[Enter HALIMA, Caurali’s wife, and Doña COSTANZA.1]
HALIMA.
How are you, Christian?
COSTANZA.
I am well, my lady; for I am fortunate to be yours.
HALIMA.
Clearly she who belongs to herself is better off. There’s no misfortune like not having freedom: I know it well, though I’m no slave.
COSTANZA.
I was just thinking that, my lady.
HALIMA.
You’re wrong. I am oppressed simply by being tied to my husband.
COSTANZA.
A wise woman makes a harsh husband gentle.
HALIMA.
Are you married?
COSTANZA.
I might have been, had heaven willed it, but it did not.
HALIMA.
Your nobility rivals your discretion.
[Enter CAURALÍ and DON FERNANDO dressed as a captive.]
CAURALÍ.
She’s extremely beautiful; but her severity matches her beauty. Now, Love, spark in this hard stone the fire that consumes me! I’ve told you this so you can throw yourself into procuring my pleasure.
FERNANDO.
I’m obliged to do that and more, good master. Show me the captive, and although she live free of Love’s great power, you will soon see her either loving or compassionate over your pain.
CAURALÍ.
See her there; and this is Halima, my wife and your mistress.
FERNANDO.
I swear she’s a worthy jewel!
HALIMA.
Well, friend, what’s new?
CAURALÍ.
More than one ache that pains me.
HALIMA.
Has the king taken his share?
CAURALÍ.
That would be no misfortune.
HALIMA.
Well then, what’s wrong?
CAURALÍ.
Isn’t it cruel to send me back to roving right away? Yet Allah will make things better. I present you with this slave, a worthy Christian.
FERNANDO [aside].
Do I reason, see, hear, and feel? Is it the strain or the fear? Do my eyes not see before them the rich and noble spoils for whom I hurled myself into the sea? Is this not she who was my soul, and the reward for its ordeals?
CAURALÍ.
Tell me, who are you talking to, Christian? Why do you not prostrate yourself and kiss Halima’s hand?
FERNANDO.
In the face of inhuman pain, he who errs most does best. Give me your feet, my lady, and see your captive prostrate before them.
HALIMA [aside].
I take as a captive one who will be my master. Do you know this captive?
FERNANDO.
Not at all.
You spoke truly; and if sorrow erases memories, may this unhappy one die, so that she may not live forgotten. But perhaps you’re dissembling and gathering lies that you think will be useful.
CAURALÍ.
Why do you mumble to yourself instead of speaking out loud?
FERNANDO.
What is your name?
COSTANZA.
Me? Costanza.
FERNANDO.
Are you single or married?
COSTANZA.
I had hoped to be married.
FERNANDO.
And have you lost hope now?
COSTANZA.
I still have confidence, for while life still remains it’s foolish to lose hope of good fortune.
FERNANDO.
Who was your father?
COSTANZA.
Who? One Diego de la Bastida.
FERNANDO.
Weren’t you to be married to one Don Fernando whose last name was de Andrada?
COSTANZA.
So I was, but the lucky day never arrived, for thanks to the traitor Yzuf, my lord Cauralí brought here the final version of the draft I only held in my hopes.
FERNANDO.
My lady, treat her well, for she is a noblewoman.
HALIMA.
Provided she serves me properly, I won’t treat her ill.
[Enter ZARA, well dressed.]
Hazén has been impaled.
HALIMA.
Lady Zara, what’s this about? I didn’t expect you so soon.
ZARA.
The bagnio was not to my liking, and I left disgusted by that sad case.
HALIMA.
What case?
ZARA.
Hazén killed Yzuf, and the Cadí sentenced him to impalement that instant. I saw him die so happily that I think he did not die at all. If his death were by any other means, I would have envied it.
CAURALÍ.
But didn’t he die as a Moor?
ZARA.
They say he kept a custom among Christians, which is to die confessing to the Christ whom they adore. I watched him and wept among many others, for my heart is naturally merciful and humane; in short, a woman’s heart.
CAURALÍ.
You stopped to watch such a sight?
ZARA.
I’m curious and reckless.2
CAURALÍ.
Will you be here this afternoon, Zara?
ZARA.
Yes, for I have to review some things with Halima.
CAURALÍ.
Not the soldiers?
ZARA.
Perhaps.
May Allah be with you.
ZARA.
May He guard you.
[Exit CAURALÍ.]
HALIMA.
Don’t you leave, Christian.
CAURALÍ.
Stay here.
FERNANDO.
It’s plain speaking here in Barbary.
COSTANZA.
O fortunate misfortune of mine!
HALIMA.
Why?
COSTANZA.
For I gain from it.
ZARA.
What do you gain?
COSTANZA.
The good I had lost, which I recovered with my patience for the ills I’ve suffered.
ZARA.
You learn much from experience!
COSTANZA.
I’ve seen much, and learned more.
ZARA.
Are these Christians new?
HALIMA.
Look at their clean faces and soft hands.
FERNANDO.
I shall leave if you command it.
HALIMA.
Have no fear, no Moor would suspect a captive, or be jealous of a Christian. Save those honest manners for your land.
I shall.
HALIMA.
There’s no Moorish woman here who would stoop to betray a Moor with a man of another faith, even if she knew he was secretly a king. That is why they allow us to talk to our captives.
FERNANDO.
A trusting oversight!
ZARA.
Work and pain dull the force of lust, and our great fear of being punished for our faults holds us all back, for it seems to me that turbulent desires appear everywhere. Come here; tell me, Christian, in your land is there anyone who makes a promise and doesn’t keep it?
FERNANDO.
Perhaps some villain.
ZARA.
Even if he gives his faith, his word, and his hand in secret?
FERNANDO.
Even if the only witnesses are the heavens, which often reveal the truth.
ZARA.
And are they this loyal to their enemies?
FERNANDO.
To everyone; for the promise of the noble or gentleman is a proven debt, and a well-born man pledges always to be true.
HALIMA.
What do you care about the good or bad dealings of these men, who are dogs after all?
ZARA [aside].
O Allah, grant that those you had me choose be noble!
HALIMA.
What did you say, Zara?
ZARA.
Nothing; leave me alone, if you wish, with this virtuous slave of yours.
How fond you are of knowing everything!
ZARA.
Who does not like to know?
HALIMA.
You speak to her, and I shall do the same with my slave.
COSTANZA [aside].
In the end what I feared has come true. What if Barbary concludes what Spain began? There I began to lose, and here I must lose all; for it’s easy to see that this private conversation comes from love.
ZARA.
What is your name, friend?
COSTANZA.
Costanza.
ZARA.
You must be weary of having no freedom?
COSTANZA.
Truth be told, something else wearies me more.
HALIMA.
The softness or wear of your hands shows us how rich or poor you are. Show me, show me; it’s foolish to hide them, for if you’re to be ransomed I shall treat you justly and leniently.
ZARA.
What do you see?
COSTANZA.
I see a strange absurdity.
FERNANDO.
Mistress, my master is the one who should verify this, although it makes me laugh that you believe at all in such false science; for there are poor layabouts in our country who are both elegant and averse to work.3
These hands bear witness to who you are; don’t put yourself down.
COSTANZA [aside].
Ah, gypsy trickster! My misfortune is clear in those lines you read. How slowly you withdraw them, my enemy!
ZARA.
What’s wrong, Christian?
COSTANZA.
What could be wrong? Nothing.
ZARA.
Were you ever by chance in love in your country?
COSTANZA.
Here, too.
ZARA.
Here, you say? How so? Are you taken with a Moor?
COSTANZA.
No, with a renegade of little and perjured faith.
FERNANDO.
You’ve seen enough, my lady.
ZARA.
Yours is a folly that no Christian woman has ever hit upon. Moorish women often love Christians, but for a Christian woman to love a Moor? Never.
COSTANZA.
I renege on that behavior.
HALIMA.
Why are you so distressed? You’re quite shy.
FERNANDO.
Rich or poor, soft or hard, mistress, I’m your captive, and I consider it my good fortune.
COSTANZA.
This is a living death!
ZARA.
You love him so, poor woman? Today you love, and you arrived yesterday? How love inflames your heart! But how can one who resists it so poorly criticize you? What I regret about this, friend, is that I hear you say a Moor troubles such a beautiful Christian.
COSTANZA.
Not a Moor but a Mooress.4
ZARA.
You’re talking nonsense; don’t speak about that, for it’s madness and futile error.
COSTANZA.
Love is wondrously foolish.
ZARA.
Yours makes that clear.
HALIMA.
What are you two talking about?
ZARA.
This Christian is worthy and witty!
HALIMA.
Well, this one is no fool either!
COSTANZA [aside].
He is of perjured and worthless faith.
HALIMA.
Let us go inside, for you’ve already heard the bad news, and the sun is burning overhead.
FERNANDO.
O my jewel, gladly recovered!5
COSTANZA.
O my lost fortune!
[Exeunt. Enter the OLD MAN, father of the children, and the SEXTON; the OLD MAN dressed as a captive,6 and the SEXTON with his same outfit and a barrel of water.]
SEXTON.
All we can do is have patience and put our trust in God; for it’s sheer stupidity to give up and die.
OLD MAN.
Your conscience has gone lax, and now you eat meat on forbidden days.
SEXTON.
What nonsense! I eat whatever my master gives me.
OLD MAN.
It will do you no good.
SEXTON.
There’s no theology here!
OLD MAN.
Don’t you remember, by chance, those Hebrew children in scripture?
SEXTON.
You must mean the Maccabees, who let themselves be sliced to pieces before eating pork.7
OLD MAN.
That’s right.
SEXTON.
If you begin to preach as soon as you see me, by God, I’ll have to slip away whenever I see you.
OLD MAN.
You’re stumbling already? May heaven grant that you do not fall.
SEXTON.
No chance of that, for my faith is made of bronze.
I fear that if something’s afoot with a Moorish woman, you’ll hand over such zeal.
SEXTON.
Now, haven’t two already given me what another might not reject?
OLD MAN.
Such favors are costly for those who take them and those who give them.8 But enough of this. Who’s your master?
SEXTON.
Mamí, a capable janissary who’s a soldier and dabají, honest, and a Turk by nationality.9 A dabají is the head of a squadron or second lieutenant, and the office suits him well, for he’s courageous; and he’s such an excellent dog that he neither bites me nor barks. So I praise my ill fortune, for if I had to be a captive, a wretched slave, at least it brought me under the wing of a janissary, and a brave one. For there’s no Turk or anyone else who touches a janissary’s captive, even if provoked to great anger by his insolence.
OLD MAN.
More captivity and sorrows befell my two sons, to increase my grief. Preserve the chastity of those ermines, O chaste heavens! And if you see that Mohammedan lewdness rise to make them fall, take their lives from them before they can be defiled.
[Enter two or three YOUNG MOORS, perhaps even taken from the street,10 who must say no more than these words.]
Christian lad, no ransom, no escape; Don Juan11 no come, die here, dog, die here!
SEXTON.
O son of a whore, grandson of a great cuckold, nephew of a rogue, brother of a great traitor and sodomite!
SECOND YOUNG MOOR.
No ransom, no escape, Don Juan no come, die here!
SEXTON.
You will die, you sot, you lying bugger; you don’t play with a full deck, you’re the bait of Mohammed, that whoreson!
THIRD YOUNG MOOR.
Die here!
OLD MAN.
Don’t mention Mohammed, cursed be my lineage! They’ll burn us alive.
SEXTON.
Let me deal with these dogs, even if I regret it later.
SECOND YOUNG MOOR.
Don Juan no come; die here!
OLD MAN.
If he had come, your cursed tongue would have no chance to say that.
FIRST YOUNG MOOR.
Don Juan no come; die here!
SEXTON.
Listen to me, puppies; come here, come here, hear me out, for I want to tell you why Don Juan doesn’t come: pay attention. There must have been a great war in heaven where they were missing a general, and they took Don Juan for the job. Let him finish with that, and you’ll see how he comes back and makes you as good as new.
A fine yarn! Now they’ve left.
[Enter a JEW.]
Isn’t this one a Jew?
SEXTON.
His tuft gives him away, his wretched slippers, his mean and lowly face.12 Turks wear only one lock of hair combed up on their head, and Jews wear it over their foreheads; the French, behind their ears; and the Spaniards, stubborn as mules, mock everyone and wear their hair—God help me!—all over their bodies. Hey, Jew! Listen.
JEW.
What do you want from me, Christian?
SEXTON.
I want you to lift this barrel and carry it to my master’s house.
JEW.
It’s the Sabbath, and I cannot perform any labor; I won’t carry it, even if you kill me. Let me come tomorrow, for even though it’s Sunday, I’ll carry two hundred for you.
SEXTON.
Tomorrow I rest, Jewish dog. Load up, and let’s not argue.
JEW.
Even if you kill me, I say I won’t carry it.
SEXTON.
By God, you dog, I’ll rip out your liver!
JEW.
Ah, ah, woe is me! By G-d almighty, if it weren’t Saturday I’d carry it! Enough, good Christian!
OLD MAN.
He moves me to compassion. O effeminate people, vile and worthless! For this one time I ask you to let him be.
I’ll leave him for your sake. Let the vile circumcised one go; but if I find him again, he’ll have to carry a mountain, if I’ve got one.
JEW.
I kiss your hands and feet, sir, and may G-d repay the good you’ve done me here.
[Exits.]
OLD MAN [to the JEW].
This is the punishment for that great sin. He who has already come, and whom you, in your error, vainly await, cast the eternal curse here fulfilled to the letter.13
SEXTON.
Farewell, for I’ve been talking to you a long time, and though my master is noble, I fear my laziness will make him mean.
[He takes his barrel and exits. Enter JUANICO and FRANCISCO, for those are the names of the OLD MAN’S sons; they are dressed in the Turkish fashion as garzons,14 and with them enter Lady CATALINA, dressed as a garzon, and a CHRISTIAN, dressed as a captive, COSTANZA and DON FERNANDO, as a captive, and JULIO, AS A CAPTIVE, carrying the capes and costumes of the garzons, and guitars and a rebec;15 DON FERNANDO should lead the way.]
OLD MAN.
Are these not my jewels? Why are they dressed for revelry and celebrations? My happily found treasures, what finery is this? These are very expensive clothes. What happened to the clothing that showed in a thousand ways that, though poor, you were Christ’s sheep?
Father, don’t cry over our change of clothes, there was no way around it; and, if you think about it, there’s nothing to worry about, for if our love of God stands firm, everyone knows clothes can’t undo what the heart does.
FRANCISCO.
Father, do you by chance have something for me to eat?
OLD MAN.
Was there ever so foolish a creature?
JUANICO.
Foolish? Just let him be, and he’ll show you his prudence.
JULIO.
Friend, don’t hold us back; and come with us if you like.
JUANICO.
No, sir; it would be better for him to stay.
FRANCISCO.
Father, here, put this cross they’ve taken from me in my rosary.16
OLD MAN.
I’ll gladly do it for you, storehouse and reliquary of my soul.
JUANICO.
Good father, let us go, for we tarry.
[AMBROSIO, who is Lady CATALINA]
AMBROSIO.
Where are we headed, friends?
JULIO.
To Agimorato’s garden,17 though it’s a ways from here.
FERNANDO.
Well, come then—let’s not delay.
JULIO.
There we can dance, caper about, sing and play our instruments undisturbed: for the sea is not always rough. Let us give our cares a rest, especially as the Cadí wants us to take our ease and enjoy honest sport on Fridays.
FERNANDO.
Who told you that I had a good voice?
JULIO.
I don’t know, by my faith; it must have been some captive, and the Cadí told me: “Go, and tell Cauralí from me to send over his tallest Christian, the one with the good voice.” I went, I spoke to him, and he sent you here; I don’t know the rest.
JUANICO.
Don’t disobey to come see us, father, for our master will become angry and let us know it.
FRANCISCO.
Father, my name is Francisco, not Hassan, Ali, or Jaer; I’m a Christian and shall remain one even with two garrotes and a knife to my neck.
JUANICO.
You see he knows how to say it? And he’ll do it even better.
FERNANDO.
Let us go no farther, for we’re fine here.
JULIO.
So be it; sing something.
[AMBROSIO, who must by played by Lady CATALINA]
AMBROSIO.
What did you say? I didn’t hear you.
JULIO.
Chant, so I may be enchanted.
FERNANDO.
Is he deaf?
JULIO.
He’s a little hard of hearing.
AMBROSIO.
Is there anyone who might hear us? Then it’s a good idea, and since you’ve all come, let us begin sadly. We’ll sing that ballad that you wrote, Julio, for we know it by heart, and it has that sad tone that cheers us.
[They sing this ballad.]
On the shores of the sea,
Whose bay and waters
Reach the walls of that infidel Algiers
Now turbulent, now calm;
Four wretched captives,
Resting from their labors,
With eyes of longing
Look to their homeland,
And to the tone of the ebb and flow
Of the waves on the shore,
In faint voices they sing and lament:
How dear you are to attain, o sweet Spain!
The heavens above have conspired
With our unlucky fate:
Our souls are in great danger,
And our bodies are in chains;
Oh if only the heavens would open
Their sealed watery gates
And instead of rain let fall here
Pitch and resin, sulfur and flames!
Oh if only the earth would open
To hide in its entrails
So many Datans and Abirams,18
So many sorcerers and witches!
How dear you are to attain, o sweet Spain!
FRANCISCO.
Father, have them sing that song my mother sang in our village. How does it go? Don’t you want to, father?
How did the song go?
FRANCISCO.
I am in love,
With whom I won’t say;
Eyes look where they love,
Where they love full well.
OLD MAN.
The song is fitting, since the eyes of the soul gaze from this cursed shore to the homeland for which they sigh, which retreats and awaits us not.
JULIO.
Francisquito is excellent! Now you sing, Ambrosio, a bit of what you usually sing alone, for the waves of the sea will hear you with infinite pleasure.
[AMBROSIO sings alone.]
Although you think I’m happy,
I carry my pain inside.
Although my face shows
Grief leaving my soul
And setting it free, know
That it’s a clear mistake:
I carry my pain inside.
I must pretend
So I can end my end,
And because silent woes
Grow apace,
I carry my pain inside.19
[Enter the CADÍ and CAURALÍ.]
JUANICO.
That’s enough; the Cadí’s coming. Father, don’t let him find you here.
FERNANDO.
Cauralí’s with him.
Farewell, beloved jewels!
CADÍ.
You here, dog? Haven’t I told you to stop trying to see your sons, you scoundrel?
FRANCISCO.
Why? Is he not my father? By my faith, I must see him in spite of you!
JUANICO.
Quiet, Francisquito, my brother, for what you say makes this tyrant want to harm us.
FRANCISCO.
You won’t allow us to see our father? You’re never a good Christian. Father, take me with you, for this my enemy tells me so many lies.
CAURALÍ.
What clever trifles! Tell me,
what are you waiting for, friend?
[Exit the OLD MAN.]
CADÍ.
Dog, if you allow that mongrel to speak to them again, you’ll see what you get for it.
JULIO.
They’re pieces of his soul.
CADÍ.
What did you say to me, you dog?
CAURALÍ.
Be still, he didn’t say anything.
FRANCISCO.
My goodness, the fine Moorish lady is so upset!
JUANICO.
Quiet, brother, on your life!
CAURALÍ.
He’s very witty.
CADÍ.
Don’t you think? I adore him, and I intend to adopt him after making him a Moor.
Well, know that I’ll make fun of you even if you give me mountains of gold; and even if you give me three right, proper, and complete reales, and two maravedís more.20
CADÍ.
What do you think of these graces?
CAURALÍ.
They’re supernatural.
CADÍ.
Follow me into the city.
CAURALÍ.
I want to speak with my slave.
CADÍ.
Well then, may Allah be with you.
CAURALÍ.
And also with you. [To Fernando:] You know already of my great need.
[The CADÍ exits with everyone but DON FERNANDO and CAURALÍ.]
FERNANDO.
I’ll speak to her on my way home, and do whatever I can to serve you, though she prove harder than a mountain or more terrible than an asp. Just let me speak to her and I’ll get to work, master.
CAURALÍ.
If you conquer her, you shall have the victor’s prize in battle.
FERNANDO.
I believe it.
CAURALÍ.
I mean that in addition to a lot of money, I’ll give you your freedom.
FERNANDO.
I expect even more mercies from your generosity.
[Exeunt. Enter DON LOPE and VIVANCO.]
LOPE.
Here we are, freed by the strangest case captivity has ever seen.
Do you think this has been by chance? It’s truly mysterious! God, who wants this Moor to journey to a land that adores His name, moved her to become the instrument that improved all our fortunes.
LOPE.
In her last note, she said that on Friday she’ll take the gate of Bab-al-Wad to the countryside,21 and that she promises to show herself by a certain ruse. She ended by saying that we must seek out her father Agimorato’s garden, where our dealings and our act will come to their happy ending.22
VIVANCO.
She has given us three thousand escudos in all.
LOPE.
Buying our freedom cost us two thousand.
VIVANCO.
We’ve gained far more than what we’ve lost. And even more, perhaps, if we win this soul, who is Christian in deeds even if moored in a Moorish body. But wait, what if this is the woman?
LOPE.
If it is, she’s beautiful, by my faith!
[Enter ZARA and HALIMA, their faces covered with white mantles; and with them, dressed as Moors, COSTANZA and Lady CATALINA, who speaks but two or three times.]
LOPE.
But which of the two is she? The others are captives.
HALIMA.
All the same, I know that if you speak to him . . .
COSTANZA.
Don’t lose hope, for God’s sake. I volunteer to speak to him and to persuade and compel him so that he comes to adore you; but you must give me a chance to talk to him.
You shall have whatever you want, my friend; don’t let that stop you from helping me in my hardship.
ZARA.
Walk, Halima, if you can.
COSTANZA.
I am bound by your goodness to do even more than that.
ZARA.
Look at those two, Costanza, and see if by chance you know either of them.
COSTANZA.
I don’t know either one.
VIVANCO.
If it is her, we are fortunate, for her vivacity makes her extremely beautiful.
ZARA.
They are dashing pups! Oh, that I might speak to them!
HALIMA.
If mine were there, I would go speak to them.
ZARA.
Costanza, look at them again, and tell me if you can tell whether they seem noble.
CATALINA.
Why?
ZARA.
So I can buy them.
COSTANZA.
The one on the left looks like a gentleman, and even the other is no peasant.
ZARA.
I want to see them up close.
HALIMA.
If only my Christian were here!
ZARA.
Both of them satisfy me.
How they hesitate! Let’s go over there.
LOPE.
No, they’re coming over here.
VIVANCO.
Their vivacity and appearance are pleasing.
ZARA.
Oh, Allah! What stung me? Look around, Costanza, and see if there’s a wasp. Woe is me, for it seems that a lance has pierced my neck. Shake this veil out, for I’m going mad at what I see. Ah, unlucky me! Did you kill it? Didn’t you see it? Shake my veil again; look and feel around. What if it’s still there!
COSTANZA.
I don’t see anything.
ZARA.
This unseen sting has gone to my heart!
COSTANZA.
The sting of the wasp inflames greatly; but I’m worried it might be a spider.
ZARA.
If it was a spider, it was Spanish; for the Algerian ones do no harm.
LOPE.
Have you ever seen such a ruse? Was there ever such a clever trick?
HALIMA.
Zara, don’t look so disheveled; put your veil back on.
ZARA.
Even the air bothers me.
HALIMA.
This misfortune, though slight, has ruined our jaunt.
VIVANCO.
What do you think?
LOPE.
I think my good fortune offers me everything I could want.
VIVANCO.
The sun is hidden again; its light is gone.
Could you, Costanza, ask that captive if he is Spanish?
COSTANZA.
I would be pleased to do so.
LOPE.
Show yourself again, oh sun! whose rays light my being, my understanding, my good fortune and happiness in having you.
ZARA.
Ask him, Costanza.
HALIMA.
How are you?
ZARA.
I feel better.
COSTANZA.
Sir, are you from Spain?
LOPE.
Yes, my lady; and from a land that does not breed poisonous spiders—a land with no fraud, tricks, or ruses but instead honest dealing, where promising and keeping promises are one and the same thing.
ZARA.
Ask him if his wife is pretty, if he’s married.
COSTANZA.
Are you married?
LOPE.
No, my lady; but I shall be quite soon to a Christian Moor.
COSTANZA.
How can that be?
LOPE.
How can that be? If you don’t know, you’re ill informed. She who will be my mistress is a Moor by her incredulity, and a Christian by her kindness.
COSTANZA.
I’m too thick to make out what you’re saying.
ZARA.
May it please Allah that you speak truly!
Ask him if he is a slave or a freeman.
LOPE.
Now I understand you; I pride myself on being a captive.
ZARA.
I understand all he says, and I know what he means.
LOPE.
I shall soon set foot on Spanish shores with pleasure and rare glory, and then I’ll show my firm faith.
ZARA.
Thanks to Allah and a pole.
HALIMA.
Christians, stay back, for we’re entering the city.
[The Moorish ladies exit.]
VIVANCO.
We shall obey you.
LOPE.
We are left in darkness. Beautiful sun, why do you go? Your generosity freed the body that you rescued from captivity; but your beauty has bound my soul in irons. From what I’ve seen in you, and of the desire that rules over you, I cannot keep from adoring you, as a jewel not of Mohammed but of Christ. I shall take you where you can be everything that you desire, even if it costs me a thousand lives.
VIVANCO.
Let’s go, this is our sorrow; not that way, you’re wandering.
[Exeunt. Enter the SEXTON with a pot of mojí stew,23 and the JEW after him.]
JEW.
Honorable Christian, may G-d return you to your freedom, just as you return what is mine.
SEXTON.
I don’t want to, honorable Jew; honorable Jew, I don’t want to.
Today is Saturday, and I have nothing to eat, so I feed myself with what I cooked yesterday.
SEXTON.
Cook something else.
JEW.
No, for I’d go against my law.
SEXTON.
Ransom this pot from me, and in giving it to you I shall do no small thing, for its smell consoles me.
JEW.
I can’t deal in large or in small sums.
SEXTON.
Well then, I’ll take it.
JEW.
Don’t take it. This is what it cost.
SEXTON.
So be it, for this benefits us both. Where’s the money?
JEW.
Here, I have it in my shirt, woe is me!
SEXTON.
Well then, let’s have it.
JEW.
You take it, for my law doesn’t allow me to.
SEXTON.
Beelzebub take you if he can, you seed of Habbakuk!24 Here you have exactly fifteen silver reales.
JEW.
Don’t bargain with me; deal with yourself.
SEXTON.
Tell me, pot: What are you worth? “I think I’m worth five reales, and no more.” You lie, by my faith as a gentleman!
JEW.
What a fright you’re giving me, Christian!
Wait, let the dog speak. You don’t want to go on? Here, I want to give you credit: take it, and go with God.
JEW.
And the other ten?
SEXTON.
That’s for two other stews I plan to steal from you.
JEW.
And you paid in advance?
SEXTON.
And if I tally up carefully, I think I’ve even been cheated.
JEW.
Is there a heaven that allows such things?
SEXTON.
Is there such a delicious dish? It’s not nerve meat or meat that sticks to the ribs of the bay horse, which is tref.25
JEW.
Heaven grant that this petty thief leave me alone!
SEXTON.
Petty thief? By God, I shall rob a child from you before two months are up; and even if I season its feet . . . God knows what I mean! Let’s go!
[Exeunt. Enter DON FERNANDO and COSTANZA.]
FERNANDO.
I climbed, as I said, that cliff, where I saw the galleys setting sail. I began to shout; but no one answered, although they all heard me well enough. Echo, who hides herself in a crag there, where the waves break furiously, took pity on my suffering and gave an answer to my last words. I renewed my cries; I signaled with my arm and my handkerchief; Echo came back, and from the same cliffs repeated my bitter words. Is there any remedy to the pain you cause, Love, that you cannot teach? You taught me one, such that I found life where I sought death. My heart, which let its pain out through my eyes in rivers of tears (that humor that makes embers seem to burn more brightly in the amorous forge), made me hurl myself into the sea with no thought of dangers or obstacles, convinced that to be reunited with its soul would be a worthy prize. Flinging away my weapons, I flung myself into the sea, burning in amorous fire, and became another Leander,26 with more light, for I was following yours. My arms grew tired, and I made a great effort, bursting past death and through the sea, for I saw that a galley was coming back for me, for its profit and my good fortune. A Turk cast out a curved iron and hooked me, like useless bait, and with great effort finally raised me onto the enemy boat, and I don’t know what else to tell you of my story. Cauralí made me one of his own; his wife, my enemy, chases after me, and he chases after you. Behold a story worthy of amazement and compassion!
COSTANZA.
If you remain firm in the face of Halima’s pleas, as I hope, I shall be tough as steel to Cauralí’s file, impenetrable and worthy. But we’ll have to give them some sign of amorous feeling so that they let us see each other and relieve our suffering. Cauralí begged you to speak to me, and Halima asked me to speak to you.
FERNANDO.
Something troubles me more than his suffering.
COSTANZA.
And me.
FERNANDO.
May these embraces break their plans to pieces; so long as we manage this, we should not fear any worry or peril, for I have heaven in my arms.
[Enter CAURALÍ and HALIMA, and they see them embracing.]
Hold me tight, dear wife, for so long as my anguished soul rests in this heaven, harsh Fortune can bring me no evil on earth.
Dog! You, with my slave? How is it that heaven does not smite you?
HALIMA.
Bitch! You, with my captive? How can I refrain from killing you? This is what I expected, bitch!
CAURALÍ.
Dog!
HALIMA.
Bitch!
CAURALÍ.
Dog!
HALIMA.
The fault lies with this bitch; your captive did not come up with the wrongdoing.
CAURALÍ.
He did come up with it, really, and I’m sure I’m not wrong.
[To FERNANDO:]I’ll rip out your heart, you dog!
HALIMA [to COSTANZA].
Bitch, you’ll pay with your life for this treachery!
FERNANDO.
Oh, how you misunderstand our intention, my masters! That embrace you saw, Costanza was sending it to you.
CAURALÍ.
What are you saying?
FERNANDO [aside].
What you heard, you wretch.
COSTANZA.
The favor you interrupted was carried out in your name. Truly, you’re choleric!
FERNANDO.
Understand this and believe it.
HALIMA.
What do you say, my friend?
COSTANZA.
If this embrace was lost, tomorrow I’ll collect four more.
Is what you have said true?
FERNANDO.
Well, why would I lie to you?
CAURALÍ.
Be certain of your liberty.
HALIMA.
I could scold you more for this love or immodesty; but I shall leave off until I see whether you keep doing what I’ve seen and can’t believe.
CAURALÍ.
Halima, in a thousand ways I confirm that you’re a prudent woman, especially given that these two, as new Christians, must just have paid tribute to their pleasure, since captives and countrymen are filled with joy at seeing each other, and as they found themselves alone, they shared their sorrows.
HALIMA.
And even those of others.
CAURALÍ.
This doesn’t seem right to me.
COSTANZA.
Both of them figured it out.
CAURALÍ.
Does Halima happen to know anything about this?
HALIMA.
Is Cauralí by chance pining for your love?
COSTANZA.
That’s madness!
FERNANDO.
Let no such worry weigh on you, for she hasn’t figured it out.
COSTANZA.
My lady, be satisfied and suspect no harm.
CAURALÍ.
One can easily be tricked.
And dishonor shows up at the eleventh hour.27
CAURALÍ.
Do whatever you can and know how to do.
HALIMA.
Don’t let your guard down at all.
CAURALÍ.
It’s good that your rage is over.
HALIMA.
Think of it as past. Go and find me those keys.
[Exit HALIMA and COSTANZA.]
CAURALÍ.
You, see me to the Zoco.28
FERNANDO.
Love, though I follow you heart and soul; I now bless, now curse, your scheming and straits.
[Exeunt.Enter JUANICO and FRANCISQUITO, playing with a spinning top.]
FRANCISQUITO.
You, who pester me because I cut short your virtuous sobs, have you ever seen a prettier top, God willing?
JUANICO.
Stop throwing those nooses, for heavier ones await our throats.
FRANCISQUITO.
You’re scared of that, brother? I’ll break them into a million pieces. Don’t think that I’ll become a Moor, even if this monster promises me silver and gold, for I’m a Spanish Christian.
JUANICO.
That’s what I’m afraid of, and why I cry.
FRANCISQUITO.
Because I’m young, you don’t believe in my courage.
That’s right.
FRANCISQUITO.
Well, know that I have divine strength to resist human tyranny. I don’t know who counsels me with a quiet voice in my heart (for I don’t hear it in my ear) and leaves me pleased and content to die; they tell me that I shall be a new Justus, and you a new Pastor, which I like.29
JUANICO.
Make it so, divine love, for I bow to your will. Leave this childish top, on my life! and let us go over our prayers.
FRANCISQUITO.
The Hail Mary is enough for me.
JUANICO.
And the Our Father?
FRANCISQUITO.
Also.
JUANICO.
And the Credo?
FRANCISQUITO.
I know it by heart.
JUANICO.
And the Salve Regina?30
FRANCISQUITO.
Even if they give me two tops, I shall not be a Moor!
JUANICO.
What foolishness!
FRANCISQUITO.
Well then: Do you think I’m joking?
We’re speaking of manly things, and you bring up the top?
FRANCISQUITO.
Should I be crying constantly? By my faith, brother, worry about yourself, and beware that Mohammed’s tempest doesn’t sink you; for inside this sheath lies a soul that thirsts for God; and neither the top, nor the whip, nor all the fountains of Algiers and its surroundings will slake my divine thirst, nor will it ever be slaked except in Him. And so I tell you, brother, that you should not take my childishness for a lack of courage, for deep inside me there is no place without God. Worry about yourself, and commend yourself to God in the coming assault; if not, I shall go out to the plaza to fight for both of us. I have the Hail Mary nailed in my heart, and it is the star that guides me through this sea of affliction to the port of happiness.31
JUANICO.
God speaks through you, so I’m not surprised to see you speak in such high style.
FRANCISQUITO.
Nothing will upset you if you look upon her.
JUANICO.
Woe to us, for here comes the stubborn Cadí! We must be strong.
FRANCISQUITO.
Rely on the Hail Mary; you’ll see what strength it has.
[Enter the CADÍ and CARAHOJA, the master of the one who lost his ears.]
CADÍ.
Well, my sons, what are you doing?
JUANICO.
My brother is spinning his top, as you see, my lord.
CARAHOJA.
He’s a child, and it’s fitting for his age.
And you, what are you doing?
JUANICO.
I was praying.
CADÍ.
For whom?
JUANICO.
For myself, for I’m a sinner.
CADÍ.
All this is well and good. What were you praying?
JUANICO.
What I know, my lord.
FRANCISQUITO.
He answered well. He was saying the Hail Mary. [He plays with the top.]
CADÍ.
You can stop the spinning before me, Bairán.
FRANCISQUITO.
A great name they’ve given me!
CARAHOJA.
It’s all child’s play.
CADÍ.
I pity this lad. Stop being so stubborn, Bairán, or you will suffer for it. What do you say?
FRANCISQUITO.
Hail Mary.
CADÍ.
What do you answer?
FRANCISQUITO.
Full of grace.
CARAHOJA.
This older one teaches the younger one.
JUANICO.
I don’t teach him anything, for he himself is capable.
FRANCISQUITO.
Oh, now would be the time to say Our Father!
Since our parents on earth are missing, we must resort to heaven. Where’s our father being kept?
FRANCISQUITO.
I shall call him in good time.
JUANICO.
The war is starting.
FRANCISQUITO.
To make everything right, I want to say the last thing that my mother taught me, which is good for dying.
CADÍ.
What will you say?
FRANCISQUITO.
I believe in God the Father.
CADÍ.
By Allah, I’m ready to kill him!
FRANCISQUITO.
You’re upset already? Well, if that bothers you, what will happen when you hear me say the Salve Regina? To confound you all the more, I know all of the four prayers, and know full well they are shields against your scimitars and your lewd thoughts.
CARAHOJA.
You can be free of this fear if you just raise a finger and say “Ilá, ilalá.”32
FRANCISQUITO.
That’s not in the primer, I can’t say it.
JUANICO.
Nor do I want to, you should add.
FRANCISQUITO.
I was about to say that.
This is a worthless exercise! Take this one, on my orders, and that other one, for they must die.
[FRANCISQUITO throws away the top and undresses.]
FRANCISQUITO.
Come now! Enough of this top, and of this gross outfit, which makes my soul beastly: he who dares walk this road should go lightly dressed. Come now, brother, be a strong and a brave shepherd, for this little sinner, redeemed by the grace of God, will follow behind! Come now, ferocious tyrants, show your hands at the ready, and your sharp scythes for cutting the edges of these throats and voices, for in this rare effort to which tyranny brings all its rage, you shall not get from my mouth anything but . . .
JUANICO.
What?
FRANCISQUITO.
A Hail Mary.
CARAHOJA.
Let’s go inside, for pleasure will make them change their mind more than the whip and pole.
CADÍ.
By a million signs I sense that my suit goes poorly; for the older one is very quiet and shrewd. I shall blaspheme Mohammed himself if he does not tame these lads!
FRANCISQUITO.
Don’t you fear him?
JUANICO.
I fear him not.
1. We have respected the characters’ titles in the original Spanish in order to preserve the class divisions within Spanish society. Don Fernando and Doña Costanza, for example, are of a higher social class than the Sexton or the Old Man.
2. This phrase recalls the intercalated novella in Don Quixote called El curioso impertinente (The Man Who Was Recklessly Curious) (Cervantes 2005, part 1, 33–35).
3. Spanish novels of the time chronicle an aversion to work among both the rich and the poor, particularly in order to keep up the appearance of wealth. Such is the case with the famous squire in the picaresque Life of Lazarillo de Tormes, who is forced to eat the bread his servant receives as charity. Nobles of the lower orders often suffered from poverty while refusing to work.
4. The Spanish text plays on moro (Moor) and mora (Mooress). We have translated terms such as “Christian” and “Moor” in a gender-neutral way except in cases, such as this, that require clarification.
5. This lament refers to the Spanish poet Garcilaso de la Vega’s tenth sonnet (“O dulces prendas, por mi mal halladas”). Garcilaso (1501–1536), one of the first Spanish practitioners of Petrarchism, was one of Cervantes’s preferred poets and a classic in his own time.
6. The typical garment of the captive was the gilecuelco—a dark blue or sky blue collarless jacket that did not extend past the elbows.
7. Cf. 2 Maccabees 7:1–42 for this brutal dismemberment. The Sexton’s analogy is particularly interesting since he is a Christian, one only too happy to take advantage of Jewish dietary law (see page 57 of our translation).
8. Relations between Muslim women and men of different religions carried the death penalty in Ottoman society. However, Muslim men were allowed to marry non-Muslim women, so long as they were people of the Book—that is, Jewish or Christian.
9. Here the Sexton differentiates between turcos de nación, “Turks by nationality” (literally, “Turks by nation”), and turcos de profesión, “professed Turks” (or “renegades”). The latter were born Christian but converted to Islam. For further discussion, see Garcés 34–37 and Fuchs 2001, 122–25. Mamí was also the pirate who captured Cervantes as he was returning from military service in Italy.
10. Cervantes’s stage direction is intriguing: while he may be referring to slaves or captives taken from the streets of Madrid, his casualness reminds the reader that Moors are not marked by any physical difference.
11. Don Juan de Austria (1547–1578), the illegitimate son of the Holy Roman Emperor Charles I (V of Spain), commanded the Holy Alliance’s triumphant naval forces at the battle of Lepanto (1571), during which Cervantes was wounded. Cervantes heaped praise on his former commander in several works.
12. After the expulsion of Spanish Jews in 1492, cultural production in Spain displayed a marked prejudice and stereotypical image of Jews, who were identified mainly by their dress and distaste for pork.
13. The “great sin” here is the Jews’ perceived responsibility for the Crucifixion of Christ, whom Christians believe to be the true Messiah. Moreover, the “eternal curse” refers to the story of the Wandering Jew, who taunted Christ at the Crucifixion and was condemned to wander the earth until the Second Coming, as Sevilla Arroyo and Rey Hazas note (Cervantes 1998, 14:77).
14. Garzon, from the French garçon, may designate a catamite (a boy kept for homosexual use) in early modern Spanish, especially when referring to the Ottomans or North Africa. Not all sources agree on this definition, however, and Covarrubias does not mention homosexuality.
15. A medieval string instrument played with a bow (OED, s.v. rebec); it was associated with pastoral life and song in Spain.
16. Both Muslim and Christian believers employ prayer beads, as seen in the exchange between Lope and Vivanco in Act I. In Islam, the Sub
a or misbaha is used to recite the ninety-nine names of Allah (Encyclopedia of Islam, s.v. “Suba”). There is another discussion of beads involving Zara, Costanza, and Halima in Act III. In all cases, Cervantes plays with the similarities between Christian and Muslim rosaries.
17. Agimorato plays a crucial role in the captive’s tale in Don Quixote, part 1 (chapters 39–41). Cf. Act 1, note 23.
18. In Numbers 16, Datan and Abiram, along with Korah, rebelled against Moses and Aaron and were swallowed up by the earth as a consequence. There is no link, however, between them and witchcraft.
19. Both songs the captives sing are traditional ballads.
20. See the Introduction for a fuller discussion of these coins.
21. Bab-al-Wad (Vavalvete in the Spanish) was one of the nine gates of Algiers (Haedo 31).
22. In one of the more metatheatrical moments of the play, Lope puns on an earlier version of this story, a play Cervantes entitled El trato de Argel (The Traffic of Algiers).
23. This type of casserole was made with breadcrumbs, honey, cheese, and eggplant (Diccionario de Autoridades), and was perceived to be typical of Jewish cuisine. It appears in the list of dishes favored by the conversa Aldonza in Delicado’s La Lozana Andaluza (Mamotreto [Chapter] II).
24. For another reference to Habbakuk, see Act I (page 13 of our translation).
25. In this passage the Sexton employs the word trefe, from the Hebrew t’ref, “forbidden meat, impure food.”
26. Cervantes again quotes from Garcilaso’s work, this time from a sonnet dedicated to Hero and Leander. The tragic story tells of two lovers separated by the Hellespont.
27. All editions of the text have Costanza speak this line, though it would make more sense for Halima to say it. We have respected the original in this case.
28. Zoco: the main thoroughfare in Algiers.
29. Saints Justus and Pastor were schoolboys and Christian martyrs who died together, aged nine and thirteen, in the Diocletian persecutions during the Roman occupation of Spain (303 C.E.). They are venerated as patrons of Alcalá de Henares, Cervantes’s birthplace, and Madrid.
30. As noted above in reference to Zara, these four prayers were cornerstones of post-Tridentine Catholic catechisms.
31. Commonly, the Virgin Mary was given the title Stella Maris (Star of the Sea), a guiding light for sailors.
32. These words begin the Muslim credo, the recitation of which is the only marker of conversion. While Christianity was tolerated in the bagnios, certain groups, such as women and young boys who would become candidates for the janissary corps, were often objects of proselytism.