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 this side o’ sunrise 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 Figuerroa 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.8
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. Hoorah! 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, men, 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. Hurrah 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 be 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. Ho the grey horse?
Nuñ. You may as well call him the Dun; so screw’d he ca move a leg.
Men. Did you have him wal gently about?
Nuñ. Wal about! when it’s corn he wants, poor devil!
Men. And the dogs?
Nuñ. Ah, now, they might do if yo 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, hav 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 hav.
Men. What do you mean, sir?
Nuñ. I mean the squires. Ah, sir; if the soldiers are billeted on them, do you know why?
Men. Well, why?
Nuñ. For fear of being starved—which would be a bad job for the kin 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 h left you the gold in a more available shape, however.
Men. Though, indeed, when I come to think of it, I do know if I owe him any thanks; considering that, unless he had consented to beget me an Hidalgo at once, I would have been born at all, for him or any one.
Nuñ. Humph! Could you have hel 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. Knave, do you insinuate——
Nuñ. I only know it is now three lock, and we have neither of us yet had anything but our own spittle to chew.
Men. Perhaps so, but there are distinctions of rank. An Hidalgo, sir, has no belly.
Nuñ. Oh, Lord! that I were an Hidalgo!
Men. Possibly; servants must learn moderation in all things. But let me hear no more of the matter; we are under Isabel’s window.
Nuñ. There again——If you are so devoted an admirer, why on earth, sir, do you ask her in marriage of her father; by doing which you would kill two birds with one stone: get yourself something to eat, and his grandchildren squires.
Men. Hold your tongue, sir, it is impious. Am I, an Hidalgo with such a pedigree, to demean myself with a plebeian connection just for money’s sake?
Nuñ. Well, I’ve always heard say a mean father-in-law is best; better stumble on a pebble than run your head again a post. But, however, if you do mean marriage, sir, what do you mean?
Men. And pray, sir, what business is that of yours? But go directly, and tell me if you can get a sight of her?
Nuñ. afraid lest her father should get a sight of me.
Men. And what if he do, being my man? Go and do as I bid you.
Nuñ. (after going to look). Come, sir, you owe one meal at least now—sh at the window with her cousin.
Men. Go again and tell her something about her window being another East, and she a second Sun dawning from it in the afternoon.
(Isabel and Ines come to the window.)
Ines. For heave sake, cousin, le stand here and see the soldiers march in.
Isab. Not I, while that man is in the way, Ines; you know how I hate the sight of him.
Ines. With all his devotion to you!
Isab. I wish he would spare himself and me the trouble.
Ines. I think you are wrong to take it as an affront.
Isab. How would you have me take it?
Ines. Why, as a compliment.
Isab. What, when I hate the man?
Men. Ah! ‘pon the honour of an Hidalgo (which is a sacred oath), I could have sworn that till this moment the sun had not risen. But why should I wonder? When indeed a second Aurora——
Isab. Signor Don Mendo, how often have I told you not to waste your time playing these foo antics before my window day after day.
Men. If a pretty woman only knew, la! how anger improves its beauty! her complexion needs no other paint than indignation. Go on, go on, lovely one, grow angrier and lovelier still.
Isab. You shan’t have even that consolation; come, Ines.
[Exit.
Ines. Beware of the portcullis, sir knight.
(Shuts down the blind in his face.)
Men. Ines, beauty must be ever victorious, whether advancing or retreating.
Enter Crespo.
Cres. That I can never go in or out of my house without that squireen haunting it!
Nuñ. Pedro Crespo, sir!
Men. Oh—ah—let us turn another way; ’tis an ill-conditioned fellow.
As he turns, enter Juan.
Juan. That I never can come home but this ghost of an Hidalgo is there to spoil my appetite.
Nuñ. His son, sir!
Men. H worse. (Turning back.) Oh, Pedro Crespo, good-day, Crespo, good man, good-day.
[Exit with Nuño.
Cres. Good-day, indeed; I’ll make it bad day one of these days with you, if you do take care. But how now, Juanito, my boy?
Juan. I was looking for you, sir, but could not find you; where have you been?
Cres. To the barn, where high and dry
The jolly sheaves of corn do lie,
Which the sun, arch-chemist of old,
Turn’d from black earth into gold,
And the swinging flail one day
On the barn-floor shall assay,
Separating the pure ore
From the drossy chaff away.
This I’ve been about. And now,
Juanito, what hast thou?
Juan. Alas, sir, I ca answer in so good rhyme or reason. I have been playing at fives, and lost every bout.
Cres. What signifies if you paid?
Juan. But I could not, and have come to you for the money.
Cres. Before I give it you, listen to me.
There are things two
Thou never must do;
Swear to more than thou knowest,
Play for more than thou owest;
And never mind cost,
So credit’s not lost.
Juan. Good advice, sir, no doubt, that I shall lay by for its own sake as well as for yours. Meanwhile I have also heard say—
“Preach not to a beggar till
The beggar’s empty hide you fill.”
Cres. ’Fore Heaven, thou pat me in my own coin. But——
Enter Sergeant.
Serg. Pray, does one Pedro Crespo live hereabout?
Cres. Have you any commands for him, if he does?
Serg. Yes, to tell him of the arrival of Don Alvaro de Ataide, captain of the troop that has just marched into Zalamea, and quartered upon him.
Cres. Say no more; my house and all I have is ever at the service of the king, and of all who have authority under him. If you will leave his things here, I will see his room is got ready directly; and do you tell his Honour that, come when he will, he shall find me and mine at his service.
Serg. Good—he will be here directly.
[Exit.
Juan. I wonder, father, that, rich as you are, you still submit yourself to these nuisances.
Cres. Why, boy, how could I help them?
Juan. You know; by buying a patent of Gentility.
Cres. A patent of Gentility! upon thy life now dost think ther a soul who does know that no gentleman at all, but just a plain farmer? Wha the use of my buying a patent of Gentility, if I ca buy the gentle blood along with it? will any one think me a bit more of a gentleman for buying fifty patents? Not a whit; I should only prove I was worth so many thousand royals, not that I had gentle blood in my veins, which ca be bought at any price. If a fello been bald ever so long, and buys him a fine wig and claps it on, will his neighbours think it is his own hair a bit the more? No, they will say, “So-and-so has a fine wig; and, wha more, he must have paid handsomely for it too.” But they know his bald pate is safe under it all the while. Tha all he gets by it.
Juan. Nay, sir, he gets to look younger and handsomer, and keeps off sun and cold.
Cres. Tut! I’ll have none of your wig honour at any price. My grandfather was a farmer, so was my father, so is yours, and so shall you be after him. Go, call your sister.
Enter Isabel and Ines.
Oh, here she is. Daughter, our gracious king (whose life God save these thousand years!) is on his way to be crowned at Lisbon; thither the troops are marching from all quarters, and among others that fine veteran Flanders regiment, commanded by the famous Don Lope de Figuerroa, will march into Zalamea, and be quartered here to-day; some of the soldiers in my house. Is it not as well you should be out of the way?
Isab. Sir, ’twas upon this very errand I came to you, knowing what nonsense I shall have to hear if I stay below. My cousin and I can go up to the garret, and there keep so close, the very sun shall not know of our whereabout.
Cres. Tha my good girl. Juanito, you wait here to receive them in case they come while I am out looking after their entertainment.
Isab. Come, Ines.
Ines. Very well——
“Though I’ve heard in a song what folly ’twould be
To try keep in a loft what wo keep on the tree.”
[Exeunt.
Enter Captain and Sergeant.
Serg. This is the house, sir.
Capt. Is my kit come?
Serg. Yes, sir, and (aside) I’ll be the first to take an inventory of the pretty daughter.
[Exit.
Juan. Welcome, sir, to our house; we count it a great honour to have such a cavalier as yourself for a guest, I assure you. (Aside.) What a fine fellow! what an air! I long to try the uniform, somehow.
Capt. Thank you, my lad.
Juan. You must forgive our poor house, which we devoutly wish was a palace for your sake. My father is gone after your supper, sir; may I go and see that your chamber is got ready for you?
Capt. Thank you, thank you.
Juan. Your servant, sir.
[Exit.
Enter Sergeant.
Capt. Well, sergeant, wher the Dulcinea you told me of?
Serg. Deuce take me, sir, if I hav been looking everywhere—in parlour, bedroom, kitchen, and scullery, upstairs and downstairs, and ca find her out.
Capt. Oh, no doubt the old fellow has hid her away for fear of us.
Serg. Yes, I as a serving wench, and she confess’d her master had loc the girl up in the attic, with strict orders not even to look out so long as we were in the place.
Capt. Ah! these clodpoles are all so jealous of the service. And what is the upshot? Why, I, who did care a pin to see her before, shall never rest till I get at her now.
Serg. But how, without a blow-up?
Capt. Let me see; how shall we manage it?
Serg. The more difficult the enterprise, the more glory in success, you know, in love as in war.
Capt. I have it!
Serg. Well, sir?
Capt. You shall pretend—but no, here comes one will serve my turn better.
Enter Rebolledo and Chispa.
Reb. (to Chispa). There he is; now if I can get him into a good humour.
Chis. Speak up then, like a man.
Reb. I wish some of your courage; but do you leave me while I tackle him. Please, your Honour——
Capt. (to Sergeant). I tell you I’ve my eye on Rebolledo to do him a good turn; I like his spirit.
Serg. Ah, h one of a thousand.
Reb. (aside). Her luck! Please, your Honour——
Capt. Oh, Rebolledo—Well, Rebolledo, what is it?
Reb. You may know I am a gentleman who has, by ill-luck, lost all his estate; all that ever I had, have, shall have, may have, or can have, through all the conjugations of the verb “to have.” And I want your Honour——
Capt. Well?
Reb. To desire the ensign to appoint me roulette-master to the regiment, so I may pay my liabilities like a man of honour.
Capt. Quite right, quite right; I will see it done.
Chis. (aside). Oh, brave captain! Oh, if I only live to hear them all call me Madame Roulette!
Reb. Shall I go at once and tell him?
Capt. Wait. I want you first to help me in a little plan I have.
Reb. Out with it, noble captain. Slow said slow sped, you know.
Capt. You are a good fellow; listen. I want to get into that attic there, for a particular purpose.
Reb. And why does your Honour go up at once?
Capt. I do like to do it in a strange house without an excuse. Now look here; you and I will pretend to quarrel; I get angry and draw my sword, and you run away upstairs, and I after you, to the attic, tha all; I’ll manage the rest.
Chis. (aside). Ah, he seems to be getting on famously.
Reb. I understand. When are we to begin?
Capt. Now directly.
Reb. Very good. (In a loud voice.) This is the reward of my services—a rascal, a pitiful, scoundrel, is preferred, when a man of honour—a man who has seen service——
Chis. (aside). Halloa! Rebolledo up? All is not so well.
Reb. Who has led you to victory?
Capt. This language to me, sir?
Reb. Yes, to you, who have so grossly insulted and defrauded——
Capt. Silence! and think yourself lucky if I take no further notice of your insolence.
Reb. If I restrain myself, it is only because you are my captain, and as such—but ’fore God, if my cane were in my hand——
Chis. (advancing.) Hold! hold!
Capt. I’ll show you, sir, how to talk to me in this way. (Draws his sword.)
Reb. It is before your commission, not you, I retreat.
Capt. That sha’n’t save you, rascal!
(Pursues Rebolledo out.)
Chis. Oh! I sha’n’t be Madame Roulette after all. Murder! murder!
[Exit calling.