The Sheep Well

Does the Master know I have come to town?

He does, sir.

The years will bring discretion.

I am Fernán Gómez de Guzmán.

To-day youth may serve as his excuse.

If he is ignorant of my name, let him respect the dignity of the High Commander.

He were ill advised to fail in courtesy.

Or he will gain little love. Courtesy is the key to favor while discourtesy is stupidity that breeds enmity.

Should a rude oaf hear how roundly he was hated, with the whole world at his heels not to bark but to bite, he would die sooner than convict himself a boor.

Slight no man. Among equals pride is folly but toward inferiors it becomes oppression. Here neglect is want of care. The boy has not yet learned the price of favor.

The obligation which he assumed with the sword the day that the cross of Calatrava as fixed upon his breast, bound him to humility and love.

He can intend no despite that his quick spirit shall not presently make appear.

Return, sir, nor stay upon his pleasure.

I have come to know this boy.

A thousand pardons, Fernán Gómez de Guzmán! I am advised of your arrival in the city.

I had just complaint of you, for my affection and our birth are holy ties, being as we are the one Master of Calatrava, and the other Commander, who subscribes himself yours wholly.

I had no thought of this purposed honor, Fernando, hence a tardy welcome. Let me embrace you once again.

Vying in honor. I have staked my own on your behalf in countless causes, even answering during your minority before the Pope at Rome.

You have indeed. By the holy token that we bear above our hearts, I repay your love, and honor you as I should my father.

I am well content.

What news of the war at the front?

Attend and learn your obligation.

Say I am already in the field.

I prayed he would never come back.

When I brought the word I knew it would grieve you.

Would to God he had never seen Fuente Ovejuna!

Laurencia, many a girl has made a pretense of saying no, yet all the while her heart has been as soft as butter in her.

I am a live-oak, gnarled and twisted.

Yes, but why refuse a drink of water?

I do, be the sun never so hot, though you may not believe it. Why love Fernando? He’s no husband.

No, woman.

And amen! Plenty of girls in the village have trusted the Commander to their harm.

It will be a miracle if you escape.

You are blind, because I have avoided him a full month now, Pascuala, and no quarter. Flores, who lays his snares, and that villain Ortuño, offered me a waist, a necklace and a head-dress. They praised Fernando, their master, and pictured him so great that I blushed at his very glory, but for all that they could not move me.

But where was this?

Down by the brook there, a week gone yesterday.

You’re already lost, Laurencia.

No, no, no!

Maybe the priest might believe your story.

I am too innocent for the priest. In His Name, Pascuala, but of a morning rising early I had rather set me a slice of ham on the fire to munch with a crust of bread of my own kneading, filching a glass meanwhile out of the old stopped butt, once mother’s back is turned, to wet my thirst, and then climb up to watch the cow thrash through the cabbages, all foaming at the mouth come noon-day, while I hearten myself with a bit of egg-plant and a strip of bacon after hard walking, and return weary toward supper-time to nibble the raisins, home-grown in our own vineyard, which God fend the hail from, sitting me down with a dish of salad and pepper and olive oil, and so to bed tired at nightfall, in contentment and peace, with a prayer on my lips to be preserved from the men, devils, God knows, every one, than I would deliver myself up to their wiles for all their love and fury. What they want is to undo us, joy in the night and at dawning a maid’s mourning.

You are right, Laurencia, for a sated lover flies faster than a farm sparrow. In the winter when the fields are bare they sing ‘tweet’ under the eaves till they come by the crumbs from the farmer’s board, but when the fields are green and frost has been forgotten, instead of fluttering down to sing ‘tweet’ they hop up to the roof-tree and cry ‘twit’, and ‘twit’ it is at you standing down below, make the most that you can of their twitting. Men are the same. When they need us we are their very lives, their heart, their soul, their entire being, but their hunger satisfied off they fly and leave us, too, with the echo of their twitting. So I say no man can be trusted.

You defeat yourself, Barrildo.

Two judges are here who can decide between us.

Agree upon the forfeit and then we’ll call in the girls. If they favor me, you hand me both your shirts, with whatever else you have on your backs, in meed of victory.

Agreed. But what will you give if you lose?

My rebeck of old box, which is worth more than a granary, for God knows its like cannot be bought in the village.

Fairly said and offered.

Done! –God save you, ladies.

Frondoso calls us ladies.

For otherwise there is no telling what names I might call you.

In the city praise may be the fashion, Frondoso, but by my faith we have a contrary custom in the country, where words are sharp and barbed, upon tongues that are calloused to use them.

Who speaks knows.

Devil of a girl!

On my soul, she is too quick for us!

A pinch of spice plashed into the holy water the day of her christening.

Well, well, since you question us, let us have it without delay and judge truly.

I’ll set out the argument.

Plant in season, then, and begin.

Attend, Laurencia.

Oh, I’ll have an answer for you some day.

Be fair, be just.

What is this wager?

Barrildo and I oppose Mengo.

Mengo is right. So, there!

A fact is certain and plain which he denies.

I deny it because it’s a lie and they wander from the mark.

Explain.

He maintains there is no such things as love.

Then it takes hold of one mightily.

Yes, though it be blind, for without love the world would never go on.

I say little, not being able to read, though I could learn, but if the elements make the world and our bodies are made of the elements which war against each other unceasingly, causing anger and discord, then where is love?

Mengo, the world is love, here and hereafter, not discord. Harmony is love. Love is a reaching out.

A pulling in, according to nature, which governs all things through the resemblances that are. Love is a looking to its own, it’s preservation. I raise my hand to my face to prevent the blow, I move my feet to remove me from danger to my body, my eyelids close to shield my sight through the attraction of a mutual love.

He admits it’s love, so what then? There’s an end.

We love ourselves, no one else, that’s flat.

Mengo, what a lie! And God forgive me. The love a man bears for a woman, or a beast for its mate, is a fierce, consuming passion.

Self-love, interest, not pure love. What is love?

A running after beauty.

But why run after beauty?

For the thrill and the pleasure, boy.

True. And the pleasure a man seeks for himself.

True again.

So that self-love seeks its own delight?

Granted.

Therefore there is no love, only we like what we like, and we intend in all things to get it, to seek delight, our delight.

One day the priest preached in the village about a man named Plato who had taught men how to love, but what Plato loved, he said, was the soul and the virtue that was hidden in it.

So the fathers teach the children in ‘cademies and schools.

Yes, and don’t you listen to any nonsense, either. Mengo, thank God you never knew the curse of love.

Were you ever in love?

In love with my honor, always.

Come, come, ladies! Decide, decide.

Who wins?

Let the priest or the sacristan cook up a reply, for Laurencia loves too much and I not a little, so how can we, siding both ways, decide?

They laugh at us.

God guard the fair!

This man is from the Commander.

Why so brash, old goshawk, in the village?

You meet me as a soldier.

From Don Fernando?

The war is done, though it has cost us blood, and armies of our friends.

Say what of note our brand achieved.

I will, and that better than another, having seen it with my own eyes.

Now hear the music sound, for zest in victory adds sweetest savor.

Thanks and be gone, Alcaldes of this town. Be gone assured of favor.

Rest, Master, in enjoyment of our love. These cat-tails before the door and this coarse sedge grass should bear pearls to match your deserving, as indeed we pray, and yet fall short of the devotion of the village.

I accept the gifts right gladly. So get you gone.

The singers will repeat the refrain.

The girls stay behind.

No, Your Excellency.

By the Lord you do! No airs nor graces! These are soldiers here.

Pascuala, he looks your way.

Do you teach me to be modest?

I look your way, little chuck with the crook, and tend to this burr of the pasture, till she open to me.

We grew here, Master.

Pass into the house where my men will keep you safe.

If the Alcaldes go in so will we, because one is my father, but a girl by herself is just a girl and must be careful.

A word, Flores.

Master?

How? What mean these green-briers?

Walk straight in, girls. Come!

You let go!

Any fool can walk.

You’ll lock the door if we do go in.

Pass and taste the spoils of war. Come!

Aside to OrtuñoThrow the bolt, Ortuño, once they’re inside.

You hurt us, Flores.

These cheeses came in no cart.

No, and we are not for you, either, so get out!

What can you do with a girl?

Your master has his fill to-day for one stomach.

He’s a judge of meat and prefers you, though the carts pass.

Then let him burst!

What will the Master say with never a sight of a woman for good cheer? They laugh at us.

Blows reward service, mostly given for villainy, so there’s no cure. It’s desert.

To prepare is wise. Sire, harry Alonso of Portugal where he has pitched his tents, for a ready offense averts the threatened injury.

Navarre and Aragon dispatch swift aid and succor. Under my command the Castilian bands shall be reformed. Success lies in prevention.

Majesty, prevail by strategy.

Two Regidors of Ciudad Real crave audience.

Admit them to our presence.

Where dwells this Fernán Gómez?

I had not wrung the sheets, you saucy Frondoso, when you drove me from the river bank with spying. While we gaze the country-side talks and waits on tip-toe. The sturdiest of our ladies, your jacket is the gayest and the costliest, so others note what you do, and not a girl in the village nor herdsman on the hills nor down in the river bottoms but swears we are one and of right ought to be joined, while Juan Chamorro, the sacristan, leaves his piping to publish the banns, for love, they say, goes first to church. Ah, wine burst the vaults in August, and burst every pot with must but I heed them not nor attend to their chatter, though it be time, methinks, and time soon for our own good to put an end to all this idle talk and pother.

Laughing Laurencia, I die while you smile. Though I say nothing you will not hear me, till at last I have scarcely strength even to mutter. I would be your husband but you repay with taunts my faith and loyalty.

I encourage you all I can.

It’s not enough. When I think of you I cannot eat, drink or sleep. I starve yet love an angel. God knows I die.

Cross yourself, Frondoso, or else bethink you of some charm.

There’s a charm for two doves at the church, love, that makes them one. God set us beak to beak!

Speak to your master, Juan Rojo, if you will, and can summon the courage, else I must, since he is my uncle. Pray for the day, and hope.

Look! The Commander!

Stalking deer. Hide in the bushes.

Big bucks are hard to hide.

Aha! Following the fawn, I hit upon the doe.

I was resting from washing and return to the brookside now, Commander.

Sweet Laurencia, stay, nor obscure the beauty heaven has granted to my sight. If you have escaped my hand till now, the woods and the fields will befriend us, for they are accomplices of love. Bend your pride and let your cheek flush as it has never done yet in the village. Sebastiana, who was Pedro Redondo’s wife, has been mine, and so has the chit who wedded Martín del Pozo. I came upon her two nights a bride, and she opened to me fondly.

My Lord, they had opened to so many that their fondness was no longer in question. Ask the village. God grant you luck with the deer. The cross on your breast proclaims you are no tempter of women.

You protest too much, lass. I put down my cross-bow. With my hands I will subdue these pretty wiles.

No, no! What would you? Let go!

Struggle is useless.

AsideI take the bow. Heaven grant I do not shoot.

Yield! Have done!

Heaven help me now!

We are alone, no one will hear –

Noble Commander, loose that girl, or your breast shall be my mark, though the cross shine clear upon it.

The dog insults me!

Here is no dog. Laurencia, flee!

Frondoso, you take care.

Go!

Only a fool deprives himself of his sword, which I, god or devil, put by, fearing to fright the chase!

By God above, Commander, if I loose this string I’ll gyve you like a hawk!

Betrayed! Traitorous hind, deliver up that cross-bow. Dog, set down!

To be shot through? Hardly. Love is a warrior that yields his throne to none.

Shall a knight valiant in battle be foiled by a dumb peasant? Stay, wretch! On guard! –for I forget my rank and station.

I do not. I am a swain, but since I will to live, I take the cross-bow with me.

Ignominy, shame! I will have vengeance to the hilt. Quickly I vanish.

Better touch the reserve no further. The year bodes ill with threat of foul weather, so let the grain be impounded though there be mutiny among the people.

I am of your mind if the village may be governed in peace.

Then speak to Fernán Gómez. These astrologers with their harangues pretend they know secrets God only knows. Not a scrap can they read of the future, unholy fabricators of what was and what shall be, when to their eyes even the present is blank – for their ignorance is rank. Can they bring the clouds indoors and lay the stars upon the table? How do they peer into heaven and yet come down with such dire disasters? These fellows tell us how and when to sow, here with the grain, there with the barley and the vegetables, the squash, mustard, and cucumber – as squashes add them to the number. Next they predict a man will die and one does in Transylvania, or the vineyards shall suffer drought, or people take to beer in far-off Germany; also cherries will freeze and impoverish the neighbors in Gascony, while there will be a plague of tigers in Hyrcania. So or not so, pray remember – the year ends with December.

I grant this town nothing, upon a re-view, but as the plain seat of stupidity.

How did you fare in Salamanca?

That is no simple story.

By this you must be a complete Bártulo.

Not even a barber by this. In our faculty few trim knowledge from the course.

You return to us a scholar.

No, but I have learned what it is wise to know.

With all the printing of books nowadays a man might pick up a few and be wise.

We know less than we did when there was less knowledge, for the bulk of learning is so great no man can compass it. Confusion results from excess, all the stir goes to froth, while those who read befuddle their heads with endless pages and become literal slaves. The art of printing has raised up a thousand geniuses over night. To be secure it spreads and conserves the Holy Scriptures, that they may be known of all and endure, but this invention of Guttenberg, that famous German of Mayence, has in fact devitalized glory. Many a man of repute has proved a very fool when his books have been printed, or else suffered the mortification of having simpletons issue theirs in his name. Others have set down arrant nonsense and credited it to their enemies out of spite, to whose undoing it circulates and appalls the world.

I can find no words to argue with you.

The ignorant have the learned at their mercy.

Leonelo, on every account printing is a mighty invention.

For centuries the world did very well without it, and to this hour it has not produced one Jerome nor a second Augustine. The men were saints.

Sit down and rest, for my head is dizzy opposing you.

There is not a dower on four of these farms if the fields continue as they are, and this may be seen on all sides, far and near, for all is one.

What word of the Commander?

Would Laurencia had never set foot by the river!

I could dangle him gladly from that olive-tree, savage, unbridled and lewd!

Heaven for the just!

Commander!

God’s body, why do you stand?

Señor, where the custom is to sit, we stand.

I tell you to sit down.

As honorable men we cannot do you honor, having none.

Sit down while I talk with you!

Shall we discuss my hound, sir?

Alcalde, these true men of mine praise the rare virtue of the animal.

The beast is swift. In God’s name but he can overtake a thief or harry a coward right cruelly.

I would set him on a graceful hare that these days lopes before me.

Done, if you will lead us to the hare.

Oh, speaking of your daughter –

My daughter?

Yes, why not? The hare.

My daughter is not your quarry.

Alcalde, pray you prevail upon her.

How?

She plumes herself before me. A wife, and a proud one, of a councilor who attends before me now, and listens, at my every look darts kindling glances.

She does ill. You, Señor, do ill also, speaking thus freely.

Oh, what rustic virtue! Here, Flores, get him the book of Politics, and let him perfect himself in Aristotle.

Señor, the town would live in the reflection of your honor. There be men in Fuente Ovejuna.

I never read of such a tyrant.

What have I said, in faith, to which you take exception, Regidor?

You have spoken ill. Speak well, for it is not meet you level at our honor.

Your honor? Good! Are we importing friars to Calatrava?

There be those that be content to wear the cross, though the heart be not too pure.

I do not injure you, mingling my blood with yours.

A smirch is no hidden stain.

In doing my will I accord your wives honor.

The very words spell dishonor, while your deeds pass all remedy.

Obstinate dolt! Ah, better the cities where men of parts and renown wreak their will and their pleasure! There husbands give thanks when their wives sacrifice upon the altar.

They do no such service, if with this you would move us. God rules, too, in the cities, and justice is swift.

Get up and get out.

We have said what you have heard.

Out of the square straight! Let not one remain behind!

We firmly take our leave.

What? In company?

By the rood, hold your hand!

These hinds would slander me, defiling the square with lies, departing together.

Pray be patient.

I marvel that I am so calm! Walk each one by himself, apart. Let no man speak till his door has shut behind him!

Great God, can they stomach this?

My path lies this way.

What shall we do with these knaves?

Their speech offends you and you by no means hide your unwillingness to hear it.

Do they compare themselves with me?

Perversity of man.

Shall that peasant retain my cross-bow and not be punished while I live?

Last night we took him, as we thought, at Laurencia’s door, and I gave an oaf who was his double a slash that married his two ears.

Can you find no trace of that Frondoso?

They say he remains in these parts still.

And dares remain, who has attempted my life?

Like a silly bird or a fish, a decoy will tempt him and he will fall into the lure.

That a laborer, a stripling of the soil should aim a cross-bow at a captain before whose sword Córdoba and Granada tremble! Flores, the end of the world has come!

Blame love, for it knows no monopoly of daring.

Seeing he lived, I took it as a token of your kindly disposition.

Ortuño, the smile is false. Dirk in hand, within these two hours would I ransack the place, but vengeance yields the rein to reason until the hour shall come. Which of you had a smile of Pascuala?

She says she intends to marry.

How far is she prepared to go?

She will advise you anon when she can accept a favor.

How of Olalla?

Fair words.

Buxom and spirited! How far?

She says her husband has been uneasy these past days, suspicious of my messages, and of your hovering about, attended. As soon as his fears are allayed, you shall have a sign.

On the honor of a knight ‘tis well! These rustics have sharp eyes and commonly are evil-minded.

Evil-minded, ill-spoken and ill-favored.

Say not so of Inés.

Which one?

Antón’s wife. Aha!

Yes, she will oblige any day. I saw her in the corral, which you can enter secretly.

These easy girls we requite but poorly. Flores, may women never learn the worth of the wares they sell!

No pain wipes out the sweetness wholly. To prevail quickly, cheats the expectation, but, as philosophers agree, women desire the men as they are desired, nor can form be without substance, at which we should not complain, nor wonder.

A man who is fiercely swept by love finds solace in a speedy yielding to desire, but afterward despises the object, for the road to forgetfulness even under the star of honor, is to hold oneself cheap before love’s importuning.

Where is the Commander?

Behold him, if you have the faculty of sight.

That shall never be.

Don’t leave us.

What’s the matter?

Mengo, we seek the village in groups, when there’s no man to go with us, for fear of the Commander.

How can the ugly devil torment so many?

He is upon us night and day.

Oh, would heaven send a bolt to strike him where he stands!

He’s an unchained beast, poison, arsenic and pestilence throughout the land.

Laurencia, they say Frondoso pointed an arrow at his breast for your sake, here in this very meadow.

Mengo, I hated all men till then, but since that day I relent. Frondoso had courage; it will cost him his life.

He must fly these fields, that’s sure.

I love him enough to advise it, but he’ll have no counsel of me, storming and raging and turning away. The Commander swears he will hang him feet upward.

I say hang the Commander.

Stone him I say. God knows but I will up and at him with a rock I saved at the sheep-fold that will land him a crack that will crush his skull in! He’s wickeder than Gabalus that old Roman.

The one that was so wicked was Heliogabalus. He was a man.

Whoever he was, call him Gab or Gal, his scurvy memory yields to this. You know history. Was there ever a man like Fernán Gómez?

No, he’s no man. There must be tigers in him.

Help in God’s name, if you are women!

Why, what’s this, Jacinta?

We are all your friends.

The Commander’s men, on their way to Ciudad Real, armed with villainy when it should be steel, would seize me and take me to him.

God help you, Jacinta! With you, pray he be merciful, but I choose rather to die than be taken!

Jacinta, being no man I cannot save you.

I can because I am a man in strength and in name. Jacinta, stand beside me.

Are you armed?

Twice, I have two arms.

You will need more.

Jacinta, the ground bears stones.

Did you think you could run away from us?

Mengo, I am dead with fear!

Friends, these are poor peasant girls.

Do you assume to defend her?

I do, so please you, since I am her relative and must protect her, if that may be.

Kill him straightway!

Strike me heaven, but I am in a rage! You can put a cord around my neck but, by God, I’ll sell my life dear!

Who calls? What says this turd?

The people of this town, which we should raze for there is no health in it, insult our arms.

Señor, if pity can prevail in the face of injustice, reprove these soldiers who would force this peasant girl in your name, though spouse and parents be bred to honor, and grant me license straight to lead her home unharmed.

I will grant them license straight to harm you for your impudence. Let go that sling.

Señor –

Flores, Ortuño and Cimbranos, it will serve to tie his hands.

Is this the voice of honor?

What do these sheep of Fuente Ovejuna think of me?

Señor, have I offended you, or mayhap the village, in anything?

Shall we kill him?

It would soil your arms which we shall stain with redder blood.

We wait your orders, sir.

Flog him without mercy. Tie him to that oak-tree, baring his back, and with the reins –

No, no, for you are noble!

Flog him till the rivets start from the straps!

My God, can such things be?

Pretty peasant, draw near daintily. Who would prefer a farmer to a valiant nobleman?

But will you heal my honor, taking me for yourself?

Truly I do take you.

No, I have an honorable father, sir, who may not equal you in birth, but in virtue he is the first.

These are troubled days nor will this rude peasantry salve my outraged spirit. Pass with me under the trees.

I?

This way.

Look what you do!

Refuse and I spurn you. You shall be the slut of the army.

No power of lust can overcome me.

Silence and go before.

Pity, Señor!

Pity have I none.

I appeal from your wickedness to God!

His departure outraged the square, and indeed it was most unseemly behavior. Such tyranny stuns as a blow; even poor Jacinta must pay the price of his madness.

Spain turns already to the Catholic Kings, a name by which our rulers have come to be known, and the nation renders obedience to their laws. They have appointed the Master of Santiago Captain General of Ciudad Real, dispatching him forthwith against Girón’s oppression of the town. But my heart aches for Jacinta, being as she is an honest girl.

They beat Mengo soundly.

I never saw dye, black or red, to rival his flesh.

Peace and no more, for my blood boils, or else congeals at his name. Have I authority or a staff of office?

The man cannot control his servants.

On top of all this they chanced on Pedro Redondo’s wife one day in the very bottom of the valley, and after he insulted her she was turned over to the men.

Who is listening concealed?

I, a petitioner.

Granted, Frondoso. Your father brought you to be, but I have brought you to be what you are, a prop and support, who is my very son in the house.

Assured, Alcalde, of permission, I speak as one by birth honorable, and not obscure.

You have suffered wrong at the hand of Fernán Gómez?

More than a little.

My heart records it. The man is surely mad.

I have taken an oath to bestow some right good maravedis upon a good young man.

I seek no dower. Gold, they say, makes the day dull.

So long as he does not court the wine-skins, you may dower him without stint or mercy.

I will speak to my daughter that assurance may be doubly sure.

Do, pray, for violence has no part in love.

Dearest daughter Laurencia!

Oh, father?

She approves for she answers before I speak! –Dearest daughter Laurencia, step apart a moment. Frondoso, who is an honest lad, if one there be in Fuente Ovejuna, inquires of me as to your friend Gila, whom he would honor as a wife.

Gila a wife?

Is she a fitting mate, a proper wife?

Yes, father, oh she is! Of course!

Of course she is ugly, as ugly as they come, which led me to suggest, Laurencia, that Frondoso look at you.

Father, be serious as becomes your office.

Do you love him?

I have favored him and am myself favored. But you knew!

Shall I say yes?

Yes, father, for me.

The yes will do for us both. Come, we will seek his father.

Instantly.

My boy, to return to the dower. I can afford, yes, and I pledge, four thousand maravedis.

Señor, I am your son now and you offend me.

A day and pride abates, lad, but if you marry without a dower, by my faith, many a day will succeed and the abatement not be mended.

Fly, sir! There is no remedy.

The wall giving way, the weight of the enemy undoes us.

We have bled them and cost them many lives.

The banner of Calatrava shall not trail among their spoils, though it were recompense turning all to glory.

Our league, Girón, crumbles and lies lifeless.

Can we outstrip fortune, though she be blind, favoring us to-day, to-day to leave us?

WithinHail, Victory! Hail, the Crown of Castile!

The pennons show upon the battlements while all the windows of the towers thrust banners forth, proclaiming the victory.

Much joy may they have of the day! By my soul, a day of slaughter!

Fernán Gómez, I’ll to Calatrava.

And I to Fuente Ovejuna. Stay upon your cousin of Portugal, or, weighing adversity, yield allegiance to the Catholic King.

I shall apprise you with despatch.

Time is a hard general.

God grant me few years like this, fertile in undeception.

A clever boy thought that up! Oh, that boy is clever!

He could troll it out at any wedding.

Mengo sings only to the lash because he says it has more tang to it.

Yes, and I know a young chap in the valley, not meaning you of course, who would make a nice dish for the Commander.

Enough of gloom and amen, seeing that a ferocious barbarian offers at our honor.

I believe a hundred soldiers whipped me that day, and all I had was a sling that I gave up to protect me. However, I know a man, not mentioning names, who was full of honor and pursued with a syringe loaded with dye and some herbs that caused him great pain, and oh my, the pain that they caused him! How that man did suffer!

By way of jest. It was done as a laughing matter.

As it came out afterwards. At the time he never laughed nor even suspected, but felt much better without the dye, though while it was in, death was preferable.

A song would be preferable, or anything. Come, let it be a good one, Mengo.

God help the poet who made that up!

He needs more help.

Oh, that reminds me! Did you ever see a baker baking buns? He dips the dough into the oil until the pot is full, and then some swell up, some come out askew and twisted, leaning to the right, tumbling to the left, some scorched, some burned, some uneatable. Well, a poet’s subject is his dough, he plops a verse onto the paper hoping it will turn out sweet, and his friends all tell him so, but when he tries to sell it he has to eat himself, for the world is too wise to buy or else hasn’t the money.

You came to the wedding so as not to give the bride and groom a chance to talk.

Uncle, you must be kissed. And you, too, Father –

Not on the hand. May your father’s hand be your protection, and Frondoso’s also, in the hour of need.

Rojo, heaven protect her and her husband on whom I invoke an everlasting benison.

Ever to share with you.

Come all now, play and sing, for they are as good as one.

Let all in the house stand still on pain of death.

Señor, though this be no play, your command shall be obeyed. Will you sit down? Why all these arms and weapons? We question not, for you bring home victory.

I am dead unless heaven helps me.

Stand behind me, Frondoso.

No, seize and bind him.

Surrender, boy, ‘tis best.

Do you want them to kill me?

Why, pray?

I am no man to take life unjustly, for, if I were, my soldiers would have run him through ere this, forwards or rearwards. Throw him into prison where his own father shall pronounce sentence upon him, chained in his dank cell.

This is a wedding, Señor.

What care I for weddings? Is this your occupation in the village?

Pardon him, Señor, if he has done wrong, being who you are.

Pascuala, he has done no wrong to me, but offense to the Master, Téllez Girón, whom God preserve. He has mocked his law, scoffed at his rule, and punishment must be imposed as a most dire example, or there will be those to rise against the Master, seeing that one afternoon, but shortly gone, flower of these loyal and faithful vassals, he dared take aim, pointing the cross-bow at the bosom of the High Commander.

If a father-in-law may offer a word of excuse, his dudgeon was not strange but manly, taking umbrage as a lover. You would deprive him of his wife. Small wonder the man should defend her!

Alcalde, the truth is not in you.

Be just, Señor.

I had no thought to deprive him of his wife, nor could so have done, he having none.

But you had the thought, which shall suffice. Henceforth enough! A King and Queen rule now in Castile whose firm decrees shall bring this rioting to cease, nor will they stay their hands, these wars once ended, nor suffer arrogance to overpower their towns and villages, crucifying the people cruelly. Upon his breast the King will place a cross, and on that royal breast it shall be the symbol, too, of honor!

Death to presumption! Wrest the staff from him.

Señor, I yield it up, commanded.

Beat him with it while he capers about this stable. Have at him smartly!

Still we suffer your authority. I am ready. Begin!

They beat an old man?

Yes, because he is my father. Beat him, avenging yourself on me!

Arrest her, and let ten soldiers guard this sinful maid!

Justice, descend this day from Heaven!

No wedding but a shambles.

And not a man of us said a word!

I have had my beating already and you can still see purple enough on me to outfit a Cardinal, without the trouble of sending to Rome. Try, if you don’t believe it, what a thorough job they can do.

We must all take counsel.

My counsel, friends, is to take nothing but forget it. I know which side I am on, though I don’t say, for it’s scaled like a salmon. Never again will any man get me to take it! Nor woman either.

Is the Town Board assembled?

Not a person can be seen.

Bravely we face danger!

All the farms had warning.

Frondoso is a prisoner in the tower and my daughter Laurencia in such plight that she is lost save for the direct interposition of heaven.

Who complains aloud when silence is salvation? Peace, in God’s name, peace!

I will shout to the clouds till they re-echo my complaints while men marvel at my silence.

We came to attend the meeting.

Farmers of this village, an old man whose grey beard is bathed in tears, inquires what rites, what obsequies we poor peasants, assembled here, shall prepare for our ravished homes, bereft of honor? And if life be honor, how shall we fare since there breathes not one among us whom this savage has not offended? Speak! Who but has been wounded deeply, poisoned in respect? Lament now, yes, cry out! Well? If all be ill, how then say well? Well, there is work for men to do.

The direst that can be. Since by report it is published that Castile is subject now to a King, who shall presently make his entrance into Córdoba, let us dispatch two Regidors to that city to cast themselves at his feet and demand remedy.

King Ferdinand is occupied with the overthrow of his enemies, who are not few, so that his commitments are warlike entirely. It were best to seek other succor.

If my voice have any weight, I declare the independence of the village.

How can that be?

On my soul, my back tells me the Town Board will be informed as to that directly.

The tree of our patience has been cut down, the ship of our joy rides storm-tossed, emptied of its treasure. They have rapt the daughter from one who is Alcalde of this town in which we dwell, breaking his staff over his aged head. Could a slave be scorned more basely?

What would you have the people do?

Die or rain death on tyrants! We are many while they are few.

Lift our hands against our Lord and Master?

Only the King is our master, save for God, never these devouring beasts. If God be with us, what have we to fear?

Gentlemen, I advise caution in the beginning and ever after. Although I represent only the very simplest laborers, who bear the most, believe me we find the bearing most unpleasant.

If our wrongs are so great, we lose nothing with our lives. An end, then! Our homes and vineyards burn. Vengeance on the tyrants!

Open, for I have need of the support of men! Deeds, or I cry out to heaven! Do you know me?

Martyr of God, my daughter?

This is Laurencia.

Yes, and so changed that, gazing, you doubt still!

My daughter!

No, no more! Not yours.

Why, light of my eyes, why, pride of the valley?

As well might the noble pay for the jewel lost in the merchant’s hand!

My face is bruised and bloody in this court of honest men. Some of you are fathers, some have daughters. Do your hearts sink within you, supine and cowardly crew? You are sheep, sheep! Oh, well-named, Village of Fuente Ovejuna, the Sheep Well! Sheep, sheep, sheep! Give me iron, for senseless stones can wield none, nor images, nor pillars –jasper though they be –nor dumb living things that lack the tiger’s heart that follows him who steals its young, rending the hunter limb from limb upon the very margin of the raging sea, seeking the pity of the angry waves.

For now the Commander will hang Frondoso from a merlon of the tower, without let or trial, as presently he will string you all, you race of half-men, for the women will leave this village, nor one remain behind! To-day the age of amazons returns, we lift our arms and strike against this villainy, and the crash of our blows shall amaze the world!

Daughter, I am no man to bear names calmly, opprobrious and vile. I will go and beard this despot, though the united spheres resolve against me.

So will I, for all his pride and knavery.

Let him be surrounded and cut off.

Hang a cloth from a pike as our banner and cry “Death to Monsters!”

What course shall we choose?

To be at them, of course. Raise an uproar and with it the village, for every man will take an oath and be with you that to the last traitor the oppressors shall die.

Seize swords and spears, cross-bows, pikes and clubs.

Long live the King and Queen!

Live our lords and masters!

Death to cruel tyrants!

To cruel tyrants, death!

March on, and heaven march before you! At the door. Hello! Ho, women of this town! Draw near! Draw near for the salvation of your honor!

Who calls us? Where are the men to-day?

Behold them down that street, marching to murder Fernán Gómez. Yes, old men, young men, and troops of eager boys, like furies run to meet him! Shall they share all the glory of this mighty day, when we women can boast wrongs that match and outstrip theirs?

What can we do?

Fall in behind me and we will do a deed that shall re-echo round the sphere! Jacinta, you have been most deeply wronged; lead forth a squadron of our girls.

You have borne no less.

Oh, Pascuala, for a flag!

Tie a cloth upon this lance to flourish. We shall have our banner.

Stay not even for that, for now it comes to me: –Every woman her headdress! Wave, banners, wave!

Name a captain and march!

We need no captain.

No? Wave, banners!

When my courage is up I laugh at the Cid and pale Rodomonte!

My Lord, you shame your worth.

String him up on the battlements without further word.

I had no thought, my Lord, against your life.

What is this noise outside?

I hear voices.

Do they threaten your justice, sire?

They are breaking down the gates.

The gate of my castle, the seat of the Commandery?

The people fill the court.

WithinPush, smash, pull down, burn, destroy!

I like not their numbers.

Shall these hinds come against me?

Such passing fury sweeps them that all the outer doors are already beaten in!

Undo this bumpkin. Frondoso, speak to this Alcalde. Warn him of his peril.

Sire, what they do, remember is done in love.

WithinHail, Ferdinand and Isabella, and let the last traitor die!

Señor, in God’s name you had best conceal your person.

If they persevere we can hold this room, for the doors are strong. They will turn back as quickly as they came.

When the people rise and screw their courage to the point, they never stop short of rapine and blood.

Behind this grating as a barricade we can defend ourselves right stoutly.

WithinFree Fuente Ovejuna!

What a leader for these swine! I will out and fall upon them.

I marvel at your courage.

EnteringNow we meet the tyrant and his minions face to face! Death to the traitor! All for Fuente Ovejuna!

Hold, my people! Stay!

Wrongs hold not. Vengeance knows no stay!

Tell your wrongs, and on the honor of a knight I’ll requite them, every one.

Fuente Ovejuna! Long live Ferdinand, our King! Death to traitors and unbelievers!

Will you not hear me? I lift my voice. I am your lord and master.

No, our lords and masters are the Catholic Kings!

Stay a little.

All for Fuente Ovejuna! Die, Fernán Gómez!

Stop here and challenge fortune, no women but an army.

Any that shows herself a woman by mercy, shall swallow the enemy’s blood!

We shall spit his body on our pikes.

As one we stand behind you.

WithinDie, traitor though Commander!

I die! O God, have pity in Thy clemency!

WithinFlores next!

Have at him, for he landed on me with a thousand whacks.

I’ll draw his soul out like a tooth!

They need us there!

Let them go on! We guard the door.

WithinNo prayers, no mercy, vermin!

Pascuala, I go with my sword drawn, not sheathed!

WithinDown with Ortuño!

Slash him across the cheek.

Pity, Mengo! I was not to blame.

To be a pimp was bad enough, but why the devil lay on me?

Mengo, give this man to the women. Stay! Stay!

‘Fore God I will! And no punishment could be worse.

Be well avenged!

Believe me!

Run him through!

What? Pity, women!

His courage well becomes him.

So he has tears?

Kill him, viper of the vile!

Down, wretch, and die!

Pity, women, pity!

I am not the man, I was not guilty!

In, women, and dye your conquering swords in traitor’s blood. Prove all your courage!

Die dealing death!

All for Fuente Ovejuna! Hail, King Ferdinand!

After which they cast him from a high window to the ground where he was caught on pikes and sword-points by the women. They bore him in dead and the most revengeful pulled at his beard and hair, defacing every feature, for their fury waxed to such extremity that they sliced off his ears neatly. They beat down his scutcheon with staves and boast outright that they will set the royal arms above the portal where their lord’s should be, full in the square of the village. They sacked the keep as a fallen foe’s, and, exulting, raped his goods and properties. These things I saw, hidden –unhappy was my lot! – and so remained till nightfall, escaping to lay my prayer before you. Justice, Sire, that swift penalty may fall upon these offending churls! Bloodshed this day cries out to God and challenges your rigor!

See what you can do, Barrildo.

Silence, then, while I get a rhyme in my head.

If you keep your head it will be twice as good.

You can take the head off the spear now.

He might have been hung for his looks. Phew!

Here come the arms!

Let all the people see.

Where shall the arms be set?

Before the town-hall, here, above the door.

Noble escutcheon, hail!

That is a coat of arms!

I see the light to-day, for the sun begins to shine.

That’s a problem too. What shall our story be?

Let us all agree to die, if it must be, crying Fuente Ovejuna, and may no word of this affair pass beyond that ever.

Besides it is the truth, for what was done, Fuente Ovejuna did it, every man and woman.

Then that shall be our answer?

Yes!

Now I shall be the Judge and rehearse us all in what we best had do. Mengo, put you to the torture first.

Am I the only candidate?

This is but talk, lad.

All the same let’s get through with it, and quickly.

Who killed the Commander?

Fuente Ovejuna killed him.

I’ll put you to the torture.

You will on your life, sir.

Confess, conscienceless hind!

I do. What of it?

Who killed the Commander?

Fuente Ovejuna.

Rack him again! Turn the wheel once more.

You oblige me.

Reduce him to carrion and let him go.

What is this meeting?

Why so grave, Cuadrado?

The King’s Judge is here.

All to your homes, and quickly!

A Captain comes with him also.

Let the devil appear! You know what you are to say?

They are going through the village prepared to take a deposition of every soul.

Have no fear.–Mengo, who killed the Commander?

Fuente Ovejuna. Ask me who!

Such news cannot be! To end like this? I have a mind to run you through for your insolence.

I was sent, Master, without malice.

Can a mad handful of louts be moved to such fury? I will take five hundred men forthwith and burn the village, leaving no memory of those paths that were so basely trod.

Master, be not so moved, for they have committed themselves to the King, whose power is not to be gainsaid lightly.

How can they commit themselves to the King when they are vassals of Calatrava?

That, Master, you will discuss with the King.

No, for the land is his and all that it contains. I do obeisance to the Crown, and if they have submitted to the King I will subdue my rage and betake me to his presence as to a father’s. My fault is grievous, in whose palliation I plead my untried years. I hang my head at this mischance of honor, but again to stumble were clear dishonor, yes, and certain death.

Linger not, Laurencia.

My dear husband, fly danger, for I am its very heart.

Are you one to reject the homage of a lover?

My love, I fear for you, and you are my constant care.

Laurencia, I am so happy that surely this moment heaven smiles upon us both.

You see what has happened to the others, and how this judge proceeds firmly, with all severity? Save yourself before it is too late. Fly and avoid the danger!

What do you expect in such an hour? Shall I disappear and leave the peril to others, besides absenting myself from your sight? No, counsel me courage, for in danger a man betrays his blood, which is as it should be, come what may. Cries within. I hear cries. They have put a man to the torture unless my ears deceive me. Listen and be still!

Old man, I seek only the truth. Speak!

An old man tortured?

What barbarity!

Ease me a little.

Ease him. Who killed Fernando?

Fuente Ovejuna.

Good, father! Glory and praise!

Praise God he had the strength!

Take that boy there. Speak, you pup, for you know! Who was it? He says nothing. Put on the pressure there.

Judge, Fuente Ovejuna.

Now by the King, earls, I’ll hang you to the last man! Who killed the Commander?

They torture the child and he replies like this?

There is courage in the village.

Courage and heart.

Put that woman in the chair. Give her a turn for her good.

I can’t endure it.

Peasants, be obstinate and this instrument brings death. So prepare! Who killed the Commander?

Judge, Fuente Ovejuna.

Have no mercy.

I cannot think, my mind is blank!

Frondoso, Pascuala will not tell them.

The very children hold their peace!

They thrive upon it. –More! More!

Oh, God in heaven!

Again, and answer me! Is she deaf?

I say Fuente Ovejuna.

Seize that plump lad, half undressed already.

It must be Mengo! Poor Mengo!

He can never hold out.

Oh, oh, oh!

Let him have it.

Oh!

Prod his memory.

Oh, oh!

Who slew the Commander, slave?

Oh, oh! I can’t get it out! I’ll tell you –

Loosen that hand.

We are lost!

Let him have it on the back!

No, for I’ll give up everything!

Who killed him?

Judge, Fuente Ovejuna.

Have these rogues no nerves that they can laugh at pain? The most likely, too, lie by instinct. I will no more to-day. To the street!

Now God bless Mengo! I was afraid, transfixed, but that lad is a cure for fear.

Good, Mengo, good!

You have delivered us.

Mengo, bravo!

We cheer you.

Oh, oh! Not much.

Drink, my friend, and eat. Come, come!

Oh, oh! What have you got?

Sweet lemon peel.

Oh, oh!

Drink, drink. Take this.

He does, too.

He takes it well. Down it goes.

Give him another bite.

Oh, oh!

Drink this for me.

Swallowed without a smile.

A sound answer deserves a round drink.

Another, son?

Oh, oh! Yes, yes!

Drink, for you deserve it.

He collects for every pang.

Throw a coat around him or he will freeze.

Have you had enough?

No, three more. Oh, oh!

He is asking for the wine.

Yes, let him drink as much as he likes for one good turn begets another. What’s the matter now?

It leaves a taste in my mouth. Oh, I’m catching cold!

Another drink will help. Who killed the Commander?

Fuente Ovejuna.

He has earned more than they give him. Ah, love, as you are mine confess to me. Who killed the Commander?

Love, Fuente Ovejuna.

Who?

Don’t you think you can torture me. Fuente Ovejuna.

It did? How did I get you, then?

Love, I got you.

Meeting, Sire, we crown our fortunes gladly.

What news of the war in Castile?

Peace succeeds and the land lies ready, expecting the plough.

Now my eyes light upon a living miracle, the consummation of a queenly peace.

The Master of Calatrava begs audience, having journeyed to your presence from his seat.

I have a mind to greet this gentleman.

Majesty, his years are few, yet they have proved his valor great.

Rise, Master. Having tendered your allegiance you shall be received royally.

Every word is balm.

Few speak as bravely as they fight.

Esther has returned to earth to wed a Christian Xerxes.

Sire, the Judge that was dispatched to Fuente Ovejuna has arrived with the process to report to Your Majesty.

To the MasterThese aggressors, being of the Commandery, fall within your province.

Sire, I yield to you, else were bloody vengeance taken for the death of the Commander.

To the QueenThen the decision rests with me?

I grant it willingly though the right were mine of God.

I journeyed to Fuente Ovejuna in prosecution of your command probing all with due diligence and care. Having verified the crime, no writ or indictment has issued, inasmuch as with one accord and most singular fortitude, to all my questions as to the murderer the answer was always Fuente Ovejuna. Three hundred were put to torture, to the degree that forced them each to speak, without profit, Sire, of one word other than I have told you. Boys of ten were delivered to the rack, without yielding so much as a whisper, nor could they be moved by flattery or gold. Wherefore, this is my report, the evidence having failed: either you must pardon the village or wipe it out to the last man. They have followed me to your feet that in your own person you may pronounce judgment.

If they seek our presence, let them appear before us, every one.

Are those the King and Queen?

The power and majesty of Castile!

How beautiful, how wonderful! Saint Antonio, bless them both!

Are these the people of the village?

Majesty, Fuente Ovejuna humbly kneels at your feet in allegiance. The mad tyranny and fierce cruelty of the dead Commander, raining insults through the farms, themselves provoked his death. He ravished our homes, forced our daughters, and knew no heart nor mercy.

This simple girl, O Queen, who is mine by rite of heaven, and has brought me all happiness, which surely must be matchless, on my wedding-night, as if it had been his very own, he bore off to his keep, and but that she is secure in honor, basely that night he had deflowered her.

I know something as to that, with your permission, Queen, because you must be anxious to hear from me, seeing the bloody tanning that I got. I stood up for a girl in the village when the Commander went along the way to her undoing, the scurvy Nero, and then he took it out on me, and there never was a more thorough job at bottom. Three men paid it their attention, good pay all three, since when, if you ask the explanation, I paid more for balm and ointment, with the powder and the myrtle I applied, than I could sell my sheep-cot for.

Sire, we yield ourselves to you. You are our King, and in witness of submission we have placed your arms above our doors. Have mercy, Sire, for our excuse is our extremity, which deserves your clemency.

As no indictment is set down, although the fault be grave, it shall be pardoned. Since you yield yourselves to me, I further take the town under my protection, for in the Crown henceforth its charter shall abide, until such time as God in His mercy shall vouchsafe you a new Commander.