Scene Three
The same, the goatherd, an archer. They enter at left
An Archer. (Dragging the goatherd) Go in! you beggar!
The Goatherd. (Obeying) Lord! have mercy!
The Archer. (To Arias, out of breath) He attempted to flee, the fool! He ran faster than his goats.
Enrique. Is he a goatherd?
The Archer. So he says.
Ramiro. (Taking the goatherd by the collar and compelling him to fall upon his knees before Enrique) Answer, villain, Don Enrique Palacios!
Enrique. It is you, then, who stole the body?
The Goatherd. Me! my Sweet Deliverer!—touch a corpse!
Enrique. Then why did you run?
The Goatherd. (Lowering his voice) For not speaking—and for fear she would revenge herself upon me for exposing her!
Enrique. And who—is she?
The Goatherd. (Looking nervously about) She who took the body.
Enrique. A woman?
The Goatherd. (Half aloud) The Moorish woman!
The Others. (Seconding him) The Sorceress!—Yes!—Yes!—It was she!—It was she!
Enrique. The Sorceress?
The Goatherd. Certainly, my lord. I have often seen her at night wandering on the heights and making conjurations to the moon, so I was not surprised to see her up there at daybreak this morning making curious gestures, in this way—I hurried my flock to avoid her—when two nigger devils approached her along that path! I was seized with a foolish fancy to know what these three were charming, and I clambered and crawled over the rocks toward them. But she pricked up her ears, the magician, and scrutinized the slope where I was lying with such a terrible gaze that I rolled down and scampered away, saying to myself: “I hope that her eyes have not changed me into a brown owl, or into a bad beast!”
Enrique. Then she is the guilty one?
The Peasants. (Eagerly) It is she, your lordship; it is the Sorceress, without a doubt.
Enrique. And who among you believe she is a sorceress?
The Peasants. Oh, all!
First Man. It is believed everywhere.
A Woman. She has caused enough misfortune with her deviltries!
Second Man. It has been proved that words from her will give rot to the sheep.
A Peasant. And sickness to men. (Murmurs of approbation.)
The Woman. Listen to the testimony of the wife of Zuniga, a wet-nurse, whose milk supply she caused to go dry.
First Man. And to José Barilla on whose barn she caused lightning to descend.
The Woman. Oh! the wicked she-goat!
Another Woman. She is the plague of this community!
Second Man. Arrest her, my lord!—It is she who stole the body!
The Goatherd. To make magic powders of the bones!
All. Yes! Yes!
The Goatherd. (To Farez, who shrugs his shoulders) It is well for you to shrug your shoulders, you!
Farez. (Coldly) Me?
The Goatherd. Yes. You who act so cunningly.
The Woman. Yes. He laughs at all we say.
Farez. At all of your stupidities! (All protest)
Enrique. Come forward. Pay no attention to them. What is your name?
Farez. Farez.
Enrique. A Moor?
The Goatherd. (Maliciously) But converted.
Enrique. What is your trade?
Farez. Muleteer.
Enrique. Then, according to your opinion, these people are wrong?
Farez. This is all idle talk, my lord—the ravings of old women. (Cries from the peasants, whom Ramiro silences.)
Enrique. Do you know this Moorish woman?
Farez. Zoraya?
Enrique. Is her name Zoraya?
Farez. Yes, my lord; that is to say, in the Arabic tongue, “The Star of the Morning.” I have long known her. I was in Granada before the conquest, employed as a servant by her father, Abou-Abassa, a scholar and physician of the last King Boabdil.
Enrique. Maiden, woman or widow—this Zoraya?
Farez. Widow, my lord!—Sometime before the siege she was married to a very valiant Moor, who was killed in a sortie.
Enrique. Being now a Granadan, does she reside in Toledo?
Farez. After the capture of Toledo, the wise Bishop Talavera, Governor of our city, took a strong fancy to Abou-Abassa because of his great knowledge and made him come here to reside. The daughter, of course, lived with him. The mother is no longer of this earth.
Enrique. Does she reside in Toledo?
Farez. No, my lord; but near here on this mountain-slope in a house built by her father, who died in the past year. She lives there alone with her old servants and her few surviving friends. Her door is always open to those of her race and her religion who appeal to her in need or in sickness.
Enrique. Ah! She likewise practises healing?
Farez. Free of charge! Her father left her great wealth and the knowledge of his art. Those of her own race are not the only ones who have sought her aid. (Addressing the peasants) More than one Christian who has secretly begged gold and medicines from her now shows his ingratitude by accusing her of causing hail to fall upon the fields. (The peasants protest.)
Enrique. (Silencing them) That is enough! (To Ramiro) Keep the muleteer. Release the others. (Exclamations of joy.)
The Peasants. Ah, thanks! your lordship! God will reward you! Long live His Excellency!
Arias. (Pushing them along) Go! Go! Disperse without noise! (They leave from both sides of the scene.)