child;

I'll tell thee a story of my wedding-day."

Of the old woman in the chimney-corner,
Her tender limbs are still, and on her breast
Who, while the pot boils, says, "Come here, my The cross she prayed to, ere she fell asleep,
Rises and fails with the soft tide of dreams,
Like a light barge safe moored.
Hyp.
Which means, in prose,
She's sleeping with her mouth a little open!
Vict. O, would I had the old magician's glass
To see her as she lies in childlike sleep!
Hyp. And wouldst thou venture?
Vict.

Vict. Nay, listen, for my heart is full; so full That I must speak.

Нур.

Alas! that heart of thine
Is like a scene in the old play; the curtain
Rises to solemn music, and lo! enter
The eleven thousand virgins of Cologne!
Vict. Nay, like the Sibyl's volumes, thou
shouldst say;

Those that remained, after the six were burned,
Being held more precious than the nine together.
But listen to my tale. Dost thou remember
The Gypsy girl we saw at Córdova
Dance the Romalis in the market-place?
Hyp. Thou meanest Preciosa.
Vict.

Ay, the same.

Thou knowest how her image haunted me
Long after we returned to Alcalá.
She's in Madrid.

In Alcalá
Vict.

O pardon me, my friend,
If I so long have kept this secret from thee;
But silence is the charm that guards such treasures,
And, if a word be spoken ere the time,
They sink again, they were not meant for us.
Hyp. Alas! alas! I see thou art in love.
Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.
It serves for food and raiment. Give a Spaniard
His mass, his olla, and his Doña Luisa—
Thou knowest the proverb. But pray tell me,
lover,

How speeds thy wooing? Is the maiden coy?
Write her a song, beginning with an Ave;
Sing as the monk sang to the Virgin Mary,

Ay, indeed I would!
Hyp. Thou art courageous.
Hast thou e'er
reflected

How much lies hidden in that one word, now?
Vict. Yes; all the awful mystery of Life!
I oft have thought, my dear Hypolito,
That could we, by some spell of magic, change
The world and its inhabitants to stone,
In the same attitudes they now are in,
What fearful glances downward might we cast
Into the hollow chasms of human life!
What groups should we behold about the death-
bed,

Putting to shame the group of Niobe!
What joyful welcomes, and what sad farewells!
What stony tears in those congealed eyes!
What visible joy or anguish in those cheeks!
What bridal pomps, and what funereal shows!
What foes, like gladiators, fierce and struggling!
What lovers with their marble lips together!

Hyp. Ay, there it is! and, if I were in love,
That is the very point I most should dread.
This magic glass, these magic spells of thine,
Might tell a tale were better left untold.
For instance, they might show us thy fair cousin,
The Lady Violante, bathed in tears

Of love and anger, like the maid of Colchis,
Whom thou, another faithless Argonaut,
Having won that golden fleece, a woman's love,
Desertest for this Glaucè.

Vict.

[Erit. Good night.

But not to bed; for I must read awhile.
(Throws himself into the arm-chair which HYPO-
LITO has left, and lays a large book open upon
his knees.)

Must read, or sit in revery and watch

The changing color of the waves that break
Upon the idle sea-shore of the mind!
Visions of Fame! that once did visit me,
Making night glorious with your smile, where
are ye?

O, who shall give me, now that ye are gone,
Juices of those immortal plants that bloom
Upon Olympus, making us immortal?

Or teach me where that wondrous mandrake grows
Whose magic root, torn from the earth with

Prec. 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.
Prec. 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

If that can save you from the Count of Lara.
Aug. O, my dear lady! how shall I be grateful
For so much kindness?
I deserve no thanks,

Thank Heaven, not me.

Remember that you come again to-morrow.
Ang. I will. And may the Blessed Virgin
guard you,
And all good angels.
[Exit.
Prec.
May they guard thee too,
And all the poor; for they have need of angels.
Now bring me, 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 BELTRAN CRUZADO.)

What seekest thou here to-day?
Cruz.

Pree. What is thy will with me?
Cruz.
Prec. I gave thee yesterday; I have no more.
The gold of the Busné,-give me his

I gave the last in charity to-day.

That is a foolish lie.

Prec.

Prec.

Cruz. Curses upon thee!

Hast thon given gold away, and not to me?
Not to thy father? To whom, then?
Who needs it more.
Prec

Cruz.

No one can need it more.
Prec. Thou art not poor.
Cruz.

In dismal suburbs and unwholesome lanes;
I, who am housed worse than the galley slave;

I, who am fed worse than the kennelled hound;
I, who am clothed in rags,-Beltran Cruzado,-
Not poor!

Prec. 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!

Prec. Beltran 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 fulfil thine own.

Now

go in peace!

Be merciful, be patient, and erelong

Thou shalt have more.

Cruz.

And if I have it not,
Thou shalt 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.
Prec.

What! march again?
Cruz. Ay, 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,
Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales!
-once more myself,
Prec. God speed thee on thy march!-I can-
not go.

Cruz. Remember who I am, and who thou art!
Be silent and obey! Yet one thing more.
Bartolomé Román-

Prec. (with emotion). O, I beseech thee
If my obedience and blameless life,
If my humility and meek submission
In all things hitherto, can move in thee
One feeling of compassion; if thou art
Indeed my father, and canst trace in me
One look of her who bore me, or one tone
That doth remind thee of her, let it plead
In my behalf, who am a feeble girl,
Too feeble to resist, and do not force me
To wed that man! I am afraid of him!
I do not love him! On my knees I beg thee
To use no violence, nor do in haste
What cannot be undone !

Cruz.

Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird
O child, child, child!
Betrays her nest, by striving to conceal it.
I will not leave thee here in the great city
To be a grandee's mistress. Make thee ready

To

go with us; and until then remember A watchful eye is on thee.

Prec.

[Exit. Woe is me!

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.

Card.

51

I trust forever.

It was a cruel sport.
Disgraceful to the land that calls itself
Arch.
Most Catholic and Christian.
Curd.

A barbarous pastime,

Yet the people

Should be condemned upon too slight occasion,
Murmur at this; and, if the public dances
As Panem et Circenses was the cry
Worse ills might follow than the ills we cure.
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.)

Serv. The dancing-girl, and with her the musi-
cians

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 mantle thrown over her
head. She advances slowly, in modest, half-
timid attitude.)

Card. (aside). O, what a fair and ministering
angel

Was lost to heaven when this sweet woman fell!
Prec. (kneeling before the ARCHBISHOP). I
If I intrude upon your better hours,
have obeyed the order of your Grace.

I proffer this excuse, and here beseech
Your holy benediction.

Arch.

May God bless thee,

And lead thee to a better life. Arise.
Card. (axide). Her acts are modest, and her
words discreet!

Come hither, child.

Thus I am called.

I did not look for this!
Is thy name Preciosa ?
Pree.
Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy fa-

ther?

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 shep-
herd;

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.
"T is the Alhambra
Under whose towers the Gypsy camp was pitched.
But the time wears; and we would see thee dance.
Prec. 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 contin-
ues, 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 III.-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. Holá! 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 would rise?

Don C.

I do,

I am that wretched man. Don C. You mean to tell me yours have risen empty?

Hyp. And amen! said my Cid the 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.

Нур. Thank you.

A pretty purse.

Made by the hand of some fair Madrileña;

Perhaps a keepsake.

Don C.

No, 't is at your service.

Hyp. Thank you again. Lie there, good Chry

sostom,

And with thy golden mouth remind me often,

I am the debtor of my friend.

Don C.

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.
(Enter VICTORIAN in front.)

Vict. 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

Feel that the place has taken a charm from thee,
At evening, and I feel thy presence now;
And is forever hallowed.

Нур.

Mark him well! Like that odd guest of stone, that grim ComSee how he strides away with lordly air,

mander

But tell me,

That you both wot of?

This moment.
And pray, how fares the brave Victor-

Hyp. Indifferent well; that is to say, not well.
A damsel has ensnared him with the glances
Of her dark, roving eyes, as herdsmen catch
A steer of Andalusia with a lazo.

He is in love.

Don C.

And is it faring ill

In his case very ill.

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; an echo of his heart;
And, like a lily on a river floating,

She floats upon the river of his thoughts!

Don. A common thing 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? Tell me.

Don C.

She has gone back to Cadiz.
Ay, soft, emerald eyes!
Нур.

Vict. You are much to blame for letting her
Ay de mí!
go back.

A pretty girl; and in her tender eyes

Just that soft shade of green we sometimes see
In evening skies.

Нур.

Are thine green?
Vict.
Hyp.

But, speaking of green eyes,

Not a whit. Why so?
I think

For thou art jealous.
The slightest shade of green would be becoming,

Vict.

No, I am not jealous.

Why?

Because thou art in love.

Therefore thou shouldst be.
And they who are in love are always jealous.

Vict.

Farewell; I am in haste. Farewell, Don Car-
Marry, is that all?
los.

Thou sayest I should be jealous?
Нур.

I fear there is reason.

Ay, in truth
Be upon thy guard.

I hear it whispered that the Count of Lara
Lays siege to the same citadel.

Vict.

Indeed!

Then he will have his labor for his pains.
Hyp. He does not think so, and Don Carlos
tells me
He boasts of his success.

Vict.
How 's this, Don Carlos?
Don C. Some hints of it I heard from his own
lips.

He spoke but lightly of the lady's virtue,
As a gay man might speak.

Viet.
Death and damnation!
And throw it to my dog! But no, no, no!
I'll cut his lying tongue out of his mouth,
This cannot be. You jest, indeed you jest.
Trifle with me no more. For otherwise
We are no longer friends.