University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—The old Baron alone in his study.
BARON.
I'm in the grumps—but why, I cannot tell—
I'm very ill—I'm seriously unwell;
Though for domestic bliss by nature fitted,
Smacked by my wife, and by my daughter twitted.
But this new comer most provokes my gall;
This madcap stranger—who is she at all?
Some say it was at night—some say at noon
She just dropt in, as though dropt from the moon.
She takes her fling, and nothing is debarr'd her;
She rules the roast, and revels in the larder.
With choicest tit-bits keeps her wolfish maw full,
For 'twixt ourselves her appetite is awful;
She chokes my pipe, and laughs at my lumbago,
And rules the Frau, that notable virago!
[Frau sings within.
Hush! 'tis my wife, as grim as an inquisitor!
What saith the proverb, touching the Old Visitor?
Oh! that some opening trap-door would engulph her!
Here comes the old one!—what a smell of sulphur!

Enter Frau.
FRAU.
[Aside.]
I'll try the civil dodge—though scold I ought.
[Aloud.]
Well Baron, dear, a penny for your thought.

BARON.
It was not worth so much—I thought of you.

FRAU.
Your answer is amusing, and quite new.
Just now we can't afford to be so funny;
Pray think about your daughter and your money.

BARON.
My daughter and my ducats—stale old song.

FRAU.
Baron!

BARON.
Well, go-ahead! but don't be long.
Poor love-sick daughter; is she very bad?

FRAU.
Man! do you mean to drive me dancing mad?
All our misfortunes give you little pain,
Caused, every one, by your old fuddled brain.
That most outrageous minx again has crost
Our daughter's marriage prospects—all is lost!
Our wealthy suitor, poor Johanna jilts,
And with that vixen flirts, and talks on stilts,
And skips attendance on her, like a lacquey.
What! not a symptom of surprise?

BARON.
Oh! Cracky!

FRAU.
I'm in a fury!

BARON.
Take it easy, Frau.

FRAU.
Baron, I'll pull your nose, sir!

BARON.
Bow—wow—wow!

FRAU.
I can't believe my ears—whom bark you at?

BARON.
At you, my love!

FRAU.
Take that—and that—and that.

[Exit Frau, after boxing Baron's ears.
BARON
(alone).
My bark was vastly better than her bite;
If what she says is true, 'twill serve her right.
I'm always bilious after such a fray—
I'll go to sleep—and not awake to-day.
[Sings.

[Sleeps, and snores.
Thunder and lightning. Enter Rhine King.
BARON
(starting up).
Ho! all hands to the pump. Save—Oh! I'm sunk.
I'm either half-seas over—or I'm drunk!
Ho! buckets—brandy—bladders—anything!

RHINE KING.
Behold his Majesty the great Rhine King.
Bid us all hail!

BARON.
Hallo! All hail and thunder!
Who's this old water-spout, I greatly wonder?

RHINE KING.
I raised but now above the reedy Rhine
My watery stature, where for ages nine
I held mild reign—o'er regions soft and pleasant.

BARON.
Mild rain! my friend, you're raining hard at present.
Have you a chance of clearing? for, by Nemesis!
If you don't clear, I'll quickly clear the premises.

RHINE KING.
Peace, dotard, or I'll founder you with water.
I come to pay a visit to my daughter;
Where does she hold her state?

BARON.
Oh, goodness knows!
Don't you cascade upon my gouty toes.

RHINE KING.
About a month ago, or near that period,
My daughter left my halls, a green-haired Neriad,
And on a moonlight night your Castle sought.
Dost thou remember?

BARON.
Well, I think I ought.

RHINE KING.
So be it! How is my daughter thriving?
How didst thou entertain her on arriving?

BARON.
She helped herself to everything.

RHINE KING.
So best.
Nought is too good for such a noble guest.
Go fetch her: bid her wait on no pretences.

BARON.
My good fellow, are you in your senses?
Before I'd leave my chair to fetch your daughter,
I'd see you on the fire and changed to boiling water.

RHINE KING
(furious).
Insulted to my beard! But thou shalt quake—dog!
I'll change thy lands and castle to a shake-bog;
Thy halls shall lodge the loathsome bat and vile owl,
Thyself and Frau shall fly away like wild fowl.
Insulted to my beard so long and hoary!
Vanish instanter to a lower story.

Baron sinks (or drawn aside on his chair.) Enter Luralie, attended by Gobbet.
LURALIE.
Of common propriety have you no feeling?
You sent the old Baron right down through my ceiling.
I don't like your beard, nor your great glassy eyes,
And this visit has given me less joy than surprise.

GOBBET.
We're quite happy without you, and not the least lonely.

RHINE KING.
Peace, sea-pig; I'm speaking to Luralie only.
My crystal fountain, Luralie, thou art:
To see thee lifts the cockles of my heart.
Come back, come back, my Luralie, unto thy home of water,
My halls are sad and lone to me, my daughter, oh, my daughter!
Come back—come back!

LURALIE.
No, thank you, sir.

RHINE KING.
Come back, ma'am.

LURALIE.
Stay I'd rather.

RHINE KING.
Ye thunders, what a dreadful shame!
The girl disowns her father!

LURALIE.
I will not return, were you ever so fluent.

RHINE KING.
Thou art not in earnest, my dear little truant.

GOBBET.
Oh, yes! quite in earnest, old gentleman.

RHINE KING.
S'blud!
If you speak one word more, I'll dissolve you to mud.
[To Luralie.]
Canst thou leave thy old father alone to his sorrow?

LURALIE.
Oh, yes! you may coax me to-day and to-morrow.

RHINE KING.
Undutiful girl, 'tis thy father who calls:
He longs for thy voice in his desolate halls;
Each tide that returns his affection grows stronger.

LURALIE.
A very good reason to wait a while longer.

RHINE KING.
Unnatural daughter, my feelings I stifle:
I give thee one month more to wanton and trifle.
Till my sixtieth tide hath returned to the sea,
And the sign of the Fishes reflected shall be
On the blue-water roof of my palace below—
Till then, thou hast power to remain, or to go.

LURALIE.
And how is my pet, the large river trout?

RHINE KING.
Disconsolately he is swimming about.

LURALIE.
I hope you take care of my great sea-shell.

RHINE KING.
It is safe.

LURALIE.
And my pale river sisters?

RHINE KING.
Are well.
They wait for you here; you shall see them to-night,
In their fillets of rushes and garments of white.
With a wave of my wand I'll disclose in a jiffy,
Earth's loveliest river, excepting the Liffey.
[Scene opens: beautiful tableau of Rhine and Nymphs.
There's a mirror that's fit for the stars and the moon.
Come, girls, to old Rhine a sweet madrigal tune.

SONG—NYMPH CHORUS.
Joyfully carol we, joyfully carol we—
While Father Rhine rolls blithely along.
Merrily let it be—merrily let it be:
Light as his wave be our song.

RHINE KING.
Hush! Do you dare to disturb the gravity
Of the stern old Rhine with levity,
Ruffling his serene longevity? Daughter, chant it solemnly.

NYMPH CHORUS.
Solemnly—solemnly, mighty one, we chant it,
Mournfully let it be, magic tones incanted,
With thy hoary age condoling, turret crowned King for centuries rolling,
Moaning wide, thy plaintive tide, swelleth our chorus solemnly.

KING.
Farewell, my daughter, till the fatal day;
But pause not, when thy carriage stops the way.

[Exit all.