The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in six volumes |
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 | The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow |  |
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?
134
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.
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?
135
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!
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
Was married four leagues out of Salamanca!
Don C.
Jesting aside, who is it?
136
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?
137
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?
138
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
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.
| The poetical works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow | |