University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—Grands Mulets on Mont Blanc. Sunset. Lord Margate and his five Companions are discovered at Luncheon.
Ld. Mar.
Marquis of Cranbourne Alley's leave I cry—
Lord Pentonville's, and your's, Sir Peckham Rye.
You all remember, when we left the shore
Of Rule Britannia, we in concert swore
We'd do our best, on reaching these localities
To show our undisputed nationalities,
To show contempt in everything that we did:
Tell me, my comrades, how have we succeeded?

Marq. of Cran.
I've sworn at all who've hindered my researches.

Ld. Penton.
I've worn my hat in all the foreign churches.

Sir Peck.
When Frenchmen have conversed with me or you,
We've always turned the talk to Waterloo!

Ld. Mar.
I've half a dozen Frenchmen tried to teach
That I'm twelve times as brave and strong as each,
And showed that this corollary must follow,—
One Englishman can thrash twelve Frenchmen hollow.

Marq. of Cran.
But did you?

Ld. Mar.
Well, they asked me if I wouldn't,
But they were only six: of course I couldn't!

Marq. of Cran.
(looking off.)
Hillo, who's this, who bounds from crag to crag?
Is it “Excelsior,” without his flag?
Old sombre garments deck his every limb,
Though he's on white crags, black rags are on him.

Ld. Pen.
See how he bounds o'er yonder frozen plain,
From ice to snow, from snow to ice again.

Ld. Mar.
Well, that's not odd: a man who would look nice
Should always have his (s) nose between his ice,
Let's watch him unobserved, away you go—
Conceal yourselves beneath the frozen snow.

Ld. Pen.
But it'll be so cold, I'm frozen blue!

Ld. Mar.
What matter, so you be congealed from view!

(They all conceal themselves behind portions of the ‘set,’ when they are hidden, enter Roberto, with alpenstock.)
Rob.
In dress, and thought, and look, and vocal tone,
I'm p'raps the gloomiest party ever known!
I'm wretched, dull, uncomfortably broody!
The only books I read I get from Moodie;
I go about in black and dismal rags,
And only care to haunt black beetling crags.
This mountain—white—I should in horror shun,
But that it is so very often dun.
Black nigger songs to sing I only care
And breathe a nipping and an iggur air,
And do my best to make myself appear
Like a cold mute, employed by chilly-bier.

Lord Margate and his Companions appear and surround him.
Ld. Mar.
Declare yourself instanter, or I'll fell you! Your name?

Rob.
My name? guess three times and I'll tell you.

Marq. of Cran.
Hamlet!

Ld. Pen.
The Stranger!

Rob.
No, that's two already.

Ld. Mar.
Robinson Crusoe!

Rob.
Pretty near—Man freddy!

Ld. Mar.
I know, two years ago at Drury Lane
You went on in a manner quite insane;
I know, and may I ask without intrusion
What is the meaning of your sad seclusion?

Rob.
(mysteriously,)
I'm married, that's the circumstance that kills me!

Ld. Mar.
(shuddering.)
The icy horror of your story thrills me!
How could you hope to live 'neath such a ban?
Married! Oh you unfortunate old man.

Rob.
Of all my ills that circumstance the fountain's!

Ld. Mar.
You call 'em ills, by Jove, I call 'em mountains,

Rob.
They are—so many I could hardly count 'em,
In vain I've often essayed to surmount 'em,
But failed in scaling them, full twenty times.
What wonder that I fled to other climbs?
I was a soldier ere I took a wife,
But when I did, she led me such a life;
I trembled as I drained my bitter cup:
E'en on parade I used to “shudder up!”
At length she said, in some domestic strife,
“Go fight your country's battles, not your wife.”
The notion seemed particularly good,
At home I learn't to fight—I fought I would,
And so I went, escaping wife and writs
To fight the Austrians at Austerlitz:
Ten horses were shot under me—sure I'm of it,
We had indeed a most horse tryin' time of it;
My comrades' blood on every side was spilled,
At length my turn arrived, and I was killed!
A bullet where my brain should be, went through.

Ld. Mar.
How sad.

(affecting to weep.)
Rob.
Yes, at the time I felt it, too;
I was reported dead, but—do not start,
My head is not a very vital part;
I had but swooned, nor thought I should be soon dead.
Says they, “he's killed,’ thinks I, “Oh no, he's wounded.”
When I recovered and became awake,
I took advantage of the sad mistake:
I came up here, that I might live alone,
And shun my scolding wife's upbraiding tone.
She drove me mad with everlasting teazin'!

Ld. Mar.
Up here you'll never feel a loss of (f) reasin.’
(aside.)
That squint! that nose! Ha, can it be? It can
The Marchioness of Birkenfelt's good man;
He left her years ago. I know her well;
She's down at Chamouni: a splendid sell
'Twould be to take him down in friendly tether,
And bring the loving pair once more together;
She persecutes me, 'twill be tit for tat.
(To Roberto).
Manfred, it seems a thousand pities that
A person of your intellectual bent,
(crosses left)
With such a fund of lofty sentiment,
Should waste it on the air—away we'll burk you,
And form a joint stock company to work you,
Come, with us from your mountain holdfast sally,
And try the soothing joys of yonder valley,
A decent servant hire, some handy elf,
And set a proper valley on yourself.

Rob.
True, true, I've had enough of mountain dallying
Here in my chilly chalet, shilly shallying:
This icy solitude I've had my fill on,
A pris'ner—and a pris'ner with the chill on,
I'll join your party.

Ld. Mar.
It'll do you good,

Rob.
I'll be a swell.

Ld. Mar.
It's just as well you should.

Rob.
A silky sable wear when out I stir
A proper garment for a flossy fur.

Lord Margate and Companions offer Roberto Champagne bottle —Business.
Rob.
Champagne? Ah! once I thought it very plis'nt
An empty vanity, (spills wine)
, oh, no, it isn't! (drinks with disgust.)

And there are some who love this filthy drink!
Is it champagne? (drinks)
, no, it's Moselle I think, (drinks.)

And this men drink, and then talk wildly, blabbily.
(They offer him more.)
Hock, and Sauterne? they haven't done it Shabbily.
Ha, Burgundy, and Claret, every sort,
This summit tall, provides a summit short,
Of such a landscape who could take a survey?
The mountain's drunk—it's clearly tipsy-turvey,

Duet and Chorus.—Air, “For a few days.”
Rob.
The fumes of wine obstruct my view
With a rude haze—with a rude haze—
The fumes of wine when mingled, do
In a rude haze all things blend!

Ld. Mar.
But of hours there are twenty four
In the true days—in the true days—
Yes, of hours there are twenty four
'Ere the true day's at an end!

Chorus.
Yes, yes, twenty four
In the true days—in the true days—
Yes, yes, twenty four
'Ere the true day's at an end!

Ld. Mar.
You musn't talk in this shocking way,
For it rude is—for it rude is—

Rob.
I quite agree in what you say:
That it rude is all agree.
The books I read, as I said before,
Are from Mudie's—are from Mudie's:
The books on which I set a store
Are from Mudie's libraree!

Chorus.
Yes, yes, all he reads
Are from Mudie's—are from Mudie's—
Yes, yes, all he reads
Are from Mudie's libraree!

Enter Maria from opposite direction. She does not see Lord Margate and his party.
Maria.
So, half my walk is done, I think I'd best
Do my remainder when I've done my rest.
(Sits on rock.)
An uncongenial seat! I wish I could
Exclaim with perfect truth “Sofa so good.”
(Sees tourists.)
Oh, who are these? I wasn't sir, aware—

Ld. Mar.
Don't be alarmed, most charming vivandiere,
We'll be your escort, may we make so bold?
(Maria appears frightened.)
Why how you're trembling! If it's caused by cold
Accept this coat.

(offering fur coat.)
Maria.
(aside.)
I'm in a pretty mess caught!
(aloud.)
Thanks, I require neither coat nor (w) escort.

Ld. Mar.
Then tell us why you're here, discarding flam any,

Maria.
I walked up here from Chamouni.

Ld. Mar.
Oh, jammini!

Maria.
My morning stroll is from yon fertile plain,
Right up Mount Blanc each day and down again;
When I get down again, for bread I'm famine-y.

Ld. Mar.
What down to even money!

Maria.
Even cham-money.

Ld. Mar.
We'll take our toll then, come, kiss all the lot.
Yes, by my troth I swear.

Maria.
(repulsing him.)
Betrothed we're not.

Ld. Mar.
(putting his arm round her.)
Sweet avalanche of charms in one fair bunch!

Maria.
(repulsing him.)
An avalanche! you've had an 'eavy lunch.

All.
We want a kiss.

Maria.
Well, if I must be kiss't,
Of course its useless for me to resist.
(aside.)
If Tonio would but come to my relief!
(aloud.)
It's opportunity that makes the thief.

Ld. Mar.
The opportunity's your pretty face,
An opportunity we'll all embrace!

(They endeavour to kiss her.)
Maria.
Help! help! help! help! Respect my accents moany, oh.
Oh Tonio, Tonio, where, where art thou, Tonio!
(Enter Tonio. She rushes to his arms. Tableau.
You are all armed or quickly he'd correct you.

Tonio.
Don't be all-armed, I'm here, dear, to protect you.
(to Ld. Mar.)
I'll pitch you over if you touch the girl;
You're a pretty fellow for a hurl.
(to Maria.)
Maria, if he tries to come too near,
I'll pitch a snowball at this (s)noball peer.

Ld. Mar.
Shall a chivalric Earl thus tamely risk her,
For such a curl be bearded by this swiss-cur?
(to Tonio proudly.)
It's Margate's heir, young man, that you're displacing.

Tonio.
I've heard the air of Margate is (hem!) bracing?
My name is Tonio; now, if you please,
Inform me who are you, and who are these?

(pointing to Tourists.)
Trio and Chorus.—Lord Margate, Tonio, Maria, and Companions.
Air.—“The Galloping Snob.”
Ld. Mar.
Whoever can you be, not to know,
Not to know, not to know
The lolloping nobs of Rotten Row.
(Imitating with their alpenstocks the attitude of Rotten Row loungers leaning over the railings, while Tonio and Maria gallop up and down before them.)
We are those lolloping nobs,
With our fingers in our fobs,
We watch the passing cobs,
We watch the cobs, the cobs, the cobs,
The galloping cobs of Rotten Row.

Chorus.
We are those lolloping snobs, &c.

Tonio.
You Al'pine snobs, with your dot and go,
Dot and go, dot and go.
(Imitating the action of men walking with alpenstocks.)
If you dont mind, you'll be shot, and go
It will, right through your nobs,

Maria.
You dreadful Al'pine snobs,
With your fingers in your fobs,
You dreadful snobs, you snobs, you snobs,
You Al'pine snobs, with your dot and go.

Chorus.
You/we dreadful alpine snobs, &c.

DANCE—SCENE CLOSES.