The son of Don Juan / an original drama in 3 acts inspired by the reading of Ibsen's work entitled 'Gengangere'

Berm. That will do perfectly. That was what I said to your mother, but she told me in reply that so long as things don’t come to an extremity, families require to consider. I understand and I impute no blame.

Laz. Nothing of the kind. Now, at this very moment you shall come with me to see that—that poor young man. A man like you! Why, there’s no difficulty about it.

Berm. (rising). Then I await your orders.

Laz. Allow me, my friend, my dear friend: first of all I should like—I beg of you to tell me what my mother explained to you and what was your opinion; because, although she related everything to me this morning, I should be glad to hear it from your lips. One learns everything by listening to such a man as Doctor Bermudez. (In a persuasive tone.) I am so anxious that you should speak, and that I should hear you. Indeed, it has been the dream of my existence. Speak, speak.

Berm. Dear Lazarus. (Aside.) I have fascinated him, decidedly. (Aloud.) Your mother explained to me with great lucidity all the antecedents of the patient: his sufferings when a child, his character, his studies, his excitable imagination, the first symptoms of the illness, a fainting attack, another more violent.

Laz. (somewhat drily). All that I know already. Go on. (With extreme cordiality.) Go on, my dear Bermudez.

Berm. The doctor is rather like a confessor, and your mother did not object to letting me know of the youthful days of the father—of the father of the young man.

Laz. Ah! his youthful days—yes—his youthful days—yes—yes—and what else?

Berm. His vicious conduct; his unbridled libertinism——

Laz. (excitedly). Libertinism! (Controlling himself.) Yes. (With a forced laugh.) Follies of youth. A lady always exaggerates these things. I have not been a saint myself; neither have you. Doctor, doctor, you with all your science and all your gravity. God knows. God knows! Oh! these doctors! (Giving him a slap on the back.) And what more?

Berm. (laughing). We are mortals and sinners, friend Lazarus.

Laz. And we take for fine gold little lenses of talc. Come, come to the talc.

Berm. Thus stands the case—that that good gentleman, the father of the patient, reached the age of gravity, and he was not a steady man, and he did not correct his faults. His wife seems to have suffered very much. Is all this exact which your mother told me? Because if it is exact it must be taken into account. That’s the reason I ask.

Laz. (aside). My head! Oh my head! (Succeeds in commanding himself, and speaks naturally. Aloud.) See, doctor, those are details of which I know nothing. But if my mother told you so, it will be true. My mother is a superior spirit, a most pure soul, a mother beyond comparison. But let us not speak of the mother, only of the son, that’s to say of the son of the other mother. Therefore let’s see, let’s see. What more did she tell you?

Berm. That to prevent the son from becoming fully acquainted with the disorders of the father—because the boy, naturally, was growing up, the mother had to send him to a college in France.

Laz. (aside). It is I. It is I! Ah! ah! Calm! let me be calm!

Berm. What do you say?

Laz. Nothing. I laugh at those family tragedies—the father a madcap, and the son,—— And as you fill me with such respect—and as the subject is so sad—I should not have presumed to laugh. Ah! Señor de Bermudez, what a world this is!—what a world this is! Come, come. (Growing calm.) Yes, señor, the history, so far as I know, is entirely correct. Then they sent him to study in Madrid—that unfortunate, unfortunate youth: but, look you, not so unfortunate—for he went through his course with distinction.

Berm. Quite so, and the father remained always the same.

Laz. (somewhat harshly). Let us not speak of the father. And why? Because the son is now launched on the world; then let us leave out of the question the other. (Recollecting himself.) Ah! pardon me. I love my father so much, I respect him so much, that those words which you have uttered have caused me much pain, much pain. A weakness I confess; a man of science does not know those weaknesses; but we poets are thus. You—you raise yourselves above the level of human miseries. The eagle soars alike—eh? above the peak of granite with its robe of frost—eh? and over the infected puddle—or the mire—the mire—eh? But we are not all as Doctor Bermudez? (Grasping his hand.)

Berm. I respect your delicacy: but science is implacable. A father who has consumed his life in vice——

Lazarus retreats in his chair.

Who has wallowed with all the energies of his nature in the mire of riot, who has heated his blood in the embers of all impure fires—runs the danger of transmitting to his son nothing but the germs of death or the germs of madness!

Lazarus recoils more and more.

And I tell you, as I told your mother last night, without prejudice to the rectification of my opinion when I have examined the patient, that if the description which you have given me is exact—and I conclude that it is——

Laz. It is. What then?

Berm. Ah! the springs of life cannot be corrupted with impunity. The Son of that father will very soon sink into madness or into idiocy. A madman or an idiot: such is his fate!

(He says this without looking round, with solemnity,
like one who pronounces a sentence: gazing forward and motioning with his arm
towards Lazarus. The latter cowers in his chair and looks at
Bermudez with horror.)

Laz. Ah! No! What? My father! I! A lie! A lie! It is a lie! (Hides his face in his hands.)

Berm. What’s this? Lazarus! Señor de Mejia! Are you ill? What do you say? (Rising and approaching Lazarus.) I don’t understand! Can it be? What?

Laz. That I am the madman? Silence! That I am the idiot? Silence! That I am such—I? Look at me well: study me well: strengthen your judgment: meditate, examine, give sentence!

Bermudez standing, Lazarus seated and clutching
the doctor by the arm.

Berm. But this is not fair, Señor de Mejia! This is not just! By God—by the Holy God!

Laz. Fairness, justice, in a man such as I? Bermudez, Bermudez, I did wrong, I confess—(with a mixture of courtesy, sadness, and some sarcasm)—An idiot who presents his most humble excuses to a wise man! Be generous, pardon me.

Berm. You have not understood me. I am sorry for you, Lazarus, because I have given you—a shock—a bad time of it, without cause—believe me, without any cause. God help me, these dramatic authors—no, one is not safe with them! (Wishing to turn the matter off with a laugh.)

Laz. Let us be calm, let us be calm. I want the truth; there still remains to me some glimmer of reason, and I can understand what you say to me. Ha! the truth—Bermudez, the truth! It is the last truth that I can understand, and I wish to enjoy it. (Rising.) Out with it! I still understand—yes—still!

Berm. Friend Lazarus! By all the saints of the heavenly court!——

Laz. No, I still keep my senses; I shall explain to you all that has passed. My mother, pretending to inquire about another, inquired about me; I, pretending to be interested on another’s account, was interested on my own, and a poor mother and a lost wretch have between them cajoled a wise man. Ah! cajoled—no: pardon. We wished to know the truth—nothing more; but as the truth is treacherous, it is necessary at times to drag it forth by treason. I humbly beg that you will pardon us—my mother—and myself.

Berm. I tell you that I cannot recover from my surprise; that I am cut to the heart for having spoken with such levity. I have already told you that my opinion was haphazard—quite haphazard—without examination of the patient. (Seeking where to go.)

Laz. Well, here is the patient. Don’t I tell you that I am the man? Oh, have no fear: I am a man capable of looking face to face upon death, and of answering the grimace of madness with another grimace even more grotesque. While a heart remains to me, the head will obey.

Berm. For God’s sake, calm yourself. All this is not serious.

Laz. I am perfectly calm; I am still master of myself. Sit down. (Makes him take a seat.) Let us talk quietly. Tell me all, but in a low voice, that my mother may not know; that she may not know. And of my father, not a word! Of my father—no, enough—nothing! I have been a madman in Madrid, so that the madness is mine. It is all mine! Oh! you deny that it is all mine? That is not right, Señor de Bermudez. Take to yourself the accusation that it is not right. You deny me my own reason, and you even wish to deprive me of my own madness, saying—saying—that my father—silence! Well, my reason may not belong to me: patience! But my madness belongs to me; I swear to you that it belongs to me, and I shall defend it—I shall defend it, Bermudez! (Advances upon the physician. Then restrains himself.) And now, let us talk soberly of myself—of my suffering.

Berm. Señor de Mejia, dear Lazarus—as for what I told you a while since, it was purely hypothetical; now that I know you, I modify my opinion in every point.

Laz. (with a mocking smile). Indeed? By God, Señor de Bermudez, that I am a madman we’ll let pass; but I am not yet an idiot.

Berm. By God, Señor de Mejia, I am sure that I shall go out of this house either an idiot or a madman!

Laz. When do you calculate that I shall suffer the decisive attack—the last: that of eternal night; that which surrounds us with blackness for ever? How easily it is known that I have been a poet, eh? Eternal night, eternal blackness! Is it not true? However, say—when? What term do you allow me? A year? three months? or is it immediately? Candidly. You see, now, that I still hear, and understand, and even speak poetically. Eternal blackness, eternal night! However, let me know—let me know. A year, eh?

Berm. It is readily perceived that you are a poet. You plunge into the regions of phantasy. You see, your nervous system is shaken, somewhat shaken. I don’t deny it; but I make myself responsible for your cure; do you want more?

Laz. We are coming to the point. As for my cure, I am ready to believe that. But the decisive attack—when? I have such a feeling these few days past, that I think it will be very soon.

Berm. Ravings, ravings! these are ravings.

Laz. Precisely. Ah! you have said it—ravings. Come, an effort. Will it be to-morrow, will it be to-day?

Berm. Neither to-day, nor to-morrow, nor within twenty years, if you keep your senses.

Laz. If I keep my senses! You are ingenious. “I shall not lose my senses if I keep my senses.” Naturally.

Berm. A good sign: now we are joking.

Laz. Yes, I am very quiet. At first I felt a wave of blood roll through my brain; then a wave of ice, which spread through all my being. And now—well—quiet—tired, a little tired, nothing more.

Berm. Good; then take a rest, put your mind at ease; and before my setting out for Madrid I shall return. I have to convince you——

Laz. I am convinced! Oh, my God! I don’t wish to keep you any longer, I have sufficiently abused your kindness.

Berm. (making a movement to withdraw). Then if you will permit me——

Laz. Yes, señor, assuredly (accompanying him). And don’t have any ill-will towards me.

Berm. Good God—no; however, my friend——

Laz. (detaining him). One moment! (In his ear.) When?

Berm. Some other time.

Laz. No; the one thing that I wish you to tell me, is this: “Lazarus, there is no hope; the attack will be next month, or next week, or to-morrow, or to-night, or this very hour,” in short, when must it be? This is the only thing you have to tell me: I ask no more.

Berm. But how can you have me knowingly utter nonsense?

Laz. (energetically). Because you have the inevitable power of telling me the truth; however sharp, however bitter, however mournful, it may be, you must tell it to me. It is a question of honour, of life or death. Now you shall understand me. (In a low voice in the doctor’s ear.) I love, I adore Carmen; our wedding has been arranged: it will take place in a short time—within fifteen days. And now, answer me: Can I, in conscience, without being guilty of infamy, can I bind the existence of Carmen to my existence—to the existence of an idiot?

Berm. What a question!

Laz. If you are a man of honour——. What, go away without answering me? Well, the way is free to you (withdrawing from him). Oh! I’ll not detain you.

Berm. By God, Lazarus——

Laz. But reflect, that through the cowardice of a moment, through not having spoken to me as one man speaks to another man—for I still am a man—you are about to do great mischief. Because if you don’t say to me, “Renounce,” I shall not renounce Carmen; I shall embrace her and drag her down with me to the abyss.

Berm. You see that I can do no more.

Laz. You see that love is life—the oil of life which propagates itself. And what will be our posterity? Come, say it, boldly. A swarm of neurotics, of idiots, of lunatics, perhaps of criminals. A common sewer hurrying on to death the wrecks of humanity. In candour, in honesty, say it.

Berm. Oh! what a head! Indeed, if you continue thus, I assure you that you will go mad.

Laz. By the memory of your mother, by the honour of your family, by the happiness of your children, by the sacred duty of your profession, by your conscience as an upright man, by your God, by piety, by compassion——, if you had a daughter would you allow her to marry me?

Berm. To-day? No! (Wishes to continue.)

Laz. Enough! nor to-morrow either. Enough—never—thank you. My sentence! Carmen, Carmen! (Falls on the sofa.)

Berm. Lazarus—for God’s sake—you did not allow me to finish. Lazarus! What a creature! Listen to me. I must call. (Pulls the bell.) He is losing his wits—Lazarus! (The bell.) Eh! Here! (going to the door.)

Enter Dolores and Don Juan.

Berm. Señora!

Dol. (running to him). Bermudez!

Juan (to Bermudez). My Lazarus!

Dol. (to Bermudez). My boy!

Juan. But what is this? Lord, what is this?

Laz. (rising). Nothing. We called—they did not appear. We continued to call—and you have come. And I called because I wished to introduce you to my kind friend, Doctor Bermudez. My mother (introducing her); you already know each other. Is it not true that you know each other?

Dol. My son!

She and Lazarus embrace.

Laz. (to Bermudez). Don’t be surprised. As I was hunting a whole week—and as we did not see each other on my return—we were embracing.

Berm. It’s natural.

Laz. My father (introducing him). I have already seen my father this morning, that’s why I don’t embrace him. (Juan looks at him imploringly.) However, that you may not imagine I love him less than my mother, I shall embrace him likewise. Father!

Juan. Lazarus! (Embracing him.) Closer to me! closer! so! (To Dolores, aside.) You see, Dolores, you see? He has such strength; he has nearly squeezed the breath out of me. It’s all folly what you have been telling me.

Dol. Yes—quite true—folly.

Juan (to Bermudez). What’s this boy suffering from?

Berm. Nothing: in substance, nothing.

Juan (to Dol.). Are you listening? What a head you have!

Laz. Make your minds easy. Delicate—slightly delicate. Don’t be cast down, mother.

Dol. (caressing him). Lazarus, my son, my Lazarus!

Juan (approaching Lazarus with envy). And must I be cast down or not? Oh, it matters little whether or not I be cast down.

Laz. Neither must you be down-hearted, father. There is no cause. I am perfectly well; let Bermudez tell you. And I am going to work for a while (with anguish), because I can do no more (restraining himself)—I can do no more with this idleness, eh? And with the regimen that you have prescribed for me—and by following your advice—within a short time you shall see—the resurrection of Lazarus! Good-bye, Bermudez; my own mother, father and señor—illustrious doctor—note that phrase—that phrase—the resurrection of Lazarus. Ah! for this Lazarus there is no resurrection.

[Exit.

Juan (to Bermudez). Speak, by Christ crucified! I know that it is nothing—but I wish you to speak. Come, my Lazarus—what? Why does this woman say such things? Jesus, Jesus, what a woman! You have always been the same. (To Bermudez.) Don’t speak lightly—these are very important matters. However, come! let me know, let me know!

Berm. Señor Don Juan, you understand——

Dol. Have you changed your opinion?

Berm. Substantially it remains unchanged.

Dol. My God! my God! (Throws herself sobbing on a chair.)

Berm. But we must have a little calmness; Señora, for God’s sake.

Juan. Calm? I should think so; since what you two say is impossible: then nothing else was required. As if this could do no more than come down upon a genius like Lazarus—and all in a moment. If it were I—good, because I—Señor de Bermudez—I may be puffed off any day; but Lazarus, Lazarus, consider well what you say, for these things are very important. And they must be thought over deliberately. Very important—very important indeed.

Berm. You are right, Don Juan. And now, you’ll both excuse me, I am deeply affected—and I could not co-ordinate two ideas.

Juan (aside, to his wife). Are you listening? He could not co-ordinate two ideas. I say, I say, why did I trust to him!

Berm. Later on—to-morrow—some other day—I shall have the pleasure of paying my compliments to you and of seeing Lazarus. Now, permit me to retire.

Dol. (rising and hurrying towards him). But you are not yet going back to Madrid? No, for God’s sake!

Berm. No, señora. I shall remain here fifteen or twenty days longer.

Dol. Then, come again; come again, I implore you!

Juan. Yes; come again.

Berm. Yes, señor, I shall come again.

Dol. To-morrow?

Juan. If you gave a little look in to-night—eh? You could take coffee with us. I have some sherry——

Berm. To-night I cannot. I shall come to-morrow.

Dol. To-morrow, then, Bermudez. (Accompanying him.) Save my son!

Juan. See you to-morrow, Señor de Bermudez. And have a care what you do with my Lazarus!

Berm. Till to-morrow, then, Señora. (Pressing her hand.) And my dear señor.

Dolores falls on a chair: Juan walks about with
difficulty, but with an air of great vigour.

Juan. This man does not know what he’s talking about. You have now heard him; he can’t co-ordinate two ideas. How simple we are! What, and do people lose their talents and lose their heads as one might lose a hat? Here, I got rid of my hat, and thus got rid of my head? Bah, bah! Idiots are what they are from infancy. Nor do I say idiots only—fools have been fools all through life; there is nobody more consistent than a fool. But as to a man of genius! Oh! Genius! Tut, absurdities of doctors! He to pronounce judgment on my Lazarus! He who can’t co-ordinate two ideas—on Lazarus, who is as familiar with the “finality without end” as he is with the Our Father! Come, answer. Am I right?

Dol. Would to God it might be so!

Juan. But don’t you think it is false—all that that buffoon has told us?

Dol. (with desperation). And if it were true? If it were true? What then? Then, why was I born? (Advancing upon Don Juan, who retreats.) My illusions lost through you! My youth blighted through you! My dignity sneered at through you! After twenty years of sacrifices in order to be deserving of my Lazarus—good for him! loyal for him! honourable for him! And to-day? No. You have always been a wretch: but this time you are right. Impossible! Impossible! God could not let it be so.

Juan. Well, I have been a wretch—there’s no getting over it. But do not call to mind all that—and above all, don’t speak of it. Say that you forgive me—forgive me, Dolores.

Dol. What does it matter to you—my forgiveness?

Juan. It matters to us both. If you don’t pardon me, and at the same time God purposes to chastise me, and chastises me in my Lazarus—“He might have been a genius, here you have in him an idiot.” These things are very serious. Come come, don’t say that.

Dol. What things you do say! You, too, talk at random. No matter—under such circumstances. I pardon you with all my heart.

Juan. Thank you, Dolores. Thus we are more secure.

Dol. (clinging to him). But help me to save Lazarus.

Juan. With my whole soul. Though I had to give up for him all the life that remains to me.

Dol. Give your life! Ha! what life have you? All the life that God first granted you, you should give him.

Juan. Dolores!

Dol. Ah! it’s true. I had pardoned you. I shall not recall my word. But what are we to do?

Juan. Take him to Madrid, that the best known physicians may see him.

Dol. Well thought of!

Juan. And then to Paris. We shall consult all the eminent men.

Dol. Quite so. Then to Germany.

Juan. And to England. The English know a great deal. Bah! there is plenty of science dispersed throughout the world.

Dol. Then we shall collect it all for Lazarus.

Juan. Without fail! All for him! Whatever remains of my fortune for him! I have squandered much, but I am still rich.

Dol. I have never called you to a reckoning. You have squandered your own.

Juan. No, señora: no, señora. It was not mine. I see it now. It belonged to Lazarus. But Lord! I did not know I was going to have Lazarus. Dolores, we must save him.

Dol. We hang on to his reason like two creatures in despair, that it may not fly away. Is it not true? (Clinging to him.)

Juan. Like two of the desperate, and like two parents. Is it not so? (Pressing her to him.) And we shall save him, eh? Don’t say no; don’t say no! (Falls weeping on a sofa.) I have been bad, but without bad intention. I did not know this. Would that I had been told! Lazarus, my Lazarus!

Dol. Don’t be distressed. Don’t you see that you will not have energy to struggle?

Juan. I’ll not have energy? Ah! you’ll see. Ho! ho! I have no energy!

Dol. I love to see you thus. And believe me that Bermudez exaggerates.

Juan. He is a fanatic—a buffoon—a madman that can’t co-ordinate two ideas. Ah, blockhead. (Shaking his fist.) I don’t know how I keep my head. My breast is burning. My throat is dry. (Pulls the bell.) Teresa! eh! Teresa!

Dol. (calling). Teresa! (Turning to Juan.) What’s the matter?

Juan. Nothing—nothing.

Teresa entering.

Ter. Señor?

Juan. Bring me a glass of sherry. No, a glass of water—water only.

Ter. Yes, señor. [Exit.

Juan (walking about). From this day I have to mortify myself—on bread and water, like an anchorite—all for Lazarus. Come, is not this to be put to my credit?

Dol. Yes; but much prudence. Let nobody know anything.

Juan. Nothing. Our journeys will be journeys of pleasure; artistic voyages, that Lazarus may see the world and gain instruction. If all these were false terrors!

Dol. Not a word to anybody.

Juan. Not to Carmen—say nothing to Carmen.

Dol. Poor Carmen, my poor angel! But you are right. The first is Lazarus.

Juan. The first—that’s clear. But that girl does not come, and I am choking.

Enter Teresa and Don Timoteo.

Ter. (announcing, and with the glass of water). Here is Don Timoteo.

Juan. Let him come in.

Ter. He is already in.

Juan (to Dolores). Silence, and let us affect indifference.

Dol. (aside). Indifference and gaiety. (Wiping her eyes. Don Juan drinks a glass of water.)

Juan (to Dolores). Will you take some? Drink, dear. Be calm!

[Exit Teresa.

Dol. Thank you; I am calm now.

Tim. Doña Dolores!

Dol. Friend Don Timoteo!

Juan. My dear Timoteo! (Wishing to embrace him.)

Tim. Don’t embrace me. Don’t you see that I have come according to etiquette? All in black!

Dol. In black! Why?

Juan. Why?

Tim. Don’t be alarmed; it is not mourning, but etiquette. I come in all solemnity. Now you shall see. Isn’t Carmen here?

Dol. We went together to hear Mass. She came back with me—and she is now in my sitting-room with Don Nemesio and with Javier—so merry!

Tim. Then let everybody come here! (Dolores rings the bell.) Everybody—except Lazarus; he must come afterwards. Ah! solemnity! solemnity! (Laughing.)

Ter. (entering). Señora ...

Dol. Let the Señorita Carmen have the goodness to come here.

Tim. She and all—all. And till they come let no one speak to me.

Dol. (aside to Don Juan). Don’t you guess?

Juan (aside). Yes.

[A pause.

Tim. Solemn silence! Silence, a precursor of something very grave. Ha! ha!

Enter Carmen, Nemesio, and Javier.

Car. (to her father). Did you call me?

Tim. Silence, little one. Don’t you see how grave we all are?

Car. But what’s the matter?

Tim. (to his daughter). You stand beside Dolores.

A movement among all: Carmen embraces Dolores.

So: that’s well.

Dol. My own daughter!

Juan (aside). God assist me!

Nem. Ah—ha!

Jav. (to Nemesio). We are having a wedding.

Tim. Silence!—Are we ready? All attention—and every solemnity—for I am going to begin. Ah! you, Javier, being the youngest man here, shall go out in haste at the fitting moment to find Lazarus—“Lazarus! Lazarus!” You understand?—So, so—all very quiet: hanging on my lips. (A pause.) Señor Don Juan Mejia—(with comic solemnity.) My dear sir?—The devil, I seem as if I were going to write a letter!—Juanito, you asked me for the hand of Carmen for Lazarus: I have consulted the girl, she is dying about the boy, and now I bring the girl to the boy. And I say before all—Let them be married—the devil—let them be married!—(with great energy.)—The programme in these cases—gentlemen, the programme.—The blushing, the weeping, the smiling, the embracing!

(All spontaneously go through the instructions. Carmen and
Dolores embrace, and Dolores weeps passionately. Nemesio and
Javier laugh while pointing out the groups. Timoteo and Nemesio
likewise embrace. Then Timoteo, as if recollecting himself,
continues—)

Javier—go and look for Lazarus—Away, the situation is falling flat!

Jav. I am off—I am off! Lazarus! Lazarus! [Exit.

Car. Mother!

Dol. My own daughter—my own daughter! (Aside.) My God! My God!

Tim. (to Don Juan). And you say nothing?

Juan. Why, nothing more was required.

Tim. But he is not coming.

Re-enter Javier and Lazarus; the latter pale, disordered, and
materially dragged along by the former.

Laz. Where are you taking me? Where?

Jav. Come, Man, Come ... To Happiness!

Laz. What’s this? What do they want with me? Why do they call me?

Tim. Tableau! Carmen is yours! I bring her to you! You are to be married! (To Don Juan.) Eh! you father of a cork-tree, say something to them; I have gone through all my part!

Laz. Carmen—she—is it true? My Carmen!

Dol. Your Carmen—she is yours.

Juan. What the devil! She is yours—be happy, and let the world founder! what do I care for the world!

Laz. Mine, mine! I may go to her! fold her in my arms! embrace her with all my soul! drink her in with my eyes! I may if I like?

Juan. Yes! enough that you say—yes!

Laz. Oh, the infamy of it! Oh, the treachery! Carmen!

Car. (going up to him). Lazarus!

Laz. No, keep off! To whom are you coming? You are not to be mine! Never—never—never!

Car. He casts me off! He casts me off! I knew it! Mother! mother! (Falls into the arms of Dolores.)

Dol. Daughter of my heart!

Tim. My daughter! What have you done? What have you done?

Nem. But I don’t understand.

Jav. I do.

All hasten to help Carmen.

Juan. Lazarus—my son!

Laz. (embracing his father). Father—father—you are my father, save me!

Juan. Yes, I shall save you—I gave you life!

Laz. You gave me life! But that’s not enough: give me more life—to live, to love, to be happy—give me life for my own Carmen—give me more life, or cursed be the life which you gave me!

[Falls insensible.

END OF ACT II.

ACT III.

Tim. And so Dolores wrote to you?

Jav. Yes, señor. Lazarus wished to see me: my company was very much wanted to hasten on his convalescence: he was talking constantly about me. Finally, I said: “I must go there,” I took the train, and two hours ago I planted myself at the door of this country seat, of this delightful country seat; which ought to have admirable views, as far as I have been able to judge by the feeble light of the stars.

Tim. But didn’t you know it? Weren’t you acquainted with Don Juan’s country seat?

Jav. No, señor.

Tim. (waggishly). I was. I have known it for many years. I knew it—ay, when Juan and I were young men! When I used to call him Juanito, and he called me Timoteito. Ah, ah! (mysteriously.) What a number of reminiscences these venerable precincts awaken! All that you see is impregnated with love and madness, with alcohol and merriment. I could tell you: on this divan Juan one day fell down drunk: in that corner I fell one night in the same condition: and on that balcony we both fell one morning in a similar situation. Oh, most sacred memories! Oh, beloved images of the past! (To Paca). What are you doing here?

Paca. I am putting everything in order, señor.

Tim. And now you will see such a panorama. That balcony looks toward the East, and you see the Guadalquivir—“Sevilla, Guadalquivir, how you do torment my mind!” The loveliest girls of the Sevillian land have breakfasted here, have danced here, have sung here, and have got drunk here.

Jav. Ah, ha! you amused yourselves here in fine style.

Paca sighs.

Tim. (turning round in ill humour). Have you not done? Have you not done, Paca.

Paca. Well, I remained to see—if you gentlemen wanted anything, that’s all.

Tim. Nothing, you may go to the kitchen.

Paca. Very well, Don Timoteo: to the kitchen. Ah! my God! (She takes a low chair on to the terrace, sits dawn and fans herself.)

Tim. I tell you that I can look at nothing which surrounds me without being moved. The girls from Sevilla, the girls from Malaga, the girls from Tarifa! But let us make a full stop. I am perverting you, young man: and at my age that’s a villainous thing. But the fact is that there were certain girls from Sevilla and Malaga and Cadiz, and certain girls from Tarifa.

Paca gives a very big sigh on the balcony.

Who’s that sighing? The devil of a woman, there’s nothing dismal in what we are saying—are you here still?

Paca (from the balcony and without rising). To see if Don Timoteo wanted anything.

Tim. I do want something, and this gentleman wants something. Bring us a few glasses.[3]

Paca rises and approaches.

Jav. Many thanks: they gave me supper a short time ago: it is now very late—and I take nothing at such an hour as this. (To Paca.) Don’t trouble yourself on my account.

Paca. Then.

Tim. Then, trouble yourself on my account. Go go, and bring that.

Paca. Yes, señor, yes; I am going, Don Timoteo.

[Exit fanning herself.

Jav. Good heavens! Manzanilla at this hour?

Tim. Yes, yes, of course, I know that you are very steady. Lazarus writes dramas; you write history; but, my friend, a glass is taken at any historical moment whatever.

Jav. At any historical moment? But one o’clock in the morning, although it be an exquisite morning of summer, is that an historical moment or a moment to go to sleep?

Tim. For the pleasure of tasting, eh? for the pleasure of tasting a sweet little drop of Manzanilla, the twenty-four hours of this day, and the twenty-four of the following, and those of the next, are marked down in all treatises, young man. Admit that there are no young men nowadays.

Jav. How can it be helped? There are young men who are old, and there are old men who die quite young.

Tim. It’s true. Since I came eight days ago to the country seat, my remembrances have become refreshed, and I feel as if I were fifteen years old.

Jav. And in a few more days you’ll feel as if you were fifteen months.

Tim. Halloa! Halloa! that figure of speech is called irony.

Jav. A respectful irony, Don Timoteo. But I did not think to meet you at the country seat of Don Juan.

Tim. I had brought poor Carmen to Sevilla. She is very delicate. With those unfortunate events—with the illness of Lazarus—and what you know already. But when once at Sevilla, Juanito was anxious that we should come and pass a few days here. And I, to give that pleasure to Carmen, and to contribute to the recovery of Lazarus—who, they declared, was going on very well—I consented and here we are.

Jav. Restored to youth.

Tim. Believe me, Javier, in what I told you just now: there is no longer any youth now: Carmen with her afflicted little chest: Lazarus with his disordered nerves; you with your sedateness and your megrim. We were of another stamp.

Jav. Perhaps it’s because you were of another stamp, that we are made after this fashion. But let us change the subject, Don Timoteo. And so there is a complete reconciliation, and a wedding in perspective?

Tim. I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you. But that Paca is not bringing the Manzanilla. (Looking to see if she comes.) Really there was no cause to be offended. Lazarus said what he said—in a fever! You saw him fall senseless at the feet of Carmen. What the devil was the meaning of that? Go and learn that. In my time when a man fell down thus, it was decided to be drunkenness or apoplexy, and so medical science became simplified and was within the reach of everybody. But in these days, interpret you who can what’s the matter with the man who falls insensible.

Jav. Poor Lazarus was very ill. However, they say that he is now getting on perfectly: the malady has passed the critical point.

Tim. So they say and he seems very much restored: but he is always a very extraordinary person—like all men of talent.

Jav. And so we shall have the wedding.

Tim. Hum—wedding—that’s flour from another sack. I say nothing so as not to distress Carmen, not to be disagreeable to the parents, and because I would not give the boy another fainting fit. If Lazarus recovers completely and comes back to what he was, and writes something that will bring him considerable fame—sufficient to prove that his brain is quite sound—then the way is clear—eh? Because Carmen, poor Carmen. But this Paca is not coming!

Jav. Carmen is very fond of him, is she not?

Tim. I don’t know—I don’t know that girl, God help me! I am taking her away soon: within four or five hours we shall set out to catch the train. And before going away I shall speak to Bermudez.

Jav. I only saw Lazarus for a moment, and he seemed to me——

Tim. How?

Jav. Much better. Youth works miracles. (Aside.) Poor Lazarus!

Tim. It’s true, it’s true. I myself had—I don’t know what—and I was so to say—crazy for more than a year—much more; and it passed off.

Jav. Well nobody would think it—I mean nobody would think that you had ever had—anything—of that kind of infirmity—eh?

Tim. Well, I had it, I had it—they believed that it had left me an idiot——

Jav. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!

Tim. But that devil of a woman who is not coming! She knew quite well that the Manzanilla was only for me, and she delights in mortifying me. She has a most perverse mind. And she was always the same; you don’t know what that woman has been!

Jav. Who? She who was here just now?

Tim. Exactly; that was one of the most magnificent women in all Andalusia. She was called Paca the Tarifeña.

Jav. Ah ha! who would have said so!

Tim. I should have said so, Juanito would have said so, Nemesio would have said so, and everybody would have said so. The Tarifeña! the girl from Tarifa!—she who acts in this house to-day as a servant or little better, twenty or thirty years ago commanded like a mistress. Afterwards, as always happens, she rambled about—rambled about—and farewell beauty, farewell grace, farewell magnificence. Old age, ugliness and misery, the three enemies—I’ll not say of the soul, but of the bodies of pretty girls, fed themselves upon the gay Tarifeña. Five or six years ago Juan got to know of it; he felt sorry, and he took her into this country house, as mistress of the keys or something—as a matter of form. In short, she is in service in the country seat; but she will not be of much service, for she was always very lively, but very lazy.

Jav. Yet, so beautiful?

Tim. A sun! But women break down early. We men preserve ourselves better. Who would say that I am fifty-eight years old?

Jav. Nobody! Whatever else you may be accused of—(Aside.) Seventy-five!

Tim. I should think so. Halloa! I think Lazarus is coming.

Enter Lazarus on the left. Behind comes Doctor Bermudez, but
at a certain distance from Lazarus, as if observing him and being
on the watch.

Laz. (looking at Don Timoteo and Javier). This night we are all sitting up, the sitting up of the farewell.

Tim. I am obliged to you, but there was no need for you to trouble yourself. Let us say farewell now: you go to bed: and Carmen and I at daybreak, very quietly, without rousing anybody, will set out for the train.

Laz. So, so; very quietly, without waking anybody, in the silence of the night: so you wish to steal Carmen away. And so happiness is stolen away. Treachery! But I am watching and I shall watch: Lazarus has risen, and now he will never sleep any more. These eyes are very wide open to see everything (tenderly): the dear little head of my Carmen (laughing), the great, villainous head of Don Timoteo. To see the day with its splendour and the night with its gloom. (Going to the balcony.) How beautiful is the morning star—is it not? It is always there. We seem to have made an appointment with each other. “I shall appear in heaven,” she says, “and do you appear at the balcony, and we shall gaze upon each other.” I cannot gaze upon you, forgive me; Carmen would be jealous. She not being at my side, I do not wish to gaze on anybody, I do not care to see anybody. (Withdraws irritably from the balcony and sees Bermudez.) Halloa, dearest doctor, were you here? Did you follow me? Did they send you to take charge of me? Well, look you, it annoys me to have a sentinel always in sight—(Restraining himself and changing his tone) unless he be so kind-hearted as my dear doctor.

They all advance to the first entrance.

Berm. I came with you to beg you not to sit up. Now go to bed, take some rest, and at daybreak I shall awaken you that you may bid good-bye to Carmen and to Don Timoteo.

Laz. That’s what you want! I am not a child: I am not to be deceived. How does he who sleeps know what he will see on his awaking? If he does awake! (Sits down.)

Tim. However. (Approaching him.)

Jav. (approaching still nearer). I give you my word....

Berm. (All surround him.) We all promise you solemnly——

Laz. It is useless—don’t trouble yourselves. Besides I neither believe anybody, nor trust in anybody. I don’t trust myself, and I am always observing myself whether perchance—in short, I understand myself: then how should I trust you? You perceive that that’s asking too much. And enough, enough—I have said no.

Berm. As you please, Lazarus.

Laz. Moreover, sitting up is delightful. What a sky! what a night, what a river! Just now we were downstairs in the drawing-room that looks on to the garden, my mother, my father, Carmen, the doctor, I—(counting on his fingers) and Paca likewise. All seated, all resting, and somewhat sleepy, excepting Paca. In an angle a lamp: the doors on a level with the outside: the sky in the distance: the garden with its twining plants and its rose trees making itself a portion of the saloon, as if to bear us company: the penetrating perfumes of the lemon flower, and the freshness of the river impregnating the atmosphere: little insects of all colours, a few butterflies among them, as if engendered by the air, came from without, attracted by the lamp, and fluttered between the light and the gloom, as ideas revolve within me now; and Paca too was fluttering amidst us all. (A pause.) What, you are laughing? (To Javier.)

Jav. I am not laughing.

Laz. Yes; you laugh because I said that Paca was fluttering between my father, my mother, Carmen and myself. Well, I maintain it: is it only butterflies that flutter about? Flies and gad-flies flutter as well. And so, as I lay there with eyes half closed, Paca, with her black dress and her black mantle with its fringe, seemed to me an enormous fly. She fluttered ponderously from my father to my mother—serving my father with sherry and my mother with iced water—and between Carmen and myself, to worry me with questions, and to fix a flower in Carmen’s hair, rustling against us both with her mantle and its fringes, as a fly rustles with its dark and hairy wings. She is a kind woman but I felt a repugnance, a loathing, and a chill, and I came up to stand and breathe on yonder balcony.

Jav. And to contemplate the stars.

Laz. One, no more than one. And such extravagant ideas! But we apprentices of poetry are thus. You are right, Bermudez, extravagant—very—very—. I was thinking of Paca, I was gazing at the star, and I felt an insane, ridiculous, but unconquerable desire. It was to seize one of my foils, to run it through the gad-fly with her fringed mantle, as one runs an insect through with a pin, and to burn her at the light of that most beautiful star. Like what? The putrescence of humanity which is consumed and purified in heavenly flames. You don’t understand me, Don Timoteo?

Tim. Well, I don’t think there is much to understand—and even though a man may not be a genius——

Laz. Don’t be vexed: these are jokes: I offend you? The father of Carmen? when for her sake I am ready to go down on my knees and to declare that you are young and beautiful and that you have brains, and to compel the whole world to declare the same. Your arms, Don Timoteo, your arms. (They embrace.) You bear no grudge against me, do you?

Tim. Dear me, why should I?

Laz. Then don’t take away Carmen; don’t separate me from her. A sick man should have his way in everything—and it would make me worse, let Bermudez tell you. Is it not true that it would make me ill? Say it—say it?

Tim. But you are well now?

Berm. Quite well.

Laz. And you, what do you say?

Jav. My boy, I find you as well as ever.

Tim. And I really must go to Sevilla. But we shall soon come back to be reunited. You are not a convalescent: you don’t require to stay here. Away home to work!

Laz. (in the ear of Tim). Then when shall the wedding be?

Tim. For my part—any day—but that, let the doctor say.

Laz. Not that man—not that man—ah—I know him—and yet let him say.

Berm. It depends on the state of mind that you are in: if you are in a sound state of mind, very soon.

Laz. Well, before you take Carmen away you have to decide it. The morning approaches—it will be here in less than two or three hours. You see that brightness? It is beginning to dawn already, and we must sit up by all means. Therefore you go in there, into that cabinet—and you fix the date. I shall not be in your way. Now you see that that I can do no more. But you must say when and let me know; when I know it I shall be more at ease. With to-day there will be one day less: two less: three—it is not far off now: very little short of the time: three days off, two days off, one day off, it is to-morrow, it is to-day—she is my Carmen for ever—she is mine—(vehemently). Now, let who dare force her from my arms! Oh! Carmen now belongs to Lazarus. (Changing his tone.) I am saying what will happen—when you fix the day—because by the fixing of the day we only want two—now we are only short of one—now it has arrived—all happy! (Embracing Tim. and Jav.). It’s true, it’s true! And now, in there.

Tim. For my part, with much pleasure, and it seems to me a good idea. Will you have it so, Bermudez?

Berm. I am at your orders—and if Lazarus insists——

Laz. No more—no more—enter—here—and in all freedom. Your little cabinet—the balcony open—the flowers of that terrace which are beginning to take colour—the Guadalquivir which commences to waken with its silver lights. Very good—very good—you are going to be perfectly comfortable—and all this will incline you to good nature. Don’t be very cruel—don’t fix too long a term—for in this world, what is not to-day is never.

Tim. Shall we go in?

Berm. Yes, señor.

They move slowly and speaking in low tones toward the right.

Laz. (in a low, energetic voice to Javier). And you, too, go. I don’t trust them. The wretches, they would say never: go, go, with them.

Jav. But I——

Laz. (Berm. and Tim. are now at the door). Eh? wait. Javier is accompanying you, I have requested him—because I wish to have some one who may plead for me and for Carmen. This you cannot deny me.

Tim. I should think not—come—come.

Jav. (to Laz.). If you insist.

Laz. In there, all three—all three—and afterwards we shall give an account of all to my mother and my father and Carmen. Quick—quick——

Berm. (at the door). You two go in——

Tim. You go in first.

Berm. By no means.

Laz. Go in any way: I am waiting——

Berm. We shall soon have done. Be calm, Lazarus, be calm.

Laz. (alone). Yes: he is right: I have need of much calm. Outside there all is calm: then why should I not be calm as well? Without there is twilight (pressing his forehead): within here is another twilight. But yonder half obscurity will end by filling itself with light. And this—this? I seem to see beyond the luminous little clouds a great gloom. There without are worlds and suns and immensity—yet nothing of that bears the least consequence to me: here within are three insignificant persons—and it is they who are about to decide my destiny. To be menaced with the danger of one of those orbs that whirl through space overwhelming Carmen and myself—there would be grandeur for us in such a fate. But to be threatened with the possibility of a doctor and a fool putting me in a cage and leaving Carmen outside, to fret her pale front against the cold iron bars—this is cruel, this is humiliating—and nobody shall humiliate me. I am worth more than them all put together. I am better than them all. (Interrupting himself.) Better than Carmen?—no. Neither am I better than my mother. And my father—my father—he loves me much—more than I—silence! Yet if he is capable of loving more than I, then he is better than I—the result is that everybody is better than Lazarus. How is this possible? (Walks about in great agitation.)

Enter Paca with some cups of Manzanilla.

Who is this? It is Paca. Why the result will be—I see it—that even that creature is better than myself.

Paca. Is not Don Timoteo here? Then why does he give orders for nothing? He gives orders and then he goes away.

Laz. Whom are you looking for?

Paca. For Don Timoteo: he asked me for some cups of Manzanilla, and he went away without waiting for me.

Laz. Bring them, bring them. I’ll take them. Leave them here.

Paca (putting them on a little table). You, señorito? And if they do you harm?

Laz. Harm to me? Poor woman! Look—(drinks a cup.) I drink and you flutter about.

Paca. I flutter about, señorito? Ah! what things you say!

Laz. What do you see out there?

Paca. Nothing.

Laz. Just so. Nothing: that’s what we all see. And inside here, what do you see?

Paca. Well, you.

Laz. That’s it, the son of Don Juan drinking; and Paca whirling around. (Drinks another glass.)

Paca. Don’t drink any more, señorito: you are not at all well and it will do you harm. And Doña Dolores will be grieved and Don Juan will be grieved.

Laz. And I’ll make the Manzanilla grieve. And you, won’t you be grieved?

Paca. Why yes: for I am very fond of the señorito.

Laz. The result is that everybody is fond of me. Everybody is fond of me, and I am fond of nobody. Ah! of Carmen—yes: and of my mother as well: and of my father: and of poor Javier—well, then I am fond of everybody—This (taking a cup or glass.) must make it clear. (Giving Paca a glass.) Let us both make it clear.

Paca (stopping him). Señorito, for God’s sake!

Laz. No; it isn’t for God’s sake, it’s for mine.

Paca. If you insist. (Drinks.)

Laz. And now I. (Takes up another glass.)

Paca (stopping him). No; not you.

Laz. Well then, you.

Paca. Ah! by the most Holy Virgin, you see I have lost the practice.

Laz. You fool, why this is very healthy. It gives you strength. I now feel capable of anything. Awhile ago you seemed to me all funereal; now I perceive your black cloak to be all overspread with spangles of gold, and fragments of rainbow, like the wings of a butterfly.

Paca. Ah, señorito, I have been that. Ask——