University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Scene I.

—Preciosa's chamber. Morning. Preciosa and Angelica.
Prec.
Why will you go so soon? Stay yet awhile.
The poor too often turn away unheard
From hearts that shut against them with a sound
That will be heard in heaven. Pray, tell me more
Of your adversities. Keep nothing from me.
What is your landlord's name?

Ang.
The Count of Lara.

Prec.
The Count of Lara? Oh, beware that man!
Mistrust his pity,—hold no parley with him!
And rather die an outcast in the streets
Than touch his gold.

Ang.
You know him, then!

Prec.
As much
As any woman may, and yet be pure.
As you would keep your name without a blemish,
Beware of him!

Ang.
Alas! what can I do?
I cannot choose my friends. Each word of kindness,
Come whence it may, is welcome to the poor.

Prec.
Make me your friend. A girl so young and fair
Should have no friends but those of her own sex.
What is your name?

Ang.
Angelica.

Prec.
That name
Was given you, that you might be an angel
To her who bore you! When your infant smile
Made her home Paradise, you were her angel.
Oh, be an angel still! She needs that smile.
So long as you are innocent, fear nothing.
No one can harm you! I am a poor girl,
Whom chance has taken from the public streets.
I have no other shield than mine own virtue.
That is the charm which has protected me!
Amid a thousand perils, I have worn it
Here on my heart! It is my guardian angel.

Ang.
(rising).
I thank you for this counsel, dearest lady.

Prec.
Thank me by following it.

Ang.
Indeed I will.

Prec.
Pray, do not go. I have much more to say.

Ang.
My mother is alone. I dare not leave her.

Prec.
Some other time, then, when we meet again.
You must not go away with words alone.
(Gives her a purse.)
Take this. Would it were more.

Ang.
I thank you, lady.

Prec.
No thanks. To-morrow come to me again.
I dance to-night,—perhaps for the last time.
But what I gain, I promise shall be yours,
If that can save you from the Count of Lara.

Ang.
Oh, my dear lady! how shall I be grateful
For so much kindness?

Prec.
I deserve no thanks.
Thank Heaven, not me.

Ang.
Both Heaven and you.

Prec.
Farewell.
Remember that you come again to-morrow.

Ang.
I will. And may the Blessed Virgin guard you,
And all good angels.

[Exit.
Prec.
May they guard thee too,
And all the poor; for they have need of angels.
Now bring me, dear Dolores, my basquiña,
My richest maja dress,—my dancing dress,
And my most precious jewels! Make me look
Fairer than night e'er saw me! I've a prize
To win this day, worthy of Preciosa!

(Enter Beltran Cruzado.)
Cruz.
Ave Maria!

Prec.
O God! my evil genius!
What seekest thou here to-day?

Cruz.
Thyself,—my child.

Prec.
What is thy will with me?

Cruz.
Gold! gold!

Prec.
I gave thee yesterday; I have no more.

Cruz.
The gold of the Busné,—give me his gold!

Prec.
I gave the last in charity to-day.

Cruz.
That is a foolish lie.

Prec.
It is the truth.

Cruz.
Curses upon thee! Thou art not my child!
Hast thou given gold away, and not to me?
Not to thy father? To whom, then?

Prec.
To one
Who needs it more.

Cruz.
No one can need it more.

Prec.
Thou art not poor.

Cruz.
What, I, who lurk about
In dismal suburbs and unwholesome lanes;
I, who am housed worse than the galley slave;
I, who am fed worse than the kennelled hound;
I, who am clothed in rags,—Beltran Cruzado,—
Not poor!

Prec.
Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands.
Thou canst supply thy wants; what wouldst thou more?

Cruz.
The gold of the Busné!

Busné is the name given by the Gypsies to all who are not of their race.

give me his gold!

Prec.
Beltran Cruzado! hear me once for all.
I speak the truth. So long as I had gold,
I gave it to thee freely, at all times,
Never denied thee; never had a wish
But to fulfil thine own. Now go in peace!
Be merciful, be patient, and erelong
Thou shalt have more.

Cruz.
And if I have it not,
Thou shalt no longer dwell here in rich chambers,
Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty food,
And live in idleness; but go with me,
Dance the Romalis in the public streets,
And wander wild again o'er field and fell;
For here we stay not long.

Prec.
What! march again?

Cruz.
Ay, with all speed. I hate the crowded town!
I cannot breathe shut up within its gates!
Air,—I want air, and sunshine, and blue sky,
The feeling of the breeze upon my face,
The feeling of the turf beneath my feet,
And no walls but the far-off mountain-tops.
Then I am free and strong,—once more myself,
Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Calés!

Prec.
God speed thee on thy march!—I cannot go.

Cruz.
Remember who I am, and who thou art!
Be silent and obey! Yet one thing more.
Bartolomé Román—

Prec.
(with emotion).
Oh, I beseech thee!
If my obedience and blameless life,
If my humility and meek submission
In all things hitherto, can move in thee
One feeling of compassion; if thou art
Indeed my father, and canst trace in me
One look of her who bore me, or one tone
That doth remind thee of her, let it plead
In my behalf, who am a feeble girl,
Too feeble to resist, and do not force me
To wed that man! I am afraid of him!
I do not love him! On my knees I beg thee
To use no violence, nor do in haste
What cannot be undone!

Cruz.
O child, child, child!
Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird
Betrays her nest, by striving to conceal it.
I will not leave thee here in the great city
To be a grandee's mistress. Make thee ready
To go with us; and until then remember
A watchful eye is on thee.

[Exit.
Prec.
Woe is me!
I have a strange misgiving in my heart!
But that one deed of charity I'll do,
Befall what may; they cannot take that from me.

Scene II.

—A room in the Archbishop's Palace. The Archbishop and a Cardinal seated.
Arch.
Knowing how near it touched the public morals,
And that our age is grown corrupt and rotten
By such excesses, we have sent to Rome,
Beseeching that his Holiness would aid
In curing the gross surfeit of the time,
By seasonable stop put here in Spain
To bull-fights and lewd dances on the stage.
All this you know.

Card.
Know and approve.

Arch.
And further,
That, by a mandate from his Holiness,
The first have been suppressed.

Card.
I trust forever.
It was a cruel sport.

Arch.
A barbarous pastime,
Disgraceful to the land that calls itself
Most Catholic and Christian.

Card.
Yet the people
Murmur at this; and, if the public dances
Should be condemned upon too slight occasion,
Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure.
As Panem et Circenses was the cry
Among the Roman populace of old,
So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain.
Hence I would act advisedly herein;
And therefore have induced your Grace to see
These national dances, ere we interdict them.

(Enter a Servant.)
Serv.
The dancing-girl, and with her the musicians
Your Grace was pleased to order, wait without.

Arch.
Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold
In what angelic, yet voluptuous shape
The Devil came to tempt Saint Anthony.

(Enter Preciosa, with a mantle thrown over her head. She advances slowly, in modest, half-timid attitude.)
Card.
(aside).
Oh, what a fair and ministering angel
Was lost to heaven when this sweet woman fell!

Prec.
(kneeling before the Archbishop).
I have obeyed the order of your Grace.
If I intrude upon your better hours,
I proffer this excuse, and here beseech
Your holy benediction.

Arch.
May God bless thee,
And lead thee to a better life. Arise.

Card.
(aside).
Her acts are modest, and her words discreet!
I did not look for this! Come hither, child.
Is thy name Preciosa?

Prec.
Thus I am called.

Card.
That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy father?

Prec.
Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Calés.

The Gypsies call themselves Calés. See Borrow's valuable and extremely interesting work, The Zincali: or an Account of the Gypsies in Spain. London, 1841.

Arch.
I have a dim remembrance of that man;
He was a bold and reckless character,
A sun-burnt Ishmael!

Card.
Dost thou remember
Thy earlier days?

Prec.
Yes; by the Darro's side
My childhood passed. I can remember still
The river, and the mountains capped with snow;
The villages, where, yet a little child,
I told the traveller's fortune in the street;
The smuggler's horse, the brigand and the shepherd;
The march across the moor; the halt at noon;
The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted
The forest where we slept; and, further back,
As in a dream or in some former life,
Gardens and palace walls.

Arch.
'T is the Alhambra,
Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched.
But the time wears; and we would see thee dance.

Prec.
Your Grace shall be obeyed.

(She lays aside her mantilla. The music of the cachucha is played, and the dance begins. The Archbishop and the Cardinal look on with gravity and an occasional frown; then make signs to each other; and, as the dance continues, become more and more pleased and excited; and at length rise from their seats, throw their caps in the air, and applaud vehemently as the scene closes.)

Scene III.

—The Prado. A long avenue of trees leading to the gate of Atocha. On the right the dome and spires of a convent. A fountain. Evening. Don Carlos and Hypolito meeting.
Don C.
Holá! good evening, Don Hypolito.

Hyp.
And a good evening to my friend, Don Carlos.
Some lucky star has led my steps this way.
I was in search of you.

Don C.
Command me always.

Hyp.
Do you remember, in Quevedo's Dreams,
The miser, who, upon the Day of Judgment,
Asks if his money-bags would rise?

“¿ Y volviéndome á un lado, ví á un Avariento, que estaba preguntando á otro, (que por haber sido embalsamado, y estar léxos sus tripas no hablaba, porque no habian llegado si habian de resucitar aquel dia todos los enterrados) si resucitarian unos bolsones suyos?”—

El Sueño de las Calaveras.

Don C.
I do;
But what of that?

Hyp.
I am that wretched man.

Don C.
You mean to tell me yours have risen empty?

Hyp.
And amen! said my Cid Campeador.

A line from the ancient Poema del Cid.

Amen, dixo Mio Cid el Campeador.
Line 3044.

Don C.
Pray, how much need you?

Hyp.
Some half-dozen ounces,
Which, with due interest—

Don C.
(giving his purse).
What, am I a Jew
To put my moneys out at usury?
Here is my purse.

Hyp.
Thank you. A pretty purse.
Made by the hand of some fair Madrileña;
Perhaps a keepsake.

Don C.
No, 't is at your service.

Hyp.
Thank you again. Lie there, good Chrysostom,
And with thy golden mouth remind me often,
I am the debtor of my friend.

Don C.
But tell me,
Come you to-day from Alcalá?

Hyp.
This moment.

Don C.
And pray, how fares the brave Victorian?

Hyp.
Indifferent well; that is to say, not well.
A damsel has ensnared him with the glances
Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen catch
A steer of Andalusia with a lazo.
He is in love.

Don C.
And is it faring ill
To be in love?

Hyp.
In his case very ill.

Don C.
Why so?

Hyp.
For many reasons. First and foremost,
Because he is in love with an ideal;
A creature of his own imagination;
A child of air; an echo of his heart;
And, like a lily on a river floating,
She floats upon the river of his thoughts!

This expression is from Dante:—

Si che chiaro
Per essa scenda della mente il flume.

Byron has likewise used the expression.

[She was his life
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all.
The Dream.]

Don C.
A common thing with poets. But who is
This floating lily? For, in fine, some woman,
Some living woman,—not a mere ideal,—
Must wear the outward semblance of his thought.
Who is it? Tell me.

Hyp.
Well, it is a woman!
But, look you, from the coffer of his heart
He brings forth precious jewels to adorn her,
As pious priests adorn some favorite saint
With gems and gold, until at length she gleams
One blaze of glory. Without these, you know,
And the priest's benediction, 't is a doll.

Don C.
Well, well! who is this doll?

Hyp.
Why, who do you think?

Don C.
His cousin Violante.

Hyp.
Guess again.
To ease his laboring heart, in the last storm
He threw her overboard, with all her ingots.

Don C.
I cannot guess; so tell me who it is.

Hyp.
Not I.

Don C.
Why not?

Hyp.
(mysteriously).
Why? Because Mari Franca

A common Spanish proverb, used to turn aside a question one does not wish to answer:—

Porque casó Mari Franca
Quatro leguas de Salamanca.

Was married four leagues out of Salamanca!

Don C.
Jesting aside, who is it?

Hyp.
Preciosa.

Don C.
Impossible! The Count of Lara tells me
She is not virtuous.

Hyp.
Did I say she was?
The Roman Emperor Claudius had a wife
Whose name was Messalina, as I think;
Valeria Messalina was her name.
But hist! I see him yonder through the trees,
Walking as in a dream.

Don C.
He comes this way.

Hyp.
It has been truly said by some wise man,
That money, grief, and love cannot be hidden.

(Enter Victorian in front.)
Vict.
Where'er thy step has passed is holy ground!
These groves are sacred! I behold thee walking
Under these shadowy trees, where we have walked
At evening, and I feel thy presence now;
Feel that the place has taken a charm from thee,
And is forever hallowed.

Hyp.
Mark him well!
See how he strides away with lordly air,
Like that odd guest of stone, that grim Commander
Who comes to sup with Juan in the play.

Don C.
What ho! Victorian!

Hyp.
Wilt thou sup with us?

Vict.
Holá! amigos! Faith, I did not see you.
How fares Don Carlos?

Don C.
At your service ever.

Vict.
How is that young and green-eyed Gaditana
That you both wot of?

Don C.
Ay, soft, emerald eyes!

The Spaniards, with good reason, consider this color of the eye as beautiful, and celebrate it in song; as, for example, in the well-known Villancico:—

Ay ojuelos verdes,
Ay los mis ojuelos,
Ay hagan los cielos
Que de mí te acuerdes!
[OMITTED]
Tengo confianza
De mis verdes ojos.
Böhl de Faber, Floresta, No. 255.

Dante speaks of Beatrice's eyes as emeralds. Purgatorio, xxxi. 116. Lami says, in his Annotazioni, “Erano i suoi occhi d' un turchino verdiccio, simile a quel del mare.”

She has gone back to Cadiz.

Hyp.
Ay de mí!

Vict.
You are much to blame for letting her go back.
A pretty girl; and in her tender eyes
Just that soft shade of green we sometimes see
In evening skies.

Hyp.
But, speaking of green eyes,
Are thine green?

Vict.
Not a whit. Why so?

Hyp.
I think
The slightest shade of green would be becoming,
For thou art jealous.

Vict.
No, I am not jealous.

Hyp.
Thou shouldst be.

Vict.
Why?

Hyp.
Because thou art in love.
And they who are in love are always jealous.
Therefore thou shouldst be.

Vict.
Marry, is that all?
Farewell; I am in haste. Farewell, Don Carlos.
Thou sayest I should be jealous?

Hyp.
Ay, in truth
I fear there is reason. Be upon thy guard.
I hear it whispered that the Count of Lara
Lays siege to the same citadel.

Vict.
Indeed!
Then he will have his labor for his pains.

Hyp.
He does not think so, and Don Carlos tells me
He boasts of his success.

Vict.
How 's this, Don Carlos?

Don C.
Some hints of it I heard from his own lips.
He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue,
As a gay man might speak.

Vict.
Death and damnation!
I'll cut his lying tongue out of his mouth,
And throw it to my dog! But, no, no, no!
This cannot be. You jest, indeed you jest.
Trifle with me no more. For otherwise
We are no longer friends. And so, farewell!

[Exit.
Hyp.
Now what a coil is here! The Avenging Child

See the ancient Ballads of El Infante Vengador, and Calaynos.

Hunting the traitor Quadros to his death,
And the great Moor Calaynos, when he rode
To Paris for the ears of Oliver,
Were nothing to him! O hot-headed youth!
But come; we will not follow. Let us join
The crowd that pours into the Prado. There
We shall find merrier company; I see
The Marialonzos and the Almavivas,
And fifty fans, that beckon me already.

[Exeunt.

Scene IV.

—Preciosa's chamber. She is sitting, with a book in her hand, near a table, on which are flowers. A bird singing in its cage. The Count of Lara enters behind unperceived.
Prec.
(reads).
All are sleeping,

From the Spanish. Böhl de Faber. Floresta, No. 282.

weary heart!
Thou, thou only sleepless art!
Heigho! I wish Victorian were here.
I know not what it is makes me so restless!
(The bird sings.)
Thou little prisoner with thy motley coat,
That from thy vaulted, wiry dungeon singest,
Like thee I am a captive, and, like thee,
I have a gentle jailer. Lack-a-day!
All are sleeping, weary heart!
Thou, thou only sleepless art!
All this throbbing, all this aching,
Evermore shall keep thee waking,
For a heart in sorrow breaking
Thinketh ever of its smart!
Thou speakest truly, poet! and methinks
More hearts are breaking in this world of ours
Than one would say. In distant villages
And solitudes remote, where winds have wafted
The barbed seeds of love, or birds of passage
Scattered them in their flight, do they take root,
And grow in silence, and in silence perish.
Who hears the falling of the forest leaf?
Or who takes note of every flower that dies?
Heigho! I wish Victorian would come.
Dolores!
(Turns to lay down her book, and perceives the Count.)
Ha!

Lara.
Señora, pardon me!

Prec.
How 's this? Dolores!

Lara.
Pardon me—

Prec.
Dolores!

Lara.
Be not alarmed; I found no one in waiting.
If I have been too bold—

Prec.
(turning her back upon him).
You are too bold!
Retire! retire, and leave me!

Lara.
My dear lady,
First hear me! I beseech you, let me speak!
'T is for your good I come.

Prec.
(turning toward him with indignation).
Begone! begone!
You are the Count of Lara, but your deeds
Would make the statues of your ancestors
Blush on their tombs! Is it Castilian honor,
Is it Castilian pride, to steal in here
Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong?
Oh shame! shame! shame! that you, a nobleman,
Should be so little noble in your thoughts
As to send jewels here to win my love,
And think to buy my honor with your gold!
I have no words to tell you how I scorn you!
Begone! The sight of you is hateful to me!
Begone, I say!

Lara.
Be calm; I will not harm you.

Prec.
Because you dare not.

Lara.
I dare anything!
Therefore beware! You are deceived in me.
In this false world, we do not always know
Who are our friends and who our enemies.
We all have enemies, and all need friends.
Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court
Have foes, who seek to wrong you.

Prec.
If to this
I owe the honor of the present visit,
You might have spared the coming. Having spoken,
Once more I beg you, leave me to myself.

Lara.
I thought it but a friendly part to tell you
What strange reports are current here in town.
For my own self, I do not credit them;
But there are many who, not knowing you,
Will lend a readier ear.

Prec.
There was no need
That you should take upon yourself the duty
Of telling me these tales.

Lara.
Malicious tongues
Are ever busy with your name.

Prec.
Alas!
I've no protectors. I am a poor girl,
Exposed to insults and unfeeling jest.
They wound me, yet I cannot shield myself.
I give no cause for these reports. I live
Retired; am visited by none.

Lara.
By none?
Oh, then, indeed, you are much wronged!

Prec.
How mean you?

Lara.
Nay, nay; I will not wound your gentle soul
By the report of idle tales.

Prec.
Speak out!
What are these idle tales? You need not spare me.

Lara.
I will deal frankly with you. Pardon me;
This window, as I think, looks toward the street,
And this into the Prado, does it not?
In yon high house, beyond the garden wall,—
You see the roof there just above the trees,—
There lives a friend, who told me yesterday,
That on a certain night,—be not offended
If I too plainly speak,—he saw a man
Climb to your chamber window. You are silent!
I would not blame you, being young and fair—

(He tries to embrace her. She starts back, and draws a dagger from her bosom.)
Prec.
Beware! beware! I am a Gypsy girl!
Lay not your hand upon me. One step nearer
And I will strike!

Lara.
Pray you, put up that dagger.
Fear not.

Prec.
I do not fear. I have a heart
In whose strength I can trust.

Lara.
Listen to me.
I come here as your friend,—I am your friend,—
And by a single word can put a stop
To all those idle tales, and make your name
Spotless as lilies are. Here on my knees,
Fair Preciosa! on my knees I swear,
I love you even to madness, and that love
Has driven me to break the rules of custom,
And force myself unasked into your presence.

(Victorian enters behind.)
Prec.
Rise, Count of Lara! That is not the place
For such as you are. It becomes you not
To kneel before me. I am strangely moved
To see one of your rank thus low and humbled;
For your sake I will put aside all anger,
All unkind feeling, all dislike, and speak
In gentleness, as most becomes a woman,
And as my heart now prompts me. I no more
Will hate you, for all hate is painful to me.
But if, without offending modesty
And that reserve which is a woman's glory,
I may speak freely, I will teach my heart
To love you.

Lara.
O sweet angel!

Prec.
Ay, in truth,
Far better than you love yourself or me.

Lara.
Give me some sign of this,—the slightest token.
Let me but kiss your hand!

Prec.
Nay, come no nearer.
The words I utter are its sign and token.
Misunderstand me not! Be not deceived!
The love wherewith I love you is not such
As you would offer me. For you come here
To take from me the only thing I have,
My honor. You are wealthy, you have friends
And kindred, and a thousand pleasant hopes
That fill your heart with happiness; but I
Am poor, and friendless, having but one treasure,
And you would take that from me, and for what?
To flatter your own vanity, and make me
What you would most despise. Oh, sir, such love,
That seeks to harm me, cannot be true love.
Indeed it cannot. But my love for you
Is of a different kind. It seeks your good.
It is a holier feeling. It rebukes
Your earthly passion, your unchaste desires,
And bids you look into your heart, and see
How you do wrong that better nature in you,
And grieve your soul with sin.

Lara.
I swear to you,
I would not harm you; I would only love you.
I would not take your honor, but restore it,
And in return I ask but some slight mark
Of your affection. If indeed you love me,
As you confess you do, oh, let me thus
With this embrace—

Vict.
(rushing forward).
Hold! hold! This is too much.
What means this outrage?

Lara.
First, what right have you
To question thus a nobleman of Spain?

Vict.
I too am noble, and you are no more!
Out of my sight!

Lara.
Are you the master here?

Vict.
Ay, here and elsewhere, when the wrong of others
Gives me the right!

Prec.
(to Lara).
Go! I beseech you, go!

Vict.
I shall have business with you, Count, anon!

Lara.
You cannot come too soon!

[Exit.
Prec.
Victorian!
Oh, we have been betrayed!

Vict.
Ha! ha! betrayed!
'T is I have been betrayed, not we!—not we!

Prec.
Dost thou imagine—

Vict.
I imagine nothing;
I see how 't is thou whilest the time away
When I am gone!

Prec.
Oh, speak not in that tone!
It wounds me deeply.

Vict.
'T was not meant to flatter.

Prec.
Too well thou knowest the presence of that man
Is hateful to me!

Vict.
Yet I saw thee stand
And listen to him, when he told his love.

Prec.
I did not heed his words.

Vict.
Indeed thou didst,
And answeredst them with love.

Prec.
Hadst thou heard all—

Vict.
I heard enough.

Prec.
Be not so angry with me.

Vict.
I am not angry; I am very calm.

Prec.
If thou wilt let me speak—

Vict.
Nay, say no more.
I know too much already. Thou art false!
I do not like these Gypsy marriages!
Where is the ring I gave thee?

Prec.
In my casket.

Vict.
There let it rest! I would not have thee wear it:
I thought thee spotless, and thou art polluted!

Prec.
I call the Heavens to witness—

Vict.
Nay, nay, nay!
Take not the name of Heaven upon thy lips!
They are forsworn!

Prec.
Victorian! dear Victorian!

Vict.
I gave up all for thee; myself, my fame,
My hopes of fortune, ay, my very soul!
And thou hast been my ruin! Now, go on!
Laugh at my folly with thy paramour,
And, sitting on the Count of Lara's knee,
Say what a poor, fond fool Victorian was!

(He casts her from him and rushes out.)
Prec.
And this from thee!

(Scene closes.)

Scene V.

—The Count of Lara's rooms. Enter the Count.
Lara.
There 's nothing in this world so sweet as love,
And next to love the sweetest thing is hate!
I've learned to hate, and therefore am revenged.
A silly girl to play the prude with me!
The fire that I have kindled—
(Enter Francisco.)
Well, Francisco,
What tidings from Don Juan?

Fran.
Good, my lord;
He will be present.

Lara.
And the Duke of Lermos?

Fran.
Was not at home.

Lara.
How with the rest?

Fran.
I've found
The men you wanted. They will all be there,
And at the given signal raise a whirlwind
Of such discordant noises, that the dance
Must cease for lack of music.

Lara.
Bravely done.
Ah! little dost thou dream, sweet Preciosa,
What lies in wait for thee. Sleep shall not close
Thine eyes this night! Give me my cloak and sword.

[Exeunt.

Scene VI.

—A retired spot beyond the city gates. Enter Victorian and Hypolito.
Vict.
Oh shame! Oh shame! Why do I walk abroad
By daylight, when the very sunshine mocks me,
And voices, and familiar sights and sounds
Cry, “Hide thyself!” Oh what a thin partition
Doth shut out from the curious world the knowledge
Of evil deeds that have been done in darkness!
Disgrace has many tongues. My fears are windows,
Through which all eyes seem gazing. Every face
Expresses some suspicion of my shame,
And in derision seems to smile at me!

Hyp.
Did I not caution thee? Did I not tell thee
I was but half persuaded of her virtue?

Vict.
And yet, Hypolito, we may be wrong,
We may be over-hasty in condemning!
The Count of Lara is a cursed villain.

Hyp.
And therefore is she cursed, loving him.

Vict.
She does not love him! 'T is for gold! for gold!

Hyp.
Ay, but remember, in the public streets
He shows a golden ring the Gypsy gave him,
A serpent with a ruby in its mouth.

Vict.
She had that ring from me! God! she is false!
But I will be revenged! The hour is passed.
Where stays the coward?

Hyp.
Nay, he is no coward;
A villain, if thou wilt, but not a coward.
I've seen him play with swords; it is his pastime.
And therefore be not over-confident,
He'll task thy skill anon. Look, here he comes.

(Enter Lara followed by Francisco.)
Lara.
Good evening, gentlemen.

Hyp.
Good evening, Count.

Lara.
I trust I have not kept you long in waiting.

Vict.
Not long, and yet too long. Are you prepared?

Lara.
I am.

Hyp.
It grieves me much to see this quarrel
Between you, gentlemen. Is there no way
Left open to accord this difference,
But you must make one with your swords?

Vict.
No! none!
I do entreat thee, dear Hypolito,
Stand not between me and my foe. Too long
Our tongues have spoken. Let these tongues of steel
End our debate. Upon your guard, Sir Count.
(They fight. Victorian disarms the Count.)
Your life is mine; and what shall now withhold me
From sending your vile soul to its account?

Lara.
Strike! strike!

Vict.
You are disarmed. I will not kill you.
I will not murder you. Take up your sword.

(Francisco hands the Count his sword, and Hypolito interposes.)
Hyp.
Enough! Let it end here! The Count of Lara
Has shown himself a brave man, and Victorian
A generous one, as ever. Now be friends.
Put up your swords; for, to speak frankly to you,
Your cause of quarrel is too slight a thing
To move you to extremes.

Lara.
I am content.
I sought no quarrel. A few hasty words,
Spoken in the heat of blood, have led to this.

Vict.
Nay, something more than that.

Lara.
I understand you.
Therein I did not mean to cross your path.
To me the door stood open, as to others.
But, had I known the girl belonged to you,
Never would I have sought to win her from you.
The truth stands now revealed; she has been false
To both of us.

Vict.
Ay, false as hell itself!

Lara.
In truth, I did not seek her; she sought me;
And told me how to win her, telling me
The hours when she was oftenest left alone.

Vict.
Say, can you prove this to me? Oh, pluck out
These awful doubts, that goad me into madness!
Let me know all! all! all!

Lara.
You shall know all.
Here is my page, who was the messenger
Between us. Question him. Was it not so,
Francisco?

Fran.
Ay, my lord.

Lara.
If further proof
Is needful, I have here a ring she gave me.

Vict.
Pray let me see that ring! It is the same!
(Throws it upon the ground, and tramples upon it.)
Thus may she perish who once wore that ring!
Thus do I spurn her from me; do thus trample
Her memory in the dust! O Count of Lara,
We both have been abused, been much abused!
I thank you for your courtesy and frankness.
Though, like the surgeon's hand, yours gave me pain,
Yet it has cured my blindness, and I thank you.
I now can see the folly I have done,
Though 't is, alas! too late. So fare you well!
To-night I leave this hateful town forever.
Regard me as your friend. Once more farewell!

Hyp.
Farewell, Sir Count.

[Exeunt Victorian and Hypolito.
Lara.
Farewell! farewell! farewell!
Thus have I cleared the field of my worst foe!
I have none else to fear; the fight is done,
The citadel is stormed, the victory won!

[Exit with Francisco.

Scene VII.

—A lane in the suburbs. Night. Enter Cruzado and Bartolomé.
Cruz.

And so, Bartolomé, the expedition failed. But where wast thou for the most part?

Bart.

In the Guadarrama mountains, near San Ildefonso.

Cruz.

And thou bringest nothing back with thee? Didst thou rob no one?

Bart.

There was no one to rob, save a party of students from Segovia, who looked as if they would rob us; and a jolly little friar, who had nothing in his pockets but a missal and a loaf of bread.

Cruz.

Pray, then, what brings thee back to Madrid?

Bart.

First tell me what keeps thee here?

Cruz.

Preciosa.

Bart.

And she brings me back. Hast thou forgotten thy promise?

Cruz.

The two years are not passed yet. Wait patiently. The girl shall be thine.

Bart.

I hear she has a Busné lover.

Cruz.

That is nothing.

Bart.

I do not like it. I hate him,—the son of a Busné harlot. He goes in and out, and speaks with her alone, and I must stand aside, and wait his pleasure.

Cruz.

Be patient, I say. Thou shalt have thy revenge. When the time comes, thou shalt way-lay him.

Bart.

Meanwhile, show me her house.

Cruz.

Come this way. But thou wilt not find her. She dances at the play to-night.

Bart.

No matter. Show me the house.

[Exeunt.

Scene VIII.

—The Theatre. The orchestra plays the cachucha. Sound of castanets behind the scenes. The curtain rises, and discovers Preciosa in the attitude of commencing the dance. The cachucha. Tumult; hisses; cries of “Brava!” and “Afuera!” She falters and pauses. The music stops. General confusion. Preciosa faints.

Scene IX.

—The Count of Lara's chambers. Lara and his friends at supper.
Lara.
So, Caballeros, once more many thanks!
You have stood by me bravely in this matter.
Pray fill your glasses.

Don J.
Did you mark, Don Luis,
How pale she looked, when first the noise began,
And then stood still, with her large eyes dilated!
Her nostrils spread! her lips apart! her bosom
Tumultuous as the sea!

Don L.
I pitied her.

Lara.
Her pride is humbled; and this very night
I mean to visit her.

Don J.
Will you serenade her?

Lara.
No music! no more music!

Don L.
Why not music?
It softens many hearts.

Lara.
Not in the humor
She now is in. Music would madden her.

Don J.
Try golden cymbals.

Don L.
Yes, try Don Dinero;
A mighty wooer is your Don Dinero.

Lara.
To tell the truth, then, I have bribed her maid.
But, Caballeros, you dislike this wine.
A bumper and away; for the night wears.
A health to Preciosa.

(They rise and drink.)
All.
Preciosa.

Lara
(holding up his glass).
Thou bright and flaming minister of Love!
Thou wonderful magician! who hast stolen
My secret from me, and 'mid sighs of passion
Caught from my lips, with red and fiery tongue,
Her precious name! Oh nevermore henceforth
Shall mortal lips press thine; and nevermore
A mortal name be whispered in thine ear.
Go! keep my secret!

(Drinks and dashes the goblet down.)
Don J.
Ite! missa est!

(Scene closes.)

Scene X.

—Street and garden wall. Night. Enter Cruzado and Bartolomé.
Cruz.

This is the garden wall, and above it, yonder, is her house. The window in which thou seest the light is her window. But we will not go in now.

Bart.

Why not?

Cruz.

Because she is not at home.

Bart.

No matter; we can wait. But how is this? The gate is bolted. (Sound of guitars and voices in a neighboring street.)
Hark! There comes her lover with his infernal serenade! Hark!

SONG.

Cruz.

They are not coming this way.

Bart.

Wait, they begin again.

SONG (coming nearer).
Ah! thou moon that shinest
Argent-clear above!
All night long enlighten
My sweet lady-love;
Moon that shinest,
All night long enlighten!

Bart.

Woe be to him, if he comes this way!

Cruz.

Be quiet, they are passing down the street.

SONG (dying away).
The nuns in the cloister
Sang to each other;
For so many sisters
Is there not one brother!
Ay, for the partridge, mother!
The cat has run away with the partridge!
Puss! puss! puss!

Bart.

Follow that! follow that! Come with me. Puss! puss!

(Exeunt. On the opposite side enter the Count of Lara and gentlemen with Francisco.)
Lara.
The gate is fast. Over the wall, Francisco,
And draw the bolt. There, so, and so, and over.
Now, gentlemen, come in, and help me scale
Yon balcony. How now? Her light still burns.
Move warily. Make fast the gate, Francisco.

(Exeunt. Reënter Cruzado and Bartolomé.)
Bart.

They went in at the gate. Hark! I hear them in the garden. (Tries the gate.)
Bolted again! Vive Cristo! Follow me over the wall.

(They climb the wall.)

Scene XI.

—Preciosa's bedchamber. Midnight. She is sleeping in an arm-chair, in an undress. Dolores watching her.
Dol.
She sleeps at last!
(Opens the window, and listens.)
All silent in the street,
And in the garden. Hark!

Prec.
(in her sleep).
I must go hence!
Give me my cloak!

Dol.
He comes! I hear his footsteps.

Prec.
Go tell them that I cannot dance to-night;
I am too ill! Look at me! See the fever
That burns upon my cheek! I must go hence.
I am too weak to dance.

(Signal from the garden.)
Dol.
(from the window).
Who 's there?

Voice
(from below).
A friend.

Dol.
I will undo the door. Wait till I come.

Prec.
I must go hence. I pray you do not harm me!
Shame! shame! to treat a feeble woman thus!
Be you but kind, I will do all things for you.
I'm ready now,—give me my castanets.
Where is Victorian? Oh, those hateful lamps!
They glare upon me like an evil eye.
I cannot stay. Hark! how they mock at me!
They hiss at me like serpents! Save me! save me!
(She wakes.)
How late is it, Dolores?

Dol.
It is midnight.

Prec.
We must be patient. Smooth this pillow for me.

(She sleeps again. Noise from the garden, and voices.)
Voice.
Muera!

Another voice.
O villains! villains!

Lara.
So! have at you!

Voice.
Take that!

Lara.
Oh, I am wounded!

Dol.
(shutting the window).
Jesu Maria!