 | The Mountebanks |  |
ACT II.
Scene.—Exterior of Monastery by moonlight. Mountain range and river in distance.Risotto discovered.
Ris.
(looking at watch).
Now, Minestra, where are you?
This is the appointed spot, and you are not here. Dear, dear,
dear! She never kept me waiting before.
(Looking off.)
Ah, I
see her! Here she comes, toddling along like an old lady of
eighty! what a thorough little artist it is! She keeps up
the character even when she thinks no one is looking!
My darling, you're late. Why—what a wonderful disguise!
I never saw anything more perfect in my life! I can hardly
believe that this is my pretty, dainty, delicate, little bride!
Min.
Oh, Risotto, don't be angry with your little wifey, but
something terrible has happened—I—I can't get it off!
Ris.
Can't get what off, my pet?
Min.
The make-up! I lined my face, just as you told me—
and—and now they're real wrinkles!
Ris.
(examining her face).
What!
Min.
Then you told me to cover my teeth with cobbler's
wax. They've all come out! Then you told me to pretend I
had gout and rheumatism—and I've got 'em! Ugh!
(Groaning.)
Ris.
But, my dearest girl—
Min.
Then my hair! Oh, my poor hair!
Ris.
It's a capital wig.
Min.
That's it—it's not a wig! It's my own, and it won't
come off—and I hate it!
This is a most remarkable circumstance. How did it
happen?
Min.
After I had dressed myself as an old woman we all
drank some wine out of the conjuror's wine-skin, and I gradually
became an old lady of seventy-four!
Ris.
This is most embarrassing. I may say, most disappointing.
On one's wedding-day, too!
Min.
My poor husband, I'm so sorry for you! But I'm an
old woman, and you won't be troubled with me long; that's
one comfort for you.
Ris.
Yes—I mean, no. I—I trust that, notwithstanding
this—this modification of the implied terms of our agreement—
there are many years of—of—yes, bliss—in store for us.
(Aside.)
If it had only happened yesterday, it wouldn't have
mattered so much!
Min.
Of course, you won't love your little woman now!
Ris.
Oh, I beg your pardon. I shall have much pleasure in
—in showing you every attention compatible with the—the
respect due to a lady of your advanced years, my—my pet!
Duet.—Risotto and Minestra.
Min.
I'd be a young girl if I could!
Ris.
You're very good—you're very good;
But that unlikely I'm afraid is!
Min.
I'd be as lovely as a rose!
Ris.
So I suppose—so I suppose.
And so, no doubt, would most old ladies!
Min.
I'll rouge my face, make up my eyes,
With cunning dyes—with cunning dyes—
My venerable looks anointing.
I'll try my best your heart to thrill.
Ris.
I'm sure you will, my love, but still
It is a little disappointing!
It is a little—
Min.
Just a little—
Ris.
Yes, a little—
Both.
Little—little disappointing!
Ris.
You're certain that you're wide awake?
There's no mistake—there's no mistake?
Your rugged wrinkles you can't thin off?
Min.
I've scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed away
For half a day, for half a day,
Until I've almost scrubbed the skin off!
So gouty and rheumatic I,
That though I try, that though I try,
I scarce can fasten my shoe-buckles.
Ris.
(looking at her fingers).
My bride could write (so gouty she)
“No Popery! No Popery!”
On all the walls with all her knuckles!
It is a little—
Just a little—
Ris.
Yes, a little—
Both.
Little—little disappointing!
[Exit Risotto, slowly and despondingly.
Min.
It's a sad thing to be transformed into an old woman
in the very flower of one's life! Ah, deary me! this is but a
dismal wedding-day! Why, who comes here? Teresa, as I
live—and crying too! What has she to cry for? She's young
enough, I'm sure!
Enter Teresa. (Her manner suggests that she is crazed.)
Recitative and Song.—Teresa.
All alone to my eerie I wander aweary,
A desolate maid of her lover bereft;
What matter? 'tis only a heart that is lonely—
A-many the maids that a lover has left!
Ballad.
Whispering breeze,
Bring me my dear!
Wind-shaken trees,
Beckon him here!
Rivulet, hie—
Prithee go see—
Birds, as ye fly,
Call him to me!
Tell him the tale of the tears that I shed—
Tell him I die for the love that is dead!
Heart that in jest
Laughed him to scorn,
Now in my breast
Lying forlorn—
Idle to plead!
Cherish thy chain—
Thou shall be freed
Never again!
My heart it is sad and a-weary my head,
For I weep and I die for the love that is dead!
[She sinks, weeping, on a seat.
Min.
Why, take heart, little one! What ails thee? Come,
tell me thy sorrow. I'm an old body now, but time was when
I was as young as thou art—and not so long since, either!
Ter.
Oh, mother, mother, I think I am bewitched!
Min.
(aside).
Here's another!
Ter.
I am as though in a dream! Shall I tell thee? Yes,
for thou hast a kindly old face. To serve an unworthy end I
must needs feign to be going mad for the love of Alfredo, and
so feigning, I fell at his feet. He, thinking I had swooned in
good sooth, placed a wine-cup to my lips, and I drank, and oh,
wondrous change came over me, and he who was naught to me
before became as the very breath of my life!
Min.
Well, the potion has done thee good service, for he's a
good lad, and will make thee a strapping husband.
Ter.
Nay, herein is the mischief of it—it was too late, for he
had already given his heart to another, and would none of me,
and I, whose very soul is possessed by my love of him, have
retained the village fiddler to compose crazy love-songs for me
to sing when occasion ariseth, for I am going mad—mad—mad
—and be a girl never so crazy, her songs should be in accordance
with the rules of thorough-bass.
Min.
Ha! Now, mark me—that mountebanking fellow is
at the bottom of this. Why, he hath also bewitched me!
Ter.
Thou? Thou lovest not Alfredo?
Min.
A fig for Alfredo; Why, look at me, child; I am
Minestra!
Ter.
(looking at her).
Thou Minestra, who was married this
morning? Nay, I am mad; but not so mad as that! Minestra
is young and rather pretty—not so pretty as I, but still pretty
—whereas thou art—oh! I ask pardon—my brain wanders—
wanders—wanders!
Min.
I am Minestra, I tell thee. For a purpose—also an
unworthy one—I feigned to be an old dame, and so feigning, I
drank—and, hang the knave, I am seventy!
Ter.
Thou Minestra? Why, let me look! As I live, it is
true! Oh, poor, poor Risotto!
Min.
Even so; thy pity is for him—not for me. No matter.
But if I can find this Jack-pudding, trust me, I'll make him
set matters straight again. Oh, I have as much to regain as
thou!
Duet.—Minestra and Teresa.
Min.
If I can catch this jolly Jack-Patch—
Ter.
Ah, me! my heart is weary, oh!
Min.
He'll go for a year with a flea in his ear!
Ter.
And my days are dark and dreary, oh!
Min.
He'll find his joke is a pig in a poke—
Ter.
For love my soul is aching, oh!
Min.
Though scarce a score, I'm seventy-four!—
Ter.
And my heart, my heart is breaking, oh!
Min.
When a woman has come to seventy year
It's well to be withered and old and blear;
But when she is only a score like me,
It's better a fair young girl to be!
Ter.
'Tis well to be young when all is well,
And lovers are true to the tales they tell;
'Tis better an aged dame to be!
[Exeunt together.
Symphony. Enter Bartolo and Nita (still as waxwork Hamlet and Ophelia). They walk down the stage mechanically, as though controlled by clockwork. Their keys are fitted with keyholes in the small of their backs. Each wears a placard inscribed “Put a penny in the slot.”
Duet.—Bartolo and Nita.
Bar.
If our action's stiff and crude,
Do not laugh because it's rude.
Ni.
If our gestures promise larks,
Do not make unkind remarks.
Bar.
Clockwork figures may be found
Everywhere and all around.
Ni.
Ten to one, if we but knew,
You are clockwork figures too.
Bar.
And the motto of the lot,
Ni.
“Put a penny in the slot!”
Ni.
Usurer, for money lent,
Making out his cent. per cent.—
Bar.
Widow plump or maiden rare,
Deaf and dumb to suitor's prayer—
Ni.
Tax collectors, whom in vain
You implore to “call again”—
Bar.
Cautious voter, whom you find
Slow in making up his mind.
Ni.
If you'd move them on the spot,
Bar.
Put a penny in the slot!
Bar.
Bland reporters in the courts,
Who suppress police reports—
Ni.
Sheriff's yeoman, pen in fist,
Making out a jury list—
Bar.
Stern policemen, tall and spare,
Acting all “upon the square”—
Ni.
(Which in words that plainer fall
Means that you can square them all)—
Bar.
If you want to move the lot,
Ni.
Put a penny in the slot!
Bar.
Nita.
Ni.
Well?
Bar.
This is a very uncomfortable state of things.
Ni.
Very. How do you find your clockwork this evening?
Bar.
Ticking, ticking, thank you. And you?
Ni.
I fancy I want regulating.
Bar.
Eh?
Ni.
I think I'm rather fast.
Nita, you surprise and shock me.
Ni.
Mechanically speaking, I mean.
Bar.
Oh, I take you. This condition of existence is rather
degrading. We are quite common clockwork, I believe?
Ni.
Mere Geneva. The cheapest thing in the trade.
Bar.
So I was given to understand.
Ni.
It might have been worse. We might have been
Waterbury, with interchangeable insides.
Bar.
That's true. But when I remember the delicately-beautiful
apparatus with which I was filled from head to foot—
and which never, never ticked—when I contemplate the
exquisite adjustment of means to end—which never, never
wanted oiling—I am shocked to think that I am reduced to a
mere mechanical complication of arbors, pallets, wheels, main-springs,
and escapements!
Ni.
Still you were always complaining. You never were
quite well.
Bar.
Because I eat too much.
Ni.
That's true.
Bar.
Never weary of putting into operation the exquisitely-beautiful
apparatus of digestion, I over-taxed its powers. I was
a scientific enthusiast, and I over-did it. Still, it is something
to have an apparatus that never, never aches. I—I—hallo!
Ni.
What's the matter?
Bar.
(very slowly).
I—beg your pardon. I—think—I—
must be running down. May—I—trouble you? They've—
thoughtlessly—put the key-hole—in—the—small of my back
—and—I—can't get at it.
(Nita winds him up.)
Thank you.
That's very nice, indeed. Now I can go on again. Hallo!
c'ck! c'ck! c'ck!
Ni.
What's wrong now?
Bar.
I—c'ck—c'ck—I am not conversant with clockwork;
but do you feel, from time to time, a kind of jerkiness that
catches you just here?
Ni.
No; I work as smooth as butter. The continued ticking
is tiresome; but it's only for an hour.
Bar.
The ticking is simply maddening. C'ck! c'ck! There
it is again!
Ni.
Something wrong with your works, I'm afraid. Stop a
bit—I'll see.
(Opens door in chest, revealing a quantity of
clockwork.)
No; all right there. Turn round.
(He does so;
she opens door in the back of his head.)
No; the head appears
to be empty.
(Opens door in his side.)
I see what it is; a
halfpenny has got into your escapement. Stop a bit!
(Takes
out halfpenny.)
Bless my heart, how dangerous! What a relief!
Thank you very much. You may keep it for your trouble;
but do not—oh, do not spend it in foolishness.
Ni.
While I'm about it, I'll just oil you, and then—
(Proceeds
to oil his works with a feather).
Bar.
(squirming).
Don't! You tickle!
Enter Pietro, looking very ill.
Pie.
(not seeing them).
The Duke and Duchess will be here
in half an hour—their escort is already in sight. Dying by
slow poison is a very painful process, and I couldn't have held
out much longer.
(Sees them.)
Nita! what are you doing?
Ni.
I'm oiling Bartolo.
Bar.
I am being oiled by Nita, and she does tickle! I don't
like it. At least I do like it, but it's wrong.
Pie.
How dare you take such a liberty? Shut the gentleman
up at once. Nice occupation for a young lady!
Ni.
But there's something wrong with his works.
Pie.
That's no affair of yours. If Bartolo's works are out of
order, that is a matter for Bartolo's medical attendant—I mean
his clockmaker. Don't let me catch you oiling him again.
Ni.
Ha! ha! ha!
Pie.
If this occurs again, I'll take both your keys away—
upon my word I will!
Trio.—Bartolo, Nita, and Pietro.
Bar.
When gentlemen are eaten up with jealousy,
They make themselves exceedingly ridiculous,
For everything around they tinted yellow see—
Their antics and extravagances tickle us.
Their antics and extravagances
Tic-tic, tic-tic, tic-tic, tic-tic—
They tic-tic, tic-tic, tickle us!
All.
They tic-tic, etc.
Ni.
Here's a gentleman, as fierce as a Mahometan.
So carried off by jealousy vehicular,
He's down on an unfortunate Automaton:
Some people are so terribly particular!
Some people are too terribly
Partic-tic, tic-tic, tic-tic, tic-tic—
Partic-tic, tic-tic, ticular!
All.
Partic-tic, tic-tic, etc.
Pie.
When a lady is disposed to be tyrannical,
She's equal to unlimited iniquity:
And flirting may be flirting, though mechanical—
A fact that has the sanction of antiquity—
Antic-tic, tic-tic, tiquity!
All.
Antic-tic, etc.
[Exeunt Nita and Bartolo at opposite entrances, walking mechanically to symphony. Pietro accompanying Nita.
Enter from monastery a procession of Tamorras (now transformed into Dominican Monks) chaunting from black-letter volumes; Arrostino as the Prior.
Chaunt.
Time there was when earthly joy
Gave our senses full employ;
In those days, for ever gone,
Bless us, how we carried on!
Clinking glasses—
Lovely lasses—
Revel hearty—
Pic-nic party—
Gay donzella—
Tarantella!
In those days, for ever gone,
Bless us, how we carried on!
(Confidentially to audience)
It's a most unaccountable thing—
An hour ago, as banditti,
We played like young lovers in spring,
The mischief in village and city;
But since we got merry and mellow
On the wine of that conjuring fellow,
Transmogrified we're
Into friars austere,
Unwashed and unpleasantly yellow!
Whatever you say or you sing,
It's a most unaccountable thing!
Enter Chorus of Girls, from various directions.
Chorus of Girls.
After a weary search
Hiding, at last, we find you;
Leaving us in the lurch
Isn't good breeding, mind you.
Offer apologee—
We shall want some persuading;
When do you think you'll be
Tired of masquerading?
Arr.
These blandishments I pray you curb,
Nor think us churls—nor think us churls;
Our pious calm do not disturb,
Now there's good girls—now there's good girls!
Though our emotions, as you see,
We try to freeze—we try to freeze!
We don't, as yet, pretend to be
St. Anthonies—St. Anthonies;
So go along—nor think us churls.
Now there's good girls—now there's good girls!
The Girls.
Ah, cruel ones!
Time was, your love was stronger!
Ah, cruel ones!
You love us then no longer!
Monks.
(confidingly to Girls).
It's a most unaccountable thing—
An hour ago, as banditti,
We played like young lovers in spring,
The mischief in village and city.
But since we got merry and mellow
On the wine of that conjuring fellow,
Transmogrified we're
Into friars austere,
Unwashed and unpleasantly yellow!
All.
Whatever you say or sing,
It's a most unaccountable thing!
Enter Pietro, still very ill.
All
(seeing him).
Ah!
What does this mean—what have you done?
Do not attempt away to run
Nor questions try to parry.
The men to whom we/they were betrothed,
We/They find as holy friars clothed,
Who mustn't ever marry!
Who mustn't ever marry!
Pie.
Now I'll explain,
(If calm you'll be)
As well as I can
Though I'm in pain
And ought to see
A medical man.
Recitative.—Pietro.
My worthy friends, the wine you chose to drink
Makes every one what he pretends to be;
And will be monks until the spell's removed.
All.
Oh, horror!
Oh, horror and despair unprecedented!
Girls.
But how long must they wait—to dreary cell,
To life-long celibacy sternly vowed?
Men.
Yes, say—how long?
Pie.
Have patience, for I hold the antidote,
[Producing pocket-book.
And in an hour or two, or thereabouts,
The spell shall be removed, and you may wed
As quickly and as often as you please!
All.
Oh, rapture!
Oh, rapture, joy, and bliss unprecedented!
Chorus of Girls
(dancing).
An hour! 'twill rapidly pass,
Our freedom we then shall recover;
Each lover will welcome his lass—
Each lass will return to her lover!
The bells for our wedding will chime,
Delight in each bosom implanting,
So, gentlemen, in the mean time,
Proceed, if you please, with your chaunting!
Ensemble.
Men.
Earthly pleasures that allure,
For an hour we abjure, etc.
Girls.
An hour! 'twill rapidly pass,
Our freedom we then shall recover, etc.
[Exeunt Girls. Manent Arrostino, Giorgio, Luigi, and Monks.
Arr.
This is a remarkable change, my son. A great improvement
on our recent condition. Devoted as we now are to a life
of contemplation—restricted by the rules of our order to a diet
of bread and herbs—and not much of that—indigestion and its
attendant inconveniences will be matters of tradition.
Lui.
Still, it must be admitted that the old life was a pleasant
one!
Arr.
Yes, we had a jolly time of it while it lasted.
(Correcting
himself.)
I should say that worldly allurements have the
faculty of enlivening their devotees for the moment, but the
evening's enjoyment seldom bears the morning's reflection, and
the choicest banquet is but a feast of Dead Sea apples which
turn to ashes in the mouth!
Gio.
Under the circumstances, we might have spared ourselves
the trouble of luring the Duke and Duchess to the
monastery.
Arr.
No—no, I think not. It is true that, having regard
guests with scrupulous hospitality, but an hour will
soon pass, and we shall then, unhappily, lapse once more into
the deplorable condition of being able to avail ourselves of any
small change their Highnesses may happen to have about them.
It is dreadful to think of, but that's what we shall be in about
an hour.
[Luigi ascends to balcony of monastery.
Recitative.
Lui.
The Duke and Duchess hither wend their ways,
Shall we receive them with a song of praise?
Arr.
With glad acclaim we'll make the welkin ring,
The only question is—what shall we sing?
Chorus.
We know no song
That fits a throng
Of friars smug and greasy:
Our worldly lays
Of bygone days
Are much too free and easy;
Though suited to
A bandit crew,
They're not at all monastic.
And can't be sung
By sober tongue
Of mild ecclesiastic.
Arr.
Stout-hearted be!
So many here
We need not fear
The ordeal before us;
No single word
Is ever heard
When singers sing in chorus.
So sing with me—
Enter Alfredo, dressed magnificently as the Duke, supporting Minestra, who is apparently insensible.
All.
La la la la la,
La la la, etc.
Duke
(very impressively).
La la la la la,
La la la, etc.
[The Monks are much impressed with Alfredo's reply and express in gestures their satisfaction with the sentiments he has expressed.
All.
La la la la, etc.
[Exeunt all the Monks except Arrostino, Giorgio, and Luigi.
Alf.
(to Arrostino).
May I ask if you are the Prior of this
monastery?
Well, I am and I am not. That is, I am now, but I
wasn't an hour ago.
Alf.
I see—a recent appointment.
Arr.
Yes, for an hour. Present tense, I am a Prior. Imperfect
tense, I was a rollicking young rantipole. Future tense, I shall
be a rollicking young rantipole—in an hour. I hope I make
myself clear?
Alf.
Perfectly.
(Aside.)
Very like my own case.
(Aloud.)
I
found this poor old lady almost insensible at the foot of the
mountain. She had just strength enough to beg me to bring
her here to you.
Arr.
Exactly. You call her an old lady. Well, she is an
old lady, and she isn't an old lady. Present tense, she is and old
lady. Imperfect tense, she was a young lady.
Alf.
Of course she was.
Arr.
Ah! but, Future tense, she will be a young lady again
—in an hour. That's the curious part of it.
(To Minestra.)
Go in, my dear—I should say my aged sister—and we will take
every care of you.
[Luigi carries Minestra into monastery.
Alf.
You are very good.
Arr.
Well, I am, and I am not. Present tense, I am very
good. Imperfect tense, I was confoundedly bad. Future tense,
I shall be confoundedly bad again—in an hour.
Alf.
We are fortunate in having dropped in upon you during
your virtuous phase.
Luigi re-enters.
Arr.
Particularly so. It's altogether a curious state of
things. I'm such a creature of habit that I find it difficult to
remember that I am no longer a rantipole. For instance, I see
you have a watch. Perhaps it is a valuable watch. Don't tell
me it is; I would rather not know. Now, you can't imagine
how difficult I find it not to take that watch. Oh, I know it's
wrong; but then I always knew that.
(Adopting a clerical
manner.)
By the way, I am collecting a few gold watches to
send out to the poor naked savages of—
(Aside.)
No, hang it
all, let the man alone; you ought to be ashamed of yourself!
(Aloud.)
Pardon me, your handkerchief's hanging out. Will you
oblige me by putting it out of sight?
(Alfredo does so.)
Thank
you, thank you so much! Temptation, you know, temptation!
We are all weak, and it is sometimes difficult to resist.
Alf.
(aside).
Singular character, this Prior.
(Aloud.)
Of
course I am prepared to give a donation to this monastery in
consideration of your taking charge of the old lady.
(Feeling for
his purse.)
By-the-by, where's my purse?
(falling on their knees).
Not guilty,
your worship!
Alf.
Of course not. Ha! ha!
(Finds it.)
Oh, here it is!
All.
Ha! ha! ha!
Arr.
Yes, but you frightened us!
Alf.
Allow me to present this sum to the funds of the
monastery.
Arr.
No, thank ye; I'd rather not. Here, give it to Father
Luigi.
[Exit Arrostino into monastery.
Lui.
No, thank ye; not for me. Father Giorgio will take it.
[Exit into monastery.
Gio.
Oh no; Father Giorgio won't. Father Giorgio's a good
little boy now—for an hour.
[Exit into monastery.
Alf.
This is an unaccountable state of things! To please
Elvino I pretended to be a Duke, and I selected Ultrice as my
Duchess. We drank the wine and we became a Duke and
Duchess in real earnest, and, what is odder still, that unpleasant
young person exercises an extraordinary fascination over me;
while Teresa, whom I used to love so passionately, has completely
faded out of my recollection.
Enter Teresa, crazed.
Song.—Teresa.
Willow, willow, where's my love?
Lovers ways are mazy;
All who hear me,
Much I fear me,
Think I'm going crazy.
Willow, willow, where's my love?
Waiting I, and weary—
Willow, willow, where's my love?
Where's my duck-a-deary?
Ter.
'Tis but a silly song, and passing dear at the ducat I
paid for it. They think anything is good enough for a mad
maiden to sing; but though the maid be mad, her ducats are
sound, and good gold should buy good wares, and there are
none so mad but that they want value for cash!
Alf.
Teresa!
Ter.
(not recognizing him).
My lord Duke, is it not? My
service to your Grace and to your Grace's bravery.
(Kissing his
cloak.)
In good sooth, these are fine trappings, but they'll
not trap me, for I love a lad who will none of me! My song
says he's my duck-a-deary, which is true, in fact; but the
expression is weak, and I am not yet mad enough for it. But
I shall be, soon—I shall be, soon!
Teresa!—do you not know Alfredo, who used to love you
so dearly?
Ter.
Alfredo! Alfredo! It is—it is—ha! ha! ha!
(About
to embrace him.)
Alf.
Don't. That I cannot permit. Under the circumstances,
it would be in the last degree unbecoming.
Ter.
Oh, I had forgotten! Thou lovest another now—a
plain girl, compared with me. Methinks thou too must be mad
to take up with such a one! But we are all mad—all—all
mad.
Alf.
I sometimes think so too. But take heart, little one;
it is true I love thee not, for I have a bride, and no married
man ever loves anybody but his wife.
Ter.
I am not so mad but that I know that. Why, I learnt
it at school! But thou art like the rest—thou thinkest that
any truism is good enough for a mad girl!
Alf.
As I was saying, take heart, for although you are
nothing to me now, yet I have ascertained that this spell under
which we all labour will be removed in an hour, and I shall
then love you as dearly, as passionately as heretofore!
Ter.
Is this indeed so? In one brief hour? No, no; I dare
not believe it!
Duet.—Alfredo and Teresa.
Alf.
But soon to come again,
With ardour pure
I used to pine,
And strove to lure
That heart of thine
With all my might and main.
But now, for thee, I find
I do not care:
To be exact,
Thy beauty rare
Does not attract—
To all thy charms I'm blind!
But take good heart—an hour will pass amain,
And all my love will then come back again!
Ter.
I played an idle part:
With scornful smile,
And heartless jest
And worldly guile,
Made manifest,
I grieved thy faithful heart.
The love I dared decline,
Is now the breath
Of life to me.
And till kind death
Shall set me free
My love shall live for thine!
Be brave, poor heart—an hour will pass amain,
And all his love will then come back again!
Enter Ultrice.
Recitative.
Ult.
So, I have found you!
Alf.
(leaving Teresa, and rushing to Ultrice, as though under the influence of a spell).
Passionately loved one!
Thy dainty hand I kiss—I mean the gloved one!
Oh, thou adored with passion most romantic!
Worshipped with all the fire of frenzy frantic!
For one short hour my love consent to share it—
It won't last longer than an hour—I swear it!
Ensemble.
Ult.
(aside).
The days of scorn are past—
With passion he's demented!
Triumphant I, at last!
My heart is now contented.
A suppliant at my feet,
Thanks to the wizard's potion—
With insolence I'll treat
His newly-born devotion.
Alf.
(aside).
The scorn I felt is past—
With passion I'm demented!
But still, it will not last—
With that I'll be contented.
A suppliant at her feet,
Thanks to the wizard's potion—
An hour—and obsolete
My newly-born devotion!
Ter.
An hour will soon have passed—
With passion I'm demented!
It won't much longer last—
With that I'll be contented.
Though he is at her feet,
Thanks to the wizard's potion—
An hour—and obsolete
His newly-born devotion!
[Exit Alfredo into monastery. Teresa attempts to follow him; she is stopped by Ultrice, who sends her off in the opposite direction. Ultrice remains.
Recitative.—Ultrice.
An hour? Nay, nay—
A lifetime rather—that is as I will.
His love is mine—yes, mine alone, until
His dying day!
I hold the talisman that overrules
The potion's power! (Producing the pocket-book.)
I found the conjuror sleeping and alone—
I stole it! It's mine! my very own!
Alfredo, till he dies, shall wear my gyves!
An hour? Poor fools, that hour shall last your lives!
Ha! ha! an hour!
[Exit.
Enter all the Chorus of Girls, running. Alfredo comes out of monastery and joins Ultrice. He is followed by all the Monks. Enter, also, Pietro, Bartolo, and Nita, the two last still as clockwork figures.
Chorus of Girls.
Oh, please you not to go away
Until you've seen the clockwork play.
Two figures carry on the plot,
And one's a man—the other's not.
They're full of complicated springs,
And weights, and wheels, and catgut strings—
You wind 'em up, just in the back,
With cracky, cracky, cracky, crack—
Then all the wheels, revolving quick,
Go ticky, ticky, ticky, tick—
And then the figures eat and drink,
And walk and talk, and wink and think,
And quarrel, just like lovers twain,
And kiss and make it up again.
All.
It's very true, and very quaint—
The one's a man, the other ain't.
You wind 'em up, just in the back,
With cracky, cracky, cracky, crack—
And all the wheels, revolving quick,
Go ticky, ticky, ticky, tick.
It's very true—it's very quaint—
The one's a man—the other ain't!
[During this, Pietro has been dusting and arranging the figures, who have entered, jerkily, into the spirit of the chorus.
Pie.
(coming forward).
May it please your Graces—
These are figures two,
Who, in port and paces,
Show you something new.
Note their human faces,
And the things they do;
We've reserved front places—
(Recognizing them.)
Hallo! Why, it's you!
(To the others.)
Alfredo and Ultrice! Peasants two!
All.
Oh!
What do you mean by this sheer audacity?
What do you mean by this ill-timed joke?
How do you dare defy veracity?
Spare your unrestrained loquacity,
Listen while we the truth uncloke.
At 'Vino's base design—
The Duke and Duchess aping—
We drank the cursed wine,
For which we all were gaping.
Then all at once we fell
Into the wizard's clutches,
Who changed us, strange to tell,
To genuine Duke and Duchess.
All.
But—
Ult.
Don't ask for further details—cease your chatter;
We've told you all we know about the matter.
[Exeunt Alfredo and Ultrice.
Chorus.
We may as well restrain our useless chatter;
They've told us all they know about the matter!
Pie.
(despondingly).
There's only one thing to be done,
Destroy the antidote by fierce ignition,
And thereby bring back every one
To his (or her) original condition!
All.
Hurrah!
The Men.
Sandal and robe we gladly lose.
Here is an end to our calling clerical.
The Girls.
Now they may marry whenever they choose,
All of us are with joy hysterical.
Bar. and Nita.
We shall be human, body and limb,
Happy to think our state is curable.
Pie.
I shall be free from these tortures grim;
They're getting exceedingly unendurable!
All.
Hurrah!
[Pietro feels for pocket-book.
Quick, quick—the antidote!
[He can't find it.
How horrified you look!
Pie.
I had it in this coat—
Safe in my pocket-book.
[Feeling for it.
The truth I must admit,
Some thief has stolen it!
All.
Oh, horror!
Accursed sorcerer!
[Threateningly to Pietro.
Thou demon-leagued traitor!
Ill-omened harbinger!
Low-born equivocator!
This is a hideous plot
To rob us of our senses—
Restore us on the spot,
Or dread the consequences!
[Exeunt all but Pietro, Bartolo, and Nita. Pietro sits in great pain and distress. Bartolo and Nita make ineffective attempts to move and speak, but they have “run down.”
(observing their efforts).
Now, then, what's wrong with
you? Oh, I see.
(Winds them up.)
Bar.
(Spoken together very rapidly.)
Upon my honour, this is a pretty state of
things. Clockwork for life, I suppose! It's monstrous
—outrageous! What's to become of Nita, and, above
all, what's to become of me?
Ni.
(Spoken together very rapidly.)
Well, a nice mess you've made of this; to go and
lose the only thing that could bring us back to life
again. What do you mean by it, you ridiculous old
donkey?
Pie.
What do you want?
Ni.
Why, if I'm to be Ophelia for the rest of my life, it
would be convenient to know what Ophelia did.
Bar.
She coaxed Hamlet, a good deal.
Pie.
Nothing of the kind; she committed suicide because
Hamlet wouldn't marry her.
Ni.
What—lately?
Pie.
Lately! Several hundred years ago.
(Nita and Bartolo
turn and walk rapidly up stage.)
Where are you
going?
Ni.
We're going back several hundred years.
Pie.
It's not necessary. You can do it here.
(Nita begins
to cry.)
Bar.
I have it. If Hamlet had married Ophelia she wouldn't
have committed suicide.
Pie.
Well? What then?
Bar.
What then? Why; if I marry her at once the motive
for the act will be removed!
Pie.
Nonsense! Hamlet and Ophelia never married. It
would be trifling with the text.
Bar.
Anyhow, it's a new reading. What! am I to be the
only Hamlet who is not permitted to discover new readings?
Bah!
Trio.—Pietro, Nita, and Bartolo.
Pie.
Ophelia was a daintly little maid,
Who loved a very melancholy Dane;
Whose affection of the heart, so it is said,
Preceded his affection of the brain.
Heir-apparent to the Crown,
He thought lightly of her passion.
Having wandered up and down,
In an incoherent fashion,
When she found he wouldn't wed her,
In a river, in a meadder,
Took a header, and a deader
Was Ophelia!
Ophelia to her sex was a disgrace,
Whom nobody could feel compassion for.
Ophelia should have gone to Ely Place
To consult an eminent solicitor.
When such promises as these
Breaks a suitor, rich and regal,
Why, substantial damages
Is the panacea legal—
From a jury—sons of Adam,
Though as stony as Macadam,
Maid or madam, she'd have had 'em,
Would Ophelia!
Bar.
There's a venerable proverb in my mind,
Which applies to this catastrophe, I think,
To a horse who is unfortunately blind
Any nod is just as good as any wink.
Opportunity I'll seize
Of avoiding any error:
Of substantial damages
I have always had a terror.
That calamity to parry
Not a moment will I tarry,
Off I'll carry and I'll marry
Poor Ophelia!
[Exeunt Bartolo and Nita. As they go off, Pietro slyly steals their respective keys, and goes off triumphantly in the opposite direction.
Enter Ultrice and Teresa.
Ult.
She comes! Ah, Madame Jilt!
Oh, crazy insolent! Ah, wonder as thou wilt,
Thy scornful head is bent!
Ter.
Ultrice! Ultrice!
Ult.
Ah, cruel one!
Thou knowest now
The torture of a love that's gone astray!
Ter.
Ah! spare me!
Ult.
Thou knowest now
The fate of those who will not when they may
Ter.
Ah! spare me!
Ult.
Thou knowest now
The sting of jealousy's envenomed dart.
Ter.
Ah! spare me!
Ult.
Thou knowest now
The deadly famine of a hungry heart.
Ter.
Ah! spare me!
Farewell, Alfredo!
[Turning to Ultrice.
Ere deathly cold
I lie on yonder strand
The hand that is his hand;
[Taking her hand.
Ere lost I be
In yonder cold eclipse,
Vouchsafe to me
The lips that are his lips!
[Kissing Ultrice, who remains motionless.
May he forget
His love of old—
His sun has set
Her tale is told!
[Goes up stage and mounts parapet overhanging the river. She is about to throw herself off, when Ultrice, who has been struggling with her better feelings, relents.
Ult.
Hold! Stay thy hand! Teresa, come to me;
My soul is softened and my heart is stirred!
Come to me quickly—I have wrongèd thee.
Pardon, Teresa, I have greatly erred!
Ter.
Ultrice!
[She rushes to her arms.
Ult.
Take heart, take heart, for thou shalt righted be;
Live—for thy love shall be restored to thee!
Come hither, all!
Enter all the characters from different entrances—Pietro in great agony.
Chorus.
Now, what is this, and what is that?
We wish to go to yonder valley.
What do you want? what are you at?
Explain your conduct generally!
Ult.
Proud of my new-born rank
Which raised me from my clan,
From yonder mountebank
I stole the talisman!
[She produces it. Pietro clutches at it.
All.
Ah, false one!
From yonder mountebank
She stole the talisman!
[Exit Ultrice.
Pie.
Another minute and my fate were sealed!
A light—quick—quick!—my fortune for a light!
[A light is given to him—he burns the parchment.
The parchment burns—my tortures slowly yield—
'Tis gone! and with it our distorted plight!
[Gong—all change to their original characters: the Monks becoming brigands, Minestra becoming a young woman, Alfredo and Ultrice becoming peasants, Bartolo and Nita are restored to humanity, and Pietro recovers his health. Alfredo embraces Teresa.
Hurrah!
The spell's removed,
Hurrah!
The men we/girls they loved,
Hurrah!
Are ours/theirs again,
Hurrah!
With might and main,
Hurrah!
Arr.
The Duke and the Duchess, when they travel through the land,
How the pair they will stare, with their high jerry ho!
They will yet fall a prey to the valour of our band,
For we shall not be happy till we get them;
With our high jerry ho!
And our canticle pedantical,
And our mystic, though artistic,
Jerry high, jerry ho!
All.
With their high jerry ho! etc.
Pie., Bar., Ni.
The Duke and the Duchess, had they travelled through our land,
With their cries of surprise and their high jerry ho!
They'd have seen many things that they wouldn't understand;
Not the least is our show, you may bet them—
With our high jerry ho!
And our clickings and our tickings—
Our emphatic automatic
Jerry high, jerry ho!
All.
With their high jerry ho! etc.
Alf. and Ter.
The Duke and the Duchess, if they travel through our land,
As they may, any day, with their high jerry ho!
They will find that we're linked, heart in heart, hand in hand,
And a loving example we'll set them,
With our high jerry ho!
And our notion of devotion,
And our gentle sentimental
Jerry high, jerry ho!
All.
With their high jerry ho!
Curtain.
| The Mountebanks | |