Part 31

Our duty is to spy Upon our King's illicites, 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.

We fear no rude rebuff, 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.

Its force all men confess, 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.

Of a tyrant polite He's paragon quite. He's as modest and mild In his ways as a child; And no one ever met With an autocrat yet, So delightfully bland To the least in the land! So make way for the wise men, etc.

(Exeunt all but Scaphio and Phantis. Phantis is pensive.) Scaphio: Phantis, you are not in your customary exuberant spirits. What is wrong?

Phantis: Scaphio, I think you once told me that you have never loved?

Scaphio: 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 fervor 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!

Phantis: 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 today!

Scaphio: My poor boy, I see it all.

Phantis: 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.

Scaphio: Now tell me, is your affection requited?

Phantis: 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.

Scaphio: That is surely something. Come, take heart, boy! you are young and beautiful. What more could maiden want?

Phantis: Ah! Scaphio, remember she returns from a land where every youth is as a young Greek god, and where such beauty as I can boast is seen at every turn.

Scaphio: Be of good cheer! Marry her, boy, if so your fancy wills, and be sure that love will come.

Phantis: (overjoyed) Then you will assist me in this?

Scaphio: 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.

Phantis: Now I may hope, indeed! Scaphio, you have placed me on the very pinnacle of human joy!

DUET — Scaphio and Phantis.

Scaphio: 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.

Phantis: (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 endeavors to discover its meaning)

Supreme content And happiness!

Both: Of course it does! Of course it does! Supreme content and happiness.

Phantis: 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!

Scaphio: (Dancing) This step to use I condescend Whene'er I choose 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) Of course it does! Of course it does! It typifies unselfishness.

(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!

SOLO — 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.

Stupendous when we rouse ourselves to strike, Resistless when our tyrant thunder peals, We often wonder what obstruction's like, And how a contradicted monarch feels. But as it is our Royal whim Our Royal sails to set and trim To suit whatever wind may blow— What buffets contradiction deals And how a thwarted monarch feels We probably will never know.

Chorus: No, no—what thwarted monarch feels, You'll never, never know.

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.

Chorus: 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— (tenderly) A grave and good and gracious English Lady— Shall daily be exhibited in public, That all may learn what, from the English standpoint, 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— And that we are—and more.

Kal: To please papa, who argues thus— All girls should mould themselves on us Because we are By furlongs far The best of 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)— Our celebrated "Sir!!!"

Kal: Then all the crowd take down our looks In pocket memorandum books. To diagnose Our modest pose The Kodaks do their best:

Nek: If evidence you would possess Of what is maiden bashfulness You need only a button press—

Kal: And we will do 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

This morning we propose to illustrate A course of maiden courtship, from the start To the triumphant matrimonial finish.

(Through the following song the two Princesses illustrate in gesture the description given by Lady Sophy.)

SONG — Lady Sophy

Bold-faced ranger (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!"

As he gazes, Hat he raises, Enters into conversation. Makes excuses— This produces Interesting agitation. He, with daring, Undespairing, Give his card—his rank discloses Little heeding This proceeding, They turn up their little noses. Pray observe this lesson vital— When a man of rank and title His position first discloses, Always cock your little noses. 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 Practice them before the glass.

His intentions Then he mentions. Something definite to go on— Makes recitals Of his titles, Hints at settlements, and so on. Smiling sweetly, They, discreetly, 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.

RECITATIVE — Lady Sophy

The lecture's ended. In ten minute's space '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!

(Exeunt all but KING.)

King: I requested Scaphio and Phantis to be so good as to favor me with an audience this morning. (Enter SCAPHIO and PHANTIS.) Oh, here they are!

Scaphio: 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.

Phantis: Yes—bizarre, is it not?

King: Most quaint. But then it's a quaint world.

Phantis: Teems with quiet fun. I often think what a lucky thing it is that you are blessed with such a keen sense of humor!

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.

Scaphio: Besides, apart from that, they have a quiet humor 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?

Scaphio: My dear King, in that kind of thing no one can hold a candle to you.

Phantis: 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 peculiarities. 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 humor—but I confess I do not quite see where it comes in, in this particular instance. It's so horribly personal!

Scaphio: Personal? Yes, of course it's personal—but consider the antithetical humor of the situation.

King: Yes. I—I don't think I've quite grasped that.

Scaphio: 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 who 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.

Phantis: 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: Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! Time's teetotum, If you spin it, Gives it quotum Once a minute. I'll go bail You hit the nail, And if you fail, The deuce is in it!

King: You grow up and you discover 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. Rivals none the maiden woo, So you take her and she takes you.

All: Ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! ho! Joke beginning, Never ceases Till your inning Time releases, On your way You blindly stray, And day by day The joke increases!

King: Ten years later—Time progresses— 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 its 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.)

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 today; 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! (Enter Lady Sophy)

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 wellnigh 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 favor.

King: (aside) Damn! (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 Senex 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 honor.

Lady S.: It may be so. I further read—and the statement is vouched for by no less an authority that 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 royal dressing-room when I ask if there is any foundation for 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 devil's 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 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, bother his eyes! Lady S: He lives, you say? King: In a sort of way. Lady S: 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 will never 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.

Troop: 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 A well drilled trooper ne'er discards— 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, O! such care of me!

Troop: 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!

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!

Fitz: Trumpet-call of Princess Zara!

Cho: That's trump-call, and they're all trump cards— They are her escort—First Life Guards!

ENSEMBLE

Chorus Princess Zara and Fitzbattleaxe

Ladies Oh! the hours are gold, And the joys untold, Knightsbridge nursemaids, etc. When my eyes behold My beloved Princess; Men And the years will seem When the tempest rose, etc. But a brief day-dream, In the joy extreme Of our happiness!

Full Chorus: Knightsbridge nursemaids, serving fairies, etc.

(Enter King, Princess 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)

Nekaya: Not beautiful.

Kalyba: Nice-looking.