Malhaya tripa de madre 1

Jerusalem National Sound Archives placement: Y5434/4
Referenced and notated in: Romancero Sefardi de Oriente, pg. 157, Editorial Alpuerto, 2010 Susana Weich-Shahak.

This is a version of La doncella guerrera, The warrior maiden, which is widely spread across Spain and within the Sephardic diaspora. In all versions, a dialogue takes place regarding the young woman's disguise, specifically the men's clothing she will wear to go to war in her elderly father's place. This exchange between father and daughter, presented through a series of parallel verses, serves as the central theme of the ballad: the concealment of her gender and sexual identity, and the denial of her womanhood in order to present herself as a man. The revelation of her as a woman typically leads to the rival King's son falling in love with her.

Text:
- Malhaña tripa de madre     que tanta hija nació,
parió sietes hijas hembras    sin dingún hijo varón.
Saltó la más chica de ellas, la que en buen día nació.
- No mos maldigas, mi padre,   no mos maldigas, siñor,
si es por la vuestra guerra,   la guerra la vencio yo:
traiga armas y caballo,    y un vistido de varón 
- ¿Onde metes las tus colas?  - Debajo el kauk, siñor.
- ¿Onde metes los tus pechos?  - Debajo 'l jibón, siñor.
- Calla, calla, la mi hija,   hembra sos y non varón.
Ya se parte caballero     a las guerras d'Aragón.
Ella  'ntrando por la guerra,   la guerra ya la venció.
Y en el medio de la guerra   el kalpak se le cayó.
El hijo 'l rey que la vía de enfrente   ya cayó, se desmayó.
- Ya me muero, la mi mama,   ya me muero d' est' amor!
- Le haremos un convite    a la mesa de siñor. 
Ella 'ntrando por la mesa    el pan ya la rebanó.
- Ya me muero, la mi madre,   ya me muero d' est' amor!
- Le haremos un convite     al baño de mi siñor. 
Botón quita, botón mete    y a todos los engañó.

Translation:
- Unfortunate womb of mother that so many daughters bore,
bore seven daughters female without any son male.
Leaped the youngest of them, the one on good day born.
- Do not curse us, my father, do not curse us, sir,
if it's for your war, the war I'll conquer:
bring arms and horse, and a garment of male
- Where put you your braids? - Beneath the cap, sir.
- Where put you your breasts? - Beneath the vest, sir.
- Hush, hush, my daughter, female you are and not male.
Now departs as knight to the wars of Aragon.
She entering through the war, the war already she won.
And in the middle of the war the her helmet fell.
The son of the king who saw her from front already fell, fainted.
- Now I die, my mama, now I die of this love!
- We'll make her a banquet at the table of my master
- She entering through the table the bread already she sliced.
- Now I die, my mother, now I die of this love!
- We'll make her a banquet at the ritual bath place of my master
Button removes, button puts on and all were deceived!