 | Utopia, Limited ; Or, The Flowers of Progress |  |
[Act I]
Scene.—A Utopian Palm Grove in the gardens of King Paramount's Palace, showing a picturesque and luxuriant Tropical landscape, with the sea in the distance. Salata, Melene, Phylla, and other Maidens discovered, lying lazily about the stage and thoroughly enjoying themselves in lotus-eating fashion.In lazy languor—motionless,
We lie and dream of nothingness;
For visions come
From Poppydom
Direct at our command:
Or, delicate alternative,
In open idleness we live,
With lyre and lute
And silver flute,
The life of Lazyland!
Solo.—Phylla.
The song of birds
In ivied towers;
The rippling play
Of waterway;
The lowing herds;
The breath of flowers;
The languid loves
Of turtle doves—
These simple joys are all at hand
Upon thy shores, O Lazyland!
Chorus.
In lazy languor, etc.
Cal.
Good news! Great news! His Majesty's eldest
daughter, Princess Zara, who left our shores five years since
to go to England—the greatest, the most powerful, the wisest
country in the world—has taken a high degree at Girton, and
is on her way home again, having achieved a complete mastery
over all the elements that have tended to raise that glorious
country to her present pre-eminent position among civilized
nations!
Sal.
Then in a few months Utopia may hope to be completely
Anglicized?
Cal.
Absolutely and without a doubt.
Mel.
(lazily).
We are very well as we are. Life without a
care—every want supplied by a kind and fatherly monarch,
who, despot though he be, has no other thought than to make
his people happy—what have we to gain by the great change
that is in store for us?
Sal.
What have we to gain? English institutions, English
tastes, and oh, English fashions!
Cal.
England has made herself what she is because, in that
favoured land, every one has to think for himself. Here we
have no need to think, because our monarch anticipates all our
wants, and our political opinions are formed for us by the
journals to which we subscribe. Oh, think how much more
brilliant this dialogue would have been, if we had been accustomed
to exercise our reflective powers! They say that in
England the conversation of the very meanest is a coruscation
of impromptu epigram!
Enter Tarara in a great rage.
Tar.
Lalabalele talala! Callabale lalabalica falahle!
Cal.
(horrified).
Stop—stop, I beg!
[All the ladies close their ears.
Tar.
Callamalala galalate! Caritalla lalabalee kallalale poo!
Ladies.
Oh, stop him! stop him!
Cal.
My Lord, I'm surprised at you. Are you not aware
that His Majesty, in his despotic acquiescence with the
emphatic wish of his people, has ordered that the Utopian
language shall be banished from his court, and that all communications
shall henceforward be made in the English tongue.
Tar.
Yes, I'm perfectly aware of it, although—
(Suddenly
presenting an explosive “cracker”.)
Stop—allow me.
(pulls it).
Now, what's that for?
Tar.
Why, I've recently been appointed Public Exploder
to His Majesty, and as I'm constitutionally nervous, I must
accustom myself by degrees to the startling nature of my
duties. Thank you. I was about to say that although, as
Public Exploder, I am next in succession to the throne, I
nevertheless do my best to fall in with the royal decree. But
when I am over-mastered by an indignant sense of overwhelming
wrong, as I am now, I slip into my native tongue
without knowing it. I am told that in the language of that
great and pure nation, strong expressions do not exist, consequently
when I want to let off steam I have no alternative but
to say, “Lalabalele molola lililah kallalale poo!”
Cal.
But what is your grievance?
Tar.
This—by our Constitution we are governed by a
Despot who, although in theory, absolute—is, in practice,
nothing of the kind—being watched day and night by two
Wise Men whose duty it is, on his very first lapse from political
or social propriety, to denounce him to me, the Public Exploder,
and it then becomes my duty to blow up His Majesty with
dynamite—allow me.
(Presenting a cracker, which Calynx
pulls.)
Thank you—and, as some compensation to my wounded
feelings, I reign in his stead.
Cal.
Yes. After many unhappy experiments in the direction
of an ideal Republic, it was found that what may be described
as a Despotism tempered by Dynamite provides, on the whole,
the most satisfactory description of ruler—an autocrat who
dares not abuse his autocratic power.
Tar.
That's the theory—but in practice, how does it act?
Now, do you ever happen to see the Palace Peeper?
[Producing a “Society” Paper.
Cal.
Never even heard of the journal.
Tar.
I'm not surprised, because His Majesty's agents always
buy up the whole edition; but I have an aunt in the publishing
department, and she has supplied me with a copy. Well, it
actually teems with circumstantially convincing details of the
King's abominable immoralities! If this high-class journal
may be believed, His Majesty is one of the most Heliogabalian
profligates that ever disgraced an autocratic throne! And do
these Wise Men denounce him to me? Not a bit of it! They
wink at his immoralities! Under the circumstances I really
think I am justified in exclaiming, “Lalabalele molola lililah
kalabalele poo!”
(All horrified.)
I don't care—the occasion
demands it.
Chorus.
Oh, make way for the Wise Men!
They are prizemen—
Double-first in the world's university!
For though lovely this island,
(Which is my land,)
She has no one to match them in her city.
They're the pride of Utopia—
Cornucopia
Is each in his mental fertility.
Oh, they never make blunder,
And no wonder,
For they're triumphs of infallibility.
Duet.—Scaphio and Phantis.
(The statement smacks of vanity),
We claim to rank before
The wisest of humanity.
As gifts of head and heart
We wasted on “utility,”
We're “cast” to play a part
Of great responsibility.
Upon our King's illicities,
And keep a watchful eye
On all his eccentricities.
If ever a trick he tries
That savours of rascality,
At our decree he dies
Without the least formality.
Or newspaper publicity;
Our word is quite enough,
The rest is electricity.
A pound of dynamite
Explodes in his auriculars;
It's not a pleasant sight—
We'll spare you the particulars.
The King needs no admonishing—
We may say its success
Is something quite astonishing.
Our despot it imbues
With virtues quite delectable:
He minds his P's and Q's,—
And keeps himself respectable.
He's a paragon quite.
He's as modest and mild
In his ways as a child;
With an autocrat, yet,
So delightfully bland
To the least in the land!
[Exeunt all but Scaphio and Phantis. Phantis is pensive.
Sca.
Phantis, you are not in your customary exuberant
spirits. What is wrong?
Phan.
Scaphio, I think you once told me that you have
never loved?
Sca.
Never! I have often marvelled at the fairy influence
which weaves its rosy web about the faculties of the greatest
and wisest of our race; but I thank Heaven I have never been
subjected to its singular fascination. For, oh, Phantis! there is
that within me that tells me that when my time does come,
the convulsion will be tremendous! When I love, it will be
with the accumulated fervour of sixty-six years! But I have
an ideal—a semi-transparent Being—filled with an inorganic
pink jelly—and I have never yet seen the woman who approaches
within measurable distance of it. All are opaque—
opaque—opaque!
Phan.
Keep that ideal firmly before you, and love not until
you find her. Though but fifty-five, I am an old campaigner
in the battle-fields of Love; and, believe me, it is better to be
as you are, heart-free and happy, than as I am—eternally
racked with doubting agonies! Scaphio, the Princess Zara
returns from England to-day!
Sca.
My poor boy, I see it all!
Phan.
Oh! Scaphio, she is so beautiful. Ah! you smile, for
you have never seen her. She sailed for England three months
before you took office.
Sca.
Now, tell me, is your affection requited?
Phan.
I do not know—I am not sure. Sometimes I think
it is, and then come these torturing doubts! I feel sure that
she does not regard me with absolute indifference, for she could
never look at me without having to go to bed with a sick
headache.
Sca.
That is surely something. Come, take heart, boy! you
are young and beautiful. What more could maiden want?
Phan.
Ah! Scaphio, remember she returns from a land where
every youth is as a young Greek god, and where such poor
beauty as I can boast is seen at every turn.
Sca.
Be of good cheer! Marry her, boy, if so your fancy
wills, and be sure that love will come.
(overjoyed).
Then you will assist me in this?
Sca.
Why, surely! Silly one, what have you to fear? We
have but to say the word, and her father must consent. Is he
not our very slave? Come, take heart. I cannot bear to see
you sad.
Phan.
Now I may hope, indeed! Scaphio, you have placed
me on the very pinnacle of human joy!
Duet.—Scaphio and Phantis.
Sca.
Let all your doubts take wing—
Our influence is great.
If Paramount our King
Presume to hesitate,
Put on the screw,
And caution him
That he will rue
Disaster grim
That must ensue
To life and limb,
Should he pooh-pooh
This harmless whim.
Both.
This harmless whim—this harmless whim.
It is, as I/you say, a harmless whim.
Phan.
(dancing).
Observe this dance
Which I employ
When I, by chance,
Go mad with joy.
What sentiment
Does this express?
[Phantis continues his dance while Scaphio vainly endeavours to discover its meaning.
Supreme content
And happiness
Both.
And happiness—and happiness—
Of course it does—and happiness
Phan.
Your friendly aid conferred,
I need no longer pine.
I've but to speak the word.
And lo! the maid is mine!
I do not choose
To be denied.
Or wish to lose
A lovely bride—
If to refuse
The King decide,
The Royal shoes
Then woe betide!
Both.
Then woe betide—then woe betide
The Royal shoes then woe betide!
(dancing).
This step to use
I condescend
Whene'er I chose
To serve a friend.
What it implies
Now try to guess;
[Scaphio continues his dance while Phantis is vainly endeavouring to discover its meaning.
It typifies
Unselfishness!
Both.
(dancing).
Unselfishness! Unselfishness!
Of course it does—unselfishness!
This step to use
We condescend! etc.
[Exeunt Scaphio and Phantis.
March. Enter King Paramount, attended by Guards and Nobles, and preceded by Girls dancing before him.
Chorus.
Quaff the nectar—cull the roses—
Gather fruit and flowers in plenty!
For our King no longer poses—
Sing the songs of far niente!
Wake the lute that sets us lilting,
Dance a welcome to each comer:
Day by day our year is wilting—
Sing the sunny songs of summer!
La, la, la, la!
Song.—King.
A King of autocratic power we—
A despot whose tyrannic will is law—
Whose rule is paramount o'er land and sea,
A Presence of unutterable awe!
But though the awe that I inspire
Must shrivel with imperial fire
All foes whom it may chance to touch,
To judge by what I see and hear,
It does not seem to interfere
With popular enjoyment, much.
Chorus.
No, no—it does not interfere
With our enjoyment much.
Recitative.—King.
My subjects all, it is your wish emphatic
That all Utopia shall henceforth be modelled
Upon that glorious country called Great Britain—
To which some add—but others do not—Ireland.
All.
It is!
King.
That being so, as you insist upon it,
We have arranged that our two younger daughters
Who have been “finished” by an English Lady—
A grave, and good, and gracious English Lady—
Shall daily be exhibited in public,
That all may learn what, from the English stand-point,
Is looked upon as maidenly perfection!
Come hither, daughters!
Enter Nekaya and Kalyba. They are twins, about fifteen years old; they are very modest and demure in their appearance, dress, and manner. They stand with their hands folded and their eyes cast down.
Chorus.
How fair! how modest! how discreet
How bashfully demure!
See how they blush, as they've been taught,
At this publicity unsought!
How English and how pure!
Duet.—Nekaya and Kalyba.
Both.
Although of native maids the cream,
We're brought up on the English scheme—
The best of all
For great and small
Who modesty adore.
Nek.
For English girls are good as gold,
Extremely modest (so we're told),
Demurely coy—divinely cold—
Kal.
And we are that—and more.
To please papa, who argues thus—
All girls should mould themselves on us
Because we are,
By furlongs far
The best of all the bunch,
We show ourselves to loud applause
From ten to four without a pause—
Nek.
Which is an awkward time because
It cuts into our lunch.
Both.
Oh, maids of high and low degree,
Whose social code is rather free,
Please look at us and you will see
What good young ladies ought to be!
Nek.
And as we stand, like clockwork toys,
A lecturer whom papa employs
Proceeds to praise
Our modest ways
And guileless character—
Kal.
Our well-known blush—our downcast eyes—
Our famous look of mild surprise
Nek.
(Which competition still defies)—
Kal.
Our celebrated “Sir!!!”
Then all the crowd take down our looks
In pocket memorandum books.
Our modest pose
The Kodaks do their best:
Nek.
If evidence you would possess
Of what is maiden bashfulness,
You only need a button press—
Kal.
And we do all the rest
Enter Lady Sophy—an English lady of mature years and extreme gravity of demeanour and dress. She carries a lecturer's wand in her hand. She is led on by the King, who expresses great regard and admiration for her.
Recitative.—Lady Sophy.
A course of maiden courtship, from the start
To the triumphant matrimonial finish.
Song.—Lady Sophy.
(Perfect stranger)
Meets two well-behaved young ladies.
He's attractive,
Young and active—
Each a little bit afraid is.
Youth advances,
At his glances
To their danger they awaken;
They repel him
As they tell him
He is very much mistaken.
Though they speak to him politely,
Please observe they're sneering slightly,
Just to show he's acting vainly.
This is Virtue saying plainly,
“Go away, young bachelor,
We are not what you take us for!”
When addressed impertinently,
English ladies answer gently,
“Go away, young bachelor,
We are not what you take us for!”
Hat he raises,
Enters into conversation.
Makes excuses—
This produces
Interesting agitation.
He, with daring,
Undespairing,
Gives his card—his rank discloses—
This proceeding,
They turn up their little noses.
Pray observe this lesson vital—
When a man of rank and title
His position first discloses,
When at home, let all the class
Try this in the looking-glass.
English girls of well-bred notions,
Shun all unrehearsed emotions,
English girls of highest class
Practise them before the glass.
Then he mentions
Somethimg definite to go on—
Makes recitals
Of his titles,
Hints at sentiments, and so on.
Smiling sweetly,
They, disreetly,
Ask for further evidences:
Thus invited,
He, delighted,
Gives the usual references.
This is business. Each is fluttered
When the offer's fairly uttered.
“Which of them has his affection?”
He declines to make selection.
Do they quarrel for his dross?
Not a bit of it—they toss!
Please observe this cogent moral—
English ladies never quarrel.
When a doubt they come across,
English ladies always toss.
'Twill be repeated in the market-place!
[Exit Lady Sophy, followed by Nekaya and Kalyba.
Chorus.
Quaff the nectar—cull the roses—
Bashful girls will soon be plenty!
Maid who thus at fifteen poses
Ought to be divine at twenty!
[Exit Chorus. Manet King.
King.
I requested Scaphio and Phantis to be so good as to
favour me with an audience this morning.
Oh, here they are!
Sca.
Your Majesty wished to speak with us, I believe. You
—you needn't keep your crown on, on our account, you know.
King.
I beg your pardon.
(Removes it.)
I always forget
that! Odd, the notion of a King not being allowed to wear
one of his own crowns in the presence of two of his own
subjects.
Phan.
Yes—bizarre, is it not?
King.
Most quaint. But then it's a quaint world.
Phan.
Teems with quiet fun. I often think what a lucky thing
it is that you are blessed with such a keen sense of humour!
King.
Do you know, I find it invaluable. Do what I will, I
cannot help looking at the humorous side of things—for, properly
considered, everything has its humorous side—even the Palace
Peeper.
(Producing it.)
See here—“Another Royal Scandal,”
by Junius Junior. “How long is this to last?” by Senex
Senior. “Ribald Royalty,” by Mercury Major. “Where is the
Public Exploder?” by Mephistopheles Minor. When I reflect
that all these outrageous attacks on my morality are written by
me, at your command—well, it's one of the funniest things that
have come within the scope of my experience.
Sca.
Besides, apart from that, they have a quiet humour of
their own which is simply irresistible.
King.
(gratified).
Not bad, I think. Biting, trenchant sarcasm—
the rapier, not the bludgeon—that's my line. But then
it's so easy—I'm such a good subject—a bad King but a good
Subject—ha! ha!—a capital heading for next week's leading
article!
(Makes a note.)
And then the stinging little paragraphs
about our Royal goings-on with our Royal Second Housemaid—
delicately sub-acid, are they not?
Sca.
My dear King, in that kind of thing no one can hold a
candle to you.
Phan.
But the crowning joke is the Comic Opera you've
written for us—“King Tuppence; or, A Good Deal Less than
Half a Sovereign”—in which the celebrated English tenor, Mr.
Wilkinson, burlesques your personal appearance and gives grotesque
imitations of your Royal pecularities. It's immense!
King.
Ye—es. That's what I wanted to speak to you about.
Now, I've not the least doubt but that even that has its humorous
side, too—if one could only see it. As a rule, I'm pretty quick
at detecting latent humour—but I confess I do not quite see
where it comes in, in this particular instance. It's so horribly
personal!
Personal? Yes, of course it's personal—but consider the
antithetical humour of the situation.
King.
Yes. I—I don't think I've quite grasped that.
Sca.
No? You surprise me. Why, consider. During the day
thousands tremble at your frown, during the night (from 8 to
11) thousands roar at it. During the day your most arbitrary
pronouncements are received by your subjects with abject submission—during
the night, they shout with joy at your most
terrible decrees. It's not every monarch that enjoys the privilege
of undoing by night all the despotic absurdities he's committed
during the day.
King.
Of course! Now I see it! Thank you very much. I
was sure it had its humorous side, and it was very dull of me
not to have seen it before. But, as I said just now, it's a quaint
world.
Phan.
Teems with quiet fun.
King.
Yes. Properly considered, what a farce life is, to be sure!
Song.—King.
First you're born—and I'll be bound you
Find a dozen strangers round you.
“Hallo,” cries the new-born baby,
“Where's my parents? which may they be?”
Awkward silence—no reply—
Puzzled baby wonders why!
Father rises, bows politely—
Mother smiles, but not too brightly)—
Doctor mumbles like a dumb thing—
Nurse is busy mixing something—
Every symptom tends to show
You're decidedly de trop—
All.
Time's teetotum,
If you spin it,
Gives it's quotum
Once a minute,
I'll go bail
You hit the nail,
And if you fail
The deuce is in it!
What it is to be a lover.
Some young lady is selected—
Poor, perhaps, but well-connected
Whom you hail (for Love is blind)
As the Queen of fairy kind.
Though she's plain—perhaps unsightly,
Makes her face up—laces tightly,
In her form your fancy traces
All the gifts of all the graces.
So you take her and she takes you!
All.
Joke beginning,
Never ceases,
Till your inning
Time releases,
On your way
You blindly stray,
And day by day
The joke increases!
Sours your temper—thins your tresses
Fancy, then, her chain relaxes;
Rates are facts and so are taxes.
Fairy Queen's no longer young—
Fairy Queen has got a tongue.
Twins have probably intruded—
Quite unbidden—just as you did—
They're a source of care and trouble—
Just as you were—only double.
Comes at last the final stroke—
Time has had his little joke!
All.
Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
Daily driven
(Wife as drover)
Ill you've thriven—
Ne'er in clover:
Lastly, when
Three-score and ten
(And not till then),
The joke is over!
Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho!
Then—and then
The joke is over!
[Exeunt Scaphio and Phantis. Manet King
King.
(putting on his crown again).
It's all very well. I
always like to look on the humorous side of things; but I do
not think I ought to be required to write libels on my own
moral character. Naturally, I see the joke of it—anybody
would—but Zara's coming home to-day; she's no longer a
child, and I confess I should not like her to see my Opera—
though it's uncommonly well written; and I should be sorry if
the Palace Peeper got into her hands—though it's certainly
smart—very smart indeed. It is almost a pity that I have to
buy up the whole edition, because it's really too good to be lost.
And Lady Sophy—that blameless type of perfect womanhood!
Great heavens, what would she say if the Second Housemaid
business happened to meet her pure blue eye!
Lady S.
My monarch is soliloquizing. I will withdraw.
(Going.)
King.
No—pray don't go. Now I'll give you fifty chances,
and you won't guess whom I was thinking of.
Lady S.
Alas, sir, I know too well. Ah! King, it's an old,
old story, and I'm well nigh weary of it! Be warned in time—
from my heart I pity you, but I am not for you!
(Going.)
King.
But hear what I have to say.
Lady S.
It is useless. Listen. In the course of a long and
adventurous career in the principal European Courts, it has
been revealed to me that I unconsciously exercise a weird and
supernatural fascination over all Crowned Heads. So irresistible
is this singular property, that there is not a European Monarch
who has not implored me, with tears in his eyes, to quit his
kingdom, and take my fatal charms elsewhere. As time was
getting on it occurred to me that by descending several pegs
in the scale of Respectability I might qualify your Majesty for
my hand. Actuated by this humane motive and happening
to possess Respectability enough for Six, I consented to confer
Respectability enough for Four upon your two younger daughters
—but although I have, alas, only Respectability enough for
Two left, there is still, as I gather from the public press of
this country
(producing the Palace Peeper)
, a considerable
balance in my favour.
King
(aside).
Da---!
(Aloud.)
May I ask how you came
by this?
Lady S.
It was handed to me by the officer who holds the
position of Public Exploder to your Imperial Majesty.
King.
And surely, Lady Sophy, surely you are not so unjust
as to place any faith in the irresponsible gabble of the Society
press!
Lady S.
(referring to paper).
I read on the authority of
Senox Senior that your Majesty was seen dancing with your
Second Housemaid on the Oriental Platform of the Tivoli
Gardens. That is untrue?
King.
Absolutely. Our Second Housemaid has only one leg.
Lady S.
(suspiciously).
How do you know that?
King.
Common report, I give you my honour.
Lady S.
It may be so. I further read—and the statement is
vouched for by no less an authority than Mephistopheles Minor
—that your Majesty indulges in a bath of hot rum-punch every
morning. I trust I do not lay myself open to the charge of
displaying an indelicate curiosity as to the mysteries of the
this statement?
King.
None whatever. When our medical adviser exhibits
rum-punch it is as a draught, not as a fomentation. As to our
bath, our valet plays the garden hose upon us every morning.
Lady S.
(shocked).
Oh, pray—pray spare me these unseemly
details. Well, you are a Despot—have you taken steps to slay
this scribbler?
King.
Well, no—I have not gone so far as that. After all,
it's the poor devils living, you know.
Lady S.
It is the poor devil's living that surprises me. If
this man lies, there is no recognized punishment that is sufficiently
terrible for him.
King.
That's precisely it. I—I am waiting until a punishment
is discovered that will exactly meet the enormity of the
case. I am in constant communication with the Mikado of
Japan, who is a leading authority on such points; and moreover,
I have the ground plans and sectional elevations of several
capital punishments in my desk at this moment. Oh, Lady
Sophy, as you are powerful, be merciful!
Duet.—King and Lady Sophy.
King.
Subjected to your heavenly gaze
(Poetical phrase)
My brain is turned completely.
Observe me now,
No Monarch, I vow,
Was ever so far afflicted?
Lady S.
I'm pleased with that poetical phrase,
“A heavenly gaze,”
But though you put it neatly,
Say what you will,
These paragraphs still
Remain uncontradicted.
Come, crush me this contemptible worm
(A forcible term),
If he's assailed you wrongly.
The rage display,
Which, as you say,
Has moved your Majesty lately.
King.
Though I admit that forcible term,
“Contemptible worm,”
Appeals to me most strongly,
To treat this pest
As you suggest
Would pain my Majesty greatly.
Lady S.
This writer lies!
King.
Yes, brother his eyes!
Lady S.
He lives, you say?
King.
In a sort of way.
Then have him shot.
King.
Decidedly not.
Lady S.
Or crush him flat.
King.
I cannot do that.
Both.
O royal Rex,
My/Her blameless sex.
Abhors such conduct shady.
You/I plead in vain,
You/I never will gain
Respectable English lady!
[Dance of repudiation by Lady Sophy. Exit, followed by King.
March. Enter all the Court, heralding the arrival of the Princess Zara, who enters, escorted by Captain Fitzbattleaxe and four Troopers, all in the full uniform of the First Life Guards.
Chorus.
Oh, maiden, rich
In Girton lore,
That wisdom which
We prized before,
We do confess
Is nothingness,
And rather less,
Perhaps, than more.
On each of us
Thy learning shed.
On calculus
May we be fed.
And teach us, please,
To speak with ease
All languages,
Alive and dead!
Solo.—Princess and Chorus.
Zara.
Five years have flown since I took wing—
Time flies, and his footstep ne'er retards—
I'm the eldest daughter of your king.
Troopers.
And we are her escort—First Life Guards!
On the royal yacht,
When the waves were white,
In a helmet hot
And a tunic tight,
And our great big boots,
We defied the storm:
For we're not recruits,
And his uniform
And we are her escort—First Life Guards!
Zara.
These gentlemen I present to you,
The pride and boast of their barrack-yards;
They've taken, oh, such care of me!
Troopers.
For we are her escort—First Life Guards!
When the tempest rose,
And the ship went so—
Do you suppose
We were ill? No, no!
Though a qualmish lot
In a tunic tight,
And a helmet hot,
And a breastplate bright
(Which a well-drilled trooper ne'er discards),
We stood as her escort—First Life Guards!
Full Chorus.
Knightsbridge nursemaids—serving fairies—
Stars of proud Belgravian airies;
At stern duty's call you leave them,
Though you know how that must grieve them!
Zara.
Tantantarara-rara-rara!
Capt. Fitz.
Trumpet-call of Princess Zara!
Chorus.
That's trump-call, and they're all trump cards—
They are her escort—First Life Guards!
Ensemble.
Chorus.
Ladies.
Knightsbridge nursemaids, etc.
Men.
When soldier seeks, etc.
Princess Zara and Fitzbattleaxe
(aside).
Oh! the hours are gold,
And the joys untold,
When my eyes behold
My beloved Princess;
And the years will seem
But a brief day-dream,
In the joy extreme
Of our happiness!
Full Chorus.
Knightsbridge nursemaids—serving fairies, etc.
Enter King, Princesses Nekaya and Kalyba, and Lady Sophy. As the King enters the escort present arms.
King.
Zara! my beloved daughter! Why, how well you
look, and how lovely you have grown!
(Embraces her.)
Zara.
My dear father!
(Embracing him.)
And my two
beautiful little sisters!
(Embracing them.)
Nek.
Not beautiful.
Kal.
Nice looking.
Zara.
But first let me present to you the English warrior
who commands my escort, and who has taken, oh! such care of
me during the voyage—Captain Fitzbattleaxe!
The First Life Guards.
When the tempest rose,
And the ship went so—
[Capt. Fitzbattleaxe motions them to be silent. The Troopers place themselves in the four corners of the stage, standing at ease, immovably, as if on sentry. Each is surrounded by an admiring group of young Ladies, of whom they take no notice.
King
(to Capt. Fitz.).
Sir, you come from a country where
every virtue flourishes. We trust that you will not criticize
too severely such shortcomings as you may detect in our semi-barbarous
society.
Fitz.
(looking at Zara).
Sir, I have eyes for nothing but the
blameless and the beautiful.
King.
We thank you—he is really very polite!
(Lady
Sophy, who has been greatly scandalized by the attentions paid
to the Lifeguardsmen by the young Ladies, marches the Princesses
Nekaya and Kalyba towards an exit.)
Lady Sophy, do not
leave us.
Lady S.
Sir, your children are young, and, so far, innocent.
If they are to remain so, it is necessary that they be at once
removed from the contamination of their present disgraceful
surroundings.
(She marches them off.)
King
(whose attention has thus been called to the proceedings of the young Ladies—aside).
Dear, dear! They really shouldn't.
(Aloud.)
Captain Fitzbattleaxe.
Fitz.
Sir.
King.
Your troopers appear to be receiving a troublesome
amount of attention from those young ladies. I know how
strict you English soldiers are, and I should be extremely
distressed if anything occurred to shock their puritanical British
sensitiveness.
Fitz.
Oh, I don't think there's any chance of that.
King.
You think not? They won't be offended?
Fitz.
Oh no! They are quite hardened to it. They get a
good deal of that sort of thing, standing sentry at the Horse
Guards.
King.
It's English, is it?
Fitz.
It's particularly English.
King.
Then, of course, it's all right. Pray proceed, ladies,
it's particularly English. Come, my daughter, for we have
much to say to each other.
Zara.
Farewell, Captain Fitzbattleaxe! I cannot thank you
too emphatically for the devoted care with which you have
watched over me during our long and eventful voyage.
Zara.
Ah! gallant soldier, brave and true
In tented field and tourney,
I grieve to have occasioned you
So very long a journey.
A British soldier gives up all—
His home and island beauty—
When summoned by the trumpet-call
Of Regimental duty!
All.
Tantantarara-rara-rara!
Trumpet-call of Princess Zara!
Ensemble.
Men.
A British warrior gives up all, etc.
Ladies.
Knightsbridge nursemaids, etc.
Fitzbattleaxe and Zara
(aside).
Oh, my joy, my pride,
My delight to hide,
Let us sing, aside,
What in truth we feel.
Let us whisper low
Of our love's glad glow,
Lest the truth we show
We would fain conceal.
Fitz.
Such escort duty, as his due,
To young Lifeguardsman falling
Completely reconciles him to
His uneventful calling.
When soldier seeks Utopian glades
In charge of Youth and Beauty,
Then pleasure merely masquerades
As Regimental Duty!
All.
Tantantarara-rara-rara!
Trumpet-call of Princess Zara!
Ensemble.
Chorus.
Men.
A British warrior, etc.
Women.
Knightsbridge nursemaids, etc.
Fitzbattleaxe and Zara
(aside).
Oh, the hours are gold,
And the joys untold,
When my eyes behold
My beloved Princess;
And the year will seem
But a brief day-dream,
In the joy extreme
Of our happiness!
[Exeunt King and Princess in one direction, Lifeguardsmen and Crowd in opposite direction.
Enter, at back, Scaphio and Phantis, who watch the Princess as she goes off. Scaphio is seated, shaking violently, and obviously under the influence of some strong emotion.
Phan.
There—tell me, Scaphio, is she not beautiful? Can
you wonder that I love her so passionately?
No. She is extraordinarily—miraculously lovely!
Good heavens, what a singularly beautiful girl!
Phan.
I knew you would say so!
Sca.
What exquisite charm of manner! What surprising
delicacy of gesture! Why, she's a goddess! a very goddess!
Phan.
(rather taken aback).
Yes—she's—she's an attractive
girl.
Sca.
Attractive? Why, you must be blind! She's entrancing
—enthralling!—intoxicating!
(Aside.)
God bless my heart,
what's the matter with me?
Phan.
(alarmed).
Yes. You—you promised to help me to
get her father's consent, you know.
Sca.
Promised! Yes, but the convulsion has come, my good
boy! It is she—my ideal! Why, what's this?
(Staggering.)
Phantis! Stop me—I'm going mad—mad with the love of her!
Phan.
Scaphio, compose yourself, I beg. The girl is perfectly
opaque! Besides, remember—each of us is helpless without
the other. You can't succeed without my consent, you know.
Sca.
And you dare to threaten? Oh, ungrateful! When you
came to me, palsied with love for this girl, and implored my
assistance, did I not unhesitatingly promise it? And this is
the return you make? Out of my sight, ingrate!
(Aside.)
Dear! dear! what is the matter with me?
Enter Capt. Fitzbattleaxe and Zara.
Zara.
Dear me. I'm afraid we are interrupting a tête-à-tête.
Sca.
(breathlessly).
No, no. You come very appropriately.
To be brief, we—we love you—this man and I—madly—
passionately!
Zara.
Sir!
Sca.
And we don't know how we are to settle which of us is
to marry you.
Fitz.
Zara, this is very awkward.
Sca.
(very much overcome).
I—I am paralyzed by the singular
radiance of your extraordinary loveliness. I know I am incoherent.
I never was like this before—it shall not occur
again. I—shall be fluent presently.
Zara
(aside).
Oh, dear Captain Fitzbattleaxe, what is to be
done?
Fitz.
(aside).
Leave it to me—I'll manage it.
(Aloud.)
It's a
common situation. Why not settle it in the English fashion?
Both.
The English fashion? What is that?
Fitz.
It's very simple. In England, when two gentlemen
are in love with the same lady, and until it is settled which
gentleman is to blow out the brains of the other, it is provided,
shall be entrusted to an officer of Household Cavalry as stakeholder,
who is bound to hand her over to the survivor (on the
Tontine principle) in a good condition of substantial and
decorative repair.
Sca.
Reasonable wear and tear and damages by fire excepted?
Fitz.
Exactly.
Phan.
Well, that seems very reasonable.
(To Scaphio.)
What do you say—Shall we entrust her to this officer of Household
Cavalry? It will give us time.
Sca.
(trembling violently).
I—I am not at present in a
condition to think it out coolly—but if he is an officer of
Household Cavalry, and if the Princess consents—
Zara.
Alas, dear sirs, I have no alternative—under the Rival
Admirers' Clauses Consolidation Act!
Fitz.
Good—then that's settled.
Quartette.
Fitzbattleaxe, Zara, Scaphio, and Phantis.
Fitz.
It's understood, I think, all round
That, by the English custom bound,
I hold the lady safe and sound
In trust for either rival,
Until you clearly testify
By sword or pistol, by-and-by,
Which gentleman prefers to die,
And which prefers survival.
Ensemble.
Sca. and Phan.
It's clearly understood, all round,
That, by your English custom bound,
He holds the lady safe and sound
In trust for either rival,
Until we clearly testify
By sword and pistol, by-and-by,
Which gentleman prefers to die,
And which prefers survival.
Zara and Fitz
(aside).
We stand, I think, on safish ground;
Our senses weak it will astound
If either gentleman is found
Prepared to meet his rival.
Their machinations we defy;
We won't be parted, you and I—
Of bloodshed each is rather shy—
They both prefer survival!
Phan.
(aside to Fitz.).
If I should die and he should live,
To you, without reserve, I give
Her heart so young and sensitive,
And all her predilections.
Sca.
(aside to Fitz.).
If he should live and I should die,
I see no kind of reason why
You should not, if you wish it, try
To gain her young affections.
Sca. and Phan.
(angrily to each other).
If I should die and you should live,
To this young officer I give
Her heart so soft and sensitive,
And all her predilections.
If you should live and I should die,
I see no kind of reason why
He should not, if he chooses try,
To win her young affections.
Fitz. and Zara
(aside).
As both of us are positive
That both of them intend to live,
There's nothing in the case to give,
Us cause for grave reflections.
As both will live and neither die
I see no kind of reason why
I should not, if I wish it, try
To gain your young affections!
[Exeunt Scaphio and Phantis together.
Duet.—Zara and Fitzbattleaxe.
Ensemble.
Oh, admirable art!
Oh, neatly-planned intention!
Oh, happy intervention—
Oh, well-constructed plot!
When sages try to part
Two loving hearts in fusion,
Their wisdom's a delusion,
And learning serves them not!
Fitz.
Until quite plain
Is their intent,
These sages twain
I represent.
Now please infer
That, nothing loth,
You're henceforth, as it were,
Engaged to marry both—
Then take it that I represent the two—
On that hypothesis, what would you do?
Zara
(aside).
What would I do? what would I do?
Zara.
Upon your breast,
My blushing face
I think I'd rest— (Doing so.)
Then perhaps I might
Demurely say—
“I find this breastplate bright
Is sorely in the way!”
That is, supposing it were true
That I'm engaged to both—and both were you!
Is never blest—
There's no such case
As perfect rest;
Asserts its sway!
Some crumpled roseleaf light
Is always in the way!
[Exit Fitzbattleaxe. Manet Zara.
Zara
(looking off, in the direction in which Scaphio and Phantis have gone).
Poor, trusting, simple-minded, and affectionate
old gentlemen! I'm really sorry for them! How strange
it is that when the flower of a man's youth has faded, he seems
to lose all charm in a woman's eyes; and how true are the
words of my expurgated Juvenal—
Flosculus, angustæ, miseræque brevissima vitæ
Portio!”
Enter King.
King.
My daughter! At last we are alone together.
Zara.
Yes, and I'm glad we are, for I want to speak to you
very seriously. Do you know this paper?
King
(aside).
Da---!
(Aloud.)
Oh yes—I've—I've seen
it. Where in the world did you get this from?
Zara.
It was given to me by Lady Sophy—my sisters'
governess.
King
(aside).
Lady Sophy's an angel, but I do sometimes
wish she'd mind her own business!
(Aloud.)
It's—ha! ha!
—it's rather humorous.
Zara.
I see nothing humorous in it. I only see that you,
the despotic King of this country, are made the subject of the
most scandalous insinuations. Why do you permit these
things?
King.
Well, they appeal to my sense of humour. It's the
only really comic paper in Utopia, and I wouldn't be without it
for the world.
Zara.
If it had any literary merit I could understand it.
King.
Oh, it has literary merit. Oh, distinctly, it has
literary merit.
Zara.
My dear father, it's mere ungrammatical twaddle.
King.
Oh, it's not ungrammatical. I can't allow that. Unpleasantly
personal, perhaps, but written with an epigrammatical
point that is very rare nowadays—very rare indeed.
Zara
(looking at cartoon).
Why do they represent you with
such a big nose?
King
(looking at cartoon).
Eh? Yes, it is a big one! Why,
the fact is that, in the cartoons of a comic paper, the size of
It's the rule.
Zara.
Then you must be at a tremendous discount, just now!
I see a notice of a new piece called “King Tuppence,” in which
an English tenor has the audacity to personate you on a public
stage. I can only say that I am surprised that any English
tenor should lend himself to such degrading personalities.
King.
Oh, he's not really English. As it happens he's a
Utopian, but he calls himself English.
Zara.
Calls himself English?
King.
Yes. Bless you, they wouldn't listen to any tenor who
didn't call himself English.
Zara.
And you permit this insolent buffoon to caricature you
in a pointless burlesque! My dear father—if you were a free
agent, you would never permit these outrages.
King
(almost in tears).
Zara, I—I admit I am not altogether
a free agent. I—I am controlled. I try to make the best of
it, but sometimes I find it very difficult—very difficult indeed.
Nominally a Despot, I am, between ourselves, the helpless tool
of two unscrupulous Wise Men, who insist on my falling in with
all their wishes and threaten to denounce me for immediate
explosion if I remonstrate!
(Breaks down completely.)
Zara.
My poor father! Now listen to me. With a view to
remodelling the political and social institutions of Utopia, I
have brought with me six representatives of the principal
causes that have tended to make England the powerful, happy,
and blameless country which the consensus of European civilization
has declared it to be. Place yourself unreservedly in the
hands of these gentlemen, and they will reorganize your country
on a footing that will enable you to defy your persecutors.
They are all now washing their hands after their journey.
Shall I introduce them?
King.
My dear Zara, how can I thank you? I will consent
to anything that will release me from the abominable tyranny
of these two men.
(Calling.)
What ho! Without there!
Summon my court without an instant's delay!
[Exit Calynx.
Finale.
Enter Every one, except the Flowers of Progress.
Chorus.
Although your Royal summons to appear
From courtesy was singularly free,
What would your Majesty?
Recitative.—King.
My worthy people, my beloved daughter
Most thoughtfully has brought with her from England
The types of all the causes that have made
That great and glorious country what it is.
Chorus.
Oh, joy unbounded!
Sca., Tar., and Phan.
(aside).
Why, what does this mean?
Recitative.—Zara.
Attend to me, Utopian populace,
Ye South Pacific Island viviparians;
All, in the abstract, types of courtly grace,
Yet, when compared with Britain's glorious race,
But little better than half-clothed barbarians!
Chorus.
That's true—we South Pacific viviparians,
Contrasted when
With Englishmen,
Are little better than half-clothed barbarians!
Enter all the Flowers of Progress, led by Fitzbattleaxe.
Solo.—Zara. (Presenting Captain Fitzbattleaxe.)
When Britain sounds the trump of war
(And Europe trembles),
The army of that conqueror
In serried ranks assembles;
'Tis then this warrior's eyes and sabre gleam
For our protection—
He represents a military scheme
In all its proud perfection!
Fitz.
Yes—yes—
I represent a military scheme
In all its proud perfection!
Chorus.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
Solo.—Zara. (Presenting Sir Bailey Barre, Q.C., M.P.)
A complicated gentleman allow me to present,
Of all the arts and faculties the terse embodiment,
He's a great Arithmetician who can demonstrate with ease
That two and two are three, or five, or anything you please;
An eminent Logician who can make it clear to you
That black is white—when looked at from the proper point of view;
A marvellous Philologist who'll undertake to show
That “yes” is but another and a neater form of “no.”
Yes—yes—yes—
Oh “yes” is but another and a neater form of “no.”
All preconceived ideas on any subject I can scout,
And demonstrate beyond all possibility of doubt,
That whether you're an honest man or whether you're a thief
Depends on whose solicitor has given me my brief.
Chorus.
Yes—yes—yes
That whether you're an honest man, etc.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
Solo.—Zara. (Presenting Lord Dramaleigh and County Councillor.)
What these may be, Utopians all
Perhaps you'll hardly guess—
They're types of England's physical
And moral cleanliness.
This is a Lord High Chamberlain
Of purity the gauge—
He'll cleanse our Court from moral stain
And purify our Stage.
Lord Dram.
Yes—yes—yes—
Court reputations I revise,
And presentations scrutinize,
New plays I read with jealous eyes,
And purify the Stage.
Chorus.
Yes—yes—yes—
New plays, etc.
Zara.
This County Councillor acclaim,
Great Britain's latest toy—
On anything you like to name
His talents he'll employ—
All streets and squares he'll purify
Within your city walls,
And keep meanwhile a modest eye
On wicked music halls.
C. C.
Yes—yes—yes—
In towns I make improvements great,
Which go to swell the County Rate—
I dwelling-houses sanitate,
And purify the Halls!
Chorus.
Yes—yes—yes—
He'll dwelling-houses, etc.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
Solo.—Zara. (Presenting Mr. Goldbury.)
A Company Promoter this, with special education,
Which teaches what Contango means and also Backwardation—
To speculators he supplies a grand financial leaven,
Time was when two were company—but now it must be seven.
Yes—yes—yes—
Stupendous loans to foreign thrones
I've largely advocated;
In ginger-pops and peppermint-drops
I've freely speculated;
Then mines of gold, of wealth untold,
Successfully I've floated,
And sudden falls in apple-stalls
Occasionally quoted:
And soon or late I always call
For Stock Exchange quotation—
No scheme's too great and none too small
For Companification!
Chorus.
Then soon or late, etc.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
Zara.
(Presenting Captain Sir Edward Corcoran, R. N.)
And lastly I present
Great Britain's proudest boast,
Who from the blows
Of foreign foes
Protects her sea-girt coast—
And if you ask him in respectful tone,
He'll show you how you may protect your own!
Solo.—Captain Corcoran.
I'm Captain Corcoran, K.C.B.,
I'll teach you how we rule the sea,
And terrify the simple Gaul.
And how the Saxon and the Celt
Their Europe-shaking blows have dealt
With Maxim gun and Nordenfelt
(Or will, when the occasion calls),
If sailor-like you'd play your cards
Unbend your sails, and lower your yards,
Unstep your masts—you'll never want 'em more.
Though we're no longer hearts of oak,
Yet we can steer and we can stoke,
And, thanks to coal, and thanks to coke,
We never run a ship ashore!
All.
What never?
Capt.
No, never!
All.
What, never?
Capt.
Hardly ever!
All.
Hardly ever run a ship ashore!
Then give three cheers, and three cheers more,
For the tar who never runs his ship ashore;
Then give three cheers, and three cheers more,
For he never runs his ship ashore!
All hail, ye types of England's power—
Ye heaven-enlightened band!
We bless the day, and bless the hour
That brought you to our land.
Quartette.
Ye wanderers from a mighty State
Oh, teach us how to legislate—
Your lightest word will carry weight
In our attentive ears.
Oh, teach the natives of this land
(Who are not quick to understand)
How to work off their social and
Political arrears!
Capt. Fitz.
Increase your army!
Lord Dram.
Purify your Court!
Capt. Cor.
Get up your steam and cut your canvas short!
Sir B. Bar.
To speak on both sides teach your sluggish brains!
Mr. B., C. C.
Widen your thoroughfares, and flush your drains!
Mr. Gold.
Utopia's much too big for one small head—
I'll float it as a Company Limited!
King.
A Company Limited? What may that be?
The term, I rather think, is new to me.
Chorus.
A Company Limited? etc.
Sca., Phan., and Tarara
(aside).
What does he mean? What does he mean?
Give us a kind of clue!
What does he mean? What does he mean?
What is he going to do?
Song.—Mr. Goldbury.
Some seven men form an Association
(If possible, all Peers and Baronets),
They start off with a public declaration
To what extent they mean to pay their debts.
That's called their Capital: if they are wary
They will not quote it at a sum immense.
The figure's immaterial—it may vary
From eighteen million down to eighteenpence.
I should put it rather low;
The good sense of doing so
Will be evident at once to any debtor,
When it's left to you to say
What amount you mean to pay,
Why, the lower you can put it at, the better,
Chorus.
When it's left to you to say, etc.
They then proceed to trade with all who'll trust 'em,
Quite irrespective of their capital
(It's shady, but it's sanctified by custom);
Bank, Railway, Loan, or Panama Canal.
It's strictly fair, and based on common sense—
If you succeed, your profits are stupendous—
And if you fail, pop goes your eighteenpence.
Make the money-spinner spin!
For you only stand to win,
And you'll never with dishonesty be twitted.
For nobody can know,
To a million or so.
To what extent your capital's committed!
Chorus.
No, nobody can know, etc.
If you come to grief, and creditors are craving,
(For nothing that is planned by mortal head
Is certain in this Vale of Sorrow—saving
That one's Liability is Limited),—
Do you suppose that signifies perdition?
If so you're but a monentary dunce—
You merely file a Winding-up Petition,
And start another Company at once!
Though a Rothschild you may be
In your own capacity,
As a Company you've come to utter sorrow—
But the Liquidators say,
“Never mind—you needn't pay,”
So you start another company to-morrow!
Chorus.
But the Liquidators say, etc.
Recitative.
King.
Well, at first sight it strikes us as dishonest,
But if it's good enough for virtuous England—
The first commercial country in the world—
It's good enough for us.
Sca. Phan., and Tarara.
You'd best take care—
(aside to King).
Please recollect we have not been consulted.
King
And do I understand you that Great Britain
(not heeding them).
Upon this Joint Stock principle is governed?
Mr. Gold.
We haven't come to that, exactly—but
We're tending rapidly in that direction.
The date's not distant.
King
(enthusiastically).
We will be before you!
We'll go down to Posterity renowned
As the First Sovereign in Christendom
Who registered his Crown and Country under
The Joint Stock Company's Act of Sixty-Two.
All.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
Solo.—King.
Henceforward, of a verity,
With Fame ourselves we link—
We'll go down to Posterity
Of sovereigns all the pink!
(aside to King).
If you've the mad temerity
Our wishes thus to blink,
You'll go down to Posterity
Much earlier than you think!
Tarara
(correcting them).
He'll go up to Posterity,
If I inflict the blow!
Sca. and Phan.
(angrily).
He'll go down to Posterity.
We think we ought to know!
Tarara
(explaining).
He'll go up to Posterity,
Blown up with dynamite!
Sca. and Phan.
(apologetically).
He'll go up to Posterity;
Of course he will, you're right!
Ensemble.
King, Lady Sophy, Nek., Kal., Cal., and Chorus.
Henceforward of a verity
With fame ourselves we link,
And go down to Posterity
Of sovereigns all the pink!
Sca., Phan., and Tarara
(aside).
If he has the temerity
Our wishes thus to blink,
He'll go up to Posterity
Much earlier than they think!
Fitzbattleaxe and Zara
(aside).
Who love with all sincerity,
Their lives may safely link;
And as for our Posterity—
We don't care what they think!
Chorus.
Let's seal this mercantile pact—
The step we ne'er shall rue—
It gives whatever we lacked—
The statement's strictly true.
All hail, astonishing Fact!
All hail, Invention new—
The Joint Stock Company's Act—
The Act of Sixty-Two!
Curtain.
| Utopia, Limited ; Or, The Flowers of Progress | |