and Hypolito._
_P. Cura._ So then, Señor, you come from Alcalá.
I’m glad to hear it. It was there I studied.
_Hyp._ And left behind an honored name, no doubt.
How may I call your grace?
_P. Cura._ Gerónimo
De Santillana; at your honor’s service.
_Hyp._ Descended from the Marquis Santillana?
From the distinguished poet?
_P. Cura._ From the marquis,
Not from the poet.
_Hyp._ Why, they were the same.
Let me embrace you! O some lucky star
Has brought me hither! Yet once more—once more.
(_Embraces him violently._)
Your name is ever green in Alcalá,
And our professor, when we are unruly,
Will shake his hoary head, and say; _Alas!_
_It was not so in Santillana’s time!_
_P. Cura._ I did not think my name remember’d there.
_Hyp._ More than remember’d; it is idolized.
_P. Cura._ Of what professor speak you?
_Hyp._ Timoneda.
_P. Cura._ I don’t remember any Timoneda.
_Hyp._ A grave and sombre man, whose beetling brow
O’erhangs the rushing current of his speech
As rocks o’er rivers hang. Have you forgotten?
_P. Cura._ Indeed, I have. O those were pleasant days,
Those college days! I ne’er shall see the like!
I had not buried then so many hopes!
I had not buried then so many friends!
I’ve turn’d my back on what was then before me;
And the bright faces of my young companions
Are wrinkled like mine own, or are no more.
Do you remember Cueva?
_Hyp._ Cueva? Cueva?
_P. Cura._ Fool that I am! He was before your time.
You are mere boys, and I am an old man.
_Hyp._ I should not like to try my strength with you.
_P. Cura._ Well, well. But I forget; you must be hungry.
Martina! ho! Martina! ’Tis my niece;
A daughter of my sister. What! Martina!
(_Enter Martina._)
_Hyp._ You may be proud of such a niece as that.
I wish I had a niece. _Emollit mores!_ (_Aside._)
He was a very great man, was Cicero!
Your servant, fair Martina.
_Mar._ Servant, sir.
_P. Cura._ This gentleman is hungry. See thou to it.
Let us have supper.
_Mar._ ’Twill be ready soon.
_P. Cura._ And bring a bottle of my Val-de-Peñas
Out of the cellar. Stay; I’ll go myself.
Pray you, Señor, excuse me. [_Exit._
_Hyp._ (_beckoning off._) Hist! Martina!
One word with you. Bless me! what handsome eyes!
To-day there have been gipsies in the village.
Is it not so?
_Mar._ There have been gipsies here.
_Hyp._ Yes, and they told your fortune.
_Mar._ (_embarrassed._) Told my fortune?
_Hyp._ Yes, yes; I know they did. Give me your hand.
I’ll tell you what they said. They said—they said,
The shepherd boy that loved you was a clown,
And him you should not marry. Was it not?
_Mar._ (_surprised._) How know you that?
_Hyp._ O I know more than that.
What a soft little hand! And then they said
A cavalier from court, handsome and tall,
And rich, should come one day to marry you.
And you should be a lady. Was it not?
_Mar._ (_withdrawing her hand._) How know you that?
_Hyp._ O I know more than that.
He has arrived, the handsome cavalier. (_Tries to kiss her._
_She runs off._)
(_Enter Victorian, with a letter._)
_Vic._ The muleteer has come.
_Hyp._ So soon?
_Vic._ I found him
Sitting at supper by the tavern door,
And from a pitcher, that he held aloft
His whole arm’s length, drinking the blood-red wine.
_Hyp._ What news from court?
_Vic._ He brought this letter only. (_Reads._)
O cursed perfidy! Why did I let
That lying tongue deceive me! Preciosa,
Sweet Preciosa! how art thou avenged?
_Hyp._ What news is this, that makes thy cheek turn pale,
And thy hand tremble?
_Vic._ O, most infamous!
The Count of Lara is a damnéd villain!
_Hyp._ That is no news, forsooth.
_Vic._ He strove in vain
To steal from me the jewel of my soul,
The love of Preciosa. Not succeeding,
He swore to be revenged; and set on foot
A plot to ruin her, which has succeeded.
She has been hissed and hooted from the stage,
Her reputation stained by slanderous lies
Too foul to speak of; and once more a beggar
She roams a wanderer over God’s green earth,
Housing with gipsies!
_Hyp._ To renew again
The Age of Gold, and make the shepherd swains
Desperate with love, like Gaspar Gil’s Diana.
_Redit et Virgo!_
_Vic._ Dear Hypolito,
How have I wronged that meek, confiding heart!
I will go seek for her; and with my tears
Wash out the wrong I’ve done her!
_Hyp._ O beware!
Act not that folly o’er again.
_Vic._ Aye, folly,
Delusion, madness, call it what thou wilt,
I will confess my weakness—I still love her!
Still fondly love her!
(_Enter the Padre Cura._)
_Hyp._ Tell us, Padre Cura,
Who are these gipsies in the neighborhood?
_P. Cura._ Beltran Cruzado and his crew.
_Vic._ Kind Heaven,
I thank thee! She is found again! is found!
_Hyp._ And have they with them a pale, beautiful girl
Called Preciosa?
_P. Cura._ Aye, a pretty girl.
The gentleman seems moved.
_Hyp._ Yes, moved with hunger;
He is half famished with this long day’s journey.
_P. Cura._ Then, pray you, come this way. The supper waits.
[_Exeunt._