A Sunny Morning - Serafin and Joaquin Alvarez Quinter

2 A Sunny Morning - Serafin and Joaquin Alvarez Quinter

Introduction Serafin and Joaquin Alvarez Quinter

Serafín Álvarez Quintero (March 26, 1871 – April 12, 1938) and Joaquín Álvarez Quintero (January 20, 1873 – June 14, 1944) were Spanish dramatists.

 

Lives and career

Born in Utrera, Seville Province, they wrote almost 200 plays which won Los hermanos Quintero (Spanish language: Quintero brothers) fame as the Golden Boys of the Madrid theatre. Their first stage piece, Gilito, was written in 1889. Other works include El buena sombra (1898), El traje de luces and La patria chica (1907), El patinillo (1909), Becquerina and Diana cazadora (1915)

 

A Sunny Morning Theme

"A Sunny Morning" is a one-act love comedy written by two prominent Spanish writers, Serafin and Joaquin Alvarez Quintero. ... This play is built on the central theme of a love affair, with two ex-lovers in their 70s reuniting in a park and reminiscing about their romantic past.

 

A Sunny Morning Summary

On a sunny autumn morning in a quiet corner of a park in Madrid, Dona Laura, a handsome, white-haired lady of about seventy, refined in appearance, is feeding pigeons in the park. Don Gonzalo, a gentleman of seventy, gouty and impatient, enters. Their servants Petra, Dona Laura’s maid, and Juanito come and go nearby.

 

The conversation between the two seventy-year-olds begins sarcastically, with each accusing the other of encroaching on their private space. Don Gonzalo complains the priests have taken his bench and says Dona Laura is a “Senile old lady! She ought to be at home knitting and counting her beads.” She finds him “an illnatured old man!” He resigns himself to “sit on the bench with the old lady.”

 

 A pinch of snuff helps to clear their heads, and they find something in common with alternating sneezes of three times each. Dona Laura confides to the audience, “the snuff has made peace between us.” They begin to banter back and forth in a more friendly manner. Then Don Gonzalo reads out loud from a book of poems.

As they converse, Gonzalo says that he is from Valencia and to his surprise, Laura reveals that she is from Maricela where she lived in a villa. Gonzalo is startled by the revelation and he says that he knows a woman named Laura Llorente who lived in a villa there, who was perhaps the most beautiful he had ever seen. Both Laura and Gonzalo realise each other to be former lovers. But they pretend not to reveal their identities. In her youthful days, Dona Laura was known in her locality as ‘The Silver Maiden’. She was fair as the lily, with jet black hair and black eyes. She was like a dream.

 

She was in love with Gonzalo, the gallant lover. He used to pass by on horseback every morning through the rose garden and toss up a bouquet of flowers to her balcony which she caught On his way back in the afternoon she would toss the flowers back to him. But Laura’s parents wanted to marry her off to a merchant whom she disliked.

 

One day there was a quarrel between Gonzalo and the merchant, the suitor.

After the duel the young man fled from his hometown to Seville and then to Madrid, being scared of the consequences of a duel with a person highly regarded in that locality. Even though he tried to communicate with Laura through letters, all attempts failed. Now Laura and Gonzalo devise stories of their own deaths.

The old Gonzalo says that he is the cousin of the young man. According to him, the young Gonzalo had to leave his place as he was involved in a fight with a merchant, the suitor of Laura. Then he joined the army and went to Africa where he met with a glorious death.

 

The old Laura says that she knows the woman named Laura, known as The Silver Maiden’ and that she was her friend during her young age. She also lies that she knows the tragic story of her love affair with a gallant young man named Gonzalo.

 

The old woman reveals that not finding her lover, the young and beautiful Laura committed suicide. But, in reality, after three months Gonzalo ran off to Paris with a ballet dancer and Laura, on the other hand, got married after two years. Both realise that they are lying but pretend to be unaware. When the play ends, they agree to meet at the park again, still not acknowledging what they both know to be true.

 

 Meeting of Don Gonzalo and Dona Laura

The Autumn season in the background presents the baldness of life coinciding with the entry of two key characters in the play Don Gonzalo and Dona Laura who have also lost their prime youth and attraction. They meet at the park but they are not able to identify each other at the beginning. Don Gonzalo angers Dona Laura as he scares away the birds she was feeding. Laura picks up a verbal combat attacking him with a barrage of words. He retorts though, gives up soon and offers her a pinch of snuff and reconciles with her.

 

Flashback

When Don Gonzalo reads from Campoamor’s ‘Twenty years pass. He returns’, both feel that they were the lovers in the past. But they choose to pretend to hide their identities. Don Gonzalo tells Laura that he was Gonzalo’s cousin and she says that she heard about Dona Laura’s story through her friend.

 

Their Love story

Laura Llorente lived at Maricela in Valencia. She was known as ‘The Silver Maiden’ in her locality. Gonzalo would pass by on horseback every morning down the rose path under her window and would toss up to her balcony a bouquet of flowers. Later in the afternoon he would return by the same path and catch the bouquet of flowers she would toss him. Laura’s parents wanted to get her married to a merchant.

A duel followed and the merchant was badly wounded by Gonzalo. He fled away fearing the consequences. Laura waited for days and months and not hearing from him for long she left her home one afternoon and went to the beach. While she was engrossed in his thoughts she was washed away by the waves.

Don Gonzalo’s version

 

Gonzalo loved her intensely too. After injuring the merchant seriously, fearing the consequences, he took refuge in Seville and Madrid. He wrote many letters to her but they were intercepted by her parents. As there was no reply, in despair, he joined the army and met his death in Africa.

 

Conclusion

Two years later Laura married someone and settled down in her life. Similarly, Gonzalo disappointed over his lost love, three months later married a ballet dancer and settled down in Paris. Though they were separated, in their hearts their yearning for the romantic love continued. When they meet in the park after nearly 50 years, both of them were able to recall their intense romantic affair. Although they came to know about each other in reality, they did not want to reveal, for they had lost their charming youth.

 

At the end of the play they agree to meet at the park again, still not acknowledging what they both know to be true. However, the whole play can be viewed as a satire of a mockery over those who pretend to be true Romeo and Juliet. It leaves a message that nothing is stable and people are not ready to reveal their bitter truths.

 

CHARACTERS

Doña Laura

Petra, a maid

Don Gonzalo

Juanito, an attendant

 

Scene

A sunny morning in a retired corner of a park in Madrid.

A bench at the right. (DOÑA LAURA, a handsome, white-haired old lady of about seventy, refined in appearance, her bright eyes and entire manner giving evidence that despite her age her mental faculities are unimpaired, enters leaning upon the arm of her maid, PETRA. In her free hand she carries a parasol, which serves also as a cane.)

DOÑA LAURA. I am so glad to be here. I feared my seat would be occupied. What a beautiful morning! PETRA. The sun is hot.

DOÑA LAURA. Yes, you are only twenty. (She sits down on the bench.) Oh, I feel more tired today than usual. (Noticing PETRA, who seems impatient.) Go, if you wish to chat with your guard. PETRA. He is not mine, señora; he belongs to the park.

DOÑA LAURA. He belongs more to you than he does to the park. Go find him, but remain within calling distance.

PETRA. I see him over there waiting for me.

DOÑA LAURA. Do not remain more than ten minutes.

PETRA. Very well, señora. (Walks toward the right.) DOÑA LAURA. Wait a moment. PETRA. What does the señora wish?

DOÑA LAURA. Give me the bread crumbs.

PETRA. I don’t know what is the matter with me.

DOÑA LAURA (smiling). I do. Your head is where your heart is—with the guard.

PETRA. Here, señora. [She hands DOÑA LAURA a small bag. Exit PETRA by the right.]

 

DOÑA LAURA. Adiós. (Glances toward the trees at the right.) Here they come! They know just when to expect me. (She rises, walks toward the right, and throws three handfuls of bread crumbs.) These are for the spryest, these for the gluttons, and these for the little ones which are the most persistent. (Laughs. She returns to her seat and watches, with a pleased expression, the pigeons feeding.) There, that big one is always first! I know him by his big head. Now one, now another, now two, now three—that little fellow is the least timid. I believe he would eat from my hand. That one takes his piece and flies up to that branch alone. He is a philosopher. But where do they all come from? It seems as if the news had spread. Ha, ha! Don’t quarrel. There is enough for all. I’ll bring more tomorrow. [Enter DON GONZALO and JUANITO from the left center.

 

DON GONZALO is an old gentleman of seventy, gouty and impatient. He leans upon JUANITO’s arm and drags his feet somewhat as he walks.]

DON GONZALO. Idling their time away! They should be saying Mass.

JUANITO. You can sit here, señor. There is only a lady. (DOÑA LAURA turns her head and listens.) DON GONZALO. I won’t, Juanito. I want a bench to myself.

JUANITO. But there is none.

DON GONZALO. That one over there is mine.

JUANITO. There are three priests sitting there.

DON GONZALO. Rout them out. Have they gone?

JUANITO. No indeed. They are talking.

DON GONZALO. Just as if they were glued to the seat. No hope of their leaving. Come this way,

Juanito. (They walk to ward the birds, right.)

DOÑA LAURA (indignantly). Look out!

DON GONZALO. Are you speaking to me, señora?

DOÑA LAURA. Yes, to you.

DON GONZALO. What do you wish?

DOÑA LAURA. You have scared away the birds who were feeding on my crumbs.

DON GONZALO. What do I care about the birds?

DOÑA LAURA. But I do. DON GONZALO. This is a public park.

DOÑA LAURA. Then why do you complain that the priests have taken your bench?

DON GONZALO. Señora, we have not met. I cannot imagine why you take the liberty of addressing me. Come, Juanito. (Both go out by the right.)

 

DOÑA LAURA. What an ill-natured old man! Why must people get so fussy and cross when they reach a certain age? (Looking toward the right.) I am glad. He lost that bench, too. Serves him right for scaring the birds. He is furious. Yes, yes, find a seat if you can. Poor man! He is wiping the perspiration from his face. Here he comes. A carriage would not raise more dust than his feet. [Enter DON GONZALO and JUANITO by the right, and walk toward the left.]

JUANITO. No indeed, señor. They are still there.

DON GONZALO. The authorities should place more benches here for these sunny mornings. Well, I suppose I must resign myself and sit on the bench with the old lady. (Muttering to himself, he sits at the extreme end of DOÑA LAURA’s bench and looks at her indignantly. He touches his hat as he greets her.) Good morning.

DOÑA LAURA. What, you here again?

DON GONZALO. I repeat that we have not met.

DOÑA LAURA. I was responding to your salute.

DON GONZALO. “Good morning” should be answered by “Good morning,” and that is all you should have said.

DOÑA LAURA. You should have asked permission to sit on this bench, which is mine.

DON GONZALO. The benches here are public property.

DOÑA LAURA. Why, you said the one the priests have was yours.

DON GONZALO. Very well, very well. I have nothing more to say. (Between his teeth.) Senile old lady! She ought to be at home knitting and counting her beads.

DOÑA LAURA. Don’t grumble any more. I’m not going to leave just to please you.

DON GONZALO (brushing the dust from his shoes with his handkerchief). If the ground were sprinkled a little it would be an improvement.

DOÑA LAURA. Do you use your handkerchief as a shoebrush?

DON GONZALO. Why not?

DOÑA LAURA. Do you use a shoebrush as a handkerchief?

DON GONZALO. What right have you to criticize my actions?

DOÑA LAURA. A neighbor’s right.

DON GONZALO. Juanito, my book. I do not care to listen to nonsense.

DOÑA LAURA. You are very polite.

DON GONZALO. Pardon me, señora, but never interfere with what does not concern you.

DOÑA LAURA. I generally say what I think.

DON GONZALO. And more to the same effect. Give me the book, Juanito.

JUANITO. Here, señor. [JUANITO takes a book from his pocket, hands it to DON GONZALO, then exits by the right.

DON GONZALO, casting indignant glances at DOÑA LAURA, puts on an enormous pair of glasses, takes from his pocket a reading glass, adjusts both to suit him, and opens his book.]

DOÑA LAURA. I thought you were taking out a telescope.

DON GONZALO. Was that you?

DOÑA LAURA. Your sight must be keen.

DON GONZALO. Keener than yours is.

DOÑA LAURA. Yes, evidently.

DON GONZALO. Ask the hares and partridges.

DOÑA LAURA. Ah! Do you hunt?

DON GONZALO. I did, and even now—

DOÑA LAURA. Oh yes, of course!

DON GONZALO. Yes, señora. Every Sunday I take my gun and dog, you understand, and go to one of my estates near Aravaca and kill time.

DOÑA LAURA. Yes, kill time. That is all you kill.

DON GONZALO. Do you think so? I could show you a wild boar’s head in my study—

DOÑA LAURA. Yes, and I could show you a tiger’s skin in my boudoir. What does that prove?

DON GONZALO. Very well, señora, please allow me to read. Enough conversation.

DOÑA LAURA. Well, you subside, then.

DON GONZALO. But first I shall take a pinch of snuff. (Takes out a snuffbox.) Will you have some? (Offers the box to DOÑA LAURA.)

DOÑA LAURA. If it is good. DON GONZALO. It is of the finest. You will like it.

DOÑA LAURA (taking a pinch of snuff). It clears my head.

DON GONZALO. And mine.

DOÑA LAURA. Do you sneeze?

DON GONZALO. Yes, señora, three times.

DOÑA LAURA. And so do I. What a coincidence! [After taking the snuff, they await the sneezes, both anxiously, and sneeze alternately three times each.]

DON GONZALO. There, I feel better.

DOÑA LAURA. So do I. (Aside.) The snuff has made peace between us.

DON GONZALO. You will excuse me if I read aloud?

DOÑA LAURA. Read as loud as you please; you will not disturb me. DON GONZALO (reading). “All love is sad, but sad as it is, It is the best thing that we know.” That is from Campoamor.

DOÑA LAURA. Ah! DON GONZALO (reading). “The daughters of the mothers I once loved Kiss me now as they would a graven image.” Those lines, I take it, are in a humorous vein.

DOÑA LAURA (laughing). I take them so, too.

DON GONZALO. There are some beautiful poems in this book. Here. “Twenty years pass. He returns.” DOÑA LAURA. You cannot imagine how it affects me to see you reading with all those glasses. DON GONZALO. Can you read without any?

DOÑA LAURA. Certainly.

DON GONZALO. At your age? You’re jesting.

DOÑA LAURA. Pass me the book, then. (Takes the book, read aloud.) “Twenty years pass. He returns. And each, beholding the other, exclaims— Can it be that this is he? Heavens, is it she?” [DOÑA LAURA returns the book to DON GONZALO.]

DON GONZALO. Indeed I envy you your wonderful eyesight.

DOÑA LAURA (aside). I know every word by heart.

DON GONZALO. I am very fond of good verses, very fond. I even composed some in my youth.

DOÑA LAURA. Good ones?

DON GONZALO. Of all kinds. I was a great friend of Espronceda, Zorrilla, Bécquer, and others. I first met Zorrilla in America.

DOÑA LAURA. Why, have you been in America?

DON GONZALO. Several times. The first time I went I was only six years old.

DOÑA LAURA. You must have gone with Columbus in one of his caravels!

DON GONZALO (laughing). Not quite as bad as that. I am old, I admit, but I did not know Ferdinand and Isabella. (They both laugh.) I was also a great friend of Campoamor. I met him in Valencia. I am a native of that city.

DOÑA LAURA. You are?

DON GONZALO. I was brought up there and there I spent my early youth. Have you ever visited that city?

DOÑA LAURA. Yes, señor. Not far from Valencia there was a villa that, if still there, should retain memories of me. I spent several seasons there. It was many, many years ago. It was near the sea, hidden away among lemon and orange trees. They called it—let me see, what did they call it?—Maricela.

DON GONZALO (startled). Maricela?

DOÑA LAURA. Maricela. Is the name familiar to you?

DON GONZALO. Yes, very familiar. If my memory serves me right, for we forget as we grow old, there lived in that villa the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I assure you I have seen many. Let me see—what was her name? Laura—Laura—Laura Llorente.

DOÑA LAURA (startled). Laura Llorente?

DON GONZALO. Yes. (They look at each other intently.)

DOÑA LAURA (recovering herself). Nothing. You reminded me of my best friend.

DON GONZALO. How strange!

DOÑA LAURA. It is strange. She was called “The Silver Maiden.

” DON GONZALO. Precisely, “The Silver Maiden.” By that name she was known in that locality. I seem to see her as if she were before me now, at that window with the red roses. Do you remember that window?

DOÑA LAURA. Yes, I remember. It was the window of her room.

DON GONZALO. She spent many hours there. I mean in my day.

DOÑA LAURA (sighing). And in mine, too.

DON GONZALO. She was ideal. Fair as a lily, jet-black hair and black eyes, with an uncommonly sweet expression. She seemed to cast a radiance wherever she was. Her figure was beautiful, perfect. “What forms of sovereign beauty God models in human clay!” She was a dream.

DOÑA LAURA (aside). If you but knew that dream was now by your side, you would realize what dreams come to. (Aloud.) She was very unfortunate and had a sad love affair.

 DON GONZALO. Very sad. (They look at each other.)

DOÑA LAURA. Did you hear of it?

DON GONZALO. Yes.

DOÑA LAURA. The ways of Providence are strange. (Aside.) Gonzalo!

DON GONZALO. The gallant lover, in the same affair—

DOÑA LAURA. Ah, the duel?

DON GONZALO. Precisely, the duel. The gallant lover was—my cousin, of whom I was very fond.

DOÑA LAURA. Oh yes, a cousin? My friend told me in one of her letters the story of that affair, which was truly romantic. He, your cousin, passed by on horseback every morning down the rose path under her window, and tossed up to her balcony a bouquet of flowers which she caught.

DON GONZALO. And later in the afternoon the gallant horseman would return by the same path, and catch the bouquet of flowers she would toss him. Am I right?

DOÑA LAURA. Yes. They wanted to marry her to a merchant whom she would not have.

DON GONZALO. And one night, when my cousin waited under her window to hear her sing, this other person presented himself unexpectedly.

DOÑA LAURA. And insulted your cousin.

DON GONZALO. There was a quarrel.

DOÑA LAURA. And later a duel.

DON GONZALO. Yes, at sunrise, on the beach, and the merchant was badly wounded. My cousin had to conceal himself for a few days and later to fly.

DOÑA LAURA. You seem to know the story well.

DON GONZALO. And so do you.

DOÑA LAURA. I have explained that a friend repeated it to me.

DON GONZALO. As my cousin did to me. (Aside.) This is Laura! DOÑA LAURA (aside). Why tell him? He does not suspect.

DON GONZALO (aside). She is entirely innocent.

DOÑA LAURA. And was it you, by any chance, who advised your cousin to forget Laura?

DON GONZALO. Why, my cousin never forgot her!

DOÑA LAURA. How do you account, then, for his conduct? DON GONZALO. I will tell you. The young man took refuge in my house, fearful of the consequences of a duel with a person highly regarded in that locality. From my home he went to Seville, then came to Madrid. He wrote Laura many letters, some of them in verse. But undoubtedly they were intercepted by her parents, for she never answered at all. Gonzalo then, in despair, believing his love lost to him forever, joined the army, went to Africa, and there, in a trench, met a glorious death, grasping the flag of Spain and whispering the name of his beloved Laura—

DOÑA LAURA (aside). What an atrocious lie!

DON GONZALO (aside). I could not have killed myself more gloriously.

DOÑA LAURA. You must have been prostrated by the calamity.

DON GONZALO. Yes, indeed, señora. As if he were my brother. I presume, though, on the contrary, that Laura in a short time was chasing butterflies in her garden, indifferent to regret.

DOÑA LAURA. No, señor, no!

DON GONZALO. It is woman’s way.

DOÑA LAURA. Even if it were woman’s way, “The Silver Maiden” was not of that disposition. My friend awaited news for days, months, a year, and no letter came. One afternoon, just at sunset, as the first stars were appearing, she was seen to leave the house, and with quickening steps wend her way toward the beach, the beach where her beloved had risked his life. She wrote his name on the sand, then sat down upon a rock, her gaze fixed upon the horizon. The waves murmured their eternal threnody and slowly crept up to the rock where the maiden sat. The tide rose with a boom and swept her out to sea. DON GONZALO. Good heavens!

DOÑA LAURA. The fishermen of that shore, who often tell the story, affirm that it was a long time before the waves washed away that name written on the sand. (Aside.) You will not get ahead of me in decorating my own funeral.

DON GONZALO (aside). She lies worse than I do.

DOÑA LAURA. Poor Laura!

DON GONZALO. Poor Gonzalo!

DOÑA LAURA (aside). I will not tell him that I married two years later.

DON GONZALO (aside). In three months I ran off to Paris with a ballet dancer.

DOÑA LAURA. Fate is curious. Here are you and I, complete strangers, met by chance, discussing the romance of old friends of long ago! We have been conversing as if we were old friends.

DON GONZALO. Yes, it is curious, considering the ill-natured prelude to our conversation.

DOÑA LAURA. You scared away the birds.

DON GONZALO. I was unreasonable, perhaps.

DOÑA LAURA. Yes, that was evident. (Sweetly.) Are you coming again tomorrow?

DON GONZALO. Most certainly, if it is a sunny morning. And not only will I not scare away the birds, but I will bring a few crumbs.

DOÑA LAURA. Thank you very much. Birds are grateful and repay attention. I wonder where my maid is? Petra! (Signals for her maid.)

DON GONZALO (aside, looking at LAURA, whose back is turned). No, no, I will not reveal myself. I am grotesque now. Better that she recall the gallant horseman who passed daily beneath her window tossing flowers.

DOÑA LAURA. Here she comes.

DON GONZALO. That Juanito! He plays havoc with the nursemaids. (Looks to the right and signals with his hand.)

DOÑA LAURA (aside, looking at GONZALO, whose back is turned). No, I am too sadly changed. It is better he should remember me as the black-eyed girl tossing flowers as he passed among the roses in the garden. [JUANITO enters by the right, PETRA by the left. She has a bunch of violets in her hand.]

DOÑA LAURA. Well, Petra! At last!

DON GONZALO. Juanito, you are late. PETRA (to DOÑA LAURA). The guard gave me these violets for you, señora.

DOÑA LAURA. How very nice! Thank him for me. They are fragrant. [As she takes the violets from her maid a few loose ones fall to the ground.]

DON GONZALO. My dear lady, this has been a great honor and a great pleasure.

DOÑA LAURA. It has also been a pleasure to me.

DON GONZALO. Good-bye until tomorrow.

DOÑA LAURA. Until tomorrow.

DON GONZALO. If it is sunny.

DOÑA LAURA. A sunny morning. Will you go to your bench?

DON GONZALO. No, I will come to this—if you do not object?

DOÑA LAURA. This bench is at your disposal.

 DON GONZALO. And I will surely bring the crumbs. DOÑA LAURA. Tomorrow, then?

DON GONZALO. Tomorrow! [LAURA walks away toward the right, supported by her maid.

GONZALO, before leaving with JUANITO, trembling and with a great effort, stoops to pick up the violets LAURA dropped. Just then LAURA turns her head and surprises him picking up the flowers.]

JUANITO. What are you doing, señor?

DON GONZALO. Juanito, wait—

DOÑA LAURA (aside). Yes, it is he!

DON GONZALO (aside). It is she, and no mistake. [DOÑA LAURA and DON GONZALO wave farewell.] DOÑA LAURA. “Can it be that this is he?”

DON GONZALO. “Heavens, is it she?” [They smile once more, as if she were again at the window and he below in the rose garden, and then disappear upon the arms of their servants.]