Scene Three
The same without Zoraya and Fatoum. Afterward Doña Joana and her women, Cleofas
While dance music is being played, the great double door of the chamber is thrown open—the guests crowd to the windows. The women arrange themselves at the left of the patio, the men at the right. Doña Joana comes out of the chamber, followed by her female attendants. As she descends, she is saluted by the women, who make courtesies before her, and by the cavaliers, who bow. Each, at the moment she passes, throws a flower at her feet and murmurs a wish for happiness.
Doña Syrena. Joy and health, Señora!
Doña Rufina. Be happy, Doña Joana!
Doña Serafina. Everlasting happiness, Señora!
The Cavaliers. Our best wishes, Señora!
Doña Joana thanks them as she descends into the foreground and goes up the steps leading to her apartment. The women watch her and bow reverently as she stops on the threshold to look at them before entering the room. Fatoum is waiting for her. The music stops when they enter.
Doña Fabia. (At the left with Doña Rufina and Doña Syrena, after Joana disappears) She is pale, the dear!
Doña Rufina. (Giggling) With emotion!
Doña Syrena. They create such false ideas about a moment like that!
Doña Rufina. And exaggerate them so!
They group themselves, seated, near the right column. After the procession has passed, Cleofas descends at the right, talking with Ramiro and Cristobol. The guests disperse in the patio, sitting or standing. There is a murmur of confused voices.
Cleofas. Whew!—it is warm in that chamber!
Doña Syrena. (To Doña Fabia in a low voice) Especially after they have emptied all the flagons!
Doña Rufina. (To Cleofas) Cleofas would have done well had he given the bride some comforting elixir.
Cleofas. (Gaily) Oh, yes! Those nuns have pictured marriage to her as something horrible!
Doña Rufina. The poor little child has had no one to give her a mother’s care.
Ramiro. Oh, yes!—there is Fatoum, the convert, who has brought her up.
Don Ambrosio. And, speaking of converts, Master Cleofas, the Very Holy Inquisition, of which you are the physician, seems to me to be enjoying a very long moment of leisure.
Cleofas. (With satisfaction) Oh, oh! the Tribunal is not out of work. And, after a short time, I believe that I may promise these ladies a very jolly bonfire.
Murmurs of satisfaction.
Doña Syrena. Of heretics?
Cleofas. Of heretics. Moors, Jews, renegades and backsliders—a sample of each.
Doña Rufina. And of sorcerers?
Cleofas. Of sorcerers and sorceresses, also—but fewer in number than is desirable.
Cardenos. (To Cleofas in a low voice) Master Cleofas, I should like to say two words to you in that regard.
Cleofas. At Your Grace’s disposition!
He goes to the left of the scene, followed by Cristobol, Rioubos and Ramiro, who surround him.
Cardenos. You have not forgotten an Arabian physician named Abou-Abassa?
Cleofas. A physician!—said to be a charlatan, who resided on the left bank of the river in a house on the hillside, where his daughter now lives.
Cardenos. Zoraya!
Cleofas. Oh, yes! I knew him!—I was enraged to see Bishop Talavera honor and protect a Moor, who had, they say, healed a sprain with friction—in reality, Cardenos, by means of mystic signs and magic incantations.
Cardenos. Then you are sure that man was——
Cleofas. A necromancer! And worse than that! Listen and judge, friend Cardenos! (He seats himself) One day I was riding my mule on the road leading to the bridge of San Martino. They called to me to examine a child which had been taken from the river apparently dead. “Have you,” I asked, dismounting, “suspended it by the feet in order to expel the water from the body? ‘Yes, lord’—And that has not resulted in resuscitation?—‘No, lord’—Then, there is nothing more to do. Good evening!”—And I passed on—The child was dead, was it not?
Cardenos and the Young Men. Yes!
Cleofas. Eight days later I re-passed the same place and whom do you think I saw playing on the rocks with a gang of ragamuffins?—Who?—My drowned child!
All. Oh!
Cleofas. Astounded, I questioned the child and found that after I left they had recourse to that quack, Abou-Abassa, who had breathed in the child’s mouth, made strange motions with its arms and succeeded in reanimating him after an hour and one half!—The magic was shown in the breathing and gestures and in this diabolical resurrection, which was an ignoble parody on the miracles in the Scriptures!
Cardenos. It is the same evidence.
Cleofas. The wretch is dead!—But, his daughter, who has been devoted to the works of the devil since her birth, interferes just as he did with the treatment of my patients: even with my own governor, Pétronille, whom I attended after fainting spells. I gave him hartshorn, which, you know, is the best cure for such illnesses, as is also the oil of ants and the salt of wood-lice—what is it they call this Olivera—whom they have given me for a colleague in the Tribunal?
Cardenos. The surgeon?
Cleofas. Yes, this ignoramus goes so far as to make sport of the inclusion of pearls and precious stones in our remedies; as if it were not proved every day that sapphires are the principal cures for ulcers, and emeralds infallible preventatives of pests!
He rises.
Cardenos. Assuredly!
Cleofas. Between us, this Olivera is to be watched, Cardenos—I am sure he believes more in the devil and witches than he does in medicine.
Cardenos. What is your reason?
Cleofas. Oh! nothing—He smells of it and I advise you to watch him—I said then—where was I?
Cardenos. You spoke of Pétronille.
Cleofas. Ah! yes, my governor! Do you believe that this wretch would, without consulting me, let himself be conducted to Zoraya’s home? Seeing him lively and apparently cured, I said: “Ha, my hartshorn powders?”—“No such thing!” he replied. “It was not your powders—it was a remedy which the Moorish woman gave me!—Swindler! pick up your packets and leave at once.”—It is better for me to work myself to death giving my own remedies than to deceive patients with the kinds which she uses!
Cardenos. Certainly!—if it is magic——
Cleofas. It is magic, Cardenos, do not doubt it. This sorceress is competing with me dishonestly. This is not all—she takes no pay from the poor for her attention or her medicines. And will you believe me when I tell you that she sends them away with their hands full of gold?—We shall have to struggle now!—Our practise is being ruined.
Cardenos. Your Honor may be reassured—they have an eye on her.
An agent of the Inquisition, dressed in black, enters from the street.
The Agent. (Going to them) Lord Cardenos, His Eminence prays you to come without delay, for urgent business.
Cardenos. I shall come at once!—This, Master Cleofas, may have something to do with your Mooress.
Cleofas. Good! Good!
Cardenos and the man go into the street. They play a saraband in the banquet hall.