PLAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 JACINTO BENAVENTE
 
 JACINTO BENAVENTE 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN GARRETT UNDERBILL 
 
 REPRESENTATIVE OF THE SOCIEDAD DE AUTORES E8PANOLE3 IN THE UNITED 
 STATES AND CANADA 
 
 I ^AtfT^OlllZEE Ei>I?iON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 1921 
 
 312 ^
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY 
 JOHN GARRETT UNDERBILL 
 
 Published May, 1917
 
 C o p - ' 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 His WIDOW'S HUSBAND- 1 
 
 THE BONDS OF INTEREST 37 
 
 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 113 
 
 LA MALQUERIDA 197
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 i 
 
 JACINTO BENAVENTE was born at Madrid, August 12, 1866^. { 
 He was the son of Mariano Benavente, a physician and dis- 
 tinguished specialist in the diseases of children, who had 
 come up to the capital from Murcia, that most African and 
 somnolent of European cities, some years before. If Adam 
 should return to this earth, says the Spaniard, Murcia is the 
 spot he would recognize first, for of all places it has changed 
 the least. There is in many of the' most fascinating pages of 
 Benavente the sense of this semitropical, parched, unchang- 
 ing landscape, where, as he himself has put it, civilization 
 has not yet murdered sleep. Along the upper reaches of the 
 River Segura lies many a town, baked into the arid hillsides 
 through centuries of torrid noons, from which never a name 
 has come forth into the currents of European life. 
 
 As a young man he entered the University of Madrid and 
 there studied law, without, however, completing the course. 
 But no routine study fixed his attention. Injparticular, he 
 was avid of intercourse with persons of all sorts and condi- 
 tions, especially with those whose lives were uncouth and 
 primitive in their surroundings, and who were simple and 
 childlike in nature, where the heart was never very far be- 
 neath the surface and the emotions ingenuous and strong. 
 For a while he travelled with a circus; it is even said that he 
 performed in the ring. Clowns fascinated him. dkll classes 
 of itinerant folk have been his friends ever since. Subse- 
 quently he became an actor, appearing in the company of
 
 viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Maria Tubau, where his first part was that of a sportsman, 
 at that period an exotic, incredible, not to say highly ridicu- 
 lous figure in Spain. Hejhas_always been a peregrin.-. ;t<l- 
 vcnturous genius, and of the type nobody ever finds dull. 
 He has travelled extensively and is conversant with tin- 
 languages and literatures of western Europe and of Amer- 
 ica, in which he is familiarly at home. No vital subject is 
 alien to him. His field is world-wide, and his sympathies 
 are of cosmopolitan range. 
 
 While still at the University he gave evidence of literary 
 predilections. His first volume was his "Poems," published 
 in 1893. This was followed by "Plays of the Imagination," 
 which contains some of the finest 'specimens of the hV 
 Spanish prose, and Vilanos, or "Thistledown," preparing the 
 way for his "Figurines" and "The Ladies' Letter Writer," 
 masterpieces in a cameo-like perfection of workmanship and 
 fluent satiric style respectively. These early volumes are at 
 once the model rhetoric and the inspiration of the writers of 
 the younger generation, who have fashioned a new literature 
 and moulded into a finer instrument the stately Castilian 
 tongue. 
 
 With the exception of Cervantes and of certain other 
 robust spirits, more or less associated with the vein of the 
 romances of roguery, Spanish literature, since the day of 
 Lope de Vega and the triumph of the romantic theatre, has 
 been prone to generalizations and to broad emotions. It has 
 been essentially a fabric of imagination and eloquence. It 
 was not only brilliant, but splendid, with its heroic sentiment 
 and its purple patches of diction, yet nevertheless compact 
 of convention and conclusions a priori, exemplified in the 
 traditional honor^of the dramas of Calderpn, the consecrated 
 types of Zorilla, the poisoned rings and unrevealable secrets 
 of the elder Echegaray. But with the coming of the gen-
 
 INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 eration of 1898 a great change took place in the spirit of I 
 Spanish art. The forces of the New World penetrated the 
 life of the Old. The loss of the colonies awakened the nation 
 to a realization of the fact that it had been walking in a 
 political and literary dream. Its traditions had become 
 anachronisms of which it must rid itself before it could 
 assume a position among the progressive peoples. Spanish 
 letters to-day, in the hands of contemporary writers, such as ; 
 Martinez Sierra, Pio Baroja, Valle-Inclan, Juan Ramon 
 Jimenez, Antonio and Manuel Machado, Azorin a company 
 from which the name of Ruben Dario must not be disasso- / 
 ciated is a generalization from experience, not an imitation / 
 of books. It is founded upon observation and insists upon 
 detail, which must precede generalization, no matter how 
 plausible. The style becomes supple, delicate, adapted to 
 reflect the facets as well as the general form of the subject. 
 Through the impetus of the new movement, Spanish criticism 
 also took on new life, and cut its way through both the old 
 and new literatures, to which the test of practical reason 
 was relentlessly applied. So sweeping a revolution would 
 not have been possible in any other country in so brief a 
 time, but the intellectual life of Spain is centred at Madrid, 
 and in a small circle at Madrid, the prestige of whose names 
 is unquestioned wherever the Spanish language is spoken. 
 The new era had been delayed longer than elsewhere, but 
 nowhere had the triumph of its principles proved so radical 
 or so absolute. 
 
 Although in no sense its promoter, Benavente has been the 
 most stimulating and compelling figure in this latter-day 
 renaissance. By a coincidence, perhaps, his evolution has 
 kept pace strictly with the successive phases of its develop- 
 ment. His first play, "Thy Brother's House," El nido ajeno, 
 was acted in 1894, and failed to attract unusual attention.
 
 x INTRODUCTION 
 
 It was not an unusual play. On the performance of his 
 second work, Genie conocida, "In Society," at the Teatro de"^ 
 la Comedia, Madrid, in 1896, it was at once recognized that f 
 an extraordinary talent had appeared. Here was a comedy 
 which had no affinity with anything hitherto seen south of 
 the Pyrenees, suggesting rather the technique of Lavedan or 
 the Countess Martel than that of native writers, such as 
 the Padre Coloma, whose sensationally popular sketches of 
 Madrid life, Pequeneces, had been the nearest approxima- 
 tion known until that time in the Spanish capital. The 
 actors viewed the new play with suspicion during the re- 
 hearsals, and as time went on, even with utter disgust. At 
 last the author himself lost faith. Yet the result confounded 
 them completely. Its triumph on representation was in- 
 stantaneous and final. 
 
 Gente conocida was followed by a brilliant succession of 
 satirical comedies, dealing with Madrid society or with the 
 fortunes of political adventurers from the capital condemned 
 for a while to service in the provinces. "The Banquet of 
 Wild Beasts" and Lo cursi are among the most typical of 
 these plays, in which metropolitan routine is depicted as 
 systematic preoccupation with everything in life which is 
 not worth while. An even more mordant satire is "The 
 Governor's Wife," apparently respecting nothing, much less 
 virtue or is it merely the eternal fool? For the greater 
 part, the plays of this period were written for that most 
 spirited of comediennes, Rosario Pino, and the association of 
 these two remarkable talents, romping and slashing and 
 making holiday together through every convention of the 
 dull, the selfish, the idle, the commonplace, remains in the 
 popular mind as the brightest and most dazzling feature of 
 the modern Spanish stage. 
 
 At the beginning of 1905 Benavente had been active in the
 
 INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 theatre for eleven years. He had written over thirty plays. 
 A decade of varied production had brought the Spanish- 
 speaking peoples to feel, as by common consent, that here 
 was an achievement without precedent in the modern annals 
 of one of the great dramas of the world. It might well have 
 been accounted a life-work. A shorter period has almost 
 invariably witnessed the rise and decline of the favorite 
 Parisian playwrights. Yet Benavente did not purpose to 
 decline. Instead, a subtle change takes place in his style, 
 such as had come over that of Cervantes between the first 
 and second parts of Don Quixote. He renews himself. His 
 phrase becomes transparent, at the same time richer and; 
 more simple, more suggestive. It pervades the whole work 
 with the effortless clarity of the last manner of Velazquez, 
 which is as if it had never met with an obstacle in the world. 
 Such a style is the synthesis of the experience of a great 
 writer, and comes only to the maturity of a great artist. It 
 has been said that every idea of Benavente's is an idea and' 
 a half. We see not only the thought, but its reverse and its 
 ramifications, its genesis, as well as the nature by which it 
 was conceived, against the background of the common 
 mind. 
 
 "I do not make my plays for the public," he writes; "I 
 make the public for my plays." This is true not only in the 
 matter of fundamental conception and arrangement, but 
 there is an entire absence of the lesser tricks and artifices of 
 the stage. Indeed, few writers of the first reputation have 
 been such practical men of the theatre. Not only was he an~^ 
 actor in the beginning, but he has recently impersonated 
 Don Juan Tenorio in Zorilla's play of that name, the war- 
 horse of all great Spanish actors. He created the role of 
 Pepe in his own Sin querer, "In Perfect Innocence," and only 
 a year ago he appeared at the Teatro Lara and assumed the 

 
 xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 leading part in his latest drama, La ciudad alegre y conjiada, 
 preventing thereby the closing of the house when the actor 
 Thuillier was taken ill before one of the earlier performances. 
 Benavente is in no sense a professional actor far from it; 
 these things have been the diversions of a restless and in- 
 quiring mind. He assisted in the formation of the Art 
 Theatre, which was inaugurated by a series of matinees at 
 the Lara, and played in his comedy, "A Long Farewell," at 
 the opening matinee. His "House of Good Fortune" was 
 staged by the Teatre Intim at Barcelona, and in 1911 he 
 associated himself with the actor Porredon in the founda- 
 tion of a Children's Theatre, after the manner of the Educa- 
 tional Alliance of New York, contributing, among other 
 things, "The Prince Who Learned Everything out of Books," 
 an allegorical fairy-tale of great delicacy. Unfortunately this 
 venture proved short-lived. His greatest successes have 
 uniformly been attained in the established houses, the 
 Comedia, the Lara, the Espanol, and, of Tattf years, the 
 Princesa, to the distinction of which, under the direction of 
 Maria Guerrero and Fernando Diaz de Mendoza, he has con- 
 tributed in large measure. Only a master of the theatre 
 could be so independent of its parade; rather he has espoused 
 every reform by which the stage might be broadened or 
 made more sincere. The theatre has been his workshop, 
 not his life, and after each period of productivity he has 
 withdrawn from public view, perhaps to his country home 
 near Toledo, perhaps to travel, to lecture or to write, return- 
 ing again with a fresh orientation and a keener sense of living 
 values. "Ah!" he exclaims in the second volume of his 
 "Table Talk," "let us have done with all counterfeits, of 
 which the most common in the theatre are these: the con- 
 fusion of the vapid with the literary, of the dull with the 
 profound, of the extravagant with the new, the banal with
 
 INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 s 
 
 the poetic, the gross with the courageous and bold. All 
 these equivocations invariably end in one other an empty 
 house, which is explained by saying that the play failed be- 
 cause it was art and the public was unable to appreciate art. 
 But the true art of the theatre is to do good business, and to ] 
 do good business you must do good art. Shakespeare and I 
 Moliere were both managers, and as managers both made a I 
 great deal of money." 
 
 No dramatist is less theatrical, yet none has written- more 
 theatrical plays. Especially during his earlier years, he 
 composed a large number of occasional pieces for the benefits 
 of friends, or otherwise for their accommodation, or to tide 
 friendly stages over emergencies. There are many of these 
 one-act plays, musical plays, farces in one, two, and three 
 acts. They are the fruit of his lighter moments, and are 
 theatrical not in the usual acceptation which implies a dis- 
 tortion of the theme through resort to artifice, but in the 
 very nature and conduct of their action, which is of the 
 theatre, conceived for the purposes of an evening's enter- 
 tainment, rather than out of the sphere of actuality and ex- 
 perience. On the other hand, as in compensation, Bena-. 
 vente has taken an unusual interest in the best in foreign 
 drama, and has made some notable translations from the 
 English, Catalan, and French. An adaptation of Moliere's 
 "Don Juan," first seen in 1897, was his initial undertaking 
 in this field. His "King Lear," a prose version of the 
 tragedy, is an admirable example of the translator's art, 
 while his graceful, flexible rendering of "The Yellow Jacket," 
 the fascinating Chinese drama of George C. Hazelton and 
 Benrimo, is so successful that it almost cries to be turned 
 back into English as an original work. 
 
 Nevertheless, these productions are secondary in the his- 
 tory of his reputation. They have interested him but mo-
 
 xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 mentarily or in some very special connection, although they 
 exceed in bulk and importance the accomplishment of the 
 ordinary playwright. The real dramas of Benavente, in 
 which he has expressed himself, recorded his impressions of 
 life without hesitation or reserve, and made a distinctive 
 contribution to the theatre, are far more numerous, as well 
 as of greater richness and variety. "A Lover's Tale," an 
 improvisation upon the theme of Shakespeare's "Twelfth 
 Night," is held by fastidious judges to be one of the finest 
 examples of modern Spanish prose. It was followed by other 
 works in the same vein, and, after the close of the century, 
 the series of comedies written for Rosario Pino was capped 
 by "Sacrifice" and "The Victor Soul," both of a more sober 
 nature, generally regarded as pessimistic in tendency when 
 contrasted with the lighter works which had preceded them. 
 The two great cycloramic spectacles, "Saturday Night" and 
 "The Fire Dragon," in which the satirical, emotional, and 
 moral elements were intertwined so inextricably that the 
 public was confused and held its judgment for a time in 
 reserve, brought the first decade of activity to an end. 
 Benavente has since tried his hand at almost every genre, 
 and he has been successful in them all peasant drama and 
 the tragedy of blood, so long associated with Spain in the 
 minds of foreigners, satires of provincial and metropolitan 
 society, of the aristocracy, dramas of the middle class, court 
 comedy in the most subtle and refined of forms, in which 
 by birth and breeding the personages are all royal. He has 
 written romantic comedies and dramas, rococo spectacles, 
 imaginative fairy plays of genuine poetic worth. Only the 
 play in verse has remained unattempted, implying, as it 
 no doubt does, through its diction a certain artificiality in 
 the very processes of thought. In all these different genres 
 he has moved with consummate ease, without the suggestion
 
 INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 of effort, until the drama of character has seemed the most 
 facile and casual of arts. 
 
 The four plays which make up the present volume have been 
 chosen from the later works of the author, in which his style 
 has attained full development. They are as representative, 
 perhaps, as four plays selected for the purpose of introduc- 
 tion to an entirely new circle of readers can be. They will 
 provide some basis for an estimate not only of the more super- 
 ficial aspects of his genius, but of his conceptions and methods 
 to an extent of his opinions, as also of the personality which 
 underlies them. It is not difficult for one versed in the theatre 
 to recognize when the voice of the author speaks in his plays. 
 
 "His Widow's Husband," performed at the Teatro Prin- 
 cipe Alfonso in 1908, is a comedy of provincial life, and as 
 such was received with a certain disfavor by the more pre- 
 cious critics of the capital. By the public it was at once 
 accepted as a thoroughly characteristic triumph. Here is 
 a play whose theatrical qualities are obvious, dear to the 
 actor's heart. In structure a farce, it is primarily an adven- 
 ture in provincial psychology, and condenses into effective- 
 ness the provincial atmosphere the town itself, its society, 
 its intellectual status. The characters seem to have no 
 mentality; their minds are atrophied and slow. We become 
 conscious of the outward feel of things, of the streets of the 
 city as they appear to the eye; the personages seem to be 
 present before us in the body, through which the retarded 
 action of their thoughts struggles to the surface with effort. 
 It is astonishing that one of the most spirituelle of writers 
 should be capable of conveying such a vivid sense of crass 
 reality. More closely considered, this Protean quality is 
 implicit in his method. Benavcnte never describes char- i 
 acters; he has no inclination to serve them as tailor, nor
 
 xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 does he give their ages^away. In his plays there is no <!<- 
 seription either of persons or of locale. He does not set his 
 scenes the settings are implied, and the effect attained by 
 an acute perception of mental processes which in themselves 
 suggest the environment. Herein lies the secret of his ver- 
 satility, in the highest art of description, which finds most 
 perfect expression in Senora Ama, wherein the Castilian 
 plains are painted in human terms, their bright, hard lights 
 and vast, treeless distances being projected from the austere 
 poverty of the minds of the aldeanos, or peasants, whose 
 voices seem to break upon the surrounding void and are 
 heard in the great silences of space. 
 
 In La Malquerida the process is carried even further from 
 the point of view of drama. The tragedy was written at the 
 close of 1913 as a tribute to Maria Guerrero, and is the last, 
 as perhaps the most notable, of the series of peasant dramas 
 presented with such distinguished success by the Compania 
 Guerrero-Mendoza. The detail is_of_the most meagre. We 
 are shown a small town, apparently ill lighted or not at all. 
 A brook, or arroyo, runs near by. Evidently the country is 
 a rolling one. There are fields, a grove, a mill in the river 
 bottom, a long road with a crucifix beside it, and mountains 
 in the distance "those mountains" to which no adjective 
 is ever applied. On the mountains there are brambles, 
 thickets, and rocks. This is all. The drama is an emotional 
 ;one in which the landscape and action are exteriorized from 
 the realm of character and conscience, and partake of its 
 nature, vague and blurred of outline, seemingly painted in 
 broad but ill-defined strokes, which harmonize with a per- 
 vading sense of doubt and uncertainty, bewilderment of 
 conscience and impending doom. The subject is the strug- 
 gle of the individual conscience against the conscience of the 
 mass, which is embodied in the talk of the town, almost the
 
 INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 identical theme of Jose Echegaray's "Great Galeoto," but 
 now developed in the manner of a peasant drama by Guimera. 
 It is the sort of drama that the Catalan would have written 
 could he have written this sort of drama, in spirit and exe- 
 cution a creation entirely apart from its predecessors. Once 
 before, Benavente had performed a similar sleight-of-hand, 
 and it is difficult to acquit him of a certain malign plea- 
 sure in the achievement. "The Eyes of the Dead" is obvi- 
 ously just such a tragedy of mystery as those to the compo- 
 sition of which Echegaray had devoted a lifetime. Having 
 proved to the actors that true drama cannot be written 
 around papers, letters, mysterious rings, or any such mo- 
 mentous hocus-pocus, and having actually convinced actors 
 of the fact, he now turns about and through a typical trans- 
 formation writes precisely such a drama, demonstrating that 
 the mysterious letter is a device of the purest water, in no 
 way incompatible with the possession of exacting taste. 
 
 Contrasting with a farce which is a comedy and an emo- 
 tional drama which is a tragedy of character in reverse, 
 "The Evil Doers of Good" is a comedy of manners, accord- 
 ing to the classification of the schools. It is obviously a 
 satire of complacency, of those fruits of religion which are 
 not things of the spirit, and as such it was received at its 
 first performance at the Teatro Lara, where it gave glorious 
 offense. The Lara is the home of the sdbado bianco, or 
 innocuous matinee. No stage could have been selected 
 where such an offering would have proved more unwelcome. 
 Many ladies prominent in Madrid society and active in 
 organized charity arose and left the house. Yet "The Evil 
 Doers of Good," for all its wit, was in fact directed neither 
 against piety nor organized beneficence. Benavente does 
 not satirize individuals; he puts his finger instead upon in- 
 herent inconsistencies which need only to be presented in
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 their native contradiction to appear what they are. His is a 
 civilizing rather than a destructive or reforming force. In 
 this comedy, character and environment react upon each 
 other in the domain of the will, and its significance is to be 
 sought in the story of Jesus and Nativity, washed in to- 
 gether from the sea, which is destined again to carry them 
 away. In "The Graveyard of Dreams," the same two lovers, 
 now called Cipriano and Rosina, are driven apart forever by 
 a relentless poverty against which no satire can avail. An 
 apparent contradiction; the solution is different, although the 
 problem is the same. In the domain of experience every 
 problem is a special problem, to !>< determined by the con- 
 dition of the individual and his relation to his environment. 
 The suggestion of this conflict is always present in Bena- 
 vente, in terms of feeling and the heart. It prevents his 
 most acrid satire from becoming artificial. As his plays un- 
 fold, slowly, imperceptibly it wells up in them where, we 
 can scarcely say, nor how until at last we find ourselves 
 afloat upon the drama of human experience, of which the 
 author seems not until then to have been conscious, and 
 whose development he has had no part in determining. The 
 effect of some of the plays is optimistic, of others pessimistic, 
 according to the degree in which the conditions of life they 
 present are susceptible of domination or are immutably 
 cruel. 
 
 In "The Bonds of Interest," presented at the same theatre 
 two years later, this satire is directed against the duality of 
 human nature itself. The comedy is so deft and facile thai 
 it is easy to pass its significance by. Every man has within 
 him two irreconcilable selves, the good and the bad, the 
 generous, the sordid and base. We are not now a Jekyll 
 and now a Hyde, as in Stevenson's story, but the good is 
 inextricably mixed with the bad, which serves or dominates
 
 INTRODUCTION xk 
 
 it as the case may be. No man is so disinterested that he \ x 
 is insensible to the practical implications of his conduct. 
 And with the worst there always goes some little of the best, 
 so that no one may be said truly to know himself, nor what,, 
 he is. In the play, Leander typifies the untutored best in 
 man, which is good intention. He is unsullied by a life of 
 hardship and defeat, of flight from a heartless justice, of 
 cheats and deceptions and lies. Crispin is the slave, the 
 servant a role which he assumes voluntarily. All service 
 that is worthy of the name is in some measure disinterested. 
 Those who do the work of life must face the facts of life. 
 If Crispin does this, if he does not lie to himself, however 
 much he may lie to others, he will learn through observation 
 and be taught by his own labor. In the end he changes 
 places with Leander, the man of good intentions, who drifts 
 upon the fortunes of others, for out of experience springs the 
 knowledge of the true values of life, which is redeemed only 
 by disinterested love, which is always service and sacrifice. 
 With this the farce ends. 
 
 Spanish criticism has hesitated to define the personality 
 of Benavente or to attempt any final generalization of his 
 work. A product of eighty plays in little more than twenty 
 years might well give the critic pause. But at a distance of 
 three thousand miles, with the perspective of another litera- 
 ture, another stage, it ought not to be difficult to form some 
 conception of this output in its totality as well as of its sig- 
 nificance and tendencies. 
 
 From the days of the Goncourts and Henri Becque in 
 France, the modern movement has been one of cults, of the 
 ardors of the pioneer. It is the story of the rise of the free 
 theatres, of new techniques passionately espoused, of reform. 
 Yet to this writer art was a career, not a campaign. Strange
 
 xx INTRODUCTION 
 
 to say, in a land of warm, soft, southern sun, he has been 
 infected to a less degree than any of his predecessors with a 
 desire to hurry his work upon the stage. His temper, per- 
 haps, is more akin to D'Annunzio's than to that of any other 
 writer of equal rank, although it is devoid of that absorption 
 in the picturesque for its own sake, in himself, in the colorful 
 romance of the past as a pageant, which is so conspicuous in 
 the Italian. Adolfo Bonillu y San .Martin, the critic, has 
 considered the development of his theatre from the literary 
 point of view with authority, but the most penetrating and 
 satisfying analysis of his personality has been made by 
 Gregorio Martinez Sierra, himself a dramatist and scholar 
 of cosmopolitan attainments, intimately associated with 
 him professionally and as a man of letters throughout a 
 period of many years. The portrait which he has drawn is 
 both striking and definitive. 
 
 "Benavente does not compose," says Martinez Sierra, "he 
 creates. The impelling force in his work comes wholly from 
 within, and proceeds from the inside out, as a seed germi- 
 nates, or perhaps more properly, as a crystal takes form. 
 Naturally, good seed which has fallen on good ground pro- 
 duces good fruit, harmonious in development, luxuriant in 
 bloom. There are in consequence, upon occasion, amazing 
 achievements of technique in the total output of this great 
 artist, but I will take my oath that, while writing, he has 
 never for a single second concerned himself with these, nor 
 sought to contrive an effect for a curtain, nor a situation in 
 the course of an act. Is it urged, then, that he has chanced 
 upon many? Beyond all question. As it is written: 'But 
 seek ye first the Kingdom of God and his righteousness; and 
 all these things shall be added unto you.' 
 
 "I should say that the varied qualities which, when fused, 
 constitute his genius, are susceptible of almost any adapta-
 
 INTRODUCTION xxi 
 
 tion. What are they? First of all, astounding jclearn ess j)f 
 mind. Few persons understand so quickly or so well as 
 Jacinto Benavente. It might be said that he jumps from 
 the first point to the conclusion without any intermediate 
 process. To talk with him is the greatest possible rest to 
 the mind. He needs no proof. He comprehends at a 
 glance, without the necessity of waiting for the completed 
 word to reach his ear. He sees ideas coming, and it is the 
 same with events; he sees persons as well. This is why 
 nothing astonishes him. If sometimes the course of events 
 has been such as to give him pain, as must befall all of us 
 who make this journey through life, I am confident that at 
 least he has never been surprised. Hence his readiness at 
 repartee, his irony; hence what has been called his 'detach- 
 ment,' the oscillations of the moral sense backward and 
 forward through his works. He understands everything^. 
 and while possibly he does not excuse it, he concedes it by 
 virtue of the mere fact that it exists, a right to existence. 
 Of what use to deny, since what is must be?" /* 
 
 Chronologically and spiritually, Benavente is the last of 
 the moderns. Born a few years later than the writers whose 
 names have hitherto been most illustrious in the modern 
 theatre, he has been familiar with them all. He has had the 
 advantage of a perspective which has permitted him to profit 
 by their labors. When he began to write naturalism had al- 
 ready had its day and done its work; thenceforth its results 
 might safely be assumed. It was no longer necessary to 
 set them down in unending pages of detail. The theatric 
 situation, which Ibsen had undertaken to rationalize, had 
 already come into disfavor. Time was ripe for a new syn- 
 thesis, for an inquiry into t^.e inherent nature and necessity 
 of those expedients which had, time out of mind, been ac- 
 cepted as mandatory upon the stage, whereby the writing
 
 xxii INTRODUCTION 
 
 of dramas had come to be regarded as a business of purvey- 
 ing carefully elaborated shocks and surprises to auditors who 
 had been prepared for their reception. But of course drama 
 is nothing like this. It is not constrained to leap from situ- 
 ation to situation; nor will it suffice to rationalize the the- 
 atric; it must be gotten rid of altogether. In its very con- 
 ception it is a blight. If a play does not express itself in 
 terms of interest, then it is imperfectly conceived, or unin- 
 teresting dramatically. It is useless to call in the stage 
 doctor or to attempt to stimulate vitality by a resort to 
 stage patent medicines. Similarly by their nature partisan- 
 ship and propaganda are alien to so knowing and catholic 
 a mind. Benavente is the most sophisticate*! of writers, 
 and his characters and conceptions are introduced so un- 
 obtrusively into the minds of his readers that they seem al- 
 ways to have existed in them, and are welcomed as old friends. 
 To understand, it is necessary first to feel we must sym- 
 pathize and it is this feeling which, when rationalized, is 
 productive of great art. He has expounded his theory in one 
 of his prefaces. Great art must not only be original, it must 
 be tolerant and sincere qualities postulated in its breadth 
 of view. "The function of the artist is to tranquillize emo- 
 tion through the intelligence, and it is only in so far as he 
 is able to do this that his work becomes good art; his aim is 
 to bring serenity, not to create a tempest in the mind. . . . 
 Every artist in communicating emotion, is under obligation 
 to set down not what he imagines may move us, but what 
 has in fact moved him. The true artist will fly from literary 
 convention as infallibly as the true lover from the 'Lovers' 
 Letter Writer,' which lies ready to his aid. Good actors 
 know that the right gesture suggests the appropriate feel- 
 <ing. We begin by imitating the letter and end by imitating 
 the spirit. In art, as in love, woe to him who reminds us of 
 another, instead of inducing us to forget!"
 
 INTRODUCTION xxiii 
 
 As early as the production of Gente conocida a positive 
 element had made itself apparent in his comedy, amusingly 
 characterized by him in a statement given to the press on 
 the morning after the first performance. "If there is any 
 moral idea underlying the play, it is this: that the aris- 
 tocracy of brains, of politics, of skill, if it may be so called, 
 laughs at and makes sport of the aristocracy of birth and 
 wealth; but it is helpless in the presence of the aristocracy 
 of the will, the unaided woman who is determined, whose 
 conscience is active amid a society in which all other con- ,' 
 sciences are asleep. ... I must confess, however, that I had 
 no intention of conveying any such meaning. In fact, until V 
 this moment I had not the slightest idea that such a signif- f 
 icance could be attached to my work." This interpretative 
 element continually becomes more and more evident. A 
 satire primarily psychological must in the end lead to some 
 sort of generalization. The moral factor is explicit in such 
 comedies as "The Evil Doers of Good" and "Autumnal 
 Roses," and in the more recent serious plays, "The Grave- 
 yard of Dreams" and "His Proper Self," it assumes a 
 dominant place. However, these are in no sense problem 
 plays, nor may they be considered as expositions of themes. 
 Always and in whatever form the drama of Benavente is >. 
 
 drama of character, never of character in its superficial 
 
 aspects, its eccentricities, but in the human motives which \ 
 
 ^ a " >^ 
 
 underlie and determine its individual manifestations, without /^ 
 which it would be otherwise or cease to be. This is the source f 
 both of his unity and his complexity, which partake of the ' 
 multifariousness of the modern world. 
 
 Benavente is not only an artist, he is much more; he is a i 
 master of life, of those human crises which arise amid the \ * 
 preoccupations of a complex society, when poverty, passion, 
 or some other elemental force breaks for the moment through 
 the dead tangle of convention. His drama is social, not \
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 anti-social. It is not a glorification of heroes and villains 
 and supermen, impatient to enforce their desires, nor is it 
 concerned with revolt or reform, except in a purely secondary 
 sense. The attitude of personal protest is in reality not 
 modern, but reactionary somewhat naive an echo of the 
 old fanaticism. Of course, there is much in society that is 
 susceptible of immediate reformation. Courage and reso- 
 lution can work wonders. But there is much more in the 
 world as it exists about us which is fixed, at least within 
 the span of man's days, which we must first recognize, then 
 submit to or ignore. The subject of Jacinto Benavente is 
 the struggle of love against poverty, of obligation against 
 desire, of imputed virtue against the consciousness of sin. 
 His point of attack is where the individual and the social 
 problem join. Upon these frontiers of the social life which 
 are also frontiers of the moral life he is completely at home, 
 in those fateful moments when society touches the individual 
 to the quick, and he ceases to be his conventional self, and 
 becomes for a brief space a free agent to make the decision 
 which sets in motion again the wheels of the social organism 
 which is to crush him or to carry him along. In its structure 
 and apparatus, society is the study of the sociologist rather 
 than the preoccupation of the artist, yet it is always pres- 
 ent in his drama as a background, as a silent partner, per- 
 haps, or as a relentless opposing force. These are par excel- 
 lence social dramas, in a word, of man in society, yet whose 
 action is conceived never for its effect upon society, but al- 
 ways in its meaning and implication in the life of man. 
 
 By a curious yet not arbitrary contradiction, in his court 
 comedies he has expressed himself most unmistakably. No 
 one has excelled him in the depiction of the elegance and 
 sophistication of what is still known as royalty, its perfect 
 breeding in the sphere to which it extends, the shadowy
 
 INTRODUCTION xxv 
 
 unreality and irony of it all, daily becoming more manifest, 
 while underneath there often lies an artless, childlike heart, 
 masked by generations of veneer. The artificiality of the 
 surroundings contrasts vividly with the simple directness 
 and humanity of the theme, and throws liis qualities into 
 the highest relief. Only__an aristocrat, says Benavente,, can 
 be a democrat. Such a luxury is not for the poor. 
 
 In the beautiful comedy, "The School of Princesses," 
 Prince Albert sums up his point of view. "My philosophy 
 is very simple to accept my position in life with all its obli- 
 gations, to realize that only by fulfilling them completely, 
 that is, of my own free will, can I be happy; that in this way, 
 and this way only, can we, in our unreal station, become the 
 equals of other men who have not been born princes. You 
 must not think that this has cost me no trouble. The gov- 
 ernment of oneself is a most difficult matter, but when once 
 it is achieved, what splendid liberty ! The day that each 
 of us becomes a tyrant over himself, that day all men witt 
 become free, without revolutions and without laws."
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 COMEDY IN ONE ACT 
 
 FIRST PRESENTED AT THE TEATRO PRINCIPE ALFONSO, 
 MADRID, ON THE EVENING OF THE NINETEENTH or 
 OCTOBER, 1908
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 CAROLINA 
 
 EUDOSIA 
 
 PAQUITA 
 
 FLORENCIO 
 
 CASALONGA 
 
 ZURITA 
 
 VALDIVIESO 
 
 The scene is laid in a provincial capital
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 CAROLINA is seated as ZURITA enters. 
 
 ZURITA. My friend ! 
 
 CAROLINA. My good Zurita, it is so thoughtful of you to 
 come so promptly ! I shall never be able to repay all your 
 kindness. 
 
 ZURITA. I am always delighted to be of service to a friend. 
 
 CAROLINA. I asked them to look for you everywhere. Par- 
 don the inconvenience, but the emergency was extreme. I 
 am in a terrible position; all the tact in the world can never 
 extricate me from one of those embarrassing predicaments 
 unless you assist me by your advice. 
 
 ZURITA. Count upon my advice; count upon me in any- 
 thing. However, I cannot believe that you are really in 
 an embarrassing predicament. 
 
 CAROLINA. But I am, my friend; and you are the only 
 one who can advise me. You are a person of taste; your 
 articles and society column are the standard of good form 
 with us. Everybody accepts and respects your decisions. 
 
 ZURITA. Not invariably, I am sorry to say especially now 
 that I have taken up the suppression of the hips, which are 
 fatal to the success of any toilette. Society was formerly 
 very select in this city, but it is no longer the same, as you 
 no doubt have occasion to know. Too many fortunes have 
 been improvised, too many aristocratic families have de- 
 scended in the scale. There has been a great change in so- 
 ciety. The parvenus dominate and money is so insolent ! 
 lVopte~whb haVe4t-imgine that other things can be impro- 
 
 3
 
 4 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 vised as education, for example, manners, good taste. 
 Surely you must realize that such things cannot be impro- 
 vised. Distinction is a hothouse plant. We grow too few 
 gardenias nowadays like you, my friend. On the other 
 hand, we have an abundance of sow-thistles. Not that I 
 am referring to the Nunez family. . . . How do you sup- 
 pose those ladies enliven their Wednesday evenings? With 
 a gramophone, my friend, with a gramophone just like 
 any vulgar cafe; although I must confess that it is an im- 
 provement upon the days when the youngest sang, the 
 middle one recited, and all played together. Nevertheless 
 it is horrible. You can imagine my distress. 
 
 CAROLINA. You know, of course, that I never take part 
 in then* Wednesdays. I never call unless I am sure they 
 are not at home. 
 
 ZURITA. But that is no longer a protection; they leave 
 the gramophone. And the maid invites you to wait and 
 entertain yourself with the Mochuelo. What is a man to 
 do?_ It is impossible to resent the records upon the maid. 
 'But we are wandering from the subject. You excite my 
 curiosity. 
 
 CAROLINA. You know that to-morrow is the day of the 
 unveiling of the statue of my husband, of my previous hus- 
 band 
 
 ZURITA. A fitting honor to the memory of that great, that 
 illustrious man. This province owes him much, and so does 
 all Spain. We who enjoyed the privilege of. calling our- 
 selves his friends, should be delighted to see justice done 
 to his deserts at last, here where political jealousies and 
 intrigue have always belittled the achievements of our 
 eminent men. But Don Patricio Molinete could have no 
 enemies. To-morrow will atone for much of the pettiness of 
 the past.
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 5 
 
 CAROLINA. No doubt. I feel I ought to be proud and 
 happy, although you understand the delicacy of my posi- 
 tion. Now that I have married again, my name is not 
 the same. Yet it is impossible to ignore the fact that once 
 it was mine, especially as everybody knows that we were a 
 model couple. I might perhaps have avoided the situation 
 by leaving town for a few days on account of my health, 
 but then that might have been misinterpreted. People 
 might have thought that I was displeased, or that I declined 
 to participate. 
 
 ZITRITA. Assuredly. Although your name is no longer 
 the same, owing to circumstances, the force of which we 
 appreciate, that is no reason why you should be deprived 
 of the honor of having borne it worthily at the' time. Your 
 present husband has no right to take offense. 
 
 CAROLINA. No, poor Florencio ! In fact, he was the first 
 to realize that I ought to take a leading part in the rejoicing. 
 Poor Florencio was always poor Patricio's . greatest admirer. 
 Their political ideas were the same; they agreed in every- 
 thing. 
 
 ZURITA. Apparently. 
 
 CAROLINA. As I have reason to know. Poor Patricio 
 loved me dearly; perhaps that was what led poor Florencio 
 to imagine that there was something in me to justify the 
 affection of that great-hearted and. intelligent man. It" was " 
 enough for me to know that Florencio was Patricio's most 
 intimate friend in order to form my opinion of him.- Of 
 course, I recognize that Florencio's gifts will never enable 
 him to shine so brilliantly, but that is not to say that he is 
 wanting in ability. He lacks ambition, that is all. All his 
 desires are satisfied at home with me, at his own fireside. 
 And I am as well pleased to have it *o. I nm not ambitious 
 myself. The seasons which I spent with my husband in
 
 6 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 Madrid were a source of great uneasinS^t6 me. I passed 
 -the week during which he wa*-Mmister of Agriculture in 
 'one continual state jjf attfhety. Twice he nearly had a duel 
 over some political ^uestion,. I did not know which way 
 to turn, if he hud ever become Prime Minister, as was 
 actually predicted by a newspaper which he controlled, I 
 should have been obliged to take to my bed for the week. 
 
 ZUKITA. You are not like our senator's wife, Senora 
 Espinosa, nor the wife of our present mayor. They will 
 never rest, nor allow others to && so, until they see their 
 husbands erected in marble. 
 
 CAROLINA. Dfr you think that either Espinosa or the 
 mayor are of a caliber ta^deserve statues? 
 
 ZURITA. Not publicly, perhaps. In a private chapel, in 
 the class of martyrs and husbands^ it might not be in- 
 appropriate. But I am growing impatient. 
 
 CAROLINA. As you say, friend Zurita, it might seem 
 marked for me to leave the city. Yet if I remain I must at- 
 tend the unveiling of the monument to my poor Patricio; 
 I must be present at the memorial exercises to-night in his 
 honor; I must receive the delegations from Madrid and the 
 other cities, as well as the committees from the rest of the 
 province. But what attitude ought I to assume? If I 
 seem too sad, nobody will believe that my feeling is sincere. 
 On the other hand, it would not be proper to appear alto- 
 gether reconciled. Then people would think that I had for- 
 gotten too quickly. In fact, they think so already. 
 
 ZURITA. Oh, no! You were very young when you be- 
 came a widow. Life was just beginning for you. 
 
 CAROLINA. It is a delicate matter, however, to explain to 
 my sisters-in-law. Tell me, what ought I to wear ? Anything 
 severe, an attempt at mourning, would be ridiculous, since 
 I am going with my husband; on the other hand, I should
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 7 
 
 not like to suggest a festive spirit. What do you think, 
 friend Zurita? Give me your advice. What would you 
 wear? 
 
 ZURITA. It is hard to say; the problem is difficult. Some- 
 thing rich and black, perhaps, relieved by a note of violet. 
 The unveiling of a monument to perpetuate the memory 
 of a great man is not an occasion for mourning. Your hus- 
 band is partaking already of the joys of immortality, in 
 wfeieh^ no doubt, he anticipates you. 
 
 CAROLINA. Thank you so much. 
 
 ZURITA. Do not thank me. You have done enough. 
 You have been faithful to his memory. You have married 
 again, but you have married a man who was your husband's 
 most intimate friend. You have not acted like other widows 
 of my acquaintance Senora Benitez, for example. She has 
 been living for two years with the deadliest enemy her hus- 
 band had in the province, without any pretense at getting 
 married which in her case would have been preposterous. 
 
 CAROLINA. There is no comparison. 
 
 ZURITA. <M, my friend; everybody sympathizes with your 
 position, as they ought. 
 
 CAROLINA. The only ones who worry me are my sisters- 
 in-law. They insist that my position is ridiculous, and that 
 of my husband still more so. They do not see how we can 
 have the effrontery to present ourselves before the statue. 
 
 ZURITA. Senora, I should not hesitate though it were that 
 of the Commander. Your sisters-in-law exaggerate. Your 
 present husband is the only one you have to consider. 
 
 CAROLINA. I have no misgivings upon that score. I know 
 that both will appreciate that my feelings are sincere, one 
 in this world, and the other from the next. As for the rest, 
 the rest 
 
 ZURITA. The rest are your friends and your second bus-
 
 8 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 band's friends, as we were of the first. We shall all take 
 your part. The others you can afford to neglect. 
 
 CABOLINA. Thanks for those words of comfort. I knew 
 that you were a good friend of ours, as you were also of liis. 
 
 ZURITA. A friend to both, to all three; si, senora, to ali 
 three. But here is your husband. 
 DON FLORENCIO enters. 
 
 ZURITA. Don Florencio ! My friend ! 
 
 FLORENCIO. My dear Zurita ! I am delighted to see you ! 
 I wish to thank you for that charming article in memory of 
 our never-to-be-forgotten friend. It was good of you, and 
 I appreciate it. You have certainly proved yourself an 
 excellent friend of his. Thanks, my dear Zurita, thanks ! 
 Carolina and I are both indebted to you for your charming 
 article. It brought tears to our eyes. Am I right, Carolina ? 
 
 CAROLINA. We were tremendously affected by it. 
 
 FLORENCIO. Friend Zurita, I am deeply gratified. For the 
 first time in the history of the province, all parties have 
 united to do honor to this region's most eminent son. But 
 have you seen the monument? It is a work of art. The 
 statue is a perfect likeness it is the man, the man himself ! 
 The allegorical features are wonderfully artistic Commerce, 
 Industry, and Truth taken together in the nude. Nothing 
 finer could be wished. You can imagine -the trouble, how- 
 ever, we had with the nudes. The conservative element 
 opposed the nudes, but the sculptor declined to proceed if 
 the nudes were suppressed. In the end we won a decisive 
 victory for Art. 
 
 CAROLINA. Do you know, I think it would have been just 
 as well not to have had any nudes? What was the use of 
 offending anybody? Several of our friends are going to re- 
 main away from the ceremonies upon that account. 
 
 FLORENCIO. How ridiculous! That only shows how far
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 9 
 
 we are beliind the times. You certainly have no feeling of 
 that sort after having been the companion of that great, 
 that liberal man. I remember the trip we took to Italy to- 
 gether you surely recollect it, Carolina. I never saw a 
 man so struck with admiration at those marvellous monu- 
 ments of pagan and Renaissance art. Oh, what a man ! 
 What a wonderful man ! He was an artist. Ah ! Before 
 I forget it, Carolina, Gutierrez asked me for any pictures 
 you have for the special edition of his paper, and I should 
 like to have him publish the verses which he wrote you when 
 you were first engaged. Did you ever see those verses? 
 That man might have been a poet he might have been 
 anything else for that matter. Talk about letters ! I wish 
 you could see his letters. Carolina, let us see some of those 
 letters he wrote you when you were engaged. 
 
 CAROLINA. Not now. This is hardly the time. . . . 
 
 FLOBENCIO. Naturally. In spite of the satisfaction which 
 we feel, these are trying days for us. We are united by-mir 
 memories. I fear I shall never be able to control myself 
 at the unveiling of the statue. 
 
 CAROLINA. Florencio, for heaven's sake, you must ! You 
 must control yourself. 
 
 ZURITA. Yes, do control yourself. You must. 
 
 FLORENCIO. I am controlling myself. 
 
 ZURITA. If there is nothing further that I can do .... 
 
 CAROLINA. No, thank you, Zurita. I am awfully obliged 
 to you. Now that I know what I am to wear, the situation 
 does not seem hah* so embarrassing. 
 
 ZURITA. I understand. A woman's position is never so 
 embarrassing as when she is hesitating as to what to put 
 on. 
 
 CAROLINA. Until to-morrow then? 
 
 ZURITA. Don Florencio !
 
 10 HIS WIDOW'S nrsiuM) 
 
 FLORENCIO. Thank you again for your charming article. 
 It was admirable ! Admirable ! 
 ZURITA retires. 
 
 FLORENCIO. I see that you feel it deeply; you are touched. 
 So am I. It is foolish to attempt to conceal it. 
 
 CAROLINA. I don't know how to express it, but I am upset. 
 
 FLORENCIO. Don't forget the pictures, however, especially 
 the one where the three of us were taken together on the 
 second platform of the Eiffel tower. It was particularly good. 
 
 CAROLINA. Yes, something out of the ordinary. Don't 
 you think, perhaps, that our private affairs, our familylife. . . . 
 How do we know whether at this time, in our situation. . . . 
 
 FLORENCIO. What are you afraid of? That is the woman 
 of it. How narrow-minded ! You ought to be above such 
 pettiness after having been the wife of such an intelligent 
 man. Every detail of the private life of the great has its 
 interest for history. Those of us who knew him, who in a 
 certain sense were his colaborers you will not accuse me 
 of immodesty his colaborers in the great work of his life, 
 owe it to history to see that the truth be known. 
 
 CAKOLINA. Nevertheless I hardly think I would print those 
 letters much less the verses. Do you remember what they 
 said ? 
 
 FLORENCIO. Of course I remember: 
 
 "Like a moth on a pin I preserve all your kisses ! . . . " 
 
 Everybody makes allowances for poetry. Nobody is going 
 to take seriously what he reads in a poem. He married you 
 anyway. Why should any one object? 
 
 CAROLINA. Stop, Florencio ! What are you talking about ? 
 We are making ourselves ridiculous. 
 
 FLORENCIO. Why should we make ourselves ridiculous ? 
 Although I shall certainly stand by you, whatever you de-
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 11 
 
 cide, if for no other reason than that I am your husband, 
 his widow's husband. Otherwise people might think that I 
 wanted you to forget, that I was jealous of his memory; 
 and you know that is not the case. You know how I admired 
 him, how I loved him just as he did me. Nobody could 
 get along with him as well as I could; he was not easy to 
 get along with, I do not need to tell you that. He had his 
 peculiarities they were the peculiarities of a great man 
 but they were great peculiarities. Like all great men, he 
 had an exaggerated opinion of himself. He was horribly 
 stubborn, like all strong characters. Whenever he got on 
 one of his hobbies no power on earth could pry him off of 
 it. It is only out of respect that I do not say he was pig- 
 headed. I was the only one who had the tact and the pa- 
 tience to do anything with him; you know that well enough. 
 How often you said to me: "Oh, Florencio! I can't stand 
 it any longer!" And then I would reason with you and 
 talk to him, and every time that you had a quarrel I was 
 the one who consoled you afterward. 
 
 CAROLINA. Florencio, you are perfectly disgusting ! You 
 have no right to talk like this. 
 
 FLORENCIO. Very well then, my dear. I understand how 
 you feel. This is a time when everybody is dwelling on his 
 virtues, his good qualities, but I want you to remember that 
 that great man had also his faults. 
 
 CAROLINA. You don't know what you are talking about. 
 
 FLORENCIO. Compare me with him 
 
 CAROLINA. Florencio ! You know that in my mind there 
 has never been any comparison. Comparisons are odious. 
 
 FLORENCIO. Not necessarily. But of course you have not ! 
 
 (You have never regretted giving up his distinguished name, 
 
 have you, Carolina, for this humble one of mine? Only I 
 
 want you to understand that if I had desired to shine, if I
 
 12 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 had been ambitious. ... I have talent myself. Now admit 
 it! 
 
 CAROLINA. Of course I do, my dear, of course ! But 
 what is the use of talking nonsense? 
 
 FLORENX-IO. What is the matter with you, anyway ? You 
 are nervous to-day. It is impossible to conduct a sensible 
 conversation. Hello ! Your sisters-in-law ! I am not at 
 home. 
 
 CAROLINA. Don't excite yourself. They never ask for 
 you. 
 
 FLORENCIO. I am delighted ! . . . . Well, I wish you a short 
 session and escape. 
 
 CAROLINA. I am in a fine humor for this sort of thing 
 myself. 
 
 FLORENCIO goes out. 
 
 EUDOSIA and PAQUITA enter. , 
 
 EUDOSIA. I trust that we do not intrude? 
 
 CAROLINA. How can you ask? Come right in. 
 
 EUDOSIA. It seems we find you at home for once. 
 
 CAROLINA. So it seems. 
 
 PAQUITA. Strange to say, whenever we call you always 
 appear to be out. 
 
 CAROLINA. A coincidence. 
 
 EUDOSIA. The coincidence is to find you at home. [A pause} 
 We passed your husband on the street. 
 
 CAROLINA. Are you sure that you would recognize him? 
 
 PAQUITA. Oh ! He was not alone. 
 
 CAROLINA. Is that so? 
 
 EUDOSIA. Paquita saw him with Somolino's wife, at 
 Sanchez the confectioner's. 
 
 CAROLINA. Very possibly. 
 
 PAQUITA. I should not make light of it, if I were you.
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 13 
 
 You know what Somolino's wife is, to say nothing of Sanchez 
 the confectioner. 
 
 CAROLINA. I didn't know about the confectioner. 
 
 EUDOSIA. No respectable woman, no woman who even 
 pretends to be respectable, would set foot in his shop since 
 he married that French girl. 
 
 CAROLINA. I didn't know about the French girl. 
 
 EUDOSIA. Yes, he married her I say married her to avoid 
 using another term. He married her in Bayonne if you 
 call such a thing marriage civilly, which is the way French 
 people marry. It is a land of perdition. 
 
 CAROLINA. I am very sorry to hear it because I am awfully 
 fond of sweetmeats. I adore bonbons and marrons glac&s, 
 and nobody here has as good ones as Sanchez, nor anywhere 
 else for that matter. 
 
 PAQUITA. In that case you had as well deny yourself, un- 
 less you are prepared to invite criticism. Somolino's wife 
 is the only woman who enters the shop and faces the French 
 girl, who gave her a recipe for dyeing her hair on the spot. 
 You must have noticed how she is doing it now. 
 
 CAROLINA. I hadn't noticed. 
 
 EUDOSIA. It is not jet-black any more; it is baby-pink 
 so she is having the Frenchwoman manicure her nails twice 
 a week. Have you noticed the condition of her nails? 
 They are the talk of the town. [A pause. 
 
 PAQUITA. Well, I trust he is satisfied. 
 
 CAROLINA. Who is he? 
 
 PAQUITA. I do not call him your husband. Oh, our poor, 
 dear brother ! 
 
 CAROLINA. I have not the slightest idea what you are 
 talking about. 
 
 EUDOSIA. So he has had his way at last and desecrated
 
 14 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 the statue of our poor brother with the figures of those 
 naked women ? 
 
 PAQTTITA. As large as life. 
 
 CAROLINA. But Florencio is not responsible. It was the 
 sculptor and the committee. I cannot see anything objec- 
 tionable in them myself. There are such figures on all monu- 
 ments. They are allegorical. 
 
 EUDOSIA. I could understand, perhaps, why the statue of 
 Truth should be unclothed. Something of the sort was 
 always expected of Truth. But I must say that Commerce 
 and Industry might have had a tunic at least. Commerce, 
 in my opinion, is particularly indecent. 
 
 PAQUITA. We have declined the seats which were reserved 
 for us. They were directly in front and you could see every- 
 thing. 
 
 EUDOSIA. I suppose you still intend to be present? What 
 a pity that there is nobody to give you proper advice ! 
 
 CAROLINA. As I have been invited, I judge that I shall be 
 welcome as I am. 
 
 PAQUITA. Possibly if it were good form for you to ap- 
 pear at all. But when you exhibit yourself with that man 
 who was his best friend after only three short years ! 
 
 CAROLINA. Three long years. 
 
 EUDOSIA. No doubt they seemed long to you. Three 
 years, did I say ? They were like days to us who still keep 
 his memory green ! 
 
 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,
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 15 
 
 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 pro- 
 pose to take it? When people see you standing there, com- 
 placent 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 ex- 
 tolling 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.
 
 16 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 CAROLINA. That assumption is offensive to me; it is un- 
 fair to all of us. 
 
 EUDOSIA. I hope you brought it with you, Paquita? 
 
 PAQUITA. Yes; here it is. [Talcing out a book. 
 
 EUDOSIA. Just look through this book if you have a mo- 
 ment. It arrived to-day from Madrid and is on sale at Val- 
 divieso'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 you 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.
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 17 
 
 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 busy- 
 bodies ? 
 
 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 insup- 
 portable ! 
 
 PAQUITA. And when people say such tilings you can 
 imagine what they think ! 
 
 FLORENCIO. But Eudosia, Paquita I do not under- 
 stand. 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
 
 18 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 CAROLINA. Let them go! Let them go! They are im- 
 possible. 
 
 PAQUITA. Did you hear that, Eudosia? We are impos- 
 sible ! 
 
 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 re- 
 member 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 hu- 
 morist, has conceived the terribly humorous idea of publish- 
 ing 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 the book. 
 What could Casalonga tell us anyway? 
 
 CAROLINA. Us ? Nothing. But go on, go on.
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 19 
 
 FLOEENCIO. You don't say! Letters of Patricio's. Ad- 
 dressed to whom? 
 
 CAROLINA. To the author of the book, so it seems. Per- 
 sonal 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 with- 
 out even suspecting themselves."
 
 20 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 CAROLINA. What do you think of that? 
 
 FLORENCIO. Suspecting themselves. . . . "They are strug- 
 gling 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 in- 
 terest in the matter is to turn these confidences to his own 
 advantage ! It is useless to attempt to defend it. Such
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 21 
 
 foolishness was unpardonable. I should never have be- 
 lieved 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 per- 
 
 ^^ * ''. 
 
 son who happens along . J . . 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 authori- 
 ties, 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 be- 
 ginning 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 inten- 
 tions. 
 
 CAROLINA. No, Florencio !
 
 22 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 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 4- 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 black- 
 mail 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, in 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.
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 23 
 
 FLORENCIO. Ah ! So this scamp Casalonga is here, is he ? 
 Tell me where I can find him ! 
 
 ZUHITA. 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, 
 Pforencio, 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, com- 
 plete. 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 !
 
 24 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 ZURITA. But Don Florencio! Consider.... The sit.ua- 
 tion 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, t K 
 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 j3e-ytu 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 !
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 25 
 
 CAROLINA. I am horribly nervous. Keep cool, for heavens' 
 sake ! Control yourself. [Goes out. 
 
 ZURITA re-enters. 
 
 ZURITA. Are you calmer now? 
 
 FLORENCIO. Absolutely. Is that man here? 
 
 ZURITA. Yes, Valdivieso brought him. He desires to ex- 
 plain. 
 
 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 me 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.
 
 26 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 VALDIVIESO. Sefior 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 mar- 
 ried 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 al- 
 ways 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 advan- 
 tage 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
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 27 
 
 are in power, I am reduced to extremities. I am at my 
 wit's end to earn an honest penny. 
 
 FLOREXCIO. 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 ro- 
 mance ! 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 monu- 
 ment 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 remin- 
 iscences 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 but- 
 ter, 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,
 
 28 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 third class ! and hurried at once to this fellow's shop. 1 
 placed two thousand copies with him, which he took from me 
 at a horrible discount. You know what these booksellers 
 are. . . . 
 
 VALDIVIESO. I caJ 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 trans- 
 action? Do you suppose that I shall sell a single copy of 
 this libel now that I know that it is offensive to my par- 
 ticular, my excellent friend, Don Florencio, and to his re- 
 spected 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 ex- 
 pense. 
 
 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?
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 29 
 
 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. That 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 let- 
 ters, 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? 
 
 ASALONGA. 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
 
 CO 
 
 30 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 to in this country. If he had had your brains, your tran- 
 scendent 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. 
 
 FLORENCIO. 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 won- 
 derful, 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 !
 
 31 
 
 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 sup- 
 pose 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 de- 
 tails. Have everything ready for this afternoon. 
 
 VALDIVIESO. Do you stand here and sanction this non- 
 sense? 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 offen- 
 sive 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 sampling 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 !
 
 32 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 FLORENCIO. Friend Valdivieso, I cannot tolerate these re- 
 flections. 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 for- 
 get ! 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
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 33 
 
 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 to 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 re-enters. 
 
 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, at- 
 taches 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.
 
 34 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 FLOBENCIO. But wife ! 
 
 ZUBITA. 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 mo- 
 ment 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 with- 
 draw 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 re-enters 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 I 
 
 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. J. 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,
 
 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 35 
 
 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. YeSiJ.hejibange-4sJii.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 noth- 
 
 ing 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 ser- 
 vice. ... 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
 
 36 HIS WIDOW'S HUSBAND 
 
 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, be- 
 sides 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
 
 THE BONDS OF INTEREST 
 
 COMEDY IN A PROLOGUE AND 
 THREE ACTS 
 
 FIRST PRESENTED AT THE TEATRO LARA, MADRID, ON THE 
 EVENING OF THE NINTH OF DECEMBER, 1907
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 DONA SIRENA 
 
 SILVIA 
 
 THE WIFE OP POLJCHINELLE 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 LAUBA 
 
 RlSELA 
 
 LEANDEK 
 
 CRISPIN 
 
 THE DOCTOR 
 
 POLICHINELLE 
 
 HARLEQUIN 
 
 THE CAPTAIN 
 
 PANTALOON 
 
 THE INNKEEPER 
 
 THE SECRETARY 
 
 1st and 2d SERVANTS AT THE INN 
 
 1st and 2d CONSTABLES 
 
 The action takes place in an imaginary country at the beginning 
 of the Seventeenth Century
 
 TO RAFAEL GASSET
 
 THE BONDS OF INTEREST 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 Spoken by CRISPIN 
 
 A conventional drop at the front, having a door in the 
 middle, curtained. 
 
 Here you have the mummer of the antique farce who en- 
 livened in the country inns the hard-earned leisure of the 
 carter, who made the simple rustics gape with wonder in the 
 square of every rural town and village, who in the populous 
 cities drew about him great bewildering assemblages, as in 
 Paris where Tabarin set up his scaffold on the Pont-Neuf and 
 challenged the attention of the passers-by, from the learned 
 doctor pausing a moment on his solemn errand to smooth 
 out the wrinkles on his brow at some merry quip of old-time 
 farce, to the light-hearted cutpurse who there whiled away 
 his hours of ease as he cheated his hunger with a smile, to 
 prelate and noble dame and great grandee in stately carriages, 
 soldier and merchant and student and maid. Men of every 
 rank and condition shared in the rejoicing men who were 
 never brought together in any other way the grave laugh- 
 ing to see the laughter of the gay rather than at the wit of 
 the farce, the wise with the foolish, the poor with the rich, 
 so staid and formal in their ordinary aspect, and the rich to 
 see the poor laugh, their consciences a little easier at the 
 thought: "Even the poor can smile." For nothing Is so 
 contagious as the sympathy of a smile. 
 
 Sometimes our humble farce mounted up to Princes' Pal- 
 41
 
 42 THE BONDS OF INTEREST PROLOGUE 
 
 aces on the whims of the mighty and the great; yet there 
 its rogueries were not less free. It was the common heritage 
 of great and small. Its rude jests, its sharp and biting sen- 
 tences it took from the people, from that lowly wisdom of 
 the poor which knows how to suffer and bear all, and which 
 was softened in those days by resignation in men who did 
 not expect too much of the world and so were able to laugh 
 at the world without bitterness and without hate. 
 
 From its humble origins Lope de Rueda and Shakespere 
 and Moliere lifted it up, bestowing upon it high patents of 
 nobility, and like enamoured princes of the fairy- tales, ele- 
 vated poor Cinderella to the topmost thrones of Poetry and 
 of Art. But our farce to-night cannot claim such distin- 
 guished lineage, contrived for your amusement by the inquir- 
 ing spirit of a restless poet of to-day. 
 
 This is a little play of puppets, impossible in theme, with- 
 out any reality at all. You will soon see how everything 
 happens in it that could never happen, how its personages 
 are not real men and women, nor the shadows of them, but 
 dolls or marionettes of paste and cardboard, moving upon 
 wires which are visible even in a little light and to the dim- 
 mest eye. They are the grotesque masks of the Italian 
 Commedia dett'Arte, not as boisterous as they once were, 
 because they have aged with the years and have been able 
 to think much in so long a time. The author is aware that 
 so primitive a spectacle is unworthy of the culture of these 
 days; he throws himself upon your courtesy and upon your 
 goodness of heart. He only asks that you should make 
 yourselves as young as possible. The world has grown old, 
 but art never can reconcile itself to growing old, and so, to 
 seem young again, it descends to these fripperies. And that 
 is the reason that these outworn puppets have presumed to 
 come to amuse you to-night with their child's play.
 
 THE FIRST ACT 
 
 A plaza in a city. The fagade of an Inn is at the right, having 
 a practicable door, with a knocker upon it. Above the door 
 w a sign which reads IXN T . 
 
 LEANDER and CRISPIN enter from the left. 
 
 LEANDER. This must be a very great city, Crispin. Its 
 riches and its power appear in everything. 
 
 CRISPIN. Yes, there are two cities. Pray God that we 
 have chanced upon the better one ! 
 
 LEANDER. Two cities do you say, Crispin ? Ah ! Now I 
 understand an old city and a new city, one on either side of 
 the river. 
 
 CRISPIN. What has the river to do with it, or newness or 
 age ? I say two cities just as there are in every city in the 
 world; one for people who arrive with money and the other 
 for persons who arrive like us. 
 
 LEANDER. We are lucky to have arrived at all without 
 falling into the hands of Justice. I should be heartily glad 
 to stop here awhile and rest myself, for I am tired of this 
 running about the world so continually. 
 
 CRISPIN. Not I! No, it is the natural condition of the 
 free-born subjects of the Kingdom of Roguery, of whom am 
 I, not to remain seated long in any one place, unless it be 
 through compulsion, as to say in the galleys, where, believe 
 me, they are very hard seats. But now since we have hap- 
 pened upon this city, and to all appearances it is a well for- 
 tified and provisioned one, let us like prudent captains map 
 out our plan of battle beforehand, if we are to conquer it 
 with any advantage to ourselves. 
 
 43
 
 44 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT i 
 
 LEANDER. A pretty army we shall make to besiege it. 
 
 CRISPIN. We are men and we have to do with men. 
 
 LEANDER. All our wealth is on our backs. You were not 
 willing to take off these clothes and sell them, when by 
 doing so we could easily have obtained money. 
 
 CRISPIN. I would sooner take off my skin than my good 
 clothes. As the world goes nothing is so important as ap- 
 pearances, and the clothes, as you must admit, are the first 
 things to appear. 
 
 LEANDER. What are we going to do, Crispin ? Hunger 
 and fatigue have been too much for me. I am overcome; 
 I cannot talk. 
 
 CRISPIN. There is nothing for us to do but to take advan- 
 tage of our talents and our effrontery, for without effrontery 
 talents are of no use. The best thing, as it seems to me, 
 will be for you to talk as little as possible, but be very im- 
 pressive when you do, and put on the airs of a gentleman of 
 quality. From time to time then I will permit you to strike 
 me across the back. When anybody asks you a question, 
 reply mysteriously and if you open your mouth upon your 
 own account, be sure that it is with dignity, as if you were 
 pronouncing sentence. You are young; you have a fine 
 presence. Until now you have known only how to dissipate 
 your resources; this is the time for you to begin to profit 
 by them. Put yourself in my hands. There is nothing so 
 useful to a man as to have some one always at his heels to 
 point out his merits, for modesty in one's self is imbecility, 
 while self-praise is madness, and so between the two we 
 come into disfavor with the world. Men are like merchan- 
 dise; they are worth more or less according to the skill of 
 the salesman who markets them. I tell you, though you 
 were but muddy glass, I will so contrive that in my hands 
 you shall pass for pure diamond. And now let us knock at
 
 ACT i THE BONDS OF INTEREST 45 
 
 the door of this inn, for surely it is the proper thing to have 
 lodgings on the main square. 
 
 LEANDER. You say at this inn? But how are we going 
 to pay? 
 
 CRISPIN. If we are to be stopped by a little thing like 
 that then we had better search out an asylum or an alms- 
 house or else beg on the streets, if so be that you incline to 
 virtue. Or if to force, then back to the highway and cut the 
 throat of the first passer-by. If we are to live upon our 
 means, strictly speaking, we have no other means to live. 
 
 LEANDER. I have letters of introduction to persons of 
 importance in this city, who will be able to lend us aid. 
 
 CRISPIN. Then tear those letters up; never think of such 
 baseness again ! Introduce yourself to no man when you 
 are in need. Those would be pretty letters of credit indeed ! 
 To-day you will be received with the greatest courtesy; 
 they will tell you that their houses and their persons are to 
 be considered as yours. The next time you call, the ser- 
 vant will tell you that his master is not at home. No, he is 
 not expected soon .... and - at the next visit nobody will 
 trouble so much as to open the door. This is a world of 
 giving and taking, a shop, a mart, a place of exchange, and 
 before you ask you have to offer. 
 
 LEANDER. But what can I offer when I have nothing ? 
 
 CRISPIN. How low an opinion you must have of yourself ! 
 Is a man in himself, then, worth nothing? A man may be 
 a soldier, and by his valor win great victories. He may be a 
 husband or a lover, and with love's sweet, oblivious medicine, 
 restore some noble dame to health, or some damsel of high 
 degree, who has been pining away through melancholy. He 
 may be the servant of some mighty and powerful lord, who 
 becomes attached to him and raises him up through his favor, 
 and he may be so many other things besides that I have not
 
 46 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT i 
 
 the breath even to begin to run them over. When one 
 wants to climb, why any stair will do. 
 
 LEANDEB. But if I have not even that stair? 
 
 CRISPIN. Then accept my shoulders, and I will lift you 
 up. I offer you the top. 
 
 LEANDEB. And if we both fall down upon the ground? 
 
 CRISPIN. God grant that it may be soft ! [Knocking at the 
 inn-door] Hello ! Ho, within there ! Hello, I say, in the 
 inn ! Devil of an innkeeper ! Does no one answer ? What 
 sort of a tavern is this ? 
 
 LEANDER. Why are you making all this noise when as yet 
 you have scarcely begun to call ? 
 
 CRISPIN. Because it is monstrous that they should make 
 us wait like this ! [Calling again more loudly] Hello within ! 
 Who's there, I say ? Hello in the house ! Hello, you thou- 
 sand devils ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. [Within] Who's there? What knocking and 
 what shouting at my door ! Is this the way to stand and 
 wait ? Out, I say ! 
 
 CRISPIN. It is too much ! And now he will tell us that 
 this dilapidated old tavern is a fit lodging for a gentleman. 
 Tlie INNKEEPER and Two SEBVANTS come out of the 
 Inn. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Softly, sirs, softly; for this is not a tavern 
 but an inn, and great gentlemen have been lodged in this 
 house. 
 
 CRISPIN. I would like to have seen those same great gen- 
 tlemen gentle, a little more or less. What? It is easy 
 enough to see by these rascals that they are not accustomed 
 to waiting on persons of quality. They stand there like 
 blockheads without running to do our service. 
 
 INNKEEPER. My life ! But you are impertinent !
 
 ACT i THE BONDS OF INTEREST 47 
 
 LEANDER. My servant is a little forward, perhaps. You 
 will find him somewhat hasty in his temper. However, your 
 inn will be good enough for the brief time that we shall be 
 able to remain in it. Prepare an apartment for me and 
 another for my servant, and let us spare these idle words. 
 
 INNKEEPER. I beg your pardon, sir. If you had only 
 spoken before. ... I don't know how it is, but somehow 
 gentlemen are always so much more polite than their ser- 
 vants. 
 
 CRISPIN. The fact is my master is so good-natured that 
 he will put up with anything. But I know what is proper 
 for his service, and I have no mind to wink at villainy. Lead 
 us to our apartments. 
 
 INNKEEPER. But where is your luggage? 
 
 CRISPIN. Do you suppose that we are carrying our lug- 
 gage with us on our backs, like a soldier's knapsack, or 
 trundling it like students' bundles in our hands ? Know that 
 my master has eight carts coming after him, which will ar- 
 rive if he stays here long enough, and at that he will only 
 remain for the time which is absolutely necessary to conclude 
 the secret mission with which he has been intrusted in this 
 city. 
 
 LEANDER. Will you be silent and hold your tongue? 
 What secret is it possible to keep with you? If I am dis- 
 covered through your impudence, through your misguided 
 talk .... [He threatens and strikes CRISPIN with his sword. 
 
 CRISPIN. Help ! He is killing me ! [Running. 
 
 INNKEEPER. [Interposing between LEANDER and CRISPIN] 
 Hold, sir ! 
 
 LEANDER. Let me chastise him ! The most intolerable of 
 vices is this desire to talk. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Do not beat him, sir !
 
 48 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT i 
 
 LEANDER. Let me at him! Let me at him! Will the 
 slave never learn ? 
 
 As he is about to strike CRISPIN, CRISPIN runs and hides 
 himself behind the INNKEEPER, wfio receives all the 
 blows. 
 
 CRISPIN. [Crying out] Ay ! Ay ! Ay ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Ay, say I ! For I got all the blows ! 
 
 LEANDER. [To CRISPIN] Now you see what you have 
 done. This poor man has received all the blows. Down ! 
 Down ! Beg his pardon ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. It will not be necessary, sir. I pardon him 
 willingly. [To the servants] What are you doing standing 
 there ? Prepare the rooms in which the Emperor of Mantua 
 is accustomed to reside when he is stopping in this house, 
 and let dinner be made ready for these gentlemen. 
 
 CRISPIN. Perhaps it would be as well if I saw to that my- 
 self, otherwise they may delay and spoil everything, and 
 commit a thousand blunders for which I shall be held re- 
 sponsible, for my master, as you see, is not a man to submit 
 to insult. I am with you, sirrahs and remember who it 
 is you serve, for the greatest good fortune or the direst 
 calamity in the world enters at this moment behind you 
 through these doors. 
 
 The servants, followed by CRISPIN, re-enter the Inn. 
 
 INNKEEPER. [To LEANDER] Will you be good enough to 
 let me have your name, where you come from, and the busi- 
 ness which brings you to this city? 
 
 LEANDER. [Seeing CRISPIN re-enter from the Inn] My ser- 
 vant will let you 'have them. Learn not to bother me with 
 foolish questions. [He goes into the Inn. 
 
 CRISPIN. What have you done now ? You have not dared 
 to question my master? If you want to keep him so much
 
 ACT i THE BONDS OF INTEREST 49 
 
 as another hour in your house, never speak to him again. 
 No ! Not one word ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. But the laws are very strict. It is absolutely 
 necessary that the questions should be answered. The law 
 in this city 
 
 CRISPIN. Never mention the law to my master ! Silence ! 
 Silence ! And for shame ! You do not know whom you 
 have in your house; no, and if you did, you would not be 
 wasting your time on these impertinences. 
 
 INNKEEPER. But am I not to be told at least 
 
 CRISPIN. Bolt of Heaven! Silence! Or I will call my 
 master, and he will tell you whatever he sees fit and then 
 you will not understand. Take care ! Look to it that he 
 wants for nothing ! Wait on him with every one of your 
 five senses, or you will have good reason to regret it ! Have 
 you no knowledge of men? Can't you read character? 
 Don't you see who my master is? What? How is that? 
 What do you say ? No reply ? . . . . Come ! Come ! . . . . 
 In!.... 
 
 He goes into the Inn, pushing the INNKEEPER before 
 him. The CAPTAIN and HARLEQUIN enter from the 
 left. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. As we return from the fields which surround 
 this fair city and beyond a doubt they are the best part 
 of it it seems that without intending it we have happened 
 upon this Inn. What a creature of habit is man ! And 
 surely it is a vile habit, this being obliged to eat every day. 
 
 CAPTAIN. The sweet music of your verses had quite de- 
 prived me of all thought. Delightful privilege of the poet ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Which does not prevent him from being 
 equally lacking upon his own part. The poet wants every- 
 thing. I approach this Inn with fear. Will they consent to 
 trust us to-day? If not, we must rely upon your sword.
 
 50 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACTI 
 
 CAPTAIN. My sword ? The soldier's sword, like the poet's 
 lyre, is little valued in this city of merchants and traders. 
 We have fallen upon evil days. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. We have. Sublime poesy, which sings of 
 great and glorious exploits, is no more. It is equally profit- 
 less to offer your genius to the great to praise or to lampoon 
 them. Flattery and satire are both alike to them. They 
 neither thank you for the one nor fear the other, nor do they 
 read them. Aretino himself would have starved to death 
 in these days. 
 
 CAPTAIN. But tell me, how is it with us? What is the 
 position of the soldier? Because we were defeated in the 
 late wars more through these base traffickers who govern 
 us and send us to defend their interests without enthusiasm 
 and without arms, than through any power of the enemy, as 
 if a man could fight with his whole heart for what he did not 
 love defeated by these traffickers who did not contribute 
 so much as a single soldier to our ranks or lend one single 
 penny to the cause but upon good interest and yet better 
 security; who, as soon as they scented danger and saw their 
 pockets in jeopardy, threatened to make common cause 
 with the enemy now they blame us, they abuse us and 
 despise us, and seek to economize out of our martial misery, 
 which is the little pay that they give us, and would dismiss 
 us if they dared, if they were not afraid that some day all 
 those whom they have oppressed by their tyranny and their 
 greed would rise up and turn against them. And woe to 
 them when they do, if we remember that day on which side 
 lie duty and justice ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. When that day comes you will find us at 
 your side. 
 
 CAPTAIN. Poets cannot be depended upon for anything. 
 Your spirits are like the opal, which looks different in every
 
 ACT i THE BONDS OF INTEREST 51 
 
 light. You are in an ecstasy to-day over what is about to 
 be born, and to-morrow over what is in the last stages of 
 dissolution. You have a special weakness for falling in love 
 with ruins, which to my mind is a melancholy thing. And 
 since as a rule you sit up all night, you more often see the 
 sun set than the day break; you know more about going 
 down than you do of rising. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. That cannot truthfully be said of me. I 
 have often seen the sun rise when I had no place to lay my 
 head. Besides, how can you expect a man to hail the day 
 as blithely as the lark when it always breaks so unfortu- 
 nately for him? What say you? Shall we try our fate? 
 
 CAPTAIN. It cannot be avoided. Be seated, and let us 
 await what our good host has in store. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. [Calling into the Inn] Hello, there! Ho! 
 Who serves to-day? 
 
 The INNKEEPER enters. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Ah, gentlemen ! Is it you ? I am sorry, but 
 there is no entertainment at the Inn to-day. 
 
 CAPTAIN. And for what reason, if it is proper to ask the 
 question ? 
 
 INNKEEPER. A proper question for you to ask. Do you 
 suppose that I trust nobody for what is consumed in this 
 house ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. Ah ! Is that the reason ? And are we not per- 
 sons of credit, who are to be trusted? 
 
 INNKEEPER. No; not by me. And as I never expect to 
 collect anything, you have had all that courtesy requires out 
 of me already. This being the case, you will be so kind as 
 to remove yourselves from my door. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Do you imply that there is nothing to be 
 counted between us but money? Are all the praises that 
 we have lavished upon your house in all parts of the conn-
 
 52 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT i 
 
 try to go for nothing? I have even composed a sonnet in 
 your honor, in which I celebrate the virtues of your stewed 
 partridges and hare pie ! And as for my friend, the Captain, 
 you may rest assured that he alone would uphold the reputa- 
 tion of your hostelry against an army. Is that a feat which 
 is worth nothing? Is there nothing but clinking of coins in 
 your ears ? 
 
 INNKEEPER. I am not in a jesting mood; it does not suit 
 my humor. I want none of your sonnets, nor the Captain's 
 sword either, which might better be employed in other busi- 
 ness. 
 
 CAPTAIN. Name of Mars! You are right. Better em- 
 ployed upon an impudent rascal's back, flaying off his hide ! 
 [Threatening him and striking him with his sword. 
 
 INNKEEPER. [Crying out] What? How is this? You 
 strike me ? Help ! Justice ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. [Restraining the CAPTAIN] Don't run your 
 head into a noose on account of such a worthless scamp. 
 
 CAPTAIN. I shall kill him. [Striking him. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Help! Justice! 
 
 The Two SERVANTS enter, running, from the Inn. 
 
 SERVANTS. They are killing our master ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Save me ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. Not one of them shall remain alive ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Will no one come? 
 CRISPIN and LEANDER enter. 
 
 LEANDER. What is this brawl? 
 
 CRISPIN. In the presence of my master? Before the 
 house where he resides ? Is there no rest possible, nor quiet ? 
 Hold ! Or I shall summon Justice. Order ! Quiet ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. This will be the ruin of me! With such a 
 dignitary stopping in my house ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Who is he?
 
 ACT i THE BONDS OF INTEREST 53 
 
 INNKEEPER. Never dare to ask me his name ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. Your pardon, sir, if we have disturbed your 
 rest, but this rascally villain 
 
 INNKEEPER. It wasn't my fault, my lord. These un- 
 blushing scoundrels 
 
 CAPTAIN. What? I? Unblushing I? I can bear no 
 more! 
 
 CRISPIN. Hold, sir Captain, for one is here who is able 
 to redress your wrongs, if so be you have had them of this 
 man. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Consider, sir, that for more than a month 
 these fellows have eaten at my expense without the pay- 
 ment of one penny without so much as the thought of pay- 
 ment; and now because I refuse to serve them to-day, they 
 turn upon me. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. I do not turn because I am accustomed to 
 face that which is unpleasant. 
 
 CAPTAIN. Is it reasonable that a soldier should not be 
 given credit? 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Is it reasonable that a sonnet should be al- 
 lowed to pass for nothing, although it is written with the 
 best of flourishes in praise of his stewed partridges and hare 
 pies ? And all this upon credit on my part, for I have never 
 tasted one of them, but only his eternal mutton and potatoes. 
 
 CRISPIN. These two noble gentlemen are right. It is in- 
 famous that a poet and a soldier should be denied in this 
 manner. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Ah, sir ! You have a great soul ! 
 
 CRISPIN. No, I have not but my master, who is here 
 present. Being a grand gentleman, there is nothing which 
 appeals to him so much in the world as a poet or a soldier. 
 
 LEANDER. To be sure. I agree with you. 
 
 CRISPIN. You need have no doubt but that while he re-
 
 54 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT i 
 
 mains in this city you will be treated with the consideration 
 you deserve. You shall want for nothing. Whatever ex- 
 pense you may be at in this Inn, is to be placed upon his 
 account. 
 
 LEANDER. To be sure. I agree with you. 
 
 CRISPIN. And let the landlord look to it that you get 
 your deserts ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Sir ! .... 
 
 CRISPIN. And don't be so stingy with those partridges and 
 hairy pies. It is not proper that a poet like Signor Harle- 
 quin should be obliged to draw upon his imagination in his 
 descriptions of such material things. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. What? Do you know my name? 
 
 CRISPIN. No, I do not; but my master, being such a great 
 gentleman, knows all the poets who exist or who ever did 
 exist in the world, provided always that they were worthy 
 of the name. 
 
 LEANDER. To be sure. I agree with you. 
 
 CRISPIN. And none of them is more famous than you, 
 Signor Harlequin. Whenever I consider that you have not 
 been treated here with the respect which is your due 
 
 INNKEEPER. Your pardon, sir. They shall be made wel- 
 come, as you desire. It is sufficient that you should be their 
 security. 
 
 CAPTAIN. Sir, if I can be of service to you in any way. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. What? Is it a small service to be permitted 
 to know you? O glorious Captain, worthy only to be sung 
 by this immortal poet ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Sir! 
 
 CAPTAIN. Sir! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. So my verses are known to you? 
 
 CRISPIN. How? Known? And if known would it ever
 
 ACT i THE BONDS OF INTEREST 55 
 
 be possible to forget them? Is not that wonderful sonnet 
 yours, which begins: 
 
 "The soft hand which caresses and which slays". . . . 
 
 HARLEQUIN. What? 
 CRISPIN. What? 
 
 "The soft hand which caresses and which slays". . . . 
 
 It does not say what. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Nonsense ! No, that is not my sonnet. 
 
 CRISPIN. Then it is worthy of being yours. And you, 
 Captain ! Who is not familiar with your marvellous ex- 
 ploits? Was it not you who, alone, with twenty men, as- 
 saulted the Castle of the Red Rock in the famous battle of 
 the Black Field? 
 
 CAPTAIN. You know, then? 
 
 CRISPIN. How ? . . . . Do I know ? Oh ! Many a time, 
 transported, I have listened to my master recount the story 
 of your prowess ! Twenty men, twenty, and you in front 
 of them, and in front of you the castle. Boom! Boom! 
 Boom ! from the castle, shots and bombards, darts and flam- 
 ing squibs and boiling oil ! And the twenty men all stand- 
 ing there like one man, and you in front of them ! And from 
 above: Boom! Boom! Boom! And the roll of the drums : 
 Rum-a-tum-tum ! And the blare of the trumpets: Tara! 
 Tara-ra ! And you all the while there alone with your 
 sword : Swish ! Swish ! Swish ! A blow here, a blow 
 
 there. Or without your sword. . . . Above, below A 
 
 head, an arm .... 
 
 He begins to rain blows about him right and left, and to 
 kick, using his fists, his feet, and the fiat side of his 
 sword indifferently.
 
 56 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT i 
 
 SERVANTS. Ay! Ay! Oh! Oh! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Hold ! Hold ! Restrain yourself ! You don't 
 know what you are doing. You are all excited. ... It is 
 as if the battle were really taking place. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. How? I am excited? Know that I always 
 feel in my breast the animus belli, the thirst for war ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. It seems almost as if you must have been there. 
 
 CRISPIN. To hear my master describe it is the same as 
 being there. No, it is preferable to it. And is such a sol- 
 dier, the hero of the Red Rocks in the Black Fields, to be 
 insulted thus ? Ah ! How fortunate it is that my master 
 was present, and that important business had brought him 
 to this city, for he will see to it that you are accorded 
 the consideration you deserve. So sublime a poet, so great 
 a captain!.... [To the servants] Quick! What are you 
 doing there? Bring the best food that you have in the 
 house and set it before these gentlemen. And first of all 
 get a bottle of good wine; it will be a rare pleasure to my 
 master to drink with them. He will esteem himself indeed 
 fortunate. Don't stand there and stare ! Quick ! Bestir 
 yourselves ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Run, run ! I go. ... We are getting some- 
 thing out of this after all. 
 
 The INNKEEPER and the Two SERVANTS run into the 
 Inn. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Ah, sir ! How can we ever repay you ? 
 
 CAPTAIN. How ? We certainly never shall .... 
 
 CRISPIN. Let nobody speak of payment before my master. 
 The very thought gives offense. Be seated, be seated. My 
 master, who has wined and dined so many princes, so many 
 noblemen at his table, will deem this an even greater pleasure. 
 
 LEANDER. To be sure. I agree with you. 
 
 CRISPIN. My master is not a man of many words; but, as
 
 ACT i THE BONDS OF INTEREST 57 
 
 you see, the few that he does speak, are, as it were, fraught 
 with wisdom. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. His grandeur appears in everything. 
 
 CAPTAIN. You have no idea what a comfort it is to our 
 drooping spirits to find a noble gentleman like you who 
 condescends to treat us with consideration. 
 
 CRISPIN. Why, this is nothing to what he will condescend 
 to do ! I know that my master will never rest satisfied to 
 stop at such a trifle. He will elevate you to his own level, 
 and then hold you up beside him on the same exalted plane. 
 He is just that kind of a man. 
 
 LEANDER. [To CRISPIN] Don't let your tongue run away 
 with you, Crispin. 
 
 CRISPIN. My master is averse to foolish talk; but you will 
 soon know him by his deeds. 
 
 The INNKEEPER and the SERVANTS re-enter, bringing 
 wine and provisions which they place upon the table. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Here is the wine and the dinner. 
 
 CRISPIN. Drink, drink and eat ! See that they want for 
 nothing; my master is agreeable. He will be responsible. 
 His responsibility is fortunately not in question. If you 
 would like anything you don't see, don't hesitate to ask for 
 it. My master will order it. And let the landlord look to 
 it that it is brought promptly, for verily at this business, he 
 is the sorriest kind of a knave. 
 
 INNKEEPER. To be sure. . . .1 don't agree with you. 
 
 CRISPIN. Not another word ! You insult my master. 
 
 CAPTAIN. Your very good health ! 
 
 LEANDER. Your good healths, gentlemen ! To the health 
 of the greatest poet and the best soldier in the world ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. To the health of the noblest gentleman ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. The most liberal and the most generous ! 
 
 CRISPIN. In the world ! Excuse me, but I must drink
 
 58 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT i 
 
 too, though it may seem presumptuous. But on a day like 
 this, this day of days, which has brought together the sublim- 
 est poet, the bravest captain, the noblest gentleman, and the 
 most faithful servant in the universe. . . . [They drink] Now 
 you will permit my master to retire. The important busi- 
 ness which brings him to the city admits of no further delay. 
 
 LEANDER. To be sure. 
 
 CRISPIN. You will not fail to return every day and pre- 
 sent your respects to him? 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Every hour ! And I am going to bring with 
 me all the poets and all the musicians of my acquaintance, 
 to serenade him with music and songs. 
 
 CAPTAIN. I shall bring my whole company with me with 
 torches and banners. 
 
 LEANDER. You will offend my modesty. 
 
 CRISPIN. And now eat, drink! Mind you, sirrahs! 
 About it! Quick! Serve these gentlemen. [To the CAP- 
 TAIN] A word in your ear. Are you out of money? 
 
 CAPTAIN. What shall I say? 
 
 CRISPIN. Say no more. [To the INNKEEPER] Eh! This 
 way ! Let these gentlemen have forty or fifty crowns on 
 my master's account, as a present from him. Omit nothing ! 
 See that they are satisfied. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Don't worry, sir. Forty or fifty, did you 
 say? 
 
 CRISPIN. While you are about it, better make it sixty. 
 Your health, gentlemen ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. Long life to the noblest gentleman in the world ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Long life ! 
 
 CRISPIN. Shout long life, too, you uncivil people. 
 
 INNKEEPER AND SERVANTS. Long life ! Long life ! 
 
 CRISPIN. Long life to the sublirnest poet and the best 
 soldier in the world !
 
 ACT i THE BONDS OF INTEREST 59 
 
 ALL. Long life ! 
 
 LEANDER. [To CRISPIN] Are you mad, Crispin? What 
 are you doing ? How are we ever going to get out of this ? 
 CRISPIN. The same way that we got in. You see now 
 poesy and arms are ours. On ! We shall achieve the con- 
 quest of the world ! 
 
 All exchange bows and salutations, after which LEANDER 
 and CRISPIN go out upon the left, as they came in. 
 The CAPTAIN and HARLEQUIN attack the dinner which 
 is set before them by the INNKEEPER and the SERVANTS, 
 who wait upon them assiduously with anticipation of 
 their every want. 
 
 Curtain
 
 THE SECOND ACT 
 
 A garden with the facade of a pavilion opening upon it. 
 DONA SIRENA and COLUMBINE enter from the pavilion. 
 
 SIRENA. Is it not enough to deprive a woman of her five 
 senses, Columbine? Can it be possible that a lady should 
 see herself placed in so embarrassing a position and by low, 
 unfeeling people ? How did you ever dare to show yourself 
 in my presence with such a tale? 
 
 COLUMBINE. But sooner or later wouldn't you have had 
 to know it? 
 
 SIRENA. I had rather have died first. But did they all 
 say the same? 
 
 COLUMBINE. All, one after the other, exactly as I have 
 told it to you. The tailor absolutely refuses to send you 
 the gown until you have paid him everything that you owe. 
 
 SIRENA. Impudent rascal ! Everything that I owe him. 
 The barefaced highwayman ! And does he not stand in- 
 debted for his reputation and his very credit in this city to 
 me? Until I employed him in the decoration of my per- 
 son he did not know, so to speak, what it was to dress a lady. 
 
 COLUMBINE. All the cooks and musicians and servants say 
 the same. They refuse to play to-night or to appear at the 
 fete unless they are all paid beforehand. 
 
 SIRENA. The rogues ! The brood of vipers ! Whence 
 does such insolence spring? Were these people not born to 
 serve ? Are they to be paid nowadays in nothing but money ? 
 Is money the only thing which has value in the world ? 
 Woe unto her who is left without a husband to look after 
 her, as I am, without male relatives, alas, without any mas- 
 
 60
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 61 
 
 culine connection! A woman by herself is worth nothing 
 in the world, be she never so noble or virtuous. O day 
 foretold of the Apocalypse ! Surely Antichrist has come ! 
 
 COLUMBINE. I never saw you so put out before. I hardly 
 know you. You have always been able to rise above these 
 calamities. 
 
 SIRENA. Those were other days, Columbine. Then I had 
 my youth to count on, and my beauty, as powerful allies. 
 Princes and great grandees cast themselves at my feet. 
 
 COLUMBINE. But on the other hand you did not have the 
 experience and knowledge of the world which you have now. 
 And as far as beauty is concerned, surely you never shone 
 with such refulgence as to-day that is, if you will listen to 
 me. 
 
 SIRENA. Don't attempt to flatter me. Do you suppose 
 that I should ever have got myself into such a fix if I had 
 been the Dona Sirena of my twenties ? 
 
 COLUMBINE. Your twenty suitors ? 
 
 SIRENA. What do you think? I had no end of suitors. 
 And you who have not yet begun upon twenty, you have 
 not the sense to perceiVe what that means and to profit by 
 it. I would never have believed it possible. Otherwise 
 should I have adopted you for my niece if I had, though I 
 saw myself abandoned by every man in the world and re- 
 duced to live alone with a maid servant? If instead of 
 wasting your youth on this impecunious Harlequin, this 
 poet who can bring you nothing but ballads and verses, you 
 had had the sense to make a proper use of your time, we 
 should not be languishing now in this humiliating dilemma. 
 
 COLUMBINE. What do you expect? I am too young to 
 resign myself to being loved without loving. If I am ever 
 to become skilful in making others suffer for love of me, 
 surely I must learn first what it is one suffers when one loves.
 
 62 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT n 
 
 And when I do, I am positive I shall be able to profit by it. 
 I have not yet turned twenty, but you must not think be- 
 cause of that I have so little sense as to marry Harlequin. 
 
 SIRENA. I would not trust you. You are capricious, 
 flighty, and allow yourself to be run away with by your 
 imagination. But first let us consider what is to be done. 
 How are we to extricate ourselves from this horrible dilemma ? 
 In a short time the guests will arrive all persons of quality 
 and importance, and among them Signer Polichinelle and 
 liis wife and daughter, who, for various reasons, are of more 
 account to me than the rest. You know my house has been 
 frequented of late by several noble gentlemen, somewhat 
 frayed hi their nobility, it is true, as I am, through want of 
 means. For any one of them, the daughter of Signer Po- 
 lichinelle, with her rich dowry and the priceless sum which 
 she will inherit upon her father's death, would be an untold 
 treasure. She has many suitors, but I interpose my influ- 
 ence with Signer Polichinelle and with his wife in favor of 
 them all. Whichever one should be fortunate I know that 
 he will requite my good offices with his bounty, because I 
 have made them all sign an agreement which assures me of it. 
 I have no other means than this to repair my state. If now 
 some rich merchant or some trader by some lucky chance 
 should fall hi love with you .... Ah, who can say ? This 
 house might become again what it was in other days. But 
 if the insolence of these people breaks out to-night, if I can- 
 not give the fete. . . . No ! I cannot think of it ! It would 
 be the death of me! 
 
 CQLUMBINE. Do not trouble yourself, Dona Sirena. We 
 have enough in the house to provide the entertainment. 
 As for the music and the servants, Signor Harlequin will be 
 able to supply them he is not a poet and in love with me 
 for nothing. Many singers and choice spirits of his acquain-
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 63 
 
 tance will willingly lend themselves to any adventure. You 
 will see that nothing will be lacking, and your guests will all 
 say that they have never been present at so marvellous a 
 fete in their lives. 
 
 SIRENA. Ah, Columbine ! If that could only be, how 
 greatly you would rise in my estimation ! Run, run and 
 seek out your poet. . . . There is no time to lose. 
 
 COLUMBINE. My poet? Surely he is walking up and 
 down now on the other side of the garden, waiting for a 
 sign. 
 
 SIRENA. I fear it would not be proper for me to be present 
 at your interview. I ought not to demean myself by solicit- 
 ing his favors. I leave all that to you. Let nothing be 
 wanting at the fete and you shall be well repaid, for these 
 terrible straits through which we are passing to-night can- 
 not continue forever or else I am not Dona Sirena ! 
 
 COLUMBINE. All will be well. Have no fear. 
 DONA SIRENA goes out through the pavilion. 
 
 COLUMBINE. [Stepping toward the right and calling] Harle- 
 quin ! Harlequin ! [CRISPIN enters] It isn't he ! 
 
 CRISPIN. Be not afraid, beautiful Columbine, mistress 
 of the mightiest poet, who yet has not been able to heighten 
 in his verses the splendors of your charm. If the picture 
 must always be different from reality, the advantage in this 
 case is all on the side of reality. You can imagine, no doubt, 
 what the picture must have been. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Are you a poet, too, or only a courtier and 
 a flatterer? 
 
 CRISPIN. I am the best friend of your lover Harlequin, 
 although I only met him to-day; but he has had ample 
 proof of my friendship in this brief time. My greatest de- 
 sire has been to salute you, and Signor Harlequin would not 
 have been the poet that I take him for, had he not trusted
 
 64 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT n 
 
 to my friendship implicitly. But for his confidence I should 
 have been in danger of falling in love with you simply upon 
 the opportunity which he has afforded me of seeing you. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Signor Harlequin trusted as much in my 
 love as he did to your friendship. Don't take so much credit 
 to yourself. It is as foolish to trust a man while he lives as 
 a woman while she loves. 
 
 CRISPIN. Now 'I see that you are not so fatal to the sight 
 as to the ear. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Pardon me. Before the fete to-night I 
 must speak with Signor Harlequin, and. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. It will not be necessary. That is why I have 
 come, a poor ambassador from him and from my master, 
 who stoops to kiss your hand. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Who is your master, if I may ask that 
 question ? 
 
 CRISPIN. The noblest and most powerful gentleman in the 
 world. Permit me for the present not to mention his name. 
 Soon it will be known. My master desires to salute Dona 
 Sirena and to be present at her fete to-night. 
 
 COLUMBINE. At her fete? Don't you know. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. I know everything. That is my business to 
 investigate. I know that there were certain inconveniences 
 which threatened to becloud it; but there will be none. 
 Everything is provided for. 
 
 COLUMBINE. What ! Then you do know ? 
 
 CRISPIN. I assure you everything is provided for a 
 sumptuous reception, lights and fireworks, musicians and 
 sweet song. It will be the most brilliant fete which ever 
 was in the world. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Ah, then you are an enchanter? 
 
 CRISPIN. Now you begin to know me. But I shall only 
 tell you that I do not bring good fortune with me for nothing.
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 65 
 
 The -people of this city are so intelligent that I am sure they 
 will be incapable of frowning upon it and discouraging it 
 with foolish scruples when they see it arrive. My master 
 knows that Signer Polichinelle and his only daughter, the 
 beautiful Silvia, the richest heiress in the city, are to be pres- 
 ent at the fete to-night. My master has to fall in love with 
 her, my master has to marry her; and my master will know 
 how to requite in fitting fashion the good offices of Dona 
 Sirena and of yourself in the matter, if so be that you do 
 him the honor to assist in his suit. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Your speech is impertinent. Such boldness 
 gives offense. 
 
 CRISPIN. Time presses and I have no leisure to pay com- 
 pliments. 
 
 COLUMBINE. If the master is to be judged by the man .... 
 
 CRISPIN. Reassure yourself. You will find my master the 
 most courteous, the most affable gentleman in the world. 
 My effrontery permits him to be modest. The hard neces- 
 sities of life sometimes compel the noblest cavalier to descend 
 to the devices of the ruffian, just as sometimes they oblige 
 the noblest ladies, in order to maintain their state, to stoop 
 to menial tricks, and this mixture of ruin and nobility in 
 one person is out of harmony with nature. It is better to 
 divide among two persons that which is usually found 
 confused clumsily and joined in one. My master and my- 
 self, as being one person, are each a part of the other. Would 
 it could be always so ! We have all within ourselves a great 
 and splendid gentleman of lofty hopes and towering ideals, 
 capable of everything that is noble and everything that is 
 good and by his side, a humble servant born to forlorn 
 hopes and miserable and hidden things, who employs him- 
 self in the base actions to which we are enforced by life. 
 The art of living is so to separate the two that when we
 
 66 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT n 
 
 fall into any ignominy we can say: "It was not my fault; 
 it was not I. It was my servant." In the greatest misery 
 to which we sink there is always something in us which rises 
 superior to ourselves. We should despise ourselves too 
 much if we did not believe that we were better than our lives. 
 Of course you know who my master is: he is the one of the 
 towering thoughts, of the lofty, beautiful ideals. Of course 
 you know who I am: I am the one of the forlorn and hidden 
 things, the one who grovels and toils on the ground, delving 
 among falsehood and humiliation and lies. Only there is 
 something in me which redeems me and elevates me in my 
 own eyes. It is the loyalty of my service, this loyalty which 
 humiliates and abases itself that another may fly, that he 
 jnay always be the lord of the towering thoughts, of the 
 lofty, beautiful ideals. 
 
 Music is heard in the distance. 
 
 COLUMBINE. What is this music? 
 
 CRISPIN. The music which my master is bringing with 
 him to the fete with all his pages and all the attendants of 
 his train, accompanied by a great court of poets and singers 
 presided over by Signer Harlequin, and an entire legion of 
 soldiers with the Captain at their head, illuminating his 
 coming with torches, with rockets and red fire. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Who is your master, that he is able to do so 
 much ? I run to tell my lady .... 
 
 CRISPIN. It will not be necessary. She is here. 
 DONA SIRENA enters from the pavilion. 
 
 SIRENA. What is this? Who has prepared this music? 
 What troop of people is arriving at my door? 
 
 COLUMBINE. Ask no questions. Know that to-day a 
 great gentleman has arrived in this city, and it is he who 
 offers you this fete to-night. His servant will tell you every- 
 thing. I hardly know myself whether I have been talking
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 67 
 
 to a great rogue or a great madman. Whichever it is, I as- 
 sure you that he is a most extraordinary man. 
 
 SIRENA. Then it is not Harlequin? 
 
 COLUMBINE. Ask no questions. It is all a work of magic! 
 
 CRISPIN. Dona Sirena, my master begs permission to kiss 
 your hand. So great a lady and so noble a gentleman ought 
 not, when they meet, to descend to indignities inappropriate 
 to their state. That is why, before he arrives, I have come to 
 tell you everything. I am acquainted with a thousand 
 notable exploits of your history, which should I but refer 
 to them, would be sufficient to assure me attention. But it 
 might seem impertinence to mention them. [Handing her a 
 paper] My master acknowledges in this paper over his sig- 
 nature the great sum which he will be in your debt 
 should you be able to fulfil upon your part that which he 
 has here the honor to propose. 
 
 SIRENA. What paper and what debt is this ? [Reading the 
 paper to herself] How ? A hundred thousand crowns at once 
 and an equal quantity upon the death of Signor Polichinelle, 
 if your master succeeds in marrying his daughter? What 
 insolence and what infamy have we here ? And to a lady ! 
 Do you know to whom you are speaking? Do you know 
 what house this is? 
 
 CRISPIN. Dona Sirena ! Forego your wrath. There is no- 
 body present to warrant such concern. Put that paper 
 away with the others, and let us not refer to the matter 
 again. My master proposes nothing which is improper to 
 you, nor would you consent that he should do so. Whatever 
 may happen hereafter will be the work of chance and of 
 love. I, the servant, was the one who set this unworthy 
 snare. You are ever the noble dame, my master the vir- 
 tuous cavalier, and as you meet in this festival to-night, 
 you will talk of a thousand gallant and priceless things, as
 
 68 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT n 
 
 your guests stroll by and whisper enviously in praise of the 
 ladies' beauty and the exquisite artfulness of their dress, the 
 splendor and magnificence of the entertainment, the sweet- 
 ness of the music, the nimble grace of the dancers' feet. And 
 who is to say that this is not the whole story? Is not life 
 just this a fete in which the music serves to cover up the 
 words, the words to cover up the thoughts? Then let the 
 music sound, let conversation flash and sparkle with its 
 smiles, let the supper be well served this is all that con- 
 cerns the guests. See, here is my master, who comes to 
 salute you in all courtesy. 
 
 LEANDER, HARLEQUIN, and the CAPTAIN enter from the 
 right. 
 
 LEANDER. Dona Sirena, I kiss your hand. 
 
 SIRENA. Sir. ... 
 
 LEANDER. My servant has already told you in my name 
 much more than I myself could say. 
 
 CRISPIN. Being a gentleman of discretion, my master is 
 a B^an of few words. His admiration is mute. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. He wisely knows how to admire. 
 
 CAPTAIN. True merit. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. True valor. 
 
 CAPTAIN. The divine art of poesy. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. The incomparable science of war. 
 
 CAPTAIN. His greatness appears in everything ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. He is the noblest gentleman in the world. 
 
 CAPTAIN. My sword shall always be at his service. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. I shall dedicate my greatest poem to his 
 glory. 
 
 CRISPIN. Enough ! Enough ! You will offend his native 
 modesty. See how he tries to hide himself and slip away. 
 He is a violet.
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 69 
 
 SIRENA. Surely he has no need to speak for himself who 
 can make others talk like this in his praise. 
 
 After bows and salutations the men all withdraw upon 
 the right, DONA SIRENA and COLUMBINE remaining 
 alone. 
 
 SIRENA. What do you think of this, Columbine? 
 
 COLUMBINE. I think that the master is most attractive 
 in his figure and the servant most captivating in his im- 
 pertinence. 
 
 SIRENA. We shall take advantage of them both. For 
 either I know nothing of the world or about men, or else 
 fortune this day has set her foot within my doors. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Surely then it must be fortune, for you do 
 know something of the world, and about men what don't 
 you know ! 
 
 SIRENA. Here are Risela and Laura, the first to arrive. 
 
 COLUMBINE. When were they the last at anything? I 
 leave them to you; I must not lose sight of our cavalier. 
 
 She goes out to the right. LAURA and RISELA enter** 
 
 SIRENA. My dears ! Do you know, I was beginning to 
 worry already for fear that you would not come? 
 
 LAURA. What? Is it really so late? 
 
 SIRENA. Naturally it is late before I worry about you. 
 
 RISELA. We were obliged to disappoint at two other ftes 
 so as not to miss yours. 
 
 LAURA. Though we understood that you might not be 
 able to give it to-night. We heard that you were indis- 
 posed. 
 
 SIRENA. If only to rebuke gossipers I should Ixave given 
 it though I had died. 
 
 RISELA. And we should have been present at it even 
 though we had died. 
 
 LAUUA. But of course you have not heard the news ?
 
 70 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT n 
 
 RISELA. Nobody is talking of anything else. 
 
 LAURA. A mysterious personage has arrived in the city. 
 Some say that he is a secret ambassador from Venice or from 
 France. 
 
 RISELA. Others say that he has come to seek a wife for the 
 Grand Turk. 
 
 LAURA. They say he is beautiful as an Adonis. 
 
 RISELA. If we could only manage to meet him ! What a 
 pity ! You ought to have invited him to your fete. 
 
 SIRENA. It was not necessary, my dears. He himself 
 sent an ambassador begging permission to come. He is 
 now in my house, and I have not the slightest doubt but 
 that you will be talking to him soon. 
 
 LAURA. What is that? I told you that we made no mis- 
 take when we came. Something was sure to happen. 
 
 RISELA. How we shall be envied to-night! 
 
 LAURA. Everybody is mad to know him. 
 
 SIRENA. It was no effort for me. It was sufficient for him 
 to hear that I was receiving in my house. 
 
 RISELA. Of course the old story. No person of impor- 
 tance ever arrives in the city, but it seems he runs at once 
 and pays his attentions to you. 
 
 LAURA. I am impatient to see him. Lead us to him, on 
 your life ! 
 
 RISELA. Yes ! Take us where he is. 
 
 SIRENA. I beg your pardons Signer Polichinelle arriving 
 with his family. But, my dears, you will not wait. You 
 need no introductions. 
 
 RISELA. Certainly not! Come, Laura. 
 
 LAURA. Come, Risela, before the crowd grows too great 
 and it is impossible to get near. 
 
 LAURA and RISELA go out to the right. POLICHINELLE, 
 the WIFE OF POLICHINELLE, and SILVIA enter.
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 71 
 
 SIRENA. O, Signer Polichinelle ! I was afraid you were 
 not coming. Until now I really did not know whether or 
 not I was to have a fete ! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. It was not my fault; it was my wife's. 
 With forty gowns to select from, she can never make up 
 her mind which to put on. 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. Yes, if I were to please him I 
 should make an exhibition of myself. Any suggestion will 
 do. As it is, you see that I have really not had time to put 
 on anything. 
 
 SIRENA. But you never were more beautiful ! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Well, she is not displaying one-half of her 
 jewels. If she were, she could not support the weight of the 
 treasure. 
 
 SIRENA. Who has a better right to be proud than you 
 have, Signer Polichinelle ? What your wife displays are the 
 riches which you have acquired by your labor. 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. I tell him this is the time to en- 
 joy them. He ought to be ambitious and seek to rise in the 
 world. Instead, all he thinks about is how he can marry 
 his daughter to some trader. 
 
 SIRENA. 0, Signer Polichinelle! Your daughter deserves 
 a great deal better than a trader. Surely you hold your 
 daughter far too high for trade. Such a thing is not to be 
 thought of for one moment. You have no right to sacrifice 
 her heart to a bargain. What do you say, Silvia? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. She would prefer some waxed-up dandy. 
 Instead of listening to my advice, she reads novels and 
 poetry. It disgusts me. 
 
 SILVIA. I always do as my father says, unless it is dis- 
 pleasing to my mother or distasteful to me. 
 
 SIRENA. You speak very sensibly.
 
 72 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT 11 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. Her father has an idea that there 
 is nothing but money to be had in the world. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. I have an idea that without money there 
 is nothing to be had out of the world. Money is the one 
 thing which counts. It buys everything. 
 
 SIRENA. Oh, I cannot hear you talk like that ! What of 
 virtue, what of intelligence, what of noble blood? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. They all have their price. You know it. 
 And nobody knows it better than I do, for I have bought 
 heavily in those lines, and found them reasonable. 
 
 SIRENA. O, Signer Polichinelle ! You are in a playful 
 humor this evening. You know very well that money will 
 not buy everything, and if your daughter should fall in love 
 with some noble gentleman, you would not dream of at- 
 tempting to oppose her. I can see that you have a father's 
 heart. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. I have. I would do anything for my 
 daughter. 
 
 SIRENA. Even ruin yourself? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. That would not be anything for my 
 daughter. Why, I would steal first, rob, murder any- 
 thing. . . . 
 
 SIRENA. I felt sure that you must know some way to re- 
 coup yourself. But the fete is crowded already ! Come with 
 me, Silvia. I have picked out a handsome gentleman to 
 dance with you. You will make a striking couple ideal ! 
 
 All go out upon the right except SIGNOR POLICHINELLE, 
 who is detained as he is about to do so by CRISPIN, 
 who enters and accosts him. 
 
 CRISPIN. Signer Polichinelle! With your permission. . . . 
 A word with you. ... 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Who calls me ? What do you want ? 
 
 CRISPIN. You don't remember me? It is not surprising.
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 73 
 
 Time blots out everything, and when what has been blotted 
 out was unpleasant, after a while we do not remember even 
 the blot, but hurry and paint over it with bright colors, like 
 these with which you now hide your capers from the world. 
 Why, when I knew you, Signor Polichinelle, you had hard 
 work to cover your nakedness with a couple of muddy rags ! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Who are you and where did you know me ? 
 
 CRISPIN. I was a mere boy then; *y u were a grown man. 
 But you cannot have forgotten so soon all those glorious 
 exploits on the high seas, all those victories gained over the 
 Turks, to which we contributed not a little with our heroic 
 strength, both pulling chained at the same noble oar in the 
 same victorious galley? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Impudent scoundrel ! Silence, or 
 
 CRISPIN. Or you will do with me as you did with your 
 first master in Naples, or with your first wife in Bologna, or 
 with that usurious Jew in Venice? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Silence ! Who are you who know so much 
 and talk so freely? 
 
 CRISPIN. I am what you were. One who will come to 
 be what you are as you have done. Not with the same 
 violence as you, for these are other days and only madmen 
 commit murder now, and lovers, and poor ignorant wretches 
 who fall armed upon the wayfarer in dark alleys or along the 
 solitary highway. Despicable gallows-birds ! Negligible ! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. What do you want of me? Money, is it 
 not? Well, we can meet again; this is not the place. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. Do not trouble yourself about your money. I 
 only want to be ypur friend, your ally, as in those days. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. What can I do for you? 
 
 CRISPIN. Nothing; for to-day I am the one who is going 
 to do for you, and oblige you with a warning. [Directing him 
 to hole off upon the right] Do you see your daughter there
 
 74 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT n 
 
 how she is dancing with that young gentleman ? How coyly 
 she blushes at his gallant compliments ! Well, that gentle- 
 man is my master. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Your master? Then he must be an ad- 
 venturer, a rogue, a blackguard, like. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. Like us, you were going to say ? No, he is more 
 dangerous than we, because, as you see, he has a fine figure, 
 and there is a mystery and an enchantment in his glance 
 and a sweetness in his voice which go straight to the heart, 
 and which stir it as at the recital of some sad tale. Is not 
 this enough to make any woman fall in love? Never say 
 that I did not warn you. Run and separate your daughter 
 from this man and never permit her to dance with him again, 
 no, nor to speak to him, so long as she shall live. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Do you mean to say that he is your 
 master and is this the way you serve him? 
 
 CRISPIN. Are you surprised? Have you forgotten al- 
 ready how it was when you were a servant? And I have 
 not planned to assassinate him yet. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. You are right. A master is always des- 
 picable. But what interest have you in serving me? 
 
 CRISPIN. To come safe into some good port, as we often 
 did when we rowed together at the oar. Then sometimes 
 you used to say to me: "You are stronger than I, row for 
 me." In this galley in which we are to-day, you are stronger 
 than I. Row for me, for your faithful friend of other days, 
 for life is a horrible vile galley and I have rowed so long. 
 
 He goes out by the way he came in. DONA SIRENA, the 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE, RISELA, and LAURA re-enter. 
 
 LAURA. Only Dona Sirena could have given such a fete ! 
 
 RISELA. To-night she has outstripped all the others. 
 
 SIRENA. The presence of so distinguished a gentleman was 
 an added attraction.
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 75 
 
 POLICHINELLE. But Silvia ? Where is Silvia? What 
 have you done with my daughter? 
 
 SIRENA. Do not disturb yourself, Signer Polichinelle. 
 Your daughter is in excellent hands, and you may rest as- 
 sured that she will remain in them as long as she is in my 
 house. 
 
 RISELA. There were no attentions for any one but her. 
 
 LAUBA. All the smiles were for her. 
 
 RISELA. And all the sighs ! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Whose? This mysterious gentleman's? 
 I do not like it. This must stop 
 
 SIRENA. But Signer Polichinelle ! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Away ! Let me be ! I know what I am 
 doing. [He rushes out. 
 
 SIRENA. What is the matter ? What infatuation is this ? 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. Now you see what sort of man 
 he is. He is going to commit an outrage on that gentleman. 
 He wants to marry his daughter to a trader, does he a 
 clinker of worthless coin? He wants to make her unhappy 
 for the rest of her life. 
 
 SIRENA. No, anything rather than that! Remember 
 you are her mother and this is the time for you to interpose 
 your authority. 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. Look ! He has spoken to him 
 and the cavalier drops Silvia's hand and retires, hanging his 
 head. 
 
 LAURA. And now Signor Polichinelle is attacking your 
 daughter ! 
 
 SIRENA. Come ! Come ! Such conduct cannot be toler- 
 ated in my house. 
 
 RISELA. Signora Polichinelle, in spite of your riches you 
 are au unfortunate woman.
 
 76 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT u 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. Would you believe it, he even 
 forgets himself so far sometimes as to turn upon me? 
 
 LAURA. Is it possible? And are you a woman to submit 
 to that? 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. He makes it up afterward by 
 giving me a handsome present. 
 
 SIRENA. Well, there are husbands of my acquaintance 
 who never even think of making up. ... 
 
 They all go out. LEANDER and CRISPIN enter. 
 
 CRISPIN. What is this sadness, this dejection ? I expected 
 to find you in better spirits. 
 
 LEANDER. I was never unfortunate till now; at least it 
 never mattered to me whether or not I was unfortunate. 
 Let us fly, Crispin, let us fly from this city before any one 
 can discover us and find out who we are. 
 
 CRISPIN. If we fly it will be after every one has discovered 
 us and they are running after us to detain us and bring us 
 back in spite of ourselves. It would be most discourteous 
 to depart with such scant ceremony without bidding our at- 
 tentive friends good-by. 
 
 LEANDER. Do not jest, Crispin; I am in despair. 
 
 CRISPIN. So you are. And just when our hopes are under 
 fullest sail. 
 
 LEANDER. What could you expect? You wanted me to 
 pretend to be in love, but I have not been able to pretend it. 
 
 CRISPIN. Why not? 
 
 LEANDER. Because I love I love in spirit and in truth ! 
 
 CRISPIN. Silvia? Is that what you are complaining 
 about ? 
 
 LEANDER. I never believed it possible a man could love 
 like this. I never believed that I could ever love. Through 
 all my wandering life along the dusty roads, I was not only
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 77 
 
 the one who passed, I was the one who fled, the enemy of 
 the harvest and the field, the enemy of man, enemy of sun- 
 shine and the day. Sometimes the fruit of the wayside tree, 
 stolen, not given, left some savor of joy on my parched lips, 
 and sometimes, after many a bitter day, resting at night 
 beneath the stars, the calm repose of heaven would invite 
 and soothe me to a dream of something that might be in my 
 life like that calm night sky, brooding infinite over my soul 
 serene ! And so to-night, in the enchantment of this fte, 
 it seemed to me as if there had come a calm, a peace into my 
 life and I was dreaming ! Ah ! How I did dream ! But 
 to-morrow it will be again the bitter flight with justice at 
 our heels, and I cannot bear that they should take me here 
 where she is, and where she may ever have cause to be 
 ashamed at having known me. 
 
 CRISPIN. Why, I thought that you had been received with 
 favor ! And I was not the only one who noticed it. Dona 
 Sirena and our good friends, the Captain and the poet, have 
 been most eloquent in your praises. To that rare excellent 
 mother, the Wife of Polichinelle, who thinks of nothing but 
 how she can relate herself by marriage to some nobleman, 
 you. have seemed the son-in-law of her dreams. As for 
 Signor Polichinelle. . . . 
 
 LEANDEB. He knows. . . .he suspects. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. Naturally. It is not so easy to deceive Signor 
 Polichinelle as it is an ordinary man. An old fox like him 
 has to be cheated truthfully. I decided that the best thing 
 for us to do was to tell him everything. 
 
 LEANDER. How so ? 
 
 CRISPIN. Obviously. He knows me of old. When I told 
 him that you were my master, he rightly supposed that the 
 master must be worthy of the man. And upon my part, in 
 appreciation of his confidence, I warned him not to permit
 
 78 
 
 you under any circumstances to come near to or speak with 
 his daughter. 
 
 LEANDER. You did ? Then what have I to hope ? 
 
 CRISPIN. You are a fool ! Why, that Signor Polichinelle 
 will exert all his authority to prevent you from meeting her. 
 
 LEANDER. I do not understand. 
 
 CRISPIN. In that way he will become our most powerful 
 ally, for if he opposes it, that will be enough to make his 
 wife take the opposite side, and the daughter will fall in love 
 with you madly. You have no idea what a young and beau- 
 tiful daughter of a rich father, who has been brought up to 
 the gratification of her every whim, can do when she finds 
 out for the first time in her life that somebody is opposing 
 her wishes. I am certain that this very night, before the 
 fete is over, she will find some way of eluding the vigilance of 
 her father at whatever cost, and return to speak with you. 
 
 LEANDER. But can't you see that Signor Polichinelle is 
 nothing to me, no, nor the wide world either ? It is she, only 
 she ! It is to her that I am unwilling to appear unworthy 
 or mean, it is to her to her that I cannot lie. 
 
 CRISPIN. Bah! Enough of this nonsense! Don't tell 
 me that. It is too late to draw back. Think what will 
 happen if we vacillate now and hesitate in going on. You 
 say that you have fallen in love? Well, this real love will 
 serve us better than if it were put on. Otherwise you would 
 have wanted to get through with it too quickly. If insolence 
 and effrontery are the only qualities which are of use else- 
 where, hi love a faint suggestion of timidity is of advantage 
 to a man. Timidity in a man always makes the woman 
 bolder. If you don't believe it, here is the innocent Silvia 
 now, skulking in the shadows and only waiting for a chance 
 to come near until I retire or am concealed, 
 
 LEANDER. Silvia, do you say?
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 73 
 
 CRISPIN. Hush! You may frighten her. When she is 
 with you, remember, discretion only a few words, very few. 
 Adore her, admire her, contemplate her, and let the enchant- 
 ment of this night of pallid blue speak for you, propitious as 
 it is to love, and whisper to her in the music whose soft notes 
 die away amid the foliage and fall upon our ears like sad 
 overtones of this festival of joy. 
 
 LEANDER. Do not trifle, Crispin ! Do not trifle with my 
 love ! It will be my death. 
 
 CRISPIN. Why should I trifle with it? I know, too, it is 
 not always well to grovel on the ground. Sometimes we 
 must soar and mount up into the sky better to dominate the 
 earth. Mount now and soar and I will grovel still. The 
 world lies in our hands ! 
 
 He goes out to the right. SILVIA enters. 
 
 LEANDER. Silvia! 
 
 SILVIA. Is it you? You must pardon me. I did not ex- 
 pect to find you here. 
 
 LEANDER. I fly from the festival. I am saddened by this 
 joy. 
 
 SILVIA. What? You, too? 
 
 LEANDER. Too, do you say? Does joy sadden you, too? 
 
 SILVIA. My father is angry with me. He never spoke to 
 me like this before. And he was discourteous to you. Will 
 you forgive him? 
 
 LEANDER. Yes. I forgive him everything. But you 
 must not make him angry upon my account. Return to 
 the company. They will be looking for you. If they find 
 you here with me. . . . 
 
 SILVIA. You are right. But you must come, too. Why 
 should you be so sad? 
 
 LEANDER. No, I must slip away without anybody seeing 
 me, without their knowing I am gone. I must go far away.
 
 80 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT n 
 
 SILVIA. What ? But you have important business in the 
 city. I know you have. . . . You will have to stay a long, 
 long time. 
 
 LEANDER. No, no ! Not another day, not another hour ! 
 
 SILVIA. But then. . . . You have not lied to me? 
 
 LEANDER. Lied ? No ! Don't say that I have lied ! 
 No; this is the one truth of my whole life this dream from 
 which there should be no awakening ! 
 
 The music of a song is heard in the distance, continuing 
 until the curtain falls. 
 
 SILVIA. It is Harlequin, singing. . . . What is the matter? 
 You are crying. Is it the music which makes you cry? 
 Why will you not tell me what it is that makes you cry? 
 
 LEANDER. What makes me cry? The song will tell you. 
 Listen to the song ! 
 
 SILVIA. We can hear only the music; the words are lost, 
 it is so far away. But don't you know it? It is a song to 
 the silence of the night. It is called the "Kingdom of the 
 Soul." You must know it. 
 
 LEANDER. Say it over to me. 
 
 SILVIA: 
 
 The amorous night above the silent lover 
 Across the blue heaven spreads a nuptial veil. 
 The night has strewn its diamonds on the cover 
 Of a moonlit sky in drowsy August pale. 
 The garden in the shade now knows no color, 
 Deep in the shadow of its obscurity 
 Lightly the leaflets flutter, sweetly smells the flower, 
 And love broods there in silent sympathy. 
 
 You voices which sigh, you voices which sing, 
 You voices which whisper sweet phrases of love, 
 Intruders you are and a blasphemous thing,
 
 ACT ii THE BONDS OF INTEREST 81 
 
 Like an oath at night-tide in a prayer sped above. 
 Great Spirit of Silence, whom I adore, 
 There is in your silence the ineffable voice 
 Of those who have died loving in silence of yore, 
 Of those who were silent and died of their love; 
 Of those in their lives whose great love was such 
 They were unable to tell it, their love was so much ! 
 Yours are the voices which nightly I hear, 
 Whispers of love and eternity near. 
 
 Mother of my soul, the light of this star, 
 
 Is it not the light of your eyes, 
 Which, like a drop of God's blood, 
 
 Trembles in the night 
 
 And fades at suifl-ise ? 
 Tell him whom I love, I never shall love 
 
 More than him on the earth, 
 And when he fades away, light of my eyes, 
 
 I shall kiss at sunrise 
 
 But the light of thy star ! 
 
 LEANDEB: 
 
 Mother of my soul, I never have loved 
 
 More than you on the earth. 
 And when you fade away, light of my eyes, 
 
 I shall kiss at sunrise 
 
 The light of thy star. 
 
 They remain in silence, embracing and gazing into each 
 other's eyes. 
 
 CRISPIN. [Who appears at the right to himself] 
 
 Poesy and night and madness of the lover. . . . 
 All has to serve us that to our net shall come.
 
 82 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT 11 
 
 The victory is sure ! Courage, charge and over ! 
 Who shall overcome us when love beats the drum ? 
 
 SILVIA and LEANDER move slowly off to the right, locked 
 in each other's arms. CRISPIN follows them in silence, 
 without being seen. Slowly the 
 
 Curtain Descends
 
 THE THIRD ACT 
 
 A room in LEANDER'S house. 
 
 CRISPIN, the CAPTAIN, and HARLEQUIN enter from the right. 
 
 CRISPIN. Enter, gentlemen, and be seated. Will you take 
 something? Let me give orders to have it brought. Hello 
 there ! Ho ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. No ! By no means ! We can accept nothing. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. We came merely to offer our services to your 
 master after what we have just heard. 
 
 CRISPIN. Incredible treachery, which, believe me, shall 
 not be suffered to remain unpunished ! I promise you if 
 Signor Polichinelle ever puts himself within the reach of my 
 hands 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Ah! Now you see what an advantage is 
 possessed by us poets ! I have him always within the reach 
 of my verses. Oh ! What a terrible satire I am thinking 
 of writing against him ! The cutthroat ! Old reprobate ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. But you say your master was not so much as 
 even wounded ? 
 
 CRISPIN. It might have killed him just the same. Imagine ! 
 Set upon by a dozen ruffians absolutely without warning .... 
 Thanks, though, to his bravery, to his skill, to my cries. . . . 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Do you say that it happened at night as 
 your master was talking to Silvia over the wall of her garden ? 
 
 CRISPIN. Naturally, my master had already been advised 
 of what might happen. But you know what sort of man he 
 is. He is not a person to be deterred by anything. 
 
 CAPTAIN. He ought to have notified us, however. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. He ought, certainly, to have notified the 
 83
 
 84 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 Captain. He would have been delighted to have lent his 
 aid. 
 
 CRISPIN. You know what my master is. He is a host in 
 himself. 
 
 CAPTAIN. But you say that he caught one of the ruffians 
 by the nape of the neck, and the rascal confessed that it had 
 all been planned and arranged by Signor Polichinelle before- 
 hand so as to rid himself of your master? 
 
 CRISPIN. Who else could have had any interest in it? 
 His daughter is in love with my master; her father wants 
 to marry her to suit himself. My master is opposing his 
 plans, and Signor Polichinelle has known all his life how to 
 get rid of disturbances. Didn't he become a widower twice 
 in a very short time? Hasn't he inherited all that his rela- 
 tives had, irrespective of age, whether they were older or 
 younger than he? Everybody knows it; nobody will say 
 that I do him injustice. Ah ! the riches of Signor Polichi- 
 nelle are an affront to our intelligence, a discouragement to 
 honest labor. A man like Signor Polichinelle could remain 
 rich only among a base and degenerate people. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. I agree with you. I intend to say all this 
 in my satire of course, without mentioning names. Poetry 
 does not admit of such license. 
 
 CRISPIN. Much good, then, your satire will do ! 
 
 CAPTAIN. Leave him to me ! Leave him to me ! I 
 promise you if he once puts himself within the reach of my 
 sword ah ! But I am confident that he never will. 
 
 CRISPIN. My master would never consent to have an in- 
 sult offered to Signor Polichinelle. After all, he is Silvia's 
 father. The point is to let people in the city understand 
 that an attempt has been made to assassinate my master. 
 Is that old fox to be allowed to stifle the honest affection, 
 the generous passion of his daughter ? It is impossible.
 
 ACT m THE BONDS OF INTEREST 85 
 
 HARLEQUIN. It is impossible. Love will find a way. 
 
 CRISPIN. If my master had been some impecunious beg- 
 gar. . . . Tell me, isn't Signer Polichinelle the one who 
 ought to be congratulated that my master has condescended 
 to fall in love with his daughter, and is willing to accept 
 him for his father-in-law ? my master, who has rejected the 
 advances of so many damsels of high degree; my master, 
 for whom over four princesses have committed I know not 
 how many absurdities! But who is here? [Looking toward 
 the right] Ah, Columbine ! Come in, my beautiful Colum- 
 bine! Do not be afraid. [COLUMBINE enters from the right] 
 We are all your friends, and our mutual friendship will pro- 
 tect you from our mutual admiration. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Dofia Sirena has sent me for news of your 
 master. It was scarcely day when Silvia came to our house 
 and confided everything that had happened to my mistress. 
 She says that she will never return to her father, nor leave 
 my mistress, unless it is to become the bride of Signor 
 Leander. 
 
 CRISPIN. Does she say that ? O, noble girl ! O, constant, 
 true-hearted lover ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. What an epithalamium I shall write for their 
 wedding ! 
 
 COLUMBINE. Silvia is positive that Leander is wounded. 
 She heard the clash of swords beneath the balcony, your 
 cries for help; then she fell senseless and they found her in 
 a swoon at daybreak. Tell me how Signor Leander is, for 
 she is beside herself with anxiety to hear, and my lady also 
 is much distressed. 
 
 CRISPIN. Tell her that my master escaped with his life 
 only through the unutterable power of love. Tell her that 
 he is dying now only from the incurable wounds of love. 
 Tell her that to the last. . . . [Seeing LEANDER approach] Ah,
 
 86 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 but here he is himself, and he will be abk \o give you later 
 news than I. 
 
 LEANDER enters. 
 
 CAPTAIN. [Embracing him] My dear, good friend ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. [Embracing him] My friend and master ! 
 
 COLUMBINE. Ah, Signor Leander, what happiness ! You 
 are safe! 
 
 LEANDER. What? How did you know? 
 
 CRISPIN. Nothing else is talked about in the city. People 
 gather in groups in the squares murmuring vengeance and 
 venting imprecations upon Signor Polichinelle. 
 
 LEANDER. What is this? 
 
 CAPTAIN. He had better not dare to attempt your life a 
 second time. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. He had better not dare to attempt to arrest 
 the true course of your love. 
 
 COLUMBINE. It would be useless. Silvia is in my mistress's 
 house and she swears that she will leave it only to become 
 your bride. 
 
 LEANDER. Silvia in your house? But her father. . . . 
 
 COLUMBINE. Signor Polichinelle has all he can do to look 
 after himself. 
 
 CAPTAIN. What ? I knew that man would be up to some- 
 thing. Oh, of what base uses money is capable ! 
 
 HARLEQUIN. It is capable of everything but love; of that 
 it is incapable. 
 
 COLUMBINE. He tried to have you assassinated dishonor- 
 ably in the dark. 
 
 CRISPIN. By twelve cutthroats. Twelve ! I counted 
 them. 
 
 LEANDER. I made out only three or four. 
 
 CRISPIN. My master will end by telling you that there 
 was no danger so as not to receive credit for his coolness and
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OF INTEREST 87 
 
 his bravery but I saw it. There were twelve; twelve armed 
 to the teeth, prepared to do murder. It seemed impossible 
 that he could escape with his life. 
 
 COLUMBINE. I must run and calm Silvia and my mistress. 
 
 CRISPIN. Listen, Columbine. As to Silvia wouldn't it 
 be as well, perhaps, not to calm her? 
 
 COLUMBINE. Leave that to my mistress. Silvia is con- 
 vinced that your master is dead, and although Dona Sirena 
 is making the most unheard-of efforts to console her, it will 
 not be long before she is here in spite of the consequences. 
 
 CRISPIN. I ought to have known of what your mistress 
 was capable. 
 
 CAPTAIN. We must be going, too; there is nothing here 
 that we can do. The point is to arouse the indignation of 
 the people against Signor Polichinelle. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. We shall stone his house; we shall raise the 
 whole city. Until to-day not a single man has dared to lift 
 his hand against him; to-day we will all dare to do it together. 
 There is an uplift, a moral earnestness in a crowd. 
 
 COLUMBINE. He will come creeping on his knees and beg 
 you to accept his daughter as your wife. 
 
 CRISPIN. Yes, yes, he will indeed ! Run, friends, run ! 
 The life of my master is not secure. A man who has once 
 made up his mind to assassinate him is not likely to be turned 
 aside for a trifle. 
 
 CAPTAIN. Have no fear, my good friend. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. My friend and master ! 
 
 COLUMBINE. Signor Leander ! 
 
 LEANDER. Thanks to you all, my friends. My loyal 
 friends ! 
 
 All go out but LEANDER and CRISPIN. 
 
 LEANDER. What is this, Crispin? What are you trying 
 to do? Where do you expect to come out with all your
 
 88 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 lies ? Do you know what I believe ? You paid those fellows 
 yourself; it was your idea. I should have got off badly 
 enough among so many if they had been in earnest. 
 
 CRISPIN. Have you the temerity to reproach me when I 
 precipitate the fulfilment of your desires so skilfully? 
 
 LEANDER. No, Crispin, no. You know you do not. I 
 love Silvia. I am resolved: I shall never win her love 
 through deception, come what may. 
 
 CRISPIN. You know very well, then, what will come. Do 
 you call it love to sit down and resign yourself to losing what 
 you love for the sake of these quibbles of conscience ? Silvia 
 herself would not thank you for it. 
 
 LEANDER. What do you mean? If she once learns who 
 I am .... 
 
 CRISPIN. By the time she finds out you will no longer be 
 the one that you are. You will be her husband then, her 
 beloved husband, who is everything that is noble and faith- 
 ful and true, and whatever else you like besides, or that her 
 heart desires. Once you are master of her heart and her 
 fortune will you not be a complete and perfect gentleman ? 
 You will not be like Signer Polichinelle, who, with all his 
 wealth which permits him so many luxuries, has not yet 
 been able to permit himself the luxury of being honest. 
 Deceit is natural to him, but with you it was only necessity. 
 If you had not had me at your side you would have starved 
 to death before this out of pure conscientiousness. Ah ! do 
 you suppose that if I had thought for one moment that you 
 were a man of another sort, I would have been satisfied to 
 devote your abilities to love? No, I would have put you 
 into politics, and not merely the fortune of Signor Polichinelle 
 would have been ours, but a chastened and admiring world. 
 But you are not ambitious. You will be satisfied to be happy. 
 
 LEANDER. But can't you see that no good, no happiness,
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OF INTEREST 89 
 
 can come out of this ? If I could lie so as to make her love 
 me and in that way become rich, then it could only be 
 because I did not love. And if I did not love, then how 
 could I be happy? And if I love, how can I lie? 
 
 CRISPIN. Don't lie, then. Love, love passionately, en- 
 tirely, with your whole heart and soul. Put your love be- 
 fore everything else upon earth. Guard and protect it. A 
 lover does not lie when he keeps to himself what he thinks 
 might prejudice the blind affection of his mistress. 
 
 LEANDER. These are subtleties, Crispin. 
 
 CRISPIN. Which you would have known all about before 
 if you had really been in love. Love is all subtleties and the 
 greatest subtlety of them all is not that lovers deceive others 
 it is that they can so easily deceive themselves. 
 
 LEANDER. I do not deceive myself, Crispin. I am not one 
 of those men who, when they have sold their conscience, 
 think that they have also been able to dispose of their intel- 
 ligence as well. 
 
 CRISPIN. That is the reason I said you would never make 
 a good politician. You are right. For the intelligence is 
 the conscience of truth, and the man who parts with that 
 among the lies of this life is as one who has lost himself. 
 He is without compass or sail. He will never be able to find 
 himself again, nor know himself, but become in all his being 
 just one more living lie. 
 
 LEANDER. Where did you learn all these things, Crispin? 
 
 CRISPIN. I meditated a little while in the galleys, where 
 this conscience of my intelligence accused me of having been 
 more of a fool than a knave. If I had had more knavery 
 and less stupidity, instead of rowing I might have commanded 
 the ship. So I swore never again to return to the oar. You 
 can see now what I am willing to do for your sake since I 
 am on the point of breaking my oath.
 
 90 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 LEANDER. In what way? 
 
 CRISPIN. Our /situation has become desperate. We have 
 exhausted our credit, and our dupes begin to demand some- 
 thing more substantial than talk: the innkeeper who enter- 
 tained us so long with such munificence, expecting that you 
 would receive your remittances; Signor Pantaloon, who, 
 hearing of the credit extended by the innkeeper, advanced 
 us whatever was necessary to install us sumptuously in this 
 house; tradesmen of every description, who did not hesitate 
 to provide us with every luxury, dazzled by such display; 
 Dona Sirena herself, who has lent us her invaluable good 
 offices in your love affair they have all only asked what was 
 reasonable; it would be unjust to expect more of them or to 
 complain of such delightful people. The name of this fair city 
 shall ever be engraven upon my heart in letters of gokl. 
 From this hour I claim it as my adopted mother ! But more 
 than this, have you forgotten that they have been searching 
 for us in other parts and following on our heels? Can it 
 be that all those glorious exploits of Mantua and Florence 
 have been forgotten? Don't you recall that famous law- 
 suit in Bologna? Three thousand two hundred pages of 
 testimony already admitted against us before we withdrew 
 in alarm at the sight of such prodigious expansive ability ! 
 Do you imagine that it has not continued to grow under the 
 pen of that learned doctor and jurist, who has taken it under 
 his wing? How many whereases and therefores must there 
 now be therefore, whereas they are all there for no good ? 
 Do you still doubt? Do you still hesitate and reprove me 
 because I give the battle to-day which is to decide our fate 
 forever at a single blow? 
 
 LEANDER. Let us fly ! 
 
 CRISPIN. No ! Let the despairing fly ! This day decides. 
 We challenge fortune. I have given you love; give me life!
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OF INTEREST 91 
 
 LEANDER. But how can we save ourselves? What can 
 I do ? Tell me. 
 
 CRISPIN. Nothing yet. It will be enough to accept what 
 others offer. We have intertwined ourselves with the in- 
 terests of many, and the bonds of interest will prove our 
 salvation. 
 
 DONA SIRENA enters. 
 
 SIRENA. Have I your permission, Signer Leander? 
 
 LEANDER. Dona Sirena! What? You in my house? 
 
 SIRENA. I am conscious of the risk I am running the 
 gossip of evil tongues. What? Dona Sirena in the house 
 of a young and gallant gentleman ? 
 
 CRISPIN. My master will know how to avoid all cause of 
 scandal, if any indeed could attach to your name. 
 
 SIRENA. Your master ? I would not trust him. Men are 
 so boastful ! But it is idle to anticipate. What, sir, is this 
 talk about an attempt to kill you last night? I have not 
 heard another thing since I got up in the morning. And 
 Silvia ! The poor child ! How she loves you ! I would 
 give a great deal to know what it was that you did to make 
 her fall in love with you like that. 
 
 CRISPIN. My master feels that it was what you did. He 
 owes it all to you. 
 
 SIRENA. I should be the last one to deny that he owes 
 me anything. I have always tried to speak well of him a 
 thing I had no right to do, not knowing him sufficiently. I 
 have gone to great lengths in his service. Now if you are 
 false to your promise. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. You do not doubt my master? Have you not 
 the papers signed in his own hand? 
 
 SIRENA. The hand is a good one and so is the name. I 
 don't bother about them. I know what it is to trust, and I 
 know that Signor Leander will pay me what he owes. But
 
 92 THE BONUS OF INTEREST ACT in 
 
 to-day has been a bitter day for me, and if you could let 
 me have to-day one-half of what you have promised, I 
 would willingly forego the other half. 
 
 CRISPIN. To-day, do you say? 
 
 SIRENA. A day of tribulation ! And what makes it worse, 
 it is twenty years ago to-day that my second husband died, 
 who was my first yes, my only love. 
 
 CRISPIN. May he rest in peace with all the honors of the 
 first! 
 
 SIRENA. The first was forced upon me by my father. I 
 never loved him, but in spite of it he insisted upon being 
 faithful to me. 
 
 CRISPIN. What knowledge you have of men, Dona Sirena ! 
 
 SIRENA. But let us leave these recollections, which are 
 depressing, and turn to hope. Would you believe it? Sil- 
 via insisted upon coming with me. 
 
 LEANDER. Here? To this house? 
 
 SIRENA. Where do you suppose it was that she insisted 
 upon coming? W T hat do you say to that? What would 
 Signor Polichinelle say? With all the city roused against 
 him, there would be nothing for him to do but to have you 
 marry. 
 
 LEANDER. No, no! Don't let her come. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. Hush ! You know my master has a way of not 
 saying what he means. 
 
 SIRENA. I know. What would he give to see Silvia at his 
 side, never to be separated from him more? 
 
 CRISPIN. What would he give? You don't know what he 
 would give ! 
 
 SIRENA. That is the reason I ask. 
 
 CRISPIN. Ah, Dona Sirena ! If my master becomes the 
 husband of Silvia to-day, to-day he will pay you everything 
 that he has promised you.
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OF INTEREST 93 
 
 SIREN A. And if he does not? 
 
 CRISPIN. Then you lose everything. Suit yourself. 
 
 LEANDER. Silence, Crispin, silence ! Enough ! I cannot 
 submit to have my love treated as a bargain. Go, Dona 
 Sirena ! Say to Silvia that she must return to her father's 
 house, that under no circumstances is she ever to enter 
 mine; that she must forget me forever. I shall fly and hide 
 myself in the desert places of the earth, where no man shall 
 see me, no, nor so much as know my name. My name? I 
 wonder have I a name? 
 
 CRISPIN. Will you be silent? 
 
 SIRENA. What is the matter with him? What paroxysm 
 is this ? Return to your senses ! Come to your proper 
 mind ! How ? Renounce so glorious an enterprise for 
 nothing? You are not the only person who is to be con- 
 sidered. Remember that there are others who have put 
 their confidence in you. A lady of quality who has exposed 
 herself for your sake is not to be betrayed with impunity. 
 You will do no such thing. You will not be so foolish. 
 You will marry Silvia or there will be one who will find a 
 way to bring you to a reckoning for all your impostures. I 
 am not so defenseless in the world as you may think, Signer 
 Leander. 
 
 CRISPIN. Dona Sirena is right. But believe me, this fit 
 of my master's he is offended by your reproaches, your 
 want of confidence. 
 
 SIRENA. I don't want confidence in your master. And I 
 might as well say it I don't want confidence in Signer 
 Polichinelle. He is not a man to be trifled with, either. 
 After the outcry which you raised against him by your 
 stratagem of last night 
 
 CRISPIN. Stratagem, did you say? 
 
 SIRENA. Bah! Everybody knows it. One of the rascals
 
 94 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT in 
 
 was a relative of mine, and among the others I had con- 
 nections. Very well, sirs, very well ! Signer Polichinelle 
 has not been asleep. It is said in the city that he has given 
 information as to who you are to Justice, and on what 
 grounds you may be apprehended. It is said that a process 
 has arrived to-day from Bologna 
 
 CBISPIN. And a devil of a doctor with it? Three thou- 
 sand nine hundred folios. . . . 
 
 SIBENA. So it is said and on good authority. You see 
 that there is no time to lose. 
 
 CRISPIN. Who is losing and who is wasting time but you ? 
 Return, return at once to your house ! Say to Silvia 
 
 SIRENA. Silvia? Silvia is here. She came along with 
 me and Columbine as one of the attendants in my train. 
 She is waiting in the antechamber. I told her that you 
 were wounded horribly. 
 
 LEANDER. Oh, my Silvia ! 
 
 SIRENA. She has reconciled herself to your death. She 
 hopes for nothing else. She expects nothing else. She thinks 
 nothing of what she risks in coming here to see you. Well ? 
 Are we friends? 
 
 CRISPIN. You are adorable! [To LEANDER] Quick! Lie 
 
 down here. Stretch yourself out in this chair. Seem sick, 
 
 suffer, faint be downhearted. And remember, if I am not 
 
 satisfied with the appearance, I will substitute the reality ! 
 
 [Threatening him and forcing him into a chair. 
 
 LEANDER. Yes, I am in your power ! I see it, I know it ! 
 But Silvia shall never be ! Yes, let me see her. Tell her 
 to come in. I shall save her in spite of you, in spite of every- 
 thing, in spite even of herself ! 
 
 CRISPIN. You know my master has a way of not meaning 
 what he says,
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OP INTEREST 95 
 
 SIEENA. I never thought him such a fool. Come with me. 
 
 [She goes out with CRISPIN. 
 SILVIA enters. 
 
 LEANDEK. Silvia ! My Silvia ! 
 
 SILVIA. But aren't you wounded? 
 
 LEANDER. No, don't you see? It was a lie, another lie 
 to bring you here. But don't be afraid. Your father will 
 come soon; soon you will leave this house with him without 
 having any cause to reproach me. . . . Ah ! None but that 
 I have disturbed the serenity of your soul with an illusion 
 of love which will be to you in the future no more than the 
 remembrance of a dark and evil dream ! 
 
 SILVIA. But Leander? Then your love was not real? 
 
 LEANDER. My love was, yes. That is why I could not 
 deceive you. Leave this place at once before any but those 
 who brought you here discover that you came. 
 
 SILVIA. What are you afraid of? Am I not safe in your 
 house ? I was not afraid to come. What harm can happen 
 to me at your side? 
 
 LEANDER. You are right. None ! My love will protect 
 you even from your innocence. 
 
 SILVIA. I can never go back to my father's house not 
 after the horrible thing which he did last night. 
 
 LEANDER. No, Silvia, do not blame your father. It was 
 not his fault; it was another deception, another lie. Fly 
 from me; forget this miserable adventurer, this nameless 
 outcast, a fugitive from justice. . . . 
 
 SILVIA. No, it isn't true. No! It is the conduct of my 
 father which makes me unworthy of your love. That is 
 what it is. I see it all now. I understand. Ay, for me ! 
 
 LEANDER. Silvia! My Silvia! How cruel your sweet 
 words are ! How cruel this noble confidence of your heart, 
 so innocent of evil and of life ! 
 CRISPIN enters, running.
 
 96 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT in 
 
 CRISPIN. Master ! Master ! Signer Polichinelle is com- 
 ing ! 
 
 SILVIA. My father! 
 
 LEANDER. It doesn't matter. I shall lead you to him with 
 my own hand. 
 
 CRISPIN. But he is not coming alone. There is a great 
 crowd with him; the officers of justice. . . . 
 
 LEANDER. What ? Ah ! If they should find you here ? 
 In my house ! [To CRISPIN] I see it all now. You have told 
 them. But you shall not succeed in your design ! 
 
 CRISPIN. I ? No. Certainly not ! For this time this is 
 in earnest and nothing can save us now. 
 
 LEANDER. No, not us. Nor shall I try. But her. . . . 
 Yes ! Hide her, conceal her ! We must secrete her here. 
 
 SILVIA. But you? 
 
 LEANDER. Have no fear. Quick ! They are on the 
 stair. [He hides SILVIA in a room at the rear, meanwhile saying 
 to CRISPIN] See what these fellows want. On your life let 
 no man set his foot within this room after I am gone ! . . . . 
 The game is up ! It is the end for me. 
 
 [He runs to the window. 
 
 CRISPIN. [Holding him back] Master ! Master ! Hold ! 
 Control yourself. Come to your senses. Don't throw your 
 life away ! 
 
 LEANDER. I am not throwing my life away. . . . There is 
 no escape. . . .1 am saving her. . . . 
 
 He climbs through the window and rapidly up outside 
 and disappears. 
 
 CRISPIN. Master! Master! H'm! Not so bad after 
 all. I thought he was going to dash himself to pieces on the 
 ground. Instead he has climbed higher. . . . There is hope 
 yet he may yet learn to fly. It is his region, the clouds. . . .
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OF INTEREST 97 
 
 Now I to mine, the firm ground. And more need than ever 
 that I should make certain that it is solid beneath my feet. 
 
 [He seats himself complacently in an armchair. 
 POLICHINELLE. [Without, to those wJio are with him] Guard 
 the doors ! Let no man escape ! No, nor woman either .... 
 Nor dog nor cat ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Where are they? Where are these bandits? 
 These assassins ? 
 
 PANTALOON. Justice ! Justice ! My money ! My money ! 
 SIGNOR POLICHINELLE, the INNKEEPER, SIGNOR PAN- 
 TALOON, the CAPTAIN, HARLEQUIN, the DOCTOR, the 
 SECRETARY, and two CONSTABLES enter, bearing in 
 their arms enormous scrolls and protocols, or papers 
 of the suit. All enter from the right in the order named. 
 The DOCTOR and the SECRETARY pass at once to the 
 table and prepare, to take testimony. Such rolls and 
 papers as cannot be accommodated upon the table 
 the two CONSTABLES retain in their hands, remain- 
 ing standing for that purpose at the rear. 
 CAPTAIN. But can this be possible, Crispin? 
 HARLEQUIN. Is it possible that such a thing can be? 
 PANTALOON. Justice ! Justice ! My money ! My money ! 
 INNKEEPER. Seize them ! Put them in irons ! 
 PANTALOON. Don't let them escape ! Don't let them 
 escape ! 
 
 CRISPIN. What? How is this? Who dares to desecrate 
 with impious clamor the house of a gentleman and a cavalier ? 
 Oh, you may congratulate yourselves that my master is 
 not at home ! 
 
 PANTALOON. Silence! Silence! For you are his accom- 
 plice and you will be held to answer to the same reckoning 
 as he.
 
 98 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 INNKEEPER. Accomplice, did you say? As guilty as his 
 pretended master ! for he was the one who deceived me. 
 
 CAPTAIN. What is the meaning of this, Crispin? 
 
 HARLEQUIN. Is there any truth in what these people say ? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. What have you to say for yourself now, 
 Crispin? You thought you were a clever rogue to cut up 
 your capers with me. I tried to murder your master, did 
 I? I am an old miser who is battening on his daughter's 
 heart? All the city is stirred up against me, is it, heaping 
 me with insults? Well, we shall see. 
 
 PANTALOON. Leave him to us, Signor Polichinelle, for this 
 is our affair. After all, you have lost nothing. But I all 
 my wealth which I lent him without security. I am ruined 
 for the rest of my life. What will become of me? 
 
 INNKEEPER. What will become of me, tell me that, when 
 I spent what I never had and even ran into debt so that he 
 might be served as I thought in a manner befitting his 
 station? It was my destruction, my ruin. 
 
 CAPTAIN. We too were horribly deceived. What will be 
 said of me when it is known that I have put my sword at 
 the disposition of an adventurer? 
 
 HARLEQUIN. And of me, when I have dedicated sonnet 
 after sonnet to his praise, just as if he had been any ordinary 
 gentleman ? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Ha! Ha! Ha! 
 
 PANTALOON. Yes, laugh, laugh, that is right. You have 
 lost nothing. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Nobody robbed you. 
 
 PANTALOON. To work! To work! Where is the other 
 villain ? 
 
 INNKEEPER. Better see what there is in the house first. 
 
 CRISPIN. Slowly, slowly, gentlemen. If you advance one 
 other step [Threatening them with his sword.
 
 ACT m THE BONDS OF INTEREST 99 
 
 PANTALOON. What ? You threaten us ? Again ? Is such 
 a thing to be endured ? Justice ! Justice ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Yes, justice! 
 
 DOCTOR. Gentlemen, unless you listen to me we shall get 
 nowhere. No man may take justice into his own hands, 
 inasmuch as justice is not haste nor oppression nor ven- 
 geance nor act of malice. Summum jus, summum injuria; 
 the more wrong, the more justice. Justice is all wisdom, 
 and wisdom is all order, and order is all reason, and reason 
 is all procedure, and procedure is all logic. Barbara, Cela- 
 rent, Darii, Ferio, Baralipton, deposit all your wrongs and 
 all your disputations with me, for if they are to be of any 
 validity they must all form a part of this process which I 
 have brought in these protocols with me. 
 
 CRISPIN. The devil, you say! Hasn't it grown enough 
 already ? 
 
 DOCTOR. Herein are set down and inscribed divers other 
 offenses of these defendants, whereunto must be added and 
 conjoined each and every one of those of which you may 
 accuse them now. And I must be the advocate in all of 
 them, for that is the only way in which it will be possible for 
 you to obtain satisfaction and justice. Write, Signer Secre- 
 tary, and let the said complainants depose. 
 
 PANTALOON. It might be better to settle our differences 
 among ourselves. You know what justice is. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Write nothing. It will only be making the 
 white black, and in the end we shall be left without our 
 money and these rogues without punishment. 
 
 PANTALOON. Exactly. My money ! My money ! And 
 justice afterward. 
 
 DOCTOR. You unlearned, you uncivil, you ignorant gen- 
 eration ! What do you know of justice ? It is not enough 
 for you to say that you have suffered a wrong, unless there
 
 100 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 be plainly apparent therein an intention to make you suffer 
 that wrong; that is to say, fraud or deceit, which are not the 
 same, although they are confounded in the popular accepta- 
 tion. But I say unto you that only in the single case 
 
 PANTALOON. Enough ! Enough ! You will end by telling 
 us that we are the guilty ones. 
 
 DOCTOR. What else am I to think when you persist in 
 denying such a plain and obvious fact? 
 
 INNKEEPER. I like that. Good ! We were robbed. Do 
 you want any plainer or more obvious fact? 
 
 DOCTOR. Know, then, that robbery is not the same as 
 theft, much less is it the same as fraud or deceit, which 
 again are not the same as aforesaid. From the laws of the 
 Twelve Tables down to Justinian, to Tribonian, to Emilian, 
 to Triberian. . . . 
 
 PANTALOON. We shall be cheated out of our money. 
 There is no one who can reason me out of that. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. The Signer Doctor is right. We can 
 safely leave the matter to him and everything will be at- 
 tended to in the process. 
 
 DOCTOR. Then write, Signor Secretary, write. 
 
 CRISPIN. Will any one listen to me? 
 
 PANTALOON. No one, no one. Let that rascal be quiet! 
 Silence for that villain ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. You will have a chance to talk soon enough 
 when you don't want to. 
 
 DOCTOR. He will speak at the proper moment, for justice 
 requires that everybody should be afforded an opportunity 
 to talk. Write, write: In the city of . . . .in the matter of. ... 
 But it would certainly not be amiss if we proceeded first to 
 an inventory of whatever there is in the house. 
 
 CRISPIN. [Before the door] It certainly would be a miss .... 
 
 DOCTOR. Thence to progress to the deposit of security on
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OF INTEREST 101 
 
 the part of the complainants, so that there may be no ques- 
 tion as to their good faith when they assert that they have 
 suffered a loss. Two thousand crowns will be sufficient 
 from each of you, to be secured by guarantees upon all your 
 goods and chattels. 
 
 PANTALOON. What is that? Two thousand crowns from 
 us? 
 
 DOCTOR. I ought to make it eight; however, as you are 
 persons of responsibility, I take that fact into account. I 
 allow nothing to escape me. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Hold ! And write no more ! We cannot 
 submit to this. 
 
 DOCTOR. What ? Do you threaten justice ? Open a sepa- 
 rate process for battery and the hand of violence raised 
 against an officer of the law in full performance of his duties. 
 
 PANTALOON. This man will be the ruin of us. 
 
 INNKEEPER. He is mad. 
 
 DOCTOR. What? Do you call me a man and mad? 
 Speak with more respect. Write ! Write ! Open two more 
 counts. There was also an assault by word of mouth. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. Now see what you have done through not listen- 
 ing to me. 
 
 PANTALOON. Talk, talk, for heaven's sake ! Talk ! Any- 
 thing would be better than what is happening to us now. 
 
 CRISPIN. Then shut off this fellow, for the love of mercy ! 
 He is raising up a mountain with his protocols. 
 
 PANTALOON. Stop ! Stop, I say ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Put down that pen ! 
 
 DOCTOR. Let no man dare to raise his hand. 
 
 CRISPIN. Signor Captain, then lend us your sword. It 
 also is the instrument of justice. 
 
 CAPTAIN. [Going up to the table and delivering a tremendous
 
 102 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 blow with his sword upon the papers on which the DOCTOR is 
 engaged] Have the kindness to desist. 
 
 DOCTOR. You see how ready I am to comply with a rea- 
 sonable request. Suspend the actions. [Thfy stop writing] 
 There is a previous question to be adjudged. The parties 
 dispute among themselves. Nevertheless it will be proper 
 to proceed with the inventory .... 
 
 PANTALOON. No! No! 
 
 DOCTOR. It is a formality which cannot be waived. 
 
 CRISPIN. I don't tlu'nk it would be proper. When the 
 proper time comes you can write as much as you like. But 
 let me have permission first to speak for a moment with 
 these honorable gentlemen. 
 
 DOCTOR. If you wish to have what you are about to say 
 recorded as testimony. . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. No ! By no means. Not a single word, or I 
 shall not open my mouth. 
 
 CAPTAIN. Better let the fellow talk. 
 
 CRISPIN. What shall I say? What are you complaining 
 about? That you have lost your money? What do you 
 want ? To get it back ? 
 
 PANTALOON. Exactly ! Exactly ! My money ! 
 
 INNKEEPER. Our money ! 
 
 CRISPIN. Then listen to me. Where do you suppose that 
 it is coming from when you insist upon destroying the credit 
 of my master in this fashion, and so make his marriage with 
 the daughter of Signor Polichinelle impossible? Name of 
 Mars ! I had rather deal with a thousand knaves than one 
 fool. See what you have done now and how you will be 
 obliged to compound with justice for a half share of what 
 we owe you I say owe you. How will you be any better off 
 if you succeed in sending us to the galleys or to some worse 
 place? Will it put money in your pockets to collect the
 
 ACT m THE BONDS OF INTEREST 103 
 
 welts on our skins? Will you be richer or nobler or more 
 powerful because we are ruined ? On the other hand, if you 
 had not interrupted us at such an inopportune moment, 
 to-day, this very day, you would have received your money 
 with interest, which God knows is enough to send you all 
 to hang on the gallows to remain suspended forever, if jus- 
 tice were not in these hands and these pens. Now do as 
 you see fit; I have told you what you ought to do. 
 
 DOCTOR. They will remain suspended until further no- 
 tice. 
 
 CAPTAIN. I would never have believed it possible that 
 then- crimes could have been so great. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. That Crispin. . . . He will be capable of 
 convincing them. 
 
 PANTALOON. [To the INNKEEPER] What do you think of 
 this ? Looking at it calmly .... 
 
 INNKEEPER. What do you think? 
 
 PANTALOON. You say that your master was to have mar- 
 ried the daughter of Signer Polichinelle to-day? But sup- 
 pose he refuses to give his consent? 
 
 CRISPIN. What good would that do him? His daughter 
 has run away with my master. All the world will soon know 
 it. It is more important to him than it is to any one else 
 not to have it known that his daughter has thrown herself 
 away upon a rapscallion, a man without character, a fugitive 
 from justice. 
 
 PANTALOON. Suppose this should turn out to be true? 
 What do you think ? 
 
 INNKEEPER. Better not weaken. The rogue breathes de- 
 ceit. He is a master. 
 
 PANTALOON. You are right. No one can tell how far to 
 believe him. Justice ! Justice ! 
 
 CRISPIN. I warn you you lose everything !
 
 104 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 PANTALOON. Wait ! . . . . just a moment. We will see. A 
 word with you, Signor Polichinelle. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. What do you want with me ? 
 
 PANTALOON. Suppose that we had made a mistake in this 
 complaint. Suppose that Signor Leander should turn out 
 to be, after all, a noble, virtuous gentleman, incapable of the 
 slightest dishonest thought. . . . 
 
 POLICHINELLE. W'hat is that? Say that again. 
 
 PANTALOON. Suppose that your daughter was in love with 
 him madly, passionately, even to the point where she had run 
 away with him from your house? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. My daughter run away from my house 
 with that man ? W 7 ho says so ? Show me the villain ! 
 WTiere is he? 
 
 PANTALOON. Don't get excited. It is only in supposition. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Well, sir, I shall not tolerate it even in 
 supposition. 
 
 PANTALOON. Try to listen more calmly. Suppose all this 
 should have happened. Wouldn't the best thing for you 
 to do be to let them marry? 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Marry? I would see them dead first. 
 But it is useless to consider it. I see what you want. You 
 are scheming to recoup yourselves at my expense, you are 
 such rogues yourselves. But it shall not be ! It shall not 
 be! 
 
 PANTALOON. Take care! We had better not talk about 
 rogues while you are present. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Hear! Hear! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Rogues, rogues ! conspiring to impover- 
 ish me. But it shall not be ! It shall not be ! 
 
 DOCTOR. Have no fear, Signor Polichinelle. Even though 
 they should be dissuaded and abandon their design, do you 
 suppose that this process will amount to nothing? Do you
 
 ACTin THE BONDS OF INTEREST 105 
 
 imagine that one line of what is written hi it can ever be 
 blotted out, though two and fifty crimes be alleged therein 
 and proved against them, besides as many more which re- 
 quire no proof? 
 
 PANTALOON. What do you say now, Crispin ? 
 
 CRISPIN. That though all those crimes were proved three 
 times and those that require no proof yet three times more 
 than the others, you would still be losing your money and 
 wasting your time, for we cannot pay what we do not have. 
 
 DOCTOR. Not at all. That is not good law. For I have 
 to be paid, whatever happens. 
 
 CRISPIN. Then the complainants will have to pay you. 
 We shall have more than we can do to pay our offenses with 
 our backs. 
 
 DOCTOR. The rights of justice are inviolable, and the first 
 of them is to attach in its interest whatever there is in this 
 house. 
 
 PANTALOON. But what good will that do us? How shall 
 we get anything ? 
 
 INNKEEPER. Of course not ! Don't you see ? 
 
 DOCTOR. Write, write, for if we were to talk forever we 
 should never arrive at a conclusion which would be more 
 satisfactory. 
 
 PANTALOON AND INNKEEPER. No! No! Not a word! 
 Not a word ! 
 
 CRISPIN. Hear me, first, Signor Doctor! In your ear. . . . 
 Suppose you were to be paid at once, on the spot and with- 
 out the trouble of all this writing, your. . . .what is it that 
 you call them? crumbs of justice? 
 
 DOCTOR. Perquisites of the law. 
 
 CRISPIN. Have it your own way. What would you say 
 to that ? 
 
 DOCTOR. Why, in that case. . . .
 
 106 THE BONDS OK JNTKKKST ACT m 
 
 CRISPIN. Listen: iny master will be rich to-day, influen- 
 tial, if Signer Polichinelle consents to his marrying his daugh- 
 ter. Remember that the young lady is the only child of 
 Signer Polichinelle; remember that my master will be mas- 
 ter indeed not only of her. . . . Remember. . . . 
 
 DOCTOR. H'm! It certainly does deserve to be remem- 
 bered. 
 
 PANTALOON. [To CRISPIN] What does he say? 
 
 INNKEEPER. What are you going to do? 
 
 DOCTOR. Let me consider. That fellow clearly is not 
 thick-witted. It is easy to see that he is acquainted with 
 legal precedent. For if we remember that the wrong which 
 has been done was purely a pecuniary one, and that every 
 wrong which can be redressed in kind suffers in the repara- 
 tion the most fitting punishment; if we reflect that in the 
 barbaric and primitive law of vengeance it was written: an 
 eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, but not a tooth for 
 an eye nor an eye for a tooth, so in the present instance it 
 might be argued a crown for a crown and money for money. 
 He has not taken your lives. Why not? The fact is evi- 
 dence that he did not wish you to take his in return. He 
 has not insulted your persons, impugned your honor, your 
 reputations. Why not? Plainly because he was not will- 
 ing to submit to a like indignity from you. Equity is the 
 supremest justice. Equitas justiciam magna est. And from 
 the Pandects to Tribonian, including Emilianus Triboni- 
 anus. . . . 
 
 PANTALOON. Include him. So long as we get our 
 money. . . . 
 
 INNKEEPER. So long as he pays us. ... 
 
 POLICHINELLE. What is this nonsense? How can he 
 pay? What is the use of all this talk? 
 
 CRISPIN. A great deal of use. As I was saying, you are
 
 ACT m THE mNDS OF INTEREST 107 
 
 all deeply interested in saving my master, in saving both of 
 us, for your own advantage, for the common good of all. 
 You, so as not to lose your money; the Sign or Doctor so as 
 not to see all this vast store of doctrine go for nothing, 
 which he is heaping up in those sarcophagi of learning; the 
 Signor Captain because everybody knows that he was the 
 friend of my master, and it would not be creditable to his 
 valor to have it said that he had been the dupe of an 
 adventurer; you, Signor Harlequin, because your poetic 
 dithyrambs would lose all their merit as soon as it became 
 known with what little sense you composed them; you, 
 Signor Polichinelle, my dear old friend, because your daugh- 
 ter is now, in the sight of God and before man, Signor Lean- 
 der's wife. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. You lie! You lie! Impudent rascal! 
 'Cutthroat! 
 
 CRISPIN. I think then that we had better proceed with 
 the inventory of what there is in the house. Write, write, 
 and let all these gentlemen be our witnesses. We can begin 
 with this apartment. 
 
 He throws back the tapestry from the door at the rear, and 
 SILVIA, LEANDEB, DONA SIRENA, COLUMBINE, and 
 the WIFE OF POLICHINELLE appear, forming a group. 
 
 PANTALOON AND THE INNKEEPER. Silvia! 
 
 CAPTAIN AND HARLEQUIN. Together ! Both of them ! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Is it possible? What? Are they all 
 against me? My wife and daughter, too? All, all, for my 
 ruin? Seize that man, these women, this impostor, or I 
 with my own hand. . . . 
 
 PANTALOON. Signor Polichinelle, are you out of your 
 head? 
 
 LEANDER. [Advancing toward the proscenium, accompanied 
 by the others] Your daughter came to my house under the
 
 108 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT in 
 
 protection of Dona Sirena, believing that I was wounded; 
 and I ran immediately in search of your wife, so that she too 
 might be present with her and protect her. Silvia knows 
 who I am, she knows the whole story of my life of misery and 
 wandering, of cheats and deceptions and lies how it has 
 been utterly vile; and I am sure that no vestige of our dream 
 of love any longer remains in her heart. Take her away 
 from this place, take her away! That is my only request 
 before I deliver myself up into the hands of justice. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. The punishment of my daughter shall be 
 my affair, but as for this villain .... Seize him, I say ! 
 
 SILVIA. Father! If you do not save him it will be my 
 death. I love him, I shall love him always; I love him now 
 more than I ever did, because his heart is noble. He has 
 been cruelly unfortunate; and he might have made me his 
 by a lie but he would not lie. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Silence! Silence, foolish, unhappy girl! 
 This is the result of the bringing up of your mother, of her 
 vanity, her hallucinations, of all your romantic reading, your 
 music to the light of the moon. 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. Anything would be preferable to 
 having my daughter marry a man like you, to be unhappy 
 afterward all the rest of her life, like her mother. Of what 
 use are my riches to me? 
 
 SIRENA. You are right, Signora Polichinelle. Of what 
 use are riches without love? 
 
 COLUMBINE. The same use as love without riches. 
 
 DOCTOR. Signer Polichinelle, under the circumstances, 
 the only thing for you to do is to let them marry. 
 
 PANTALOON. Or there will be a scandal in the city. 
 
 INNKEEPER. And everybody will be on his side. 
 
 CAPTAIN. And we can never consent to have you use force 
 ugainst your daughter.
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OF INTEREST 109 
 
 DOCTOR. It will have to stand in the process that they 
 1 were surprised here together. 
 
 CRISPIN. And after all, the only trouble with my master 
 was that he had no money; no one could outdo him in no- 
 bility of character; your grandchildren will be gentlemen 
 even if that quality does not extend up to the grandfather. 
 
 ALL. Let them marry ! Let them marry ! 
 
 PANTALOON. Or we will all turn upon you. 
 
 INNKEEPER. And your history will be brought to light 
 the secret story of your life .... 
 
 HARLEQUIN. And you will gain nothing by that. 
 
 SIRENA. A lady begs it of you on her knees, moved to 
 tears by the spectacle of a love so unusual in these days. 
 
 COLUMBINE. Which seems more like love in a story. 
 
 ALL. Let them marry ! Let them marry ! 
 
 POLICHINELLE. Yes ! let them marry in an evil hour. My 
 daughter shall be cut off without dowry and without inheri- 
 tance. I will ruin my estate rather than that this repro- 
 bate .... 
 
 DOCTOR. You certainly will not do anything of the kind, 
 Signor Polichinelle. 
 
 PANTALOON. Who ever heard of such nonsense? 
 
 INNKEEPER. I shouldn't think of it for a moment. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. What would people say? 
 
 CAPTAIN. We could never consent to it. 
 
 SILVIA. No, my dear father, I am the one who cannot ac- 
 cept anything. I am the one who must share the poverty 
 of his fate. I love him so. 
 
 LEANDER. That is the only condition upon which I can 
 accept your love. 
 
 All run toward SILVIA and LEANDER. 
 
 DOCTOR. What do you say ? Are you crazy ? 
 
 PANTALOON. Preposterous ! Absurd !
 
 110 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 INNKEEPER. You are going to accept everything. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. You will be happy and you will be rich. 
 
 WIFE OF POLICHINELLE. What ? My daughter in poverty ? 
 Is this wretch the hangman? 
 
 SIRENA. Remember that love is a deh'cate babe and able 
 to endure but few privations. 
 
 DOCTOR. It is clearly illegal. Signor Polichinelle, you will 
 sign a munificent donation immediately as befits a person of 
 your dignity and importance, who is a kind and loving father. 
 Write, write, Signor Secretary, for this is something to which 
 nobody will object. 
 
 ALL. [Except POLICHINELLE] Write ! Write ! 
 
 DOCTOR. And you, my dear, my innocent young lovers, 
 resign yourselves to riches. You have no right to carry 
 your prejudices to an extreme at which they become offen- 
 sive to others. 
 
 PANTALOON. [To CRISPIN] Now will you pay us? 
 
 CRISPIN. Do you doubt it? But you will have to swear 
 first that Signor Leander never owed you anything. See 
 how he is sacrificing himself upon your account, accepting 
 this money which is repugnant to him. 
 
 PANTALOON. We always knew that he was a perfect gentle- 
 man. 
 
 INNKEEPER. Always. 
 
 HARLEQUIN. We all believed it. 
 
 CAPTAIN. And we shall continue to maintain our belief. 
 
 CRISPIN. Now, Doctor, this process .... Do you suppose 
 there is waste space enough anywhere in the world for it 
 to be th'rown away upon ? 
 
 - DOCTOR. My foresight has provided for everything. All 
 that will be necessary is to change the punctuation. For 
 example, here where it says: "Whereas I depose and declare, 
 not without due sanction of law". . . .take out the comma
 
 ACT in THE BONDS OF INTEREST 111 
 
 *and it reads: "Whereas I depose and declare not without 
 due sanction of law." And here: "Wherefore he is not 
 without due judgment condemned". . . .put in a comma and 
 it reads: "Wherefore he is not, without due judgment con- 
 demned". . . . 
 
 CRISPIN. O excellent comma! O wonderful, marvel- 
 lous comma ! Stupendous Genius and Miracle of Justice ! 
 Oracle of the Law ! Thou Monster of Jurisprudence ! 
 
 DOCTOR. Now I can rely upon the generosity of your 
 master. 
 
 CRISPIN. You can. Nobody knows better than you do 
 how money will change a man. 
 
 SECRETARY. I was the one who put in and took out the 
 commas. 
 
 CRISPIN. While you are waiting for something better, 
 pray accept this chain. It is of gold. 
 
 SECRETARY. H'm ! How many carats fine ? 
 
 CRISPIN. You ought to know. You understand commas 
 and carats. 
 
 POLICHINELLE. I impose only one condition: that this 
 rogue leave your service forever. 
 
 CRISPIN. That will not be necessary, Signor Polichinelle. 
 Do you suppose that I am so poor in ambition as my master ? 
 
 LEANDER. What? You are not going to leave me, Cris- 
 pin? It will not be without sorrow on my part. 
 
 CRISPIN. It will not last long. I can be of no further use 
 to you. With me you will be able to lay aside your lion's 
 skin and your old man's wisdom. What did I tell you, sir ? 
 Between them all we were sure to be saved. And believe me 
 now, when you are getting on in the world, the ties of love 
 are as nothing to the bonds of interest. 
 
 LEANDER. You are wrong. For without the love of Silvia 
 I should never have been saved.
 
 THE BONDS OF INTEREST ACT m 
 
 CRISPIN. And is love a slight interest? I have always 
 given due credit to the ideal and I count upon it always. 
 With this the farce ends. 
 
 SILVIA. [To the audience] You have seen in it how these 
 puppets have been moved by plain and obvious strings, 
 like men and women in the farces of our lives strings which 
 were their interests, their passions, and all the illusions and 
 petty miseries of their state. Some are pulled by the feet 
 to lives of restless and weary wandering; some by the hands, 
 to toil with pain, to struggle with bitterness, to strike with 
 cunning, to slay with violence and rage. But bito the hearts 
 of all there descends sometimes from heaven an invisible 
 thread, as if it were woven out of the sunlight and the moon- 
 beams, the invisible thread of love, which makes these men 
 and women, as it does these puppets which seem like men, 
 almost divine, and brings to our foreheads the smile and 
 splendors of the dawn, lends wings to our drooping spirits, 
 and whispers to us still that this farce is not all a farce, 
 that there is something noble, something divine in our lives 
 which is true and which is eternal, and which shall not close 
 when the farce of life shall close. 
 
 Curtain
 
 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 
 
 COMEDY IN TWO ACTS 
 
 FIRST PRESENTED AT THE TEATRO LARA, MADRID, ON THE 
 EVENING OF THE FIRST OF DECEMBER, 1905
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 THE MARCHIONESS OF CASA MOLINA 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA 
 
 ASSUMPTION 
 
 TERESA 
 
 NATIVITY 
 
 LA REPELONA 
 
 A MAID 
 
 DON HELIODORO 
 
 JESUS 
 
 MARTIN 
 
 ENRIQUE 
 
 THE MARQUIS OF SANTO TORIBIO 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO 
 
 CABRERA 
 
 SERVANT 
 
 The action passes in a small seaport at the present time
 
 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 
 THE FIRST ACT 
 
 A room in the house of the MARCHIONESS OF CASA MOLINA. 
 The MARCHIONESS and DON FRANCISQUITO in conversation. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Does the Marchioness wish anything 
 else? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Nothing, Don Francisquito; only do be 
 sure to have the accounts ready for the meeting of the 
 Junta this afternoon. Have you looked over the meal 
 tickets which have been turned in? Let us not have any 
 more trouble such as we had last month. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Everything will be all right, Mar- 
 chioness. Now that the ladies of the committee have de- 
 cided very wisely to let the other Zurita give out the 
 provisions, it will not happen again. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. But have we changed shops? I always 
 thought Zurita's was the best. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Yes, Marchioness; but there are two 
 Zuritas in the grocery business. They are brothers. One 
 Zurita is good, but ours is the bad one. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I don't understand. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. He is good because he has the best 
 things, but he is bad because he is a godless man, without a 
 particle of conscience, who has made a practice of cheating 
 you unmercifully, without stopping to think that what you 
 spend really belongs to the poor. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. That is true. However, I am glad of the 
 change. 
 
 115
 
 116 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Si, seiiora. The other Zurita, who 
 we all say is the bad one because he does not keep such good 
 things in his shop) in fact he is good. He is a saint who 
 would not demean himself by making money. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I see. The bad one has the good shop, 
 and the good one has the bad one. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. He has, Marchioness. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. And so we are buying from him now? 
 It all seems very strange. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. The ladies so decided at the last 
 meeting. That was before the Marchioness arrived. How- 
 ever, I am surprised that nobody said anything to the Mar- 
 chioness. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Very likely they did, but probably I was 
 not paying attention. This confusion, you know, of two 
 Zuritas, the good one who is bad, and the bad one who is 
 the good one. . . . Really it is in the hands of the Lord, I 
 suppose. There is no reason for us to worry. It is hard 
 enough to do good anyway, and one gets very little thanks 
 for it. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. That is certainly true, senora. There 
 is very little real religion nowadays and very little charity; 
 very little honesty. The people you help are the first to 
 say things about you. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What do you expect? We do good to 
 please the Lord; it is utterly useless to look for anything 
 from other people. The only result is ingratitude or some 
 scandal. However, don't forget to go over the accounts. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Rely upon me, Marchioness. 
 He goes out. ENRIQUE enters. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Good morning, mamma. [Kissing her hand. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. My son ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Did you sleep well?
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 117 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Yes, very. How are you this morning? 
 Did you have any headache when you woke up? 
 
 ENRIQUE. No, mother. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Did you remember to take that half-glass 
 of milk and the two biscuits during the night? 
 
 ENRIQUE. No, mother. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Why not ? 
 
 ENRIQUE. I didn't wake up during the night. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. As a result, you see, you are too weak to 
 get up when the morning comes. I shall have to go in my- 
 self and wake you so as to be sure that you take proper 
 nourishment. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Don't, mamma. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Why not ? 
 
 ENRIQUE. I shan't be able to sleep then. I had much 
 rather sleep. Are my cousins up yet? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Not yet. They are very tired after their 
 journey. It is a long trip from Paris; they did not even 
 stop off at Madrid. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Are they sleeping in the same room? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Naturally, when they have just been mar- 
 ried. What a question to ask ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Why, I heard my cousin say last night that 
 they had two rooms at the hotel in Paris. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Did she say that ? I am surprised. How- 
 ever, you never can tell what people will do when they are 
 in Paris. 
 
 ENRIQUE. She said that they were taken for father and 
 daughter everywhere, except in one place where they were 
 taken 
 
 MARCHIONESS. For brother and sister ? 
 
 ENRIQUE. No, not exactly at least that is what Teresa 
 said.
 
 118 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I don't believe a word of it. Your cousin 
 Teresa is rather bizarre. She thinks things are funny which 
 other people interpret otherwise. Anyhow, there isn't so 
 much difference in their ages. She isn't so young, and her 
 husband isn't so old. 
 
 ENRIQUE. My new cousin-in-law is horribly ugly though. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. There seems to be a conspiracy to agree 
 that he is ugly. He doesn't appear so ugly to me for a man. 
 You must remember that he is a saint; he is a man who is 
 absolutely ideal, and there are not many of them nowadays. 
 Teresita can never thank God sufficiently for her good for- 
 tune. She was utterly without prospects after the collapse 
 of her family 
 
 ENRIQUE. Don't you think that she is rather good-looking ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Too good-looking, I think. She ought 
 not to exaggerate matters. Her style of dressing is entirely 
 out of place. You cannot dress like that here without mak- 
 ing yourself conspicuous. I shall have to speak to her. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Do they expect to stay long? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. No, only while they are remodelling their 
 house at Moraleda. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Oh ! Are they going to live in Moraleda ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Certainly. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I supposed they would live in Madrid. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. How absurd ! Juanito never married your 
 cousin to live in Madrid. To maintain any sort of position 
 in Madrid one has to spend money. They will be lead- 
 ers in Moraleda so long as your cousin behaves herself. 
 Teresita never did have much sense, any more than your 
 poor Uncle Ramon I trust God has forgiven him by this 
 time he certainly did have the craziest head, which proved 
 the destruction of his family, not to speak of the mortifica- 
 tion it was to the rest of us, which is precisely what we
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 119 
 
 suffer now on account of your Uncle Heliodoro, my other 
 dear brother, who is well and strong yet, I thank God for 
 that. It is disagreeable to be obliged to confess it, but the 
 men in our family never did amount to anything. Indeed, 
 I live in dread. . . . 
 
 ENRIQUE. Of what? Do you think that I am going to 
 throw myself away ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. You ? No, my angel ! You are a good 
 boy, and you always will be one now I want you to promise 
 me. Besides, you are not only good naturally, but you have 
 your education and the force of example. They work won 
 ders. It will be time enough for you to learn what the 
 world is like when you arrive at years of discretion. Mean- 
 while, we can continue living this simple life which is noth- 
 ing short of patriarchal and spend eight months of the year 
 at Moraleda and the other four here, in this quiet place, 
 looking out to sea far from Madrid, that modern Babylon. 
 I had trouble enough bringing you up, on account of your 
 being so delicate, but, thanks to this regular life, your health 
 seems at last to be pretty well assured. We shall be able to 
 attend to your soul presently, which is more important, and 
 can be lost a great deal more easily. But I think I hear the 
 bridal couple. . . .yes, here comes Juanito. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I was waiting to say good morning. 
 The MARQUIS OF SANTO TORIBIO enters. 
 
 MARQUIS. Good morning, my dear aunt. I hope you 
 slept well ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Yes. And you? Could you sleep at all? 
 You were not used to the bed. 
 
 MARQUIS. No, no not at all. I slept like a log all night. 
 I am worn out after the journey, in spite of the sleeping-car. 
 I never <;an sleep on a train. Hello, Enriquito! Good 
 morning. 
 
 M
 
 120 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 ENRIQUE. Good morning, cousin. Where is Teresita? 
 
 MARQUIS. Oh, finishing her hair. She will be with us in 
 a moment. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What would you like for breakfast? 
 
 MARQUIS. Anything will do. Whatever you have. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. We usually .have bizcochos and chocolate. 
 If you prefer something else 
 
 MARQUIS. No, no; by all means, chocolate. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Enrique, ask them to prepare the chocolate. 
 ENRIQUE goes out. 
 
 MARQUIS. Enriquillo is a nice boy. I didn't like his color 
 when we arrived last night. I suppose it was the light. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Yes, there is nothing the matter with him 
 now. Poor boy ! 
 
 MARQUIS. Of course he is not studying anything ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. No; it is absolutely prohibited. 
 
 MARQUIS. Good ! Let him get thoroughly strong first. 
 He is young yet. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Nineteen. How time does fly! I wish 
 his father could see him now. The boy was the apple of his 
 eye. An only son, naturally 
 
 MARQUIS. Yes, and after he had given up the idea of hav- 
 ing any. By the way, how old was Manuel when Enriquito 
 was born ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Fifty-two somewhat advanced. 
 
 MARQUIS. Fifty-two? He didn't look it. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. He had his best years before him, but life 
 was just one quarrel and disappointment after another. I 
 am sorry to say that my brothers worried him to death; he 
 simply could not stand it. They were always involved in 
 some lawsuit, otherwise it was an out-and-out scandal. He 
 had to work day and night to keep them out of trouble
 
 ACT! THE EVIL DOERS OP GOOD 121 
 
 of course, to no purpose. By dint of great effort he pre- 
 vented them from dragging us down; he saved his son and 
 me from disaster. But it was at the cost of his health. 
 
 MARQUIS. That reminds me. How is your brother Helio- 
 doro? As festive as ever? I was surprised last night to 
 find him here. I didn't know that he was living with you. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Yes, from time to time. He managed to 
 preserve an income of three or four thousand pesetas from 
 the wreck of his fortune, which he spends during the season 
 in Madrid. Sometimes it takes two or three months; some- 
 times two weeks are sufficient. The rest of the year he 
 spends with us. I make him a modest allowance. 
 
 MARQUIS. Do you have much trouble with him? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. No, as long as he has no money he is very 
 repressed. He confines himself to preaching his ideas I 
 am glad to say not before Enrique. It is prohibited, and he 
 knows better than to transgress. We have agreed as to 
 that otherwise I should not tolerate him in the house. 
 His doctrines are demoralizing. They are perfectly awful ! 
 
 MARQUIS. Whatever he has no facilities for translating 
 into acts. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. They are downright heretical. 
 
 MARQUIS. How is he now about drink? Satisfied with 
 talk? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I wish I could say so. At times, to be 
 frank well, we keep him off the streets. Things happen 
 more in retirement. Fortunately, everybody understands, 
 so they see that he gets home without attracting attention. 
 He remains in bed then for two or three days, Enrique 
 worries because he suffers from such tremendous headaches, 
 and so we go on bearing this terrible cross. But tell me 
 how are you? Are you happy now that you are married? 
 I certainly hope for the best.
 
 122 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 MARQUIS. Yes, very happy. Teresa is charming; she has 
 an even, cheerful disposition. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Undoubtedly; although you must make 
 some allowance for her youth. After she has lived awhile 
 with you, she will settle down to a sober routine. You will 
 be happy. I am sure that she is the woman you have been 
 looking for to run the house and be a second mother to your 
 children. How sad that the poor dears lost their own mother 
 so young ! If they had all been boys it would not have mat- 
 tered, but you cannot bring up girls without a woman in 
 the house. Teresita is very affectionate. Of course you 
 have discovered that. And she is fond of children. She 
 will love them just as much as her own. 
 
 MARQUIS. I am sure; although I think for the present it 
 will be just as well for them to remain at school. From what 
 they write they seem to be satisfied. They like school. 
 You know how children are or rather you know what no- 
 tions people will put into their heads, things they would 
 never have thought of themselves. They don't seem to like 
 the idea of my marriage, the girls especially. I wish you 
 could have seen their letter. I was amused, to tell the truth; 
 but I was angry. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I see the hand of your sister Rosalia. She 
 never could reconcile herself to the idea of your marrying 
 again. 
 
 MARQUIS. Imagine my position ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. But whose fault was it? If it had been 
 possible to get along with her, there wasn't any one you 
 would rather have had in the house. 
 
 MARQUIS. It was simply out of the question. Neither I 
 nor the children nor the servants could abide her. You 
 know what she is. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Yes, and I predicted what was going to
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 123 
 
 happen the last time that we freed our minds. She will die 
 alone in a corner some day, with a couple of cats and an 
 old parrot. 
 
 ENRIQUE enters, with one hand tied in a handkerchief. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I told them to bring the chocolate. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What have you done to your hand? 
 
 ENRIQUE. Nothing; just a little burn. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. A burn? How did that happen? Were 
 you in the kitchen? 
 
 ENRIQUE. No; it was Teresa's alcohol stove. She called 
 me in as I was passing her room. She was curling her hair, 
 and we upset the stove. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I wish you would be more careful. Why 
 will you be so rough ? You are just like two children. Ask 
 the servants to scrape a potato and bandage it at once. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Oh ! It is not worth the trouble. 
 
 MARQUIS. What time does the mail get in? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. At noon, usually. 
 
 MARQUIS. Do you take any papers ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Our Moraleda paper; we have none from 
 Madrid. If there is any news we hear it later from Don 
 Francisquito. A newspaper is not a thing one leaves lying 
 about the house. Don Francisquito will send out and get 
 one for you. Only remember; it is not for everybody. , 
 
 MARQUIS. No, I am not much of a newspaper reader my- 
 self. I run over the head-lines; that is all. 
 TERESA enters. 
 
 TERESA. Good morning, aunt. Aren't you going to kiss 
 me? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Great heavens ! 
 
 TERESA. What is the matter? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Nothing. I will see you later. 
 
 TERESA. What is it ? No, tell me now,
 
 124 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Not before Enrique. 
 
 TERESA. I was startled myself at first. . . . 
 
 MARCHIONESS. [Under her breath] That deshabille, my 
 dear. It is entirely too low. 
 
 TERESA. Oh ! Is that all ? I didn't think there was any 
 harm; I am so thin 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Be careful what you say. I can tell that 
 matinee is from Paris. 
 
 TERESA. Yes, it comes from a chain of shops which be- 
 longs to a religious order so I am told. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Teresita ! You are married now. Such 
 things are not appropriate to a woman in your condition. 
 Think how it looks. 
 
 TERESA. I am afraid you expect too much. There is so 
 much more to marriage than just a question of clothes. I 
 know I have always been a child. Now that I am grown up 
 I still feel that I am a child; I always shall. It is awfully 
 hard to remember to be dignified, and not run and skip rope 
 or play dolls, or dance around in a ring and sing with the 
 children. I shan't be able to believe when I get back to 
 Moraleda and find four children waiting for me in the house, 
 that I am their mother that they are really my children. 
 It seems to me that they will be more like brothers and sis- 
 ters, whom I am to take care of and teach how to play. We 
 are going to have such nice times together. I love them 
 already, and I know they will all love me. I am sure of it, 
 although I have never seen them, because we are all children, 
 and then they haven't any mother. And I know what that 
 means. * 
 
 MARQUIS. Oh ! I forgot to tell you I had decided that it 
 was best not to bring them to Moraleda for the present. 
 
 TERESA. Why not ? 
 
 MARQUIS. They will be better off at school; they write
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 125 
 
 they are contented. It will do them good. Anyhow, I 
 don't want you to be tied down so soon. You will never have 
 any time to enjoy yourself if you begin by taking up the 
 cares of housekeeping and the responsibilities of a family. 
 
 TERESA. I am sorry that you feel that way about me. I 
 suppose it is my fault. Naturally you have no confidence 
 in my judgment when I tell you I am a child. I know my 
 aunt feels the same. She thinks I have no self-control. She 
 has always been convinced of it. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I cannot imagine what makes you say 
 that. If I had had any such idea, you may be sure I should 
 never have consented to your marriage, considering what 
 marriage implies. 
 
 TERESA. You may think so, but I knew better. Juan, 
 you are not going to have another mother for your children 
 you will only have one more child, one burden more. I 
 want you to teach me, for I am dreadfully ignorant, although 
 when I lost my mother I fell into the hands of a stepmother 
 who was very severe, and knew how to bring up bad children. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. You fell into the hands of a stepmother? 
 
 TERESA. Yes. Poverty. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I can't see that you have any right to 
 complain. How long did your poverty last? As soon as 
 you had nothing at home everything was provided at our 
 house. Haven't we done everything that we could to make 
 you happy? Aren't you happy now? 
 
 TERESA. I am afraid that I am not selfish enough. If I 
 am to be happy, I want to feel that everybody about me is 
 happy. I was not the only one at home; the others were not 
 as fortunate as I. And I am not the only one now. I want 
 to feel that everybody is happy, don't you see? Every- 
 body! I knew that something was the matter when you 
 said a moment ago that the children were not coming to live
 
 126 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 with us, otherwise you would not have changed your mind. 
 Somebody has told you something. Or is it something that 
 you have noticed yourself ? I want you to be frank with me 
 and always tell me what you feel. I like to see in people's 
 faces that they trust me. I want to know what is in their 
 hearts. I can't bear frowns and scowls and sour looks. 
 They frighten me; I don't know what to do. Am I too cheer- 
 ful? You will soon see how serious I can be, only I don't 
 want you to look so worried about it. If I am ever to be 
 cheerful, then I shall have to keep it to myself. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Don't, mother ! Don't be so hard on Teresita. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Hard on her ? I should think not ! What 
 is the matter with you ? Who ever saw such a boy ! He is 
 crying. I neverheard of anyone being so sensitive. What 
 are you crying for? 
 
 MARQUIS. A grown man ? Over nothing ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. His heart is tender. 
 
 TERESA. Poor Enrique ! You are too sensitive to be 
 happy in this world. 
 
 A SERVANT enters. 
 
 SERVANT. The Marquis and Marchioness may take choco- 
 late. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Do you prefer it here with us ? 
 
 MARQUIS. No, we will go into the dining-room. 
 
 TERESA. I don't care for any; we are later than usual this 
 morning. If I take anything I shall have no appetite for 
 luncheon. 
 
 MARQUIS. Just as you say. I am exhausted myself. I 
 must eat. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Perhaps you can help your cousin, En- 
 rique. 
 
 MARQUIS. Good ! And when I am done you can take me 
 out to telegraph.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 127 
 
 ENRIQUE. That will be nice. 
 
 MARQUIS. Good-by, aunt. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Good-by. 
 
 The MARQUIS and ENRIQUE go out. 
 
 TERESA. Enrique is such a nice boy ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Poor angel ! 
 
 TERESA. It is too bad that he is so sensitive. I hate to 
 think what would happen to him if he should ever have to 
 shift for himself. You were not young when he was born, 
 and he has no father. Suppose he should be thrown upon 
 the world and you were not here he is only a child. You 
 don't know what it means to be deprived of the love and 
 protection of your parents, and find yourself suddenly face 
 to face with the indifference of strangers. I don't want you 
 to say now that I am not serious. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. A little too serious. It seems to me that 
 I detect a note of complaint. When you lost your parents 
 you were not thrown upon the world and left to shift for 
 yourself, amid the indifference of strangers. 
 
 TERESA. You are right and you must forgive me. You 
 have been very kind. I owe you everything. . 
 
 MARCHIONESS. It is too much to expect, my dear, that all 
 our desires should be gratified in this life. I know as well as 
 you do what dreaming and visions mean to the young; I 
 know what a girl imagines love to be like when she is twenty. 
 But then I know that this marriage was the best possible 
 guarantee of the future to a girl in your position. I have 
 lived longer than you. Call it a marriage of convenience if 
 you like entirely too convenient for the taste of the young; 
 but some day you will realize that it was your only surety 
 against the risks to which you were exposed. Virtue is 
 always at a disadvantage when it is combined with poverty 
 and good looks.
 
 128 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT r 
 
 TERESA. I realise that, and I did from the beginning; I 
 never complained. I was more anxious to make others 
 happy than to be happy myself. 
 DON HELIODOHO enters. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Hello ! You here, niece ? My little 
 niece ! 
 
 TERESA. Good morning, uncle. How is it that you are 
 out so early? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. This is the bathing season. Water is 
 my element. I had a fine bath. Nothing else is so good for 
 my headaches. 
 
 TERESA. Do you still have those headaches? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Worse and worse. Sometimes I am in 
 bed for two or three days together. I was recovering from 
 one last night when you came. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Fortunately, it was not a bad one. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No I slept it off. You must forgive 
 me if I hardly noticed you. You know how I am. I wish 
 you would explain to your husband 
 
 TERESA. It is not necessary to explain. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Well, how did you get along on your 
 honeymoon ? How was that wedding trip ? Did you en- 
 joy yourself in Paris? But you had been there before. 
 
 TERESA. Yes, when I was a child. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I remember you went with your father. 
 Poor Ramon ! How he did enjoy Paris ! There is nothing 
 like it. Everybody ought to make three visits to Paris: 
 first before he is married, next just after he has been mar- 
 ried, and then again when he is a widower. I have tried all 
 three, and it would be difficult to say when I enjoyed myself 
 most. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. It would? When you were under least 
 sense of restraint.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 129 
 
 DON HELIODORO. That was when I was married. When 
 I was single and when I was a widower it was just one em- 
 barrassment after another. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. You may suppress the details of your ad- 
 ventures. We can imagine what they were. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Do you expect to be with us long? 
 
 TERESA. I can't say. We are remodelling the house at 
 Moraleda. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. You will find it tiresome; this is a dull 
 spot. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I don't see how you can call it dull. The 
 quiet is its principal attraction. Thank God, we are free 
 from summer visitors ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, thank God ! You could never get 
 here without his special interposition. I never saw such a 
 wretched road. What diligences, what service ! Then, 
 when you get here, how pleasant they do make it ! If there 
 is anything out of the ordinary in your appearance, the chil- 
 dren run shouting after you down the street; the grown 
 people stare as if you were some strange species of vermin. 
 Everybody who is anybody rolls himself up in a ball like 
 a hedgehog, so as to prevent contamination by strangers. 
 Then there is so much to do here. No, no theatre; of course 
 .not ! If a company of strolling* players dares to lift its head, 
 the priests preach against it from the pulpits, Dona Espe- 
 ranza takes up the crusade in her tertulia, and the first thing 
 you know the plays all turn out to be sinful, the leading lady 
 isn't married to the man you thought was her husband, the 
 soubrette's skirts are too short and God help the poor 
 actors ! We had music for a while on Sundays in the glorieta, 
 but never again ! The boys held the girls too close when they 
 danced. So now the girls have a club of their own under 
 the supervision of the ladies, and the men have another
 
 130 THE EVIL POERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 .which has been organized by the gentlemen. They have a 
 chorus and sing; it seems to be moral and uplifting. The 
 only cafe closes at eleven. There is nowhere to go except 
 our house how exciting ! And on Saturdays you can look 
 in on Dona Esperanza. I cah 1 her the She-Bishop; she has 
 an eye out for everything. She criticises, she lays down the 
 law, she can tell you the proper cut for your bathing suit, 
 and when you ought to take a bath yes, and when it is 
 time for you to go to bed, and with whom. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Heliodoro ! Don't you begin romancing. 
 That will do. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I say with whom because she makes all 
 the matches. She fixes it up for the rich and the poor. You 
 have had the experience; your aunt's one idea is to imitate 
 her. You were auctioned off on that plan. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Heliodoro, Heliodoro, I fear you are not 
 over that headache. I shah 1 have to retire with Teresita if 
 you continue like this. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Poor Teresita ! Wait and see. How 
 shall I put it ? Ah ! You know Moraleda ? Well, .this is 
 the same, only more restricted and confined; there is a 
 tighter blockade. They have got us and we suffocate. You 
 will see, you will see. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Hush ! 0bn't pay any attention to him. 
 Nobody minds what he says. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO enters. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What is it, Don Francisquito ? 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Dona Esperanza and Dona Assump- 
 tion are waiting down-stairs. They have come to pay their 
 respects to the Marchioness's niece, the Marchioness of Santo 
 Toribio. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Yes, by all means. Ask them up. 
 DON FRANCISQUITO retires.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 131 
 
 DON HELIODORO. They are here. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I don't wish to criticise, Teresita, but I 
 think I would change that matinSe. 
 
 TERESA. It won't take a minute; it will be no trouble at 
 all. Wait until you see my new dress. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Better wear gloves and put a brake on 
 your conversation. We don't want to shock them. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Frankly, Heliodoro, this is worse than an 
 out-and-out headache. A few symptoms and you are im- 
 possible. 
 
 TERESA. I must hurry and dress. [Goes out. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. You ought to be ashamed to talk like this 
 before Teresita. It is lucky her husband didn't heaf you. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. He will later. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Remember, Heliodoro ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. That's right. Remind me that I am 
 living on charity. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Who ever thought of such a thing? All 
 I ask is to have you respect me and my house yes, and 
 yourself; and I should be satisfied. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. How about my convictions? My prin- 
 ciples, my ideas ? Aren't they to be considered ? You don't 
 suppose that I am going to sacrifice my ideas for a crust of 
 bread ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. There is something the matter with you 
 to-day. What are you sitting down for? The ladies are 
 not calling on you. However, as long as you behave your= 
 self 
 
 DON HELIODORO. The probabilities are against it. I love 
 to annoy the ladies; it is the only liberty they allow me. I 
 am afraid I am going to say something awful. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Mercy on us !
 
 132 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 DON HELIODORO. After the explosion, eh? Well, God 
 have mercy on you, even as I have mercy. 
 
 [He sings the "Marseillaise." 
 
 "Allons, enfants de la patrie !" 
 
 I must work up a proper frame of mind. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. In any event, they know you are not re- 
 sponsible. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. [Singing] 
 
 "Le jour de gloire est arrive !" 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA and DONA ASSUMPTION enter. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Here we are, Marchioness. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Marchioness ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Esperanza and Assumption ! My dear 
 friends ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. How do you do. ladies? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Ah ! Don Heliodoro ! We are glad 
 to see you at last. An unexpected pleasure. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Indeed it is ! You are rarely visible. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. It happens that way. I make it a rule 
 never to go out upon Saturdays. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. You do? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Is that the evening of your tertulia? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. So it is ! [Aside to ASSUMPTION] He is 
 trying to insult us. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. [Idem] Drunk as usual ! He stops at noth- 
 ing. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. [Sings] 
 
 "Centre nous de la tyrannic !" 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I hope you don't mind what he does. I 
 think sometimes that his head is affected; we notice it in the 
 family. He has had a great deal of trouble.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 133 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Not to speak of headaches. So Tere- 
 sita and her husband arrived last night ? I am delighted 
 to hear that they are getting along so nicely, although I 
 expected it. Santo Toribio is a man without spot a per- 
 fect gentleman, a true Christian. I wish all men were like 
 him. Teresita is indeed fortunate. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Is there any news? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. News? 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Why 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Oh! No, not as yet. However, she will 
 be out in a minute to speak for herself. She stayed in bed 
 very late. The journey was tiresome. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. No wonder. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Don't disturb them on our account. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Not at all. It will be a pleasure 
 
 ASSUMPTION. The pleasure will be ours. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. She is very fond of you both. Whenever 
 she writes she always sends you her love. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. I hope you sent her ours while you 
 were about it. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. And she asked me to thank you. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. We appreciate it. She always knew what 
 we thought of her. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. She reciprocates it fully. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. [As if to himself] She is entirely yours, 
 yours; she considers it a great honor 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Is he talking to himself? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Did you say anything? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No, I was merely running over a few 
 polite phrases. A coincidence; association of ideas 
 "Allow me!" "No, no! allow me; I beg your pardon" 
 I had an elegant bringing up.
 
 134 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Are you surprised that I am worried about 
 him? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. You have our sympathy, Marchioness. 
 How often I say to my sister: "I am so sorry for the poor 
 Marchioness ! " 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Somehow or other we always seem to be 
 saying: " Poor Marchioness !" 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I knew that you were friends of mine. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. You knew how we loved you. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. You have time for nothing else. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. And we know that you love us. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I often say to my poor boy: "How I do 
 love Esperanza and Assumption!" Enrique loves you too. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. And so do I; I love you. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. We have not the same confidence in 
 your love, Don Heliodoro if I make myself clear. 
 
 DON HELJODORO. I cannot imagine why. It is the pure 
 article. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. To be viewed with suspicion. Your corner 
 in the club enjoys a deserved reputation. All the mots and 
 the scandal originate there. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. I believe myself that he was at the 
 bottom of that story about poor Maria de la O. I suppose 
 you knew all about it, Marchioness ? I was shocked. How- 
 ever, I don't believe a word of it. I am the last person in 
 the world to think evil. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. If you don't believe it, you have a good 
 excuse for investigating the details. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. There has recently been an extraordi- 
 nary amount of gossip in this town. Nobody ever used to 
 speak ill of anybody. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. I blame it all on the club. The men who
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 135 
 
 are good for nothing congregate there; they have nothing 
 else to do. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. We are thinking of organizing a chorus. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. I understood that you were devoting 
 your attention to our chorus, and doing everything you could 
 to bring it into contempt. The other night, during the con- 
 cert in the plaza, you stood on the balcony at the club and 
 howled like a cat. A witty idea ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No, you do me injustice. It was a real 
 cat Michito, the club cat; he was spending the evening on 
 the terrace. He has fallen in love, poor chap ! All I did was 
 to meow two or three times to encourage him. I was his 
 Zapaquilda. 
 
 "The chaste Zapaquilda, 
 With love the cat filled her" 
 
 ASSUMPTION. You hardly expect us to believe that canard 
 about the cat. What is your objection to our chorus? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. How does it interfere with you? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Not at all, not at all. As long as it 
 doesn't sing, not at all. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Isn't it a great deal better for the 
 working man to pass his leisure in song than in taverns and 
 revolutionary clubs, dissipating his time reading and hear- 
 ing talk that is seditious? 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Take the two kinds of men; put them side 
 by side. What a contrast! How orderly, how respectful 
 some are ! Their every desire seems to have been gratified. 
 On the other hand, there are others who do nothing but 
 complain, roister about, and shout at the top of their lungs. 
 They even strike. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No doubt they do. The other fellows
 
 136 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 have everything they want, and you take good care to see 
 that they get nothing. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. There must be some distinction. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Now you have it some distinction. 
 You are not handing out alms and charity for nothing. All 
 you ask is a profession of faith, an oath of absolute allegiance, 
 social, religious, political, sentimental yes, even sentimental. 
 You are shocked when you find some one who is not willing 
 to sell his soul, his most cherished beliefs, for whatever you 
 are ready to offer, and there are fewer poor men who will do 
 it, let me tell you, than gentlemen among the upper classes. 
 You think that you are encouraging virtue when what you 
 are really doing is fostering hypocrisy. You are not educat- 
 ing the masses you are holding a ruler in one hand and a 
 piece of candy in the other. Moliere's Don Juan Tenorio is 
 a revolting spectacle when he bribes a beggar to blaspheme, 
 but morally it is no worse than if he had debauched him 
 for a benediction. Giving with one hand and taking back 
 with the other never appealed to me. Good isn't a seed 
 which you sow with one eye on the harvest. You scatter 
 the seed. Some falls on fertile ground; very well. Some 
 the wind carries away, but you lose nothing. The joy of 
 doing good is in sowing the seed, not in what you think you 
 are going to get out of it. 
 
 DOXA ESPERANZA. Do you mean to imply that we are 
 improving the condition of the poor out of selfishness ? It is 
 a great deal easier, no doubt, to scatter your seed broadcast 
 than it is first to prepare the ground carefully, and then 
 cultivate it. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Pay no attention to what my brother says. 
 God made him, and he is responsible. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. We are acquainted with your brother's 
 peculiar propensities for doing good.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 137 
 
 ASSUMPTION. That wretched drunkard, Cabrera, who is a 
 disgrace to the village, and La Repelona, the miserable female 
 who lives with him, are cases in point. He encourages them 
 and leads them on to make exhibitions of themselves. They 
 drink until they can no longer stand up. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. And because we do not ke Hit and de- 
 cline to assist them while they are in such a condition, they 
 insult us to our faces. That is all your brand of charity 
 amounts to. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. It would be a pretty state of affairs if he _ 
 were intrusted with the morals of the community. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, in your eyes I am a sort of Beast 
 of the Apocalypse, brought up to date. Well, let us divide 
 the Kingdoms of this World, or rather of this village. You 
 take your friends, while I I will take myself; because I 
 have no friends I can call mine. My friends are their own 
 masters. They think what they like, they say what they 
 like, and they do what they like. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. They drink what they like. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. They do, si, senora. They are very par- 
 ticular about that. I do not ask them even to subscribe 
 to my respectability. Liberty is my motto Liberty ! 
 
 "LibertS, libertt chSriel" 
 
 TERESA enters. 
 
 TERESA. Dona Esperanza and Assumption! 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Teresita, my child ! 
 
 ASSUMPTION. My dear Teresita ! 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. You have no idea how delighted we 
 were to hear from your aunt of your marriage to Santo 
 Toribio. We have known him ever since we were girls. 
 You must be the happiest woman in the world. How often 
 I have said to my sister: If I had had a daughter he is the
 
 138 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 very husband I should have prayed for ! No doubt you 
 realize by this time that poverty was only a passing trial, 
 since it was borne with resignation. In this life we some- 
 times anticipate our reward. 
 
 TERESA. Thanks to my aunt and to you. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. You are looking extremely well. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Divinely ! You seem like another person. 
 
 TERESA. Thank you so much. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. [Aside to TERESA] Yes, thank her. If 
 you are divine now and like another person, imagine what 
 you must have looked like before. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. But where is your husband ? We wish 
 to congratulate him. 
 
 TERESA. He will be here presently. He hurried out to 
 telegraph, and on the way he was to stop at mass. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Yes, Enriquito is with him. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Do you expect to live at Moraleda? 
 
 TERESA. Yes, at Moraleda. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. A wise choice. You will find all the 
 conveniences. Your husband's house is magnificent, and 
 the country place simply regal. It is not far away. Of 
 course everything is rather out of repair. When the Marquis 
 lost his first wife, he took no interest in such matters; but 
 now he will have you as an incentive. 
 DON FRANCISQUITO enters. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. If you will permit me, ladies .... 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What is it, Don Francisquito ? 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Nativity and Martin are waiting 
 down-stairs. They say they are expected by the Sefiora 
 Marchioness. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Oh, yes ! I am to hand them their papers. 
 Ask them to come up to come up immediately. And tell
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 139 
 
 them that Dona Esperanza and Dona Assumption are with 
 me. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. They know already, Seftora Mar- 
 chioness. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. It seems they are really going to be married 
 at last. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. What we have done will be appreciated. 
 We have made no mistake. They are both faithful and 
 industrious, and now that conditions are favorable, every- 
 thing will be easy if they attend strictly to business. 
 
 TERESA. Are you marrying somebody? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Yes, two unfortunates from the village 
 orphans who have been in our charge; although the girl is 
 not really from this place. Her story sounds more like a 
 novel. 
 
 TERESA. Is that so? Do tell me about it. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Here they are. We shall have to wait. 
 NATIVITY and MARTIN enter. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Come in, come right in. There is nobody 
 here but the family. My niece, the Marchioness of Santo 
 Toribio. . . . 
 
 NATIVITY. Senorita Teresa ? She was in the village a long 
 while ago; she was a little girl then. She came one day with 
 the Marchioness and another lady to visit the asylum. 
 
 TERESA. Yes, my mother. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. You certainly have a good memory. You 
 were only a mite at the time. 
 
 NATIVITY. I remember it perfectly. 
 
 TERESA. I remember now. Of course and they told me 
 your story. I was tremendously affected by it, although it 
 had slipped my mind until you spoke. I remember you 
 are the girl some sailors from the village rescued from a 
 wreck.
 
 140 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 NATIVITY. I am, senora. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. This girl and a poor woman who had 
 a tiny baby boy clasped in her arms, were the only ones that 
 were saved. The woman died soon afterward, but they 
 managed to preserve the boy's life. It took place on a 
 Christmas afternoon, so when we had the children confirmed, 
 we changed their names to commemorate the event, and 
 called them Nativity and Jesus. 
 
 TERESA. Is this the young man? 
 
 NATIVITY. No no, senora. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. No, the boy was saved from the wreck, 
 but he has since come to shipwreck in life. Nativity has 
 always been docile and willing, appreciative of what has been 
 done for her. I do not say this because she is present but 
 whatever good qualities she has possessed the boy has made 
 up for in surliness and rebellion. He ran away from the 
 asylum when he was eight years old. You cannot expect me 
 to remember all his escapades since. We were sorry when 
 his turn came to be released on parole and he was put to 
 work outside. He is little better now than one of the wicked. 
 Sometimes he runs away from the village, nobody knows 
 where; and the next thing you hear he is back again. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. So you see we have nothing more to do 
 with him. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. He is a fine specimen. 
 
 TERESA. But were any of your family lost in the wreck ? 
 
 NATIVITY. I can't say, senora; I don't remember. I was 
 only three years old at the time. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. They were crossing in an old sailing vessel 
 from Oran. There were ten or twelve in the party a troupe 
 of acrobats, as we learned from the boy's mother. 
 
 TERESA. The boy who was saved with you then was not 
 your brother ?
 
 ACTI THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 141 
 
 NATIVITY. No, senora no. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. They were not brother and sister. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Otherwise they could not have been en- 
 gaged. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. This is no time to bring up that subject 
 again. The boy's head was filled with wild notions, and he 
 got the idea that Nativity and he had been destined for each 
 other that is how he expressed it, predestined for each 
 other. He had been reading cheap novels, you know, and 
 murder stories in the newspapers, so he got the idea that 
 destiny had joined them together, and that no power on 
 earth could put them asunder. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Poor Nativity ! Rather than marry 
 that scamp, it would have been better if she had never been 
 saved. 
 
 TERESA. Is this young man your fiance ? 
 
 MARTIN. At your service, senorita. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. He is quite different; he is honorable 
 and a hard worker. Both have employment she is a laun- 
 dress; he is a carpenter. He works in our leading carpenter's 
 shop; she has a laundry which we have fitted up for her in 
 wonderful style. They will be very successful, as they are 
 well liked by everybody. 
 
 NATIVITY. Thanks to you. 
 
 MARTIN. Thanks to you, ladies. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I suppose that people will still say that 
 women's clubs do no good. 
 
 TERESA. Do you expect to be married soon? 
 
 NATIVITY. Next week. The final banns will be published 
 on Sunday. 
 
 TERESA. I must send you a present something useful for 
 the house. Let me know what you need. 
 
 NATIVITY. Thank you, senorita, but we have everything.
 
 142 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 The ladies are so kind. Anything at all will do, senorita; 
 you are so kind. 
 
 TERESA. I shall make inquiries. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I ana glad that you came while Dona Es- 
 peranza and Dona Assumption were with us. Although I 
 am president, they are much more active than I. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. No indeed ! All we ever do, Mar- 
 chioness, is carry out your wishes. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Come into the study where Don Francis- 
 quito has the papers. He will give them to you. Martin 
 need only sign his name a couple of times in order to make 
 everything regular; then all you will lack will be a blessing. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. They will make an attractive couple. 
 
 TERESA. Yes, very interesting.' I don't know why, but 
 somehow I find myself thinking of the other. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Just like she is; depend upon it. 
 
 TERESA. Do you mean ? . . . . 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Surely. 
 
 TERESA. That is even more interesting. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. But we are losing time. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Lead the way, Marchioness. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Come with me. 
 
 NATIVITY. With your permission. 
 
 MARTIN. With your permission, ladies. . . . 
 
 Att retire with the exception of DON HELIODORO and 
 TERESA. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Did you hear what they said about 
 poor Jesus? There is not one word of truth in it, as usual. 
 They merely expect a complete surrender in return for their 
 favors. It is a new form of slavery. Men are not men, they 
 are abstractions so many souls to be saved. As far as the 
 man is concerned, he can go to the devil! We have souls,
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 
 
 but there is a considerable admixture of bone and flesh, of 
 nerves that tingle, and blood that boils we are alive and 
 life means struggle, rebellion. At the first harmless prank 
 they regarded the boy with suspicion. Distrust and repres- 
 sion were the correctives employed. Naturally the rebellion 
 increased, until it terminated in open war. The boy is not 
 bad, but by treating him as if he were, they will make him 
 so. He is in love with this girl. There is a touch of the 
 theatric in his infatuation, it is true, of the language of the 
 folletins which he has been reading; and it is ridiculous I 
 was the first to laugh at him but at bottom his attachment 
 is sincere, even passionate. And the girl loves him, only she 
 is afraid. She is prepared to accept a husband like any 
 other alms which they offer, because it is not proper to re- 
 fuse. Poor people cannot afford to refuse charity; it seems 
 ungrateful. But a husband is not a form of charity. Don't 
 say now that I am talking. Hasn't a man a right to talk 
 when he sees things which make his blood boil ? You know 
 what they did to you. 
 
 TERESA. To me? 
 
 DON HELIODOKO. Yes, and you know it. They were not 
 satisfied to give you bread, they wanted to secure your 
 virtue and save your soul. They had very little confidence 
 in you, and none at all that any young man would be found 
 who would be willing to offer you his love, because they knew 
 that you were poor they may have been right, too young 
 men to-day are very shy about love; they are afraid. It 
 might embarrass them afterward in the struggle for life 
 and they may be right about that. Life is exacting and 
 hard nowadays, and it is terribly severe with the man who 
 refuses to accept things as they are, but spends his time gaz- 
 ing up at the stars or listening idly to the songs of nightin- 
 gales.
 
 144 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD M T r 
 
 TERESA. But what have I to complain of since you admit 
 yourself that they are right? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, yes, of course they are right ! 
 Only I cannot resign myself to this sort of right. It is not 
 my conception of life. The struggle for life never engrossed 
 me; it has always been the struggle against life when its con- 
 ditions became insupportable. That is how I come to be 
 living here upon charity, but refusing to abdicate, like a king 
 who has been conquered but not humiliated, and who will 
 never surrender his throne for all the powers of this world. 
 Like the fallen angel, I stand alone, preferring to be a devil 
 to an angel who has repented and been forgiven. I am soli- 
 tary and great in my inferno, which explains why it is that 
 I can afford to tell you that it was a sin to marry you to that 
 old egotist, who cares nothing for you except as a trust- 
 worthy nurse for his children, and a reliable housekeeper to 
 look after his house; that is why I can tell you that it is a 
 crime to join these young people together, whose sense of 
 obligation is so great that they do not even dare admit to 
 themselves that they are not in love. 
 
 TERESA. Why should they not be in love? Come, dear 
 uncle, you were always a little romantic yourself. Admit 
 that all these stories of shipwrecks on Christmas eve, of 
 acrobats and orphans snatched from the storm, have induced 
 you to compose a little novel or melodrama of your own, 
 which this prosaic ending with a wedding will spoil completely. 
 The girl seems very happy to me. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. She is exactly as happy as you are. 
 
 TERESA. You seem determined to drag me into it. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Do you mean to tell me that you are in 
 love with your husband? 
 
 TERESA. I mean to tell you that it was no sacrifice for me 
 to marry him.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 145 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Because you had never been in love, 
 and you have not the slightest idea now what love means 
 what true love means. Who knows? It may come to-day. 
 
 TERESA. What are you talking about? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Sometimes it seems as if the realities of 
 life had crushed out the ideal; but only the ideal is eternal, 
 and it asserts itself in the end. In a day, in an hour, it turns 
 topsy-turvy the best regulated and most tranquil of lives, 
 which had seemed secure from all folly or passion which 
 might ruffle their calm. 
 
 TERESA. I have no fear that folly or passion will ever dis- 
 turb my life. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. They will some day perhaps it will 
 be only a great longing which takes possession of your 
 soul, and you will not know the reason; but it will be the 
 ideal, the ideal which sooner or later exacts its part in our 
 lives. 
 
 NATIVITY re-enters. 
 
 NATIVITY. Excuse me. ... May I speak with the Senora 
 Marchioness ? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. What is the matter ? You seem fright- 
 ened. 
 
 TERESA. What has happened? 
 
 NATIVITY. I am very much frightened, si, senora. The 
 ladies handed us the papers; they were as kind as they could 
 be, God reward them for it. Martin and I left the house 
 together, both so happy, and bade each other good-by on 
 the corner. He went to his shop and I turned back to my 
 laundry, but no sooner was I alone than Jesus appeared and 
 threw himself across my path, and began to talk to me as if 
 he were crazy. I never saw him like J,hat before; he always 
 seemed resigned. I thought he had forgotten me, but now 
 he says that he is going to kill us, that he is going to kill
 
 146 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 himself. I am sure that he is crazy. He wanted to come 
 here, too, to insult the ladies. I was so frightened that I 
 began to run, and I ran back to the house, and I know that 
 he is following me, although I didn't dare to look behind, 
 because I could hear him muttering all the while and swear- 
 ing that he would kill us, and kill himself, and kill those old 
 busybodies the busybodies were the ladies, God forgive 
 him ! It was the same thing over and over. He is crazy. 
 I know that he is crazy. They must be prepared for it. ... 
 
 DON HELIODORO. The melodrama and the novel ! What 
 did I tell you? 
 
 TERESA. One moment, Nativity. Did you ever love 
 Jesus ? 
 
 NATIVITY. Of course I did ! We were brought up together, 
 we were saved from the wreck together, our names were 
 always spoken as one, and we were both alone in the world, 
 dependent upon alms charity was all that we had. But 
 he has turned bad, he has become ungrateful. . . . 
 
 TERESA. Is he really as bad as they say? 
 
 NATIVITY. Oh, yes, senora ! He always wants to have his 
 own way. He is rebellious and a bad Christian; he says ter- 
 rible things. He ran away from the asylum once, and went 
 about among the towns and villages, fighting bulls. Another 
 time he ran away with some acrobats. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Naturally, you were born into the pro- 
 fession. Didn't you ever feel like turning a few somersaults 
 yourself ? 
 
 NATIVITY. I? Oh, no, sir! But when he was little I 
 have often heard it said that all his bones were out of joint. 
 
 TERESA. How dreadful ! He should have been punished 
 severely. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, indeed; and it was worse yet when 
 he took to dislocating beads and hearts.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 147 
 
 TERESA. Tell me, was there anything else that was wrong 
 that poor Jesus did? 
 
 NATIVITY. Oh, yes, senorita! A great many things. 
 One day he was drunk in the streets with Cabrera and La 
 Repelona, and roused the whole village shouting blasphemies. 
 The ladies would have nothing more to do with him after 
 that, although until then they had always forgiven him. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. In the heat of improvisation some 
 stories came out which were of interest to the ladies. La 
 Repelona is pretty well informed about what is going on. 
 So a council was convened and he was excommunicated. 
 
 TERESA. So now you do not love Jesus? 
 
 NATIVITY. Love him? Yes, and I always shall. I am 
 awfully sorry to have it like this, but things are different 
 now; he knows that I am to be married, and he will have to 
 give me up. Only think what might have happened if 
 Martin had seen us together! It would have been dread- 
 ful. Men are so excitable, and although Martin is cautious, 
 Jesus would have insulted him. I was terribly frightened, 
 senorita, and I want the Marchioness to know all about it 
 so that they can put fear into the heart of Jesus, and it will 
 never happen again. 
 
 TERESA. It certainly must be done. 
 
 The voice of the SERVANT is heard outside in altercation 
 with JESUS, CABRERA, and LA REPELONA. 
 
 NATIVITY. Diosmio! 
 
 TERESA. What? Who are these people? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Never mind who they are. There is no 
 cause for alarm. They are friends of mine. Here comes 
 Jesus with Cabrera and La Repelona, who is his mistress. 
 Come in, come right in! While I am here it will be per- 
 fectly safe. Have no fear. 
 
 JESUS, CABRERA, and LA REPELONA enter.
 
 148 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 REPELONA. Good morning, everybody. 
 
 CABRERA. Good morning, Don Heliodoro and company. 
 
 JESUS. Good morning. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Hello, hello ! To what are we indebted 
 for the honor of this visit of the most notable rogues of this 
 virtuous community ? 
 
 JESUS. We asked for you, Don Heliodoro, so as to be able 
 to get in; but what we want is to see the Marchioness and 
 the other ladies of the Junta. I have something to say to 
 them. I don't know what these people want. 
 
 REPELONA. I want my rights, and to let people know who 
 is who, so that the ladies can tell what they are doing and 
 not be deceived, and who it is they are trying to help, for 
 they are preyed upon now by a brood of vipers, who make 
 them see white as black, the hypocrites and scum of the 
 village that they are; and they are the people who go about 
 plastering sins upon everybody so as to make it appear that 
 they are virtuous, and have the ladies listen to them, and to 
 nobody else. They are frauds and deceivers, and they 
 find out when it is the ladies go to church, so that they can 
 be there before them, and beat themselves on the breast 
 and kiss the ground, and then they go out and do after- 
 ward .... Aha ! I could tell you what they do after- 
 ward ! I wonder if they think nobody knows who they 
 are? It would be a good deed, too, to run them down and 
 expose them one by one in their shame, and drag them out 
 onto the streets in the broad light of day and I am the one 
 that is going to do it, too ! Take Cacharrero's old woman, 
 she talks the most I will take her dressed up in the robe 
 of a penitent last Good Friday like a Nazarene, when what 
 she ought to have been doing was running the gauntlet ! 
 I will take her ! There is not another hussy so foul in the 
 village, no, nor in hell either, for that matter; you can take 
 it from me.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 149 
 
 TERESA. What a horrible woman ! I believe she is dan- 
 gerous. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. [To LA REPELONA] Yes, yes, we agree 
 with you. But repress your just rage and give the men a 
 chance to talk. Cabrera, your fame has passed the limits of 
 this village. If I am right you are the third of your line? 
 
 CABRERA. Si, senor, most excellent Senor Don Helio- 
 doro, I am Cabrera the Third, at your service and the com- 
 pany's, not to speak of the most excellent senorita's, as lovely 
 as can be. One of your most excellent family, eh, Don 
 Heliodoro? Is it so? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. She is my niece. 
 
 CABRERA. May she long continue so! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. But we are wandering from the subject. 
 You were saying that you were the third of your line. 
 
 CABRERA. Si, senor, most excellent Don Heliodoro. You 
 knew us all. My father was a great drinker, and my grand- 
 father was a great drinker. My grandfather served in the 
 army under the most excellent general, Don Ramon Cabrera. 
 This white cap belonged to the most excellent general; he 
 gave it to my grandfather. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I see: this cap belonged to the general, 
 it was white, and he gave it to you. 
 
 CABRERA. It was a mistake that I was not a soldier; I 
 was born to make war. What can a man do in peace but 
 stagnate? Drink is the only relief. I drink, I don't stag- 
 nate. People ought to remember. They call me a drunk- 
 ard when I am not. A drunkard drinks for the sake of drink, 
 but that is no way to do. La Repelona here, is a drunkard, 
 and she has gotten an ill name for us with the most excellent 
 ladies of the most excellent Junta. I only give them their 
 due; I suffer abuse with moderation. I am a martyr to 
 my principles, like ray grandfather. 
 
 TERESA. Oh, uncle ! These people frighten me.
 
 150 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 NATIVITY. Seftorita, ask them to go away. 
 
 DON HELIODOBO. They amuse me. Jesus, what have you 
 to say for yourself? 
 
 JESUS. Nothing. What do you want me to say? I have 
 come to tell the Senora Marchioness and the other ladies 
 and gentlemen of the Junta that I will do whatever they 
 wish I will go to work at whatever they put me. It is 
 not my fault that I am slow at work. What I like is to put 
 to sea and to wander over the earth, but I will do what they 
 tell me, and you know it. And that ends it. I never did 
 anything but run away twice, and both times it was because 
 they said I was no good, and I wanted to see if I wasn't 
 some good and try myself out in the world. One day I 
 had been drinking when I wasn't used to it, and I met these 
 people, and we said things, and then the ladies heard of it; 
 that is the only wrong I ever did, so now they treat me 
 worse than if I were a thief, and they will not have me 
 around. Now the captains of all the boats are afraid to 
 take me for fear of offending the owners, so I have had to 
 take to smuggling with the Pimentons, who are the only 
 ones who have any use for me. Then everybody says that 
 I keep bad company, that I am in a bad business. I know 
 it is a bad business, and some day the guard will catch us, 
 and we will all be shot and we will be lucky too to be shot 
 otherwise they will put us in jail. But what is a man to 
 do? I want the ladies and gentlemen to forgive me, and 
 here I am, and I am ready to do what they say, you know 
 that, if only they will tell me. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. [To TERESA] Was I right? 
 
 TERESA. If he is telling the truth. Do you hear, Nativity ? 
 
 NATIVITY. [Bursting into tears] I am awfully sorry. 
 
 JESUS. You are crying because you know that I am telling 
 the truth. You are afraid; you always said that you loved
 
 ACTI THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 151 
 
 me, and now you don't dare to say it; but I will make you 
 say it. You will have to say it ! You are going to say it 
 yet! 
 
 NATIVITY. Senorita ! I am so frightened ! The Senora 
 Marchioness ! . . . . 
 
 The MARCHIONESS re-enters with DONA ESPEBANZA 
 and ASSUMPTION. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What is the matter? What is the mean- 
 ing of this? [To NATIVITY] Are you here again? And what 
 are you doing here? Who are these people? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. I never heard of such impudence. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. What shameless effrontery ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. [To HELIODORO] Needless to say you are 
 responsible. 
 
 DON HEMODORO. Yes, I am. The least that we can do 
 is to hear what they have to say. Jesus asks pardon. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. It was high time. Enough has been par- 
 doned him already. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. We can never pardon enough. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. We are aware what his repentance amounts 
 to. [To LA REPELONA and CABRERA] Well, what do you 
 want ? Do you come here with the same old story ? When- 
 ever you are in trouble you appeal to us, repentant and 
 humble, and pretend that you never wanted to live with 
 this man. You ask us to take you away and lend you our 
 protection, but as soon as we do, you return to live in sin 
 again, and become the public shame of the village. 
 
 CABRERA. Most excellent Senora Marchioness I say this 
 with all respect to the most excellent Senora Marchioness 
 and to the most excellent other ladies this idea of separating 
 two people who live together exactly as if they were man 
 and wife . .
 
 152 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 MARCHIONESS. That will do, that will do ! We don't care 
 to hear the details. 
 
 REPELONA. But Senora Marchioness, I can't help it; it 
 isn't my fault that we are not married. Nobody knows 
 where my husband is he has been gone these ten years, 
 and never said one word to me about it. At this moment I 
 couldn't tell you whether he was dead or alive. What is a 
 woman to do? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. We don't care to hear. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Live decently and obey the command- 
 ments. 
 
 REPELONA. So I do live decently. No one can say that 
 I run about with everybody, like some other people. . . . 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. I thought so. More of your gossip ! 
 Drag in all those old stories. 
 
 REPELONA. Si, senora, they are stories stories about 
 those women who deceive you because they look like saints 
 on the outside. I could tell you some tilings about your 
 friends, too, who belong to this Junta. I know some things 
 about them. They are not all like you are. Ask Don Gu- 
 mersindo's wife why it is that she goes in the afternoons to 
 see La Cacharrera? Some afternoons she does and some 
 she does not, because the house has two doors, and they open 
 on two streets, and I could tell you who it is that goes in 
 at the other. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. That will do, that will do! We have al- 
 ready heard sufficient. 
 
 REPELONA. How about the judge's wife? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Great heavens ! I always thought 
 that at least she was respectable. 
 
 REPELONA. She is a saint. Believe me, a saint! That 
 is the kind you help with your charity, the ones who know 
 how to lie and cheat best; and those of us who dare to speak
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 153 
 
 out our minds, we are the bad ones. Whoever it was that 
 turned you against us, is going to get a piece of my mind 
 she is going to hear things! Whoever meddles with my 
 mother's daughter settles with me. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. [Calling] Don Francisco ! Pedro ! Come 
 quickly ! Put these people out. [To DON HELIODOEO] Well? 
 What are you doing? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. We don't care to hear! 
 
 ASSUMPTION. How can such people be? 
 
 JESUS. All the same she knows what she is talking about. 
 You don't want to hear the truth, but you have no right to 
 do what you are doing. You have no right ! This girl shall 
 never marry Martin, because I say so. She shall never 
 marry any one but me ! 
 
 NATIVITY. Senora Marchioness ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. [To JESUS] We shall attend to your case. 
 You will hear from the Judge and the Guardia civil. 
 
 JESUS. What shall I hear? Will they turn me out of the 
 village ? But I will go myself first I will sooner go myself ! 
 But you will hear from me before I go 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Unspeakable insolence ! 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. He threatens us ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Where are the servants? Don Francis- 
 quito ! 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO and a SERVANT enter. Simultane- 
 ously the MARQUIS and ENRIQUE appear at another 
 door. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Senora Marchioness ! 
 
 MARQUIS. Aunt! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Mamma! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Run ! Put these people out ! 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. I never saw such an exhibition. Mar- 
 quis, what an occasion on which to congratulate you !
 
 154 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 MARQUIS. Dona Esperanza and Assumption 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Move along now ! You don't want 
 us to use force. Get out ! 
 
 REPELONA. Yes, we will move along. But you will hear 
 from us ! We are going to have our say somewhere. 
 
 CABRERA. Martyrs submit to abuse with resignation. 
 
 JESUS. And you do you hear? You will never marry 
 Martin. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Silence all of you ! To the street to 
 get drunk ! Shout there as much as you like .... To the 
 street, I tell you ! 
 
 JESUS, LA REPELONA, CABRERA, DON FRANCISQUITO 
 and the SERVANT retire in confusion, all talk-ing at 
 the same time. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Now I hope you are satisfied. 
 
 NATIVITY. Oh, Senorita ! 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Put it out of your mind. His case 
 will receive attention. 
 
 MARQUIS. Ungrateful people, eh? I thought so. Un- 
 appreciative of what has been done for them. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Judge for yourself. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. [To DON HELIODORO] Of course you are at 
 the bottom of it. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Yes, you ! You ! 
 
 ASSUMPTION. You urge them on. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. You revel in their shame, you lead them 
 into our presence, you lure them into temptation as if they 
 had not already temptation enough ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I do, eh ? Come, come, I don't want to 
 disgrace myself, but discomfort for discomfort, I prefer the 
 headaches I suffer to the pain which you give me. Good 
 day, ladies. [Goes out. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Nativity is fainting.
 
 ACT i THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 155 
 
 MARCHIONESS. No wonder after the shock. He threat- 
 ened her. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Pay no attention to what he said. He will 
 learn what is good for him. 
 
 MARQUIS. Doing good is nothing but one annoyance after 
 another. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. You have no conception -of it, my dear 
 Marquis. When we appear on the street, this hussy will 
 be lying in wait for us, to fling it in our teeth. 
 
 MARQUIS. You must allow me to come along. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Yes; come, Nativity Get the child 
 
 something. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. A cup of tea. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Take her into the dining-room. Bring 
 medicine. 
 
 MARQUIS. Disgusting ! 
 
 All retire with the exception of TERESA and ENRIQUE, 
 who linger as if by chance. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Well, you heard all of it. 
 
 TERESA. Yes; and I am awfully sorry. Poor fellow! 
 He may be bad, but when you listen to him it doesn't seem 
 possible. 
 
 ENRIQUE. No, it doesn't. I agree with you. I think that 
 Jesus is the one who ought to marry Nativity. It would be 
 more appropriate. 
 
 TERESA. Yes. . . .but you know all life is not like that. 
 
 ENRIQUE. There are many charming things about life. 
 
 TERESA. Do you think so? 
 
 ENRIQUE. You, for instance. 
 
 TERESA. Why, cousin ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. No, no ! Hush ! Now don't you repeat what 
 I said.
 
 LJU THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT i 
 
 TERESA. To nobody; don't you worry. It can remain 
 a secret between us. Don't you think it is charming to have 
 secrets ? 
 
 ENRIQUE. Charming? Very. 
 
 Curtain
 
 THE SECOND ACT 
 
 The garden of the house of the MARCHIONESS OF CASA MOLINA. 
 An iron fence at the rear, in the middle of which is a 
 gate. There are two armchairs and six smaller wicker chairs. 
 
 It is day. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO is seated in one oj the armchairs, fast 
 asleep. A book lies open upon his knees. Presently DON 
 HELIODORO enters from the opposite side of the garden. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. [Calling] Don Francisquito ! DonFran- 
 cisquito ! Don Francisquito .... quito .... quito .... quito .... 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. [Waking up] Eh ? Ah ! Don Helio- 
 doro 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Taking a siesta? 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. No, I was reading, as you see. A 
 most interesting book. ... It is too hot in my room. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. So it is in mine. The only comfortable 
 rooms in the house are those reserved for guests. We poor 
 sinners are allowed to mortify ourselves. Frizzling here and 
 the mosquito bites will be credited to us hereafter. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Don Heliodoro, why will you be so 
 sacrilegious? You were not always an unbeliever. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No, but that was when I had money. 
 What do you expect ? When a man has money he can be- 
 lieve in anything. By the way, that reminds me. ... 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Speaking of money? I know what 
 you are going to say. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, I went without my siesta so as to 
 find you alone. Whenever you suspect that I have occa- 
 
 157
 
 158 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 sion for a word or two, you slip through my fingers like an 
 eel. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. So as to avoid discussion. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Discussion ! Discussion ! You are the 
 one who could avoid discussion. Come, Don Francisquito, 
 let us not have any discussion to-day. I feel sure that we 
 will not have any. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. No, sir, we will not. Once for all, 
 I might as well tell you in plain terms no, no, no ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Now you are beginning the discussion. 
 No ! no ! You always say the same thing. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Because you always ask the same 
 thing money, money. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Money ? Anybody would think to hear 
 you talk. . . . Money? An advance of fifteen duros, a 
 trifling advance? 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. But, Don Heliodoro, we have not 
 reached the fifteenth. Is it possible that you have spent 
 your entire allowance? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Don Francisquito, I am willing to take 
 a great deal from you, but, remember, I can never consent 
 to call that pittance an allowance. Forty dollars an allow- 
 ance ? 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Yes, but forty dollars in two weeks. 
 How is it possible to spend so much in this place? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. It isn't that I spend it in this place. JL^ 
 spend it on myself, for my own purposes which I consider 
 a capital investment. It would be the same anywhere. 
 Lucullus eats only at the table of Lucullus; Heliodoro lives 
 only to himself, not in this village nor in that. It is I; I 
 am the man. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Now you are joking. Let us not de- 
 scend to that level. You know that the Marchioness has
 
 ACTH THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 159 
 
 forbidden me to lend you money, or to make you any ad- 
 vance. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. What necessity is there of her knowing 
 anything about it? 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. A nice question for you to ask, when 
 you are always the one who lets her know. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I ? I ? Do I tell her that you advance 
 me money ? 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. No, it isn't necessary to tell her. Do 
 you think that anybody needs to be told when you have 
 money? It is the same thing every month: from the first 
 to the tenth the going is bad ; from the tenth to the fifteenth, 
 days of bonanza ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. As the weather man has it, fair and 
 warmer. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. If I relax a little, from the fifteenth 
 to the twentieth increasing cloudiness, followed by storms, 
 hurricanes, and high seas. I have made up my mind this 
 month, in so far as it is in my control, that we are going to 
 have settled weather. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. You are a Gracian when it comes to 
 constructing allegories. However, to reconsider. . . . 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. No, no ! Not to-day. If you insist, 
 I shall speak to the Marchioness. This month, no advance. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. But Don Francisquito, we are talking at 
 cross-purposes. We have not the same thing in mind. I 
 have been unlucky this month at the Club; I have lost 
 abominably at tresillo. I have debts gaming debts. You 
 know gaming debts are debts of honor. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Is that so? When you play with 
 me, you never pay when you lose. Where are those four 
 duros you owe me from the other night? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Exactly what I say. Gaming debts are
 
 160 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 sacred. Don't make me blush for four duros. Let me have 
 twenty, and out of the surplus I'll pay you on the spot. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Come, Don Heliodoro, what is the 
 use of wasting time over this foolishness ? If you can get 
 along with ten pesetas, I can let you have them, and not as 
 an advance either, but out of my own pocket ten pesetas 
 which you are at liberty to add to that sacred debt of honor. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Ten pesetas ? I have not fallen so low. 
 No, no, keep your ten pesetas. Ah, Heliodoro, Heliodoro, 
 you never expected this ! This is the last degradation ! 
 Give me twenty-five anyway; it is only fifteen more, and it 
 won't be such a humiliation. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Don Heliodoro, ten are all I have. 
 Believe me. . . . 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Never mind; let us not get into another 
 discussion. Hand over the ten pesetas. I must drain the 
 cup. Now you owe me fifteen. Somehow or other when 
 we leave off you always owe me money. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Not a hint to the Marchioness, what- 
 ever happens. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. On ten pesetas ? Who do you think I 
 am ? It is like chaining an eagle in a dungeon underground. 
 TERESA enters, 
 
 TERESA. Hello, uncle ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Couldn't you sleep either? What dis- 
 turbed your siesta ? 
 
 TERESA. I never take one. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No, your husband won't let you. He 
 snores terribly I can hear him now. By the way, since 
 we are alone, how I do detest your husband ! 
 
 TERESA. For heaven's sake, uncle, how can -you say such 
 a thing? Besides, we are not alone. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Oh, Don Francisquito is in the secret !
 
 ACTH THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 161 
 
 He is in all the secrets secret service. His post is at the 
 keyhole. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Don Heliodoro ! Fortunately, the 
 Marchioness does not believe what you say. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No; we understand each other, Don 
 Suave which is what I call him. It is too bad to see such 
 exceptional diplomatic ability wasted in this back country. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. Now, Don Heliodoro. . . . 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I leave it to you whether striking a bal- 
 ance between the ten or twelve ladies who buzz about this 
 community, is not more difficult than to preserve the equilib- 
 rium of Europe. 
 
 DON FRANCISQUITO. I must retire now, Sefiora Mar- 
 chioness. We all know Don Heliodoro .... [Goes out. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. A fool and his money are soon parted. 
 However, let us return to your husband. 
 
 TERESA. Uncle, you are perfectly outrageous. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Stop ! I know that you agree with me, 
 otherwise I should say nothing. I cannot abide these people 
 who have only one idea, who lay out their lives in a straight 
 line exactly parallel to that idea, and then pride them- 
 selves upon making their conduct conform to it just as if 
 our ideas were ever anything more than our temperament 
 or convenience. Your husband is disgustingly consistent, 
 naturally; he is all of a piece. He is one of the sort of men 
 who measure even their smiles off upon a scale, so much for 
 their equals, so much for their inferiors, so much for their 
 superiors. How condescending he is to those of us who 
 don't agree with him! He seems to be saying: Unfortu- 
 nately, I have to put up with you here, but hereafter you 
 will be in hell while I shall be in glory, with my robes pressed 
 and gold shoes on. Class distinction, you see. The man is 
 insufferable. Give me genuine saints, Saint Francises, Santa
 
 162 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 Teresas, Saint Pauls, or otherwise red-hot fanatics who are 
 all passion and fire Savonarolas, Calvins, Torquemadas, 
 but none of these modern candied Tartuffes, who neither 
 take fire spiritually themselves nor burn us materially and 
 come armed only with safety-pins ! They get on my nerves; 
 they infuriate me. One of them will turn a whole family 
 into purgatory, as I have learned by experience. And imag- 
 ine how many there must be in the world ! They are the 
 people who plume and puff themselves up if you are foolish 
 enough to tolerate them out of good nature. They take your 
 tolerance as a sign of weakness, or else for the respect which 
 is their due. If you oppose them out of the instinct of self- 
 preservation, ah ! they are the first to invoke liberty and 
 the right of free speech, which they detest, and the tolerance 
 which they never practise themselves. Bad stock ! Thor- 
 oughly bad ! 
 
 TERESA. You are excited, uncle. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I free my mind because I have suffered 
 a good deal in our family. I will admit that I was foolish 
 and made mistakes when my father died, and I found a for- 
 tune on my hands. I had been brought up so strictly, with 
 such severity, that I broke loose as soon as I found myself 
 free, by natural reaction. And the usual thing happened. 
 My will had never been fortified; it had been undermined 
 according to the orthodox theory of education and govern- 
 ment in Spain. I compromised myself horribly. It was a 
 hard lesson, but it might have been profitable if they had 
 only treated me in the right spirit. But not at all; I was 
 regarded as absolutely incapable, and bullied as if I were a 
 child again, when for the first time I was really beginning 
 to be a man. My brother-in-law, the Marquis of Casa 
 Molina, was an exact counterpart of your husband; he was 
 obsessed by his ideas, by his principles. He crippled him-
 
 ACT ii THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 163 
 
 self to help my brother Ramon, your father you know what 
 he was he was no better than I and he helped me too. 
 But how? He humiliated us in the eyes of the world, he 
 incapacitated us forever from attempting to restore our 
 credit, our fortune. Your father died broken-hearted, while 
 I was forced to leave the woman who was my whole life, I 
 was forced to abandon her with a child who was my idol, 
 my ideal, the hope of my future, and compelled to marry a 
 woman they picked out for me. I don't need to tell you 
 what a success my married life was ! They overran me like 
 an invading army in the name of their principles; they rav- 
 aged my most private affairs, our home, our hearts. And I, 
 because I had no will of my own at the time, submitted to 
 it meekly. I believed that the honor and good name of our 
 family took precedence of all else, and had to be saved at 
 whatever cost, because they told me so. And they were 
 saved, everything was saved, except the woman I loved and 
 the boy I adored, while I. . . .1 am not I any more, because 
 there is nothing left to me which is mine, and I only know 
 that I am the same man when I burst out like this in sav- 
 age protest, or sometimes in ironic scorn, like the raving of 
 the mad, or in surly rebellion which no doubt seems to them 
 ingratitude, or else with tears in my eyes which well up 
 within me seldom, very seldom when I find myself alone, 
 or with some one like you, who can weep with me, and then 
 I feel for both of us, because you have suffered some of the 
 things which I have suffered, and you know how I feel. 
 For you do, my poor girl ! 
 
 TEHESA. I know, uncle, I know. I should never have 
 dared to confess it to any one else. I am dreadfully un- 
 happy ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Didn't I tell you ? My poor girl ! 
 ENRIQUE enters.
 
 164 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 ENRIQUE. Are you here? I thought there was somebody 
 in the garden. 
 
 TERESA. You couldn't hear us from your room? 
 
 ENRIQUE. No; but I came down out of curiosity. I was 
 hiding in ambush. 
 
 TERESA. In ambush ? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. There was nothing to ambush. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Oh, yes ! Something interesting. 
 
 TERESA. There was? Tell us, tell us. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Since mamma brought Nativity to our house 
 to stay until she is married to Martin, you know that the 
 poor girl has not been out once, so as to avoid any scenes 
 such as we had the other day. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, a sort of anticipatory confinement. 
 
 ENRIQUE. And we have heard nothing more about Jesus. 
 
 TERESA. No, they say he has gone to Brazil, or some other 
 place. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. While they were telling her, I noticed 
 that all the ladies kept their eyes glued upon the girl so as 
 to see how she took it. 
 
 TERESA. She took it very calmly. 
 
 ENRIQUE. That is what I thought; and the reason was 
 that she knew he was here all the time. 
 
 TERESA. No! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Wait and see. Of course everybody is in the 
 house taking a siesta in the afternoon. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. All respectable people are. Your mother 
 has issued a decree from which, as usual, there is no appeal: 
 "At this hour nobody is permitted in the garden." But we 
 have undertaken to demonstrate that we are permitted here. 
 As with most things which are forbidden, all that you need 
 do is take the dare. 
 
 TERESA. Let Enrique finish.
 
 ACTH THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 165 
 
 ENRIQUE. I came down here yesterday for some reason 
 I wasn't able to sleep and picked up a book. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I know; it was mine. I missed it. By 
 the way, if I were you, I don't think I would show it to my 
 mother. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Why, uncle ! No, I am sure it wasn't your 
 book. . . . 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Oh, very well ! It is nothing to me 
 although I noticed that it was short three or four illustrations. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Uncle! 
 
 TERESA. What was the book ? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Oh, some trash or other " The Nude in 
 Art" I forget. Better keep your eye on the pictures, or 
 your mother will confiscate them. 
 
 ENRIQUE. You are joking. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. However, continue; Teresa doesn't 
 mind. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Am I boring you? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No, no; this is interesting. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Well, as I say, I was in the dining-room, read- 
 ing, when all at once I heard footsteps coming very softly in 
 my direction, and I saw Nativity in the garden, looking about 
 cautiously from one side to the other; presently she went to 
 the gate and opened it to admit Jesus, and they both began 
 to talk, and they stayed there talking for half an hour, and 
 when he said good-by .... 
 
 DON HELIODORO. He gave her a kiss. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Were you looking, too ? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. No, but it was just as good. 
 
 TERESA. Why, could you hear ? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, the kiss. That was enough for me. 
 So I judged that they were getting along.
 
 166 
 
 ENRIQUE. Yes, for I heard something. He is coming back 
 to-day. 
 
 TERESA. To-day? 
 
 ENRIQUE. At this hour; that is the reason I hurried down. 
 However, since you were here. . . . 
 
 TERESA. We have disturbed the combination? What a 
 pity ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. It may not be too late yet. This inter- 
 ests me. Let us separate, each in a different direction. I 
 will pretend that I am going out to the street, and will come 
 back through the carriage-house; you make believe that 
 you are returning into the main house, and then come out 
 and hide wherever you are able. We must see, we must 
 hear. . . . 
 
 TERESA. Yes, we must. This interests me. 
 
 ENRIQUE. It does me, it does me ! It is as good as a 
 novel. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. With illustrations. Now separate, and 
 then to your places. 
 
 TERESA. Hurry, hurry ! I wonder where I can hide ? 
 
 ENRIQUE. Come with me, I will show you. 
 
 TERESA. If we hide together they will be more apt to 
 see us. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Not at all; I know some splendid places. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, he knows more than you think. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Uncle! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Good-by, then. We meet here to com- 
 pare observations. I am in my element. 
 
 He goes out at the back, ivhile TERESA and ENRIQUE con- 
 ceal themselves upon the left of the garden. Presently 
 NATIVITY enters from the left, toward the rear. JESUS 
 appears upon the right. ,
 
 ACT ii THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 167 
 
 JESUS. I was afraid you weren't coming; I thought may be 
 you had deceived me yesterday so as to get me to go away. 
 
 NATIVITY. No, there were people in the garden, and I 
 -think some one is here now. . . . No, it's only the young 
 Marchioness; she is nice; she won't say anything. She has 
 been good to me, and I am fond of her. She is kind. But I 
 can't stay long. 
 
 JESUS. You can't? Why not? I sail to-night. Have 
 you anything to tell me? 
 
 NATIVITY. What should I have to tell you ? 
 
 JESUS. Something. That you are sorry, that you are glad, 
 whatever you feel. You never say anything. 
 
 NATIVITY. What could I say ? It isn't true that I am glad. 
 You wouldn't believe me if I said that I was sorry, so it 
 would be the same as if it wasn't true. That is the reason 
 I didn't say anything. It's the best way. 
 
 JESUS. We shall never see each other again. I can't be- 
 lieve it separate, never see each other again, never hear of 
 each other. 
 
 NATIVITY. Why can't we hear of each other? 
 
 JESUS. Do you think I would write to your house, or that 
 he would let you write to me? No, I take that back; he 
 might let you after all, since he never loved you. He is 
 only marrying you for what he can get out of it. 
 
 NATIVITY. I don't believe it. He loves me; we both love 
 each other. 
 
 JESUS. You don't; that's a lie it's a lie! You never 
 spoke to each other alone more than twice in your lives, and 
 so you have always had to say what you thought you ought 
 to. You don't call that love; love is saying everything that 
 you have in your heart, good or bad the whole of it. But 
 he -what has he ever told you? What do you know about 
 him? What other people ha^e said. That he is honest,
 
 168 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT u 
 
 that he is a good worker and I don't deny it that he is 
 well-behaved; naturally the first business they started him 
 at happened to suit. They struck his taste, his ability. 
 Every man is good at something; there must be something, 
 too, that I could do, and I mean to find it. I read once 
 somewhere that the men who have done most in the world, 
 were always stupid and slow at first, and badly thought of, 
 and everybody always believed that they were good for 
 nothing. That was the way with Christopher Columbus, 
 who discovered America; and most of the saints and wise 
 men, when they began, were something terrible. 
 
 NATIVITY. You ought not to read such books, Jesus; you 
 would be better off if you hadn't read all those bad things. 
 They have made you what you are. 
 
 JESUS. What I am, what I am ! God knows what I have 
 done that is too bad to be forgiven. I am no ingrate, and I 
 never was, although people may say so; but I haven't had 
 the chance that you have. Women always seem to fit in 
 better everywhere; and you have always been treated as if 
 you came from this village. But I have always been a 
 stranger I have come from a great way off, because they 
 knew my mother was from Africa, and because I was born 
 there in Oran, but of Spanish parents, you know that; and 
 when I was a boy they always called me the Moor and the 
 Jew, and the little acrobat, or something of the sort it was 
 always the same tune: "Blood will tell, blood will tell!" 
 It wasn't so with you; you were so small and pale and golden- 
 haired, that everybody always felt as if you had been born 
 by a miracle out of the sea and the sky, since they didn't 
 know who your mother was, nor whether you had any peo- 
 ple, nor where you came from; you were alone, and every- 
 body loved you, but not me nobody loved me. They ought 
 to have let me drown; that would have been the truest charity.
 
 ACT n THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 169 
 
 NATIVITY. You mustn't talk so bitterly. You show that 
 you are ungrateful for what has been done. 
 
 JESUS. When you give a man life, and the life is not worth 
 the living, do you do him a favor? 
 
 NATIVITY. It is getting late, Jesus. The ladies and gentle- 
 men will be coming out. [A pause. 
 
 JESUS. When is the wedding? 
 
 NATIVITY. Sunday; you know that. You mustn't ask 
 me again. We are not going to talk about it any more. 
 
 JESUS. No, nor about anything else not a thing. I will 
 be far away from here before Sunday. They say that every 
 mile is a year when a man wants to forget. Now I shall find 
 out whether it is true or not. 
 
 NATIVITY. I hear some one in the house. 
 
 JESUS. How careful you are ! If they see me you'll lose 
 your place, I suppose? Well, you won't lose it upon my 
 account. I am too anxious to see you get on. 
 
 NATIVITY. Jesus ! [A pause. 
 
 JESUS. No, you will have to be the one to say good-by 
 first. I am not going to say it. 
 
 NATIVITY. But don't you see. . . . You know I love you. 
 
 JESUS. What kind of love is it? You don't love me as I 
 love you; I have never looked at another woman in all my 
 life only you. There has never been any other woman 
 for me it was as if other women did not exist. I thought 
 God had saved us together never to let us part. Why, if 
 you really loved me what wouldn't you do, what wouldn't 
 you dare? 
 
 NATIVITY. No, don't begin that again, like you did yes- 
 terday. That isn't loving me; it is being wicked. What? 
 Run away ? Run away like a bad woman ? Never, never ! 
 
 JESUS. You are right. What would the ladies say, and 
 everybody? What could you hope for from me? Tt would
 
 170 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 be too much like trusting yourself in the hands of the Lord, 
 and the Lord doesn't perform miracles every day. He saved 
 us once, and people here have done the rest. Yes, t licy have ! 
 They have given us bread, they have provided us with shel- 
 ter, and now they say that they have done us good. 
 
 NATIVITY. And they have; only you don't know how to 
 appreciate it. 
 
 JESUS. I might have once; but now they persecute me, 
 they 
 
 NATIVITY. It may be the best thing that could happen to 
 you. Who knows but that you may be happy yet, and rich ? 
 
 JESUS. May you never be ! 
 
 NATIVITY. Is that the way you love me? 
 
 JESUS. So that you will always think of me. If you were 
 happy, how would you think of me? You would always 
 say: I did right when I did it, and you would never be sorry. 
 
 NATIVITY. That is no way to talk. 
 
 JESUS. It is the way I feel. I tell you I feel a great many 
 things which I keep to myself. Come, say good-by, good-by 
 forever ! I shan't say it. Never ! Though they pretend 
 I am an unbeliever, I believe in God and I believe that it 
 will not be forever. I don't know why, but I can't believe 
 it. It is impossible. Come. . . . 
 
 NATIVITY. Good-by. 
 
 JESUS. No, I am not going to kiss you. Keep your kisses 
 for him. Mine was the first kiss, and it is worth all the 
 others. 
 
 He runs out by the gate by which he came in. NATIVITY 
 remains behind in tears, but retires when she hears the 
 others approaching. 
 
 TERESA and ENRIQUE reappear from the left, and DON 
 HELIODORO from the right.
 
 ACT ii THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 171 
 
 TERESA. Did you hear what they said? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I did. Did you ? 
 
 ENRIQUE. Every word. Poor Jesus ! 
 
 TERESA. Poor Nativity ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. I am not sorry for her. If she really loved 
 him. . . . 
 
 TERESA. What do you know about it? I tell you she is 
 the one I am most sorry for. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I am sorry for both of them or for 
 neither, unless they accept my advice. I am going to follow 
 Jesus, take him by the hand and reason with him, and then 
 and then you will see. Oh, you will see ! 
 
 TERESA. But uncle ! 
 
 Dox HELIODORO. No ! Don't look at me. I am sober 
 to-day, and before I am done I may be soberer yet. I can 
 fix this thing, or else nobody can. I feel myself a protecting 
 angel, a benevolent fairy such as you see in' the extravaganzas. 
 All I want is a talisman, and there is only one talisman that 
 amounts to anything money. Money ! With ten pesetas 
 that you have borrowed, you can't expect to work mira- 
 cles. But we shall see what can be done, we shall see by 
 Heliodoro, the love sprite ! Get ready the calciums for the 
 apotheosis. [Disappears, following JESUS. 
 
 ENRIQUE. He will do something awful. 
 
 TERESA. We can't help it; the result will tell. Sense, 
 nonsense what is the difference ? Who knows ? The re- 
 sult will tell. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I wonder if you were as anxious as I was to 
 have Nativity not be so sensible? You ought to hear 
 mamma and the other ladies they are so proud of their 
 committee. They believe that the happiness of every one 
 they meet is dependent upon them in this life, besides sal- 
 vation in the next. What would they say to this? I un-
 
 172 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 derstand why the girl is afraid. But what I want to know 
 is who gave them the right to dispose of other people's 
 hearts? Of course, they tell us that they allow them per- 
 fect liberty they are free to do as they please. "We merely 
 suggest, we propose 
 
 TERESA. Yes, but when you suggest and propose upon the 
 strength of past favors, when the slightest dissent is inter- 
 preted as ingratitude, or a hint of refusal as disobedience .... 
 when one is alone in the world, and to refuse is to launch 
 out into the unknown, or, what is worse, into poverty, 
 which is known, where nobody is so strong that he can an- 
 swer for his conscience or for his acts Ah ! you don't know 
 what a coward it makes of one to be poor, unless you have 
 gone through it deprived of everything which makes life 
 happy, which puts independence into the heart or courage 
 into the soul to face the grind of every day. From one 
 year's end to the other, it is nothing but struggle and despair. 
 Only those who have been poor can appreciate what it means 
 to succumb, or can sympathize with those who fall by the 
 wayside. No one else has a right to judge. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I know. Think what it must mean for a woman 
 who is alone in the world. I can understand why Nativity 
 resigns herself. It is sad to be obliged to resign oneself just 
 as life is beginning, to live only upon memories. The first 
 love should always remain sacred. Don't you think so? 
 
 TERESA. The first love? 
 
 ENRIQUE. Were you never in love? 
 
 TERESA. Enrique! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Now don't tell me that your husband was your 
 first love. I don't believe that he was the second, either, 
 although I don't suppose you have loved more than once. 
 
 TERESA. Enrique! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Your story is the same as Nativity's; that is
 
 ACT H THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 173 
 
 the reason you are so much interested in her. You too were 
 saved from a shipwreck. I want you to tell me some day 
 how you ever came to marry your husband. There must be 
 some memory in your life. The first love ought always to 
 be held sacred. 
 
 TERESA. Ah ! That is what you think. After a few years, 
 I shall want you to tell me whether it is not the one that is 
 most easily forgotten; I am sure I don't know. When I 
 was old enough to have my first love, our life at home was 
 one long series of misfortunes. Nobody even suggested love 
 to me. I was not a good match for men of my own class; 
 I was too far above the others I was a lady in reduced cir- 
 cumstances. I did not attract my equals, and the rest were 
 ashamed to offer to share their poverty with me. And to 
 tell the truth, what with being too calculating or too timid, 
 they scarcely inspired love. So the first love, which you 
 say should remain sacred, never existed for me. I can never 
 have that memory, and if I have never had that memory, 
 much less can I ever have hope. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Hope ! I have no hope, and yet I am young 
 just like you. 
 
 TERESA. Like me? You are a child. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I am an old man. Life is nothing but a memory 
 to me. 
 
 TERESA. You amuse me. I told you that I was going to 
 ask you about that memory within a few years a very few 
 years when there are other flowers in the garden, which are 
 not these flowers, but just like them, other white and blue 
 butterflies which are like these but not the same. 
 
 ENRIQUE. But I. . . .1 will be the same. 
 
 TERESA. Yes, you and the garden. I know, but other 
 flowers will have bloomed in your heart, other butterflies 
 have fluttered through your brain.
 
 174 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 ENRIQUE. Butterflies ? No look, look ! It is a bee which 
 is hovering above our heads. A bad sign ! 
 
 TERESA. Are you superstitious? No, it is not a bad sign 
 when it is out-of-doors; it is only bad when it comes into the 
 room and buzzes about our ears. It is not a bad sign here 
 at all. I never saw so many white and blue butterflies. 
 
 ENRIQUE. White butterflies bring good news. Are you 
 expecting any ? 
 
 TERESA. I ? From whom ? Where would it come from ? 
 Oh, yes ! I am expecting a letter. A letter .... 
 
 ENRIQUE. From whom ? 
 
 TERESA. From my children no, my little sisters, the 
 little girls. I sent them a letter to the school which must 
 have made them happy. Poor dears, I know how they feel. 
 People always tell children stories about stepmothers which 
 are horrible ! I suppose some one has told them that now 
 they have a stepmother so as to make them uncomfortable. 
 They wrote such a doleful letter to their father, but I sat 
 down at once and wrote the dearest reply I put all my 
 heart into it and now I am expecting them to send me lots 
 of kisses, and call me dear mamma, their own dear mamma. 
 Now, see if they don't. I am sure it will come to-day; I see 
 so many white butterflies. 
 
 ENRIQUE. What do blue butterflies bring? 
 
 TERESA. We used to think, when I was a child at school, 
 that they were messengers from the dead who loved us in 
 this life and were in heaven that they came from the souls 
 of the blest. In cemeteries you always find clouds of blue 
 butterflies. 
 
 ENRIQUE. If that is true, when you come here again 
 after a little while, a very little while you will see clouds 
 of blue butterflies. 
 
 TERESA. Ha, ha ! You are not thinking of dying, cousin ?
 
 Acrn THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 175 
 
 ENRIQUE. Don't laugh at me. You think that I am only 
 a boy. Do you suppose that I have no feeling, that my life 
 is not sad ? I know what it is to love, although I may not 
 be loved in return. 
 
 TERESA. I see; the first love which must always remain 
 sacred. Who is she ? Who is she ? Are you afraid to tell 
 me? 
 
 ENRIQUE. Don't laugh at me. 
 
 TERESA. Laugh at you ? Never ! I never laugh when 
 others are unhappy. But you will forget, I promise you. 
 
 ENRIQUE. How do you know that I will forget? 
 
 TERESA. The first? Yes, Enrique, you will soon learn 
 how little it signifies in your life a memory as meaningless as 
 the white butterflies which bring letters from absent friends, 
 or the blue butterflies which are messengers of the blest. 
 You are young yet, but you will learn. The first love ? Of 
 course you will forget ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. I wish you had felt it; then -we should see if 
 you did not remember forever. 
 
 TERESA. Do you mean the first love? There is a better 
 love than the first, Enrique, the love that we never forget 
 it is the last ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Teresa! 
 
 TERESA. No ! Look out ! Drive him away ! Don't you 
 see ? the bee buzzing again in my ear. Drive it away ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. The bee ! Dona Esperanza and Assumption in 
 the garden .... A bad sign ! And a bad time ! 
 DONA ESPERANZA and ASSUMPTION enter. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. A pleasant afternoon, Teresita. Adios, 
 Enrique. 
 
 TERESA. A very pleasant afternoon. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Ladies .... 
 
 ASSUMPTION. I suppose the Marchioness is taking a siesta ?
 
 170 
 
 TERESA. Yes. We are expecting her at any moment. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. We came early so as to have an op- 
 portunity to see your aunt before the meeting of the Junta, 
 and decide who is to have charge of the Charity Table dur- 
 ing the novena of La Buena Esperanza. If we wait until the 
 Junta meets, it will result in dissension. Some women are 
 never content unless they have a finger in everything, not 
 to speak of the liberty they take of asking questions. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. It is only natural that people should prefer 
 the hour of high mass, especially when there are young girls 
 in the family who wish to show themselves off and flirt with 
 the men. 
 
 DOXA ESPERANZA. That is precisely the reason that we 
 are anxious to have one of our friends in charge of the table, 
 such as the Marchioness or yourself, if you would be so good 
 as to assist your aunt. 
 
 TERESA. With great pleasure. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. The point is to appeal to the men, and 
 ladies such as your aunt, who are familiar with and respected 
 by the substantial element by those who are the best to 
 do accomplish more at the hour of service when there are 
 most men in the church. The boys do nothing but flit in 
 and out and smile at the girls. The most that they ever 
 give is a couple of pesetas poor things ! when they are 
 forced into a corner, and then you have to hold them up. 
 Probably one of them will turn out to be counterfeit. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Last year we foolishly assigned the 
 service to Don Casimiro's family. Apart from the scandal 
 they created by appearing in costumes which would have 
 attracted attention at a bull-fight, before they were done 
 they cost us over two hundred reals. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Not to mention the fact that Father Michael 
 selected that day to denounce in his sermon women who
 
 ACTU THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 177 
 
 painted, and the congregation all turned and stared at them, 
 so that they were offended, and said that he had no business 
 to notice such things in the pulpit. Poor Father Michael, 
 as he told us later, never dreamed that there were any women 
 who painted in the village, which was the reason he chose 
 the subject for his sermon, so as not to give offense. 
 
 [^4 long pause. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. What time is it ? We must not be too 
 late for the Junta. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Shall I tell mamma that you are here? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. No, no; don't disturb yourself. We 
 can wait. [To TERESA] I am glad to find an opportunity, 
 however, of talking with you. I have something to tell 
 you which I should not like to say before your aunt. 
 
 TERESA. Something to tell me? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Of course you know how fond I am 
 of you. Whatever I say, you will understand is dictated 
 only by the kindliest motives. 
 
 TERESA. Surely. Can I have done anything wrong with- 
 out thinking, without my aunt having noticed it? I am 
 certain that she would have spoken of it. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Your aunt? In confidence, my dear, 
 your aunt was the one who asked us to speak to you. 
 
 TERESA. I am sorry that she has so little confidence in me. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Whatever you do, don't let her know 
 that we have said anything. Your aunt is afraid that she 
 has said too much already she does not wish to annoy you 
 and the very first tiling that she made us promise was 
 never to let you know that she had said anything. How- 
 ever, I ani not good at deceit; I feel that my face gives me 
 away. 
 
 TERESA. But what have I done? I want you to tell me 
 plainly.
 
 178 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. You are very young, Teresa. Of course 
 you have been brought up in the modern mode; you do not 
 attach the same importance as we do to a great many things 
 which no doubt proves your good intentions. But the 
 world, my dear, cannot judge by intentions. It judges by 
 the evidence, by what it sees. . . . 
 
 TERESA. But what have I done? 
 
 ASSUMPTION. It is not so bad as that. There is a good 
 deal of talk about your bathing at nine o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. No lady bathes at that hour. It seems conspicuous. 
 
 TERESA. I like to swim when the beach is not crowded 
 and I can have plenty of room. Bathing is an exercise to 
 me; my father brought me up to it. As a child, I was very 
 timid about the water, but my father was a man who could 
 never tolerate fear. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Your father's tastes were rather exotic. 
 There are many things of which women should cultivate a 
 wholesome fear. Believe me, my dear, at least one-half of 
 virtue is fear. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Be careful ! After this, you had better bathe 
 at eleven, and hold tight fast to the life-line; then whenever 
 a wave comes, give a piercing shriek and jump up and down 
 which is impeccable. There is little to see on the beach 
 at eleven, but there is plenty to hear. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. I am surprised at Enrique; he appears to 
 have forgotten himself. It is fortunate that your mother 
 is not here. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. We are advising Teresa for her own 
 good. Of course, if she fails to appreciate it. ... 
 
 TERESA. No, no, I do fully. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. I also take exception to the bathing-suit. 
 
 TERESA. Don't you think it is becoming? 
 
 ASSUMPTION. I know it is what they are wearing at San
 
 ACT n THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 179 
 
 Sebastian and other fashionable beaches; but here no one 
 would be so bold as to show herself in it. 
 
 TERESA. What do you wear here? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Haven't you noticed? A tunic gath- 
 thered loosely around the neck, which reaches all the way 
 down to the ground. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Preferably trailing. 
 
 TERESA. Yes, but if the wind comes up .... 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. My dear, you wear bloomers, long 
 bloomers, which envelop the figure the same as a skirt. 
 
 TERESA. Then how am I ever going to swim? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. We do not approve of swimming. 
 Bathing is bathing; exercise is not for women. I heard yes- 
 terday that you swam out as far as the float, and sat down 
 there to rest while you talked with the life-preserver, who 
 was a man. 
 
 TERESA. An old man, I noticed. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. But all the same he was a man. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Yes ! A man ! 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Remember what you had on. You 
 think that nobody looks, but only half an hour ago we heard 
 that Don Rosendo was up on the roof of his house with a 
 telescope. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Nothing escapes him. He has happened on 
 a number of things in the village. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. As Enrique can testify. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I? 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Yes, one day when the maid was hanging 
 clothes on the roof of this house, and you were not far away. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I? I? Does Don Rosendo say that I 
 Tell him from me to put armor on his telescope. To the 
 devil with Don Rosendo and his telescope ! 
 
 TERESA. No doubt he finds it amusing.
 
 180 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT u 
 
 ENRIQUE. Mamma is awake. She is coining into the 
 garden. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Teresita, promise us not to say one 
 word to your aunt. 
 
 TERESA. No, no ! I am much obliged to you. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I should think you were. [Aside] Who ever 
 heard of such an outrage? I hope you don't believe that 
 story about the roof? 
 
 The MARQUIS and MARCHIONESS enter. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Have you been waiting long ? Why didn't 
 you let me know? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. It was not necessary. We had plenty 
 of time. We knew that you were resting. How do you like 
 our town, my dear Marquis ? 
 
 MARQUIS. I am charmed with my summer. How quiet 
 it is ! I am astonished that we do not see more visitors. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I hope we never shall. They would dissi- 
 pate the charm. We live here like one big family. We are 
 left to ourselves, as it were. 
 
 ENRIQUE. [Aside to TERESA] Which explains why it is so 
 tiresome. 
 
 TERESA. [Idem] You will be set down as an anarchist if 
 they hear you. 
 
 ENRIQUE. [Idem] You can't set me down. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. [Aside to ESPERANZA and ASSUMPTION] 
 Did you speak to Teresita? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Yes, although I am sorry to say that 
 she did not take it in good part. I could see it in her manner. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. She is her father over again; I am more 
 certain of it every day. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. There has been a great change in Enrique 
 since she arrived. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. In my son ? What do you mean ?
 
 ACTH THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 181 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Yes, he seems more active, more alert. 
 Keep your eye on him. It is well for a mother to know. 
 
 MARQUIS. [To TERESA] Here is a letter from the children 
 no, this is for me. Here is yours. 
 
 TERESA. Quick, quick ! I am so happy ! Didn't I tell 
 you ? Look, Enrique ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Is it the letter you were expecting ? 
 
 TERESA. Yes. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. [To the MARCHIONESS] We came to ap- 
 portion the hours so as to avoid any discussion. The other 
 ladies will be satisfied with what you decide. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Let us retire into the dining-room and dis- 
 pose of everything. Enrique, bring us pen, ink, and paper. 
 
 ENRIQUE. At once. 
 
 Goes out, returning a moment later with the materials 
 desired by the MARCHIONESS. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. We can write down our impressions as we 
 go along. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. I suppose we must invite the wife of that 
 impossible creature who has returned from America. He has 
 made a handsome subscription. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. As a matter of fact, I have not heard 
 anything against her for some time. I was never able to 
 believe one-half of what I did hear, I can say with a clear 
 conscience. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Although half was sufficient. However, if 
 she has found time to repent. . . . 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA, ASSUMPTION, and the MARCHIONESS 
 withdraw, still conversing. ENRIQUE follows them. 
 
 MARQUIS. How do you like the letter ? I see nothing ob- 
 jectionable in it. The tone is respectful and obedient. The 
 children have been thoroughly well trained.
 
 182 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 TERESA. Yes .... 
 
 MARQUIS. It is exactly what I told them to say. 
 
 TERESA. Oh! You did? It was you, then? You were 
 the one who told them ? But my letter .... 
 
 MARQUIS. Your letter? Oh! Perhaps I ought to tell 
 you, Teresa. When you read me that letter, I thought it 
 best not to say anything. I could see that you were nervous 
 and excited. I felt at once that it was improper; the letter 
 was how shall I put it? sentimental, overdone. It would 
 have shocked the children. It was like the letter of another 
 child. In other words, although I said nothing, I decided it 
 was better not to send it. You can sit down now and write 
 more calmly, when your nerves are under better control. 
 Of course, I want you to be affectionate, but try to make 
 them respect you. Avoid overeffusiveness and be natural. 
 I do not ask you to love them as if they were your own chil- 
 dren; that would be preposterous. But I should like to 
 have them respect you; endeavor to make yourself respected. 
 You will find that I am perfectly fair; I am only reasonable. 
 I expect no impossibilities. 
 
 TERESA. No, I see that you don't. You expect no impos- 
 sibilities. But that letter, whatever it may have been, was 
 written from the bottom of my heart, and I should have pre- 
 ferred to have them read it. But now. ... I don't think 
 you have done right and I might as well tell you plainly 
 either by me or by the children. It was not the right tiling 
 to do. 
 
 MARQUIS. Come, come ! Let us not have another attack 
 of nerves. 
 
 TERESA. Nerves, nerves ! I haven't any time to have 
 nerves ! I scarcely recognize myself any more. Life is too 
 strong for us; sooner or later we are all cowed and thoroughly 
 tamed, peeves ! When I was a child, when I always had
 
 ACT ii THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 183 
 
 my own way, when my parents were alive to spoil me and the 
 whole world revolved about what I wanted to do next, then 
 I did have nerves ! But now I haven't any. I keep still; I 
 submit to everything. 
 
 MARQUIS. What are you talking about? 
 
 TERESA. Nothing, nothing ! I say nothing. I always 
 suspected it, but now I know that it is true. To be happy, 
 to get on in the world, we must pretend, we must keep still. 
 Don't trouble yourself; I shall never speak my mind to 
 you again. You will see how silent I can become, and 
 you will have cause to regret my silence. 
 
 MARQUIS. We will take that up when you have regained 
 control of yourself. For the present it will be sufficient if 
 you give no more exhibitions before your aunt. 
 
 TERESA. No; never. I told you that I had learned to 
 keep still. 
 
 MARQUIS. It would not hurt you, either, to begin by being 
 sensible. 
 
 TERESA. Ah! 
 
 The MARQUIS retires, leaving TERESA in tears, seated. 
 DON HELIODORO enters in a high state of satisfaction. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I have found the talisman ! I have 
 found the talisman! Eh? What is the matter? Have 
 you been crying? 
 
 TERESA. No, no; it was nothing.... Did you say a 
 talisman? But uncle, what have you been doing? Where 
 have you been ? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Never mind me; no wonder. I did not 
 care to be seen on the street with Jesus, so we went in and 
 sat down somewhere it might have been a pastry shop; I 
 can't say. But I feel better now. Aha! I am going to 
 give them a surprise and it is time. I am going to give 
 them a shock. Aha, ladies and gentlemen, you may be
 
 184 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 dignified and respectable, but I have the best of you now ! 
 I have found a talisman ! 
 
 TERESA. But, uncle, don't be silly. What talisman? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Look! [Exhibiting a wallet filled -with 
 bank-notes} Money ! Money ! And there is no end to it. 
 I gave Jesus as much. They are going to sail together, they 
 are going to be happy, and the ladies will have a spasm. 
 Some one is going to burst before she hears the last of it 
 I won't tell you who. 
 
 TERESA. Yes, but explain; tell me all about it. Some- 
 thing is the matter with you, uncle. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. With me? Never! I feel positively 
 fit. Call Nativity; tell her to come at once. Jesus is wait- 
 ing for us, and I will lead her to him myself. 
 
 TERESA. But, uncle, it will never do; it is out of the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. It is, is it ? The details are all arranged. 
 All that remains is to convince Nativity. 
 
 TERESA. Impossible ! She will never consent. If you are 
 planning an elopement, such as people read about in novels, 
 I tell you it is wrong, it is outrageous. I will be the first 
 person to prevent it. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. You? Aha! If my nephew Enrique 
 were not a mere infant in arms, I would pack you off, too, 
 while I was about it. 
 
 TERESA. Uncle! What? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Don't imagine that I haven't noticed 
 the effect that you have on Enrique. He is unfolding his 
 petals like a rose. 
 
 TERESA. For shame ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. It reminds me of Cherubino's love for 
 the countess, who was his godmother. I came upon some
 
 ACT ii THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 185 
 
 of his verses. They were bad, of course which was natural 
 but they breathe passion. Oh ! 
 
 "In the midnight of life when dark shadows had bound me, 
 Like a ray of the sun you burst on my view". . . . 
 
 Then he describes some horrible apparitions, which I take to 
 be Dona Esperanza, Dona Assumption, and Don Francisquito, 
 and then you appear, like a celestial shape, all fragrance and 
 light.... 
 
 TERESA. Uncle, you are making this up. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, making it up, making it up, am I ? 
 Do you mean to say that you have not been conscious of it 
 from the beginning? Women are always the first to notice 
 these things themselves. 
 
 TERESA. I don't intend to argue with you. But tell me 
 what is more important. Did you really see Jesus ? Did 
 you overtake him? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Everything in due season. When I left 
 the house I stopped in at the Club to see if there were any 
 letters for me, and wonder of wonders ! there was a letter 
 from an old friend of mine, a happy soul like myself, whom 
 I had lent money one night when he was in need of it I say 
 lent, because it describes the transaction as well as anything 
 else. However, there are times when we reap the whirlwind. 
 To-day he writes me saying: "I hear that you are hi need of 
 money, while I have more than I know what to do with. It 
 occurred to me that you had always been generous." And 
 he encloses a draft. Think of that ! I ran to Zurita's 
 naturally the bad one's; he always has plenty of money 
 and he cashed the draft! And with the talisman in my 
 pocket, I set sail in search of Jesus. I found Jesus, I con- 
 ferred with him, and we agreed upon a plan. Ah ! By the 
 way, I also saw Martin, and he assured me that he was only
 
 186 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT H 
 
 marrying out of gratitude, to please the ladies, unhappy 
 man! and because he thought it might do him good. So 
 when she says that she doesn't love him, he is even with her 
 already. He will raise no objections; he has the fear of 
 Jesus in his heart. Now you know the whole story. Run 
 and tell Nativity although it is probable that she knows. 
 Jesus will have found a way. When I left him he was writ- 
 ing a letter, and such a letter ! It was as bad as Enrique's 
 verses, but it burned like fire. Here comes Nativity. What 
 did I tell you ? . . . . She knows ! 
 NATIVITY enters. 
 
 NATIVITY. Senorita, help me, save me! I know you are 
 good ! 
 
 TERESA. But you must not take it so hard. What is the 
 matter ? 
 
 NATIVITY. You could never guess; I have a letter from 
 Jesus. He says that unless I run away with him to-day 
 this very minute I will be responsible for the loss of his 
 soul. He says, too to show you how crazy he is that he 
 has plenty of money. How could he honorably have plenty 
 of money ? It is impossible ! i don't want to tell the 
 Senora Marchioness, because she would make an example 
 of him, but I know it is impossible. Save me, senorita ! 
 
 TERESA. Don't cry; don't be afraid ! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. You are misjudging Jesus. I was present 
 when he wrote that letter; he did it by my advice. And I 
 gave him the money. It will keep him until he can get work, 
 and you can establish yourselves. 
 
 NATIVITY. You gave it to him? 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, I. That is the way I do; I am 
 crazy myself, and I wish to see you both happy in your love. 
 I know you love Jesus, and he loves you, which is right and 
 proper, and as it should be. Martin has confessed that he
 
 ACT ii THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 187 
 
 feels just as you do about it. The disappointment will not 
 kill him. 
 
 NATIVITY. But, Don Heliodoro 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Mark my words. Let us be frank now 
 about your feelings, about what you would really like to do. 
 Suppose you were certain that if you confessed you loved 
 Jesus, that if you declared you would never marry any one 
 else, that nothing would happen; suppose that the ladies 
 should not be angry, nor take it as ingratitude, nor with- 
 draw their support; suppose that they should pardon Jesus 
 in their hearts, and you both should live happily ever after- 
 ward what would you say? 
 
 NATIVITY. Yes, but that would be different. . . . 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Because you do love Jesus? 
 
 NATIVITY. I shouldn't be so unhappy if I didn't love him. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. You would rather marry him than the 
 other fellow ? 
 
 NATIVITY. Si, senor; I am not ashamed to say it to you. 
 
 TERESA. In that case. . . . 
 
 DON HELIODORO. In that case, speak out freely. 
 
 TERESA. But do you honestly believe that if Nativity 
 should confess .... 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Confess nothing. Words are worse than 
 useless. I know these people. First, they would be angry; 
 afterward, when they became convinced that it was of no 
 effect, they would pretend to be reconciled; they would be 
 hypocritically calm, smooth, and affectionate, and, with 
 every art at their command, scheme to place Jesus in a false 
 position, in which he would appear like a scoundrel. They 
 would take advantage of every slip, of every moment of 
 irresolution, in order to make you believe it oh ! I know 
 them and in the end they would succeed. That is pre- 
 cisely what I do not intend to have. No, the more sea and
 
 188 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT 11 
 
 land between you the better. Then you will remain in 
 blissful ignorance of their horror, their consternation, and 
 their cries. What is neither seen nor heard is as if it did 
 not exist. Come, Nativity, do not hesitate; it is the best, 
 the only way. Otherwise you need not count upon my pro- 
 tection, which is at least as generous as that of any one else, 
 and a great deal more disinterested. 
 
 NATIVITY. Senorita, do you hear what he says? I can 
 never run away like this. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Like this, like this? You can get mar- 
 ried in the first port of call, or, if necessary, on the ship. 
 As an emergency, seasickness yields nothing to death. Or 
 you needn't get married. You would be less hampered in 
 that case should there be cause of regret. 
 
 TERESA. Don't be sacrilegious, uncle. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Nonsense ! You know my views. Well, 
 how is it? Do you hesitate? 
 
 TERESA. This cannot go on forever. Speak out; don't be 
 afraid. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Oh, yes! I understand; I told you how 
 it would be. Now, listen to me, Nativity and you, too. I 
 don't purpose to give you any advice. She is the one who 
 is going to do it another woman like yourself. You love 
 the senorita, do you not? 
 
 NATIVITY. Oh, si, sefiorl I do. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. And you believe that she is virtuous and 
 good, and incapable of giving bad advice? 
 
 NATIVITY. Oh, no, seftor! 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Suppose she should say to you: "I 
 want you to go with the man whom you love; do it for me." 
 Well, answer her. 
 
 NATIVITY. Since the senorita says so .... 
 
 TERESA. I?
 
 ACTH THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 189 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Answer her. 
 
 NATIVITY. If the senorita should say so. ... 
 
 DON HELIODORO. It is your turn now, don't you see? 
 Weigh it carefully; balance it in your conscience. The fate 
 of this girl depends upon you. They married you precisely 
 as they purpose to do her; her life will be what yours is. 
 She will be bound forever to a man who does not love her, 
 with whom she can have no true companionship; they can 
 never be one. They will remain two persons, who measure 
 and weigh their words eternally so as to conceal their true 
 thoughts, not to reveal them. I am serious now, intensely 
 serious sober, if you like. What does your heart say? 
 What does your conscience? 
 
 TERESA. You ask me that question in a terrible crisis of 
 my life, when I see clearly for the first time what my future 
 must be devoid of love, as you say, of true companionship, 
 lived with a man into whose thoughts I can never enter; 
 we can never be one. My heart would not hesitate, but the 
 responsibility of determining the life of another is too grave. 
 If I should be wrong, if it should be a mistake I cannot 
 advise you; I cannot pronounce the word. Your own heart 
 must decide. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. But what would yours do ? The truth, 
 now, by all that is holy, yes, by the living truth itself, which 
 is the holiest thing in our lives. The one duty of our lives 
 is to follow the truth all our lives, lead where it will lead. 
 
 TERESA. You are right. It may mean poverty and it 
 may mean suffering, but you are called by your love. You 
 may be happy for only one day, but you will be happier 
 then than those of us who have never been happy, who can- 
 not even hope to be happy in our lives. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Do you hear? 
 
 NATIVITY. Senorita!
 
 190 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT u 
 
 TERESA. Do you love him dearly? 
 
 NATIVITY. Yes, seflorita; I love him, and my heart goes 
 out to him, because I know that he can never be good unless 
 it is with me. If he is alone in the world, he will come to 
 some bad end, and my heart will always bear the remorse. 
 
 TERESA. It is the truth. Then go with him, and do not 
 hesitate; be happy in your lives. Together you were borne 
 in from the sea, and the sea shall carry you away. 
 
 NATIVITY. Senorita. . . .do you mean?. . . . Ah! I don't 
 believe it can be wrong ! I cry for joy ! 
 
 DON HELJODORO. Come, come with me! You will need 
 a few things. We can go out through the carriage-house and 
 no one will ever know. 
 
 NATIVITY. Senorita, nobody every spoke like this to me 
 before. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. I said a few things myself. If it hadn't 
 been for me. . . . 
 
 NATIVITY. I know you are a good man. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. In my own way, perhaps, although it 
 may not be the best. I know that you love each other; 
 I cannot tell whether you will be happy, but when we under- 
 take to determine the future, we are encroaching upon God's 
 preserve. Come with me. 
 
 NATIVITY. Senorita, tell them that I am not ungrateful, 
 that I am not a bad woman. 
 
 TERESA. No, my poor girl. Embrace me before you go 
 for part of my soul goes with you. 
 
 DON HELIODORO takes NATIVITY by tJie hand and leads 
 her away, leaving TERESA in tears, alone. She gazes 
 after them as they disappear. A brief pause. Then 
 ENRIQUE enters. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Teresa, Teresa ! Is Uncle Heliodoro back yet ?
 
 ACTII THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 191 
 
 TERESA. Yes, but don't talk to me. I don't know what 
 to do. Where are your mother and the other ladies? 
 
 ENRIQUE. Holding a grand council. They have La Re- 
 pelona. 
 
 TERESA. Ah ! I am glad to hear it. She will keep them 
 talking. 
 
 ENRIQUE. No, she has repented. She says that she has 
 left her man, that she is not willing to live in sin any longer, 
 and begs them to help her, and to get her some work. It is 
 the old story, but it produces results. 
 
 TERESA. Poor woman ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Tell me, what did Uncle Heliodoro have to say ? 
 Has he been with Jesus ? 
 
 TERESA. Yes, he has. You will hear later. ... I don't 
 know what is the matter with me; I am so depressed. Have 
 I done right, have I done wrong? 
 
 ENRIQUE. Have you done wrong? What do you mean? 
 
 TERESA. [Leading him to the rear} Look, look ! 
 
 ENRIQUE. Nativity, Uncle Heliodoro .... Where are they 
 going ? 
 
 TERESA. Hush ! . . . . The ladies ! Pretend not to see. I 
 don't know what I am saying. It may not be too late yet. 
 I don't know, I don't know. . . . 
 
 ENRIQUE. But you don't mean ? . . . . Not really ? . . . . 
 
 TERESA. Yes. 
 
 ENRIQUE. I am delighted ! I am sure they will be happy ! 
 
 TERESA. Do you really believe that it is possible to be 
 happy in this world? 
 
 The MARCHIONESS, DONA ESPERANZA, ASSUMPTION, 
 and LA REPELONA enter. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. We heard what you said. All that we need 
 is to be satisfied as to its credibility. 
 
 LA REPELONA. Ah, Senora Marchioness, whose image I
 
 193 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT H 
 
 preserve in my soul, and Dona Esperanza's, which is in my 
 heart, and her dear sister's, if it can ever be said again that 
 I have gone back to live with that man, and it is true what 
 they say, then you will know that I deserve to live with him 
 and nothing else, and be reduced to what I am now by that 
 villain and worthless vagabond, ay, and drunken sot that 
 he is. I only wish you could see the wounds on my body 
 he has made, and you would know that I live in martyrdom, 
 so that if I was a saint I would already have had my day 
 in the calendar, only I am not enough of a saint; but there 
 are plenty who are less martyrs. Yet I repent. . . . 
 
 DONA ESPEKANZA. Persevere, persevere, my woman, in 
 good works. 
 
 REPELONA. I always persevere so long as you stand by, 
 senora, and all the ladies. I don't know what would be- 
 come of me if it wasn't for you. I will be as steady in my 
 work again as I was before I met him in an evil hour for 
 me ! Surely I lay under the curse. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Be more careful hereafter, and avoid all 
 such occasions. God be with you, and may He assist you 
 in your labors. If that man follows you, or if he threatens 
 you, let us know without delay, and don't attempt to tell 
 us that lie overcame you through fear. 
 
 REPELONA. Oh, no, senora ! Let him dash me into pieces 
 and drag me in the dust, but I shall never look at him I shall 
 never look at his face again ! God be with you, ladies, and 
 may He repay you and grant that you live as many years 
 as there are good deeds you have done in the world, and 
 may he lend me the strength to follow and kiss the ground 
 where you set your feet. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. For the present, that will be sufficient. 
 
 REPELONA. You are all so good so kind and good ! 
 
 [She goes out.
 
 ACT ii THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 193 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What do you think of this conversion? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Sometimes it must be sincere. What 
 do you think, Marchioness? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. I see no reason to doubt it. I believe that 
 the Junta will approve the expenditure, in view of the 
 urgency of the relief. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Why not? Shall we go, Marchioness 
 if you are ready? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. At once. Enrique, ask Nativity to bring 
 the bundle of clothes which I left in the store-closet, and to 
 follow immediately. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Yes, mamma. 
 
 TERESA. [Aside] Don't you go. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Eh? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. We are waiting .... 
 
 ENRIQUE. Yes, of course. What was that ? 
 
 TERESA. No, no; go. . . .but delay as much as possible. 
 [Discovering MARTIN, who enters] Never mind; it is too late. 
 It makes no difference. 
 
 MARTIN. Have I permission ? May I come in ? 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Why, Martin ! What brings you here at 
 this hour ? Is there something you wish to say to Nativity, 
 or do we allow you too little opportunity to talk? She will 
 be with us directly and then you may see her, but only for 
 a moment. 
 
 MARTIN. Nativity? No, I did not come to see her, and 
 I never expect to see her again. I don't care if I never see 
 her! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. How? 
 
 MARTIN. No, sefiora. Nativity and Jesus have taken ship, 
 and at this moment they are sailing away. They are at sea 
 together, transported. 
 
 THE MARCHIONESS, DONA ESPERANZA, AND ASSUMPTION.
 
 194 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT H 
 
 Eh? What is that? Impossible!.... Nativity! Nativ- 
 ity ! [They begin calling NATIVITY upon all sides. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Nativity ! Nativity ! [To ENRIQUE] Run 
 and find her. It is impossible, because she was just here. [To 
 TERESA] We saw her with you. 
 
 TERESA. Yes, but she went out. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. She went out ? [To MARTIN] But how do 
 you know? 
 
 MARTIN. I know because I know; I listened to Jesus. . . . 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. I have no faith in that man. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. He is too horrible for words ! 
 
 ASSUMPTION. He overpowered her; he carried her away 
 by force. 
 
 MARTIN. No, seiiora, she went willingly. They loved 
 each other, and so they ran away for fear that you would 
 not permit them to marry. I am glad it happened now, 
 because if it had been afterward .... 
 
 MARCHIONESS. But how could they run away? Where 
 did they get the money? 
 
 MARTIN. They had plenty. You can ask Don Heliodoro. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. My brother? 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. It might be, Marchioness. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Your brother is capable of anything. 
 
 Meanwhile DON HELIODORO enters and overhears the 
 closing words of the conversation. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, it was I ! I am the man ! I am 
 proud of it, and I don't regret it. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. You may well be proud. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. He is not the only one who is to blame. 
 What ingratitude ! What ingratitude ! 
 
 ASSUMPTION. I should never have believed it of the girl. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. But the impudence of it! To run 
 away, to elope!
 
 ACT n THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD 195 
 
 ASSUMPTION. Her punishment will come later we can 
 imagine what it will be. 
 
 The voices of CABRERA and LA REPELONA are heard 
 outside, wrangling with a pack of boys, who run hoot- 
 ing after them down the street. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What are those shouts? 
 
 ASSUMPTION. [At the rear} I can scarcely believe my eyes. 
 No, no, don't you look, Marchioness ! This is not for you. 
 
 MARTIN. [Hurrying to the rear] It is Cabrera and the boys. 
 They are hooting him as usual. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. [Rushing to the rear also] Cabrera, 
 drunk as can be, and that woman on his arm embracing 
 repentance with a vengeance ! 
 
 MARCHIONESS. Enough ! Enough ! I don't care to hear ! 
 I wash my hands of the whole business. I am done with 
 your Junta, I refuse absolutely to interfere. 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. Yes, this surpasses anything I ever 
 heard of. 
 
 ASSUMPTION. It would be impossible to go further. Ah ! 
 The shouts and cries die away. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. What can you expect of such people? 
 But the others, the others .... She was such a nice girl ! 
 What a pity ! 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. This is what we get in return for our 
 charity. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. They eat our bread .... 
 
 ASSUMPTION. They owe their very lives to our mercy. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. [TV DON HELIODORO] And it is all your 
 fault! 
 
 DONA ESPERANZA. This is the result of preaching your 
 ideas. Now you see the consequence. 
 
 MARCHIONESS. [To TERESA] And you knew it ! It was a
 
 196 THE EVIL DOERS OF GOOD ACT n 
 
 plot. But wait till your husband hears ! We shall take good 
 care that he does hear. 
 
 ENRIQUE. Why, mamma 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Hold your tongue ! 
 
 TERESA. Yes. What is the use? We did it we rebels, 
 we ingrates. For once we had our way. 
 
 DON HELIODORO. Yes, we had our way, and it was a good 
 one. We shall never regret it. We can rest satisfied with 
 a clear conscience. What is all this nonsense? Suppose 
 they did eat your bread, suppose they were ungrateful and 
 owed their lives to you? We have given them something 
 which is better than life we have given them -liberty and 
 love. 
 
 Curtain
 
 LA MALQUERIDA 
 
 DRAMA IN THREE ACTS 
 
 FIRST PRESENTED BY THE COMPANIA GUERRERO-MENDOZA 
 AT THE TEATRO DE LA PHINCESA, MADRID, ON THE EVE- 
 NING OP THE TWELFTH OF DECEMBER, 1918
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 RAIMUNDA 
 ACACIA 
 JULIANA 
 DONA ISABEL 
 
 MlLAGBOS 
 FlDELA 
 
 ENGRACIA 
 BERNABEA 
 GASPARA 
 ESTEBAN 
 
 NORBERT 
 
 FAUSTINO 
 Tio EUSEBIO 
 BERN ABE 
 RUBIO 
 
 The action of the play takes place in Castile
 
 TO MARIA GUERRERO
 
 LA MALQUERIDA 
 THE FIRST ACT 
 
 A room in a rich farmer's house, situated on the outskirts of a 
 
 pueblo, or small town. 
 As the curtain rises, RAIMUNDA, ACACIA, DONA ISABEL, 
 
 MlLAGROS, FlDELA, ENGRACIA, GASPAEA, and BERNABEA 
 
 are bidding farewell to four or five wormn and young girls 
 who are talcing leave. While the others stand, DONA 
 ISABEL remains seated. 
 
 GASPARA. God be with you ! Good-by, Raimunda. 
 
 BERNABEA. God be with you, Dona Isabel and you, too, 
 Acacia, and your mother. May everything turn out for the 
 best. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Thanks. May we all live to see it. Go down 
 with them, Acacia. 
 
 ALL. Good-by ! Good-by ! 
 
 The women and girls retire, keeping up an animated 
 chatter. ACACIA accompanies them. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Bernabea is a nice girl. 
 
 ENGRACIA. It is only a year since she got over that trouble. 
 No one would ever believe it to look at her now. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. I hear that she is going to be married. 
 
 FIDELA. Yes, come next fiesta God willing and San 
 Roque. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. I am always the last person in the village 
 to pick up gossip. When you have nothing but trouble at 
 home, naturally you lose interest in what is taking place 
 outside. 
 
 201
 
 202 LA MALQUERIDA ACT i 
 
 ENGRACIA. How is your husband ? 
 
 DONA ISABEL. He varies up and down. The rest of us 
 are thoroughly worn out. We are not able to leave the house, 
 not even to attend mass upon Sundays. I am used to it 
 myself, but it is hard on my daughter. 
 
 ENGRA TA. I think you make a mistake to keep her at 
 home so much. This is a great year for weddings. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. But not for her. I am afraid that we shall 
 never be able to find a man who measures up to her expec- 
 tations. 
 
 i 
 
 FIDELA. All the same, it never struck me that she was born 
 to be a nun. Some day she will happen on the right one. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. How are you pleased with this match, 
 Raimunda? I must say you don't seem altogether cheerful 
 about it. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. A wedding is always something of an experi- 
 ment. 
 
 ENGRACIA. If you aren't satisfied, I am sure I don't know 
 who could ever be. Your daughter has had the pick of the 
 entire village. 
 
 FIDELA. She's not likely to want for anything, either. 
 We all know how well they will both be provided for, which 
 is not a thing you can afford to overlook. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Milagros, run down-stairs and enjoy yourself 
 with Acacia and the boys. I hate to see you sitting there 
 all alone in a corner. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Yes, do go down. The child is as innocent 
 as the day that God made her. 
 
 MILAGROS. Excuse me. [Goes out. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. We might all take another glass and some 
 bizcochos. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Thanks, I have had enough. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, no, come, everybody. This is nothing.
 
 ACT i LA MALQUERIDA 203 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Acacia doesn't seem as happy as you might 
 expect, either, considering that her engagement was only 
 announced to-day. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. She is as innocent, too, as God made her. I 
 never saw any one like her; she is so silent. She distracts 
 me. For weeks together she has not one word to say. Then 
 there are times when she begins to talk, and her tongue runs 
 until it fairly takes your breath away. It is a terrible thing 
 to hear. 
 
 ENGBACIA. Naturally, you have spoiled her. After you 
 lost the three boys she was all that you had, and you were 
 too careful. Her father would have plucked the birds out 
 of the air if she had asked for them, and you were no better. 
 When he died God rest his soul then the child was jealous 
 of you. She didn't like it when you married again, and she 
 has never gotten over that grudge either. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But what was I to do? I didn't want tc 
 marry again. I should never have thought of it if my 
 brothers hadn't turned out the way that they did. If we 
 had not had a man in the house to look after us, my daughter 
 and I would have been in the street before this, and you 
 know it. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Yes, this world is no place for single women. 
 You were left a widow very young. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But I can't see why my daughter should be 
 jealous. I am her mother, yet it would be hard to say which 
 of us loves or spoils her the most. Esteban has never treated 
 her like a stepdaughter. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. No wonder; you had no children of your 
 own. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. He never comes nor goes without bringing her 
 a present. He never thinks of such a thing with me al- 
 though, of course, I have no feeling. She is my daughter;
 
 204 LA MALQUERIDA ACT i 
 
 it only makes me love him more to see how fond he is of her. 
 You won't believe it when I tell you, but she would never 
 let him kiss her even when she was a child, much less now. 
 I have seldom had to lay my hand on her, but whenever I 
 have, it was on that account. 
 
 FIDELA. Nobody can make me believe, just the same, 
 that your daughter isn't in love with her cousin. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Norbert ? She turned him off herself between 
 night and morning, and that was the end of it. That is 
 another thing I can't understand. We never could find out 
 what did happen between them. 
 
 FIDELA. Nor anybody else. Nobody has ever been able 
 to explain it. There must have been some reason, but what 
 it was is a mystery. 
 
 ENGRACIA. Well, she never seemed to regret it, which is 
 more than I can say for him. She never looked at him again, 
 but he hasn't changed. When he heard that Faustino was 
 coming over with his father to-day to settle the matter and 
 arrange things, he turned on his heel, took his gun, and went 
 straight up to Los Berrocales. People who saw him said 
 that you would have thought that it had broken his heart. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Neither Esteban nor I influenced her in the 
 least. She broke with Norbert herself, just as they were 
 ready to publish the banns. Everybody knows it. Then 
 she consented to see Faustino. He always had a fancy for 
 her. His father is a great friend of Esteban's they belong 
 to the same party and always work together. They have 
 known each other for a long time. Whenever we went to 
 Encinar for the Feast of the Virgin or for any other fiesta 
 or if they were the ones who came here, it was easy to see 
 that the boy was nervous. When she was around he didn't 
 know what to do. He knew that there was something be- 
 tween her and her cousin, but he never said one word until
 
 ACT i LA MALQUERIDA 205 
 
 the break came, whatever the reason was, which we don't 
 know no, not one; but as soon as they heard that she was 
 done with her cousin, Faustino's father spoke to Esteban, 
 and Esteban spoke to me, and I spoke to my daughter, and 
 she seemed to be pleased; so now they are going to be mar- 
 ried. That is all there is to it. If she is not satisfied, then 
 God have mercy on her soul, because we are only doing it to 
 please her. She has had her own way in everything. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Then she ought to be happy. Why not? 
 The boy is a fine fellow. Everybody says so. 
 
 ENGRACIA. Yes, we all feel as if he belonged in the village. 
 He lives so near by, and his family is so well known that 
 nobody ever thinks of them as strangers. 
 
 FIDELA. Tio Eusebio owns more land here than at Encinar. 
 
 ENGRACIA. Certainly, if you stop to count. He inherited 
 everything from his Uncle Manolito, and when the town 
 lands were sold, two years ago, they went to him. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. The family is the richest in the neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 FIDELA. Undoubtedly. There may be four brothers, but 
 each of them will come into a fortune. 
 
 ENGRACIA. Your daughter is not going barefoot, either. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, she is an only child and will inherit every- 
 thing. Esteban has taken good care of the farm which she 
 had from her father; he could not have done more if she had 
 been his own child. 
 
 The Angelus sounds. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. The Angelus ! [Tfie women mumble the words 
 of the prayer} It is time for us to be going, Rainiunda. 
 Telesforo expects' his supper early if the nibble of nothing 
 which he takes can be called supper. 
 
 ENGRACIA. It is time for us all to go. 
 
 FIDELA. We were all thinking the same thing.
 
 206 LA MALQUERIDA ACT i 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But won't you stay to supper? I don't urge 
 Dona Isabel I know she ought not to leave her husband. 
 He is impatient to see her back. 
 
 ENGRACIA. Yes. We all have husbands to look after. 
 Thanks just the same. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. I suppose the young man stays to supper ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, he is going home with his father to En- 
 cinar. They cannot spend the night. There is no moon, 
 so they should have been on the road long ago. It is get- 
 ting late and the days are growing shorter. Before you 
 know it, it is black night. 
 
 ENGKACIA. I hear them coming up now to say good-by. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I thought so. 
 
 ACACIA, MILAGROS, ESTEBAN, Tio EUSEBIO, and 
 FAUSTINO enter. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Raimunda, here are Tio Eusebio and Faustino 
 to say good-by. 
 
 EUSEBIO. We must be off before dark. The roads are in 
 terrible shape after the heavy rains. 
 
 ESTEBAN. There are some bad stretches. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Well, what has the boy to say for himself ? 
 I suppose he doesn't remember me. It is five years since I 
 have seen him. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Don't you remember Dona Isabel? 
 
 FAUSTINO. I do, si, senor. I was afraid she didn't remem- 
 ber me. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. No fear of that ! My husband was alcalde 
 at the time, when you gave us that awful fright, running 
 after the bull. If you had been killed, I don't know what 
 would have happened. I didn't enjoy it. God help San 
 Roque ! it would have put an end to his fiesta. We cer- 
 tainly thought you were dead.
 
 ACT i LA MALQUERIDA 207 
 
 ENGRACIA. Julian, Eudosia's husband, was caught that 
 year too. 
 
 FAUSTINO. I remember; si, senora. 
 
 EUSEBIO. He remembers perfectly, because I gave him a 
 sound thrashing when he got home which he deserved. 
 
 FAUSTINO. I was a boy at the time. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Yes the boy of it ! However, you have 
 picked out the finest girl in the village, and she will have 
 no reason to regret her choice either. But we must be 
 going. You have business of your own to attend to. 
 
 ESTEBAN. No, they have attended to everything already. 
 
 DoSA ISABEL. Good night, then. Come, Milagros. 
 
 ACACIA. I want her to stay to supper, but she is afraid 
 to ask you. Do let her stay, Dona Isabel ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, do. Bernabe and Juliana will see her 
 home afterward, and Esteban can go along, too, if necessary. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. No, we will send for her. You can stay, to 
 please Acacia. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. They have so many things to talk over. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. God be with you. Adios, Tio Eusebio and 
 Esteban. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Adios, Dona Isabel. My best sympathy to your 
 husband. 
 
 DONA ISABEL. Which he appreciates, coming from you. 
 
 ENGRACIA. Good-by ! A safe return ! 
 
 FIDELA. God be with you ! 
 The women go out. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Dona Isabel looks remarkably young. She must 
 be my age at least. Well, "To have and to hold is to pre- 
 pare to grow old," as the proverb has it. Dona Isabel was 
 one of the best of them in her day, and in her day there were 
 plenty. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Sit down, Tio Eusebio. What is your hurry ?
 
 208 LA MALQUERIDA ACT i 
 
 EUSEBIO. No, don't tempt me; it's time to go. Night is 
 coming on. Don't bother about us. We have the hands 
 along and shan't need you. 
 
 ESTEBAN. No, the walk will do me good. I'll see you to 
 the arroyo at least. 
 
 RAIMUNDA, ACACIA, and MILAGROS re-enter. 
 
 EUSEBIO. If you young folks have anything to say, now 
 is the time for you to say it. 
 
 ACACIA. No, we have settled everything. 
 
 EUSEBIO. So you think. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Come, come ! Don't you try to embarrass 
 my daughter, Tio Eusebio. 
 
 ACACIA. Thanks for everything. 
 
 EUSEBIO. What? Is that a way to thank me? 
 
 ACACIA. It was a lovely present. 
 
 EUSEBIO. The showiest thing we could find. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Entirely too much so for a farmer's daughter. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Too much? Not a bit of it! If I'd had my 
 way, it would have had more jewels in it than the Holy 
 Monstrance at Toledo. Give your mother-in-law a good 
 hug. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, come, boy. I must learn to love you or 
 I shall never forgive you for taking her away. My heart 
 goes with her. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Now don't begin to cry ! Come, Acacia ! You 
 don't want to pass yourself off for a Magdalen. 
 
 MILAGROS. Raimunda ! Acacia ! [Bursts into tears also. 
 
 ESTEBAN. That's right all together ! Come, come ! 
 
 EUSEBIO. Don't be foolish ! Tears are for the dead. You 
 are only going to be married. Try to be happy and enjoy 
 yourselves ; everybody is willing. Adios and good night ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Adios, Tfo Eusebio. Tell Julia that I don't
 
 ACT i LA MALQUERIDA 209 
 
 know whether I shall ever be able to forgive her for not 
 coming over to-day. 
 
 EUSEBIO. You know how bad her sight is. We'd have had 
 to hitch up the cart, and it was up at Los Berrocales. We 
 are beginning to slaughter. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Tell her how sorry I am. May she be better 
 soon. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Thanks to you. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Now you had better be going. It is getting 
 dark. [To ESTEBAN] Don't be long. 
 
 EUSEBIO. I tell him not to come. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Nonsense ! It isn't any trouble. I'll go as far 
 as the arroyo. Don't wait supper for me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, we will wait. We're not anxious to eat 
 alone to-night. Milagros won't mind if we are late. 
 
 MILAGROS. It makes no difference to me. 
 
 EUSEBIO. God be with you all ! Good-by ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, we are coming down to see you out. 
 
 FAUSTINO. I. . . .1 have something to say to Acacia 
 first. . . . 
 
 EUSEBIO. It will have to wait until to-morrow. You have 
 had the whole day to yourselves. 
 
 FAUSTINO. Yes, but with so many people around, I had 
 no chance. . . . 
 
 EUSEBIO. Before we were through I knew we were going 
 to get some of this nonsense. 
 
 FAUSTINO. It isn't nonsense. Only I promised mother be- 
 fore we started to give Acacia this scapulary. The nuns in 
 the convent made it on purpose for her. 
 
 ACACIA. How lovely ! 
 
 MILAGROS. Oh! The Blessed Virgin of Carmen with 
 spangles all over! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Very pretty. My daughter was always de-
 
 210 LA MALQUERIDA ACT i 
 
 voted to the Virgin. Thank your mother for us. We ap- 
 preciate it. 
 
 FAUSTINO. It has been blessed. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Good! Now you have got that off your mind. 
 I wonder what your mother would have thought if we'd 
 taken it home again with us ? I never saw such a boy ! I 
 wasn't so backward in my day. I am sure I don't know 
 whom he does take after. 
 
 Att go out. For a moment the stage remains deserted. 
 Meanwhile it continues to grow darker. Presently 
 RAIMUNDA, ACACIA, and MILAGROS reappear. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. They have made a long day of it. It is night 
 before they start. How do you feel, my dear? Are you 
 happy ? 
 
 ACACIA. You can see for yourself. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I can, can I ? That is exactly what I want to 
 do: see for myself. Nobody can ever tell how you feel. 
 
 ACACIA. I am tired out. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. It has certainly been a long day. I haven't 
 had a minute's rest since five o'clock in the morning. 
 
 MILAGROS. Everybody has been here to congratulate you. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. The whole village, you might say, beginning 
 with the priest, who was among the first. We paid him for 
 a mass, and gave him ten loaves of bread besides for the 
 poor. In our happiness it is only right to remember others 
 who are not so fortunate. Praise God, we want for nothing ! 
 Where are the matches? 
 
 ACACIA. Here they are, mother. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Light the lamp, dear. It makes me feel sad 
 to sit in the dark. [Calling] Juliana ! Juliana ! I wonder 
 where she is? 
 
 JULIANA. [Down-stairs] What do you want?
 
 ACT i LA MALQUERIDA 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Bring up the broom and dust-pan. 
 
 JULIANA. [Down-stairs] In a minute. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I had better change my skirt while I think of 
 it. Nobody will be in now; it's so late. 
 
 ACACIA. I might take off my dress. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What for? There is nothing for you to do. 
 You have been busy all day. 
 JULIANA enters. 
 
 JULIANA. Show me that dust 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Stand the broom in the corner and take these 
 things away. Mind you scour them until they are clean; 
 then put them back in the cupboard. Be careful with those 
 glasses ! They are our best. 
 
 JULIANA. Could I eat a cake ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Of course you can ! though I don't see how 
 you manage to hold so much. 
 
 JULIANA. I haven't touched a thing this whole day, God 
 help me ! I am my mother's own daughter. Haven't I 
 passed cake and wine to the entire village? Everybody has 
 been here to-day. That shows you what people think of this 
 house yes, and what they think of Tio Eusebio and his 
 family. Wait till you see the wedding ! I know somebody 
 who is going to give her a new gold piece, and somebody who 
 is going to give her a silk embroidered quilt that has flowers 
 all over it, so lifelike that the first thing she will want to 
 do is pick them off of it. That will be a great day for her, 
 praise God ! Not one of us but will laugh and cry then, 
 and I will be the first after her mother; she will be first 
 because it is her right, but you know me. I love you all 
 in this house. Besides, you make me think of my dead 
 daughter. She looked just like you do when she died, and 
 we buried her. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Never mind that, Juliana. Go along and
 
 LA MALQUERIDA ACT i 
 
 don't dig up any more of your troubles. We have enough 
 of our own already. 
 
 JULIANA. God grant that I may never be a trouble to 
 you ! But everything goes topsyturvy with me to-day, 
 around and around, and every which way. The more you 
 enjoy yourself the sadder it makes you feel. God forbid 
 that I should ever drag in this child's poor dead father, who 
 rests in heaven now, God bless him ! But I wish he could 
 have seen her to-day ! He was fond of her. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. That will do, Juliana ! That will do. 
 
 JULIANA. Don't talk like that to me, Raimunda. It's like 
 a blow in the face, like beating a faithful hound. That's what 
 I have been to you and your daughter and your house a 
 faithful hound, that has eaten your bread, God willing, in 
 season and out yes, and kept her self-respect while she was 
 about it, and you know it. [Goes out. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Juliana! She is right, though. She has al- 
 ways been like a faithful hound faithful and loyal to us and 
 our house. [She begins to sweep. 
 
 ACACIA. Mother 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Did you speak? 
 
 ACACIA. Will you let me have the key to this chest of 
 drawers? I want to show Milagros some of my things. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, here it is; take the bunch. Sit down and 
 rest while I go and keep an eye on the supper. 
 
 [She takes the broom and goes out. 
 ACACIA and MILAGROS seat themselves on the floor before 
 the chest of drawers and open the lower drawer or com- 
 partment. 
 
 ACACIA. These earrings were a present from well, from 
 Esteban, since my mother isn't here. She always wants me 
 to call him father. 
 
 MILAGROS. Don't you know that he loves you?
 
 ACTI LA MALQUERIDA 
 
 ACACIA. Yes, but you can have only one father and 
 mother. He brought me these handkerchiefs, too, from 
 Toledo. The nuns embroidered the initials. See all these 
 post-cards aren't they pretty ? 
 
 MILAGROS. What lovely ladies ! 
 
 ACACIA. Yes, they're actresses from Madrid, or from Paris 
 in France. Look at these boys He brought me this box, 
 too; it had candy in it. 
 
 MILAGROS. I don't see how you can say then .... 
 
 ACACIA. I don't say anything. I know he loves me, but 
 I'd rather have been left alone with my mother. 
 
 MILAGROS. You don't mean to tell me that your mother 
 loves you any less on his account? 
 
 ACACIA. I don't know. She's wrapped up in him. How 
 do I know, if she had to choose between me and that man .... 
 
 MILAGROS. I think it's wicked to talk like that. Suppose 
 your mother hadn't married again, what would she do now 
 when you get married ? She would have no one to live with. 
 
 ACACIA. You don't suppose that I would ever have gotten 
 married, do you, if I had been living alone with my mother ? 
 
 MILAGROS. Of course you would ! What difference would 
 it make ? 
 
 ACACIA. Could I be as happy anywhere else as living 
 here alone with my mother? 
 
 MILAGROS. Don't be foolish. Everybody knows what a 
 nice stepfather you have. If he hadn't been good there 
 would have been talk, and I would have heard it. So would 
 you and your mother. 
 
 ACACIA. I don't say that he isn't good. But all the same 
 I wouldn't have married if my mother hadn't married again. 
 
 MILAGROS. Do you know what I think? 
 
 ACACIA. What?
 
 214 LA MALQUERIDA ACT i 
 
 MILAGROS. People are right when they say that you don't 
 love Faustino. The one that you love is Norbert. 
 
 ACACIA. That's a lie ! How could I love him ? after the 
 way that he treated me. 
 
 MILAGROS. Everybody says that you were the one who 
 turned him off. 
 
 ACACIA. I did, did I? Yes, I suppose it was my fault! 
 Anyway, we won't talk about it. What do they know? I 
 love Faustino better than I ever did Norbert. 
 
 MILAGROS. I hope you do. Otherwise you oughtn't to 
 marry him. Did you hear that Norbert left the village this 
 morning? He didn't want to be around. 
 
 ACACIA. What does he care ? Why to-day more than any 
 other ? It is nothing to him. Here is the last letter he wrote 
 me after everything was over. I never mean to see him 
 again; I don't know what I am keeping it for. It would 
 be more sensible to tear it up. [She tears the letter into small 
 pieces] There ! That ends it. 
 
 MILAGROS. W T hat is the matter with you? You are all 
 excited. 
 
 ACACIA. It's what he says. Now I am going to burn the 
 pieces. 
 
 MILAGROS. Look out ! The lamp will explode. 
 
 ACACIA. [Opening the window] To the road with you ! I'll 
 scatter the ashes. . . . The wind blows them away. ... It 
 is over now, and I am glad of it. Did you ever see such a 
 dark night ? 
 
 MILAGROS. [Following her to the window] It is black as 
 pitch no moon, no stars. . . . 
 
 ACACIA. What was that? 
 
 MILAGROS. Somebody slammed a door. 
 
 ACACIA. It sounded to me like a shot. 
 
 MILAGROS. Nonsense ! Who would be out shooting at
 
 ACT i LA MALQUERIDA 215 
 
 this hour ? Unless there is a fire somewhere .... No, I 
 don't see any glow in the sky. 
 
 ACACIA. I am frightened. Yes, I am 
 
 MILAGROS. Don't be silly ! 
 
 ACACIA. [Running suddenly to the door} Mother ! Mother ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. [Down-stairs} What is it? 
 
 ACACIA. Did you hear anything? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. [Down-stairs] Yes. I sent Juliana to find out. 
 It's all right. 
 
 ACACIA. Oh, mother ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Don't be afraid ! I am coming up. 
 
 ACACIA. It was a shot ! I know it was a shot ! 
 
 MILAGROS. Suppose it was ? What of it ? 
 
 ACACIA. God help us ! 
 RAIMUNDA enters. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Did it frighten you? Nothing is the matter. 
 
 ACACIA. Mother, you are frightened yourself. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Because you are. Naturally, I was frightened 
 at first your father hasn't come back. But it is silly. 
 Nothing could have happened. What was that? Do you 
 hear ? Some one is down-stairs ! God help us ! 
 
 ACACIA. Mother! Mother! 
 
 MILAGROS. What do they say? What are they talking 
 about ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Stay where you are. I am going down. 
 
 ACACIA. Mother, don't you go ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I can't make out what they say .... I am too 
 excited .... Oh, Esteban, my heart ! May no harm have 
 come to you ! [She rushes out. 
 
 MILAGROS. There is a crowd down-stairs. They are com- 
 ing in. I can't make out what they say. . . . 
 
 ACACIA. Something has happened! Something awful! I 
 knew it all the time.
 
 216 LA MALQUERIDA ACT i 
 
 MILAGROS. So did I, only I didn't want to frighten you. 
 
 ACACIA. What do you think? 
 
 MILAGROS. Don't ask me ! Don't ask ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. [Down-stairs] Holy Virgin ! God save us ! 
 Terrible, terrible ! Oh, his poor mother when she hears that 
 her poor boy is dead murdered ! I can't believe it ! What 
 a terrible thing for us all ! 
 
 ACACIA. What does she say ? Did you hear ? Mother ! 
 Mother ! Mother ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Acacia ! Daughter ! Don't you come down ! 
 Don't come down ! I am coining up. 
 
 RAIMUNDA, FIDELA, ENGRACIA, and a number of other 
 women enter. 
 
 ACACIA. What's the matter? What has happened? 
 Some one is dead, isn't he ? Some one is dead ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. My poor child ! Faustino ! Faustino ! 
 
 ACACIA. What? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Murdered ! Shot dead as he left the village ! 
 
 ACACIA. Mother ! Ay ! But who did it ? WTio did it ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Nobody knows. It was too dark; they 
 couldn't see. Every one thinks it was Norbert so as to 
 fill the cup of disgrace which we must drain in this house! 
 
 ENGRACIA. It couldn't have been any one else. 
 
 WOMEN. It was Xorbert ! It was Norbert ! 
 
 FIDELA. Here come the constables. 
 
 ENGRACIA. Have they caught him? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. And here is your father. [EsTEBAN enters] 
 Esteban, my soul ! Who did it ? Do you know ? 
 
 ESTEBAN. How do I know? I saw what the rest did. 
 Don't leave the house, do you hear? I don't want to have 
 you running around the village. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But how is his father? Think of his poor 
 mother when they carry her boy home to her dead mur-
 
 ACT i LA MALQUERIDA 217 
 
 dered ! And he left her alive, happy, and well only this 
 morning ! 
 
 ENGRACIA. Hanging is too good for the wretch that did it ! 
 
 FIDELA. They ought to have killed him on the spot ! 
 Such a tiling never happened before in this village. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Esteban, don't let them take the body away. 
 I must see him and so must my daughter. He was to 
 have been her husband. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Keep cool ! There is plenty of time. I don't 
 want you to leave the house, do you hear ? It's in the hands 
 of the law now; the doctor and priest were too late. I must 
 hurry back; we all have depositions to make. 
 
 [ESTEBAN retires. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Your father is right. What can we do ? ex- 
 cept commend his soul to God, who was his Maker. I can't 
 get his poor mother out of my head ! Don't take it so hard, 
 Acacia. It frightens me to see you so still. It is worse than 
 if you cried your heart out. Who would ever have believed 
 this morning that such a thing could be ? But it is ! A 
 curse has fallen upon us ! 
 
 ENGRACIA. The shot went straight through his heart. 
 
 FIDELA. He fell off his horse, like a log. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What a shame, what a disgrace to the village ! 
 I blush to think that the murderer was born in this place, 
 that he was one of us, and walked about here with all that 
 evil in his heart! He is one of our own family, to make it 
 worse ! 
 
 GASPARA. But we aren't sure of that. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Who else could it be? Everybody says so. 
 
 ENGRACIA. Everybody says it was Norbert. 
 
 FIDELA. It couldn't have been any one but Norbert ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Light the candles, Milagros, before the image
 
 218 LA MA.QUERIDA ACT i 
 
 of the Virgin. Let us teH-iwr a rosary, since we can do no 
 more than pray for the dead. 
 
 GASPARA. God rest his soul ! 
 
 ENGRACIA. He died without confession. 
 
 FIDELA. From Purgatory, good Lord, deliver us. 
 
 ALL. God rest his soul ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. [To MILAGROS] You begin the rosary; I can- 
 not pray. I am thinking of his mother's broken heart ! 
 The women begin to tett the rosary. 
 
 Curtain
 
 THE SECOND ACT 
 
 Entrance Hall of a farmhouse. There is a large door at the 
 rear, on either side of which is a window, having an iron 
 grating. A door on the left, and another on the right. 
 
 ESTEBAN is seated at a small table, taking lunch. RAIMUNDA 
 waits upon him, seated also. JULIANA comes and goes, as- 
 sisting with the service. ACACIA sits in a low chair near 
 one of the windows, sewing. A basket of clothes stands 
 beside her. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Don't you like it? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Of course I do. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You haven't eaten anything. Do you want 
 us to cook something else? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Don't bother me, my dear. I have had plenty. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You don't expect me to believe that. [Call- 
 ing] Juliana ! Bring the salad ! Something is the matter 
 with you. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Don't be silly. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Don't you suppose that I know you by this 
 time ? You ought never to have gone to the village. You've 
 heard talk. We came out here to the grove to get rid of 
 it all, to be away from the excitement, and it was a good 
 thing, too, that we did. Now you go back to the village 
 and don't say one word to me about it. What did you want 
 to do that for ? 
 
 ESTEBAN. I wanted to see Norbert and his father. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, but you could have sent for them and 
 have had them come out here. You ought to have spared 
 
 319
 
 LA MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 yourself; then you wouldn't have heard all this talk. I 
 know how they are talking in the village. 
 
 JULIANA. Yes, and that is all the good it does us to stay 
 out here and shut ourselves up from everybody, because 
 everybody that goes anywhere in the neighborhood passes 
 through this grove, and then they stop, and smell around, 
 and meddle in what is none of their business. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Yes, and you meddle with every one of them. 
 
 JULIANA. No, senor; don't you make any mistake. I 
 meddle with nobody. Didn't I scold Bernabea only yester- 
 day for talking more than she had any right to with some men 
 from Encinar who were coming down the road ? If any one 
 asks questions send them to me, because I've learned what to 
 do from my mother, who had good reason to know: When 
 questioned much, answer little, and be sure you make it just 
 the opposite. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Hold your tongue! And get out. [JULIANA 
 retires] What do they say in the village? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Nothing. Tio Eusebio and his boys swear they 
 are going to kill Norbert. They refuse to accept the decision 
 of the court; he got off too easily. They are coming over 
 some day, and then there will be trouble. You hear both 
 sides in the village. Some think that Tio Eusebio is right, 
 that it must have been Norbert; others think it wasn't Nor- 
 bert. They say that the court let him go because he was 
 innocent, and he proved it. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. That is what I think. No one could contra- 
 dict his deposition; not even Faustino's father could find 
 any flaws in it, nor the hands. You couldn't yourself, and 
 you were with them. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Tio Eusebio and I had stopped to light our 
 cigars. \Ve were laughing like two fools because I had my 
 lighter, and it wouldn't light; so Tio Eusebio got out his
 
 ACT ii LA MALQUERIDA 221 
 
 tinder and flint and said to me, laughing: "Here, get a light, 
 and don't waste your time with that new-fangled machine. 
 All it is good for is to help fools waste their money. I still 
 make out with this." That was what blinded us. We were 
 fooling over the light when the shot was fired. We started 
 up and could see nothing. Then, when we saw that he had 
 dropped dead, we stood stock-still, as dead as he was. They 
 could have finished us, too, while they were about it, and we 
 would never have known it. 
 
 ACACIA gets up suddenly and starts to go out. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Where are you going, my dear? Don't be 
 nervous. 
 
 ACACIA. You never talk about anything else. I don't see 
 how you can stand it. Hasn't he told us how it happened 
 over and over again ? Do we have to hear the same thing 
 all the time? 
 
 ESTEBAN. She is right. If I had my way, I'd never men- 
 tion it again; it's your mother. 
 
 ACACIA. I even dream about it at night. I never used to 
 be nervous when I was alone or in the dark, but now I am 
 frightened to death, even in broad daylight. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You are not the only one, either. I get no 
 rest, day nor night. I never used to be afraid. I thought 
 nothing of passing the cemetery after dark, not even on 
 All Souls' Eve, but now the least thing makes me jump, no 
 matter what noise, silence. To tell the truth, as long as 
 we thought it was Norbert, although he was one of the family, 
 and it would have been a shame and a disgrace to us all, at 
 the same time it couldn't be helped; there was nothing to 
 do but resign oneself and I had resigned myself. After 
 all, it had an explanation. But now, if it wasn't Norbert, if 
 nobody knows who it was, and nobody can explain why it 
 was that that poor boy was shot I can't be easy in my mind.
 
 222 I A MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 If it wasn't Norbert, who could have wished him any harm ? 
 Maybe it was revenge, some enemy of his father's, or of yours 
 how do we know but that the shot was intended for you, 
 and since it was night and pitch-dark, they made a mistake, 
 and what they didn't do then they will another time, and .... 
 I can't stand this suspense ! I get no rest ! Every time that 
 you go out of the house and show yourself on the road, it 
 seems to me that I will go crazy. To-day, when you were 
 late, I was just starting for the village myself. 
 
 ACACIA. She was out on the road already. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, only I saw you and Rubio from the top 
 of the hill, so I turned and ran back before you passed the 
 mill, so you wouldn't be angry. I know it is foolish, but 
 now I want to be with you all the time, wherever you go 
 I can't bear to be separated from you for one moment. 
 Otherwise I can't be happy. This isn't living. 
 
 ESTEBAN. I don't believe anybody wishes me any harm. 
 I never wronged any man. I go wherever I please, without 
 so much as giving it a thought, day or night. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I used to feel the same; there is nobody who 
 could wish us harm. We have helped so many. But all 
 that you need is one enemy, one envious, evil mind. How 
 do we know but that we have some enemy without our sus- 
 pecting it ? A second shot might come from the same quar- 
 ter as the first. Norbert is free because they couldn't prove 
 that he was guilty; and I am glad of it. Why shouldn't I 
 be glad when he is my own sister's son my favorite sister's ? 
 I could never have believed that Norbert could have done 
 such a thing as murder a man in the dark ! But is this to 
 be the end of it ? What is the law doing now ? Why don't 
 they investigate, why doesn't some one speak? Somebody 
 must know, somebody must have seen whoever it was that 
 was there that day, hovering along the road. When every-
 
 ACT ii LA MALQUERIDA 223 
 
 thing is all right, everybody knows who is passing, and what 
 is going on who comes and who goes you hear it all with- 
 out asking; but when you want to know, then nobody 
 knows, nobody has seen anything. 
 
 ESTEBAN. I can't see why that is so strange. When a 
 man is going about his business, he has nothing to conceal; 
 but when his intentions are evil, naturally the first thing he 
 does is to hide himself. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Who do you think that it was? 
 
 ESTEBAN. I? To tell the truth, I thought it was Nor- 
 bert, the same as you. If it wasn't Norbert, I don't know 
 who it was. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I suppose you won't like it, but I'll tell you 
 what I have made up my mind to do. 
 
 ESTEBAN. What? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Talk to Norbert. Bernabe has gone to find 
 him. I expect him any minute. 
 
 ACACIA. Norbert? What do you want to talk to him 
 for? 
 
 ESTEBAN. That is what I say. What does he know 
 about it? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. How can I tell ? But I know he won't lie to 
 me. By the memory of his mother, I will make him tell me 
 the truth. If he did it, he knows I will never tell. I can't 
 stand this any longer. I shake all over. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Do you suppose that Norbert is going to tell 
 you if he was the one who did it? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. After I talk to him I shall know. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Well, have your own way. It will only make 
 more talk and hard feeling, especially since Tio Eusebio is 
 coming over to-day. If they meet. . . . 
 
 RAIMUNDA. They won't meet on the road, because they
 
 224 LA MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 come from different directions. After they are here the 
 house is big enough. We can take care of them both. 
 JULIANA enters. 
 
 JULIANA. Master. . . . 
 
 ESTEBAN. Why are you always bothering me? 
 
 JULIANA. Tio Eusebio is coming down the road. Maybe 
 you don't want to see him; I thought you might like to 
 know. . . . 
 
 ESTEBAN. Why shouldn't I want to see him? Didn't I 
 tell you he was coming ? Now bring in the other one ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, he can't come too soon to please me. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Who told you that I didn't want to see Tio 
 Eusebio ? 
 
 JULIANA. Oh, don't blame it on me ! It wasn't my fault. 
 Rubio says you don't want to see him because he is mad at 
 you. You didn't side with him in court, and that's the reason 
 that Norbert went free. 
 
 ESTEBAN. I'll teach Rubio it's none of his business whom 
 I side with. 
 
 JULIANA. Yes, and there are other things you might teach 
 him while you are about it. Have I nothing to do but wait 
 on that man ? God help me, he has had more to drink to-day 
 than is good for him. And that isn't talk, either. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. This is the last straw ! Where is he ? 
 
 ESTEBAN. No, leave him to me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Everything goes wrong in this house. Every- 
 body takes advantage of you as soon as anything is the 
 matter. You don't need to turn your back it's instinct. 
 They know when you can't take care of yourself. 
 
 JULIANA. I'll not take that from you, Raimunda, if you 
 mean me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You know who I mean. Take it any way you 
 like.
 
 ACT H LA MALQUERIDA 225 
 
 JULIANA. Senor, senor ! What curse has fallen on this 
 house? We are all poisoned, snared, our feet are caught in 
 some evil vine; we are changed. One takes it out on the 
 other, and everybody is against me. God help me, I say, 
 and give me the strength to endure it ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, and give me the strength to endure 
 you. 
 
 JULIANA. Yes, me ! It is all my fault. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Look at me, will you ? Do I have to tell you 
 to your face to get out? That's all I want from you. 
 
 JULIANA. Yes, you want me to shut up like a tomb. Well, 
 I'll shut up, God help me ! Senor ! Let me out ! Don't 
 talk to me ! [Goes out. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Here comes Tio Eusebio. 
 
 ACACIA. I am going. He breaks down and cries when- 
 ever he sees me. He doesn't know what he is doing, but it's 
 always the wrong thing. Does he think he is the only one 
 who has lost anything? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I am sure I have cried as much as his mother 
 has. Tio Eusebio is not the same man; he forgets. But 
 never mind. You are right' not to see him. 
 
 ACACIA. I have finished the shirts, mother. I'll iron them 
 as soon as I have time. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Were you sewing for me? 
 
 ACACIA. You can see for yourself. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I don't know how we'd get on if she didn't 
 sew. I am not good for anything. I don't know whether 
 I am alive or dead, God help me ! But she can work. She 
 gets through with it somehow. [She caresses ACACIA affec- 
 tionately as she passes out] God bless you, Acacia, my child ! 
 [ACACIA goes out] It is a terrible responsibility to be a mother. 
 For a long time I was afraid that she was going to get mar-
 
 226 LA MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 ried and leave me. Now, what wouldn't I give to see her 
 married ? 
 
 Tfo EUSEBIO enters. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Hello ! Where is everybody ? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Come in, Tio Eusebio. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Good morning to both. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Good morning, Tio Eusebio. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Where are your horses ? I'll have them put up. 
 
 EUSEBIO. My man will tend to that. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Sit down. Come, a glass of that wine he likes 
 so much, Raimunda. 
 
 EUSEBIO. No, no, thank you. I am not feeling well. 
 Wine doesn't agree with me. 
 
 ESTEBAN. This wine will do you good. It's a tonic. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Suit yourself. How are you, Tio Eusebio? 
 How is Julia? 
 
 EUSEBIO. Julia? What do you expect? I am going to 
 lose her just as I did the boy; I can see it. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. God forbid ! Hasn't she four sons yet to live 
 for? 
 
 EUSEBIO. Yes, the more worry! That is what is killing 
 her worry. Nobody knows what will happen next. Our 
 hearts are broken. We were sure that we would get justice; 
 but now we are bitter. Everybody said it would be like this, 
 but we didn't believe it. The murderer is alive you pass 
 him on the street; he goes home to his house, shuts the door, 
 and laughs at us. It only proves what I knew all the time. 
 There is no such thing in this world as justice, unless a man 
 takes it with his own hands, which is what they will drive us 
 to do' now. That is why I wanted to see you yesterday. 
 If my boys come into the village, send them home. Don't 
 let them stay around. Arrest them anything rather than 
 another tragedy in our house; although I don't want to see
 
 ACTH LA MALQUERIDA 227 
 
 his murderer go free the murderer of my boy unless God 
 avenges him, as he must, by God ! or else there is no jus- 
 tice in heaven. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Don't turn against God, Tio Eusebio. Though 
 the hand of justice never fall upon him after the foul murder 
 he has done, yet there is not one of us that would be in his 
 place. He is alone with his conscience. I would not have 
 what he has on his soul upon mine, for all the blessings of 
 this world. We have lived good lives, we have done evil to 
 no man, yet all our days are purgatory and torment. He 
 must have hell in his heart after what he has done of that 
 we can be sure as sure as of the day of our death. 
 
 EUSEBIO. That is cold comfort to me. How does it help 
 me prevent my boys from taking the law into their own hands ? 
 Justice has not been done and it should have been done. 
 Now they are the ones who will go to jail for it ! They 
 will make good their threats too. You ought to hear them. 
 Even the little fellow, who is only twelve, doubles up his 
 fists like a man, and swears that whoever killed his brother 
 will have to reckon with him, come what may. I sit there 
 and cry like a child. I needn't tell you how his mother feels. 
 And all the while I have it in my heart to say : Go, my sons ! 
 Stone him until he is dead ! Cut him to pieces like a hound ! 
 Drag his carcass home to me through the mire what offal 
 there is left of it ! Instead I swallow it all and look grave, 
 and tell them that it is wrong even to think of such a thing 
 it would kill their mother, it would ruin all of us ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You are unreasonable, Tio Eusebio. Norbert 
 is innocent; the law says so. No one could bring the least 
 proof against him; he proved where he was, and what he was 
 doing all that day, one hour after the other. He and his men 
 were up at Los Berrocales. Don Faustino, the doctor, saw 
 him there and talked with him at the very hour it took place, '
 
 LA MALQUERIDA xcrn 
 
 and he is from Encinar. You know yourself no man can be 
 in two places at the same time. You might think that his 
 own people had been told to say what they did, although it 
 isn't an easy thing for so many to agree on a lie; but Don 
 Faustino is a friend of yours; he is in your debt. And others 
 who would naturally have been on your side said the same. 
 Only one shepherd from Los Berrocales would testify that he 
 ha/1 seen a man at that hour, and that was a great way off; 
 but he had no idea who it was. From his clothes and the 
 way that he carried himself he was sure that it could not 
 have been Norbert. 
 
 EUSEBIO. If it wasn't, I say nothing. Does it make it 
 any better for us that he hired some one else to do it ? There 
 can't be any doubt; there is no other explanation. I have 
 no enemies who would do such a thing. I never harmed 
 any man; I help every one, whether they are our own people 
 or not. I make it easy. If I were to sue for one-half the 
 damage that is done me every day, it would take all of my 
 time. I will die a poor man. They killed Faustino because 
 he was .going to marry Acacia. That is all there is to it. 
 Nobody could have had any such reason but Norbert. If 
 everybody had told what they knew, the trial would have 
 ended right there. But the ones who knew most said the 
 least; they said nothing. 
 
 RAIMUXDA. Do you mean us? 
 
 EUSEBIO. I don't say who I mean. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. It is plain enough; you don't have to mention 
 names nor point your finger. Do you mean to say that we 
 keep quiet because Norbert is one of our family? 
 
 EUSEBIO. Do you mean to say that Acacia doesn't know 
 more about this thing than she is willing to admit? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, sir, she knows no more about it than you 
 do. You have made up your mind that it was Norbert be-
 
 ACTH LA MALQUERIDA 229 
 
 cause you want to make yourself believe that nobody else has 
 anything against you. We are none of us saints, Tio Eusebio. 
 You may have done a great deal of good in your time, but 
 you must also have done some evil; you think that nobody 
 remembers, but maybe the ones who have suffered don't 
 think the same. If Norbert had been in love with my 
 daughter to that extent, he would have shown it before now. 
 Your son didn't take her away from him, remember that. 
 Faustino never said one word until after she was done with 
 Norbert, and she turned him off because she knew he was 
 going with another girl. He never so much as took the 
 trouble to excuse himself, so that when you come down to 
 it, he was the one who left her. That is no reason why 
 any one should commit murder. You can see it yourself. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Then why did everybody say that it couldn't 
 have been any one else? You said so yourself; everybody 
 said so. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, because at first he was the only one we 
 could think of. But when you look at it calmly, it is fool- 
 ish to say that he is the only one who could have done it. 
 You insinuate that we have something to conceal. Once 
 for all, let me tell you, we are more anxious than you are to 
 have the truth known, to have this thing out and be done 
 with it. You have lost a son, but I have a daughter who 
 is alive, and she has nothing to gain, either, by this mystery. 
 
 EUSEBIO. No, she hasn't. Much less when she keeps her 
 mouth shut. And you haven't anything to gain. You don't 
 know what Norbert and his father say about this house so 
 as to divert suspicion from themselves ? If I believed what 
 they said .... 
 
 RAIMUNDA. About us? What do they say ? [To ESTEBAN] 
 You have been in the village. What do they say? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Nobody cares what they say.
 
 230 LA MALQUERIDA ACT u 
 
 EUSEBIO. No, I don't believe one word that comes from 
 them. I am only telling you how they repay the kindness 
 you do them by taking their part. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. So you are on that tack again ? Tio Eusebio, 
 I have to stop and force myself to think what it must mean 
 to lose a child, or I would lose control of myself. I am a 
 mother, God knows, yet you come here and insult my daugh- 
 ter. You insult all of us. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Wife ! Enough of this. What is the use ? Tio 
 Eusebio. . . . 
 
 EUSEBIO. I insult nobody. I only repeat what other peo- 
 ple say. You suppress the truth because he is one of the 
 family. The whole village is the same. What you are 
 afraid of is the disgrace. People here may think that it was 
 not Norbert, but in Encinar, let me tell you, they think that 
 it was. If justice isn't done and done quick blood will 
 be spilled between these villages, and nobody can stop it, 
 either. You know what young blood is. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, and you are the one who stirs it up. 
 You respect neither God nor man. Why, didn't you just 
 admit that Norbert couldn't have done it unless he had 
 hired some one to commit the murder ? Nonsense ! It isn't 
 so easy to hire a man to commit murder. What had a boy 
 like Norbert to give, anyway? Unless you want us to be- 
 lieve that his father had a hand in it. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Bah ! Rogues come cheap. How about the 
 Valderrobles ? They live here. Didn't they kill two goat- 
 herds for three and a half duros ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. How long was it before they were found out? 
 They fought over the half duro. When you hire a man to 
 do a deed like that, you put yourself in his power; you be- 
 come his slave for the rest of your life. There may be people 
 who can afford to do such tilings, but they must be rich, 
 they must have power. Not a boy like Norbert !
 
 ACT ii LA MALQUERIDA 231 
 
 EUSEBIO. Every family has a faithful servant who will 
 do what he is told. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No doubt yours has. No doubt you have 
 had occasion to use him too; you know so much about it. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Take care what you say ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Take care yourself ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. Raimunda ! Enough of this. What is the use 
 of all this talk ? 
 
 EUSEBIO. Well, you hear what she says. How about you ? 
 
 ESTEBAN. If we dwell on this forever, we shall all of 
 us go mad. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Yes. You heard what I said. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. If you mean by that that you don't intend to 
 let this matter drop until you have found the murderer of 
 your boy, it is only right and proper, and I respect you for 
 it. But that is no reason why you should come here and 
 insult us. Once for all, you may want justice, but I want it 
 more than you do. I pray to God for it every day, I pray 
 him on my knees not to let the murderer go free and I 
 should pray to him just the same if I had a boy if it had 
 been my own boy that did it ! 
 
 RUBIO appears in the doorway. 
 
 RUBIO. How about me, master? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Well, Rubio? 
 
 RUBIO. Don't look at me like that; I'm not drunk. We 
 started out before lunch, that was all. I had an invitation 
 and took a drop; it went against me. I'm sorry you feel 
 that way about it. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What is the matter with him? Juliana was 
 right. 
 
 RUBIO. Tell Juliana to mind her business, will you? I 
 just wanted to tell the master. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Rubio! You can tell me later whatever you 
 like. Tio Eusebio is here. Don't you see ? We are busy.
 
 232 LA MALQUERIDA ACT 11 
 
 RUBIO. Tio Eusebio ? So he is. What does he want ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Is it any of your business what he wants? 
 Get out ! Go along and sleep it off. You don't know what 
 you are talking about. 
 
 RUBIO. I know, senora. Don't say that to me. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Rubio! 
 
 RUBIO. Juliana's a fool; I don't drink. It was my money, 
 anyhow. I'm no thief. What I have is my own; and my 
 wife is my own, too. She owes nobody anything, eh, master ? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Rubio ! Go along ! Get to bed, and don't 
 show yourself again until you have had a good sleep. What 
 is the matter with you ? What will Tio Eusebio think ? 
 
 RUBIO. I don't know. I don't take anything, understand 
 from anybody. [Goes out. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What was it that you were just saying about 
 servants, Tio Eusebio ? This man has us with our hearts in 
 our throats, yet he is nothing to us. Suppose we had trusted 
 him with some secret? Wliat is the matter with Rubio, 
 anyway? Is he going to get drunk every day? He was 
 never like this before. You ought not to put up with it. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Don't you see? He isn't used to it. That is 
 the reason he is upset by a thimbleful. Somebody invited 
 him into the tavern while I was tending to my business. I 
 gave him a piece of my mind and sent him to bed, but he 
 hasn't slept it off yet. He is drunk. That is all there is to it. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Perfectly natural. Is that all? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Drop in again, Tio Eusebio. 
 
 EUSEBIO. Thanks. I am sorry this happened after I 
 took the trouble to come. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Nonsense ! Nothing has happened. We have 
 no hard feeling. 
 
 EUSEBIO. No, and I hope you won't have any. Remem- 
 ber what I've been through. My heart is broken it's not
 
 ACT ii LA MALQUERIDA 233 
 
 scratched. It won't heal either until God claims another 
 one of his own. How long do you expect to stay in the 
 grove ? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Till Sunday. We have nothing to keep us. 
 We only wanted to be out of the village. Now that Norbert 
 is home, it is nothing but talk, talk, talk. 
 
 EUSEBIO. That's right nothing but talk. If you see my 
 boys around, look out ! I don't want them to get into any 
 trouble, which afterward we might have cause to regret. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Don't you worry. They won't get into any 
 while I am around. Blame it on me if they do. 
 
 EUSEBIO. They're working down by the river now. They'll 
 be all right unless somebody happens along and stirs them up. 
 God be with you, I say. Adios ! Where is Acacia ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I told her not to come down, so as to spare 
 your feelings. It is hard on her, too; it brings back every- 
 thing. 
 
 EUSEBIO. That's so. It must. 
 
 ESTEBAN. I'll send for your horses. 
 
 EUSEBIO. No, I can call myself. Francisco ! Here he 
 comes. Take care of yourselves. 'God be with you ! 
 
 [They move toward the door. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. God be with you, Tio Eusebio. Tell Julia not 
 to worry. I think of her every day. I have prayed more for 
 her than I have for the boy God has forgiven him by this 
 time. Surely he never did anything to deserve such a bad 
 end ! My heart bleeds for him. 
 
 ESTEBAN and Tio EUSEBIO have passed out while she 
 
 is speaking. 
 BERNABE enters. 
 
 BERN ABE. Senora! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Is Norbert here? Could you find him?
 
 234 LA MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 BERNABE. Yes, I brought him along so as to save time. 
 He wanted to see you himself. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Didn't you meet Tio Eusebio? 
 
 BERNABE. No, we saw him coming up from the river when 
 we were a long way off, so we turned and went in by the great 
 corral. Norbert is hiding there until Tio Eusebio starts back 
 to Encinar. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. There he goes up the road now. 
 
 BERNABE. Yes under the great cross. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Tell Norbert. No wait ! What do they say 
 in the village? 
 
 BERNABE. No good, senora. The law is going to have its 
 hands full before it gets to the bottom of this. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Does anybody think it was Norbert? 
 
 BERNABE. You would get your head broke if you said it 
 was. When he came back yesterday, half the town was out 
 to meet him. Everybody was sitting by the roadside. They 
 took him up on their shoulders and carried him home. The 
 women all cried, and the men hugged him. I thought his 
 father would die for joy. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. He never did it. Poor Norbert ! 
 
 BERNABE. They say the men are coming over from En- 
 cinar to kill him; everybody here carries a club and goes 
 armed. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Mother of God ! Did anything go wrong with 
 the master while he was in the village this morning ? What 
 did you hear? 
 
 BERNABE. So they have been talking to you? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No. That is yes; I know. 
 
 BERNABE. Rubio was in the tavern and began to say things, 
 so I ran for the master, and he came and ordered him out. 
 He was insolent to the master. He was drunk.
 
 ACT ii LA MALQUERIDA 235 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Do you remember what he said? I mean 
 Rubio. 
 
 BERN ABE. Oh! His tongue ran away with him. He was 
 drunk. Do you know what I think? If I were you, I 
 wouldn't go back to the village for two or three days. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, certainly not. If I had my way we would 
 never go back. I am filled with a loathing for it all so great 
 that I want to rush out, and down that long road, and then 
 on and up and over those mountains to the other side, and 
 after that I don't know where I would hide myself. I feel 
 as if some one were running after me, aftsr me, always after 
 me, with more than death in his heart. But the master. . . . 
 Where is the master? 
 
 BERNABE. Seeing to Rubio. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Tell Norbert to come in. I can't wait. 
 BERNABE goes out. 
 NORBERT enters. 
 
 NORBERT. Aunt Raimunda ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Norbert, my boy ! Give me a hug. 
 
 NORBERT. I am so glad you sent for me. I've been treated 
 like a dog. It's a good thing that my mother is dead and in 
 heaven. I am glad she never lived to see this day. Next to 
 my father, there is nobody in the world I think so much of 
 as I do of you. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I could never have believed that you did it 
 not though everybody said so. 
 
 NORBERT. I know it; you were the first to take my part. 
 Where is Acacia? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. In her room. We have our fill of trouble in 
 this house. 
 
 NORBERT. Who says I killed Faustino? . If I hadn't 
 proved, as I did prove, where I was all that day, if I'd done 
 as I meant at first and taken my gun and gone off to hunt
 
 236 LA MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 alone by myself, and then couldn't have proved where I was, 
 because nobody had seen me, I would have spent the rest of 
 my life in prison. They would have had me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Are you crying? 
 
 NORBEHT. No, I am not crying; but I cried when I found 
 myself in that prison. If anybody had ever told me that I 
 would ever go to prison, I would never have believed it; I'd 
 have laughed in his face. But that isn't the worst. Tio 
 Eusebio and his boys have sworn to kill me. They will 
 never believe that I am innocent; they know I murdered 
 Faustino. They are as sure of it as I am that my mother 
 lies under the ground ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Because nobody knows who did it. Nobody 
 can find out anything. Don't you see? They will never 
 rest at that. Do you suspect any one? 
 
 NORBEKT. I more than suspect. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Then why didn't you say so? You were in 
 court. You had the opportunity. 
 
 NORBERT. If I hadn't cleared myself I would have told. 
 But what was the use? I am a dead man now if I speak. 
 They will do the same thing to me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Eh ? Will they ? What do you mean ? Was 
 it revenge? But who did it? Tell me what you think. 
 I must know, because Tio Eusebio and Esteban have always 
 had the same friends; they have always stood together, for 
 better or for worse, whichever it was. Their enemies would 
 naturally be the same. Now, I can get no rest. This ven- 
 geance was intended for us just as much as it was for Tio 
 Eusebio; it was to prevent a closer union of our families. 
 Maybe they won't stop at that, either. Some day they will 
 do the same to my husband ! 
 
 NORBERT. I wouldn't worry about Uncle Esteban. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Why, what do you mean ? Do you think ? . . . .
 
 ACT ii LA MALQUERIDA 237 
 
 NORBEKT. I don't think. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Then tell me what you know. Somehow I 
 believe you are not the only one who knows it. You think 
 what the rest think it must be the same what everybody 
 knows. 
 
 NOEBERT. Well, they didn't get it out of me; that is one 
 thing you can be sure of. Besides, how could they know? 
 It's gossip, that's all not worth that ! Talk in the village ! 
 They will never get it out of me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Norbert, by the soul of your sainted mother 
 in heaven, tell me what it is ! 
 
 NORBERT. For God's sake, I can't talk ! I was afraid to 
 open my mouth in court. Now, if I say a word, I am a dead 
 man. A dead man ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But who would kill you? 
 
 NORBERT. Who killed Faustino? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But who did kill Faustino? Some one was 
 paid to do it, is that it ? Rubio said something in the wine- 
 shop this morning. 
 
 NORBERT. Who told you? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Esteban went in and dragged him out; it 
 was the only way he could stop him. 
 
 NORBERT. He didn't want to be compromised. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What is that? He didn't want to be com- 
 promised ? Was Rubio saying that he .... 
 
 NORBERT. That he was the real master of this house. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. The master of this house? Because it was 
 Rubio. . . . 
 
 NORBERT. Rubio. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Who killed Faustino? 
 
 NORBERT. Si, senora. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Rubio! I knew it all the time. But does
 
 238 LA MALQUERIDA ACT u 
 
 anybody else know? That is the question. Do they kn6w 
 it in the village? 
 
 NORBERT. He gives himself away; he has money bills, 
 bank-notes wherever he goes. He turned on them this 
 morning while they were singing that song. That was why 
 they had to call Uncle Esteban, and he kicked him out of 
 the wine-shop. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. That song? Oh, yes! That song I re- 
 member. It goes. . . . How does it go? 
 
 NORBERT. 
 
 "Who loves the maid that dwells by the Mill 
 
 Shall love in evil hour; 
 
 Because she loves with the love that she loves, 
 Call her the Passion Flower." 
 
 RAIMUNDA. \Ve are the ones who dwell by the Mill; that 
 is what they call us. It is here our house. And the maid 
 that dwells by the Mill must be Acacia, my daughter. This 
 song that everybody sings. . . . They call her the Passion 
 Flower ? That is it, isn't it ? But who loves her in any evil 
 way ? How could anybody love her ? You loved her, Faus- 
 tino loved her; but who else ever loved her? Why do they 
 call her the Passion Flower ? Look me in the eye ! Why did 
 you give her up if you really loved her ? Why ? I want you 
 to tell me; you have got to tell me. You cannot tell me 
 anything worse than w r hat I already know. 
 
 NORBERT. Do you want them to kill me? To rum all of 
 us ? I have never said one word not even when they had 
 me in prison would I say one word ! I don't know how it 
 got out Rubio told, or my father. He is the only one who 
 ever had it from me. He wanted to put the law on them, 
 but I said no. They would have killed him; they would have 
 killed me !
 
 ACTH LA MALQUERIDA 239 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Stop! Don't you talk ! I see it now. I see 
 it all. The Passion Flower ! La Malqiierida I Come here 
 to me ! Tell me everything. Before they kill you, by God, 
 they will have to kill me ! It cannot go on like this. Some- 
 body must pay for it. Tio Eusebio and his boys will never 
 rest till they have justice. If they can't get it in any other 
 way, they will take it out of you revenge ! You can't 
 escape. Faustino was murdered so as to prevent him from 
 marrying Acacia. You left her for the same reason for 
 fear that they would kill you. Was that it ? Tell me the 
 truth ! 
 
 NORBERT. They told me to leave her because she was 
 promised to Faustino; she had been for a long time. They 
 said they had an understanding with Tio Eusebio, and if I 
 didn't make the best of it, then I could take the worst of 
 it. But if I ever opened my mouth. . . . 
 
 RAIMUNDA. They would kill you? Was that it? But 
 you .... 
 
 NORBERT. I believed it I was afraid I didn't know what 
 to do. Then I began to run after another girl, who was 
 nothing to me, so as to break off with Acacia. Afterward, 
 when I found out that not a word of it was true, that niether 
 Tio Eusebio nor Faustino had ever spoken to Uncle Este- 
 ban. . . . Then, when they killed Faustino I knew why 
 they killed him. It was because he dared lay eyes on Acacia. 
 There was nothing they could tell him. They couldn't scare 
 him off. Tio Eusebio wasn't a man to stand by and see 
 his son refused. They co.uldn't refuse, so they agreed to it, 
 and went through with it until the end came, and they 
 killed him. They killed him because I was here to take the 
 blame. Who else could have done it ? Of course it was I ! 
 I loved Acacia I was jealous. That was the plot. Praise 
 God, some saint surely watched over me that day ! But
 
 240 LA MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 now the crime has come home to him. It lies like lead on 
 his conscience. He betrays himself. . . . 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Is it possible that such a thing could be? I 
 must have been blind not to see. What veil hung over my 
 eyes ? Why, it is all as clear as day ! How could I have 
 been so blind? 
 
 NORBERT. What are you doing ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I don't know I don't know where I am 
 something so awful, so vast is passing through my mind 
 that it seems as if it were nothing. I can only remember one 
 thing of all that you have told me that song La Mal- 
 querida! The Passion Flower! I want you to teach me 
 the music. We can sing it together, and dance dance and 
 drop dead ! Acacia ! Acacia ! Acacia ! 
 
 NORBERT. No, don't you call her ! Don't take it like this ! 
 It wasn't her fault ! 
 ACACIA enters. 
 
 ACACIA. Did you call, mother ? Norbert ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Come here ! Look at me straight in the eye. 
 
 ACACIA. What is the matter with you, mother? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, it was not your fault. 
 
 ACACIA. But what have they been doing ? What did you 
 tell her? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What every one else knows already La Mal- 
 querida! The Passion Flower! Your honor is a scorn and 
 a byword. It is bandied about in men's mouths ! 
 
 ACACIA. My honor ? Never ! No one can say that. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Don't you deny it ! Tell me what you know. 
 Why was it that you never called him father ? Why was it ? 
 
 ACACIA. Because a child has only one father, you know 
 that. This man could never be my father. I hated, I de- 
 spised him from the day that he entered this house, and 
 brought hell along after him !
 
 ACT ii LA MALQUERIDA 241 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Well, you are going to call him now, and you 
 are going to call him what I tell you; you are going to call 
 him father. Do you hear ? Your father ! I tell you to 
 call your father. 
 
 ACACIA. Do you want me to go to the cemetery and call 
 him? If that isn't what you want, I have no father. This 
 man this man is your husband; you love him, but all that 
 he is to me is this man ! This man ! That is all he can ever 
 be ! Leave me alone if you know what is good for you 
 you think you are so smart. Let the law take its course. I 
 don't care. If he has sinned, he can pay for it. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Do you mean for Faustino's murder? Yes 
 go on ! Go on ! What else ? Out with it ! 
 
 ACACIA. No, mother, no ! For if I had consented, Faus- 
 tino would never have been murdered ! Do you think I 
 don't know how to guard my honor? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Then what have you been so silent about? 
 Why didn't you come to me? 
 
 ACACIA. Would you have taken my word against this 
 man, when you were mad for him? And you must have 
 been mad not to see ! He would eat me up with his eyes 
 while you sat there; he followed me around the house like a 
 cat. What more do you want? I hated him so, I had such 
 a horror of him that I prayed to God that he would make 
 himself even more of a beast than he was, so that it would 
 open your eyes, if anything could have opened your eyes, 
 and let you see what manner of man he was who had robbed 
 me of your love, for you have loved him, you have loved 
 him so much more than you ever loved my father ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No ! That isn't true ! 
 
 ACACIA. I wanted you to hate him as I hate him, as my 
 father in heaven hates him ! I have heard his voice from 
 the skies.
 
 242 LA MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Silence! For shame! Come here to your 
 mother. You are all that I have left in the world. And 
 thank God that I can still protect you ! 
 BERNABE enters. 
 
 BERNABE. Senora ! Senora ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What brings you running in such a hurry? 
 No good, we may be sure. 
 
 BERNABE. Don't let Norbert leave the house! Don't let 
 him out of your sight ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. How? 
 
 BERNABE. Tio Eusebio's boys are waiting outside with 
 their men to kill him. 
 
 NORBERT. What did I tell you ? You wouldn't believe it. 
 They are here they want to kill me ! And they will kill 
 me. Yes, they will ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Not unless they kill us all first ! Somebody 
 has sent for them. 
 
 BERNABE. Yes, Rubio. I saw him running along the 
 river bank where Tio Eusebio's boys were at work. 
 
 NORBERT. Didn't I tell you? They want to kill me, so 
 as to save themselves. Then nothing will ever come out. 
 Tio Eusebio's boys will think they have the man who mur- 
 dered their brother. They will kill me, Aunt Raimunda! 
 Yes, they will ! They are too many for one; I can't defend 
 myself. I haven't even a knife. I don't dare to carry a 
 gun I might kill some one. I'd rather die than be locked 
 up in that cell again. Save me, Aunt Raimunda! I don't 
 want to die. It wasn't my fault! They hunt me like a 
 wolf. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Don't be afraid. If they kill you, it will be 
 over my dead body. Go in there with Bernabe and take 
 that gun, do you hear? They won't dare to come in. If 
 they do, shoot to kill ! When I call, shoot no matter who
 
 ACT ii LA MALQUERIDA 243 
 
 it may be ! Do you understand ? No matter who it may 
 be! Don't shut the door. [To ACACIA] You stand here by 
 me. Esteban ! Esteban ! Esteban ! 
 
 ACACIA. What are you going to do? 
 ESTEBAN enters. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Did you call? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, I want to speak to you. Norbert is here 
 in our house. Tio Eusebio's boys are waiting outside. You 
 sent for them to kill him because you are not man enough 
 to do it yourself. > 
 
 ESTEBAN. [Making a movement to draw a weapon] Rai- 
 munda ! 
 
 ACACIA. Mother! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, don't you do it ! Call Rubio and let him 
 make an end of us all ! He will have to make an end of us 
 all to cover your guilt. Murderer ! Assassin ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. You are crazy ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I was crazy ! I was crazy the day that you 
 first entered this house my house like a thief, to rob me 
 of all I held dear! 
 
 ESTEBAN. What are you talking about? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I am not talking; other people are talking. 
 Soon the law will speak. If you don't want that, do as I 
 tell you, or I will cry out I will rouse the house. You 
 brought them here take them away again, you cowards 
 that lie in wait for innocent men, to stab them in the back ! 
 Norbert leaves this house, but he leaves with me. If they 
 kill him, they kill me. I am here to protect him, and I will 
 protect my daughter I, alone, against you, against all the 
 assassins you can hire! Go! Here come my people.... 
 Don't you touch me ! Hide yourself in the uttermost recesses 
 of those mountains, in caves where the wild beasts dwell. 
 Now I know ! You have nothing to hope for from me.
 
 244 LA MALQUERIDA ACT n 
 
 Oh, I was alone with my child ! and you came. You knew 
 that she was my child; there she stands La Malqueridal 
 The Passion Flower ! Well ! I am still here to guard her 
 from you, to tell you that her father still lives in heaven 
 and to shoot you through the heart if you make one step to 
 lay your hand on her ! 
 
 Curtain
 
 THE THIRD ACT 
 
 The scene is the same as in the Second Act, RAIMUNDA stands 
 at the door, peering anxiously out over the countryside. 
 After a moment JULIANA enters. 
 
 JULIANA. Raimunda! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What do you want? Is he worse? 
 
 JULIANA. No, don't be nervous. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. How is he ? Why did you leave him ? 
 
 JULIANA. He's asleep. Acacia is with him; she can hear 
 if he calls. You are the one I am worried about. Thank 
 God; he's not dead. Do you expect to go all day without 
 eating ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Let me alone; don't bother me. 
 
 JULIANA. What are you doing out here ? Come on in and 
 sit with us. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I was looking for Bernabe. 
 
 JULIANA. He can't be back so soon if he brings the men to 
 take Norbert away. If the constables come with him. . . . 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Constables? Constables in this house? Ah, 
 Juliana, surely a curse has fallen upon us all ! 
 
 JULIANA. Come on in, and don't be looking out of the door 
 all the time. It's not Bernabe that you are looking for; it's 
 the other one it's your husband. When all is said and 
 done, he is your husband. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, the habits of a lifetime cannot be changed 
 in one day. Although I know what I know, and that it 
 must always be so, although if I saw him coming it would 
 be to curse him, although I must loathe him for the rest of 
 my life, yet here I stand looking out of the door and scan 
 
 245
 
 246 LA MALQUERIDA ACT m 
 
 ning every rock and cranny upon those mountains only for 
 a sight of him ! It seems to me as if I were waiting for him 
 as I used to do, to see him come happy and smiling, and then 
 turn and walk into the house with him arm in arm like two 
 lovers, and sit down here at the table to eat, and go over 
 everything that we had done during the day. Sometimes 
 we would laugh, sometimes we would argue, but always it 
 was so dear, as if we had been fonder of each other than 
 any one else who had ever lived in the world. Now it is all 
 over; nothing remains. The peace of God has fled forever 
 from this house ! 
 
 JULIANA. You cannot believe what you see with your 
 eyes. If you hadn't told me yourself, if I didn't know how 
 you felt, how you were, I would never have believed it. 
 Faustino is dead, God help him; we can leave it. There 
 might be more of the sort, too, for all I care; but this devil 
 that has gotten into him with Acacia, it doesn't seem possible, 
 I can't believe it although I must believe it. There is no 
 other explanation of the mystery. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Did you never notice anything ? 
 
 JULIANA. Nothing. When he first came to the house, it 
 was to make love to you, and I needn't tell you how I felt. 
 I was fond of your first husband; there never was a better 
 nor juster man in the world, so I looked on him with dis- 
 favor. God have mercy on me, but if I had seen anything, 
 what reason would I have had for keeping quiet ? Of course, 
 when you come to think, he gave her presents and there 
 were a good many of them, too but we never thought any- 
 thing of that. She was so haughty with him. They never 
 had one good talk together from the day you were married. 
 She was only a runt then anyway. She insulted him out of 
 pure spite. Nobody could do anything with her. If you 
 struck her, it made no difference. I'll say this while I am
 
 ACT in LA MALQUERIDA 247 
 
 about it: if she had been nice to him when she was little, he 
 might have looked on her as his own daughter. Then we 
 would never have been where we*are now. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Are you trying to excuse him? 
 
 JULIANA. Excuse him? There can be no excuse for such 
 a thing. It was enough that she was your daughter. What 
 I say is that the girl was like a stranger to him from the be- 
 ginning, although she was your own child. If she had 
 tpeated him like a father, as she ought it would have been 
 different; he isn't a bad man. A bad man is bad through 
 and through. When you were first married, I've seen him 
 sit by himself and cry at the way the girl ran from him, as 
 if he had had the plague. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You are right. The only trouble we ever had 
 was with the child. 
 
 JULIANA. After she was grown there wasn't a girl in the 
 village that was her equal for looks. Nobody knows that 
 better than you do. But she shrank from him as if he had 
 been the devil. There she was all the time right before his 
 eyes ! No wonder if he had an evil thought; none of us are 
 above them. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I don't say he might not have had an evil 
 thought, although he ought never to have had such a thought. 
 But you put an evil thought out of your mind unless you are 
 evil. He must have had more than an evil thought to do 
 what he did, to murder a man in cold blood to prevent my 
 daughter from marrying and going away away from him; 
 his mind must have been evil, like the criminal's, waiting to 
 break out, with all the evil of the world in his heart. I am 
 more anxious than anybody to believe that it is not so bad, 
 but the more I think, the more I see that there can be no 
 excuse for it. When I remember what has been hanging 
 over my daughter all these years, that any moment be-
 
 248 LA MALQUERIDA ACT m 
 
 cause a man who will do murder will do anything. If he 
 had ever laid hands on her I would have killed them both, 
 as sure as my name is Raimunda him, because he had been 
 guilty of such a crime, and her because she did not let him 
 kill her before she would consent to it. 
 BERN ABE enters. 
 
 JULIANA. Here comes Bernabe. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Are you alone? 
 
 BERNABE. Yes, they are deciding in the village what is 
 best to be done. I was afraid to stay any longer. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You were right. This is not life. What do 
 they say now ? 
 
 BERNABE. Do you want to go mad? Forget it. Pay no 
 attention to what they say. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Are they coming to take Norbert away? 
 
 BERNABE. His father will tend to that. The doctor won't 
 let them put him in the cart for fear it will make him worse. 
 He'll have to be carried on a stretcher. The judge and the 
 prosecutor are coming to take his story, so they don't want 
 a relapse. He was unconscious yesterday and couldn't tes- 
 tify. Everybody has his own idea; no two agree. Not a 
 soul went to the fields to-day. The men stand around the 
 streets in groups; the women talk in the houses and run to 
 and fro. Nobody stops to eat. Not a meal has been served 
 to-day, dinner or supper either, on the hour. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Didn't you tell them that Norbert's wounds 
 aren't serious? 
 
 BERNABE. What difference does that make? Now they 
 can't do anything. Yesterday, when they thought Tio 
 Eusebio's boys had fallen on him with the master, and he 
 was going to die, the thing was simple; but to-day they hear 
 he is better. How do they know but that he will soon be
 
 ACT m LA MALQUERIDA 
 
 well again? Even Norbert's best friends say that it's a 
 gi'eat pity that the wound wasn't serious. If he was wounded 
 at all, it might better have been serious. Then Tio Euse- 
 bio's boys could have been made to pay for it, and they 
 would have had their revenge, but now, if he gets well, the 
 law will get into it, and then nobody will be satisfied. 
 
 JULIANA. They are so fond of Norbert, are they, that they 
 wish he was dead ? The idiots ! 
 
 BERNABE. That is the way they are. I told them they 
 could thank you for it, because ypu were the one who called 
 the master, and the master threw himself between them 
 and knocked up their guns, so they couldn't kill him. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Did you tell them that? 
 
 BERNARD. Every mother's son that asked me. I said the 
 first because it was true, and I said the rest because you 
 don't know what they are saying in the village, nor how 
 they feel about what is going on in this house. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No ! I don't want to hear ! Where is the 
 master? Have you seen him? Do you know where he is? 
 
 BERNABE. He and Rubio were up at Los Berrocales this 
 morning with the goatherds from Encinar. They sport the 
 night in a hut on the uplands. I don't like this going away. 
 It's not right, if I know what is good for him. It looks as if 
 he was afraid. This is no time to have people think what 
 isn't so. Norbert's father talks too much. This morning he 
 tried to persuade Tio Eusebio that his sons had had no cause 
 to shoot his boy. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Is Tio Eusebio in the village? 
 
 BERNABE. He came with his boys. They arrested them 
 this morning, tied them together by the elbows, and brought 
 them over from Encinar. Their father followed on foot and 
 brought the little fellow with him, holding his hand all the 
 way. They cried with every step that they took. There
 
 250 LA MAtQUERIDA ACT m 
 
 wasn't a man in the village but cried, too, when he saw them, 
 even the strongest, no matter if he had never cried before. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. And his mother is alone at home, and here I 
 am ! What do you men know ? 
 ACACIA enters. 
 
 ACACIA. Mother 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Well? What is it? 
 
 ACACIA. Norbert wants you. He is awake now. He 
 wants some water. He is thirsty; I was afraid to give him 
 any for fear it wasn't right. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. The doctor says he can have all the orange- 
 juice he can drink. Here's the jar. Does he suffer much ? 
 
 ACACIA. No, not now. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. [To BERNABE] Did you get the things for the 
 doctor ? 
 
 BERNABE. Yes, they're in the saddle-bags. I'll bring 
 them in. [Goes out. 
 
 ACACIA. He is calling, mother. Do you hear? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Coming, Norbert, my boy. [Goes out. 
 
 ACACIA. Has that man come back ? 
 
 JULIANA. No. He took his gun and rushed out like one 
 mad as soon as it was over. Rubio ran after him. 
 
 ACACIA. Have they caught him? 
 
 JULIANA. You'll hear soon enough when they do. They'll 
 have to bring charges against him first. 
 
 ACACIA. But doesn't everybody know ? They heard what 
 my mother said. 
 
 JULIANA. No, nobody heard except me and Bernabe, and 
 he won't tell what isn't good for him; he is honest and loyal 
 to this house. They heard your mother shout, that was all. 
 They thought it was because Norbert was here, and Tio 
 Eusebio's boys were waiting outside to kill him. Nobody
 
 ACTHI LA MALQUERIDA 251 
 
 will say a word when the judge comes unless your mother 
 tells us to open our mouths. 
 
 ACACIA. Do you mean that my mother isn't going to let 
 you tell the truth ? Won't she tell what she knows ? 
 
 JULIANA. Is that what you want? So you want to dis- 
 grace this house, do you, and yourself? Then every man 
 will think what he likes; some will believe that you are in- 
 nocent, and some will never believe it. A woman's honor 
 is not a thing to be bandied about in men's mouths, not when 
 it is none of their business. 
 
 ACACIA. My honor? I can take care of my honor. Let 
 the others do the same. Now I shan't marry. I am glad 
 it happened, because I shall never marry. I only agreed to 
 it to get rid of him. 
 
 JULIANA. Acacia, I don't want to hear you not another 
 word. Surely the devil must be in you ! 
 
 ACACIA. Yes, he is, and he has always been, since I first 
 learned to hate that man ! 
 
 JULIANA. Yes, and who is to say that wasn't where the 
 trouble began ? You had no cause to hate him. Mind you, 
 nobody blamed your mother more than I did when she 
 married again ; but all the same, I saw what a devil you were 
 to this man when you were a little child, and how much it 
 meant to him which you were too young to know. 
 
 ACACIA. How much did it mean to me to see my mother 
 always hanging around his neck? Do you suppose I liked 
 it, sitting here and seeing her love him ? I was always in the 
 way. 
 
 JULIANA. You have no right to talk like that. You were 
 always first with your mother, and you might have been with 
 him. 
 
 ACACIA. Might have been ? Never ! Because I was, and 
 I am.
 
 '252 LA MALQUER1DA ACT m 
 
 JULIANA. But not like you mean, though you seem proud 
 of it; in the way you should have been. He never would 
 have loved you as he did if you had loved him as a daughter. 
 
 ACACIA. How could I love him ? Didn't he turn me even 
 against my own mother? 
 
 JULIANA. What do you mean ? Turn you against your 
 own mother? 
 
 ACACIA. Yes. Do you suppose I can love her now as I 
 ought, as I should have loved her if that man had never 
 entered this house? I remember once when I was a little 
 girl, I spent all one night with a knife under my pillow, 
 and I lay awake all night. The only thought that I had 
 in my mind that night was to kill him. 
 
 JULIANA. Jesus, my child ! What is that ? Suppose you 
 had ? Suppose you had gotten up, and had dared, and had 
 killed him? 
 
 ACACIA. I don't know who I might have killed next. 
 
 JULIANA. Holy Virgin! Jesus! Not another word. Don't 
 you talk! You are beyond the pale of God's mercy. Do 
 you know what I think? It was all your fault. 
 
 ACACIA. All my fault? 
 
 JULIANA. Yes, yours! It was your fault! And I'll go 
 further: if you hated him as much as you say you do, then 
 he would have been the only one you would have hated 
 yes, the only one ! Jesus ! It's a good thing that your 
 mother doesn't know ! 
 
 ACACIA. Know what? 
 
 JULIANA. That he wasn't the one you were jealous of. It 
 was her ! You were in love with him and you didn't know it. 
 
 ACACIA. In love with him? 
 
 JULIANA. Yes, hate turned to love. Nobody can hate like 
 that. A hate like that always grows out of a great love.
 
 ACT m LA MALQUERIDA 253 
 
 ACACIA. Do you mean to say that I was in love with that 
 man ? Do you know what you are telling me ? 
 
 JULIANA. I am not telling you anything. 
 
 ACACIA. No. What you will do now is run and tell my 
 mother. 
 
 JULIANA. Is that what you are afraid of? I thought so. 
 Now you are the one who is telling. You needn't worry, 
 though. I'll not tell. She has enough on her mind, poor 
 soul. God help us ! 
 
 BERNABE enters. 
 
 BERN ABE. Here comes the master! 
 
 JULIANA. Did you see him? 
 
 BERNABE. Yes. You wouldn't know him. He looks as 
 if he had stepped from the grave. 
 
 ACACIA. Let me out ! 
 
 JULIANA. Yes", let us all out and shut your mouth, do 
 
 you hear ? What is done is done. Your mother must never 
 
 know. [The women go out. 
 
 ESTEBAN and RUBIO enter, their guns over their shoulders. 
 
 BERNABE. Can can I do anything? 
 
 ESTEBAN. Nothing, Bernabe. 
 
 BERNABE. I'll tell the mistress. 
 
 ESTEBAN. No, don't tell her; they'll find us. 
 
 RUBIO. How about his wounds, eh? 
 
 BERNABE. Better. The doctor sent for these things. I'll 
 take them in unless you need me. [Goes out. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Here I am. What do you want me to do ? 
 
 RUBIO. What do I want you to do? This is your house; 
 you belong here. A man's house is his castle. Running 
 away, being afraid to face it, is to confess. It will ruin u 
 both. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Here I am; you have had your way. Now 
 this woman will come and accuse me and raise the house.
 
 2.34 LA MALQUERIDA ACT m 
 
 The judge will be here, and he will bring Tio Eusebio. What 
 then? 
 
 RUBIO. Why didn't you let Tio Eusebio 's boys handle it 
 themselves ? They would have finished it. Now he is only 
 wounded. He will squeal, and so will his father; so will all 
 the women. They are the ones I am afraid of. They will 
 talk. Nobody can prove who shot Faustino. You were 
 with his father; nobody saw me. I have a good pair of legs. 
 I was with some friends two leagues away a few minutes be- 
 fore, and I set the clock ahead. When I left the house I 
 took good care to have them notice it. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Yes, we would have been safe if that had been 
 all. But you talked; you gave yourself away. 
 
 RUBIO. You ought to have killed me. That was the first 
 time in my life that I ever was afraid. I never expected they 
 would let Norbert go. I told you that we ought to go into 
 court and have Acacia testify that Norbert had sworn he 
 was going to kill Faustino, but you wouldn't listen. Do 
 you mean to tell me that you couldn't have made her do it ? 
 We could have got others, too, to say the same. Then it 
 would have been easy; they would never have let him go. 
 I know I made a fool of myself, but when I saw that Norbert 
 was free, that the law yes, and Tio Eusebio would never 
 stop there, that they would look somewhere else, then I 
 was afraid for the first time. I wanted to forget. So I 
 began to drink, which I never do, and I talked. You ought 
 to have killed me then; you had ground for it. They were 
 talking already in the village; that was what scared me. 
 When I heard that song it put the blame here. Norbert 
 and his father suspect. After what happened before, they 
 have their eyes open. That is the talk that has got to be 
 stopped, no matter what comes of it. That is the danger 
 the crime will be known by the cause. Nothing else counts.
 
 ACT in LA MALQUERIDA 255 
 
 So long as nobody knows why he was killed, nobody will ever 
 find out who killed him either. 
 
 ESTEBAN. But why? Why was he killed ? What was the 
 use of killing anybody? 
 
 RUBIO. I don't know. Don't ask me. Weren't you 
 talking all the time? "If another man gets her, look out! 
 Something happens." Then you told me she was going to 
 be married. "I can't scare this one off; it's all over, he will 
 take her away. I can't think. ..." Didn't you come to me 
 in the morning early again and again, before it was light, and 
 wake me up and say: "Get up, Rubio; I haven't closed my 
 eyes all night. I must get out. To the fields ! I must 
 walk !" And then we'd take our guns and go out and walk 
 for hours, side by side, without speaking a word. At last, 
 when the fit had passed, and we'd put a few shots in the air 
 so that nobody could say that we did no hunting when we 
 went out to hunt, I'd tell you that we scared away the game; 
 but you said we frightened evil thoughts: and down we'd sit 
 on some hummock and then you would burst out laughing 
 like one mad, as if some weight had been lifted from your 
 soul, and you'd catch me around the neck and talk, and talk, 
 and talk you didn't know how you talked, nor what you 
 said, nor why, nor whether it had any sense at all; but it 
 always came to the same thing: "I am mad, crazy, a wild 
 man ! I cannot live like this. I want to die. I don't know 
 what devil has gotten into me. This is torment, hell!" 
 And then you'd shuffle the words again, over and over, but 
 it was always the same, you were dying death ! And you 
 talked death so long that one day death heard and he 
 came. And you know it. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Stop ! Why do you have to talk ? 
 
 RUBIO. Take care, master ! Don't you touch me ! I 
 know what was in your mind when we were coming down
 
 256 LA MALQUERIDA ACT m 
 
 the mountain. Make no mistake. You lagged behind. 
 Another minute and your gun would have been at your 
 shoulder. But don't you do it, master, don't you try ! 
 We'll stick together. I know how you feel; you're sick. 
 You never want to see me again. If that would help, I'd 
 get out. What did I care, anyway? It was nothing to 
 me. Whatever I got you gave me afterward. It was your 
 idea. I never asked. I don't need money. I don't drink, 
 I don't smoke. All I want is to rove over the mountains, to 
 do what I like, to be free. I want to be my own master. 
 You trusted me, and I was proud of it. I know how you 
 feel. We are like brothers. I'll take the blame. You 
 needn't worry. They can grind me to powder but I'll never 
 say a word. I'll tell them I did it it was I because it's 
 none of their business just because. I don't care what 
 they give me: they can make it ten years, fifteen. What's 
 the difference? Then you fix it; you have influence. Only 
 don't let them make it too much. Get busy; cut it down. 
 Others have done the same. In four or five years every- 
 thing will have blown over. Only I don't want you to for- 
 get. When I come out we will be brothers, the same as 
 before. We can work together; we can do what we please. 
 Only I mean to be my own master, to have power, to feel 
 power in my hands ! Nobody can stand alone. We'll be 
 brothers. Hush ! Some one is coming the mistress ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA enters, carrying a water-jar. She sees ESTE- 
 BAN and RTTBIO and stops short, dazed. After hesi- 
 tating for a moment she proceeds to fill the jar from a 
 pitcher. 
 
 RUBIO. Senora! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Get out of my house ! Don't you come near 
 me! What are you doing here? I never want to see you 
 again.
 
 ACTni LA MALQUERIDA 257 
 
 RUBIO. Oh! You are going to see me again and hear 
 me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What do you mean ? This is my house. 
 
 RUBIO. Just a word. Soon we will all be in court. We 
 had better fix it beforehand. Because a few fools open their 
 mouths is no reason why a good man should go to prison. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. More than one will go. You don't expect to 
 get out of it? 
 
 RUBIO. I don't know. Only one will go, but that one will 
 be I. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. It will ? 
 
 RUBIO. But when I shut my mouth I don't want other 
 people to talk. Take it from me: what you think is not so. 
 Norbert and his father are back of these lies; they are the 
 ones who do all the lying. They made up that song, too. 
 It's a lie, and they know it. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Is that so? You have agreed then on your 
 story? Well, I don't believe one word of it. Gossip and 
 songs are nothing to me. I believe nothing but the truth, 
 the truth that I know and I know it so well that I have 
 known it all along. I guessed it from the beginning. I 
 might have thought but no, I never thought anything of 
 you. He, he might have confessed; it would have been 
 only fair. He might have known that I would hold my 
 tongue, not for him, but for this house which was my 
 father's house for my daughter, for my own sake. But 
 why should I keep still when everybody knows it, and the 
 very stones shout? They sing it from the housetops. 
 
 RUBIO. So long as you keep still, the rest can sing all they 
 want to. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Keep still? To save you? I could scream 
 at the very sight of you ! I could raise the village ! 
 
 RUBIO. Don't be a fool ! What's the use?
 
 258 LA MALQUERIDA ACT m 
 
 r 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Of course you weren't a fool when you mur- 
 dered a man. And you nearly murdered another in this 
 house or had him murdered. 
 
 RUBIO. I wouldn't have been a fool if I had. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You are a coward ! You are a murderer ! 
 
 RUBIO. Your wife is speaking to you, master. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Rubio! 
 v RUBIO. You see he can hear. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, hang your head before this man. 
 What a humiliation ! You are his slave for the rest of 
 your life. Could any fate be more horrible? Now this 
 house has a master. Thank God, he cannot be less jealous 
 of its honor than you ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. Raimunda! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. When I talk, you interrupt. You are not 
 afraid of me. 
 
 ESTEBAN. If I had been man enough, I would have put a 
 bullet through my head, and have been done with it. 
 
 RUBIO. Oh, master! 
 
 ESTEBAN. No ! Stop there ! That's all I'll take from 
 you. Get out ! What are you waiting for ? Do you want 
 me to beg you on my knees ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Oh! 
 
 RUBIO. No, master. I am going. [To RAIMUNDA] If it 
 hadn't been for me, there wouldn't have been any murder, 
 but you might have lost a child. Now, you have another. 
 The blood made him faint; a bad turn, that was all. But 
 he's better. I am a good doctor. Some time you can thank 
 me for it. Don't forget. I'll show you how. [Goes out. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Don't cry any more. I can't bear to see you 
 cry. I am not worth all these tears. I ought never to have 
 come back; I ought to have starved amid the brambles and 
 thickets they should have hunted me down like a wolf.
 
 Acxra LA MALQUERIDA 259 
 
 I would not have raised my hand. Don't reproach me! 
 Over and over again I have said to myself more than you 
 can say. I have called myself murderer, assassin, times 
 without number. Let me go. This is no longer my home. 
 Turn me out ! I am only waiting for them to take me. I 
 don't go out on the road and give myself up, because I am 
 too weak; my heart sinks; I am at the end of my tether. 
 If you don't want me, tell me to go, and I will creep onto the 
 highway and throw myself down in the fields, like carrion 
 which you cast from your door. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, give yourself up ! Bring shame and ruin 
 on this house, drag my daughter's honor in the dust and 
 mire of the village ! I should have been the law to you ; you 
 ought to have thought of me. Do you suppose that I believe 
 in these tears because this is the first time I ever saw you cry ? 
 Better you had cried your eyes out the day that wicked 
 thought first entered your mind, rather than have turned 
 them where you had no right. Now you cry but what am 
 I to do? Look at me. Nobody knows what I have been 
 through. It could not be worse. I want to forget, but I 
 must think think how I can hide the shame which has 
 fallen on this house, keep it out of men's sight, prevent a 
 man from being dragged from this house to prison a man 
 I brought into it to be a father to my child ! This was my 
 father's house; here my brothers lived with the fear of God 
 in their hearts, and from it they went to serve their King, 
 or to marry, or to till other fields by their labor. When they 
 re-entered these doors it was with the same honor with which 
 they went forth. Don't cry; don't hang your head. Hold 
 it high, as I do. In a few minutes the officers will be here 
 to trap us all. Though the house burn, and they are in it, 
 they shall not smell the smoke. Dry your eyes; you have 
 wept blood. Take a sip of water I wish it -was poison.
 
 260 LA MALQUERIDA ACT in 
 
 Don't drink so fast; you are overheated. The thorns have 
 torn your skin. You deserved knives. Let me wash you 
 off; it makes my blood creep to look at you. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Raimunda ! Wife ! Pity me ! You don't 
 know. Don't talk to me. No, I am the one who must 
 talk I must confess as T shall confess at the hour of my 
 doom ! You don't know how I have struggled. I have 
 wrestled all these years as with another man who was 
 stronger than I, night and day, who was dragging me where 
 I did not want to go. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But when when did that evil thought first 
 enter your mind? When was that unhappy hour? 
 
 ESTEBAN. I don't know. It came upon me like a blight, 
 all at once; it was there. All of us think some evil in our 
 lives, but the thought passes away, it does no harm; it is 
 gone. When I was a boy, one day my father beat me. 
 Quick as a flash it came to me: "I wish he was dead !" But 
 no sooner thought, than I was ashamed I was ashamed to 
 think that I had ever had such a thought. My heart stood 
 still within me for fear that God had heard, that he would 
 take him away. From that day I loved him more, and when 
 he died, years afterward, I grieved as much for that thought 
 as I did for his death, although I was a grown man. And 
 this might have been the same; but this did not go away. 
 It became more fixed the more I struggled to shake it off. 
 You can't say that I did not love you. I loved you more 
 every day! You can't sa" hat I cast my eyes on other 
 women and I had no thought of her. But wh'en I felt her 
 by me my blood took fire. When we sat down to eat, I was 
 afraid to look up. Wherever I turned she was there, before 
 me always ! At night, when we were in bed, and I was 
 lying close by you in the midnight silence of the house, all I 
 could feel was her. I could hear her breathe as if her lips
 
 ACT in LA MALQUERIDA 261 
 
 had been at my ear. I wept for spite, for bitterness ! I 
 prayed to God, I scourged myself. I could have killed my- 
 self and her ! Words cannot tell the horror I went through. 
 The few times that we were alone, I ran from her like a 
 wild man. If I had stayed I don't know what might have 
 happened: I might have kissed her, I might have dug my 
 knife into her ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, you were mad and you did not know it. 
 It could only have ended in death. Why didn't we find some 
 man for her? She could have married. You ought not to 
 have kept her from Norbert. 
 
 ESTEBAN. It was not her marrying, it was her going away. 
 I could not live without the feel of her; I craved her day and 
 night. All her hate, her spite, her turning away which she 
 always did cut me to the heart; then, I came to depend 
 upon it. I could not live without it; it was part of my life. 
 That is what it was I didn't realize it myself, because it 
 always seemed to me as if it could not be such things could 
 not really be. I was afraid to face it. But now, I have con- 
 fessed it to you. It is true ! It is true ! I can never for- 
 give myself, not even though you might forgive me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. The evil cannot be cured by forgiveness; if 
 I do not forgive you, it will not take the evil away. When I 
 first heard of it, it seemed to me that no punishment could be 
 too severe. Now, I don't know. To do what you did, you 
 must have been all evil. But you were always kind and good, 
 in season and out, to my daughter, when she was a child, 
 when she was grown and to u^ I have seen it with my 
 own eyes. You were good to all the servants from the day 
 that you entered this house, to the men, to everybody who 
 came near. You have been faithful and loyal, and worked 
 hard for the honor of this house. A man cannot be good so 
 long and become all bad in one day. Yet these things are;
 
 262 LA MALQUERIDA ACT in 
 
 I know it. It chills my heart. When my mother was alive 
 God rest her soul ! we always laughed because she used 
 to say that many a deed had been foretold in this world 
 that afterward took place exactly as it had been foretold. 
 We never believed it, but now I know it is true. The dead 
 do not leave us when they die, though we lay them in the 
 ground. They walk by the side of those that they loved 
 in this life, of those that they hated with a hate that was 
 stronger than death. They are with us, day and night. We 
 do not see them, but they whisper in our ears. They put 
 thoughts into our minds which are evil and wicked and 
 strange, which we never can believe could be part of our- 
 selves. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Do you mean ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Vengeance ! This is vengeance from the other 
 world. My daughter's father will not forgive me in heaven ; 
 he will never accept a second father for his child. There are 
 some things which we cannot explain in this life. A good 
 man like you cannot, all of a sudden, cease to be good; for 
 you were good. . . . 
 
 ESTEBAN. I was I was always. When you say it, you 
 don't know what happiness, what boundless joy it is to me ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Hush ! Not so loud ! I hear some one in the 
 other part of the house. It is Norbert's father and his friends. 
 They are going to take him away. If it had been the judge 
 he would have come to this door. Stay here; I'll find out. 
 Go in and wash; change your shirt. Don't let any one see 
 you like this. You look. . . . 
 
 ESTEBAN. Like a murderer, eh ? Say it. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, no, Esteban ! We mustn't dwell on these 
 things. We must stop this talk; that is first. Then we can 
 think. Acacia can go to the nuns for a few days at Encinar. 
 They are fond of her; they always ask how she is. Then
 
 ACT in LA MALQUERIDA 263 
 
 I can write to my sister-in-law, Eugenia; she likes her. 
 She can go to Andrada and live with her. She migM marry, 
 who knows ? There are fine boys there the town is rich 
 and she is the best match in our village. Then she could 
 come back and have her children, and we would be grand- 
 father and grandmother, and grow old with them around us, 
 and be happy once more in this house. If only. . . . 
 
 ESTEBAN. What? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. If only. . . . 
 
 ESTEBAN. The dead man. 
 
 RAIMUN-DA. Yes. He will always be here, between us. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Always. The rest we can forget. 
 
 [Goes into the room. 
 ACACIA enters. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Acacia ! Were you there ? 
 
 ACACIA. Yes. Why not? Can't you see? Norbert's 
 father is here with the men. 
 
 RAEMUNDA. What are they doing? 
 
 ACACIA. They seem more reasonable; they were surprised 
 to find him better. Now they are waiting for the judge. 
 He is down at Sotillo examining the men. He will come 
 here as soon as he is done. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I'll keep an eye on them. 
 
 ACACIA. I have something to say to you first, mother. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You? Something to say? What is the 
 matter with you? I am frightened. You never say any- 
 thing. 
 
 ACACIA. I heard what you mean to do with me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. You were listening at the keyhole, were you? 
 
 ACACIA. Yes, because it was my duty to hear. I had to 
 know what you were doing with this man. It seems that 
 I am the one who is in the way in this house. I have done
 
 264 LA MALQUERIDA ACT m 
 
 nothing wrong, so I have to take the blame, while you stay 
 here and enjoy yourself with your husband. You forgive 
 him and turn me out, so that you can be alone together ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What are you talking about? Who is turn- 
 ing you out? Who ever put that idea into your head? 
 
 ACACIA. I heard what you said. You want to send me 
 to the convent at Encinar and shut me up, I suppose, for the 
 rest of my life. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. How can you say such a thing? Didn't you 
 tell me yourself that you wanted to go there and stay for a 
 few days with the nuns ? Didn't I refuse to let you go for 
 fear that you would never come back, if you once saw the 
 inside of the cloister ? How often have you begged me to let 
 you go to your Aunt Eugenia? Now, when it would be a 
 good thing for us all, for the good of the family, which is 
 your family I tell you that we must hold our heads high 
 now what do you want me to do? Do you expect me to 
 give up my husband the man it was your duty to love as 
 a father ? 
 
 ACACIA. You are as bad as Juliana. I suppose it was all 
 my fault? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. I don't say that. But he never looked on 
 you as a daughter because you were never a daughter to 
 him. 
 
 ACACIA. I suppose I flaunted myself in his face? I sup- 
 pose I made him kill Faustino? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Not so loud ! Somebody might hear ! 
 
 ACACIA. Well, this time you won't find it so easy to have 
 your way. You want to save this man and hush it up, but 
 I am going to tell what I know to the judge, to everybody. 
 I have only my honor to think of, not that of a man who 
 hasn't any, who never had any who is a criminal ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Silence ! Not so loud ! It freezes my heart
 
 ACTIII LA MALQUERIDA 265 
 
 to hear you. You hate him and I had almost forgiven 
 him ! 
 
 ACACIA. Yes, I do hate him. I always did hate him, and 
 he knows it. If he doesn't want me to speak, to denounce 
 him, let him kill me. I can die that is what I can do 
 die. Let him kill me ! Then, perhaps, once for all, you 
 might learn to hate him. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Hush, I say ! Here he comes. [ESTEBAN 
 enters] Esteban ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. She is right. She is not the one who ought to 
 go. Only I don't want her to give me up. I will do it my- 
 self. I am strong now. I will go out on the road to meet 
 them. Let me go, Raimunda. You have your child. 
 You forgive me, but she never will. She hated me from the 
 beginning. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. No, Esteban, don't you go! Esteban, my 
 life! 
 
 ESTEBAN. No, let me go, or I will call Norbert's father. 
 I will tell him. . . . 
 
 RAIMUNDA. [To ACACIA] Now you see what you have 
 done. It was your fault. Esteban ! Esteban ! 
 
 ACACIA. Mother, don't let him go ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Ah ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. No, she wants to betray me. Why did you 
 hate me like this? You never once called me father. You 
 don't know how I loved you ! 
 
 ACACIA. Mother, mother 
 
 ESTEBAN. La Malquerida I The Passion Flower ! I hang 
 my head. But once once how I could have loved you ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. For once, call him father. 
 
 ESTEBAN. She will never forgive me. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But she must ! Throw your arms about his
 
 266 LA MALQUERIDA ACT ni 
 
 neck. Call him father. Even the dead will forgive us 
 then, and be happy in our happiness. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Daughter! 
 
 ACACIA. Esteban !. . . . My God ! Esteban ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. Ah! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. But you don't call him father. Has she 
 fainted ? Ah ! Lip to lip, and you clutch her in your arms ! 
 Let go, let go ! Now I see why you won't call him father. 
 Now I see that it was your fault and I curse you ! 
 
 ACACIA. Yes, it was. Kill me ! It is true, it is true ! He 
 is the only man I ever loved. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Ah ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. What do you say? What is that? I will 
 kill you yes, and be damned with it ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. Stand back ! 
 
 ACACIA. Save me ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. Stand back, I say! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Ah ! Now I see ! It is plain to me now. 
 And it is just as well ! What is one murder to me ? We can 
 all die. Here ! Come, everybody ! The murderer ! I have 
 the murderer! Take this wicked woman, for she is not my 
 child! 
 
 ACACIA. Run ! Get away ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. Yes, together to hell ! For I am damned for 
 love of you. Come ! They can hunt us like wild beasts 
 among the rocks. To love you and hold you, I will be as the 
 wild beasts, that know neither father nor mother ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Help ! Help ! Come quick ! The murderer ! 
 The murderer ! 
 
 RUBIO, BERNABE and JULIANA appear simultaneously 
 at different doors, followed by others from the village. 
 
 ESTEBAN. Out of my way ! Take care who crosses me ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Stay where you are ! The murderer !
 
 ACT in LA MALQUERIDA 267 
 
 ESTEBAN. Out of my way, I tell you ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Over my dead body ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. Yes [Raising his gun he shoots RAIMUNDA. 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Ah! 
 
 JULIANA. God in heaven ! Raimunda ! 
 
 RUBIO. What have you done? 
 
 A MAN. Kill him ! 
 
 ESTEBAN. Yes, kill me ! I don't defend myself. 
 
 BERNABE. No ! Put the law on him ! 
 
 JULIANA. It was this man, this wretched man ! Raimunda ! 
 He has killed her ! Raimunda ! Don't you hear ? 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Yes, Juliana. Don't let me die without con- 
 fession. I am dying now. This blood. . . . No matter 
 Acacia ! Acacia ! 
 
 JULIANA. Acacia! Where is she? 
 
 ACACIA. Mother, mother ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. Ah ! Then you are not crying for him ? It 
 consoles me. 
 
 ACACIA. No, mother ! You are my mother ! 
 
 JULIANA. She is dying ! Quick Raimunda ! 
 
 ACACIA. Mother, mother ! 
 
 RAIMUNDA. This man cannot harm you now. You are 
 saved. Blessed be the blood that saves, the blood of our 
 Lord Jesus Christ ! 
 
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