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He could not help doing so. That naïve avowal from the one whom he considered his chief enemy tickled his fancy. And presently Menocal, catching the humour of it, himself began to smile. "I shouldn't be surprised if we have had a misconception of each other," Lee stated. "Ah, cielos! That is nothing less than the truth.
In Calderon's Zenobia the Great there is a scene in the second act between Zenobia and Decius where the latter says, Cielos, luego tu me quieres? Perdiera cien mil victorias, Volvi�rame, etc. Honour, duty, and fidelity succumb to it after they have withstood every other temptation the menace of death even.
O es que una nube negra de los cielos ese negror le dió a tu cabellera de nazareno, cual de mustio sauce de una noche sin luna sobre el río? ¿Es la sombra del ala sin perfiles del ángel de la nada negadora, de Luzbel, que en su caída inacabable fondo no puede dar su eterna cuita clava en tu frente, en tu razón? ¿Se vela, el claro Verbo en Ti con esa nube, negra cual de Luzbel las negras alas, mientras brilla el Amor, todo desnudo, con tu desnudo pecho por cendal?
"Es menester a cielos ir, Y tu que llorabas reir." And approaching him with the majesty of a star, she added, "Gebra barzon; Deja, monstruo, A tu negro Caparazon." And she put hot hand on his brow. Then another voice arose, deeper, and consequently still sweeter a voice broken and enwrapt with a gravity both tender and wild. It was the human chant responding to the chant of the stars.
A soft melody, played by violins and 'cellos, broke the silence, and presently the ten pages began to sing: Los cielos y la tierra alaben al Señor Con imnos de alabanza que inflamen al Señor. It was a curious, old-fashioned music, reminding one a little of the quiet harmonies of Gluck.
I am below. He is above. He is gone. I remain. I shall hear his voice no more, nor his footstep. God, who had given us a little Paradise on earth, has taken it away. Gwynplaine, it is over. I shall never feel you near me again. Never! And his voice! I shall never hear his voice again. And she sang: "Es menester a cielos ir Deja, quiero, A tu negro Caparazon." "We must go to heaven.
What do men see in that face of thine to move them so? A painter might love thee for the gold of thy hair, thy white brow, and thy blue eyes, they would grace a pictured saint above a shrine, but for a man's kisses, and such love as might tempt him to risk his very life for thee, cielos! it is more than passing strange." Then, as I stood dumb before her, she tapped me lightly on the cheek. "Go to!
She just crouched on the floor at her feet and prayers slipped from her tongue and her fingers: Padre Nuestra qui estás en los cielos and presently: Santa Maria Honor found herself listening a little scornfully. Was there indeed a Father in the heavens or anywhere else who concerned Himself about things like this? Josita seemed to think so.
"O cielos! what have we here?" cried the rich voice, petulantly. "'Tis not a waxen saint, after all, but a living fountain! Do not drown me, I pray you. What is there to weep for? Art afraid, little fool? See, I am but a woman, not an ogress."
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