[Enter the WARDEN PASHA and another MOOR]
WARDEN.
I won’t give up my share for ten escudos. Sit down, and don’t let anyone in unless they pay two full ásperos.
MOOR.
On Christmas, as they call it, it came to twenty-five ducats.
WARDEN.
The Spaniards, for their part, are putting on a great play.1
MOOR.
They are Satans and very devils; they can do anything. Now they’re off to their Mass.
[Enter VIVANCO, DON FERNANDO, DON LOPE, the SEXTON, the FATHER of the children; DON FERNANDO carries the Sexton’s breeches.]
FERNANDO.
Here they are—I haven’t put them on. Earlier, Costanza mended them where they needed it, with her own hands.
SEXTON.
They’re perfect for the play; I’ll put them on now. To it, let’s go!
WARDEN.
Where are you going, Christian?
FATHER.
Me? To hear Mass.
MOOR.
Then pay.
FATHER.
What? Pay? One must pay here?
Clearly this old father is new here!
MOOR.
Two ásperos, or step aside, move on.
FATHER.
I don’t have them, by God.
MOOR.
Then go hang yourself.
LOPE.
I’ll pay for him.
MOOR.
That’s fine.
SEXTON.
Effendi, let me in, and take this handkerchief that I stole from a Jew not half an hour ago as a token. Or give me what it’s worth, for I’ll give it to you at cost, or for just a little more.
WARDEN [to the MOOR].
With these four more you’ve done very well.
SEXTON.
Right, then, I’m going in.
MOOR.
Hurry inside, for it’s getting late. With the king’s captives, I bet there are more than two thousand in the bagnio. Let’s watch from the door how they say their Mass, for I imagine in concert they must have excellent music.
WARDEN.
Stand behind the gate and you’ll see everything the Christians do in the yard, for it’s a sight to see.
MOOR.
I’ve already seen them. They say their Christ was reborn today.
[Exeunt. Enter all of the CHRISTIANS there are, and OSORIO among them, and the SEXTON, wearing the breeches that FERNANDO gave him.]
OSORIO.
This is a new mystery. Today twenty holy men have celebrated the Resurrection of Christ with a musical arrangement, which they call counterpoint. Algiers, I suspect, is a small Noah’s ark: here are men of all kinds, trades, and skills, and of disguised ranks.2
VIVANCO.
There’s another thing to marvel at even more, if you notice: as anyone can see, these faithless dogs allow us to practice our religion. They let us say our Mass, though in secret.
OSORIO.
On more than one occasion it’s been celebrated in haste and with difficulty. Once they took the priest in his vestments from the altar and dragged him through the village streets. They were so cruel to him that he ended both life and liberty on the road. But let’s forget this talk and attend to our pleasure, since our masters give us the chance. The first days of Easter are our own.
LOPE.
So what? Are there musicians here?
OSORIO.
And skillful ones; we’ll call the Cadí’s men.
VIVANCO.
Here they are.
OSORIO.
And the one who’s helping with the piece is already here.
FERNANDO.
The Cadí’s musicians sing well!
OSORIO.
Before more people arrive, let the dialogue begin, for it’s by the great Lope de Rueda, printed by Timoneda,3 who defeats Time in his old age. I couldn’t find a shorter piece to perform, and I know it will please with its strange rustic speech.
VIVANCO.
Do we have sheepskin jackets?
Humble ones; I’m going to get dressed.
VIVANCO.
Who’s singing?
OSORIO.
The Sexton here, who’s full of graces.
VIVANCO.
Is there a prologue?
OSORIO.
By no means!
[Exit OSORIO and the SEXTON.]
VIVANCO.
Oh, how beggarly they look! Well, it’s a captive play: poor, hungry, and unhappy, bare and clumsy.4
LOPE.
May its intention come across.
[Enter CAURALÍ.]
CAURALÍ.
Sit down; don’t be alarmed, for I’ve come to see your celebration.
FERNANDO.
I wish it were worthy of you, Effendi.
LOPE.
You may sit here; I’ll stand.
CAURALÍ.
No, no, friend, sit down; they’re starting.
LOPE.
Here they come; hush, they’re singing.
VIVANCO.
They should be crying.
FERNANDO.
This day allows no tears.
[They sing whatever they like.]
The music was heretical; if the dialogue is like that, both rudder and axle will break before the wheel can turn.
[When the music ends, the SEXTON speaks (all that the SEXTON now says, he says while looking at CAURALÍ out of the corner of his eye):]
SEXTON.
What is this? What land is this? What do I hear? What do I see? This celebration is a requiem for me, for a more than deathly desire vexes me. Where was this fire lit, that amid jokes and games turns my soul to ash? This arrow is from Mohammed, whose force I deny. Like the sun, which, when it peers over a low mountain, takes us unawares and with its sight tames and disarms our sight; like the carbuncle, which resists all decay, so is your countenance, Aja, a hard lance of Mohammed that tears my entrails apart.5
CAURALÍ.
Is this part of the play, or is this Christian a jester?6
SEXTON.
If her shining white hand does not remedy my pain, all shall end in tragedy. O most beautiful Moor, the most intelligent and gracious one known to Fame, from where daybreak dawns to where the sun rests [He says this looking at CAURALÍ], may Mohammed keep you countless centuries in his company.
CAURALÍ.
Is this dog rambling, or is this part of the story for today’s celebration?
FERNANDO.
Quiet, Tristán, and pay attention, for the dialogue is starting.
SEXTON.
I shall try, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to, the devil tempts me so.
GUILLERMO.
If the gladness I feel, which has come on so swiftly, doesn’t fill out my pouch, what patches shall I place on my tunic, and how shall I let out my doublet?7
SEXTON.
By God, my liver’s afire, and I suffer and keep quiet!8
GUILLERMO.
If this goes on, it might be better to stop.
SEXTON.
Who lit this ember?
LOPE.
Tristán, friend, listen, for you are prudent, and hush, for this is very impertinent.
SEXTON.
I shall keep quiet and have patience.
GUILLERMO.
Shall I begin?
LOPE.
Yes, begin.
GUILLERMO.
If the gladness I feel, which has come on so suddenly, doesn’t fill out my pouch, what patches shall I place on my tunic, and how shall I let out my doublet? And if, to tell it fully,9 Costanza10 happily looked upon me yesterday, what commotion or change might there be now that she doesn’t even dream of me?
Spread out, my sheep, over meadows and fields; eat tasty bits, never fear the coming night with its angry clouds; roam free, leaping with glee. Don’t worry about being eaten by starving she-wolves, greedy and disgruntled; and, when it’s time to give up your fleeces, come easily instead of lazily, grazing on the hillsides, to nearby journeymen or the snip of their scissors; for an infinite happiness, beyond imagining, will free you from harm if you but suspect the gladness I feel when you give up your white fleece. Yet who is the frightened wretch who approaches in a daze, head down, hair and beard standing on end, bowed down and disheartened?
SEXTON.
Who should it be? I am the sad and unfortunate one, alive one moment and dead the next, in love with Mohammed.
CAURALÍ.
Throw this madman out!
SEXTON.
I invoke your divine mouth, Aja, of a thousand orange blossoms, mouth of consolations, which I touch from afar!
CAURALÍ.
Let me at him!
FERNANDO.
No, master, for everything he says is a joke. The sinner’s a jester.
SEXTON.
God of the winds! Is there no breeze to temper such heat?
GUILLERMO.
This is too much insolence and foolishness! Throw him out already, and leave us!
SEXTON.
I’m going. God be with you, my Algerian glory!
[Exits.]
GUILLERMO.
Where was I?
VIVANCO.
I don’t know.
LOPE.
“Yet, who is the frightened wretch . . . ?” was the line at which he stopped.
The breeches worked.
GUILLERMO.
Should I start again?
FERNANDO.
No, no; don’t let them disturb us at a bad time. Continue the dialogue.
[A MOOR says from above:]
MOOR.
Christians, be alert; close the gate to the bagnio!
GUILLERMO.
Cursed be the hour in which you came, you dog!
MORO.
Open up for this Christian, who is hurt, and close straightaway!
CAURALÍ.
Allah help me! What is this?
MOOR.
O holy Allah almighty! They have killed two of the king’s captives. Oh unheard of cruelty! They are killing everyone without distinction.
[Enter an injured CHRISTIAN, and another uninjured.]
FERNANDO.
Come forth, brother. Who has injured you?
CHRISTIAN.
An archí.11
FERNANDO.
The cause?
CHRISTIAN.
I gave none.
VIVANCO.
Is the wound deep?
CHRISTIAN.
I’m not sure; it was well struck, and will no doubt be mortal.
I have a crueler one, and in a place where it can’t be seen.
CAURALÍ.
Won’t you tell me what this is about, Alí?
MOOR.
They’ve sighted a large armada on the main.
FERNANDO.
Is this true? Are you leaving, Effendi Cauralí?
[Exit CAURALÍ.]
MOOR.
The janissaries are killing captives if they find them, or abusing them in their harsh fury; and these shouts you hear come from fearful Jews.
GUILLERMO.
Everyone, be still! I think you’re lying, Alí, for there was no news of an armada in Spain of late.
MOOR.
Well, this proof contradicts and disabuses you: for in faith they say that more than three hundred galleys are now in view, with pennants and flags, heading for Algiers.
GUILLERMO.
Perhaps this is an enchanted armada.
[Enter the WARDEN.]
WARDEN.
My heart strains in my chest, and I’m bursting with rage!
OSORIO.
What has happened, Effendi?
WARDEN.
I’m about to recount the cruelty, which rivals the greatest foolishness ever seen. The sun rose this morning, and its rays imprinted such shapes on the clouds, that, although they have lied before, I believed them. They formed an armada that approached quickly over the calm sea, to land in Algiers. The eyes that see it discern the bows, sterns, and oars of the feigned galleys so clearly that there are those who affirm and swear they saw the overseer give his order and the rower follow it all at once. Another claims to have seen your dead prophet12 in the crow’s nest of a ship, depicted on a flag. The smoke showed an empty, dark body so vividly, and the ears heard fire and thunder so closely that for fear of the bullets a good number hugged the ground: such was the fear they suffered. Because of these shapes that the sun imprinted on the clouds with its rays, fear gave shape to another thousand within us. We thought that that Don Juan, whose valor was the first to check and rein in the Ottoman bravery, was coming to put an honorable end to the ill-fated beginning that his valiant father launched under an unlucky star.13 The janissary archíes, who are always drunk, took to killing captives in order to have fewer enemies, and if by chance the sun had delayed in erasing its deceptions, none of you in here would be safe. The wounded number twenty or more, and more than thirty are dead. The sun has now undone the armada; go back to your games.
OSORIO.
We can scarcely follow such bloody amusements!
SECOND CHRISTIAN.
Then hear another, bloodier and more serious story. The Cadí, as you know, has a child in his power of a young and tender age, named Francisco. He has spent all of his effort, authority, and reason, a thousand promises and threats, a thousand diverse favors, to get this baptized treasure to agree willingly to circumcision, of his own accord. His effort has been in vain; his reason has not been able to imprint human designs on this sacred heart. And so, we hear, affronted and shamed, he has quenched his hellish rage with Francisco. He’s tied to a column, the very image of Christ, stained crimson from head to toe in his own blood. I fear he must have expired, for even one beyond his years and strength could not have resisted such cruel martyrdom.
FATHER.
Sweet half of my soul, oh son of my heart, hold on to life while this wretch comes to see you! Be quick, lazy feet, on the street of bitterness; I shall see Pilate himself and a figure of Christ!
SECOND CHRISTIAN.
Is that his father, gentlemen?
FERNANDO.
That wretch is his father, a gentleman and an excellent Christian—we’re from the same village. Let our celebrations end and our rejoicing cease, for captive plays always end in tragedy.
[Exeunt omnes. Enter ZARA, HALIMA, and COSTANZA.]
HALIMA.
Your father asked me, friend, to come right away to dress you.
ZARA.
May heaven curse his intent!
HALIMA.
You’re marrying a king and you’re disgruntled? It’s well known that Muley is a gentleman. You must have your sights set elsewhere.
ZARA.
There’s no one to please or displease me, for I know nothing of love.
HALIMA.
Well, tonight you’ll find out, with your husband’s lessons, that love is sweet and delicious.
ZARA.
You bring me bitter news!
HALIMA.
What a coy woman!
ZARA.
It’s not coyness but anger: for I had determined not to get married for now, until heaven set my fortune to a different tune.
HALIMA.
Quiet, for you will find yourself a queen.
ZARA.
I am not moved by such interest. I’d be more at ease with another, lower state.
HALIMA.
I swear on my life, Zara, that you’re in love. Now show me the pearls you have, for I want to see how many strings I can make.
You can see them in there. Go in, and leave me a while, for I want to speak with Costanza.
HALIMA.
You’ll enjoy the dance before long!
[She exits.]
COSTANZA.
Tell me, mistress, what this is all about. Does getting married bother you so, and to a king?
ZARA.
I cannot tell you so many things so quickly.
COSTANZA.
Where does your misplaced anger come from?
ZARA.
Quiet, don’t let anyone hear. I’m a Christian, I’m a Christian!
COSTANZA.
Saint Mary help me!
ZARA.
That Lady must be the light and guiding star through the sea of my
grief.
COSTANZA.
Who taught you our law?
ZARA.
There’s no time for me to tell. I’m a Christian; see, friend, what use a Moorish king is to me. Tell me: Do you by chance know a ransomed captive who is a gentleman and a soldier?
COSTANZA.
What is his name?
ZARA.
I’m not safe here, and I fear some unlucky encounter.
COSTANZA.
Then let’s go inside.
ZARA.
No doubt that will be better.
[Exeunt. Enter the KING, the CADÍ, and the WARDEN PASHA.]
It was a strange case!
KING.
So strange that I don’t know if the world’s ever seen anything like it.
CADÍ.
Frightful squadrons shaped out of fantastic shadows have often been seen in the air, with all the artifice and skill with which the true ones attack on a blank field; the clouds have rained blood and mail, and pieces of scimitars and shields.
KING.
The Christians call those marvels, which sometimes appear; but I’ve never heard of the sun’s rays touching the clouds and forming such a large armada, by chance, without any mystery.
WARDEN.
That’s what I say; by faith, the trick has cost you more than thirty Christians.
KING.
It wouldn’t matter unless they had run all of them through.
CADÍ.
The fright took the whip and the fury from my hands.
KING.
What were you doing?
CADÍ.
I was beating a Christian . . .
KING.
Why?
CADÍ.
He’s young, and neither gifts, promises, nor threats can make a Moor of him.
KING.
Is he by chance the Spanish boy from the other day?
CADÍ.
The same.
KING.
Then don’t tire yourself, for he’s Spanish, and your tricks, rages, punishments, and promises will be powerless to bend his will. How poorly you know those stubborn, obstinate, fierce, ferocious, arrogant, headstrong, indomitable, and daring dogs! You’ll see him dead before he becomes a Moor.
[Enter a MOOR holding a captive.]
What has this Christian done?
MOOR.
Just now, in a strange boat unlike any I’d seen before, almost a league out into the sea, just now I caught him.
KING.
In what way was the boat strange?
MOOR.
It was a raft made of sticks, supported by many large gourds, and he served as a mast, standing in the middle, with his arms as a yard, and in his hands a ripped shirt served as a sail.
KING.
When did you get on the boat?
CHRISTIAN.
At midnight.
KING.
Why couldn’t you get farther from land in such a long time?
CHRISTIAN.
Sultan, it was good for nothing more than to prevent me from drowning, and I just trusted in heaven and in the wind that, good and furious by turns, might land the misshapen boat on any Christian shore, for no oar or sail could make it take a swift course.
KING.
In short, you’re a Spaniard!
CHRISTIAN.
I don’t deny it.
KING.
Well, I renege of what you don’t deny.
[Enter the SEXTON with a feigned baby in diapers, and behind him the JEW of the casserole.]
Is this another boat?
This Christian just stole my son from me.
CADÍ.
What does he want the child for?
SEXTON.
Isn’t he a good one? So that they may ransom him, if they don’t want me to raise him and teach him the Our Father. What do you say, Rachel or Zedekiah, Pharez, Sadoc, Zebulon or devil?
JEW.
This Spaniard, sire, is the ruin of our Jewry; nothing there is safe from his claws.
KING.
Tell me: Aren’t you Spanish?
SEXTON.
Don’t you know it already?
KING.
Who’s your master?
SEXTON.
The dabají Morato.
KING.
Deal with him, on my life.
CADÍ.
On mine, you’re exactly right in what you’ve said about the barbarous Spanish dogs.
[Enter another MOOR with another CHRISTIAN, very ragged and with wounded legs.]
KING.
Who’s this one?
MOOR.
A Spaniard who has fled so many times by land, that this one makes twenty-one escapes.
KING.
If we gave audience for four days, all those who came would complain of Spaniards.
A strange case!
KING.
Priest, return the child to this Jew, and do no harm to this Christian, for since he surrendered his body to such danger, his soul must be in great agony. And you, are you Spanish?
CHRISTIAN.
From Valencia.
KING.
Just try to flee again, and if they bring you back, I’ll impale you.
SEXTON.
My lord, make this buggering Jew at least give me the pay I’ve lost by chasing him to rob him of this whoreson.
CADÍ.
He’s right; take out forty ásperos and give them to the priest, who deserves them.
SEXTON.
Did you hear that, my Jewish friend?
JEW.
I heard just fine; but I don’t have them here.
SEXTON.
Let’s go home.
CADÍ.
With the Spaniards, all this and more goes on.
[Exeunt omnes. Enter the FATHER alone.]
FATHER.
Do I dare to go inside? Oh impertinent fear! Come now, for a stone that naturally approaches its center fears no obstacle.
[A curtain is drawn; FRANCISQUITO is discovered tied to a pillar in whatever way is most conducive to pity.]
FRANCISQUITO.
Won’t they untie me, so that I can at least die normally?
FATHER.
No, for this way you imitate Christ even more. If you’re headed to heaven, you must not sit on the ground; you go quicker like this.
FRANCISQUITO.
Oh father, come to me, for seeing you consoles me! Cold and frozen Death, with its mortal agony, is making me leave you!
FATHER.
Breathe your soul into my mouth, so that it may pierce mine! Ah, he dies!
Farewell, for I die!
FATHER.
God, to whom you aspire, join us in the place for which I yearn! How slowly he breathes, now he’s breathed his last! Go in peace, beautiful soul, and ask Him who made you fortunate, since you see him now, to sustain us in His pure, holy, happy, and honorable faith! Would that I knew the dunghill where they will bury you, o small and holy relic, so that I could water my plant with my tears! [Exeunt. The wedding procession must enter in this fashion: HALIMA, with a veil over her face, in place of ZARA; they carry her on a platform on their shoulders, with music and lighted torches, guitars and song and great rejoicing, singing the songs that I shall provide.14 VIVANCO and LOPE enter behind everyone, and among the Moorish musicians goes OSORIO, the captive. As they pass by, LOPE asks OSORIO:]
LOPE.
Who is this bride?
OSORIO.
Zara, Agimorato’s daughter.
LOPE.
That’s impossible!
OSORIO.
It’s obvious!
VIVANCO.
Her face and the trappings of the wedding make it clear.
By God, gentlemen, it’s her, and she’s the most beautiful and richest Moor in Barbary!
LOPE.
By the veil she wore, we couldn’t recognize her.
OSORIO.
Muley Maluco is to be her husband, the one who aspires to be king of Fez, a very famous Moor, well versed and attentive to his sect and evil law. He knows Turkish, Spanish, German, Italian, and French; he sleeps on a raised bed and eats at a table, sitting Christianfashion. Most of all, he’s a great soldier, generous, wise, composed, adorned with many graces.15
LOPE.
What do you think of this, my friend?
VIVANCO.
That we’ve bargained well, for with a pole for a staff, and Zara as a new Moses out of this depraved Egypt, we cross the dry sea to enjoy our dear homeland.
OSORIO.
The Jew spends his riches on holidays, the Moor, on weddings; the Christian, of his own will, follows a different rule, devoid of all pleasure,
[ZARA appears at the window.]
for he uses it up on lawsuits.
ZARA.
Psst! You, Christian slave!
OSORIO.
Farewell, gentlemen, for I want to see this to the very end!
LOPE.
I commend your taste.
ZARA.
Christian or Moorish enemy!
Who calls us?
ZARA.
One who deserves to be heard.
LOPE.
By God, friend, her voice sounds like Zara!
VIVANCO.
I should say so.
ZARA.
Tell me what this rejoicing and celebration is about.
LOPE.
Muley Maluco is getting married to Zara, who lives here.
ZARA.
A foolish answer.
LOPE.
There she goes on a litter with music and merriment. Do you command something else?
ZARA.
I see now, Lela María, how you seek remedy for me.
LOPE.
Are you Zara?
ZARA.
I am Zara. You, who are you?
LOPE.
I’ve gone mad!
ZARA.
What are you saying?
LOPE.
That I am a slave who adores you, mistress. I am Don Lope.
ZARA.
I’ll go let you in.
[She disappears from the window and goes down to open the door.]
VIVANCO.
It’s not without its mystery that Zara is both here and there.
LOPE.
Her faith deserves this reward. Her being here all alone increases my wonder; where there are so many servants, she’s found such seclusion; it’s all a miracle and good fortune.
VIVANCO.
It’s because of the rejoicing and merriment of the wedding. He who makes her appear in different places can do much more than this to remove the obstacles to the good that must follow.
[Enter ZARA.]
Do you see where she appears, Lope? Tell me if it’s not right to take this treasure from Mohammed.
LOPE.
Oh Love most extreme, who tames the soul! Remedy in my sickness, support in my fall, freedom from my prison, happy life in my death, credit to my truth, repository of all peace from my battles, sun that lights up my senses, beacon that guides lost wretches home—see me here prostrate at your feet, all the more your slave and more vanquished than when I lay in chains; lost and won by you, at once imprisoned and free; give me your divine feet and your hands, worthy of Alexander, where I might set my lips!
ZARA.
It’s not good for Christian lips to be sullied by Moorish women. You have seen by a thousand signs that I am all yours, not for you but for Christ. And so, to prove that I am His, I resist these caresses. Save them for another time, for now, when the soul trembles with a thousand fears, it cannot await or attend to the niceties of love. When do you leave for Spain, and when do you intend to return for one who remains, yet follows you? When will you accomplish such a glorious deed? When will your eyes look again on the Moorish spoils that long to be Christian? When will you end my fears and troubles with the sight of you?
LOPE.
I shall leave tomorrow, mistress; within eight days I believe I shall return, for I know that they will be centuries when longing counts them. Be in your father’s garden, where you shall see how I keep my faith and word, though it cost me the life your sight gives me. And do not worry that I shall fail you in this, for heaven cannot wish to deny its help on earth to such an honest case. I am a Christian and a Spaniard, and a gentleman, and I give you my faith and my word again to do what I must.
ZARA.
I’m quite satisfied, but if you love me well, so that I feel more certain, swear to me by Marién.
LOPE.
I swear by the Immaculate Virgin, and by her Son as well, never to forget you and to do what you shall see for my pleasure and your benefit!
ZARA.
You’ve sworn a strong oath! Enough; swear no more to me.
VIVANCO.
What does your father say about your marriage to Muley Maluco?
ZARA.
Tonight I made a complaint with which I undid the wedding. He had ordered me today to adorn myself to be a bride tonight; he came and found me in tears, left without wanting to speak to me, and throughout the city it is said that I’m getting married tonight.
VIVANCO.
That’s true.
LOPE.
This is a miracle! Don’t worry her any more; keep quiet. Give me your hands, mistress, until such a time as you give them with your embraces.
ZARA.
No, give me your feet instead, for you’re Christian and I’m a Moor. Go in peace, for while you go and come back, I shall pray to blessed heaven with the words of my faith and the tears of my lament, begging it to calm the sea, to smooth the wind, constant and favorable in your sails, to free you from harm, and to sharpen my mind in its faith. Farewell, for I cannot stay longer. Tomorrow I’ll go to the garden, where I’ll await you.
VIVANCO.
You’ll see a happy ending to this beginning.
ZARA.
Are you leaving me and going away?
I can do nothing else.
ZARA.
Will that happy hour ever come in which I see you again?
[Exit ZARA.]
LOPE.
It will come, if Death is not harsh, as is its way. It would not be wise to leave until I see the end of this figured wedding.
VIVANCO.
The mystery it holds ensures my success.
[Exeunt. A nuptial bed is discovered on which HALIMA lies, her face covered with a veil; they dance the morisca;16 there are torches about; DON LOPE and VIVANCO watch, and, when the dance is over, two MOORS enter.]
FIRST MOOR.
Let the celebration cease, and the lovely Zara return to her house, for Muley orders it thus, with admirable prudence.
SECOND MOOR.
Then the wedding won’t go forth?
FIRST MOOR.
Yes, it will, but he wishes Zara to remain in her father’s house, pure and untouched, while he procures his kingdom in Morocco; for thus she will be safer, and he hopes to enjoy her at leisure in his kingdom. Before the sun rises he will set out on this enterprise; the two thousand janissaries in his camp make him hurry, for you know he is on the march.
SECOND MOOR.
If that was his intention, why did he want Zara promenaded about? What will the people say? No doubt they’ll think that he no longer wants to marry her.
Let them say what they will, this is his pleasure, and we can only keep quiet and obey. What’s more, Agimorato agrees.
SECOND MOOR.
Is she to return with ceremony?
FIRST MOOR.
By no means!
SECOND MOOR.
Let’s bring her back, then.
VIVANCO.
O Almighty God!
[Everyone exits and the curtain closes over the wedding bed; DON LOPE and VIVANCO remain on stage.]
Your mysteries are great! Now you can go with confidence, for you see how easily this illusion and shadow has come undone.
LOPE.
They’re premises of our success. I’m going to embark. Mind you go to the place I’ve told you to, and signal again each night after six days have passed, which is when I plan to return, I hope. And procure with cunning and counsel, without ever betraying your intent, that the father of that martyr take refuge in the garden with another friend, for if the ship on which I sail stops in Majorca, I may well see you again within six days.
VIVANCO.
Go with God, and I’ll make sure that more than two gain their freedom. Don’t forget the signals. Embrace me, and good courage. Be diligent, and God guide you.
LOPE.
Don’t confide this secret to anyone.
[Exeunt. Enter OSORIO and the SEXTON.]
OSORIO.
The story’s the most comical I ever heard—that the Jews themselves ransomed you out of their own money.
SEXTON.
It happened just as I tell you: amusingly, they’ve ransomed and freed me. They say that in this way they secure their children, their stuff and casseroles, and finally, all their wealth. I’ve given my word not to rob them of anything while I make my way to Spain, and by God, I don’t know if I’ll keep it.
[Enter a CHRISTIAN.]
CHRISTIAN.
The alms have arrived in Bejaia,17 Christians.
OSORIO.
This is good news! Who has come?
CHRISTIAN.
The Order of Mercy.
OSORIO.
God grant it to us! And who is in charge?
CHRISTIAN.
I’m told it’s a prudent man named Fray Jorge de Olivar.18
SEXTON.
May he be welcome!
OSORIO.
A certain Fray Rodrigo de Arce19 has been here at other times, and he’s of the same order, a noble soul of high worth.
SEXTON.
At least I’m spared reverences and prayers, thanks to Zedekiah and to Rabbi Nephtali, who gave the money. It was good to hope, but it’s better to have. What’s done is very well done; and the alms may arrive when they please. O bells of Spain! When will I hold your clappers in these hands? When will I make the ding and dong or the solemn ascent? When will I see my coffer filled with the rolls that the rich widows give in remembrance of the poor departed ones? When, oh when?
CHRISTIAN.
Where are you going now?
OSORIO.
Agi Morato invited the Cadí to go to his garden for three or four days; for he plans to spend all summer there with his daughter Zara and the beautiful Halima, Cauralí’s consort.
CHRISTIAN.
Perhaps one day I’ll go and amuse myself with you there a while.
OSORIO.
You’ll be well received.
CHRISTIAN.
Farewell, friends!
SEXTON.
Since I’m free, I’ll also go to see you, Osorio.
OSORIO.
Then bring the guitar, and if possible, come soon.
SEXTON.
I shall.
[Exeunt. Enter HALIMA, ZARA, COSTANZA, and as she comes in ZARA drops a rosary, which HALIMA picks up.]
HALIMA.
What’s this, Zara my friend? A cross on your beads?20
COSTANZA.
Those are mine.
HALIMA.
If this isn’t devotion, I don’t know what to think or say.
ZARA.
What is a cross?
HALIMA.
This stick that intersects this other one.
ZARA.
Well then: What is that sign?
Your dissimulation isn’t bad! It’s a sign that the Christians worship as we do Allah.
COSTANZA.
Mistress, give it to me, for it’s mine.
HALIMA.
Your effort is in vain, for Zara dropped it, and I saw it with my own eyes.
ZARA.
Don’t let this upset you. Costanza gave it to me when I was in your house the other day, and I don’t know what a cross is.
COSTANZA.
That’s how it was, and it was careless of me not to take that sign away from her. Yet is it unseemly in your Moorish prayer?
ZARA.
G’Allah, she is not wrong.
HALIMA.
Be that as it may, take it off, sister; for if a Moor sees it, he’ll say that you secretly keep the Christian faith.
[Enter VIVANCO and DON FERNANDO.]
VIVANCO.
I’ve confided this secret in you as you’re a gentleman.
FERNANDO.
I hope to be grateful by being discreet. These are Halima and Zara, for I know them well.
VIVANCO.
Our plan’s going well.
HALIMA.
Look, friend, look: here comes my Christian, and in him comes the enemy whom I adore and curse.
ZARA.
What do you mean?
HALIMA.
I can no longer pretend.
COSTANZA.
Woe is me! And if she wants to declare herself to him?
I want to speak to him.
COSTANZA.
It’s useless to resist Love.
ZARA.
Do you love him?
HALIMA.
May he pardon my shame: I adore him, and he knows it, and I don’t know how to conquer his hardness.
ZARA.
And he does not soften with you?
HALIMA.
Constanza says he does; but I’ve always seen the harshness of an enemy in him. Come here; tell me, Christian, do you know that you’re my captive?
FERNANDO.
Yes, mistress, and I know that I live for you.
HALIMA.
How now, you monster? Haven’t my eyes and Costanza’s tongue ever told you that the end of my hopes is in your power? Have you been waiting for me to go through this painful experience in front of so many, showing you my wound? What an unfortunate faith this is, for what they call love is now a blaze, now a fury, and has no regard for anything. Beware, for if you scorn what I say, man, you might well make an enemy of such a friendly woman.
FERNANDO.
I only ask three days’ term, my lady, to give the sweet ending that you shall see to your persistence. Go with God to Zara’s garden and wait for me there: as I’ve said, your fierce grief will come to a sweet end.
HALIMA.
I am content!
ZARA.
And I pledge by my hand that he shall do as he says.
COSTANZA.
This is very well arranged!
If you must come, come early.
ZARA.
What is this wind that blows, Christian?
VIVANCO.
The north wind, it seems, and with it the one who guides and aids us brings good fortune.
ZARA.
Has your friend already left for Spain?
VIVANCO.
It must be six days ago now.
ZARA.
Would you remain here alone without him?
VIVANCO.
I was alone, but I hope to see him soon.
ZARA.
How soon?
VIVANCO.
I would leave tomorrow if there were a ship.
HALIMA.
Christian, look up. What is this? You’re very melancholic. What’s wrong? What do you feel? Tell me.
COSTANZA.
Let us leave here, my lady, though I must die where you’re going, for my heart is pounding through my chest.
ZARA.
It must be from waking up so early.
COSTANZA.
And from having had a vision—if it’s true, if it’s reasonable—that will end my life today.
FERNANDO.
These are all vain illusions; there’s nothing to fear, Costanza.
COSTANZA.
I’ll find out soon.
ZARA.
Christian women are so fearful!
Not so, though there are some who are frightened by the heavens. I was about to say jealousy, and I wouldn’t have been far off.21
HALIMA.
Allah be with you, my Fernando, and be sure to come right away, I command and beg you.
COSTANZA.
It’s enough to say, “I command you.”
[The three ladies exit.]
VIVANCO.
Let’s go; perhaps fortune will have been so favorable that Don Lope will have arrived already. We shouldn’t miss our opportunity.
[Exit VIVANCO and DON FERNANDO. Enter the FATHER with a bloodied white handkerchief, in which he carries the bones of FRANCISQUITO.]
FATHER.
I’ll have Osorio guard them. I fear that this darkness will either confuse me or make me late. Oh how typical it is of one my age to be timid and cowardly! Yet my feet will walk these holy relics to Agimorato’s garden. Great care must be taken where there are so many snares.
[Exits. Enter DON FERNANDO and VIVANCO.]
VIVANCO.
He’s at sea, no doubt: for this broken plate shows he came ashore. Let him come to our signal: strike the flint, friend, and make from it the light that brings, guides, and lights the remedy for our trouble.
FERNANDO.
Don’t you see how other sparks respond to ours?
VIVANCO.
Such happy signs are not sparks but stars. Hush, and listen to the soft sound of the holy oars.
FERNANDO.
Let’s get closer to the shore. There’s no doubt: it’s them.
[Enter DON LOPE and the CAPTAIN of the boat.]
Is it Vivanco?
VIVANCO.
The same.
LOPE.
Is Zara in the garden?
VIVANCO.
Yes, friend.
LOPE.
Today heaven grants a happy ending to my troubles!
VIVANCO.
Embrace me!
LOPE.
There’s no time for courtesies now. Go get her.
VIVANCO.
Right. You can’t wait long.
FERNANDO.
Do you want me to go with you, friend?
VIVANCO.
There’s no need: I’ll bring them with me in a moment; they’re all ready and waking, waiting for this.
LOPE.
Then rush, friend.
CAPTAIN.
Are they far off?
VIVANCO.
They’re close by.
[Exits.]
CAPTAIN.
Oh let them not take too long, for the wind’s favorable!
LOPE.
Be quiet, no one speak, for I hear a noise.
CAPTAIN.
Let’s return to the boat until we see what it is, sir.
LOPE.
Shh, don’t make a sound, for we’re safe here.
[Enter VIVANCO, HALIMA,22 ZARA, COSTANZA, the FATHER, with a white handkerchief, to show that he carries the bones of FRANCISQUITO; OSORIO, the SEXTON and other CHRISTIANS that could come out.]
VIVANCO.
They were alert and saw the signals at sea, and, unable to wait for me, ran to the coast. They saved me the walk.
OSORIO.
This is miraculous fortune!
LOPE.
Where is my beautiful star?
ZARA.23
Where is my divine compass?
CAPTAIN.
This is no time for courtesies; embark, for the wind’s picking up.
O light and holy cargo, make the winds favorable!
SEXTON.
I was already ransomed, but I’ll go for all that.
CAPTAIN.
Are there any more Christians?
FERNANDO.
I don’t know.
VIVANCO.
I’ve gathered whom I could.
COSTANZA.
Let’s go before Halima wakes up!
FERNANDO.
Do you want me to go back for her?
CAPTAIN.
Everyone get on the boat.
Does it pain you to leave your mistress?
FERNANDO.
I wish my master were here.
LOPE.
Let’s go, Zara.
ZARA.
Zara no more, I am María now.
LOPE.
This business24 was not taken from the imagination, for truth forged it far from fiction. This love story, of happy memory, survives in Algiers—thus should truth and history delight the understanding. And even today one may find the window and the garden there. And here this business comes to an end, though that of Algiers has none.
1. Because a captive slave’s value diminished if he apostatized by renouncing Christianity and converting to Islam, religious tolerance was encouraged in the bagnios. Mass was said regularly, and on holy days there were celebrations such as processions and theater pieces; other slaves could pay to see the festivities. See Friedman 77–85.
2. Skilled craftsmen, as noted above, were less likely to be ransomed and thus might “disguise their ranks.”
3. Lope de Rueda (1505?–1565) was one of the founders of modern Spanish drama; Timoneda (1500–1583), a writer and bookseller, published Rueda’s pasos, or skits. Cervantes may have met Timoneda, thus the allusion to his old age. See Cervantes 1998, 14:108.
4. Cervantes plays here on the genre he himself invented: the comedia de cautivos, or captivity play.
5. The Sexton seems to be mocking Cauralí for his love of a Christian. Exogamous romance was a theme common to both Spanish and English drama of the period. These exact lines are repeated in El amante liberal (The Generous Lover), one of the stories in Cervantes’s collection of Novelas ejemplares (Exemplary Novellas), which deals with exogamous romance.
6. Early modern Spanish plays would include interludes such as this, in which the Sexton makes fun of the various love plots. Cervantes here plays with the convention, as the Sexton is not scheduled to present an interlude during the colloquy. Colloquies were a traditional theatrical genre involving a dramatic conversation in dialogue form.
7. The colloquy this shepherd sings may have its source in one called Gila, published by Timoneda in 1567 (Cervantes 1998, 14:111).
8. According to the Galenic theory of humors, the liver was the source of black bile and thus when aggravated could produce melancholy, sadness, or, as here, lust.
9. The original has al contarlo extremeño, which could signify “happily” or “rustically.” In the facsimile of the 1615 edition, the text reads Extremeño, which editors correct to a lowercase e. This word may be related to the Extremadura region’s association with pastoral culture. Most likely, Cervantes is playing with the word extremo and changing it for rhyme, meaning something more like “fully.”
10. In another metatheatrical moment, a beloved Costanza is referred to in the colloquy.
11. Arch janissaries, or archíes, were chief sergeants of the Algerian janissaries, charged with the economic administration of a batallion, as Canavaggio notes in his edition of the play.
12. An image of Christ was on Don Juan’s royal galley.
13. Charles V launched an ill-fated attack on Barbarossa’s Algiers in 1541, in which perhaps twelve thousand men and 150 ships were lost to a sudden storm. This ruinous defeat prefigured the destruction of the so-called Invincible Armada (Garcés 23–24).
14. Here the stage direction recalls the difference between the author’s intentions and the actual fate of the unperformed plays.
15. Muley Maluco [’Abd-el Malik], to whom the real-life Zara was engaged, became the sultan of Morocco in 1576 and ruled until 1578. The Spanish original uses the word cristianesca, which implies Moors who imitate Christian customs, as in this case.
16. The morisca was a dance common to Mediterranean Europe that imitated a conflict between Moors and Christians, much like the popular festival called moros y cristianos. What is fascinating in this case is that stage Moors are dancing the morisca.
17. According to Haedo’s Topographia, Bejaia was thirty leagues east of Algiers (approximately 200 km). As Canavaggio’s edition notes, it was controlled by Spaniards between 1509 and 1555. Alms would reach Algiers with the expeditions of the Mercedarian and Trinitarian orders, which were dedicated to the redemption of Christian captives. Ransom funds for these expeditions came from both private and public sources and were a favorite cause for Spanish charities (Friedman 110).
18. A Mercedarian friar working for the Aragonese crown, he rescued Cervantes’s brother Rodrigo in 1577 (Cervantes 1998, 14:136).
19. Another Mercedarian friar from Toledo who commanded the order’s province in Castile.
20. See Act II, note 16, for further discussion of Christian and Muslim prayer beads.
21. Here the original puns on celo (jealousy) and cielo (heaven).
22. We have retained the stage direction of the Spanish original here: though Halima does not speak in this scene, she may be asleep with the other characters. The “other Christians” of the last phrase refers to the staging of the play, perhaps to minor characters such as the captive who repeatedly fails to escape.
23. This line has a history of misattribution. Modern editors inexplicably give the line to Halima, but the 1615 printed text gives it to Zara.
24. Cervantes again puns on trato (“business, commerce”) and the title of his earlier Algerian play, El trato de Argel (The Traffic of Algiers).