid from view. Thy slanders cease! + What canst thou say of me? Better than thee + I follow all the precepts of the Sonna + And note more faithfully the sacred hours. + Hid by my veil no eye hath seen my face: + I'm not like thee, forever in the field. + I've streets to go on when I walk abroad. + What art thou, then, beside me? I heard not + The cows and follow them about all day. + Thou eatest sorrel wild and heart of dwarf + Palm-tree. Thy feet are tired with walking far, + And thy rough hands with digging in the earth." + + "Now what impels you, and what leads you on," + The country girl of city girl inquired, + "To outrage us like this and say such words + Against us, you who are the very worst + Of creatures, in whom all the vices are + Assembled? You are wicked sinners all, + And Satan would not dare to tell your deeds. + You are all witches. And you would betray + Your brother, not to speak of husbands. You + Walk all unguarded in the street alone, + Against your husband's will. And you deny + Your holy faith. The curse of heav'n will weigh + Upon you when you go to meet your God. + Not one of you is honest. O ye blind + Who do not wish to see, whence comes your blindness? + You violate the law divine, and few + Among you fear the Lord. 'Tis in the country, + Amid the fields, that women worship God. + Why say'st thou that the city women sole + Are pious? Canst thou say my prayers for me?" + + "What pleasure have the country girls?" replied + The city girl. "They've no amusements there. + There's nothing to divert the eyes. Their hands + They do not stain with henna, setting off + A rounded arm. Rich costumes they wear not, + Which cost some hundred silver pieces each, + Nor numerous garments decked with precious stones. + They are not coifed with kerchiefs of foulard + With flowers brocaded. Neither have they veils + Nor handkerchiefs of silk and broidered gold. + They never have a negress nurse to bring + Their children up and run on services + Throughout the house. And yet they boast as loud + As any braggart. Why bring'st thou the charge + That I a blameful life do lead, whilst thine + Deserves reproof? Dirt in the country holds + Supreme control. The water's scarce enough + To drink, with none left for the bath. The ground + Serves you as bed, and millet is your food, + Or rotten wheat and barley." + + Then took up + The word, and spoke the Arab woman dark: + "Who are thy ancestors? Which is thy tribe + Among all those that fill the mighty world? + You're only Beny Leqyt, and the scum + Of people of all sorts. Thou call'st thyself + A city woman. What are city men? + Thy lords don't slander folk. 'Tis only those + Who come whence no one knows who have so rude + A tongue. Thou wouldst insult me, thou, of stock + Like thine, with such a name abroad! And thou + Wouldst taunt a Qorechyte, a Hachemite + Of glorious ancestors who earned their fame. + Tis proper for a woman born of such + A stock illustrious to vaunt herself + Upon her origin. But thou, a vile + Descendant of a conquered race! + + "Thou call'st + Thyself a Sunnite, yet thou knowest not + The three great things their Author gave to us: + (He knows all secrets.) First is Paradise, + Then the Koran, and then our Prophet great, + Destroyer of false faiths and for all men + The interceder. Whosoe'er loves him + Doth love the Arabs, too, and cleaves to them. + And whosoe'er hates them hates, too, in truth, + The chosen one of God. Thou hatest him, + For thou revil'st my ancestors, and seek'st + To lower their rank and vilify their fame. + Think on thine evil deeds, against the day + When in thy grave thou'lt lie, and that one, too, + When thou shalt rise again, insulter of + The Arabs, king of peoples on the earth." + + "The Arabs I do not at all despise," + The city woman said, "nor yet decry + Their honor, and 'tis only on account + Of thee I spoke against them. But 'tis thou + Who hast insulted all my family, and placed + Thy race above. He who begins is e'er + At fault, and not the one who follows. Thou + The quarrel didst commence. Pray God, our Lord, + To pardon me, as I will pray him, too, + And I the Arabs will no more attack. + If they offend me I will pardon them + And like them for our holy prophet's sake. + I shall awake in Paradise some day. + From them 'tis given, far beyond all price. + Frankly, I love them more than I do love + Myself. I love them from my very heart. + He who a people loveth shall arise + With them. And here's an end to all our words + Of bickering and mutual abuse." + + I told them that it was my duty plain + To reconcile them. I accorded both + Of them most pure intentions. Then I sent + Them home, and made agreeable the way. + Their cares I drove away with honeyed words. + I have composed the verses of this piece, + With sense more delicate than rare perfume + Of orange-flower or than sugar sweet, + For those kind hearts who know how to forgive. + As for the evil-minded, they should feel + The _zeqqoum_. With the flowers of rhetoric + My song is ornamented: like the breast + Of some fair virgin all bedecked with stones + Which shine like bright stars in the firmament. + Some of its words will seem severe to those + Who criticise. I culled them like unto + A nosegay in the garden of allusions. + May men of lion hearts and spirit keen-- + Beloved by God and objects of his care-- + Receive my salutations while they live, + My countless salutations. + + I should let + My name be known to him who's subject to + The Cherfa and obeys their mighty power. + The _mym_ precedes, then comes the written _ha_. + The _mym_ and _dal_ complete the round and make + It comprehensible to him who reads + Mahomet. May God pardon me this work + So frivolous, and also all my faults + And errors. I place confidence in him, + Creator of all men, with pardon free + For all our sins, and in his mercy trust, + Because he giveth it to him who seeks. + + The country girl and city girl appeared + Before the judge, demanding sentence just. + In fierce invectives for a while they joined, + But after all I left them reconciled. + + + +POPULAR TALES OF THE BERBERS + +[_Translated by René Basset and Chauncey C. Starkweather_] + + + +STORIES OF ANIMALS + + + +THE TURTLE, THE FROG, AND THE SERPENT + +Once upon a time the turtle married a frog. One day they quarrelled. The +frog escaped and withdrew into a hole. The turtle was troubled and stood in +front of his door very much worried. In those days the animals spoke. The +griffin came by that way and said: "What is the matter with you? You look +worried this morning." + +"Nothing ails me," answered the turtle, "except that the frog has left me." + +The griffin replied, "I'll bring him back." + +"You will do me a great favor." + +The griffin took up his journey and arrived at the hole of the frog. He +scratched at the door. + +The frog heard him and asked, "Who dares to rap at the door of a king's +daughter?" + +"It is I, the griffin, son of a griffin, who lets no carrion escape him." + +"Get out of here, among your corpses. I, a daughter of the King, will not +go with you." + +He departed immediately. + +The next day the vulture came along by the turtle and found it worrying +before its door, and asked what was the trouble. It answered: "The frog has +gone away." + +"I'll bring her back," said the vulture. + +"You will do me a great favor." + +The vulture started, and reaching the frog's house began to beat its wings. + +The frog said: "Who conies to the east to make a noise at the house of the +daughter of kings, and will not let her sleep at her ease?" + +"It is I, the vulture, son of a vulture, who steals chicks from under her +mother." + +The frog replied: "Get away from here, father of the dunghill. You are not +the one to conduct the daughter of a king." + +The vulture was angry and went away much disturbed. He returned to the +turtle and said: "The frog refuses to come back with me. Seek someone else +who can enter her hole and make her come out. Then I will bring her back +even if she won't walk." + +The turtle went to seek the serpent, and when he had found him he began to +weep. "I'm the one to make her come out," said the serpent. He quickly went +before the hole of the frog and scratched at the door. + +"What is the name of this other one?" asked the frog. + +"It is I, the serpent, son of the serpent. Come out or I'll enter." + +"Wait awhile until I put on my best clothes, gird my girdle, rub my lips +with nut-shells, put some _koheul_ in my eyes; then I will go with +you." + +"Hurry up," said the serpent. Then he waited a little while. Finally he got +angry, entered her house, and swallowed her. Ever since that time the +serpent has been at war with the frog. Whenever he sees one he chases her +and eats her. + + + * * * * * + + +THE HEDGEHOG, THE JACKAL, AND THE LION + +Once upon a time the jackal went in search of the hedgehog and said to it: +"Come along. I know a garden of onions. We will fill our bellies." + +"How many tricks have you?" asked the hedgehog. + +"I have a hundred and one." + +"And I," said the other, "have one and a half." + +They entered the garden and ate a good deal. The hedgehog ate a little and +then went to see if he could get out of the entrance or not. When he had +eaten enough so that he could just barely slip out, he stopped eating. As +for the jackal, he never stopped eating until he was swollen very much. + +As these things were going on, the owner of the garden arrived. The +hedgehog saw him and said to his companion: + +"Escape! the master is coming." He himself took flight. But in spite of his +exhortations the jackal couldn't get through the opening. "It is +impossible," he said. + +"Where are those one hundred and one tricks? They don't serve you now." + +"May God have mercy on your parents, my uncle, lend me your half a trick." +"Lie down on the ground," answered the hedgehog. "Play dead, shut your +mouth, stretch out your paws as if you were dead, until the master of the +garden shall see it and cast you into the street, and then you can run +away." + +On that the hedgehog departed. The jackal lay down as he had told him until +the owner of the garden came with his son and saw him lying as if dead. The +child said to his father: + +"Here is a dead jackal. He filled his belly with onions until he died." + +Said the man, "Go, drag him outside." + +"Yes," said the child, and he took him and stuck a thorn into him. + +"Hold on, enough!" said the jackal. "They play with reeds, but this is not +sport." + +The child ran to his father and said, "The jackal cried out, 'A reed! a +reed!'" + +The father went and looked at the animal, which feigned death. "Why do you +tell me that it still lives?" + +"It surely does." + +"Come away and leave that carrion." The child stuck another thorn into the +jackal, which cried, "What, again?" The child went to his father. "He has +just said, 'What, again?'" + +"Come now," said the man, and he sent away his son. The latter took the +jackal by the motionless tail and cast him into the street. Immediately the +animal jumped up and started to run away. The child threw after him his +slippers. The jackal took them, put them on, and departed. + +On the way he met the lion, who said, "What is that footwear, my dear?" + +"You don't know, my uncle? I am a shoemaker. My father, my uncle, my +mother, my brother, my sister, and the little girl who was born at our +house last night are all shoemakers." + +"Won't you make me a pair of shoes?" replied the lion. + +"I will make you a pair. Bring me two fat camels. I will skin them and make +you some good shoes." + +The lion went away and brought the two fat camels. "They are thin," said +the jackal. "Go change them for others." + +He brought two thin ones. + +"They are fat," said the jackal. He skinned them, cut some thorns from a +palm-tree, rolled the leather around the lion's paws and fastened it there +with the thorns. + +"Ouch!" screamed the lion. + +"He who wants to look finely ought not to say, 'Ouch.'" + +"Enough, my dear." + +"My uncle, I will give you the rest of the slippers and boots." He covered +the lion's skin with the leather and stuck in the thorns. When he reached +the knees, "Enough, my dear," said the lion. "What kind of shoes are +those?" + +"Keep still, my uncle, these are slippers, boots, breeches, and clothes." + +When he came to the girdle the lion said, "What kind of shoes are those?" + +"My uncle, they are slippers, boots, breeches, and clothing." In this way +he reached the lion's neck. "Stay here," he said, "until the leather dries. +When the sun rises look it in the face. When the moon rises, too, look it +in the face." + +"It is good," said the lion, and the jackal went away. + +The lion remained and did as his companion had told him. But his feet began +to swell, the leather became hard, and he could not get up. When the jackal +came back he asked him, "How are you, my uncle?" + +"How am I? Wretch, son of a wretch, you have deceived me. Go, go; I will +recommend you to my children." + +The jackal came near and the lion seized him by the tail. The jackal fled, +leaving his tail in the lion's mouth. + +"Now," said the lion, "you have no tail. When my feet get well I will catch +you and eat you up." + +The jackal called his cousins and said to them, "Let us go and fill our +bellies with onions in a garden that I know." They went with him. Arriving +he tied their tails to the branches of a young palm-tree, and twisted them +well. "Who has tied our tails like this?" they asked. "No one will come +before you have filled your bellies. If you see the master of the garden +approach, struggle and fly. You see that I, too, am bound as you are." But +he had tied an onion-stalk on himself. When the owner of the garden +arrived, the jackal saw him coming. They struggled, their tails were all +torn out, and stayed behind with the branches to which they were fastened. +When the jackal saw the man, he cut the onion stem and escaped the first of +all. + +As for the lion, when his feet were cured, he went to take a walk and met +his friend the jackal. He seized him and said, "Now I've got you, son of a +wretch." + +The other answered, "What have I done, my uncle?" + +"You stuck thorns in my flesh. You said to me, 'I will make you some +shoes.' Now what shall I do to you?" + +"It was not I," said the jackal. + +"It was you, and the proof is that you have your tail cut off." + +"But all my cousins are without tails, like me." + +"You lie, joker." + +"Let me call them and you will see." + +"Call them." + +At his call the jackals ran up, all without tails. + +"Which of you is a shoemaker?" asked the lion. + +"All of us," they answered. + +He said to them: "I am going to bring you some red pepper. You shall eat of +it, and the one who says, 'Ouch!' that will be the one I'm looking for." + +"Go and get it." + +He brought them some red pepper, and they were going to eat it when the +first jackal made a noise with his shoes, but he said to the lion, "My +uncle, I did not say, 'Ouch!'" The lion sent them away, and they went about +their business. + + + * * * * * + + +THE STOLEN WOMAN + +It is related that a man of the Onlad Draabad married his cousin, whom he +loved greatly. He possessed a single slave and some camels. Fearing lest +someone should carry off his wife on account of her beauty, he resolved to +take her to a place where no one should see her. He started, therefore, +with his slave, his camels, and his wife, and proceeded night and day until +he arrived at the shore of the great salt sea, knowing that nobody would +come there. + +One day when he had gone out to see his camels and his slave, leaving his +wife alone in the tent, she saw a ship that had just then arrived. It had +been sent by a sultan of a far country, to seek in the islands of the salt +sea a more beautiful wife for him than the women of his land. The woman in +the tent, seeing that the ship would not come first to her, went out first +in front. The people said to her, "Come on board in order to see the whole +ship." She went aboard. Finding her to be just the one for whom they were +seeking, they seized her and took her to their Sultan. On his return, the +husband, not finding his wife, realized that she had been stolen. He +started to find the son of Keij, the Christian. Between them there existed +a friendship. The son of Keij said to him: "Bring a ship and seven men, +whose guide I will be on the sea. They need not go astray nor be +frightened. The city is three or four months' journey from here." They set +sail in a ship to find the city, and were on the way the time that he had +said. + +Arriving they cast their anchor near the city, which was at the top of a +high mountain. Their chief went ashore and saw a fire lighted by someone. +He went in that direction. It was an old woman, to whom he told his story. +She gave him news of his wife. They agreed to keep silence between +themselves. Then the old woman added: "In this place there are two birds +that devour people. At their side are two lions like to them, and two men. +All of these keep guard over your wife." + +He bought a sheep, which he killed; then he went to the two birds and threw +them a part of it. While they were quarrelling over it he passed by them +and came near to the two lions, to which he did the same. Approaching the +two men, he found them asleep. He went as far as the place where his wife +was in prison, and attracted her attention by scratching her foot. He was +disguised and said to her, "I have sought you to tell you something." He +took her by the hand. They both went out, and he swore that if she made the +slightest noise he would kill her. He also asked her which was the swiftest +boat for the journey. She pointed out the best boat there, and they +embarked in it. There were some stones on board, and when he threw one at a +ship it was crushed from stem to stern, and all on board perished. + +He started to find the son of Keij. While they were at sea a marine monster +swallowed them and the ship on which they were sailing. The chief took some +pitch and had it boiled in a kettle. The monster cast up the ship on the +shore of the sea. They continued their journey, proceeding by the seaside. + +Behold one day they came to a deserted city. They desired to take what it +contained of riches, silver, and gold. All of a sudden the image of an +armed man appeared to them. They could not resist or kill him at first, but +finally they destroyed him and took all the riches of the houses. When they +arrived near the son of Keij he said to them: "I want only the ship." So +the other man took the treasures and returned home with his wife. + + + * * * * * + + +THE KING, THE ARAB, AND THE MONSTER + +In former times there was a king of the At Taberchant (the son of a +negress), whose city was situated at the foot of a mountain. An enormous +beast came against them, entered the city, and devoured all the people. The +beast established itself in the city and stayed there a century. One day it +was hungry. It came out into the plain, found some Arabs with their tents, +their sheep, their oxen, their mares, and their camels. The beast fell upon +them in the night and ate them all up, leaving the earth all white with +their bones; then it went back to the city. + +A single man escaped, thanks to his good mare. He arrived at a city of the +At Taberchant and, starving, began to beg. The King of the Jews said to +him: "Whence do you come into our country--you who invoke the lord of men +[Mahomet]? You don't know where you are. We are Jews. If you will embrace +our religion, we will give you food." + +"Give me some food," said the Arab, "and I will give you some good advice." + +The King took him to his house and gave him some supper, and then asked him +what he had to say. + +"An enormous monster has fallen upon us," said the Arab. "It ate up +everybody. I will show you its city. It has two gates, one at the north and +the other at the south." + +"To-morrow," said the King. + +When he awoke the next day, they mounted horses and followed the way to the +gate of the monster's city. They looked at it and went away. + +"What shall we do?" said the King. + +"Let us make a great trap of the size of the entrance to the city, at the +southern gate. At the northern gate we will place a forty-mule load of +yellow sulphur. We will set it on fire, and then escape and see what will +happen." + +"Your advice is good," said the King. + +They returned to the city of the Jews, ordered the smiths to make a big +trap and commanded the citizens to furnish the sulphur. When all was ready, +they loaded the mules, went to the monster's city, set the trap at the +southern gate, and at the northern they placed the sulphur, which they set +on fire, and then fled. The monster came out by the southern gate. Half of +his body was caught in the trap that the two men had set. He was cut in +two, filling the river with blood. The King and the Arab entered the city +and found a considerable treasure, which they removed in eighty loads to +the city of the Jews. When they had got back to the palace the King said to +his companion: "Be my caliph. My fortune and thine shall be the same." + +They sat down and had supper. The prince put in the stew some poison and +turned it to the Arab. The latter observed what he had done and said, +"Where did that bird come from?" When the King of the Jews raised his head +to look, the Arab turned the dish around, placing the poison side of it in +front of the King. He did not perceive the trick, and died on the spot. The +Arab went to the gate of the city and said to the inhabitants: "I am your +King. You are in my power. He who will not accept my religion, I will cut +off his head." They all embraced Islamism and practised fasting and prayer. + + + * * * * * + + +THE LION, THE JACKAL, AND THE MAN + +In times past, when the animals spoke, there existed, they say, a laborer +who owned a pair of oxen, with which he worked. It was his custom to start +out with them early in the morning, and in the evening he returned with one +ox. The next day he bought another and went to the fallow land, but the +lion came and took one ox from him and left him only one. He was in +despair, seeking someone to advise him, when he met the jackal and told him +what had taken place between him and the lion. The jackal demanded: + +"What will you give me if I deliver you from the lion?" + +"Whatever you wish I will give it to you." + +"Give me a fat lamb," answered the jackal. "You will follow my advice. +To-morrow when the lion comes, I will be there. I will arrive on that hill +on the other side. You will bring your axe very well sharpened and when I +say to you, 'What is that which I see with you now?' you must answer, 'It +is an ass which I have taken with me to carry barley.' I will say to you, +'I am looking for the lion, and not for an ass,' Then he will ask you, 'Who +is speaking to you?' Answer him, 'It is the nems!' He will say to you, +'Hide me, for I am afraid of him,' When I ask you, 'Who is that stretched +there before you?' answer, 'It is a beaver,' I will say, 'Take your axe and +strike, to know if it be not the lion,' You will take your axe and you will +strike the lion hard between the eyes. Then I will continue: 'I have not +heard very well. Strike him again once more until he shall really be +dead,'" The next day he came to him as before to eat an ox. When the jackal +saw him he called his friend and said, "Who is that with you?" + +"It is a beaver which is before me." + +The jackal answered: "Where is the lion? I am looking for him." + +"Who is talking to you?" asked the lion, of the laborer. + +"The 'nems.'" + +"Hide me," cried the lion, "for I fear him." + +The laborer said to him, "Stretch yourself out before me, shut your eyes, +and don't move." The lion stretched out before him, shut his eyes, and held +his breath. + +The peasant said to the jackal, "I have not seen the lion pass to-day." + +"What is that stretched before you?" + +"It is a beaver." + +"Take your axe," said the jackal, "and strike that beaver." The laborer +obeyed and struck the lion violently between the eyes. + +"Strike hard," said the jackal again; "I did not hear very well." + +He struck him three or four times more, until he had killed him. Then he +called the jackal: "See, I have killed him. Come, let me embrace you for +your good advice. To-morrow you must come here to get the lamb which I will +give you." They separated and each went his way. As for the peasant, the +next day, as soon as dawn, he took a lamb, put it into a sack, tied it up, +went into the court-yard and hung it up. Then while he went to get his oxen +to till his fields, at that moment, his wife opened the sack, set the lamb +free, and replaced it by a dog. The peasant took the sack and went to his +work. He attached his oxen and set to work, till the arrival of the jackal. +The jackal said to him, "Where is that promise you made me?" + +"It is in the sack. Open it and you'll find the lamb which I give you." + +He followed his advice, opened the sack, and saw two eyes which shone more +brightly than those of a lamb, and said to the laborer, "My friend, you +have deceived me." + +"How have I deceived you?" asked the other. "As for the lamb, I put him in +the sack. Open it well; I do not lie." + +The jackal followed his advice, he opened the sack, a dog jumped fiercely +out. When the jackal saw the dog he ran away, but the dog caught him and +ate him up. + + + * * * * * + + +SALOMON AND THE GRIFFIN + +Our Lord Salomon was talking one day with the genii. He said to them: +"There is born a girl at Dabersa and a boy at Djaberka. This boy and this +girl shall meet," he added. The griffin said to the genii: "In spite of the +will of the divine power, I shall never let them meet each other." The son +of the King of Djaberka came to Salomon's house, but hardly had he arrived +when he fell ill; then the griffin carried away the daughter of the King of +Djaberka and put her upon a big tree at the shore of the sea. The wind +impelled the prince, who had embarked. He said to his companions, "Put me +ashore." He went under the big tree and fell asleep. The young girl threw +leaves at him. He opened his eyes, and she said to him: "Beside the +griffin, I am alone here with my mother. Where do you come from?" + +"From Djaberka." + +"Why," she continued, "has God created any human beings except myself, my +mother, and our Lord Salomon?" + +He answered her, "God has created all kinds of human beings and countries." + +"Go," she said, "bring a horse and kill it. Bring also some camphor to dry +the skin, which you will hang on the top of the mast." The griffin came, +and she began to cry, saying, "Why don't you conduct me to the house of our +Lord Salomon?" + +"To-morrow I will take you." + +She said to the son of the King, "Go hide inside the horse." He hid there. + +The next day the griffin took away the carcass of the horse, and the young +girl departed also. When they arrived at the house of our Lord Salomon, the +latter said to the griffin, "I told you that the young girl and the young +man should be united." + +Full of shame the griffin immediately fled and took refuge in an island. + + + * * * * * + + +ADVENTURE OF SIDI MAHOMET + + +One day Mouley Mahomet summoned Sidi Adjille to come to Morocco, or he +would put him in prison. The saint refused to go to the city until the +prince had sent him his chaplit and his "dalil" as pledges of safety. Then +he started on the way and arrived at Morocco, where he neither ate nor +drank until three days had passed. The Sultan said to him: + +"What do you want at my palace? I will give it to you, whatever it may be." + +Sidi Adjille answered, "I ask of you only one thing, that is, to fill with +wheat the feed-bag of my mule." + +The prince called the guardian, and said to him, "Fill the feed-bag of his +mule." The guardian went and opened the door of the first granary and put +wheat in the feed-bag until the first granary was entirely empty. He opened +another granary, which was soon equally exhausted, then a third, and so on +in this fashion until all the granaries of the King were emptied. Then he +wanted to open the silos, but their guardian went and spoke to the Sultan, +together with the guardian of the granaries. + +"Lord," they said, "the royal granaries are all empty, and yet we have not +been able to fill the feed-bag of the saint's mule." + +The donkey-drivers came from Fas and from all countries, bringing wheat on +mules and camels. The people asked them, + +"Why do you bring this wheat?" + +"It is the wheat of Sidi Mahomet Adjille that we are taking." The news came +to the King, who said to the saint, "Why do you act so, now that the royal +granaries are empty?" Then he called together the members of his council +and wanted to have Sidi Mahomet's head cut off. "Go out," he said to him. + +"Wait till I make my ablutions" [for prayer], answered the saint. + +The people of the makhzen who surrounded him watched him among them, +waiting until he had finished his ablutions, to take him to the council of +the King and cut off his head. When Sidi Mahomet had finished washing, he +lifted his eyes to heaven, got into the tub where was washing, and vanished +completely from sight. When the guardians saw that he was no longer there, +they went vainly to continue the search at his house at Tagountaft. + + + * * * * * + + +THE HAUNTED GARDEN + +A man who possessed much money had two daughters. The son of the caliph of +the King asked for one of them, and the son of the cadi asked for the +other, but their father would not let them marry, although they desired it. +He had a garden near his house. When it was night, the young girls went +there, the young men came to meet them, and they passed the night in +conversation. One night their father saw them. The next morning he killed +his daughters, buried them in his garden, and went on a pilgrimage. + +That lasted so until one night the son of the cadi and the son of the +caliph went to a young man who knew how to play on the flute and the rebab. +"Come with us," they said to him, "into the garden of the man who will not +give us his daughters in marriage. You shall play for us on your +instruments." They agreed to meet there that night. The musician went to +the garden, but the two young men did not go. The musician remained and +played his music alone. In the middle of the night two lamps appeared, and +the two young girls came out of the ground under the lamps. They said to +the musician: "We are two sisters, daughters of the owner of the garden. +Our father killed us and buried us here. You, you are our brother for this +night. We will give you the money which our father has hidden in three +pots. Dig here," they added. He obeyed, found the three pots, took them +away, and became rich, while the two girls returned to their graves. + + + * * * * * + + +THE WOMAN AND THE FAIRY + +A woman who was named Omm Halima went one day to the stream to wash at the +old spring. Alone, in the middle of the day, she began her work, when a +woman appeared to her and said: "Let us be friends, you and I, and let us +make a promise. When you come to this spring, bring me some herma and +perfumes. Cast them into the fountain which faces the qsar. I will come +forth and I will give you money." And so the wife of Ben Sernghown returned +every day and found the other woman, who gave her pieces of money. Omm +Khalifah was poor. When she "became friends" with the fairy she grew rich +all of a sudden. The people were curious to know how she had so quickly +acquired a fortune. There was a rich man, the possessor of much property. +He was called Mouley Ismail. They said to Omm Khalifah: + +"You are the mistress of Mouley Ismail, and he gives you pieces of money." + +She answered, "Never have I been his mistress." One day, when she went to +the spring to bathe, the people followed her until she arrived. The fairy +came to meet her as usual, and gave her money. The people surprised them +together. But the fairy never came out of the fountain again. + + + * * * * * + + +HAMED-BEN-CEGGAD + + +There was in a city a man named Hamed-ben-Ceggad. He lived alone with his +mother. He lived upon nothing but the chase. One day the inhabitants of the +city said to the King: + +"Hamed-ben-Ceggad is getting the better of you." + +He said to them, "Tell me why you talk thus to me, or I will cut off your +heads." + +"As he only eats the flesh of birds, he takes advantage of you for his +food." + +The King summoned Hamed and said to him, "You shall hunt for me, and I will +supply your food and your mother's, too." Every day Hamed brought game to +the prince, and the prince grew very proud of him. + +The inhabitants of the city were jealous of him, and went to the Sultan and +said: "Hamed-ben-Ceggad is brave. He could bring you the tree of coral-wood +and the palm-tree of the wild beasts." + +The King said to him, "If you are not afraid, bring me the tree of +coral-wood and the palm-tree of the wild beasts." + +"It is well," said Hamed. And the next day he took away all the people of +the city. When he came to the tree, he killed all the wild beasts, cut down +the palm-tree, loaded it upon the shoulders of the people, and the Sultan +built a house of coral-wood. + +Seeing how he succeeded in everything, they said to the King, "Since he +achieves all that he attempts, tell him to bring you the woman with the set +of silver ornaments." + +The prince repeated these words to Hamed, who said: + +"The task you give me is harsh, nevertheless I will bring her to you," He +set out on the way, and came to a place where he found a man pasturing a +flock of sheep, carrying a millstone hanging to his neck and playing the +flute. Hamed said to him: "By the Lord, I cannot lift a small rock, and +this man hangs a millstone to his neck." The shepherd said: "You are +Hamed-ben-Ceggad, who built the house of coral-wood?" + +"Who told you?" + +"A bird that flew into the sky." He added, "I will go with you." + +"Come," said Hamed. The shepherd took the millstone from his neck, and the +sheep were changed into stones. + +On the way they met a naked man, who was rolling in the snow. They said [to +themselves], "The cold stings us, and yet that man rolls in the snow +without the cold killing him." + +The man said to them, "You are Hamed-ben-Ceggad, who built the house of +coral-wood?" + +"Who told you that?" + +"A bird that passed flying in the sky told me. I will accompany you." + +"Come," said Hamed. After they had pursued their way some time, they met a +man with long ears. + +"By the Lord," they said, "we have only small ears, and this man has +immense ones." + +"It is the Lord who created them thus, but if it pleases God I will +accompany you, for you are Hamed-ben-Ceggad." + +They arrived at the house of the woman with the silver ornaments, and Hamed +said to the inhabitants, "Give us this woman, that we may take her away." + +"Very well," said her brother, the ogre. They killed an ox, placed it upon +a hurdle, which they lifted up and put down with the aid of ninety-nine +men. + +"Give us one of your men who can lift this hurdle." + +He who wore millstones hanging from his neck said, "I can lift it." When he +had placed it on the ground, they served a _couscous_ with this ox. +The ogre said, "Eat all that we give you." They ate a little, and the man +with the long ears hid the rest of the food. The brother continued: "You +give us one of you who will go to gather a branch of a tree that stands all +alone on the top of a mountain two days' march in the snow." The one who +had rolled in the snow departed, and brought back the branch. + +"There remains one more proof," said the ogre. "A partridge is flying in +the sky; let one of you strike it." Hamed-ben-Ceggad killed it. + +They gave him the woman, but before her departure her brother gave her a +feather and said to her, "When anyone shall try to do anything to you +against your will, cast this feather on the hearth and we will come to +you." + +People told the woman, "The old Sultan is going to marry you." + +She replied, "An old man shall never marry me," and cast the feather into +the fire. Her brother appeared, and killed all the inhabitants of the city, +as well as the King, and gave the woman to Hamed-ben-Ceggad. + + + * * * * * + + +THE MAGIC NAPKIN + + +A taleb made a proclamation in these terms: "Is there anyone who will sell +himself for 100 mitquals?" A man agreed to sell himself. The stranger took +him to the cadi, who wrote out the bill of sale. He took the 100 mitquals +and gave them to his mother and departed with the taleb. They went to a +place where the latter began to repeat certain formulas. The earth opened +and the man entered it. The other said to him, "Bring me the candlestick of +reed and the box." He took this and came out keeping it in his pocket. + +"Where is the box?" asked the taleb. + +"I did not find it." + +"By the Lord, let us go." He took him to the mountains, cast a stone at +him, and went away. He lay on the ground for three days. Then he came to +himself, went back to his own country, and rented a house. He opened the +box, found inside a silk napkin, which he opened, and in which he found +seven folds. He unfolded one. Genii came around the chamber, and a young +girl danced until the day dawned. The man stayed there all that day until +night. The King came out that night, and, hearing the noise of the dance, +he knocked at the door, with his vezir. They received him with a red +_h'aik._ He amused himself until the day dawned. Then he went home +with his vezir. The latter sent for the man and said, "Give me the box +which you have at home." He brought it to the King, who said to him: "Give +me the box which you have so that I may amuse myself with it, and I will +marry you to my daughter." The man obeyed and married the Sultan's +daughter. The Sultan amused himself with the box, and after his death his +son-in-law succeeded him. + + + * * * * * + + +THE CHILD AND THE KING OF THE GENII + +There was a sheik who gave instruction to two talebs. One day they brought +to one of them a dish of _couscous_ with meat. The genius stole him +and bore him away. When they had arrived down there he taught him. One day +the child was crying. The King of the genii asked him, "Why do you cry?" + +"I am crying for my father and my mother. I don't want to stay here any +longer." + +The King asked his sons, "Who will take him back?" + +"I," said one of them; "but how shall I take him back?" + +"Carry him back after you have stuffed his ears with wool so that he shall +not hear the angels worshipping the Lord." + +They had arrived at a certain place, the child heard the angels worshipping +the Lord, and did as they did. His guide released him and he remained three +days without awaking. When he came to himself, he took up his journey and +found a mother-dog which slept while her little ones barked, although yet +unborn. He proceeded and met next an ass attacked by a swarm of flies. +Further on he saw two trees, on one perched a blue bird. Afterward it flew +upon the other tree and began to sing. He found next a fountain of which +the bottom was of silver, the vault of gold and the waters white. He went +on and met a man who had been standing for three days without saying a +word. Finally he arrived at a village protected by God, but which no one +entered. He met a wise man and said to him: + +"I want to ask you some questions." + +"What do you wish to ask me?" + +"I found a mother-dog which was asleep while her little ones were barking, +although yet unborn." + +The sage answered, "It is the good of the world that the old man should +keep silence because he is ashamed to speak." + +"I saw an ass attacked by a swarm of flies." + +"It is Pjoudj and Madjoudj of God (Gog and Magog) and the Antichrist." + +"I met two trees, a blue bird perched on one, then flew upon the other and +began to sing." + +"It is the picture of the man who has two wives. When he speaks to one the +other gets angry." + +"I saw a fountain of which the bottom was of silver, the vault of gold, and +the waters white." + +"It is the fountain of life; he who drinks of it shall not die." + +"I found a man who was praying. I stayed three days and he did not speak." + +"It is he who never prayed upon the earth and is now making amends." + +"Send me to my parents," concluded the child. + +The old man saw a light cloud and said to it, "Take this human creature to +Egypt." And the cloud bore him to his parents. + + + * * * * * + + +THE SEVEN BROTHERS + + +Here is a story that happened once upon a time. A man had seven sons who +owned seven horses, seven guns, and seven pistols for hunting. Their mother +was about to increase the family. They said to their father: "If we have a +little sister we shall remain. If we have a little brother we shall go." +The woman had a little boy. They asked, "Which is it?" + +"A boy." + +They mounted their horses and departed, taking provisions with them. They +arrived at a tree, divided their bread, and ate it. The next day they +started and travelled as far as a place where they found a well, from which +they drew water. The older one said, "Come, let us put the young one in the +well." They united against him, put him in, and departed, leaving him +there. They came to a city. + +The young man remained some time in the well where they had put him, until +one day a caravan passing that way stopped to draw water. While the people +were drinking they heard something moving at the bottom of the well. "Wait +a moment," they said; they let down a rope, the young man caught it and +climbed up. He was as black as a negro. The people took him away and sold +him to a man who conducted him to his house. He stayed there a month and +became white as snow. The wife of the man said: + +"Come, let us go away together." + +"Never!" he answered. + +At evening the man returned and asked, "What is the negro doing?" + +"Sell him," said the woman. + +He said, "You are free. Go where you please." + +The young man went away and came to a city where there was a fountain +inhabited by a serpent. They couldn't draw water from this fountain without +his eating a woman. This day it was the turn of the King's daughter to be +eaten. The young man asked her: + +"Why do you weep?" + +"Because it is my turn to be devoured to-day." + +The stranger answered, "Courage, I will kill the serpent, if it please +God." + +The young girl entered the fountain. The serpent darted toward her, but as +soon as he showed his head the young man struck it with his stick and made +it fly away. He did the same to the next head until the serpent was dead. +All the people of the city came to draw water. The King said: + +"Who has done this?" + +"It is he," they cried, "the stranger who arrived yesterday." The King gave +him his daughter and named him his lieutenant The wedding-feast lasted +seven days. My story is finished before my resources are exhausted. + + + * * * * * + + +HALF-A-COCK + + +In times past there was a man who had two wives, and one was wise and one +was foolish. They owned a cock in common. One day they quarrelled about the +cock, cut it in two, and each took half. The foolish wife cooked her part. +The wise one let her part live, and it walked on one foot and had only one +wing. Some days passed thus. Then the half-a-cock got up early, and started +on his pilgrimage. At the middle of the day he was tired and went toward a +brook to rest. A jackal came there to drink. Half-a-Cock jumped on his +back, stole one of his hairs, which it put under its wing and resumed its +journey. It proceeded until evening and stopped under a tree to pass the +night there. It had not rested long when it saw a lion pass near the tree +where it was lying. As soon as it perceived the lion it jumped on its back +and stole one of its hairs, which it put with that of the jackal. The next +morning it got up early and took up its journey again. Arrived at the +middle of a forest, it met a boar and said: + +"Give me a hair from your back, as the king of the animals and the +trickiest of them have done--the jackal and the lion." + +The boar answered, "As these two personages so important among the animals +have done this, I will also give you what you request." He plucked a hair +from his back and gave it to Half-a-Cock. The latter went on his way and +arrived at the palace of a king. It began to crow and to say: + +"To-morrow the King will die, and I will take his wife." + +Hearing these words the King gave to his negroes the command to seize +Half-a-Cock, and cast him into the middle of the sheep and goat-pen to be +trampled upon and killed by them, so that the King might get rid of his +crowing. The negroes seized him and cast him into the pen to perish. When +he got there Half-a-Cock took from under his wing the jackal's hair and +burnt it in the fire. As soon as it was near the fire the jackal came and +said: + +"Why are you burning my hair? As soon as I smelled it, I came running." + +Half-a-Cock replied, "You see what situation I am in. Get me out of it." + +"That is an easy thing," said the jackal, and immediately blowed in order +to summon his brothers. They gathered around him, and he gave them this +command: "My brothers, save me from Half-a-Cock, for it has a hair from my +back which it has put in the fire. I don't want to burn. Take Half-a-Cock +out of the sheep-pen, and you will be able to take my hair from its hands." +At once the jackals rushed to the pen, strangled everything that was there, +and rescued Half-a-Cock. The next day the King found his stables deserted +and his animals killed. He sought for Half-a-Cock, but in vain. The latter, +the next day at the supper hour, began to crow as it did the first time. +The prince called his negroes and said to them: + +"Seize Half-a-Cock and cast him into the cattle-yard so that it may be +crushed under their feet." + +The negroes caught Half-a-Cock and threw him into the middle of the +cow-pen. As soon as it reached there, it took the lion's hair and put it +into the fire. The lion came, roaring, and said: + +"Why do you burn my hair? I smelled from my cave the odor of burning hair, +and came running to learn the motive of your action." + +Half-a-Cock answered: "You see my situation. Help me out of it." + +The lion went out and roared to call his brothers. They came in great haste +and said to him, "Why do you call us now?" + +"Take the Half-a-Cock from the ox-yard, for it has one of my hairs, which +it can put into the fire. If you don't rescue Half-a-Cock, it will burn the +hair, and I don't want to smell the odor of burning hair while I am alive." + +His brothers obeyed. They at once killed all the cattle in the pen. The +King saw that his animals were all dead, and he fell into such a rage that +he nearly strangled. He looked for Half-a-Cock to kill it with his own +hands. He searched a long time without finding it, and finally went home to +rest. At sunset Half-a-Cock came to his usual place and crowed as on the +former occasions. The King called his negroes and said to them: + +"This time when you have caught Half-a-Cock, put it in a house and shut all +the doors till morning. I will kill it myself." + +The negroes seized him immediately and put him in the treasure-room. When +it got there, it saw money under its feet. It waited till it had nothing to +fear from the masters of the house, who were all sound asleep, took from +under its wing the hair of the boar, started a fire, and placed the hair in +it. At once the boar came running and shaking the earth. It thrust its head +against the wall. The wall shook and half of it fell down, and going to +Half-a-Cock the boar said: + +"Why are you burning my hair at this moment?" + +"Pardon me, you see the situation in which I am, without counting what +awaits me in the morning, for the King is going to kill me with his own +hands if you don't get me out of this prison." + +The boar replied: "The thing is easy; fear not, I will open the door so +that you may go out. In fact, you have stayed here long enough. Get up, go +and take money enough for you and your children." + +Half-a-Cock obeyed. It rolled in the gold, took all that stuck to its wing +and its foot, and swallowed as much as it could hold. It took the road it +had followed the first day and when it had arrived near the house it called +the mistress and said: "Strike now, be not afraid to kill me." His mistress +began to strike until Half-a-Cock called from beneath the mat: + +"Enough now. Roll the mat." + +She obeyed and saw the earth all shining with gold. + + * * * * * + +At the time when Half-a-Cock returned from his pilgrimage the two women +owned a dog in common. The foolish one seeing that her companion had +received much money said to her: + +"We will divide the dog between us." + +The wise woman answered: "We can't do anything with it. Let it live, I will +give you my half. Keep it for yourself. I have no need of it." + +The foolish one said to the dog, "Go on a pilgrimage as Half-a-Cock did and +bring me some gold." + +The dog started to carry out the commands of his mistress. She began her +journey in the morning and came to a fountain. As she was thirsty she +started to drink. As she stopped she saw in the middle of the fountain a +yellow stone. She took it in her mouth and ran back home. When she reached +the house she called her mistress and said to her: + +"Get ready the mats and the rods, you see that I have come back from the +pilgrimage." + +The foolish one prepared the mats under which the dog ran as soon as she +heard the voice of her mistress and said, "Strike gently." The woman seized +the rods and struck with all the force possible. The dog cried out to her a +long while for her to stop the blows. Her mistress refused to stop until +the animal was cold. She lighted up the mats and found the dog dead with +the yellow stone in its mouth. + + + * * * * * + + +STRANGE MEETINGS + +Once upon a time a man was on a journey and he met a mare who grazed in the +meadow. She was thin, lean, and had only skin and bone. He went on until he +came to a place where he found a mare which was fat, although she did not +eat. He went on further until he met a sheep which kicked against a rock +till evening to pass the night there. Advancing he met a serpent which hung +in a hole from which it could not get out. Farther on, he saw a man who +played with a ball, and his children were old men. He came to an old man +who said to him: + +"I will explain all that to you. The lean mare which you saw represents the +rich man whose brothers are poor. The fat mare represents the poor man +whose brothers are rich. The serpent which swings unable to enter nor to +leave the hole is the picture of the word which once spoken and heard can +never go back. The sheep which kicks against the rock to pass the night +there, is the man who has an evil house. The one whose children you saw +aged while he was playing ball, what does he represent? That is the man who +has taken a pretty wife and does not grow old. His children have taken bad +ones." + + + * * * * * + + +THE KING AND HIS FAMILY + + +In times gone by a king reigned over Maghreb. He had four sons. He started, +he, his wife, and his children, for the Orient. They set sail, but their +ship sank with them. The waves bore them all in separated directions. One +wave took the wife; another bore the father alone to the middle of the sea +on an island where he found a mine of silver. He dug out enough silver +until he had a great quantity and he established himself in the country. +His people after heard tell of him and learned that he dwelt in the midst +of the sea. They built houses until there was a great city. He was king of +that country. Whoever came poor to him he gave him pieces of money. A poor +man married his wife. As for his sons, they applied themselves to a study, +each in a different country. They all became learned men and feared God. +The King had a search made for _tolbas_ who should worship God. The +first of the brothers was recommended to him. He sent for him. He sought +also a _khodja_. The second brother was designated. He summoned him to +the court. The prince also especially wanted an _adel_. Another +brother was pointed to him. He made him come to him as, indeed, he also did +the imam, who was none other than the fourth brother. They arrived at their +father's without knowing him or being known by him. The wife and the man +who had espoused her also came to the King to make complaint. When they +arrived the wife went alone that night to the palace. The prince sent for +the four _tolba_ to pass the night with him until morning. During the; +night he spied upon them to see who they were. One of them said to the +others, "Since sleep comes not upon us, let each one make known who he is." + +One said: "My father was a king. He had much money and four sons whose +names were like yours." + +Another said: "My father was a king. My case is like yours." + +Another said: "My father was a king. My case is like yours." + +The fourth said in his turn: "My father, too, was a king. My case is like +that of your three. You are my brothers." + +Their mother overheard them and took to weeping until day. + +They took her to the prince, who said, "Why do you weep?" + +She answered: "I was formerly the wife of a king and we had four sons. We +set sail, he, our children, and I. The ship which bore us was wrecked. Each +one was borne away alone, until yesterday when they spoke before me during +the night and showed me what had happened to them, to their father, and to +their mother." + +The King said, "Let me know your adventure." + +They told him all that had happened. Then the prince arose, weeping, and +said, "You are my children," and to the woman, "You are my wife." God +reunited them. + + + * * * * * + + +BEDDOU + +Two men, one of whom was named Beddou and the other Amkammel, went to +market bearing a basket of figs. They met a man who was working, and said +to him: + +"God assist you!" + +"Amen!" he answered. One of them wanted to wash himself, but there was no +water. The laborer, him who was with him (_sic_), said, "What is your +name?" + +"Beddou." + +"By the Lord, Beddou, watch my oxen while I go to drink." + +"Go!" + +When he had gone, he took away one of the oxen. On his return the laborer +saw that one was missing. He went to the other traveller and asked him: + +"By my father, what is your name?" + +"Amkammel Ouennidhui" ("The Finisher"), he answered. + +"By the Lord, Amkammel Ouennidhui, watch this ox for me while I go look for +the one that is gone." + +"Go!" + +He stole the other one. When the laborer returned he didn't even find the +second. + +The two thieves went away, taking the oxen. They killed them to roast them. +One drank all the water of the sea, the other all the fresh water, to wash +it down. When they had finished, one stayed there to sleep, the other +covered him with ashes. The former got up to get a drink and the ashes fell +on the road. When he came back, the second covered himself with the +ox-head. His brother, who had gone to get a drink, was afraid, and ran +away. They divided the other ox to eat it. The one who had drunk the +sea-water now drank fresh water, and the one who had drunk fresh water now +drank sea-water. When they had finished their repast they took up their +journey. They found an old woman who had some money, upon which she was +sitting. When they arrived they fought. She arose to separate them. One of +them took her place to pass the night, and pretended that he was dead. The +old woman said to him: + +"Get up, my son." + +He refused. In the evening one of them stole the money, and said to his +brother: + +"Arise! Let us go!" + +They went away to a place where was sleeping the one who had taken the +money. The other took away the _dirkhems_ and departed, leaving the +first asleep. When he awaked he found nothing. He started in pursuit of the +other, and when he arrived he found him dying of illness. The latter had +said to his wife, "Bury me." She buried him. He who had first stolen the +money went away. He said, "It is an ox." + +"It is I, my friend," he cried. "Praise be to God, my friend! May your days +pass in happiness!" Beddou said to him: "Let us go for a hunt." + +They went away alone. Beddou added: "I will shave you." + +He shaved him, and when he came to the throat he killed him and buried his +head. A pomegranate-tree sprang up at this place. One day Beddou found a +fruit, which he took to the King. When he arrived he felt that it was +heavy. It was a head. The King asked him: + +"What is that?" + +"A pomegranate." + +"We know what you have been doing," said the King, and had his head cut +off. My story is finished. + + + * * * * * + + +THE LANGUAGE OF THE BEASTS + +Once upon a time there was a man who had much goods. One day he went to +market. There came a greyhound, which ate some meat. The butcher gave it a +blow, which made it yelp. Seeing this, the heart of the man was touched +with compassion. He bought of the butcher half a piece of meat and flung it +to the greyhound. The dog took it and went away. It was the son of a king +of the nether world. + +Fortune changed with the man. He lost all his possessions, and began to +wash for people. One day, he had gone to wash something, he stretched it on +the sand to dry. A jerboa appeared with a ring in its ear. The man ran +after it, killed it, hid the ring, made a fire, cooked the jerboa and ate +it. A woman came out of the earth, seized him, and demanded, "Haven't you +seen my son, with an ear-ring?" + +"I haven't seen anybody," he answered; "but I saw a jerboa which had a ring +in its ear." + +"It is my son." She drew him under the earth and told him: "You have eaten +my son, you have separated me from him. Now I will separate you from your +children, and you shall work in the place of my son." He who was changed +into a greyhound saw this man that day, and said to him: "It is you who +bought some meat for a greyhound and threw it to him?" + +"It is I." + +"I am that greyhound. Who brought you here?" + +"A woman," answered the man, and he recounted all his adventure. + +"Go and make a complaint to the King," answered the other. "I am his son. +I'll tell him: 'This man did me a good service,' When he asks you to go to +the treasure and take as much money as you wish, answer him: 'I don't want +any. I only want you to spit a benediction into my mouth,' If he asks you, +'Who told you that?' answer, 'Nobody.'" + +The man went and found the King and complained of the woman. The King +called her and asked her: "Why have you taken this man captive?" + +"He ate my son." + +"Why was your son metamorphosed into a jerboa? When men see one of those +they kill him and eat him." Then addressing the man: "Give her back the +ear-ring." He gave it to her. + +"Go," said the King, "take this man to the place from which you brought +him." + +The son of the King then said to his father: "This man did me a favor; you +ought to reward him." + +The King said to him: "Go to the treasure, take as much money as you can." + +"I don't want money," he answered; "I want you to spit into my mouth a +benediction." + +"Who told you that?" + +"Nobody." + +"You will not be able to bear it." + +"I will be able." + +"When I have spat into your mouth, you will understand the language of +beasts and birds; you will know what they say when they speak; but if you +reveal it to the people you will die." + +"I will not reveal it." So the King spat into his mouth and sent him away, +saying to the woman, "Go and take him back where you found him." She +departed, and took him back there. + +He mounted his ass and came back to his house. He arranged the load and +took back to the people the linen he had washed. Then he remounted the +beast to go and seek some earth. He was going to dig when he heard a crow +say in the air: + +"Dig beneath; you will sing when God has made you rich." + +He understood what the crow said, dug beneath, and found a treasure. He +filled a basket with it. On the top he put a little earth and went home, +but often returned to the spot. On one of these occasions his ass met a +mule, which said: + +"Are you working still?" + +The ass replied: "My master has found a treasure and he is taking it away." + +The mule answered: "When you are in a crowd balk and throw the basket to +the ground. People will see it, all will be discovered, and your master +will leave you in peace." + +The man had heard every word of this. He filled his basket with earth only. +When they arrived at a crowd of people the ass kicked and threw the load to +the ground. Her master beat her till she had enough. He applied himself to +gathering the treasure, and became a rich merchant. + +He had at home some chickens and a dog. One day he went into the granary, +and a hen followed him and ate the grain. A cock said to her: + +"Bring me a little." + +She answered, "Eat for yourself." + +The master began to laugh. His wife asked him: + +"What are you laughing at?" + +"Nothing." + +"You are laughing at me." + +"Not at all." + +"You must tell me what you are laughing at." + +"If I tell you I shall die." + +"You shall tell me, and you shall die." + +"To-night." He brought out some grain and said to his wife, "Give alms." He +invited the people, bade them to eat, and when they had gone he brought +food to the dog, but he would not eat. The neighbor's dog came, as it did +every day, to eat with his dog. To-day it found the food intact. + +"Come and eat," it said. + +"No," the dog answered. + +"Why not?" + +Then the dog told the other: "My master, hearing the chickens talk, began +to laugh. His wife asked him: 'Why are you laughing?' 'If I tell you, I +shall die.' 'Tell me and die,' That is why," continued the dog, "he has +given alms, for when he reveals his secret he will die, and I shall never +find anyone to act as he has." + +The other dog replied: "As he knows our language, let him take a stick and +give it to his wife until she has had enough. As he beats her let him say: +'This is what I was laughing at. This is what I was laughing at. This is +what I was laughing at,' until she says to him, 'Reveal to me nothing.'" + +The man heard the conversation of the dogs, and went and got a stick. When +his wife and he went to bed she said to him, "Tell me that now." + +Then he took the stick and beat her, saying: "This is what I was laughing +at. This is what I was laughing at. This is what I was laughing at," until +she cried out: + +"Don't tell it to me. Don't tell it to me. Don't tell it to me." + +He left her alone. When the dogs heard that, they rejoiced, ran out on the +terrace, played, and ate their food. From that day the wife never again +said to her husband, "Tell me that!" They lived happy ever after. If I have +omitted anything, may God forgive me for it. + + + * * * * * + + +THE APPLE OF YOUTH + +There once lived a king who had five daughters and no sons. They grew up. +He wanted them to marry, but they would not have any of the young men of +the city. A youth came from a far country and stood under the castle, +beneath the window of the youngest daughter. She saw him, and told her +father she would marry him. + +"Bring him in," said the King. + +"He will come to-morrow." + +"God be praised," said the King, "that you are pleased with us." + +The young man answered, "Give me your daughter for a wife." + +"Advise me," said the King. + +The stranger said, "Go and wait till to-morrow." + +The next day the young man said to the King: "Make all the inhabitants of +the city come out. You will stand with the clerks at the entrance to the +gate. Dress your daughters and let them choose their husbands themselves." + +The people began to come out. The eldest daughter struck one of them on the +chest with an apple, and they said: "That daughter has chosen a husband. +Bravo!" Each one of the daughters thus selected a husband, and the youngest +kept hers. A little while afterward, the King received a visit from one of +his sons-in-law, who said to him, "What do you want us to give you?" + +"I'll see what my daughters want," he answered. "Come back in six days." + +When they went to see their wives the King said to them, "I will ask of you +a thing about which they have spoken to me." + +"What is it? We are anxious to know." + +"It is an apple, the odor of which gives to the one who breathes it youth, +no matter what his age may be." + +"It is difficult," they answered. "We know not where it can be found." + +"If you do not bring it to me, you cannot marry my daughter." + +They kept silent, and then consulted with each other. The youngest said to +them, "Seek the means to satisfy the King." + +"Give us your advice----" + +"Father-in-law, to-morrow we shall bring you the apple." His +brothers-in-law added: "Go out. To-morrow we will meet you outside the +city." + +The next day they all five met together. Four of them said to the other, +"Advise us or we will kill you." + +"Cut off your fingers," he said. + +The first one began, and the three others did the same. The youngest one +took them and put them into his game-bag, and then he added, "Wait near the +city till I come back." + +He went out into the desert and came to the city of the ogress. He entered, +and found her ready to grind some wheat. He said to the ogress, "Show me +the apple whose color gives eternal youth to the old man who smells it." + +"You are in the family of ogres," she said. "Cut a hair from the horse of +their King. When you go into the garden cast this hair into the fire. You +will find a tree, from which you must pick five fruits. When plucking them +do not speak a word, and keep silence on your return. It is the smallest +fruit that possesses the magic power." + +He took the apple and went back to the city, where he found his companions. +He concealed in his breast the wonderful fruit, and gave the others to his +brothers-in-law, one to each. They entered the palace of the King, who was +overjoyed to see them, gave them seats, and asked them, "Have you brought +it or not?" + +"We have brought it," they answered. + +He said to the eldest, "Give me your apple first." + +He took a mirror in his left hand, and the fruit in the right hand, bent +down, and inhaled the odor of the apple, but without results. He threw it +down upon the ground. The others gave him their apples, with no more +success. + +"You have deceived me," he said to them. "The apples do not produce the +effect that I sought." + +Addressing, then, the stranger, he said, "Give me your apple." + +The other son-in-law replied: "I am not of this country. I will not give +you my fruit." + +"Give it to me to look at," said the King. The young man gave it to him, +saying, "Take a mirror in your right hand and the apple in your left hand." + +The King put the apple to his nose, and, looking at his beard, saw that it +became black. His teeth became white. He grew young again. "You are my +son," he said to the young man. And he made a proclamation to his subjects, +"When I am dead he shall succeed me on the throne." His son-in-law stayed +some time with him, and after the death of the King he reigned in his place +and did not marry the other daughters of the King to his companions. + + + +POPULAR TALES OF THE KABYLES + +[_Translated by J. Rivière and Chauncey C. Starkweather_] + + + +ALI AND OU ALI + + +Ali and Ou Ali were two friends. One day they met at the market. One of +them bore ashes and the other carried dust. The first one had covered his +goods with a little flour. The other had concealed his merchandise under +some black figs. "Come, I will sell you some flour," said Ali. + +"Come, I will sell you some black figs," answered Ou Ali. + +Each regained his own horse. Ali, who thought he was carrying flour, found, +on opening his sack, that it was only ashes. Ou Ali, who thought he was +bearing black figs, found on opening his sack that it was nothing but dust. +Another day they again greeted each other in the market. Ali smiled. Ou Ali +smiled, and said to his friend: + +"For the love of God, what is your name?" + +"Ali; and yours?" + +"Ou Ali." + +Another time they were walking together, and said to each other: + +"Let us go and steal." + +One of them stole a mule and the other stole a rug. They passed the night +in the forest. Now, as the snow was falling, Ali said to Ou Ali: + +"Give me a little of your rug to cover me." + +Ou Ali refused. "You remember," he added, "that I asked you to put my rug +on your mule, and you would not do it." An instant afterward Ali cut off a +piece of the rug, for he was dying of cold. Ou Ali got up and cut the lips +of the mule. The next morning, when they awaked, Ou Ali said to Ali: + +"O my dear friend, your mule is grinning." + +"O my dear friend," replied Ali, "the rats have gnawed your rug." + +And they separated. Some time afterward they met anew. Ali said to Ou Ali: + +"Let us go and steal." + +They saw a peasant, who was working. One of them went to the brook to wash +his cloak there, and found it dry. He laid the blade of his sabre so that +it would reflect the rays of the sun, and began to beat his cloak with his +hands as if to wash it. The laborer came to the brook also, and found the +man who was washing his cloak without water. + +"May God exterminate you," said he, "who wash without water." + +"May God exterminate you," answered the washer, "who work without a single +ox." + +The other robber watched the laborer, and had already stolen one of his +oxen. The laborer went back to his plough, and said to the washer, "Keep +this ox for me while I go and hunt for the other." As soon as he was out of +sight the robber took away the ox left in his charge. The laborer returned, +and seizing the goad by one end he gave a great blow on the plough-handle, +crying: + +"Break, now. It matters little." + +The robbers met in a wood and killed the oxen. As they lacked salt, they +went to purchase it. They salted the meat, roasted it, and ate it. Ali +discovered a spring. Ou Ali not being able to find water, was dying of +thirst. + +"Show me your spring," he said to Ali, "and I will drink." + +"Eat some salt, my dear friend," answered Ali. What could he do? Some days +afterward Ou Ali put ashes on the shoes of Ali. The next day he followed +the traces of the ashes, found the spring, and discovered thus the water +that his friend was drinking. He took the skin of one of the oxen and +carried it to the fountain. He planted two sticks above the water, hung the +skin on the sticks, and placed the horns of the ox opposite the road. +During the night his friend went to the spring. At the sight of the skin +thus stretched out, fear seized him, and he fled. + +"I am thirsty," said Ou Ali. + +"Eat some salt, my dear friend," answered Ali, "for salt removes thirst." + +Ali retired, and, after having eaten, ran to examine the skin that he had +stretched out. Ou AH ate the salt, and was dying of thirst. + +"For the love of God," he said finally, "show me where you drink." + +Ali was avenged. "Come, Jew-face, and I will show you the water." He made +him drink at the spring, and said to him: "See what you were afraid of." +The meat being finished, they started away. Ou Ali went to the house of +Ali, and said to him: + +"Come, we will marry you to the daughter of an old woman." + +Now, the old woman had a herd of oxen. She said to Ali: "Take this drove to +the fields and mount one of the animals." Ali mounted one of the oxen. He +fell to the ground; the oxen began to run and trample on him. Ou Ali, who +was at the house, said to the old woman: + +"O my old woman, give me your daughter in marriage." + +She called her daughter. "Take a club," she said to her, "and we will give +it to him until he cries for mercy." + +The daughter brought a club and gave Ou AH a good beating. Ali, who was +watching the herd, came at nightfall and met his friend. + +"Did the old woman accept you?" he asked him. + +"She accepted me," answered Ali. "And is the herd easy to watch?" + +"From morning till night I have nothing to do but to repose. Take my place +to-morrow, and mount one of the oxen." + +The next day Ou Ali said to the old woman, "To-day I will take care of the +herd." And, on starting, he recommended Ali to ask the old woman for her +daughter's hand. + +"It is well," answered Ali. Ou Ali arrived in the fields; one of the oxen +seized him with his horns and tossed him into the air. All the others did +the same thing. He regained the horse half dead. Ali, who had remained at +the house, asked the old woman for her daughter's hand. "You ask me again?" +said she. She took a club and gave it to him till he had had enough. Ou Ali +said to Ali: "You have played me a trick." Ali answered him: "Without doubt +they gave me the stick so hard that I did not hear the last blow." + +"It is well, my dear friend. Ali owes nothing to Ou Ali." + +They went away. The old woman possessed a treasure. Ou Ali therefore said +to Ali: "I will put you in a basket, for you know that we saw that treasure +in a hole." They returned to the old woman's house. Ali goes down into the +hole, takes the treasure, and puts it into the basket. Ou Ali draws up the +basket, takes it, abandons his friend, now a prisoner, and runs to hide the +treasure in the forest. Ali was in trouble, for he knew not how to get out. +What could he do? He climbed up the sides of the hole. When he found +himself in the house, he opened the door and fled. Arriving at the edge of +the forest he began to bleat. Ou Ali, thinking it was a ewe, ran up. It was +his friend. + +"O my dear," cried Ali, "I have found you at last." + +"God be praised. Now, let us carry our treasure." + +They started on the way. Ou Ali, who had a sister, said to Ali: "Let us go +to my sister's house." They arrived at nightfall. She received them with +joy. Her brother said to her: + +"Prepare some pancakes and some eggs for us." + +She prepared the pancakes and the eggs and served them with the food. + +"O my sister," cried Ou Ali, "my friend does not like eggs; bring us some +water." She went to get the water. As soon as she had gone, Ali took an egg +and put it into his mouth. When the woman returned, he made such efforts to +give it up that he was all out of breath. The repast was finished, and Ali +had not eaten anything. Ou Ali said to his sister: "O my sister, my friend +is ill; bring me a skewer." She brought him a skewer, which he put into the +fire. When the skewer was red with the heat, Ou Ali seized it and applied +it to the cheek of Ali. The latter uttered a cry, and rejected the egg. +"Truly," said the woman, "you do not like eggs." + +The two friends started and arrived at a village. + +"Let us go to my sister's house," said Ali to his friend. She received them +with open arms. + +Ali said to her: "O my sister, prepare a good stew for us." + +They placed themselves at the table at nightfall, and she served them with +food. + +"O my sister," cried Ali, "my friend does not like stew." + +Ali ate alone. When he was satisfied, the two friends started, without +forgetting the treasure. On the way Ali said to Ou Ali: "Give it to me +to-day and I will deposit it in my house." He took it and gave it to his +wife. "Bury me," he said to her. "And if Ou Ali comes tell him that his old +friend is dead, and receive him with tears." Ou Ali arrived, and asked the +woman in tears to see the tomb of his dead friend. He took an ox-horn and +began to dig in the earth that covered the body. + +"Behind! behind!" cried the pretended dead man. + +"Get up, there, you liar," answered Ali. + +They went away together. "Give me the treasure," asked Ou Ali; "to-day I +will take it to my house." He took it to his house, and said to his wife: +"Take this treasure. I am going to stretch myself out as if I were dead. +When Ali comes receive him weeping, and say to him: 'Your friend is dead. +He is stretched out in the bedroom.'" + +Ali went and said to the woman: "Get me some boiling water, for your +husband told me to wash him when he should die." When the water was ready +the woman brought it. Ali seized the kettle and poured it on the stomach of +Ou Ali, who sprang up with a bound. Thus he got even for the trick of his +friend. The two friends divided the treasure then, and Ali went home. + + + * * * * * + + +THE INFIDEL JEW + +A man went on a journey. At the moment of departure he placed with a Jew, +his friend, a jar filled with gold. He covered the gold with butter and +said to the Jew: "I trust to your care this jar of butter, as I am going on +a journey." On his return he hastened to the house of his friend. "Give me +the jar of butter that I left with you," he said. The Jew gave it to him. +But the poor traveller found nothing but butter, for the Jew had taken the +gold. Nevertheless, he did not tell anybody of the misfortune that had +happened to him. But his countenance bore traces of a secret sorrow. His +brother perceived it, and said to him: + +"What is the matter with you?" + +"I intrusted a jar filled with gold to a Jew," he answered, "and he only +returned a jar of butter to me. I don't know what to do to recover my +property." + +His brother replied: "The thing is easy. Prepare a feast and invite your +friend the Jew." + +The next day the traveller prepared a feast and invited the Jew. During +this time the brother of the traveller ran to a neighboring mountain, where +he captured a monkey. During the night he entered the house of the Jew and +found a child in the cradle. He took the child away and put the monkey in +its place. When day had come the mother perceived the monkey tied in the +cradle. She called her husband with loud cries, and said to him: + +"See how God has punished us for having stolen your friend's gold. Our +child is changed into a monkey. Give back the stolen property." + +They immediately had the traveller summoned, and returned his gold to him. +The next night the child was taken back to the cradle and the monkey was +set free. As I can go no further, may God exterminate the jackal and pardon +all our sins! + + + * * * * * + + +THE SHEIK'S HEAD + + +A man died, leaving a son. The child spent day and night with his mother. +The sheik chanted a prayer every morning and waked him up. The child went +to find the sheik, and said: + +"Ali Sheik, do not sing so loudly, you wake us up every morning--my mother +and me." + +But the sheik kept on singing. The child went to the mosque armed with a +club. At the moment when the sheik bowed to pray he struck him a blow and +killed him. He ran to his mother, and said to her: + +"I have killed that sheik; come, let us bury him." + +They cut off his head and buried his body. The child went to the +Thadjeinath, where the men of the village were assembled. In his absence +his mother killed a sheep. She took the head and buried it in place of the +sheik's head. The child arrived at the Thadjeinath and said to those +present: + +"I have killed the sheik who waked us up every morning." + +"It is a lie," said they. + +"Come to my mother's house and we will show you where we buried his head." +They went to the house, and the mother said to them: + +"Ali Sidi, this child is mad. It is a sheep that we have killed. Come and +see where we buried its head." They went to the spot, dug, and found a +sheep's head. + + + * * * * * + + +THE WAGTAIL AND THE JACKAL + +At the time when all the animals spoke, a wagtail laid her eggs on the +ground. The little ones grew up. A jackal and a fox came to them. The +jackal said to the fox: + +"Swear to me that the wagtail owes me a pound of butter." + +The fox swore to it. The bird began to weep. A greyhound came to her and +asked her what was the matter. She answered him: + +"The fox has calumniated me." + +"Well," said the hound, "put me in this sack of skin." + +She put him in the sack. "Tie up the top well," said the hound. When the +jackal returned she said to him: + +"Come and measure out the butter." + +The jackal advanced and unfastened the sack. He saw the hound, who +stretched out his paws and said to the fox: + +"I am ill; come and measure, fox." + +The fox approached. The hound seized him. The jackal said, "Remember your +false testimony." + + + * * * * * + + +THE FLUTE-PLAYER + +A servant tended the sheep of his master. Arrived in the meadow, he played +the flute. The sheep heard him, and would not browse. One day the master +perceived that his sheep did not graze. He followed the servant to the +fields and hid himself in the bush. The shepherd took his flute and began +to play. His master began to dance so that the bushes brought blood upon +him. He returned home. + +"Who scratched you so?" asked his wife. + +"The servant played on the flute, and I began to dance." + +"That is a lie," said she; "people don't dance against their will." + +"Well," answered the husband, "tie me to this post and make the servant +play." + +She tied him to the post and the servant took the flute. Our man began to +dance. He struck his head against a nail in the post and died. The son of +the dead man said to the servant: + +"Pay me for the loss of my father." + +They went before the cadi. On the way they met a laborer, who asked them +where they were going. + +"Before the cadi." + +"Could you tell me why?" + +"This man killed my father," answered the son of the dead man. + +"It was not I that killed him," answered the shepherd; "I played on the +flute, he danced and died." + +"That is a lie!" cried the laborer. "I will not dance against my will. Take +your flute and we shall see if I dance." + +The shepherd took his flute. He began to play, and the laborer started +dancing with such activity that his oxen left to themselves fell into the +ravine. + +"Pay me for my oxen," he cried to the shepherd. + +"Come before the cadi," he answered. They presented themselves before the +cadi, who received them on the second floor of the house. They all sat +down. Then the cadi said to the servant: + +"Take your flute and play before me. I will see how you play." The servant +took his flute and all began to dance. The cadi danced with the others, and +they all fell down to the ground floor and were killed. The servant stayed +in the house of the cadi and inherited the property of all. + + + * * * * * + + +THE CHILD + + +A child had a thorn in his foot. He went to an old woman and said to her: + +"Take out this thorn for me." + +The old woman took out the thorn and threw it away. + +"Give me my thorn," and he began to cry. + +"Take an egg." + +He went to another old woman, "Hide me this egg." + +"Put it in the hen's nest." + +In the night he took his egg and ate it. The next day he said to the old +woman: "Give me my egg." + +"Take the hen," she answered. + +He went to another old woman, "Hide my hen for me." + +"Put her on the stake to which I tie my he-goat." + +At night he took away the hen. The next morning he demanded his hen. + +"Look for her where you hid her." + +"Give me my hen." + +"Take the he-goat." + +He went to another old woman, "O old woman, hide this goat for me." + +"Tie him to the sheep's crib." + +During the night he took away the buck. The next day he claimed the buck. + +"Take the sheep." + +He went to another old woman, "O old woman, keep my sheep for me." + +"Tie him to the foot of the calf." + +During the night he took away the sheep. Next morning he demanded his +sheep. + +"Take the calf." + +He went to another old woman, "Keep my calf for me." + +"Tie him to the cow's manger." + +In the night he took away the calf. The next morning he asked for his calf. + +"Take the cow." + +He went to another old woman, "Keep my cow for me." + +"Tie her to the foot of the old woman's bed." + +In the night he took away the cow. The next morning he demanded his cow. + +"Take the old woman." + +He went to another old woman and left the old dame, whom he killed during +the night. The next morning he demanded his old woman. + +"There she is by the young girl." + +He found her dead. + +"Give me my old woman." + +"Take the young girl." + +He said to her: "From the thorn to the egg, from the egg to the hen, from +the hen to the buck, from the buck to the sheep, from the sheep to the +calf, from the calf to the cow, from the cow to the old woman, from the old +woman to the young girl, and now come and marry me." + + + * * * * * + + +THE MONKEY AND THE FISHERMAN + + +A fisherman went one day to the sea to catch some fish. In the evening he +sold his catch, and bought a little loaf of bread, on which he made his +supper. The next day he returned to his fishing and found a chest. He took +it to his house and opened it. Out jumped a monkey and said to him: "Bad +luck to you. I am not the only one to conquer. You may bewail your sad +lot." + +"My lot is unbearable," he answered. The next day he returned to his +fishing. The monkey climbed to the roof of the house and sat there. A +moment afterward he cut all the roses of the garden. The daughter of the +King saw him, and said to him: + +"O Sidi Mahomet, what are you doing there? Come here, I need you." + +He took a rose and approached. + +"Where do you live?" asked the princess. + +"With the son of the Sultan of India," answered the monkey. + +"Tell him to buy me." + +"I will tell him, provided he will accept." + +The next day he stayed in the house and tore his face. The princess called +him again. The monkey brought her a rose. + +"Who put you in that condition?" she cried. + +"It was the son of the Sultan of India," answered the monkey. "When I told +him to buy you he gave me a blow." + +The princess gave him 100 ecus, and he went away. The next day he scratched +his face worse and climbed on the house. The daughter of the King called +him: + +"Sidi Mahomet!" + +"Well?" + +"Come here. What did you say to him?" + +"I told him to buy you, and he gave me another blow." + +"Since this is so, come and find me to-morrow." + +The next day the monkey took the fisherman to a shop and bought him some +clothes. He took him to the baths and made him bathe. Then he went along +the road and cried: + +"Flee, flee, here is the son of the Sultan of India!" + +They went into a coffee-house, and Si Mahomet ordered two coffees. They +drank their coffees, gave an ecu to the proprietor, and went out. While +going toward the palace Si Mahomet said to-the fisherman: + +"Here we are at the house of your father-in-law. When he serves us to eat, +eat little. When he offers us coffee, drink only a little of it. You will +find silken rugs stretched on the floor; keep on your sandals." + +When they arrived the fisherman took off his sandals. The King offered them +something to eat; the fisherman ate a great deal. He offered them some +coffee, and the fisherman did not leave a drop of it. They went out. When +they were outside the palace Si Mahomet said to the fisherman: + +"Jew of a fisherman, you are lucky that I do not scratch your face." + +They returned to their house. Si Mahomet climbed upon the roof. The +daughter of the King perceived him, and said: + +"Come here." + +The monkey approached. + +"Truly you have lied. Why did you tell me that the son of the Sultan of +India was a distinguished person?" + +"Is he a worthless fellow?" + +"We furnished the room with silken rugs, he took off his sandals. We gave +him food, and he ate like a servant. We offered him some coffee, and he +licked his fingers." + +The monkey answered: "We had just come out of the coffeehouse. He had taken +too much wine and was drunken, and not master of himself. That is why he +ate so much." + +"Well," replied the princess, "come to the palace again tomorrow, but do +not take him to the coffee-house first." + +The next day they set out. On the way the monkey said to the fisherman: +"Jew of a fisherman, if to-day you take off your sandals or eat too much or +drink all your coffee, look out for yourself. Drink a little only, or I +will scratch your eyes out." + +They arrived at the palace. The fisherman walked on the silken rugs with +his sandals. They gave him something to eat, and he ate little. They +brought him some coffee, and he hardly tasted it. The King gave him his +daughter. Si Mahomet said to the King: + +"The son of the Sultan of India has quarrelled with his father, so he only +brought one chest of silver." + +In the evening the monkey and the fisherman went out for a walk. The +fisherman said to Si Mahomet: + +"Is it here that we are going to find the son of the Sultan of India?" + +"I can show him to you easily," answered the monkey. "Tomorrow I will find +you seated. I will approach, weeping, with a paper in my hands; I will give +you the paper, and you must read it and burst into tears. Your +father-in-law will ask you why you weep so. Answer him: 'My father is dead. +Here is the letter I have just received. If you have finally determined to +give me your daughter, I will take her away and we will go to pay the last +duties to my father.'" + +"Take her," said the King. He gave him an escort of horsemen and soldiers. +Arriving at the place, Si Mahomet said to the soldiers: + +"You may return to the palace, for our country is far from here." + +The escort went back to the palace, and the travellers continued on their +journey. Soon Si Mahomet said to the fisherman: "Stay here till I go and +look at the country of your father." He started, and arrived at the gates +of a city he found closed he mounted upon the ramparts. An ogress perceived +him, "I salute you, Si Mahomet." + +"May God curse you, sorceress! Come, I am going to your house." + +"What do you want of me, Si Mahomet?" + +"They are seeking to kill you." + +"Where can I hide?" He put her in the powder-house of the city, shut the +door on her, and set the powder on fire. The ogress died. He came back to +the fisherman. + +"Forward," he said. They entered the city and established themselves there. +One day Si Mahomet fell ill and died The two spouses put him in a coffin +lined with silk and buried him. My story is told. + + + * * * * * + + +THE TWO FRIENDS + +Sidi El-Marouf and Sidi Abd-el-Tadu were travelling in company. Toward +evening they separated to find a resting-place. Sidi Abd-el-Tadu said to +his friend: + +"Let us say a prayer, that God may preserve us from the evil which we have +never committed." + +Sidi El-Marouf answered, "Yes, may God preserve us from the evil that we +have not done!" + +They went toward the houses, each his own way. Sidi El-Marouf presented +himself at a door. "Can you entertain a traveller?" + +"You are welcome," said a woman to him. "Enter, you may remain for the +night." + +Night came. He took his supper. The woman spread a mat on the floor and he +went to sleep. The woman and her husband slept also. When all was quiet, +the woman got up, took a knife, and killed her husband. The next day at +dawn she began to cry: + +"He has killed my husband!" + +The whole village ran up to the house and seized the stranger. They bound +him, and everyone brought wood to burn the guilty man. + +Sidi Abd-el-Tadu came also, and saw his friend in tears. "What have you +done?" he asked. + +"I have done no evil," answered Sidi El-Marouf. + +"Did I not tell you yesterday," said Sidi Abd-el-Tadu, "that we would say +the prayer that God should preserve us from the evil we had never +committed? And now you will be burned for a crime of which you are +innocent!" + +Sidi El-Marouf answered him, "Bring the woman here." + +"Did he really kill your husband?" asked Sidi Abd-el-Tadu. + +"He killed him," she replied. + +There was a bird on a tree nearby. Sidi Abd-el-Tadu asked the bird. The +bird answered: + +"It was the woman who killed her husband. Feel in her hair and you will +find the knife she used." + +They searched her hair and found the knife still covered with blood, which +gave evidence of the crime. The truth was known and innocence was defended. +God avenged the injustice. + + + * * * * * + + +THE ROBBER AND THE TWO PILGRIMS + + +Two robbers spent their time in robbing. One of them got married, and the +other continued his trade. They were a long time without seeing each other. +Finally the one who was not married went to visit his friend, and said to +him: + +"If your wife has a daughter, you must give her to me." + +"I will give her to you seven days after her birth." + +The daughter was born, and the robber took her to bring up in the country. +He built a house, bought flocks, and tended them himself. One day some +pilgrims came to the house. He killed a cow for them and entertained them. +The next day he accompanied them on their pilgrimage. The pilgrims said to +him: + +"If you come with us, two birds will remain with your wife." + +The woman stayed in the country. One day the son of the Sultan came that +way to hunt. One of the birds saw him and said to the woman, "Don't open +the door." The prince heard the bird speak, and returned to the palace +without saying a word. An old woman was called to cast spells over him, and +said to the King: + +"He could not see a woman he has never seen." + +The prince spoke and said to her: "If you will come with me, I will bring +her here." They arrived. + +The old dame called the young woman, "Come out, that we may see you." + +She said to the bird, "I am going to open the door." + +The bird answered: "If you open the door you will meet the same fate as Si +El-Ahcen. He was reading with many others in the mosque. One day he found +an amulet. His betrothed went no longer to school, and as she was old +enough he married her. Some days after he said to his father, 'Watch over +my wife.' 'Fear nothing,' answered the father. + +"He started, and came back. 'Watch over my wife,' he said to his father +again. 'Fear nothing,' repeated his father. The latter went to the market. +On his return he said to his daughter-in-law, 'There were very beautiful +women in the market,' 'I surpass them all in beauty,' said the woman; 'take +me to the market.' + +"A man offered 1,000 francs for her. The father-in-law refused, and said to +her: 'Sit down on the mat. The one that covers you with silver may have +you,' A man advanced. 'If you want to marry her,' said her father-in-law, +'cover her with silver, and she will be your wife.' + +"Soon Si El-Ahcen returned from his journey and asked if his wife were +still living. 'Your wife is dead,' said his father; 'she fell from her +mule,' Si El-Ahcen threw himself on the ground. They tried to lift him up. +It was useless trouble. He remained stretched on the earth. + +"One day a merchant came to the village and said to him, 'The Sultan +married your wife,' She had said to the merchant, 'The day that you leave I +will give you a message,' She wrote a letter to her husband, and promised +the bearer a flock of sheep if he would deliver it. + +"Si El-Ahcen received the letter, read it, was cured, ran to the house, and +said to his father: 'My wife has married again in my absence; she is not +dead. I brought home much money. I will take it again.' + +"He took his money and went to the city where his wife lived. He stopped at +the gates. To the first passer-by he gave five francs, to the second five +more. + +"'What do you want, O stranger?' they asked. 'If you want to see the Sultan +we will take you to him,' They presented him to the Sultan. + +"'Render justice to this man,' 'What does he want?' 'My lord,' answered +Sidi El-Ahcen, 'the woman you married is my wife,' 'Kill him!' cried the +Sultan. 'No,' said the witnesses, 'let him have justice,' + +"'Let him tell me if she carries an object,' Si El-Ahcen answered: 'This +woman was betrothed to me before her birth. An amulet is hidden in her +hair,' He took away his wife, returned to the village, and gave a feast. + +"If you open the door," continued the bird, "you will have the same fate as +Fatima-ou-Lmelh. Hamed-ou-Lmelh married her. Fatima said to her +father-in-law, 'Take me to my uncle's house,' Arriving there she married +another husband. Hamed-ou-Lmelh was told of this, and ran to find her. At +the moment he arrived he found the wedding over and the bride about to +depart for the house of her new husband. Then Hamed burst into the room and +cast himself out of the window. Fatima did the same, and they were both +killed. + +"The intended father-in-law and his family returned to their house, and +were asked the cause of the misfortune. 'The woman was the cause,' they +answered. + +"Nevertheless, the father of Hamed-ou-Lmelh went to the parents of Fatima +and said: 'Pay us for the loss of our son. Pay us for the loss of Fatima.' + +"They could not agree, and went before the justice. Passing by the village +where the two spouses had died they met an old man, and said, 'Settle our +dispute,' 'I cannot,' answered the old man. Farther on they met a sheep, +which was butting a rock. 'Settle our dispute,' they said to the sheep. 'I +cannot,' answered the sheep. Farther on they met a serpent. 'Settle our +dispute,' they said to him. 'I cannot,' answered the serpent. They met a +river. 'Settle our dispute,' they said to it. 'I cannot,' answered the +river. They met a jackal. 'Settle our dispute,' they said to him. 'Go to +the village where your children died,' answered the jackal. They went back +to the village, and applied to the Sultan, who had them all killed." + +The bird stopped speaking, the pilgrims returned. The old woman saw them +and fled. The robber prepared a feast for the pilgrims. + + + * * * * * + + +THE LITTLE CHILD + +"Come, little child, eat your dinner." + +"I won't eat it." + +"Come, stick, beat the child." + +"I won't beat him." + +"Come, fire, burn the stick." + +"I won't burn it." + +"Come, water, quench the fire." + +"I won't quench it." + +"Come, ox, drink the water." + +"I won't drink it." + +"Come, knife, kill the ox." + +"I won't kill him." + +"Come, blacksmith, break the knife." + +"I won't break it." + +"Come, strap, bind the blacksmith." + +"I won't bind him." + +"Come, rat, gnaw the strap." + +"I won't gnaw it." + +"Come, cat, eat the rat." + +"Bring it here." + +"Why eat me?" said the rat; "bring the strap and I'll gnaw it." + +"Why gnaw me?" said the strap; "bring the blacksmith and I'll bind him." + +"Why bind me?" said the blacksmith; "bring the knife and I'll break it." + +"Why break me?" said the knife; "bring the ox and I'll kill him." + +"Why kill me?" said the ox; "bring the water and I'll drink it." + +"Why drink me?" said the water; "bring the fire and I'll quench it." + +"Why quench me?" said the fire; "bring the stick and I'll burn it." + +"Why burn me?" said the stick; "bring the child and I'll strike him." + +"Why strike me?" said the child; "bring me my dinner and I'll eat it." + + + * * * * * + + +THE WREN + +A wren had built its nest on the side of a road. When the eggs were +hatched, a camel passed that way. The little wrens saw it, and said to +their father when he returned from the fields: + +"O papa, a gigantic animal passed by." + +The wren stretched out his foot. "As big as this, my children?" + +"O papa, much bigger." + +He stretched out his foot and his wing. "As big as this?" + +"O papa, much bigger." + +Finally he stretched out fully his feet and legs. "As big as this, then?" + +"Much bigger." + +"That is a lie; there is no animal bigger than I am." + +"Well, wait," said the little ones, "and you will see." The camel came back +while browsing the grass of the roadside. The wren stretched himself out +near the nest. The camel seized the bird, which passed through its teeth +safe and sound. + +"Truly," he said to them, "the camel is a gigantic animal, but I am not +ashamed of myself." + +On the earth it generally happens that the vain are as if they did not +exist. But sooner or later a rock falls and crushes them. + + + * * * * * + + +THE MULE, THE JACKAL, AND THE LION + +The mule, the jackal, and the lion went in company. "We will eat the one +whose race is bad," they said to each other. + +"Lion, who is your father?" + +"My father is a lion and my mother is a lioness." + +"And you, jackal, what is your father?" + +"My father is a jackal and my mother, too." + +"And you, mule, what is your father?" + +"My father is an ass, and my mother is a mare." + +"Your race is bad; we will eat you." + +He answered them: "I will consult an old man. If he says that my race is +bad, you may devour me." + +He went to a farrier, and said to him, "Shoe my hind feet, and make the +nails stick out well." + +He went back home. He called the camel and showed him his feet, saying: +"See what is written on this tablet." + +"The writing is difficult to decipher," answered the camel. "I do not +understand it, for I only know three words--_outini, ouzatini, +ouazakin_." He called a lion, and said to him: "I do not understand +these letters; I only know three words--_outini, ouzatini, ouazakin_" + +"Show it to me," said the lion. He approached. The mule struck him between +the eyes and stretched him out stiff. + +He who goes with a knave is betrayed by him. + + + * * * * * + + +THADHELLALA + + +A woman had seven daughters and no son. She went to the city, and there saw +a rich shop. A little farther on she perceived at the door of a house a +young girl of great beauty. She called her parents, and said: + +"I have my son to marry; let me have your daughter for him." + +They let her take the girl away. She came back to the shop and said to the +man in charge of it: + +"I will gladly give you my daughter; but go first and consult your father." + +The young man left a servant in his place and departed. Thadhellala (that +was her name) sent the servant to buy some bread in another part of the +city. Along came a caravan of mules. Thadhellala packed all the contents of +the shop on their backs and said to the muleteer: + +"I will go on ahead; my son will come in a moment. Wait for him--he will +pay you." + +She went off with the mules and the treasures which she had packed upon +them. The servant came back soon. + +"Where is your mother?" cried the muleteer; "hurry and, pay me." + +"You tell me where she is and I will make her give me back what she has +stolen." And they went before the justice. + +Thadhellala pursued her way, and met seven young students. She said to one +of them, "A hundred francs and I will marry you." The student gave them to +her. She made the same offer to the others, and each one took her word. + +Arriving at a fork in the road, the first one said, "I will take you," the +second one said, "I will take you," and so on to the last. + +Thadhellala answered: "You shall have a race as far as that ridge over +there, and the one that gets there first shall marry me." + +The young men started. Just then a horseman came passing by. "Lend me your +horse," she said to him. The horseman jumped off. Thadhellala mounted the +horse and said: + +"You see that ridge? I will rejoin you there." + +The scholars perceived the man. "Have you not seen a woman?" they asked +him. "She has stolen 700 francs from us." + +"Haven't you others seen her? She has stolen my horse?" + +They went to complain to the Sultan, who gave the command to arrest +Thadhellala. A man promised to seize her. He secured a comrade, and they +both pursued Thadhellala, who had taken flight. Nearly overtaken by the +man, she met a negro who pulled teeth, and said to him: + +"You see my son coming down there; pull out his teeth." When the other +passed the negro pulled out his teeth. The poor toothless one seized the +negro and led him before the Sultan to have him punished. The negro said to +the Sultan: "It was his mother that told me to pull them out for him." + +"Sidi," said the accuser, "I was pursuing Thadhellala." + +The Sultan then sent soldiers in pursuit of the woman, who seized her and +hung her up at the gates of the city. Seeing herself arrested, she sent a +messenger to her relatives. + +Then there came by a man who led a mule. Seeing her he said, "How has this +woman deserved to be hanged in this way?" + +"Take pity on me," said Thadhellala; "give me your mule and I will show you +a treasure." She sent him to a certain place where the pretended treasure +was supposed to be hidden. At this the brother-in-law of Thadhellala had +arrived. + +"Take away this mule," she said to him. The searcher for treasures dug in +the earth at many places and found nothing. He came back to Thadhellala and +demanded his mule. + +She began to weep and cry. The sentinel ran up, and Thadhellala brought +complaint against this man. She was released, and he was hanged in her +place. + +She fled to a far city, of which the Sultan had just then died. Now, +according to the custom of that country, they took as king the person who +happened to be at the gates of the city when the King died. Fate took +Thadhellala there at the right time. They conducted her to the palace, and +she was proclaimed Queen. + + + * * * * * + + +THE GOOD MAN AND THE BAD ONE + + +Two men, one good and the other bad, started out together to do business, +and took provisions with them. Soon the bad one said to the good one: "I am +hungry; give me some of your food." He gave him some, and they both ate. + +They went on again till they were hungry. "Give me some of your food," said +the bad one. He gave him some of it, and they ate. + +They went on until they were hungry. "Give me some of your food," said the +bad one. He gave him some, and they ate. + +They went on until they were hungry. The good man said to his companion: +"Give me some of your food." + +"Oh, no, my dear," said the bad one. + +"I beg you to give me some of your food," said the good one. + +"Let me pluck out one of your eyes," answered the bad one. He consented. +The bad one took his pincers and took out one of his eyes. + +They went on until they came to a certain place. Hunger pressed them. "Give +me some of your food," said the good man. + +"Let me pluck out your other eye," answered his companion. + +"O my dear," replied the good man, "leave it to me, I beg of you." + +"No!" responded the bad one; "no eye, no food." + +But finally he said, "Pluck it out." + +They proceeded until they came to a certain place. When hunger pressed them +anew the bad one abandoned his companion. + +A bird came passing by, and said to him: "Take a leaf of this tree and +apply it to your eyes." He took a leaf of the tree, applied it to his eyes, +and was healed. He arose, continued on his way, and arrived at a city where +he found the one who had plucked out his eyes. + +"Who cured you?" + +"A bird passed near me," said the good man. "He said to me, 'Take a leaf of +this tree.' I took it, applied it to my eyes, and was cured." + +The good man found the King of the city blind. + +"Give me back my sight and I will give you my daughter." + +He restored his sight to him, and the King gave him his daughter. The good +man took his wife to his house. Every morning he went to present his +respects to the King, and kissed his head. One day he fell ill. He met the +bad one, who said to him: + +"Eat an onion and you will be cured; but when you kiss the King's head, +turn your head aside or the King will notice your breath and will kill +you." + +After these words he ran to the King and said: "O King, your son-in-law +disdains you." + +"O my dear," answered the King, "my son-in-law does not disdain me." + +"Watch him," answered the bad one; "when he comes to kiss your head he will +turn away from you." + +The King remarked that his son-in-law did turn away on kissing his head. + +"Wait a moment," he said to him. Immediately he wrote a letter to the +Sultan, and gave it to his son-in-law, commanding him to carry it to the +Sultan. Going out of the house he met the bad one, who wanted to carry the +letter himself. The good man gave it to him. The Sultan read the letter, +and had the bad one's head cut off. The good man returned to the King. + +"What did he say?" asked the King. + +"Ah, Sidi, I met a man who wanted to carry the letter. I intrusted it to +him and he took it to the Sultan, who condemned him to death in the city." + + + * * * * * + + +THE CROW AND THE CHILD + + +A man had two wives. He was a rich merchant. One of them had a son whose +forehead was curved with a forelock. Her husband said to her: + +"Don't work any more, but only take care of the child. The other wife will +do all the work." + +One day he went to market. The childless wife said to the other, "Go, get +some water." + +"No," she answered, "our husband does not want me to work." + +"Go, get some water, I tell you." And the woman went to the fountain. On +the way she met a crow half dead with fatigue. A merchant who was passing +took it up and carried it away. He arrived before the house of the woman +who had gone to the fountain, and there found the second woman. + +"Give something to this crow," demanded the merchant. + +"Give it to me," she answered, "and I will make you rich." + +"What will you give me?" asked the merchant. + +"A child," replied the woman. + +The merchant refused, and said to her, "Where did you steal it?" + +"From whom did I steal it?" she cried. "It is my own son." + +"Bring him." + +She brought the child to him, and the merchant left her the crow and took +the boy to his home and soon became very, rich. The mother came back from +the fountain. The other woman said: + +"Where is your son? Listen, he is crying, that son of yours." + +"He is not crying," she answered. + +"You don't know how to amuse him. I'll go and take him." + +"Leave him alone," said the mother. "He is asleep." + +They ground some wheat, and the child did not appear to wake up. + +At this the husband returned from the market and said to the mother, "Why +don't you busy yourself looking after your son?" Then she arose to take +him, and found a crow in the cradle. The other woman cried: + +"This is the mother of a crow! Take it into the other house; sprinkle it +with hot water." She went to the other house and poured hot water on the +crow. + +Meanwhile, the child called the merchant his father and the merchant's wife +his mother. One day the merchant set off on a journey. His mother brought +some food to him in the room where he was confined. + +"My son," she said, "will you promise not to betray me?" + +"You are my mother," answered the child; "I will not betray you." + +"Only promise me." + +"I promise not to betray you." + +"Well, know that I am not your mother and my husband is not your father." + +The merchant came home from his journey and took the child some food, but +he would not eat it. + +"Why won't you eat?" asked the merchant. "Could your mother have been +here?" + +"No," answered the child, "she has not been here." + +The merchant went to his wife and said to her, "Could you have gone up to +the child's chamber?" + +The woman answered, "I did not go up to the room." + +The merchant carried food to the child, who said: "For the love of God, I +adjure you to tell me if you are my father and if your wife is my mother." + +The merchant answered: "My son, I am not your father and my wife is not +your mother." + +The child said to her, "Prepare us some food." + +When she had prepared the food the child mounted a horse and the merchant a +mule. They proceeded a long way, and arrived at the village of which the +real father of the child was the chief. They entered his house. They gave +food to the child, and said, "Eat." + +"I will not eat until the other woman comes up here." + +"Eat. She is a bad woman." + +"No, let her come up." They called her. The merchant ran to the child. + +"Why do you act thus toward her?" + +"Oh!" cried those present, "she had a child that was changed into a crow." + +"No doubt," said the merchant; "but the child had a mark." + +"Yes, he had one." + +"Well, if we find it, we shall recognize the child. Put out the lamp." They +put it out. The child threw off its hood. They lighted the lamp again. + +"Rejoice," cried the child, "I am your son!" + + + * * * * * + + +H'AB SLIMAN + + +A man had a boy and a girl. Their mother died and he took another wife. The +little boy stayed at school until evening. The school-master asked them: + +"What do your sisters do?" + +One answered, "She makes bread." + +A second, "She goes to fetch water." + +A third, "She prepares the _couscous_." + +When he questioned H'ab Sliman, the child played deaf, the master struck +him. One day his sister said to him: "What is the matter, O my brother? You +seem to be sad." + +"Our schoolmaster punishes us," answered the child. + +"And why does he punish you?" inquired the young girl. + +The child replied: "After we have studied until evening he asks each of us +what our sisters do. They answer him: she kneads bread, she goes to get +water. But when he questions me I have nothing to say, and he beats me." + +"Is it nothing but for that?" + +"That is all." + +"Well," added the young girl, "the next time he asks you, answer him: 'This +is what my sister does: When she laughs the sun shines; when she weeps it +rains; when she combs her hair, legs of mutton fall; when she goes from one +place to another, roses drop.'" + +The child gave that answer. + +"Truly," said the schoolmaster, "that is a rich match." A few days after he +bought her, and they made preparations for her departure for the house of +her husband. The stepmother of the young girl made her a little loaf of +salt bread. She ate it and asked some drink from her sister, the daughter +of her stepmother. + +"Let me pluck out one of your eyes," said the sister. + +"Pluck it out," said the promised bride, "for our people are already on the +way." + +The stepmother gave her to drink and plucked out one of her eyes. + +"A little more," she said. + +"Let me take out your other eye," answered the cruel woman. + +The young girl drank and let her pluck out the other eye. Scarcely had she +left the house than the stepmother thrust her out on the road. She dressed +her own daughter and put her in the place of the blind one. They arrive. + +"Comb yourself," they told her, and there fell dust. + +"Walk," and nothing happened. + +"Laugh," and her front teeth fell out. + +All cried, "Hang H'ab Sliman!" + +Meanwhile some crows came flying near the young blind girl, and one said to +her: "Some merchants are on the point of passing this way. Ask them for a +little wool, and I will restore your sight." + +The merchants came up and the blind girl asked them for a little wool, and +each one of them threw her a bit. The crow descended near her and restored +her sight. + +"Into what shall we change you?" they asked. + +"Change me into a pigeon," she answered. + +The crows stuck a needle into her head and she was changed into a pigeon. +She took her flight to the house of the schoolmaster and perched upon a +tree near by. The people went to sow wheat. + +"O master of the field," she said, "is H'ab Sliman yet hanged?" + +She began to weep, and the rain fell until the end of the day's work. + +One day the people of the village went to find a venerable old man and said +to him: + +"O old man, a bird is perched on one of our trees. When we go to work the +sky is covered with clouds and it rains. When the day's work is done the +sun shines." + +"Go," said the old man, "put glue on the branch where it perches." + +They put glue on its branch and caught the bird. The daughter of the +stepmother said to her mother: + +"Let us kill it." + +"No," said a slave, "we will amuse ourselves with it." + +"No; kill it." And they killed it. Its blood spurted upon a rose-tree. The +rose-tree became so large that it overspread all the village. The people +worked to cut it down until evening, and yet it remained the size of a +thread. + +"To-morrow," they said, "we will finish it." The next morning they found it +as big as it was the day before. They returned to the old man and said to +him: + +"O old man, we caught the bird and killed it. Its blood gushed upon a +rose-tree, which became so large that it overspreads the whole village. +Yesterday we worked all day to cut it down. We left it the size of a +thread. This morning we find it as big as ever." + +"O my children," said the old man, "you are not yet punished enough. Take +H'ab Sliman, perhaps he will have an expedient. Make him sleep at your +house." H'ab Sliman said to them, "Give me a sickle." Someone said to him: +"We who are strong have cut all day without being able to accomplish it, +and do you think you will be capable of it? Let us see if you will find a +new way to do it." + +At the moment when he gave the first blow a voice said to him: + +"Take care of me, O my brother!" + +The voice wept, the child began to weep, and it rained. H'ab Sliman +recognized his sister. + +"Laugh," he said. She laughed and the sun shone, and the people got dried. + +"Comb yourself," and legs of mutton fell. All those who were present +regaled themselves on them. "Walk," and roses fell. "But what is the matter +with you, my sister?" + +"What has happened to me." + +"What revenge does your heart desire?" + +"Attach the daughter of my stepmother to the tail of a horse that she may +be dragged in the bushes." + +When the young girl was dead, they took her to the house, cooked her, and +sent her to her mother and sister. + +"O my mother," cried the latter, "this eye is that of my sister Aftelis." + +"Eat, unhappy one," said the mother, "your sister Aftelis has become the +slave of slaves." + +"But look at it," insisted the young girl. "You have not even looked at it. +I will give this piece to the one who will weep a little." + +"Well," said the cat, "if you give me that piece I will weep with one eye." + + + * * * * * + + +THE KING AND HIS SON + + +He had a son whom he brought up well. The child grew and said one day to +the King, "I am going out for a walk." + +"It is well," answered the King. At a certain place he found an olive-tree +on fire. + +"O God," he cried, "help me to put out this fire!" + +Suddenly God sent the rain, the fire was extinguished, and the young man +was able to pass. He came to the city and said to the governor: + +"Give me a chance to speak in my turn." + +"It is well," said he; "speak." + +"I ask the hand of your daughter," replied the young man. + +"I give her to you," answered the governor, "for if you had not put out +that fire the city would have been devoured by the flames." + +He departed with his wife. After a long march the wife made to God this +prayer: + +"O God, place this city here." + +The city appeared at the very spot. Toward evening the Marabout of the city +of which the father of the young bridegroom was King went to the mosque to +say his prayers. + +"O marvel!" he cried, "what do I see down there?" + +The King called his wife and sent her to see what was this new city. The +woman departed, and, addressing the wife of the young prince, asked alms of +him. He gave her alms. The messenger returned and said to the King: + +"It is your son who commands in that city." + +The King, pricked by jealousy, said to the woman: "Go, tell him to come and +find me. I must speak with him." + +The woman went away and returned with the King's son. His father said to +him: + +"If you are the son of the King, go and see your mother in the other +world." + +He regained his palace in tears. + +"What is the matter with you," asked his wife, "you whom destiny has given +me?" + +He answered her: "My father told me, 'Go and see your mother in the other +world.'" + +"Return to your father," she replied, "and ask him for the book of the +grandmother of your grandmother." + +He returned to his father, who gave him the book. He brought it to his +wife, who said to him, "Lay it on the grave of your mother." He placed it +there and the grave opened. He descended and found a man who was licking +the earth. He saw another who was eating mildew. And he saw a third who was +eating meat. + +"Why do you eat meat?" he asked him. + +"Because I did good on earth," responded the shade. "Where shall I find my +mother?" asked the prince. + +The shade said, "She is down there." + +He went to his mother, who asked him why he came to seek her. + +He replied, "My father sent me." + +"Return," said the mother, "and say to your father to lift up the beam +which is on the hearth." The prince went to his father. "My mother bids you +take up the beam which is above the hearth." The King raised it and found a +treasure. + +"If you are the son of the King," he added, "bring me someone a foot high +whose beard measures two feet." The prince began to weep. + +"Why do you weep," asked his wife, "you whom destiny has given me?" + +The prince answered her, "My father said to me, 'Bring me someone a foot +high whose beard measures two feet." + +"Return to your father," she replied, "and ask him for the book of the +grandfather of your grandfather." + +His father gave him the book and the prince brought it to his wife. + +"Take it to him again and let him put it in the assembly place, and call a +public meeting." A man a foot high appeared, took up the book, went around +the city, and ate up all the inhabitants. + + + * * * * * + + +MAHOMET-BEN-SOLTAN + +A certain sultan had a son who rode his horse through the city where his +father reigned, and killed everyone he met. The inhabitants united and +promised a flock to him who should make him leave the city. An old woman +took it upon herself to realize the wishes of her fellow-citizens. She +procured some bladders and went to the fountain to fill them with the cup +of an acorn. The old man came to water his horse and said to the old woman: + +"Get out of my way." + +She would not move. The young man rode his horse over the bladders and +burst them. + +"If you had married Thithbirth, a cavalier," cried the old woman, "you +would not have done this damage. But I predict that you will never marry +her, for already seventy cavaliers have met death on her account." + +The young man, pricked to the quick, regained his horse, took provisions, +and set out for the place where he should find the young girl. On the way +he met a man. They journeyed together. Soon they perceived an ogress with a +dead man at her side. + +"Place him in the earth," said the ogress to them; "it is my son; the +Sultan hanged him and cut off his foot with a sword." + +They took one of the rings of the dead man and went on their way. Soon they +entered a village and offered the ring to the governor, who asked them for +another like it. They went away from there, returned through the country +which they had traversed, and met a pilgrim who had made the tour of the +world. They had visited every place except the sea. They turned toward the +sea. At the moment of embarking, a whale barred their passage. They +retraced their steps, and met the ogress, took a second ring from the dead +man, and departed. At a place they found sixty corpses. A singing bird was +guarding them. The travellers stopped and heard the bird say: + +"He who shall speak here shall be changed into a rock and shall die. +Mahomet-ben-Soltan, you shall never wed the young girl. Ninety-nine +cavaliers have already met death on her account." + +Mahomet stayed till morning without saying one word. Then he departed with +his companion for the city where Thithbirth dwelt. When they arrived they +were pressed with hunger. Mahomet's companion said to him: + +"Sing that which you heard the bird sing." He began to sing. The young +girl, whom they meant to buy, heard him and asked him from whom he had got +that song. + +"From my head," he answered. + +Mahomet's companion said: "We learned it in the fields from a singing +bird." + +"Bring me that bird," she said, "or I'll have your head cut off." + +Mahomet took a lantern and a cage which he placed upon the branch of the +tree where the bird was perching. + +"Do you think to catch me?" cried the bird. The next day it entered the +cage and the young man took it away. When they were in the presence of the +young girl the bird said to her: + +"We have come to buy you." + +The father of the young girl said to Mahomet: "If you find her you may have +her. But if not, I will kill you. Ninety-nine cavaliers have already met +death thus. You will be the hundredth." + +The bird flew toward the woman. + +"Where shall I find you?" it asked her. + +She answered: "You see that door at which I am sitting; it is the usual +place of my father. I shall be hidden underneath." + +The next day Mahomet presented himself before the Sultan: "Arise," he said, +"your daughter is hidden there." + +The Sultan imposed this new condition: "My daughter resembles ninety-nine +others of her age. She is the hundredth. If you recognize her in the group +I will give her to you. But if not, I will kill you." + +The young girl said to Mahomet, "I will ride a lame horse." Mahomet +recognized her, and the Sultan gave her to him, with a serving-maid, a +female slave, and another woman. + +Mahomet and his companion departed. Arriving at a certain road they +separated. Mahomet retained for himself his wife and the slave woman, and +gave to his companion the two other women. He gained the desert and left +for a moment his wife and the slave woman. In his absence an ogre took away +his wife. He ran in search of her and met some shepherds. + +"O shepherds," he said, "can you tell me where the ogre lives?" + +They pointed out the place. Arriving, he saw his wife. Soon the ogre +appeared, and Mahomet asked where he should find his destiny. + +"My destiny is far from here," answered the ogre. "My destiny is in an egg, +the egg in a pigeon, the pigeon in a camel, the camel in the sea." + +Mahomet arose, ran to dig a hole at the shore of the sea, stretched a mat +over the hole; a camel sprang from the water and fell into the hole. He +killed it and took out an egg, crushed the egg in his hands, and the ogre +died. Mahomet took his wife and came to his father's city, where he built +himself a palace. The father promised a flock to him who should kill his +son. As no one offered, he sent an army of soldiers to besiege him. He +called one of them in particular and said to him: + +"Kill Mahomet and I will enrich you." + +The soldiers managed to get near the young prince, put out his eyes, and +left him in the field. An eagle passed and said to Mahomet: "Don't do any +good to your parents, but since your father has made you blind take the +bark of this tree, apply it to your eyes, and you will be cured." + +The young man was healed. + +A short time after his father said to him, "I will wed your wife." + +"You cannot," he answered. The Sultan convoked the Marabout, who refused +him the dispensation he demanded. Soon Mahomet killed his father and +celebrated his wedding-feast for seven days and seven nights. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Moorish Literature, by Anonymous + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10085 *** |