Henry Longfellow - The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

All this the dead feel not—the dead alone!

Would I were with them!

Hyp. We shall all be soon.

Vict. It cannot be too soon; for I am weary

Of the bewildering masquerade of Life,

Where strangers walk as friends, and friends as strangers;

Where whispers overheard betray false hearts;

And through the mazes of the crowd we chase

Some form of loveliness, that smiles, and beckons,

And cheats us with fair words, only to leave us

A mockery and a jest; maddened—confused—

Not knowing friend from foe.

Hyp. Why seek to know?

Enjoy the merry shrove-tide of thy youth!

Take each fair mask for what it gives itself,

Nor strive to look beneath it.

Vict. I confess,

That were the wiser part. But Hope no longer

Comforts my soul. I am a wretched man,

Much like a poor and shipwrecked mariner,

Who, struggling to climb up into the boat,

Has both his bruised and bleeding hands cut off,

And sinks again into the weltering sea,

Helpless and hopeless!

Hyp. Yet thou shalt not perish.

The strength of thine own arm is thy salvation.

Above thy head, through rifted clouds, there shines

A glorious star. Be patient. Trust thy star!

(Sound of a village belt in the distance.)

Vict. Ave Maria! I hear the sacristan

Ringing the chimes from yonder village belfry!

A solemn sound, that echoes far and wide

Over the red roofs of the cottages,

And bids the laboring hind a-field, the shepherd,

Guarding his flock, the lonely muleteer,

And all the crowd in village streets, stand still,

And breathe a prayer unto the blessed Virgin!

Hyp. Amen! amen! Not half a league from hence

The village lies.

Vict. This path will lead us to it,

Over the wheat-fields, where the shadows sail

Across the running sea, now green, now blue,

And, like an idle mariner on the main,

Whistles the quail. Come, let us hasten on.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. — Public square in the village of Guadarrama. The Ave

Maria still tolling. A crowd of villagers, with their hats in

their hands, as if in prayer. In front, a group of Gypsies. The

bell rings a merrier peal. A Gypsy dance. Enter PANCHO,

followed by PEDRO CRESPO.

Pancho. Make room, ye vagabonds and Gypsy thieves!

Make room for the Alcalde and for me!

Pedro C. Keep silence all! I have an edict here

From our most gracious lord, the King of Spain,

Jerusalem, and the Canary Islands,

Which I shall publish in the market-place.

Open your ears and listen!

(Enter the PADRE CURA at the door of his cottage.)

Padre Cura,

Good day! and, pray you, hear this edict read.

Padre C. Good day, and God be with you! Pray, what is it?

Pedro C. An act of banishment against the Gypsies!

(Agitation and murmurs in the crowd.)

Pancho. Silence!

Pedro C. (reads). "I hereby order and command,

That the Egyptian an Chaldean strangers,

Known by the name of Gypsies, shall henceforth

Be banished from the realm, as vagabonds

And beggars; and if, after seventy days,

Any be found within our kingdom's bounds,

They shall receive a hundred lashes each;

The second time, shall have their ears cut off;

The third, be slaves for life to him who takes them,

Or burnt as heretics. Signed, I, the King."

Vile miscreants and creatures unbaptized!

You hear the law! Obey and disappear!

Pancho. And if in seventy days you are not gone,

Dead or alive I make you all my slaves.

(The Gypsies go out in confusion, showing signs of fear and

discontent. PANCHO follows.)

Padre C. A righteous law! A very righteous law!

Pray you, sit down.

Pedro C. I thank you heartily.

(They seat themselves on a bench at the PADRE CURAS door. Sound of guitars heard at a distance, approaching during the dialogue which follows.)

A very righteous judgment, as you say.

Now tell me, Padre Cura—you know all things,

How came these Gypsies into Spain?

Padre C. Why, look you;

They came with Hercules from Palestine,

And hence are thieves and vagrants, Sir Alcalde,

As the Simoniacs from Simon Magus,

And, look you, as Fray Jayme Bleda says,

There are a hundred marks to prove a Moor

Is not a Christian, so 't is with the Gypsies.

They never marry, never go to mass,

Never baptize their children, nor keep Lent,

Nor see the inside of a church—nor—nor—

Pedro C. Good reasons, good, substantial reasons all!

No matter for the other ninety-five.

They should be burnt, I see it plain enough,

They should be bunt.

(Enter VICTORIAN and HYPOLITO playing.)

Padre C. And pray, whom have we here?

Pedro C. More vagrants! By Saint Lazarus, more vagrants!

Hyp. Good evening, gentlemen! Is this Guadarrama?

Padre C. Yes, Guadarrama, and good evening to you.

Hyp. We seek the Padre Cura of the village;

And, judging from your dress and reverend mien,

You must be he.

Padre C. I am. Pray, what's your pleasure?

Hyp. We are poor students, traveling in vacation.

You know this mark?

(Touching the wooden spoon in his hat-band.

Padre C. (joyfully). Ay, know it, and have worn it.

Pedro C. (aside). Soup-eaters! by the mass! The worst of vagrants!

And there's no law against them. Sir, your servant.

[Exit.

Padre C. Your servant, Pedro Crespo.

Hyp. Padre Cura,

Front the first moment I beheld your face,

I said within myself, "This is the man!"

There is a certain something in your looks,

A certain scholar-like and studious something—

You understand—which cannot be mistaken;

Which marks you as a very learned man,

In fine, as one of us.

Vict. (aside). What impudence!

Hyp. As we approached, I said to my companion,

"That is the Padre Cura; mark my words!"

Meaning your Grace. "The other man," said I,

Who sits so awkwardly upon the bench,

Must be the sacristan."

Padre C. Ah! said you so?

Why, that was Pedro Crespo, the alcalde!

Hyp. Indeed! you much astonish me! His air

Was not so full of dignity and grace

As an alcalde's should be.

Padre C. That is true.

He's out of humor with some vagrant Gypsies,

Who have their camp here in the neighborhood.

There's nothing so undignified as anger.

Hyp. The Padre Cura will excuse our boldness,

If, from his well-known hospitality,

We crave a lodging for the night.

Padre C. I pray you!

You do me honor! I am but too happy

To have such guests beneath my humble roof.

It is not often that I have occasion

To speak with scholars; and Emollit mores,

Nec sinit esse feros, Cicero says.

Hyp. 'T is Ovid, is it not?

Padre C. No, Cicero.

Hyp. Your Grace is right. You are the better scholar.

Now what a dunce was I to think it Ovid!

But hang me if it is not! (Aside.)

Padre C. Pass this way.

He was a very great man, was Cicero!

Pray you, go in, go in! no ceremony.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. — A room in the PADRE CURA'S house. Enter the PADRE

and HYPOLITO.

Padre C. So then, Senor, you come from Alcala.

I am glad to hear it. It was there I studied.

Hyp. And left behind an honored name, no doubt.

How may I call your Grace?

Padre C. Geronimo

De Santillana, at your Honor's service.

Hyp. Descended from the Marquis Santillana?

From the distinguished poet?

Padre C. 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!