ACT THE SECOND.

Scene I.—Preciosa’s Chamber. Morning. Preciosa and Angelica.

Pre. Why will you go so soon? Stay yet awhile.

The poor too often turn away unheard

From hearts that shut against them, with a sound

That will be heard in Heaven. Pray tell me more

Of your adversities. Keep nothing from me.

What is your landlord’s name?

Ang. The Count of Lara.

Pre. The Count of Lara? O beware that man!

Mistrust his pity—hold no parley with him!

And rather die an outcast in the streets

Than touch his gold.

Ang. You know him, then!

Pre. As much

As any woman may, and yet be pure.

As you would keep your name without a blemish,

Beware of him!

Ang. Alas! what can I do?

I cannot choose my friends. Each word of kindness,

Come whence it may, is welcome to the poor.

Pre. Make me your friend. A girl so young and fair

Should have no friends, but those of her own sex.

What is your name?

Ang. Angelica.

Pre. That name

Was given you, that you might be an angel

To her who bore you! When your infant smile

Made her home Paradise, you were her angel.

O be an angel still. She needs that smile.

So long as you are innocent, fear nothing.

No one can harm you! I am a poor girl,

Whom chance has taken from the public streets.

I have no other shield than my own virtue.

That is the charm which has protected me!

Amid a thousand perils, I have worn it

Here in my heart! It is my guardian angel!

Ang. (rising.) I thank you for this counsel, dearest lady!

Pre. Thank me by following it.

Ang. Indeed I will.

Pre. Pray do not go. I have much more to say.

Ang. My mother is alone. I dare not leave her.

Pre. Some other time, then, when we meet again.

You must not go away with words alone. (Gives her a purse.)

Take this. Would it were more.

Ang. I thank you, lady.

Pre. No thanks. To-morrow come to me again.

I dance to-night—perhaps for the last time.

But what I gain, I promise shall be yours,

If that can save you from the Count of Lara.

Ang. O my dear lady! how shall I be grateful

For so much kindness!

Pre. I deserve no thanks.

Thank Heaven, not me.

Ang. Both Heaven and you.

Pre. Farewell!

Remember that you come again to-morrow.

Ang. I will. And may the blessed Virgin guard you,

And all good angels. [Exit.

Pre. May they guard thee too,

And all the poor: for they have need of angels.

Now bring me here, dear Dolores, my basquiña,

My richest maja dress—my dancing dress,

And my most precious jewels! Make me look

Fairer than night e’er saw me! I’ve a prize

To win this day, worthy of Preciosa!

Enter Beltram Cruzado.

Cruz. Ave Maria!

Pre. Oh God! my evil genius!

What seek you here to-day?

Cruz. Thyself—my child.

Pre. What is thy will with me?

Cruz. Gold!—gold!

Pre. I gave thee yesterday; I have no more.

Cruz. The gold of the Busné—give me his gold!

Pre. I gave the last in charity to-day.

Cruz. That is a foolish lie.

Pre. It is the truth.

Cruz. Curses upon thee! Thou art not my child!

Hast thou given gold away, and not to me?

Not to thy father? To whom, then?

Pre. To one

Who needs it more.

Cruz. No one can need it more,

No one so much as I.

Pre. Thou art not poor.

Cruz. Not poor! not poor! what, I who lurk about

In dismal suburbs and unwholesome lanes;

I who am housed worse than the galley slave;

I who am fed worse than the kenneled hound;

I who am clothed in rags—Beltram Cruzado⁠—

Not poor!

Pre. Thou hast a stout heart and strong hands.

Thou canst supply thy wants; what wouldst thou more?

Cruz. The gold of the Busné!—give me his gold!

Pre. Beltram Cruzado! hear me once for all.

I speak the truth. So long as I had gold,

I gave it to thee freely, at all times⁠—

Never denied thee; never had a wish

But to fulfill thine own. Now go in peace!

Be merciful—be patient—and, ere long,

Thou shalt have more.

Cruz. And if I have it not,

Thou shall no longer dwell here in rich chambers,

Wear silken dresses, feed on dainty food,

And live in idleness; but go with me⁠—

Dance the romalis in the public streets,

And wander wild again o’er field and fell;

For here we stay not long.

Pre. What! march again?

Cruz. Aye, with all speed. I hate the crowded town!

I cannot breathe, shut up within its gates!

Air—I want air—and sunshine—and blue sky,

The feeling of the breeze upon my face⁠—

The feeling of the turf beneath my feet,

And no walls but the far-off mountain tops.

Then I am free and strong—once more myself:

Beltram Cruzado—Count of the Calés!

Pre. God speed thee on thy march—I cannot go.

Cruz. Not go!—thou shall go! or, remaining here,

Purchase thy freedom with red gold. Mark that!

I will return to-morrow. Until then

Reflect on what I say. Thou knowest me⁠—

Take heed. [Exit.

Pre. Alas! of what shall I take heed?

I have a strange misgiving in my heart!

But that one deed of charity I’ll do,

Befall what may; they cannot take that from me. [Exit.

Scene II.—A room in the Archbishop’s Palace. The Archbishop and a Cardinal seated.

Arch. Knowing how near it touched the public morals,

And that our age is grown corrupt and rotten

By such excesses, we have sent to Rome,

Beseeching that his Holiness would aid

In curing the gross surfeit of the time,

By seasonable stop put here in Spain

To bull-fights and lewd dances on the stage.

All this you know.

Car. Know and approve.

Arch. And farther,

That by a mandate from his Holiness

The first have been suppressed.

Car. I trust forever.

It was a cruel sport.

Arch. A barbarous pastime,

Disgraceful to the land that calls itself

Most Catholic and Christian.

Car. Yet the people

Murmur at this; and if the public dances

Should be condemn’d upon too slight occasion,

Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure.

As Panem et Circenses was the cry

Among the Roman populace of old,

So Pan y Toros is the cry in Spain.

Hence I would act advisedly herein;

And therefore have induced your grace to see

These national dances, ere we interdict them.

Enter a Servant.

Servant. The dancing girl, and with her the musicians

Your grace was pleased to order, wait without.

Arch. Bid them come in. Now shall your eyes behold

In what angelic yet voluptuous shape

The devil came to tempt Saint Anthony.

Enter Preciosa, with a mantilla thrown over her head. She advances slowly, in a modest, half-timid attitude.

Car. (aside.) O what a fair and ministering angel

Was lost to Heaven, when this sweet woman fell!

Pre. (kneeling before the Archbishop.) I have obeyed the order of your grace.

If I intrude upon your better hours,

I proffer this excuse, and here beseech

Your holy benediction.

Arch. May God bless thee,

And lead thee to a better life. Arise.

Car. (aside.) Her acts are modest, and her words discreet!

I did not look for this! Come hither, child.

Is thy name Preciosa?

Pre. Thus I am called.

Car. That is a gipsy name. Who is thy father?

Pre. Beltram Cruzado, Count of the Calés.

Arch. I have a dim remembrance of that man;

A bold and reckless character was he,

Who never once beheld the face of fear.

Car. Dost thou remember still thy earlier days?

Pre. In the green woodlands by the Darro’s side,

My childhood passed. I can remember still

The river, and the mountains capped with snow;

The villages, where yet a little child

I told the traveller’s fortune in the street;

The smuggler’s horse, the brigand and the shepherd;

The march across the moor; the halt at noon;

The red fire of the evening camp, that lighted

The forest where we slept; and, further back,

As in a dream or in some former life,

Gardens and palace walls.

Arch. ’Tis the Alhambra,

Under whose walls the gipsy camp was pitch’d.

But the time wears; and we would see thee dance.

Pre. Your grace shall be obeyed.

(She lays aside her mantilla. The music of the Cachucha is played, and the dance begins. The Archbishop and the Cardinal look on with gravity and an occasional frown; then make signs to each other; and, as the dance continues, become more and more pleased and excited; and at length rise from their seats, throw their caps in the air, and applaud vehemently as the scene closes.)

Scene II.—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. Halloo! 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 have risen?

Don C. 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 the 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 keep-sake.

Don C. No, ’tis at your service.

Hyp. Thank you again. Lie there, good Saint 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.

He is in love.

Don C. And is it faring ill

To be in love?

Hyp. 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; on echo of his heart;

And like a lily on a river floating

She floats upon the river of his thoughts!

Don C. A common case 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? Speak!

Hyp. Who do you think it is?

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?

Hyp. 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.

Pray stand this way, and let the dreamer pass.

(Enter Victorian in front.)

Vic. 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. [Exit.

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? [Exeunt.

Scene III.—Preciosa’s chamber. She is sitting near a table, working a scarf. A bird singing in its cage. The Count of Lara enters behind unperceived.

Pre. Thou little prisoner in a motley coat,

That from thy vaulted, wiry dungeon singest,

Like thee I am a captive. In my cage

Imprisoned, bound with silken bands I stay,

And my heart sings in its captivity.

Would’st thou away? Is a grass-woven nest,

That swings among green boughs, a better home?

My cradle swung under the swinging forest,

As well as thine. We will go back together.

Dolores!

(Turning to lay her work down, perceives the Count.)

Ha!

Lara. Fair lady, pardon me!

Pre. How’s this? Dolores!

Lara. Pardon me—

Pre. Dolores!

Lara. Be not alarmed; I found no one in waiting.

If I have been too bold—

Pre. (turning her back upon him.) You are too bold!

Retire! retire, and leave me!

Lara. My dear lady,

First hear me! I beseech you, let me speak!

’Tis for your good I come.

Pre. (turning towards him with indignation.) Begone! begone!

What means this outrage? What gives you the right

Thus to insult an unprotected woman?

You are the Count of Lara, but your deeds

Would make the statues of your ancestors

Blush on their tombs! Is it Castilian honor

To outrage thus the honor of a maid?

Is it Castilian pride to steal in here

Upon a friendless girl, to do her wrong?

O shame! shame! shame! that you, a nobleman,

Should have so base a soul!

Lara. I pray you, hear me!

Pre. Should be so little noble in your thoughts

As to send jewels here to win my love,

And think to buy my honor with your gold

As you would buy food in the market place!

I have no words to tell you how I scorn you!

Begone! The sight of you is hateful to me!

Begone, I say!

Lara. Be calm; I will not harm you.

Pre. Because you dare not.

Lara. I dare anything!

Therefore beware! You are deceived in me.

In this false world we do not always know

Who are our friends and who our enemies.

We all have enemies, and all need friends.

Even you, fair Preciosa, here at court,

Have foes, who seek to wrong you.

Pre. If to this

I owe the honor of the present visit,

You might have spared the coming. Having spoken,

Once more, I beg you, leave me to myself.

Lara. I thought it but a friendly part to tell you

What strange reports are current here in town.

For my own self I do not credit them;

But there are many who, not knowing you,

Will lend a readier ear.

Pre. There was no need

That you should take upon yourself the duty

Of telling me these tales.

Lara. Malicious tongues

Are ever busy with your name.

Pre. (in some agitation.) Alas!

I’ve no protectors here. I’m a poor girl,

Exposed to insults and unfeeling jests.

They wound me, yet I cannot shield myself.

I give no cause for these reports. I live

Retired; am visited by none.

Lara. By none?

O then indeed you are much wrong’d.

Pre. How mean you?

Lara. Nay, nay; I will not wound your gentle soul

By the report of idle tales.

Pre. Speak out!

What are these idle tales? You need not spare me.

Lara. I will deal frankly with you. Pardon me;

This window, as I think, looks towards the street,

And this into the Prado, does it not?

In yon high house, beyond the garden wall⁠—

You see the roof there just above the trees⁠—

There lives a friend, who told me yesterday,

That on a certain night—be not offended

If I too plainly speak—he saw a man

Climb to your chamber window. You are silent!

I would not blame you, being young and fair⁠—

(He tries to take her hand. She starts back and draws a dagger from her bosom.)

Pre. Beware! beware! I am a gipsy girl!

Lay not your hand upon me. One step nearer

And I will strike!

Lara. Pray you put up that dagger.

Fear not.

Pre. I do not fear. I have a heart

In whose strength I can trust!

Lara. Listen to me.

I come here as your friend—I am your friend⁠—

And by a single word, can put a stop

To all those idle tales, and make your name

As spotless as the falling snow.

(Victorian enters behind.)

I love you,

Fair Preciosa! and will save your honor!

Give me some sign I do not love in vain!

Give me some token—but one word of promise⁠—

Let me but kiss your hand!

Pre. Avaunt! avaunt!

O save me from this demon!

(Rushes towards Victorian, who repulses her.)

Vic. Count of Lara!

What means this outrage?

Lara. First, what right have you

To question thus a nobleman of Spain?

Vic. I too am noble, and you are no more!

Out of my sight!

Lara. Are you the master here?

Vic. Aye, here and elsewhere, where the wrong of others

Gives me the right!

Pre. (to Lara.) Go! I beseech you, go!

Vic. I shall have business with you, count, anon!

Lara. You cannot come too soon! [Exit.

Pre. Victorian!

O we have been betray’d!

Vic. Ha! ha! betrayed!

’Tis I have been betrayed, not we!—not we!

Pre. Dost thou imagine—

Vic. I imagine nothing;

I see how ’tis thou whilest the time away

When I am gone!

Pre. O speak not in that tone!

It wounds me deeply.

Vic. ’Twas not meant to flatter.

Pre. Too well thou knowest the presence of that man

Is hateful to me!

Vic. Yet I saw thee stand

And listen to him, when he told his love.

Pre. Indeed, I heard him not.

Vic. Indeed thou did’st!

Pre. Such base suspicions are unworthy of thee!

Cast them away. Be not so angry with me.

Vic. I am not angry; I am very calm.

Pre. If thou wilt let me speak⁠—

Vic. Nay, say no more.

I know too much already. Thou art false!

I do not like these gipsy marriages!

Where is the ring I gave thee?

Pre. In my casket.

Vic. There let it rest! I would not have thee wear it!

I thought thee spotless, and thou art polluted!

Pre. I call the Heavens to witness⁠—

Vic. Nay, nay, nay!

Take not the name of Heaven upon thy lips!

They are forsworn!

Pre. Victorian! dear Victorian!

Vic. I gave up all for thee; myself, my fame,

My hopes of fortune, aye, my very soul!

And thou hast been my ruin! Now, go on!

Laugh at my folly with thy paramour,

And sitting on the Count of Lara’s knee,

Say what a poor, fond fool Victorian was!

(He casts her from him and rushes out.)

Scene IV.—The Count of Lara’s rooms. Enter the Count.

Lara. There’s nothing in this world so sweet as love,

And next to love the sweetest thing is hate!

I’ve learned to hate, and therefore am revenged.

A silly girl to play the prude with me!

The fire that I have kindled⁠—

(Enter Francisco.)

Well, Francisco,

What tidings from Don Juan?

Fran. Good, my lord;

He will be present.

Lara. And the Duke of Lermos?

Fran. He was not in.

Lara. How with the rest?

Fran. I’ve found

The men you wanted. They will all be there,

And at the given signal raise a whirlwind

Of such discordant noises that the dance

Must cease for lack of music.

Lara. Bravely done.

Ah! little dost thou dream, sweet Preciosa,

What lies in wait for thee. Sleep shall not close

Thine eyes this night! Give me my cloak and sword.

[Exeunt.

Scene V.—A retired spot beyond the city gates. Enter Victorian and Hypolito.

Vic. Oh shame! oh shame! Why do I walk abroad

By daylight, when the very sunshine mocks me,

And voices, and familiar sights and sounds

Cry hide thyself! O what a thin partition

Doth shut out from the curious world the knowledge

Of evil deeds that have been done in darkness.

Disgrace has many tongues. My fears are windows

Through which all eyes seem gazing. Every face

Expresses some suspicion of my shame,

And in derision seems to smile at me!

Hyp. Did I not caution thee? Did I not tell thee

I was but half persuaded of her virtue?

Vic. And yet, Hypolito, we may be wrong,

We may be over-hasty in condemning!

The Count of Lara is a damnéd villain.

Hyp. And therefore is she damnéd, loving him.

Vic. She does not love him! ’Tis for gold—for gold!

Hyp. Aye, but remember, in the public streets

He shows a golden ring the gipsy gave him,

A serpent with a ruby in its mouth.

Vic. She had that ring from me! God! she is false!

But I will be revenged!

The hour is passed.

Where stays the coward?

Hyp. Nay, he is no coward;

A villain, if thou will, but not a coward.

I’ve seen him play with swords: it is his pastime.

And therefore be not over-confident,

He’ll task thy skill anon. Look, here he comes.

(Enter Lara, followed by Francisco.)

Lara. Good evening, gentlemen.

Hyp. Good evening, count.

Lara. I trust I have not kept you long in waiting?

Vic. Not long, and yet too long. Are you prepared?

Lara. I am.

Hyp. It grieves me much to see this quarrel

Between you, gentlemen. Is there no way

Left open to accord this difference,

But you must make one with your swords?

Vic. None! none!

I do intreat thee, dear Hypolito,

Stand not between me and my foe. Too long

Our tongues have spoken. Let these tongues of steel

End our debate. Upon your guard, Sir Count!

(They fight. Victorian disarms the Count.)

Vic. Your life is mine; and what shall now withhold me

From sending your vile soul to its account?

Lara. Strike! strike!

Vic. You are disarmed. I will not kill you!

I will not murder you. Take up your sword.

(Francisco hands the Count his sword, and Hypolito interposes.)

Hyp. Enough! Let it end here! The Count of Lara

Has shown himself a brave man, and Victorian

A generous one, as ever. Now be friends.

Put up your swords; for, to speak frankly to you,

Your cause of quarrel is too slight a thing

To move you to extremes.

Lara. I am content.

I sought no quarrel. A few hasty words

Spoken in the heat of blood have led to this.

Vic. Nay, something more than that.

Lara. I understand you.

Therein I did not mean to cross your path.

To me the door stood open, as to others,

But had I known the girl belonged to you

Never should I have sought to win her from you.

The truth stands now revealed; she has been false

To both of us.

Vic. Aye, false as hell itself!

Lara. In truth I did not seek her; she sought me;

And told me how to win her, telling me

The hours when she was oftenest left alone.

Vic. O cursed, cursed folly, to have loved her!

Say, can you prove this to me? O pluck out

These awful doubts, that goad me into madness!

Let me know all—all—all!

Lara. You shall know all.

Here is my page, who was the messenger

Between us. Question him. Was it not so,

Francisco?

Fran. Aye, my lord.

Lara. If farther proof

Is needful, I have here a ring she gave me.

Vic. Pray let me see that ring! It is the same!

(Throws it upon the ground and tramples upon it.)

Thus may she perish who once wore that ring!

Thus do I spurn her from me; do thus trample

Her memory in the dust! O Count of Lara,

We both have been abused, been much abused!

I thank you for your courtesy and frankness.

Though, like the surgeon’s hand, yours gave me pain,

Yet it has cured my blindness, and I thank you.

I now can see the folly I have done,

Though ’tis, alas! too late. So fare you well!

To-night I leave this hateful town forever. Once more, farewell!

Regard me as your friend.

Hyp. Farewell, Sir Count.

[Exeunt Victorian and Hypolito.

Lara. Farewell! farewell!

Thus have I cleared the field of my worst foe!

I have none else to fear; the fight is done,

The citadel is stormed, the victory won!

[Exit with Francisco.

Scene VI.—Preciosa’s bed-chamber. Midnight. She is sleeping in an arm-chair, in an undress; Dolores watching her.

Dol. Poor girl, she sleeps at last; yet hardly sleeps;

She lives her sorrows o’er again in dreams,

Doubling her grief.

Pre. I must go hence, I say!

Give me my cloak.

Dol. She murmurs in her sleep.

Pre. Go tell them that I cannot dance to-night⁠—

I am too ill. Look at me! See the fever

That burns upon my cheek. I must go hence.

I am too weak to dance. If you’re a man

You will not ask it of me.

Dol. She dreams still

Of what has passed to-night.

Pre. Did you say must?

Then by the heavens I will not. Tell them so!

Have they no feeling? I am not their slave.

I must go hence. I pray you do not harm me!

Shame—shame! to treat a feeble woman thus!

Be you but kind, I will do all things for you.

I’m ready now—give me my castañets.

Where is Victorian? Oh, those hateful lamps!

They glare upon me, like an evil eye.

I cannot stay! Hark! how they mock at me!

They hiss at me, like serpents! Save me! save me!

(She wakes.)

Dol. Alas! poor girl!

Pre. How late is it, Dolores?

Dol. It is past midnight.

Pre. And he has not come?

He will not come to-night; and yet I thought

He stood here by my side, and held my hand.

We must be patient. Smooth this pillow for me.

Thank thee.

(She sleeps again.)

END OF THE SECOND ACT.