As a farther specimen of Molina's style, we subjoin the following translation. The lover and his friend Pastrana, a man full of dry caustic wit, are present at a bull-fight. The following dialogue ensues:—
Pastrana.—Think not to see me at the bull-fight here,
Unless indeed upon the platform perched,
Or looking from a window.
Felip.—Friend Pastrana,
That is a woman's post, and not a man's,
Unless he's wool and water. Let us dare
What fate may bring us, so may we acquire
Perchance eternal blazon and renown.
Pastrana.—No, brother; death sits on the pointed horn.
Felip.—Talk not so fondly; but that well I know
Your lofty spirit and your courage tried,
I'd call it cowardice.
Pastrana.—I give you leave.
Call my resolve by any name you please,
So long as we remain no longer here.
Felip.—And can it be that you, who swallow men,
Now tremble at a beast?
Pastrana.—'Tis true, indeed.
Wonder at my opinion as you may,
To fight with two men, or with three men, oft
Is valour rather than temerity.
Since courtesy or valour furnish means
Of safety—and much more the cunning art
Taught by Cararvza of the dextrous thrust,
Strait or oblique—the science of revenge.
Then one may say, if one is hardly pressed,
"Sir, my experience shows me, that your worship
Is an epitome of human valour;
So I will never haunt this street again,
Nor speak with Donna Mencia any more.
And if you will accept me as a friend,
My services attend you from this day."
Words soft as these control a gentleman—
Money the robber. If your foe be brave,
He must to greater pride and courage yield.
In short, there's always hope, however fierce
His wrath and keen his passion for revenge,
To soothe the fury of the incensed man,
If he be one whom gold or breeding win.
But when a bull has rent your cloak to shreds,
And bellows at the shoulders of its owner,
In hot pursuit—then try your time—advance,
And whisper in the yelling monster's ear,
"Sir Bull, a gentle bearing sets off valour—
Put some restraint upon your boiling rage.
Indeed, that constant tossing of the head
Can only suit a madman or a fool."
And you will see the fruit of your advice.
Offer your friendship to him, turn your head,
You'll find the light at once shine through your back,
Through two clear holes, each half a yard in length.
But the most popular play of this great writer, and one which is always received with the most rapturous applause, is Gil de las Calzas Verdes, (Gil of the Green Trousers.) A lady has been abandoned by her lover for a rich beauty of Madrid. She calls herself Don Gil—follows him thither, dresses herself in male attire, of which the green trousers are the most conspicuous part—torments him with letters from the convent where he supposes her to be, describing her suffering, her illness, and at last her death; interrupts his remittances, destroys his credit, carries off his mistress, who falls desperately in love with her; thwarts him at every turn; obliges him to believe that he is really haunted by the ghost of her whom he has wronged; and at last causes him to be arrested for her murder. The rage, amazement, confusion, repentance and despair of the faithless lover are portrayed in the most brilliant colours. Do what he will, mean what he will, attempt what he will, Gil of the Green Trousers, though invisible, has been beforehand with him. He goes to his bankers: the check is paid to Don Gil of the Green Trousers. He endeavours to mislead his intended father-in-law: the plot is unravelled by Don Gil of the Green Trousers. He tries to soften his mistress: she raves of nothing but Don Gil of the Green Trousers. As Don Gil is so successful with his green trousers, other suitors of the Madrid lady dress in green trousers, and assume his name in the dark under her window. There are at one time four persons in the street, each calling himself Gil with the Green Trousers. The faithless suitor of the true Gil is one of them. His rival challenges him; but no sooner does the challenged see the fatal garment, than his conscience smites him, and he addresses his furious rival as the ghost of his injured mistress.
"O soul most innocent! by that sweet love
Which once thou cherished for me, and which now
Delights my memory, I charge thee, rest
My punishment, thy rigour, are complete
If haply to disturb my present love,
Thou hast assumed a body here on earth,
And at Madrid calling thyself Don Gil,
In such attire, and bearing such a name,
Dost meditate to wreak revenge on me,