A VOICE: What law?
ANOTHER VOICE: The new one, of course.
CHORUS: Our masters used to say they would protect us, but now we are forsaken. Hideous fogs are gathering at the four corners of the town, swamping the fragrance of the fruit and the roses, tarnishing the luster of the season, deadening the joys of summer. Alas, poor Cadiz, city of the sea! Only yesterday the south wind, desert-born and wafting to us perfumes of the gardens of Africa, was sweeping across the Straits, breathing its warm languors into our maidens’ hearts. But now the wind has dropped, and nothing else could purify our city. Our masters used to assure us that nothing would ever happen, but that man was right; something is happening and we are in the thick of it, we must escape while there yet is time, before the gates are closed on our calamity.
SECOND TOWN CRIER: As from today all essential foodstuffs must be placed at the disposal of the community—that is to say, they will be doled out in equal and exiguous shares to all who can prove their adhesion to the new social order.
[The First Gate closes.]
THIRD TOWN CRIER: All lights must be extinguished at nine p.m. and no one is permitted to remain in any public place after that hour, or to leave his home without an official permit in due form, which will be accorded only in very special cases and at our good pleasure. Any breach of this regulation will be punished with the utmost rigor of the law.
VOICES [crescendo]: They are going to close the gates. The gates are closed.
No, some are open still.
CHORUS: Ah, let us make haste to those that still are open. We are the sons of the sea. Away, away! The sea is calling us to happy places without walls or gates, to shores whose virgin sands are cool as maidens’ lips, and where our eyes grow dazzled gazing seaward. Let us go forth to meet the wind. Away! Away to the sea! To the untrammeled waves, to clean, bright water, the shining winds of freedom!
VOICES: To the sea! To the sea!
FOURTH TOWN CRIER: It is strictly forbidden to give help to any person stricken with the disease, except by reporting the case to the authorities, who then will take the necessary steps. A favorable view is taken of reports made by any member of a family as regards any other member or members of the said family, and such reports will entitle their makers to the double food ration, known as the Good Citizenship Ration.
[The Second Gate closes.]
CHORUS: The sea, the sea! The sea will save us. What cares the sea for wars and pestilences? Governments come and go, but the sea endures; how many governments has it engulfed! And how simple are its gifts! Red mornings and green sunsets, and from dusk to dawn the murmur of innumerable waves under the dome of night fretted with myriads of stars.
O vast sea-spaces, shining solitude, baptism of brine! Ah, to be alone beside the sea, facing the blue expanse, fanned by the wind and free at last of this city sealed like a tomb, and these all-too-human faces clamped by fear! Away! Away! Who will deliver me from man and the terrors that infest him? How happy I was but a little while ago at the summit of the year, taking my ease among the fruits; when nature was kind and smiled on me. I loved the world, Spain and I were at one. But no longer can I hear the sound of the waves. All around are panic, insults, cowardice; my brothers are sodden with fear and sweat, and my arms are too weak to succor them. Who will give back to me the waters of forgetting, the slumbrous smoothness of the open sea, its liquid pathways, long furrows that form and fold upon themselves? To the sea! To the sea, before the gates are shut!
A VOICE: Take care! Keep clear of that man who was just beside the corpse.
A VOICE: Yes, he has the marks.
A VOICE: Keep away! Don’t come near me!
[They drive the man away with blows. The Third Gate closes.]
A VOICE: O great and terrible God!
A VOICE: Quick! Get what’s needed, the mattress and the bird cage. Oh, and don’t forget the dog’s collar. And the pot of mint as well. We can munch it on our way to the sea.
A VOICE: Stop thief! He’s stolen our damask tablecloth, the one we used at my wedding.
[The man is pursued, caught, belabored. The Fourth Gate closes.]
A VOICE: Be careful, don’t let people see our food.
A VOICE: I haven’t anything to eat on the way; spare me a loaf of bread, brother. I’ll give you my guitar, the one with the mother-of-pearl studs.
A VOICE: This bread is for my children, not for those who call themselves my brothers when they want something off me!
A VOICE: Just one loaf! I’ll give all the money in my pocket for a loaf of bread, just one!
[The Fifth Gate closes.]
CHORUS: Quick! Only one gate is left. The Plague moves faster than we. He hates the sea and wants to cut us off from it. Out there the nights are calm, stars glide above the masthead, mirrored in the blue. What’s the Plague after in this city? He wants to keep us in his clutches, for he loves us in his fashion. He wants us to be happy, not in the way we like, but in the way that he approves of. Penitential pleasures, cold comfort, convict happiness. Everything is turning hard and dry, no longer do we feel the cool kiss of the wind upon our lips.
A VOICE: Do not leave me, priest; I am one of the poor men of your flock. [The PRIEST begins to walk away.] Look! He’s going.… No, stand by me, it’s your duty to look after me, and if I lose you, then I’ve lost all. [The PRIEST quickens his steps. The poor man falls to the ground with a great cry.] Christians of Spain, you are forsaken!
FIFTH TOWN CRIER [emphasizing each word]: Lastly, and this will be the summing-up. [Standing in front of the FIRST ALCALDE, the PLAGUE and the SECRETARY exchange smiles and looks of self-satisfaction.] So as to avoid contagion through the air you breathe and since words are carriers of infection, each of you is ordered to keep permanently in his mouth a pad soaked in vinegar. This will not only protect you from the disease but teach you discretion and the art of silence.
[From now on everyone has a handkerchief in his mouth and the number of voices steadily diminishes, as does the volume of the background music. Beginning with several voices, the CHORUS ends with that of a single speaker, and finally there is a pantomime, during which the lips of all are puffed out and firmly closed. The Last Gate is slammed to.]
CHORUS: Alas! Alas! The last gate is shut and we are locked up together, we and the Plague. We can hear nothing any more and henceforth the sea is out of reach. Sorrow is our companion, we can only turn in dreary circles within this beleaguered city, cut off from the sounds of leaves and waters, prisoned behind tall, smooth gates. So now, beset with howling crowds, Cadiz will become a huge, red-and-black arena in which ritual murders are to be enacted. Brothers, our plight is surely greater than our sin; we did not deserve this imprisonment. True, our hearts were not innocent, still we greatly loved the world of nature and its summers—surely that might have saved us from this doom. The winds have failed, the sky is empty, for a long while we shall be silent. But for the last time, the last, before fear gags our mouths for many a long day, let us lift our voices in the desert.
[Groans, then silence. All the instruments in the orchestra have ceased playing, except the bells. The buzzing of the comet starts again, very softly. The PLAGUE and the SECRETARY are seen in the Governor’s palace. The SECRETARY steps forward, crossing out a name at every step, while the percussion instruments in the orchestra punctuate each gesture that she makes. The death-cart creaks by. NADA grins.
The PLAGUE has taken his stand on the highest point of the palace and makes a sign. All sounds and movement cease.]
THE PLAGUE: I am the ruler here; this is a fact, therefore it is a right. A right that admits of no discussion; a fact you must accept.
In any case, make no mistake; when I say I rule you, I rule in a rather special way—it would be more correct to say I function. You Spaniards always have a tendency to be romantic, and I’m sure you’d like to see me as a sort of black king or some monstrous, gaudy insect. That would satisfy your dramatic instincts, of which we’ve heard so much. Well, they won’t be satisfied this time. I don’t wield a scepter or anything like that; in fact I prefer to look like a quite ordinary person, let’s say a sergeant or a corporal. That’s one of my ways of vexing you, and being vexed will do you good; you still have much to learn. So now your king has black nails and a drab uniform. He doesn’t sit on a throne, but in an office chair. His palace is a barracks and his hunting-lodge a courthouse. You are living in a stage of siege.
That is why when I step in all
