DIEGO: You despise too many things, Nada. Save up your scorn; some day you’ll need it.
NADA: I need nothing. My scorn will see me through till my last hour. And nothing on this rotten earth of ours, no king, no comet, no moral code, will ever get me down.
DIEGO: Steady, Nada. Don’t exalt yourself like that or we shall like you less.
NADA: I am above everything now—I have ceased to feel the need of anything.
DIEGO: No one is above honor.
NADA: And what, my son, is honor?
DIEGO: It is what holds my head up.
NADA: Honor is merely a natural phenomenon, past or yet to come. So—cut it out!
DIEGO: Have it your own way, Nada. Anyhow, I must be off; she’s expecting me. That’s why I don’t believe in your gloomy prophecies; I’m too busy being happy. And that’s a full-time occupation, which calls for peace and good will everywhere.
NADA: I have told you already, my son, that we are in it already, up to the neck. So abandon hope, the comedy is starting. In fact I’ve only just time enough to hurry to the market and drink a bottle to the triumph of death.
[All lights go out.]
END OF THE PROLOGUE
After some moments the lights go up on a scene of animation. Gestures are brisker, everyone moves to a faster rhythm. Music. Shopkeepers take down their shutters, thus clearing the foreground of obstructions, and the market place comes into view. A CHORUS, composed of the populace and headed by the fishermen, gradually fills it. Their voices are exultant.
CHORUS: Nothing is happening, nothing will happen. Fresh fish! Fresh fish! It’s not disaster threatening, but summer coming in. [Shouts of joy.] No sooner ends the spring than the golden orange of summer, launched across the sky to crown the season of the year, bursts above Spain in a shower of honey, while all the fruits of all the summers of the world—butter-yellow melons, luscious grapes, figs oozing blood, and apricots aflame—pour down in torrents on our market-stalls. [Shouts of joy.] Here ends their long, swift course in baskets from the countryside where they drank deep of sweetness and the juices of the soil till they hung drooping over meadows blue with heat amid innumerable springs of living water which, drawn through roots and stems, wound its way to their hearts, in a never-failing honeyed flow, swelling them out and making them heavier day by day.
Heavier, ever heavier! So heavy that in the end they sank through the limpid air, set to trundling over the lush grass, took ship on rivers or traveled along roads from the four points of the compass, acclaimed by joyful shouts and the clarion calls of summer. [Brief bugle-calls.] So now they throng the cities of men in testimony that the fathering sky has kept its tryst with fertile mother earth. [All join in a shout of triumph.] No, we have nothing to fear. Summer has come again, bringing largess, not disaster. Winter and its hard fare lie far ahead. Today we have cheeses scented with rosemary, and the gifts of smiling seas—mullets, dories, fresh sardines, and lobsters. The goats’ milk froths like soapsuds, and on marble slabs the red meat frilled with crisp white paper and redolent of clover proffers for men’s nourishment blood and sap and sunlight. Here’s to the flower of the year, the cycle of the seasons ringing their changes! Let’s drink ourselves into oblivion, nothing will happen!
[Cheering, shouts of joy, trumpet calls, music. At the corners of the market place little scenes are enacted.]
FIRST BEGGAR: Give alms, good man! Hey, grandmother, spare a penny!
SECOND BEGGAR: Better now than never!
THIRD BEGGAR: You see what we mean, eh?
FIRST BEGGAR: But of course nothing’s happened, needless to say!
SECOND BEGGAR: But perhaps something’s going to happen. [Steals a watch from a passer-by.]
THIRD BEGGAR: Prove your charity. It’s better to be on the safe side.
[At the fish stalls.]
THE FISHERMAN: My John Dory’s fresh as a daisy. A flower of the sea. What have you got against it, lady?
THE OLD WOMAN: That ain’t no John Dory; it’s a dogfish!
THE FISHERMAN: A dog-fish indeed! I’ll swear no dogfish ever entered my shop—not unless you’re one yourself, old witch!
THE OLD WOMAN: Shame on you, young scalawag! Look at my white hair.
THE FISHERMAN: Get out of here, you old comet!
[Suddenly all stop moving, their fingers to their lips. VICTORIA is standing at her window, behind the bars, DIEGO facing her.]
DIEGO: It’s been ages since we were together.
VICTORIA: You foolish boy, we were together at eleven this morning.
DIEGO: Yes, but your father was there.
VICTORIA: My father said “Yes.” And we were so sure he was going to make difficulties!
DIEGO: It shows how right I was to go and put it straight to him.
VICTORIA: Yes, Diego, you were right. While he was thinking it over I shut my eyes, and I seemed to hear a thudding of hoofs in the distance, coming nearer and nearer, louder and louder, till my whole body was shaken by the thunder of their onrush. But then I heard my father’s voice. I heard him say “Yes.” It was the first dawn of the world. And in a sort of waking dream I saw love’s black horses, still quivering, but tamed forever. Waiting for us. Yes, it was for us that they had come.
DIEGO: I, too, was neither deaf nor blind. But all I heard then was the throbbing of my blood. Swiftly yet serenely joy welled up in my heart. City of light, my city, now you are mine for life—until the hour when the earth folds us in her embrace. Tomorrow we shall ride away together, you and I, on the same saddle.
VICTORIA: Yes—speak our language, even though to others it may sound crazy. Tomorrow you will kiss my mouth. I look at yours, and my cheeks burn. Tell me, is it the south wind?
DIEGO: It is the wind of the south, and it burns me, too. Where is the fountain that will cool its flame? [Goes up to the windows, and, thrusting his arms between the bars, grips her shoulders.]
VICTORIA: Ah, it hurts, loving you so much, so fiercely much! Come nearer!
DIEGO: How lovely you are!
VICTORIA: How strong you are, Diego!
DIEGO: With what do you wash your cheeks, to make them white as new-peeled almonds?
VICTORIA: With pure water, but love adds its balm.
DIEGO: Your hair is cool as the night.
VICTORIA: That’s because every night I wait for you at my window.
DIEGO: Is it, then, clear water and the night that have given you the fragrance of a lemon tree in flower?
VICTORIA: No, it is the soft wind of your love that has covered me with flowers in a single day.
DIEGO: The flowers will fall.
VICTORIA: But then the fruit will ripen.
DIEGO: Winter will come.
VICTORIA: But winter shared with you. Do you remember that little song you sang me once—what ages ago it seems! Isn’t it true as ever?
DIEGO:
When I am lying in the grave
And many a century has rolled past,
Were mother earth to ask me,
“Have you forgotten her at last?”
“Not yet,” I would reply.
[A short silence.]
But you’re silent, dear. What is it?
VICTORIA: I’m too happy to speak. Drowned in happiness!
[In the ASTROLOGER’S booth.]
THE ASTROLOGER [to a WOMAN]: The sun, dear lady, was entering the sign of the Balance at the hour of your birth. This means that you are under the influence of Venus, the sign in the ascendant being the Bull which, as we all know, is ruled by Venus. Thus you are naturally affectionate, amiable, and impulsive. You should be gratified by this conjunction, though I am bound to warn you that the Bull discountenances marriage and so your charming qualities well may run to waste. Also I see a conjunction of Venus and Saturn which likewise disfavors marriage and children. What’s more, this conjunction augurs queer tastes and may point to stomach trouble later on. But you needn’t feel alarmed. All that’s needed is to be out in the sun as much as possible. Sunlight not only stimulates the mind and morals but is also a sovereign cure for diarrhea. So, my dear young person, be sure to choose your friends among the bulls, and don’t forget your disposition is a lucky one, and the coming years have plenty of good things in store for you; in fact, you may look forward to a happy life.… My charge is six pesetas. [Pockets the money.]
THE WOMAN: I’m much obliged to you, sir. You’re quite sure about what you’ve just been telling me, aren’t you?
THE ASTROLOGER: Quite sure, you can depend on me. But there’s just one thing I ought to add. Nothing happened this morning, that we’re all agreed on. None the less, what has not happened may throw out my horoscope. I’m not responsible for what hasn’t happened. [The WOMAN goes away.] Ladies and gentlemen, let me cast your horoscopes. The past, present, and the future guaranteed by the fixed stars. The fixed stars, mind you! [Aside.] For if comets take a hand in it, I’ll have to look round for another job. I might try for the post of Governor.
A GROUP OF MALE GYPSIES [speaking together]: A friend who wishes you well.… A dark lady smelling of orange blossom.… A holiday in Madrid.… A legacy from an uncle in America.…
A GYPSY [by himself]: After your fair boy friend dies, lady, you’ll be getting a dark letter …
[On a mountebanks’ makeshift stage in the background, a
