Chapter XIV: Part 14

PAQUITA. Who still bear his name, because no other name sounds so noble in our ears.

EUDOSIA. Rather than change it, we have declined very flattering proposals.

CAROLINA. I am afraid that you have made a mistake. You remember that your brother was very anxious to see you married.

PAQUITA. He imagined that all men were like him, and deserved wives like us, our poor, dear brother! Who would ever have dreamed he could have been forgotten so soon? Fancy his emotions as he looks down on you from the skies.

CAROLINA. I do not believe for one moment that he has any regrets. If he had, then what would be the use of being in paradise? Don't you worry about me. The best thing that a young widow can do is marry at once. I was a very young widow.

EUDOSIA. You were twenty-nine.

CAROLINA. Twenty-six.

EUDOSIA. We concede you twenty-six. At all events, you were not a child--not to speak of the fact that no widow can be said to be a child.

CAROLINA. No more than a single woman can be said to be old. However, I fail to see that there would be any impropriety in my being present at the unveiling of the statue.

EUDOSIA. Do you realize that the premature death of your husband will be the subject of all the speakers? They will dwell on the bereavement which we have suffered through the loss of such an eminent man. How do you propose to take it? When people see you standing there, complacent and satisfied, alongside of that man, do you suppose they will ever believe that you are not reconciled?

PAQUITA. What will your husband do while they are extolling the genius of our brother, and he knows that he never had any?

CAROLINA. That was not your brother's opinion. He thought very highly of Florencio.

EUDOSIA. Very highly. Our poor, dear brother! Among his other abilities he certainly had an extraordinary aptitude for allowing himself to be deceived.

CAROLINA. That assumption is offensive to me; it is unfair to all of us.

EUDOSIA. I hope you brought it with you, Paquita?

PAQUITA. Yes; here it is.

[_Taking out a book._]

EUDOSIA. Just look through this book if you have a moment. It arrived to-day from Madrid and is on sale at Valdivieso's. Just glance through it.

CAROLINA. What is the book? [_Reading the title upon the cover._] "Don Patricio Molinete, the Man and His Work. A Biography. Together with His Correspondence and an Estimate of His Life." Why, thanks--

PAQUITA. No, do not thank us. Read, read what our poor brother has written to the author of this book, who was one of his intimate friends.

CAROLINA. Recaredo Casalonga. Ah! I remember--a rascal we were obliged to turn out of the house. Do you mean to say that scamp Casalonga has any letters? Merely to hear the name makes me nervous.

EUDOSIA. But go on! Page two hundred and fourteen. Is that the page, Paquita?

PAQUITA. It begins on page two hundred and fourteen, but before it amounts to anything turn the page.

CAROLINA. Quick, quick! Let me see. What does he say? What are these letters? What is this? He says that I.... But there is not a word of truth in it. My husband could never have written this.

EUDOSIA. But there it is in cold type. You don't suppose they would dare to print--

CAROLINA. But this is outrageous; this book is a libel. It invades the private life--the most private part of it! It must be stopped.

EUDOSIA. It cannot be stopped. You will soon see whether or not it can be stopped.

PAQUITA. Probably the edition is exhausted by this time.

CAROLINA. Is that so? We shall see! We shall see!--Florencio! Florencio! Come quickly! Florencio!

EUDOSIA. Perhaps he has not yet returned.

PAQUITA. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

CAROLINA. Nonsense! He was never out of the house. You are two old busybodies!

EUDOSIA. Carolina! You said that without thinking.

PAQUITA. I cannot believe my ears. Did you say busybody.

CAROLINA. That is exactly what I said. Now leave me alone. I can't stand it. It is all your fault. You are insupportable!

EUDOSIA and PAQUITA. Carolina!

CAROLINA. Florencio! Florencio!

[_Florencio enters._]

FLORENCIO. What is it, my dear? What is the matter? Ah! You? I am delighted....

EUDOSIA. Yes, we! And we are leaving this house, where we have been insulted--forever!

PAQUITA. Where we have been called busybodies!

EUDOSIA. Where we have been told that we were insupportable!

PAQUITA. And when people say such things you can imagine what they think!

FLORENCIO. But Eudosia, Paquita.... I do not understand. As far as I am concerned....

EUDOSIA. The person who is now your wife will make her explanations to you.

PAQUITA. I never expected to be driven out of our brother's house like this!

EUDOSIA. Our poor, dear brother!

FLORENCIO. But, Carolina--

CAROLINA. Let them go! Let them go! They are impossible.

PAQUITA. Did you hear that, Eudosia? We are impossible!

EUDOSIA. I heard it, Paquita. There is nothing left for us to hear in this house.

CAROLINA. Yes there is! You are as impossible as all old maids.

EUDOSIA. There was something for us to hear after all! Come, Paquita.

PAQUITA. Come, Eudosia.

[_They go out._]

FLORENCIO. What is this trouble between you and your sisters-in-law?

CAROLINA. There isn't any trouble. We were arguing, that was all. There is nothing those women like so much as gossip, or making themselves disagreeable in any way they can. Do you remember Casalonga?

FLORENCIO. Recaredo Casalonga? I should say I did remember him! That man was a character, and strange to say, a profound philosopher with it all. He was quite a humorist.

CAROLINA. Yes, he was. Well, this philosopher, this humorist, has conceived the terribly humorous idea of publishing this book.

FLORENCIO. Let me see. "Don Patricio Molinete, the Man and His Work. A Biography. Together with His Correspondence and an Estimate of His Life." A capital idea! They were great friends, you know, although I don't suppose that there can be anything particular in this book. What could Casalonga tell us anyway?

CAROLINA. Us? Nothing. But go on, go on.

FLORENCIO. You don't say! Letters of Patricio's. Addressed to whom?

CAROLINA. To the author of the book, so it seems. Personal letters, they are confidential. Go on, go on.

FLORENCIO. "Dear Friend: Life is sad. Perhaps you ask the cause of my disillusionment. How is it that I have lost my faith in the future, in the future of our unfortunate land?" I remember that time. He was already ill. This letter was written after he had liver complaint and took a dark view of everything. Ah! What a pity that great men should be subject to such infirmities! Think of the intellect being made the slave of the liver! We are but dust. "The future of this unfortunate land...."

CAROLINA. No, that doesn't amount to anything. Lower down, lower down. Go on.

FLORENCIO. "Life is sad!"

CAROLINA. Are you beginning all over again?

FLORENCIO. No, he repeats himself. What is this? "I never loved but once in my life; I never loved but one woman--my wife." He means you.

CAROLINA. Yes. Go on, go on.

FLORENCIO. "I never trusted but one friend, my friend Florencio." He means me.

CAROLINA. Yes, yes; he means you. But go on, go on.

FLORENCIO. I wonder what he can be driving at. Ah! What does he say? That you, that I....

CAROLINA. Go on, go on.

FLORENCIO. "This woman and this man, the two greatest, the two pure, the two unselfish passions of my life, in whom my very being was consumed--how can I bring myself to confess it? I hardly dare admit it to myself! They are in love--they love each other madly--in secret--perhaps without even suspecting themselves."

CAROLINA. What do you think of that?

FLORENCIO. Suspecting themselves.... "They are struggling to overcome their guilty passion, but how long will they continue to struggle? Yet I am sorry for them both. What ought I to do? I cannot sleep."

CAROLINA. What do you say?

FLORENCIO. Impossible! He never wrote such letters. Besides, if he did, they ought never to have been published.

CAROLINA. But true or false, they have been published, and here they are. Ah! But this is nothing! You ought to see what he says farther on. He goes on communicating his observations, and there are some, to be perfectly frank, which nobody could have made but himself.

FLORENCIO. You don't mean to tell me that you think these letters are genuine?

CAROLINA. They might be for all we know. He gives dates and details.

FLORENCIO. And all the time we thought he suspected nothing!

CAROLINA. You do jump so at conclusions, Florencio. How could he suspect? You know how careful we were about everything, no matter what happened, so as not to hurt his feelings.

FLORENCIO. This only goes to show all the good that it did us.

CAROLINA. He could only suspect--that it was the truth; that we were loving in silence.

FLORENCIO. Then perhaps you can explain to me what was the use of all this silence? Don't you see that what he has done now is to go and blurt the whole thing out to this rascal Casalonga?--an unscrupulous knave whose only interest in the matter is to turn these confidences to his own advantage! It is useless to attempt to defend it. Such foolishness was unpardonable. I should never have believed it of my friend. If he had any doubts about me--about us--why didn't he say so? Then we could have been more careful, and have done something to ease his mind. But this notion of running and telling the first person who happens along.... What a position does it leave me in? In what light do we appear at this time? Now, when everybody is paying respect to his memory, and I have put myself to all this trouble in order to raise money for this monument--what are people going to think when they read these things?

CAROLINA. I always said that we would have trouble with that monument.

FLORENCIO. How shall I have the face to present myself to-morrow before the monument?

CAROLINA. My sisters-in-law were right. We are going to be conspicuous.

FLORENCIO. Ah! But this must be stopped. I shall run at once to the offices of the papers, to the judicial authorities, to the governor, to all the booksellers. As for this Casalonga--Ah! I will settle with him! Either he will retract and confess that these letters are forgeries from beginning to end, or I will kill him! I will fight with him in earnest!

CAROLINA. Florencio! Don't forget yourself! You are going too far. You don't mean a duel? To expose your life?

FLORENCIO. Don't you see that it is impossible to submit to such an indignity? Where is this thing going to stop? Is nobody's private life to be secure? And this goes deeper than the private life--it impugns the sanctity of our intentions.

CAROLINA. No, Florencio!

FLORENCIO. Let me go!

CAROLINA. Florencio! Anything but a duel! No, no!

FLORENCIO. Ah! Either he will retract and withdraw the edition of this libel or, should he refuse....

CAROLINA. Zurita!

FLORENCIO. My friend.... You are just in time!

[_Zurita enters._]

ZURITA. Don Florencio.... Carolina.... Don't say a word! I know how you feel.

FLORENCIO. Did you see it? Did you hear it? Is this a civilized country in which we live?

CAROLINA. But surely he has not heard it already?

ZURITA. Yes, at the Club. Some one had the book; they were passing it around....

FLORENCIO. At the Club?

ZURITA. Don't be alarmed. Everybody thinks it is blackmail--a case of _chantage_. Don Patricio could never have written such letters.

FLORENCIO. Ah! So they think that?

ZURITA. Even if he had, they deal with private matters, which ought never to have been made public.

FLORENCIO. Exactly my idea--with private matters; they are confidential.

ZURITA. I lost no time, as you may be sure, of hurrying to Valdivieso's shop, where the books are on sale. I found him amazed; he was entirely innocent. He bought the copies supposing that the subject was of timely importance; that it was of a serious nature. He hurried at once to withdraw the copies from the window, and ran in search of the author.

FLORENCIO. Of the author? Is the author in town?

ZURITA. Yes, he came with the books; he arrived with them this morning.

FLORENCIO. Ah! So this scamp Casalonga is here, is he? Tell me where I can find him!

ZURITA. At the Hotel de Europa.

CAROLINA. Florencio! Don't you go! Hold him back! He means to challenge him.

ZURITA. Never! It is not worth the trouble. Besides, you ought to hold yourself above such things. Your wife is above them.

FLORENCIO. But what will people say, friend Zurita? What will people say?

ZURITA. Everybody thinks it is a huge joke.

FLORENCIO. A joke? Then our position is ridiculous.

ZURITA. I did not say that. What I do say....

FLORENCIO. No, no, friend Zurita; you are a man of honor, you know that it is necessary for me to kill this man.

CAROLINA. But suppose he is the one who kills you? No, Florencio, not a duel! What is the use of the courts?

FLORENCIO. No, I prefer to fight. My dear Zurita, run in search of another friend and stop at the Hotel de Europa as my representatives. Seek out this man, exact reparation upon the spot--a reparation which shall be resounding, complete. Either he declares over his own signature that those letters are impudent forgeries or, should he refuse....

CAROLINA. Florencio!

FLORENCIO. Stop at nothing! Do not haggle over terms. Let it be pistols with real bullets, as we pace forward each to each!

ZURITA. But, Don Florencio!

CAROLINA. Don't go, I beg of you! Don't leave the house!

FLORENCIO. You are my friend--go at once!

CAROLINA. No, he will never go!

ZURITA. But, Don Florencio! Consider.... The situation is serious.

FLORENCIO. When a man is made ridiculous the situation ceases to be serious! How shall I have the face to show myself before the monument! I--his most intimate friend! She, my wife, his widow! And everybody thinking all the while of those letters, imagining that I, that she.... No, no! Run! Bring me that retraction at once.

ZURITA. Not so fast! I hear the voice of Valdivieso.

FLORENCIO. Eh? And Casalonga's! Has that man the audacity to present himself in my house?

ZURITA. Be calm! Since he is here, perhaps he comes to explain. Let me see--

[_He goes out_.]

CAROLINA. Florencio! Don't you receive him! Don't you have anything to do with that man!

FLORENCIO. I am in my own house. Never fear! I shall not forget to conduct myself as a gentleman. Now we shall see how he explains the matter; we shall see. But you had better retire first. Questions of honor are not for women.

CAROLINA. You know best; only I think I might remain within earshot. I am nervous. My dear!--Where are your arms?

FLORENCIO. What do I need of arms?

CAROLINA. Be careful just the same. Keep cool! Think of me.

FLORENCIO. I am in my own house. Have no fear.

CAROLINA. It upsets me dreadfully to see you in such a state.

FLORENCIO. What are you doing now?

CAROLINA. Removing these vases in case you should throw things. I should hate awfully to lose them; they were a present.

FLORENCIO. Hurry, dear!

CAROLINA. I am horribly nervous. Keep cool, for heavens' sake! Control yourself.

[_Carolina goes out. Zurita reenters._]

ZURITA. Are you calmer now?

FLORENCIO. Absolutely. Is that man here?

ZURITA. Yes, Valdivieso brought him. He desires to explain.

FLORENCIO. Who? Valdivieso? Naturally. But that other fellow, that Casalonga--what does he want?

ZURITA. To have a few words with you; to offer a thousand explanations.

FLORENCIO. No more than one explanation is possible.

ZURITA. Consider a moment. In my opinion it will be wiser to receive him. He appears to be innocent.

FLORENCIO. Of the first instincts of a gentleman.

ZURITA. Exactly. I did not venture to put it so plainly. He attaches no importance to the affair whatever.

FLORENCIO. Of course not! It is nothing to him.

ZURITA. Nothing. However, you will find him disposed to go to any length--retract, make a denial, withdraw the book from circulation. You had best have a few words with him. But first promise to control yourself. Shall I ask them to come in?

FLORENCIO. Yes ... yes! Ask them to come in.

ZURITA. Poor Valdivieso is awfully put out. He always had such a high opinion of you. You are one of the two or three persons in this town who buy books. It would be a tremendous relief to him if you would only tell him that you knew he was incapable....

FLORENCIO. Thoroughly! Poor Valdivieso! Ask him to come in; ask them both to come in.

[_Zurita retires and returns presently with Valdivieso and
Casalonga._]

VALDIVIESO. Senor Don Florencio! I hardly know what to say. I am sure that you will not question my good faith in the matter. I had no idea ... in fact, I never suspected....

FLORENCIO. I always knew you were innocent! but this person....

CASALONGA. Come, come now! Don't blame it on me. How the devil was I to know that you were here--and married to his widow! Sport for the gods!

FLORENCIO. Do you hear what he says?

ZURITA. I told you that he appeared to be innocent.

FLORENCIO. And I told you that he was devoid of the first instincts of a gentleman; although I failed to realize to what an extent. Sir--

CASALONGA. Don't be absurd! Stop making faces at me.

FLORENCIO. In the first place, I don't recall that we were ever so intimate.

CASALONGA. Of course we were! Of course! Anyhow, what difference does it make? We were together for a whole season; we were inseparable. Hard times those for us both! But what did we care? When one of us was out of money, all he had to do was to ask the other, and be satisfied.

FLORENCIO. Yes; I seem to recall that the other was always I.

CASALONGA. Ha, ha, ha! That might be. Stranger things have happened. But you are not angry with me, are you? The thing is not worth all this fuss.

FLORENCIO. Do you hear what he says?

VALDIVIESO. You may be sure that if I had had the slightest idea.... I bought the books so as to take advantage of the timeliness of the monument. If I had ever suspected....

CASALONGA. Identically my position--to take advantage of the monument. Life is hard. While the conservatives are in power, I am reduced to extremities. I am at my wit's end to earn an honest penny.

FLORENCIO. I admire your colossal impudence. What are you going to do with a man like this?

ZURITA. Exactly the question that occurred to me. What are you going to do?

CASALONGA. For a time I was reduced to writing plays--like everybody else--although mine were better. That was the reason they did not succeed. Then I married my last landlady; I was obliged to settle with her somehow. A little difference arose between us, so we agreed to separate amicably after smashing all the furniture. However, that will be of no interest to you.

FLORENCIO. No, no, it is of no interest to me.

CASALONGA. A novel, my boy! A veritable work of romance! I wandered all over the country explaining views for the cinematograph. You know what a gift I have for talk? Wherever I appeared the picture houses were crowded--even to the exits. Then my voice gave out. I was obliged to find some other outlet for my activities. I thought of my friends. You know what friends are; as soon as a man needs them he hasn't any friends. Which way was I to turn? I happened to hear that you were unveiling a monument to the memory of friend Patricio. Poor Patricio! That man was a friend! He could always be relied upon. It occurred to me that I might write out a few pages of reminiscences--preferably something personal--and publish any letters of his which I had chanced to preserve.

FLORENCIO. What luck!

CASALONGA. Pshaw! Bread and butter--bread and butter, man! A mere pittance. It occurred to me that they would sell better here than anywhere else--this is where he lived. So I came this morning third class--think of that, third class!--and hurried at once to this fellow's shop. I placed two thousand copies with him, which he took from me at a horrible discount. You know what these booksellers are....

VALDIVIESO. I call you to witness--what was customary under the circumstances. He was selling for cash.

CASALONGA. Am I the man to deny it? You can divide mankind into two classes--knaves and fools.

VALDIVIESO. Listen to this--

CASALONGA. You are not one of the fools.

VALDIVIESO. I protest! How am I to profit by the transaction? Do you suppose that I shall sell a single copy of this libel now that I know that it is offensive to my particular, my excellent friend, Don Florencio, and to his respected wife?

FLORENCIO. Thanks, friend Valdivieso, thanks for that.

VALDIVIESO. I shall burn the edition, although you can imagine what that will cost.

FLORENCIO. The loss will be mine. It will be at my expense.

CASALONGA. What did I tell you? Florencio will pay. What are you complaining about?--If I were in your place, though, I'd be hanged if I would give the man one penny.

VALDIVIESO. What? When you have collected spot cash?

CASALONGA. You don't call that collecting? Not at that discount. The paper was worth more.

FLORENCIO. The impudence of the thing was worth more than the paper.

CASALONGA. Ha, ha, ha! Really, I cannot find it in my heart to be angry with you. You are too clever! But what was I to do? I had to find some outlet for my activities. Are you going to kill me?

FLORENCIO. I have made my arrangements. Do you suppose that I will submit meekly to such an indignity? If you refuse to fight, I will hale you before the courts.

CASALONGA. Drop that tragic tone. A duel? Between us? Over what? Because the wife of a friend--who at the same time happens to be your wife--has been intimate with you? Suppose it had been with some one else!

FLORENCIO. The supposition is improper.

CASALONGA. You are the first man I ever heard of who was offended because it was said that he had been intimate with his wife. The thing is preposterous. How are we ever going to fight over it?

ZURITA. I can see his point of view.

FLORENCIO. Patricio could never have written those letters, much less to you.

CASALONGA. Talk as much as you like, the letters are genuine. Although it may have been foolish of Patricio to have written them--that is a debatable question. I published them so as to enliven the book. A little harmless suggestion--people look for it; it adds spice. Aside from that, what motive could I have had for dragging you into it?

FLORENCIO. I admire your frankness at least.

ZURITA. What do you propose to do with this man?

FLORENCIO. What do you propose?

CASALONGA. You know I was always fond of you. You are a man of ability.

FLORENCIO. Thanks.

CASALONGA. You have more ability than Patricio had. He was a worthy soul, no doubt, but between us, who were in the secret, an utter blockhead.

FLORENCIO. Hardly that.

CASALONGA. I need not tell you what reputations amount to in this country. If he had had your brains, your transcendent ability....

FLORENCIO. How can I stop this man from talking?

CASALONGA. You have always been too modest in my opinion; you have remained in the background in order to give him a chance to shine, to attract attention. Everybody knows that his best speeches were written by you.

FLORENCE. You have no right to betray my confidence.

CASALONGA. Yes, gentlemen, it is only just that you should know. The real brains belonged to this man, he is the one who should have had the statue. As a friend he is wonderful, unique!

FLORENCIO. How am I going to fight with this man?

CASALONGA. I will give out a statement at once--for public consumption--declaring that the letters are forgeries--or whatever you think best; as it appeals to you. Fix it up for yourself. It is of no consequence anyhow. I am above this sort of thing. I should be sorry, however, to see this fellow receive more than his due, which is two _reals_ a copy, or what he paid me.

VALDIVIESO. I cannot permit you to meddle in my affairs. You are a rogue and a cheat.

CASALONGA. A rogue and a cheat? In that case you are the one I will fight with. You are no friend of mine. You are an exploiter of other men's brains.

VALDIVIESO. You are willing to fight with me, are you--a respectable man, the father of a family? After swindling me out of my money!

CASALONGA. Swindling? That is no language to use in this house.

VALDIVIESO. I use it where I like.

FLORENCIO. Gentlemen, gentlemen! This is my house, this is the house of my wife!

ZURITA. Valdivieso!

CASALONGA [_to Florencio_]. I choose you for my second. And you too, my friend--what is your name?

VALDIVIESO. But will you listen to him? Do you suppose that I will fight with this rascal, with the first knave who happens along? I, the father of a family?

CASALONGA. I cannot accept your explanation. My friends will confer with yours and apprise us as to the details. Have everything ready for this afternoon.

VALDIVIESO. Do you stand here and sanction this nonsense? You cannot believe one word that he says. No doubt it would be convenient for you to retire and use me as a Turk's head to receive all the blows, when you are the one who ought to fight!

FLORENCIO. Friend Valdivieso, I cannot permit reflections upon my conduct from you. After all, you need not have purchased the book, which you did for money, knowing that it was improper, since it contained matter which was offensive to me.

VALDIVIESO. Are you speaking in earnest?

FLORENCIO. I was never more in earnest in my life.

CASALONGA. Yes, sir, and it is high time for us all to realize that it is in earnest. It was all your fault. Nobody buys without spending the wares. It was your business to have pointed out to me the indiscretion I was about to commit. [_To Florencio._] I am perfectly willing to withdraw if you wish to fight him, to yield my place as the aggrieved party to you. I should be delighted to act as one of your seconds, with our good friend here--what is your name?

ZURITA. Zurita.

CASALONGA. My good friend Zurita.

VALDIVIESO. Am I losing my mind? This is a trap which you have set for me, a despicable trap!

FLORENCIO. Friend Valdivieso, I cannot tolerate these reflections. I am incapable of setting a trap.

ZURITA. Ah! And so am I! When you entered this house you were familiar with its reputation.

CASALONGA. You have forgotten with whom you are speaking.

VALDIVIESO. Nonsense! This is too much. I wash my hands of the whole business. Is this the spirit in which my advances are received? What I will do now is sell the book--and if I can't sell it, I will give it away! Everybody can read it then--and they can talk as much as they want to. This is the end! I am through.

FLORENCIO. Wait? What was that? I warn you not to sell so much as one copy?

ZURITA. I should be sorry if you did. Take care not to drag me into it.

CASALONGA. Nor me either.

VALDIVIESO. Enough! Do as you see fit--and I shall do the same. This is the end--the absolute end! It is the finish!

[_Rushes out._]

FLORENCIO. Stop him!

CASALONGA. It won't be necessary. I shall go to the shop and take back the edition. Whatever you intended to pay him you can hand directly to me. I am your friend; besides I need the money. This man shall not get the best of me. Oh! By the way, what are you doing to-night? Have dinner with me. I shall expect you at the hotel. Don't forget! If you don't show up, I may drop in myself and have dinner with you.

FLORENCIO. No! What would my wife say? She has trouble enough.

CASALONGA. Nonsense! She knows me, and we should have a good laugh. Is she as charming, as good-looking, as striking as ever? I am keen for her. I don't need to ask whether she is happy. Poor Patricio was a character! What a sight he was! What a figure! And age doubled him for good measure. I'll look in on you later. It has been a rare pleasure this time. There are few friends like you. Come, shake hands! I am touched; you know how it is. See you later! If I don't come back, I have killed my man and am in jail for it. Tell your wife. If I can help out in any way.... Good-by, my friend--ah, yes! Zurita. I have a terrible head to-day. See you later!

[_Goes out._]

FLORENCIO. Did you ever see anything equal of it? I never did, and I knew him of old. But he has made progress.

ZURITA. His assurance is fairly epic.

FLORENCIO. What are you going to do with a man who takes it like this? You cannot kill him in cold blood--

[_Carolina reenters._]

FLORENCIO. Ah! Carolina! Were you listening? You heard everything.

CAROLINA. Yes, and in spite of it I think he is fascinating.

FLORENCIO. Since Carolina feels that way it simplifies the situation.

ZURITA. Why not? She heard the compliments. The man is irresistible.

FLORENCIO. Carolina, it comes simply to this: nobody attaches any importance to the matter. Only two or three copies have been sold.

CAROLINA. Yes, but one of them was to my sisters-in-law, which is the same as if they had sold forty thousand. They will tell everybody.

FLORENCIO. They were doing it anyhow; there is no further cause for worry.

CAROLINA. At all events, I shall not attend the unveiling to-morrow, and you ought not to go either.

FLORENCIO. But, wife!

ZURITA. Ah! The unveiling.... I had forgotten to mention it.

CAROLINA. To mention what?

ZURITA. It has been postponed.

FLORENCIO. How?

ZURITA. The committee became nervous at the last moment over the protests against the nudes. After seeing the photographs many ladies declined to participate. At last the sculptor was convinced, and he has consented to withdraw the statue of Truth altogether, and to put a tunic upon Industry, while Commerce is to have a bathing-suit.

CAROLINA. That will be splendid!

ZURITA. All this, however, will require several days, and by that time everything will have been forgotten.

[_Casalonga reenters with the books. He is completely out of
breath and drops them suddenly upon the floor, where they raise a
tremendous cloud of dust._]

CAROLINA. _Ay!_

CASALONGA. I had you scared! At your service.... Here is the entire edition. I returned him his thousand pesetas--I declined to make it another penny. I told you that would be all that was necessary. I am a man of my word. Now it is up to you. No more could be asked! I am your friend and have said enough. I shall have to find some other outlet for my activities. That will be all for to-day.

FLORENCIO. I will give you two thousand pesetas. But beware of a second edition!

CASALONGA. Don't begin to worry so soon. With this money I shall have enough to be decent at least--at least for two months. You know me, senora. I am Florencio's most intimate friend, as I was Patricio's most intimate friend, which is to say one of the most intimate friends you ever had.

CAROLINA. Yes, I remember.

CASALONGA. But I have changed since that time.

FLORENCIO. Not a bit of it! He is just the same.

CASALONGA. Yes, the change is in you. You are the same, only you have improved. [_To Carolina._] I am amazed at the opulence of your beauty, which a fortunate marriage has greatly enhanced. Have you any children?

CAROLINA. No....

CASALONGA. You are going to have some.

FLORENCIO. Flatterer!

CASALONGA. But I must leave before night: there is nothing for me to do here.

FLORENCIO. No, you have attended to everything. I shall send it after you to the hotel.

CASALONGA. Add a little while you are about it to cover expenses--by way of a finishing touch.

FLORENCIO. Oh, very well!

CASALONGA. That will be all. Senora, if I can be of service.... My good Zurita! Friend Florencio! Before I die I hope to see you again.

FLORENCIO. Yes! Unless I die first.

CASALONGA. I know how you feel. You take the worst end for yourself.

FLORENCIO. Allow me that consolation.

CASALONGA. God be with you, my friend. Adios! Rest in peace. How different are our fates! Life to you is sweet. You have everything--love, riches, satisfaction. While I--I laugh through my tears!

[_Goes out._]

CAROLINA. That cost you money.

FLORENCIO. What else did you expect? I gave up to avoid a scandal upon your account. I could see that you were nervous. I would have fought if I could have had my way; I would have carried matters to the last extreme. Zurita will tell you so.

CAROLINA. I always said that monument would cost us dear.

FLORENCIO. Obviously! Two thousand pesetas now, besides the twenty-five thousand which I subscribed for the monument, to say nothing of my uniform as Chief of Staff which I had ordered for the unveiling. Then there are the banquets to the delegates....

ZURITA. Glory is always more expensive than it is worth.

FLORENCIO. It is not safe to be famous even at second hand.

CAROLINA. But you are not sorry?

FLORENCIO. No, my Carolina, the glory of being your husband far outweighs in my eyes the disadvantages of being the husband of his widow.

[_Curtain._]

A SUNNY MORNING

A COMEDY

BY SERAFIN AND JOAQUIN ALVAREZ QUINTERO
TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH BY LUCRETIA XAVIER FLOYD.

Copyrighted, 1914, by Lucretia Xavier Floyd under the title of
"A Morning of Sunshine."

All rights reserved.

CHARACTERS

DONA LAURA.
PETRA [_her maid_].
DON GONZALO.
JUANITO [_his servant_].

TIME: _The Present_.

Published by special arrangement with Mrs. Lucretia Xavier Floyd
and Mr. John Garrett Underhill, the Society of Spanish Authors.
Applications for permission to produce this play must be made to the
Society of Spanish Authors, Room 62, 20 Nassau Street, New York.

A SUNNY MORNING

A COMEDY BY SERAFIN AND JOAQUIN ALVAREZ QUINTERO

[_Scene laid in a retired part of a park in Madrid, Spain. A bench
at right. Bright, sunny morning in autumn. Dona Laura, a handsome
old lady of about 70, with white hair and of very refined
appearance, although elderly, her bright eyes and entire manner
prove her mental facilities are unimpaired. She enters accompanied
by her maid Petra, upon whose arm she leans with one hand, while
the other holds a parasol which she uses as a cane._]

DONA LAURA. I am so glad we have arrived. I feared my seat would be occupied. What a beautiful morning!

PETRA. The sun is rather hot.

DONA LAURA. Yes, to you who are only 20 years old. [_She sits down on the bench._] Oh, I feel more tired to-day than usual. [_Noticing Petra, who seems impatient._] Go, if you wish to chat with your guard.

PETRA. He is not my guard, Senora; he belongs to the park.

DONA LAURA. He belongs more to you than to the park. Go seek him, but remain within calling distance.

PETRA. I see him over there waiting for me.

DONA LAURA. Do not remain away more than ten minutes.

PETRA. Very well, Senora. [_Walks toward right, but is detained._]

DONA LAURA. Wait a moment.

PETRA. What does the Senora wish?

DONA LAURA. You are carrying away the bread crumbs.

PETRA. Very true. I don't know where my head is.

DONA LAURA [_smiling_]. I do. It is where your heart is--with your guard.

PETRA. Here, Senora. [_She hands Dona Laura a small bag. Exit Petra._]

DONA LAURA. Adios. [_Glancing toward trees._] Here come the rogues. They know just when to expect me. [_She rises, walks toward right, throws three handfuls of bread crumbs._] These are for the most daring, these for the gluttons, and these for the little ones which are the biggest rogues. Ha, ha. [_She returns to her seat and watches with a pleased expression, the pigeons feeding._] There, that big one is always the first. That little fellow is the least timid. I believe he would eat from my hand. That one takes his piece and flies to that branch. He is a philosopher. But from where do they all come? It seems as if the news had been carried. Ha, ha. Don't quarrel. There is enough for all. To-morrow I'll bring more.

[_Enter Don Gonzalo and Juanito. Don Gonzalo is an old gentleman
over 70, gouty and impatient. He leans upon Juanito's arm and
drags his feet along as he walks. He displays ill temper._]

DON GONZALO. Idling their time away. They should be saying Mass.

JUANITO. You can sit here, Senor. There is only a lady.

[_Dona Laura turns her head and listens to the dialogue._]

DON GONZALO. I won't, Juanito. I want a bench to myself.

JUANITO. But there is none.

DON GONZALO. But that one over there is mine.

JUANITO. But there are three priests sitting there.

DON GONZALO. Let them get up. Have they gone, Juanito?

JUANITO. No, indeed. They are in animated conversation.

DON GONZALO. Just as if they were glued to the seat. No hope of their leaving. Come this way, Juanito. [_They walk toward birds._]

DONA LAURA [_indignantly_]. Look out!

DON GONZALO [_turning his head_]. Are you talking to me, Senora?

DONA LAURA. Yes, to you.

DON GONZALO. What do you wish?

DONA LAURA. You have scared away the birds who were feeding on bread crumbs.

DON GONZALO. What do I care about the birds.

DONA LAURA. But I do.

DON GONZALO. This is a public park.

DONA LAURA. Then why do you complain that the priests have taken your bench?

DON GONZALO. Senora, we have not been introduced to each other. I do not know why you take the liberty of addressing me. Come, Juanito. [_Both exit._]

DONA LAURA. What an ill-natured old man. Why must some people get so fussy and cross when they reach a certain age? I am glad. He lost that bench, too. Serves him right for scaring the birds. He is furious. Yes, yes; find a seat if you can. Poor fellow! He is wiping the perspiration from his face. Here he comes. A carriage would not raise more dust than he does with his feet.

[_Enter Don Gonzalo and Juanito._]

DON GONZALO. Have the priests gone yet, Juanito?

JUANITO. No, indeed, Senor. They are still there.

DON GONZALO. The authorities should place more benches here for these sunny mornings. Well, I suppose I must resign myself and sit on the same bench with the old lady. [_Muttering to himself, he sits at the extreme end of Dona Laura's bench and looks at her indignantly. Touches his hat as he greets her._] Good morning.

DONA LAURA. What, you here again?

DON GONZALO. I repeat that we have not been introduced.

DONA LAURA. I am responding to your greeting.

DON GONZALO. Good morning should be answered by good morning, and that is what you should have said.

DONA LAURA. And you should have asked permission to sit on this bench which is mine.

DON GONZALO. The benches here are public property.

DONA LAURA. Why, you said the one the priests occupied was yours.

DON GONZALO. Very well, very well. I have nothing more to say. [_Between his teeth_.] Doting old woman. She should be at home with her knitting and counting her beads.

DONA LAURA. Don't grumble any more. I'm not going to leave here just to please you.

DON GONZALO [_brushing the dust from his shoes with his handkerchief_]. If the grounds were sprinkled more freely it would be an improvement.

DONA LAURA. What an idea, to brush your shoes with your handkerchief.

DON GONZALO. What?

DONA LAURA. Do you use a shoe brush as a handkerchief?

DON GONZALO. By what right do you criticize my actions?

DONA LAURA. By the rights of a neighbor.

DON GONZALO. Juanito, give me my book. I do not care to hear any more nonsense.

DONA LAURA. You are very polite.

DON GONZALO. Pardon me, Senora, but if you did not interfere with what does not concern you.

DONA LAURA. I generally say what I think.

DON GONZALO. And say more than you should. Give me the book, Juanito.

JUANITO. Here it is, Senor. [_Juanito takes book from pocket, hands it to Don Gonzalo; then exits._]

[_Don Gonzalo, casting indignant glances at Dona Laura, puts on an
enormous pair of glasses, takes from his pocket a reading-glass,
adjusts both to suit him, opens his book._]

DONA LAURA. I thought you were going to take out a telescope now.

DON GONZALO. What, again?

DONA LAURA. Your sight must be fine.

DON GONZALO. Many times better than yours.

DONA LAURA. Yes, it is very evident.

DON GONZALO. Many hares and partridges could bear testimony to my words.

DONA LAURA. Do you hunt?

DON GONZALO. I did, and even now--

DONA LAURA. Oh, yes, of course.

DON GONZALO. Yes, Senora. Every Sunday I take my gun and dog, you understand, and go to one of my properties near Aravaca, just to kill time.

DONA LAURA. Yes, to kill time. That is all you can kill.

DON GONZALO. Do you think so? I could show you a wild boar's head in my study--

DONA LAURA. Yes, and I could show you a tiger's skin in my boudoir. What an argument!

DON GONZALO. Very well, Senora, please allow me to read. I do not feel like having more conversation.

DONA LAURA. Well, keep quiet then.

DON GONZALO. But first I shall take a pinch of snuff. [_Takes out snuff box._] Will you have some? [_Offers box to Dona Laura._]

DONA LAURA. If it is good?

DON GONZALO. It is of the finest. You will like it.

DONA LAURA [_taking pinch of snuff_]. It clears my head.

DON GONZALO. And mine.

DONA LAURA. Do you sneeze?

DON GONZALO. Yes, Senora, three times.

DONA LAURA. And so do I. What a coincidence!

[_After taking the snuff, they await the sneezes, making grimaces,
and then sneeze alternately three times each._]

DON GONZALO. There, I feel better.

DONA LAURA. So do I. [_Aside._] The snuff has made peace between us.

DON GONZALO. You will excuse me if I read aloud?

DONA LAURA. Read as you please; you will not disturb me.

DON GONZALO [_reading_]. "All love is sad, but sad and all, it is the best thing that exists." That is from Campoamor.

DONA LAURA. Ah!

DON GONZALO [_reading_]. "The daughters of the mothers I once loved, kiss me now as they would kiss a wooden image." Those lines are in the humorous vein.

DONA LAURA [_laughing_]. So I see.

DON GONZALO. There are some beautiful poems in this book. Listen: "Twenty years have passed. He returns."

DONA LAURA. You cannot imagine how it affects me to see you reading with all those glasses.

DON GONZALO. Can it be possible that you read without requiring any?

DONA LAURA. Certainly.

DON GONZALO. At your age? You must be jesting.

DONA LAURA. Pass me the book, please. [_takes book, reads aloud._] "Twenty years have passed. He returns. And each upon beholding the other exclaims--Can it be possible that this is he? Merciful heavens, can this be she?"

[_Dona Laura returns book to Don Gonzalo._]

DON GONZALO. Indeed, you are to be envied for your wonderful eyesight.

DONA LAURA [_aside_]. I knew the lines from memory.

DON GONZALO. I am very fond of good verse, very fond. I even composed some in my youth.

DONA LAURA. Good ones?

DON GONZALO. Of all kinds. I was a great friend of Espronceda, Zorrilla, Becquer and others. I first met Zorrilla in America.

DONA LAURA. Why, have you been in America?

DON GONZALO. Several times. The first time I went I was only six years old.

DONA LAURA. Columbus must have carried you in one of his caravels.

DON GONZALO [_laughing_]. Not quite as bad as that. I am old, I admit, but I did not know Ferdinand and Isabella. [_They both laugh._] I was also a great friend of Campoamor. I met him in Valencia. I am a native of that city.

DONA LAURA. You are?

DON GONZALO. I was brought up there and there I spent my early youth. Have you ever visited that city?

DONA LAURA. Yes, Senor. Not far from Valencia there was a mansion that if still there, should retain memories of me. I spent there several seasons. This was many, many years ago. It was near the sea, concealed among lemon and orange trees. They called it--let me see, what did they call it?--"Maricela."

DON GONZALO [_startled_]. Maricela?

DONA LAURA. Maricela. Is the name familiar to you?

DON GONZALO. Yes, very familiar. If my memory serves me right, for we forget as we grow old, there lived in that mansion the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I assure you I have seen a few. Let me see--what was her name? Laura--Laura--Laura Lorente.

DONA LAURA [_startled_]. Laura Lorente?

DON GONZALO. Yes. [_They look at each other strangely._]

DONA LAURA [_recovering herself_]. Nothing. You reminded me of my best friend.

DON GONZALO. How strange!

DONA LAURA. It is strange. She was called "The Silver Maiden."

DON GONZALO. Precisely, "The Silver Maiden." By that name she was known in that locality. I seem to see her as if she were before me now, at that window of the red roses. Do you remember that window?

DONA LAURA. Yes, I remember. It was that of her room.

DON GONZALO. She spent many hours there. I mean in my days.

DONA LAURA [_sighing_]. And in mine, too.

DON GONZALO. She was ideal. Fair as a lily, jet black hair and black eyes, with a very sweet expression. She seemed to cast a radiance wherever she was. Her figure was beautiful, perfect. "What forms of sovereign beauty God models in human sculpture!" She was a dream.

DONA LAURA [_aside_]. If you but knew that dream was now by your side, you would realize what dreams are worth. [_Aloud_.] She was very unfortunate and had a sad love affair.

DON GONZALO. Very sad. [_They look at each other._]

DONA LAURA. You know of it?

DON GONZALO. Yes.

DONA LAURA [_aside_]. Strange are the ways of Providence! This man is my early lover.

DON GONZALO. The gallant lover, if we refer to the same affair--

DONA LAURA. To the duel?

DON GONZALO. Precisely, to the duel. The gallant lover was--my cousin, of whom I was very fond.

DONA LAURA. Oh, yes, a cousin. My friend told me in one of her letters the story of that love affair, truly romantic. He, your cousin, passed by on horseback every morning by the rose path under her window, and tossed up to her balcony a bouquet of flowers which she caught.

DON GONZALO. And later in the afternoon, the gallant horseman would return by the same path, and catch the bouquet of flowers she would toss him. Was it not so?

DONA LAURA. Yes. They wanted to marry her to a merchant whom she did not fancy.

DON GONZALO. And one night, when my cousin watched under her window to hear her sing, this new lover presented himself unexpectedly.

DONA LAURA. And insulted your cousin.

DON GONZALO. There was a quarrel.

DONA LAURA. And later a duel.

DON GONZALO. Yes, at sunrise, on the beach, and the merchant was badly wounded. My cousin had to conceal himself for a few days and later to fly.

DONA LAURA. You seem to know the story perfectly.

DON GONZALO. And so do you.

DONA LAURA. I have told you that my friend related it to me.

DON GONZALO. And my cousin to me. [_Aside._] This woman is Laura. What a strange fate has brought us together again.

DONA LAURA [_aside_]. He does not suspect who I am. Why tell him? Let him preserve his illusion.

DON GONZALO [_aside_]. She does not suspect she is talking to her old lover. How can she? I will not reveal my identity.

DONA LAURA. And was it you, by chance, who advised your cousin to forget Laura?

DON GONZALO. Why, my cousin never forgot her for one instant.

DONA LAURA. How do you account, then, for his conduct?

DON GONZALO. I will explain. The young man first took refuge in my house, fearful of the consequences of his duel with that man, so much beloved in that locality. From my home he went to Seville, then came to Madrid. He wrote to Laura many letters, some in verse. But, undoubtedly, they were intercepted by her parents, for she never answered them. Gonzalo then, in despair, and believing his loved one lost to him forever, joined the army, went to Africa, and there, in a trench, met a glorious death, grasping the flag of Spain and repeating the name of his beloved--Laura--Laura--Laura.

DONA LAURA [_aside_]. What an atrocious lie!

DON GONZALO [_aside_]. I could not have killed myself in a more glorious manner.

DONA LAURA. Such a calamity must have caused you the greatest sorrow.

DON GONZALO. Yes, indeed, Senora. As great as if it were a brother. I presume though, that on the contrary, Laura in a short time was chasing butterflies in her garden, indifferent to everything.

DONA LAURA. No, Senor, no indeed.

DON GONZALO. It is usually a woman's way.

DONA LAURA. Even if you consider it a woman's way, the "Silver Maiden" was not of that disposition. My friend awaited news for days, months, a year, and no letter came. One afternoon, just at sunset, and as the first stars were appearing, she was seen to leave the house, and with quick steps, wend her way toward the beach, that beach where her beloved had risked his life. She wrote his name on the sand, then sat upon a rock, her gaze fixed upon the horizon. The waves murmured their eternal monologue and slowly covered the rock where the maiden sat. Shall I tell you the rest?--The tide rose and carried her off to sea.

DON GONZALO. Good heavens!

DONA LAURA. The fishermen of that sea-coast who tell the story, affirm that it was a long time before the waves washed away that name written on the sand. [_Aside._] You will not get ahead of me in inventing a romantic death.

DON GONZALO [_aside_]. She lies more than I do.

DONA LAURA. Poor Laura!

DON GONZALO. Poor Gonzalo!

DONA LAURA [_aside_]. I will not tell him that in two years I married another.

DON GONZALO [_aside_]. I will not tell her that in three months I went to Paris with a ballet dancer.

DONA LAURA. What strange pranks Fate plays! Here you and I, complete strangers, met by chance, and in discussing the romance of friends of long ago, we have been conversing as we were old friends.

DON GONZALO. Yes, it is strange, considering we commenced our conversation quarreling.

DONA LAURA. Because you scared away the birds.

DON GONZALO. I was in a bad temper.

DONA LAURA. Yes, that was evident. [_Sweetly._] Are you coming to-morrow?

DON GONZALO. Most certainly, if it is a sunny morning. And not only will I not scare away the birds, but will also bring them bread crumbs.

DONA LAURA. Thank you very much. They are very interesting and deserve to be noticed. I wonder where my maid is? [_Dona Laura rises; Don Gonzalo also rises._] What time can it be? [_Dona Laura walks toward left._]

DON GONZALO. It is nearly twelve o'clock. Where can that scamp Juanito be? [_Walks toward right._]

DONA LAURA. There she is talking with her guard. [_Signals with her hand for her maid to approach._]

DON GONZALO [_looking at Laura, whose back is turned. Aside_]. No, no, I will not reveal my identity. I am a grotesque figure now. Better that she recall the gallant horseman who passed daily under her window and tossed her flowers.

DONA LAURA. How reluctant she is to leave him. Here she comes.

DON GONZALO. But where can Juanito be? He has probably forgotten everything in the society of some nursemaid. [_Looks toward right and signals with his hand._]

DONA LAURA [_looking at Gonzalo, whose back is turned. Aside_]. No, I will not tell him I am Laura. I am too sadly altered. It is better he should remember me as the blackeyed girl who tossed him flowers as he passed through the rose path in that garden.

[_Juanito enters by right: Petra by left. She has a bunch of
violets in her hand._]

DONA LAURA. Well, Petra, I thought you were never coming.

DON GONZALO. But, Juanito, what delayed you so? It is very late.

PETRA [_handing violets to Dona Laura_]. My lover gave me these violets for you, Senora.