 | The Happy Land |  |
2. Part Second.
[Same Scene as in Part First, but coloured a sober slate tint. In prominent position, R. H., notice board, on which is written “Notice.—No public meeting allowed to be held within 30 yards of the spot.”][Leila and Fairies discovered. Cries of “No, no, no.”]
Leila.
We have stood six months of this dreadful government,
sisters. Shall we stand a single day more of it?
All.
No, no!
Leila.
Are we to endure their explanations that won't go
down, and their ships that won't do anything else?
All.
No, no!
Leila.
Do we like public buildings that won't rise, and prices
that won't fall?
(Cries of “No, no!”)
Do we like the whole of our
native land painted slate-colour?
(Cries of “No, no!”)
Do we
prefer ha'pence to patriotism? Do we like to see our country
under the heel of the invader?
(Cries of “No, no!”)
And ourselves
sent to bed at seven o'clock by act of parliament?
All.
No, no!
Leila.
Then, sisters, shall we turn the government out?
(Cries
of “Hear, hear.”)
Strike for liberty?
(approval).
And for what
is more sacred still, a chance of getting in ourselves?
(Great cheering.)
Enter Zayda and Mr. A.
Zay.
I told you so! Another public meeting, and you see
what is the use of that notice.
What's the use of it?
Zay.
Yes. It doesn't stop their meeting.
Mr. A.
Of course it doesn't. But it irritates them, and is there
no use in that?
Zay.
Well, you see what it has come to; they've been grumbling
about those subterranean Law Courts again, I dare say.
Mr. A.
Subterranean! Why not subterranean?
Zay.
Why, it's all in the dark.
Mr. A.
Well, what of that? Isn't Justice blind? What does
it matter where she sits. Listen to me. You've done too much.
That's what you've done. You want your Law Courts? Good!
You open the affair to public competition. Three hundred
enthusiastic architects instantly rush to the front, and prepare
designs. Very good again! You pin them all to a wall, shut
your eyes, and pick out one of them. Now you begin business
in earnest. You clear a site; you collect all the dust-carts in
Europe; you go to work and bring in—
Zay.
Bricks and mortar by the hundredweight.
Mr. A.
No. Rubbish! All the rubbish you can lay hold of—
by the ton!
Zar.
And the Law Courts?
Mr. A.
Never build them at all.
Zay.
Oh, if that's the way to manage public works, I shall
resign; I'm tired of office.
Mr. A.
Resign? Tired of office?
Zay.
Very. Don't you ever get tired of office down there?
Mr. A.
Never!
Zay.
And doesn't anybody ever get tired of you?
Mr. A.
Never!
Zay.
You surprise me. How do you manage to be so popular?
I can't!
Mr. A.
Can't? Just answer me. Have you made streets where
they are not wanted?
(Zayda nods.)
Made none where they
are?
(She nods.)
Have you been six months building a lamp-post?
Zay.
I have.
Mr. A.
And then forgotten to put a gas-pipe inside it?
Zay.
I have.
Mr. A.
Have you offended all the canons of good taste—quarrelled
with the architects—infuriated the contractors—insulted the
surveyors—maddened the public, and trod generally on the toes
of anybody and everybody?
I have.
Mr. A,
So have I, and that's the reason I'm such a popular man.
Leila
(to Zayda.)
The First Commissioner of Works.
Zay.
(to Mr. A.)
A deputation! What am I to do?
Mr. A.
Do? Insult it!
Zay.
But it's so uncivil.
Mr. A.
Uncivil to insult a deputation? Here, leave it to me,
I'll soon settle it for you. Now then, who are you? What do
you want, and what do you mean by it?
Leila.
Then, please, we want to know why everything in Fairyland,
from one end to the other, has been painted slate-color.
Mr. A.
Slate-colour? Of course! Why not? What colour
would you have it? Good useful colour, doesn't show the dirt;
will wash: and it matches the sky where I come from.
Leila.
But we don't come from where you come from, and
we've got a blue sky, and we love the good—the beautiful and—
Mr. A.
The cheap.
Leila.
No, sir, the true. Pray, Madam First Commissioner,
what is the line of beauty? I don't believe you know.
Zay.
Don't I though. It's a good line in the newspapers.
Leila.
(to Mr. A.)
And that's your teaching?
Mr. A.
Mine? not at all! I don't know what a good line in
the papers means! I've never had one in my life.
Leila.
Then pray, sir, what do you consider the true line of
beauty?
Mr. A.
Me? The Metropolitan line.
Leila.
Sisters! you hear! and this is the earthly representative
of Art! Ah! here's the Government. Now for a vote of
censure.
Enter Selene, reading dispatch—followed by Fairies.
Sel.
What's this? The Emperor of Gozo, overcome by
conscientious scruples, has “been forced” to tear up our treaty
to shreds, and gives us hereby notice of the same.
Mr. A.
(looking at dispatch).
Oh! that's all right.
Sel.
All right?—to repudiate a treaty purchased with our
noblest fairy blood on hard-fought battle-fields?
Mr. G.
Well! it's all right. You don't see the date?
Sel.
The date!
The date—the date. Look at the date.
Mr. L.
Can't you see? Why that treaty's nearly three months
old.
Sel.
You startle, you terrify me. What then is a
treaty?
Mr. L.
A treaty? Well, a commercial treaty is—
Mr. G.
No, no, not that. A treaty, to quote Homer, is—
Mr. A.
Allow me! A treaty, to quote Homer, is that useful
instrument which enables the man of honor to promise, when
taken at a disadvantage, that (which under happier circumstances)
he has not the remotest intention of performing.
Sel.
Oh, horrible! And this is earthly morality.
Mr. A.
No, that's not earthly morality. That's earthly diplomacy.
Zay.
And you earthly diplomatists thus teach us your history
—and your philosophy! Shame on you.
Mr. G.
History and philosophy? I beg your pardon, we don't
teach them at all.
Sel.
Not teach history and philosophy?
Mr. A.
No—we're trying to abolish both of them by act of
parliament.
Sel.
(reading).
What, new disasters. The Chinese marching
on the capital, demand the instant cession of three-fourths of
Fairyland.
Eth.
Well, give it them.
Mr, G.
Of course, give it them at once.
Sel.
And you would bid me sacrifice my native land?
Mr. A.
Of course! Why not? It's very much cheaper than
gunpowder.
Sel.
(reads).
Ah, see! they will retire, withdraw their forces
and their claim, if we pay them an indemnity of sixpence—in
advance.
Mr. A.
Oh, can't pay sixpence; oh, dear, no. Besides, nothing
is ever paid in advance.
Leila.
Not taxes?
Mr. L.
Oh, yes, taxes. Of course, taxes. Yes.
Sel.
Think of the degradation—the outrage.
Mr. L.
Think of the sum total.
Sel.
Would you not then save your country?
Mr. L.
My dear, I'd much rather save a halfpenny.
Dar.
(reads).
The whole fleet has run aground, though a
retired solicitor was in command, and seven Lords of the Admiralty
steered every ship,
(to Mr. L.)
and at your advice, then, I've
sunk the whole fleet for a ha'porth of tar?
Mr. L.
I told you not to buy tar at that ruinous price, but
wait till it had come down to a farthing.
Enter Locrine with dispatch.
Dar.
Sister, the army!
Loc.
(reads).
Has been outmanœuvred, outwitted, outnumbered,
outgeneral'd. Their guns, their boots, their reputation and their
commissariat have all burst together.
Mr. A.
What? When they've been directed by an Intelligencer-General,
with the liberal stipend of £1,200 a-year! Oh,
impossible.
Enter Zayda with dispatch.
Zay.
The upper ten have struck; the peers are singing the
Marseillaise; and I, the First Commissioner of Public Works,
have sent in my resignation. All is over—Fairyland is lost.
Lei.
You hear, sister Premier, we call on you to give place to
the Opposition. We command a majority of 120. Resign!
Sel.
This is your doing. Tell me, when earthly Premiers find
their country invaded, revolution at their gates, national bankruptcy
staring them in the face, and a working majority of 120
against them, what do they do?
Mr. G.
What? Why remember that three courses are open to
them.
Dar.
And don't resign?
Mr. L.
We never resign.
Loc.
Nor even apologise?
M. A.
We never apologise.
Zay.
And do you call that patriotism?
Mr. G.
We call that patriotism.
Sel.
And pray what is patriotism?
Mr. A.
Patriotism? Why patriotism is the ladder by which the
rising statesman ascends to the pinnacle of place.
Sel.
Then what is place?
Place? She wants to know what place is! Why place
is the pinnacle seated upon which the risen statesman kicks
away the ladder of patriotism.
Sel.
(to Mr. G.)
And these are the principles you bring us
from your happy land. Sisters, I've done with office; give me a
peerage, and let me end my days in respectability and peace.
Concerted Piece.
Mr. L.
When every single art you've tried,
Held on through thick and thin;
With one supreme desire in life,
To take care you “keep in.”
Zay.
Desiring to provide a birth,
For every near relation;
And to teach one's kith and kin,
How sweet it is to serve the nation.
Mr. A.
Oh, it's very aggravating when your bills fall through,
It's very aggravating when each dodge wont do;
It's awfully aggravating when your bills and you,
Are both together hurried off to Timbuctoo.
Darine.
When one has changed one's politics,
Turned coat and chopped about;
Gone this way and gone that in turns,
Gone every way but out.
Mr. G.
In hopes amid the coming crash,
And general degradation?
To pick up a snug sinecure,
Retire and drop the nation.
Mr. A.
Oh, it's very aggravating, &c.
Omnes.
Oh, it's very aggravating, &c.
(After Concerted Piece clouds close in on tableau.)
Mr. G.
Stay, don't be off!
I own I've trifled with thy truth; but, then,
Thy truth is not as mortal stateman's truth.
How could I tell you'd cut your party thus?
How couldst thou tell?
Art thou so mean that thou canst understand
No state of things that might upset thy game?
Hast thou no knowledge of the sort of woe
It is to note on great division nights
Majorities grow less, to rise 'mid jeers,
To find thy bills thrown out—read six months hence,
Thy ministerial programme deemed a jest,
Thy budget a financial mockery.
Oh, there are words
For other agonies, but none for this!
Mr. G.
Stay thy too parliamentary tongue. The speech
Smacks of the opposition benches.
Zay.
See! (looking to Earth.)
Our brothers have again got in some mess,
And move down Bow-street in a crowd. Ah, look!
Yes! No! They've dropped a something in the policeman's hand.
Now spread their wings! They mount. They're coming up!
Mr. A.
Then we'll be off. Come on.
Zay.
No, no, not yet.
Life without Lutin! What would that be worth?
Mr. A.
Well, I can't say. No doubt, down there they can,
And possibly may, taking all in all,
Assure you that it's bearable enough.
Nay, it's no use. I'm off; I've had a taste
Of fairy parliamentary life. You creatures
Don't half mind being insulted, shocked, and snubbed;
And as I live but to exasperate,
Let me to earth; I want another row.
Mr. L.
Come, Mr. G., your motion's on to-night.
[Mr. A. and Mr. L. descend.
Sel.
No, no! thou shalt not go! thou shalt not go.
My chief, my trimming chief—but still my chief;
My guide, short-sighted guide—but still my guide.
Forgive me, Mr. G., thou hast withdrawn
The very core and substance of my sense.
Like earthly men, whatever mulls you make,
I take your part. A fact, I'll be your slave.
I'll go into the lobby at your beck
I'll ask no place of thee—yet swear by thee.
Become a Tory, Liberal, Radical—
All three in turns—or, all three at once.
Mr. G.
Take thee down there; I love my land too well
To bore it with thy injudicious tongue;
We statesmen have no appetite for truth.
You'll stay—I seek that parliamentary world
Where friends insult us only when we're out.
[Throws off Selene—descends—business same as “Wicked World.” Scene changes back to bright one of Part I.
Sel.
(waking).
Where are we now? Oh, what a horrid nightmare!
Zayda, Neodie, Darine, are you quite sure those
wretched men have gone?
Zay.
Quite, (looking).
I can see them now. They've just
hailed a four-wheeler, and the tallest, the financial one, is
bargaining with the cabman, and offering him a shilling to take
the three of them to Westminster.
Dar.
How shabby! but we're no longer subject to such
influences.
Sel.
No longer! They've taken all their virtues with them
to their happy land.
Enter Lutin, Ethais and Phyllon as the Fairies of Part I.
Lut.
Well, here we are again.
Sel.
My Ethais.
Lut.
Well, we've got something now, a real surprise;
We bear the promise of a priceless gift,
A scource of new and endless happiness.
Take every radiant blessing that adorns
Our fairy-land, and all will pale before
The lustre of this precious privilege.
It is—now then—a popular government.
Sel.
No, no, not that! No, Lutin, no! Not that;
It is a deadly snare.—Beware of it.
Such bliss is for mankind, and not for us.
Lut.
What, you don't want it?
Sel.
Want it? much obliged!
We're quite contented to sit here and mope,
And leave such blessings to a Happy Land.
Omnes.
We never heard of Rotten Row.
D'you think we care
To live in Eaton Square.
We are such sweet and simple girls,
We never set our caps at Earls.
Our own—our own—back hair!
Poor Britannia,
Although she rules the waves,
Britons ever, ever, ever,
Shall be slaves.
CURTAIN.
| The Happy Land | |