The Project Gutenberg eBook of Los Amantes de Teruel Drama en cuatro actos en verso y prosa, by Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch and G. W. Umphrey

The importance of Hartzenbusch in the history of the Spanish drama and the enduring popularity in Spain of Los Amantes de Teruel, his masterpiece, have assured this play a definite place in the work of advanced students of Spanish literature in our universities. For such students the many editions published in Spain and elsewhere have been perhaps sufficient, but for the much larger number who never reach the advanced literary classes an annotated edition is needed. That this play offers excellent material for the work of more elementary courses in the schools and colleges has long been the opinion of the present editor; and that it has not already found a place among the Spanish texts published in this country is difficult to understand. The old legend of Teruel, the embodiment of pure and constant love, is one that might well be expected to make a strong appeal to the youth of any country; the simple and direct presentation given to the legend by Hartzenbusch and the comparative freedom from textual difficulties, as the result of the careful revisions of the play by its scholarly author, bring it within the range of the understanding and appreciation of students who have studied Spanish one year in college or two years in high school, if it is put before them in a properly prepared edition.

The editor has kept in mind this class of students in the preparation of the Introduction, Notes, and Vocabulary. To those who consider the Introduction disproportionately long, the excuse is given that this will be the first Romantic play read by many students, and that if they are to understand it and appreciate its fine literary qualities, they must be enabled to view it in its proper historical perspective. It is to be hoped that this edition may serve as a safe approach to the systematic study, of the Romantic Movement in Spanish literature.

The text of the play is that of the annotated edition of Dr. Adolf Kressner, Leipsic, 1887 (Bibliothek Spanischer Schriftsteller), and is the same as the one contained in the definitive collection of the plays of Hartzenbusch, Teatro, Madrid, 1888-1892, Vol. I, pages 7-130 (Colección de Escritores Castellanos).

The indebtedness of the editor to Professor E.C. Hills of Indiana
University for many helpful suggestions is gratefully acknowledged.

G.W. UMPHREY

UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON, SEATTLE.

PREFACE

INTRODUCTION

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

TEXT

NOTES

VOCABULARY

INTRODUCTION

#I. The Legend#. Constancy in love has inspired many writers and has given undying fame to many legends and traditions. Among the famous lovers that have passed into legend and that stand as the embodiment of constant love in different ages and in different countries,—Pyramus and Thisbe, Hero and Leander, Tristam and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet,—are to be found Marsilla and Isabel. These Lovers of Teruel, as constant as any of the others, are especially notable because of the purity of their love and because of the absence of violence in their sudden departure from this life. Disappointed love, desperate grief at separation, was the only cause of their death.

The old city of Teruel, founded by the Aragonese in the latter half of the twelfth century at the junction of the Guadalaviar and the Alfambra as a stronghold in the territory recently recovered from the Moors, was the fitting scene for the action of the legend…. The pioneer life of the city, the depth of sentiment and singleness of purpose of its Aragonese inhabitants, the crusading spirit that carried to victory the armies of Peter II of Aragón and his more famous son, James the Conqueror, lend probability to a legend that would ordinarily be considered highly improbable from the point of view of historical authenticity. Stripped of the fantastic details that have gathered about it in the many literary treatments given to it by Spanish writers, the legend may be briefly told. In Teruel, at the beginning of the thirteenth century, lived Juan Diego Martínez Garcés de Marsilla and Isabel de Segura. They had loved each other from childhood, but when it became a question of marriage, Isabel's father opposed the union because of the young man's lack of material resources and because a wealthy suitor, Rodrigo de Azagra, had presented himself for the hand of his daughter. All that the entreaties of the lovers could gain from him was the promise that if Marsilla went to the wars, gained fame and riches, and returned before a certain day, he would receive Isabel in marriage. This Marsilla did; but unfortunately he was unable to return until just after the expiration of the time set. When he reached Teruel, he found Isabel married to the wealthy rival. Disappointed in their hopes after so many years of constant love and continual struggle against adversity, Marsilla died of grief, and Isabel soon followed him; separated in life by cruel fate, they were united in death. Buried in the same tomb, they were later disinterred, and their mummified remains may now be seen in the old church of San Pedro in Teruel.

#II. Authenticity of the Legend#. The earliest references that have yet been found to the legend belong to the middle of the sixteenth century, that is, more than three centuries after the supposed death of the lovers. In 1555, when the church of San Pedro in Teruel was undergoing some repairs, two bodies, supposedly those of Marsilla and Isabel, were discovered in one tomb in a remarkably good state of preservation. They were reburied at the foot of the altar in the chapel of Saints Cosme and Damian, and the story of the unfortunate lovers began to spread far and wide. By the end of the century it was apparently widely known and attracted considerable attention to the old city of Teruel. When Philip III of Spain was journeying to Valencia in 1599 he was induced to turn aside to visit the church of San Pedro. In the official account of his journey, "Jornada de Su Majestad Felipe III y Alteza la Infanta Doña Isabel, desde Madrid, a casarse el Rey con la Reyna Doña Margarita, y su Alteza con el Archiduque Alberto," the story of the legend as then generally accepted is related so succinctly that it may well be quoted here: "En la iglesia de San Pedro, en la capilla de San Cosme y San Damián, de la dicha ciudad, está la sepultura de los Amantes que llaman de Teruel; y dicen eran un mancebo y una doncella que se querían mucho, ella rica y él al contrario; y como él pidiese por mujer la doncella y por ser pobre no se la diesen, se determinó a ir por el mundo a adquerir hacienda y ella aguardarle ciertos años, al cabo de los cuales y dos o tres días más, volvió rico y halló que aquella noche se casaba la doncella. Tuvo trazas de meterse debajo de su cama y a media noche le pidió un abrazo, dándose a conocer; ella le dijo que no podía por no ser ya suya, y él murió luego al punto. Lleváronle a enterrar, y ella fué al entierro, y cuando le querían echar en la sepultura, se arrimó a la ataúd y quedó allí muerta; y así los enterraron juntos en una sepultura, sabido el caso."

Seventeen years later a long epic poem by the secretary of the city council of Teruel, Juan Yagüe de Salas, aroused much discussion as to the authenticity of the legend. In 1619 the bodies were again exhumed and in the coffin of one of them were found written the words "Éste es Don Diego Juan Martínez de Marsilla"; also a document, "papel de letra muy antigua," giving the story in detail. This document disappeared, but the copy that Juan Yagüe claimed to have made may be seen in the archives of the church of San Pedro or in the transcription published in the Semanario Pintoresco for the week ending Feb. 5, 1837 (Vol. II, pages 45-47). The genuineness of the document and its copy is very doubtful. The first paragraph shows some linguistic peculiarities of old Aragonese; but these gradually disappear, until there is little left in the language to differentiate it from that of the good notary public and poet, Juan Yagüe, who was so anxious to prove authenticity for the legend treated in his poem. Although there is no reliable evidence that the bodies exhumed in 1555 and again in 1619 were those of Marsilla and Isabel, the church of San Pedro has held them in special reverence. They attract many admirers to the old city on the Guadalaviar and the tourist who expresses incredulity when shown the remains of the lovers becomes thereby persona non grata in Teruel.

For three centuries the controversy has continued and has resulted in the spilling of much ink. The most complete and authoritative study of the sources and growth of the legend is that of the eminent scholar Cotarelo y Mori (Sobre el origen y desarrollo de la leyenda de Los Amantes de Teruel, 2d edition, 1907). His conclusions support the theory that the legend is the result of the localization in Teruel of the story of the unfortunate Florentine lovers, Girolamo and Salvestra, as related by Boccaccio in his Decameron, Book IV, Novel 8. He refutes the arguments advanced by the supporters of the authenticity of the legend, calls attention to the suspicious nature of all the documents, and maintains the thesis that Boccaccio's story found its way into Spain toward the end of the fourteenth century and took the form of the legend of the Lovers of Teruel about the middle of the sixteenth century, at which time it first appeared definitely in Spanish literature. The majority of literary critics and historians accept Cotarelo y Mori's conclusions; others, however, refuse to give up the historic basis of the legend. They cannot deny, of course, the evident similarity of the stories; they explain it by saying that the story of the constant lovers who died in Teruel in 1217 was carried to Italy by Aragonese soldiers or merchants, was heard by the Italian novelist, and used by him as the basis for his story of Girolamo and Salvestra.

#III. The Legend in Spanish Literature.# Very few of the famous legends of the world rest upon documentary evidence, and the fact that the legend of the Lovers of Teruel lacks historic proof has had little influence upon its popularity. It has been productive of much literature, the extent of which is indicated by the two hundred or more titles contained in the bibliography[l] published by Domingo Gascón y Guimbao in 1907. Of the many poems, plays, and novels inspired by the legend only the most noteworthy can be mentioned here. The oldest literary treatment is apparently that of Pedro de Alventosa, written about the middle of the sixteenth century, Historia lastimosa y sentida de los tiernos amantes Marcilla y Segura. This was followed in 1566 by a Latin poem of about five hundred lines by Antonio de Serón, published in 1907 by Gascón y Guimbao, with a Spanish translation and an excellent bibliography. In 1581 the legend was given dramatic treatment by Rey de Artieda, who followed the story in its essential elements but modernized the action by placing it in the time of Charles V, only forty-six years earlier than the publication of the play. It has little literary value, but is important because of its influence on later dramatists. Passing over various treatments of the theme that serve merely to indicate its growing popularity, we come to the pretentious epic poem of Juan Yagüe de Salas in twenty-six cantos, Los Amantes de Teruel, Epopeya trágica, in which, besides adding many fantastic details to the legend, the author presented much extraneous matter bearing upon the general history of Teruel. Because of this widely known poem and the growing popularity of the Lovers, two dramatists of the Golden Age, Tirso de Molina and Pérez de Montalbán, gave it their attention. Los Amantes de Teruel of the great Tirso de Molina, published in 1635, is disappointing, considering the dramatic ability of the author; it contains passages of dramatic effectiveness but is weak in construction. As in Rey de Artieda's play, the action is placed in the sixteenth century; Marsilla takes part in the famous expedition of Charles V against the Moors in Tunis, saves the Emperor's life, and, richly rewarded, returns, too late, to claim the promised bride. It is a better play than that of Artieda, but is itself surpassed by Montalbán's play of three years later. Although he was far from possessing the dramatic genius of Tirso, Montalbán succeeded in giving the story the form that it was to maintain on the stage for two centuries. Frequent performances and many editions of his play, as well as many other literary treatments and references that might be cited, attest the continued popularity of the legend.

[Footnote 1: Los Amantes de Teruel, Bibliografía de los Amantes.
Domingo Gascón y Guimbao, Madrid, 1907.]

Finally, in the early days of Romanticism, it assumed the dramatic form that has remained most popular down to the present day. On the nineteenth of January of the year 1837 the theatergoing people of Madrid were moved to vociferous applause by a new treatment of the old theme, and a new star of the literary firmament was recognized in the person of Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. In his dramatic masterpiece Hartzenbusch eclipsed all the other plays that have dealt with the legend, and more than twenty editions stand as proof of its continued popularity. Besides these many editions of the play, numerous novels, poems, and operas have appeared from time to time. For the most complete bibliography down to 1907 the reader is again referred to that of the official historian of Teruel, Gascón y Guimbao. We must now turn our attention to the author of the best dramatic treatment of the legend.

#IV. Life of Hartzenbusch#. Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch, born in 1806, was the only son of a German cabinet-maker who had wandered to Spain from his home near Cologne, married a Spanish girl, and opened up a shop in Madrid. The son inherited from his German father and Spanish mother traits of character that were exemplified later in his life and writings. From his father he received a fondness for meditation, conscientious industry in acquiring sound scholarship, and the patience needed for the continual revision of his plays; from his mother came his ardent imagination and love of literature. Childhood and youth were for him a period of disappointment and struggle against adversity. Less than two years old when his mother died after a short period of insanity caused by the sight of bloodshed in the turbulent streets of Madrid in 1808, he was left to the care of a brooding father who had little sympathy with his literary aspirations, but who did wish to give him the best education he could afford. He received a common school education and was permitted to spend the four years from 1818 to 1822 in the College of San Isidro. As a result of the political troubles in Spain in 1823, the father's business, never very prosperous, fell away and the son had to leave college to help in the workshop. He was thus compelled to spend a large part of his time in making furniture, although his inclination was toward literature.

His leisure was given to study and to the acquirement of a practical knowledge of the dramatic art, gained for the most part from books, because of his father's dislike of the theater and because of the lack of money for any unnecessary expenditure. He translated several French and Italian plays, adapted others to Spanish conditions, and recast various comedias of the Siglo de Oro, with a view to making them more suitable for presentation. He tried his hand also at original production and succeeded in getting some of his plays on the stage, only to have them withdrawn almost immediately. Undiscouraged by repeated failure, he continued studying and writing, more determined than ever to become a successful dramatist and thus realize the ambition that was kindled in him by the first dramatic performance that he had witnessed when he had already reached manhood.

At the time of his marriage in 1830 he was still helping his ailing and despondent father in the workshop; more interested undoubtedly in his literary pursuits, but ever faithful to the call of duty. Until success as a dramatist made it possible for him to gain a living for his family by literature, he continued patiently his manual labor. At his father's death he closed the workshop and for a short time became dependent for a livelihood on stenography, with which he had already eked out the slender returns from the labor of his hands.

Meanwhile, during these last years of apprenticeship in which Hartzenbusch was gaining complete mastery of his art by continual study and practice, the literary revolution known as Romanticism was making rapid progress. The death of the despotic Ferdinand VII in 1833 removed the restraint that had been imposed upon literature as well as upon political ideas. The theories of the French and English Romanticists were penetrating Spanish literary circles, to be taken up eagerly by the younger dramatists; political exiles of high social and literary prestige, such as Martínez de la Rosa and the Duque de Rivas, were returning to Spain with plays and poems composed according to the new theories; the natural reaction from the logical, unemotional ideals of the Classicists was developing conditions favorable to the revolution. The first year of the struggle between the two schools of literature, 1834, gave the Romanticists two important victories in the Conjuración de Venecia of Martinez de la Rosa, and the Macías of José de Larra, two plays that show clearly Romantic tendencies but that avoid an abrupt break with the Classical theories. They served to prepare the way for the thoroughly Romantic play of the Duque de Rivas, Don Álvaro o la fuerza del sino, a magnificent, though disordered, drama that gained for the Romanticists a decisive victory in 1835, a victory over Classicism in Spain similar to that gained in Paris five years earlier by the famous Hernani of Victor Hugo, leader of the French Romanticists. In 1836 the equally successful performance of El Trovador, the Romantic play of García Gutiérrez, confirmed the victory gained by the Romanticists with Don Álvaro, and gave clear indication that the literary revolution was complete. The temper of the time was decidedly Romantic, and the wholehearted applause that resounded through the Teatro del Príncipe on the night of Jan. 19, 1837, at the first performance of Los Amantes de Teruel put an end to the long and laborious apprenticeship of Hartzenbusch.

A few days later the warm reception given the play and its continued popularity were justified in a remarkable piece of dramatic criticism by the rival playwright and keen literary critic, José de Larra, known better by his journalistic pen-name, Fígaro, and greatly feared by his contemporaries for his mordant criticism and stinging satire. In the opening words of his review of the play, we may see the highly favorable attitude of the critic and realize the suddenness of the fame that came to Hartzenbusch. "Venir a aumentar el número de los vivientes, ser un hombre más donde hay tantos hombres, oír decir de sí: 'Es un tal fulano,' es ser un árbol más en una alameda. Pero pasar cinco o seis lustros oscuro y desconocido, y llegar una noche entre otras, convocar a un pueblo, hacer tributaria su curiosidad, alzar una cortina, conmover el corazón, subyugar el juicio, hacerse aplaudir y aclamar, y oír al día siguiente de sí mismo al pasar por una calle o por el Prado: 'Aquél es el escritor de la comedia aplaudida,' eso es algo; es nacer; es devolver al autor de nuestros días por un apellido oscuro un nombre claro; es dar alcurnia a sus ascendientes en vez de recibirla de ellos."[2] Other contemporary reviews were just as favorable, and all expressed with Fígaro great hopes in the career of a dramatist that had thus begun with an acknowledged masterpiece. The Semanario Pintoresco, for example, a literary magazine in its second year of publication, ended its review of the play with these words: "El joven que, saliendo de la oscuridad del taller de un artesano, se presenta en el mundo literario con los Amantes de Teruel por primera prueba de su talento, hace concebir al teatro español la fundada esperanza de futuros días de gloria, y de verse elevado a la altura que un día ocupó en la admiración del mundo civilizado." (Feb. 5, 1837.)

Thus encouraged by popular applause and by the enthusiastic praise of literary critics, Hartzenbusch produced at varying intervals many excellent plays, but none of them surpassed or even equaled his Amantes de Teruel. Many of them, characterized by careful workmanship, dramatic effectiveness, and fine literary finish, are well worth studying, and deserve more attention than can be given them here. They offer all kinds of drama: tragedies such as Doña Mencía, in which the exaggerations of Romanticism are given free rein; historical plays, in which striking incidents in Spanish history or legend are given dramatic treatment; fantastic plays, such as La redoma encantada, in which magic plays an important part; comedies of character and manners, such as La coja y el encogido, in which contemporary life found humorous presentation. The best of them may be read in the three volumes published in the well-known series Colección de Escritores Castellanos. For literary criticism the student is referred to the books mentioned later in the bibliography.

The love of study grew stronger in Hartzenbusch as the opportunity to devote himself to it became greater, so that after he had had several plays presented with considerable success, scholarship began to absorb more and more of his time and the intervals between plays began to lengthen. Literary criticism, editorial work in connection with new editions of the Spanish classics, his duties as assistant and, later, chief librarian of the Biblioteca Nacional, these, with the production from time to time of a new play, made him a well-known figure in the literary life of Madrid. His was the quiet life of the modern man of letters, to whom the incidents of greatest interest are of the intellectual order: the production of a new play, the publication of a new book of literary or scholarly value, the discovery of an old manuscript or the announcement of a new theory, the admission of a new member to the Spanish Academy. Serenely tolerant in his outlook upon life, of gentle disposition and ready sympathy, unaffectedly modest, indifferent to the accumulation of property beyond the needs of his simple mode of living, conscientious in the performance of all his duties, he retained to the end of his life the personal esteem of his many friends. When death put an end in 1880 to the long illness that saddened the last years of his life, his mortal remains were conducted to the tomb with all due ceremony by the Spanish Academy, to which membership had been granted him in 1847 as a recognition of his excellent work as dramatist and scholar.

The productivity of Hartzenbusch, as well as his versatility, would be remarkable in any country but Spain. The Bibliografía de Hartzenbusch, prepared by his son and published in 1900,[3] stands as proof of the great extent and diversity of his productions; four hundred pages are needed for the bibliographical data connected with his many publications and for a few extracts from his unpublished writings. Hundreds of titles of dramas, poems, addresses, essays, literary criticism, scholarly commentaries, indicate the versatility of his talent and his tireless industry.

[Footnote 3: Bibliografía de Hartzenbusch. Eugenio Hartzenbusch.
Madrid, 1900.]

#V. Hartzenbusch's Treatment of the Legend.# Apparently Hartzenbusch had given much study and thought to the famous legend of the Lovers of Teruel. At first it was his intention to use it in an historical novel, but only the first few pages of this have been preserved (Bibliografía de Hartzenbusch). Believing that the legend could be better treated in dramatic form, he applied himself enthusiastically to the construction of the play in accordance with the new theories that were becoming popular, and had it ready for production when a copy of José de Larra's Macías came into his hands. What was his astonishment to find that the plot of his play was so similar to that of Macías that no one would be likely to accept the similarity as a mere coincidence. Patiently he reconstructed it and had it published in 1836, if the date on the title page of the oldest edition is to be accepted as accurate.[4] If published in 1836, the author remained in obscurity until the first performance of the play, January 19 of the following year, made him famous.

[Footnote 4: Los Amantes de Teruel, drama en cinco actos en prosa y verso por Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch. Madrid. Imprenta de D. José María Repullés. 1836.]

Many difficulties beset the dramatist in the construction of the play. The legend that served as plot was already known to all, so that the element of suspense could not be used to any great extent. Moreover, the climax was not in itself dramatic; the death of two lovers through grief at separation, pathetic though it be, lacked the tragic element of other similar stories in which death resulted from violence. The dénouement, the probability of which would not be generally accepted, had to be retained in the treatment of a legend so widely known, a legend in which the essential originality consisted in this very improbability. Careful preparation throughout the whole play was needed, then, for this improbable dénouement, pathetic, rather than tragic; dramatic incidents had to be supplied by the author's own inventiveness, the characters had to be carefully delineated, the motivation carefully considered. How successfully the author was able to overcome these difficulties, with what dramatic skill he was able to succeed where dramatists such as Tirso de Molina and Montalbán were only partially successful, careful study of the play will reveal.

The play as given in this edition differs in many ways from the play as first presented in 1837. More than once the author returned to it, and the numerous editions needed to supply the popular and continuous demand gave him the opportunity to revise it and give it the most artistic finish of which he was capable. Changed literary conditions after Romanticism had run its course are reflected in the more sober dress of the revised play; there are reflected in it, too, the greater restraint, the more scholarly and critical attention to character delineation and literary finish befitting a man who had passed from the warm impulsiveness of youth to the calm rationality of middle age. The student who takes the trouble to compare the text of this edition with that of the first will see many changes: the five acts are reduced to four; some of the prose scenes are now in poetic form; the diction is much improved generally and obscure passages are made clear; some changes in motivation are to be noted, especially in the scenes leading up to the voluntary marriage of Isabel with Azagra; the mother's character is notably ennobled. On the whole, the play has gained by these revisions; what it has lost in freshness and spontaneity has been more than counterbalanced by the more careful delineation of character, improved motivation of action, correctness of diction, and literary finish. The play in its first form is undoubtedly a better example of Romanticism in all its phases, its tendencies toward exaggeration, its crudities of thought and expression, combined with qualities unsurpassed in any other period of literature; in its revised form it is a more artistic production, is still a Romantic play, and one of the best in Spanish literature.

#VI. Romanticism.# Generally speaking, an author belongs to his own age and country, is moved by the prevalent ideas and sentiments; his outlook upon life is similar to that of the majority of his contemporaries. Ordinarily then, a piece of literature of a past age is understood and fully appreciated only by the student who is able to view it in its proper historical perspective, to see it through the eyes of those for whom it was written. Especially is this true of Romantic literature, the production of ardent and youthful enthusiasts who found themselves suddenly emancipated from the rigid rules and formalism of French pseudo-Classicism of the eighteenth century. The tendency in literature, as in political and social life, is to pass in a pendulum swing from one extreme to the other, so that to appreciate the fine and enduring qualities of Romantic literature and to make due allowance for its exaggerations and other apparent faults, the student must know something of the Romantic movement and of the Classicism that immediately preceded it. Moreover, his purpose in reading a literary masterpiece is not merely to understand and appreciate it in itself, but also to gain through it some understanding of the age or literary movement of which it is a representative. In order, then, that Los Amantes de Teruel may be more fully appreciated as a dramatic masterpiece, and in order that through it the student may come to a fuller understanding of Romanticism, his attention is now directed to the essential characteristics of this important literary movement.

Romanticism in Spanish literature is the name given to the literary revolt that began about 1830 against pseudo-Classicism. A similar revolt had already freed the other literatures of Europe, so that the many Spanish exiles who had been forced to seek refuge for political reasons in England or on the Continent there became familiar with the new ideas in literature. Ardent converts to the new literary ideals, these political exiles, when permitted to return to Spain at the death of the despotic Ferdinand VII in 1833, became the leaders in a literary revolution that soon swept away all opposition. The logical reaction from the rigid rules and formalism, new ideas in political and social life weakened opposition so rapidly and effectively that the Romantic poetry and plays of the Duque de Rivas, Espronceda, García Gutiérrez, Hartzenbusch, and others found a ready and enthusiastic welcome.

In the comparison that is to be made of Romanticism and Classicism, romantic and classic are to be used in their technical, literary sense. As ordinarily used, romantic means the extreme opposite of prosaic or commonplace; in literary history, Romantic is used to describe the movement known as Romanticism. Classic, in its oldest and ordinary acceptation, means the best of its class or kind; in its literary sense, classic, or classical, is usually applied to the type of literature that harmonized so completely with eighteenth century rationalism, the Classicism, or rather pseudo-Classicism, which, enthroned in France, ruled all literary Europe until the closing years of the century. In the following comparison, Classic, Classicist, and Classicism are the opposites of Romantic, Romanticist, and Romanticism.

Romanticism, in its general application to all kinds of literature and to the literatures of all countries where it made itself effectively felt, shows the following characteristics:

1. Subjectivity, the introduction of the personal note, the expression by the author of his own individual feelings and ideas. The Classicist, aiming at universality and completeness, considered only the typical and eternal as suitable material for literature and carefully excluded whatever seemed peculiar to himself; his ideal was to give perfect literary form to ideas and sentiments acceptable to mankind generally, truths of universal application. Originality of idea or sentiment was not of prime importance with him; his aim was rather to give finished form to "what oft was said, but ne'er so well expressed." The aim of the Romanticist, on the other hand, was to turn to literary uses his own individual experiences, to give forceful and effective, rather than elegant, expression to his own peculiar feelings and ideas. This subjectivity led naturally to many abuses; it also led to the production of some of the masterpieces of literature. Lyric poetry, that had almost died of inanition during the period of Classicism, took on new and vigorous life and became again one of the most important literary genres. The mere mention of such famous poets as Byron, Shelley, Heine, Musset, Leopardi, Espronceda, indicates the extent and importance of lyric poetry in the first half of the nineteenth century.

2. Emotional appeal. Classicism made its appeal to the intellect; Romanticism to the emotions. The aim of the Classicist being to give perfect literary expression to the accumulated wisdom of mankind or to reform social, moral, or political conditions by means of ridicule, he accepted logic as his guide. The Romanticist, whose aim it was to express his individual sentiments and ideas, rebelled against the restraints of logic and common sense; his purpose was not to persuade his reader or hearer by logical reasoning, but rather to carry him off his feet by the onrush of his passions and sentiments. The Classicist mistrusted the imagination for fear that it might lead him away from common sense and moderation; the Romanticist turned to it eagerly as the most effective means of conveying to reader or hearer his ardent sentiments and vague aspirations. For the reason then that the Classicist made his appeal to the intellect, mistrusted the imagination, and usually avoided all strong passions except that of indignation, Classicism tended to become more and more prosaic. Romanticism, because of its appeal to the emotions and to the imagination, put new life and power into literature, and immeasurably widened its range. On the other hand the tendency on the part of writers of little ability and less judgment to go to absurd extremes in their efforts to express strange and original ideas and sentiments, to get as far away as possible from the logical and commonplace, led to the production of much absurd writing. This and the attempt of many of them to apply the extreme principles of Romanticism to daily life as well as to literature resulted in the derogatory sense that the word romantic came to have in its ordinary acceptation. The results of Romanticism in its exaggerated form may be seen in the satirical article written in 1837 by Mesonero Romanos, El Romanticismo y los Románticos. This article, highly recommended in this connection, may easily be found in his collected writings Obras, Madrid, 1881, or, better still, it may be studied in the excellent edition of Professor G.T. Northup, Selections from Mesonero Romanos.

3. Spiritual awakening. The latter half of the eighteenth century was a materialistic age. The realities of life were limited to such as could be understood by the five senses and the reasoning faculty. Life and literature for the Classicist meant reasoned submission to things as they were; achievement was the accepted basis of judgment for his life or literature. The Romanticist rebelled against this materialistic view of life; for him the real truths lay beyond the apparent realities; he grasped at the impalpable and infinite, and wished to have his life and literature judged by his aspirations, rather than by his achievements. Hence, too, the vague longings, the gentle melancholy or violent revolt, the spiritual uplift. The new sense of the wonder and glory of the universe, as well as the spiritual reality behind the material, has suggested as a definition of Romanticism the "Renascence of Wonder."

4. Revival of the Middle Ages and national traditions. The Romanticists were inclined to turn away from the prosaic present and to seek material for their writings in the Middle Ages, the time of unrestrained feelings and emotions, of chivalrous adventure and romance, of strong religious faith, of miracles and superstition. The historical novel, in which the powerful imagination of a Walter Scott made the past live again, became popular throughout Europe; innumerable dramas sought their plots in medieval history and legend. Spain, with her rich literature of popular ballads and drama, a storehouse of picturesque legends and traditions, attracted the attention of Romanticists everywhere, so that for Spaniards the movement came to have a patriotic significance. The best Romanticists did not limit themselves to the Middle Ages; they broadened their vision to include the whole past of the human race, whereas the Classicists, fixing their eyes steadily upon ancient Greece and Rome, whenever they were inclined to turn away from the present, ignored entirely the medieval period and the early modern.

5. Picturesqueness. Seeking to give polished expression to the probable and typical, the Classicist abhorred exaggeration and violent contrasts. The Romanticist, on the other hand, was attracted to the grotesque, mingled the ugly and the beautiful, the commonplace and the fantastic; he delighted in striking antitheses.

6. Love of inanimate nature. The Classicist, instead of going directly to Nature for individual inspiration, was content to repeat in new ways the generally accepted ideas regarding natural scenery. His interest lay almost wholly in mankind, so that inanimate Nature usually served as a merely conventional background. The Romanticist loved Nature for its own sake, and many masterpieces of lyric poetry were due to its inspiration. He loved Nature in all her aspects and moods; if these were grandiose or violent, the greater was his admiration.

7. Freedom from rule and conventionality in literary forms and technique. The foregoing characteristics, concerned mainly with the content of Romantic literature, would naturally mean a corresponding revolution in literary form and technique. Rules and conventions had kept accumulating about literature, until by the middle of the eighteenth century, when French Classicism dominated literary Europe, they were so rigid that only a few of the many men of letters were able to produce literature that was not wholly artificial and uninspired. Each kind of literature was supposed to be written in a certain way; narrative poetry had a certain prescribed meter; lyric poetry another; tragedy and comedy should be carefully kept apart. The Romanticist proceeded at once to throw overboard all these rules and conventionalities. Each literary production was to be judged upon its own merits as literature, not upon the closeness of its adherence to any set of rules, and each author was to be at liberty to get his results in any way that he might choose. Hence we find the mingling of literary genres, the neglect of the dramatic unities, the invention of new meters and the revival of old ones.

8. Richness of language. Because of the continual elimination of words considered unsuitable for literary expression, the language of the Classicists was becoming more and more impoverished, diction was becoming more and more stereotyped and artificial. The Romanticists, with their revolutionary ideas as to content, rebelled against any rule or convention that would restrict their choice of words or diction; seeking complete and effective self-expression, they turned to literary use all the resources of the language of their own time and of any other age as well. The result was a great enrichment of language through the effective use of highly colored, picturesque words and diction, as fresh and bright as newly coined pieces of gold.

Such are the general characteristics of the movement that had such a profound effect upon the literatures of western Europe in the closing years of the eighteenth century and the first half of the nineteenth. All of them may be observed in the literature produced in Spain during the twenty years from 1830 to 1850, although, naturally, they do not all have the same importance there as in other countries. In a general way it may be said that the movement was not so revolutionary as in France, for example, where Classicism had taken deeper root. Moreover, in Spain, Romanticism meant the revival of some of the literary ideals of the Siglo de Oro, and to this extent at least could hardly be considered revolutionary. The most complete representative of Romanticism in Spanish dramatic literature is the Don Álvaro of Angel de Saavedra, better known as the Duque de Rivas; in this play are to be found all the above-mentioned characteristics, even those that have to do more naturally with lyric poetry, subjectivity and love of nature. Not only does it present Romanticism in its most effective form; it also shows the pitfalls of exaggeration and improbability that even the greatest Romanticists failed to avoid when the check of common sense was removed and free rein was given to the imagination. But since we are here concerned mainly with Los Amantes de Teruel, a play that demands for its understanding and appreciation much less familiarity with the Spanish language than that required by Don Álvaro, the extent to which the masterpiece of Hartzenbusch is representative of Romanticism will now be briefly noted.[5]

[Footnote 5: In order that the student may discover for himself the essential differences between the two schools of drama, it is recommended that he read a classical play such as Moratin's El Sí de las Niñas before reading Los Amantes de Teruel. In comparing the two plays he should bear in mind that, for the reason that they are both artistic masterpieces, they avoid the extremes of Classicism and Romanticism, and that they do not illustrate entirely the opposite characteristics of the less artistic examples of the two kinds of drama.]

#VII. Romanticism in Los Amantes de Teruel.# That the appeal is mainly to the emotions and imagination is quite evident. The plot is based on a legend that owes its chief interest to the unusual and even improbable ending; and the exceptional and improbable, if they are to be effectively treated in literature, must appeal to the imagination, must so stir the sentiments of the reader or hearer that the reasoning faculty may be kept from becoming too active. Not only is the dénouement itself improbable; the somewhat melodramatic figure of Zulima and the important part she plays in keeping apart the lovers until it is too late, would hardly be convincing if the main appeal of the play were to the intellect. These improbabilities are willingly ignored by the reader or spectator as he allows himself to be carried along in the current of passion to the final scene of deep emotion and intense pathos. Melodious verse and poetic imagery help to make effective this emotional appeal.

The spiritual appeal of the play is apparent. To Marsilla and Isabel love is so spiritualized that materialism can find in it no place. Their love for each other is the "encarnación del cariño anticipado al nacer," life means for them "seguir con el cuerpo amando, como el espíritu amó." Love is life itself; and when no longer permitted to love each other in this life for the reason that Isabel, believing her lover to be dead and wishing to sacrifice herself in order that her mother's good name may be preserved, has become the wife of Rodrigo de Azagra, they willingly return to the spiritual world from which together they had come into the world of materiality.

The dramatization of a medieval legend is typical of the newly awakened interest in the Middle Ages. Five years before the beginning of the supposed action of the play, shortly after Marsilla had left home to gain name and fortune in the wars against the infidels, was fought at Navas de Tolosa one of the most decisive battles between Christianity and Mohammedanism. The year after his departure from Teruel there ascended the throne of Aragón the boy that was to be known to history as Jaime el Conquistador because of his reconquest of southeastern Spain for Christianity. In the lull that preceded the approaching storm the Christians and Moslems in the eastern part of the peninsula were at peace, so that in the play they mingle freely, treating each other with the chivalrous respect that was characteristic of the Middle Ages. The numerous references to contemporary historic personages and events and the careful attention to local color bring vividly before us the life of that part of Aragón recently recovered from the Moors. The dénouement is made less improbable by placing the action of the play in that age of deep convictions, exalted idealism, chivalrous customs, and in that part of Spain where tenacity of purpose has always been regarded as a characteristic trait.

Picturesqueness, in its literary sense is not very apparent in the play as we now have it. In the first version there were examples of striking contrasts, a mingling of the tragic and comic, the noble and base, but these were toned down or eliminated by the author in his revisions of the play. For an example of exaggerated picturesqueness, with its violent contrasts, mingling of the sublime and vulgar, the grotesque and beautiful, the student is referred to Don Álvaro.

The classical conventionality that each kind of literature should have its prescribed form and that the various literary genres should be kept apart was disregarded by Hartzenbusch. In this play we see a mingling of scenes in prose with those in verse, we find the versification varied according to the nature of the scenes, a mingling of dramatic dialogue and lyrical expression of sentiment and passion. The action of the play in its first form was impeded by the excessive lyricism of some of the scenes; although notably reduced, this lyric element is still quite apparent in the scene between Marsilla and Zulima in the first act, for example; or between Marsilla and Isabel in the last. In the first version Mari-Gómez, later changed to Teresa with the suppression of most of her garrulity, was made to serve as a graciosa and thus relieve the tenseness of the serious scenes.

As to the three dramatic unities so dear to the Classicists, those of time and place are disregarded. The action shifts from Valencia to Teruel; the time occupied covers the last six days of the plazo given Marsilla in which to gain name and fortune and return home to claim Isabel for wife. The unity of action, the one essential unity in any work of art, is carefully preserved. In the first version could be seen something of the Romantic tendency to complicate the plot by the introduction of an excessive number of characters and needless episodes, but in its final form the plot is simple and nothing is permitted to interfere with its dramatic development.

In the first version there was also some tendency to abuse the new freedom from conventionality in language, a tendency to seek out unusual words and phrases for the sake of their picturesqueness, rather than for their artistic appropriateness. In the polishing and toning-down process, such words and phrases were eliminated, so that the play in its final form serves as a good illustration of the permanent enrichment of the literary language by the Romanticists. Likewise, in its versification, it offers a good example of the metrical variety found in the Spanish dramatists of the Golden Age and revived by the Romanticists.

#VIII. Versification.# Only the fundamental principles of Spanish versification will be noted here. For a more adequate treatment the student is referred to such works as Andrés Bello's Ortología y métrica (Vol. IV of Obras completas, Madrid, 1890), or the Prosodia castellana y versificación of E. Benot; or to the more easily accessible notes on Spanish versification in Hills and Morley's Modern Spanish Lyrics or Ford's Spanish Anthology.

Some knowledge of two of the essential differences between Spanish and English versification is needed for the appreciation of the poetry of this play. Whereas in English poetry the number of feet to the line is essential, in Spanish the basis of meter is the number of syllables; moreover, in syllable-counting there are certain rules (too complicated to be given here) regarding the treatment of contiguous vowels as one syllable or more than one. Another difference that should be noted is that in Spanish poetry there are two kinds of rime, consonantal rime and assonance. Consonantal rime is the same as that used in English poetry, identity of the last stressed vowel sound as well as all following vowel or consonant sounds in two or more verses; as for example, in lines 127-130, Act I, clemencia, Valencia: favor, mejor. Assonance is identity in a series of verses of the last stressed vowel and of a following unstressed vowel, if there be one, but not of a consonant; in other words, assonance is the correspondence of the vowels, but not of the consonants, in the riming syllables. Thus, in the first 110 lines of the play, all the even verses have the same vowel in the last stressed syllables: volver, administré, fiel, pie, Adel, partiré, el, rey, etc. Only the strong vowel in a diphthong is recognized, so that in these 110 lines the assonance of the alternate verses is in e. In the first 148 lines of Act IV all the even verses have one and the same vowel in the last accented syllable and one and the same vowel in the unaccented syllable: pueblo, bandoleros, prenderlos, tiempo, vinieron, provecho, etc. The assonance is, therefore, é-o.

Of the many verse-forms, i.e., definite combinations of line and rime, to be found in Spanish poetry, we find the following in this play: romance, romance heroico, redondilla, quintilla, décima, copla de arte mayor, and silva.

The romance, or ballad meter, is the most thoroughly national of all Spanish meters and has always been very popular with the dramatists. It has, regularly, eight syllables to the line, with a regular rhythmic accent on the seventh, and has assonance in the alternate lines. The seventh syllable may or may not be followed by one or two unstressed syllables, but the line is called octosyllabic; one unstressed syllable is counted whether it be present or not. The first 110 lines of Act I, for example, are in romance. Note that the regular rhythmic stress of each line is on the seventh syllable; that the odd lines have seven or eight syllables; that all the even lines have seven metrical syllables each, and have assonance in e. In the first 148 lines of Act IV, all of the even lines have eight syllables each, for the reason that each seventh syllable is followed by an unaccented syllable, the assonance being é-o. This is the normal romance line, eight-syllabled and in assonance.

The romance heroico or real differs from the ordinary romance in that the lines are hendecasyllabic (eleven-syllabled). Lines 269-474, Act IV, are in romance heroico, with assonance in á-a.

The redondilla consists of four octosyllabic lines, with consonantal rime, usually arranged thus: abba. In Act I, for example, lines 111-458 consist of 87 redondillas.

The quintilla consists of five octosyllabic lines, with two consonantal rimes, arranged so that no more than two may come together: ababa, abbab, abaab, etc. In Act III lines 62-226 consist of 33 quintillas. The last one has a very unusual combination of rimes: abbba.

The décima consists of ten octosyllabic lines, with four consonantal rimes usually arranged as in lines 761-770, or 771-780, Act II: abbaaccddc. The décima is not properly considered as two quintillas, since there should be a pause at the end of the fourth line of a décima.

The copla (stanza) de arte mayor contains eight lines with three consonantal rimes arranged thus: abbaacca. Each line is divided into two hemistitches, with rhythmic stress on the fifth syllable of each hemistich. The sixth syllable of either hemistich or of both may be lacking, so that there may be a total of 10, 11, or 12 syllables in a line. Lines 179-282, Act II, are made up of thirteen coplas de arte mayor. Most of the lines have 11 or 12 syllables; note that verses 187, 200, 215, etc., have only ten each.

The silva is usually composed of eleven-syllabled lines, intermingled with lines of seven syllables. There is consonantal rime, but without regularity; and many lines are left unrimed. An example of the silva may be found in lines 309-437, Act III.

SCHEME OF VERSIFICATION

Act I. 1-110 Romance (e) 111-458 Redondillas Act II. 1-178 Romance (a) 179-282 Coplas de arte mayor 283-466 Redondillas 467-573 Prose 574-760 Romance (é-a) 761-780 Décimas Act III. 1-61 Prose 62-226 Quintillas 227-308 Prose 309-437 Silva Act IV. 1-148 Romance (é-o) 149-268 Redondillas 269-474 Romance heroico (á-a)

BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE

The most important books and articles that treat of Hartzenbusch and the legend of the Amantes de Teruel have already been mentioned. In them may be found many references and extensive bibliographical data. The best of the writings of Hartzenbusch are contained in the five volumes published in the well-known series Colección de Escritores Castellanos. Three volumes contain his best plays: Teatro, Madrid, 1888-1892. The first volume, Poesías, 1887, contains a good study of his life and writings by A. Fernández-Guerra. The Romantic movement in Spain is treated at length in El Romanticismo en España, by Enrique Pineyro, Paris, 1904; and in Vol. I, of La Literatura Española en el Siglo XIX, by F. Blanco-García, 3d edition, 1909.

LOS AMANTES DE TERUEL,

DRAMA REFUNDIDO EN CUATRO ACTOS Y EN VERSO Y PROSA

PERSONAS

JUAN DIEGO MARTÍNEZ GARCÉS DE MARSILLA, O MARSILLA. ISABEL DE SEGURA. DOÑA MARGARITA. ZULIMA. DON RODRIGO DE AZAGRA. DON PEDRO DE SEGURA. DON MARTÍN GARCÉS DE MARSILLA. TERESA. ADEL. OSMÍN.

LOS AMANTES DE TERUEL

ACTO PRIMERO

Dormitorio morisco en el alcázar de Valencia. A la derecha del espectador una cama, junto al proscenio; a la izquierda, una ventana con celosías y cortinajes. Puerta grande en el fondo, y otras pequeñas a los lados.

ESCENA PRIMERA

ZULIMA, ADEL; JUAN DIEGO MARSILLA, adormecido en la cama: sobre ella un lienzo con letras de sangre.

ADEL. Poco ha se lo administré.— Dígnate de oír, señora, la voz de un súbdito fiel, que orillas de un precipicio te ve colocar el pie.

ZULIMA. Si disuadirme pretendes, no te fatigues, Adel. Partir de Valencia quiero, y hoy, hoy mismo partiré.

ZULIMA. Ese Rey, al ser mi esposo, me prometió no tener otra consorte que yo. ¿Lo ha cumplido? Ya lo ves. 20 A traerme una rival marchó de Valencia ayer. Libre a la nueva sultana mi puesto le dejaré.

ZULIMA. Está resuelto. 25 El renegado Zaén, el que aterra la comarca de Albarracín y Teruel, llamado por mí ha venido, y tiene ya en su poder 30 casi todo lo que yo de mis padres heredé, que es demás para vivir con opulencia los tres. De la alcazaba saldremos 35 a poco de anochecer.

ZULIMA. Es noble, es valiente, en una mazmorra iba a perecer 40 de enfermedad y de pena, de frío, de hambre y de sed: yo le doy la libertad, riquezas, mi mano: ¿quién rehusa estos dones? ¡Oh! 45 Si ofendiera mi altivez con una repulsa, caro le costara su desdén conmigo. Tiempo hace ya que este acero emponzoñé, 50 furiosa contra mi aleve consorte Zeit Abenzeit: quien es capaz de vengarse en el Príncipe, también escarmentara al esclavo, 55 como fuera menester.

ADEL. ¿Qué habrá escrito en ese lienzo con su sangre? Yo no sé leer en su idioma; pero puedo llamar a cualquier 60 cautivo….

ZULIMA. A él le toca defender 70 su trono, en vez de ocuparse, contra la jurada fe, en devaneos que un día lugar a su ruina den. Mas Ramiro no recobra 75 los sentidos: buscaré un espíritu a propósito…. (Vase.)

ESCENA II

OSMÍN. He cumplido mi deber. 80 Al ausentarse el Amir, con este encargo quedé. Es más cauto nuestro dueño que esa liviana mujer.— El lienzo escrito con sangre, 85 ¿dónde está?

ADEL. Ten. (Le da el lienzo, y Osmín lee.) Mira si es que dice, ya que tú lo sabes leer, dónde lo pudo escribir; porque en el encierro aquel 90 apenas penetra nunca rayo de luz: verdad es que rotas esta mañana puerta y cadenas hallé: debió, después de romperlas, 95 el subterráneo correr, y hallando el lienzo….

OSMÍN. ¡Oh, vasallo infiel! Avisar al Rey es fuerza, y al pérfido sorprender. 100

ESCENA III

ZULIMA.—ADEL, MARSILLA

ESCENA IV

ZULIMA, MARSILLA

ZULIMA. Su pecho empieza a latir
más fuerte; así que perciba….
(Aplícale un pomito a la nariz.)

ZULIMA (corriendo las cortinas de la ventana).
De aquella horrible mansión 115
está a las tinieblas hecho.

ZULIMA. ¿Quién puede hacerle mejor
          que la Reina de Valencia? 130
          Zulima te proporciona
          la sorpresa que te embarga
          dulcemente: ella me encarga
que cuide de tu persona:
          y desde hoy ningún afán 135
          permitiré que te aflija.

MARSILLA. ¿De Merván? (Aparte. ¡Ah! ¡qué
recuerdo!) (Busca y recoge el lienzo.)

MARSILLA. Para la Reina será. Haz, pues, que a mi bienhechora vea: por Dios te lo ruego.

ZULIMA. No estés con inquietud. Olvida todo pesar: trata solo de cobrar el sosiego y la salud.

MARSILLA. Defienda próvido el cielo 155 y premie con altos dones los piadosos corazones que dan al triste consuelo. Tendrá Zulima, tendrás tú siempre un cautivo en mí; 160 hermoso es el bien por sí, pero en una hermosa, más. Ayer, hoy mismo, ¿cuál era mi suerte? Sumido en honda cárcel, estrecha y hedionda, 165 sin luz, sin aire siquiera; envuelto en infecta nube que húmedo engendra el terreno; paja corrompida, cieno y piedras por cama tuve. 170 —Hoy … si no es esto soñar, torno a la luz, a la vida, y espero ver la florida margen del Guadalaviar, allí donde alza Teruel, 175 señoreando la altura, sus torres de piedra oscura, que están mirándose en él. No es lo más que me redima la noble princesa mora: 180 el bien que me hace, lo ignora aun la propia Zulima.

ZULIMA. Ella siempre algún misterio supuso en ti, y así espera que me des noticia entera 185 de tu vida y cautiverio. Una vez que en tu retiro las dos ocultas entramos, te oímos … y sospechamos que no es tu nombre Ramiro. 190

MARSILLA. Mi nombre es Diego Marsilla, y cuna Teruel me dió, pueblo que ayer se fundó, y es hoy poderosa villa, cuyos muros, entre horrores 195 de lid atroz levantados, fueron con sangre amasados de sus fuertes pobladores. Yo creo que al darme ser quiso formar el Señor, 200 modelos de puro amor, un hombre y una mujer, y para hacer la igualdad de sus afectos cumplida, les dió un alma en dos partida, 205 y dijo: «Vivid y amad.» Al son de la voz creadora, Isabel y yo existimos, y ambos los ojos abrimos en un día y una hora. 210 Desde los años más tiernos fuimos ya finos amantes; desde que nos vimos … antes nos amábamos de vernos; porque el amor principió 215 a enardecer nuestras almas al contacto de las palmas de Dios, cuando nos crió: y así fué nuestro querer, prodigioso en niña y niño, 220 encarnación del cariño anticipado al nacer, seguir Isabel y yo, al triste mundo arribando, seguir con el cuerpo amando, 225 como el espíritu amó.

MARSILLA. Es poco hechizo
el oro para quien ama. 235
Su padre, sí, deslumbrado….

MARSILLA. Le ví, mi pasión habló, su fuerza exhalando toda, 240 y, suspendida la boda, un plazo se me otorgó, para que mi esfuerzo activo juntara un caudal honrado.

MARSILLA. Señora, ya ves … aun vivo.
          Seis años y una semana
me dieron: los años ya
          se cumplen hoy; cumplirá
          el primer día mañana. 250

MARSILLA. Un adiós a la hermosa dí, que es de mis ojos luz, y combatí por la cruz en las Navas de Tolosa. Gané con brioso porte 255 crédito allí de guerrero; luego, en Francia, prisionero caí del Conde Monforte. Huí, y en Siria un francés albigense, refugiado, 260 a quien había salvado la vida junto a Besiés, me dejó, al morir, su herencia: volviendo con fama y oro a España, pirata moro 265 me apresó y trajo a Valencia. Y en pena de que rompió de mis cadenas el hierro mi mano, profundo encierro en vida me sepultó, 270 donde mi extraño custodio, sin dejarse ver ni oír, me prolongaba el vivir, o por piedad o por odio. De aquel horrendo lugar 275 me sacáis: bella mujer, sentir sé y agradecer: di cómo podré pagar.

ZULIMA. No borres de tu memoria tan debido ofrecimiento, 280 y haz por escuchar atento cierta peregrina historia. Un joven aragonés vino cautivo al serallo: sus prendas y nombre callo; 285 tú conocerás quién es. Toda mujer se lastima de ver padecer sonrojos a un noble: puso los ojos en el esclavo Zulima, 290 y férvido amor en breve nació de la compasión: aquí es brasa el corazón; allá entre vosotros, nieve. Quiso aquel joven huir; 295 fué desgraciado en su empeño: le prenden, y por su dueño es condenado a morir. Pero en favor del cristiano velaba Zulima; ciega, 300 loca, le salva;—más, llega a brindarle con su mano. Respuesta es bien se le dé en trance tan decisivo: habla tú por el cautivo, 305 yo por la Reina hablaré.

MARSILLA. Ni en desgracia ni en ventura
          cupo en mi lenguaje dolo:
          este corazón es sólo
          para Isabel de Segura. 310

ZULIMA. Medita, y concederás
          al tiempo lo que reclama.
          ¿Sabes tú si es fiel tu dama?
          ¿Sabes tú si la verás?

MARSILLA. Me matara mi dolor, 315 si fuera Isabel perjura: mi constancia me asegura la firmeza de su amor. Con espíritu gallardo, si queréis, daré mi vida: 320 dada el alma y recibida, fiel al dueño se la guardo.

ZULIMA. Mira que es poco prudente burlar a tu soberana, que tiene sangre africana, 325 y ama y odia fácilmente. Y si ella sabe que, cuando yo su corazón te ofrezco, por ella el dolor padezco de ver que le estás pisando, 330 volverás a tus cadenas y a tu negro calabozo, y allí yo, con alborozo que más encone tus penas, la nueva te llevaré 335 de ser Isabel esposa.

ZULIMA. ¡Rayo del cielo! el traidor cuanto fabrico derrumba: 340 defendido con la tumba, se ríe de mi furor. Trocarás la risa en llanto. Cautiva desde Teruel me han de traer a Isabel…. 345

MARSILLA. Toma, con eso (Dándole el lienzo ensangrentado.) correspondo a tu afición: entrega sin dilación a hombre de valor y seso el escrito que te doy. 355 Sálvete su diligencia.

MARSILLA. A Valencia
          tu esposo ha de llegar hoy;
          y en llegando, tú y él y otros
          a sedicioso puñal 360
          perecéis.

MARSILLA. Merván, tu padre supuesto. Si tu cólera no estalla, mi labio el secreto calla, 365 y el fin os llega funesto.

MARSILLA. Frenético ayer, la puerta pude romper de mi encierro: la prisión 370 recorro, oigo hablar, atiendo…. —Junta de aleves impía era, Merván presidía.— Allí supe que volviendo a este alcázar el Amir, 375 trataban de asesinarle. Resuélvome a no dejarle pérfidamente morir, y con roja tinta humana y un pincel de mi cabello 380 la trama en un lienzo sello, y el modo de hacerla vana. Poner al siguiente día pensaba el útil aviso en la cesta que el preciso 385 sustento me conducía. Vencióme tenaz modorra, más fuerte que mi cuidado: desperté maravillado, fuera ya de la mazmorra. 390 Junta pues tu guardia, pon aquí un acero, y que venga con todo el poder que tenga contra ti la rebelión.

ZULIMA. Dé a la rebelión castigo 395 quien tema por su poder; no yo, que al anochecer huir pensaba contigo. Poca gente, pero brava, que al marchar nos protegiera, 400 sumisa mi voz espera escondida en la alcazaba. Con ellos entre el rebato del tumulto, partiré; con ellos negociaré 405 que me venguen de un ingrato. Teme la cuchilla airada de Zaén, el bandolero; tiembla, más que de su acero, de esta daga envenenada. 410 ¡Ay del que mi amor trocó en frenesí rencoroso! ¡Nunca espere ser dichoso quien de celos me mató!

ESCENA V

OSMÍN.—MARSILLA.

OSMÍN Baste de plática sin provecho. Al Rey un favor has hecho: acaba lo que empezaste.

OSMÍN. El lienzo he leído que al Rey dirigiste: allí 420 le ofreces tu brazo.

OSMÍN. Pues bien, dos tropas formadas con los cautivos están: serás el un capitán, 425 el otro Jaime Celladas.

OSMÍN. Si hay combate, así tendrá su rescate cada cautivo en la mano. 430 Con ardimiento lidiad.

MARSILLA. ¿Quién, de libertad sediento, no lidia con ardimiento al grito de libertad!

ESCENA VI

ADEL, SOLDADOS MOROS.—MARSILLA, OSMÍN

ADEL. Osmín, a palacio van turbas llegando en tumulto, 440 y Zaén, que estaba oculto, sale aclamando a Merván. Zulima nos ha vendido.

MARSILLA. Después de correr el lance, 445 se dispondrá del vencido. Cuando rueda la corona entre la sangre y el fuego, primero se triunfa, luego….

MARSILLA. ¡Arma anhelada!
          ¡Mi diestra te empuña ya! 455
          Ella al triunfo te encamina.
          Rayo fué de Palestina,
          rayo en Valencia será.

ACTO SEGUNDO

ESCENA PRIMERA

DON PEDRO, entrando en su casa; MARGARITA, ISABEL y TERESA, saliendo a recibirle

PEDRO. Pedazos del corazón,
no es ese vuestro lugar.
Abrazadme. (Levanta y abraza a las dos.)

PEDRO. Gustoso a Monzón partí, 15 comisionado especial para ofrecer a don Jaime las tropas que alistará nuestra villa de Teruel en defensa de la paz, 20 que don Sancho y don Fernando nos quieren arrebatar: fué don Rodrigo de Azagra, obsequioso y liberal, acompañándome al ir, 25 y me acompaña al tornar; mas yo me acordaba siempre de vosotras con afán. Triste se quedó Isabel; más triste la encuentro.

TERESA. Digo bien. ¿Es 35 por ventura novedad que Isabel suspire, y vos (a Margarita) recéis, y ayunéis a pan y agua, y os andéis curando enfermos por caridad? 40 Es la vida que traéis, lo menos, quince años ha….

TERESA. Y hace seis cumplidos que no se ha visto asomar en los labios de Isabel 45 ni una sonrisa fugaz.

TERESA. En fin, señor, del pobrecillo don Juan Diego de Marsilla, nada se sabe.

(Vanse Margarita y Teresa. Don Pedro se quita la espada y la pone sobre un bufete.)

ESCENA II

DON PEDRO, ISABEL

PEDRO. Mucho me aflige, Isabel, tu pesadumbre tenaz; pero, por desgracia, yo 55 no la puedo remediar. Esclavo de su palabra es el varón principal; tengo empeñada la mía: la debo desempeñar. 60 En el honor de tu padre no se vió mancha jamás: juventud honrada pide más honrada ancianidad.

PEDRO. Por otra 65 parte, parece que están de Dios ciertas cosas. Oye un lance bien singular, y di si no tiene traza de caso providencial. 70

PEDRO. En Teruel vivió (no sé si te acordarás) un tal Roger de Lizana, caballero catalán. 75

PEDRO. Sí. Roger paraba en Monzón. Allá es voz que penas y culpas de su libre mocedad trajéronle una dolencia de espíritu y corporal, 80 que vino a dejarle casi mudo, imbécil, incapaz. Pacífico en su idiotez, permitíanle vagar libre por el pueblo. Un día, 85 sobre una dificultad en mi encargo y sobre cómo se debiera de allanar, don Rodrigo y yo soltamos palabras de enemistad. 90 Marchóse enojado, y yo exclamé al verle marchar: «¿Ha de ser este hombre dueño de lo que yo quiero más? Si la muerte puede sola 95 mi palabra desatar, lléveme el Señor, y quede Isabel en libertad.»

PEDRO. En esto, un empuje tremendo a la puerta dan, 100 se abre, y con puñal en mano entra….

PEDRO. Roger. Llégase a mí, y en voz pronunciada mal, «Uno (dijo) de los dos 105 la vida aquí dejará.»

PEDRO. Yo, pensando que bien pudiera quizás mi muerte impedir alguna mayor infelicidad, 110 crucé los brazos, y quieto esperé el golpe mortal.

PEDRO. Roger parado al ver mi ademán, en lugar de acometerme, 115 se fué retirando atrás, mirándome de hito en hito, llena de terror la faz. Asió con entrambas manos el arma por la mitad, 120 y señas distintas hizo de querérmela entregar. Yo no le atendí, guardando completa inmovilidad como antes; y él, con los ojos 125 fijos, y sin menear los párpados, balbuciente dijo: «Matadme, salvad en el hueco de mi tumba mi secreto criminal.» 130

PEDRO. En fin, de estarse tanto sin pestañear, él, cuyos sentidos eran la suma debilidad, se trastornó, cayó; dió 135 la guarnición del puñal en tierra, le fué la punta al corazón a parar al infeliz, y a mis plantas rindió el aliento vital. 140 Huí con espanto: Azagra, viniéndose a disculpar conmigo, me halló; le dije que no pisaba el umbral de aquella casa en mi vida; 145 y él, próvido y eficaz, avisó al rey, y mandó el cadáver sepultar.— Ya ves, hija: por no ir yo contra tu voluntad, 150 por no cumplir mi palabra, quise dejarme matar; y Dios me guardó la vida: su decreto celestial es sin duda que esa boda 155 se haga por fin … —y se hará, si en tres días no parece tu preferido galán.

ESCENA III

TERESA.—DON PEDRO, ISABEL

TERESA. Señor, acaba de preguntar 160 por vos don Martín, el padre de don Diego.

PEDRO. A enemigo noble se abren 165 las puertas de par en par. Que llegue. (Vase Teresa.) Ve con tu madre.

ISABEL (aparte). Ella a sus pies me verá llorando, hasta que consiga vencer su severidad. (Vase.) 170

ESCENA IV

DON PEDRO

Desafiados quedamos al tiempo de cabalgar yo para Monzón: el duelo llevar a cabo querrá. Bien.—Pero él ha padecido 175 una larga enfermedad. Si no tiene el brazo firme, conmigo no lidiará.

ESCENA V

DON MARTÍN.—DON PEDRO

PEDRO. Y vos, don Martín Garcés de Marsilla, 180
seáis bien hallado: tomad una silla.

PEDRO (sentándose). Con pena he sabido
la grave dolencia que habéis padecido.

PEDRO. La causa omitid: sabémosla entrambos. Por vos se me dijo que soy un avaro, y os privo de un hijo. De honor es la ofensa, precisa la lid.

MARTÍN. Tres meses hará que en lecho de duelo
           me puso la mano que todo lo guía.
           Del riesgo asustada la familia mía 205
           quiso en vuestra esposa buscar su consuelo.
           Con tino infalible, con próvido celo
           salud en la villa benéfica vierte,
           y enfermo en que airada se ceba la muerte,
           le salva su mano, bendita del cielo. 210
           Con vos irritado, no quise atender
           al dulce consejo de amante inquietud.
           «No cobre (decía) jamás la salud,
           si mano enemiga la debe traer.»
           Mayor mi tesón a más padecer, 215
           la muerte en mi alcoba plantó su bandera.
           Por fin, una noche… ¡Qué noche tan fiera!
           Blasfemo el dolor hacíame ser;
           pedía una daga con furia tenaz,
           rasgar anhelando con ella mi pecho… 220
           En esto a mis puertas, y luego a mi lecho,
           llegó un peregrino, cubierta la faz.
           Ángel parecía de salud y paz…
           Me habla, me consuela, benigno licor
           al labio me pone; me alivia el dolor, 225
           y parte, y no quiere quitarse el disfraz.
La noche que tuve su postrer visita,
           ya restablecido, sus pasos seguí.
           Cruzó varias calles, viniendo hacia aquí,
           y entró en esa ruina de gótica ermita, 230
           que a vuestros jardines términos limita.
           Detúvele entonces: el velo cayó,
           radiante la luna su rostro alumbró …
           era vuestra esposa.

MARTÍN. Confuso un momento, cobréme después, 235 y vióme postrado la noble señora. —Con tal beneficio, no cabe que ahora provoque mi mano sangriento revés. Don Pedro Segura, decid a quien es deudor este padre de verse con vida, 240 que está la contienda por mí fenecida. Tomad este acero, ponedle a sus piés.

PEDRO. ¡Feliz yo, que logro el duelo excusar con vos, por motivo que es tan lisonjero! Si pronto me hallasteis, por ser caballero, 245 cuidado me daba el ir a lidiar. Con tal compañera, ¿quién no ha de arriesgar con susto la vida que lleva dichosa? Ella me será desde hoy más preciosa, si ya vuestro amigo queréisme llamar. 250

PEDRO. Y al cabo, ¿qué nuevas tenéis de don Diego? En hora menguada, vencido del ruego de Azagra, la triste palabra le dí. Si antes vuestro hijo se dirige a mí, 255 ¡cuánto ambas familias se ahorran de llanto! No lo quiso Dios.

MARTÍN. Después de la de Maurel,
           donde cayó en manos del Conde Simón, 260
           de nadie consigo señal ni razón,
           por más que anhelante pregunto por él.
           Cada día al cielo con súplica fiel
           pido que me diga qué punto en la tierra
           sostiénele vivo, o muerto le encierra: 265
           mundo y cielo guardan silencio cruel.

PEDRO. El plazo no tuvo su fin todavía.
           Piedad atesora inmensa el Eterno:
           y mucho me holgara si fuera mi yerno
           quien a mi Isabel tan fino quería. 270
           Pero si no viene, y cúmplese el día,
           y llega la hora … por más que me pesa,
           me tiene sujeto sagrada promesa:
           si fuera posible, no la cumpliría.

MARTÍN. Diligencia escasa, fortuna severa 275
           parece que en suerte a mi sangre cupo:
           quien a la desgracia sujetar no supo,
           sufrido se muestre cuando ella le hiera.
           Adiós.

PEDRO. No han de veros de aquesa manera.
          Yo quiero esta espada; la mía tomad
                     (Dásela.) 280
          en prenda segura de fiel amistad.

ESCENA VI

MARGARITA, ISABEL

MARGARITA (aparte, siguiendo con la vista a los dos que se
                retiran.)
           Aunque nada les oí,
           deben estar ya los dos
           reconciliados.

MARGARITA. No; que es repugnancia loca la que mostráis a un enlace, que de seguro nos hace a todos, merced no poca. 290 Noble sois; pero mirad que quien su amor os consagra es don Rodrigo de Azagra, que goza más calidad, más bienes: en Aragón 295 le acatan propios y ajenos, y muestra, con vos al menos, apacible condición.

MARGARITA. Vuestro padre le ha creído digno de ser vuestro esposo. Prendarse de quien le cuadre no es lícito a una doncella, ni hay más voluntad en ella 305 que la que tenga su padre. Hoy día, Isabel, así se conciertan nuestras bodas: así nos casan a todas, y así me han casado a mí. 310

MARGARITA. No me tenéis que mentar
           vuestros locos amoríos.
           Yo por delirios no abogo. 315
           Idos.

MARGARITA. Isabel, si no os escucho, no me acuséis de rigor. 320 Comprendo vuestro dolor, y le compadezco mucho; pero, hija … cuatro años ha que a nadie Marsilla escribe. Si ha muerto….

ISABEL. ¡No, madre, vive!…. 325
           Pero ¿cómo vivirá?
           Tal vez, llorando, en Sion
           arrastra por mí cadenas,
           quizá gime en las arenas
           de la líbica región. 330
           Con aviso tan funesto
           no habrá querido afligirme.
           Yo trato de persuadirme,
           y sin cesar pienso en esto.
           Yo me propuse aprender 335
           a olvidarle, sospechando
           que infiel estaba, gozando
           caricias de otra mujer.
           Yo escuché de su rival
           los acentos desabridos, 340
           y logré de mis oídos
           que no me sonaran mal.
           Pero ¡ay! cuando la razón
           iba a proclamarse ufana
           vencedora soberana 345
           de la rebelde pasión,
           al recordar la memoria
           un suspiro de mi ausente,
           se arruinaba de repente
           la fortaleza ilusoria, 350
           y con ímpetu mayor,
           tras el combate perdido,
           se entraba por mi sentido
           a sangre y fuego el amor.
           Yo entonces a la virtud 355
           nombre daba de falsía,
           rabioso llanto vertía,
           y hundirme en el ataúd
juraba en mi frenesí
           antes que rendirme al yugo 360
           de ese hombre, fatal verdugo,
           genio infernal para mí.

MARGARITA. Por Dios, por Dios, Isabel, moderad ese delirio: vos no sabéis el martirio 365 que me hacéis pasar con él.

ISABEL. ¡Qué! ¿mi audacia os maravilla? Pero estando ya tan lleno el corazón de veneno, fuerza es que rompa su orilla. 370 No a vos, a la piedra inerte de esa muralla desnuda, a esa bóveda que muda oyó mi queja de muerte, a este suelo donde mella 375 pudo hacer el llanto mío, a no ser tan duro y frío como alguno que le huella, para testigos invoco de mi doloroso afán; 380 que, si alivio no le dan, no les ofende tampoco.

MARGARITA (aparte). ¿Quién con ánimo sereno la oyera?—El dolor mitiga; de una madre, de una amiga 385 ven al cariñoso seno. Conóceme, y no te ahuyente la faz severa que ves: máscara forzosa es, que dió el pesar a mi frente; 390 pero tras ella te espera, para templar tu dolor, el tierno, indulgente amor de una madre verdadera.

MARGARITA. Mi ternura 395 te oculté … porque debí… ¡Ha quince años que hay aquí guardada tanta amargura! Yo hubiera en tu amor filial gozado, y gozar no debo nada ya, desde que llevo 400 el cilicio y el sayal.

MARGARITA. Temí, recelé dar a tu amor incentivo, y sólo por correctivo 405 severidad te mostré; mas oyéndote gemir cada noche desde el lecho, y a veces en tu despecho mis rigores maldecir, 410 yo al Señor, de silencioso materno llanto hecha un mar, ofrecí mil veces dar mi vida por tu reposo.

ISABEL. ¡Cielos! ¡Qué revelación 415
           tan grata! ¡Qué injusta he sido!
           ¡Que tanto me habéis querido!
           ¡Madre de mi corazón!

Perdonadme… ¡Qué alborozo siento, aunque llorar me veis! 420 Seis años ha, más de seis, que tanta dicha no gozo. Mi desgracia contemplad, cuando como dicha cuento que mis penas un momento 425 aplaquen su intensidad. Pero este rayo que inunda en viva luz mi alma yerta, ¿dejaréis que se convierta en lobreguez más profunda? 430 Madre, madre, a quien adoro, el labio os pongo en el pie; mi aliento aquí exhalaré, si no cedéis a mi lloro. (Póstrase.)

MARGARITA. Levanta, Isabel; enjuga 435 tus ojos; confía…. Sí, cuanto dependa de mí….

ISABEL Ya veis que en rápida fuga
           el tiempo desaparece.
           Si pasan tres días, ¡tres!, 440
           todo me sobra después,
           toda esperanza fallece.
           Mi padre, por no faltar
           a la palabra tremenda,
           le rendirá por ofrenda 445
           mi albedrío en el altar.
           Vuestras razones imprimen
           en su alma la persuasión:
           en mí toda reflexión
fuera desacato, crimen. 450
           Y yo, señora, lo veo:
           podrá llevarme a casar;
           pero en vez de preparar
           las galas del himeneo,
           que a tenerme se limite 455
           una cruz y una mortaja;
           que esta gala y esta alhaja
           será lo que necesite.

MARGARITA. No, no, Isabel: cesa, cesa. Yo en tu defensa, me empeño: 460 no será Azagra tu dueño. yo anularé la promesa. Me oirá tu padre, y tamaños horrores evitará. Hoy madre tuya será 465 quien no lo fué tantos años.

ESCENA VII

TERESA.—MARGARITA, ISABEL

MARGARITA. Óyelo, y acabarás de hacer justicia a tu madre. (Vase Isabel.) 475

ESCENA VIII

DON RODRIGO.—MARGARITA

MARGARITA. Honrad mi estrado, ya que la prisa de venir a mi casa no os ha dejado sosegar en la vuestra.

RODRIGO. Aquí vengo a buscar el sosiego que necesito. 480 (Siéntase.) ¿Qué me decís de mi desdeñosa?

MARGARITA. Mi esposo os prometió la mano de su 485 hija única; y, por él, debéis contar de seguro con ella. Pero la delicadeza de vuestro amor y la elevación de vuestro carácter ¿se satisfarían con la posesión de una mujer, cuyo cariño no fuese vuestro?

RODRIGO. El corazón de Isabel no es ahora mío, lo 490 sé; pero Isabel es virtuosa, es el espejo de las doncellas: cumplirá lo que jure, apreciará mi rendida fe, y será el ejemplo de las casadas.

RODRIGO. No me inspira celos un rival, cuyo paradero se ignora, cuya muerte, para mí, es indudable.

MARGARITA. ¿Y si volviese aún? ¿Y si antes de cumplirse el término, se presentara tan enamorado como se fué, y con aumentos muy considerables de hacienda? 500

RODRIGO. Mal haría en aparecer ni antes ni después de mis bodas. Él prometió renunciar a Isabel, si no se enriquecía en seis años; pero yo nada he prometido. Si vuelve, uno de los dos ha de quedar solo junto a Isabel. La mano que pretendemos ambos, no se compra con oro; 505 se gana con hierro, se paga con sangre.

MARGARITA. Vuestro lenguaje no es muy reverente para usado en esta casa, y conmigo; pero os le perdono, porque me perdonéis la pesadumbre que voy a daros. Yo, noble don Rodrigo, yo que hasta hoy consentí en 510 vuestro enlace con Isabel, he visto por último que de él iba a resultar su desgracia y la vuestra. Tengo, pues, que deciros, como cristiana y madre; tengo que suplicaros por nuestro Señor y nuestra Señora, que desistáis de un empeño, ya poco distante de la temeridad. 515

RODRIGO. Ese empeño es público, hace muchos años que dura, y se ha convertido para mí en caso de honor. Es imposible que yo desista. No os opongáis a lo que no podréis impedir.

MARGARITA. Aunque habéis desairado mi ruego, tal 520 vez no le desaire mi esposo.

RODRIGO. Mucho alcanzáis con él: adora en vos, y lo merecéis, porque ha quince años que os empleáis en la caridad y la penitencia… Pero … ¿os ha contado ya la muerte de Roger de Lizana? 525

RODRIGO. Sí, loco y mudo, según estaba; desgraciadamente, según merecía; y a los pies de don Pedro, como era justo.

RODRIGO. Casi espiró en mis brazos. Yo tendí sobre el féretro su cadáver, yo hallé sobre su corazón unas cartas…. 540

RODRIGO. De mujer … cinco … sin firma todas. Pero yo os las presentaré, y vos me diréis quién las ha escrito.

RODRIGO. Se os entregarán; pero Isabel me ha de entregar a mí su mano primero. 550

ESCENA IX

ISABEL. ¿Qué es lo que oí? No lo he comprendido, no quiero comprender ese misterio horrible: sólo entiendo que de infeliz he pasado a más. (Sale Teresa.)

TERESA. Señora, un joven extranjero ha llegado a 560 casa pidiendo que se le dejara descansar un rato….

TERESA. Ya se le recibió, y le han agasajado con vino y magras; por señas que nada de ello ha probado, como si fuera moro o judío. Aparte de esto, es muy lindo 563 muchacho: he trabado conversación con él, y dice que viene de Palestina.

TERESA. Yo me acordé al punto del pobre don Diego.
—Como os figuráis que debe estar por allá…. 570

ISABEL. Sí. Llámale pronto. (Vase Teresa.) ¡Virgen piadosa! ¡Que haya sido sueño lo que pienso que oí! ¡Oh! Pensemos en el que viene de Palestina.

ESCENA X

TERESA. Este mancebo, señora, viene de lejanas tierras, de Jerusalem, de Jope, de Belén … y de Judea. 580

ZULIMA. No es fácil resistir a una princesa hermosa y amante: al fin Marsilla, para con ella, era un miserable.

ZULIMA. El Rey llegó a saber lo que pasaba; la Reina pudo escapar, protegida por un bandido, cabeza 610 de la cuadrilla temible que hoy anda por aquí cerca; y Marsilla….

TERESA. ¡Isabel! ¡Isabel!—¡Buena
           la habéis hecho!
ZULIMA. (aparte.) Sabe amar
           esta cristiana de veras;
           yo sé más, yo sé vengarme.

TERESA. ¡Señora!—¡Paula! ¡Jimena! 620
(A Zulima.)
Buscad agua, llamad gente.

TERESA. ¡Dios confunda la boca ruin que nos cuenta noticia tan triste!… Pero 625 un prójimo que no prueba cerdo ni vino, ¿qué puede dar de sí?

ESCENA XI

MARGARITA.—ISABEL, TERESA, CRIADAS

TERESA. Una mora, 635 que dicen que no era fea, la esposa del reyezuelo valenciano, buena pieza sin duda, nos le quitó.

ISABEL. ¡En esto paran aquellas 640 ilusiones de ventura que alimentaba risueña! Conmigo nacieron ¡ay!… se van, y el alma se llevan. Ese infausto mensajero, 645 ¿dónde está? Dile que vuelva.

ESCENA XII

MARGARITA, ISABEL

ISABEL. ¿Quién figurarse pudiera 650 que me olvidara Marsilla? ¡Qué sonrojo! ¡Qué vileza! Pero ¿cómo ha sido, cómo fué que no lo presintiera mi corazón? No es verdad: 655 imposible que lo sea. Se engañó, si lo creyó, la sultana de Valencia. Soló por volar a mí, quebrantando sus cadenas, 660 dejó soñar a la mora con esa falaz idea. Mártir de mi amor ha sido, que desde el cielo en que reina, de su martirio me pide 665 la debida recompensa. Yo se la daré leal, yo defenderé mi diestra: viuda del primer amor he de bajar a la huesa. 670 Llorar libremente quiero lo que de vivir me resta, sin que pueda hacer ninguno de mis lágrimas ofensa. No he de ser esposa yo 675 de Azagra: primero muerta.

ISABEL. Mil veces no. Podrán en hora buena, de los cabellos asida, arrastrarme hasta la iglesia, podrán maltratar mi cuerpo, 685 cubrirle de áspera jerga, emparedarme en un claustro, donde lentamente muera: todo esto podrán, sí; pero lograr que diga mi lengua 690 un sí perjuro, no.

(Aparte. Nada oyó: más vale así. La culpa, no la inocencia debe padecer.) Ten siempre 695 esa misma fortaleza, y no te dejes vencer, suceda lo que suceda. Matrimonio sin cariño crímenes tal vez engendra. 700 Yo sé de alguna infeliz que dió su mano violenta… y … después de larga lucha … desmintió su vida honesta. Muchos años lleva ya 705 de dolor y penitencia… Y al fin le toca morir, de oprobrio justo cubierta.

ISABEL. ¡Ah, madre! ¿Qué dije yo? Me olvidé, con esa nueva, 710 de otra desdicha tan grande que a mi desdicha supera.

ISABEL. Sí, madre: mi vida es vuestra: dárosla me manda Dios, 715 lo manda naturaleza.

ISABEL. Por fortuna mía, Marsilla al morir me deja el corazón sin amor y sin lugar donde prenda. 720 Por más fortuna, Marsilla de mí se olvidó en la ausencia, y puso en otra mujer el amor que me debiera. Por dicha mayor, Azagra 725 es de condición soberbia, celoso, iracundo: así mis lágrimas y querellas insufribles le serán; querrá que yo las contenga; 730 no podré, se irritará, y me matará.

ISABEL. Y tengo un retrato en esta joya. (Saca un relicario.) ¿Son ésas sus facciones? Pues sabed que, sin estudio ni regla, 740 de amor guiada la mano, al primer ensayo diestra, yo supe dar a ese rostro semejanza tan perfecta. Me sirvió para suplir 745 de Marsilla la presencia; no le necesito ya: más vale que no le vea. ¡Ah! dejadme que le bese una vez … la última es ésta. 750 Tomad. ¿Veis? el sacrificio consumo, y estoy serena, tranquila … como la tumba. Imitad vos mi entereza, mi calma … y no me digáis 755 una palabra siquiera. De mí vuestra fama pende: la conservaréis ilesa. Yo me casaré: no importa, no importa lo que me cuesta. (Vase.) 760

ESCENA XIII

MARGARITA

MARGARITA. Y ¿debo yo consentir
           que la inocente Isabel,
           por mi egoísmo cruel,
           se ofrezca más que a morir?
           Pero ¿cómo he de sufrir 765
           que, perdida mi opinión,
           me llame todo Aragón
           hipócrita y vil mujer?
           Mala madre me hace ser
           mi buena reputación.
           A todo me resignara
           con ánimo ya contrito,
           si al saberse mi delito,
           yo sola me deshonrara.
           Pero a mi esposo manchara 775
           con ignominia mayor.
          ¡Hija infeliz en amor!
          ¡Hija desdichada mía!
          Perdona la tiranía
          de las leyes del honor. 780

ACTO TERCERO

ESCENA PRIMERA

ISABEL, TERESA

Aparece ISABEL, ricamente vestida, sentada en un sillón junto a una mesa, sobre la cual hay un espejo de mano, hecho de metal. TERESA está acabando de adornar a su ama.

TERESA. ¿Qué os parece el tocado? Nada, ni me oye. Que os miréis os digo; tomad el espejo. (Se le da a Isabel, que maquinalmente le toma, y deja caer la mano sin mirarse.) A esotra puerta. Miren ¡qué trazas éstas de novia!—Ved ¡qué preciosa gargantilla voy a poneros! 5 (Isabel inclina la cabeza.) Pero alzad la cabeza, Isabel. Si esto es amortajar a un difunto.

TERESA. (Aparte. Dios le haya perdonado.) Ea, se concluyó. Bien estáis. Ello, sí, me habéis hecho perder 10 la paciencia treinta veces.

TERESA. Si echáis menos a mi señora, ya os he dicho que no está en casa, porque para ella, la caridad es antes que todo. El juez de este año, Domingo Celladas, tenía 15 un hijo en tierra de infieles: Jaime, ya le conocéis. Hoy, sin que hubiese noticia de que viniera, se le han encontrado en el camino de Valencia unos mercaderes, herido y sin conocimiento. Por un rastro de sangre que iba a parar a un hoyo, se ha comprendido que debieron echarle 20 dentro; y se cree que hasta poder salir, habrá estado en el hoyo quizá más de un día, porque las heridas no son recientes. Vuestra madre ha sido llamada para asistirle; me ha encargado que os aderece; os he puesto hecha una imagen; y ni siquiera he logrado que deis una mirada al 25 vestido, para ver si os gusta.

TERESA. ¡El dulcísimo nombre de Jesús! No lo quiera Dios, Isabelita de mi alma: no lo querrá Dios; antes os hará tan dichosa como vos merecéis. Pero 30 salid de ese abatimiento: mirad que ya van a venir los convidados a la boda, y es menester no darles que decir.

TERESA. No tardarán en tocar a vísperas ahí al lado, en San Pedro. Es la hora en que salió de Teruel don 35 Diego; y hasta que pase, mi señor no se considera libre de su promesa.

ISABEL. Sí, a esa hora, a esa hora misma partió … para nunca volver. En este aposento, allí, delante de ese balcón estaba yo, llorando sobre mi labor, como ahora 40 sobre mis galas. Continuamente miraba a la calle por donde había de pasar, para verle; ahora no miro: no le veré. Por allí vino, dirigiendo el fogoso alazán, enseñado a parase bajo mis balcones. Por allí vino, vestida la cota, la lanza en la mano, al brazo la banda, último don 45 de mi cariño. «Hasta la dicha o hasta la tumba,» me dijo. «Tuya o muerta,» le dije yo; y caí sin aliento en el balcón mismo, tendidas las manos hacia la mitad de mi alma que se ausentaba.—¡Suya o muerta! Y voy a dar la mano a Rodrigo. ¡Bien cumplo mi palabra! 50

TERESA. Hija mía, desechad esas ideas. Yo ¿qué os he de decir para consolaros? Que os he visto nacer, que habéis jugado en mis brazos y en mis rodillas … y que diera yo porque recobraseis la paz del alma y fuerais feliz ¡ay!, diera yo todos los días que me faltan que vivir, 55 menos uno para verlo.

ISABEL. ¿Feliz, Teresa? Con este vestido, ¿cómo he de ser feliz? ¡Pesa tanto, me ahoga tanto!… Quítamele, Teresa. (Levantándose.)

ESCENA II

DON RODRIGO.—ISABEL

RODRIGO. Mis ojos por fin os ven a solas, ángel hermoso. Siempre un amargo desdén y un recato rigoroso 65 me han privado de este bien. —Trémula estáis: ocupad la silla.

RODRIGO. De mi rendimiento fiel, que dudarais no creía. ¡Si a conocer, Isabel, 75 llegaseis el alma mía!…

RODRIGO. Mi destino desastrado sólo mostrar me ha dejado 80 lo deforme que hay en ella. Un Azagra conocéis orgulloso y vengativo; y otro por fin hallaréis que en vuestro rigor esquivo 85 figuraros no podéis. El Azagra que os adora, el Azagra para vos, aun no le visteis, señora; y nos conviene a los dos 90 una explicación ahora.

ISABEL. Mis padres pueden mandar, yo tengo que obedecer, nada pretendo saber: hiciera bien en callar 95 quien ha logrado vencer.

RODRIGO. El vencedor, que aparece lleno ante vos de amargura, manifestaros ofrece que sabe lo que merece 100 doña Isabel de Segura. Os ví, y en vos admiré virtud y belleza rara: digno de vos me juzgué, y uniros a mí juré, 105 costara lo que costara. Maldición más espantosa no pudo echarme jamás una lengua venenosa que decir: no lograrás 110 hacer a Isabel tu esposa. Lidiaré, si es necesario, por ella con todo el orbe, clamaba yo de ordinario. ¡Infeliz el que me estorbe, 115 competidor o contrario! En mi celoso furor cabe hasta lo que denigre mi calidad y mi honor. Amo con ira de tigre … 120 porque es muy grande mi amor. —No el vuestro, tan delicado, me pintéis para mi mengua: quizá no lo haya expresado en seis años vuestra lengua, 125 sin que me lo hayan contado. Cuantas cartas escribió Marsilla ausente, leí: él su retrato no vió, yo sí: junto a vos aquí 130 siempre tuve un guarda yo. Ha sido mi ocupación observaros noche y día; y abandonaba a Monzón siempre que lo permitía 135 la marcial obligación. Viéndoos al balcón sentada por las noches a la luna, mi fatiga era pagada: jamás fué mujer ninguna 140 de amante más respetada. Para romper mis prisiones, para defectos hallaros, fueron mis indagaciones; y siempre para adoraros 145 encontré nuevas razones. Seducido el pensamiento de lisonjeros engaños, un favorable momento espero hace ya seis años, 150 y aun llegado no lo cuento. Pero, por dicha, quizá no deba estar muy distante.

ISABEL. ¡Qué! ¿Pensáis que cesará mi pasión, muerto mi amante? 155 No, lo que yo vivirá.

RODRIGO. Pues bien, amad, Isabel, y decidlo sin reparo; que con ese amor tan fiel, aunque a mí me cueste caro, 160 nunca me hallaréis cruel. Mas si ese afecto amoroso, cuya expresión no limito, mantener os es forzoso, yo, mi bien, yo necesito 165 el nombre de vuestro esposo. No más que el nombre, y concluyo de desear y pedir: todas mis dichas incluyo en la dicha de decir: 170 «Me tienen por dueño suyo.» Separada habitación, distinto lecho tendréis…. ¿Queréis más separación? Vos en Teruel viviréis, 175 yo en la corte de Aragón. ¿Teméis que la soledad bajo mi techo os consuma? Vuestros padres os llevad con vos: mudaréis en suma 180 de casa y de vecindad. Nunca sin vuestra licencia veré esos divinos ojos…. ¡Ay! dádmela con frecuencia. Si os oprimen los enojos, 185 hablad, y mi diligencia ya un festín, ya una batida, ya un torneo dispondrá. Si lloráis…. ¡Prenda querida! cuando lloréis, ¿qué os dirá 190 quien no ha llorado en su vida? Míseros ambos, hacer con la indulgencia podemos menor nuestro padecer. Ahora, aunque nos casemos, 195 ¿me podréis aborrecer?

RODRIGO. ¿Lloráis? ¿Es porque me muestro digno de ser vuestro amigo? ¿No sufrí del odio vuestro 200 bastante el duro castigo?

RODRIGO. Ni al mirar vuestra aflicción hay fuerza en mí que no acabe 205 rindiéndose a discreción. Es ya el caso de manera que el infausto desposorio viene a ser obligatorio para ambos: lo demás fuera 210 dar escándalo notorio. Pero el amor que os consagro, se ha vuelto a vos tan propicio, que si Dios en su alto juicio quiere obrar hoy un milagro … 215 contad con un sacrificio. Ayer, si resucitara mi aciago rival Marsilla, sin compasión le matara, y sin limpiar la cuchilla, 220 corriera con vos al ara. Hoy, resucitado o no, si antes que me deis el sí, viene … que triunfe de mí.

(El llanto le ahoga la voz por unos instantes; luego, al ver a don Pedro y a los que le acompañan, se contiene, exclamando:)

ESCENA III

DON PEDRO, DON MARTÍN, DAMAS, CABALLEROS, PAJES.—
ISABEL, DON RODRIGO. Después, TERESA

PEDRO. Hijos, el sacerdote que ha de bendecir vuestra unión, ya nos está esperando en la iglesia. Tanto mis deudos como los de Azagra me instan a que apresure la ceremonia; pero aun no ha fenecido el plazo que otorgué 230 a don Diego. Al toque de vísperas de un domingo, salió de su patria el malogrado joven, seis años y siete días hace: hasta que suene aquella señal en mi oído, no tengo libertad para disponer de mi hija. (A don Martín.) Porque veáis de qué modo cumplo mi promesa, os he rogado 235 que vinierais aquí.

MARTÍN. ¡Inútil escrupulosidad! No os detengáis.
No romperá mi hijo el seno de la tierra para reconveniros.

PEDRO. Fiel a lo que juré me verá desde el túmulo, 240 cual me hallaría viviendo. (Sale Teresa.)

RODRIGO. Isabel deseará la compañía de su madre: pudiéramos pasar por casa del Juez….

TERESA. Ahora empezaba el herido a volver en su conocimiento. Si antes de vísperas no se halla mi señora 245 en la iglesia, es señal de que no puede asistir a los desposorios: esto me ha dicho.

PEDRO. La esperaremos en el templo. (A don Martín.)
Si la pesadumbre os permite acompañarnos, venid….

PEDRO. Estad seguro de que mientras no oigáis las campanas, no habrá dado su mano Isabel. Estos caballeros podrán atestiguar que se esperó hasta el cabal vencimiento del plazo. Marchemos. 255

ESCENA IV

DON MARTÍN

MARTÍN. Con pena, con celos veo yo a Isabel dirigirse al altar. Hubo un tiempo en que la tuve por hija: hoy me quitan su filial cariño, y ella consiente. Pero ¿qué 260 falta hace al mísero cadáver de mi hijo la constancia de la que él amó? Si su sombra necesita lágrimas, bien se puede satisfacer con las mías.

ESCENA V

ADEL.—DON MARTÍN

ADEL. Cristiano, busco a Martín Marsilla, que está aquí, según se me dice. ¿Eres tú? 265

MARTÍN. Le han herido gravemente al llegar a la villa: 275 en su lecho yace todavía sin voz ni conocimiento.

ADEL. Acabo de averiguar que, disfrazada con traje de hombre, ha entrado en Teruel Zulima, la esposa del 280 Amir de Valencia.

ADEL. Tu hijo libró de un asesinato pérfido al Amir de Valencia, y el Amir le ha colmado de riquezas y honores. Herido en un combate, no se le permitió caminar hasta reponerse. Jaime venía delante para anunciar su vuelta. 290 Sígueme, y no pararé hasta poner a Marsilla en tus brazos. (Vase.)

MARTÍN (alzando las manos al cielo, arrebatado de júbilo). ¡Señor! ¡Señor!

ESCENA VI

MARGARITA.—DON MARTÍN

MARGARITA (dentro). ¡Isabel! ¡Isabel! (Sale y repara en don Martín, que se retiraba con Adel.) Don Martín…. 295

MARGARITA. Lo ha dicho Jaime. Corred, impedid ese casamiento. (Óyese el toque de vísperas.)

ESCENA VII

Infames bandoleros, que me habéis a traición acometido, 310 venid y ensangrentad vuestros aceros: la muerte ya por compasión os pido. —Nadie llega, de nadie soy oído; vuelve el eco mis voces, y parece que goza en mi dolor y me escarnece. 315 Me adelanté a la escolta que traía: su lento caminar me consumía. Yo vengo con amor, ellos con oro. —Enemigos villanos, los ricos dones del monarca moro 320 no como yo darán en vuestras manos: tienen quien los defienda. Pero las horas pasan, huye el día. ¿Qué vas a imaginar, Isabel mía? ¿Qué pensarás, idolatrada prenda, 325 si esperando abrazar al triste Diego, corrido el plazo ves, y yo no llego? Mas por Jaime avisados en mi casa estarán: pronto, azorados con mi tardanza…. Sí, ya se aproxima 330 gente. ¿Quién es?

ESCENA VIII

ZULIMA. Vecinos de Teruel vienen corriendo a quienes más que a mí toca librarte: yo sólo en esta parte 335 me debo detener mientras te digo que Isabel es mujer de don Rodrigo.

ZULIMA. Zaén, que llega de Teruel ahora,
Zaén ha visto dar aquella mano 340
tan ansiada por ti.

MARSILLA. Finges en vano.
Tú ignoras que mi próxima llegada
previno un mensajero.

ZULIMA. Tú no sabes que un tirador certero supo dejar tu previsión burlada, 345 saliéndole al camino al mensajero. Yo hablé con Isabel, yo de tu muerte la noticia le dí, y a los bandidos encargué que tu viaje detuvieran. Yo, celebradas de Isabel las bodas, 350 te las vengo a anunciar.

ZULIMA. Mírame, bien, y dúdalo si puedes. Inútiles mercedes el Rey te prodigó: más he podido, prófuga yo, que mi real marido. 355 Yo mi amor te ofrecí, bienes y honores, y te inmolé mi fe y el ser que tengo; tú preferiste ingrato mis rencores: me ofendiste cruel, cruel me vengo. Adiós: en mi partida 360 te dejo por ahora con la vida, mientras padeces en el duro potro de ver a tu Isabel en brazos de otro. (Vase.)

ESCENA IX

MARSILLA

MARSILLA. Monstruo, por cuya voz ruge el abismo, vuelve y di que es engaño 365 todo lo que te oí. (Forceja para desatarse.) Lazos crueles, ¿cómo me resistís? ¡Ligan cordeles al que hierros quebró! ¿No soy el mismo? ¡Ah! no. Mujer fatal, cortos instantes me quedan que vivir, si no has mentido; 370 pero ¡permita Dios que mueras antes!

ESCENA X

ADEL. Rumor aquí he sentido. Atraviesan el valle bandoleros con Zulima a caballo. Yo, cueste lo que cueste, 375 la tengo de prender: voy a ver si hallo cerca mis compañeros.

ADEL. Marsilla es éste. (A voces.)
Aquí! ¡Por este lado, caballeros! (Vase.)

ESCENA XI

DON MARTÍN, CABALLEROS, CRIADOS.—MARSILLA

MARTÍN. Respóndante las lágrimas que vierto. 385 Hijo del alma, a quien su hierro ardiente la desgracia al nacer marcó en la frente, tu triste padre, que por verte vive, con dolor en sus brazos te recibe. ¿Quién tu llegada ha retardado?

MARSILLA. El cielo … 390 el inferno … no sé … facinerosos … una mujer … dejadme.

MARTÍN. ¿La Sultana?
          ¿Esos bandidos que cobardes huyen
          de los guerreros que conmigo traje?—
          ¿Te han herido?

MARTÍN. ¡Suerte cruel! Cuando el fatal sonido de la campana término ponía….

MARTÍN. ¡Horror! Entonces era 400 cuando Jaime, el sentido recobrando, la traidora noticia desmentía. Corro al templo a saber…. Miro, enmudezco…. ¡Eran esposos ya! Tu bien perdiste… Dios lo ha querido así… Pero aun te quedan 405 padres que lloren tu destino triste.

MARSILLA. El ajeno dolor no quita el mío. ¿Con qué llenáis el hórrido vacío que el alma siente, de su bien privada? ¡Padre! sin Isabel, para Marsilla 410 no hay en el mundo nada. Por eso en mi doliente desvarío sed bárbara de sangre me devora. Verterla a ríos para hartarme quiero, y cuando más que derramar no tenga, 415 la de mis venas soltará mi acero.

MARSILLA. ¿Quién osa hijo llamarme ya? ¡Fuera ese nombre! La desventura quiebra los vínculos del hombre con el hombre, 420 y con la vida y la virtud. Ahora, que tiemble mi rival, tiemble la mora. Breve será su victorioso alarde: para acabar con ambos aun no es tarde.

MARSILLA. Con el crimen 423 el crimen castigar. Una serpiente se me enreda en los pies: mi pie destroce su garganta infernal. Un enemigo me aparta de Isabel: desaparezca.

MARSILLA. ¡Maldecido 430 mi nombre sea, si la sangre odiosa de mi rival no vierto!

ACTO CUATRO

Habitación de Isabel en la casa de don Rodrigo. Dos puertas a la izquierda del espectador, una en el fondo, y una ventana sin reja a la derecha.

ESCENA PRIMERA

DON PEDRO, DON MARTÍN

MARTÍN. Ya se tranquiliza el pueblo. Zaén en la cárcel queda con los demás bandoleros.

MARTÍN. Y no los prenden quizá,
          si no acuden tan a tiempo
          los moros que de Valencia
          con los regalos vinieron 10
          de su Rey para mi hijo.
          ¡Regalos ya sin provecho!
          ¡Castigue Dios a quien tiene
          la culpa!

PEDRO. ¡Oh! lo hará.—Primero
          que vayamos esta noche 15
          los dos al Ayuntamiento,
          donde ya deben hallarse
          juntos el Juez y mi yerno,
          ¿tendréis, don Martín, a bien
          que los dos conferenciemos 20
          un rato?

PEDRO. En esta calle arremetió con los presos un tropel de gente; y ella, 25 puesta en libertad en medio del tumulto, se arrojó por estas puertas adentro.

MARTÍN Yo, en suma, no diré que fué mal hecho: él debe a la mora estar agradecido en extremo: por ella logra la mano 35 de Isabel.

PEDRO. Resentimiento justo mostráis; pero yo, que he sido enemigo vuestro, necesito de vos hoy.

PEDRO. Sois quien sois.—Esa mujer nos pone en terrible aprieto. Ya veis, los moros reclaman su entrega con mucho empeño.

PEDRO. Y bien, ¿quisierais
que entre vos y yo de un riesgo
libráramos a Teruel?

PEDRO. Si en la junta de la villa negamos, como debemos, la entrega de la Sultana, va a ser enemigo nuestro el Rey de Valencia, y puede 55 gravísimo daño hacernos.

MARTÍN. Hagámoslo.
          —Págueme Dios el esfuerzo
          que me cuesta no vengarme. 65
          Disponed.

PEDRO. Lo demás es fácil. Puesta ya en salvo, diremos 70 que ella huyó por sí.

MARTÍN. Voy pues, y ya que la mano tiendo al uno de los autores de mi desventura, quiero dársela también al otro. 75 Decid al dichoso dueño de esta casa y de Isabel, que mire en estos momentos por su vida: que mi hijo va, loco de sentimiento 80 y de furor, en su busca por Teruel; y, ¡vive el cielo que, doliente como está, valor le sobra al mancebo para vengar!… Perdonadme. 85 Adiós. Voy a complaceros, y a buscarle y conducirle esta noche misma lejos de unos lugares en donde vivimos los dos muriendo. 90

PEDRO. Id con Dios.—¡Padre infeliz! ¿Y nosotros? Me estremezco al pensar en Isabel, cuando de todo el suceso llegue a enterarse.

ESCENA II

TERESA.—DON PEDRO

TERESA. Las ánimas del infierno… Las del purgatorio… No sé cuáles; pero las veo, 100 las oigo….

TERESA. ¡Ay! Muerta de susto vengo. ¡Ay!—Isabel me ha enviado por mi señora corriendo, que volvió, no sé por qué, 105 a la casa del enfermo; y antes de llegar, he visto en un callejón estrecho, junto a la ermita caída… ¡Jesús! convulsa me vuelvo 110 a casa.

PEDRO. Calla: no te oiga Isabel. 115
           Guarda con ella silencio.—
           Marsilla ha venido, y ella
           no lo sabe.

TERESA. No lo aseguraré, por si es aprensión del miedo; sin embargo, yo creí ver que se llevaba el muerto asido del brazo al novio. 125

TERESA. Aun traigo el eco de su voz en los oídos. Con alarido tremendo decía: «Vas a morir, has de morir.»—«Lo veremos,» 130 replicaba don Rodrigo; y echando votos y retos, iban los dos como rayos camino del cementerio. Yo, señor, ya les recé 135 la salve y el padre nuestro en latín.

ESCENA III

PEDRO. Aguárdame aquí: pronto volveremos 140 tu madre, tu esposo y yo. Venid, Teresa. (Vase los dos.)

ISABEL. ¿Qué es esto? ¡Mi padre me deja sola, cuando con tanto secreto un moro me quiere hablar! 145 Sin duda están sucediendo cosas extrañas aquí.

ESCENA IV

ADEL.—ISABEL

ADEL. Cristiana, brillante honor de las damas de tu ley, 150 yo imploro, en nombre del Rey de Valencia, tu favor.

ADEL. Tendrás noticia de que salió de su corte Zulima, su infiel consorte, 155 huyendo de su justicia.

ADEL. Mi señor decretó con rectitud musulmana castigar a la Sultana, ya que a Marsilla premió. 160

ISABEL. ¡Eterno Dios! ¡Qué infelices
           nacimos!—¿Cuándo ha llegado?
           ¿Cómo es que me lo han callado? 175
           —Y tú, ¿por qué me lo dices?

ADEL. Con viva lástima escucho tus ansias de amor extremas; pero aunque tú nada temas, yo debo decirte mucho. Marsilla a mi Rey salvó 185 de unos conjurados moros, y el Rey vertió sus tesoros en él, y aquí le envió. El despreció la liviana inclinación de la infiel…. 190

ADEL. Con una gavilla de bandidos, a Marsilla 195 detuvo, ya en el confín de Teruel, donde veloces corriendo en tropel armado, le hallamos a un tronco atado, socorro pidiendo a voces. 200

ADEL. Pasa más, y es bien que te aperciba. —La Sultana fugitiva se ha refugiado en tu casa: en ésta.

ADEL. Guárdate de su puñal. Por celos allá en Valencia matar a Marsilla quiso. 210

ADEL. Confirma tú la sentencia que justo lanzó el Amir. Por esa mujer malvada para siempre separada 215 de Marsilla has de vivir. Ella te arrastra al odioso tálamo de don Rodrigo. Envíala tú conmigo al que le apresta su esposo, 220 pena digna del ultraje que siente.

ISABEL. Sí, moro; salga pronto de aquí, no le valga el fuero del hospedaje. Como perseguida fiera 225 entró en mi casa: pues bien, al cazador se la den, que la mate donde quiera. Mostrarse de pecho blando con ella, fuera rayar 230 en loca: voy a mandar que la traigan arrastrando. Sean de mi furia jueces cuantas pierdan lo que pierdo. ¡Jesús! Cuando yo recuerdo 235 que hoy pude… ¡Jesús mil veces! No le ha de valer el llanto, ni el ser mujer, ni ser bella, ni reina. ¡Si soy por ella tan infeliz! ¡tanto, tanto!… 240 Dime, pues, di: tu señor, ¿qué suplicio le impondrá?

ISABEL. ¡Es mi amante tan digno de ser amado! Le vió, le debió querer en viéndole.—¡Y yo, que hacía 250 tanto que no le veía … y ya no le puedo ver! —Moro, la víctima niego que me vienes a pedir: quiero yo darle a sufrir 255 castigo mayor que el fuego: ella con feroz encono mi corazón desgarró … me asesina el alma … yo la defiendo, la perdono. (Vase.) 260

ESCENA V

ADEL

He perdido la ocasión. Suele tener esta gente acciones, que de un creyente propias en justicia son. Yo dejara con placer 265 este empeño abandonado; pero el Amir lo ha mandado, y es forzoso obedecer. (Vase.)

ESCENA VI

Jardín … una ventana … y ella luego. Jardín abierto hallé y hallé ventana; 270 mas ¿dónde está Isabel?—Dios de clemencia, detened mi razón, que se me escapa; detenedme la vida, que parece que de luchar con el dolor se cansa. Siete días hace hoy, ¡qué venturoso 275 era en aquel salón! Sangre manaba de mi herida, es verdad; pero agolpados al rededor de mi lujosa cama, la tierna historia de mi amor oían los guerreros, el pueblo y el Monarca, 280 y entre piadoso llanto y bendiciones «tuya será Isabel» juntos clamaban súbditos y señor. Hoy no me ofende mi herida, rayos en mi diestra lanza el damasquino acero… No le traigo… 285 ¡Y hace un momento que con dos me hallaba! —Salvo en Teruel y vencedor, ¿qué angustia viene a ser ésta que me rinde el alma, cuando, acabada la cruel ausencia, voy a ver a Isabel?

ESCENA VII

ISABEL.—MARSILLA

ISABEL. ¿Cómo ¡ay! cómo te atreves a poner aquí la planta? Si te han visto llegar… ¿A qué has venido? 295

MARSILLA. Por Dios … que lo olvidé. Pero ¿no basta, para que hacia Isabel vuele Marsilla, querer, deber, necesitar mirarla? ¡Oh! ¡qué hermosa a mis ojos te presentas! Nunca te ví tan bella, tan galana… 300 Y un pesar sin embargo indefinible me inspiran esas joyas, esas galas. Arrójalas, mi bien; lana modesta, cándida flor, en mi jardín criada, vuelvan a ser tu virginal adorno: 305 mi amor se asusta de riqueza tanta.

ISABEL. (Aparte. ¡Delira el infeliz! Sufrir no puedo su dolorida, atónita mirada.) ¿No entiendes lo que indica el atavío, que no puedes mirar sin repugnancia? 310 Nuestra separación.

MARSILLA. Ya lo sé. Llegué tarde. Ví la dicha,
tendí las manos, y voló al tocarla.

MARSILLA. Si tú vivías, y tu vida y la mía son entrambas una sola, no más, la que me alienta, ¿cómo de ti sin ti se separara? 320 Juntos aquí nos desterró la mano que gozo y pena distribuye sabia: juntos al fin de la mortal carrera nos toca ver la celestial morada.

MARSILLA. Isabel, mira, 325 yo no vengo a dar quejas: fueran vanas. Yo no vengo a decirte que debiera prometerme de ti mayor constancia, cumplimiento mejor del tierno voto que invocando a la Madre inmaculada, 330 me hiciste amante la postrera noche que me apartó de tu balcón el alba. «Para ti (sollozando me decías), o si no, para Dios.»—¡Dulce palabra, consoladora fiel de mis pesares 335 en los ardientes páramos del Asia y en mi cautividad! Hoy ni eres mía, ni esposa del Señor. Di, pues, declara (esto quiero saber) de qué ha nacido el prodigio infeliz de tu mudanza. 340 Causa debe tener.

ISABEL. Poderosa, invencible: no se casa quien amaba cual yo, sino cediendo a la fuerza mayor en fuerza humana.

ISABEL. Nada. Pero tú en mi lugar también el cuello dócil a la coyunda sujetaras.

MARSILLA. Yo no, Isabel, yo no. Marsilla supo despreciar una mano soberana 350 y la muerte arrostrar por quien ahora la suya vende y el porqué le calla.

ISABEL. (Aparte. ¿Qué le digo?)
           Tendré que confesar … que soy culpada.
           ¿Cómo no lo he de ser? Me ves ajena. 355
           Perdóname… Castígame por falsa,
                  (Llora.)

MARSILLA. Ídolo mío, no; yo sí que debo poner mis labios en tus huellas. Alza. 360 No es de arrepentimiento el lloro triste que esos luceros fúlgidos empaña; ese llanto es de amor, yo lo conozco, de amor constante, sin doblez, sin tacha, ferviente, abrasador, igual al mío. 365 ¿No es verdad, Isabel? Dímelo franca: va mi vida en oírtelo.

MARSILLA. ¡Ingrata!
¿Cuándo me rebelé contra tu gusto?
Mi voluntad, ¿no es tuya? Dispon, habla. 370

MARSILLA. ¡Cruel! ¿Temiste que ventura tanta me matase a tus pies, si su dulzura con venenosa hiel no iba mezclada? ¿Cómo esas dos ideas enemigas 375 de destierro y de amor hiciste hermanas?

ISABEL. Ya lo ves, no soy mía; soy de un hombre que me hace de su honor depositaria, y debo serle fiel. Nuestros amores mantuvo la virtud libres de mancha: 380 su pureza de armiño conservemos.— Aquí hay espinas, en el cielo palmas. Tuyo es mi amor y lo será: tu imagen siempre en el pecho llevaré grabada, y allí la adoraré: yo lo prometo, 385 yo lo juro; mas huye sin tardanza. Libértame de ti, sé generoso: libértame de mí….

MARSILLA. No sigas, basta. ¿Quieres que huya de ti? Pues bien, te dejo. Valor … y separémonos.—En paga, 390 en recuerdo si no, de tantas penas con gozo por tu amor sobrellevadas, permite, Isabel mía, que te estrechen mis brazos una vez….

MARSILLA. Será el abrazo 395 de un hermano dulcísimo a su hermana, el ósculo será que tantas veces cambió feliz en la materna falda nuestro amor infantil.

MARSILLA. ¿A quién? ¿A don Rodrigo? No te figures que a tu grito salga. No lisonjeros plácemes oyendo, su vanidad en el estrado sacia, no; lejos de los muros de la villa 405 muerde la tierra que su sangre baña.

MARSILLA. Merced a mi nobleza loca, vive: apenas cruzamos las espadas, 410 furiosa en él se encarnizó la mía: un momento después, hundido estaba su orgullo en tierra, en mi poder su acero. ¡Oh! ¡maldita destreza de las armas! ¡Maldito el hombre que virtudes siembra 415 que le rinden cosecha de desgracias! No más humanidad, crímenes quiero. A ser cruel tu crueldad me arrastra, y en ti la he de emplear. Conmigo ahora vas a salir de aquí.

MARSILLA. Se trata 420 de salvarte, Isabel. ¿Sabes qué dijo el cobarde que lloras desolada, al caer en la lid? «Triunfante quedas; pero mi sangre costará bien cara.»

MARSILLA. «Me vengaré en don Pedro, 425 en su esposa, en los tres: guardo las cartas.»

ISABEL. ¡Tú me has perdido! La desventura sigue tus pisadas. ¿Dónde mi esposo está? Dímelo pronto, para que fiel a socorrerle vaya, 430 y a fuerza de rogar venza sus iras.

ISABEL. ¿Con su pasión funesta reconvienes a la mujer del vengativo Azagra? ¡Te aborrezco! (Vase.)

ESCENA VIII

MARSILLA

MARSILLA. ¡Gran Dios! Ella lo dice. 435 Con furor me lo dijo: no me engaña. Ya no hay amor allí. Mortal veneno su boca me arrojó, que al fondo pasa de mi seno infeliz, y una por una, rompe, rompe, me rompe las entrañas. 440 Yo con ella, por ella, para ella viví… Sin ella, sin su amor, me falta aire que respirar… ¡Era amor suyo el aire que mi pecho respiraba! Me le negó, me le quitó: me ahogo, 445 no sé vivir.

ESCENA IX

ESCENA X

ADEL, huyendo de varios CABALLEROS, con espadas desnudas;
DON PEDRO, MARGARITA, CRIADOS.—ISABEL y MARSILLA dentro.

ADEL. Aragoneses, yo la sangre vertí de la Sultana; 450 pero el Rey de Valencia, esposo suyo, tras ella me envió para matarla. Consorte criminal, amante impía, la muerte de Marsilla maquinaba, la muerte de Isabel….

ADEL. Ved en prueba 455 esta punta sutil envenenada. (Muestra el puñal de Zulima.) Marsilla lo que digo corrobore: cerca de aquí ha de estar.

(Ábrese la puerta del fondo, y sale por ella Isabel, que se arroja en brazos de Margarita. Marsilla aparece caído en un escaño.)

ESCENA XI

ISABEL.—DICHOS

ISABEL. No le mató la vengativa mora. Donde estuviera yo, ¿quién le tocara? Mi desgraciado amor, que fué su vida … su desgraciado amor es quien le mata. Delirante le dije: «Te aborrezco»: 465 él creyó la sacrílega palabra, y expiró de dolor.

ISABEL. Mi bien, perdona mi despecho fatal. Yo te adoraba. Tuya fuí, tuya soy: en pos del tuyo mi enamorado espíritu se lanza.

(Dirígese adonde está el cadáver de Marsilla; pero antes de llegar, cae sin aliento con los brazos tendidos hacia su amante.)

FIN DEL DRAMA

NOTES

ACTO PRIMERO

7-8. #que … el pie = que te ve colocar el pie orillas (a la orilla) de un precipicio.#

48. #costara#, an example of the frequent use of the imperfect subjunctive for the conditional in this play.

57. #¿Qué habrá escrito…?# Note use of future to express conjecture. What can he have written…?

113. #volvió = volvió en sí#, he has come to himself, has regained consciousness.

115-116. #De aquella … hecho = está hecho (acostumbrado) a las tinieblas de aquella horrible mansión.#

135-136. #desde hoy … aflija = desde hoy no permitiré que te aflija ningún afán.#

140. #azorado#. Note that in poetry predicate adjectives or past participles are frequently used instead of adverbs.

179-180. #No es … mora = lo más (importante) no es que la noble princesa mora me redima.#

191 et seq. In the first edition of the play Marsilla begins the account of his adventures thus:

Mi nombre es Diego Marsilla, y cuna Teruel me dió, ciudad que ayer se fundó del Turia en la fresca orilla.

In the interest of accuracy of detail the author changed this to the reading of the present text. The river flowing past Teruel changes its name from Guadalaviar to Turia only after it has left Teruel behind. Moreover, Teruel was, strictly speaking, villa at the time of the supposed action of the play, and not ciudad: the title ciudad was not granted to it by the King of Aragon until the year 1347.

193. #Ayer se fundó.# Destroyed by the Moors, Teruel was rebuilt in 1171, forty-six years earlier. In the life of a city, a generation seems but a day.

195-197. #cuyos muros … pobladores = cuyos muros, levantados entre horrores de lid atroz, fueron amasados con la sangre de sus fuertes pobladores.#

219-222. A similar idea was expressed in the corresponding four lines of the first edition thus:

Y parecía un querer tan firme en alma de niño, recuerdo de otro cariño tenido antes de nacer.

223-226. These four lines may be translated thus: the love that united Isabel and me (#nuestro querer#) when we came into this sad world was merely the continuance (#seguir#) in the physical world of the love that already existed in the spiritual. Compare idea expressed by "marriages are made in heaven."

246. #aun vivo#; if the time were up, either I should have succeeded or should now be dead.

254. #Navas de Tolosa#, village in the Province of Jaén, in the south of Spain, famous in history because of the decisive victory gained there, July 16, 1212, by the allied kings of Christian Spain over the Moslems. In the first edition, at the mention of this disastrous defeat of the Moors, Zulima interrupts Marsilla's narrative with an outburst of feeling quite appropriate in a Mohammedan:

¡Lugar maldito del cielo, donde la negra fortuna postró de la media luna la pujanza por el suelo!

258 et seq. In the early years of the 13th century a religious sect in the south of France, the Albigenses, rebelled against the authority of the Church of Rome. Pope Innocent III proclaimed a crusade against them in 1208, and a bloody war began in which the crusaders were led by the ruthless Simon de Montfort until his death at the siege of Toulouse (1218). During this Albigensian War (1208-1229) Beziers and other important cities in the south of France were almost destroyed.

267-270. #Y en pena … sepultó = y en pena de que mi mano rompió el hierro de mis cadenas, profundo encierro me sepultó en vida.#

311-312. #Medita … reclama#, consider it well and you will grant to time what it demands as its due. If you take into consideration the length of time that has passed since you have seen Isabel, you will realize that she has probably forgotten you, and will become reconciled to changed conditions because of the lapse of time.

321. #dada … recibida#, having given my love and having received hers; or, having given my heart in exchange for hers.

361. #perecéis = pereceréis.# Present instead of future for greater vividness.

364-366. #estallo = hubiera estallado; calla = habría callado; llega = habría llegado.#

445-446. #después de correr … vencido# = after the struggle is over, disposition will be made of the conquered.

ACTO SEGUNDO

17. #don Jaime#, James the Conqueror, King of Aragon from 1213 to 1276, son and successor of Pedro II. He gained the title, El Conquistador, by his conquest of the Balearic Islands (1228-1232) and Valencia (1258) from the Moors.

21. #Sancho VII#, King of Navarre (1194-1234), known as El Fuerte. He played an important part in the defeat of the Moors at Navas de Tolosa in 1212.

21. #Fernando III#, King of Castile (1217-1252), known as El Santo. He reconquered Cordova, Seville, Jaén, etc,. from the Moors.

102. #¡Virgen del Pilar!# Our Lady of the Sacred Pillar protect us! In the church of Nuestra Señora del Pilar, Saragossa, is the sacred pillar on which the Holy Virgin is believed to have appeared to Saint James during his missionary journey through Spain. This pillar, with its wooden image of the Virgin and Child, is the magnet that has drawn countless pilgrims to Saragossa.

131-132. #de estarse … pestañear#, from standing so long with staring, unblinking, eyes.

137-139. #le fué … al infeliz = la punta le fué a parar al corazón del infeliz.#

186. #Pues … partido#, well, even in throwing the bar I can win the game from him. Barra, was a game in which the contestants strove to outdo each other in throwing a heavy iron bar. It was therefore a test of strength.

204. #la mano que todo lo guía#, the hand that directs the universe, the hand of God.

208-209. #benéfica, airada#. Note that adjectives are frequently used instead of adverbs, especially in poetry.

212. #de amante inquietud#, inspired by loving solicitude, that of his own family.

215. #Mayor mi tesón a más padecer#, my obstinacy increasing with my suffering. Compare mi tesón crecía con mi padecer, of the first edition.

239-240. #decid … vida#, tell her to whom this father (Martin himself) owes the privilege of seeing himself alive.

Con tal compañera, ¿quién no ha de temblar
de perder la vida que lleva dichosa?

255-256. #dirige = hubiese dirigido; ahorran = habrían ahorrado; cuánto de llanto = ¡cuántas lágrimas!#

259. #la de Maurel#, the battle of Muret in southern France, 1213, in which the Albigenses and their allies, the Aragonese, were defeated by the Crusaders under Simon de Montfort. King Pedro of Aragon lost his life in the battle and many Aragonese were killed or taken prisoners.

275-276. #Diligencia escasa … cupo = parece que diligencia escasa, fortuna severa, cupo en suerte a# (fell to the lot of) #mi sangre (familia).#

278. #se muestre#, let him show himself. Freely translated: one who has been unable to overcome adverse fortune should at least be patient when it wounds him.

296. #le acatan propios y ajenos#, all respect him, those of his own family (#propios#) and those of others (#ajenos#).

341. #logré … mal#, I succeeded in convincing my ears that they (#los acentos desabridos#) did not have a disagreeable sound for me.

371 et seq. Note that vos, piedra, bóveda, suelo are all direct objects of invoco, line 379. Not you, but rather the inanimate stone … that vaulted ceiling … that pavement … do I call upon as witnesses….

377. #a no ser … huella#, if it were not as hard and cold as the one that walks upon it.

Cuanto padezco mirad pues ya como dicha cuento que mis penas un momento suspendan su intensidad.

447-450. #Vuestras razones … crimen#, your words of intercession carry conviction to his heart; any hesitation or reluctance on my part would be (considered) disrespect, sinful.

455. #que … mortaja = que él se limite a tenerme una cruz y una mortaja#, he need do no more than provide me a cross and a shroud.

559. #de infeliz … más#, from an unhappy state I have passed to one still more wretched.

564-565. #por señas que … judío.# Teresa's meaning is clear; he must be either a Jew or a Moor, she thinks, since he refused to partake of the slices of pork and wine that she had offered him. She might have expressed herself more logically thus: por señas que (as proof that) debe ser moro o judío, nada de ello (magras y vino) ha probado.

572. #¡Que haya … oí!# If it were only a dream what I believe that I heard!

603-605. #al fin … miserable#, after all, compared with her, Manilla was of little account.

673-674. #sin que … ofensa#, without any one's being able to take offense at my tears.

735. #encontrármelas.# Me, dative of interest or concern, may be translated: for all I care.

ACTO TERCERO

34. #No tardarán … San Pedro#, the call to vespers will not be long in sounding over there in Saint Peter's. San Pedro is the name of the old parochial church in Teruel connected with the legend of Los Amantes.

84-86. #y al fin hallaréis otro que no podéis figuraros en vuestro rigor esquivo.#

107-109. #una lengua venenosa no pudo jamás echarme maldición más espantosa que decir#….

142-144. #Para romper … indagaciones#, in order to break my bondage (free myself from love of you), in order to find defects in you, my investigations were undertaken.

180-181. #mudaréis en suma de casa y de vecindad#, you will move into another house and neighborhood, nothing more.

210-211. #lo demás … notorio#, otherwise it would give cause for notorious scandal.

354. #más … marido = yo, prófuga, he podido (hacer) más que mi real marido.#

364. #monstruo … abismo#, inhuman creature, in whose voice is heard the wrath of hell.

386-387. #a quien … frente#, whose forehead evil fate branded at birth with burning iron.

437. #Con mi presencia queda destruído.# "Sublime respuesta de la pasión, tan sublime por lo menos como el famoso Qu'il mourût de Corneille, porque para la pasión no hay obstáculo, no hay mundo, no hay hombres, no hay más Dios, en fin, que ella misma. Sacrilegio sublime como el de Ayax en Homero." (José de Larra, Colección de artículos, page 194.)

ACTO CUATRO

41. #sois quien sois#, you are true to yourself; or, one can always count upon you.

139. #Esto es antes.# Teresa thought that the spirit of Marsilla was conducting Rodrigo to the cemetery. Pedro, after giving the real explanation, adds Esto es antes, meaning, rather is this it, i.e., the true explanation.

201-202. #Pasa más#, more has happened; there is still more to tell. Note that yo is the subject understood of aperciba in line 202.

222-224. #salga … hospedaje#, let her leave here at once, let not the law of hospitality serve her (as protection).

230-231. #fuera rayar en loca#, would be little removed from folly; would border on madness.

233-234. #sean … pierdo = sean jueces de mi furia todas las mujeres que pierdan lo que yo pierdo.#

263-264. #que … son#, that rightly belong to a true believer. In this case creyente means Moslem, a follower of Mohammed. Isabel's magnanimity arouses Adel's admiration.

286. #dos#, his own sword and that of Rodrigo. The explanation will be found in lines 401-413.

319-320. #la que … separara? = ¿Cómo podría separarse de ti sin ti la (vida) que me alienta?#

321. #desterró#, banished, exiled (from Heaven); = #Juntos aquí nos desterró (del cielo) la mano (de Dios) que distribuye sabia-(mente) gozos y penas.#

327-328. #debiera prometerme = habría debido prometerme#, you ought to have offered me…; or, I should have expected….

342-344. #no se casa … humana#, one that loved as I did does not marry, unless compelled to do so by the strongest force within the power of mankind.

367. #va mi vida en oírtelo#, to hear you say it is a matter of life or death to me.

408. #si lo llego … librara?# Should I ever believe that, who could protect him?

440. #las entrañas = el corazón. Una por una# in the preceding line might be translated little by little.

473-474. #en pos de … lanza#, my lovelorn spirit hastens away in pursuit of thine.

A comparison of the closing lines of the play with those of the first version shows a decided gain in dramatic effectiveness.

ISABEL. Yo le maté; quise alejarle … que le odiaba le dije … el sentimiento, el espanto … ¡Y mentí!… Pero también de mí se apiada el cielo. Ya de la eternidad me abre la puerta y de mis ojos huye el mundo entero, y una tumba diviso solamente con un cadáver, y a su lado un hueco. Marsilla, yo te amé, siempre te amaba … tú me lloraste ajena … tuya muero.

Cotarelo y Mori, in his scholarly study of the origin and development of the legend, uses as an argument against its historical authenticity the improbable ending; skeptically, he asks the question: "¿No es verdaderamente pasmoso que en el siglo XIII hubiese ni en Teruel ni en parte alguna dos personas de sensibilidad tan exquisita a quienes simultáneamente pudiera causar la muerte el verse privadas una de otra?" This rhetorical question was answered many years before it was thus formulated. José de Larra in his review of the play a few days after its first performance and only a few days before his own tragic death, speaking for those who believe that death may be caused by grief alone, urged the author to pay no heed to critics who scoffed at the dénouement of his play: "Si óyese repetir a sus oídos un cargo vulgar que a los nuestros ha llegado, y que ni mentar hemos querido en este artículo; si óyese decir que el final de su obra es inverosímil, que el amor no mata a nadie, puede responder que es un hecho consignado en la historia; que los cadáveres se conservan en Teruel, y la posibilidad en los corazones sensibles; que las penas y las pasiones han llenado más cementerios que los médicos y los necios; que el amor mata (aunque no mate a lodo el mundo) como matan la ambición y la envidia; que más de una mala nueva al ser recibida ha matado a personas robustas, instantáneamente y como un rayo; y aun será en nuestro entender mejor que a ese cargo no responda, porque el que no lleve en su corazón la respuesta, no comprenderá ninguna. Las teorías, las doctrinas, los sistemas se explican; los sentimientos se sienten." (Colección de artículos, page 197.)

VOCABULARY

The purpose of this vocabulary is to give English equivalents for the words and locutions as used in this play, in order to help the student understand the text or translate it into clear, idiomatic English. In some cases, therefore, the English equivalent is not a literal translation of the Spanish and may not give the usual meaning of the word or phrase. Moreover, words that the student is reasonably certain to know and those that have the same or almost the same form and meaning in Spanish and English are omitted, as well as inflected forms, except in the case of those that seem to offer special difficulty.

#A#

#acabar# end, finish; come to an end; weaken; #— con# put an end to; #— de# finish with, have finished, have just; #acabarás de hacer justicia# you will do justice in the end

#Albarracín# small town and mountainous district a short distance west of the city of Teruel

#albigenses# Albigenses (see note, Act I, 258); #un francés —# an Albigensian Frenchman

#aliento# breath, courage; #— vital# breath of life; #sin —# lifeless, unconscious; #mi —# my last breath

#anochecer# grow dark; #al —# at nightfall; #a poco de —# shortly after nightfall

#antes# before, first; rather; on the contrary; #— de# before; #— que# before; rather than; #— que todo# before everything else

#B#

#Besiés# Béziers (city of about fifty thousand inhabitants in the south of France)

#bien# well, very, indeed, already; #— está# very well, all right; #tener a —# consider proper or advisable; please

#bien# m. good, goodness, happiness, blessing, favor; object of love; #mi —# my love, beloved; #¿qué —?# what good, what of any value? #-s# wealth

#boda# marriage, wedding; #-s# wedding; #celebradas las# —#s# the wedding being over, after the marriage

#burlar# mock; disappoint, frustrate; #dejar burlada# make ineffective, frustrate

#C#

#caber# be contained in; find a place or entrance; be room for; #no cabe# it is impossible or unthinkable; #— en suerte a# be decreed by fate, be predestined

#callar# be silent, keep quiet, refuse to tell, conceal; leave unspoken; keep from saying, not to say; pass over in silence; preserve

#camino# road; #— de# in the direction of, on the way to; #salir al —# go out to meet

#caso case; situation; event; #hacer — de# give heed to, listen to; #— providencial# act of providence.

#contar# relate, report, tell about; consider; #— con# count upon, expect; #cuento como# I count it as a

#correr# run, hasten; pass; draw; run through; #corrido el plazo# the time having expired, at the expiration of the time set

#costar# cost; #costara lo que costara# cost what it might; #cueste lo que cueste# cost what it may

#cuanto# how much, how many; as much as; all that; #— a# as for; #-s# all those that

#cumplir# fulfil; carry out; keep one's promise; expire; #-se# fall due, expire, terminate; be fulfilled; fulfil one's duty toward, be faithful to

#D#

#damasquino# Damascene; of Damascus (ancient city of Syria, famous for the excellence of its steel); #el acero —# the Damascus blade

#dar# give; make; #— en# fall into; strike against; #— que decir# give occasion for censure or gossip; #¿qué puede — de sí?# what can you expect of him? #se le den# let them give her to him

#deber# owe, must, ought, be obliged, have to; #debió correr# he must have run; #debieron echarle dentro# they must have thrown him into it; #le debió querer# could not help loving him

#decir# tell; #digo bien# I speak the truth; #diré que no# I shall refuse; #según se me dice# according to what they tell me

#dejar# leave, leave alone; #— abandonado# give up; #— burlada# make fun of, render ineffective; #— caer# drop; #que vino a —le# that left him at last; #-se matar# let oneself be killed

#demás# other, remaining; #lo —# the rest; #los —# the others, the rest; #lo — fuera dar# otherwise it would give cause for; #— (for demasiado)# more than enough

#desafiar# challenge; #desafiados quedamos# we had challenged each other; we were to fight a duel

#desairado# disregarded, unrewarded; #dejar —# disregard; refuse or fail to reward

#desde# from; #— hoy# from now on, from to-day; this very day; #— que# since; from the moment that

#desgracia# unhappiness, misfortune; evil fate, adversity; #por —# unfortunately

#deudor# indebted; #— de verse con vida# indebted for the privilege of seeing himself alive

#dicha# happiness, blessing, felicity; #por —# happily; #por — mayor# most fortunately; #-s# happiness

#Dios# God; #a —# good-bye, farewell, God keep you; #por —# in the name of God, in Heaven's name

#dirigir# direct, address; intend for; guide; #-se# apply to, turn, go toward, make one's way

#donde# where; in or on which; #por —# through which; #— quiera# wherever he pleases

#E#

#empeño# pledge, engagement; undertaking; effort; earnest desire; resolution, firmness; insistence

#esotro, -a# that other; #a esotra puerta# try the other door (meaning, she hears nothing)

#F#

#faltar# lack, fail, be lacking; #los días que me faltan que vivir# the days that are left to me of life

#fin m. end; death; #al —# at last, after all; #en —# at last, in short; #por —# at last, in the end; #tener su —# terminate, expire

#fortuna# fortune; #por — mía# fortunately for me; #por más—# still more fortunately

#fuerza# force, power, strength; #a — de# by dint of; #— es# it is necessary, it must perforce

#G#

#gala# wedding dress; #-s# fine clothes, gala attire; #— del himeneo# bridal trousseau

#gente# f. people, company, retinue; family; #— aragonesa# people from Aragón; #llamad —# call some one

#Guadalaviar# or #Turia# river rising in the Province of Teruel and flowing into the Mediterranean at Valencia

#H#

#haber# have; #— de# have to, be going to, be to, must, etc.; #me has de acompañar# you are to accompany me; #no han de veros# you must not be seen; ¿#quién ha de ser#? who else should it be? ¿#qué hay#? what is wrong? #poco ha# a short time ago; #quince años ha# fifteen years ago

#hacer# make, do; be (in expressions of time); #— caso de# give heed to, listen to; #— vano# frustrate, render harmless; #— por# try, make an effort to; #hazle entrar# show him in; #haz que vea# let me see; #hace poco# a short time ago; #hacía tanto# for so long; #hará tres meses# about three months ago; #-se# take place

#hallar# find; #bien hallado# I am glad to see you; #-se# find oneself; be; #-se con# have, possess

#hora# hour; time; #en buen —, en — buena# indeed; well and good; and welcome

#hoy# to-day; now; #desde —# this very day, from now on; #—mismo# this very day, even to-day; #— día# in these days

#I#

#ir# go, be, etc.; #— a# be about to; #— a parar# lead to, come to an end; pierce; #van llegando# they keep arriving or continue to arrive; #se fué retirando atrás# kept drawing back; #va mi vida# my life is at stake; #-se# go away, disappear

#J#

#Jope, Japa# Joppa (ancient seaport of Jerusalem and important commercial center in the time of the Crusades. Modern Jaffa)

#L#

#líbico# Libyan; #líbica región# Northern Africa (Libya was the ancient name of Northern Africa)

#limitar# limit; #-se a# do no more than; #— términos a# form boundaries of, bound

#lograr# gain, succeed, be able to; #— de# convince, persuade; #— que diga mi lengua# get my tongue to say; #— vencer# have gained the victory; #no he logrado que deis# I have not succeeded in getting you to give

#luna# moon; moonlight; #la — media# crescent (device on the Mohammedan standard)

#LL#

#llegar# arrive, reach, come, enter, etc.; #-se# approach; #— a brindar# go so far as to offer, even offer; #— a enterarse# come to know, find out at last; #— a saber# find out, discover; #si lo llego a pensar# should I ever think that; #si llegaseis a conocer# if you could only know; #os llega funesto# a disastrous end awaits you; #en llegando# on his arrival

#llevar# take, carry, bear; lead: wear; live; get away; #— de# live, spend in; #-se# carry away, lead along; #— me a casar# take me to the marriage altar; #— a cabo# carry out; #el alma se llevan# they take my spirit with them

#M#

#manera# manner; #de aquesa —# like that, in that condition; #de — que# such that

#más# more, most; higher; moreover; still more; #no —# no longer; #— que, — de# more than; #no hay —# there is no other; #por — que# however, however much

#mirar# see, look at; bear in mind, remember; #— por# look out for; #miren# just look; #-se# look at oneself, be reflected

#N#

#nacer# be born, come into the world; spring; grow; #al —# at birth; #anticipado al —# present before birth, prenatal; #¿de qué ha nacido?# what has been the cause of?

#ni# neither, either; even; #— … —# neither … nor; #— siquiera# not even

#novedad# novelty; news; #¿es —?# is it unusual? #¿es — que?# is it a secret that?

#novio, -a# bridegroom, bride; #¿qué trazas éstas de novias?# isn't she a fine bride? (ironical)

#O#

#ocupar# occupy; #-se de# busy oneself with, give oneself up to; #ocupad la silla# sit down, be seated

#P#

#para# for; in order to; as; #— con# compared with; #—siempre# forever; #— que# in order that

#parar# stop; be; reside, live; #-se# stop; #ir a —# pierce; #en esto paran# this is the end of

#pasar# pass, happen; suffer; #— con# happen to; #— por# pass by; call at; #lo que pasa# what is going on

#pena# pain, sorrow, grief, suffering, affliction, regret; #-s# distress; #en — de# in punishment for

#poder# be able, can, may, etc., be able to do; #hasta — salir# until he was able to get out

#poner# put, set, fix, put on; #— en# give, offer; #— término# terminate; #— hecha una imagen# make pretty as a picture; #pon aquí# give me

#por# for, because of, out of, as, by way of, in order to, in the name of, through, in; #— ahora# for the present; #— allá# thereabouts; — #allí# along there; #— aquí cerca# in this vicinity; #— dentro# within, from within; off the stage; #— este lado# this way; #— él# as far as he is concerned; #— sí# in itself; through his own efforts; #— la noche# at night; #— ser# because I am; #— más que# however, however much

#postrar# prostrate, cast down; #— por el suelo# overthrow, make bite the dust

#prenda# pledge, token; treasure; beloved one, sweetheart; #-s# qualities, appearance; #idolatrada —# object of worship; #— querida# beloved one, dearest

#proscenio# proscenium, front of stage (that part of stage between the curtain and the orchestra)

#pudiera# (imp. subj. of #poder#) might, might well; #mal —# I could hardly be so….

#puesto# (p.p. of #poner#) set; #puesta ya en salvo# as soon as she has escaped

#Q#

#quedar# remain; be left; be; #— con# retain, be left with; #-se# remain; #se quedó triste# she was sad when I left

#querer# wish; love; wish to keep; #dondequiera# wherever he pleases; #no lo quiera Dios# God forbid; #Dios quiso# it was God's will; #quiso# she tried

#R#

#rayo# ray, flash of light, lightning, thunderbolt; #— del cielo# by the power of Allah

#rendir# give up, surrender, deliver, give in; return; overcome; #-se# surrender

#retirarse# retreat, withdraw; go away; #se fué retirando atrás# kept drawing back

#risueño# smiling, pleasant; #que alimentaba risueña# that nourished with smiling hopes

#S#

#saber# know, know how to, be able, learn, be informed, find out; #-se# be known; #al -se# on becoming known; #al -se mi delito# when my sin became known

#salir# go out, leave; get out; cast off; come out; go forth or about; enter (stage); #— al camino# go out to meet

#según# as, according to, just as; #— se me dice# according to what they tell me

#seña# sign, proof; #por -s que# as proof that; for the reason that, seeing that

#ser# be; #el — mujer# the fact that she is a woman; #— propias de# belong to; #— de# belong to; #no soy mía# I do not belong to myself; #siendo mal#, if it is evil; #¿qué ha sido de?# what has become of?

#sí# yes, indeed, truly; #creo que —# I believe it, so; #— que# I know well that; #— tal# of course; #ello —# the fact is

#sobrar# exceed, be more than enough; #todo me sobra# all the rest is superfluous; #valor le sobra# he has more than enough courage

#suceder# happen; #¿qué sucede?# what's wrong? what is it? #suceda lo que suceda# come what may

#suerte# f. fate; condition; #en —# by fate; #caber en — a# be decreed by fate for, be predestined for

#T#

#templario# Templar (member of the military order founded 1118 for the defence of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem)

#tener# have, take, receive; provide; consider; #— de, — que# have to; #— a bien# consider proper to, grant, be good enough to; #— la culpa# be to blame; #— noticia# hear, learn; #— por# consider as; #— trazas de# manage, succeed in; #ten# here it is

#término# term, limited time, time set; boundary; #poner —# terminate; #limitar -s# form the boundaries of, bound

#Teruel# capital of the Province of Teruel, Aragón, on the left bank of the Guadalaviar, 72 miles northwest of Valencia. Pop. in 1910, 11,035

#tiempo# occasion; circumstances; #a —# in time; #tan a —# so opportunely; #a buen —# opportunely; #— hace que# some time ago

#tocar# touch; behoove, befit, be befitting; fall to the lot of; #a él le toca# it is his place; #— a vísperas# ring for vespers

#traer# bring, carry, fetch; lead; cause, produce; #— la arrastrando# drag her here

#trance# m. peril, critical moment; #en — tan decisivo# in such a critical moment or situation

#tratar# try; plan to; be acquainted with; #— de# try; #-se de# be a question of

#traza# aspect, appearance; #tener — de# resemble, seem to be; ¿#qué -s éstas de novia#? isn't she a fine bride? (sarcastic)

#Turia# or #Guadalaviar# river rising in the Albarracin range in the
Province of Teruel and flowing into the Mediterranean at Valencia

#U#

#V#

#Valencia# important seaport on the Mediterranean at the month of the Guadalaviar or Turia. Pop, about 250,000. In 1021 it became the capital of an independent Moorish kingdom. It was finally reconquered by James of Aragon, El Conquistador, in 1238

#venir# come; be; #bien venido# welcome; #viene a ser ésta# can this be; #que vino a dejarle# that left him at last; #venga# let me have it

#ver# see; #-se# see each other; be; #-se con vida# be still living; #a —# tell me; come now; #ya ves# you see for yourself

#vez# f. time; #en — de# instead of; #una —# once; #tal —# perhaps; #a veces# at times

#villa# town, countryseat (Because of certain privileges granted to it, the #villa# was thereby distinguished from #aldeas# and #lugares#)

#volver# return; #— a# turn away from; #— a ser# be again; #— en sí# return to consciousness

#vos, vosotros# less formal than #Usted# and more courteous than #tú# when used in addressing one person

#voz# f. voice; words; word of command; #es —# it is said, it is well known; #a voces# shouting; loudly

#Y#

#ya# indeed, of course, at last, already, now, surely; and so, so then; #— … no# no longer; #— lo ves# you see for yourself; #— en el confín# in the very outskirts; #— que# seeing that, since, now that, just as

#Z#

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