ACT I.
OPENING CHORUS.
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!
(Enter Calynx)
Calynx: 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 preeminent position among civilized nations!
Salata: Then in a few months Utopia may hope to be completely
Anglicized?
Calynx: Absolutely and without a doubt.
Melene: (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?
Salata: What have we to gain? English institutions, English
tastes, and oh, English fashions!
Calynx: England has made herself what she is because, in that
favored 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)
Tarara: Lalabalele talala! Callabale lalabalica falahle!
Calynx: (horrified) Stop—stop, I beg! (All the ladies
close their ears.)
Tarara: Callamalala galalate! Caritalla lalabalee kallalale
poo!
Ladies: Oh, stop him! stop him!
Calynx: 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?
Tarara: Yes, I'm perfectly aware of it, although—(suddenly
presenting an explosive "cracker"). Stop—allow me.
Calynx: (pulls it). Now, what's that for?
Tarara: 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 overmastered 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!"
Calynx: But what is your grievance?
Tarara: 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.
Calynx: 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.
Tarara: 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).
Calynx: Never even heard of the journal.
Tarara: 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 "Lalabelele molola lililah kalabalale
poo!" (All horrified.) I don't care—the occasion demands
it.
(Exit Tarara)
(March. Enter Guard, escorting Scaphio and Phantis.)
CHORUS.
O make way for the Wise Men!
They are the 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 his mental fertility.
O they make no blunder,
And no wonder,
For they're triumphs of infallibility.
DUET — Scaphio and Phantis.
In every mental lore
(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.
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.
Zara: But first let me present to you the English warrior who
commands my escort, and who has taken, O! such care of me
during my voyage—Captain Fitzbattleaxe!
Troopers: The First Life Guards.
When the tempest rose,
And the ship went so—
(Captain 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 should-
n'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
em-phatically for the devoted care with which you have watched
over me during our long and eventful voyage.
DUET — Zara and Captain Fitzbattleaxe.
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 warrior gives up all—
His home and island beauty—
When summoned to the trumpet call
Of Regimental Duty!
Cho: Tantantara-rara-rara!
Trumpet call of the Princess Zara!
ENSEMBLE
Men Fitz. and Zara (aside)
A British warrior gives up all, etc. Oh my joy, my pride,
My delight to hide,
Let us sing, aside,
Ladies What in truth we feel,
Let us whisper low
Knightsbridge nursemaids, etc. 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
Men Fitz. and Zara (aside)
A British warrior gives up all, etc. Oh! my hours are gold,
And the joys untold,
When my eyes behold
Ladies My beloved Princess;
And the years will seem
Knightsbridge nursemaids, etc. But a brief day-dream,
In the joy extreme
Of our happiness!
(Exeunt King and Zara in one direction, Lifeguardsmen and crowd in
opposite direction. Enter, at back, Scaphio and Phantis, who
watch Zara as she goes off. Scaphio is seated, shaking violently,
and obviously under the influence of some strong emotion.)
Phantis: There—tell me, Scaphio, is she not beautiful? Can
you wonder that I love her so passionately?
Scaphio: No. She is extraordinarily—miraculously lovely!
Good heavens, what a singularly beautiful girl!
Phantis: I knew you would say so!
Scaphio: What exquisite charm of manner! What surprising
delicacy of gesture! Why, she's a goddess! a very goddess!
Phantis: (rather taken aback) Yes—she's—she's an
attractive girl.
Scaphio: Attractive? Why, you must be blind!—She's
entrancing—enthralling—intoxicating! (Aside) God
bless my heart, what's the matter with me?
Phantis: (alarmed) Yes. You—you promised to help me to
get her father's consent, you know.
Scaphio: 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!
Phantis: 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.
Scaphio: And you dare to threaten? Oh, ungrateful! When you
came to me, palsied with love for this girl, and implored my
assis-tance, 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 tete-a-tete.
Scaphio: (breathlessly) No, no. You come very appropriately.
To be brief, we—we love you—this man and
I—madly—passionately!
Zara: Sir!
Scaphio: And we don't know how we are to settle which of us is to
marry you.
Fitz.: Zara, this is very awkward.
Scaphio: (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, by the
Rival Admirers' Clauses Consolidation Act, that the lady 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.
Scaphio: Reasonable wear and tear and damages by fire excepted?
Fitz.: Exactly.
Phantis: 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.
Scaphio: (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.
QUARTET
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 and pistol, by and by,
Which gentleman prefers to die,
And which prefers survival.
ENSEMBLE
Sca. and Phan. Zara and Fitz
Its clearly understood all round We stand, I think, on safish ground
That, by your English custom bound Our senses weak it will astound
He holds the lady safe and sound If either gentleman is found
In trust for either rival, Prepared to meet his rival.
Until we clearly testify Their machinations we defy;
By sword or pistol, by and by We won't be parted, you and I—
Which gentleman prefers to die, Of bloodshed each is rather shy—
And which prefers survival. They both prefer survival
Phan.: If I should die and he should live
(aside to Fitz.) To you, without reserve, I give
Her heart so young and sensitive,
And all her predilections.
Sca.: If he should live and I should die,
(aside to Fitz.) I see no kind of reason why
You should not, if you wish it, try
To gain her young affections.
ENSEMBLE
Sca. and Phant. Fitz and Zara
If I should die and you should live As both of us are positive
To this young officer I give That both of them intend to live,
Her heart so soft and sensitive, There's nothing in the case to give
And all her predilections. Us cause for grave reflections.
If you should live and I should die As both will live and neither die
I see no kind of reason why I see no kind of reason why
He should not, if he chooses, try I should not, if I wish it, try
To win her young affections. To gain your young affections!
(Exit 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 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?
(To Fitz.) In such a case,
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!"
Fitz.: Our mortal race
Is never blest—
There's no such case
As perfect rest;
Some petty blight
Asserts its sway—
Some crumpled roseleaf light
Is always in the way!
(Exit Fitzbattleaxe. Manet Zara.)
(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 humor. 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.
Unpleas-antly 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
your nose always varies inversely as the square of your
popularity. 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
remodel-ling 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 civiliza-tion
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
any-thing that will release me from the abominable tyranny of
these two men. (Calling) What ho! Without there! (Enter Calynx)
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,
Obedient to that summons we are here—
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., 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
Yes! Contrasted when
With Englishmen,
Are little better than half-clothed barbarians!
Enter all the Flowers of Progress, led by Fitzbattleaxe.
SOLOS — Zara and the Flowers of Progress.
(Presenting Captain Fitzbattleaxe)
When Britain sounds the trump of war
(And Europe trembles),
The army of the conqueror
In serried ranks assemble;
'Tis then this warrior's eyes and sabre gleam
For our protection—
He represents a military scheme
In all its proud perfection!
Chorus: Yes—yes
He represents a military scheme
In all its proud perfection.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
SOLO — Zara.
(Presenting Sir Bailey Barre, Q.C., M.P.)
A complicated gentleman allow 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 marvelous Philologist who'll undertake to show
That "yes" is but another and a neater form of "no."
Sir Bailey: Yes—yes—yes—
"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 your'e an honest man, etc.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
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 D.: Yes—yes—yes
Court reputations I revise,
And presentations scrutinize,
New plays I read with jealous eyes,
And purify the Stage.
Chorus: Court reputations, 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: In towns he makes improvements great, 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.
Mr. Gold.: 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 schemes too great and none too small
For Companification!
Chorus: Yes! Yes! Yes! No schemes too great, etc.
Ulahlica! Ulahlica! Ulahlica!
Zara: (Presenting Capt. 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 Gauls;
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!
CHORUS
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.
QUARTET
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 D.: Purify your court!
Capt. Corc: Get up your steam and cut your canvas short!
Sir B.: To speak on both sides teach your sluggish brains!
Mr. B.: 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, Phant, and Tara (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.
You can't embark on trading too tremendous—
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 monetary 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.
King: Well, at first sight it strikes us as dishonest,
But if its's good enough for virtuous England—
The first commercial country in the world—
It's good enough for us.
Sca., Phan., Tar. (aside to the King)
You'd best take care—
Please recollect we have not been consulted.
King: And do I understand that Great Britain
Upon this Joint Stock principle is governed?
Mr. G.: 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 in 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!
SOLO — King
Henceforward, of a verity,
With Fame ourselves we link—
We'll go down to Posterity
Of sovereigns all the pink!
Sca., Phan., Tar.: (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!
Tar.: (correcting them)
He'll go up to Posterity,
If I inflict the blow!
Sca., Phan.: (angrily)
He'll go down to Posterity—
We think we ought to know!
Tar.: (explaining) He'll go up to Posterity,
Blown up with dynamite!
Sca., Phan.: (apologetically)
He'll go up to Posterity,
Of course he will, you're right!
ENSEMBLE
King, Lady Sophy, Nek., Sca., Phan, and Tar Fitz. and Zara (aside)
Kal., Calynx and Chorus(aside)
Henceforward of a verity, If he has the temerity
Who love with all sincerity;
With fame ourselves we Our wishes thus to blink
link— Their lives may safely link.
And go down to Posterity, He'll go up to Posterity
And as for our posterity
Of sovereigns all pink! Much earlier than they think!
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!
END OF ACT I