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ACT III: SCENE VI
SCENE: A pass in the Guadarrama mountains. Early morning.
A muleteer crosses the stage, sitting sideways on his mule and
lighting a paper cigar with flint and steel.
SONG.
If thou art sleeping, maiden,
Awake and open thy door,
'T is the break of day, and we must away,
O'er meadow, and mount, and moor.
Wait not to find thy slippers,
But come with thy naked feet;
We shall have to pass through the dewy grass,
And waters wide and fleet.
(Disappears down the pass. Enter a Monk. A shepherd appears on
the rocks above.)
Monk. Ave Maria, gratia plena. Ola! good man!
Sheepherd. Ola!
Monk. Is this the road to Segovia?
Sheepherd. It is, your reverence.
Monk. How far is it?
Sheepherd. I do not know.
Monk. What is that yonder in the valley?
Sheepherd. San Ildefonso.
Monk. A long way to breakfast.
Sheepherd. Ay, marry.
Monk. Are there robbers in these mountains?
Sheepherd. Yes, and worse than that.
Monk. What?
Sheepherd. Wolves.
Monk. Santa Maria! Come with me to San Ildefonso, and thou
shalt be well rewarded.
Sheepherd. What wilt thou give me?
Monk. An Agnus Dei and my benediction.
(They disappear. A mounted Contrabandista passes, wrapped in his
cloak, and a gun at his saddle-bow. He goes down the pass
singing.)
SONG.
Worn with speed is my good steed,
And I march me hurried, worried;
Onward, caballito mio,
With the white star in thy forehead!
Onward, for here comes the Ronda,
And I hear their rifles crack!
Ay, jaleo! Ay, ay, jaleo!
Ay, jaleo! They cross our track.
(Song dies away. Enter PRECIOSA, on horseback, attended by
VICTORIAN, HYPOLITO, DON CARLOS, and CHISPA, on foot, and armed.)
VICTORIAN. This is the highest point. Here let us rest.
See, Preciosa, see how all about us
Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty mountains
Receive the benediction of the sun!
O glorious sight!
PRECIOSA. Most beautiful indeed!
HYPOLITO. Most wonderful!
VICTORIAN. And in the vale below,
Where yonder steeples flash like lifted halberds,
San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries,
Sends up a salutation to the morn,
As if an army smote their brazen shields,
And shouted victory!
PRECIOSA. And which way lies Segovia?
VICTORIAN. At a great distance yonder.
Dost thou not see it?
PRECIOSA. No. I do not see it.
VICTORIAN. The merest flaw that dents the horizon's edge.
There, yonder!
HYPOLITO. 'T is a notable old town,
Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct,
And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors,
Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil Blas
Was fed on Pan del Rey. O, many a time
Out of its grated windows have I looked
Hundreds of feet plumb down to the Eresma,
That, like a serpent through the valley creeping,
Glides at its foot.
PRECIOSA. O yes! I see it now,
Yet rather with my heart than with mine eyes,
So faint it is. And all my thoughts sail thither,
Freighted with prayers and hopes, and forward urged
Against all stress of accident, as in
The Eastern Tale, against the wind and tide
Great ships were drawn to the Magnetic Mountains,
And there were wrecked, and perished in the sea!
(She weeps.)
VICTORIAN. O gentle spirit! Thou didst bear unmoved
Blasts of adversity and frosts of fate!
But the first ray of sunshine that falls on thee
Melts thee to tears! O, let thy weary heart
Lean upon mine! and it shall faint no more,
Nor thirst, nor hunger; but be comforted
And filled with my affection.
PRECIOSA. Stay no longer!
My father waits. Methinks I see him there,
Now looking from the window, and now watching
Each sound of wheels or footfall in the street,
And saying, "Hark! she comes!" O father! father!
(They descend the pass. CHISPA remains behind.)
CHISPA. I have a father, too, but he is a dead one. Alas and
alack-a-day. Poor was I born, and poor do I remain. I neither
win nor lose. Thus I was, through the world, half the time on
foot, and the other half walking; and always as merry as a
thunder-storm in the night. And so we plough along, as the fly
said to the ox. Who knows what may happen? Patience, and
shuffle the cards! I am not yet so bald that you can see my
brains; and perhaps, after all, I shall some day go to Rome, and
come back Saint Peter. Benedicite!
[Exit.
(A pause. Then enter BARTOLOME wildly, as if in pursuit, with a
carbine in his hand.)
BARTOLOME. They passed this way! I hear their horses' hoofs!
Yonder I see them! Come, sweet caramillo,
This serenade shall be the Gypsy's last!
(Fires down the pass.)
Ha! ha! Well whistled, my sweet caramillo!
Well whistled!--I have missed her!--O my God!
(The shot is returned. BARTOLOME falls).
Content of ACT III: SCENE VI
-THE END-
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's play/drama: The Spanish Student
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