The Shoemaker's Prodigious Wife (play)
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The Shoemaker's Prodigious Wife (La zapatera prodigiosa), also known as The Shoemaker's Wonderful Wife and The Shoemaker's Prosperous Wife, is a play by the twentieth-century Spanish dramatist Federico García Lorca. It was written between 1926 and 1930, and first performed in 1930.
The play tells the story of a volatile relationship between a married couple, the husband of whom is much older than his eighteen-year-old wife. The story follows the wife's struggle against her husband, neighbours, suitors, and a "boy".
The Shoemaker's Prodigious Wife features the following poem, recited by the Shoemaker when disguised as a puppet-master. The poem provides a condensed version of the story of The Shoemaker.
There was a farm in Cordoba Amongst the oleander trees, And there good Mr Tanner lived, And took a wife for company. She proved extremely sharp with him, He treated her most patiently, Her age, in truth, was twenty years, And his was more like fifty. My God, you should have seen them fight! Look here, behold this monster shrill. She mocked, she stung, she tortured him. If only look sand words could only kill! Now Mrs Tanner had such hair, An empress would have envied her. Her skin was smooth and soft and clear, As clear as Lucena’s river. When she walked out in early spring, Her skirts had such a lovely scent, They seemed to fill the morning air With lemon and the freshest mint. Oh, lemons, lemons, oh so lovely! Oh, Mrs Tanner, oh so tasty! See now how young men courted her, Such dark and strong and handsome chaps, While tassels of the finest silk Adorned their horses gleaming backs. These elegant and spruce young men Would pass her door and with some dash, They’d stop and do the best they could To make their golden watch-chains flash. Now Mrs Tanner loved all this, She led her suitors such a dance, While they upon the cobblestones Would make their handsome horses prance. See how she flirts with one of them, Her hair, her dress, none handsomer, While there her poor husband toils And vents his anger on his leather. Oh husband old in years and good, And with a wife so immature. These scoundrels riding pass the house, Will have her for themselves, I fear. And then on Monday morning, It was half past eleven or so, When the sun blazed down from a clear sky On the reeds and the honeysuckle, When the breeze blew on the mountain-top And started to dance with the thyme, And the leaves fell from the strawberry-plants Though their colour was green and fine, Then it was that the sharp tongued wife Was watering the wall-flowers When riding on a Cordoban mare Came one of her boldest suitors. My sweet’ her said, ‘if you really want, Tomorrow we’ll eat together, The two of us at your place, And I’ll love you forever.’ ‘But what if my husband comes?’ she said, To which he replied, ‘Oh, no.’ ‘But what if he does?’ she carried on. ‘Then I’ll kill the so-and-so.’ ‘He’s very quick,’ she answered him ‘You’d better get a revolver.’ ‘I’ll do better than that,’ he said to her, ‘He can feel the edge of this razor.’ ‘Is it sharp?’ she asked. ‘Like ice, he said, ‘And its never been used before.’ ‘Are you telling the truth?’ ‘I swear I am. Your husband’s dead for sure.’ ‘Ten times this blade shall strike him down, Each blow is planned with utmost care: Four in the back, two in the chest, And two in either side, just there.’ ‘And will you do it soon?’ she said. ‘Tonight when he’s coming back, When he’s bringing leather and horse-hair home, He shall die on the river bank.’
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