University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—Enterior of Marchioness of Birkenfelt's Chateau, in Chamouni. View of Mont Blanc in the distance. A triumphal Arch is seen at the back of the stage hung with evergreens, banners, &c., and the scene generally, conveys the idea that festive preparations are in progress. Villagers superintended by Pumperinickel are discovered hanging Flags, dressing the Arch, &c., On the Arch is inscribed the legend “Of Age to Day.” Bells heard.
Enter Lord Margate and his companions, they contemplate the proceedings with dignified curiosity.
Ld. Mar.
Why bless us, what's all this? What's up, I say?

Pump.
The Marchioness has come of age to-day.

Ld. Mar.
Of age, Ha! ha! ha! ha! It's time she did,
Why she was thirty, when I was a kid.

Pump.
(amazed)
A splendid creature, for a princess fit,
A woman of a thousand, you'll admit.

Ld. Mar.
One of a thousand! No—but truth to say,
She's one of forty seven, if a day!

Pump.
The cannon's firing, and the bells are ringing,
All nature with one voice to-day is singing
The very trees rejoice as on she marches,
With joyous (s)beeches and triumphal (l)arches.
(Pointing to the Arch)
That one appears to say, “Hail Beauty's Queen,
She's twenty one!”

Ld. Mar.
(pretending to admire it.)
Yes, it's extremely green.

Pump.
But see, she comes with grace in every feature,
(rapturously).
Oh, isn't she a charming, charming creature.

Lord Margate.
Air.—“Oh, how delightful.”
Enter the Marchioness from house attended by peasants, throwing flowers; she has all the appearance of a faded Coquette, and her manner is characterized by an affectation of extreme juvenility: all hurrah as she enters.
Marchs.
Of age, a baby but the other day!
How rapidly my years have passed away!
Ah, how time flies.

Ld. Mar.
(aside).
So quickly has it run:
Her fifty years have seemed like twenty-one!
(aloud).
No wonder that it passes as you mention,
Such beauty must command so much attention. (retires.)


Ld. Cran.
Those sunny smiles the coldest heart would jog,
(aside.)
They're very like the sun seen thro' a fog.

Ld. Pen.
The rose and lily matched, in colour could be!
(aside.)
Only the rose is where the lily should be.

Sir Peck.
Yes, strawberries and cream, and all the rest of it,
(aside.)
Only the strawberries have much the best of it!

Marchs.
My simple beauty of itself don't tell,
I'm worshipped for my rank and wealth as well,
I am no fool.

(ogling.)
Ld. Mar.
How roguishly it twinkles!
Some one has put you up to lots of wrinkles.

Marchs.
They were born with me, sir.

Ld. Mar.
Yes, I'll engage,
Your wrinkles, like yourself have come of age.

Marchs.
Some people say and tell me as a duty,
My cheeks are much too ruddy for a beauty.

Ld. Mar.
The wretch who said so is with falsehood tainted,
They're nothing like so ruddy as they're painted.

Marchs.
That I should use more powder!

Ld. Mar.
Powder? Puff!

Marchs.
And that my figure's padded!

Ld. Mar.
Padded? Stuff!

Marchs.
My hair a wig, that's rudeness pretty blunt,

Ld. Mar.
Rudeness? I stigmatize it as affront.

Marchs.
That it's stained yellow—things which I denied first,

Ld. Mar.
You stain your tresses yellow? you'd have died first.

Pump.
The country ringing with your fame of feature,
And such a voice.

Ld. Mar.
Yes, you are a famous (s) creature.

Pump.
Now villagers, a dance, and soldier's too
Her ladyship would see what you can do,
The anniversary, friends, of her birth
You've got some ground for showing her some mirth.

Grand Ballet; at the conclusion, the Marchioness goes into the house with her attendants: then enter Roberto.
Rob.
Poor thoughtless butterflies, they little think
That grief is joy disguised in robes of ink.

Ld. Mar.
Well, Manfred, this is better far I guess
Than life up there in lazy loneliness.

Rob.
Lazy! Ha, ha; I really thought you knew
The nature of the work I had to do;
For fifteen years I've been engaged for one
In tunnelling the Alps: it's not yet done,

Sulp.
For fifteen years! I'd freely have assured them
That long 'ere this you'd thoroughly have bored them.

Rob.
Gigantic rocks and frozen mountains too,
You've no idea what I had to go through.

Sulp.
Console yourself with this reflection aided,
You didn't go through half as much as they did.

Ld. Mar.
The Marchioness you've seen,

(winking.)
Rob.
What makes you wink so?

Ld. Mar.
A splendid woman!

Rob.
(interested.)
Is she?

Sulp.
I should think so.

Rob.
Well, well, what matters it although she be?
That sort of thing has passed away from me.
Though I was once, you'd hardly think it—yet,
I was the jolliest dog in all my ‘set.’
The evening parties that I gave unfurled
The jolliest little suppers in the world.
Cut oranges and sandwiches a plateful,
And ginger wine, but still they were ungrateful;
My sandwiches aside they'd coolly put 'em,
And wouldn't even take this 'and which cut 'em:
My ginger wine, they'd openly contemn,
As if my ginger wine could (g) injure them.
Yes, at my parties, somehow, all seemed surly,
They didn't go, although my guests did—early.

TRIO.—Roberto, Lord Margate, and Sulpizio.
Air.—Payne's Cap Dance in Cinderella.
Rob.
Oh, of all men I have been the most unfortunate.

Ld. Mar.
Words, which cannot fail their hearers all to shock:

Rob.
Woe, for fools alone to know me are importunate;

Sul.
Birds, whose feathers are the same, together flock:

Rob.
(irritated.)
Dickies of a feather, says the proverb, fly together,
But I do not seem to see that that applies to me.

Sul. and Ld. Mar.
(laughing)—
Dickies of a feather, says the proverb, fly together,
But he doesn't seem to see that that applies to he.

Rob.
Why must I in vain for sympathy be calling out?

Ld. Mar.
You of course can't understand how that can be:

Rob.
I with fools cannot get on, we're always falling out:

Sul.
Two of one profession never do agree.

Rob.
(irritated.)
Two of a profession don't agree, but that expression
Doesn't seem, in my opinion, to apply to me.

Sul. and Ld. Mar.
(laughing)—
Two of a profession don't agree, but that expression
Doesn't seem, in his opinion, to apply to he.

(French grotesque Dance. Roberto slides off to the slow movement, and Lord Margate follows him, imitating his action. Then enter Ortensio, Cospetto, and Soldiers, all weeping.)
Cos.
Here's tidings! Our Maria we shall lose,
To-night I'll get no slumber thro' this noose.

(Enter Sulpizio).
Sul.
The regiment blubbering, beyond a doubt,
Wriggling and weeping! what's it all about?

Ort.
We're reg'lars, and not wrigglers.

Sul.
It appears
You're more like wrigglers mixed with fallen tears,

(Enter Marchioness.)
Marchs.
Why, what's all this; all weeping unexpect'ly,
And I of age to-day? Rejoice directly.
To-day with joy you should away be carried.

Ort.
Our Vivandiere is going to be married.

Sul.
The Regiment's daughter, she on girlhood's brink,
At least we've always daught her so to think;
Because when borne to us in utter dearth,
We gave the friendless little child a berth.

Ort.
We gave her then a place, her fortune made is.

Sul.
Well, soldiers always should give place to ladies,
Away for some one else she wants to fling us:
The viper that we've warmed now turns to sting us:
The tears come welling when I think on't!

Marchs.
Does 'em.

Sul.
And thus I tear the wiper from my buzzum.

(Takes a very common pocket handkerchief from his breast and wipes his eyes on it.)
Marchs.
(startled.)
That handkerchief to me one moment give,
(looking at mark.)
My late lamented husband's as I live!
It was his only one, he loved it so!
His habit was to wear it.

Sul.
Were it though?

Marchs.
See, here's his name, by me the writing's done
In patent marking ink, “Roberto—One.”

Sul.
I always thought and always said it too,
The day would gum when this would give some glue:
My shipwrecked hopes clung to that fond belief,
And my chief anchor was this handkerchief.

Marchs.
To me his death a blow tremendous dealt;
The mainstay of the house of Birkenfelt:
I let it when he first paid nature's debts
At Austerlitz, and now the 'ouse to let's!
We had one girl—a female—one alone:
He was the most devoted father known;
Towards the infant he felt such attraction,
He always took it with him into action,
There they were killed, no doubt of that I fear!

Sul.
(who has been struggling with his feelings during this speech.)
The Captain was—the little Babe is here!

Enter Maria, followed by Lord Margate and his companions, who are annoying her with their attentions.
Marchs.
(embracing Maria.)
My child! I hav'nt seen her, that I know,
Since she was born, just nineteen years ago.

Ld. Mar.
Then this astounding fact remains untold,
You must have been a Ma at two years old.

Marchs.
She's got her mother's eyes, her mother's fin,
Her mother's nose, her mother's little chin.

Sul.
But no one in her conduct ever saw
Her mother's cheek, nor yet her mother's jaw.

Marchs.
Prepare to leave these soldier-folk to-day
And join our family without delay.
We're going to dinner, please to look alert.

Sul.
To dinner? No—you're going to desert.

Marchs.
Don't tease her so, or else away I'll hurry her,
A soldier needn't always be a worry-er!

CONCERTED PIECE.
Air—Oh Mary, oh Mary.
Sul.
Most unhappy we are, losing our Maria:
Us of her, this fat old female's going for rob.

Maria.
I shall miss you greatly, all disconsolately,
I shall sigh, and sob, and cry, and sigh, and sob.

Sul.
Oh, Tarry, Oh Tarry;
Tonio, you're bound to marry.
Oh, Tarry, Oh Tarry,
How can you treat your true love so.

Chorus.
Oh, Tarry, &c.

Marchs.
She's clearly in our power, a lovely little flower,
The very image of her ma, as any one can see.

Ld. Mar.
Honeysuckle, lily,
Cowslip, daffodilly,
Mignionette and violet, and a sprig of rosemary;

Sul.
Rose-mary, rose-mary,
Is a type of this young fairy,
Rose-mary, rose-mary,
Bunch of the sweetest flowers that grow.
Rose-mary, &c.