 | Olympic Devils ; or, Orpheus and Eurydice |  |
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Scene First.
—Imperial Palace of Pluto—In the centre, his throne—portal leading to the Elysian Fields—another leading to Tartarus.Pluto, Minus, Rhadamanthus, and Æacus, seated at a table, as after dinner, with flaming goblets before them—Proserpine, the Three Fates, and the Three Furies, at another table, with tea and coffee—Fiends waiting on both parties.
Glee—Pluto, Minos, Rhadamanthus, and Æacus—“Mynheer Vandunk.”
Olympian Jove,
In his bowers above,
Drinks nectar by gallons gaily;
But our thirst we slake,
From a brimstone lake,
Which is “warm without sugar” daily;
Singing, oh! that a pool of punch had we,
Instead of a flaming sulphur sea!
Plu.
Another bowl full of that nasty stuff;
One must drink something.
Pros.
Sure, you've drunk enough;
You set a bad example to all Hades.
Your coffee's ready; come, and join the ladies.
Min.
(rising)
Ay, ay, no more! Some coffee, ma'am, for me;
I'm scarce as sober as a judge should be.
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I thought Lord Minos would the first be arter us!
Do you take cream?
Min.
A little cream of Tartarus.
Well, ladies, (to the Fates)
hard at work, whatever wind stirs;
I vow you Fates are most industrious spinsters!
Miss Clotho there—man's destiny beginning—
Life's thread at tea, like a te-totum spinning.
And then Miss Lachesis that same thread measures,
Taking great pains, but giving little pleasures,
Last comes Miss Atropos, her part fulfilling,
And cuts poor mortals off without a shilling.
The saddest sister of the fatal three,
Daughter, indeed, of shear necessity!
Plying her awful task with due decorum!
A never-ceasing game of “Snip, snap, snorum!”
For help, alas! man pleads to her in vain—
Her motto's “Cut and never come again.”
Plu.
(rises)
Well, that's no news. Who's seen the evening paper?
How are the funds?
Pros.
Mine, sir, are rather taper.
(shewing a purse empty)
Plu.
Already! Well, of all the burning shames—
When you've just drawn your quarter! Sparks and flames!
The God of Riches might be ruin'd thus!
My name, ma'am, is Pluto, and not Plutus.
How have you melted all that sum away?
Pros.
Lost a cool hundred t'other night at play.
Plu.
“Lost a cool hundred!” Why, thou Queen of Sin!
Is this a place to lose cool hundreds in?
Min.
Come, you're too warm—
Plu.
Warm!—when such tales are told me!
She'll make these realms of mine too hot to hold me.
Well as she knows the swarms of black legs round her,
She must sit down to écarté, confound her!
Air—Pluto—“Alice Gray.”
She'll make these realms of mine too hot to hold me.
Well as she knows the swarms of black legs round her,
She must sit down to écarté, confound her!
I've all the dangers painted her,
In language quite divine,
But she doesn't care a farthing—
She scorns advice of mine!
Not Jove himself has power to curb
Her passion, sir, for play!
And my bank, my bank she's breaking,
Through her love of écarté!
To change her course I pray'd her.
And she answer'd “I propose”
And widely said, “I mark the king”—
As if she felt my woes.
The king she mark'd—it wasn't me!
She but proposed—to play!
Oh my bank, my bank she's breaking,
Through her love of écarté.
In language quite divine,
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She scorns advice of mine!
Not Jove himself has power to curb
Her passion, sir, for play!
And my bank, my bank she's breaking,
Through her love of écarté!
To change her course I pray'd her.
And she answer'd “I propose”
And widely said, “I mark the king”—
As if she felt my woes.
The king she mark'd—it wasn't me!
She but proposed—to play!
Oh my bank, my bank she's breaking,
Through her love of écarté.
Rhad.
Come, come, be calm, and change the conversation.
Atropos cuts a thread from the spindle, and the Ladies scream and rise alarmed).
Min.
You've thrown the ladies into consternation!
Here's poor Miss Atropos in such a taking!
She's cut some thread she didn't mean—with shaking.
Plu.
'Sdeath! you don't say so! That's an awkward blunder!
Rhad.
Whose life was hanging on that thread, I wonder?
Pros.
Here is the number, sir—whose can it be?
Min.
(searching in his urn)
The wife of Orpheus—fair Eurydice!
Here'll be a dust! Confound it, how provoking!
Pros.
(to Pluto)
I hope you're satisfied—
Plu.
Nay, nay, you're joking?
Min.
Not I, indeed! The woman's gone, depend on't.
And almost come ere this—so there's an end on't.
Plu.
Ho! Cerberus! Why don't the fellow stir?
Will you come here or not, you ugly cur?
Enter Cerberus.
Run to the ferry-house—the Barley Mow,
And send old Charon hither.
Cer.
(shaking his three heads)
Bow—wow—wow!
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Not leave the door? Poh! nonsense! it's hard by—
You'll not be gone a minute. Hie—boy—hie!
Haven't you got three heads, and can't you fix
One eye upon your post, pray, out of six?
None of your dogged looks—but trot, sir, do!
And send him here instanter!
Cer.
(nodding)
Boo—woo—woo!
(Exit)
Pros.
My pretty poodle, he's as white as whey,—
The Furies wash and comb him every day.
Plu.
Charon will tell us if she's hail'd his boat,—
A better fellow never was afloat.
Air—Pluto—“Jolly Young Waterman.”
O, who hasn't heard of the jolly old waterman,
Charon, who plies on the Styx here hard by?
If you'd cross the ferry, first step in his wherry,
You're over ere you can Jack Robinson cry.
He looks rather grim, but he rows so steadily,
Smuggles his spirits across so readily,
One way or other, the Fates take good care,
This waterman ne'er is in want of a fare!
He comes!
(to Proserpine)
Charon, who plies on the Styx here hard by?
If you'd cross the ferry, first step in his wherry,
You're over ere you can Jack Robinson cry.
He looks rather grim, but he rows so steadily,
Smuggles his spirits across so readily,
One way or other, the Fates take good care,
This waterman ne'er is in want of a fare!
I'll thank you for another cup.
Enter Charon.
Char.
A boat, your honour?—the tide's running up!
Plu.
No, not to-night,—but tell me, Charon, pray,
Have you brought over a fair dame to-day?
Char.
Just now, your honour! 'twas a fiddler's wife.
A very pretty soul, upon my life!
Plu.
Where did you land her?
Char.
At Elysian Stairs.
She told me she'd popped off quite unawares.
Plu.
Then 'tis too true. But as a courteous host,
We'll welcome to the shades so sweet a ghost.
Let her approach the presence.
(Exit Charon)
(to Proserpine)
And you quit it.
Pros.
A private audience?
Plu.
Madame, you have hit it.
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And off immediately take yourself!
What ho, there! Strike up my national air!
“Go to the devil, and shake yourself.”
The Dance is played—Exeunt, all but Pluto, to whom Re-enter Charon.
Plu.
Well, where's the lady? Why this terror, say?
Char.
O, mighty master! here's yourself to pay,
And none to take the reckoning! Such a breeze!
But don't be angry with me, if you please.
Plu.
What is the matter?
Char.
An audacious mortal
Has crossed the Styx! E'en now he's at your portal.
Plu.
Alive?
Char.
And kicking.
Plu.
Kicking! If I've luck, it
Shall go hard, but I'll make him kick the bucket!
Who and what is he? and why comes he here?
Char.
The great musician who has lost his dear.
Plu.
Orpheus himself?
Char.
Ay, Orpheus, that's his name!
He bears a lute would e'en the Furies tame!
He just struck up, “Farewell, my trim built wherry,”
And faith, I row'd him gratis o'er the ferry.
Three-headed Cerberus, that surly growler,
He silenced with a stanza of “Old Towler.”
Then in he walked and played the stop waltz so,
That to his wheel Ixion called out “woah!”
Poor Sysiphus's ever-rolling rock
At “stony batter” stood like any stock.
Tantalus ceased to thirst, and Danäe's daughters
Danced while he played “The Meeting of the Waters.”
In short, sir—I repeat—may I be shot
But there's yourself to pay, and no pitch hot!
(a lute struck without)
Plu.
What sounds are those?
Char.
Sounds that your rage will smother.
If you withstand his Lyre—say I'm another.
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Pluto, Charon, Proserpine, Minos
, &c., as required.
Hark! on his lute he thrums,
The depths of our realms profound,
Echo the wondrous sound,
He comes! he comes! he comes!
(All retire out o sight)
Enter Orpheus.
Air—Orpheus.
I've been roaming, I've been roaming,
Ever since I lost my dear,
And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
To inquire if she's here.
Ever since I lost my dear,
And I'm coming, and I'm coming,
To inquire if she's here.
Faith! It's a long way down, but here behold me,
And “Facilis descensus” as they told me,
Which for the country gentlemen unravelling,
Means that “down hill 'tis very easy travelling.”
Well, I have crossed the Styx, and don't care who
I meet, not e'en the devil upon two!
I want my wife—she must be hereabout.
At home or not, I've sworn to find her out!
'Tis said that marriages are made above,
And so perhaps a few may be by love;
But from this smell of brimstone I should say
They must be making matches here all day!
Music! If thou'rt not stifled by this smoke!
Music! ne'er failing friend! I thee invoke!
To gain my wishes, or improve my rental,
Thou'st made my vocal powers most instrumental.
And “Facilis descensus” as they told me,
Which for the country gentlemen unravelling,
Means that “down hill 'tis very easy travelling.”
Well, I have crossed the Styx, and don't care who
I meet, not e'en the devil upon two!
I want my wife—she must be hereabout.
At home or not, I've sworn to find her out!
'Tis said that marriages are made above,
And so perhaps a few may be by love;
But from this smell of brimstone I should say
They must be making matches here all day!
Music! If thou'rt not stifled by this smoke!
Music! ne'er failing friend! I thee invoke!
To gain my wishes, or improve my rental,
Thou'st made my vocal powers most instrumental.
Duo—Orpheus and Eurydice—“Now hope now fear.”
Orph.
Now hope—now fear—my bosom rending,
Alternate waken joy and woe.
Eury.
(without)
Oh!
Orph.
Sure 'twas her voice with echo blending,
No other shade this air could know.
Eury.
(without)
No!
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Where dost thou stray?
Eury.
(without)
Eh!
Orph.
Where would'st thou roam?
Eury.
(without)
Home.
Orph.
To give thee liberty I— (sneezes)
—come.
(the sneeze is echoed by Eurydice)
Orph.
Sympathy sweet! she sneezes too!
How does my dear departed do?
Enter Eurydice.
Eury.
Charmingly, thank you, how are you?
Orph.
Ecstatic moment!
Eury.
But you sneez'd, my dear?
Surely you cannot have caught cold down here?
Re-enter Pluto, Proserpine, the Judges, Fates, Furies, &c.
Orph.
No, 'tis the sulphur smells so plaguy strong,
Come, love, away! We tarry here too long!
Plu.
No doubt you think so! but you'll tarry longer,
And get a dose of sulphur rather stronger!
Min.
Without a passport you have cross'd our borders,
“Ne exeat regno,” sir, till further orders.
Air and Chorus—“Garde à vous.”
Plu.
Who are you?—Who are you?
Thus entering my dominion.
Young sir, 'tis my opinion,
You will soon your rashness rue!
Who are you?—Who are you?—Who are you?
Your name—your state declare, sir,
Deceive me if you dare, sir,
For d---n me, if you do,
Garde à vous! Garde à vous!
Chorus.
Your name and state declare, sir,
Deceive us if you dare, sir,
For d---n me, if you do—Garde à vous!
Orph.
Who are you?—who are you?
This ignorance that own, sir,
It argues you unknown, sir,
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Who are you?—Who are you?
Who are you?
Detain me if you dare, sir!
I scorn like you to swear, sir,
But harkye, if you do,
Garde à vous!—Garde à vous!
Chorus.
Your name and state, &c.
Plu.
Ask you, rash youth, who thus your progress stops?
Pluto!—the son of Saturn and of Ops.
Orph.
Where you the son of malt and hops—your porter,
If he stopp'd me should be three heads the shorter.
My name is Orpheus! on the Thracian hills
I fiddle to the flocks, the trees, the rills,
And when I lead, where is the beau won't follow?
I'm son of Œäger—or great Apollo,
I'm not quite certain which—but that's no matter,
My taste for music indicates the latter.
But this I know, Calliope's my mother,
And I'm myself—and like me there's no other.
Air—Orpheus—“O pescator dell'onda.”
If he stopp'd me should be three heads the shorter.
My name is Orpheus! on the Thracian hills
I fiddle to the flocks, the trees, the rills,
And when I lead, where is the beau won't follow?
I'm son of Œäger—or great Apollo,
I'm not quite certain which—but that's no matter,
My taste for music indicates the latter.
But this I know, Calliope's my mother,
And I'm myself—and like me there's no other.
Oh! I on earth am famed for fiddling,
I play concertos on the single string.
Than Paganini, ah,
Or Ole Bull far better.
Mori, Cramer, Kiesewetter,
Seem to me—La, la!
I play concertos on the single string.
Than Paganini, ah,
Or Ole Bull far better.
Mori, Cramer, Kiesewetter,
Seem to me—La, la!
But not alone upon the violin,
I know the way to take the people in,
On piano, harp, guitar,
Than Hummel, Bochsa, Juli-
O Regondi—I am truly
Far more pop-u-lar.
I know the way to take the people in,
On piano, harp, guitar,
Than Hummel, Bochsa, Juli-
O Regondi—I am truly
Far more pop-u-lar.
Plu.
Well, and what here, sir, may your business be?
Orph.
I sought my lov'd, my lost Eurydice!
My fear for her of pride my heart disarms,
Oh! give her to her doting husband's arms!
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Though she's my wife—I never wished her here!
Ne'er e'en in passion prayed that you would take her,
And when she went, it was “pull you, pull baker!”
I kneel to you—the son of great Apollo
Kneels—who ne'er knelt before—I—me—like Rolla.
Eury.
I kneel—like Miss O'Neill—in Desdemona,
“Let me go with him.”
Orph.
Oh, be mercy shewn her!
To ransom her I'd give my best Cremona!
Air—Eurydice—“Oh, ponder well.”
O king of—pray be not severe,
He came thus far for me;
So fond a husband sure you'll spare,
If but for novelty!
Plu.
(aside to Minos)
What sweet temptation on that pouting lip!
She's much too pretty, Minos, to let slip.
She's now a ward of yours; so come—decree
How we may keep her still in Chancery.
Min.
Since he at music is so good a hand,
Let's pit him 'gainst the leader of your band.
And if he fail—
Plu.
A lucky thought—I will.
(aloud)
Come, sir, we'll make a trial of your skill,
Beat with your lute my leader's violin,
And you her freedom and my pardon win.
Orph.
Agreed!
Plu.
(to an Imp)
Fly off to Fiddler's Green, young shaver,
And bring my King of Crotchets in a quaver!
(Exit Imp)
We'll soon decide what difference may be
Betwixt this Tweedledum and Tweedledee—
Upon our throne this fiddle case we'll hear,
And you, the judges, bear a wary ear.
(Pluto and Proserpine ascend their throne—the Judges, the Fates, and the Furies take their seats each side and beneath them)
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Imp.
My liege, he says he will not take the trouble,
Unless his wages you consent to double.
Plu.
What? The rogue can't forget his worldly tricks,
He's just as much a scraper this side Styx;
Issue your writ, to make this insolent
Come into court and bring his instrument.
Min.
Yes, I'll soon make this Signor Tweedledee come,
Serve him with this subpœna—“deuces tecum.”
(Imp vanishes)
Music—“Old King Cole.”
Imp re-appears with Signor Tweedledee.
Plu.
I thought that writ would make him soon arrive;
Egad, he knows it needs must when I drive.
Lead off, great leader, and the air shall be
“The witches' dance beneath the walnut tree.”
(Signor Tweedledee breaks the three strings of his violin, and plays the air on the fourth, à la Paganini)
Bravo! bravissimo! Great Tweedledee!
Now, Tweedledum, advance. Can'st thou break three
Of thy lute strings, and from the fourth one call
Such notes as those?
Orph.
Break three? I could break all!
Nay, break the very lute itself to bits,
And with the pieces play you into fits.
But, mighty sir, I once at Highgate swore
Ne'er to use one string when I could use four,
Unless I liked one better—which I don't;
And therefore, sir, with great respect, I won't.
But with the bargain that has nought to do—
I'll beat your leader, and may be move you;
For tho' a mortal master of my art,
I'll try the immortal music of Mozart.
Air—Orpheus—“O dolce Concento.”
O won't ye consent to
Restore me, content to?
To comfort my life,
I want my late wife!
The precedent fear not
In such suits of woe,
Few husbands are likely
To move the court below.
Restore me, content to?
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I want my late wife!
The precedent fear not
In such suits of woe,
Few husbands are likely
To move the court below.
Then list to me,
And you shall see
How easily
I'll put that scraper down,
If he'll agree
To bet with me.
I like the plan,
And I'm his man
For half-a-crown;
For when there's dearth
Of fun on earth,
I just for mirth
Set dancing trees and stones,
Then sure 'twere hard
If such a bard
Should fail to make
A devil shake
His old broiled bones.
And you shall see
How easily
I'll put that scraper down,
If he'll agree
To bet with me.
I like the plan,
And I'm his man
For half-a-crown;
For when there's dearth
Of fun on earth,
I just for mirth
Set dancing trees and stones,
Then sure 'twere hard
If such a bard
Should fail to make
A devil shake
His old broiled bones.
Chorus.
(all dancing)
O music, entrancing,
It sets us all dancing,
The stake was a fair one,
'Tis played for and won.
Then hear him, great Pluto,
Our feet, 'tis now known,
When he plays his lute O,
Can't call their soles their own.
Signor Tweedledee breaks his bow and disappears.
Plu.
Faith, he has moved us all, and to some tune,
There's no help for it, I must grant his boon.
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There's no resisting such a voice; 'twould melt
Of Tartarus itself the brazen belt.
Plu.
Orpheus! We own our leader beaten hollow,
So lead you on to earth— (to Eurydice)
your wife shall follow;
But on this one condition, minstrel! Mind you,
Whate'er may hap, you must not look behind you.
You have been guilty of most rare affection,
And haply, might repent, on retrospection;
So take fair warning—ere you reach the door,
Look once behind—you're where you were before.
Trio and Chorus—Air—“Zitti, Zitti.”
Orph.
Pretty, pretty soul, relying
On your truth, behold me flying
Back to earth—myself denying
E'en a glance upon the way.
Plu.
Pity, pity, there's no flying
From my word! How mortifying!
Could I catch him once Paul-Prying,
I again might seize my prey.
Eury.
Ditty! ditty! mollifying
Even Pluto to complying—
Thy strain all strains outvieing,
Make the fates themselves give way.
Chorus.
Heigho! heigho!
Can't you stop again that air to play?
Plu.
Quit ye! quit ye!
Longer here, indeed, you must not stay!
Orph., Eury.
We quit ye—quit ye!
Longer here, indeed, we cannot stay.
(closed in by
| Olympic Devils ; or, Orpheus and Eurydice | |