of Puteoli and Baiæ: It is with feelings of peculiar emotion that
I rise to propose that toast, which of all toasts is the nearest
to the heart and leaps most readily to the lips of a Roman--I
mean, of course, the toast of our beloved Emperor. I may say that
in all the vast extent of this Empire, of which we are so justly
proud, the Emperor has no more loyal subjects than those of Baiæ
and--(_cheers_)--of Puteoli. (_Cheers._) Although in the past we of
Puteoli may not always have been able to see eye to eye with our
neighbours of Baiæ, in matters of local administration, to-day,
happily, all such rivalry has ended. And to whom is this due? To
whom but the Emperor, who, with his knowledge of the Roman heart,
has had the happy, the graceful, nay, more, the truly Imperial and
the truly Roman idea of joining the two cities by this elegant and
monumental bridge. (_Loud cheers._) We of Puteoli are not quick to
forget the benefit we have received in the past from the Imperial
Family. And some of us who are here present remember that auspicious
and never-to-be-forgotten day when the Emperor’s illustrious father,
the ever-memorable Germanicus--(_loud and prolonged cheers_)--I say
many of us here present will recall that thrice-memorable occasion
when the illustrious Germanicus--(_loud cheers_)--paid us a visit.
Romans, I have no wish to rake up things which are better forgotten;
I have no desire to abuse the ashes of him who, whatever his faults
and his failings may have been, is now for ever beyond the reach
of our recrimination. We Romans have a proverb which says: “Of the
dead nothing but good”--(_cheers_)--and you, citizens of Puteoli
and Baiæ, have ever strictly observed, both by precept and by
practice, the wisdom that has been handed down to us in the popular
phrases of the Roman people. (_Cheers._) Therefore, it is with no
fear of being misunderstood, and in no carping or unjust spirit,
that I say that the example which our beloved Emperor Caligula is
daily setting us, both in peace and in war, and in all the arts
and graces of life--this example is, I say, as it were, heightened
when we--and we of Puteoli and Baiæ are especially sensible of the
fact--when we think of the shortcomings and the mistakes of the late
and unfortunate Tiberius--(_hisses and groans_)--shortcomings and
mistakes to which our present Emperor put so swift an end, and out
of whose ashes he bade our Empire and our Government, our internal
affairs and our foreign policy, rise rejuvenated and splendid like
the Phœnix. (_Cheers._) Citizens, I will detain you no longer. All I
will say is this: so long as we have at the head of us one who is the
pattern of what a Roman gentleman should be, one who is at the same
time the elder brother and the father of his people, so long as this
shall be, so long will the Roman Empire, throughout all its length
and breadth, act together in that same spirit of fraternal love and
unity, bound by ties as strong as that with which our Emperor has
to-day united and linked the people of Baiæ to the people of Puteoli.
Citizens, I propose the health of the divine Emperor. (_Loud cheers.
The toast is drunk with enthusiasm._)
HYGERIUS. A first-rate speech.
THE PREFECT OF BAIÆ (_rises_). Citizens, it is with the keenest sense
of my unfitness to so exalted a task that I rise to propose the toast
which is second on our list, that toast which of all others, with
the exception of that which we have just drunk, is most grateful to
Roman ears, namely, the Army. (_Cheers._) Although not a soldier
myself, my heart is with the Army; but I will go farther, I will
say that all of us, whatever our avocations may be, whether we be
lawyers, merchants, engineers, painters, poets, philosophers, are in
a sense soldiers of the Emperor. (_Cheers._) And Peace, citizens, has
its battles as well as War. (_Loud cheers._) To-day we are gathered
together to celebrate one of those battles--a battle which has ended
in a triumph. (_Cheers._) [DEMOPHILUS (_aside_). What battle?] I
allude to the completion of this handsome bridge--(_cheers_)--which
is a notable--I may even say an unparalleled example--of the
triumph of man’s will over the elements. As the immortal poet
Camerinus--(_cheers_)--has said:
O’er vanquished Nature Man shall spread his sway,
And force the fretful ocean to obey.
(_Cheers._)
And while the utmost credit is due to the skill and patience with
which the engineers, Demonax and Hegias, of Corinth, have executed
their stupendous task, still greater praise is due to the Emperor,
in whose fertile brain the great idea had its origin, and without
whose unceasing aid and constant interest, it could never have been
completed. (_Cheers._) We of Baiæ know how keen was that interest,
how valuable that aid, and we will never forget it. I have said,
citizens, we are all of us in a sense soldiers, and it is a sight
like this, an occasion such as to-day’s, that brings home to every
Roman the self-sacrifice, the patience, the stubborn will, and the
dogged persistence--qualities all of them essentially military--of
the Roman race. I therefore propose the health of the Army, coupled
with the name of its glorious Commander-in-Chief, the Emperor. (_Loud
cheers. The toast is drunk._)
SEVERUS. He misquoted Camerinus.
[_A_ PRÆTORIAN OFFICER _rises._
THE PRÆTORIAN OFFICER. Citizens, my trade is to speak and not
to act--I mean to act and not to speak. (_Loud cheers._) I am a
humble particle of what has so rightly been called the great dumb
one. (_Cheers._) I thank you all very much for drinking the last
toast, and I in my turn have great pleasure in proposing the toast
which comes next on the list, namely, the toast of Literature.
(_Cheers._) I am not much of a literary man myself, but I greatly
enjoy reading the description of battles in the works of that poet
who, though not a Roman by birth, is practically a Roman--I mean
Homer--(_cheers_)--and also in the great epic of our Roman Homer, I
mean Camerinus. (_Loud cheers._) I propose the toast of Literature,
coupled with that of the divine Emperor, who, as we all know, is a
first-rate author himself. (_Cheers._)
[EROTIANUS, _an elderly poet, rises to reply._
EROTIANUS. Citizens, great and immortal names have been mentioned
to-day. Homer, Camerinus, have lent by the very mention of their
names a diviner light to this already illustrious occasion. Nor
has our gallant friend in his masterly oration failed to remind
us of the talents, the brilliant and exceptional literary gifts,
of our noble Master. (_Cheers._) I am the last person who should
address you on this theme. (_Cries of No, No._) We had hoped that
Seneca--(_cheers_)--whose verses are for ever on our lips, would
be present. Unfortunately a bad cold has detained him in Rome.
Æsculapius has conquered the Muses--(_cries of Shame_)--and instead
of a brilliant literary light you have the flicker of a new artisan
in the field of letters. (_Cries of No, No._) I am, if I may say
so, no more than a humble shepherd on the slopes of Parnassus. But,
citizens, those slopes are so high and so wide that there is room on
them for the greatest, such as Homer and Ovid--(_cheers_)--and for
more humble but none the less painstaking, such as Virgil and myself.
(_Cheers._) I will now proceed to read to you a short epic in six
cantos which I have prepared for this occasion. (_Cheers. He clears
his throat._) It is called “The Bridge.” (_Cheers._)
[_The_ EMPEROR _makes a signal, upon which a regiment of
Prætorians, concealed in a neighbouring tent, rush among the
guests armed with swords and sharp tridents, and proceed to toss
them into the sea. The meal breaks up in confusion. Some of the
guests escape, but a large number are drowned, including_
EROTIANUS.
CURTAIN.
XI
THE AULIS DIFFICULTY
SCENE.--AGAMEMNON’S _tent at Aulis. Discovered:_ AGAMEMNON
_seated at a camp table writing._
_Enter_ IPHIGENIA
IPHIGENIA. Do you want to speak to me, papa?
AGAMEMNON (_nervously_). Yes, yes, a moment. (_A pause._)
IPHIGENIA. Well?
AGAMEMNON. Sit down--on that chair--it’s more comfortable there.... I
... er.... (_A pause._)
IPHIGENIA. If you’ve got nothing particular to say, papa, I’ll go, if
you don’t mind; because mamma wants me to help her with the dinner.
The cook is quite helpless----
AGAMEMNON. Wait a minute. I do want to speak to you very
particularly.... (_A pause._)... It’s a lovely day again to-day.
IPHIGENIA. Really, papa----
AGAMEMNON. It’s not so irrelevant as you think. You see, there’s not
a breath of wind.
IPHIGENIA. I know. They say it’s quite impossible for you to start.
AGAMEMNON. We shall have been here two months next Tuesday.
IPHIGENIA. You mean next Saturday.
AGAMEMNON. Tuesday or Saturday, it’s all the same.
IPHIGENIA. It’s a mercy we did stop here. Mamma says that your linen
was in a dreadful state, and that if she hadn’t come out she doesn’t
know how you would have managed.
AGAMEMNON. Yes, I don’t say that the stay hasn’t been of some use;
but now it is absolutely essential that we should get to Troy.
IPHIGENIA. Why don’t you start to-day?
AGAMEMNON. Whenever we put to sea there’s either no wind at all, or a
gale which drives us straight back home.
IPHIGENIA. It is very tiresome, but it can’t be helped, can it?
AGAMEMNON. Well, that’s just it. I’m afraid it can be helped.
IPHIGENIA. What do you mean, papa?
AGAMEMNON. To cut a long story short, Calchas consulted the Oracle
this morning, and it appears, he says, I mean the Oracle said, or
rather the goddess----
IPHIGENIA. Which goddess?
AGAMEMNON. Artemis.
IPHIGENIA. Oh, she’s impossible.
AGAMEMNON. Well, as I told you, Calchas says that it is Artemis who
is causing the delay by sending us adverse winds, and----
IPHIGENIA. Can’t something be done?
AGAMEMNON. That is precisely the point. The goddess has, through the
Oracle, suggested a way out of the difficulty, and it concerns you.
IPHIGENIA. Me? What can I have to do with it?
AGAMEMNON. Now, my dearest Iphigenia, I want you to be reasonable.
You always were a sensible girl, and I want you to bring all your
good sense to bear on this ... in this ... er ... trying occasion.
IPHIGENIA. I don’t understand.
AGAMEMNON. I will go straight to the point. Artemis says that we
shall never leave Aulis unless you consent to go through the form of
being sacrificed to her.
IPHIGENIA. What do you mean by “going through the form”?
AGAMEMNON. I mean that in all probability ... in fact, quite
certainly, the sacrifice would be purely a formal one, and that there
is every chance ... in fact, I may say it is almost certain that one
of the other gods or goddesses would intervene at the last moment and
prevent the sacrifice from being fatal.
IPHIGENIA. You mean to say that there is not the slightest chance of
my being killed--that it’s only a farce?
AGAMEMNON. I won’t go so far as that ... but I will say that as far
as we know every precedent in the past----
IPHIGENIA. Oh, bother the precedents. What I want to know is this: Is
there the slightest chance of my being _really_ sacrificed?
AGAMEMNON. It is highly improbable, of course; only you _must_
consent; you must behave exactly as if you were going to be
sacrificed; you must express your entire willingness to lay down your
life for your country; and knowing what a patriotic, obedient, filial
child you are, I am certain this will be a positive pleasure to you.
IPHIGENIA. I won’t.
AGAMEMNON. You mean you won’t even pretend to----
IPHIGENIA. I won’t have anything to do with it at all--I think it’s
monstrous, and I’m sure mamma will agree with me.
AGAMEMNON. My dearest child, let me beg of you not to say a word
about this to your mother just yet.
IPHIGENIA. Of course I shall tell her. (_Enter Clytæmnestra._) Here
is mamma. Mamma----
CLYTÆMNESTRA. What is all this?
IPHIGENIA. Papa says I must be sacrificed to Artemis, in order that
they may have a smooth passage to Troy, and to prevent Ajax being
sea-sick. I say I won’t. (_She begins to cry._)
CLYTÆMNESTRA (_taking her in her arms_). Of course you shan’t, my
love--my darling. (_To_ AGAMEMNON) What is this ridiculous nonsense?
AGAMEMNON. I assure you it is not my doing. I merely repeated what
Calchas had said. He consulted the Oracle, and it appears that
Artemis is vexed: she is, in fact, very much displeased. She says we
shall never leave Aulis unless Iphigenia consents to go through the
form of being sacrificed--of course it’s only a matter of form--but
she must consent.
CLYTÆMNESTRA. I see. As long as I’m here my child shall not degrade
herself by being a party to any ridiculous farce of this nature. I
don’t care a bit if we do stay here. You ought never to have come
here for one thing. I always said it was absurd from the first--just
because of Helen’s silly escapade. If you can’t get a fair wind
you’ll have to go home; but you shan’t touch Iphigenia.
_Enter a_ MAID
THE MAID (_to_ CLYTÆMNESTRA). The cook wants to know whether the fish
are to be boiled or fried.
CLYTÆMNESTRA (_angrily_). I told her fried. (_To_ AGAMEMNON) I must
go and look after her. I’ll be back in a moment.
[_Exit_ CLYTÆMNESTRA.
AGAMEMNON. There, you see what you’ve done. You’ve set your mother
against the whole plan.
IPHIGENIA (_crying_). I hope I have. Of course, if you want to kill
me, please do ... just (_sobbing_) as if I were a sheep.
AGAMEMNON. My dear child, do be calm. Who ever talked of killing----
_Enter_ CALCHAS
AGAMEMNON. She won’t hear of it.
CALCHAS. My dear child, please be sensible and think of the interests
at stake. Remember you are grown up, and we grown-up people have to
face these things.
IPHIGENIA. I don’t care what you say, I won’t be sacrificed--I won’t
be killed like a sheep.
CALCHAS. Even if the worst came to the worst, I promise you you would
feel no pain. I assure you we have reached a pitch of perfection in
the working of these things which makes all accidents impossible.
Besides, think of the honour and the glory.
AGAMEMNON. And it’s not as if she would be killed _really_.
CALCHAS. It’s extremely improbable; but even if she were to lose
consciousness and not recover, I am sure most girls would envy her.
Just think, your statue would be put up in every city in Greece.
AGAMEMNON. All the poets would celebrate her.
CALCHAS. You see it’s not as if she were married.
AGAMEMNON. She has always refused every one.
CALCHAS. And now it’s too late.
AGAMEMNON. Girls are so independent nowadays.
CALCHAS. They think nothing of tradition, country, or of the respect
they owe their parents. They are ungrateful.
AGAMEMNON. They never think of what they owe the goddesses. In my
time....
_Enter_ ODYSSEUS
IPHIGENIA. I don’t care what you say. I won’t be sacrificed. (_She
bursts into tears._)
[ODYSSEUS _whispers to_ AGAMEMNON _and_
CALCHAS _to withdraw. They go out._
ODYSSEUS. And how is our little Iphigenia to-day?
IPHIGENIA (_drying her eyes_). Quite well, thank you; only papa wants
to kill me.
ODYSSEUS. Kill you, my dear child! I assure you you are mistaken.
Nobody, and least of all your father, could dream of such a thing.
You are the life and soul of the expedition. It was only this morning
I wrote to Penelope to tell her how well you were looking and what a
difference it made to all of us your being here.
IPHIGENIA. Papa wants me to be sacrificed.
ODYSSEUS. You can’t have understood your father. Let me explain it
to you. You know what Artemis is; she’s a charming goddess--quite
charming--only she’s touchy. Well, she happens to be very much put
out at this moment by the attention that has been paid to the other
goddesses; and by a very regrettable oversight her sacrifice has
been neglected once or twice lately. Of course she is put out; but,
believe me, the situation only requires tact--just a little tact ...
and we all want you to help us.... You see if you don’t help us we
are lost, and the whole expedition may be ruined, all just for the
want of a little tact at the right moment. Now, nobody can help us
as well as you can. You see Artemis has taken a peculiar fancy to
you. She admires you enormously. I happen to know this on the very
best authority. She thinks you are far more beautiful than your Aunt
Helen. At the same time she is just a shade hurt that you never take
any notice of her. Now, what we want you to do is to consent to our
stratagem: a delicate piece of flattery which will soothe Artemis and
make everything all right. All you will have to do is to wear the
most beautiful dress--white and silver--and a band of wrought gold
studded with rubies round your head, and to walk with your wonderful
hair reaching almost to your feet, in a procession of weeping maidens
to the Temple; and there, after the usual prayers and chants, you
will sing a hymn to Artemis, especially composed for the occasion,
to a flute accompaniment; then, in the gaze of all the crowd, you
will kneel down before the altar, and Artemis, flattered and pleased,
will carry you off in a cloud, and substitute a sheep or something
else for you. Every one will praise you; you will have had all the
amusement of the festival, all the glory and honour of the sacrifice,
and none of the inconvenience.
IPHIGENIA (_pensively_). It would be rather fun. Are you sure I
shouldn’t risk being killed really? Calchas said I probably would.
ODYSSEUS. Calchas knows nothing about it at all. I promise you that
it’s just as safe as if you were going to sing at the festival of
Bacchus.
IPHIGENIA. But what will happen to me afterwards?
ODYSSEUS. That must be a secret between you and me. Artemis has
arranged that a charming young man shall carry you away. I need not
mention his name, as you know it too well. It begins with an A. But
the marriage must remain a secret until after the siege.
IPHIGENIA. All right, I will do it. I mean I will pretend to consent,
but there must be no question of its really coming off. That you must
swear.
ODYSSEUS. I swear we shall sacrifice a sheep instead of you, or if
the worst comes to the worst Achilles’ slave, who is so like you.
IPHIGENIA. And then I shall really marry Achilles.
_Enter_ CLYTÆMNESTRA
ODYSSEUS (_to_ CLYTÆMNESTRA). It’s all settled; only don’t discuss it
with Agamemnon. He doesn’t quite know how to deal with goddesses. He
is--you forgive me saying so--a little bit heavy.
CLYTÆMNESTRA (_to_ IPHIGENIA). You don’t mean to say you’ve
consented. I forbid it.... I am your mother, and I positively forbid
you to do any such thing.
IPHIGENIA. I’m of age. I’m old enough to judge what I can do and what
I can’t do. It’s my duty, and it’s a question of principle; and if
I choose to be sacrificed, nobody has the right to prevent me. And
I _do_ choose. The one thing I’ve always longed for all my life has
been to die for my country.
[_Exit_ IPHIGENIA _in a passion._
[ODYSSEUS _looks at_ CLYTÆMNESTRA _and smiles._
CLYTÆMNESTRA. Serpent!
CURTAIN.
XII
DON JUAN’S FAILURE
LUCASTA. My mother will be down directly, if you don’t mind waiting.
DON JUAN. On the contrary, I could wait a hundred years in the
company of one whom I know not whether she be a goddess or a mortal.
LUCASTA (_blushing_). It’s very kind of you to say so, sir, but I am
very busy this morning. I am wanted at the farm to see about the cows.
DON JUAN. Fortunate cows! But cannot they wait a moment? Surely there
is no desperate hurry?
LUCASTA. I am late already, sir, and I am loath to keep people
waiting.
DON JUAN. How nice, how considerate and charming of you. I adore
those who are loath to keep others waiting. It is the revelation of a
delightful nature. I am sure we shall be friends. I feel as if we had
always known one another.
LUCASTA. Oh, sir, but I do not even know your name! I only know you
are the Spanish nobleman who was expected.
DON JUAN (_proudly_). My name is one you may perhaps have heard of. I
am Don Juan of Seville.
LUCASTA. One of our ponies is called Don Juan--the old one. It takes
the children out in a cart; but he’s lame now.
DON JUAN (_vexed_). You must let me give you a horse, a fiery steed
fit to carry you, for I’m sure you ride like Diana, and you shall
call that Don Juan.
LUCASTA. Thank you, sir, but my mother says one must never accept
gifts from strangers.
DON JUAN. But I am not a stranger. You must not look upon me as a
stranger. You must look upon me as a friend.
LUCASTA. Mistress Markham says that one has no right to call people
friends until one has known them for seven years.
DON JUAN. Who is Mistress Markham?
LUCASTA. She is our governess.
DON JUAN. She knows nothing about it. Believe me, all governesses are
fools.
LUCASTA. Not Mistress Markham. She knows everything--even the Greek
irregular verbs.
DON JUAN. Well, let us admit, then, that there is only one thing she
doesn’t know.
LUCASTA. What, sir?
DON JUAN. The birth, the growth, and the nature of our friendship.
May not I claim to be a friend? You surely do not wish to regard me
as an enemy?
LUCASTA (_after reflecting_). Well, I suppose there’s no harm;
because I do not suppose it is wrong to make friends with old people.
DON JUAN (_laughing uneasily_). I am old enough to claim friendship
with you; but I am not so old as all that. Do I look so very old?
LUCASTA (_blushing_). Oh no, sir. I never meant that, I’m sure. All I
meant was that you were old compared with my friends.
DON JUAN. Have you many friends?
LUCASTA. Oh yes! There’s Harry, who has just left school; and Philip,
he is a student at Oxford; and Valentine, he is about to join the
Yeomanry; and my cousin Dick, he is my greatest friend.
DON JUAN. How old is he?
LUCASTA. He left school six months ago. He’s going to be a great
soldier, like Sir Philip Sidney.
DON JUAN. Oh! and are you very fond of him?
LUCASTA. Very. He plays tennis better than any one. Do you play
tennis, sir?
DON JUAN. I’m afraid I don’t.
LUCASTA. Bowls?
DON JUAN. I’m afraid not either.
LUCASTA. Rounders?
DON JUAN. I’m afraid I don’t play any games except draughts and
lansquenet.
LUCASTA. Lansquenet and draughts are indoor games. We don’t count
them. Cousin Dick says they are all very well for women.
DON JUAN. You see, I never have time for that kind of thing.
LUCASTA. Are you an officer, sir?
DON JUAN. Oh no!
LUCASTA. A sailor?
DON JUAN. No; I hate the sea.
LUCASTA. I suppose you are a discoverer. Spaniards are such great
travellers.
DON JUAN. No; I have only travelled in Europe and for pleasure.
LUCASTA. How stupid of me, sir. You are, of course, a diplomatist.
DON JUAN. No; I am merely a gentleman at large.
LUCASTA. Do you mean you follow no profession?
DON JUAN. No profession exactly, but many occupations.
LUCASTA. But how do you contrive to pass the time?
DON JUAN. Well, you see, we Spaniards are different from you English.
We are less practical, and more--what shall I say?--more fiery, more
impatient, more romantic. We consider it quite enough for a man who
is a Spaniard and a nobleman as I am, nay, more, we consider that
such a man can have no nobler occupation than to devote his life, his
heart, his brain to the constant and daily service and worship of a
beautiful woman.
LUCASTA. Oh, I see; you are engaged to be married.
DON JUAN. No, alas!
LUCASTA. Haven’t you got enough money to marry on?
DON JUAN. It’s not that: my purse is equal to my station.
LUCASTA. Her parents, I suppose, have refused their consent.
DON JUAN. I have not yet asked them.
LUCASTA. I wish you all success, sir.
DON JUAN. But you don’t understand, most charming and gracious of
Englishwomen. It is true that I love. I am consumed with a love which
will never diminish nor die, a love that burns within me like a
raging fever; but I have not yet dared to speak it. The divine and
adorable creature whom I worship does not suspect the cruel plight I
am in. She ignores my flame.
LUCASTA. Why do you not tell her, sir?
DON JUAN. Ah! That is so easily said! But what if she were to take
offence? What if I were by a too sudden and abrupt declaration of
the passion that consumes me to nip in the bud all chance of my love
finding a response in her breast? What if I by a too hasty word were
to shatter my hopes for ever?
LUCASTA. Is she so very young? Pardon me, sir, if I am wrong in
asking.
DON JUAN. You could never do wrong. No fault could ever mar those
faultless lips. (LUCASTA _blushes._) I will tell you she is very
young, and I have only seen her once.
LUCASTA. Then it was a case of love at first sight?
DON JUAN. Yes, but love is a weak word to express the great wave
which has carried me away.
LUCASTA. They say that love at first sight is often mutual.
DON JUAN. I pray Heaven that it may be so in this case; but I doubt
if she has guessed my sweet and bitter secret. She is so young, so
innocent.
LUCASTA. Is she fair or dark, sir?
DON JUAN. Her hair is the colour of your hair, and, like yours, it
has the glitter of sunshine, with miraculous shades and adorable
crisping curls like those that wreathe your brow. Her skin is like
yours; that is to say, a rose lately sprinkled with dew. Her eyes
are the colour of your eyes; that is to say, they have the radiance
of the azure sky and depth of the summer sea. Her nose is the
pictured semblance of your nose, delicate as a flower, tip-tilted,
transparent, enchanting. Her lips are like your lips; they put to
shame ripe cherries, red roses, and rubies; and her teeth are like
your teeth, more perfect than Orient pearls. She has your carriage,
your grace and rhythm of movement, the stately poise of your head,
and the divine contour of your form. She has the radiance of your
smile and the laughing music of your speech.
LUCASTA. It is very kind of you, sir, to compare me to so
well-favoured a person.
DON JUAN. I am not comparing you to her. I am comparing her to you.
Until this morning I did not know that such beauty could live and
breathe.
LUCASTA. Did you see her this morning for the first time?
DON JUAN. Yes, it was this morning; to-day is the fatal day that has
changed the earth for me to a giddy ladder suspended between heaven
and hell.
LUCASTA. Then I know who it is. It is Electra Harrington our
neighbour. You saw her on your way here.
DON JUAN. Believe me, it was no Electra Harrington. Electra
Harrington would be a wrinkled hag in comparison with the goddess
whom I worship. But tell me, do you think I might dare to plead my
cause? Do you think there is the frailest hope of her listening to my
suit?
LUCASTA. Why not? I am sure, sir, any girl would feel very much
flattered at the attentions of a nobleman such as yourself.
DON JUAN. But you said I was old.