Part 22
Arac: These things I treat the same (indicating leg pieces) (I quite forget their name.) They turn one's legs To cribbage pegs— Their aid I thus disclaim, Their aid I thus disclaim, Though I forget their name, Though I forget their name, Their aid, their aid I thus disclaim!
Others: Yes, yes, yes, All: Their aid (we/they) thus disclaim!
(They remove their leg pieces and wear close-fitting shape suits.)
Enter Hilarion, Florian, and Cyril
(Desperate fight between the three Princes and the three Knights, during which the Ladies on the battlements and the Soldiers on the stage sing the following chorus):
CHORUS DURING THE FIGHT "This is our Duty"
Chorus: This is our duty plain towards Our Princess all immaculate, We ought to bless her brothers' swords, And piously ejaculate: Oh, Hungary! Oh, Hungary! Oh, doughty sons of Hungary! May all success Attend and bless Your warlike ironmongery!
Hilarion! Hilarion! Hilarion!
(By this time, Arac, Guron, and Scynthius are on the ground, wounded — Hilarion, Cyril and Florian stand over them.)
Princess: (Entering through gate and followed by Ladies, Hildebrand, and Gama.) Hold! stay your hands! — we yield ourselves to you! Ladies, my brothers all lie bleeding there! Bind up their wounds — but look the other way. (Coming down) Is this the end? (Bitterly to Lady Blanche) How say you, Lady Blanche— Can I with dignity my post resign? And if I do, will you then take my place?
Blanche: To answer this, it's meet that we consult The great Potential Mysteries; I mean The five Subjunctive Possibilities— The May, the Might, the Would, the Could, the Should. Can you resign? The Prince May claim you; if He Might, you Could — and if you Should, I Would!
Princess: I thought as much! Then to my fate I yield— So ends my cherished scheme! Oh, I had hoped To band all women with my maiden throng, And make them all abjure tyrannic Man!
Hildebd: A noble aim!
Princess: You ridicule it now; But if I carried out this glorious scheme, At my exalted name Posterity Would bow in gratitude!
Hildebd: But pray reflect — If you enlist all women in your cause, And make them all abjure tyrannic Man, The obvious question then arises, "How Is this Posterity to be provided?"
Princess: I never thought of that! My Lady Blanche, How do you solve the riddle?
Blanche: Don't ask me — Abstract Philosophy won't answer it. Take him — he is your Shall. Give in to Fate!
Princess: And you desert me. I alone am staunch!
Hilarion: Madam, you placed your trust in Woman — well, Woman has failed you utterly — try Man, Give him one chance, it's only fair — besides, Women are far too precious, too divine, To try unproven theories upon. Experiments, the proverb says, are made On humble subjects — try our grosser clay, And mould it as you will!
Cyril: Remember, too Dear Madam, if at any time you feel A-weary of the Prince, you can return To Castle Adamant, and rule your girls As heretofore, you know.
Princess: And shall I find The Lady Psyche here?
Psyche: If Cyril, ma'am, Does not behave himself, I think you will.
Princess: And you Melissa, shall I find you here?
Melissa: Madam, however Florian turns out, Unhesitatingly I answer, No!
Gama: Consider this, my love, if your mama Had looked on matters from your point of view (I wish she had), why where would you have been?
Blanche: There's an unbounded field of speculation, On which I could discourse for hours!
Princess: No doubt! We will not trouble you. Hilarion, I have been wrong — I see my error now. Take me, Hilarion — "We will walk this world Yoked in all exercise of noble end! And so through those dark gates across the wild That no one knows!" Indeed, I love thee — Come!
Finale "With joy abiding"
Princess: With joy abiding, Together gliding Through life's variety, In sweet society, And thus enthroning The love I'm owning, On this atoning I will rely!
Chorus: It were profanity For poor humanity To treat as vanity The sway of Love. In no locality Or principality Is our mortality It's sway above!
Hilarion: When day is fading, With serenading And such frivolity Of tender quality— With scented showers Of fairest flowers, The happy hours Will gaily fly! The happy hours will gaily fly!
Chorus: It were profanity For poor humanity To treat as vanity The sway of Love. In no locality Or principality Is our mortality It's sway above!
1st Sops: In no lo- Others: cality Or princi- Its pality Is our mor- sway tality It's sway a- a- bove! bove!
Princess & With scented Others: Hilarion: showers Of fairest Its flowers, The happy sway hours will gaily a- fly! bove!
All: In no locality Or principality Is our mortality Above the sway of love! Curtain
RUDDIGORE or
The Witch's Curse DRAMATIS PERSONAE
MORTALS
SIR RUTHVEN MURGATROYD (disguised as Robin Oakapple, a Young Farmer) RICHARD DAUNTLESS (his Foster-Brother, a Man-o'-war's man) SIR DESPARD MURGATROYD, OF RUDDIGORE (a Wicked Baronet) OLD ADAM GOODHEART (Robin's Faithful Servant) ROSE MAYBUD (a Village Maiden) MAD MARGARET DAME HANNAH (Rose's Aunt) ZORAH and RUTH (Professional Bridesmaids)
GHOSTS
SIR RUPERT MURGATROYD (the First Baronet) SIR JASPER MURGATROYD (the Third Baronet) SIR LIONEL MURGATROYD (the Sixth Baronet) SIR CONRAD MURGATROYD (the Twelfth Baronet) SIR DESMOND MURGATROYD (the Sixteenth Baronet) SIR GILBERT MURGATROYD (the Eighteenth Baronet) SIR MERVYN MURGATROYD (the Twentieth Baronet) and SIR RODERIC MURGATROYD (the Twenty-first Baronet)
Chorus of Officers, Ancestors, Professional Bridesmaids, and Villagers
## ACT I
The Fishing Village of Rederring, in Cornwall
## ACT II
The Picture Gallery in Ruddigore Castle
TIME
Early in the 19th Century
## ACT I
SCENE. The fishing village of Rederring (in Cornwall). Rose Maybud's cottage is seen L.
Enter Chorus of Bridesmaids. They range themselves in front of Rose's cottage.
CHORUS OF BRIDESMAIDS.
Fair is Rose as bright May-day; Soft is Rose as the warm west-wind; Sweet is Rose as the new-mown hay— Rose is queen of maiden-kind! Rose, all glowing With virgin blushes, say— Is anybody going To marry you to-day?
SOLO—ZORAH.
Every day, as the days roll on, Bridesmaids' garb we gaily don, Sure that a maid so fairly famed Can't long remain unclaimed. Hour by hour and day by day, Several months have passed away, Though she's the fairest flower that blows, No one has married Rose!
CHORUS.
Rose, all glowing With virgin blushes, say— Is anybody going To marry you to-day?
ZORAH. Hour by hour and day by day, Months have passed away.
CHORUS. Fair is Rose as bright Mayday, etc.
(Enter Dame Hannah, from cottage.)
HANNAH. Nay, gentle maidens, you sing well but vainly, for Rose is still heart-free, and looks but coldly upon her many suitors. ZORAH. It's very disappointing. Every young man in the village is in love with her, but they are appalled by her beauty and modesty, and won't declare themselves; so, until she makes her own choice, there's no chance for anybody else. RUTH. This is, perhaps, the only village in the world that possesses an endowed corps of professional bridesmaids who are bound to be on duty every day from ten to four—and it is at least six months since our services were required. The pious charity by which we exist is practically wasted! ZOR. We shall be disendowed—that will be the end of it! Dame Hannah—you're a nice old person—you could marry if you liked. There's old Adam—Robin's faithful servant—he loves you with all the frenzy of a boy of fourteen. HAN. Nay—that may never be, for I am pledged! ALL. To whom? HAN. To an eternal maidenhood! Many years ago I was betrothed to a god-like youth who woo'd me under an assumed name. But on the very day upon which our wedding was to have been celebrated, I discovered that he was no other than Sir Roderic Murgatroyd, one of the bad Baronets of Ruddigore, and the uncle of the man who now bears that title. As a son of that accursed race he was no husband for an honest girl, so, madly as I loved him, I left him then and there. He died but ten years since, but I never saw him again. ZOR. But why should you not marry a bad Baronet of Ruddigore? RUTH. All baronets are bad; but was he worse than other baronets? HAN. My child, he was accursed. ZOR. But who cursed him? Not you, I trust! HAN. The curse is on all his line and has been, ever since the time of Sir Rupert, the first Baronet. Listen, and you shall hear the legend:
LEGEND—HANNAH.
Sir Rupert Murgatroyd His leisure and his riches He ruthlessly employed In persecuting witches. With fear he'd make them quake— He'd duck them in his lake— He'd break their bones With sticks and stones, And burn them at the stake!
CHORUS. This sport he much enjoyed, Did Rupert Murgatroyd— No sense of shame Or pity came To Rupert Murgatroyd!
Once, on the village green, A palsied hag he roasted, And what took place, I ween, Shook his composure boasted; For, as the torture grim Seized on each withered limb, The writhing dame `Mid fire and flame Yelled forth this curse on him:
"Each lord of Ruddigore, Despite his best endeavour, Shall do one crime, or more, Once, every day, for ever! This doom he can't defy, However he may try, For should he stay His hand, that day In torture he shall die!"
The prophecy came true: Each heir who held the title Had, every day, to do Some crime of import vital; Until, with guilt o'erplied, "I'll sin no more!" he cried, And on the day He said that say, In agony he died!
CHORUS. And thus, with sinning cloyed, Has died each Murgatroyd, And so shall fall, Both one and all, Each coming Murgatroyd!
(Exeunt Chorus of Bridesmaids.)
(Enter Rose Maybud from cottage, with small basket on her arm.)
HAN. Whither away, dear Rose? On some errand of charity, as is thy wont? ROSE. A few gifts, dear aunt, for deserving villagers. Lo, here is some peppermint rock for old gaffer Gadderby, a set of false teeth for pretty little Ruth Rowbottom, and a pound of snuff for the poor orphan girl on the hill. HAN. Ah, Rose, pity that so much goodness should not help to make some gallant youth happy for life! Rose, why dost thou harden that little heart of thine? Is there none hereaway whom thou couldst love? ROSE. And if there were such an one, verily it would ill become me to tell him so. HAN. Nay, dear one, where true love is, there is little need of prim formality. ROSE. Hush, dear aunt, for thy words pain me sorely. Hung in a plated dish-cover to the knocker of the workhouse door, with naught that I could call mine own, save a change of baby-linen and a book of etiquette, little wonder if I have always regarded that work as a voice from a parent's tomb. This hallowed volume (producing a book of etiquette), composed, if I may believe the title-page, by no less an authority than the wife of a Lord Mayor, has been, through life, my guide and monitor. By its solemn precepts I have learnt to test the moral worth of all who approach me. The man who bites his bread, or eats peas with a knife, I look upon as a lost creature, and he who has not acquired the proper way of entering and leaving a room is the object of my pitying horror. There are those in this village who bite their nails, dear aunt, and nearly all are wont to use their pocket combs in public places. In truth I could pursue this painful theme much further, but behold, I have said enough. HAN. But is there not one among them who is faultless, in thine eyes? For example—young Robin. He combines the manners of a Marquis with the morals of a Methodist. Couldst thou not love him? ROSE. And even if I could, how should I confess it unto him? For lo, he is shy, and sayeth naught!
BALLAD—ROSE.
If somebody there chanced to be Who loved me in a manner true, My heart would point him out to me, And I would point him out to you. (Referring But here it says of those who point— to book.) Their manners must be out of joint— You may not point— You must not point— It's manners out of joint, to point!
Ah! Had I the love of such as he, Some quiet spot he'd take me to, Then he could whisper it to me, And I could whisper it to you. (Referring But whispering, I've somewhere met, to book.) Is contrary to etiquette: Where can it be (Searching book.) Now let me see—(Finding reference.) Yes, yes! It's contrary to etiquette!
(Showing it to Dame Hannah.)
If any well-bred youth I knew, Polite and gentle, neat and trim, Then I would hint as much to you, And you could hint as much to him. (Referring But here it says, in plainest print, to book.) "It's most unladylike to hint"— You may not hint, You must not hint— It says you mustn't hint, in print!
Ah! And if I loved him through and through— (True love and not a passing whim), Then I could speak of it to you, And you could speak of it to him. (Referring But here I find it doesn't do to book.) To speak until you're spoken to. Where can it be? (Searching book.) Now let me see—(Finding reference.) Yes, yes! "Don't speak until you're spoken to!" (Exit Dame Hannah.)
ROSE. Poor aunt! Little did the good soul think, when she breathed the hallowed name of Robin, that he would do even as well as another. But he resembleth all the youths in this village, in that he is unduly bashful in my presence, and lo, it is hard to bring him to the point. But soft, he is here!
(Rose is about to go when Robin enters and calls her.)
ROBIN. Mistress Rose! ROSE. (Surprised.) Master Robin! ROB. I wished to say that—it is fine. ROSE. It is passing fine. ROB. But we do want rain. ROSE. Aye, sorely! Is that all? ROB. (Sighing.) That is all. ROSE. Good day, Master Robin! ROB. Good day, Mistress Rose! (Both going—both stop.) ROSE. I crave pardon, I— ROB. I beg pardon, I— ROSE. You were about to say?— ROB. I would fain consult you— ROSE. Truly? ROB. It is about a friend. ROSE. In truth I have a friend myself. ROB. Indeed? I mean, of course— ROSE. And I would fain consult you— ROB. (Anxiously.) About him? ROSE. (Prudishly.) About her. ROB. (Relieved.) Let us consult one another.
DUET-ROBIN and ROSE
ROB. I know a youth who loves a little maid— (Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!) Silent is he, for he's modest and afraid— (Hey, but he's timid as a youth can be!)
ROSE. I know a maid who loves a gallant youth, (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) She cannot tell him all the sad, sad truth— (Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
ROB. Poor little man!
ROSE. Poor little maid!
ROB. Poor little man!
ROSE. Poor little maid!
BOTH. Now tell me pray, and tell me true, What in the world should the (young man\maiden) do?
ROB. He cannot eat and he cannot sleep— (Hey, but his face is a sight for to see!) Daily he goes for to wail—for to weep— (Hey, but he's wretched as a youth can be!)
ROSE. She's very thin and she's very pale— (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!) Daily she goes for to weep—for to wail— (Hey, but I think that little maid will die!)
ROB. Poor little maid!
ROSE. Poor little man!
ROB. Poor little maid!
ROSE. Poor little man!
BOTH. Now tell me pray, and tell me true, What in the world should the (young man\maiden) do?
ROSE. If I were the youth I should offer her my name— (Hey, but her face is a sight for to see!)
ROB. If were the maid I should fan his honest flame— (Hey, but he's bashful as a youth can be!)
ROSE. If I were the youth I should speak to her to-day— (Hey, but she sickens as the days go by!)
ROB. If I were the maid I should meet the lad half way— (For I really do believe that timid youth will die!)
ROSE. Poor little man!
ROB. Poor little maid!
ROSE. Poor little man!
ROB. Poor little maid!
BOTH. I thank you, (miss\sir), for your counsel true; I'll tell that (youth\maid) what (he\she) ought to do! (Exit ROSE.)
ROB. Poor child! I sometimes think that if she wasn't quite so particular I might venture—but no, no—even then I should be unworthy of her!
(He sits desponding. Enter Old Adam.)
ADAM. My kind master is sad! Dear Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd— ROB. Hush! As you love me, breathe not that hated name. Twenty years ago, in horror at the prospect of inheriting that hideous title, and with it the ban that compels all who succeed to the baronetcy to commit at least one deadly crime per day, for life, I fled my home, and concealed myself in this innocent village under the name of Robin Oakapple. My younger brother, Despard, believing me to be dead, succeeded to the title and its attendant curse. For twenty years I have been dead and buried. Don't dig me up now. ADAM. Dear master, it shall be as you wish, for have I not sworn to obey you for ever in all things? Yet, as we are here alone, and as I belong to that particular description of good old man to whom the truth is a refreshing novelty, let me call you by your own right title once more! (Robin assents.) Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd! Baronet! Of Ruddigore! Whew! It's like eight hours at the seaside! ROB. My poor old friend! Would there were more like you! ADAM. Would there were indeed! But I bring you good tidings. Your foster-brother, Richard, has returned from sea—his ship the Tom-Tit rides yonder at anchor, and he himself is even now in this very village! ROB. My beloved foster-brother? No, no—it cannot be! ADAM. It is even so—and see, he comes this way! (Exeunt together.)
(Enter Chorus of Bridesmaids.)
CHORUS.
From the briny sea Comes young Richard, all victorious! Valorous is he— His achievements all are glorious! Let the welkin ring With the news we bring Sing it—shout it— Tell about it— Safe and sound returneth he, All victorious from the sea!
(Enter Richard. The girls welcome him as he greets old acquaintances.)
BALLAD—RICHARD.
I shipped, d'ye see, in a Revenue sloop, And, off Cape Finistere, A merchantman we see, A Frenchman, going free, So we made for the bold Mounseer, D'ye see? We made for the bold Mounseer.
CHORUS. So we made for the bold Mounseer, D'ye see? We made for the bold Mounseer.
But she proved to be a Frigate—and she up with her ports, And fires with a thirty-two! It come uncommon near, But we answered with a cheer, Which paralysed the Parley-voo, D'ye see? Which paralysed the Parley-voo!
CHORUS. Which paralysed the Parley-voo, D'ye see? Which paralysed the Parley-voo!
Then our Captain he up and he says, says he, "That chap we need not fear,— We can take her, if we like, She is sartin for to strike, For she's only a darned Mounseer, D'ye see? She's only a darned Mounseer!"
CHORUS. For she's only a darned Mounseer, D'ye see? She's only a darned Mounseer!
"But to fight a French fal-lal—it's like hittin' of a gal! It's a lubberly thing for to do; For we, with all our faults, Why, we're sturdy British salts, While she's only a Parley-voo, D'ye see? While she's only a poor Parley-voo!"
CHORUS. While she's only a Parley-voo, D'ye see? While she's only a poor Parley-voo!'
So we up with our helm, and we scuds before the breeze As we gives a compassionating cheer; Froggee answers with a shout As he sees us go about, Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer, D'ye see? Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer!
CHORUS. Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer, D'ye see? Which was grateful of the poor Mounseer!
And I'll wager in their joy they kissed each other's cheek (Which is what them furriners do), And they blessed their lucky stars We were hardy British tars Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo, D'ye see? Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo!
CHORUS. Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo, D'ye see? Who had pity on a poor Parley-voo!
(HORNPIPE.) (Exeunt Chorus.)
(Enter Robin.)
ROB. Richard! RICH. Robin! ROB. My beloved foster-brother, and very dearest friend, welcome home again after ten long years at sea! It is such deeds as yours that cause our flag to be loved and dreaded throughout the civilized world! RICH. Why, lord love ye, Rob, that's but a trifle to what we have done in the way of sparing life! I believe I may say, without exaggeration, that the marciful little Tom-Tit has spared more French frigates than any craft afloat! But 'taint for a British seaman to brag, so I'll just stow my jawin' tackle and belay. (Robin sighs.) But 'vast heavin', messmate, what's brought you all a-cockbill? ROB. Alas, Dick, I love Rose Maybud, and love in vain! RICH. You love in vain? Come, that's too good! Why, you're a fine strapping muscular young fellow—tall and strong as a to'-gall'n'-m'st—taut as a forestay—aye, and a barrowknight to boot, if all had their rights! ROB. Hush, Richard—not a word about my true rank, which none here suspect. Yes, I know well enough that few men are better calculated to win a woman's heart than I. I'm a fine fellow, Dick, and worthy any woman's love—happy the girl who gets me, say I. But I'm timid, Dick; shy—nervous—modest— retiring—diffident—and I cannot tell her, Dick, I cannot tell her! Ah, you've no idea what a poor opinion I have of myself, and how little I deserve it. RICH. Robin, do you call to mind how, years ago, we swore that, come what might, we would always act upon our hearts' dictates? ROB. Aye, Dick, and I've always kept that oath. In doubt, difficulty, and danger I've always asked my heart what I should do, and it has never failed me. RICH. Right! Let your heart be your compass, with a clear conscience for your binnacle light, and you'll sail ten knots on a bowline, clear of shoals, rocks, and quicksands! Well, now, what does my heart say in this here difficult situation? Why, it says, "Dick," it says—(it calls me Dick acos it's known me from a babby)—"Dick," it says, "you ain't shy—you ain't modest—speak you up for him as is!" Robin, my lad, just you lay me alongside, and when she's becalmed under my lee, I'll spin her a yarn that shall sarve to fish you two together for life! ROB. Will you do this thing for me? Can you, do you think? Yes (feeling his pulse). There's no false modesty about you. Your—what I would call bumptious self-assertiveness (I mean the expression in its complimentary sense) has already made you a bos'n's mate, and it will make an admiral of you in time, if you work it properly, you dear, incompetent old impostor! My dear fellow, I'd give my right arm for one tenth of your modest assurance!
SONG—ROBIN.