ACT THE THIRD.
Scene I.—A cross-road through a woodland. In the back ground a distant village spire. Evening. Victorian as a traveling student; a guitar slung under his arm.
Vic. I will forget thee! All dear recollections
Pressed in my heart, like flowers within a book,
Shall be torn out and scattered to the winds!
I will forget thee! but perhaps hereafter,
When thou shalt learn how heartless is the world,
A voice within thee will repeat my name,
And thou wilt say, “He was indeed my friend!”
(Enter Hypolito, dressed like Victorian.)
Hyp. Still dreaming of the absent?
Vic. Aye, still dreaming.
Oh, would I were a soldier, not a scholar,
That the loud march, the deafening beat of drums,
The shattering blast of the brass-throated trumpet,
The din of arms, the onslaught and the storm,
And a swift death, might make me deaf forever
To the upbraidings of this foolish heart!
Hyp. Then let that foolish heart upbraid no more!
To conquer love, one need but will to conquer.
Thou art too young, too full of lusty health
To talk of dying.
Vic. Yet I fain would die!
To go through life, unloving and unloved;
To feel that thirst and hunger of the soul
We cannot still; that longing, that wild impulse,
And struggle after something we have not
And cannot have; the effort to be strong;
And, like the Spartan boy, to smile and smile
While secret wounds do bleed beneath our cloaks:
All this the dead feel not—the dead alone!
I envy them because they are at rest!
Would I were with them!
Hyp. Thou wilt be soon.
Vic. It cannot be too soon. My happiest day
Will be that of my death. O, I am weary
Of the bewildering masquerade of Life,
Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as strangers;
Where whispers overheard betray false hearts;
And through the mazes of the crowd we chase
Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons,
And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us
A mockery and a jest; maddened—confused—
Not knowing friend from foe.
Hyp. Why seek to know?
Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth!
Take each fair mask for what it gives itself!
Strive not to look beneath it.
Vic. O, too often,
Too often have I been deceived! The world
Has lost its bright illusions. One by one
The masks have gone; the lights burnt out; the music
Dropped into silence, and I stand alone
In the dark halls, and hear no sound of life
Save the monotonous beating of my heart!
Would that had ceased to beat!
Hyp. If thou couldst do it,
Wouldst thou lie down to sleep and wake no more?
Vic. Indeed would I: as quietly as a child:
As willingly as the tired artisan
Lays by his tools and stretches him to sleep.
Hyp. So would not I. Too many pleasant visions
Hover before me; phantoms of delight
Beckon me on, and wave their golden wings,
Making the Future radiant with their smiles.
Vic. Would it were so with me! For I behold
Nothing but shadows; and the Future stands
Before me like a wall of adamant
I cannot climb.
Hyp. And right above it gleams
A glorious star. Be patient—trust thy star.
(Sound of a village bell in the distance.)
Vic. Ave Maria! I hear the sacristan
Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry!
A solemn sound that echoes far and wide
Over the red roofs of the cottages,
And bids the laboring hind a-field, the shepherd,
Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer,
And all the crowd in village streets stand still,
And breathe a prayer unto the Blessed Virgin!
Hyp. Amen! amen! Not half a league from hence
The village lies.
Vic. This path will lead us to it,
Over the wheat fields, where the shadows sail
Across the running sea, now green, now blue,
And like an idle mariner on the main
Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on. [Exeunt.
Scene II.—The public square of El Pardillo. The Ave Maria still tolling. A crowd of villagers, with their hats in their hands, as if in prayer. In front a group of Gipsies. The bell rings a merrier peel. A Gipsy dance. Enter Pancho, followed by Pedro Crespo.
Pan. Make room, ye vagabonds and gipsy thieves!
Make room for the Alcalde of Pardillo!
P. Cres. Keep silence all! I have an edict here
From our most gracious lord, the King of Spain,
Which I shall publish in the market-place.
Open your ears and listen!
(Enter Padre Cura at the door of his cottage.)
Padre Cura,
Good day! and pray you hear this paper read.
P. Cura. Good day, and God be with you! What is this?
P. Crespo. An act of banishment against the gipsies!
(Agitation and murmurs in the crowd.)
Pancho. Silence!
P. Crespo. (reads.) “I hereby order and command,
That the Egyptian and Chaldean strangers,
Known by the name of gipsies, shall henceforth
Be banished from our realm, as vagabonds
And beggars; and if after seventy days
Any be found within our kingdom’s bounds,
They shall receive a hundred lashes each;
The second time, shall have their ears cut off;
The third, be slaves for life to him who takes them;
Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I the King.”
Vile miscreants and creatures unbaptized!
You hear the law! Obey and disappear!
Pancho. And if in seventy days you are not gone,
Dead or alive I make you all my slaves.
(The gipsies go out in confusion, showing signs of fear
and discontent. Pancho follows.)
P. Cura. A righteous law! A very righteous law!
Pray you sit down.
P. Crespo. I thank you heartily.
(They seat themselves on a bench at the Padre Cura’s door. Sound of guitars and voices heard at a distance, approaching during the dialogue which follows.)
A very righteous judgment, as you say.
Now tell me, Padre Cura—you know all things—
How came these gipsies into Spain?
P. Cura. Why, look you,
They came with Hercules from Palestine,
And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir Alcalde,
As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus.
And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says,
There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor
Is not a Christian, so ’tis with the gipsies.
They never marry, never go to mass,
Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent,
Nor see the inside of a church—nor—nor—
P. Crespo. Good reasons, good, substantial reasons all!
No matter for the other ninety-five.
They should be burnt, I see it plain enough,
They should be burnt.
(Enter Victorian and Hypolito playing.)
P. Cura. And pray, whom have we here?
P. Crespo. More vagrants! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants!
Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen. Is this El Pardillo?
P. Cura. Yes, El Pardillo, and good evening to you.
Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura of the village;
And judging from your dress and reverend mien
You must be he.
P. Cura. I am. Pray what’s your pleasure?
Hyp. We are poor students, traveling in vacation.
You know this mark? (Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-band.)
P. Crespo. (aside.) Soup-eaters! by the mass!
The very worst of vagrants, worse than gipsies,
But there’s no law against them. Sir, your servant. [Exit.
P. Cura. (jovially.) Aye, know it, and have worn it.
Hyp. Padre Cura,
From the first moment I beheld your face,
I said within myself, This is the man!
There is a certain something in your looks,
A certain scholar-like and studious something—
You understand—which cannot be mistaken;
Which marks you as a very learned man,
In fine, as one of us.
Vic. (aside.) What impudence!
Hyp. As we approached, I said to my companion,
That is the Padre Cura; mark my words!
Meaning your grace. The other man, said I,
Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench,
Must be the sacristan.
P. Cura. Ah! said you so?
Ha! ha! ’Twas Pedro Crespo, the alcalde!
Hyp. Indeed! why, you astonish me! His air
Was not so full of dignity and grace
As an alcalde’s should be.
P. Cura. That is true.
He’s out of humor with some vagrant gipsies,
That have their camp here in the neighborhood.
There’s nothing so undignified as anger.
Hyp. The Padre Cura will excuse our boldness,
If from his well-known hospitality
We crave a lodging for the night.
P. Cura. I pray you!
You do me honor! I am but too happy
To have such guests beneath my humble roof.
It is not often that I have occasion
To speak with scholars; and Emollit mores,
Nec sinit esse feros, Cicero says.
Hyp. ’Tis Ovid, is it not?
P. Cura. No, Cicero.
Hyp. Your grace is right. You are the better scholar.
Now what a dunce was I to say ’twas Ovid.
But hang me if it is not! (Aside.)
P. Cura. Pass this way.
He was a very great man, was Cicero!
Pray you, go in, go in! no ceremony. [Exeunt.
Scene III.—A room in the Padre Cura’s house. Enter the Padre and Hypolito.
P. Cura. So then, Señor, you come from Alcalá.
I’m glad to hear it. It was there I studied.
Hyp. And left behind an honored name, no doubt.
How may I call your grace?
P. Cura. Gerónimo
De Santillana; at your honor’s service.
Hyp. Descended from the Marquis Santillana?
From the distinguished poet?
P. Cura. From the marquis,
Not from the poet.
Hyp. Why, they were the same.
Let me embrace you! O some lucky star
Has brought me hither! Yet once more—once more.
(Embraces him violently.)
Your name is ever green in Alcalá,
And our professor, when we are unruly,
Will shake his hoary head, and say; Alas!
It was not so in Santillana’s time!
P. Cura. I did not think my name remember’d there.
Hyp. More than remember’d; it is idolized.
P. Cura. Of what professor speak you?
Hyp. Timoneda.
P. Cura. I don’t remember any Timoneda.
Hyp. A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow
O’erhangs the rushing current of his speech
As rocks o’er rivers hang. Have you forgotten?
P. Cura. Indeed, I have. O those were pleasant days,
Those college days! I ne’er shall see the like!
I had not buried then so many hopes!
I had not buried then so many friends!
I’ve turn’d my back on what was then before me;
And the bright faces of my young companions
Are wrinkled like mine own, or are no more.
Do you remember Cueva?
Hyp. Cueva? Cueva?
P. Cura. Fool that I am! He was before your time.
You are mere boys, and I am an old man.
Hyp. I should not like to try my strength with you.
P. Cura. Well, well. But I forget; you must be hungry.
Martina! ho! Martina! ’Tis my niece;
A daughter of my sister. What! Martina!
(Enter Martina.)
Hyp. You may be proud of such a niece as that.
I wish I had a niece. Emollit mores! (Aside.)
He was a very great man, was Cicero!
Your servant, fair Martina.
Mar. Servant, sir.
P. Cura. This gentleman is hungry. See thou to it.
Let us have supper.
Mar. ’Twill be ready soon.
P. Cura. And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Peñas
Out of the cellar. Stay; I’ll go myself.
Pray you, Señor, excuse me. [Exit.
Hyp. (beckoning off.) Hist! Martina!
One word with you. Bless me! what handsome eyes!
To-day there have been gipsies in the village.
Is it not so?
Mar. There have been gipsies here.
Hyp. Yes, and they told your fortune.
Mar. (embarrassed.) Told my fortune?
Hyp. Yes, yes; I know they did. Give me your hand.
I’ll tell you what they said. They said—they said,
The shepherd boy that loved you was a clown,
And him you should not marry. Was it not?
Mar. (surprised.) How know you that?
Hyp. O I know more than that.
What a soft little hand! And then they said
A cavalier from court, handsome and tall,
And rich, should come one day to marry you.
And you should be a lady. Was it not?
Mar. (withdrawing her hand.) How know you that?
Hyp. O I know more than that.
He has arrived, the handsome cavalier. (Tries to kiss her.
She runs off.)
(Enter Victorian, with a letter.)
Vic. The muleteer has come.
Hyp. So soon?
Vic. I found him
Sitting at supper by the tavern door,
And from a pitcher, that he held aloft
His whole arm’s length, drinking the blood-red wine.
Hyp. What news from court?
Vic. He brought this letter only. (Reads.)
O cursed perfidy! Why did I let
That lying tongue deceive me! Preciosa,
Sweet Preciosa! how art thou avenged?
Hyp. What news is this, that makes thy cheek turn pale,
And thy hand tremble?
Vic. O, most infamous!
The Count of Lara is a damnéd villain!
Hyp. That is no news, forsooth.
Vic. He strove in vain
To steal from me the jewel of my soul,
The love of Preciosa. Not succeeding,
He swore to be revenged; and set on foot
A plot to ruin her, which has succeeded.
She has been hissed and hooted from the stage,
Her reputation stained by slanderous lies
Too foul to speak of; and once more a beggar
She roams a wanderer over God’s green earth,
Housing with gipsies!
Hyp. To renew again
The Age of Gold, and make the shepherd swains
Desperate with love, like Gaspar Gil’s Diana.
Redit et Virgo!
Vic. Dear Hypolito,
How have I wronged that meek, confiding heart!
I will go seek for her; and with my tears
Wash out the wrong I’ve done her!
Hyp. O beware!
Act not that folly o’er again.
Vic. Aye, folly,
Delusion, madness, call it what thou wilt,
I will confess my weakness—I still love her!
Still fondly love her!
(Enter the Padre Cura.)
Hyp. Tell us, Padre Cura,
Who are these gipsies in the neighborhood?
P. Cura. Beltran Cruzado and his crew.
Vic. Kind Heaven,
I thank thee! She is found again! is found!
Hyp. And have they with them a pale, beautiful girl
Called Preciosa?
P. Cura. Aye, a pretty girl.
The gentleman seems moved.
Hyp. Yes, moved with hunger;
He is half famished with this long day’s journey.
P. Cura. Then, pray you, come this way. The supper waits. [Exeunt.
Scene IV.—A post-house on the road to Segovia, not far from the village of El Pardillo. Enter Chispa cracking a whip, and singing the Cachucha.
Chis. Halloo! the post-house! Let us have horses! and quickly. Alas, poor Chispa! what a dog’s life dost thou lead! I thought when I left my old master Victorian, the student, to serve my new master Don Carlos, the gentleman, that I too should lead the life of a gentleman; should go to bed early, and get up late. But in running away from the thunder I have run into the lightning. Here I am in hot chase after my old master and his gipsy girl. And a good beginning of the week it is, as he said who was hanged on Monday morning.
(Enter Don Carlos.)
Don C. Are not the horses ready yet?
Chis. I should think not, for the hostler seems to be asleep. Ho! within there! Horses! horses! horses!
(He knocks at the gate with his whip, and enter Mosquito, putting on his jacket.)
Mos. Pray have a little patience. I’m not a musket.
Chis. I’m glad to see you come on dancing, padre! Pray, what’s the news?
Mos. You cannot have fresh horses; because there are none.
Chis. Cachiporra! Throw that bone to another dog. Do I look like your aunt?
Mos. No; she has a beard.
Chis. Go to! go to!
Mos. Are you from Madrid?
Chis. Yes; and going to Estramadura. Get us horses.
Mos. What’s the news at court?
Chis. Why, the latest news is that I am going to set up a coach, and, as you see, I have already bought the whip. (Strikes him round the legs.)
Mos. Oh! oh! you hurt me!
Don C. Enough of this folly. Let us have horses. (Gives money to Mosquito.) It is almost dark; and we are in haste. But tell me, has a band of gipsies passed this way of late?
Mos. Yes; and they are still in the neighborhood.
Don C. And where?
Mos. Across the fields yonder, in the woods near El Pardillo. [Exit.
Don C. Now this is lucky. We’ll turn aside and visit the gipsy camp.
Chis. Are you not afraid of the evil eye? Have you a stag’s horn with you?
Don C. Fear not. We will pass the night at the village.
Chis. And sleep like the squires of Hernan Daza, nine under one blanket.
Don C. I hope we may find the Preciosa among them.
Chis. Among the squires?
Don C. No; among the gipsies, blockhead!
Chis. I hope we may; for we are giving ourselves trouble enough on her account. Don’t you think so? However, there is no catching trout without wetting one’s trowsers. Yonder come the horses. [Exeunt.
Scene V.—The gipsy camp in the forest. Night. Gipsies working at a forge. Others playing cards by the fire light.
Gipsies at the forge sing.
On the top of a mountain I stand,
With a crown of red gold in my hand,
Wild Moors come trooping over the lea,
Oh how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee?
O how from their fury shall I flee?
First Gip. (playing.) Down with your John-Dorados, my pigeon. Down with your John-Dorados, and let us make an end.
Gipsies at the forge sing.
Loud sang the Spanish cavalier,
And thus his ditty ran;
God send the gipsy lassie here,
And not the gipsy man.
First Gip. (playing.) There you are in your morocco!
Second Gip. One more game. The alcalde’s doves against the Padre Cura’s new moon.
First Gip. Have at you, Chirelin.
Gipsies at the forge sing.
At midnight, when the moon began
To show her silver flame,
There came to him no gipsy man,
The gipsy lassie came.
(Enter Beltran Cruzado.)
Cruz. Come hither, Murcigalleros and Rostilleros; leave work, leave play; listen to your orders for the night. (Speaking to the right.) You will get you to the village, mark you, by the Cross of Espalmado.
Gip. Aye!
Cruz. (to the left.) And you, by the pole with the hermit’s head upon it.
Gip. Aye!
Cruz. As soon as you see the planets are out, in with you, and be busy with the ten commandments, under the sly, and Saint Martin asleep. D’ye hear?
Gip. Aye!
Cruz. Keep your lanterns open, and if you see a goblin or a papagage, take to your trampers. Vineyards and Dancing John is the word. Am I comprehended?
Gip. Aye! aye!
Cruz. Away, then!
(Exeunt severally. Cruzado walks up the stage, and disappears among the trees. Enter Preciosa.)
Pre. How strangely gleams through the gigantic trees
The red light of the forge! Wild, beckoning shadows
Stalk through the forest, ever and anon
Rising and bending with the bickering flame,
Then flitting into darkness! So within me
Strange hopes and fears do beckon to each other,
My brightest hopes giving dark fears a being
As the light does the shadow. Wo is me!
How still it is about me, and how lonely!
All holy angels keep me in this hour;
Spirit of her, who bore me, look upon me;
Mother of God, the glorified, protect me;
Christ and the saints, be merciful unto me!
(Enter Victorian and Hypolito behind.)
Vic. ’Tis she! Behold how beautiful she stands
Under the tent-like trees!
Hyp. A woodland nymph!
Vic. I pray thee, stand aside. Leave me.
Hyp. Be wary.
Do not betray thyself too soon.
Vic. (disguising his voice.) Hist! gipsy!
Pre. (aside, with emotion.) That voice!—that voice! O speak—O speak again!
Who is it that calls?
Vic. A friend.
Pre. (aside.) ’Tis he! ’Tis he!
Now, heart, be strong! I must dissemble here.
False friend or true?
Vic. A true friend to the true.
Fear not; come hither. So; can you tell fortunes?
Pre. Not in the dark. Come nearer to the fire.
Give me your hand. It is not cross’d, I see.
Vic. (putting a piece of gold in her hand.) There is the cross.
Pre. Is’t silver?
Vic. No, ’tis gold.
Pre. There’s a fair lady at the court, who loves you,
And for yourself alone.
Vic. Fie! the old story!
Tell me a better fortune for my gold;
Not this old woman’s tale!
Pre. You’re passionate;
And this same passionate humor in your blood
Has marred your fortune. Yes; I see it now;
The line of life is crossed by many marks.
Shame! shame! O you have wronged the maid who loved you!
How could you do’t?
Vic. I never loved a maid;
For she I loved, was then a maid no more.
Pre. How know you that?
Vic. A little bird in the air
Whispered the secret.
Pre. There, take back your gold!
Your hand is cold, like a deceiver’s hand!
There is no blessing in its charity!
Make her your wife, for you have been abused;
And you shall mend your fortunes, mending hers.
Vic. (aside.) How like an angel’s, speaks the tongue of woman,
When pleading in another’s cause her own!—
That is a pretty ring upon your finger.
Pray give it me. (Tries to take the ring.)
Pre. No; never from my hand
Shall that be taken!
Vic. Why, ’tis but a ring.
I’ll give it back to you; or, if I keep it,
Will give you gold to buy you twenty such.
Pre. Why would you have this ring?
Vic. A traveler’s fancy—
A whim, and nothing more. I would fain keep it
As a memento of the gipsy camp
In El Pardillo, and the fortune-teller,
Who sent me back to wed a widow’d maid.
Pray, let me have the ring.
Pre. No—never! never!
I will not part with it, even when I die;
But bid my nurse fold my pale fingers thus,
That it may not fall from them. ’Tis a token
Of a beloved friend, who is no more.
Vic. How? dead?
Pre. Yes; dead to me; and worse than dead.
He is estrang’d! And yet I keep this ring.
I will rise with it from my grave hereafter,
To prove to him that I was never false.
Vic. (aside.) Be still, my swelling heart! one moment still!
Why ’tis the folly of a love-sick girl.
Come, give it me, or I will say ’tis mine,
And that you stole it.
Pre. O you will not dare
To utter such a fiendish lie!
Vic. Not dare?
Look in my face, and say if there is aught
I have not dared, I would not dare for thee!
(She rushes into his arms.)
Pre. ’Tis thou! ’tis thou! Yes; yes; my heart’s elected!
My dearest-dear Victorian! my soul’s heaven!
Where hast thou been so long! Why didst thou leave me?
Vic. Ask me not now, my dearest Preciosa.
Let me forget we ever have been parted!
Pre. Hadst thou not come—
Vic. I pray thee do not chide me!
Pre. I should have perished here among these gipsies.
Vic. Forgive me, sweet! for what I made thee suffer.
Think’st thou this heart could feel a moment’s joy,
Thou being absent? O believe it not!
Indeed since that sad hour I have not slept
For thinking of the wrong I did to thee!
Dost thou forgive me? Say, wilt thou forgive me!
Pre. I have forgiven thee. Ere those words of anger
Were in the book of Heaven writ down against thee
I had forgiven thee.
Vic. I’m the veriest fool
That walks the earth, to have believed thee false.
It was the Count of Lara—
Pre. That bad man
Has worked me harm enough. Hast thou not heard—
Vic. I have heard all.
Pre. May Heaven forgive him for it!
Hyp. (coming forward.) All gentle quarrels in the pastoral poets;
All passionate love scenes in the best romances;
All chaste embraces on the public stage;
All soft adventures, which the liberal stars
Have wink’d at, as the natural course of things,
Have been surpass’d here by my friend the student
And this sweet gipsy lass, fair Preciosa!
Pre. Señor Hypolito! I kiss your hand.
Pray shall I tell your fortune?
Hyp. Not to-night;
For should you treat me as you did Victorian,
And send me back to marry forlorn damsels,
My wedding day would last from now till Christmas.
Chis. (within.) What ho! the gipsies, ho! Beltran Cruzado!
Halloo! halloo! halloo! halloo!
(Enter booted, with a whip and lantern.)
Vic. What now?
Why such a fearful din? Hast thou been robbed?
Chis. Ay, robbed and murdered; and good evening to you,
My worthy masters.
Vic. Speak; what brings thee here?
Chis. Good news from court; good news! Fair Preciosa,
These letters are for you. Beltran Cruzado,
The Count of the Calés, is not your father,
But your true father has returned to Spain
Laden with wealth. You are no more a gipsy.
Vic. Strange as a Moorish tale!
Chis. And we have all
Been drinking at the tavern to your health,
As wells drink in November, when it rains.
Pre. (having read the letters.) Is this a dream? O, if it be a dream
Let me sleep on, and do not wake me yet!
Repeat thy story! Say I’m not deceived!
Say that I do not dream! I am awake;
This is the gipsy camp; this is Victorian,
And this his friend, Hypolito! Speak—speak!
Let me not wake and find it all a dream!
Vic. It is a dream, sweet child! a waking dream,
A blissful certainty—a vision bright
Of that rare happiness, which even on earth
Heaven gives to those it loves. Now art thou rich
As thou wert ever beautiful and good;
And I am the poor beggar.
Pre. (giving him her hand.) I have still
A hand to give.
Chis. (aside.) And I have two to take.
I’ve heard my grandmother say, that Heaven gives almonds
To those who have no teeth. That’s nuts to crack.
I’ve teeth to spare, but where shall I find almonds?—
Your friend Don Carlos is now at the village
Showing to Pedro Crespo, the alcalde,
The proofs of what I tell you. The old hag,
Who stole you in your childhood, has confess’d;
And probably they’ll hang her for the crime,
To make the celebration more complete.
Vic. No; let it be a day of general joy;
Fortune comes well to all, that comes not late.
Now let us join Don Carlos.
Hyp. So farewell
The Student’s wandering life! Sweet serenades,
Sung under ladies’ windows in the night,
And all that makes vacation beautiful!
To you, ye cloister’d shades of Alcalá,
To you, ye radiant visions of Romance,
Written in books, but here surpass’d by truth,
The Bachelor Hypolito returns
And leaves the gipsy with the Spanish Student.
THE END.