Good ones? Why, have you been in America? Columbus must have carried you in one of his caravels. You are? Yes, Señor. Not far from Valencia there was a mansion that if still there, should retain memories of me. I spent there several seasons. This was many, many years ago. It was near the sea, concealed among lemon and orange trees. They called it—let me see, what did they call it?—"Maricela." Maricela. Is the name familiar to you? Laura Lorente? Nothing. You reminded me of my best friend. It is strange. She was called "The Silver Maiden." Yes, I remember. It was that of her room. And in mine, too. If you but knew that dream was now by your side, you would realize what dreams are worth. She was very unfortunate and had a sad love affair. You know of it? Strange are the ways of Providence! This man is my early lover. To the duel? Oh, yes, a cousin. My friend told me in one of her letters the story of that love affair, truly romantic. He, your cousin, passed by on horseback every morning by the rose path under her window, and tossed up to her balcony a bouquet of flowers which she caught. Yes. They wanted to marry her to a merchant whom she did not fancy. And insulted your cousin. And later a duel. You seem to know the story perfectly. I have told you that my friend related it to me. And was it you, by chance, who advised your cousin to forget Laura? How do you account, then, for his conduct? What an atrocious lie! Such a calamity must have caused you the greatest sorrow. No, Señor, no indeed. Even if you consider it a 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, and as the first stars were appearing, she was seen to leave the house, and with quick steps, wend her way toward the beach, that beach where her beloved had risked his life. She wrote his name on the sand, then sat upon a rock, her gaze fixed upon the horizon. The waves murmured their eternal monologue and slowly covered the rock where the maiden sat. Shall I tell you the rest?—The tide rose and carried her off to sea. The fishermen of that sea-coast who tell the story, affirm that it was a long time before the waves washed away that name written on the sand. You will not get ahead of me in inventing a romantic death. Poor Laura! What strange pranks Fate plays! Here you and I, complete strangers, met by chance, and in discussing the romance of friends of long ago, we have been conversing as we were old friends.

Laura Monologue from A Sunny Morning

Rehearse Laura's monologue