Красиво и светло сегодня ночью.
Погашенные рано,
стоят дома на площади старинной
открытыми балконами к фонтану.
В раздвинутом квадрате
темнеет тис, и каменные скамьи
кладут на белый гравий
густые тени ровными мазками.
На черной башне светятся куранты,
за ней луна отбрасывает тени.
И я пересекаю старый город
один, как привиденье.
(А. Мачадо)
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Это Алама, городок в Гранадской волости. Один из последних мавританских оплотов.
Есть старинный романс о потере Аламы. Иногда его называют анонимным, иногда в качестве автора указывается Луис де Нарваэс (Luys de Narváez,1500-1550/60), иногда — Перес де Ита (Perez de Hita, 1544-1619), который якобы перевел этот текст с арабского. В общем, это классический пограничный романс — так называются романсы о битвах христиан с маврами. Рассказывается в нем, как мавританский король получил известие о том, что христиане захватили Аламу. Приказал король в Гранаде трубить в серебряные трубы. Собрались на этот зов мавры со всей гранадской долины. И один старик спросил короля, зачем он их собрал. "Вы должны узнать, друзья, о новом несчастье, — ответил король. — Христиане заняли Аламу". "Ты, король, — сказал старик, — убил Абенсеррахов, цвет Гранады. И потому заслужил это горе. Потерять тебе королевство, потерять тебе Гранаду".
Современных исполнителей у романса не меньше, чем гипотетических авторов.
ROMANCE DE LA PÉRDIDA DE ALHAMA
Paseábase el rey moro por la ciudad de Granada
desde la puerta de Elvira hasta la de Vivarrambla.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Cartas le fueron venidas que Alhama era ganada.
Las cartas echó en el fuego y al mensajero matara,
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Descabalga de una mula, y en un caballo cabalga;
por el Zacatín arriba subido se había al Alhambra.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Como en el Alhambra estuvo, al mismo punto mandaba
que se toquen sus trompetas, sus añafiles de plata.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Y que las cajas de guerra apriesa toquen el arma,
porque lo oigan sus moros, los de la vega y Granada.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Los moros que el son oyeron que al sangriento Marte llama,
uno a uno y dos a dos juntado se ha gran batalla.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Allí fabló un moro viejo, de esta manera fablara:
—¿Para qué nos llamas, rey, para qué es esta llamada?
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
—Habéis de saber, amigos, una nueva desdichada:
que cristianos de braveza ya nos han ganado Alhama.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Allí fabló un alfaquí de barba crecida y cana:
—Bien se te emplea, buen rey, buen rey, bien se te empleara.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Mataste los Bencerrajes, que eran la flor de Granada,
cogiste los tornadizos de Córdoba la nombrada.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
Por eso mereces, rey, una pena muy doblada:
que te pierdas tú y el reino, y aquí se pierda Granada.
¡Ay de mi Alhama!
В 1817 году романс перевел на английский Байрон.
THE SIEGE AND CONQUEST OF ALHAMA
The Moorish King rides up and down,
Through Granada's royal town;
From Elvira's gate to those
Of Bivarambla on he goes.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Letters to the monarch tell
How Alhama's city fell:
In the fire the scroll he threw,
And the messenger he slew.
Woe is me, Albamal
He quits his mule, and mounts his horse,
And through the street directs his course;
Through the street of Zacatin
To the Alhambra spurring in.
Woe is me, Alhama!
When the Alhambra walls he gain'd,
On the moment he ordain'd
That the trumpet straight should sound
With the silver clarion round.
Woe is me, Alhamal
And when the hollow drums of war
Beat the loud alarm afar,
That the Moors of town and plain
Might answer to the martial strain.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Then the Moors, by this aware,
That bloody Mars recall'd them there,
One by one, and two by two,
To a mighty squadron grew.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Out then spake an aged Moor
In these words the king before,
'Wherefore call on us, oh King?
What may mean this gathering?'
Woe is me, Alhama!
'Friends! ye have, alas! to know
Of a most disastrous blow;
That the Christians, stern and bold,
Have obtain'd Alhama's hold.'
Woe is me, Alhama!
Out then spake old Alfaqui,
With his beard so white to see,
'Good King! thou art justly served,
Good King! this thou hast deserved.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'By thee were slain, in evil hour,
The Abencerrage, Granada's flower;
And strangers were received by thee
Of Cordova the Chivalry.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'And for this, oh King! is sent
On thee a double chastisement:
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm,
One last wreck shall overwhelm.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'He who holds no laws in awe,
He must perish by the law;
And Granada must be won,
And thyself with her undone.'
Woe is me, Alhama!
Fire crashed from out the old Moor's eyes,
The Monarch's wrath began to rise,
Because he answer'd, and because
He spake exceeding well of laws.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'There is no law to say such things
As may disgust the ear of kings:
'Thus, snorting with his choler, said
The Moorish King, and doom'd him dead.
Woe is me, Alhama!
Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui!
Though thy beard so hoary be,
The King hath sent to have thee seized,
For Alhama's loss displeased.
Woe is me, Alhama!
And to fix thy head upon
High Alhambra's loftiest stone;
That thus for thee should be the law,
And others tremble when they saw.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'Cavalier, and man of worth!
Let these words of mine go forth!
Let the Moorish Monarch know,
That to him I nothing owe.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'But on my soul Alhama weighs,
And on my inmost spirit preys;
And if the King his land hath lost,
Yet others may have lost the most.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'Sires have lost their children, wives
Their lords, and valiant men their lives!
One what best his love might claim
Hath lost, another wealth, or fame.
Woe is me, Alhama!
'I lost a damsel in that hour,
Of all the land the loveliest flower;
Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
And think her ransom cheap that day.'
Woe is me, Alhama!
And as these things the old Moor said,
They sever'd from the trunk his head;
And to the Alhambra's wall with speed
'Twas carried, as the King decreed.
Woe is me, Alhama!
And men and infants therein weep
Their loss, so heavy and so deep;
Granada's ladies, all she rears
Within her walls, burst into tears.
Woe is me, Alhama!
And from the windows o'er the walls
The sable web of mourning falls;
The King weeps as a woman o'er
His loss, for it is much and sore.
Woe is me, Alhama!