VICTORIAN. And we shall sit together unmolested,
And words of true love pass from tongue to tongue,
As singing birds from one bough to another.
PRECIOSA. That were a life indeed to make time envious!
I knew that thou wouldst visit me to-night.
I saw thee at the play.

VICTORIAN.

Sweet child of air!
Never did I behold thee so attired

And garmented in beauty as to-night!

What hast thou done to make thee look so fair? PRECIOSA.-Am I not always fair?

VICTORIAN.

Ay, and so fair
That I am jealous of all eyes that see thee,
And wish that they were blind.

PRECIOSA.

I heed them not;.

When thou art present, I see none but thee!

VICTORIAN. There's nothing fair nor beautiful but takes
Something from thee, that makes it beautiful.

PRECIOSA. And yet thou leavest me for those dusty books.
VICTORIAN.-Thou comest between me and those books too often!
I see thy face in every thing I see!

The paintings in the chapel wear thy looks,
The canticles are changed to sarabands,
And with the learned doctors of the schools
I see thee dance cachuchas.

PRECIOSA.

In good sooth,

I dance with learned doctors of the schools

To-morrow morning.

VICTORIAN.

And with whom, I pray?

PRECIOSA. A grave and reverend Cardinal, and his Grace
The Archbishop of Toledo.

VICTORIAN.

Is this?

What mad jest

PRECIOSA.- It is no jest; indeed it is not.
VICTORIAN.-Prithee, explain thyself.

PRECIOSA.

Why, simply thus.

Thou knowest the Pope has sent here into Spain
To put a stop to dances on the stage.

VICTORIAN.-I have heard it whispered.

PRECIOSA.

Now the Cardinal,

Who for this purpose comes, would fain behold
With his own eyes these dances; and the Archbishop
Has sent for me

VICTORIAN.

Now viva la cachucha! It will breathe

That thou may'st dance before them!

Saving one.

The fire of youth into these gray old men!

"Twill be thy proudest conquest!

PRECIOSA.

And yet I fear these dances will be stopped,

And Preciosa be once more a beggar.

VICTORIAN. The sweetest beggar that e'er asked for alms;
With such beseeching eyes, that when I saw thee

I gave my heart away!

PRECIOSA.

When first we met?

VICTORIAN.

Dost thou remember

It was at Córdova,

In the cathedral garden. Thou wast sitting
Under the orange-trees, beside a fountain.

PRECIOSA. 'Twas Easter-Sunday. The full-blossomed trees
Filled all the air with fragrance and with joy.

The priests were singing, and the organ sounded,
And then anon the great cathedral bell.

It was the elevation of the Host.

We both of us fell down upon our knees
Under the orange-boughs, and prayed together.
I never had been happy till that moment.
VICTORIAN.-Thou blessed angel!
PRECIOSA.

And when thou wast gone,

I felt an aching here. I did not speak
To any one that day. But from that day
Bartolomé grew hateful unto me.
VICTORIAN.-Remember him no more.
Come between thee and me.

Let not his shadow

Sweet Preciosa!

I loved thee even then, though I was silent!

PRECIOSA. I thought I ne'er should see thy face again.
Thy farewell had a sound of sorrow in it.

VICTORIAN. That was the first sound in the song of love!
Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound.
Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings
Of that mysterious instrument, the soul,
And play the prelude of our fate. We hear
The voice prophetic, and are not alone.

PRECIOSA. That is my faith. Dost thou believe these warnings?
VICTORIAN. So far as this. Our feelings and our thoughts
Tend ever on, and rest not in the Present.

As drops of rain fall into some dark well,
And from below comes a scarce audible sound,
So fall our thoughts into the dark hereafter,

And their mysterious echo reaches us.

PRECIOSA. I have felt it so, but found no words to say it!
I cannot reason; I can only feel!

But thou hast language for all thoughts and feelings.
Thou art a scholar; and sometimes I think

We cannot walk together in this world;
The distance that divides us is so great!

Henceforth thy pathway lies among the stars;
I must not hold thee back.

VICTORIAN.

Thou little sceptic!
Dost thou still doubt? What I most prize in woman
Is her affections, not her intellect!

The intellect is finite; but the affections

Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted.

Compare me with the great men of the earth;
What am I? Why, a pigmy among giants!
But if thou lovest,-mark me! I say lovest,
The greatest of thy sex excels thee not!

The world of the affections is thy world,
Not that of man's ambition. In that stillness
Which most becomes a woman, calm and holy,
Thou sittest by the fireside of the heart,
Feeding its flame. The element of fire'
Is pure. It cannot change nor hide its nature,
But burns as brightly in a Gipsy camp

As in a palace hall. Art thou convinced?

PRECIOSA. Yes, that I love thee, as the good love heaven;
But not that I am worthy of that heaven.

How shall I more deserve it?

VICTORIAN.

Loving more.

PRECIOSA. I cannot love thee more; my heart is full.
VICTORIAN. Then let it overflow, and I will drink it,
As in the summer-time the thirsty sands

Drink the swift waters of the Manzanares,
And still do thirst for more.

Ave Maria

A WATCHMAN (in the street).—
Purissima! 'Tis midnight and serene!
VICTORIAN.-Hear'st thou that cry?
PRECIOSA.-

To scare thee from me!
VICTORIAN.-

It is a hateful sound,

Doth scare the timid stag, or bark of hounds
The moor-fowl from his mate.

PRECIOSA.

As the hunter's horn

Pray, do not go!

Fear not!

VICTORIAN.-I must away to Alcalá to-night.
Think of me when I am away.

PRECIOSA.

I have no thoughts that do not think of thee. VICTORIAN (giving her a ring).—And to remind thee of my love, take this;

A serpent, emblem of Eternity;

A ruby, say, a drop of my heart's blood.

PRECIOSA. It is an ancient saying, that the ruby
Brings gladness to the wearer, and preserves
The heart pure, and if laid beneath the pillow,
Drives away evil dreams.

But then, alas!

It was a serpent tempted Eve to sin.

VICTORIAN. What convent of barefooted Carmelites

Taught thee so much theology?

PRECIOSA (laying her hand upon his mouth).-Hush! hush! Good night! and may all holy angels guard thee!

VICTORIAN. Good night! good night! Thou art my guardian angel!

I have no other saint than thou to pray to!

(He descends by the balcony.)

PRECIOSA. Take care, and do not hurt thee. Art thou safe? VICTORIAN (from the garden).-Safe as my love for thee! But art thou safe?

Others can climb a balcony by moonlight

As well as I, Pray, shut thy window close;

I am jealous of the perfumed air of night
That from this garden climbs to kiss thy lips.

PRECIOSA (throwing down her handkerchief). Thou silly child!
Take this to blind thine eyes.

It is my benison!

VICTORIAN.

And brings to me

Sweet fragrance from thy lips, as the soft wind
Wafts to the out-bound mariner the breath
Of the beloved land he leaves behind,
PRECIOSA.-Make not thy voyage long.
VICTORIAN.

To-morrow night

Shall see me safe returned. Thou art the star
To guide me to an anchorage. Good night,

My beauteous star! My star of love, good night!
PRECIOSA. Good night!

WATCHMAN (at a distance).—Ave Maria purissima!

SCENE IV.

An inn on the road to Alcalá, BALTASAR asleep on a bench.

Enter CHISPA.

CHISPA. And here we are, half-way to Alcalá, between cocks and midnight. Body o' me! what an inn this is! The lights out, and the landlord asleep. Holá! ancient Baltasar !

BALTASAR (waking).- Here I am.

CHISPA. Yes, there you are, like a one-eyed alcalde in a town without inhabitants. Bring a light, and let me have supper. BALTASAR. Where is your master?

CHISPA. Do not trouble yourself about him. We have stopped a moment to breathe our horses; and, if he chooses to walk up and down in the open air, looking into the sky as one who hears it rain, that does not satisfy my hunger, you know. But be quick, for I am in a hurry, and every man stretches his legs according to the length of his coverlet. What have we here?

BALTASAR (setting a light on the table). Stewed rabbit.

CHISPA (eating).-Conscience of Portalegre! Stewed kitten, you mean!

BALTASAR.-And a pitcher of Pedro Ximenes, with a roasted pear in it.

CHISPA (drinking).—Ancient Baltasar, amigo! You know how to cry wine and sell vinegar. I tell you this is nothing but vino tinto of La Mancha, with a twang of the swine-skin.

BALTASAR.-I swear to you, by Saint Simon and Judas, it is all as

I say.

CHISPA. And I swear to you, by Saint Peter and Saint Paul, that it is no such thing. Moreover, your supper is like the hidalgo's dinner, very little meat, and a great deal of table-cloth.

BALTASAR.-Ha! ha! ha!

CHISPA. And more noise than nuts.

BALTASAR.-Ha! ha! ha! You must have your joke, Master Chispa. But shall I not ask Don Victorian in, to take a draught of the Pedro Ximenes?

CHISPA.-No; you might as well say, "Don't-you-want-some?" to a dead man.

BALTASAR.-Why does he go so often to Madrid?

CHISPA. For the same reason that he eats no supper. He is in love. Were you ever in love, Baltasar?

BALTASAR.-I was never out of it, good Chispa. It has been the torment of my life.

CHISPA.-What! are you on fire too, old hay-stack? Why, we shall never be able to put you out.

VICTORIAN (without).-Chispa!

CHISPA. Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for the cocks are crowing.
VICTORIAN.-Ea! Chispa! Chispa!

CHISPA.-Ea! Señor. Come with me, ancient Baltasar, and bring water for the horses. I will pay for the supper to-morrow. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

VICTORIAN'S chambers at Alcalá. HYPOLITO asleep in an arm-chair. He awakes slowly
HYPOLITO. I must have been asleep! ay, sound asleep!
And it was all a dream. O sleep, sweet sleep!
Whatever form thou takest, thou art fair,
Holding unto our lips thy goblet filled
Out of Oblivion's well, a healing draught!
The candles have burned low; it must be late.
Where can Victorian be? Like Fray Carrillo,22
The only place in which one cannot find him
Is his own cell. Here's his guitar, that seldom
Feels the caresses of its master's hand.

Open thy silent lips, sweet instrument,
And make dull midnight merry with a song.

Padre Francisco! 23

Padre Francisco!

What do you want of Padre Francisco?

Here is a pretty young maiden

Who wants to confess her sins!

Open the door and let her come in,
I will shrive her from every sin.

(Enter VICTORIAN.)

(He plays and sings.)

VICTORIAN.-Padre Hypolito! Padre Hypolito!
HYPOLITO. What do you want of Padre Hypolito?
VICTORIAN.-Come, shrive me straight; for, if love be a sin,
I am the greatest sinner that doth live."

I will confess the sweetest of all crimes,

A maiden wooed and won.

HYPOLITO.

The same old tale

Of the old woman in the chimney-corner,

Who, while the pot boils, says: "Come here, my child;
I'll tell thee a story of my wedding-day."

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