Illescas. Captain Urbina’s house. Night.
(Enter MARTA, LUCÍA, the ENSIGN, URBINA, DON GÓMEZ, and INÉS.)
Daughter, your bloom of youth obliges me
to find you a groom whose bounteous love will flow
your way with boundless generosity.
Marta, step forward. I could speak, you know,
forever of the treasures of Captain Urbina,
but there’s one gift above all he gives the world.
So I’m the one. His only gift is his nephew.
She’s eyeing me. There’s something about that girl.
Look at her sigh. Lucía, how I’ll miss you!
All my dreams of Felipe are about to come true:
Father’s giving Marta away. O heaven!
Captain Urbina has just returned from Peru
with this dashing nephew who stands before you.
I’m scared to look his way lest one brief glance
condemns me to forget Felipe forever.
She’s definitely looking my way. What a dance
of curious eyes! Intriguing. But I’m still yearning
for beautiful Lucía. Well, whatever.
I’m a loyal nephew, and follow my uncle’s will.
Convenience is more important than pleasure.
This great venture must be contracted tonight,
thus linking the good name of Urbina to our
good will, forever and ever.
She doesn’t see me. Oh God, do you feel her power?
Not yet.
Marta!
Felipe?
I love you.
Look at him back at the scene of his crime.
Be careful.
Long live General Don Luis Fajardo!
Who’s that drunken soldier?
Felipe!
Lucía…
There are the sisters.
Luscious.
Oh, God, I’m dying.
And there’s that insolent soldier again.
Huzzah!
He’s drunk.
Quiet or they’ll see we’re spying.
Huzzah!
Don’t let carousing from a solider
of our Majesty’s brave army be a distraction.
Huzzah!
Let your feelings be known, daughter.
Fulfill our desires.
We wait upon your reaction.
Although the Ensign’s a man of great renown,
and his uncle bequeaths him a most illustrious name.,
and a rich and honorable list of noble deeds,
I fear—
What that’s?—
I’m not—
You’re not?—
Hooray!
What does his nephew have to do with who’s
to master your tender love, and crown your jewel?
The Ensign’s a stream that feeds a mighty river.
I am the man who means to marry you.
A daughter does a father’s will. Answer.
You put me in a difficult position, father.
Huzzah!
Will somebody call a constable?
That drunken soldier’s getting to be a bother!
(to Felipe)
Quiet, and let me handle this myself.
I await the sweet “yes” from your honeyed lips.
Captain, I thank you for your generous offer.
It’s clear you are a man of many gifts,
but I will not marry.
Long live the Empire!
Outrage! You will marry or you will die.
Wait, father. I beg you, as my señor,,
to hear the words of your loving daughter.
Yes, be my witnesses, one and all,
for God above supports my cause.
I am a woman of my word,
and as a woman I keep my vows,
for I’m heir father, to your good blood.
I would gladly marry the Captain.
He’s a man of great estate.
Without money, love is worth nothing:
every woman knows this truth.
Yes, I’d marry a thousand times over,
I’d kiss the Captain every night
before we went each to our chambers.
He’s a beautiful man in his own way.
But my calling is virtuous.
I’ve long kept it a secret from you,
but now that you suddenly insist
upon my marriage to this great man,
dear father, I must declare before
you all my true intentions or risk
the wrath of the highest Lord.
I have a holy calling. I must
renounce this world and its weary ways.
No more finery, no more fiestas,
no more bullfights—I must make
this sacrifice. Earthly vanity
is no more for me. I’ve sworn before
the Lord above. I’ve taken a vow
of chastity. Yes, I abjure
any behavior less than holy.
I am a maid, and a maid I’ll remain
until the day my ancient body
is laid in virgin earth. Amen.
This is a serious matter.
Señora?
Please don’t touch me. I am pure.
Is this some whim?
It’s the will of God
Maybe you should ask if she’s sure?
Do you doubt the power of my faith?
I have friends who are theologians—
I’ll consult them—they’ll advise me.
They know how to scour the conscience.
Yes. No use rushing into a decision.
Call the servants! Draw up the carriage!
Won’t you even spend the night?
Since there’s not going to be a marriage,
we’re going back home this moment!
A stroke from heaven!
God heard my prayers!
I am rewarded for my faith!
Sweet Felipe!
Sweet Lucía!
I’m not sure what’s up with Marta
but either way Felipe’s mine.
This conversion is pure confusion.
At least it buys us a little time.
Long live God!
(Aside to Marta.)
Did you really mean it?
Now is not the time for doubt.
Is this for me or for love of God?
You’ll soon see how I keep my vows.
The above sample taken from the translation Marta the Divine by Harley Erdman is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Alms! Alms! O for a home!
Charity, please. Is there no one
who’ll alleviate the woeful
suffering of a friar, a prayerful
man devoted to Canon Law,
whose raging illness stands in the way
of noble pursuits? Alms, alms,
if charity be the outward sign
of a family’s noble bloodline.
Felipe!
Shhh…Alms, alms.
Father, take pity on this soul.
I see him, and compassion parts
the very fibers of my heart.
It’s God’s will: we must help him.
Give him a coin and bid him go.
We have enough of these wandering poor
here in Madrid.
You’d refuse him, señor?
You might as well as kill him with
your own unforgiving hand.
You can take him away from me,
but I will give him everything
that’s in my soul. O poor darling,
I open my arms. Come to Marta!
I am your martyr.
Such a weak
and humble body but such a sleek
and resplendent soul! My sweetie!
You embrace him?
I’d like to give him
a hug as well.
Wait one minute.
What’s your illness?
A touch of jaundice.
Could be worse.
I have discomfort
in my head and in my bowels.
My molars ache. I’ve got the mange,
and a bit of ringworm of the waist
and scalp. Lately, I’ve been plagued
with scabies, and on my face,
you’ll see I’ve got the oozing pox..
My jaw tends to get locked,
and as you can see by how I walk,
I seem to have that vicious palsy
that’s going round. O how it hurts.
I need constant succor, support,
and attention. And did I mention
this gnawing pain inside my heart?
Will no one help this ravaged shepherd
of the lord?
I will be his nurse.
It’s a test of faith.
I don’t like the sight
of your squeezing him like that.
Can I help too?
Look at his weak state.
There’s only so much affection he can take.
I agree. Enough of this hugging.
Tell me, father. Do you love me?
Of course.
Then let me cure his woes.
Cure him? How?
Right here at home.
I want to make a difference, father.
I want these hands of mine to be
the hands that nurse him back to health.
A happy home become a sickhouse?
Who’s ever heard of such a thing?
Don’t you see his life is dangling
by a thread? I beg you, please.
Do this act of charity for me.
My soul is hanging in the balance.
I agree. We must take him in.
You as well? Now we’re a hospital,
and you’re sisters of mercy? I’m ill.
If I should live, I’ll teach her Latin.
He can show me how to pray.
This is God’s gift.
Show us your heart.
Nothing will ever keep us apart!
No, no. It’s not possible,
Ad hoc, pro bono, que será, será...
I cherish the sympathy you lavish
on this forlorn, scorned, and ravished
mendicant of the Lord, but master’s
a good man, and master won’t allow it.
I take my leave. Oww, my leg!
The jaundice acting up again.
Go with God.
Enough. Come back.
What?
What?
My house is yours.
Thank you, father/señor!
You are a saint.
You are noble.
What’s your name?
I am…
I can’t hear you.
Lockjaw.
They call me…Friar Berrio.
Friar Berrio? You look familiar.
Have we met somewhere before?
They say all we wandering scholars
of Canon law look the same.
You’ll make yourself useful?
If I may,
I’ll teach her how to conjugate.
I’ve been craving a lesson for months.
Count on me to fulfill your desires.
I’d like to learn too.
One at a time.
Patience, Lucía, is never a crime.
Besides, the last I heard him speak,
the Ensign was quite eloquent
in our humble vernacular.
You’ll find him spectacular
when he speaks of his great feats.
Let the Latin lessons commence!
No one can say I’m not a good father.
Shall we be going?
Going? Where?
Lunch is served.
We already ate.
Then, señora, it’s time for supper.
I’m going to find out what’s going on,
so help me God.
So help you God.
My appetite has just been piqued.
My damnation! How clever.
Wait.
Vague misgivings assault my heart.
Jealousy hangs like ice in my spirit,
chilling my soul and breeding doubt,
leaving me weak and sick to death
on your account. Who do you love?
I’m a dying man.
Heat restores health,
desire sets the blood ablaze,
and all our limping, coughing doubts
vanish in the flame of passion.
Let me melt you with compassion.
Come, be healed in the fire of love.
Did you see those papers?
Oh my God!
What’s this?
My heart.
His heart.
It’s stopped beating! It won’t start.
He’s fading!
Can you get a pulse?
Ahhh! I die.
Hold him, Marta.
Don’t let him fall.
I’m sure he’s dead.
Help me get him to a bed.
Don’t let him put any weight
on those feet.
He’s getting colder.
Keep him warm. Grip him nice and tight.
It may be time for his last rites.
Who wouldn’t love such a daughter?
Ahhhh!
He lives!
You saved him, father.
Then I leave him to you.
You musn’t.
I must.
Daughter, you have my total trust.
I’m going out for some fresh air.
How’s your palsy, Friar Berrio?
In need of your cure. And how’s that vow
of chastity? Are you still devout?
There’s only one way to find out.
The above sample taken from the translation Marta the Divine by Harley Erdman is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Entry written by Kathleen Jeffs. Last updated on 4 October 2010.