Diminutive dramas

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.

Lucasta. Oh, sir, I told you I never meant that. All I meant was that you were grown up and a man, and not a schoolboy like Philip.

Don Juan. Then you think that a maiden could look at me without disgust?

Lucasta. Oh, sir!

Don Juan. Even if at first I found her heart hard as adamant, if she will only let me plead my cause I feel certain I can soften it. That is all I ask—a hearing.

Lucasta. I should tell her at once, sir, in your place. Girls are often bashful. (She blushes.)

Don Juan. Then there is another grisly fear that haunts me. She may already have given her heart away. She may already have a betrothed.

Lucasta. That is not likely if it’s any of the girls in our county. They are all so young; and the others are married—except Dianeme, and then she’s a fright, so it could hardly be her.

Don Juan. Then you think I ought to be bold?

Lucasta (clapping her hands). Oh yes, do be bold!

[Don Juan seizes Lucasta and endeavours to kiss her. She gives him a very smart box on the ears.

Lucasta. Sir, what does this unpardonable liberty mean? I thought you were a gentleman and a nobleman.

Don Juan (kneeling). Forgive me. I thought you had understood. I thought you must have guessed—don’t interrupt me, only hear me—I thought you must have known when I described to you my heart’s desire; when I told you that you had her every feature; but I was mad. It was unpardonable of me; but hear me all the same, Lucasta; adorable, lovely, perfect Lucasta, I love you; I love you passionately. I offer you my hand, my life, my fortune.

Lucasta. Please get up, sir. I hate men who kneel—they look so silly; and if you are going to talk nonsense any more I shall go upstairs.

Don Juan (rising). Then you mean that I may not even hope?

Lucasta (bursting into peals of laughter). Forgive me, but I can’t help it.

Don Juan. It is really no laughing matter. (He draws his sword.) I am ready to stab myself.

Lucasta (still shaking with laughter). Please do not be so foolish. Why, you’re much older than my father. Here is my mother.

Enter the Countess Of Wessex, a handsome lady. She curtsies deeply.

Lucasta (aside to her mother). Oh! he’s so funny.

[She runs away, vainly suppressing a peal of laughter.

Curtain.