Car. No, señora, I speak as I think, and that’s what gives me much pain and makes me quick at finding fault. You fondle me and love me, as if you were my own mother, now that I no longer have one. You watch over our love—the love of Lazarus and myself. I am sure you tell Lazarus that I am this and that—in short, a prodigy. And you swear to me that Lazarus is mad for the love of his Carmen. But is all this true? Can it be so? Am I worthy of Lazarus? Can such a man as he feel the passion which you describe to me for a poor creature like myself?
Dol. Come, now—I shall get vexed. Don’t say such things. Why, have you never looked into the glass?
Car. Yes, many times—every day.
Dol. And what does the glass tell you?
Car. That I am very pale, that I am very thin, that I have very sad eyes, and that I rather resemble a mother of sorrows than a girl of eighteen. That’s what it tells me, and it causes me a rather unpleasant feeling.
Dol. There are very malevolent mirrors, and yours is one of them. (In a comic tone.) They take the form of boats to give us long faces; they get blurred to make us pale; they become stained to sow freckles all over our skins; and they commit every kind of wickedness. Yours is a criminal looking-glass; I’ll send you one in which you may see what you are, and you shall see an angel gazing through a tiny window of crystal.
Car. Yes. (Laughs.) But even if I were the most beautiful woman in the world, could I be worthy of Lazarus? A man like him! A future such as his! A talent which all admire. Nay, a superior being. I love him much; but it makes me afraid and ashamed that he should know that I love him so much. I feel as if he were going to say to me: “But who are you, you little simpleton? Have you imagined that I am meant for an unsubstantial, ignorant, sickly little thing like you?” (Sadly and humbly.)
Dol. Well, Carmen, if you don’t wish to make me angry, you will not talk such folly. A good woman is worth more than all the learned men of all the Academies. And if, as well as being good, she is pretty, then—then there’s an end, there is no man who is worthy of her. Men, with the exception of Lazarus, are either mean-spirited wretches or heartless devils. (In a rancorous tone.)
Car. Well, papa is very good, and is very fond of me.
Dol. Ah, yes—a very good person. But, if he had been so fond of you, he would have done better to give you stronger lungs.