AN ACTOR: Open your pretty eyes, sweet ladies, and you, my noble lords, lend ear. You have before you the most renowned actors of the whole kingdom of Spain. I have induced them, not without great pains, to leave the Court and come to your market place, where they now will play for your good pleasure that famous one-act piece The Phantoms by our immortal bard Pedro de Lariba. I warrant it will take your breath away, good people. Such is the genius of our bard that at its first performance this play was ranked among the greatest masterpieces. And so much did His Majesty the King delight in it that he insisted on having it played before him twice a day, and indeed would be watching it at this very moment, had I not convinced my friends here of the desirability of performing it in this market place and making it known to the public of Cadiz, the most enlightened public of all the Spains.
So step forward, ladies and gentlemen; the show is going to begin.
[The performance begins as announced, but the actors’ voices are drowned by the hubbub of the market.]
Fresh fruit! Fresh fruit!
Come and see the lobster-girl—half lobster, half woman!
Try out hot sardines! Straight from the frying-pan!
Come and see the king of jail-breakers! No prison bars can hold him.
Laces and wedding trousseaux. Fit for queens.
Buy my tomatoes, lady. They’re sweet and tender as your heart.
Painless extractions. Your teeth out in a jiffy, without a twinge. Come to Pedro, the wizard dentist!
NADA [staggering from the tavern]: Smash everything! Make a stew of the tomatoes and the lady’s heart! Lock up the king of prison-breakers and let’s extract the wizard dentist’s teeth! Lynch the astrologer, who can’t predict what’s coming to us! Let’s roast the lobster-girl and eat her, and to hell with everything—except what you can drink!
[A richly clad foreign MERCHANT enters the market, followed by a bevy of girls.]
THE MERCHANT: Come and buy my ribbons, guaranteed the genuine Comet brand.
VOICES IN THE CROWD: Ssh! Ssh! You mustn’t use that word.
[Someone whispers the explanation in his ear.]
THE MERCHANT: Come and buy my pretty ribbons, guaranteed the genuine—Constellation brand.
[Customers crowd round him. The GOVERNOR and his staff enter the market place and take their stand facing the populace.]
THE GOVERNOR: Worthy townsfolk, your Governor wishes you good day. He is pleased to see you gathered here as usual and carrying on with the activities that ensure the peace and prosperity of Cadiz. I am glad to see that nothing’s changed, for that is as it should be. I like my habits, and change is the one thing I detest.
A MAN IN THE CROWD: No, Governor, nothing has changed; as we poor people can assure you. We live on olives, bread, and onions, and, as usual, haven’t a penny in our pockets at the end of the month. As for boiled fowl, we have the consolation that others eat it every Sunday; it never comes our way. This morning there was quite a to-do in the town and overhead. There’s no denying we were scared. It almost looked as if a change was coming and all of a sudden we would be forced to live on chocolate creams. No wonder we were startled! But thanks to your kindness, Governor, we know now that nothing has happened, and our ears misled us. So, like you, we feel at ease again.
THE GOVERNOR: Your Governor is pleased to hear it. Nothing new is good.
THE ALCALDES: How right the Governor is! Yes, nothing new is good. We, the Alcaldes of Cadiz, possess the wisdom of age and long experience, and we prefer to think the poor of our city were not indulging in irony when they spoke just now. For irony is destructive of virtue; a good Governor prefers constructive vices.
THE GOVERNOR: Meanwhile, let nothing move! I stand for immobility.
THE DRUNKARDS FROM THE TAVERN [grouped round NADA]: Yes, yes, yes. No, no, no. Let nothing move, good Governor. Right now everything is spinning around us, and that’s exceedingly unpleasant. We, too, would much prefer immobility. So let all movement cease. Let everything come to a stop—except wine and folly.
CHORUS: Nothing’s changed. Nothing’s happening. Nothing has happened. The seasons wheel sedately on their axis and, up above, the tranquil stars are following their appointed courses. Geometry in its wisdom condemns those mad, erratic stars that burn the prairies of the sky with their fiery tresses, disturb the gentle music of the spheres with squeals, and the eternal laws of gravity with the wind of their speed; which make the constellations creak on their hinges and drive stars into collision on the highways of the firmament. Yes, thank heaven, all is as it should be, the world has kept its balance. This is the high noon of the year, the season of stability. Summer is here; happiness is ours. Nothing else counts, for we stake all on happiness.
THE ALCALDES: Since the universe has habits, all the more thanks to our Governor for being the champion of habit. He, too, disapproves of runaway horses. His realm is trim and tidy everywhere.
CHORUS: We shall behave well, never fear, since nothing changes or will change. What foolish figures we should cut with our hair streaming in the wind, bloodshot eyes, and screaming mouths!
THE DRUNKARDS [grouped round NADA]: Damn all movement, say we! Keep it down and under, and let’s stay put forever. This happy realm will have no history if we let the hours glide by without a jolt. Summer, dear sleepy summer, is the season nearest to our hearts, because it is the hottest—and the thirstiest!
[The siren theme of the overture, which has been droning in the background for some minutes, suddenly rises to an ear-splitting stridence, and there are two ponderous thuds. One of the actors on the raised platform, while moving to the front and gesturing, staggers and topples over the edge among the crowd, which surges in on the fallen body. Complete silence follows; no one moves or speaks.
A sudden commotion; DIEGO is thrusting his way through the crowd, which slowly draws apart, revealing the prostrate man. Two doctors come up, examine the body, then, moving aside, confabulate excitedly.
A young man accosts one of the doctors, and in pantomime, asks for an explanation; the doctor makes a gesture of refusal. But the young man is persistent, and seconded by the bystanders, presses him to answer, grips his shoulders, shakes him, and finally grapples with him until their faces are quite close, their lips almost touching. A gasp, a quick intake of breath is heard—as though the young man were snatching a word from the doctor’s mouth. Then he moves away and after great efforts, as if the word were too big to be got out, ejaculates:
“Plague!”
Everyone sags at the knees and totters. Meanwhile the word travels from mouth to mouth, louder and louder, faster and faster, while all take to their heels and circle wildly round the dais on which the GOVERNOR has taken his stand again. The movement quickens, becomes a frantic swirl of agitated bodies: then abruptly all form into groups and remain quite still, while an old PRIEST speaks.]
THE PRIEST: To church, all of you! Know that the hour of reckoning has come and the ancient doom has fallen on our city. It is the penalty with which God has ever visited cities that have grown corrupt; thus it is He punishes them for their mortal sin. Your screams will be crushed down within your lying mouths and a burning seal set on your guilty hearts. Pray the God of justice to have mercy and forgive your sins. Get you to the church, and pray. [Some hasten to the church. Others keep moving, like wound-up toys, in circles, while a passing bell is tolled. Upstage, the ASTROLOGER begins speaking in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he were making a report to the GOVERNOR.]
THE ASTROLOGER: An ominous conjunction of hostile planets is taking form in the houses of the sky. It forbodes famine, drought, and pestilence for all and sundry.…
[His voice is drowned by the shrill chatter of a group of WOMEN.]
THE WOMEN [speaking in turn]: Didn’t you see? There was a huge beast fastened on his throat, sucking his blood with a noise like a stomach-pump.
It was a spider, a big black spider.
No, it was a little green spider.
No, it was a sea-lizard.
You didn’t see properly. It was an octopus, big as a baby.
Diego! Where’s Diego?
There’ll be so many dead there won’t be enough living to bury them.
Oh. it’s too horrible! If only I could get away!
That’s it. For heaven’s sake let’s go away!
VICTORIA: Diego! Where’s Diego?
[Throughout this scene the sky teems with signs and wonders, while the siren theme swells and rises, adding to the general alarm. A man runs out of a house, screaming: “The end of the world is coming! In forty days the Last Trumpet will sound!” Another wave of panic sets the crowd gyrating, crying after him: “The end of the world! The end of the world in forty days!” While constables of the Watch arrest the prophet, a SORCERESS steps forward, crying herbal remedies.]
THE SORCERESS: Here’s mint and sage, here’s balm and rosemary, saffron, lemon peel, almond paste. Mark my words, these remedies have never been known to fail. [A cool wind rises as the sun begins to set; all raise their heads and gaze up at the sky.] The wind! The wind is rising. No plague can stand up to wind. So the worst is over, take my word for it.
[But, no sooner has
