The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan
by Arthur Sullivan · English · Gutenberg #808 · 1,254,053 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Complete Plays of Gilbert and Sullivan
Author: Arthur Sullivan
W. S. Gilbert
Release date: February 1, 1997 [eBook #808]
Most recently updated: February 23, 2026
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/808
Credits: Produced by David Reed, and David Widger
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPLETE PLAYS OF GILBERT AND SULLIVAN ***
THE 14 GILBERT AND SULLIVAN PLAYS
By William S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan
William S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan collaborated on 14 operas in the period from 1871 to 1896.
CONTENTS
THE GONDOLIERS
ACT I
ACT II
THE GRAND DUKE
ACT I.
ACT II.
H.M.S. PINAFORE
ACT I
ACT II
IOLANTHE
ACT I
ACT II
THE MIKADO
ACT I.
ACT II.
THE PIRATES OF PENZANCE
ACT I
ACT II
PRINCESS IDA
ACT I.
ACT II
ACT III
RUDDIGORE
ACT I
ACT II
THE SORCERER
ACT I.
ACT II
THESPIS
ACT I
ACT II
TRIAL BY JURY
UTOPIA LIMITED
ACT I.
ACT II
THE YEOMEN OF THE GUARD
ACT I
ACT II
PATIENCE
ACT I
ACT II
THE GONDOLIERS
OR
THE KING OF BARATARIA
Libretto by William S. Gilbert
Music by Arthur S. Sullivan
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
THE DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO (a Grandee of Spain)
LUIZ (his attendant)
DON ALHAMBRA DEL BOLERO (the Grand Inquisitioner)
Venetian Gondoliers
MARCO PALMIERI
GIUSEPPE PALMIERI
ANTONIO
FRANCESCO
GIORGIO
ANNIBALE
THE DUCHESS OF PLAZA-TORO
CASILDA (her Daughter)
Contadine
GIANETTA
TESSA
FIAMETTA
VITTORIA
GIULIA
INEZ (the King's Foster-mother)
Chorus of Gondoliers and Contadine, Men-at-Arms, Heralds and
Pages
ACT I
The Piazzetta, Venice
ACT II
Pavilion in the Palace of Barataria
(An interval of three months is supposed to elapse between Acts I
and II)
DATE
1750
ACT I
Scene.— the Piazzetta, Venice. The Ducal Palace on the right.
Fiametta, Giulia, Vittoria, and other Contadine discovered, each
tying a bouquet of roses.
CHORUS OF CONTADINE.
List and learn, ye dainty roses,
Roses white and roses red,
Why we bind you into posies
Ere your morning bloom has fled.
By a law of maiden's making,
Accents of a heart that's aching,
Even though that heart be breaking,
Should by maiden be unsaid:
Though they love with love exceeding,
They must seem to be unheeding—
Go ye then and do their pleading,
Roses white and roses red!
FIAMETTA.
Two there are for whom in duty,
Every maid in Venice sighs—
Two so peerless in their beauty
That they shame the summer skies.
We have hearts for them, in plenty,
They have hearts, but all too few,
We, alas, are four-and-twenty!
They, alas, are only two!
We, alas!
CHORUS. Alas!
FIA. Are four-and-twenty,
They, alas!
CHORUS. Alas!
FIA. Are only two.
CHORUS. They, alas, are only two, alas!
Now ye know, ye dainty roses,
Roses white and roses red,
Why we bind you into posies,
Ere your morning bloom has fled,
Roses white and roses red!
(During this chorus Antonio, Francesco, Giorgio, and other
Gondoliers have entered unobserved by the Girls—at first two,
then two more, then four, then half a dozen, then the remainder
of the Chorus.)
SOLI.
FRANC. Good morrow, pretty maids; for whom prepare ye
These floral tributes extraordinary?
FIA. For Marco and Giuseppe Palmieri,
The pink and flower of all the Gondolieri.
GIU. They're coming here, as we have heard but lately,
To choose two brides from us who sit sedately.
ANT. Do all you maidens love them?
ALL. Passionately!
ANT. These gondoliers are to be envied greatly!
GIOR. But what of us, who one and all adore you?
Have pity on our passion, we implore you!
FIA. These gentlemen must make their choice before you;
VIT. In the meantime we tacitly ignore you.
GIU. When they have chosen two that leaves you plenty—
Two dozen we, and ye are four-and-twenty.
FIA. and VIT. Till then, enjoy your dolce far niente.
ANT. With pleasure, nobody contradicente!
SONG—ANTONIO and CHORUS.
For the merriest fellows are we, tra la,
That ply on the emerald sea, tra la;
With loving and laughing,
And quipping and quaffing,
We're happy as happy can be, tra la—
With loving and laughing, etc.
With sorrow we've nothing to do, tra la,
And care is a thing to pooh-pooh, tra la;
And Jealousy yellow,
Unfortunate fellow,
We drown in the shimmering blue, tra la—
And Jealousy yellow, etc.
FIA. (looking off). See, see, at last they come to make their
choice—
Let us acclaim them with united voice.
(Marco and Giuseppe appear in gondola at back.)
CHORUS (Girls). Hail, hail! gallant gondolieri, ben venuti!
Accept our love, our homage, and our duty.
Ben' venuti! ben' venuti!
(Marco and Giuseppe jump ashore—the Girls salute them.)
DUET—MARCO and GIUSEPPE, with CHORUS OF GIRLS.
MAR. and GIU. Buon' giorno, signorine!
GIRLS. Gondolieri carissimi!
Siamo contadine!
MAR. and GIU. (bowing). Servitori umilissimi!
Per chi questi fiori—
Questi fiori bellissimi?
GIRLS. Per voi, bei signori
O eccellentissimi!
(The Girls present their bouquets to Marco and Giuseppe, who are
overwhelmed with them, and carry them with difficulty.)
MAR. and GIU. (their arms full of flowers). O ciel'! O ciel'!
GIRLS. Buon' giorno, cavalieri!
MAR. and GIU. (deprecatingly). Siamo gondolieri.
(To Fia. and Vit.) Signorina, io t' amo!
GIRLS. (deprecatingly). Contadine siamo.
MAR. and GIU. Signorine!
GIRLS (deprecatingly). Contadine!
(Curtseying to Mar. and Giu.) Cavalieri.
MAR. and GIU. (deprecatingly). Gondolieri!
Poveri gondolieri!
CHORUS. Buon' giorno, signorine, etc.
DUET—MARCO and GIUSEPPE.
We're called gondolieri,
But that's a vagary,
It's quite honorary
The trade that we ply.
For gallantry noted
Since we were short-coated,
To beauty devoted,
Giuseppe\Are Marco and I;
When morning is breaking,
Our couches forsaking,
To greet their awaking
With carols we come.
At summer day's nooning,
When weary lagooning,
Our mandolins tuning,
We lazily thrum.
When vespers are ringing,
To hope ever clinging,
With songs of our singing
A vigil we keep,
When daylight is fading,
Enwrapt in night's shading,
With soft serenading
We sing them to sleep.
We're called gondolieri, etc.
RECITATIVE—MARCO and GIUSEPPE.
MAR. And now to choose our brides!
GIU. As all are young and fair,
And amiable besides,
BOTH. We really do not care
A preference to declare.
MAR. A bias to disclose
Would be indelicate—
GIU. And therefore we propose
To let impartial Fate
Select for us a mate!
ALL. Viva!
GIRLS. A bias to disclose
Would be indelicate—
MEN. But how do they propose
To let impartial Fate
Select for them a mate?
GIU. These handkerchiefs upon our eyes be good enough to
bind,
MAR. And take good care that both of us are absolutely
blind;
BOTH. Then turn us round—and we, with all convenient
despatch,
Will undertake to marry any two of you we catch!
ALL. Viva!
They undertake to marry any two of us\them they catch!
(The Girls prepare to bind their eyes as directed.)
FIA. (to Marco). Are you peeping?
Can you see me?
MAR. Dark I'm keeping,
Dark and dreamy!
(Marco slyly lifts
bandage.)
VIT. (to Giuseppe). If you're blinded
Truly, say so
GIU. All right-minded
Players play so!
(slyly lifts bandage).
FIA. (detecting Marco). Conduct shady!
They are cheating!
Surely they de-
Serve a beating!
(replaces bandage).
VIT. (detecting Giuseppe). This too much is;
Maidens mocking—
Conduct such is
Truly shocking!
(replaces bandage).
ALL. You can spy, sir!
Shut your eye, sir!
You may use it by and by, sir!
You can see, sir!
Don't tell me, sir!
That will do—now let it be, sir!
CHORUS OF GIRLS. My papa he keeps three horses,
Black, and white, and dapple grey, sir;
Turn three times, then take your courses,
Catch whichever girl you may, sir!
CHORUS OF MEN. My papa, etc.
(Marco and Giuseppe turn round, as directed, and try to catch the
girls. Business of blind-man's buff. Eventually Marco catches
Gianetta, and Giuseppe catches Tessa. The two girls try to
escape, but in vain. The two men pass their hands over the
girls' faces to discover their identity.)
GIU. I've at length achieved a capture!
(Guessing.) This is Tessa! (removes bandage). Rapture,
rapture!
CHORUS. Rapture, rapture!
MAR. (guessing). To me Gianetta fate has granted!
(removes bandage).
Just the very girl I wanted!
CHORUS. Just the very girl he wanted!
GIU. (politely to Mar.). If you'd rather change—
TESS. My goodness!
This indeed is simple rudeness.
MAR. (politely to Giu.). I've no preference whatever—
GIA. Listen to him! Well, I never!
(Each man kisses each girl.)
GIA. Thank you, gallant gondolieri!
In a set and formal measure
It is scarcely necessary
To express our pleasure.
Each of us to prove a treasure,
Conjugal and monetary,
Gladly will devote our leisure,
Gay and gallant gondolieri.
Tra, la, la, la, la, la, etc.
TESS. Gay and gallant gondolieri,
Take us both and hold us tightly,
You have luck extraordinary;
We might both have been unsightly!
If we judge your conduct rightly,
'Twas a choice involuntary;
Still we thank you most politely,
Gay and gallant gondolieri!
Tra, la, la, la, la, la, etc.
CHORUS OF Thank you, gallant gondolieri;
GIRLS. In a set and formal measure,
It is scarcely necessary
To express our pleasure.
Each of us to prove a treasure
Gladly will devote our leisure,
Gay and gallant gondolieri!
Tra, la, la, la, la, la, etc.
ALL. Fate in this has put his finger—
Let us bow to Fate's decree,
Then no longer let us linger,
To the altar hurry we!
(They all dance off two and two—Gianetta with Marco, Tessa with
Giuseppe.)
(Flourish. A gondola arrives at the Piazzetta steps, from which
enter the Duke of Plaza-toro, the Duchess, their daughter
Casilda, and their attendant Luiz, who carries a drum. All are
dressed in pompous but old and faded clothes.)
(Entrance of Duke, Duchess, Casilda, and Luiz.)
DUKE. From the sunny Spanish shore,
The Duke of Plaza-Tor!—
DUCH. And His Grace's Duchess true—
CAS. And His Grace's daughter, too—
LUIZ. And His Grace's private drum
To Venetia's shores have come:
ALL. If ever, ever, ever
They get back to Spain,
They will never, never, never
Cross the sea again—
DUKE. Neither that Grandee from the Spanish shore,
The noble Duke of Plaza-Tor'—
DUCH. Nor His Grace's Duchess, staunch and true—
CAS. You may add, His Grace's daughter, too—
LUIZ. Nor His Grace's own particular drum
To Venetia's shores will come:
ALL. If ever, ever, ever
They get back to Spain,
They will never, never, never
Cross the sea again!
DUKE. At last we have arrived at our destination. This is
the Ducal Palace, and it is here that the Grand Inquisitor
resides. As a Castilian hidalgo of ninety-five quarterings, I
regret that I am unable to pay my state visit on a horse. As a
Castilian hidalgo of that description, I should have preferred to
ride through the streets of Venice; but owing, I presume, to an
unusually wet season, the streets are in such a condition that
equestrian exercise is impracticable. No matter. Where is our
suite?
LUIZ (coming forward). Your Grace, I am here.
DUCH. Why do you not do yourself the honour to kneel when
you address His Grace?
DUKE. My love, it is so small a matter! (To Luiz.) Still,
you may as well do it. (Luiz kneels.)
CAS. The young man seems to entertain but an imperfect
appreciation of the respect due from a menial to a Castilian
hidalgo.
DUKE. My child, you are hard upon our suite.
CAS. Papa, I've no patience with the presumption of persons
in his plebeian position. If he does not appreciate that
position, let him be whipped until he does.
DUKE. Let us hope the omission was not intended as a
slight. I should be much hurt if I thought it was. So would he.
(To Luiz.) Where are the halberdiers who were to have had the
honour of meeting us here, that our visit to the Grand Inquisitor
might be made in becoming state?
LUIZ. Your Grace, the halberdiers are mercenary people who
stipulated for a trifle on account.
DUKE. How tiresome! Well, let us hope the Grand Inquisitor
is a blind gentleman. And the band who were to have had the
honour of escorting us? I see no band!
LUIZ. Your Grace, the band are sordid persons who required
to be paid in advance.
DUCH. That's so like a band!
DUKE (annoyed). Insuperable difficulties meet me at every
turn!
DUCH. But surely they know His Grace?
LUIZ. Exactly—they know His Grace.
DUKE. Well, let us hope that the Grand Inquisitor is a deaf
gentleman. A cornet-a-piston would be something. You do not
happen to possess the accomplishment of tootling like a
cornet-a-piston?
LUIZ. Alas, no, Your Grace! But I can imitate a farmyard.
DUKE (doubtfully). I don't see how that would help us. I
don't see how we could bring it in.
CAS. It would not help us in the least. We are not a
parcel of graziers come to market, dolt!
(Luiz
rises.)
DUKE. My love, our suite's feelings! (To Luiz.) Be so
good as to ring the bell and inform the Grand Inquisitor that his
Grace the Duke of Plaza-Toro, Count Matadoro, Baron Picadoro—
DUCH. And suite—
DUKE. And suite—have arrived at Venice, and seek—
CAS. Desire—
DUCH. Demand!
DUKE. And demand an audience.
LUIZ. Your Grace has but to command.
DUKE (much moved). I felt sure of it—I felt sure of it!
(Exit Luiz into Ducal Palace.) And now, my love—(aside to
Duchess) Shall we tell her? I think so—(aloud to Casilda) And
now, my love, prepare for a magnificent surprise. It is my
agreeable duty to reveal to you a secret which should make you
the happiest young lady in Venice!
CAS. A secret?
DUCH. A secret which, for State reasons, it has been
necessary to preserve for twenty years.
DUKE. When you were a prattling babe of six months old you
were married by proxy to no less a personage than the infant son
and heir of His Majesty the immeasurably wealthy King of
Barataria!
CAS. Married to the infant son of the King of Barataria?
Was I consulted? (Duke shakes his head.) Then it was a most
unpardonable liberty!
DUKE. Consider his extreme youth and forgive him. Shortly
after the ceremony that misguided monarch abandoned the creed of
his forefathers, and became a Wesleyan Methodist of the most
bigoted and persecuting type. The Grand Inquisitor, determined
that the innovation should not be perpetuated in Barataria,
caused your smiling and unconscious husband to be stolen and
conveyed to Venice. A fortnight since the Methodist Monarch and
all his Wesleyan Court were killed in an insurrection, and we are
here to ascertain the whereabouts of your husband, and to hail
you, our daughter, as Her Majesty, the reigning Queen of
Barataria! (Kneels.)
(During this speech Luiz re-enters.)
DUCH. Your Majesty! (Kneels.) (Drum roll.)
DUKE. It is at such moments as these that one feels how
necessary it is to travel with a full band.
CAS. I, the Queen of Barataria! But I've nothing to wear!
We are practically penniless!
DUKE. That point has not escaped me. Although I am
unhappily in straitened circumstances at present, my social
influence is something enormous; and a Company, to be called the
Duke of Plaza-Toro, Limited, is in course of formation to work
me. An influential directorate has been secured, and I shall
myself join the Board after allotment.
CAS. Am I to understand that the Queen of Barataria may be
called upon at any time to witness her honoured sire in process
of liquidation?
DUCH. The speculation is not exempt from that drawback. If
your father should stop, it will, of course, be necessary to wind
him up.
CAS. But it's so undignified—it's so degrading! A Grandee
of Spain turned into a public company! Such a thing was never
heard of!
DUKE. My child, the Duke of Plaza-Toro does not follow
fashions—he leads them. He always leads everybody. When he was
in the army he led his regiment. He occasionally led them into
action. He invariably led them out of it.
SONG—DUKE OF PLAZA-TORO.
In enterprise of martial kind,
When there was any fighting,
He led his regiment from behind—
He found it less exciting.
But when away his regiment ran,
His place was at the fore, O—
That celebrated,
Cultivated,
Underrated
Nobleman,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
ALL. In the first and foremost flight, ha, ha!
You always found that knight, ha, ha!
That celebrated,
Cultivated,
Underrated
Nobleman,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
DUKE. When, to evade Destruction's hand,
To hide they all proceeded,
No soldier in that gallant band
Hid half as well as he did.
He lay concealed throughout the war,
And so preserved his gore, O!
That unaffected,
Undetected,
Well-connected
Warrior,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
ALL. In every doughty deed, ha, ha!
He always took the lead, ha, ha!
That unaffected,
Undetected,
Well-connected
Warrior,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
DUKE. When told that they would all be shot
Unless they left the service,
That hero hesitated not,
So marvellous his nerve is.
He sent his resignation in,
The first of all his corps, O!
That very knowing,
Overflowing,
Easy-going
Paladin,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
ALL. To men of grosser clay, ha, ha!
He always showed the way, ha, ha!
That very knowing,
Overflowing,
Easy-going
Paladin,
The Duke of Plaza-Toro!
(Exeunt Duke and Duchess into Grand Ducal Palace. As soon as
they have disappeared, Luiz and Casilda rush to each other's
arms.)
RECITATIVE AND DUET—CASILDA AND LUIZ.
O rapture, when alone together
Two loving hearts and those that bear them
May join in temporary tether,
Though Fate apart should rudely tear them.
CAS. Necessity, Invention's mother,
Compelled me to a course of feigning—
But, left alone with one another,
I will atone for my disdaining!
AIR
CAS. Ah, well-beloved,
Mine angry frown
Is but a gown
That serves to dress
My gentleness!
LUIZ. Ah, well-beloved,
Thy cold disdain,
It gives no pain—
'Tis mercy, played
In masquerade!
BOTH. Ah, well-beloved, etc.
CAS. O Luiz, Luiz—what have you said? What have I done?
What have I allowed you to do?
LUIZ. Nothing, I trust, that you will ever have reason to
repent. (Offering to embrace her.)
CAS. (withdrawing from him). Nay, Luiz, it may not be. I
have embraced you for the last time.
LUIZ (amazed). Casilda!
CAS. I have just learnt, to my surprise and indignation,
that I was wed in babyhood to the infant son of the King of
Barataria!
LUIZ. The son of the King of Barataria? The child who was
stolen in infancy by the Inquisition?
CAS. The same. But, of course, you know his story.
LUIZ. Know his story? Why, I have often told you that my
mother was the nurse to whose charge he was entrusted!
CAS. True. I had forgotten. Well, he has been discovered,
and my father has brought me here to claim his hand.
LUIZ. But you will not recognize this marriage? It took
place when you were too young to understand its import.
CAS. Nay, Luiz, respect my principles and cease to torture
me with vain entreaties. Henceforth my life is another's.
LUIZ. But stay—the present and the future—they are
another's; but the past—that at least is ours, and none can take
it from us. As we may revel in naught else, let us revel in
that!
CAS. I don't think I grasp your meaning.
LUIZ. Yet it is logical enough. You say you cease to love
me?
CAS. (demurely). I say I may not love you.
LUIZ. Ah, but you do not say you did not love me?
CAS. I loved you with a frenzy that words are powerless to
express—and that but ten brief minutes since!
LUIZ. Exactly. My own—that is, until ten minutes since,
my own—my lately loved, my recently adored—tell me that until,
say a quarter of an hour ago, I was all in all to thee!
(Embracing her.)
CAS. I see your idea. It's ingenious, but don't do that.
(Releasing herself.)
LUIZ. There can be no harm in revelling in the past.
CAS. None whatever, but an embrace cannot be taken to act
retrospectively.
LUIZ. Perhaps not!
CAS. We may recollect an embrace—I recollect many—but we
must not repeat them.
LUIZ. Then let us recollect a few! (A moment's pause, as
they recollect, then both heave a deep sigh.)
LUIZ. Ah, Casilda, you were to me as the sun is to the
earth!
CAS. A quarter of an hour ago?
LUIZ. About that.
CAS. And to think that, but for this miserable discovery,
you would have been my own for life!
LUIZ. Through life to death—a quarter of an hour ago!
CAS. How greedily my thirsty ears would have drunk the
golden melody of those sweet words a quarter—well, it's now
about twenty minutes since. (Looking at her watch.)
LUIZ. About that. In such a matter one cannot be too
precise.
CAS. And now our love, so full of life, is but a silent,
solemn memory!
LUIZ. Must it be so, Casilda?
CAS. Luiz, it must be so!
DUET—CASILDA and LUIZ.
LUIZ. There was a time—
A time for ever gone—ah, woe is me!
It was no crime
To love but thee alone—ah, woe is me!
One heart, one life, one soul,
One aim, one goal—
Each in the other's thrall,
Each all in all, ah, woe is me!
BOTH. Oh, bury, bury—let the grave close o'er
The days that were—that never will be more!
Oh, bury, bury love that all condemn,
And let the whirlwind mourn its requiem!
CAS. Dead as the last year's leaves—
As gathered flowers—ah, woe is me!
Dead as the garnered sheaves,
That love of ours—ah, woe is me!
Born but to fade and die
When hope was high,
Dead and as far away
As yesterday!—ah, woe is me!
BOTH. Oh, bury, bury—let the grave close o'er, etc.
(Re-enter from the Ducal Palace the Duke and Duchess, followed by
Don Alhambra del Bolero, the Grand Inquisitor.)
DUKE. My child, allow me to present to you His Distinction
Don Alhambra del Bolero, the Grand Inquisitor of Spain. It was
His Distinction who so thoughtfully abstracted your infant
husband and brought him to Venice.
DON AL. So this is the little lady who is so unexpectedly
called upon to assume the functions of Royalty! And a very nice
little lady, too!
DUKE. Jimp, isn't she?
DON AL. Distinctly jimp. Allow me! (Offers his hand. She
turns away scornfully.) Naughty temper!
DUKE. You must make some allowance. Her Majesty's head is
a little turned by her access of dignity.
DON AL. I could have wished that Her Majesty's access of
dignity had turned it in this direction.
DUCH. Unfortunately, if I am not mistaken, there appears to
be some little doubt as to His Majesty's whereabouts.
CAS. (aside). A doubt as to his whereabouts? Then we may
yet be saved!
DON AL. A doubt? Oh dear, no—no doubt at all! He is
here, in Venice, plying the modest but picturesque calling of a
gondolier. I can give you his address—I see him every day! In
the entire annals of our history there is absolutely no
circumstance so entirely free from all manner of doubt of any
kind whatever! Listen, and I'll tell you all about it.
SONG—DON ALHAMBRA
(with DUKE, DUCHESS, CASILDA, and LUIZ).
I stole the Prince, and I brought him here,
And left him gaily prattling
With a highly respectable gondolier,
Who promised the Royal babe to rear,
And teach him the trade of a timoneer
With his own beloved bratling.
Both of the babes were strong and stout,
And, considering all things, clever.
Of that there is no manner of doubt—
No probable, possible shadow of doubt—
No possible doubt whatever.
ALL. No possible doubt whatever.
But owing, I'm much disposed to fear,
To his terrible taste for tippling,
That highly respectable gondolier
Could never declare with a mind sincere
Which of the two was his offspring dear,
And which the Royal stripling!
Which was which he could never make out
Despite his best endeavour.
Of that there is no manner of doubt—
No probable, possible shadow of doubt—
No possible doubt whatever.
ALL. No possible doubt whatever.
Time sped, and when at the end of a year
I sought that infant cherished,
That highly respectable gondolier
Was lying a corpse on his humble bier—
I dropped a Grand Inquisitor's tear—
That gondolier had perished.
A taste for drink, combined with gout,
Had doubled him up for ever.
Of that there is no manner of doubt—
No probable, possible shadow of doubt—
No possible doubt whatever.
ALL. No possible doubt whatever.
The children followed his old career—
(This statement can't be parried)
Of a highly respectable gondolier:
Well, one of the two (who will soon be here)—
But which of the two is not quite clear—
Is the Royal Prince you married!
Search in and out and round about,
And you'll discover never
A tale so free from every doubt—
All probable, possible shadow of doubt—
All possible doubt whatever!
ALL. A tale free from every doubt, etc.
CAS. Then do you mean to say that I am married to one of
two gondoliers, but it is impossible to say which?
DON AL. Without any doubt of any kind whatever. But be
reassured: the nurse to whom your husband was entrusted is the
mother of the musical young man who is such a past-master of that
delicately modulated instrument (indicating the drum). She can,
no doubt, establish the King's identity beyond all question.
LUIZ. Heavens, how did he know that?
DON AL. My young friend, a Grand Inquisitor is always up to
date. (To Cas.) His mother is at present the wife of a highly
respectable and old-established brigand, who carries on an
extensive practice in the mountains around Cordova. Accompanied
by two of my emissaries, he will set off at once for his mother's
address. She will return with them, and if she finds any
difficulty in making up her mind, the persuasive influence of the
torture chamber will jog her memory.
RECITATIVE—CASILDA and DON ALHAMBRA.
CAS. But, bless my heart, consider my position!
I am the wife of one, that's very clear;
But who can tell, except by intuition,
Which is the Prince, and which the Gondolier?
DON AL. Submit to Fate without unseemly wrangle:
Such complications frequently occur—
Life is one closely complicated tangle:
Death is the only true unraveller!
QUINTET—DUKE, DUCHESS, CASILDA, LUIZ, and GRAND INQUISITOR.
ALL. Try we life-long, we can never
Straighten out life's tangled skein,
Why should we, in vain endeavour,
Guess and guess and guess again?
LUIZ. Life's a pudding full of plums,
DUCH. Care's a canker that benumbs.
ALL. Life's a pudding full of plums,
Care's a canker that benumbs.
Wherefore waste our elocution
On impossible solution?
Life's a pleasant institution,
Let us take it as it comes!
Set aside the dull enigma,
We shall guess it all too soon;
Failure brings no kind of stigma—
Dance we to another tune!
LUIZ. String the lyre and fill the cup,
DUCH. Lest on sorrow we should sup.
ALL. Hop and skip to Fancy's fiddle,
Hands across and down the middle—
Life's perhaps the only riddle
That we shrink from giving up!
(Exeunt all into Ducal Palace except Luiz, who goes off in
gondola.)
(Enter Gondoliers and Contadine, followed by Marco, Gianetta,
Giuseppe, and Tessa.)
CHORUS.
Bridegroom and bride!
Knot that's insoluble,
Voices all voluble
Hail it with pride.
Bridegroom and bride!
We in sincerity
Wish you prosperity,
Bridegroom and bride!
SONG—TESSA.
TESS. When a merry maiden marries,
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Every sound becomes a song,
All is right, and nothing's wrong!
From to-day and ever after
Let our tears be tears of laughter.
Every sigh that finds a vent
Be a sigh of sweet content!
When you marry, merry maiden,
Then the air with love is laden;
Every flower is a rose,
Every goose becomes a swan,
Every kind of trouble goes
Where the last year's snows have gone!
CHORUS. Sunlight takes the place of shade
When you marry, merry maid!
TESS. When a merry maiden marries,
Sorrow goes and pleasure tarries;
Every sound becomes a song,
All is right, and nothing's wrong.
Gnawing Care and aching Sorrow,
Get ye gone until to-morrow;
Jealousies in grim array,
Ye are things of yesterday!
When you marry, merry maiden,
Then the air with joy is laden;
All the corners of the earth
Ring with music sweetly played,
Worry is melodious mirth,
Grief is joy in masquerade;
CHORUS. Sullen night is laughing day—
All the year is merry May!
(At the end of the song, Don Alhambra enters at back. The
Gondoliers and Contadine shrink from him, and gradually go off,
much alarmed.)
GIU. And now our lives are going to begin in real earnest!
What's a bachelor? A mere nothing—he's a chrysalis. He can't
be said to live—he exists.
MAR. What a delightful institution marriage is! Why have
we wasted all this time? Why didn't we marry ten years ago?
TESS. Because you couldn't find anybody nice enough.
GIA. Because you were waiting for us.
MAR. I suppose that was the reason. We were waiting for
you without knowing it. (Don Alhambra comes forward.) Hallo!
DON AL. Good morning.
GIU. If this gentleman is an undertaker it's a bad omen.
DON AL. Ceremony of some sort going on?
GIU. (aside). He is an undertaker! (Aloud.) No—a little
unimportant family gathering. Nothing in your line.
DON AL. Somebody's birthday, I suppose?
GIA. Yes, mine!
TESS. And mine!
MAR. And mine!
GIU. And mine!
DON AL. Curious coincidence! And how old may you all be?
TESS. It's a rude question—but about ten minutes.
DON AL. Remarkably fine children! But surely you are
jesting?
TESS. In other words, we were married about ten minutes
since.
DON AL. Married! You don't mean to say you are married?
MAR. Oh yes, we are married.
DON AL. What, both of you?
ALL. All four of us.
DON AL. (aside). Bless my heart, how extremely awkward!
GIA. You don't mind, I suppose?
TESS. You were not thinking of either of us for yourself, I
presume? Oh, Giuseppe, look at him—he was. He's heart-broken!
DON AL. No, no, I wasn't! I wasn't!
GIU. Now, my man (slapping him on the back), we don't want
anything in your line to-day, and if your curiosity's
satisfied—you can go!
DON AL. You mustn't call me your man. It's a liberty. I
don't think you know who I am.
GIU. Not we, indeed! We are jolly gondoliers, the sons of
Baptisto Palmieri, who led the last revolution. Republicans,
heart and soul, we hold all men to be equal. As we abhor
oppression, we abhor kings: as we detest vain-glory, we detest
rank: as we despise effeminacy, we despise wealth. We are
Venetian gondoliers—your equals in everything except our
calling, and in that at once your masters and your servants.
DON AL. Bless my heart, how unfortunate! One of you may be
Baptisto's son, for anything I know to the contrary; but the
other is no less a personage than the only son of the late King
of Barataria.
ALL. What!
DON AL. And I trust—I trust it was that one who slapped me
on the shoulder and called me his man!
GIU. One of us a king!
MAR. Not brothers!
TESS. The King of Barataria! [Together]
GIA. Well, who'd have thought it!
MAR. But which is it?
DON AL. What does it matter? As you are both Republicans,
and hold kings in detestation, of course you'll abdicate at once.
Good morning! (Going.)
GIA. and TESS. Oh, don't do that! (Marco and Giuseppe stop
him.)
GIU. Well, as to that, of course there are kings and kings.
When I say that I detest kings, I mean I detest bad kings.
DON AL. I see. It's a delicate distinction.
GIU. Quite so. Now I can conceive a kind of king—an ideal
king—the creature of my fancy, you know—who would be absolutely
unobjectionable. A king, for instance, who would abolish taxes
and make everything cheap, except gondolas—
MAR. And give a great many free entertainments to the
gondoliers—
GIU. And let off fireworks on the Grand Canal, and engage
all the gondolas for the occasion—
MAR. And scramble money on the Rialto among the gondoliers.
GIU. Such a king would be a blessing to his people, and if
I were a king, that is the sort of king I would be.
MAR. And so would I!
DON AL. Come, I'm glad to find your objections are not
insuperable.
MAR. and GIU. Oh, they're not insuperable.
GIA. and TESS. No, they're not insuperable.
GIU. Besides, we are open to conviction.
GIA. Yes; they are open to conviction.
TESS. Oh! they've often been convicted.
GIU. Our views may have been hastily formed on insufficient
grounds. They may be crude, ill-digested, erroneous. I've a
very poor opinion of the politician who is not open to
conviction.
TESS. (to Gia.). Oh, he's a fine fellow!
GIA. Yes, that's the sort of politician for my money!
DON AL. Then we'll consider it settled. Now, as the
country is in a state of insurrection, it is absolutely necessary
that you should assume the reins of Government at once; and,
until it is ascertained which of you is to be king, I have
arranged that you will reign jointly, so that no question can
arise hereafter as to the validity of any of your acts.
MAR. As one individual?
DON AL. As one individual.
GIU. (linking himself with Marco). Like this?
DON AL. Something like that.
MAR. And we may take our friends with us, and give them
places about the Court?
DON AL. Undoubtedly. That's always done!
MAR. I'm convinced!
GIU. So am I!
TESS. Then the sooner we're off the better.
GIA. We'll just run home and pack up a few things (going)—
DON AL. Stop, stop—that won't do at all—ladies are not
admitted.
ALL. What!
DON AL. Not admitted. Not at present. Afterwards,
perhaps. We'll see.
GIU. Why, you don't mean to say you are going to separate
us from our wives!
DON AL. (aside). This is very awkward! (Aloud.) Only for
a time—a few months. Alter all, what is a few months?
TESS. But we've only been married half an hour! (Weeps.)
FINALE, ACT I.
SONG—GIANETTA.
Kind sir, you cannot have the heart
Our lives to part
From those to whom an hour ago
We were united!
Before our flowing hopes you stem,
Ah, look at them,
And pause before you deal this blow,
All uninvited!
You men can never understand
That heart and hand
Cannot be separated when
We go a-yearning;
You see, you've only women's eyes
To idolize
And only women's hearts, poor men,
To set you burning!
Ah me, you men will never understand
That woman's heart is one with woman's hand!
Some kind of charm you seem to find
In womankind—
Some source of unexplained delight
(Unless you're jesting),
But what attracts you, I confess,
I cannot guess,
To me a woman's face is quite
Uninteresting!
If from my sister I were torn,
It could be borne—
I should, no doubt, be horrified,
But I could bear it;—
But Marco's quite another thing—
He is my King,
He has my heart and none beside
Shall ever share it!
Ah me, you men will never understand
That woman's heart is one with woman's hand!
RECITATIVE—DON ALHAMBRA.
Do not give way to this uncalled-for grief,
Your separation will be very brief.
To ascertain which is the King
And which the other,
To Barataria's Court I'll bring
His foster-mother;
Her former nurseling to declare
She'll be delighted.
That settled, let each happy pair
Be reunited.
MAR., GIU., Viva! His argument is strong!
GIA., TESS. Viva! We'll not be parted long!
Viva! It will be settled soon!
Viva! Then comes our honeymoon!
(Exit Don
Alhambra.)
QUARTET—MARCO, GIUSEPPE., GIANETTA, TESSA.
GIA. Then one of us will be a Queen,
And sit on a golden throne,
With a crown instead
Of a hat on her head,
And diamonds all her own!
With a beautiful robe of gold and green,
I've always understood;
I wonder whether
She'd wear a feather?
I rather think she should!
ALL. Oh, 'tis a glorious thing, I ween,
To be a regular Royal Queen!
No half-and-half affair, I mean,
But a right-down regular Royal Queen!
MAR. She'll drive about in a carriage and pair,
With the King on her left-hand side,
And a milk-white horse,
As a matter of course,
Whenever she wants to ride!
With beautiful silver shoes to wear
Upon her dainty feet;
With endless stocks
Of beautiful frocks
And as much as she wants to eat!
ALL. Oh, 'tis a glorious thing, I ween, etc.
TESS. Whenever she condescends to walk,
Be sure she'll shine at that,
With her haughty stare
And her nose in the air,
Like a well-born aristocrat!
At elegant high society talk
She'll bear away the bell,
With her "How de do?"
And her "How are you?"
And "I trust I see you well!"
ALL. Oh, 'tis a glorious thing, I ween, etc.
GIU. And noble lords will scrape and bow,
And double themselves in two,
And open their eyes
In blank surprise
At whatever she likes to do.
And everybody will roundly vow
She's fair as flowers in May,
And say, "How clever!"
At whatsoever
She condescends to say!
ALL. Oh, 'tis a glorious thing, I ween,
To be a regular Royal Queen!
No half-and-half affair, I mean,
But a right-down regular Royal Queen!
(Enter Chorus of Gondoliers and Contadine.)
CHORUS.
Now, pray, what is the cause of this remarkable hilarity?
This sudden ebullition of unmitigated jollity?
Has anybody blessed you with a sample of his charity?
Or have you been adopted by a gentleman of quality?
MAR. and GIU. Replying, we sing
As one individual,
As I find I'm a king,
To my kingdom I bid you all.
I'm aware you object
To pavilions and palaces,
But you'll find I respect
Your Republican fallacies.
CHORUS. As they know we object
To pavilions and palaces,
How can they respect
Our Republican fallacies?
MARCO and GIUSEPPE.
MAR. For every one who feels inclined,
Some post we undertake to find
Congenial with his frame of mind—
And all shall equal be.
GIU. The Chancellor in his peruke—
The Earl, the Marquis, and the Dook,
The Groom, the Butler, and the Cook—
They all shall equal be.
MAR. The Aristocrat who banks with Coutts—
The Aristocrat who hunts and shoots—
The Aristocrat who cleans our boots—
They all shall equal be!
GIU. The Noble Lord who rules the State—
The Noble Lord who cleans the plate—
MAR. The Noble Lord who scrubs the grate—
They all shall equal be!
GIU. The Lord High Bishop orthodox—
The Lord High Coachman on the box—
MAR. The Lord High Vagabond in the stocks—
They all shall equal be!
BOTH. For every one, etc.
Sing high, sing low,
Wherever they go,
They all shall equal be!
CHORUS. Sing high, sing low,
Wherever they go,
They all shall equal be!
The Earl, the Marquis, and the Dook,
The Groom, the Butler, and the Cook,
The Aristocrat who banks with Coutts,
The Aristocrat who cleans the boots,
The Noble Lord who rules the State,
The Noble Lord who scrubs the grate,
The Lord High Bishop orthodox,
The Lord High Vagabond in the stocks—
For every one, etc.
Sing high, sing low,
Wherever they go,
They all shall equal be!
Then hail! O King,
Whichever you may be,
To you we sing,
But do not bend the knee.
Then hail! O King.
MARCO and GIUSEPPE (together).
Come, let's away—our island crown awaits me—
Conflicting feelings rend my soul apart!
The thought of Royal dignity elates me,
But leaving thee behind me breaks my heart!
(Addressing Gianetta and
Tessa.)
GIANETTA and TESSA (together).
Farewell, my love; on board you must be getting;
But while upon the sea you gaily roam,
Remember that a heart for thee is fretting—
The tender little heart you've left at home!
GIA. Now, Marco dear,
My wishes hear:
While you're away
It's understood
You will be good
And not too gay.
To every trace
Of maiden grace
You will be blind,
And will not glance
By any chance
On womankind!
If you are wise,
You'll shut your eyes
Till we arrive,
And not address
A lady less
Than forty-five.
You'll please to frown
On every gown
That you may see;
And, O my pet,
You won't forget
You've married me!
And O my darling, O my pet,
Whatever else you may forget,
In yonder isle beyond the sea,
Do not forget you've married me!
TESS. You'll lay your head
Upon your bed
At set of sun.
You will not sing
Of anything
To any one.
You'll sit and mope
All day, I hope,
And shed a tear
Upon the life
Your little wife
Is passing here.
And if so be
You think of me,
Please tell the moon!
I'll read it all
In rays that fall
On the lagoon:
You'll be so kind
As tell the wind
How you may be,
And send me words
By little birds
To comfort me!
And O my darling, O my pet,
Whatever else you may forget,
In yonder isle beyond the sea,
Do not forget you've married me!
QUARTET. Oh my darling, O my pet, etc.
CHORUS (during which a "Xebeque" is hauled alongside the quay.)
Then away we go to an island fair
That lies in a Southern sea:
We know not where, and we don't much care,
Wherever that isle may be.
THE MEN (hauling on boat).
One, two, three,
Haul!
One, two, three,
Haul!
One, two, three,
Haul!
With a will!
ALL. When the breezes are a-blowing
The ship will be going,
When they don't we shall all stand still!
Then away we go to an island fair,
We know not where, and we don't much care,
Wherever that isle may be.
SOLO—MARCO.
Away we go
To a balmy isle,
Where the roses blow
All the winter while.
ALL (hoisting sail).
Then away we go to an island fair
That lies in a Southern sea:
Then away we go to an island fair,
Then away, then away, then away!
(The men embark on the "Xebeque." Marco and Giuseppe embracing
Gianetta and Tessa. The girls wave a farewell to the men as the
curtain falls.)
END OF ACT I
ACT II
SCENE.—Pavilion in the Court of Barataria. Marco and
Giuseppe, magnificently dressed, are seated on two thrones,
occupied in cleaning the crown and the sceptre. The Gondoliers
are discovered, dressed, some as courtiers, officers of rank,
etc., and others as private soldiers and servants of various
degrees. All are enjoying themselves without reference to social
distinctions—some playing cards, others throwing dice, some
reading, others playing cup and ball, "morra", etc.
CHORUS OF MEN with MARCO and GIUSEPPE.
Of happiness the very pith
In Barataria you may see:
A monarchy that's tempered with
Republican Equality.
This form of government we find
The beau ideal of its kind—
A despotism strict combined
With absolute equality!
MARCO and GIUSEPPE.
Two kings, of undue pride bereft,
Who act in perfect unity,
Whom you can order right and left
With absolute impunity.
Who put their subjects at their ease
By doing all they can to please!
And thus, to earn their bread-and-cheese,
Seize every opportunity.
CHORUS. Of happiness the very pith, etc.
MAR. Gentlemen, we are much obliged to you for your
expressions of satisfaction and good feeling—I say, we are much
obliged to you for your expressions of satisfaction and good
feeling.
ALL. We heard you.
MAR. We are delighted, at any time, to fall in with
sentiments so charmingly expressed.
ALL. That's all right.
GIU. At the same time there is just one little grievance
that we should like to ventilate.
ALL (angrily). What?
GIU. Don't be alarmed—it's not serious. It is arranged
that, until it is decided which of us two is the actual King, we
are to act as one person.
GIORGIO. Exactly.
GIU. Now, although we act as one person, we are, in point
of fact, two persons.
ANNIBALE. Ah, I don't think we can go into that. It is a
legal fiction, and legal fictions are solemn things. Situated as
we are, we can't recognize two independent responsibilities.
GIU. No; but you can recognize two independent appetites.
It's all very well to say we act as one person, but when you
supply us with only one ration between us, I should describe it
as a legal fiction carried a little too far.
ANNI. It's rather a nice point. I don't like to express an
opinion off-hand. Suppose we reserve it for argument before the
full Court?
MAR. Yes, but what are we to do in the meantime?
MAR. and GIU. We want our tea.
ANNI. I think we may make an interim order for double
rations on their Majesties entering into the usual undertaking to
indemnify in the event of an adverse decision?
GIOR. That, I think, will meet the case. But you must work
hard—stick to it—nothing like work.
GIU. Oh, certainly. We quite understand that a man who
holds the magnificent position of King should do something to
justify it. We are called "Your Majesty"; we are allowed to buy
ourselves magnificent clothes; our subjects frequently nod to us
in the streets; the sentries always return our salutes; and we
enjoy the inestimable privilege of heading the subscription lists
to all the principal charities. In return for these advantages
the least we can do is to make ourselves useful about the Palace.
SONG—GIUSEPPE with CHORUS.
Rising early in the morning,
We proceed to light the fire,
Then our Majesty adorning
In its workaday attire,
We embark without delay
On the duties of the day.
First, we polish off some batches
Of political despatches,
And foreign politicians circumvent;
Then, if business isn't heavy,
We may hold a Royal levee,
Or ratify some Acts of Parliament.
Then we probably review the household troops—
With the usual "Shalloo humps!" and "Shalloo hoops!"
Or receive with ceremonial and state
An interesting Eastern potentate.
After that we generally
Go and dress our private valet—
(It's a rather nervous duty—he's a touchy little man)—
Write some letters literary
For our private secretary—
He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can.
Then, in view of cravings inner,
We go down and order dinner;
Then we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate—
Spend an hour in titivating
All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting;
Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State.
Oh, philosophers may sing
Of the troubles of a King;
Yet the duties are delightful, and the privileges great;
But the privilege and pleasure
That we treasure beyond measure
Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State.
CHORUS. Oh, philosophers may sing, etc.
After luncheon (making merry
On a bun and glass of sherry),
If we've nothing in particular to do,
We may make a Proclamation,
Or receive a deputation—
Then we possibly create a Peer or two.
Then we help a fellow-creature on his path
With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath,
Or we dress and toddle off in semi-state
To a festival, a function, or a fete.
Then we go and stand as sentry
At the Palace (private entry),
Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and
fro,
While the warrior on duty
Goes in search of beer and beauty
(And it generally happens that he hasn't far to go).
He relieves us, if he's able,
Just in time to lay the table,
Then we dine and serve the coffee, and at half-past twelve
or one,
With a pleasure that's emphatic,
We retire to our attic
With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done!
Oh, philosophers may sing
Of the troubles of a King,
But of pleasures there are many and of worries there are
none;
And the culminating pleasure
That we treasure beyond measure
Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done!
CHORUS. Oh, philosophers may sing, etc.
(Exeunt all but Marco and
Giuseppe.)
GIU. Yes, it really is a very pleasant existence. They're
all so singularly kind and considerate. You don't find them
wanting to do this, or wanting to do that, or saying "It's my
turn now." No, they let us have all the fun to ourselves, and
never seem to grudge it.
MAR. It makes one feel quite selfish. It almost seems like
taking advantage of their good nature.
GIU. How nice they were about the double rations.
MAR. Most considerate. Ah! there's only one thing wanting
to make us thoroughly comfortable.
GIU. And that is?
MAR. The dear little wives we left behind us three months
ago.
GIU. Yes, it is dull without female society. We can do
without everything else, but we can't do without that.
MAR. And if we have that in perfection, we have everything.
There is only one recipe for perfect happiness.
SONG—MARCO.
Take a pair of sparkling eyes,
Hidden, ever and anon,
In a merciful eclipse—
Do not heed their mild surprise—
Having passed the Rubicon,
Take a pair of rosy lips;
Take a figure trimly planned—
Such as admiration whets—
(Be particular in this);
Take a tender little hand,
Fringed with dainty fingerettes,
Press it—in parenthesis;—
Ah! Take all these, you lucky man—
Take and keep them, if you can!
Take a pretty little cot—
Quite a miniature affair—
Hung about with trellised vine,
Furnish it upon the spot
With the treasures rich and rare
I've endeavoured to define.
Live to love and love to live—
You will ripen at your ease,
Growing on the sunny side—
Fate has nothing more to give.
You're a dainty man to please
If you are not satisfied.
Ah! Take my counsel, happy man;
Act upon it, if you can!
(Enter Chorus of Contadine, running in, led by Fiametta and
Vittoria. They are met by all the Ex-Gondoliers, who welcome
them heartily.)
SCENE—CHORUS OF GIRLS, QUARTET, DUET and CHORUS.
Here we are, at the risk of our lives,
From ever so far, and we've brought your wives—
And to that end we've crossed the main,
And don't intend to return again!
FIA. Though obedience is strong,
Curiosity's stronger—
We waited for long,
Till we couldn't wait longer.
VIT. It's imprudent, we know,
But without your society
Existence was slow,
And we wanted variety—
BOTH. Existence was slow, and we wanted variety.
ALL. So here we are, at the risk of our lives,
From ever so far, and we've brought your wives—
And to that end we've crossed the main,
And don't intend to return again!
(Enter Gianetta and Tessa. They rush to the arms of Marco and
Giuseppe.)
GIU. Tessa!
TESS. Giuseppe! {All embrace.}
GIA. Marco!
MAR. Gianetta!
TESSA and GIANETTA.
TESS. After sailing to this island—
GIA. Tossing in a manner frightful,
TESS. We are all once more on dry land—
GIA. And we find the change delightful,
TESS. As at home we've been remaining—
We've not seen you both for ages,
GIA. Tell me, are you fond of reigning?—
How's the food, and what's the wages?
TESS. Does your new employment please ye?—
GIA. How does Royalizing strike you?
TESS. Is it difficult or easy?—
GIA. Do you think your subjects like you?
TESS. I am anxious to elicit,
Is it plain and easy steering?
GIA. Take it altogether, is it
Better fun than gondoliering?
BOTH. We shall both go on requesting
Till you tell us, never doubt it;
Everything is interesting,
Tell us, tell us all about it!
CHORUS. They will both go on requesting, etc.
TESS. Is the populace exacting?
GIA. Do they keep you at a distance?
TESS. All unaided are you acting,
GIA. Or do they provide assistance?
TESS. When you're busy, have you got to
Get up early in the morning?
GIA. If you do what you ought not to,
Do they give the usual warning?
TESS. With a horse do they equip you?
GIA. Lots of trumpeting and drumming?
TESS. Do the Royal tradesmen tip you?
GIA. Ain't the livery becoming!
TESS. Does your human being inner
Feed on everything that nice is?
GIA. Do they give you wine for dinner;
Peaches, sugar-plums, and ices?
BOTH. We shall both go on requesting
Till you tell us, never doubt it;
Everything is interesting,
Tell us, tell us all about it!
CHORUS. They will both go on requesting, etc.
MAR. This is indeed a most delightful surprise!
TESS. Yes, we thought you'd like it. You see, it was like
this. After you left we felt very dull and mopey, and the days
crawled by, and you never wrote; so at last I said to Gianetta,
"I can't stand this any longer; those two poor Monarchs haven't
got any one to mend their stockings or sew on their buttons or
patch their clothes—at least, I hope they haven't—let us all
pack up a change and go and see how they're getting on." And she
said, "Done," and they all said, "Done"; and we asked old Giacopo
to lend us his boat, and he said, "Done"; and we've crossed the
sea, and, thank goodness, that's done; and here we are,
and—and—I've done!
GIA. And now—which of you is King?
TESS. And which of us is Queen?
GIU. That we shan't know until Nurse turns up. But never
mind that—the question is, how shall we celebrate the
commencement of our honeymoon? Gentlemen, will you allow us to
offer you a magnificent banquet?
ALL. We will!
GIU. Thanks very much; and, ladies, what do you say to a
dance?
TESS. A banquet and a dance! O, it's too much happiness!
CHORUS and DANCE.
Dance a cachucha, fandango, bolero,
Xeres we'll drink—Manzanilla, Montero—
Wine, when it runs in abundance, enhances
The reckless delight of that wildest of dances!
To the pretty pitter-pitter-patter,
And the clitter-clitter-clitter-clatter—
Clitter—clitter—clatter,
Pitter—pitter—patter,
Patter, patter, patter, patter, we'll dance.
Old Xeres we'll drink—Manzanilla, Montero;
For wine, when it runs in abundance, enhances
The reckless delight of that wildest of dances!
(Cachucha.)
(The dance is interrupted by the unexpected appearance of Don
Alhambra, who looks on with astonishment. Marco and Giuseppe
appear embarrassed. The others run off, except Drummer Boy, who
is driven off by Don Alhambra.)
DON AL. Good evening. Fancy ball?
GIU. No, not exactly. A little friendly dance. That's
all. Sorry you're late.
DON AL. But I saw a groom dancing, and a footman!
MAR. Yes. That's the Lord High Footman.
DON AL. And, dear me, a common little drummer boy!
GIU. Oh no! That's the Lord High Drummer Boy.
DON AL. But surely, surely the servants'-hall is the place
for these gentry?
GIU. Oh dear no! We have appropriated the servants'-hall.
It's the Royal Apartment, and accessible only by tickets
obtainable at the Lord Chamberlain's office.
MAR. We really must have some place that we can call our
own.
DON AL. (puzzled). I'm afraid I'm not quite equal to the
intellectual pressure of the conversation.
GIU. You see, the Monarchy has been re-modelled on
Republican principles.
DON AL. What!
GIU. All departments rank equally, and everybody is at the
head of his department.
DON AL. I see.
MAR. I'm afraid you're annoyed.
DON AL. No. I won't say that. It's not quite what I
expected.
GIU. I'm awfully sorry.
MAR. So am I.
GIU. By the by, can I offer you anything after your voyage?
A plate of macaroni and a rusk?
DON AL. (preoccupied). No, no—nothing—nothing.
GIU. Obliged to be careful?
DON AL. Yes—gout. You see, in every Court there are
distinctions that must be observed.
GIU. (puzzled). There are, are there?
DON AL. Why, of course. For instance, you wouldn't have a
Lord High Chancellor play leapfrog with his own cook.
MAR. Why not?
DON AL. Why not! Because a Lord High Chancellor is a
personage of great dignity, who should never, under any
circumstances, place himself in the position of being told to
tuck in his tuppenny, except by noblemen of his own rank. A Lord
High Archbishop, for instance, might tell a Lord High Chancellor
to tuck in his tuppenny, but certainly not a cook, gentlemen,
certainly not a cook.
GIU. Not even a Lord High Cook?
DON AL. My good friend, that is a rank that is not
recognized at the Lord Chamberlain's office. No, no, it won't
do. I'll give you an instance in which the experiment was tried.
SONG—DON ALHAMBRA, with MARCO and GIUSEPPE.
DON AL. There lived a King, as I've been told,
In the wonder-working days of old,
When hearts were twice as good as gold,
And twenty times as mellow.
Good-temper triumphed in his face,
And in his heart he found a place
For all the erring human race
And every wretched fellow.
When he had Rhenish wine to drink
It made him very sad to think
That some, at junket or at jink,
Must be content with toddy.
MAR. and GIU. With toddy, must be content with toddy.
DON AL. He wished all men as rich as he
(And he was rich as rich could be),
So to the top of every tree
Promoted everybody.
MAR. and GIU. Now, that's the kind of King for me.
He wished all men as rich as he,
So to the top of every tree
Promoted everybody!
DON AL. Lord Chancellors were cheap as sprats,
And Bishops in their shovel hats
Were plentiful as tabby cats—
In point of fact, too many.
Ambassadors cropped up like hay,
Prime Ministers and such as they
Grew like asparagus in May,
And Dukes were three a penny.
On every side Field-Marshals gleamed,
Small beer were Lords-Lieutenant deemed,
With Admirals the ocean teemed
All round his wide dominions.
MAR. and GIU. With Admirals all round his wide dominions.
DON AL. And Party Leaders you might meet
In twos and threes in every street
Maintaining, with no little heat,
Their various opinions.
MAR. and GIU. Now that's a sight you couldn't beat—
Two Party Leaders in each street
Maintaining, with no little heat,
Their various opinions.
DON AL. That King, although no one denies
His heart was of abnormal size,
Yet he'd have acted otherwise
If he had been acuter.
The end is easily foretold,
When every blessed thing you hold
Is made of silver, or of gold,
You long for simple pewter.
When you have nothing else to wear
But cloth of gold and satins rare,
For cloth of gold you cease to care—
Up goes the price of shoddy.
MAR. and GIU. Of shoddy, up goes the price of shoddy.
DON AL. In short, whoever you may be,
To this conclusion you'll agree,
When every one is somebodee,
Then no one's anybody!
MAR. and GIU. Now that's as plain as plain can be,
To this conclusion we agree—
ALL. When every one is somebodee,
Then no one's anybody!
(Gianetta and Tessa enter unobserved. The two girls, impelled by
curiosity, remain listening at the back of the stage.)
DON AL. And now I have some important news to communicate.
His Grace the Duke of Plaza-Toro, Her Grace the Duchess, and
their beautiful daughter Casilda—I say their beautiful daughter
Casilda—
GIU. We heard you.
DON AL. Have arrived at Barataria, and may be here at any
moment.
MAR. The Duke and Duchess are nothing to us.
DON AL. But the daughter—the beautiful daughter! Aha!
Oh, you're a lucky dog, one of you!
GIU. I think you're a very incomprehensible old gentleman.
DON AL. Not a bit—I'll explain. Many years ago when you
(whichever you are) were a baby, you (whichever you are) were
married to a little girl who has grown up to be the most
beautiful young lady in Spain. That beautiful young lady will be
here to claim you (whichever you are) in half an hour, and I
congratulate that one (whichever it is) with all my heart.
MAR. Married when a baby!
GIU. But we were married three months ago!
DON AL. One of you—only one. The other (whichever it is)
is an unintentional bigamist.
GIA. and TESS. (coming forward). Well, upon my word!
DON AL. Eh? Who are these young people?
TESS. Who are we? Why, their wives, of course. We've just
arrived.
DON AL. Their wives! Oh dear, this is very unfortunate!
Oh dear, this complicates matters! Dear, dear, what will Her
Majesty say?
GIA. And do you mean to say that one of these Monarchs was
already married?
TESS. And that neither of us will be a Queen?
DON AL. That is the idea I intended to convey. (Tessa and
Gianetta begin to cry.)
GIU. (to Tessa). Tessa, my dear, dear child—
TESS. Get away! perhaps it's you!
MAR. (to Gia.). My poor, poor little woman!
GIA. Don't! Who knows whose husband you are?
TESS. And pray, why didn't you tell us all about it before
they left Venice?
DON AL. Because, if I had, no earthly temptation would have
induced these gentlemen to leave two such extremely fascinating
and utterly irresistible little ladies!
TESS. There's something in that.
DON AL. I may mention that you will not be kept long in
suspense, as the old lady who nursed the Royal child is at
present in the torture chamber, waiting for me to interview her.
GIU. Poor old girl. Hadn't you better go and put her out
of her suspense?
DON AL. Oh no—there's no hurry—she's all right. She has
all the illustrated papers. However, I'll go and interrogate
her, and, in the meantime, may I suggest the absolute propriety
of your regarding yourselves as single young ladies. Good
evening!
(Exit Don
Alhambra.)
GIA. Well, here's a pleasant state of things!
MAR. Delightful. One of us is married to two young ladies,
and nobody knows which; and the other is married to one young
lady whom nobody can identify!
GIA. And one of us is married to one of you, and the other
is married to nobody.
TESS. But which of you is married to which of us, and
what's to become of the other? (About to cry.)
GIU. It's quite simple. Observe. Two husbands have
managed to acquire three wives. Three wives—two husbands.
(Reckoning up.) That's two-thirds of a husband to each wife.
TESS. O Mount Vesuvius, here we are in arithmetic! My good
sir, one can't marry a vulgar fraction!
GIU. You've no right to call me a vulgar fraction.
MAR. We are getting rather mixed. The situation is
entangled. Let's try and comb it out.
QUARTET—MARCO, GIUSEPPE, GIANETTA, TESSA.
In a contemplative fashion,
And a tranquil frame of mind,
Free from every kind of passion,
Some solution let us find.
Let us grasp the situation,
Solve the complicated plot—
Quiet, calm deliberation
Disentangles every knot.
TESS.I, no doubt, Giuseppe wedded— THE OTHERS. In a
contemplative
That's, of course, a slice of luck fashion,
etc.
He is rather dunder-headed.
Still distinctly, he's a duck.
GIA. I, a victim, too, of Cupid, THE OTHERS. Let
us grasp the
Marco married - that is clear. situation,
etc.
He's particularly stupid,
Still distinctly, he's a dear.
MAR. To Gianetta I was mated; THE OTHERS. In a
contemplative
I can prove it in a trice: fashion,
etc.
Though her charms are overrated,
Still I own she's rather nice.
GIU. I to Tessa, willy-nilly, THE OTHERS. Let us
grasp the
All at once a victim fell. situation,
etc.
She is what is called a silly,
Still she answers pretty well.
MAR. Now when we were pretty babies
Some one married us, that's clear—
GIA. And if I can catch her
I'll pinch her and scratch her
And send her away with a flea in her ear.
GIU. He whom that young lady married,
To receive her can't refuse.
TESS. If I overtake her
I'll warrant I'll make her
To shake in her aristocratical shoes!
GIA. (to Tess.). If she married your Giuseppe
You and he will have to part—
TESS. (to Gia.). If I have to do it
I'll warrant she'll rue it—
I'll teach her to marry the man of my heart!
TESS. (to Gia.). If she married Messer Marco
You're a spinster, that is plain—
GIA. (to Tess.). No matter—no matter.
If I can get at her
I doubt if her mother will know her again!
ALL. Quiet, calm deliberation
Disentangles every knot!
(Exeunt,
pondering.)
(March. Enter procession of Retainers, heralding approach of
Duke, Duchess, and Casilda. All three are now dressed with the
utmost magnificence.)
CHORUS OF MEN, with DUKE and DUCHESS.
With ducal pomp and ducal pride
(Announce these comers,
O ye kettle-drummers!)
Comes Barataria's high-born bride.
(Ye sounding cymbals clang!)
She comes to claim the Royal hand—
(Proclaim their Graces,
O ye double basses!)
Of the King who rules this goodly land.
(Ye brazen brasses bang!)
DUKE and This polite attention touches
DUCH. Heart of Duke and heart of Duchess
Who resign their pet
With profound regret.
She of beauty was a model
When a tiny tiddle-toddle,
And at twenty-one
She's excelled by none!
CHORUS. With ducal pomp and ducal pride, etc.
DUKE (to his attendants). Be good enough to inform His Majesty
that His Grace the Duke of Plaza-Toro, Limited, has arrived, and
begs—
CAS. Desires—
DUCH. Demands—
DUKE. And demands an audience. (Exeunt attendants.) And
now, my child, prepare to receive the husband to whom you were
united under such interesting and romantic circumstances.
CAS. But which is it? There are two of them!
DUKE. It is true that at present His Majesty is a double
gentleman; but as soon as the circumstances of his marriage are
ascertained, he will, ipso facto, boil down to a single
gentleman—thus presenting a unique example of an individual who
becomes a single man and a married man by the same operation.
DUCH. (severely). I have known instances in which the
characteristics of both conditions existed concurrently in the
same individual.
DUKE. Ah, he couldn't have been a Plaza-Toro.
DUCH. Oh! couldn't he, though!
CAS. Well, whatever happens, I shall, of course, be a
dutiful wife, but I can never love my husband.
DUKE. I don't know. It's extraordinary what
unprepossessing people one can love if one gives one's mind to
it.
DUCH. I loved your father.
DUKE. My love—that remark is a little hard, I think?
Rather cruel, perhaps? Somewhat uncalled-for, I venture to
believe?
DUCH. It was very difficult, my dear; but I said to myself,
"That man is a Duke, and I will love him." Several of my
relations bet me I couldn't, but I did—desperately!
SONG—DUCHESS.
On the day when I was wedded
To your admirable sire,
I acknowledge that I dreaded
An explosion of his ire.
I was overcome with panic—
For his temper was volcanic,
And I didn't dare revolt,
For I feared a thunderbolt!
I was always very wary,
For his fury was ecstatic—
His refined vocabulary
Most unpleasantly emphatic.
To the thunder
Of this Tartar
I knocked under
Like a martyr;
When intently
He was fuming,
I was gently
Unassuming—
When reviling
Me completely,
I was smiling
Very sweetly:
Giving him the very best, and getting back the very worst—
That is how I tried to tame your great progenitor—at first!
But I found that a reliance
On my threatening appearance,
And a resolute defiance
Of marital interference,
And a gentle intimation
Of my firm determination
To see what I could do
To be wife and husband too
Was the only thing required
For to make his temper supple,
And you couldn't have desired
A more reciprocating couple.
Ever willing
To be wooing,
We were billing—
We were cooing;
When I merely
From him parted,
We were nearly
Broken-hearted—
When in sequel
Reunited,
We were equal-
Ly delighted.
So with double-shotted guns and colours nailed unto the mast,
I tamed your insignificant progenitor—at last!
CAS. My only hope is that when my husband sees what a shady
family he has married into he will repudiate the contract
altogether.
DUKE. Shady? A nobleman shady, who is blazing in the
lustre of unaccustomed pocket-money? A nobleman shady, who can
look back upon ninety-five quarterings? It is not every nobleman
who is ninety-five quarters in arrear—I mean, who can look back
upon ninety-five of them! And this, just as I have been floated
at a premium! Oh fie!
DUCH. Your Majesty is surely unaware that directly your
Majesty's father came before the public he was applied for over
and over again.
DUKE. My dear, Her Majesty's father was in the habit of
being applied for over and over again—and very urgently applied
for, too—long before he was registered under the Limited
Liability Act.
RECITATIVE—DUKE.
To help unhappy commoners, and add to their enjoyment,
Affords a man of noble rank congenial employment;
Of our attempts we offer you examples illustrative:
The work is light, and, I may add, it's most remunerative.
DUET—DUKE and DUCHESS.
DUKE. Small titles and orders
For Mayors and Recorders
I get—and they're highly delighted—
DUCH. They're highly delighted!
DUKE. M.P.'s baronetted,
Sham Colonels gazetted,
And second-rate Aldermen knighted—
DUCH. Yes, Aldermen knighted.
DUKE. Foundation-stone laying
I find very paying:
It adds a large sum to my makings—
DUCH. Large sums to his makings.
DUKE. At charity dinners
The best of speech-spinners,
I get ten per cent on the takings—
DUCH. One-tenth of the takings.
DUCH. I present any lady
Whose conduct is shady
Or smacking of doubtful propriety—
DUKE. Doubtful propriety.
DUCH. When Virtue would quash her,
I take and whitewash her,
And launch her in first-rate society—
DUKE. First-rate society!
DUCH. I recommend acres
Of clumsy dressmakers—
Their fit and their finishing touches—
DUKE. Their finishing touches.
DUCH. A sum in addition
They pay for permission
To say that they make for the Duchess—
DUKE. They make for the Duchess!
DUKE. Those pressing prevailers,
The ready-made tailors,
Quote me as their great double-barrel—
DUCH. Their great double-barrel—
DUKE. I allow them to do so,
Though Robinson Crusoe
Would jib at their wearing apparel—
DUCH. Such wearing apparel!
DUKE. I sit, by selection,
Upon the direction
Of several Companies bubble—
DUCH. All Companies bubble!
DUKE. As soon as they're floated
I'm freely bank-noted—
I'm pretty well paid for my trouble—
DUCH. He's paid for his trouble!
DUCH. At middle-class party
I play at ecarte—
And I'm by no means a beginner—
DUKE (significantly). She's not a beginner.
DUCH. To one of my station
The remuneration—
Five guineas a night and my dinner—
DUKE. And wine with her dinner.
DUCH. I write letters blatant
On medicines patent—
And use any other you mustn't—
DUKE. Believe me, you mustn't—
DUCH. And vow my complexion
Derives its perfection
From somebody's soap—which it doesn't—
DUKE. (significantly). It certainly doesn't!
DUKE. We're ready as witness
To any one's fitness
To fill any place or preferment—
DUCH. A place or preferment.
DUCH. We're often in waiting
At junket or feting,
And sometimes attend an interment—
DUKE. We enjoy an interment.
BOTH. In short, if you'd kindle
The spark of a swindle,
Lure simpletons into your clutches—
Yes; into your clutches.
Or hoodwink a debtor,
You cannot do better
DUCH. Than trot out a Duke or a Duchess—
DUKE. A Duke or a Duchess!
(Enter Marco and Giuseppe.)
DUKE. Ah! Their Majesties. Your Majesty! (Bows with
great ceremony.)
MAR. The Duke of Plaza-Toro, I believe?
DUKE. The same. (Marco and Giuseppe offer to shake hands
with him. The Duke bows ceremoniously. They endeavour to
imitate him.) Allow me to present—
GIU. The young lady one of us married?
(Marco and Giuseppe offer to shake hands with her. Casilda
curtsies formally. They endeavour to imitate her.)
CAS. Gentlemen, I am the most obedient servant of one of
you. (Aside.) Oh, Luiz!
DUKE. I am now about to address myself to the gentleman
whom my daughter married; the other may allow his attention to
wander if he likes, for what I am about to say does not concern
him. Sir, you will find in this young lady a combination of
excellences which you would search for in vain in any young lady
who had not the good fortune to be my daughter. There is some
little doubt as to which of you is the gentleman I am addressing,
and which is the gentleman who is allowing his attention to
wander; but when that doubt is solved, I shall say (still
addressing the attentive gentleman), "Take her, and may she make
you happier than her mother has made me."
DUCH. Sir!
DUKE. If possible. And now there is a little matter to
which I think I am entitled to take exception. I come here in
state with Her Grace the Duchess and Her Majesty my daughter, and
what do I find? Do I find, for instance, a guard of honour to
receive me? No!
MAR. and GIU. No.
DUKE. The town illuminated? No!
MAR. and GIU. No.
DUKE. Refreshment provided? No!
MAR. and GIU. No.
DUKE. A Royal salute fired? No!
MAR. and GIU. No.
DUKE. Triumphal arches erected? No!
MAR. and GIU. No.
DUKE. The bells set ringing?
MAR. and GIU. No.
DUKE. Yes—one—the Visitors', and I rang it myself. It is
not enough! It is not enough!
GIU. Upon my honour, I'm very sorry; but you see, I was
brought up in a gondola, and my ideas of politeness are confined
to taking off my cap to my passengers when they tip me.
DUCH. That's all very well in its way, but it is not
enough.
GIU. I'll take off anything else in reason.
DUKE. But a Royal Salute to my daughter—it costs so
little.
CAS. Papa, I don't want a salute.
GIU. My dear sir, as soon as we know which of us is
entitled to take that liberty she shall have as many salutes as
she likes.
MAR. As for guards of honour and triumphal arches, you
don't know our people—they wouldn't stand it.
GIU. They are very off-hand with us—very off-hand indeed.
DUKE. Oh, but you mustn't allow that—you must keep them in
proper discipline, you must impress your Court with your
importance. You want deportment—carriage—
GIU. We've got a carriage.
DUKE. Manner—dignity. There must be a good deal of this
sort of thing—(business)—and a little of this sort of
thing—(business)—and possibly just a Soupcon of this sort of
thing!—(business)—and so on. Oh, it's very useful, and most
effective. Just attend to me. You are a King—I am a subject.
Very good—
(Gavotte.)
DUKE, DUCHESS, CASILDA, MARCO, GIUSEPPE.
DUKE. I am a courtier grave and serious
Who is about to kiss your hand:
Try to combine a pose imperious
With a demeanour nobly bland.
MAR. and Let us combine a pose imperious
GIU. With a demeanour nobly bland.
(Marco and Giuseppe endeavour to carry out his instructions.)
DUKE. That's, if anything, too unbending—
Too aggressively stiff and grand;
(They suddenly modify their attitudes.)
Now to the other extreme you're tending—
Don't be so deucedly condescending!
DUCH. and Now to the other extreme you're tending—
CAS. Don't be so dreadfully condescending!
MAR. and Oh, hard to please some noblemen seem!
GIU. At first, if anything, too unbending;
Off we go to the other extreme—
Too confoundedly condescending!
DUKE. Now a gavotte perform sedately—
Offer your hand with conscious pride;
Take an attitude not too stately,
Still sufficiently dignified.
MAR. and Now for an attitude not too stately,
GIU. Still sufficiently dignified.
(They endeavour to carry out his instructions.)
DUKE (beating Oncely, twicely—oncely, twicely—
time). Bow impressively ere you glide.
(They
do so.)
Capital both, capital
both—you've caught it nicely!
That is the style of thing precisely!
DUCH. and Capital both, capital both—they've
caught it nicely!
CAS. That is the style of thing precisely!
MAR. and Oh, sweet to earn a nobleman's praise!
GIU. Capital both, capital both—we've caught it
nicely!
Supposing he's right in what he says,
This is the style of
thing precisely!
(Gavotte. At the end exeunt Duke and Duchess, leaving Casilda
with Marco and Giuseppe.)
GIU. (to Marco). The old birds have gone away and left the
young chickens together. That's called tact.
MAR. It's very awkward. We really ought to tell her how we
are situated. It's not fair to the girl.
GIU. Then why don't you do it?
MAR. I'd rather not—you.
GIU. I don't know how to begin. (To Casilda.)
Er—Madam—I—we, that is, several of us—
CAS. Gentlemen, I am bound to listen to you; but it is
right to tell you that, not knowing I was married in infancy, I
am over head and ears in love with somebody else.
GIU. Our case exactly! We are over head and ears in love
with somebody else! (Enter Gianetta and Tessa.) In point of
fact, with our wives!
CAS. Your wives! Then you are married?
TESS. It's not our fault.
GIA. We knew nothing about it.
BOTH. We are sisters in misfortune.
CAS. My good girls, I don't blame you. Only before we go
any further we must really arrive at some satisfactory
arrangement, or we shall get hopelessly complicated.
QUINTET AND FINALE.
MARCO, GIUSEPPE, CASILDA, GIANETTA, TESSA.
ALL. Here is a case unprecedented!
Here are a King and Queen ill-starred!
Ever since marriage was first invented
Never was known a case so hard!
MAR. and I may be said to have been bisected,
GIU. By a profound catastrophe!
CAS., GIA., Through a calamity unexpected
TESS. I am divisible into three!
ALL. O moralists all,
How can you call
Marriage a state of unitee,
When excellent husbands are bisected,
And wives divisible into three?
O moralists all,
How can you call
Marriage a state of union true?
CAS., GIA., One-third of myself is married to half of
ye
TESS. or you,
MAR. and When half of myself has married one-third of ye
GIU. or you?
(Enter Don Alhambra, followed by Duke, Duchess, and all the
Chorus.)
FINALE.
RECITATIVE—DON ALHAMBRA.
Now let the loyal lieges gather round—
The Prince's foster-mother has been found!
She will declare, to silver clarion's sound,
The rightful King—let him forthwith be crowned!
CHORUS. She will declare, etc.
(Don Alhambra brings forward Inez, the Prince's foster-mother.)
TESS. Speak, woman, speak—
DUKE. We're all attention!
GIA. The news we seek-
DUCH. This moment mention.
CAS. To us they bring—
DON AL. His foster-mother.
MAR. Is he the King?
GIU. Or this my brother?
ALL. Speak, woman, speak, etc.
RECITATIVE—INEZ.
The Royal Prince was by the King entrusted
To my fond care, ere I grew old and crusted;
When traitors came to steal his son reputed,
My own small boy I deftly substituted!
The villains fell into the trap completely—
I hid the Prince away—still sleeping sweetly:
I called him "son" with pardonable slyness—
His name, Luiz! Behold his Royal Highness!
(Sensation. Luiz ascends the throne, crowned and robed as King.)
CAS. (rushing to his arms). Luiz!
LUIZ. Casilda! (Embrace.)
ALL. Is this indeed the King?
Oh, wondrous revelation!
Oh, unexpected thing!
Unlooked-for situation!
MAR., GIA., This statement we receive
GIU., TESS. With sentiments conflicting;
Our hearts rejoice and grieve,
Each other contradicting;
To those whom we adore
We can be reunited—
On one point rather sore,
But, on the whole, delighted!
LUIZ. When others claimed thy dainty hand,
I waited—waited—waited,
DUKE. As prudence (so I understand)
Dictated—tated—tated.
CAS. By virtue of our early vow
Recorded—corded—corded,
DUCH. Your pure and patient love is now
Rewarded—warded—warded.
ALL. Then hail, O King of a Golden Land,
And the high-born bride who claims his hand!
The past is dead, and you gain your own,
A royal crown and a golden throne!
(All kneel: Luiz crowns Casilda.)
ALL. Once more gondolieri,
Both skilful and wary,
Free from this quandary
Contented are we. Ah!
From Royalty flying,
Our gondolas plying,
And merrily crying
Our "preme," "stali!" Ah!
So good-bye, cachucha, fandango, bolero—
We'll dance a farewell to that measure—
Old Xeres, adieu—Manzanilla—Montero—
We leave you with feelings of pleasure!
CURTAIN
THE GRAND DUKE
OR
THE STATUTORY DUEL
By W. S. Gilbert
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
RUDOLPH (Grand Duke of Pfennig Halbpfennig).
ERNEST DUMMKOPF (a Theatrical Manager).
LUDWIG (his Leading Comedian).
DR. TANNHUSER (a Notary).
THE PRINCE OF MONTE CARLO.
VISCOUNT MENTONE.
BEN HASHBAZ (a Costumier).
HERALD.
——
THE PRINCESS OF MONTE CARLO (betrothed to RUDOLPH).
THE BARONESS VON KRAKENFELDT (betrothed to RUDOLPH).
JULIA JELLICOE (an English Comdienne).
LISA (a Soubrette).
Members of Ernest Dummkopf's Company:
OLGA
GRETCHEN
BERTHA
ELSA
MARTHA
Chamberlains, Nobles, Actors, Actresses, etc.
——
ACT I.—Scene. Public Square of Speisesaal.
ACT II.—Scene. Hall in the Grand Ducal Palace.
Date 1750.
First produced at the Savoy Theatre on March 7, 1896.
ACT I.
SCENE.—Market-place of Speisesaal, in the Grand Duchy of Pfennig
Halbpfennig. A well, with decorated ironwork, up L.C. GRETCHEN,
BERTHA, OLGA, MARTHA, and other members of ERNEST DUMMKOPF'S
theatrical company are discovered, seated at several small
tables, enjoying a repast in honour of the nuptials of LUDWIG,
his leading comedian, and LISA, his soubrette.
CHORUS.
Won't it be a pretty wedding?
Will not Lisa look delightful?
Smiles and tears in plenty shedding—
Which in brides of course is rightful
One could say, if one were spiteful,
Contradiction little dreading,
Her bouquet is simply frightful—
Still, 'twill be a pretty wedding!
Oh, it is a pretty wedding!
Such a pretty, pretty wedding!
ELSA. If her dress is badly fitting,
Theirs the fault who made her trousseau.
BERTHA. If her gloves are always splitting,
Cheap kid gloves, we know, will do so.
OLGA. If upon her train she stumbled,
On one's train one's always treading.
GRET. If her hair is rather tumbled,
Still, 'twill be a pretty wedding!
CHORUS. Such a pretty, pretty wedding!
CHORUS.
Here they come, the couple plighted—
On life's journey gaily start them.
Soon to be for aye united,
Till divorce or death shall part them.
(LUDWIG and LISA come forward.)
DUET—LUDWIG and LISA.
LUD. Pretty Lisa, fair and tasty,
Tell me now, and tell me truly,
Haven't you been rather hasty?
Haven't you been rash unduly?
Am I quite the dashing sposo
That your fancy could depict you?
Perhaps you think I'm only so-so?
(She expresses admiration.)
Well, I will not contradict you!
CHORUS. No, he will not contradict you!
LISA. Who am I to raise objection?
I'm a child, untaught and homely—
When you tell me you're perfection,
Tender, truthful, true, and comely—
That in quarrel no one's bolder,
Though dissensions always grieve you—
Why, my love, you're so much older
That, of course, I must believe you!
CHORUS. Yes, of course, she must believe you!
CHORUS.
If he ever acts unkindly,
Shut your eyes and love him blindly—
Should he call you names uncomely,
Shut your mouth and love him dumbly—
Should he rate you, rightly—leftly—
Shut your ears and love him deafly.
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
Thus and thus and thus alone
Ludwig's wife may hold her own!
(LUDWIG and LISA sit at table.)
Enter NOTARY TANNHAUSER.
NOT. Hallo! Surely I'm not late? (All chatter
unintelligibly in reply.)
NOT. But, dear me, you're all at breakfast! Has the
wedding taken place? (All chatter unintelligibly in reply.)
NOT. My good girls, one at a time, I beg. Let me
understand the situation. As solicitor to the conspiracy to
dethrone the Grand Duke—a conspiracy in which the members of
this company are deeply involved—I am invited to the marriage of
two of its members. I present myself in due course, and I find,
not only that the ceremony has taken place—which is not of the
least consequence —but the wedding breakfast is half
eaten—which is a consideration of the most serious importance.
(LUDWIG and LISA come down.)
LUD. But the ceremony has not taken place. We can't get a
parson!
NOT. Can't get a parson! Why, how's that? They're three
a
penny!
LUD. Oh, it's the old story—the Grand Duke!
ALL. Ugh!
LUD. It seems that the little imp has selected this, our
wedding day, for a convocation of all the clergy in the town to
settle the details of his approaching marriage with the
enormously wealthy Baroness von Krakenfeldt, and there won't be a
parson to be had for love or money until six o'clock this
evening!
LISA. And as we produce our magnificent classical revival
of Troilus and Cressida to-night at seven, we have no alternative
but to eat our wedding breakfast before we've earned it. So sit
down, and make the best of it.
GRET. Oh, I should like to pull his Grand Ducal ears for
him, that I should! He's the meanest, the cruellest, the most
spiteful little ape in Christendom!
OLGA. Well, we shall soon be freed from his tyranny.
To-morrow the Despot is to be dethroned!
LUD. Hush, rash girl! You know not what you say.
OLGA. Don't be absurd! We're all in it—we're all tiled,
here.
LUD. That has nothing to do with it. Know ye not that in
alluding to our conspiracy without having first given and
received the secret sign, you are violating a fundamental
principle of our Association?
SONG—LUDWIG.
By the mystic regulation
Of our dark Association,
Ere you open conversation
With another kindred soul,
You must eat a sausage-roll! (Producing one.)
ALL. You must eat a sausage-roll!
LUD. If, in turn, he eats another,
That's a sign that he's a brother—
Each may fully trust the other.
It is quaint and it is droll,
But it's bilious on the whole.
ALL. Very bilious on the whole.
LUD. It's a greasy kind of pasty,
Which, perhaps, a judgement hasty
Might consider rather tasty:
Once (to speak without disguise)
It found favour in our eyes.
ALL. It found favour in our eyes.
LUD. But when you've been six months feeding
(As we have) on this exceeding
Bilious food, it's no ill-breeding
If at these repulsive pies
Our offended gorges rise!
ALL. Our offended gorges rise!
MARTHA. Oh, bother the secret sign! I've eaten it until
I'm quite uncomfortable! I've given it six times already
to-day—and (whimpering) I can't eat any breakfast!
BERTHA. And it's so unwholesome. Why, we should all be as
yellow as frogs if it wasn't for the make-up!
LUD. All this is rank treason to the cause. I suffer as
much as any of you. I loathe the repulsive thing—I can't
contemplate it without a shudder—but I'm a conscientious
conspirator, and if you won't give the sign I will. (Eats
sausage-roll with an effort.)
LISA. Poor martyr! He's always at it, and it's a wonder
where he puts it!
NOT. Well now, about Troilus and Cressida. What do you
play?
LUD. (struggling with his feelings). If you'll be so
obliging as to wait until I've got rid of this feeling of warm
oil at the bottom of my throat, I'll tell you all about it.
(LISA gives him some brandy.) Thank you, my love; it's gone.
Well, the piece will be produced upon a scale of unexampled
magnificence. It is confidently predicted that my appearance as
King Agamemnon, in a Louis Quatorze wig, will mark an epoch in
the theatrical annals of Pfennig Halbpfennig. I endeavoured to
persuade Ernest Dummkopf, our manager, to lend us the classical
dresses for our marriage. Think of the effect of a real Athenian
wedding procession cavorting through the streets of Speisesaal!
Torches burning—cymbals banging—flutes tootling—citharae
twanging—and a throng of fifty lovely Spartan virgins capering
before us, all down the High Street, singing "Eloia! Eloia!
Opoponax, Eloia!" It would have been tremendous!
NOT. And he declined?
LUD. He did, on the prosaic ground that it might rain, and
the ancient Greeks didn't carry umbrellas! If, as is confidently
expected, Ernest Dummkopf is elected to succeed the dethroned
one, mark any words, he will make a mess of it.
[Exit LUDWIG with LISA.
OLGA. He's sure to be elected. His entire company has
promised to plump for him on the understanding that all the
places about the Court are filled by members of his troupe,
according to professional precedence.
ERNEST enters in great excitement.
BERTHA (looking off). Here comes Ernest Dummkopf. Now we
shall know all about it!
ALL. Well—what's the news? How is the election going?
ERN. Oh, it's a certainty—a practical certainty! Two of
the candidates have been arrested for debt, and the third is a
baby in arms—so, if you keep your promises, and vote solid, I'm
cocksure of election!
OLGA. Trust to us. But you remember the conditions?
ERN. Yes—all of you shall be provided for, for life.
Every man shall be ennobled—every lady shall have unlimited
credit at the Court Milliner's, and all salaries shall be paid
weekly in advance!
GRET. Oh, it's quite clear he knows how to rule a Grand
Duchy!
ERN. Rule a Grand Duchy? Why, my good girl, for ten years
past I've ruled a theatrical company! A man who can do that can
rule anything!
SONG—ERNEST.
Were I a king in very truth,
And had a son—a guileless youth—
In probable succession;
To teach him patience, teach him tact,
How promptly in a fix to act,
He should adopt, in point of fact,
A manager's profession.
To that condition he should stoop
(Despite a too fond mother),
With eight or ten "stars" in his troupe,
All jealous of each other!
Oh, the man who can rule a theatrical crew,
Each member a genius (and some of them two),
And manage to humour them, little and great,
Can govern this tuppenny State!
ALL. Oh, the man, etc.
Both A and B rehearsal slight—
They say they'll be "all right at night"
(They've both to go to school yet);
C in each act must change her dress,
D will attempt to "square the press";
E won't play Romeo unless
His grandmother plays Juliet;
F claims all hoydens as her rights
(She's played them thirty seasons);
And G must show herself in tights
For two convincing reasons—
Two very well-shaped reasons!
Oh, the man who can drive a theatrical team,
With wheelers and leaders in order supreme,
Can govern and rule, with a wave of his fin,
All Europe—with Ireland thrown in!
ALL. Oh, the man, etc.
[Exeunt all but ERNEST.
ERN. Elected by my fellow-conspirators to be Grand Duke of
Pfennig Halbpfennig as soon as the contemptible little occupant
of the historical throne is deposed—here is promotion indeed!
Why, instead of playing Troilus of Troy for a month, I shall play
Grand Duke of Pfennig Halbpfennig for a lifetime! Yet, am I
happy? No—far from happy! The lovely English comdienne—the
beautiful Julia, whose dramatic ability is so overwhelming that
our audiences forgive even her strong English accent—that rare
and radiant being treats my respectful advances with disdain
unutterable! And yet, who knows? She is haughty and ambitious,
and it may be that the splendid change in my fortunes may work a
corresponding change in her feelings towards me!
Enter JULIA JELLICOE.
JULIA. Herr Dummkopf, a word with you, if you please.
ERN. Beautiful English maiden—
JULIA. No compliments, I beg. I desire to speak with you
on a
purely professional matter, so we will, if you please, dispense
with
allusions to my personal appearance, which can only tend to widen
the
breach which already exists between us.
ERN. (aside). My only hope shattered! The haughty
Londoner
still despises me! (Aloud.) It shall be as you will.
JULIA. I understand that the conspiracy in which we are
all
concerned is to develop to-morrow, and that the company is likely
to elect you to the throne on the understanding that the posts
about the Court are to be filled by members of your theatrical
troupe, according to their professional importance.
ERN. That is so.
JULIA. Then all I can say is that it places me in an
extremely awkward position.
ERN. (very depressed). I don't see how it concerns you.
JULIA. Why, bless my heart, don't you see that, as your
leading lady, I am bound under a serious penalty to play the
leading part in all your productions?
ERN. Well?
JULIA. Why, of course, the leading part in this production
will be the Grand Duchess!
ERN. My wife?
JULIA. That is another way of expressing the same idea.
ERN. (aside—delighted). I scarcely dared even to hope
for
this!
JULIA. Of course, as your leading lady, you'll be mean
enough to hold me to the terms of my agreement. Oh, that's so
like a man! Well, I suppose there's no help for it—I shall have
to do it!
ERN. (aside). She's mine! (Aloud.) But—do you really
think you would care to play that part? (Taking her hand.)
JULIA (withdrawing it). Care to play it? Certainly
not—but what am I to do? Business is business, and I am bound
by the terms of my agreement.
ERN. It's for a long run, mind—a run that may last many,
many years—no understudy—and once embarked upon there's no
throwing it up.
JULIA. Oh, we're used to these long runs in England: they
are the curse of the stage—but, you see, I've no option.
ERN. You think the part of Grand Duchess will be good
enough for you?
JULIA. Oh, I think so. It's a very good part in
Gerolstein, and oughtn't to be a bad one in Pfennig Halbpfennig.
Why, what did you suppose I was going to play?
ERN. (keeping up a show of reluctance) But, considering
your strong personal dislike to me and your persistent rejection
of my repeated offers, won't you find it difficult to throw
yourself into the part with all the impassioned enthusiasm that
the character seems to demand? Remember, it's a strongly
emotional part, involving long and repeated scenes of rapture,
tenderness, adoration, devotion—all in luxuriant excess, and all
of the most demonstrative description.
JULIA. My good sir, throughout my career I have made it a
rule never to allow private feeling to interfere with my
professional duties. You may be quite sure that (however
distasteful the part may be) if I undertake it, I shall consider
myself professionally bound to throw myself into it with all the
ardour at my command.
ERN. (aside—with effusion). I'm the happiest fellow
alive!
(Aloud.) Now—would you have any objection—to—to give me some
idea—if it's only a mere sketch—as to how you would play it?
It would be really interesting—to me—to know your conception
of—of—the part of my wife.
JULIA. How would I play it? Now, let me see—let me see.
(Considering.) Ah, I have it!
BALLAD—JULIA.
How would I play this part—
The Grand Duke's Bride?
All rancour in my heart
I'd duly hide—
I'd drive it from my recollection
And 'whelm you with a mock affection,
Well calculated to defy detection—
That's how I'd play this part—
The Grand Duke's Bride.
With many a winsome smile
I'd witch and woo;
With gay and girlish guile
I'd frenzy you—
I'd madden you with my caressing,
Like turtle, her first love confessing—
That it was "mock", no mortal would be
guessing,
With so much winsome wile
I'd witch and woo!
Did any other maid
With you succeed,
I'd pinch the forward jade—
I would indeed!
With jealous frenzy agitated
(Which would, of course, be simulated),
I'd make her wish she'd never been created—
Did any other maid
With you succeed!
And should there come to me,
Some summers hence,
In all the childish glee
Of innocence,
Fair babes, aglow with beauty vernal,
My heart would bound with joy diurnal!
This sweet display of sympathy maternal,
Well, that would also be
A mere pretence!
My histrionic art
Though you deride,
That's how I'd play that part—
The Grand Duke's Bride!
ENSEMBLE.
ERNEST. JULIA.
Oh joy! when two glowing young My boy, when two
glowing
hearts, young hearts
From the rise of the curtain, From the rise of the
curtain,
Thus throw themselves into their Thus throw themselves
into
their parts, parts,
Success is most certain! Success is most
certain!
If the role you're prepared to endow The role I'm prepared
to
endow
With such delicate touches, With most delicate
touch-
es,
By the heaven above us, I vow By the heaven above us,
I
vow
You shall be my Grand Duchess! I will be your Grand
Duchess!
(Dance.)
Enter all the Chorus with LUDWIG, NOTARY,
and LISA—all greatly agitated.
EXCITED CHORUS.
My goodness me! What shall we do? Why, what a dreadful
situation!
(To LUD.) It's all your fault, you booby you—you lump of
indiscrimination!
I'm sure I don't know where to go—it's put me into such a
tetter—
But this at all events I know—the sooner we are off, the
better!
ERN. What means this agitato? What d'ye seek?
As your Grand Duke elect I bid you speak!
SONG—LUDWIG.
Ten minutes since I met a chap
Who bowed an easy salutation—
Thinks I, "This gentleman, mayhap,
Belongs to our Association."
But, on the whole,
Uncertain yet,
A sausage-roll
I took and eat—
That chap replied (I don't embellish)
By eating three with obvious relish.
CHORUS (angrily). Why, gracious powers,
No chum of ours
Could eat three sausage-rolls with relish!
LUD. Quite reassured, I let him know
Our plot—each incident explaining;
That stranger chuckled much, as though
He thought me highly entertaining.
I told him all,
Both bad and good;
I bade him call—
He said he would:
I added much—the more I muckled,
The more that chuckling chummy chuckled!
ALL (angrily). A bat could see
He couldn't be
A chum of ours if he chuckled!
LUD. Well, as I bowed to his applause,
Down dropped he with hysteric bellow—
And that seemed right enough, because
I am a devilish funny fellow.
Then suddenly,
As still he squealed,
It flashed on me
That I'd revealed
Our plot, with all details effective,
To Grand Duke Rudolph's own detective!
ALL. What folly fell,
To go and tell
Our plot to any one's detective!
CHORUS.
(Attacking LUDWIG.) You booby dense—
You oaf immense,
With no pretence
To common sense!
A stupid muff
Who's made of stuff
Not worth a puff
Of candle-snuff!
Pack up at once and off we go, unless we're anxious to exhibit
Our fairy forms all in a row, strung up upon the Castle gibbet!
[Exeunt Chorus. Manent LUDWIG, LISA,
ERNEST, JULIA, and NOTARY.
JULIA. Well, a nice mess you've got us into! There's an
end of our precious plot! All up—pop—fizzle—bang—done for!
LUD. Yes, but—ha! ha!—fancy my choosing the Grand Duke's
private detective, of all men, to make a confidant of! When you
come to think of it, it's really devilish funny!
ERN. (angrily). When you come to think of it, it's
extremely injudicious to admit into a conspiracy every
pudding-headed baboon who presents himself!
LUD. Yes—I should never do that. If I were chairman of
this gang, I should hesitate to enrol any baboon who couldn't
produce satisfactory credentials from his last Zoological
Gardens.
LISA. Ludwig is far from being a baboon. Poor boy, he
could not help giving us away—it's his trusting nature—he was
deceived.
JULIA (furiously). His trusting nature! (To LUDWIG.) Oh,
I should like to talk to you in my own language for five
minutes—only five minutes! I know some good, strong, energetic
English remarks that would shrivel your trusting nature into
raisins—only you wouldn't understand them!
LUD. Here we perceive one of the disadvantages of a
neglected education!
ERN. (to JULIA). And I suppose you'll never be my Grand
Duchess now!
JULIA. Grand Duchess? My good friend, if you don't
produce
the piece how can I play the part?
ERN. True. (To LUDWIG.) You see what you've done.
LUD. But, my dear sir, you don't seem to understand that
the man ate three sausage-rolls. Keep that fact steadily before
you. Three large sausage-rolls.
JULIA. Bah!—Lots of people eat sausage-rolls who are not
conspirators.
LUD. Then they shouldn't. It's bad form. It's not the
game. When one of the Human Family proposes to eat a
sausage-roll, it is his duty to ask himself, "Am I a
conspirator?" And if, on examination, he finds that he is not a
conspirator, he is bound in honour to select some other form of
refreshment.
LISA. Of course he is. One should always play the game.
(To NOTARY, who has been smiling placidly through this.) What
are you grinning at, you greedy old man?
NOT. Nothing—don't mind me. It is always amusing to the
legal mind to see a parcel of laymen bothering themselves about a
matter which to a trained lawyer presents no difficulty whatever.
ALL. No difficulty!
NOT. None whatever! The way out of it is quite simple.
ALL. Simple?
NOT. Certainly! Now attend. In the first place, you two
men fight a Statutory Duel.
ERN. A Statutory Duel?
JULIA. A Stat-tat-tatutory Duel! Ach! what a crack-jaw
language this German is!
LUD. Never heard of such a thing.
NOT. It is true that the practice has fallen into abeyance
through disuse. But all the laws of Pfennig Halbpfennig run for
a hundred years, when they die a natural death, unless, in the
meantime, they have been revived for another century. The Act
that institutes the Statutory Duel was passed a hundred years
ago, and as it has never been revived, it expires to-morrow. So
you're just in time.
JULIA. But what is the use of talking to us about
Statutory
Duels when we none of us know what a Statutory Duel is?
NOT. Don't you? Then I'll explain.
SONG—NOTARY.
About a century since,
The code of the duello
To sudden death
For want of breath
Sent many a strapping fellow.
The then presiding Prince
(Who useless bloodshed hated),
He passed an Act,
Short and compact,
Which may be briefly stated.
Unlike the complicated laws
A Parliamentary draftsman draws,
It may be briefly stated.
ALL. We know that complicated laws,
Such as a legal draftsman draws,
Cannot be briefly stated.
NOT. By this ingenious law,
If any two shall quarrel,
They may not fight
With falchions bright
(Which seemed to him immoral);
But each a card shall draw,
And he who draws the lowest
Shall (so 'twas said)
Be thenceforth dead—
In fact, a legal "ghoest"
(When exigence of rhyme compels,
Orthography forgoes her spells,
And "ghost" is written "ghoest").
ALL (aside) With what an emphasis he dwells
Upon "orthography" and "spells"!
That kind of fun's the lowest.
NOT. When off the loser's popped
(By pleasing legal fiction),
And friend and foe
Have wept their woe
In counterfeit affliction,
The winner must adopt
The loser's poor relations—
Discharge his debts,
Pay all his bets,
And take his obligations.
In short, to briefly sum the case,
The winner takes the loser's place,
With all its obligations.
ALL. How neatly lawyers state a case!
The winner takes the loser's place,
With all its obligations!
LUD. I see. The man who draws the lowest card—
NOT. Dies, ipso facto, a social death. He loses all his
civil rights—his identity disappears—the Revising Barrister
expunges his name from the list of voters, and the winner takes
his place, whatever it may be, discharges all his functions, and
adopts all his responsibilities.
ERN. This is all very well, as far as it goes, but it only
protects one of us. What's to become of the survivor?
LUD. Yes, that's an interesting point, because I might be
the survivor.
NOT. The survivor goes at once to the Grand Duke, and, in
a
burst of remorse, denounces the dead man as the moving spirit of
the plot. He is accepted as King's evidence, and, as a matter of
course, receives a free pardon. To-morrow, when the law expires,
the dead man will, ipso facto, come to life again—the Revising
Barrister will restore his name to the list of voters, and he
will resume all his obligations as though nothing unusual had
happened.
JULIA. When he will be at once arrested, tried, and
executed on the evidence of the informer! Candidly, my friend, I
don't think much of your plot!
NOT. Dear, dear, dear, the ignorance of the laity! My
good
young lady, it is a beautiful maxim of our glorious Constitution
that a man can only die once. Death expunges crime, and when he
comes to life again, it will be with a clean slate.
ERN. It's really very ingenious.
LUD. (to NOTARY). My dear sir, we owe you our lives!
LISA (aside to LUDWIG). May I kiss him?
LUD. Certainly not: you're a big girl now. (To ERNEST.)
Well, miscreant, are you prepared to meet me on the field of
honour?
ERN. At once. By Jove, what a couple of fire-eaters we
are!
LISA. Ludwig doesn't know what fear is.
LUD. Oh, I don't mind this sort of duel!
ERN. It's not like a duel with swords. I hate a duel with
swords. It's not the blade I mind—it's the blood.
LUD. And I hate a duel with pistols. It's not the ball I
mind—it's the bang.
NOT. Altogether it is a great improvement on the old
method
of giving satisfaction.
QUINTET.
LUDWIG, LISA, NOTARY, ERNEST, JULIA.
Strange the views some people hold!
Two young fellows quarrel—
Then they fight, for both are bold—
Rage of both is uncontrolled—
Both are stretched out, stark and cold!
Prithee, where's the moral?
Ding dong! Ding dong!
There's an end to further action,
And this barbarous transaction
Is described as "satisfaction"!
Ha! ha! ha! ha! satisfaction!
Ding dong! Ding dong!
Each is laid in churchyard mould—
Strange the views some people hold!
Better than the method old,
Which was coarse and cruel,
Is the plan that we've extolled.
Sing thy virtues manifold
(Better than refined gold),
Statutory Duel!
Sing song! Sing song!
Sword or pistol neither uses—
Playing card he lightly chooses,
And the loser simply loses!
Ha! ha! ha! ha! simply loses.
Sing song! Sing song!
Some prefer the churchyard mould!
Strange the views some people hold!
NOT. (offering a card to ERNEST).
Now take a card and gaily sing
How little you care for Fortune's rubs—
ERN. (drawing a card).
Hurrah, hurrah!—I've drawn a King:
ALL. He's drawn a King!
He's drawn a King!
Sing Hearts and Diamonds, Spades and Clubs!
ALL (dancing). He's drawn a King!
How strange a thing!
An excellent card—his chance it aids—
Sing Hearts and Diamonds, Spades and Clubs—
Sing Diamonds, Hearts and Clubs and Spades!
NOT. (to LUDWIG).
Now take a card with heart of grace—
(Whatever our fate, let's play our parts).
LUD. (drawing card).
Hurrah, hurrah!—I've drawn an Ace!
ALL. He's drawn an Ace!
He's drawn an Ace!
Sing Clubs and Diamonds, Spades and Hearts!
ALL (dancing).
He's drawn an Ace!
Observe his face—
Such very good fortune falls to few—
Sing Clubs and Diamonds, Spades and Hearts—
Sing Clubs, Spades, Hearts and Diamonds too!
NOT. That both these maids may keep their troth,
And never misfortune them befall,
I'll hold 'em as trustee for both—
ALL. He'll hold 'em both!
He'll hold 'em both!
Sing Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, Spades and all!
ALL (dancing). By joint decree
As {our/your} trustee
This Notary {we/you} will now instal—
In custody let him keep {their/our} hearts,
Sing Hearts, Clubs, Diamonds, Spades and all!
[Dance and exeunt LUDWIG, ERNEST, and
NOTARY with the two Girls.
March. Enter the seven Chamberlains of the
GRAND DUKE RUDOLPH.
CHORUS OF CHAMBERLAINS.
The good Grand Duke of Pfennig Halbpfennig,
Though, in his own opinion, very very big,
In point of fact he's nothing but a miserable prig
Is the good Grand Duke of Pfennig Halbpfennig!
Though quite contemptible, as every one agrees,
We must dissemble if we want our bread and cheese,
So hail him in a chorus, with enthusiasm big,
The good Grand Duke of Pfennig Halbpfennig!
Enter the GRAND DUKE RUDOLPH. He is meanly and miserably dressed
in old and patched clothes, but blazes with a profusion of
orders and decorations. He is very weak and ill, from low
living.
SONG—RUDOLPH.
A pattern to professors of monarchical autonomy,
I don't indulge in levity or compromising bonhomie,
But dignified formality, consistent with economy,
Above all other virtues I particularly prize.
I never join in merriment—I don't see joke or jape any—
I never tolerate familiarity in shape any—
This, joined with an extravagant respect for
tuppence-ha'penny,
A keynote to my character sufficiently supplies.
(Speaking.) Observe. (To Chamberlains.) My snuff-box!
(The snuff-box is passed with much ceremony from the Junior
Chamberlain, through all the others, until it is presented
by the Senior Chamberlain to RUDOLPH, who uses it.)
That incident a keynote to my character supplies.
RUD. I weigh out tea and sugar with precision mathematical—
Instead of beer, a penny each—my orders are emphatical—
(Extravagance unpardonable, any more than that I call),
But, on the other hand, my Ducal dignity to keep—
All Courtly ceremonial—to put it comprehensively—
I rigidly insist upon (but not, I hope, offensively)
Whenever ceremonial can be practised inexpensively—
And, when you come to think of it, it's really very
cheap!
(Speaking.) Observe. (To Chamberlains.) My handkerchief!
(Handkerchief is handed by Junior Chamberlain to the next in
order, and so on until it reaches RUDOLPH, who is much
inconvenienced by the delay.)
It's sometimes inconvenient, but it's always very cheap!
RUD. My Lord Chamberlain, as you are aware, my marriage
with the wealthy Baroness von Krakenfeldt will take place
to-morrow, and you will be good enough to see that the rejoicings
are on a scale of unusual liberality. Pass that on. (Chamberlain
whispers to Vice-Chamberlain, who whispers to the next, and so
on.) The sports will begin with a Wedding Breakfast Bee. The
leading pastry-cooks of the town will be invited to compete, and
the winner will not only enjoy the satisfaction of seeing his
breakfast devoured by the Grand Ducal pair, but he will also be
entitled to have the Arms of Pfennig Halbpfennig tattoo'd between
his shoulder-blades. The Vice-Chamberlain will see to this. All
the public fountains of Speisesaal will run with Gingerbierheim
and Currantweinmilch at the public expense. The Assistant
Vice-Chamberlain will see to this. At night, everybody will
illuminate; and as I have no desire to tax the public funds
unduly, this will be done at the inhabitants' private expense.
The Deputy Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will see to this. All my
Grand Ducal subjects will wear new clothes, and the Sub-Deputy
Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will collect the usual commission on
all sales. Wedding presents (which, on this occasion, should be
on a scale of extraordinary magnificence) will be received at the
Palace at any hour of the twenty-four, and the Temporary
Sub-Deputy Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will sit up all night for
this purpose. The entire population will be commanded to enjoy
themselves, and with this view the Acting Temporary Sub-Deputy
Assistant Vice-Chamberlain will sing comic songs in the
Market-place from noon to nightfall. Finally, we have composed a
Wedding Anthem, with which the entire population are required to
provide themselves. It can be obtained from our Grand Ducal
publishers at the usual discount price, and all the Chamberlains
will be expected to push the sale. (Chamberlains bow and
exeunt). I don't feel at all comfortable. I hope I'm not doing
a foolish thing in getting married. After all, it's a poor heart
that never rejoices, and this wedding of mine is the first little
treat I've allowed myself since my christening. Besides,
Caroline's income is very considerable, and as her ideas of
economy are quite on a par with mine, it ought to turn out well.
Bless her tough old heart, she's a mean little darling! Oh, here
she is, punctual to her appointment!
Enter BARONESS VON KRAKENFELDT.
BAR. Rudolph! Why, what's the matter?
RUD. Why, I'm not quite myself, my pet. I'm a little
worried and upset. I want a tonic. It's the low diet, I think.
I am afraid, after all, I shall have to take the bull by the
horns and have an egg with my breakfast.
BAR. I shouldn't do anything rash, dear. Begin with a
jujube. (Gives him one.)
RUD. (about to eat it, but changes his mind). I'll keep it
for supper. (He sits by her and tries to put his arm round her
waist.)
BAR. Rudolph, don't! What in the world are you thinking
of?
RUD. I was thinking of embracing you, my sugarplum. Just
as a little cheap treat.
BAR. What, here? In public? Really, you appear to have
no
sense of delicacy.
RUD. No sense of delicacy, Bon-bon!
BAR. No. I can't make you out. When you courted me, all
your courting was done publicly in the Marketplace. When you
proposed to me, you proposed in the Market-place. And now that
we're engaged you seem to desire that our first tte-
occur in the Marketplace! Surely you've a room in your
Palace—with blinds—that would do?
RUD. But, my own, I can't help myself. I'm bound by my
own
decree.
BAR. Your own decree?
RUD. Yes. You see, all the houses that give on the
Market-place belong to me, but the drains (which date back to the
reign of Charlemagne) want attending to, and the houses wouldn't
let—so, with a view to increasing the value of the property, I
decreed that all love-episodes between affectionate couples
should take place, in public, on this spot, every Monday,
Wednesday, and Friday, when the band doesn't play.
BAR. Bless me, what a happy idea! So moral too! And have
you found it answer?
RUD. Answer? The rents have gone up fifty per cent, and
the sale of opera-glasses (which is a Grand Ducal monopoly) has
received an extraordinary stimulus! So, under the circumstances,
would you allow me to put my arm round your waist? As a source
of income. Just once!
BAR. But it's so very embarrassing. Think of the
opera-glasses!
RUD. My good girl, that's just what I am thinking of.
Hang
it all, we must give them something for their money! What's
that?
BAR. (unfolding paper, which contains a large letter,
which
she hands to him). It's a letter which your detective asked me
to hand to you. I wrapped it up in yesterday's paper to keep it
clean.
RUD. Oh, it's only his report! That'll keep. But, I say,
you've never been and bought a newspaper?
BAR. My dear Rudolph, do you think I'm mad? It came
wrapped round my breakfast.
RUD. (relieved). I thought you were not the sort of girl
to
go and buy a newspaper! Well, as we've got it, we may as well
read it. What does it say?
BAR. Why—dear me—here's your biography! "Our Detested
Despot!"
RUD. Yes—I fancy that refers to me.
BAR. And it says—Oh, it can't be!
RUD. What can't be?
BAR. Why, it says that although you're going to marry me
to-morrow, you were betrothed in infancy to the Princess of Monte
Carlo!
RUD. Oh yes—that's quite right. Didn't I mention it?
BAR. Mention it! You never said a word about it!
RUD. Well, it doesn't matter, because, you see, it's
practically off.
BAR. Practically off?
RUD. Yes. By the terms of the contract the betrothal is
void unless the Princess marries before she is of age. Now, her
father, the Prince, is stony-broke, and hasn't left his house for
years for fear of arrest. Over and over again he has implored me
to come to him to be married-but in vain. Over and over again he
has implored me to advance him the money to enable the Princess
to come to me—but in vain. I am very young, but not as young as
that; and as the Princess comes of age at two tomorrow, why at
two to-morrow I'm a free man, so I appointed that hour for our
wedding, as I shall like to have as much marriage as I can get
for my money.
BAR. I see. Of course, if the married state is a happy
state, it's a pity to waste any of it.
RUD. Why, every hour we delayed I should lose a lot of you
and you'd lose a lot of me!
BAR. My thoughtful darling! Oh, Rudolph, we ought to be
very happy!
RUD. If I'm not, it'll be my first bad investment. Still,
there is such a thing as a slump even in Matrimonials.
BAR. I often picture us in the long, cold, dark December
evenings, sitting close to each other and singing impassioned
duets to keep us warm, and thinking of all the lovely things we
could afford to buy if we chose, and, at the same time, planning
out our lives in a spirit of the most rigid and exacting economy!
RUD. It's a most beautiful and touching picture of
connubial bliss in its highest and most rarefied development!
DUET—BARONESS and RUDOLPH.
BAR. As o'er our penny roll we sing,
It is not reprehensive
To think what joys our wealth would bring
Were we disposed to do the thing
Upon a scale extensive.
There's rich mock-turtle—thick and clear—
RUD. (confidentially). Perhaps we'll have it once a year!
BAR. (delighted). You are an open-handed dear!
RUD. Though, mind you, it's expensive.
BAR. No doubt it is expensive.
BOTH. How fleeting are the glutton's joys!
With fish and fowl he lightly toys,
RUD. And pays for such expensive tricks
Sometimes as much as two-and-six!
BAR. As two-and-six?
RUD. As two-and-six—
BOTH. Sometimes as much as two-and-six!
BAR. It gives him no advantage, mind—
For you and he have only dined,
And you remain when once it's down
A better man by half-a-crown.
RUD. By half-a-crown?
BAR. By half-a-crown.
BOTH. Yes, two-and-six is half-a-crown.
Then let us be modestly merry,
And rejoice with a derry down derry.
For to laugh and to sing
No extravagance bring—
It's a joy economical, very!
BAR. Although as you're of course aware
(I never tried to hide it)
I moisten my insipid fare
With water—which I can't abear—
RUD. Nor I—I can't abide it.
BAR. This pleasing fact our souls will cheer,
With fifty thousand pounds a year
We could indulge in table beer!
RUD. Get out!
BAR. We could—I've tried it!
RUD. Yes, yes, of course you've tried it!
BOTH. Oh, he who has an income clear
Of fifty thousand pounds a year—
BAR. Can purchase all his fancy loves
Conspicuous hats—
RUD. Two shilling gloves—
BAR. (doubtfully). Two-shilling gloves?
RUD. (positively). Two-shilling gloves—
BOTH. Yes, think of that, two-shilling gloves!
BAR. Cheap shoes and ties of gaudy hue,
And Waterbury watches, too—
And think that he could buy the lot
Were he a donkey—
RUD. Which he's not!
BAR. Oh no, he's not!
RUD. Oh no, he's not!
BOTH (dancing).
That kind of donkey he is not!
Then let us be modestly merry,
And rejoice with a derry down derry.
For to laugh and to sing
Is a rational thing-
It's a joy economical, very!
[Exit
BARONESS.
RUD. Oh, now for my detective's report. (Opens letter.)
What's this! Another conspiracy! A conspiracy to depose me!
And my private detective was so convulsed with laughter at the
notion of a conspirator selecting him for a confidant that he was
physically unable to arrest the malefactor! Why, it'll come
off! This comes of engaging a detective with a keen sense of the
ridiculous! For the future I'll employ none but Scotchmen. And
the plot is to explode to-morrow! My wedding day! Oh,
Caroline, Caroline! (Weeps.) This is perfectly frightful!
What's to be done? I don't know! I ought to keep cool and
think, but you can't think when your veins are full of hot
soda-water, and your brain's fizzing like a firework, and all
your faculties are jumbled in a perfect whirlpool of
tumblication! And I'm going to be ill! I know I am! I've been
living too low, and I'm going to be very ill indeed!
SONG—RUDOLPH.
When you find you're a broken-down critter,
Who is all of a trimmle and twitter,
With your palate unpleasantly bitter,
As if you'd just eaten a pill—
When your legs are as thin as dividers,
And you're plagued with unruly insiders,
And your spine is all creepy with spiders,
And you're highly gamboge in the gill—
When you've got a beehive in your head,
And a sewing machine in each ear,
And you feel that you've eaten your bed,
And you've got a bad headache down here—
When such facts are about,
And these symptoms you find
In your body or crown—
Well, you'd better look out,
You may make up your mind
You had better lie down!
When your lips are all smeary—like tallow,
And your tongue is decidedly yallow,
With a pint of warm oil in your swallow,
And a pound of tin-tacks in your chest—
When you're down in the mouth with the vapours,
And all over your Morris wall-papers
Black-beetles are cutting their capers,
And crawly things never at rest—
When you doubt if your head is your own,
And you jump when an open door slams—
Then you've got to a state which is known
To the medical world as "jim-jams"
If such symptoms you find
In your body or head,
They're not easy to quell—
You may make up your mind
You are better in bed,
For you're not at all well!
(Sinks exhausted and weeping at foot of well.)
Enter LUDWIG.
LUD. Now for my confession and full pardon. They told me
the Grand Duke was dancing duets in the Market-place, but I don't
see him. (Sees RUDOLPH.) Hallo! Who's this? (Aside.) Why, it
is the Grand Duke!
RUD. (sobbing). Who are you, sir, who presume to address
me in person? If you've anything to communicate, you must fling
yourself at the feet of my Acting Temporary Sub-Deputy Assistant
Vice-Chamberlain, who will fling himself at the feet of his
immediate superior, and so on, with successive foot-flingings
through the various grades—your communication will, in course of
time, come to my august knowledge.
LUD. But when I inform your Highness that in me you see
the
most unhappy, the most unfortunate, the most completely miserable
man in your whole dominion—
RUD. (still sobbing). You the most miserable man in my
whole dominion? How can you have the face to stand there and say
such a thing? Why, look at me! Look at me! (Bursts into
tears.)
LUD. Well, I wouldn't be a cry-baby.
RUD. A cry-baby? If you had just been told that you were
going to be deposed to-morrow, and perhaps blown up with dynamite
for all I know, wouldn't you be a cry-baby? I do declare if I
could only hit upon some cheap and painless method of putting an
end to an existence which has become insupportable, I would
unhesitatingly adopt it!
LUD. You would? (Aside.) I see a magnificent way out of
this! By Jupiter, I'll try it! (Aloud.) Are you, by any
chance, in earnest?
RUD. In earnest? Why, look at me!
LUD. If you are really in earnest—if you really desire to
escape scot-free from this impending—this unspeakably horrible
catastrophe—without trouble, danger, pain, or expense—why not
resort to a Statutory Duel?
RUD. A Statutory Duel?
LUD. Yes. The Act is still in force, but it will expire
to-morrow afternoon. You fight—you lose—you are dead for a
day. To-morrow, when the Act expires, you will come to life
again and resume your Grand Duchy as though nothing had happened.
In the meantime, the explosion will have taken place and the
survivor will have had to bear the brunt of it.
RUD. Yes, that's all very well, but who'll be fool enough
to be the survivor?
LUD. (kneeling). Actuated by an overwhelming sense of
attachment to your Grand Ducal person, I unhesitatingly offer
myself as the victim of your subjects' fury.
RUD. You do? Well, really that's very handsome. I
daresay
being blown up is not nearly as unpleasant as one would think.
LUD. Oh, yes it is. It mixes one up, awfully!
RUD. But suppose I were to lose?
LUD. Oh, that's easily arranged. (Producing cards.) I'll
put an Ace up my sleeve—you'll put a King up yours. When the
drawing takes place, I shall seem to draw the higher card and you
the lower. And there you are!
RUD. Oh, but that's cheating.
LUD. So it is. I never thought of that. (Going.)
RUD. (hastily). Not that I mind. But I say—you won't
take an unfair advantage of your day of office? You won't go
tipping people, or squandering my little savings in fireworks, or
any nonsense of that sort?
LUD. I am hurt—really hurt—by the suggestion.
RUD. You—you wouldn't like to put down a deposit,
perhaps?
LUD. No. I don't think I should like to put down a
deposit.
RUD. Or give a guarantee?
LUD. A guarantee would be equally open to objection.
RUD. It would be more regular. Very well, I suppose you
must have your own way.
LUD. Good. I say—we must have a devil of a quarrel!
RUD. Oh, a devil of a quarrel!
LUD. Just to give colour to the thing. Shall I give you a
sound thrashing before all the people? Say the word—it's no
trouble.
RUD. No, I think not, though it would be very convincing
and it's extremely good and thoughtful of you to suggest it.
Still, a devil of a quarrel!
LUD. Oh, a devil of a quarrel!
RUD. No half measures. Big words—strong language—rude
remarks. Oh, a devil of a quarrel!
LUD. Now the question is, how shall we summon the people?
RUD. Oh, there's no difficulty about that. Bless your
heart, they've been staring at us through those windows for the
last half-hour!
FINALE.
RUD. Come hither, all you people—
When you hear the fearful news,
All the pretty women weep'll,
Men will shiver in their shoes.
LUD. And they'll all cry "Lord, defend us!"
When they learn the fact tremendous
That to give this man his gruel
In a Statutory Duel—
BOTH. This plebeian man of shoddy—
This contemptible nobody—
Your Grand Duke does not refuse!
(During this, Chorus of men and women have entered, all trembling
with apprehension under the impression that they are to be
arrested for their complicity in the conspiracy.)
CHORUS.
With faltering feet,
And our muscles in a quiver,
Our fate we meet
With our feelings all unstrung!
If our plot complete
He has managed to diskiver,
There is no retreat—
We shall certainly be hung!
RUD. (aside to LUDWIG).
Now you begin and pitch it strong—walk into me abusively—
LUD. (aside to RUDOLPH).
I've several epithets that I've reserved for you
exclusively.
A choice selection I have here when you are ready to begin.
RUD. Now you begin
LUD. No, you begin—
RUD. No, you begin—
LUD. No, you begin!
CHORUS (trembling).
Has it happed as we expected?
Is our little plot detected?
DUET—RUDOLPH and LUDWIG
RUD. (furiously).
Big bombs, small bombs, great guns and little ones!
Put him in a pillory!
Rack him with artillery!
LUD. (furiously).
Long swords, short swords, tough swords and brittle ones!
Fright him into fits!
Blow him into bits!
RUD. You muff, sir!
LUD. You lout, sir!
RUD. Enough, sir!
LUD. Get out, sir! (Pushes him.)
RUD. A hit, sir?
LUD. Take that, sir! (Slaps him.)
RUD. It's tit, sir,
LUD. For tat, sir!
CHORUS (appalled).
When two doughty heroes thunder,
All the world is lost in wonder;
When such men their temper lose,
Awful are the words they use!
LUD. Tall snobs, small snobs, rich snobs and needy ones!
RUD. (jostling him). Whom are you alluding to?
LUD. (jostling him). Where are you intruding to?
RUD. Fat snobs, thin snobs, swell snobs and seedy ones!
LUD. I rather think you err.
To whom do you refer?
RUD. To you, sir!
LUD. To me, sir?
RUD. I do, sir!
LUD. We'll see, sir!
RUD. I jeer, sir!
(Makes a face at LUDWIG.) Grimace, sir!
LUD. Look here, sir—
(Makes a face at RUDOLPH.) A face, sir!
CHORUS (appalled).
When two heroes, once pacific,
Quarrel, the effect's terrific!
What a horrible grimace!
What a paralysing face!
ALL. Big bombs, small bombs, etc.
LUD. and RUD. (recit.).
He has insulted me, and, in a breath,
This day we fight a duel to the death!
NOT. (checking them).
You mean, of course, by duel (verbum sat.),
A Statutory Duel.
ALL. Why, what's that?
NOT. According to established legal uses,
A card apiece each bold disputant chooses—
Dead as a doornail is the dog who loses—
The winner steps into the dead man's shoeses!
ALL. The winner steps into the dead man's shoeses!
RUD. and Lud. Agreed! Agreed!
RUD. Come, come—the pack!
LUD. (producing one). Behold it here!
RUD. I'm on the rack!
LUD. I quake with fear!
(NOTARY offers card to LUDWIG.)
LUD. First draw to you!
RUD. If that's the case,
Behold the King! (Drawing card from his sleeve.)
LUD. (same business). Behold the Ace!
CHORUS. Hurrah, hurrah! Our Ludwig's won
And wicked Rudolph's course is run—
So Ludwig will as Grand Duke reign
Till Rudolph comes to life again—
RUD. Which will occur to-morrow!
I come to life to-morrow!
GRET. (with mocking curtsey).
My Lord Grand Duke, farewell!
A pleasant journey, very,
To your convenient cell
In yonder cemetery!
LISA (curtseying).
Though malcontents abuse you,
We're much distressed to lose you!
You were, when you were living,
So liberal, so forgiving!
BERTHA. So merciful, so gentle!
So highly ormamental!
OLGA. And now that you've departed,
You leave us broken-hearted!
ALL (pretending to weep). Yes, truly, truly, truly, truly—
Truly broken-hearted!
Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! (Mocking him.)
RUD. (furious). Rapscallions, in penitential fires,
You'll rue the ribaldry that from you falls!
To-morrow afternoon the law expires.
And then—look out for squalls!
[Exit RUDOLPH, amid general
ridicule.
CHORUS. Give thanks, give thanks to wayward fate—
By mystic fortune's sway,
Our Ludwig guides the helm of State
For one delightful day!
(To LUDWIG.) We hail you, sir!
We greet you, sir!
Regale you, sir!
We treat you, sir!
Our ruler be
By fate's decree
For one delightful day!
NOT. You've done it neatly! Pity that your powers
Are limited to four-and-twenty hours!
LUD. No matter, though the time will quickly run,
In hours twenty-four much may be done!
SONG—LUDWIG.
Oh, a Monarch who boasts intellectual graces
Can do, if he likes, a good deal in a day—
He can put all his friends in conspicuous places,
With plenty to eat and with nothing to pay!
You'll tell me, no doubt, with unpleasant grimaces,
To-morrow, deprived of your ribbons and laces,
You'll get your dismissal—with very long faces—
But wait! on that topic I've something to say!
(Dancing.) I've something to say—I've something to
say—I've something to say!
Oh, our rule shall be merry—I'm not an ascetic—
And while the sun shines we will get up our hay—
By a pushing young Monarch, of turn energetic,
A very great deal may be done in a day!
CHORUS. Oh, his rule will be merry, etc.
(During this, LUDWIG whispers to NOTARY, who writes.)
For instance, this measure (his ancestor drew it),
(alluding to NOTARY)
This law against duels—to-morrow will die—
The Duke will revive, and you'll certainly rue it—
He'll give you "what for" and he'll let you know why!
But in twenty-four hours there's time to renew it—
With a century's life I've the right to imbue it—
It's easy to do—and, by Jingo, I'll do it!
(Signing paper, which NOTARY presents.)
It's done! Till I perish your Monarch am I!
Your Monarch am I—your Monarch am I—your Monarch am I!
Though I do not pretend to be very prophetic,
I fancy I know what you're going to say—
By a pushing young Monarch, of turn energetic,
A very great deal may be done in a day!
ALL (astonished).
Oh, it's simply uncanny, his power prophetic—
It's perfectly right—we were going to say,
By a pushing, etc.
Enter JULIA, at back.
LUD. (recit.). This very afternoon—at two (about)—
The Court appointments will be given out.
To each and all (for that was the condition)
According to professional position!
ALL. Hurrah!
JULIA (coming forward). According to professional position?
LUD. According to professional position!
JULIA Then, horror!
ALL. Why, what's the matter? What's the matter? What's the
matter?
SONG—JULIA. (LISA clinging to her.)
Ah, pity me, my comrades true,
Who love, as well I know you do,
This gentle child,
To me so fondly dear!
ALL. Why, what's the matter?
JULIA Our sister love so true and deep
From many an eye unused to weep
Hath oft beguiled
The coy reluctant tear!
ALL. Why, what's the matter?
JULIA Each sympathetic heart 'twill bruise
When you have heard the frightful news
(O will it not?)
That I must now impart!
ALL. Why, what's the matter?
JULIA. Her love for him is all in all!
Ah, cursed fate! that it should fall
Unto my lot
To break my darling's heart!
ALL. Why, what's the matter?
LUD. What means our Julia by those fateful looks?
Please do not keep us all on tenter-hooks-
Now, what's the matter?
JULIA. Our duty, if we're wise,
We never shun.
This Spartan rule applies
To every one.
In theatres, as in life,
Each has her line—
This part—the Grand Duke's wife
(Oh agony!) is mine!
A maxim new I do not start—
The canons of dramatic art
Decree that this repulsive part
(The Grand Duke's wife)
Is mine!
ALL. Oh, that's the matter!
LISA (appalled, to LUDWIG). Can that be so?
LUD. I do not know—
But time will show
If that be so.
CHORUS. Can that be so? etc.
LISA (recit.). Be merciful!
DUET—LISA and JULIA.
LISA. Oh, listen to me, dear—
I love him only, darling!
Remember, oh, my pet,
On him my heart is set
This kindness do me, dear-
Nor leave me lonely, darling!
Be merciful, my pet,
Our love do not forget!
JULIA. Now don't be foolish, dear—
You couldn't play it, darling!
It's "leading business", pet
And you're but a soubrette.
So don't be mulish, dear-
Although I say it, darling,
It's not your line, my pet—
I play that part, you bet!
I play that part—
I play that part, you bet!
(LISA overwhelmed with grief.)
NOT. The lady's right. Though Julia's engagement
Was for the stage meant—
It certainly frees Ludwig from his
Connubial promise.
Though marriage contracts—or whate'er you call 'em—
Are very solemn,
Dramatic contracts (which you all adore so)
Are even more so!
ALL. That's very true!
Though marriage contracts, etc.
SONG—LISA.
The die is cast,
My hope has perished!
Farewell, O Past,
Too bright to last,
Yet fondly cherished!
My light has fled,
My hope is dead,
Its doom is spoken—
My day is night,
My wrong is right
In all men's sight—
My heart is broken!
[Exit
weeping.
LUD. (recit.). Poor child, where will she go? What will she
do?
JULIA. That isn't in your part, you know.
LUD. (sighing). Quite true!
(With an effort.) Depressing topics we'll not touch upon—
Let us begin as we are going on!
For this will be a jolly Court, for little and for big!
ALL. Sing hey, the jolly jinks of Pfennig Halbpfennig!
LUD. From morn to night our lives shall be as merry as a grig!
ALL. Sing hey, the jolly jinks of Pfennig Halbpfennig!
LUD. All state and ceremony we'll eternally abolish—
We don't mean to insist upon unnecessary polish—
And, on the whole, I rather think you'll find our rule
tollolish!
ALL. Sing hey, the jolly jinks of Pfennig Halbpfennig!
JULIA. But stay—your new-made Court
Without a courtly coat is—
We shall require
Some Court attire,
And at a moment's notice.
In clothes of common sort
Your courtiers must not grovel—
Your new noblesse
Must have a dress
Original and novel!
LUD. Old Athens we'll exhume!
The necessary dresses,
Correct and true
And all brand-new,
The company possesses:
Henceforth our Court costume
Shall live in song and story,
For we'll upraise
The dead old days
Of Athens in her glory!
ALL. Yes, let's upraise
The dead old days
Of Athens in her glory!
ALL. Agreed! Agreed!
For this will be a jolly Court for little and for big! etc
(They carry LUDWIG round stage and deposit him on the ironwork of
well. JULIA stands by him, and the rest group round them.)
END OF ACT I.
ACT II.
(THE NEXT MORNING.)
SCENE.—Entrance Hall of the Grand Ducal Palace.
Enter a procession of the members of the theatrical company (now
dressed in the costumes of Troilus and Cressida), carrying
garlands, playing on pipes, citharae, and cymbals, and
heralding the return of LUDWIG and JULIA from the marriage
ceremony, which has just taken place.
CHORUS.
As before you we defile,
Eloia! Eloia!
Pray you, gentles, do not smile
If we shout, in classic style,
Eloia!
Ludwig and his Julia true
Wedded are each other to—
So we sing, till all is blue,
Eloia! Eloia!
Opoponax! Eloia!
Wreaths of bay and ivy twine,
Eloia! Eloia!
Fill the bowl with Lesbian wine,
And to revelry incline—
Eloia!
For as gaily we pass on
Probably we shall, anon,
Sing a Diergeticon—
Eloia! Eloia!
Opoponax! Eloia!
RECIT.—LUDWIG.
Your loyalty our Ducal heartstrings touches:
Allow me to present your new Grand Duchess.
Should she offend, you'll graciously excuse her—
And kindly recollect I didn't choose her!
SONG—LUDWIG.
At the outset I may mention it's my sovereign intention
To revive the classic memories of Athens at its best,
For the company possesses all the necessary dresses
And a course of quiet cramming will supply us with the
rest.
We've a choir hyporchematic (that is, ballet-operatic)
Who respond to the choreut of that cultivated age,
And our clever chorus-master, all but captious criticaster
Would accept as the choregus of the early Attic stage.
This return to classic ages is considered in their wages,
Which are always calculated by the day or by the week—
And I'll pay 'em (if they'll back me) all in oboloi and drachm,
Which they'll get (if they prefer it) at the Kalends that
are Greek!
(Confidentially to audience.)
At this juncture I may mention
That this erudition sham
Is but classical pretension,
The result of steady "cram.":
Periphrastic methods spurning,
To this audience discerning
I admit this show of learning
Is the fruit of steady "cram."!
CHORUS. Periphrastic methods, etc.
In the period Socratic every dining-room was Attic
(Which suggests an architecture of a topsy-turvy kind),
There they'd satisfy their thirst on a recherche cold {Greek
word}
Which is what they called their lunch—and so may you if
you're inclined.
As they gradually got on, they'd {four Greek words)
(Which is Attic for a steady and a conscientious drink).
But they mixed their wine with water—which I'm sure they didn't
oughter—
And we modern Saxons know a trick worth two of that, I
think!
Then came rather risky dances (under certain circumstances)
Which would shock that worthy gentleman, the Licenser of
Plays,
Corybantian maniac kick—Dionysiac or Bacchic—
And the Dithyrambic revels of those undecorous days.
(Confidentially to audience.)
And perhaps I'd better mention,
Lest alarming you I am,
That it isn't our intention
To perform a Dithyramb—
It displays a lot of stocking,
Which is always very shocking,
And of course I'm only mocking
At the prevalence of "cram"!
CHORUS. It displays a lot, etc.
Yes, on reconsideration, there are customs of that nation
Which are not in strict accordance with the habits of our
day,
And when I come to codify, their rules I mean to modify,
Or Mrs. Grundy, p'r'aps, may have a word or two to say.
For they hadn't macintoshes or umbrellas or goloshes—
And a shower with their dresses must have played the very
deuce,
And it must have been unpleasing when they caught a fit of
sneezing,
For, it seems, of pocket-handkerchiefs they didn't know the
use.
They wore little underclothing—scarcely anything—or nothing—
And their dress of Coan silk was quite transparent in
design—
Well, in fact, in summer weather, something like the "altogether"
And it's there, I rather fancy, I shall have to draw the
line!
(Confidentially to audience.)
And again I wish to mention
That this erudition sham
Is but classical pretension,
The result of steady "cram."
Yet my classic lore aggressive
(If you'll pardon the possessive)
Is exceedingly impressive
When you're passing an exam.
CHORUS. Yet his classic lore, etc.
[Exeunt Chorus. Manent LUDWIG, JULIA, and LISA.
LUD. (recit.).
Yes, Ludwig and his Julia are mated!
For when an obscure comedian, whom the law backs,
To sovereign rank is promptly elevated,
He takes it with its incidental drawbacks!
So Julia and I are duly mated!
(LISA, through this, has expressed intense distress at
having to surrender LUDWIG.)
SONG—LISA.
Take care of him—he's much too good to live,
With him you must be very gentle:
Poor fellow, he's so highly sensitive,
And O, so sentimental!
Be sure you never let him sit up late
In chilly open air conversing—
Poor darling, he's extremely delicate,
And wants a deal of nursing!
LUD. I want a deal of nursing!
LISA. And O, remember this—
When he is cross with pain,
A flower and a kiss—
A simple flower—a tender kiss
Will bring him round again!
His moods you must assiduously watch:
When he succumbs to sorrow tragic,
Some hardbake or a bit of butter-scotch
Will work on him like magic.
To contradict a character so rich
In trusting love were simple blindness—
He's one of those exalted natures which
Will only yield to kindness!
LUD. I only yield to kindness!
LISA. And O, the bygone bliss!
And O, the present pain!
That flower and that kiss—
That simple flower—that tender kiss
I ne'er shall give again!
[Exit,
weeping.
JULIA. And now that everybody has gone, and we're happily
and comfortably married, I want to have a few words with my
new-born husband.
LUD. (aside). Yes, I expect you'll often have a few words
with your new-born husband! (Aloud.) Well, what is it?
JULIA. Why, I've been thinking that as you and I have to
play our parts for life, it is most essential that we should come
to a definite understanding as to how they shall be rendered.
Now, I've been considering how I can make the most of the Grand
Duchess.
LUD. Have you? Well, if you'll take my advice, you'll
make
a very fine part of it.
JULIA. Why, that's quite my idea.
LUD. I shouldn't make it one of your hoity-toity vixenish
viragoes.
JULIA. You think not?
LUD. Oh, I'm quite clear about that. I should make her a
tender, gentle, submissive, affectionate (but not too
affectionate) child-wife—timidly anxious to coil herself into
her husband's heart, but kept in check by an awestruck reverence
for his exalted intellectual qualities and his majestic personal
appearance.
JULIA. Oh, that is your idea of a good part?
LUD. Yes—a wife who regards her husband's slightest wish
as an inflexible law, and who ventures but rarely into his august
presence, unless (which would happen seldom) he should summon her
to appear before him. A crushed, despairing violet, whose
blighted existence would culminate (all too soon) in a lonely and
pathetic death-scene! A fine part, my dear.
JULIA. Yes. There's a good deal to be said for your view
of it. Now there are some actresses whom it would fit like a
glove.
LUD. (aside). I wish I'd married one of 'em!
JULIA. But, you see, I must consider my temperament. For
instance, my temperament would demand some strong scenes of
justifiable jealousy.
LUD. Oh, there's no difficulty about that. You shall have
them.
JULIA. With a lovely but detested rival—
LUD. Oh, I'll provide the rival.
JULIA. Whom I should stab—stab—stab!
LUD. Oh, I wouldn't stab her. It's been done to death. I
should treat her with a silent and contemptuous disdain, and
delicately withdraw from a position which, to one of your
sensitive nature, would be absolutely untenable. Dear me, I can
see you delicately withdrawing, up centre and off!
JULIA. Can you?
LUD. Yes. It's a fine situation—and in your hands, full
of quiet pathos!
DUET—LUDWIG and JULIA.
LUD. Now Julia, come,
Consider it from
This dainty point of view—
A timid tender
Feminine gender,
Prompt to coyly coo—
Yet silence seeking,
Seldom speaking
Till she's spoken to—
A comfy, cosy,
Rosy-posy
Innocent ingenoo!
The part you're suited to—
(To give the deuce her due)
A sweet (O, jiminy!)
Miminy-piminy,
Innocent ingenoo!
ENSEMBLE.
LUD. JULIA.
The part you're suited to— I'm much obliged to you,
(To give the deuce her due) I don't think that would do—
A sweet (O, jiminy!) To play (O, jiminy!)
Miminy-piminy, Miminy-piminy,
Innocent ingenoo! Innocent ingenoo!
JULIA. You forget my special magic
(In a high dramatic sense)
Lies in situations tragic—
Undeniably intense.
As I've justified promotion
In the histrionic art,
I'll submit to you my notion
Of a first-rate part.
LUD. Well, let us see your notion
Of a first-rate part.
JULIA (dramatically).
I have a rival! Frenzy-thrilled,
I find you both together!
My heart stands still—with horror chilled—-
Hard as the millstone nether!
Then softly, slyly, snaily, snaky—
Crawly, creepy, quaily, quaky—
I track her on her homeward way,
As panther tracks her fated prey!
(Furiously.) I fly at her soft white throat—
The lily-white laughing leman!
On her agonized gaze I gloat
With the glee of a dancing demon!
My rival she—I have no doubt of her—-
So I hold on—till the breath is out of her!
—till the breath is out of her!
And then—Remorse! Remorse!
O cold unpleasant corse,
Avaunt! Avaunt!
That lifeless form
I gaze upon—
That face, still warm
But weirdly wan—
Those eyes of glass
I contemplate—
And then, alas!
Too late—too late!
I find she is—your Aunt!
(Shuddering.) Remorse! Remorse!
Then, mad—mad—mad!
With fancies wild—chimerical—
Now sorrowful—silent—sad—
Now hullaballoo hysterical!
Ha! ha! ha! ha!
But whether I'm sad or whether I'm glad,
Mad! mad! mad! mad!
This calls for the resources of a high-class art,
And satisfies my notion of a first-rate part!
[Exit JULIA
Enter all the Chorus, hurriedly, and in great excitement.
CHORUS.
Your Highness, there's a party at the door—
Your Highness, at the door there is a party—
She says that we expect her,
But we do not recollect her,
For we never saw her countenance before!
With rage and indignation she is rife,
Because our welcome wasn't very hearty—
She's as sulky as a super,
And she's swearing like a trooper,
O, you never heard such language in your life!
Enter BARONESS VON KRAKENFELDT, in a fury.
BAR. With fury indescribable I burn!
With rage I'm nearly ready to explode!
There'll be grief and tribulation when I learn
To whom this slight unbearable is owed!
For whatever may be due I'll pay it double—
There'll be terror indescribable and trouble!
With a hurly-burly and a hubble-bubble
I'll pay you for this pretty episode!
ALL. Oh, whatever may be due she'll pay it double!—
It's very good of her to take the trouble—
But we don't know what she means by "hubble-bubble"—
No doubt it's an expression la mode.
BAR. (to LUDWIG).
Do you know who I am?
LUD. (examining her). I don't;
Your countenance I can't fix, my dear.
BAR. This proves I'm not a sham.
(Showing pocket-handkerchief.)
LUD. (examining it). It won't;
It only says "Krakenfeldt, Six," my dear.
BAR. Express your grief profound!
LUD. I shan't!
This tone I never allow, my love.
BAR. Rudolph at once produce!
LUD. I can't;
He isn't at home just now, my love.
BAR. (astonished). He isn't at home just now!
ALL. He isn't at home just now,
(Dancing derisively.) He has an appointment particular,
very-
You'll find him, I think, in the town cemetery;
And that's how we come to be making so merry,
For he isn't at home just now!
BAR. But bless my heart and soul alive, it's impudence
personified!
I've come here to be matrimonially matrimonified!
LUD. For any disappointment I am sorry unaffectedly,
But yesterday that nobleman expired quite unexpectedly—
ALL (sobbing). Tol the riddle lol!
Tol the riddle lol!
Tol the riddle, lol the riddle, lol lol lay!
(Then laughing wildly.) Tol the riddle, lol the riddle, lol
lol
lay!
BAR. But this is most unexpected. He was well enough at a
quarter to twelve yesterday.
LUD. Yes. He died at half-past eleven.
BAR. Bless me, how very sudden!
LUD. It was sudden.
BAR. But what in the world am I to do? I was to have been
married to him to-day!
ALL (singing and dancing).
For any disappointment we are sorry unaffectedly,
But yesterday that nobleman expired quite unexpectedly—
Tol the riddle lol!
BAR. Is this Court Mourning or a Fancy Ball?
LUD. Well, it's a delicate combination of both effects.
It
is intended to express inconsolable grief for the decease of the
late Duke and ebullient joy at the accession of his successor. I
am his successor. Permit me to present you to my Grand Duchess.
(Indicating JULIA.)
BAR. Your Grand Duchess? Oh, your Highness! (Curtseying
profoundly.)
JULIA (sneering at her). Old frump!
BAR. Humph! A recent creation, probably?
LUD. We were married only half an hour ago.
BAR. Exactly. I thought she seemed new to the position.
JULIA. Ma'am, I don't know who you are, but I flatter
myself I can do justice to any part on the very shortest notice.
BAR. My dear, under the circumstances you are doing
admirably—and you'll improve with practice. It's so difficult
to be a lady when one isn't born to it.
JULIA (in a rage, to LUDWIG). Am I to stand this? Am I
not
to be allowed to pull her to pieces?
LUD. (aside to JULIA). No, no—it isn't Greek. Be a
violet, I beg.
BAR. And now tell me all about this distressing
circumstance. How did the Grand Duke die?
LUD. He perished nobly—in a Statutory Duel.
BAR. In a Statutory Duel? But that's only a civil
death!—and the Act expires to-night, and then he will come to
life again!
LUD. Well, no. Anxious to inaugurate my reign by
conferring some inestimable boon on my people, I signalized this
occasion by reviving the law for another hundred years.
BAR. For another hundred years? Then set the merry
joybells ringing! Let festive epithalamia resound through these
ancient halls! Cut the satisfying sandwich—broach the
exhilarating Marsala—and let us rejoice to-day, if we never
rejoice again!
LUD. But I don't think I quite understand. We have
already
rejoiced a good deal.
BAR. Happy man, you little reck of the extent of the good
things you are in for. When you killed Rudolph you adopted all
his overwhelming responsibilities. Know then that I, Caroline
von Krakenfeldt, am the most overwhelming of them all!
LUD. But stop, stop—I've just been married to somebody
else!
JULIA. Yes, ma'am, to somebody else, ma'am! Do you
understand, ma'am? To somebody else!
BAR. Do keep this young woman quiet; she fidgets me!
JULIA. Fidgets you!
LUD. (aside to JULIA). Be a violet—a crushed, despairing
violet.
JULIA. Do you suppose I intend to give up a magnificent
part without a struggle?
LUD. My good girl, she has the law on her side. Let us
both bear this calamity with resignation. If you must struggle,
go away and struggle in the seclusion of your chamber.
SONG—BARONESS and CHORUS.
Now away to the wedding we go,
So summon the charioteers—
No kind of reluctance they show
To embark on their married careers.
Though Julia's emotion may flow
For the rest of her maidenly years,
ALL. To the wedding we eagerly go,
So summon the charioteers!
Now away, etc.
(All dance off to wedding except JULIA.)
RECIT.—JULIA.
So ends my dream—so fades my vision fair!
Of hope no gleam—distraction and despair!
My cherished dream, the Ducal throne to share
That aim supreme has vanished into air!
SONG—JULIA.
Broken every promise plighted—
All is darksome—all is dreary.
Every new-born hope is blighted!
Sad and sorry—weak and weary
Death the Friend or Death the Foe,
Shall I call upon thee? No!
I will go on living, though
Sad and sorry—weak and weary!
No, no! Let the bygone go by!
No good ever came of repining:
If to-day there are clouds o'er the sky,
To-morrow the sun may be shining!
To-morrow, be kind,
To-morrow, to me!
With loyalty blind
I curtsey to thee!
To-day is a day of illusion and sorrow,
So viva To-morrow, To-morrow, To-morrow!
God save you, To-morrow!
Your servant, To-morrow!
God save you, To-morrow, To-morrow, To-morrow!
[Exit JULIA.
Enter ERNEST.
ERN. It's of no use—I can't wait any longer. At any risk
I must gratify my urgent desire to know what is going on.
(Looking off.) Why, what's that? Surely I see a wedding
procession winding down the hill, dressed in my Troilus and
Cressida costumes! That's Ludwig's doing! I see how it is—he
found the time hang heavy on his hands, and is amusing himself by
getting married to Lisa. No—it can't be to Lisa, for here she
is!
Enter LISA.
LISA (not seeing him). I really cannot stand seeing my
Ludwig married twice in one day to somebody else!
ERN. Lisa!
(LISA sees him, and stands as if transfixed with horror.).
ERN. Come here—don't be a little fool—I want you.
(LISA suddenly turns and bolts off.)
ERN. Why, what's the matter with the little donkey? One
would think she saw a ghost! But if he's not marrying Lisa, whom
is he marrying? (Suddenly.) Julia! (Much overcome.) I see it
all! The scoundrel! He had to adopt all my responsibilities,
and he's shabbily taken advantage of the situation to marry the
girl I'm engaged to! But no, it can't be Julia, for here she is!
Enter JULIA.
JULIA (not seeing him). I've made up my mind. I won't
stand it! I'll send in my notice at once!
ERN. Julia! Oh, what a relief!
(JULIA gazes at him as if transfixed.)
ERN. Then you've not married Ludwig? You are still true
to
me?
(JULIA turns and bolts in grotesque horror. ERNEST follows and
stops her.)
ERN. Don't run away! Listen to me. Are you all crazy?
JULIA (in affected terror). What would you with me,
spectre? Oh, ain't his eyes sepulchral! And ain't his voice
hollow! What are you doing out of your tomb at this time of
day—apparition?
ERN. I do wish I could make you girls understand that I'm
only technically dead, and that physically I'm as much alive as
ever I was in my life!
JULIA. Oh, but it's an awful thing to be haunted by a
technical bogy!
ERN. You won't be haunted much longer. The law must be on
its last legs, and in a few hours I shall come to life
again—resume all my social and civil functions, and claim my
darling as my blushing bride!
JULIA. Oh—then you haven't heard?
ERN. My love, I've heard nothing. How could I? There are
no daily papers where I come from.
JULIA. Why, Ludwig challenged Rudolph and won, and now
he's
Grand Duke, and he's revived the law for another century!
ERN. What! But you're not serious—you're only joking!
JULIA. My good sir, I'm a light-hearted girl, but I don't
chaff bogies.
ERN. Well, that's the meanest dodge I ever heard of!
JULIA. Shabby trick, I call it.
ERN. But you don't mean to say that you're going to cry
off!
JULIA. I really can't afford to wait until your time is
up.
You know, I've always set my face against long engagements.
ERN. Then defy the law and marry me now. We will fly to
your native country, and I'll play broken-English in London as
you play broken-German here!
JULIA. No. These legal technicalities cannot be defied.
Situated as you are, you have no power to make me your wife. At
best you could only make me your widow.
ERN. Then be my widow—my little, dainty, winning, winsome
widow!
JULIA. Now what would be the good of that? Why, you
goose,
I should marry again within a month!
DUET—ERNEST and JULIA.
ERN. If the light of love's lingering ember
Has faded in gloom,
You cannot neglect, O remember,
A voice from the tomb!
That stern supernatural diction
Should act as a solemn restriction,
Although by a mere legal fiction
A voice from the tomb!
JULIA (in affected terror).
I own that that utterance chills me—
It withers my bloom!
With awful emotion it thrills me—
That voice from the tomb!
Oh, spectre, won't anything lay thee?
Though pained to deny or gainsay thee,
In this case I cannot obey thee,
Thou voice from the tomb!
(Dancing.) So, spectre, appalling,
I bid you good-day—
Perhaps you'll be calling
When passing this way.
Your bogydom scorning,
And all your love-lorning,
I bid you good-morning,
I bid you good-day.
ERN. (furious). My offer recalling,
Your words I obey—
Your fate is appalling,
And full of dismay.
To pay for this scorning
I give you fair warning
I'll haunt you each morning,
Each night, and each day!
(Repeat Ensemble, and exeunt in opposite directions.)
Re-enter the Wedding Procession dancing.
CHORUS.
Now bridegroom and bride let us toast
In a magnum of merry champagne—
Let us make of this moment the most,
We may not be so lucky again.
So drink to our sovereign host
And his highly intelligent reign—
His health and his bride's let us toast
In a magnum of merry champagne!
SONG—BARONESS with CHORUS.
I once gave an evening party
(A sandwich and cut-orange ball),
But my guests had such appetites hearty
That I couldn't enjoy it, enjoy it at all.
I made a heroic endeavour
To look unconcerned, but in vain,
And I vow'd that I never—oh never
Would ask anybody again!
But there's a distinction decided—-
A difference truly immense—
When the wine that you drink is provided, provided,
At somebody else's expense.
So bumpers—aye, ever so many—
The cost we may safely ignore!
For the wine doesn't cost us a penny,
Tho' it's Pommry seventy-four!
CHORUS. So bumpers—aye, ever so many—etc.
Come, bumpers—aye, ever so many—
And then, if you will, many more!
This wine doesn't cost us a penny,
Tho' it's Pommry, Pommry seventy-four!
Old wine is a true panacea
For ev'ry conceivable ill,
When you cherish the soothing idea
That somebody else pays the bill!
Old wine is a pleasure that's hollow
When at your own table you sit,
For you're thinking each mouthful you swallow
Has cost you, has cost you a threepenny-bit!
So bumpers—aye, ever so many—
And then, if you will, many more!
This wine doesn't cost us a penny,
Tho' it's Pommry seventy-four!
CHORUS. So, bumpers—aye, ever so many—etc.
(March heard.)
LUD. (recit.). Why, who is this approaching,
Upon our joy encroaching?
Some rascal come a-poaching
Who's heard that wine we're broaching?
ALL. Who may this be?
Who may this be?
Who is he? Who is he? Who is he?
Enter HERALD.
HER. The Prince of Monte Carlo,
From Mediterranean water,
Has come here to bestow
On you his beautiful daughter.
They've paid off all they owe,
As every statesman oughter—
That Prince of Monte Carlo
And his be-eautiful daughter!
CHORUS. The Prince of Monte Carlo, etc.
HER. The Prince of Monte Carlo,
Who is so very partickl
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