University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene.—A mountain Inn on a picturesque Sicilian pass. A range of mountains, with Etna in the distance. In the middle distance, a Monastery on a steep rocky elevation.
As the curtain rises, a procession of Dominican Monks winds down the set pieces on to the stage.
Enter from Inn, Elvino di Pasta.
El.

Bless my heart, what are you all doing here? How
comes it that you have ventured in so large a body so near to
the confines of civilization? And by daylight, too! It seems
rash.

Gio.

Elvino, we are here under circumstances of a romantic
and sentimental description. We are all going to be married!

El.

What, all of you?

Lui.

One each day during the next three weeks. What do
you say to that?

El.

Why, that it strikes at the root of your existence as a
Secret Society, that's all. And who is to be the first?

Gio.

The first is Risotto, who went down to the village this
morning, disguised as a stockbroker, to be married to Minestra,
and we expect the happy couple back every minute. The next
is Giuseppe, he's to be married to-morrow, Luigi on Thursday,
and so on until we are all worked off. As we are twenty-four
in number, that will occupy twenty-four days, which are to be
passed in unceasing revelry—and our captain, Arrostino, intends
to confer upon you the benefit of our custom.

El.

There I think he is right. I am out of wine just now,
but I have a family prescription for fine old crusted Chianti,
which I will send to the nearest chemist to be compounded at

once. There's only one thing for which I must stipulate; let
these revels be as joyous, as reckless, as rollicking as you please
—only, let them be conducted in a whisper.

Lui.

What, because we are a Secret Society? We are not
as secret as all that.

El.

No; but because there is a considerable portion of a poor
old Alchemist on the second floor who is extremely unwell. You
wouldn't go for to disturb the dying moments of a considerable
portion of a poor old Alchemist?

Gio.

You are unusually considerate. What's the matter
with him?

El.

Why, the poor old boy is continually blowing himself up
with dynamite in his researches after the Philosopher's Stone.
Well, that's nothing—it's all in the day's work, and he's used
to it. But this time he has blown himself up worse than usual,
and several of the bits are missing; if you come across anything
of the kind they are his, and I'm sure you'll behave honourably,
and give them up at once.

Gio.

We swear.

El.

Bless you! Now, the Alchemist has hitherto paid for
his board and lodging in halfpence, with a written undertaking
to turn them all into gold as soon as his discovery is completed;
consequently the dictates of common humanity prompt
us to give him every chance. (Noise of explosion within.)
Up
he goes again! Excuse me one minute, while I go and collect
him.

[Exit Elvino.

Enter Chorus of Village Girls, dancing, and heralding the approach of Risotto and Minestra.
Chorus of Girls.
Come all the maidens in merry community;
Gay and jocose,
Hither we wend.
Risotto, Minestra, are knitted in unity;
Nobody knows
How it will end.
Risotto is handsome and really delectable—
Stalwart and tall;
Second to none.
Minestra, nice-looking and very respectable.
So we are all—
Every one.

All.
So you/we are all—
Every one.

Enter Risotto and Minestra.
Duet.—Risotto and Minestra.
Min.
If you please, I'm now a member of your band—

Ris.
If you please, she's—

Min.
Now allow me, pray, to speak
I am married—

Ris.
She's my wife, you understand.

Min.
If you interrupt, I'll leave you in a week.

Ris.
I really think I might—

Min.
You are very impolite!

Ris.
But I wanted to explain—

Min.
Well, now, there you go again!
If you kindly will permit me,
I can perfectly acquit me:
I'm a lady!

Ris.
She's a lady!

Min.
Very good, then I refrain!

Ris.
Allow me to present to you—my wife!

Min.
I think you'd better keep her to yourself.

Ris.
She's the treasure and the pleasure of my life—

Min.
I dare say—until she's laid upon the shelf!

Ris.
She's a poem, she's a song—

Min.
(relenting).
You don't mean it—go along!

Ris.
I shall love her when she's grey!

Min.
Will you really?—I dare say;
With your snapping and your snarling!

Ris.
You're a dear, and you're a darling!

Min.
Do you mean it?

Ris.
Yes, I mean it!

Both.
Oh, my darling! Oh, my dear!

Enter Arrostino.
Gio.

Three secret cheers for the Captain!

All
(pianissimo).

Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

Arr.

How do? How do? Ah! the bride and bridegroom.
Allow me. (Kisses her.)
Charming—at least I think so—
another. (Kisses her again.)
Yes, charming. Risotto, my poor
fellow, accept my condolences.

Ris.

Condolences! You don't see anything wrong with
her?

Arr.

With her? Oh no—not with her. My dear friend,
she's bewitching. (To Minestra.)
You are bewitching, aren't
you?

Min.

I believe I'm nice.

Arr.

You do? I'm delighted to hear it on such good
authority.

Ris.

Still, I don't see why you should condole with me.

Arr.

Don't you? Never mind—you will. Now tell me,
Minestra, candidly—what was it you saw in him to admire?

It's not his face, of course; nor his figure—we'll put them out
of the question. It can't be his conversation, because he hasn't
any.

Min.

I don't know. He's got a way with him.

Arr.

Has he got it with him now?

Min.

I don't know. I suppose so.

Arr.
(imperatively).

Risotto, give us an example of the way
you have with you.

Ris.

It's something like this— (business of ogling).

Arr.

Oh, but my dear girl—really—dear, dear, dear!

Min.
(apologetically).

You've got to be nearer to him for it
to tell.

Arr.

Well, but even then! Now, look at it in cold blood.
Think of it ten years hence—when the novelty's worn off.

Min.

It does look foolish from here. Oh, I almost wish I
hadn't!

Ris.

My dear! (Consoling her.)

Min.

Don't—I'm so inexperienced!

Arr.

I suppose so. Pity—pity! Never mind—next time
you'll be older. Now, girls, I have some news for you: the
Duke and Duchess of Pallavicini are to pass through the village
this evening on their way to Palermo. You don't see a real
Duke and Duchess every day, so the best thing you can do is
to run down and prepare to receive them.

1st Girl.

A real Duke and Duchess! Oh, that will be
delightful.

Chorus of Girls.
Only think, a Duke and Duchess!
Oh, but we are lucky lasses!
Hie we to our looking-glasses
For a few artistic touches.
Let us decorate our tresses
Ere the grand procession passes,
And receive the upper classes
In our most becoming dresses!

Solo.—Minestra.
Go and wash your pretty faces,
Dress in ribbons and in laces,
Or expect from both their Graces
A well-merited rebuke;
And your hair I pray you frizz it—
For it isn't often—is it?—
That you're favoured with a visit
From a Duchess and a Duke!

Chorus.
Yes, we'll wash our pretty faces,
Dress in ribbons and in laces,
For it isn't often—is it?—
That we're favoured with a visit
From a Duke and from a Duchess,
From a Duchess and a Duke!

[Exeunt Girls—all but Minestra.
Arr.

Now then, to business. Anything to report?

Gio.

Yes. A travelling Englishman passed our encampment
this morning.

Arr.

Good. We have a vendetta against all travelling
Englishmen. The relation of our ancestor's neighbour was
arrested by a travelling Englishman. Well?

Gio.

No—very bad. The cowardly ruffian was armed.

Arr.

What a lily-livered hound! That's so like these
Englishmen. This growing habit of carrying revolvers is the
curse of our profession. Anything else?

Lui.

Only an old market-woman on a mule.

Arr.

Well, we have a vendetta against all old market-women
on a mule. The principal evidence against the relation of our
ancestor's neighbour was an old market-woman on a mule.
Did you arrest her?

Lui.

We were about to do so, but she passed us in silent
contempt.

Arr.

Humph! This growing habit of passing us in silent
contempt strikes at the very root of our little earnings. Of
course you could do nothing?

Gio.

Nothing whatever. You see, as we are all to be
married in the course of the next three weeks, we are bound,
as men of honour, to hand over our personal charms in the
same condition of substantial and decorative repair that they
were in when we captivated these confiding creatures.

Arr.

Naturally. It is plain that a man who offers a girl his
hand, and comes to claim her with his arm amputated at the
shoulder, is no longer in a position to fulfil his contract. A man
who proposes with a Roman nose and turns up at the altar with
a snub is guilty of flat dishonesty, on the face of it. At the
same time, that's no reason why you shouldn't pick off the bits
of cotton wool in which you are in the habit of putting yourselves
away at night. (Picking scraps of wool from the coats of Pietro and Giorgio.)

To people who are unacquainted with
the circumstances it might look a little unmanly. I don't know
—perhaps not. (Replacing the scraps of wool on their coats.)

However, take heart. I have an enterprise in hand which

promises the very maximum of profit with the very minimum
of risk. The Duke and Duchess—I believe we have a vendetta
against all Dukes and Duchesses?

Gio.

The judge who sentenced the relation of our ancestor's
neighbour would have been a duke if they had created him one.

Arr.

The scoundrel! Then I intend to secure this Duke
and Duchess.

Gio.

Ah! But how? Remember the motto of our band—
“Heroism without risk.”

Arr.

We shall do it diplomatically, of course. In the first
place, we shall seize on yonder monastery—

Lui.

When the monks are asleep?

Arr.

Why, of course—and dress ourselves in their robes. In
the mean time, Minestra, disguised as an old woman, will lure
the Duke away from his escort and into our power.

Min.

I think I could do it better as a young woman.

Arr.

Nonsense, you little goose—you know nothing at all
about it! Listen!

[Exeunt all.
Enter Alfredo.
Recitative.—Alfredo.
Teresa! little word so glibly spoken!
Take pity on a heart that's all but broken!
Teresa! one-word poem trisyllabic;
An Eastern ode in sensuous Arabic—
Would that thou wert as tender in thy nature
As in thy soft and tender nomenclature!

Ballad.—Alfredo.

Alf.

What shabby things a man will do when he's eaten up

with jealousy! But what a comfort those shabby things are
to him! To prevent Teresa joining the Tamorras with the other
girls, I was mean enough to bribe a farm girl to lock her in her
room! I'm disgusted with myself for having stooped to such
a contemptible act. Still, I'm very glad I did it.

Enter Teresa.
Alf.

Teresa! You here?

Ter.

Didn't expect me, I fancy?

Alf.

No—I—

Ter.

Locked me in my room, didn't you? Well, I escaped
through the window.

Alf.

Never thought of the window! However, you are too
late—the Tamorras have gone. Ah! forgive me; I couldn't
bear the thought of your spending the day with them.

Ter.

My dear Alfredo, now do you really think I am the sort
of girl who would throw herself away upon a contemptible outlaw?
Why, I'd much sooner marry you!

Alf.
(delighted).

You would? My darling! (Putting his arm round her.)

Ter.

Infinitely. Don't!

Alf.

Why not?

Ter.

It's a liberty.

Alf.

But after the tender avowal you have just made, surely
I may be permitted—

Ter.

My dear Alfredo, you jump at conclusions. I said I
would rather throw myself away on a respectable young farmer
than on a contemptible outlaw. But I haven't the smallest
intention of throwing myself away on either.

Alf.

Teresa, have some pity on me; I am so desperately in
love with you. I have founded my hopes of happiness upon
you, for you are the very air I breathe, the very sunlight of
my life!

Ter.

You are, of course, quite at liberty to profit by any light
I may happen to emit; but without wishing to say a word that
would hurt your feelings, it is only right to tell you that I look
a great deal higher than a mere clodhopper. For you do hop
clods, you know.

Alf.

I have certainly hopped some in my time.

Ter.

It's not my own idea. To be quite candid with you, I
have often wondered what people can see in me to admire.
Personally, I have a poor opinion of my attractions. They are
not at all what I would have chosen if I had had a voice in the
matter. But the conviction that I am remarkably attractive
girl is so generally entertained that, in common modesty, I feel

bound to yield to the pressure of popular sentiment, and to look
upon myself as an ineffective working minority.

Alf.

But you used to like me.

Ter.

Decidedly. Personally, I entertain a great admiration
for you. I think you extremely good-looking.

Alf.
(delighted).

Teresa!

Ter.

But the general opinion on the subject of your good
looks is so entirely against me that (again regarding myself as
an ineffective working minority) I feel bound to yield to the
pressure of popular prejudice, and admit that you cannot be as
good-looking as I feel sure you are.

Alf.
(despondingly).

Perhaps not.

Ballad.—Teresa.

Ter.

Now, come and talk it over, like a sensible boy. (They sit—he at her feet.)

Come, tell me all about it. You know you
used always to confide your little troubles to me.

Alf.

I've nothing to say, except that I'm over head and ears
in love with you.

Ter.

Now, first of all, you mustn't say “you;” it's too
personal. Say, “I'm over head and ears in love with Teresa!”

Alf.

Well, so I am.

Ter.

Poor boy! Well, I can quite understand it, for, with all
her faults, she's far and away the nicest girl hereabouts. Now,
look at it sensibly. If you, a plain young man, married a conspicuous
beauty (for, after all's said and done, that's what it
comes to), you would be under a perpetual disadvantage from
sheer force of contrast; and as for jealousy—well, I've known
Teresa since she was quite a little girl, and, take my word for
it, she would keep you on chronic tenterhooks. Now, if you
married a thoroughly plain girl—like Elvino's niece Ultrice, for
instance—

Ultrice enters, and overhears what follows.

who couldn't possibly, under any circumstances, give you the
least uneasiness on the score of her personal attractions—you
might count on being as happy as two thoroughly unattractive
little birds could reasonably expect to be.

Alf.

Ultrice! What do I want with Ultrice? She follows
me everywhere. She worries my life out.

Ter.

Ultrice is quite a good sort of girl; and as to her personal
appearance, why, you'd get used even to that in a couple of
years!

Ultrice comes forward.
Quartette.—Ultrice, Teresa, Alfredo, and afterwards Elvino.
Ult.
Upon my word, miss!

Ter.
Oh, it's you, miss!
How d'ye do, miss?
Didn't know you
Overheard, miss!

Ult.
Oh, you spiteful—

Ter.
(curtseying).
How politeful!

Ult.
One I owe you,
You tittling, tattling, reckless, rattling, twopenny-ha'penny parcel of vanity!

Ter.
High gentility, amiability, both combined with true humility!

Ult.
You mischief-making, character-taking, clicking clacking bit of inanity!

Ter.
Play propriety, or society may suppose it's inebriety.

Alf.
Now, ladies, pray you, listen to me.
Dicky-birds in their nests agree.
If they can do so, do so too.

Ter. and Ult.
What has it, pray, to do with you?

Ult.
Dicky-birds don't, to gain their ends,
Depreciate their absent friends.

Ter.
Dicky-birds don't, whate'er they hear,
Forget that they are ladies, dear!

All Three.
Dicky-birds tweetle, tweetle tweek,
Which may be silly, and does sound weak;
But dickey-birds don't, whate'er they hear,
Forget that they are ladies, dear!

Enter Elvino.
El.
Now, pray you, attention! I've something to mention
That ought your approval to win—

Ult.
(interrupting).
And dicky-birds never, or rarely, endeavour—

El.
Now, ladies, a truce to this din!

Ter.
(interrupting).
And dicky-birds don't—

El.
Be quiet!

Ter.
I won't!—

El.
My fortune's about to begin—
The Duke and Duchess (their quality such is)—
Themselves, and their kith and kin—

Ult.
(interrupting).
And dicky-birds try to—

Ter.
(interrupting).
And you too—and I too—

El.
Are going to stop at the inn!

All Three.
What!

El.
They're going to stop at the inn!

All Three.
What!

El.
They're going to stop at the inn!

Ult.
The Duke and Duchess fall into our clutches?
A penance, no doubt, for some sin!

Ter.
Perhaps it's his figure, too portly for vigour,
He's stout, and he wants to be thin!

Alf.
At least their intention shows great condescension,
For comfort they can't care a pin:
Indifferent eating—

Ult.
Hard beds and damp sheeting—

Ter.
(I hope they've some Keating)—

All Three.
Afford a poor greeting
To people who stop at this inn!

Elvino.
For excellent eating,
Good beds and warm sheeting,
That never want Keating,
Afford a good greeting
To people who stop at my inn!

The Others.
Indifferent eating,
Hard beds and damp sheeting
(I hope they've some Keating),
Afford a poor greeting
To people who stop at this inn!

El.

I don't know how I shall accommodate them. My only
bedroom is occupied by the exploded Alchemist, who is much

too incomplete to be moved. There's the scullery. Do you think
they'd put up with a shakedown in the scullery?

Alf.

I don't know. The Duke is an awful stickler for etiquette.

Ult.

He gave an inkeeper at Palermo six months because he
used his pocket-handkerchief in his presence.

Ter.

And he fined the Mayor of Syracuse a hundred crowns
because he didn't.

El.

This is terrible. I know I shall make some fearful mistake
with these people! I've never in my life addressed anybody
of higher rank than an Oil and Italian Warehouseman!

Alf.

My good sir, they're not people—they're Personages.

El.

Of course they are! There I go—putting my foot into
it at the first go off! If I could only practise a little! Now,
if you'd be so kind—so very kind—as to impersonate the Duke,
just for a dress rehearsal of the reception (I've got a lot of
beautiful clothes left behind by some strolling players in pawn
for their bill), you shall be treated with all the consideration due
to your exalted rank, and have the entire run of the bar, except
rum-shrub!

Alf.

It's a tempting offer. But I must have a Duchess.

El.

Of course you must. (Aside.)
How many Duchesses go
to a Duke?

Alf.

Only one at a time.

El.

You don't say so?

Alf.

Yes—Dukes are very particular about that.

El.

Dear me! (Aloud.)
Well, here are two to choose from
—my cousin Teresa and my niece Ultrice—both charming.

Ult. and Ter.

What's that?

El.

Well, one charming and one—umph! Will that do?

Ult. and Ter.

That will do.

El.

Now, come; we've no time to lose. Choose your Duchess
and begin.

Quartette.—Alfredo, Ultrice, Teresa, and Elvino.
Alf.
(to Teresa.)
Fair maid, take pity on my state!
Look down with eyes compassionate
On my condition lonely;
Nor think me too impertinent,
If I implore you to relent,
And my sweet Duchess represent
On this occasion only!

Ter.
I thank you, sir; but it would be
Presumptuous, indeed, in me
To personate a Duchess.
But I know one who'd have the face
To jump at mimicking her Grace;
No compliment seems out of place
Her vanity that touches.

Ult.
D'you mean me, miss?

Ter.
I mean you, miss,
All above.

Ult.
You're too free, miss.

Ter.
Try it, do, miss—
There's a love!

Ult.
I agree, miss!

Ter.
That's explicit:
Take your ground!

Ult.
You shall see, miss.

Ter.
Wouldn't miss it
For a pound!

Ult.
Though your spite all bounds surpasses,
Pay attention. I beseech you.
Manners of the upper classes
I shall be most pleased to teach you.

Ter.
Thank you, dear—pray, take your station—
Malice soon will spread the rumour.
It will be a personation
Teeming with unconscious humour!

Ensemble.
Ultrice.
Watch me as I take my station,
Spread abroad the welcome rumour.
No attempt at provocation
Touches my extreme good humour.

Alfredo, Teresa, and Elvino.
Watch her as she takes her station,
Malice soon will spread the rumour.
It will be a personation
Teeming with unconscious humour.

Ult.
Now, look at me,
And you will see
How ladies grand
Present their hand;
It's copied from the highest ladies in the land.

Ter.
I always thought
A lady ought
To walk with grace
And not grimace;
But that, it's very evident, is not the case.

Ult.
Then as they walk,
They blandly talk,
And look at us
With eye-glass—thus—
And what they'll have for dinner they, perhaps, discuss.

Ter.
It would appear
They flout and fleer,
Stick up their nose,
Turn in their toes—
You're teaching me gratuitously, I suppose?

Ult.
Then as she takes her place upon the throne that is prepared,
The people bow them to the ground, and every head is bared,
They keep their proper places as she looks them through and through—

Ter.
And I suppose they try to keep their countenances too?
If that is what is called Court etiquette, it's very plain
The ways of high society I never shall attain;
It seems you must be ill-bred, and as awkward as can be,
Which is A B C to you, my love, but difficult for me.

[Exeunt Elvino, bowing before Alfredo and Ultrice, Teresa following and mimicking Ultrice's walk and gestures.
Charivari without. Enter Chorus of Girls, running and heralding the approach of Pietro, Bartolo, and Nita. Pietro is driving a Palermo donkey-cart. Bartolo is dressed as a clown, Nita as a rope-dancer. Bartolo carries a big drum and Pandean pipes.
Chorus of Girls.
Tabor and drum!
Mummers have come!
Hey for their mummery,
Frolic and flummery!
For to my dull
Countrified skull
Nothing sublunary
Equals buffoonery!
Folk of our kind
Frequently find
Jokes that are sensible
Incomprehensible.
Here, I admit,
Genuine wit,
As a commodity,
Ranks below oddity.

Solo (Pietro) and Chorus.
Come, strike up, Mr. Merriman, while I inform the universe,
In metrical and tuny verse—

Bar.
In metrical and tuny verse—

Pie.
That here's an exhibition that's highly intellectual—
To see it we expect you all—

Bar.
To see it we expect you all.

Pie.
Come, empty all your pockets, for I'm not a common mountebank,
I've money in the County Bank—

Bar.
He's money in the County Bank.

Pie.
And I can give you value for your coppers insignificant—
And I'll return 'em if I can't—

Bar.
And he'll return 'em if he can't.

Song.—Bartolo.

All.
It's possible the world is insincerity and trouble,
And happiness, for all I know, is nothing but a bubble;
Perhaps we may be butterflies who flutter through a summer,
But you're, without a doubt, a very miserable mummer!

Nita
(dancing).
I've a dance
That came from France
Not long ago—
It's worthy of your silver and your copper.
It's my own,
And I alone
Its mazes know—
It's graceful and particularly proper.
I assist
As soloist,
Upon a squeeze,
On the trumpet and the kettledrum sonorous.
I've a song
That's just as long
As you may please—
Twenty verses, and each verse has got a chorus!

All.
Now that's the kind of merriment you ought to set before us;
Only fancy—twenty verses, and each verse has got a chorus.
To such an entertainment we could listen for a summer;
But save us from the humour of this melancholy mummer!

Pie.

Oh, you lucky people! Oh, you fortunate villagers! A
perfectly remote and altogether obscure corner of Europe favoured
with the presence of a company of artists whom all the crowned
heads of Europe are quarrelling to possess! (To Bartolo.)
Solo,
if you please, expressive of a general withdrawal of ambassadors

from all the European Courts. (Flourish.)
The Czar of Russia
is no longer on terms with the Empress of New York because
I visited her first. A lady, you know! As a man of gallantry
I couldn't refuse. But, mum! I must be discreet. (To Bartolo.)

Solo, if you please, expressive of the honourable silence of a self-respecting
man of gallantry. (Bartolo flourishes his drumsticks and pretends to play Pandean pipes, but without eliciting any sound.)

Now, what do you think we come for?

All.

Gold!

Pie.

Gold? Bah! Try again.

All.

Silver!

Pie.

Silver? Why, we're sick of gold and silver!

Bar.

Could you oblige me with my last week's salary?

Pie.

Gold! (Taking a handful from his pocket and looking at it in disgust.)

Ugh! (Shuddering.)
Here—catch! (About to throw it to them.)

Stop! On second thoughts it will only
give you ideas above your station. But, come—I will be frank
with you. The greatest men have their weaknesses, and I have
mine. I have been cursed through life with a morbid craving for
copper! I was cradled in a copper. I have frequently been taken
up by a copper. A bull once tossed me for a copper. “Heads!”
I cried. I came down tails, and he won. I was hurt. I felt
it very much. (To Bartolo.)
Solo, if you please, expressive
of feelings that may be more easily imagined than described.
(Flourish.)
Now to business. At half-past three will be presented
a dress rehearsal of the performance to be given before
the Duke and Duchess of Pallavicini, comprising an exhibition
of conjuring, necromancy, spirit manifestations, thought-reading,
hypnotism, mesmeric psychology, psychography, sensory hallucination,
dancing on the slack wire and ground, and lofty tumbling.
Also will be exhibited the two world-renowned life-size clock-work
automata, representing Hamlet and Ophelia (unrolling two posters representing the figures)

as they appeared in the bosoms of
their families before they disgraced their friends by taking to the
stage for a livelihood. The price of admission will be one penny
for the aristocracy, members of the upper middle classes half
price. At half-past five. Be in time—be in time—be in time!

[During this speech Pietro has frequently refreshed himself from a large wine-skin, which is also referred to by Bartolo when Pietro is not looking.
Chorus.
Now that's the sort of merriment you ought to set before us;
To mark our approbation we'll extemporize a chorus.
To such an entertainment we could listen for a summer;
But save us from the humour of that melancholy mummer!

[Exeunt Village Girls.
Pie.

Humph! Not a remunerative lot, I fancy. But if the
Duke, who is a mad enthusiast in the matter of automata,
should take a fancy to our Hamlet and Ophelia, he'll buy them,
and ourfortune's made! By-the-by, where's Beppo with the
figures?

Ni.

Bless you, he couldn't be here yet—all uphill.

Pie.

True. Nita!

Ni.

Well. (She is talking to Bartolo.)

Pie.

Not quite so near Bartolo, please.

Ni.

Oh, I forgot—force of habit.

Pie.

You must recollect that you are no longer engaged to
be married to him. That's over. You are engaged to be
married to me, now. Try and remember it—were to him, are
to me. It's quite easy, if you put it like that. Thank you.
(Leads donkey off.)

Ni.

Yes, but it's not so easy. A girl who's been deeply in
love with a gentleman for the last six months may be forgiven
if she forgets, now and then, that she doesn't care a bit for
him any more.

Bar.
(gloomily).

We were happy!

Ni.

Very! (Sighing.)

Bar.

How we carried on!

Ni.

Didn't we!

Bar.

Do you remember when I used to go like that to
you?

Ni.

Don't I! (Sighing.)

Bar.

Does he ever go like that to you?

Ni.

Not he—he doesn't know how.

Bar.

And yet we have a School Board! How you loved
me!

Ni.

Yes; but when I loved you you told me you were a
leading tragedian. But a clown—I really don't see how I could
love a clown.

Bar.

I didn't deceive you. I've played the first acts—and
the first alone—of all our tragedies. No human eye has seen
me in the second act of anything! My last appearance was
three months agone. I played the moody Dane. As no one
else had ever played him, so I played that Dane. Gods! how
they laughed! I see them now—I hear their ribald roars.
The whole house rocked with laughter! I've a soul that
cannot brook contempt. “Laugh on!” I said; “laugh on,
and laugh your fill—you laugh your last! No man shall ever
laugh at me again—I'll be a clown!” I kept my word—they
laugh at me no more.

Enter Beppo, running and meeting Pietro.
Bep.
(breathless).

Oh, master! here's a misfortune—here's
a calamity!

Pie.

Eh? What's the matter? Where are the figures?

Bep.

They're at Palermo!

Pie., Bar., and Ni.

What!

Bep.

It's no fault of mine. They've been detained by the
police because they hadn't any passports.

Ni.

That's because they're so life-like. After all, it's a
compliment.

Pie.

A compliment! Yes; but we can't dine on cold compliments.
(To Beppo.)
Didn't you open the figures and show
their clockwork insides?

Bep.

Yes; but the police said that was no rule, they might
be foreigners.

Pie.

Very true—so they might.

Bar.

Chock-full of eccentric wheels—might almost be English.
What's to be done?

Enter Elvino and Ultrice.
El.

Here's a misfortune!

Ult.

Here's a calamity!

Pie.

What, another?

El.

We're ruined—ruined!

Bar.

What is the matter with the licensed victualler?

Ult.

The Alchemist—it's all over—he's gone! The last
explosion did it!

El.

And this (producing halfpence)
is all I've been paid for
six weeks' board, lodging, and medical attendance!

Pie.

It seems cheap. But you can seize his effects.

El.

I've seized 'em! Here they are (producing medicine phial with label)

—all he possessed in the world—a bottle of
medicine with a label on it!

Pie.

What's this?

El.

Read it—our education's not what it was.

Pie.
(pretending to read label).

“Two tablespoonfuls, at
bed-time.”

El.

Is that all?

Pie.

Here's a greedy fellow!

El.

But I say—it takes a lot of writing to say that.

Pie.

Well, it's a very strong medicine.

El.

Oh, I see.

Ult.
(aside).

I don't.

Pie.
(returning it).

Take it.

El.

Thankye; take it yourself—it will do you good.

[Exit Elvino, Ultrice remains listening unobserved.
Pie.
(changing his manners).

Has he gone? Come here;
there's more in this than meets the eye!

Ni.

What, more than two tablespoons?

Pie.

More than two fiddlesticks! Listen to this. (Reads.)

“Man is a hypocrite, and invariably affects to be better and
wiser than he really is. This liquid, which should be freely
diluted, has the effect of making every one who drinks it exactly
what he pretends to be. The hypocrite becomes a man of piety;
the swindler, a man of honour; the quack, a man of learning;
and the braggart, a man of war.”

Ult.
(aside).

I thought as much—this may be useful.

[Exit Ultrice.
Pie.

Now the question is—what's to be done with it?

Ni.

Give some to Bartolo, and make him funny!

Bar.

Naughty sly-boots!

Pie.

Give some to Bartolo? Yes, and give some to Nita,
too. Don't you understand?

Ni.

Candidly, no.

Pie.

Why, the Duke and Duchess want to buy the figures,
and the figures are missing. What's to be done? Why, it's
obvious. You and Bartolo dress and make up as the two
figures—when dressed, you drink a few drops of the potion,
diluted with wine. (Tasting the cork and shuddering.)
It's—
it's not at all nasty—and you will not only look like the two
figures, but you'll actually be the two figures—clockwork
and all!

Ni.

Whew! (Whistles.)

Bar.

What! I become a doll—a dandled doll? A mere
conglomerate of whizzing wheels, salad of springs and hotch-potch
of escapements? Exchange all the beautiful things I've
got inside here for a handful of common clockwork? It's a
large order. Perish the thought and he who uttered it!

Pie.

Come, come! The figures are our joint property, and
we are all equally interested in selling them.

Ni.

That's true. Well, I've no objection. Besides, it will
be fun.

Pie.

Good girl! The potion must be diluted, so I'll pour it
into this wine-skin and we can draw it off as we want it.
(Does so.)

Ni.

But stop a bit. I don't want to be clockwork all my
life! How are we to get back again?

Pie.

I never thought of that!

Ni.

It wouldn't do at all.

Pie.

Oh, not at all. Perhaps it says. (Refers to label.)
Yes!
(Reads.)
“If the charm has been misapplied, matters can be
restored to their original condition by burning this label.”
There you are—nothing could be simpler.

Ni.

I say—don't lose that.

Pie.

Not if I know it. (Puts it in his pocket-book, which he places in his pocket.)

I shall be back in a minute, and, in
the mean time, try and wheedle him into joining us.

[Exit Pietro.

Bar.
(who has been fuming in silence).

I protest! It is an
indignity! I have a soul that cannot brook an indignity!

Ni.

An indignity? Nonsense—just think—you'll appear as
Hamlet, your favourite character, before the Duke—complete
dress—scene from the second act, too—

Bar.

Ha!

Ni.

I shall be desperately in love with you—and you with
me—we shall bill, and we shall coo, and we shall be as happy
as two little birds.

Bar.

Can clockwork coo? A nice point.

Ni.

Ah! There was a time when you wouldn't refuse me
anything.

Bar.

Yes, but then you used to coax me. I have a soul
that can do nothing unless it's coaxed.

Ni.

Then sit down, and I'll coax you.

Bar.

Coax me hard.

Ni.

Oh, very hard! (Business.)

Bar.

Oh, coax me harder than that!

Ni.

Will that do? (Business.)

Bar.

That sort of thing, prolonged indefinitely, will do.

[During this Pietro has been occupied in hanging up the posters on each side of the Inn door. Exit Pietro into Inn.
Song.—Nita.
Those days of old
How mad were we
To banish!
Thy love was told,
Querido mi,
In Spanish—
And timid I,
A-flush with shame
Elysian,
Could only sigh,
Dieu, comme je t'aime!
(Parisian.)
No matter, e'en
Hadst thou been coined
A Merman,
Thou wouldst have been
Mein lieber freund—
(That's German.)
Thy face, a-blaze
With loving pats,
Felt tinglish,
For in those days
I loved thee—that's
Plain English!

[During this Bartolo has gradually yielded to Nita's blandishments, and at the end expresses, in gesture, his acquiescence with her wishes. Pietro re-enters from Inn.
Dancing Trio.—Pietro, Nita, and Bartolo.
Pie.
(enters, dancing).
Allow that the plan I devise
Is new and sufficiently clever
To testify joy and surprise,
Perhaps you will kindly endeavour?

Bar. and Nita
(dancing).
With anything clever or wise,
I never should credit you—never.
To testify joy and surprise,
Observe our united endeavour.

[Dance—Nita stops suddenly.
Nita.
But what a catastrophe! Stop!
[Bartolo and Pietro stop dancing.
I see of objections a crop.
Suppose, by some horrible fluke,
I should chance to be bought by the Duke!

Pie.
(resuming his dance).
Be easy, I'll certainly see
You'll never get into his clutches.

Bar.
(dancing).
But don't be alarmed about me—
I should like to be bought by the Duchess!
I have certain society touches
That ought to appeal to a Duchess.
Though pride I abhor,
I've a “jenny say quor”
That is sure to appeal to a Duchess!

All.
But don't be alarmed about me,/he, etc.

[Dance, and dance off.
Enter Teresa.
Ter.

There's absolutely no limit to the vanity of some people.
Ultrice actually believes that she has captivated Alfredo! Ha!

ha! ha! Well, I'll let her remain under that fond delusion
a little longer—it amuses me. When I'm tired of it, I have
only to hold up my little finger and he'll fling himself at my
feet in a moment!

Ballad.—Teresa.
When man in love-sick passion lingers,
A maid can twist him round her fingers:
A word from me
Of eloquent,
Yet maidenly
Encouragement—
A faint recall—
A dainty hint
That, after all,
I'm not a flint—
And such permissible pretences
Will put to flight his seven senses.
Then, as he cries, “My own, for ever!
No power on earth our lives shall sever!”
I'll answer him, with laugh provoking,
“Upon my word,
You're too absurd!
Why, bless my heart, I'm only joking!
Ha! ha! ha! ha!
I'm only joking!”

Enter Alfredo unperceived. He overhears the following verse.
Alf.
(coming forward—recitative).
Ah, cruel one!

Ter.
Alfredo!

Alf.
Madam, good morning! (Going.)


Duet.—Teresa and Alfredo.
Ter.
Oh, whither, whither, whither, do you speed you?
Oh, hither, hither, hither, hither hie?

Alf.
Another—nother—nother time I'll heed you,
I've other, other, other fish to fry.

Ensemble.
Alfredo
(aside).
To punish her I'll try,
I'll soften by-and-by.
(Aloud.)
My lady, I am sorry, but I've other fish to fry!

Teresa
(aside).
There's a twinkle in his eye,
He'll soften by-and-by.
(Aloud.)
I'm very, very sorry that you've other fish to fry.

Ter.
A merry, merry, merry maid invites you,
Who's very, very, very short of sense.

Alf.
It's flirti-flirti-flirtiness incites you,
Imperti-perti-perti-pertinence!

Ensemble.
Alfredo
(aside).
Of taking some offence,
I'm making a pretence,
I'll punish her imperti-perti-perti-pertinence!

Teresa
(aside).
He thinks me very dense,
I see through his pretence,
(Aloud.)
Oh, pardon my imperti-perti-perti-pertinence!

Ter.
Now, listen to me, dear,
'Twas waywardness wilful
(In which, as you see, dear,
I'm not very skilful)
That makes you so tearful;
Take heart, and be cheerful,
No mischief is done, dear—
I was only in fun, dear!

Alf.
Now, listen to me, love—
My sentiments store them;
When maidens like thee, love,
On hearts that adore them
Unfeelingly trample,
They always give ample
Occasion for scorning—
I bid you good morning!

Ter.
I was only in fun, dear!

Alf.
I pray you take warning.

Ter.
No mischief is done, dear!

Alf.
I bid you good morning!

Ensemble.
Alf.
(aside).
She was only in fun—
No mischief is done;
Of taking offence
I am making pretence.
(Aloud.)
I bid you good morning!

Ter.
(furiously.)
I was only in fun,
But the mischief is done;
Of taking offence
It is not a pretence.
For he bids me good morning!

[Exit Alfredo.
Recitative.—Teresa.
Despised! Rejected ! Do I wake or dream?
By him rejected? Oh, the shame of it!
Rather than this I'll overwhelm him with
The torrent of my passion—make him think
My brain is tottering for the love of him;
And when at last he yields to my protesting,
I'll say, “Ha! ha! poor fool—I was but jesting!”

[Exit.
Flourish. Enter Chorus of Girls, running.
Chorus.
Come, and take your places all,
The show is just beginning;
Don't you hear the trumpet's call,
And the drummer's dinning?
Frolic, fun, and flummery—
Magic, mirth, and mummery—
(That's the showman's summary)
Set us all a-grinning!

[During this Alfredo has returned, followed by Teresa, who expresses heart-broken passion in gesture.
Enter Ultrice and Elvino, who carries a theatrical cloak, sword, hat, and lady's train.
Ult.
(recit.).
Allow me, madam, if you have quite done with him.

Alf.
(leaving Teresa).
Good morning, miss!

Ter.
(enraged—aside).
Oh, some day I'll be one with him!
[Exit Teresa.

El.
(to Alf.).
Allow me. 'Twill assist your Grace
If on your noble brow I place
This hat and feather.
[Alfredo puts them on.
(To Ult.).
The Duchess, perhaps, will kindly deign
To wear these jewels and this train—
They go together.

[Ultrice puts them on.
[Alfredo and Ultrice walk pompously to seats that are placed for them in front of the Inn door, the Chorus curtsying with mock humility.
Chorus.
Your Graces, as you wend,
We humbly bow and bend.
You look, we're quite aware,
A most imposing pair!
Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Enter procession of Tamorras, disguised as Dominican monks: Arrostino as Prior.
Chaunt.
[The Girls, believing the Monks to be genuine, all kneel.
Mock Monks.
Attamen er cunctis supra reliquisque notandum—

Arr.
Omne quod exit in um (hoer verba, I don't understand 'em).

Mock Monks.
Esse genus neutrium—sic invariabile nomen—

Arr.
Which is Greek to most of us here, and perhaps Double-Dutch to the showmen.

[The Tamorras throw off their hoods and reveal themselves.
Tamorras.
Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Chorus of Girls.
Oh, you wicked,
Base—deceiving—
It's distressing!
It's degrading;
We are trickèd
Through believing,
Never guessing
Masquerading!
Friars mocking!
Goodness gracious;
What a wrong, sir!
Why, how dare you?
It is shocking!
It's audacious!
Go along, sir!
I can't bear you!

Men.
It is wicked—ha! ha! ha!
They are trickèd—ha! ha! ha!

All.
This disguising
Is surprising,
Friars mocking,
It is shocking—
It is blameful—
It is shameful—
It is shameful—
Ha! ha! ha!

Enter Minestra, disguised as a very old woman.
Min.

[The Girls gather round her to have their fortunes told. Minestra throws off her hood and reveals herself.
All.
They/We are trickèd—ha! ha! ha!
It is wicked—ha! ha! ha!
This disguising
Is surprising:
Ladies mocking!
Conduct shocking!
It is blameful—
It is shameful—
It is blameful—ha! ha! ha!

[During the above Pietro has brought on Bartolo and Nita made up as wax-work figures of Hamlet and Ophelia.
Solo.—Pietro.
Now, all you pretty villagers who haven't paid, stand you aside,
And listen to a tragic tale of love, despair, and suicide.
The gentleman's a noble prince—a marvel of ventriloquy—
Unhappily afflicted with a mania for soliloquy.
The lady is the victim of the God of Love tyrannical—
You see it in her gestures, which are morbidly mechanical;
He's backed himself at heavy odds, in proof of his ability
That he'll soliloquize her into utter imbecility.
She wildly begs him to desist—appeals to his humanity,
But all in vain—observe her eyes a-goggling with insanity.
He perseveres, improving the occasion opportunatic—
She sticks straws in her hair—he's won his wager—she's a lunatic!

[During this, Bartolo and Nita have gone through the movements described in a ridiculously jerky and mechanical fashion.
Ensemble.
Chorus.—Teresa and Ultrice.
Chorus.
Astonishing,
What science can contrive!
In everything
You'd think they were alive.
Her lovely face—
Her eloquent despair!
His princely grace,
His beautiful back hair.

Ter.
(to Alf.).
To thee I cling
To gain thy love I strive;
My heart you wring,
I shall not long survive!

Ult.
From his embrace
Thyself directly tear,
Or I'll deface
Thy beautiful back hair!

Alf.
Appreciation of such skill
Should not be shown by stealth.
In bumpers round (I'll pay the bill),
We'll drink the showman's health.
[Taking up wine-skin which Pietro left at entrance to Inn.
This wine-skin I devote to you,
We'll drink it till it's dry.
I'm sure that's what the Duke would do,
Were he as pleased as I!

All.
Hurrah!
I'm sure that's what the Duke would do,
Were he as pleased as I!

Pie.
(horrified).
Beware!
That wine is mine,
You must not drink it.

Alf.
Forbear!
I pay my way!
You may not think it!

[Gives money to Pietro.
Pie.
Take care!
The wine is poisoned, on my word rely,
And he who drinks in agony will die!
Commencing with a gentle pain
Scarce worth a question,
It grows apace, till you complain
Of indigestion.
Then follows an internal fire
That scorns emulsions,
Until, ere nightful, you expire
In fierce convulsions!

All.
Ha! ha!
An idle tale we think it!
Ho! ho!
We saw you freely drink it

[During this Alfredo has filled a number of goblets with wine from the wine-skin, and handed them round to Arrostino and the Male Chorus.
Alf.
It can't be worse than 'Vino's wine accurst—
If we're to die of it, be thou the first!

[Draws sword and offers cup to Pietro. During this the two figures express galvanic agitation.
Pie.
I can't obey you!

All.
Drink!

Alf.
Come, why delay you?

All.
Drink!

Pie.
I beg—I pray you!

All.
Drink!

Alf.
Quick, or I'll slay you!

All.
Drink!

[During this Elvino has poured the wine down Pietro's throat. Pietro immediately begins to feel the effect of the wine, which he described as poison, and which has become poison to him.
Alf.
Oh, ye who are weary of life,
Don't trifle with pistol and knife—
This potion is far from amiss;
If you've ducats of gold in your purse,
Why, then, you may surely do worse
Than die of such poison as this!

Chorus.
Oh, ye who are weary of life, etc.

[During this, Teresa has pretended to fall insensible at Alfredo's feet. He supports her, and supposing that she has fainted, pours some of the wine down her throat. All the others (except the Chorus of Girls) raise the cups to their lips, and drink as the Act Drop falls.