 | Utopia, Limited ; Or, The Flowers of Progress |  |
ACT II.
Scene.—Throne Room in the Palace. Night. Fitzbattleaxe discovered, singing to Zara.Recitative.—Fitz.
Oh, Zara, my beloved one, bear with me!
Ah, do not laugh at my attempted C!
Repent not, mocking maid, thy girlhood's choice—
The fervour of my love affects my voice!
(This doesn't admit of a question),
Should keep himself quiet,
Attend to his diet
And carefully nurse his digestion:
But when he is madly in love
It's certain to tell on his singing—
You can't do chromatics
With proper emphatics
When anguish your bosom is wringing!
When distracted with worries in plenty,
And his pulse is a hundred and twenty,
And his fluttering bosom the slave of mistrust is,
A tenor can't do himself justice.
Now observe— (sings a high note),
You see, I can't do myself justice!
It's easy enough if you're acting—
But when one's emotion
Is born of devotion
You mustn't be over-exacting.
One ought to be firm as a rock
To venture a shake in vibrato,
When fervour's expected
Keep cool and collected
Or never attempt agitato.
But, of course, when his tongue is of leather,
And his lips appear pasted together,
And his sensitive palate as dry as a crust is,
A tenor can't do himself justice.
Now observe— (sings a cadence).
It's no use—I can't do myself justice!
Zara.
Why, Arthur, what does it matter? When the higher
qualities of the heart are all that can be desired, the higher notes
of the voice are matters of comparative insignificance. Who
thinks slightingly of the cocoanut because it is husky? Besides
(demurely)
you are not singing for an engagement.
(Putting
her hand in his.)
You have that already!
Fitz.
How good and wise you are! How unerringly your
practised brain winnows the wheat from the chaff—the material
from the merely incidental!
Zara.
My Girton training, Arthur. At Girton all is wheat,
and idle chaff is never heard within its walls! But tell me, is
not all working marvellously well? Have not our Flowers of
Progress more than justified their name?
Fitz.
We have indeed done our best. Captain Corcoran and
I have, in concert, thoroughly remodelled the sister-services—
name of Utopia!
Zara.
How clever of you!
Fitz.
Clever? Not a bit. It's as easy as possible when the
Admiralty and Horse Guards are not there to interfere. And
so with the others. Freed from the trammels imposed upon
them by idle Acts of Parliament, all have given their natural
talents full play and introduced reforms which, even in England,
were never dreamt of!
Zara.
But perhaps the most beneficent change of all has been
effected by Mr. Goldbury who, discarding the exploded theory
that some strange magic lies hidden in the number Seven, has
applied the Limited Liability principle to individuals, and every
man, woman, and child is now a Company Limited with liability
restricted to the amount of his declared Capital! There is not
a christened baby in Utopia who has not already issued his little
Prospectus!
Fitz.
Marvellous is the power of a Civilization which can
transmute, by a word, a Limited Income into an Income
(Limited).
Zara.
Reform has not stopped here—it has been applied even
to the costume of our people. Discarding their own barbaric
dress, the natives of our land have unanimously adopted the
tasteful fashions of England in all their rich entirety. Scaphio
and Phantis have undertaken a contract to supply the whole of
Utopia with clothing designed upon the most approved English
models—and the first Drawing-Room under the new state of
things is to be held here this evening.
Fitz.
But Drawing-Rooms are always held in the afternoon.
Zara.
Ah, we've improved upon that. We all look so much
better by candle-light! And when I tell you, dearest, that my
court train has just arrived, you will understand that I am longing
to go and try it on.
Fitz.
Then we must part?
Zara.
Necessarily, for a time.
Fitz.
Just as I wanted to tell you, with all the passionate
enthusiasm of my nature, how deeply, how devotedly I love you!
Zara.
Hush! Are these the accents of a heart that really
feels? True love does not indulge in declamation—its voice is
sweet, and soft, and low. The west wind whispers when he
woos the poplars!
Duet.—Zara and Fitzbattleaxe.
Zara.
Ring their own untimely knell;
Soft the song of Philomel.
Hour by hour and day by day;
Sweet and low as accents holy
Are the notes of lover's lay!
Both.
Sweet and low, etc.
Fitz.
Let the conqueror, flushed with glory,
Bid his noisy clarions bray;
Lovers tell their artless story
In a whispered virelay.
False is he whose vows alluring
Make the listening echoes ring;
Sweet and low when all-enduring,
Are the songs that lovers sing!
Both.
Sweet and low, etc.
[Exit Zara.
Enter King, dressed as Field Marshal.
King.
To a Monarch who has been accustomed to the uncontrolled
use of his limbs, the costume of a British Field Marshal
is, perhaps, at first, a little cramping. Are you sure that this
is all right? It's not a practical joke, is it? No one has a
keener sense of humour than I have, but the First Statutory
Cabinet Council of Utopia (Limited) must be conducted with
dignity and impressiveness. Now, where are the other five who
signed the Articles of Association?
Fitz.
Sir, they are here.
Enter Lord Dramaleigh, Captain Corcoran, Sir Bailey Barre, Mr. Blushington, and Mr. Goldbury from different entrances.
King.
Oh!
(Addressing them.)
Gentlemen, our daughter
holds her first Drawing-Room in half an hour, and we shall
have time to make our half-yearly report in the interval. I am
necessarily unfamiliar with the forms of an English Cabinet
Council—perhaps the Lord Chamberlain will kindly put us in
the way of doing the thing properly, and with due regard to
the solemnity of the occasion.
Lord Dram.
Certainly—nothing simpler. Kindly bring your
chairs forward—his Majesty will, of course, preside.
[They range their chairs across stage like Christy Minstrels. King sits centre, Lord Dramleigh on his left, Mr. Goldbury on his right, Captain Corcoran left of Lord Dramaleigh, Captain Fitzbattleaxe right of Mr. Goldbury, Mr. Blushington extreme right, Sir Bailey Barre extreme left.
Like this?
Lord Dram.
Like this.
King.
We take your word for it that this is all right. You
are not making fun of us? This is in accordance with the
practice at the Court of St. James's?
Lord Dram.
Well, it is in accordance with the practice at the
Court of St. James's Hall.
King.
Oh! it seems odd, but never mind.
Song.—King.
Society has quite forsaken all her wicked courses,
Which empties our police courts, and abolishes divorces.
Chorus.
Divorce is nearly obsolete in England.
King.
No tolerance we show to undeserving rank and splendour;
For the higher his position is the greater the offender.
Chorus.
That's a maxim that is prevalent in England.
King.
No peeress at our Drawing-Room before the Presence passes
Who wouldn't be accepted by the lower-middle classes.
Each shady dame, whatever be her rank, is bowed out neatly.
Chorus.
In short, this happy country has been Anglicized completely!
It really is surprising,
What a thorough Anglicizing
We have brought about—Utopia's quite another land;
In her enterprising movements,
She is England—with improvements,
Which we dutifully offer to our mother-land!
King.
Our city we have beautified—we've done it willy-nilly—
And all that isn't Belgrave Square is Strand and Piccadilly.
Chorus.
We haven't any slummeries in England!
King.
We have solved the labour question with discrimination polished,
So poverty is obsolete and hunger is abolished—
Chorus.
We are going to abolish it in England.
King.
The Chamberlain our native stage has purged, beyond a question,
Of “risky” situation and indelicate suggestion;
No piece is tolerated if it's costumed indiscreetly—
Chorus.
In short, this happy country has been Anglicized completely!
It really is surprising, etc.
King.
Our Peerage we've remodelled on an intellectual basis,
Which certainly is rough on our hereditary races—
Chorus.
We are going to remodel it in England.
King.
The Brewers and the Cotton Lords no longer seek admission,
And Literary Merit meets with proper recognition—
Chorus.
As Literary Merit does in England!
King.
Who knows but we may count among our intellectual chickens
Like you, an Earl of Thackeray and p'r'aps a Duke of Dickens—
Chorus.
In short, this happy country has been Anglicized completely!
It really is surprising, etc.
[At the end all rise and replace their chairs.
King.
Now then, for our First Drawing-Room. Where are
the Princesses? What an extraordinary thing it is that since
European looking-glasses have been supplied to the Royal bedrooms
my daughters are invariably late!
Lord Dram.
Sir, their Royal Highnesses await your pleasure
in the Ante-Room.
King.
Oh. Then request them to do us the favour to enter
at once.
March. Enter all the Royal Household, including (besides the Lord Chamberlain) the Vice-Chamberlain, the Master of the Horse, the Master of the Buckhounds, the Lord High Treasurer, the Lord Steward, the Comptroller of the Household, the Lord-in-Waiting, the Groom-in-Waiting, the Field Officer in Brigade Waiting, the Gold and Silver Stick, and the Gentlemen Ushers. Then enter the three Princesses (their trains carried by Pages of Honour), Lady Sophy, and the Ladies-in-waiting.
King.
My daughters, we are about to attempt a very solemn
ceremonial, so no giggling, if you please. Now, my Lord
Chamberlain, we are ready.
Lord Dram.
Then, ladies and gentlemen, places if you please.
His Majesty will take his place in front of the throne, and
will be so obliging as to embrace all the débutantes.
(Lady
Sophy, much shocked.)
King.
What—must I really?
Lord Dram.
Absolutely indispensable.
King.
More jam for the Palace Peeper!
[The King takes his place in front of the throne, the Princess Zara on his left. The two younger Princesses on the left of Zara.
King.
Now, is every one in his place?
Lord Dram.
Every one is in his place.
King.
Then let the revels commence.
Enter the Ladies attending the Drawing-Room. They give their cards to the Groom-in-Waiting, who passes them to the Lord-in-Waiting, who passes them to the Vice-Chamberlain, who passes them to the Lord Chamberlain, who reads the
Recitative.—King.
This ceremonial our wish displays
To copy all Great Britain's courtly ways,
Though lofty aims catastrophe entail,
We'll gloriously succeed or nobly fail!
Unaccompanied Chorus.
Eagle high in cloudland soaring—
Sparrow twittering on a reed—
Tiger in the jungle roaring—
Frightened fawn in grassy mead—
Let the eagle, not the sparrow,
Be the object of your arrow—
Fix the tiger with your eye—
Pass the fawn in pity by.
Glory then will crown the day—
Glory, glory, anyway!
[Then exeunt all.
Enter Scaphio and Phantis, now dressed as judges in red and ermine robes and undress wigs. They come down stage melodramatically—working together.
Duet.—Scaphio and Phantis.
Sca.
With fury deep we burn—
Phan.
We do—
We fume with smothered rage.
These Englishmen who rule supreme
Their undertaking they redeem
By stifling every harmless scheme
In which we both engage—
Sca.
They do—
In which we both engage.
Both
(with great energy).
For this mustn't be, and this won't do,
If you'll back me, then I'll back you,
Let's both agree, and we'll pull things through,
For this mustn't be, and this won't do.
No, this won't do,
No, this won't do,
No, this mustn't be,
And this won't do.
Enter the King.
King.
Gentlemen, gentlemen—really! This unseemly display
of energy within the Royal Precincts is altogether
unpardonable. Pray what do you complain of?
(furiously).
What do we complain of? Why, through
the innovations introduced by the Flowers of Progress all our
harmless schemes for making a provision for our old age are
ruined. Our Matrimonial Agency is at a standstill, our Cheap
Sherry business is in bankruptcy, our Army Clothing contracts
are paralyzed, and even our Society paper, the Palace Peeper,
is practically defunct!
King.
Defunct? Is that so? Dear, dear, I am truly sorry.
Sca.
Are you aware that Sir Bailey Barre has introduced a
law of libel by which all editors of scurrilous newspapers are
publicly flogged—as in England? And six of our editors have
resigned in succession! Now, the editor of a scurrilous paper
can stand a good deal—he takes a private thrashing as a matter
of course—it's considered in his salary—but no gentleman likes
to be publicly flogged.
King.
Naturally. I shouldn't like it myself.
Phan.
Then our burlesque Theatre is absolutely ruined!
King.
Dear me. Well, theatrical property is not what it
was.
Phan.
Are you aware that the Lord Chamberlain, who has
his own views as to the best means of elevating the national
drama, has declined to license any play that is not in blank
verse and three hundred years old—as in England?
Sca.
And as if that wasn't enough, the County Councillor
has ordered a four-foot wall to be built up right across the
proscenium, in case of fire—as in England.
Phan.
It's so hard on the company—who are liable to be
roasted alive—and this has to be met by enormously increased
salaries—as in England.
Sca.
You probably know that we've contracted to supply the
entire nation with a complete English outfit. But perhaps you
do not know that, when we send in our bills, our customers
plead liability limited to a declared capital of eighteenpence,
and apply to be dealt with under the Winding-up Act—as in
England?
King.
Really, gentlemen, this is very irregular. If you will
be so good as to formulate a detailed list of your grievances in
writing, addressed to the Secretary of Utopia (Limited), they
will be laid before the Board, in due course, at their next
monthly meeting.
Sca.
Are we to understand that we are defied?
King.
That is the idea I intended to convey.
Phan.
Defied! We are defied!
Sca.
(furiously).
Take care—you know our powers. Trifle
with us, and you die!
Sca.
If you think that when banded in unity,
We may both be defied with impunity,
You are sadly misled of a verity!
Phan.
If you value repose and tranquillity,
You'll revert to a state of docility,
Or prepare to regret your temerity!
King.
If my speech is unduly refractory
You will find it a course satisfactory
At an early Board meeting to show it up.
Though if proper excuse you can trump any,
You may wind up a Limited Company,
You cannot conveniently blow it up!
[Scaphio and Phantis thoroughly baffled.
King.
(dancing quietly.)
Whene'er I chance to baffle you
I, also, dance a step or two—
Of this now guess the hidden sense:
[Scaphio and Phantis consider the question as King continues dancing quietly—then give it up.
It means—complete indifference
All three
(dancing quietly).
Indifference—indifference—
Of course it does—indifference!
You/We might have guessed its hidden sense.
It means complete indifference!
[Scaphio and Phantis dancing furiously.
King.
(dancing quietly).
As we've a dance for every mood
With pas de trois we will conclude.
What this may mean you all may guess—
Sca. and. Phan.
It typifies remorselessness!
King.
It means unruffled cheerfulness!
[King dances off placidly as Scaphio and Phantis dance furiously.
Phan.
(breathless).
He's right—we are helpless! He's no
longer a human being—he's a Corporation, and so long as he
confines himself to his Articles of Association we can't touch
him! What are we to do?
Sca.
Do? Raise a Revolution, repeal the Act of Sixty-Two,
reconvert him into an individual, and insist on his immediate
explosion!
(Tarara enters.)
Tarara, come here; you're the
very man we want.
Tar.
Certainly, allow me.
(Offers a cracker to each, they
snatch them away impatiently.)
That's rude.
Sca.
We have no time for idle forms. You wish to succeed
to the throne?
Tar.
Naturally.
Then you won't unless you join us. The King has
defied us, and, as matters stand, we are helpless. So are you.
We must devise some plot at once to bring the people about his
ears.
Tar.
A plot?
Phan.
Yes, a plot of superhuman subtlety. Have you such
a thing about you?
Tar.
(feeling).
No, I think not. No. There's one on my
dressing-table.
Sca.
We can't wait—we must concoct one at once, and put
it into execution without delay. There is not a moment to
spare!
Trio.—Scaphio, Phantis, and Tarara.
Ensemble.
With wily brain upon the spot
A private plot we'll plan,
The most ingenious private plot
Since private plots began.
That's understood. So far we've got
And, striking while the iron's hot,
We'll now determine like a shot
The details of this private plot.
Sca.
I think we ought—
[Whispers.
Phan. and Tar.
Such bosh I never heard!
Phan.
Ah! happy thought!—
[Whispers.
Sca. and Tar.
How utterly dashed absurd!
Tar.
I'll tell you how—
[Whispers.
Sca. and Phan.
Why, what put that in your head?
Sca.
I've got it now—
[Whispers.
Oh! take him away to bed!
Phan.
Oh, put him to bed!
Tar.
Oh, put him to bed!
Sca.
What! put me to bed?
Phan. and Tar.
Yes, put him to bed!
Sca.
But, bless me, don't you see—
Phan.
Do listen to me, I pray—
Tar.
It certainly seems to me—
Sca.
Bah—this is the only way!
Phan.
It's rubbish absurd you growl!
Tar.
You talk ridiculous stuff!
Sca.
You're a drivelling barndoor owl!
Phan.
You're a vapid and vain old muff!
[All coming down to audience.
So far we haven't quite solved the plot—
They're not a very ingenious lot—
But don't be unhappy,
It's still on the tapis,
We'll presently hit on a capital plot!
Suppose we all—
[Whispers.
Phan.
Now there I think you're right.
Then we might all—
[Whispers.
Tar.
That's true—we certainly might.
I'll tell you what—
[Whispers
Sca.
We will if we possibly can.
Then on the spot—
[Whispers.
Phan. and Tar.
Bravo! a capital plan!
Sca.
That's exceedingly neat and new!
Phan.
Exceedingly new and neat!
Tar.
I fancy that that will do.
Sca.
It's certainly very complete!
Phan.
Well done, you sly old sap!
Tar.
Bravo, you cunning old mole!
Sca.
You very ingenious chap!
Phan.
You intellectual soul!
[All, coming down, and addressing audience.
At last a capital plan we've got;
Never mind why and never mind what:
It's safe in my noddle—
Now off we will toddle,
And slyly develop this capital plot!
[Business. Exeunt Scaphio and Phantis in one direction, and Tarara in the other.
Enter Lord Dramaleigh and Mr. Goldbury.
Lord Dram.
Well, what do you think of our first South
Pacific Drawing-Room? Allowing for a slight difficulty with
the trains, and a little want of familiarity with the use of the
rouge-pot, it was, on the whole, a meritorious affair?
Gold.
My dear Dramaleigh, it redounds infinitely to your
credit.
Lord Dram.
One or two judicious innovations, I think?
Gold.
Admirable. The cup of tea and the plate of mixed
biscuits were a cheap and effective inspiration.
Lord Dram.
Yes—my idea, entirely. Never been done
before.
Gold.
Pretty little maids, the King's youngest daughters,
but timid.
Lord Dram.
That'll wear off. Young.
Gold.
That'll wear off. Ha! here they come, by George!
And without the Dragon! What can they have done with her?
Enter Nekaya and Kalyba, timidly.
Nek.
Oh, if you please Lady Sophy has sent us in here,
because Zara and Captain Fitzbattleaxe are going on, in the
ought to witness.
Lord Dram.
Indeed, we are very much obliged to her Ladyship.
Kal.
Are you? I wonder why.
Nek.
Don't tell us if it's rude.
Lord Dram.
Rude? Not at all. We are obliged to Lady
Sophy because she has afforded us the pleasure of seeing
you.
Nek.
I don't think you ought to talk to us like that.
Kal.
It's calculated to turn our heads.
Nek.
Attractive girls cannot be too particular.
Kal.
Oh, pray, pray do not take advantage of our unprotected
innocence.
Gold.
Pray be reassured—you are in no danger whatever.
Lord Dram.
But may I ask—is this extreme delicacy—this
shrinking sensitiveness—a general characteristic of Utopian
young ladies?
Nek.
Oh no; we are crack specimens.
Kal.
We are the pick of the basket. Would you mind not
coming quite so near? Thank you.
Nek.
And please don't look at us like that; it unsettles us.
Kal.
And we don't like it. At least, we do like it; but it's
wrong.
Nek.
We have enjoyed the inestimable privilege of being
educated by a most refined and easily-shocked English lady, on
the very strictest English principles.
Gold.
But, my dear young ladies—
Kal.
Oh, don't. You mustn't. It's too affectionate.
Nek.
It really does unsettle us.
Gold.
Are you really under the impression that English girls
are so ridiculously demure? Why, an English girl of the
highest type is the best, the most beautiful, the bravest, and
the brightest creature that Heaven has conferred upon this
world of ours. She is frank, open-hearted, and fearless, and
never shows in so favourable a light as when she gives her own
blameless impulses full play!
Nek. and Kal.
Oh, you shocking story!
Gold.
Not at all. I'm speaking the strict truth. I'll tell
you all about her.
Song.—Mr. Goldbury.
In her magnificent comeliness,
Is an English girl of eleven stone two,
And five foot ten in her dancing shoe!
The “field” tails off and the muffs diminish—
Over the hedges and brooks she bounds
Straight as a crow, from find to finish.
At cricket, her kin will lose or win—
She and her maids, on grass and clover,
Eleven maids out—eleven maids in—
And perhaps an occasional “maiden over!”
Go search the world and search the sea,
Then come you home and sing with me
There's no such gold and no such pearl
As a bright and beautiful English girl!
She golfs, she punts, she rows, she swims—
She plays, she sings, she dances, too,
From ten or eleven till all is blue!
At ball or drum, till small hours come,
(Chaperon's fan conceals her yawning)
She'll waltz away like a teetotum,
And never go home till daylight's dawning.
Lawn-tennis may share her favours fair—
Her eyes a-dance and her cheeks a-glowing—
Down comes her hair, but what does she care?
It's all her own and it's worth the showing!
Go search the world, etc.
For prudery knows no haven there;
To find mock-modesty, please apply
To the conscious blush and the downcast eye.
Rich in the things contentment brings,
In every pure enjoyment wealthy,
Blithe as a beautiful bird she sings,
For body and mind are hale and healthy,
Her eyes they thrill with right goodwill—
Her heart is light as a floating feather—
As pure and bright as the mountain rill
That leaps and laughs in the Highland heather!
Go search the world, etc.
Quartette.
Nek.
Then I may sing and play?
Lord Dram.
You may!
Kal.
And I may laugh and shout?
Gold.
No doubt!
Nek.
These maxims you endorse?
Lord Dram.
Of course!
Kal.
You won't exclaim “Oh fie!”
Gold.
Not I!
Gold.
Whatever you are—be that:
Whatever you say—be true:
Straightforwardly act—
Be honest—in fact,
Be nobody else but you.
Give every answer pat—
Your character true unfurl;
And when it is ripe,
You'll then be a type
Of a capital English girl!
All.
Oh, sweet surprise—oh, dear delight,
To find it undisputed quite,
All musty, fusty rules despite,
That Art is wrong and Nature right!
Nek.
When happy I,
With laughter glad
I'll wake the echoes fairly,
And only sigh
When I am sad—
And that will be but rarely!
Kal.
I'll row and fish,
And gallop, soon—
No longer be a prim one—
And when I wish
To hum a tune,
It needn't be a hymn one?
Gold. and Lord Dram.
No, no!
It needn't be a hymn one!
All
(dancing).
Oh, sweet surprise and dear delight
To find it undisputed quite—
All musty, fusty rules despite—
That Art is wrong and Nature right!
[Dance, and off.
Enter Lady Sophy.
Recitative.—Lady Sophy.
To quell my over-conscientious heart—
Unspeak the oaths that never had been spoken,
And break the vows that never shall be broken!
Unsought—unplighted—
Short petticoated—and, I fear,
Still shorter-sighted—
I made a vow, one early spring,
That only to some spotless king
Who proof of blameless life could bring
I'd be united.
Of blameless kings in fairy lore,
And thought the race still flourished here—
Well, well—
I was a maid of fifteen year!
(An early riser);
For spotless monarchs I became
An advertiser:
But all in vain I searched each land,
So, kingless, to my native strand
Returned, a little older, and
A good deal wiser!
I learnt that spotless King and Prince
Have disappeared some ages since—
Even Paramount's angelic grace,
Ah, me!
Is but a mask on Nature's face!
[King comes forward.
Recitative.
King.
Ah, Lady Sophy—then you love me!
For so you sing—
Lady S.
No, by the stars that shine above me
(indignant and surprised).
Degraded King!
(Producing Palace Peeper.)
For while these rumours, through the city bruited
Remain uncontradicted, unrefuted,
The object thou of my aversion rooted,
Repulsive thing!
King.
Be just—the time is now at hand
When truth may published be,
These paragraphs were written and
Contributed by me!
Lady S.
By you? No, no!
King.
Yes, yes, I swear, by me!
I, caught in Scaphio's ruthless toil,
Contributed the lot!
Lady S.
And that is why you did not boil
The author on the spot!
King.
And that is why I did not boil
The author on the spot!
Lady S.
I couldn't think why you did not boil.
King.
But I know why I did not boil
The author on the spot!
Duet.—Lady Sophy and King.
Lady S.
Oh, the rapture unrestrained
Of a candid retractation;
For my sovereign has deigned
A convincing explanation—
And the clouds that gathered o'er,
All have vanished in the distance
And of Kings of fairy lore
One, at least, is in existence!
Oh, the skies are blue above,
And the earth is red and rosal,
Now the lady of my love
Has accepted my proposal!
For that asinorum pons
I have crossed without assistance,
And of prudish paragons
One, at least, is in existence!
[King and Lady Sophy dance gracefully. While this is going on Lord Dramaleigh enters unobserved with Nekaya and Mr. Goldbury with Kalyba. Then enter Zara and Capt. Fitzbattleaxe. The two Girls direct Zara's attention to the King and Lady Sophy, who are still dancing affectionately together. At this point the King kisses Lady Sophy, which causes the Princesses to make an exclamation. The King and Lady Sophy are at first much confused at being detected, but eventually throw off all reserve, and the four couples break into a wild Tarantella, and at the end exeunt severally.
Enter all the male Chorus, in great excitement, from various entrances, led by Scaphio, Phantis, and Tarara, and followed by the female Chorus.
Chorus.
Upon our sea-girt land
At our enforced command
Reform has laid her hand
Like some remorseless ogress—
And make us darkly rue
The deeds she dared to do—
And all is owing to
Those hated Flowers of Progress!
All.
So down with them!
So down with them!
Reform's a hated ogress.
So down with them!
So down with them!
Down with the Flowers of Progress!
Flourish. Enter King, his three Daughters, Lady Sophy, and the Flowers of Progress.
King.
What means this most unmannerly irruption?
Is this your gratitude for boons conferred?
Sca.
Boons? Bah! A fico for such boons, say we!
These boons have brought Utopia to a standstill!
Our pride and boast—the Army and the Navy—
Have both been re-constructed and re-modelled
That all the neighbouring nations have disarmed—
And War's impossible! Your County Councillor
Has passed such drastic Sanitary laws
That all the doctors dwindle, starve, and die!
The laws, remodelled by Sir Bailey Barre,
Have quite extinguished crime and litigation:
The lawyers starve, and all the jails are let
As model lodgings for the working-classes!
In short—
Utopia, swamped by dull Prosperity,
Demands that these detested Flowers of Progress
Be sent about their business, and affairs
Restored to their original complexion!
King
(to Zara).
My daughter, this is a very unpleasant state
of things. What is to be done?
Zara.
I don't know—I don't understand it. We must have
omitted something,
King.
Omitted something? Yes, that's all very well,
but—
[Sir Bailey Barre whispers to Zara.
Zara
(suddenly).
Of course! Now I remember! Why, I
had forgotten the most essential element of all!
King.
And that is—
Zara.
Government by Party! Introduce that great and
glorious element—at once the bulwark and foundation of
England's greatness—and all will be well! No political
measures will endure, because one Party will assuredly undo all
that the other party has done; and while grouse is to be shot,
and foxes worried to death, the legislative action of the country
will be at a standstill. Then there will be sickness in plenty,
endless lawsuits, crowded jails, interminable confusion in the
Army and Navy, and, in short, general and unexampled
prosperity!
All.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
Phan.
(aside).
Baffled!
Sca.
But an hour will come!
King.
Your hour has come already—away with them, and
let them wait my will!
(Scaphio and Phantis are led off in
custody.)
From this moment Government by Party is adopted,
with all its attendant blessings; and henceforward Utopia will
no longer be a Monarchy (Limited), but, what is a great deal
better, a Limited Monarchy!
Finale.
Zara.
There's a little group of isles beyond the wave—
So tiny, you might almost wonder where it is—
That nation is the bravest of the brave,
And cowards are the rarest of all rarities.
She terrifies all foreign-born rapscallions;
And holds the peace of Europe in her hand
With half a score invincible battalions!
Such, at least, is the tale
Which is borne on the gale,
From the island which dwells in the sea.
Let us hope, for her sake,
That she makes no mistake—
That she's all she professes to be!
King.
Oh, may we copy all her maxims wise,
And imitate her virtues and her charities;
And may we, by degrees, acclimatize
Her Parliamentary peculiarities!
By doing so, we shall, in course of time,
Regenerate completely our entire land—
Great Britain is that monarchy sublime,
To which some add (but others do not) Ireland.
Such, at least, is the tale, etc.
Curtain.
| Utopia, Limited ; Or, The Flowers of Progress | |