Part 7

JULIA. And now that everybody has gone, and we're happily and comfortably married, I want to have a few words with my new-born husband. LUD. (aside). Yes, I expect you'll often have a few words with your new-born husband! (Aloud.) Well, what is it? JULIA. Why, I've been thinking that as you and I have to play our parts for life, it is most essential that we should come to a definite understanding as to how they shall be rendered. Now, I've been considering how I can make the most of the Grand Duchess. LUD. Have you? Well, if you'll take my advice, you'll make a very fine part of it. JULIA. Why, that's quite my idea. LUD. I shouldn't make it one of your hoity-toity vixenish viragoes. JULIA. You think not? LUD. Oh, I'm quite clear about that. I should make her a tender, gentle, submissive, affectionate (but not too affectionate) child-wife—timidly anxious to coil herself into her husband's heart, but kept in check by an awestruck reverence for his exalted intellectual qualities and his majestic personal appearance. JULIA. Oh, that is your idea of a good part? LUD. Yes—a wife who regards her husband's slightest wish as an inflexible law, and who ventures but rarely into his august presence, unless (which would happen seldom) he should summon her to appear before him. A crushed, despairing violet, whose blighted existence would culminate (all too soon) in a lonely and pathetic death-scene! A fine part, my dear. JULIA. Yes. There's a good deal to be said for your view of it. Now there are some actresses whom it would fit like a glove. LUD. (aside). I wish I'd married one of 'em! JULIA. But, you see, I must consider my temperament. For instance, my temperament would demand some strong scenes of justifiable jealousy. LUD. Oh, there's no difficulty about that. You shall have them. JULIA. With a lovely but detested rival— LUD. Oh, I'll provide the rival. JULIA. Whom I should stab—stab—stab! LUD. Oh, I wouldn't stab her. It's been done to death. I should treat her with a silent and contemptuous disdain, and delicately withdraw from a position which, to one of your sensitive nature, would be absolutely untenable. Dear me, I can see you delicately withdrawing, up centre and off! JULIA. Can you? LUD. Yes. It's a fine situation—and in your hands, full of quiet pathos!

DUET—LUDWIG and JULIA.

LUD. Now Julia, come, Consider it from This dainty point of view— A timid tender Feminine gender, Prompt to coyly coo— Yet silence seeking, Seldom speaking Till she's spoken to— A comfy, cosy, Rosy-posy Innocent ingenoo! The part you're suited to— (To give the deuce her due) A sweet (O, jiminy!) Miminy-piminy, Innocent ingenoo!

ENSEMBLE.

LUD. JULIA.

The part you're suited to— I'm much obliged to you, (To give the deuce her due) I don't think that would do— A sweet (O, jiminy!) To play (O, jiminy!) Miminy-piminy, Miminy-piminy, Innocent ingenoo! Innocent ingenoo!

JULIA. You forget my special magic (In a high dramatic sense) Lies in situations tragic— Undeniably intense. As I've justified promotion In the histrionic art, I'll submit to you my notion Of a first-rate part.

LUD. Well, let us see your notion Of a first-rate part.

JULIA (dramatically). I have a rival! Frenzy-thrilled, I find you both together! My heart stands still—with horror chilled—- Hard as the millstone nether! Then softly, slyly, snaily, snaky— Crawly, creepy, quaily, quaky— I track her on her homeward way, As panther tracks her fated prey!

(Furiously.) I fly at her soft white throat— The lily-white laughing leman! On her agonized gaze I gloat With the glee of a dancing demon! My rival she—I have no doubt of her—- So I hold on—till the breath is out of her! —till the breath is out of her!

And then—Remorse! Remorse! O cold unpleasant corse, Avaunt! Avaunt! That lifeless form I gaze upon— That face, still warm But weirdly wan— Those eyes of glass I contemplate— And then, alas! Too late—too late! I find she is—your Aunt! (Shuddering.) Remorse! Remorse!

Then, mad—mad—mad! With fancies wild—chimerical— Now sorrowful—silent—sad— Now hullaballoo hysterical! Ha! ha! ha! ha! But whether I'm sad or whether I'm glad, Mad! mad! mad! mad!

This calls for the resources of a high-class art, And satisfies my notion of a first-rate part! [Exit JULIA

Enter all the Chorus, hurriedly, and in great excitement.

CHORUS.

Your Highness, there's a party at the door— Your Highness, at the door there is a party— She says that we expect her, But we do not recollect her, For we never saw her countenance before!

With rage and indignation she is rife, Because our welcome wasn't very hearty— She's as sulky as a super, And she's swearing like a trooper, O, you never heard such language in your life!

Enter BARONESS VON KRAKENFELDT, in a fury.

BAR. With fury indescribable I burn! With rage I'm nearly ready to explode! There'll be grief and tribulation when I learn To whom this slight unbearable is owed! For whatever may be due I'll pay it double— There'll be terror indescribable and trouble! With a hurly-burly and a hubble-bubble I'll pay you for this pretty episode!

ALL. Oh, whatever may be due she'll pay it double!— It's very good of her to take the trouble— But we don't know what she means by "hubble-bubble"— No doubt it's an expression la mode.

BAR. (to LUDWIG). Do you know who I am?

LUD. (examining her). I don't; Your countenance I can't fix, my dear.

BAR. This proves I'm not a sham. (Showing pocket-handkerchief.)

LUD. (examining it). It won't; It only says "Krakenfeldt, Six," my dear.

BAR. Express your grief profound!

LUD. I shan't! This tone I never allow, my love.

BAR. Rudolph at once produce!

LUD. I can't; He isn't at home just now, my love.

BAR. (astonished). He isn't at home just now!

ALL. He isn't at home just now, (Dancing derisively.) He has an appointment particular, very- You'll find him, I think, in the town cemetery; And that's how we come to be making so merry, For he isn't at home just now!

BAR. But bless my heart and soul alive, it's impudence personified! I've come here to be matrimonially matrimonified!

LUD. For any disappointment I am sorry unaffectedly, But yesterday that nobleman expired quite unexpectedly—

ALL (sobbing). Tol the riddle lol! Tol the riddle lol! Tol the riddle, lol the riddle, lol lol lay! (Then laughing wildly.) Tol the riddle, lol the riddle, lol lol lay!

BAR. But this is most unexpected. He was well enough at a quarter to twelve yesterday. LUD. Yes. He died at half-past eleven. BAR. Bless me, how very sudden! LUD. It was sudden. BAR. But what in the world am I to do? I was to have been married to him to-day!

ALL (singing and dancing). For any disappointment we are sorry unaffectedly, But yesterday that nobleman expired quite unexpectedly— Tol the riddle lol!

BAR. Is this Court Mourning or a Fancy Ball? LUD. Well, it's a delicate combination of both effects. It is intended to express inconsolable grief for the decease of the late Duke and ebullient joy at the accession of his successor. I am his successor. Permit me to present you to my Grand Duchess. (Indicating JULIA.) BAR. Your Grand Duchess? Oh, your Highness! (Curtseying profoundly.) JULIA (sneering at her). Old frump! BAR. Humph! A recent creation, probably? LUD. We were married only half an hour ago. BAR. Exactly. I thought she seemed new to the position. JULIA. Ma'am, I don't know who you are, but I flatter myself I can do justice to any part on the very shortest notice. BAR. My dear, under the circumstances you are doing admirably—and you'll improve with practice. It's so difficult to be a lady when one isn't born to it. JULIA (in a rage, to LUDWIG). Am I to stand this? Am I not to be allowed to pull her to pieces? LUD. (aside to JULIA). No, no—it isn't Greek. Be a violet, I beg. BAR. And now tell me all about this distressing circumstance. How did the Grand Duke die? LUD. He perished nobly—in a Statutory Duel. BAR. In a Statutory Duel? But that's only a civil death!—and the Act expires to-night, and then he will come to life again! LUD. Well, no. Anxious to inaugurate my reign by conferring some inestimable boon on my people, I signalized this occasion by reviving the law for another hundred years. BAR. For another hundred years? Then set the merry joybells ringing! Let festive epithalamia resound through these ancient halls! Cut the satisfying sandwich—broach the exhilarating Marsala—and let us rejoice to-day, if we never rejoice again! LUD. But I don't think I quite understand. We have already rejoiced a good deal. BAR. Happy man, you little reck of the extent of the good things you are in for. When you killed Rudolph you adopted all his overwhelming responsibilities. Know then that I, Caroline von Krakenfeldt, am the most overwhelming of them all! LUD. But stop, stop—I've just been married to somebody else! JULIA. Yes, ma'am, to somebody else, ma'am! Do you understand, ma'am? To somebody else! BAR. Do keep this young woman quiet; she fidgets me! JULIA. Fidgets you! LUD. (aside to JULIA). Be a violet—a crushed, despairing violet. JULIA. Do you suppose I intend to give up a magnificent part without a struggle? LUD. My good girl, she has the law on her side. Let us both bear this calamity with resignation. If you must struggle, go away and struggle in the seclusion of your chamber.

SONG—BARONESS and CHORUS.

Now away to the wedding we go, So summon the charioteers— No kind of reluctance they show To embark on their married careers. Though Julia's emotion may flow For the rest of her maidenly years, ALL. To the wedding we eagerly go, So summon the charioteers!

Now away, etc.

(All dance off to wedding except JULIA.)

RECIT.—JULIA.

So ends my dream—so fades my vision fair! Of hope no gleam—distraction and despair! My cherished dream, the Ducal throne to share That aim supreme has vanished into air!

SONG—JULIA.

Broken every promise plighted— All is darksome—all is dreary. Every new-born hope is blighted! Sad and sorry—weak and weary Death the Friend or Death the Foe, Shall I call upon thee? No! I will go on living, though Sad and sorry—weak and weary!

No, no! Let the bygone go by! No good ever came of repining: If to-day there are clouds o'er the sky, To-morrow the sun may be shining! To-morrow, be kind, To-morrow, to me! With loyalty blind I curtsey to thee! To-day is a day of illusion and sorrow, So viva To-morrow, To-morrow, To-morrow! God save you, To-morrow! Your servant, To-morrow! God save you, To-morrow, To-morrow, To-morrow!

[Exit JULIA. Enter ERNEST.

ERN. It's of no use—I can't wait any longer. At any risk I must gratify my urgent desire to know what is going on. (Looking off.) Why, what's that? Surely I see a wedding procession winding down the hill, dressed in my Troilus and Cressida costumes! That's Ludwig's doing! I see how it is—he found the time hang heavy on his hands, and is amusing himself by getting married to Lisa. No—it can't be to Lisa, for here she is!

Enter LISA.

LISA (not seeing him). I really cannot stand seeing my Ludwig married twice in one day to somebody else! ERN. Lisa! (LISA sees him, and stands as if transfixed with horror.). ERN. Come here—don't be a little fool—I want you. (LISA suddenly turns and bolts off.) ERN. Why, what's the matter with the little donkey? One would think she saw a ghost! But if he's not marrying Lisa, whom is he marrying? (Suddenly.) Julia! (Much overcome.) I see it all! The scoundrel! He had to adopt all my responsibilities, and he's shabbily taken advantage of the situation to marry the girl I'm engaged to! But no, it can't be Julia, for here she is!

Enter JULIA. JULIA (not seeing him). I've made up my mind. I won't stand it! I'll send in my notice at once! ERN. Julia! Oh, what a relief!

(JULIA gazes at him as if transfixed.)

ERN. Then you've not married Ludwig? You are still true to me?

(JULIA turns and bolts in grotesque horror. ERNEST follows and stops her.)

ERN. Don't run away! Listen to me. Are you all crazy? JULIA (in affected terror). What would you with me, spectre? Oh, ain't his eyes sepulchral! And ain't his voice hollow! What are you doing out of your tomb at this time of day—apparition? ERN. I do wish I could make you girls understand that I'm only technically dead, and that physically I'm as much alive as ever I was in my life! JULIA. Oh, but it's an awful thing to be haunted by a technical bogy! ERN. You won't be haunted much longer. The law must be on its last legs, and in a few hours I shall come to life again—resume all my social and civil functions, and claim my darling as my blushing bride! JULIA. Oh—then you haven't heard? ERN. My love, I've heard nothing. How could I? There are no daily papers where I come from. JULIA. Why, Ludwig challenged Rudolph and won, and now he's Grand Duke, and he's revived the law for another century! ERN. What! But you're not serious—you're only joking! JULIA. My good sir, I'm a light-hearted girl, but I don't chaff bogies. ERN. Well, that's the meanest dodge I ever heard of! JULIA. Shabby trick, I call it. ERN. But you don't mean to say that you're going to cry off! JULIA. I really can't afford to wait until your time is up. You know, I've always set my face against long engagements. ERN. Then defy the law and marry me now. We will fly to your native country, and I'll play broken-English in London as you play broken-German here! JULIA. No. These legal technicalities cannot be defied. Situated as you are, you have no power to make me your wife. At best you could only make me your widow. ERN. Then be my widow—my little, dainty, winning, winsome widow! JULIA. Now what would be the good of that? Why, you goose, I should marry again within a month!

DUET—ERNEST and JULIA.

ERN. If the light of love's lingering ember Has faded in gloom, You cannot neglect, O remember, A voice from the tomb! That stern supernatural diction Should act as a solemn restriction, Although by a mere legal fiction A voice from the tomb!

JULIA (in affected terror). I own that that utterance chills me— It withers my bloom! With awful emotion it thrills me— That voice from the tomb! Oh, spectre, won't anything lay thee? Though pained to deny or gainsay thee, In this case I cannot obey thee, Thou voice from the tomb!

(Dancing.) So, spectre, appalling, I bid you good-day— Perhaps you'll be calling When passing this way. Your bogydom scorning, And all your love-lorning, I bid you good-morning, I bid you good-day.

ERN. (furious). My offer recalling, Your words I obey— Your fate is appalling, And full of dismay. To pay for this scorning I give you fair warning I'll haunt you each morning, Each night, and each day!

(Repeat Ensemble, and exeunt in opposite directions.)

Re-enter the Wedding Procession dancing.

CHORUS.

Now bridegroom and bride let us toast In a magnum of merry champagne— Let us make of this moment the most, We may not be so lucky again. So drink to our sovereign host And his highly intelligent reign— His health and his bride's let us toast In a magnum of merry champagne!

SONG—BARONESS with CHORUS.

I once gave an evening party (A sandwich and cut-orange ball), But my guests had such appetites hearty That I couldn't enjoy it, enjoy it at all. I made a heroic endeavour To look unconcerned, but in vain, And I vow'd that I never—oh never Would ask anybody again! But there's a distinction decided—- A difference truly immense— When the wine that you drink is provided, provided, At somebody else's expense. So bumpers—aye, ever so many— The cost we may safely ignore! For the wine doesn't cost us a penny, Tho' it's Pommry seventy-four!

CHORUS. So bumpers—aye, ever so many—etc.

Come, bumpers—aye, ever so many— And then, if you will, many more! This wine doesn't cost us a penny, Tho' it's Pommry, Pommry seventy-four! Old wine is a true panacea For ev'ry conceivable ill, When you cherish the soothing idea That somebody else pays the bill! Old wine is a pleasure that's hollow When at your own table you sit, For you're thinking each mouthful you swallow Has cost you, has cost you a threepenny-bit! So bumpers—aye, ever so many— And then, if you will, many more! This wine doesn't cost us a penny, Tho' it's Pommry seventy-four!

CHORUS. So, bumpers—aye, ever so many—etc.

(March heard.)

LUD. (recit.). Why, who is this approaching, Upon our joy encroaching? Some rascal come a-poaching Who's heard that wine we're broaching?

ALL. Who may this be? Who may this be? Who is he? Who is he? Who is he?

Enter HERALD.

HER. The Prince of Monte Carlo, From Mediterranean water, Has come here to bestow On you his beautiful daughter. They've paid off all they owe, As every statesman oughter— That Prince of Monte Carlo And his be-eautiful daughter!

CHORUS. The Prince of Monte Carlo, etc.

HER. The Prince of Monte Carlo, Who is so very partickler, Has heard that you're also For ceremony a stickler— Therefore he lets you know By word of mouth auric'lar— (That Prince of Monte Carlo Who is so very particklar)—

CHORUS. The Prince of Monte Carlo, etc.

HER. That Prince of Monte Carlo, From Mediterranean water, Has come here to bestow On you his be-eautiful daughter!

LUD. (recit.). His Highness we know not—nor the locality In which is situate his Principality; But, as he guesses by some odd fatality, This is the shop for cut and dried formality! Let him appear— He'll find that we're Remarkable for cut and dried formality.

(Reprise of March. Exit HERALD. LUDWIG beckons his Court.)

LUD. I have a plan—I'll tell you all the plot of it— He wants formality—he shall have a lot of it! (Whispers to them, through symphony.) Conceal yourselves, and when I give the cue, Spring out on him—you all know what to do! (All conceal themselves behind the draperies that enclose the stage.)

Pompous March. Enter the PRINCE and PRINCESS OF MONTE CARLO, attended by six theatrical-looking nobles and the Court Costumier.

DUET—Prince and PRINCESS.

PRINCE. We're rigged out in magnificent array (Our own clothes are much gloomier) In costumes which we've hired by the day From a very well-known costumier.

COST. (bowing). I am the well-known costumier.

PRINCESS. With a brilliant staff a Prince should make a show (It's a rule that never varies), So we've engaged from the Theatre Monaco Six supernumeraries.

NOBLES. We're the supernumeraries.

ALL. At a salary immense, Quite regardless of expense, Six supernumeraries!

PRINCE. They do not speak, for they break our grammar's laws, And their language is lamentable— And they never take off their gloves, because Their nails are not presentable.

NOBLES. Our nails are not presentable!

PRINCESS. To account for their shortcomings manifest We explain, in a whisper bated, They are wealthy members of the brewing interest To the Peerage elevated.

NOBLES. To the Peerage elevated.

ALL. They're/We're very, very rich, And accordingly, as sich, To the Peerage elevated.

PRINCE. Well, my dear, here we are at last—just in time to compel Duke Rudolph to fulfil the terms of his marriage contract. Another hour and we should have been too late. PRINCESS. Yes, papa, and if you hadn't fortunately discovered a means of making an income by honest industry, we should never have got here at all. PRINCE. Very true. Confined for the last two years within the precincts of my palace by an obdurate bootmaker who held a warrant for my arrest, I devoted my enforced leisure to a study of the doctrine of chances—mainly with the view of ascertaining whether there was the remotest chance of my ever going out for a walk again—and this led to the discovery of a singularly fascinating little round game which I have called Roulette, and by which, in one sitting, I won no less than five thousand francs! My first act was to pay my bootmaker—my second, to engage a good useful working set of second-hand nobles—and my third, to hurry you off to Pfennig Halbpfennig as fast as a train de luxe could carry us! PRINCESS. Yes, and a pretty job-lot of second-hand nobles you've scraped together! PRINCE (doubtfully). Pretty, you think? Humph! I don't know. I should say tol-lol, my love—only tol-lol. They are not wholly satisfactory. There is a certain air of unreality about them—they are not convincing. COST. But, my goot friend, vhat can you expect for eighteenpence a day! PRINCE. Now take this Peer, for instance. What the deuce do you call him? COST. Him? Oh, he's a swell—he's the Duke of Riviera. PRINCE. Oh, he's a Duke, is he? Well, that's no reason why he should look so confoundedly haughty. (To Noble.) Be affable, sir! (Noble takes attitude of affability.) That's better. (Passing to another.) Now, who's this with his moustache coming off? COST. Vhy; you're Viscount Mentone, ain't you? NOBLE. Blest if I know. (Turning up sword-belt.) It's wrote here—yes, Viscount Mentone. COST. Then vhy don't you say so? 'Old yerself up—you ain't carryin' sandwich boards now. (Adjusts his moustache.) PRINCE. Now, once for all, you Peers—when His Highness arrives, don't stand like sticks, but appear to take an intelligent and sympathetic interest in what is going on. You needn't say anything, but let your gestures be in accordance with the spirit of the conversation. Now take the word from me. Affability! (attitude). Submission! (attitude). Surprise! (attitude). Shame! (attitude). Grief! (attitude). Joy! (attitude). That's better! You can do it if you like! PRINCESS. But, papa, where in the world is the Court? There is positively no one here to receive us! I can't help feeling that Rudolph wants to get out of it because I'm poor. He's a miserly little wretch—that's what he is. PRINCE. Well, I shouldn't go so far as to say that. I should rather describe him as an enthusiastic collector of coins—of the realm—and we must not be too hard upon a numismatist if he feels a certain disinclination to part with some of his really very valuable specimens. It's a pretty hobby: I've often thought I should like to collect some coins myself. PRINCESS. Papa, I'm sure there's some one behind that curtain. I saw it move! PRINCE. Then no doubt they are coming. Now mind, you Peers—haughty affability combined with a sense of what is due to your exalted ranks, or I'll fine you half a franc each—upon my soul I will!

(Gong. The curtains fly back and the Court are discovered. They give a wild yell and rush on to the stage dancing wildly, with PRINCE, PRINCESS, and Nobles, who are taken by surprise at first, but eventually join in a reckless dance. At the end all fall down exhausted.)