A room in DOÑA ROSITA ’s house. The garden in the background.
MR X. I shall always be a man of this century.
UNCLE. The century we’ve just begun will be pure materialism.
MR X. But far more progressive than the last one. My friend, Mr Longoria, from Madrid, has just bought a motor car. He can hurtle along in it at the incredible speed of eighteen miles an hour. And the Shah of Persia - a really pleasant man - has bought himself a twentyfour horsepower Panhard Levasson.
UNCLE. I’d like to know where everyone’s going in such a hurry. You’ve heard what’s happened in the Paris-Madrid rally. They had to abandon it. All the competitors were dead before they got to Bordeaux.
MR X. Count Zbronsky, killed in the accident. And Marcel Renault, or Renol - it is and may be pronounced either way - killed as well. Both martyrs of science! Both will be given the highest honour the day the religion of the positive truly dawns! Renol I knew well. Poor Marcello!
UNCLE. You won’t convince me. (He sits down).
MR X (a foot on the chair and playing with his cane). I shall do so dazzlingly, though a teacher of Political Economy can’t really discuss things with a rose-grower. But in this day and age, take my word, neither quietism nor obscurantism can make the slightest headway. Nowadays, the way ahead is opened up for us by a Jean-Baptiste Say or Se - it is and may be pronounced either way - or a Count Leo Tolstwa, vulgarly Tolstoy, as elegant in form as he is profound in concept. I feel myself to be in the living polis. I am not a supporter of natura naturata.
UNCLE. Everyone lives his daily life as best he can or best knows how.
MR X. Of course, this Earth of ours is a very mediocre planet, and one must give a hand to civilization. Now, if Santos Dumont, instead of studying comparative meteorology, had devoted his life to the cultivation of roses, the navigable aerostat would be in the bosom of Brahma.
UNCLE (annoyed). Botany is a science too!
MR X (disparagingly). Ah, yes. But an applied science: to study the juices of the fragrant Anthemis or the rhubarb, or the great Pulsatilla, or the narcotic of the Datura Stramonium.
UNCLE (innocently). Are you interested in those plants?
MR X. I do not have sufficient experience as far as they are concerned. What interests me is culture, which is quite a different matter. Voila! (Pause.) And … Rosita?
UNCLE. Rosita? (Pause - calling out.) Rosita! …
VOICE (off). She’s not here.
MR X. Ah, what a pity!
UNCLE. Such a pity! It’s her saint’s day, so she’ll have gone out to say her forty prayers.
MR X. Please give her this pendant on my behalf. It’s a mother-of-pearl Eiffel Tower over two doves bearing in their beaks the wheel of industry.
UNCLE. She will be grateful to you.
MR X. I was tempted to give her a small silver cannon through whose mouth one could see the Virgin of Lourdes, or Lordes, or a buckle for a belt composed of a serpent and four dragonflies. I chose the first. Seemed to me to be in better taste.
MR X. Delighted by your warm welcome!
UNCLE. Thank you so much.
MR X. My humble respects to your dear wife.
UNCLE. Many thanks again.
MR X. And my humble respects to your enchanting dear niece. I wish her the best of fortune on her saint’s feast day.
UNCLE. A thousand thanks.
MR X. Consider me your obedient servant.
UNCLE. A million thanks.
MR X. I assure you once more …
UNCLE. Thank you, thank you, thank you …
MR X. Goodbye for now. (He leaves.)
UNCLE (calling after him). Thank you, thank you, thank you.
HOUSEKEEPER (enters laughing). I don’t know how you have the patience. Between this gentleman and the other one - that Mr Confucius Montes de Oca, baptized in lodge number forty-three - the day will come the house will be burned to the ground.
UNCLE. I’ve told you before I don’t like you eavesdropping.
HOUSEKEEPER. Well, that’s what’s called being ungrateful. I was behind the door, I admit that, sir, but it wasn’t to listen - only to put a broom upside down so that the gentleman would leave!
AUNT (entering). Has he gone?
UNCLE (leaving). This very minute.
HOUSEKEEPER. Is he courting Rosita too?
AUNT. Why mention courting? You obviously don’t know Rosita!
HOUSEKEEPER. But I do know her suitors.
AUNT. My niece is engaged.
HOUSEKEEPER. Oh, don’t make me say it! Don’t make me say it! Don’t make me say it! Don’t make me say it! AUNT. Well, don’t say it!
HOUSEKEEPER. Does it seem right to you for a man to go off and leave for fifteen years a woman who’s the cream on the butter. She ought to get married. My hands are aching from putting away tablecloths of Marseilles lace, embroidered bed-sets, tablemats, and gauze bedspreads with embossed flowers. She ought to be using them, wearing them out, but she doesn’t seem to realize that time is passing. She’ll have hair like silver and she’ll still be sewing satin bands on the ruffles of her honeymoon nightdress.
AUNT. But why do you get involved in things that don’t concern you?
HOUSEKEEPER (astonished). I don’t get involved. I am involved!
AUNT. I’m sure she’s happy.
HOUSEKEEPER. She thinks she is. Yesterday she had me with her all day long at the entrance to the circus. She insisted that one of the puppeteers looked like her cousin.
AUNT. Did he?
HOUSEKEEPER. He was as good-looking as a young priest singing his first Mass. Your nephew would have given anything to have that waist, that white throat, that moustache. He wasn’t a bit like him. There aren’t any good-looking men in your family.
AUNT. Oh, thank you very much!
HOUSEKEEPER. They are all short and a bit roundshouldered.
AUNT. Go on with you!
HOUSEKEEPER. It’s the honest truth, madam. What happened is that Rosita found the acrobat very goodlooking. So did I, and you would too. But she’s always thinking that fiancé of hers is the same. Sometimes I’d like to throw a shoe at her head. She’s going to have cow’s eyes from so much staring into space.
AUNT. Alright, but that’s enough. It’s as well and good for the clown to speak, but not to bark.
HOUSEKEEPER. You aren’t going to tell me that I don’t love her!
AUNT. Sometimes I think you don’t.
HOUSEKEEPER. I’d take the bread from my mouth and the blood from my veins if she wanted them.
AUNT (strongly). Oh, very fine-sounding, sugar-coated words!
HOUSEKEEPER (strongly). And deeds! I’ve proved it! By my actions! I love her more than you!
AUNT. That’s a lie!
HOUSEKEEPER (strongly). It’s the truth!
AUNT. Don’t raise your voice to me!
HOUSEKEEPER (loudly). That’s what my tongue is for!
AUNT. Be quiet, you ill-bred woman!
HOUSEKEEPER. Forty years I’ve been in your service.
AUNT (almost crying). You are dismissed!
HOUSEKEEPER (very loudly). Thank God I shan’t have to see you any more!
AUNT (crying). Get out! At once!
HOUSEKEEPER (starting to cry). I’m going!
She goes to the door in tears. As she goes she drops something. Both women are crying. Pause.
AUNT (Wiping away her tears, speaking gently). What have you dropped?
HOUSEKEEPER (crying). A Louis the Fifteenth thermometer case.
AUNT. Really?
HOUSEKEEPER. Yes, madam. (Weeping.)
AUNT. Let me see.
HOUSEKEEPER (approaching). It’s for Rosita’s saint’s day.
AUNT (sniffing). It’s really lovely.
HOUSEKEEPER (in a tearful voice). In the middle of the velvet there’s a fountain made out of real shells. Over the fountain there’s a wire arbour with green roses. The water in the basin is a cluster of blue sequins, and the jet is the thermometer itself. The pools of water here and there are painted in oil and there’s a nightingale drinking, embroidered in gold thread. I wanted one that you could wind up so it would play a tune, but there wasn’t one.
AUNT. Oh, dear!
HOUSEKEEPER. Still, it doesn’t have to sing. We’ve got real birds in the garden.
AUNT. Of course we have! (Pause.) Why have you gone to so much trouble?
HOUSEKEEPER (crying). Everything I’ve got is for Rosita.
AUNT. You really do love her more than anyone!
HOUSEKEEPER. But not as much as you!
AUNT. Yes. You’ve given her your blood.
HOUSEKEEPER. You’ve sacrificed your life for her.
AUNT. I’ve done it out of duty, but you out of generosity.
HOUSEKEEPER (louder). No, you haven’t!
AUNT. You’ve proved that you love her more than anyone.
HOUSEKEEPER. I’ve done what anyone in my place would have done. I’m just a servant. You pay me and I work for you.
AUNT. We’ve always regarded you as one of the family.
HOUSEKEEPER. An ordinary servant who gives what she has, that’s all I am.
AUNT. What do you mean that’s all you are?
HOUSEKEEPER. Am I anything more?
AUNT (annoyed). You aren’t allowed to say that here. I’m going, so as not to hear you.
HOUSEKEEPER (annoyed). So am I!
They go out through different doors. As the goes out, she bumps into the UNCLE.
UNCLE. With you two living on top of each other, the softest lace becomes a sharp thorn.
AUNT. It’s just that she always wants to have her own way.
UNCLE. Don’t tell me! I know it all by heart… Still, you can’t do without her. Yesterday I could hear you giving her all the details of our current bank account. You don’t know your place. It doesn’t seem to me the ideal topic of conversation for a servant.
AUNT. She’s not a servant!
UNCLE (gently). Alright, alright. I don’t want to argue the point.
AUNT. Oh, come! You can say whatever you like to me.
UNCLE. Of course I can! But I prefer to keep quiet.
AUNT. Even though your resentment’s bottled up inside?
UNCLE. What’s the point of saying anything at this stage? For a bit of peace and quiet I’d rather make my bed, clean my suits with soap, or change the carpets in my room.
AUNT. It isn’t fair to regard yourself as superior, neglected by the rest of us, when the fact of the matter is that everything in the house has to take second place to your comfort and your likes!
UNCLE (sweetly). It’s the other way round, my girl.
AUNT (seriously). I mean everything. Instead of making lace, I prune the plants. What do you do for me?
UNCLE. Oh, come! There comes a moment when people who’ve lived together for years find reasons to be bad-tempered and touchy about the smallest things. It’s their way of putting a bit of life and spark into something that’s really dead. We never had these conversations when we were twenty.
AUNT. No. When we were twenty the windows used to shatter …
UNCLE. And the cold was a toy that amused us … ROSITA appears. She is dressed in pink. The styles have changed from the leg-o’-mutton sleeves of 1900. Her skirt is bell-shaped. She crosses the stage quickly with a pair of scissors in her hand. She stops in the centre of the stage …
ROSITA. Has the postman been?
UNCLE. Has he been?
AUNT. I don’t know. (Calling out.) Has the postman been? No. Not yet.
ROSITA. He always comes at this time.
UNCLE. He should have been here by now.
AUNT. Very often he’s held up.
ROSITA. Only the other day I met him playing hop-scotch with three children, and a big pile of letters on the floor.
AUNT. He’ll be here soon.
ROSITA. Call me when he comes. (She goes out quickly.)
UNCLE. What are you going to do with the scissors?
ROSITA. Cut some roses.
UNCLE (surprised). What? Who’s given you permission?
AUNT. I have. It’s her saint’s day.
ROSITA. I want to put some in the window-boxes and in the vase in the front hall.
UNCLE. Whenever you cut a rose, it’s as if you’ve cut off one of my fingers. I know it’s the same (Looking at his wife). I don’t want to argue about it. I know they don’t last long. (The HOUSEKEEPER enters.) That’s how the song goes - the Waltz of the Roses, one of the most beautiful songs we have. I really can’t hide my feelings when I see roses in a vase. (He leaves.)
ROSITA (to the HOUSEKEEPER). Has the post come?
HOUSEKEEPER. The only thing roses are good for is to make rooms pretty.
ROSITA (annoyed). I asked you if the post’s come.
HOUSEKEEPER (annoyed). Do you think I keep the letters to myself when they arrive?
AUNT. Go on now. Cut the flowers.
ROSITA. In this house there’s a drop of bitterness with everything.
HOUSEKEEPER. Oh, yes. We find arsenic in all the corners. (She leaves.)
AUNT. Are you happy?
ROSITA. I don’t know.
AUNT. What does that mean?
ROSITA. When I don’t see people I’m happy, but since I have to see them …
AUNT. Of course you do! I don’t like the kind of life you are leading. Your fiancé doesn’t want you to spend all your time at home. He’s always telling me in his letters that you should go out.
ROSITA. It’s just that in the street I can see that time is passing and I don’t want to lose my illusions. They’ve built another new house in the little square. I don’t want to be reminded that time is passing me by!
AUNT. Of course you don’t! I’ve told you often enough to write to your cousin and marry someone else here. You’re a lively girl. I know there are lots of men in love with you, young ones and older ones.
ROSITA. Oh, Aunt. My roots have gone deep - deep down into my feelings. If it weren’t for seeing other people, I’d think it was only a week ago that he went away. I wait as if it were still the very first day. Anyway, what’s a year, or two years, or five? (A little bell is heard.) It’s the post.
AUNT. I wonder what he’s sent.
HOUSEKEEPER (entering). It’s those awful old maids.
AUNT. Holy Mary!
ROSITA. Ask them in.
HOUSEKEEPER. The mother and the three girls. All show on the outside and only a few stale crumbs to keep them going … I’d give them a good spanking across their … ! (She goes out.)
The three pretentious girls enter with their mother. The THREE SPINSTERS wear huge hats with tasteless feathers, ridiculous dresses, gloves to the elbow with bracelets over them, and fans dangling from long chains. The MOTHER wears a faded black dress and a hat with old purple ribbons.
MOTHER (kissing ROSITA.) Happy birthday!
ROSITA. Thank you. (She kisses the SPINSTERS in turn.) Love! Charity! Mercy!
FIRST SPINSTER. Happy birthday!
SECOND SPINSTER. Happy birthday!
THIRD SPINSTER. Happy birthday!
AUNT (to the MOTHER). How are your feet?
MOTHER. Worse all the time. If it weren’t for my girls, I’d be stuck at home. (They sit down.)
AUNT. Have you tried rubbing them with lavender?
FIRST SPINSTER. Every night.
SECOND SPINSTER. And the boiled mallows.
AUNT. That cures every kind of rheumatism.
Pause.
MOTHER. How is your husband?
AUNT. Quite well, thank you.
Pause.
MOTHER. Still with his roses?
AUNT. Still with his roses.
THIRD SPINSTER. Oh, flowers are so pretty!
SECOND SPINSTER. We’ve got a Saint Francis rosebush in a pot!
ROSITA. But the Saint Francis rose doesn’t have a scent.
FIRST SPINSTER. Hardly any.
MOTHER. My favourites are the syringas.
THIRD SPINSTER. And violets are pretty too.
Pause.
MOTHER. Well, girls. Have you brought the card?
THIRD SPINSTER. Yes. It’s a little girl dressed in pink who’s also a barometer. The monk with his cape is much too common now. The little girl’s skirts are made of very thin paper and, according to whether it’s damp or not, they open and close.
ROSITA (reading). In the meadow one morning
The nightingale’s singing.
Its song proclaiming
Rosita’s a darling.
You really shouldn’t have!
AUNT. Oh, how tasteful!
MOTHER. I’ve never lacked taste! Only money!
FIRST SPINSTER. Mamma!
SECOND SPINSTER. Mamma!
THIRD SPINSTER. Mamma!
MOTHER. Now girls, I’m among friends here. There’s no one can hear us. You know perfectly well that since my poor husband was taken from me I’ve performed real miracles in order to manage on a pension. I fancy I can still hear the father of these girls when, generous gentleman that he was, he used to tell me: ‘Henrietta, spend, spend, spend. I’m earning decent money now.’ Ah well, those days are gone! But even so, we’ve managed to keep our position in society. What agony I’ve gone through, madam, so that my girls shouldn’t be deprived of hats! I’ve shed many a tear, sighed many a sigh on account of a ribbon or an arrangement of curls! Those feathers and wires have cost me many a sleepless night!
THIRD SPINSTER. Mamma … !
MOTHER. But it’s the truth, my child. We can’t spend at all beyond our means. Many’s the time I say to them: ‘Now what do you really want, dear girls? An egg for breakfast or a chair when you promenade?’ They all reply together: ‘A chair.’
THIRD SPINSTER. Mamma, don’t go on so. The whole of Granada’s heard it.
MOTHER. But then, what else could they say? We may have to eat potatoes or a bunch of grapes, but we’ve still got our Mongolian cape, or a painted parasol, or a poplinette blouse with all the trimmings. There’s just no alternative. Even so, it’s such an ordeal! My eyes fill with tears when I see them competing with girls who have money.
SECOND SPINSTER. Aren’t you going to the park today, Rosita?
ROSITA. No.
THIRD SPINSTER. We always meet up with the Ponce de León girls, or the Herrastis of the daughters of the Baroness of Saint Matilda of the Papal Benediction. All the best in Granada.
MOTHER. Of course, they were at Heaven’s Gate School together. (Pause.)
AUNT (rising). What would you like to eat? (They all rise.)
MOTHER. You have the most delicate hands when it comes to puff pastries with pine nuts!
FIRST SPINSTER (to ROSITA). Have you had any news?
ROSITA. The last letter suggested there might be. I’m waiting to see what this one brings.
THIRD SPINSTER. Have you finished the set with the valencienne lace?
ROSITA. Of course! And another one of nainsook with moiré butterflies.
SECOND SPINSTER. The day you marry you’ll have the best trousseau in the world.
ROSITA. Oh, I still think it’s not enough. They say that men get tired of a girl if they always see her dressed the same.
HOUSEKEEPER (entering). The Ayola girls are here. The photographer’s daughters!
AUNT. You really mean the Misses Ayola.
HOUSEKEEPER. The big-shot daughters of the high and mighty Ayola, photographer to his Majesty the King, winner of the gold medal at the Madrid Exhibition! (Leaves.)
AUNT. One has to put up with her; but there are times when she sets my nerves on edge. (The SPINSTERS are with ROSITA looking at some linens). Servants are impossible.
MOTHER. And cheeky! I have a girl who cleans the flat for us in the afternoons. She was earning what they’ve always earned: a peseta a month plus the leftovers, which isn’t bad in times like these. Well, the other day she suddenly came out with a demand for five pestas, and I just can’t manage it!
AUNT. I don’t know where it’s all going to end.
The AYOLA GIRLS enter and greet ROSITA happily. They are richly dressed in the greatly exaggerated style of the period.
ROSITA. Do you know each other?
FIRST AYOLA. Only by sight.
ROSITA. The Misses Ayola, Mrs Scarpini and her daughters.
SECOND AYOLA. We see them sitting when we promenade. (They try to conceal laughter.)
ROSITA. Please take a seat. (The SPINSTERS sit.)
AUNT (to the AYOLA GIRLS). Would you care for a sweet?
SECOND AYOLA. Oh, no! We ate just a little while ago. To tell the truth, I had four eggs with tomato sauce. I could hardly get up from the chair.
FIRST AYOLA. How amusing! They laugh. Pause. The AYOLAS begin an uncontrollable laughter which communicates itself to ROSITA. ROSITA tries not to laugh. The SPINSTERS and the MOTHER are serious. Pause.
MOTHER. To be young!
AUNT. Such a happy time!
ROSITA (walking about the stage as if arranging things). Oh, please be quiet! (They stop laughing.)
AUNT (to the THIRD SPINSTER): Why don’t you play the piano for us?
THIRD SPINSTER. I don’t practise much. I’ve got too much needlework to do.
ROSITA. It’s a very long time since I heard you play.
MOTHER. If it weren’t for me, her fingers would be as stiff as pokers. But I’m always telling her - ‘Practise! Practise!’
SECOND SPINSTER. Since poor Daddy died she doesn’t want to play. He loved to listen!
SECOND AYOLA. I remember sometimes the tears would run down his face.
FIRST SPINSTER. When she played Popper‘s ‘Tarantella’.
SECOND SPINSTER. And the ‘Virgin’s Prayer’.
MOTHER. With so much feeling!
The AYOLAS, who have been restraining themselves, burst out laughing. Great peals of laughter. ROSITA, with her back to the SPINSTERS, laughs too but controls herself.
AUNT. What girls!
FIRST AYOLA. We are laughing because, before we arrived …
SECOND AYOLA. She tripped and almost did a somersault …
FIRST AYOLA. And I… (They laugh.)
The SPINSTERS pretend to smile in a somewhat weary and sad manner.
MOTHER. Well, we must be off.
AUNT. Oh, you mustn’t go yet!
ROSITA (to everybody). Let’s be thankful that you didn’t fall. (To the HOUSEKEEPER.) Bring the Saint Kathleen’s Bones.
THIRD SPINSTER. They are very rich!
MOTHER. Last year someone gave us a whole pound.
The HOUSEKEEPER enters with the Bones.
HOUSEKEEPER. Titbits for fine people! (to ROSITA.) The postman’s coming through the poplars.
ROSITA. Wait for him at the door.
FIRST AYOLA. I’m not hungry. I’d rather have an anisette.
ROSITA. You were always fond of the bottle!
FIRST AYOLA. When I was six I used to come here and Rosita’s fiancé got me used to drinking. Do you remember, Rosita?
ROSITA (seriously). No!
SECOND AYOLA. Rosita and her fiancé used to teach me my A, B, C … How many years ago was it?
AUNT. Fifteen!
FIRST AYOLA. I’ve almost forgotten what your fiancé looked like.
SECOND AYOLA. Didn’t he have a mark on his lip?
ROSITA. A mark? Aunty, did he have a mark on his lip?
AUNT. But don’t you remember, child? It was the one thing that spoilt his face.
ROSITA. But it wasn’t a scar. It was a burn, rather red. Scars are deep things.
FIRST AYOLA. My wish is for Rosita to get married!
ROSITA. Oh, good Lord!
SECOND AYOLA. Don’t be silly. I want you to too!
ROSITA. But why?
FIRST AYOLA. So we can go to a wedding. I’m getting married as soon as I can!
AUNT. Child!
FIRST AYOLA. To anyone! I don’t want to be an old maid.
SECOND AYOLA. I agree entirely.
AUNT (to the MOTHER). What’s your opinion?
FIRST AYOLA. And if I’m Rosita’s friend, it’s because she has a sweetheart! Women without sweethearts are faded, eaten-up inside, and all of them … (Noticing the SPINSTERS.) … well, not all … some of them … Well, anyway, they are all boiling up inside!
AUNT. Now that’s quite enough!
MOTHER. Pay no attention!
FIRST SPINSTER. There are lots of girls who don’t marry because they don’t want to.
SECOND AYOLA. I don’t believe a word of it.
FIRST SPINSTER (peevishly). I know it for a fact!
SECOND AYOLA. A girl who doesn’t want to get married doesn’t powder her face, doesn’t wear falsies, and doesn’t sit on her balcony all day and night eying the passers-by.
SECOND SPINSTER. Perhaps such a girl simply likes to take the air!
ROSITA. What a silly conversation this is!
They all laugh in a forced manner.
AUNT. Very well, why don’t we play a little?
MOTHER. Come along, child!
THIRD SPINSTER (getting up). But what shall I play?
SECOND AYOLA. Play ‘Viva Frascuelo’!
SECOND SPINSTER. The barcarolle from ‘The Frigate Numancia’.
ROSITA. And why not ‘What the Flowers Say’?
MOTHER. Oh yes! ‘What the Flowers Say’! (To the AUNT.) Have you heard her perform it? She recites and plays at the same time. Sheer beauty!
THIRD SPINSTER. I can also recite: ‘The dark swallows will return, to build their nests in your balcony’.
FIRST AYOLA. That’s too sad.
FIRST SPINSTER. Sad is beautiful too.
AUNT. Come along then! Come along!
THIRD SPINSTER (at the piano).
Mother, take me to the fields
As day begins to break,
To see the flowers open
And the branches start to wake.
A thousand flowers whisper
To a thousand love-struck maidens,
And the fountain tells a story
That the nightingale keeps hidden.
ROSITA. The rose had opened quickly
In the early-morning light;
As red as fresh-spilt blood,
It had put the dew to flight.
So dazzling upon its stem,
Its fire burnt the air;
How tall it stood, how splendid!
Its petals bright and fair.
THIRD SPINSTER. ‘Only on you do I set my eyes’,
The heliotrope would sigh.
‘And I can never love you’,
Is the basil-flower’s cry.
The violet says, ‘I’m timid.’
The white rose says, ‘I’m cold.’
The jasmine says, ‘I’m faithful.’
The carnation boasts, ‘I’m bold.’
SECOND SPINSTER. The hyacinth means bitterness,
The passion-flower pain.
FIRST SPINSTER. The lily is eternal hope,
The mustard flower disdain.
AUNT. The gardenia says, ‘I am your friend.
‘I trust you’, the passion flower.
The honeysuckle soothes you,
The evergreen kills for sure.
MOTHER. Evergreen that stands for death,
Clasped by hands that pray,
How fine you seem when the soft breeze
Weeps on a funeral day.
ROSITA. The rose’s petals are open wide,
But evening advances,
And the sad sound of falling snow
Is heavy on the branches.
When shadows come and nightingales sing,
Recounting their sad tale,
Like one who’s overwhelmed by grief,
She grows white and pale.
When night descends, announcing itself
On its great metallic horn,
When the breeze sleeps on the mountain-top,
And the winds no longer moan.
Then it is that her death begins,
And she longs to see the dawn.
THIRD SPINSTER.
Dead flowers weep in your long, soft hair,
Some of them sharp as knives.
Others are like ice or fire,
Matching a maiden’s sighs.
FIRST SPINSTER. The flowers have a language,
A meaning of their own.
Who can understand it?
Only those by love overthrown.
ROSITA. The willow-herb speaks of jealousy,
The dahlia of disdain,
The fleur-de-lis of laughter,
The gardenia of love’s pain.
Yellow flowers all mean hate,
Scarlet speaks of passion’s heat,
White foretells a bridal gown
And blue a fatal winding-sheet.
THIRD SPINSTER. Mother, take me to the fields
As day begins to break,
To see the flowers open
And the branches start to wake.
The piano plays a last scale and stops.
AUNT. Isn’t that beautiful!
MOTHER. They know the language of the fan, the language of gloves, the language of stamps, and the language of the hours. I get goosepimples when they sing the one that goes:
Twelve o’clock strikes the world over,
Echoing harsh and clear,
Think well on it now, sinner,
The hour of death draws near.
FIRST AYOLA. Oh, what a hideous song!
MOTHER. And then there’s the other one:
At one o’clock are we born,
Tra, la, la.
To be born at such an hour,
Tra, la, la,
Is to open these eyes of ours,
Tra, la, la,
In a meadow of beautiful flowers,
flowers, flowers. Tra, la, la.
SECOND AYOLA (to her sister). I think the old lady’s had a drop too much. (To the MOTHER.) Would you care for another glass?
MOTHER. With the utmost pleasure and the best will in the world, as they used to say in my time.
ROSITA has been watching for the postman’s arrival.
HOUSEKEEPER. The postman!
General excitement.
AUNT. And just at the right time!
THIRD SPINSTER. He must have picked today!
MOTHER. How considerate of him!
SECOND AYOLA. Open the letter!
FIRST AYOLA. It would be more appropriate for you to read it alone, just in case there’s something rather daring.
MOTHER. Heavens!
ROSITA leaves with the letter.
FIRST AYOLA. A love-letter isn’t a prayer book, you know.
THIRD SPINSTER. It’s a prayer book of love.
SECOND AYOLA. Oh, what an exquisite comparison!
The A YOLAS laugh.
FIRST AYOLA. You can tell she’s never received one.
MOTHER (forcefully). Fortunately for her!
FIRST AYOLA. So it’s her look-out!
AUNT (to the HOUSEKEEPER who starts to go out to ROSITA).
Where are you going?
HOUSEKEEPER. Can’t I put one foot in front of the other?
AUNT. Just leave her be!
ROSITA (entering). Aunt! Aunt!
AUNT. What is it, child?
ROSITA (excitedly). Oh, Aunt!
FIRST AYOLA. What is it?
THIRD SPINSTER. Tell us!
SECOND AYOLA. What is it?
HOUSEKEEPER. Speak!
AUNT. Out with it!
MOTHER. A glass of water!
SECOND AYOLA. Come on!
FIRST AYOLA. Quickly!
Excitement and flurry.
ROSITA (in a choking voice). He’s decided to marry … (Alarm on all their faces.)… to marry me, because he can’t wait any more, but…
SECOND AYOLA (embracing her). Hooray! What happiness!
FIRST AYOLA. Let me hug you!
AUNT. Let her speak!
ROSITA (more calmly). But he can’t come at present, so the wedding will be by proxy and he will come later on.
FIRST SPINSTER. Congratulations!
MOTHER (almost weeping). May God give you the happiness you deserve!
She embraces ROSITA.
HOUSEKEEPER. And what’s this ‘by proxy’? What’s it mean?
ROSITA. Nothing. Someone represents the goom at the ceremony.
HOUSEKEEPER. And what else?
ROSITA. Just that a girl’s married then!
HOUSEKEEPER. What about the nights?
ROSITA. Heavens!
FIRST AYOLA. There’s a point! What about the nights?
AUNT. Girls!
HOUSEKEEPER. He should come in person to marry you! ‘By proxy!’ I’ve never heard of it. The sheets trembling with the cold and the bride’s nightdress still in the bottom of the trunk! Madam, don’t ever let proxies into this house! (They all laugh.) Madam, I can’t abide proxies!
ROSITA. But he’ll soon be here himself. It’s one more proof of just how much he loves me!
HOUSEKEEPER. And I say: Let him come and take you by the arm. And let him stir the sugar in your coffee and taste it first to see if it burns!
Laughter. The UNCLE enters with a rose.
ROSITA.Uncle!
UNCLE. I heard everything and, almost without thinking, I cut the only Rosa Mutabile in the greenhouse. It was still red.
By noon her petals open wide
Have all the firmness of coral.
ROSITA. The sun looks down to gaze up on The splendour of its rival.
UNCLE. If I’d waited two hours more, I would have given it to you white.
ROSITA. Like the whiteness of a dove,
Like the sea’s sad smiling,
Like the white, white coldness
Of a cheek marked by grieving.
UNCLE. But at the moment it still has the flame of youth.
AUNT. Husband, a little drink with me! It’s the right day for it.
Excitement The THIRD SPINSTER goes to the piano and plays a polka. ROSITA is looking at the rose. The FIRST and SECOND SPINSTERS dance with the AYOLAS and sing.
I saw you a young woman
On the sea-shore standing.
Your sweet, sad manner
Was the cause of my longing.
That delicate sweetness
Of my fatal illusion,
In the light of the moon
Was sudden confusion.
The AUNT and UNCLE dance. ROSITA goes to the pair formed by the SECOND SPINSTER and the AYOLA. She dances with the SPINSTER. On seeing the old couple dance, the AYOLA claps her hands. The HOUSEKEEPER enters and joins in.
Curtain.