Note 121 — Chapter V
Reading edition
This old rhymed chronicle was found by the historian Diego de Mendoza among his Arabic manuscripts in Granada, and was sent by him, with a letter dated December 1, 1573, to Zurita, the annalist of Aragon, intimating that Argote de Molina would be interested in it. He says truly, that “it is well worth reading, to see with what simplicity and propriety men wrote poetical histories in the olden times”; adding, that “it is one of those books called in Spain Gestas,” and that it seems to him curious and valuable, because he thinks it was written by a secretary of Alfonso XI., and because it differs in several points from the received accounts of that monarch’s reign. (Dormer, Progresos de la Historia de Aragon, Zaragoza, 1680, fol., p. 502.) The thirty-four stanzas of this chronicle that we now possess were first published by Argote de Molina, in his very curious “Nobleza del Andaluzia,” (Sevilla, 1588, f. 198,) and were taken from him by Sanchez (Poesías Anteriores, Tom. I. pp. 171-177). Argote de Molina says, “I copy them on account of their curiosity as specimens of the language and poetry of that age, and because they are the best and most fluent of any thing for a long time written in Spain.” The truth is, they are so facile, and have so few archaisms in them, that I cannot believe they were written earlier than the ballads of the fifteenth century, which they so much resemble. The following account of a victory, which I once thought was that of Salado, gained in 1340, and described in the “Crónica de Alfonso XI.,” (1551, fol., Cap. 254,) but which I now think must have been some victory gained before 1330, is the best part of what has been published:—
Los Moros fueron fuyendo Maldiziendo su ventura; El Maestre los siguiendo Por los puertos de Segura. E feriendo e derribando E prendiendo a las manos, E Sanctiago llamando, Escudo de los Christianos. En alcance los llevaron A poder de escudo y lança, E al castillo se tornaron E entraron por la matanza. E muchos Moros fallaron Espedaçados jacer; El nombre de Dios loaron, Que les mostró gran plazer.
The Moors fled on, with headlong speed, Cursing still their bitter fate; The Master followed, breathing blood, Through old Segura’s opened gate;— And struck and slew, as on he sped, And grappled still his flying foes; While still to heaven his battle shout, “St. James! St. James!” triumphant rose. Nor ceased the victory’s work at last, That bowed them to the shield and spear, Till to the castle’s wall they turned And entered through the slaughter there;— Till there they saw, to havoc hewn, Their Moorish foemen prostrate laid; And gave their grateful praise to God, Who thus vouchsafed his gracious aid.
It is a misfortune that this poem is lost.