University of Virginia Library

Scene.—Market Place of Speisesaal, in the Grand Duchy of Pfennig Halbpfennig. A well, with decorated iron-work. Gretchen, Bertha, Olga, Martha, and other members of Ernest Dummkopf's theatrical company are discovered, seated on several small tables, enjoying a repast in honour of the nuptials of Ludwig, his leading comedian, and Lisa, his soubrette.
[Ludwig and Lisa sit at table.
Enter Notary Tannhäusser.
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 judgment 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
—citheræ 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 my 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, that 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
comédienne—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
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.

This 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 that 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 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.

Ensemble.
Ernest.
Oh joy! when two glowing young hearts,
From the rise of the curtain,
Thus throw themselves into their parts,
Success is most certain!
If the rôle you're prepared to endow
With such delicate touches,
By the heaven above us, I vow
You shall be my Grand Duchess!

Julia.
My boy, when two glowing young hearts,
From the rise of the curtain,
Thus throw themselves into their parts,
Success is most certain!
The rôle I'm prepared to endow
With most delicate touches,
By the heavens above us, I vow
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.
Jul.

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 draughtsman draws,
It may be briefly stated.

All.
We know that complicated laws,
Such as a legal draughtsman 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 foregoes 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 little 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 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.

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 off with the two Girls.
March. Enter the seven Chamberlains of the Grand Duke Rudolph.
Chorus of Chamberlains.

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.

All.
That incident, etc.

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!

All.
It's stately and impressive, etc.

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 the Vice-Chamberlain, who whispers to the next, and so on.)

The sports will begin with a Wedding Breakfast
Bee. The leading pastrycooks 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, my dear. Begin with a
ju-jube.

[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 Market Place. When
you proposed to me, you proposed in the Market Place. And
now that we're engaged you seem to desire that our first tête-à-tête
shall occur in the Market Place! 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 the Princess comes of age at two
to-morrow, why at two to-morrow I'm a free man, so that 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 rarified 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.
Oh, he who has an income clear
Of fifty thousand pounds a year
Can purchase all his fancy loves—

Bar.
Conspicuous hats—

Rud.
Two-shilling gloves—

Bar.
(doubtfully).
Two-shilling gloves?

Rud.
(positively).
Two-shilling gloves—

Both.
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.
That kind of donkey he's not!
(Dancing.)
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.

[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 presumes 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 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 unsupportable,
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 by 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 happened 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 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!
You lout, sir!

Lud.
Enough, sir!
Get out, sir!

(Pushes him.)
Rud.
A hit, sir?
Take that, sir!

(Slaps him.)
Lud.
(slapping Rudolph).
It's tit, sir,
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 paralyzing 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 a-piece 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!

Not.
(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.
(aside).
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 ornamental!

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!
In twenty-four hours there's time to renew it—
With 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 me, as well I know you do,
This gentle child,
To me so fondly dear!

All.
Why, what's the matter!

Julia.
Each sympathetic heart 'twill bruise
When you have learnt the frightful news—
Her love for him is in 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 theatre, as in life,
Each has her line—
This part—the Grand Duke's wife
(Oh woe!) 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 you're 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.
Act Drop.