The Bridge of San Luis Rey Page #4

Put the Perichole's name

above the title.

In the name of passion...

...I dedicate this bull...

...to the actress...

...La Perichole.

Never!

Never have I ever been

so... so humiliated!

May I proffer to His Excellency...

...La Perichole's

most distinguished good wishes...

...and commend him

for his patronage of our play...

...the marvel that is the Moreto.

You may return such wishes

as La Perichole extends...

...and add to them

my own humble indignation...

...that a matador

might commend a bull to her...

...in the name of passion

while I...

I'm simply lost for words.

Pray, silence.

The siren on that matador's horns.

Come with me, sir.

His Excellency doesn't tolerate rivals.

You understand me?

The vulgar love affairs

of the theatrical warehouse...

...can never prepare a performer

for the playing of such a legendary lover.

The mastery of passionate entrancement

such as this scene requires...

...demands all the colors of love

one could experience.

Once experienced, the actress

can much more truthfully encompass...

...the required effects

into her performance...

...alluding to the new and rich wisdom

in her heart...

...recollecting some amorous moment

from memory.

Doa Maria.

The Marquesa de Montemayor.

Her daughter is a condesa,

and connected to court.

Bravo!

Bravo!

She's drunk

or demented or something.

How dare she mock me

in such a manner?

- How dare she?

- Now, now, my crescent moon.

Last call.

One minute to final curtain!

- Camilla!

- One minute call.

And where's the Viceroy?

Why, the royal box is distinguished

only by his absence.

Manuel.

Perhaps we should leave now.

Is it over?

Love is an inadequate word to describe

the tacit, almost ashamed oneness...

...of these brothers.

Side by side there existed

a need of one another...

...so terrible that it produced miracles

as naturally as lightning.

Separation was a devastation as eerie

as the calm that follows a ferocious storm.

My most triumphant night.

Oh, if only you had been there.

I heard all about it,

your performance this evening...

...and there's a little task

I would like you to perform for me...

...well within the requisite range

of your charms.

Oh. His Excellency does not

find me attentive enough.

Well!

Oh, what would he fancy?

A little verse?

Perhaps a song.

Take off your shoes.

A dance!

Barefoot.

Like a gypsy woman.

Oh, well, your poor throat.

It must be choked

with the weight of this necklace.

I do so love our little games.

And how can you breathe,

corseted up quite so tightly?

Oh! Is that for me? Oh.

Come on, open it.

Put it on.

Put it on.

Why... what little game is this?

This is no game, my dear.

There is nothing funny about baiting

a member of the aristocracy in public.

It is offensive... an offense,

and it must be publicly punished.

You will call upon the Marquesa

and apologize...

...and you will make the trip barefoot...

...wearing this humble black smock.

But I am the Perichole.

I am the Viceroy of Peru!

One of the first men of the world.

As for the Marquesa,

whom you so roundly humiliated

at La Comedia this evening...

...even if she is a half-wit,

she is also a member of the aristocracy.

But...

As is her son-in-law...

...who is an increasingly important

personage at court in Spain.

Neither must be vexed.

Nor I!

What reason have I

for giving His Excellency...

And I hope, for your sake...

...there is no truth to the rumor

that you are deceiving me with a matador!

Or is it an actor?

You forgot your slippers!

Whichever!

This was the first time

that his will and imagination...

...had been overwhelmed.

Which of you waited for La Perichole

by the stage door tonight?

He had lost that privilege

of simple nature...

Follow me.

...the dissociation of love and pleasure.

Pleasure was being complicated...

...by love.

Oh, Manuel.

Is it you? Yes.

You must do

another letter for me at once.

Write this.

I, La Perichole, am not accustomed

to wait at a rendezvous.

Have you finished that?

Have you gone completely mad?

Don't ever think of dedicating

another bull to me again!

You are only a cholo,

and there are better matadors than you...

...even in Lima.

I am half Castilian...

...and there are no better actresses

in the world.

You shall not have the opportunity...

Have you got that?

...to keep me waiting again, cholo.

And I shall laugh the last.

For even an actress doesn't grow old

as fast as a bullfighter.

La Perichole desires an audience...

...with Doa Maria,

la Marquesa de Montemayor.

Wait here, please.

Tell the lady that I have a letter

from the Viceroy himself...

...presenting me to her.

Very well, ma'am.

The lady says...

I know what she says.

Thank you.

Bid her wait outside,

and I'll see what I can do.

Very well.

La Perichole's here to see you.

The actress from La Comedia.

The lady from last night

in the Moreto.

She's outside.

She's wearing the rags

of public humiliation.

She says, La Perichole,

that she has a letter of presentation...

...from the Viceroy himself.

Bring me a bowl of snow.

And a veil.

Your Grace is... is not offended

by her humble servant?

Offended?

Offended at you?

My gifted child,

you are a great artist.

My handkerchief, Pepita.

Oh, you... you are so kind, seora...

I mean, Your Grace...

to overlook my childishness.

Permit me, please,

to kiss your hand.

Who am I, an unwise and unloved

old woman, to be offended at you?

I feel as though... as though

you were my own daughter.

My daughter's very beautiful.

Everyone thinks so.

Did you know my Doa Olara, seora?

I knew the Condesa well by sight.

Why do you remain so

on one knee, my child?

Thank you.

One day, we fell out.

I forget over what.

We both said hasty things

and went off to our rooms...

...then each turned back to be forgiven.

Finally, only a door separated us, and...

...and there we were,

pulling it opposite ways.

But at last...

...she took my face...

...like this...

...in her two white hands...

so...

She had not a warm and

impulsive nature, I know that, but...

...she... oh, my child,

she has such a store of intelligence...

...and graciousness and...

...any misunderstandings between us

were plainly my fault.

Is it not wonderful that she was

so quick to forgive me?

Oh, truly wonderful.

The fault was mine.

And the... the look she gave.

Is it not some mistake...

...that made me the mother

of so beautiful a girl?

I'm difficult. I'm trying.

You and she are great women.

- Oh, Your... Your Grace.

- No. Don't stop me.

You are a rare lady,

and I am a foolish and stupid old woman.

Let me kiss your feet.

I am imposs...

- I am impossible!

- Your Grace.

I am impossible!

Such blind and excessive love...

...though it gave birth to letters

of great poetry...

...remains among the sharpest

expressions of self-interest.

Such anecdotes belie the notion

of a guided world...

...and encourage those

who derive some joy from the conviction...

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