 | Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) |  |
279
THE ICICLE.
- Don Lorenzo.
- Doña Amalia.
- Anita, a duenna.
AMALIA.
O tiresome roses, how your patterns linger
Before my craft can shape them as I will!
Poor gentleman, he sleeps? (I've pricked my finger!)
Poor gentleman, he sleeps inertly still!
(She sees a slight movement in Don Lorenzo, and droops head.)
LORENZO.
Cold girl, that all the gossips here in Seville
Have called “the icicle,” as well they might,
How quickly you would send me to the devil
If conscious of my true deceitful plight!
280
(with finger on lip).
How strange! He spoke! I'd swear to it—or nearly
Ah, he's but talking in his sleep, of course.
Unhappy gentleman, you've paid severely
For riding an unmanageable horse!
(Anita enters, with sherbet.)
Less noise, Anita! What a step you tread with!
ANITA.
He sleeps?
AMALIA.
Well, not so soundly as I thought...
But you've a footfall one could wake the dead with!
(Tastes sherbet.)
Ah, what a poor weak sherbet you have brought!
ANITA.
Nay, señorita, I was never skillful
At tasks like these; their art I ne'er could learn.
Go thou, dear child, and brew a better gill-ful;
I'll watch the gentleman till thou return.
AMALIA.
So be it, Anita. Are you quite decided
He needs no doctor?
281
Doctors all be .. blest
He'll soon get well and strong enough, provided
His bruises may secure sufficient rest.
AMALIA.
Well, well, I leave him in your charge, Anita;
Do gently whatsoever he may bid...
ANITA.
You speak so of a man!—you, favorita!
AMALIA.
He's not a real man; he's an .. invalid!
(Exit Amalia.)
LORENZO
(springing up from couch).
Never till now, in sooth, did Spanish gentle
Light on duenna that was half so good!
Ah, your benevolence is monumental;
I'd canonize you if I only could!
ANITA.
May the Saints pardon thy blaspheming twitter!
I've been most rashly wicked!
LORENZO.
Nay, you've not!
282
Oh, yes! Her eyes have such a truthful glitter;
They pierce me with repentance.
LORENZO.
And for what?
Is it because this venturing spirit chooses
To seek thus boldly my affianced wife?
ANITA.
Affianced, if you will; but she refuses
All other future save a loveless life!
LORENZO.
Bah, dame! A stale fig for her freaks of fancy
I come from Cordova to claim my bride!
ANITA.
Then you must win her by a necromancy
Whose magic shall work marvels with her pride.
LORENZO.
Fear not; I'll do it, nurse!
ANITA.
Poor orphan, truly
Her fate is hard, with both dear parents dead!
283
My fate is harder, that I've this unruly
Andalusian maid to woo and wed.
ANITA.
Thou followest thine own reckless choice!
LORENZO.
How? Grumbling?
Good nurse, your mood has turned most wry indeed!
ANITA.
Nor strange!—with thine imaginary tumbling
To earth from that imaginary steed!
LORENZO.
Deception villanous—I grant it!
ANITA.
Waiting
In ambush, I must aid thy sorry guile!—
Assist thee past our threshold, hotly hating
Such fraudulent behavior all the while!
LORENZO
(drooping head).
True—true!
284
And when my lady at length had seen us,
I with untold hypocrisy must say,
“Ah, señorita, shall we seek, between us,
This gentleman's discomforts to allay?”
LORENZO.
And she! How beautiful was her compassion!
Shams though my bruises were, they ached, I'll swear!
ANITA.
You merit aching in a different fashion!
LORENZO.
Come, now, your spleen and not your heart spoke there!
(Takes out purse.)
Good nurse, that struggling son in Salamanca—
The barber with eight children...
ANITA
(refusing purse).
Say no more!
LORENZO.
That daughter, then—the sailor's wife, Bianca,
Dwelling in Barcelona...
285
Nay, señor!
LORENZO.
So of my proffered gold hast thou proved wary
Since first to win my way with thee I tried!
Who dares to call duennas mercenary?
Lope de Vega—Calderon—you have lied!
ANITA.
Your thoughts of me are sure one precious tangle,
Thus low my loyal services to rate!
I'm not the sort of fish, howe'er you angle,
That cares to nibble at a golden bait.
I want the lady I love to marry wisely
A nobleman of breeding, heart and head!
LORENZO.
Your sentiments consort with mine precisely;
I, too, in just that way would have her wed!
ANITA.
Here's impudence, forsooth!
LORENZO.
But you condone it!
ANITA.
All the world loves a lover, as they say...
286
I'm hers!—in rapt allegiance, nurse, I own it,
And pant to have her name our nuptial day!
ANITA.
Then rashly has thine adoration reckoned!..
Still does her beauty feed its amorous glow?
LORENZO
Saint Simon Stylites, if she beckoned,
Would leave his pillar and play Romeo!
ANITA.
More blasphemy!
LORENZO
On Las Delicias walking,
I first idealized her—ay de mi!
But now!—her lips would set a dumb man talking!
Her eyes have beams to make a blind man see!
ANITA.
Nay, but her proud young bosom cannot shelter
One gleam of answering passion, warm or chill!
She's a real icicle!
LORENZO.
But I can melt her!
287
Alas! impossible!
LORENZO.
I can—and will!
ANITA.
No, I defy thee!
LORENZO.
When I'm once defeated,
Sound forth at pleasure your victorious drums!
ANITA.
Pray heaven by false impressions I've been cheated!
LORENZO.
Amen, nurse!
ANITA.
Quick—be ill again! .. She comes!
(Doña Amalia re-enters with sherbet. Don Lorenzo has resumed his place on couch, closing his eyes.)
AMALIA.
Does he still sleep?
ANITA.
I think he does, carina...
288
Let us not wake him, then, whate'er we do!
(Puts sherbet on table beside couch.)
It seems to me, nurse, I have seldom seen a
More healthful-looking sick man. .. Pray, have you?
ANITA.
Indeed, he hath more color, now I scan him,
Than most sick gentlemen I've seen before.
But then the accident that did unman him
Occurred so suddenly...
(Don Lorenzo snores.)
AMALIA.
What's that?
ANITA.
A snore.
AMALIA.
'Twas most unmusical! Ah, saints preserve us!
It may perchance have been a groan of pain!
LORENZO
(feigning sleep).
Oh, beautiful Amalia!
ANITA.
Don't be nervous.
289
He's talking in his sleep?
ANITA.
'Tis more than plain.
AMALIA.
He called me beautiful!
ANITA.
Well, there's no fiction.
AMALIA.
Still, the impertinence acutely stings!
ANITA.
Child, when we sleep we pay no care to diction;
We naturally say all sorts of things.
AMALIA.
Oh, you believe he meant it not? Still, clearly
His words were spoke. They did not seem obscure.
LORENZO.
If she's an icicle, it must be merely
That while she's radiant she is also pure!
AMALIA.
He calls me “icicle.” He must have known me
Ere now,—perchance even weeks, or months, or more!
290
Would that unamiable brute had thrown me
A little nearer to my loved one's door!
AMALIA.
His loved one's door!
ANITA.
Quite strange!
AMALIA.
It makes me shiver!
I'll wake him, nurse; I—
ANITA.
Oh, tut, tut! For shame!
LORENZO.
How sweet to think the same sweet Guadalquivir
By Cordova and Seville winds the same!
AMALIA.
Just hear!
LORENZO.
Now mine has been the boundless pleasure
To feel such beauty and grace my spirit stir,
That silvery stream henceforward I shall treasure
All the more fondly since it flows near her!
291
Wake him, nurse, wake him!
ANITA.
Wake him thou, if willing
LORENZO.
The right was mine to pass below her roof,
Yet, fearful that she would prove proudly chilling,
I, Count of Alvaredo, stood aloof.
AMALIA.
Lorenzo, Count of Alvaredo!
ANITA
(picking up a handkerchief).
Look you...
This kerchief bears the Alvaredo crest!
AMALIA
(recoiling).
That man of all men!
(Rushes impetuously toward couch.)
ANITA.
Have your wits forsook you?
The shock might kill him!
AMALIA
(calmer).
Leave us, then; 'tis best.
I, when he wakes, have something, nurse, to utter
That fitlier would be told were we alone.
Go, therefore.
292
You appear in curious flutter;
The voice you speak with has an alien tone.
AMALIA.
No matter; go!
ANITA
(aside).
Her eyes like fireflies glisten!
Pray heaven I shall not rue this day with tears!
I'm tempted at the keyhole now to listen;
But ah, time stuffs with cotton these old ears!
(Exit Anita).
AMALIA.
How strange! The Count of Alvaredo lying
Hurt in my house, dependent on my aid,
And while he sleeps, preposterously sighing
Nonsense too silly for a masquerade!
LORENZO
(feigning to awake).
I trust I've talked not in my sleep?
AMALIA.
Well .. slightly.
LORENZO.
Then pray have I said aught to hurt or vex?
293
Naught of least moment, if I heard you rightly..
Only the usual babble of your sex.
LORENZO.
Ah, lady, and so you like not men?
AMALIA.
I deem you
A race of monarchs,—in your own conceit!
Gracious to women—who as gods esteem you!
Courteous to women—who will kiss your feet!
We are prized and petted—while our beauty lingers,
Respected, reverenced—while we chance to please,
Then tossed away, as with contemptuous fingers
You toss your cigarillos to the breeze!
LORENZO.
Pray what stern cynic taught you that our dealings
With woman were thus flagrant past excuse?
AMALIA.
Flagrant? Oh, I've no words to phrase my feelings!
LORENZO.
No words? I thought them notably profuse.
AMALIA.
So, you're satirical!
294
Nay, simply truthful.
AMALIA
(with scorn).
You'd like more flippancy? I seem too grave?
LORENZO.
No, you're as picturesque as you are youthful;
Rave on; it so becomes you when you rave.
AMALIA.
Señor, I did not seek your admiration;
Detest me, if you wish, with eager zest.
LORENZO.
There's no use asking for my detestation;
You're far too entertaining to detest.
AMALIA.
I beg you, Don Lorenzo, not to squander
Flatteries on me!
LORENZO.
You've learned the name I bear.
AMALIA
(confused).
My old duenna found your kerchief yonder,
And knew the crest of Alvaredo there.
295
Alas, you are right! How vain the proud regalia
Of all my rank and caste!
AMALIA.
Why call it vain?
LORENZO.
Know you a lady of Seville named Amalia
Del Castro?—of the bluest blood in Spain?
AMALIA
(greatly embarrassed).
Yes .. I have seen the lady. .. At least I think so...
One knows a bevy of people here—by sight.
LORENZO.
I love her madly—intensely! .. Wherefore shrink so?
What have I said to cause you such affright?
AMALIA.
Affright, señor? I never felt serener...
Does Doña Amalia to your suit consent?
LORENZO.
Ah, more's the pity, I've not yet even seen her!
I came from Cordova with this intent.
296
And yet .. you adore her, never having met her?
LORENZO.
Oft has her picture made these fond eyes glow!
Her father, Don Hilario, in a letter,
Sent it me ere he died, three years ago.
AMALIA.
Indeed? (He speaks the truth, if ever man did!)
LORENZO.
Our sires long since, while we were children, sware
That we should wed. .. But later, to be candid,
I turned my nose up at the whole affair.
AMALIA.
Quite sensible!
LORENZO.
My father, growing furious,
Packed me to Italy and bade me stay.
There, in a mood half scornful and half curious,
I drew Amalia's picture forth, one day...
AMALIA.
And closelier studied it?
297
I did... Ah, presto!
The scales from off my vision fell at once.
I issued to myself a manifesto,
Calling myself an idiot, dolt and dunce!
AMALIA.
I had believed you gentlemen were never
Half such unbiassed critics of yourselves.
LORENZO.
It seemed as if I'd been bewitched by clever
Contrivances of unpropitious elves!
But now the enchantment vanished. .. As I entered
Into rapt contemplation of her face,
The ideal of all rare womanhood was centered
There in that portrait's priceless little space!
AMALIA.
You found her so adorable a creature?
LORENZO.
I found her, save mere wings, an angel quite!
AMALIA.
Perhaps her wings were, after all a feature
The artist had omitted.
298
(suddenly agitated).
Does my sight
Play tricks with me?
AMALIA.
What means your agitation?
LORENZO
(with long sigh).
Ah, no! I thought her picture was like you...
But now I realize the hallucination...
AMALIA.
You realize it? I am glad you do!
LORENZO.
Oh, yes. 'Tis chance resemblance .. nothing nearer,
As this, my closer gaze at you avers.
Less feminine, sedater and austerer,
Your face, I'm sure, could never smile like hers!
AMALIA.
And yet I've heard Amalia is reputed
To be a damsel cold beyond her kind.
LORENZO.
Oh, that's because no man has ever suited
The moods of her superior soul and mind.
299
You are then confident that you can win her?
LORENZO.
Yes, perfectly.
AMALIA.
How dexterous you must be!
LORENZO.
I hope to prove so .. Well, as I'm a sinner,
You're wonderfully like her!—yet not she!
AMALIA.
Where lies our difference! Is it large or slender!
LORENZO.
Her tongue, like yours, could play no waspish part!
She'd not revile, like you, the whole male gender;
Amalia has a woman's loving heart!
AMALIA.
Are you so sure?
LORENZO.
Beyond all chance of error!
No fate would she more eagerly eschew—
None would she hold in more disgust and terror—
Than for an instant to be thought a shrew!
300
A shrew? Then I'm one?
LORENZO.
By your own confession...
Ah! Heaven! (Seems ill.)
AMALIA.
You shudder; you're in pain, I know!
LORENZO.
Forgive my fleeting loss of self-possession;
That wretched fall of mine upset me so!
AMALIA.
The sherbet—let me not postpone it longer;
This drop of cordial—let me pour it in.
There .. your restorative will now be stronger;
The sherbet by itself was far too thin.
LORENZO
(drinking).
Thanks—many thanks!
AMALIA
(now very amiable).
'Twill aid, though scarcely cure you;
Bruises like yours are not such light mishaps
LORENZO.
Oh, I'm not bruised. It's only, I assure you,
A kind of neurological collapse,
301
I see—exhaustion, faintness, general sinking..
LORENZO.
Just that! How well you comprehend my case!..
But you seem puzzled..
AMALIA.
I was merely thinking
You've not one sign of illness in your face.
LORENZO.
Ah, but my feelings!
AMALIA
(very sweetly).
Are they still so painful?
I'll call a doctor, then, without delay...
LORENZO.
Please don't! A doctor would be simply baneful;
You're all the doctor I desire to-day.
AMALIA.
But I of medicine have no real knowledge.
LORENZO.
You've more, depend on it, than you suppose;
I'd stake its worth against a whole wise college
Of big-wigs, each with spectacles on nose.
302
(spreading her fan).
Instruct me, then; I'll do whate'er I'm able..
It might perhaps relieve you to be fanned?
LORENZO
(weakly).
No. .. but it would be strangely comfortable
If you'd consent to have me hold your hand.
AMALIA.
My hand! (She gives it reluctantly.)
LORENZO.
There .. that way .. Oh, how unexpected!
My sense of soft repose is actual bliss;
Often, when we are nervously affected,
We need a soothing tonic, such as this!
AMALIA.
(His hand's quite feverish!)
LORENZO.
You were merely fooling;
You don't hate men as fiercely as you said?
AMALIA.
Oh, yes; experience is a rigid schooling;
Three dear girl-friends of mine have all been wed.
303
And all unhappily?
AMALIA.
Yes, all! .. Though zealous
With peace and love their home-lives to anoint,
If they but wink their lords are madly jealous.
LORENZO.
Whom do they wink at? There's the dubious point.
AMALIA.
Poor Isabel! poor Clara! poor Dolores!
You three have shown me matrimony's hurts!
LORENZO.
Have they, indeed? O tempora! O mores!
I'll wager they're all three inveterate flirts!
AMALIA.
And why?
LORENZO.
Because the wife who's always babbling
Of how her husband teems with jealous doubt,
Has usually known he does through dabbling
In such queer deeds herself she's been found out!
304
Then do you mean that there are husbands tender,
Considerate, kind, unselfish?
LORENZO
(half rising from couch).
Thousands! Yes!
Husbands whose joy and pride it is to render
Their wives more loyalty than words express!
AMALIA.
And dearly love them, too?
LORENZO.
With adoration!
AMALIA.
Oh, what beatitude your answer paints!
LORENZO
(springing up).
How's this? You smile! That smile is confirmation!
Amalia! You are she, by all the Saints!
AMALIA.
Grant it. But wherefore stand you thus, inspecting
My face with looks that pierce me like a blade?
LORENZO.
Oh, 'tis because I cannot help reflecting
How scandalously I've been duped—betrayed!
305
You stare like one whom reason hath forsaken.
LORENZO.
'Tis my Amalia! No, I am not distraught!
Here, before consciousness could well awaken—
Here—here—to your abode have I been brought!
AMALIA.
And if you have! What then?
LORENZO.
What then? Delusion
Unmerciful as ever man befell!
AMALIA.
Nay, hear me, Don Lorenzo, I—
LORENZO.
Confusion!
Thus to be tricked! I'll go at once. Farewell.
AMALIA.
Why are you angered?
LORENZO.
Why? And can you ask it?
Have I not let you gaze on my heart's core?—
As one that shows within some sacred casket
Gems he has hid there and has gloated o'er!
306
But stay! This love you speak of with contrition—
Was it not meant for me alone to prize?
LORENZO.
Yes—but on terms of honored recognition,
Not when I met you mantled in disguise!
AMALIA.
Disguise I sought not.
LORENZO.
You that hate all men so,
An icicle, indeed!—farewell once more!
AMALIA.
You must not go yet .. you're too ill .. Lorenzo!
LORENZO.
True; I am ill..
AMALIA.
Remain, then, I implore!
LORENZO.
And if I should remain! What hope of guerdon
Exists for one that loves thee as do I?
Thou'rt far too proud a maid beneath love's burden
Ever to stoop thyself!..
307
(meekly).
But I might try.
LORENZO.
“Might try!” Is Paradise its gates unclosing?
AMALIA.
I will try!
LORENZO.
Oh, Amalia, this to me?
AMALIA.
Thee only!
(They embrace, as Anita enters, peering about.)
ANITA.
How's our patient? Still reposing?
Or has he awakened? .. Powers of mercy! see!
LORENZO.
Well, good Anita?
ANITA.
So .. your arm is belting
Her waist! Ah, sight more welcome I ne'er saw!
LORENZO.
It means your icicle at last is melting.
308
(weeping).
Oh, yes! These tell-tale drops announce its thaw.
ANITA.
Dear lady! And may no future frost re-weld it!
LORENZO.
Trust me .. my sunshine will be far too warm!
AMALIA
(merrily).
What icicle, when sunshine hath dispelled it,
Can ever freeze again to its old form?
| Songs of Doubt and Dream (Poems) | |