Читать книгу The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - Генри Уодсуорт Лонгфелло - Страница 59

Prec. 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.

Prec. 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!

Prec. 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.

Prec. 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.

Prec. 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 mine own virtue.

That is the charm which has protected me!

Amid a thousand perils, I have worn it

Here on my heart! It is my guardian angel.

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

Prec. Thank me by following it.

Ang. Indeed I will.

Prec. Pray, do not go. I have much more to say.

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

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 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?

Prec. I deserve no thanks,

Thank Heaven, not me.

Ang. Both Heaven and you.

Prec. Farewell.

Remember that you come again tomorrow.

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 basquina,

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.)

Cruz. Ave Maria!

Prec. O God! my evil genius!

What seekest thou here to-day?

Cruz. Thyself—my child.

Prec. What is thy will with me?

Cruz. Gold! gold!

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

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

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

Cruz. That is a foolish lie.

Prec. 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?

Prec. To one

Who needs it more.

Cruz. No one can need it more.

Prec. Thou art not poor.

Cruz. 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 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 Busne! 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 ere long

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—once more myself,

Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales!

Prec. God speed thee on thy march!—I cannot go.

Cruz. Remember who I am, and who thou art

Be silent and obey! Yet one thing more.

Bartolome Roman—

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. O child, child, child!

Thou hast betrayed thy secret, as a bird

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. [Exit.

Prec. 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.

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.

Card. Know and approve.

Arch. And further,

That, by a mandate from his Holiness,

The first have been suppressed.

Card. I trust forever.

It was a cruel sport.

Arch. A barbarous pastime,

Disgraceful to the land that calls itself

Most Catholic and Christian.

Card. Yet the people

Murmur at this; and, if the public dances

Should be condemned 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)

Serv. 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 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 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.

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

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

Is thy name Preciosa?

Prec. Thus I am called.

Card. That is a Gypsy name. Who is thy father?

Prec. Beltran Cruzado, Count of the Cales.

Arch. I have a dim remembrance of that man:

He was a bold and reckless character,

A sun-burnt Ishmael!

Card. Dost thou remember

Thy earlier days?

Prec. Yes; by the Darro's side

My childhood passed. I can remember still

The river, and the mountains capped with snow

The village, 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. '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 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.)