The Mayor of Zalamea E-Book

Pedro Calderón de la Barca

• Herausgeber: Interactive Media
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

"The Mayor of Zalamea" by Pedro Calderón de la Barca is a Spanish Golden Age play. It tells the story of Pedro Crespo, a humble mayor, who stands up for justice when a nobleman dishonors his daughter. The play explores themes of social class, honor, and justice. Through dramatic confrontations and moral dilemmas, Calderón delves into the complexities of human nature and societal values. This timeless work reflects the enduring struggle for fairness and the clash between individual honor and societal hierarchies, making it a poignant exploration of human morality.

Leseprobe

Pedro Calderón de la Barca

The Mayor of Zalamea

Published by Sovereign

This edition first published in 2023

Copyright © 2023 Sovereign

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 9781787367487

Contents

ACT I

ACT II

ACT III

ACT I

Scene I.—Country near Zalamea.

Enter Rebolledo, Chispa, and Soldiers.

Reb. Confound, say I, these forced marches from place to place, without halt or bait; what say you, friends?

All. Amen!

Reb. To be trailed over the country like a pack of gipsies, after a little scrap of flag upon a pole, eh?

1st Soldier. Rebolledo’s off!

Reb. And that infernal drum which has at last been good enough to stop a moment stunning us.

2nd Sold. Come, come, Rebolledo, don’t storm: we shall soon be at Zalamea.

Reb. And where will be the good of that if I’m dead before I get there? And if not, ’twill only be from bad to worse: for if we all reach the place alive, as sure as death up comes Mr. Mayor to persuade the Commissary we had better march on to the next town. At first Mr. Commissary replies very virtuously, ‘Impossible! the men are fagged to death.’ But after a little pocket persuasion, then it’s all ‘Gentlemen, I’m very sorry: but orders have come for us to march forward, and immediately’—and away we have to trot, foot weary, dust bedraggled, and starved as we are. Well, I swear if I do get alive to Zalamea to-day, I’ll not leave it on this side o’ sun-rise for love, lash, or money. It won’t be the first time in my life I’ve given ’em the slip.

1st Sold. Nor the first time a poor fellow has had the slip given him for doing so. And more likely than ever now that Don Lope de Figueroa has taken the command, a fine brave fellow they say, but a devil of a Tartar, who’ll have every inch of duty done, or take the change out of his own son, without waiting for trial either.

Reb. Listen to this now, gentlemen! By Heaven, I’ll be beforehand with him.

2nd Sold. Come, come, a soldier shouldn’t talk so.

Reb. I tell you it isn’t for myself I care so much, as for this poor little thing that follows me.

Chis. Signor Rebolledo, don’t you fret about me; you know I was born with a beard on my heart if not on my chin, if ever girl was; and your fearing for me is as bad as if I was afeard myself. Why, when I came along with you I made up my mind to hardship and danger for honour’s sake; else if I’d wanted to live in clover, I never should have left the Alderman who kept such a table as all Aldermen don’t, I promise you. Well, what’s the odds? I chose to leave him and follow the drum, and here I am, and if I don’t flinch, why should you?

Reb. ’Fore Heaven, you’re the crown of womankind!

Soldiers. So she is, so she is, Viva la Chispa!

Reb. And so she is, and one cheer more for her, hurrah! especially if she’ll give us a song to lighten the way.

Chis. The castanet shall answer for me.

Reb. I’ll join in—and do you, comrades, bear a hand in the chorus.

Soldiers. Fire away!

Chispa sings.

I.

Titiri tiri, marching is weary,

Weary, weary, and long is the way:

Titiri tiri, hither, my deary,

What meat have you got for the soldier to-day?

‘Meat have I none, my merry men,’

Titiri tiri, then kill the old hen.

‘Alas and a day! the old hen is dead!’

Then give us a cake from the oven instead,

Titiri titiri titiri tiri,

Give us a cake from the oven instead.

II.

Admiral, admiral, where have you been-a?

‘I’ve been fighting where the waves roar.’

Ensign, ensign, what have you seen-a?

‘Glory and honour and gunshot galore;

Fighting the Moors in column and line,

Poor fellows, they never hurt me or mine—

Titiri titiri titiri tina’—

1st Sold. Look, look, comrades—what between singing and grumbling we never noticed yonder church among the trees.

Reb. Is that Zalamea?

Chis. Yes, that it is, I know the steeple. Hurrah! we’ll finish the song when we get into quarters, or have another as good; for you know I have ’em of all sorts and sizes.

Reb. Halt a moment, here’s the sergeant.

2nd Sold. And the captain too.

Enter Captain and Sergeant.

Capt. Good news, gentlemen, no more marching for to-day at least; we halt at Zalamea till Don Lope joins with the rest of the regiment from Llerena. So who knows but you may have a several days’ rest here?

Reb. and Solds. Huzzah for our captain!

Capt. Your quarters are ready, and the Commissary will give every one his billet on marching in.

Chis. (singing). Now then for

Titiri tiri, hither, my deary,

Heat the oven and kill the old hen.

[Exit with Soldiers.

Capt. Well, Mr. Sergeant, have you my billet?

Serg. Yes, sir.

Capt. And where am I to put up?

Serg. With the richest man in Zalamea, a farmer, as proud as Lucifer’s heir-apparent.

Capt. Ah, the old story of an upstart.

Serg. However, sir, you have the best quarters in the place, including his daughter, who is, they say, the prettiest woman in Zalamea.

Capt. Pooh! a pretty peasant! splay hands and feet.

Serg. Shame! shame!

Capt. Isn’t it true, puppy?

Serg. What would a man on march have better than a pretty country lass to toy with?

Capt. Well, I never saw one I cared for, even on march. I can’t call a woman a woman unless she’s clean about the hands and fetlocks, and otherwise well appointed—a lady in short.

Serg. Well, any one for me who’ll let me kiss her. Come, sir, let us be going, for if you won’t be at her, I will.

Capt. Look, look, yonder!

Serg. Why, it must be Don Quixote himself with his very Rosinante too, that Michel Cervantes writes of.

Capt. And his Sancho at his side. Well, carry you my kit on before to quarters, and then come and tell me when all’s ready.

[Exeunt.

Scene II.—Zalamea, before Crespo’s House.

Enter Don Mendo and Nuño.

Men. How’s the gray horse?

Nuñ. You may as well call him the Dun; so screw’d he can’t move a leg.

Men. Did you have him walk’d gently about?

Nuñ. Walk’d about! when it’s corn he wants, poor devil!

Men. And the dogs?

Nuñ. Ah, now, they might do if you’d give them the horse to eat.

Men. Enough, enough—it has struck three. My gloves and tooth-pick!

Nuñ. That sinecure tooth-pick!

Men. I tell you I would brain anybody who insinuated to me I had not dined—and on game too. But tell me, Nuño, haven’t the soldiers come into Zalamea this afternoon?

Nuñ. Yes, sir.

Men. What a nuisance for the commonalty who have to quarter them!

Nuñ. But worse for those who haven’t.

Men. What do you mean, sir?

Nuñ. I mean the squires. Ah, sir; if the soldiers aren’t billeted on them, do you know why?

Men. Well, why?

Nuñ. For fear of being starved—which would be a bad job for the king’s service.

Men. God rest my father’s soul, says I, who left me a pedigree and patent all blazon’d in gold and azure, that exempts me from such impositions.

Nuñ. I wish he’d left you the gold in a more available shape, however.

Men. Though indeed when I come to think of it, I don’t know if I owe him any thanks; considering that unless he had consented to beget me an Hidalgo at once, I wouldn’t have been born at all, for him or any one.

Nuñ. Humph! Could you have help’d it?

Men. Easily.

Nuñ. How, sir?

Men. You must know that every one that is born is the essence of the food his parents eat.

Nuñ. Oh! Your parents did eat then, sir? You have not inherited that of them, at all events.

Men. Which forthwith converts itself into proper flesh and blood—ergo, if my father had been an eater of onions, for instance, he would have begotten me with a strong breath; on which I should have said to him, ‘Hold, I must come of no such nastiness as that, I promise you.’