Federico García
Lorca
Doña Rosita the Spinster
and the Language of Flowers
(Doña Rosita la soltera
o el lenguaje de las
1935
A Granadine poem of the 19th Century, divided into several
gardens with scenes of song and dance
Act
I
A. S. Kline © 2008 All Rights Reserved
This work may be freely reproduced, stored, and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Permission to perform this version of the play, on stage or film, by amateur or professional companies, and for commercial purposes, should be requested from the translator,
Doña Rosita
The Nurse/Housekeeper
The Aunt
First
Girl/Coquette
Second
Girl/Coquette
Third
Girl/Coquette
First
Spinster
Second
Spinster
Third
Spinster
The
Spinsters’ Mother
First
Ayola daughter
Second
Ayola daughter
The Uncle
The Nephew
The Professor
of Economics/Señor X
Don Martín
A
Boy
Two Working Men
A
Voice
(A room with an exit to a
conservatory)
UNCLE: And my seeds?
NURSE: They were there.
UNCLE: Well, they’re not now.
AUNT: Hellebores, fuchsias, and chrysanthemums, violet-coloured
Louis Passy roses and silver-white Altairs with streaks of heliotrope.
UNCLE: You should be careful with flowers.
NURSE: If you mean me…
AUNT: Hush. Don’t answer back.
UNCLE: I mean all of you. I found dahlia seeds
trampled into the soil. (He goes into the
conservatory.) You don’t appreciate my conservatory enough; since the
eighteenth century, when the Countess de Vandes grew
the first musk rose, no one in
NURSE: Well, don’t I respect them?
AUNT: Ha! You’re the worst.
NURSE: Yes, Señora. But I say drench the flowers
like that and sprinkle water everywhere and we’ll soon have toads in the sofa.
AUNT: Well you like the scent of flowers.
NURSE: No, Señora. To me flowers smell of dead
children, or a flock of nuns, or a church altar. Sad things.
Give me an orange or a fine quince, and you can forget all the roses in the
world. But here….it’s roses to the right, basil to the left, anemones, salvias,
petunias and those flowers of today, the fashionable ones, chrysanthemums, ruffled
like the hair of gipsy girls. How I’d love to see a pear-tree planted in this
garden, or a cherry, or a persimmon!
AUNT: So you could eat them!
NURSE: Since I’ve a mouth…As they sang in my
village;
The mouth is there for eating,
the feet are there
for dancing,
and a woman has something…
(She stops goes, over to the Aunt,
and whispers to her.)
AUNT: Jesus! (Crossing
herself)
NURSE: It’s village vulgarity. (Crossing herself)
ROSITA: (Entering
rapidly. She is in red: her dress is nineteenth century, with mutton sleeves
and trimmed with ribbons.) And my hat? Where’s my
hat? San Luis’ bells have already chimed thirty!
NURSE: I left it on the table.
ROSITA: Well it’s not there. (Looking for it)
(The Nurse exits.)
AUNT: Have you tried the cupboard?
(The Aunt exits.)
NURSE: (Entering)
I can’t find it.
ROSITA: Can it be possible that no one knows where my
hat is?
NURSE: Wear the blue one with daisies.
ROSITA: You’re crazy.
NURSE: Not as crazy as you.
AUNT: (Returning
with it) Here it is, be off with you!
(Rosita takes it and runs out.)
NURSE: Everything has to be done on the wing. Today wants
now what will happen tomorrow. It takes flight, and slips through our hands.
When a little girl has to count the days she begins when she’s already old: ‘My
Rosita is eighty now’…it’s always so. How often has she sat down to watch you do
tatting or frivolité, or point de feston,
or draw threads to adorn a dressing gown.
AUNT: Never.
NURSE: Always in
and out, and out and in; in and out, and out and in.
AUNT: Mind what you’re saying!
NURSE: Whatever it means, it’s nothing new.
AUNT: Of course I’ve never liked to oppose her. How
can one hurt an orphaned creature?
NURSE: Neither
father nor mother, nor dog to defend her, but she has an uncle and aunt who
are treasures. (She embraces her.)
UNCLE: (Within)
Now this is the end!
AUNT: Holy mother of God!
UNCLE: It’s fine that they
crush my seeds underfoot, but it’s intolerable that they tear the leaves from a
rosebush I love so much: more than all the other roses, the musk or the hispid
or the pompon or the damascene or the eglantine or the Queen Isabel. (To the Aunt) Come, come and see.
AUNT: It’s broken?
UNCLE: No, no the worst hasn’t happened, but it
might have.
AUNT: We’ll get to the bottom of this!
UNCLE: I wonder who knocked its pot over?
NURSE: Don’t you stare at me.
UNCLE: Was it me, then?
NURSE: Why not a cat, or a dog, or a gust of wind
through the window?
AUNT: Go, and sweep the conservatory.
NURSE: In this house it’s clear no one’s allowed to
speak.
UNCLE: (Entering)
It’s a rose no one has seen before; a surprise I’ve
prepared for you. Because it’s unbelievable this ‘
When
it opens in the morning,
It
glows as red as blood.
The
dew won’t touch it
Afraid of being burnt.
Open
wide at
It’s
hard as the coral.
The
sun leans through windows
To gaze
at its gleaming.
When
the birds begin
To
sing in the branches
And
the afternoon faints
In
violet light, off the sea,
It turns
white, as white
As a grain of white salt.
And when night chimes
Its white horn of metal
And the stars all appear
As the breezes die,
In a ray of darkness
It starts to fade.
AUNT: And has it flowered yet?
UNCLE: One flower has opened.
AUNT: And it only lasts a day?
UNCLE: Just one. But I think I’ll spend the day
beside it to watch how it whitens.
ROSITA: (Entering)
My parasol.
UNCLE: Your parasol.
AUNT: (Loudly)
The Parasol!
NURSE: (Appearing)
Here’s the parasol!
(Rosita takes the parasol and
kisses her uncle and aunt.)
ROSITA: How do I look?
UNCLE: Beautiful.
AUNT: There’s not another like you.
ROSITA: (Opening
the parasol) And now?
NURSE: For the love of God, close that parasol, you
mustn’t open one indoors. It brings bad luck!
By
Saint Bartholomew’s wheel
And
And
the sacred laurel bough,
Darkness,
get thee
To
(The others laugh. The uncle exits.)
ROSITA: (Closing
it) It’s closed.
NURSE: Don’t do that again! Holy….saints!
ROSITA: Oops!
AUNT: What were you going to say?
NURSE: But I didn’t say it.
ROSITA: (Leaving,
with a smile.) See you later!
AUNT: Who’s going with you?
ROSITA: (Bowing
her head) I’ll be with the girls. (She
exits.)
NURSE: And the boyfriend.
AUNT: The boyfriend I believe I had to accept.
NURSE: I don’t know which I like better, whether
it’s the boyfriend or her. (The Aunt sits
down to her lace-making.) A pair of cousins to be put on a shelf of sugar,
and if they die, God help them, be embalmed, and set in a niche with crystal
and snow. Which do you prefer? (She begins sweeping up.)
AUNT: I love them both, as nephew and niece.
NURSE: One for the top sheet and one for the bottom,
but…
AUNT: Rosita grew up here with me…
NURSE: Of course. As if I didn’t believe in family. With
me it’s law. Blood runs in our veins, but unseen. She loves a second cousin she
sees every day more than a brother far away. For what, we’ll see.
AUNT: Woman, get on with the cleaning.
NURSE: I see it now. Here you’re not allowed to open
your mouth. You nurse a lovely girl like that. You abandon your own children, in
a shack, quivering with hunger.
AUNT: It’s ‘quivering with cold’.
NURSE: Quivering with everything, so they can say to
you: ‘Be silent!’ And since I’m a servant I can do no more than be silent, so that’s
what I do, and I can’t answer and say…
AUNT: And say what..?
NURSE: Oh…leave that bobbin alone with its clicking:
you’re making my head burst with your clicking.
AUNT: (Laughing)
Go, and see who’s there.
(There is a silence on stage, in
which we hear the sound of the bobbin with which the Aunt is lace-making.)
VOICE: (A street-vendor’s
call) Camomile….from the mountains!
AUNT: (Speaking
to herself) One must buy camomile sometimes. On
some occasions it’s needed….Another day goes by…. (counting the points in her lace) thirty-seven, thirty-eight.
VOICE : (Further
off) Camomile…from the mountains!
AUNT: (Taking
a pin) And…forty.
NEPHEW: (Entering)
Aunt.
AUNT: (Without
looking at him) Hello, have a seat if you want. Rosita has gone out
already.
NEPHEW: Who is she with?
AUNT: With the girls. (A pause. She looks at the Nephew.) Something’s happened.
NEPHEW: Yes.
AUNT: (Anxiously)
I can almost guess. I hope I’m wrong.
NEPHEW: No. Read this.
AUNT: (Reading)
Well: it’s natural. That’s why I opposed your relationship with Rosita. I knew
that sooner or later you would have to join your parents. And how close it is!
Forty days travel to reach
NEPHEW: It’s no sin to love my cousin. Do you imagine
that I want to leave? Precisely when I want to stay, this arrives.
AUNT: Stay? Stay? You have to go. There are acres
of land, and your father is old. I’m here to insist you make the voyage. But
you’ll leave me a life of bitterness. I don’t want to think about your cousin.
You’re about to fire an arrow with purple ribbons into her heart. Now she’ll
find that cloth doesn’t only serve to make flowers, but to soak up tears too.
NEPHEW: What do you advise me to do?
AUNT: You must go. Remember your father is my
brother. Here you are no more than a stroller among gardens, while there you
will be a farmer.
NEPHEW: But I would prefer…
AUNT: To marry? Are you mad? When your future’s
already laid out? And take Rosita with you, no doubt? Over our dead bodies,
your uncle’s and mine.
NEPHEW: That’s just words. I know only too well I
can’t. But I want Rosita to wait for me. I’ll soon be back.
AUNT: If you don’t hit it off with a girl from Tucumán first. The words stuck to the roof of my mouth
before I consented to your friendship with her; because my little girl will be
left alone behind these four walls, while you’ll be free to travel the seas,
the rivers, the groves of grapefruit trees: my little one will be here, her every
day like another, and you’ll be there with horse and a gun shooting pheasants.
NEPHEW: You’ve no reason to speak to me in this way.
I gave my word and I’ll keep it. My father is in
AUNT: (Gently)
Hush.
NEPHEW: I have hushed. But don’t take my respect as a
sign of shame.
AUNT: (With Andalusian irony) Pardon me! I forgot: you’re a man
now.
NURSE: (Entering
weeping) If he was a man he wouldn’t be going.
AUNT: (Forcefully)
Silence!
(The Nurse weeps with great sobs.)
NEPHEW: I’ll return again in an instant. You tell
her.
AUNT: Don’t mind her. The old have to suffer difficult
times.
(The
Nephew leaves.)
NURSE: Ah, what a tragedy for my little girl! A
tragedy! A tragedy! Such are the men of today! I’ll be gathering gold coins in
the street based on his promise. Once again
tears fill this house. Ay! Señora! (Attacking
him) If only a sea-serpent would swallow him!
AUNT: For God’s sake!
NURSE: By
the sesame plant
By
the three holy questions
And
the cinnamon flower,
May
your nights be evil
And
your sowing be evil.
By
the well of Saint Nicholas
May
your salt turn to poison.
(She picks up a jug of water, and
makes a cross in the salt)
AUNT: No curses. Go about your business.
(The Nurse leaves. They hear
laughter. The Aunt exits.)
FIRST
GIRL/COQUETTE: (Entering, and closing her parasol) Ay!
SECOND GIRL: (Ditto)
Ay! It’s chilly!
THIRD GIRL: (Ditto)
Ay!
ROSITA: (Ditto)
My
three pretty girls
Whom
do you sigh for?
FIRST GIRL: For
no one.
SECOND GIRL: For the breeze.
THIRD GIRL: For
a lover, to court me.
ROSITA: What
then will bring
A cry to your lips?
FIRST GIRL: The
wall.
SECOND GIRL: A true portrait.
THIRD GIRL: The
lace of my bedspread.
ROSITA: I
long to sigh too,
My
friends! My beauties!
FIRST GIRL: Who’ll
receive it?
ROSITA: Two
eyes
That
the shadows whiten,
With
lashes like vines,
Where the dawn’s sleeping.
And,
though dark they’re
Afternoons of poppies.
FIRST GIRL: A ribbon for that sigh!
SECOND GIRL: Ay!
THIRD GIRL: Happy
girl!
FIRST GIRL: Happy!
ROSITA: If
I’m not mistaken, then I’ve
Heard certain things about you.
FIRST GIRL: Rumours
are wild plants.
SECOND GIRL: The
murmur of the waves.
ROSITA: I’m
going to tell…
FIRST GIRL: Here goes!
THIRD GIRL: Rumours are garlands.
ROSITA:
That’s
where the girls live,
Who
go to the
Three or four alone.
One
dressed in green,
One
in mauve, the other
In
a Scottish corselet –
With
ribbons at their tails.
Those
in front are, herons;
The
one behind’s a pigeon;
Open
to the poplars
Mysterious the muslins.
How
dark the
Where
will the girls go
While
suffering the shadow
The fountain and the rose?
What
lovers do they hope for?
What
myrtles will hide them?
What
hands steal the perfume
From their swelling breasts?
No
one’s with them, no one;
Two herons and a pigeon.
Yet
the world has lovers
Hidden in the bushes.
The
Cathedral still scatters
Bronze taken by the breeze.
The
Genil lulls its oxen:
Its butterflies, the Darro.
The
night comes charged
With
its hills of shadow;
One
shows off her shoes
Beneath
silk lace flounces;
The
eldest’s eyes are open
The
youngest’s narrowed.
Whose
will these three be
High-breasted long-tails?
To
whom are they waving?
Now,
where are they going?
That’s
where the girls live,
Who
go to the
Three or four alone.
FIRST GIRL: May
the waves of rumour
Spread
through
SECOND GIRL: Do
we have lovers?
ROSITA: Not one.
SECOND GIRL: Is
that the truth?
ROSITA: Yes, indeed.
THIRD GIRL: Laces
of frost adorn
Our bridal nightgowns.
ROSITA: But…
FIRST GIRL: The
night delights us.
ROSITA: But…
SECOND GIRL: In
streets full of shadow.
FIRST GIRL: We
climb to the
Three or four alone.
THIRD GIRL: Ay!
SECOND GIRL: Hush!
THIRD GIRL: Why?
Ay!
FIRST GIRL: Ay, let no one hear her!
ROSITA:
Where the moonlight rests.
NURSE: Child, your Aunt is calling you. (Very sadly.)
ROSITA: Have you been crying?
NURSE: (Controlling
herself) No…it’s just something, something I…
ROSITA: I’m not afraid. What’s happened? (She goes in swiftly, gazing at the Nurse.
When Rosita has gone, the Nurse breaks into silent weeping.)
FIRST GIRL: (In a
loud voice) What’s going on?
SECOND GIRL: You tell us.
NURSE: Be quiet.
THIRD GIRL: (In a
whisper) Is it bad news?
(The Nurse goes to the door and
looks towards the point of Rosita’s exit.)
NURSE: She’s telling her now!
(Pause, while they all listen.)
FIRST GIRL: Rosita
is crying, let’s go inside.
NURSE: Come back, and you’ll hear. Go! You can leave
through the gate. (They leave.)
(The stage is left empty. A piano
faintly plays a study by Czerny. A Pause. The cousin
enters and on arrival halts centre stage as Rosita enters. The two remain
gazing at each other. The cousin advances. He takes her by the waist. She leans
her head on his shoulder.)
ROSITA: Why
are your treacherous eyes
Intertwined
with mine?
Why
do your hands weave
Flowers above my head.
To
what grief of nightingales
Do
you condemn my youth,
For
since my life and aim’s
Your
figure and your presence,
You’ll
shatter with cruel absence
The
strings of my lute!
COUSIN: Oh,
my cousin, my treasure,
Nightingale
on the mountain,
Cease
your singing of
Imaginary
cold;
There’s
no ice in my going,
For,
though I cross the sea,
The
waters must lend me
Nard
of spume and calm
To
contain the fire in me,
For I’m about to burn.
ROSITA: One night, half-slumbering,
On
my balcony of jasmine,
I
saw two cherubs plunging
Towards
an amorous rose;
Being
white in colour
It
flushed incarnadine;
But,
like a tender flower,
Its
petals, all reddened,
Fell
from it wounded
By the kiss of love.
So
I, the innocent cousin,
In
my garden of myrtle,
Gave
my longings to the air,
My whiteness to the fountain.
Sweet,
thoughtless gazelle
I
raised my eyes, I saw you
And
in my heart I felt
Sharp
needles inside me
That
are like open wounds
Crimson as wallflowers.
COUSIN: I shall return, my cousin,