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?

Prec. 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?

Vict.

Loving more.

Prec. I cannot love thee more; my heart is full.

Vict. 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.

A Watchman (in the street). Ave Maria
Purissima! 'Tis midnight and serene!
Vict. Hear'st thou that cry?
Prec.

To scare thee from me!

Vict.

It is a hateful sound,

As the hunter's horn

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

Prec.

Pray do not go!

Fear not!

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

Prec.

I have no thoughts that do not think of thee.

Vict. (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.

Prec. 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.

Vict. What convent of barefooted Carmelites

Taught thee so much theology?

Prec. (laying her hand upon his mouth). Hush! hush!

Good night! and may all holy angels guard thee!

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

I have no other saint than thou to pray to!

(He descends by the balcony.)

Prec. Take care, and do not hurt thee! Art thou safe?
Vict. (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.

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

It is my benison !

Vict.

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.
Prec. Make not thy voyage long.
Vict.

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!
Prec. Good night!

Watchman (at a distance). Ave Maria Purissima!

SCENE IV.-An inn on the road to Alcalá.

bench. Enter CHISPA.

BALTASAR asleep on a

Chispa. And here we are, half-way to Alcalá, between cocks and midnight. Body o' me! what an inn this is!

and the landlord asleep. Holá! ancient Baltasar ! Bal. (waking). Here am I.

The lights out,

Chispa. Yes, there you are, like a one-eyed Alcalde in a town without inhabitants. Bring a light, and let me have supper.

Bal. Where is your master?

and

Chispa. Do not trouble yourself about him. We have stopped a moment to breathe our horses; and if he chooses to walk up 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?

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

Chispa (eating). Conscience of Portalegre! Stewed kitten, you

mean!

Bal. 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 tang of the swine-skin.

Bal. 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.

Bal. Ha! ha! ha!

Chispa. And more noise than nuts.

Bal. 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.

Bal. 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?

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

Chispa. What are you on fire, too, old haystack? Why, we shall never be able to put you out.

Vict. (without). Chispa!

Chispa. Go to bed, Pero Grullo, for the cocks are crowing.
Vict. 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.

Hyp. 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,*
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.
(He plays and sings.)

Padre Francisco!1

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.)

Vict. Padre Hypolito! Padre Hypolito!

Hyp. What do you want of Padre Hypolito?
Vict. 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.

Hyp.

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.'

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 Gipsy 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.

Hyp.
Vict.

I know it.

And I'm in love.

Hyp. And therefore in Madrid when thou shouldst be 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,
Ave! cujus calcem clare

Nec centenni commendare
Sciret Seraph studio !*

Vict. Pray do not jest! This is no time for it!

I am in earnest !

Hyp.

Seriously enamoured?

What, ho! The Primus of great Alcalá
Enamoured of a Gipsy? Tell me frankly,
How meanest thou?

Vict.

Hyp. Surely thou wilt not marry her!
Vict.
Hyp. She was betrothed to one Bartolomé.
If I remember rightly, a young Gipsy,

I mean it honestly.

Why not?

The angels sang in heaven when she was born.

She is a precious jewel I have found

Among the filth and rubbish of the world.
I'll stoop for it; but when I wear it here,

From a monkish hymn of the twelfth century, in Sir Alexander Croke's Essay on the Origin, Progress, and Decline of Rhyming Latin Verse, p. 109.

Set on my forehead like the morning star,

The world may wonder, but it will not laugh.

Hyp. If thou wearest nothing else upon thy forehead, 'Twill be, indeed, a wonder.

Vict.

Out upon thee,

Pray tell me,

Not much.

With thy unseasonable jests!
Is there no virtue in the world?
Hyp.
What, think'st thou, is she doing at this moment;
Now, while we speak of her?

Vict.
She lies asleep,
And, from her parted lips, her gentle breath
Comes like the fragrance from the lips of flowers.
Her tender limbs are still, and on her breast,
The cross she prayed to, ere she fell asleep,
Rises and falls with the soft tide of dreams,
Like a light barge safe moored.
Hyp.
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 child-like sleep!
Hyp. And wouldst thou venture?

Vict.

Which means, in prose,

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.

She cares not for me.

Hold thy peace!

She may wed another,