Actus

(Enter a shabbily dressed SOLDIER, wearing a ragged sash and glasses; followed behind by a wicked SACRISTAN.)

SOLDIER: What do you think you’re doing, you will o’ the wisp?

SACRISTAN: I'm no will o’ the wisp, I’m a hunk of manliness.

SOLDIER: Well, all the same, due to my unfortunate circumstances, you’re going to have to tell me who you are and what you’re seeking on a street like this.

SACRISTAN: I shall respond, thanks to my good fortune. I am Lorenzo Pasillas, Assistant Sacristan of this parish, and I seek on this street what I get to look at, while you seek but cannot find.

SOLDIER: Are you perchance seeking Cristinica, the maid of this house?

SACRISTAN: You've guessed it.

SOLDIER: Well then, come here, King of Satan’s Sacristans.

SACRISTAN: Very well, I'm coming, you jack of Geneva.

SOLDIER: Excellent: king and jack; we're only a few cards short of a winning hand. Come here, I say again – and know, Pasillas, that all it takes is one swipe of my blade at you, and Cristinica will be mine.

SACRISTAN: And do you know, you clothed octopus, that I have already secured that prize, that she is of sound mind and is mine?

SOLDIER: I’ll show you a sound mind – when I smash your head to pieces and see you slashed a thousand times!

SACRISTAN: With the slashes already on your breeches, and the pieces hanging from your clothes, you’ve got enough to entertain yourself without messing with my head.

SOLDIER: Have you even spoken to Cristina?

SACRISTAN: Plenty of times.

SOLDIER: What gifts have you given her?

SACRISTAN: Many.

SOLDIER: How many and what kind?

SACRISTAN: I can tell you about one of these large boxes of marmalade, very big – which was actually filled with pieces of communion wafers as pure as snow, and additionally four wax candles, white as ermine.

SOLDIER: What else have you given her?

SACRISTAN: Wrapped in a note, a hundred thousand wishes to serve her.

SOLDIER: And how has she responded to you?

SACRISTAN: By giving me promising signs that she will be my wife.

SOLDIER: Aren’t you forbidden from marrying?

SACRISTAN: Not at all. I am a lay-brother and can get married whenever I want; you'll see it soon enough.

SOLDIER: Come here, you lay-brother bastard; answer me this question I want to ask you. If this girl has responded so positively – which I don't believe – to the modesty of your gifts, how will she respond to the grandeur of mine? The other day, I sent her a love letter, written on the back of a receipt I gave to His Majesty, informing him of my services and my current needs (there’s no shame in a good soldier admitting he’s a bad banker). That receipt was approved and sent to the chief almoner, and despite the fact that it could have brought me four or six reales, with incredible generosity and remarkable carelessness, I wrote my letter on its back. And I know that from my sinful hands, it reached her almost saintly ones.

SACRISTAN: Have you sent her anything else?

SOLDIER: Sighs, tears, sobs, fits, faints, with all the necessary demonstrations that good lovers use and should use at all times and seasons to reveal their passion.

SACRISTAN: Have you played her any orchestrated music?

SOLDIER: The music of my sorrows and anguish, the music of my yearnings and distress.

SACRISTAN: Well, I have given her music with my bells at every step. So much so that I have annoyed the entire neighborhood with the constant noise I make with them, just to please her and let her know that I am in the tower, offering myself for her service. And even if I have to play funeral dirges, I ring those vesper chimes.

SOLDIER: In that, you have the advantage, for I don’t play anything and haven’t the money to.

SACRISTAN: And how has Cristina responded to these innumerable services you have rendered her?

SOLDIER: By not seeing me, not speaking to me, cursing me when she spies me on the street, dumping dirty water on me when she rinses clothes and soapy water when she cleans. And this happens every day because I am always in this street and at her door, for I am her diligent guardian. I am, in short, the dog in the manger, who doesn’t eat the grain but won’t let anyone else touch it. I don't enjoy her, nor will anyone, so long as I live. So, Mr. Sacristan, leave now, for out of respect for your position, I have not yet shattered your head into pieces.

SACRISTAN: If my head were as torn as those clothes, it would indeed be in pieces.

SOLDIER: The habit does not make the monk, and a soldier worn out by war carries as much honor as a student with a tattered cloak, for it shows just how long he’s been studying. So, go away, for I will do as I have said.

SACRISTAN: Is it just because you see me unarmed? Well, wait here, Mr. Diligent Guardian, and you will see if I’m not a regular swashbuckler.

(SACRISTAN exits.)

SOLDIER: Oh, the fairer sex, so fickle and unpredictable! Do you abandon, Cristina, this flower, this soldierly garden, and settle for the trash heap of an assistant sacristan, when you could settle for a full sacristan, or even a canon? But fear not, for I shall thwart your happiness by keeping a watchful eye on this street and your door, scrutinizing any potential suitors who dare approach. I shall earn a reputation as a diligent guardian.

(Enter a YOUNGSTER with a box and a green outfit, like those who beg for alms for some holy icon.)

YOUNGSTER: Kind sirs, alms for the oil lamp of our lady Saint Lucy, may her light bless your eyes. Oh, generous folks of this household, would you spare a coin?

SOLDIER: Well, well, dear Saint Lucy, come closer. What brings you to this house?

YOUNGSTER: Can't you see, sir? I seek alms for the oil lamp of our lady Saint Lucy.

SOLDIER: Are you asking for alms for the lamp or for the lamp's oil? Because when you say "alms for the oil lamp," it implies that the lamp belongs to the oil, not the other way around.

YOUNGSTER: Everyone understands that I'm seeking alms for the oil of the lamp, not for the lamp itself.

SOLDIER: And do they usually give alms in this house?

YOUNGSTER: Two maravedis every day.

SOLDIER: And who is the one who usually gives you alms?

YOUNGSTER: Whoever is closest, though most often a charming maid named Cristina comes forth, radiant as gold.

SOLDIER: So, this charming maid is radiant as gold?

YOUNGSTER: And as bright as pearls!

SOLDIER: Ah, so you hold no objections to the girl?

YOUNGSTER: Well, even if I were a gavel, I couldn't find her objectionable.

SOLDIER: And what might be your name? For it would be unseemly to continue calling you Saint Lucy.

YOUNGSTER: I, sir, am named Andrés.

SOLDIER: Very well, Mr. Andrés, listen closely to what I have to say: take this quarter-real coin and consider it payment for four days' worth of alms you usually receive from this house, often given by Cristina. Now, go with God, and I advise you to refrain from returning to this door or crossing its threshold for the next four days. Should you defy this warning, I shall kick you so fiercely that your ribs will shatter.

YOUNGSTER: I won't even come back this month, if I remember. Fear not, I depart swiftly.

(He exits.)

SOLDIER: Never a moment’s rest, diligent guardian!

(Another YOUNG MAN enters, selling and announcing lace trimmings, Cambray linen, Flemish lace, and Portuguese thread.)

YOUNG MAN: Are you in need of lace trimmings, Flemish lace, Cambray linen, or Portuguese thread?

(CRISTINA appears at the window.)

CRISTINA: Hey, Manuel, do you have some smart looking ones for shirts?

YOUNG MAN: Indeed, I do, and of the finest quality.

CRISTINA: Excellent. Come inside, my lady requires them.

SOLDIER: Oh, the star of my downfall, rather than the guiding star of my hopes! Lace trimmings, or whatever your name may be, do you know that maiden who called you from the window?

YOUNG MAN: Yes, I am acquainted with her, but may I ask why you inquire, sir?

SOLDIER: Doesn't she have a very nice face and good looks?

YOUNG MAN: It seems so to me.

SOLDIER: Well, it seems to me that no one should be in that house with her; if someone disagrees, by God, I will break every bone in his body, leaving none unharmed!

YOUNG MAN: Such a bad neighborhood! Step aside, Mr. Soldier, for I shall take my leave.

(MANUEL exits.)

(CRISTINA appears at the window.)

CRISTINA: Aren't you coming in, Manuel?

SOLDIER: Manuel has already left, lady of the smart and even lady of the dull, for you have both the smart and the dull under your command and authority.

CRISTINA: Jesus, what an annoying creature! What do you want on this street and at this door?

(CRISTINA exits.)

SOLDIER: The clouds parted, I saw the sun; but then it looked at me, screamed, and ran away.

(A SHOEMAKER enters, holding small new slippers; and as he attempts to enter CRISTINA's house, the SOLDIER stops him.)

SOLDIER: Wait right there, sir! Are you looking for something in this house?

SHOEMAKER: Yes, I am.

SOLDIER: And what is it, if I may ask?

SHOEMAKER: Why not ask? I’m looking for the chambermaid of this house, to deliver these slippers she ordered from me.

SOLDIER: Ah, so you're her shoemaker?

SHOEMAKER: I have often crafted her footwear.

SOLDIER: And do you need the where of her foot right now to fit them?

SHOEMAKER: It’s not necessary; if they were shoes, as she usually wears, then I would fit them.

SOLDIER: And have these slippers been paid for or not?

SHOEMAKER: They remain unpaid; she owes me payment for them.

SOLDIER: Would you do me a favor, which I would greatly appreciate, and lend me these slippers while I offer valuable items as collateral? I shall return them to you within two days when I expect to have ample funds.

SHOEMAKER: Yes, I agree. Bring forth the collateral, for as a humble craftsman, I cannot simply trust anyone.

SOLDIER: I shall give you a toothpick, a precious possession I hold dear, worth more to me than a coin. Where is your shop, so that I may retrieve it?

SHOEMAKER: One of those jeweled toothpicks the nobles use? My shop is on the Calle Meyor, on the post outside is my name, Juan Juncos.

SOLDIER [giving it]: Very well, Mr. Juan Juncos, here is the toothpick. I ask that you hold it in high esteem, for it is truly mine.

SHOEMAKER: A mere piece of wood scarcely worth two maravedis, and you expect me to hold it in high esteem?

SOLDIER: Alas, what a predicament! I offer it as a sentimental item, a memento for myself. When I reach into my pocket and don’t find my toothpick, I shall remember that you possess it and promptly reclaim it. Yes, on my honor as a soldier, that is the sole reason for my offering. But if you find it unsatisfactory, I shall add this sash and medal. A responsible debtor does not hesitate to provide collateral.

SHOEMAKER: I may be nothing but a shoemaker, but I am not base enough to strip you of your jewels and possessions. You may keep them, and I shall keep my slippers, as it suits me better.

SOLDIER: How many stitches do they have?

SHOEMAKER: A meager five.

SOLDIER: I’m more meager still, my heart's slippers, for I lack six reales to pay for you. Slippers of my heart! Listen, Mr. Shoemaker, I feel compelled to spontaneously recite this verse that has come to me: Slippers of my Heart.

SHOEMAKER: Are you a poet?

SOLIDER: Famous, and you get to see me at work. Watch.

[to the tune of Greensleeves]

O Love, you cruel tyrant true,

Forgetful of my faithful feat.

In vain I hold my love for you,

And watch it trampled ‘neath your feet.

And yet this brings me hope anew.

You heartless shoes, without a care,

Because you are Cristina’s pair,

You’re, too, the Slippers of my Heart.

SHOEMAKER: I may not comprehend much of poetry, but these words sound so pleasing that they could rival Shakespeare, for all things good or seemingly good do so.

SOLDIER: Well, sir, since there is no other remedy, lend me these slippers. It’s not much to ask, especially considering the sweet collateral I have presented. At the very least, let your honor keep them safe until I return in two days' time to retrieve them. And for now, let it be known that the shoemaker shall neither see nor speak with Cristina.

SHOEMAKER: I shall obey the soldier's command, for I can see how firm he stands, and what he stands in: one foot in need and the other in jealousy.

SOLDIER: That's not the wit of a shoemaker, but rather that of a trilingual schoolboy.

SHOEMAKER: Oh, jealousy, jealousy, how much better it would be to call you sorrow, sorrow!

(The SHOEMAKER exits.)

SOLDIER: Not even once! Unless you're not a diligent guardian, and a diligent guardian you should be. Otherwise, maggots will find their way into the cave where the elixir of your contentment resides. But what voice is this? Surely it is my Cristina, releasing her exuberance through song as she sweeps or mops.

(Plates clatter from within, as if being scrubbed, and she sings:) 

[to the tune of Vi ricorda o boschi ombrosi]

Sacristan, O how I love you,

That I think no thing but of you!

Trusting in my faith above you,

You can sing out hallelujah!

SOLDIER: Oh, the odious ears that catch such melodies! Of course it's the sacristan who puts a spring in her step. Oh, you fancy platters, cream of the crop! The mop's whole year will never see a cleaner piece of slate. But tell me, as you polish those Talavera plates, turning them into gleaming silver, why don't you cleanse your mind of these dirty sacristanal thoughts?

(Enter CRISTINA's MASTER.)

MASTER: Young man, what do you want or seek at this door?

SOLDIER: I want more than what’s good and I’m looking to find it. But who are you, sir, to inquire?

MASTER: I am the owner of this house.

SOLDIER: The master of Cristinica?

MASTER: Indeed.

SOLDIER: Well, come closer, sir, and take this bundle of papers. Inside, you'll find records of my services, along with twenty-two testimonials from twenty-two generals, under whom I have served. And let's not forget the thirty-four from as many field marshals who have honored me with their recognition.

MASTER: As far as I know, there haven't been that many generals or field marshals in the Spanish infantry in the past hundred years.

SOLDIER: Ah, well, you're a man of peace, not obliged to understand the ways of war. Just cast your eyes upon these papers, and you'll see, stacked one upon another, all the generals and field marshals I mentioned.

MASTER: I accept them as seen and reviewed. But what purpose does it serve for you to give me an account of this?

SOLDIER: By examining them, you'll realize that what I'm about to say might just be true. I'm being considered for one of three vacant castles and fortresses in the Kingdom of Naples. Gaeta, Barletta, and Rijobes, to be precise.

MASTER: So far, these reports hold no significance for me.

SOLDIER: Well, they will matter, God willing.

MASTER: How so?

SOLDIER: Because, come what may, unless the heavens themselves crumble, I am to be appointed to one of these fortresses. And now, I wish to marry Cristina. Once she becomes my wife, you, sir, can treat me and my considerable wealth as your own. I have no intention of showing ingratitude for the upbringing you've provided to my beloved spouse.

MASTER: You're crazier than anyone I've ever encountered.

SOLDIER: Ah, well, do you know just how serious I am, dear sir? You must hand her over to me this instant, or she shall never set foot inside your abode.

MASTER: Is this sheer madness? And who in the world could possibly stop me from allowing her entry into my own home?

(The SACRISTAN PASILLAS returns, armed with a ceramic jar lid and a rusty sword. Another SACRISTAN, GRAJALES, accompanies him, wearing a helmet and brandishing a staff with a fox's tail tied to it.)

SACRISTAN: Look, friend Grajales, there’s the troublemaker!

GRAJALES: I only wish I had sturdier weapons at my disposal. I would have dispatched him swiftly to the great beyond.

MASTER: Hold on, gentlemen! What is this disturbance and commotion?

SOLDIER: Thieves! Attacking me treacherously, like a gang of hoodlums? You scheming sacristans, I swear I'll pierce through you, even if you have more orders than a ceremonial march. Coward, coming at me with a fox's tail? Do you think I'm drunk or that you're dusting off a statue?

GRAJALES: I'm merely swatting at the flies buzzing around a jug of wine.

(CRISTINA and her MISTRESS appear at the window.)

CRISTINA: Madam, madam, they're killing my lord! More than two thousand swords are upon him, shining so brightly they blind my eyes!

MISTRESS: You speak the truth, my girl. May God be with him! May Saint Ursula, with her eleven thousand virgins, protect him! Come, Cristina, let us go down and assist him in any way we can.

MASTER: For heaven's sake, gentlemen, restrain yourselves. It's not right to deceive anyone.

SOLDIER: Hold on, fox's tail, and hold on, little lid. Don't fully awaken my anger, for if you do, I'll slay you, devour you, and barf you out the backdoor, two leagues beyond hell!

MASTER: I say, restrain yourselves, or may God smite me and take you all with me!

SOLDIER: I show you respect solely because of the sacred image in your house.

SACRISTAN: Well, even if that image performs miracles, it won't help you this time.

SOLDIER: Can you believe the audacity of this scoundrel, mocking me with a fox's tail? Yet, he hasn't frightened me more than the shots from Dio in Lisbon!

(Enter CRISTINA and her MISTRESS.)

MISTRESS: Oh, my husband! Are you badly injured, my dear soul?

CRISTINA: Oh, woe is me! By my father's life, it's my sacristan and my soldier who are embroiled in this brawl.

SOLDIER: Apparently I’m on the sacristan’s side if she also says “my soldier.”

MASTER: I am unharmed, my lady, but you should know that this entire brawl revolves around Cristinica.

MISTRESS: What about Cristinica?

MASTER: From what I gather, these gallants are fighting for her.

MISTRESS: Is this true, girl?

CRISTINA: Yes, my lady.

MISTRESS: Look how shamelessly you admit it! And have any of them dishonored you?

CRISTINA: Yes, my lady.

MISTRESS: Which one?

CRISTINA: The sacristan dishonored me the other day when I went to the market.

MISTRESS: How dare you take this girl out of our sight? She is already grown, and it was improper to expose her to such risks. What will her father say now, who entrusted her to us, pure and free from dust and straw? And where did he take you, traitor, to dishonor you?

CRISTINA: Nowhere, just right there, in the middle of the street.

MISTRESS: How! In the middle of the street?

CRISTINA: There, in the heart of Toledo Street, in the sight of God and the entire world, he called me dirty, dishonorable, shameless, lacking decency, and many other insults of that nature. And all because he was jealous of that soldier.

MASTER: So, nothing else has transpired between you and him except for this dishonor he brought upon you in the street?

CRISTINA: No, certainly not, for his anger quickly subsided.

MISTRESS: My soul has returned to my body; I almost lost it.

CRISTINA: And furthermore, everything he said to me is documented in this letter he gave me as my betrothed, which I have cherished like pure gold. [Takes letter from her clothes.]

MASTER: Show it to us, let us see.

MISTRESS: Read it aloud, husband.

MASTER: It says: "I, Lorenzo Pasillas, the sacristan of this parish, declare my deep and passionate love for Lady Cristina de Parraces. As proof of this truth, I have bestowed upon her this document, signed with my name, dated in Madrid, at the cemetery of San Andrés, on the sixth day of May in the year sixteen hundred and eleven. Witnesses: my heart, my understanding, my will, and my memory. Lorenzo Pasillas.” What a delightful marriage certificate!

SACRISTAN: By saying that I greatly love her, it encompasses everything she desires me to do, for when you give your will, you give it all.

MASTER: So, if she desires it, would you willingly marry her?

SACRISTAN: With utmost pleasure! I would even forego the prospect of three thousand maravedis of income that my grandmother intends to bestow upon me, as I have heard from my hometown.

SOLDIER: If promises are taken into account, today marks thirty-nine days since, upon entering Puente Segoviana, I pledged my will to Cristina, along with all the appendices to my three powers. And if she wishes to be my wife, she can claim herself commander of a renowned castle, instead of not a full sacristan, but half, and even that half must be missing something.

MASTER: Do you wish to get married, Cristinica?

CRISTINA: Yes, I do.

MASTER: Well, choose, from these two options presented to you, whichever pleases you the most.

CRISTINA: I feel quite embarrassed.

MISTRESS: Don't be! Eating and marrying should be done according to one's own liking, not someone else's will.

CRISTINA: Your graces, who have raised me, will provide me with a husband who suits me, although I would still like to have the choice.

SOLDIER: Girl, cast your eyes upon me; behold my charm. I am a soldier, destined to become a commander. Courage flows through my veins; I am the most gallant man in the world. And from the thread of this modest dress, you can unravel the ball of my gentility.

SACRISTAN: Cristina, I am a musician, though my domain lies with bells. No sacristan can outshine me in adorning a tomb or embellishing a church for grand festivities. And I can exercise these talents well while married and earn a living fit for a prince.

MASTER: Well then, girl, choose the one you fancy from these two; I give my approval, and in doing so, you will bring peace between these two formidable competitors.

SOLDIER: I agree.

SACRISTAN: And I surrender.

CRISTINA: Then I choose the sacristan.

(The MUSICIANS enter.)

MASTER: Let us summon the officers of my neighbor, the barber, so that with their guitars and voices, we may celebrate the betrothal, singing and dancing. And the soldier shall be my honored guest.

SOLDIER: I accept: Men all know it’s never right to win the vote by force or fight.

MUSICIANS: We have arrived just in time; this shall be the chorus of our song.

(They sing the chorus.) 

[Tune of Gil Brenton]

SOLDIER:

A woman’s choice is for the worst.

In awful taste they rank as first.

A soldier brave they think too brash,

And rather choose who has the cash.

But sure they choose security

When voicing their preferity.

Still, men all know it’s never right

To win the vote by force and fight.

SACRISTAN:

Who but a soldier ever thought

He’d fight for love like Lancelot?

What you would try to gain by force

I got with care and sweet discourse.

But I don’t mind your whining tripe.

A loser has the right to gripe.

And men all know it’s never right

To win the vote by force and fight.

(They exit, singing and dancing.)

END.

[Translator’s note: The original play had no indications for tunes to the songs. I chose some “olde tyme” songs to set the lyrics against to make performances easier on everyone. – TF]