The Secrets of a Savoyard Part 10

credulous simplicity, and that in truth he is no orphan boy. The Pirate King decrees that there shall be a swift and terrible revenge that very night.

When all have left but Mabel, who declares that she will remain faithful to her lover until he has lived his twenty-one leap-years, there re-enter the police. The sergeant laments that the policeman's lot is not a happy one. It is distressing to them to have to be the agents whereby their erring fellow-creatures are deprived of the liberty that everyone prizes.

"When the enterprising burglar's not a-burgling, When the cut-throat isn't occupied in crime, He loves to hear the little brook a-gurgling And listen to the merry village chime.

When the coster's finished jumping on his mother, He loves to lie a-basking in the sun.

Ah! Take one consideration with another The policeman's lot is not a happy one."

Sounds are heard that indicate the pirates' approach. The police conceal themselves, and soon the intruders enter, armed with all kinds of burglarious tools, and with a cat-like tread (they say so, at least, though they are singing their loudest). They are interrupted, not by the police, but by the appearance of General Stanley. He has had a sleepless night, the effect of a tortured conscience, and he comes in in a dressing-gown and carrying a light. Soon his daughters also appear in their night-caps. The General is seized and ordered to prepare for death. Frederic, even on Mabel's entreaties, cannot save him, for is he not himself a pirate again?

Eventually the police, having pa.s.sively watched the situation so long, summon up courage and tackle the pirates, but they are soon overcome.

The sergeant, who with the rest of his men is held prostrate under drawn swords, then calls upon the ruffians to surrender in the name of the Queen. The command acts like magic. Loyally the pirates kneel to their captives, for it transpires from Ruth's lips that they are really "no members of the common throng; they are all n.o.blemen who have gone wrong." All ends happily. The Pirates of Penzance promise to return forthwith to their legislative duties in the House of Lords and, in doing so, they are to share their coronets with the beautiful daughters of old General Stanley.

"PATIENCE."

_Produced April 23rd, 1881._

There is satire in the very name of this opera. The craze for aestheticism against which it was directed must have placed a strain on the patience of so brilliant an exponent of British commonsense as Sir William Gilbert.

Shortly before the play opens, twenty of the maidens of the village adjoining Castle Bunthorne had fallen in love with the officers of the 35th Heavy Dragoons. But when Reginald Bunthorne, a fleshly poet and a devotee of the aesthetic cult, arrived at the castle, they had fallen out of love with their Dragoons and united with Lady Jane (of uncertain age) in wors.h.i.+pping him. When the curtain rises the "twenty love-sick maidens" are lamenting that Bunthorne is "ice-insensible." Lady Jane tells them that he loves Patience, the village milkmaid, who is seen regarding them with pity. Lady Angela tells Patience that if she has never loved she can never have known true happiness. Patience replies that "the truly happy always seem to have so much on their minds," and "never seem quite well." Lady Jane explains that it is "_Not_ indigestion, but aesthetic transfiguration." Patience informs the ladies that the 35th Dragoon Guards have arrived. Lady Ella declares, "We care nothing for Dragoon Guards." "But," exclaims Patience, "You were all engaged to them." "Our minds have been etherealised, our perceptions exalted," answers Lady Angela, who calls on the others to lift up their voices in morning carol to "Our Reginald."

The 35th Dragoons arrive and the Colonel gives us in song:--

"A receipt for that popular mystery Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon."

One of them who arrives later looks miserable, but declares "I'm as cheerful as a poor devil can be, who has the misfortune to be a Duke with a thousand a day." His wretchedness is not relieved by the entrance of Bunthorne, followed by the maidens, who ignore the Dragoons. The Poet pretends to be absorbed in the composition of a poem, but he slyly observes, "I hear plainly all they say, twenty love-sick maidens they."

Lady Jane explains to the soldiers that Bunthorne has idealised them.

Bunthorne meanwhile is to be seen writhing in the throes of composition.

"Finished!" he exclaims and faints in the arms of the Colonel. When he recovers, the love-sick maidens entreat him to read the poem. "Shall I?"

he asks. Fiercely the Dragoons shout "No!" but bidding the ladies to "Cling pa.s.sionately to one another," he recites "Oh, Hollow! Hollow!

Hollow!" When the Colonel reminds the ladies that they are engaged to the Dragoons, Lady Saphir says, "It can never be. You are not Empyrean,"

while Lady Jane sneers at the crudity of their red and yellow uniforms.

The Dragoons resent this "insult" to a uniform which has been "as successful in the courts of Venus as in the field of Mars," and lament that "the peripatetics of long-haired aesthetics" should have captured the ladies' fancy. Angrily they return to their camp.

Bunthorne, left "alone and un.o.bserved," confesses to being an "aesthetic sham." "In short," he says, "my mediaevalism's affectation, born of a morbid love of admiration." Then Patience enters, and he makes love to her. She repulses him, and tragically he bids her farewell. Lady Angela implores her to "Try, try, try to love." She dilates upon the "Enn.o.bling and unselfish pa.s.sion" until Patience declares, "I won't go to bed until I'm head over ears in love with somebody." Patience soliloquises, "I had no idea love was a duty. No wonder they all look so unhappy. I'll go at once and fall in love with--" but stops, startled by a figure almost as grotesque as Bunthorne, and exclaims, "A stranger!" The stranger is Archibald Grosvenor, an idyllic poet, who plunges boldly into a declaration of love with his "Prithee pretty maiden, will you marry me."

Patience replies, "I do not know you and therefore must decline." He reveals that he was her sweetheart in childhood's days. Grosvenor begs Patience imagine "The horror of his situation, gifted with unrivalled beauty, and madly loved at first sight by every woman he meets." When Patience enquires why he does not disfigure himself to escape such persecution, he replies, "These gifts were given to me for the enjoyment and delectation of my fellow creatures. I am a trustee for beauty."

Grosvenor and Patience plight their troth, but as she remembers that love must be unselfish, and that Grosvenor is so beautiful that there can be no unselfishness in loving him, they bid each other "Farewell."

Just as they are parting it occurs to Patience that it cannot be selfish for Grosvenor to love her, and he promises, "I'll go on adoring."

Bunthorne, crowned and garlanded with roses, returns accompanied by his solicitor and the ladies. The Dragoons arrive also, and ask Bunthorne why he should be so arrayed. He explains that, heart-broken by Patience's rejection, and on the advice of his solicitor, he has put himself up to be raffled for by his admirers. The Dragoons make a fruitless appeal to the ladies in a song by the Duke. The drawing is about to take place when Patience enters, craves Bunthorne's pardon, and offers to be his bride. When Bunthorne rejoices that this is due to the fact that she loves him fondly, Patience tells him that it is because "A maiden who devotes herself to loving you, is prompted by no selfish view."

This scene leads to a temporary reconciliation between the Dragoons and the ladies, who embrace each other and declare that "Never, oh never, this heart will range from that old, old love again." Then Grosvenor enters. He walks slowly, engrossed in reading. The ladies are strangely fascinated by him and gradually withdraw from the arms of their martial admirers. Lady Angela asks:--

"But who is this, whose G.o.d-like grace Proclaims he comes of n.o.ble race."

Grosvenor replies: "I'm a broken-hearted troubadour.... I am aesthetic and poetic." With one voice the ladies cry "Then we love you," and leaving their Dragoons they kneel round Grosvenor, arousing the fury of Bunthorne and the horror not only of the Dragoons, but of Grosvenor himself, who declares that "Again my cursed comeliness spreads hopeless anguish and distress."

The curtain falls on this scene, and when it rises again Lady Jane is discovered soliloquising upon the fickle crew who have deserted Bunthorne and sworn allegiance to Grosvenor. She alone is faithful to Bunthorne. Grosvenor enters, followed by the twenty love-sick maidens, pleading for "A gentle smile." He reads them two decalets, and wearying of their wors.h.i.+p, he tells them that his heart is fixed elsewhere, and bids them remember the fable of the magnet and the churn.

Bunthorne and Lady Jane return. The poet is indignant that Grosvenor has cut him out. Lady Jane a.s.sures him that she is still faithful, but promises to help him to vanquish his rival, and to achieve this purpose they concert a plan.

Then the Duke, the Colonel and the Major appear. They have discarded their uniforms and adopted an aesthetic dress and make-up, and they practise the att.i.tudes which they imagine will appeal to the ladies.

When two of these appear, it is evident that the plan is succeeding, for Lady Angela exclaims, "See! The immortal fire has descended upon them."

The officers explain they are doing this at some personal inconvenience to show their devotion, and hope that it is not without effect. They are a.s.sured that their conversion to the aesthetic art in its highest development has touched the ladies deeply.

In due course the officers and ladies disappear and give place to Grosvenor. Looking at his reflection in a hand mirror, he declares, "Ah!

I am a veritable Narcissus." Bunthorne now wanders on, talking to himself, and declaring that he cannot live without admiration. He accuses Grosvenor of monopolising the attentions of the young ladies.

Grosvenor a.s.sures him that they are the plague of his life, and asks how he can escape from his predicament. Bunthorne orders him completely to change his appearance, so as to appear absolutely commonplace. At first Grosvenor declines, but when Bunthorne threatens to curse him, he yields cheerfully, and Bunthorne rejoices in the prospect that:--

"When I go out of door Of damozels a score, All sighing and burning, And clinging and yearning Will follow me as before."

Patience enters to find him dancing, and he tells her that, in future, he will be a changed man, having modelled himself upon Grosvenor. She expresses joy, but then recoils from him as she remembers that, as he is now to be utterly free from defect of any kind, her love for him cannot be absolutely unselfish.

Just as Bunthorne is offering to relapse, Grosvenor enters, followed by the ladies and the Dragoons. Grosvenor has a.s.sumed an absolutely commonplace appearance. They all dance cheerfully round the stage, and when Bunthorne asks the ladies "What it all means," they tell him that as Grosvenor or "Archibald the All-right cannot be all wrong," and as he has discarded aestheticism, "It proves that aestheticism ought to be discarded." Patience now discovers that she is free to love Grosvenor.

Bunthorne is disappointed, but Lady Jane, who is still aesthetic tells him to cheer up, as she will never forsake him. They have scarcely time to embrace before the Colonel announces that the Duke has determined to choose a bride. He selects Lady Jane, greatly to the disgust of Bunthorne, who, finding himself the odd man out, declares, "I shall have to be contented with a tulip or lily."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HENRY A. LYTTON AS "BUNTHORNE" IN "PATIENCE."]

"IOLANTHE."

_Produced November 25th, 1882._

Iolanthe was a Fairy--the life and soul of Fairyland. She wrote all the fairy songs and arranged the fairy dances. For twenty-five years Iolanthe has been in banishment. She had transgressed the fairy law by marrying a mortal, and it was only the Queen's love which saved her from death.

When the curtain rises we witness a gathering of fairies, hear them sing one of Iolanthe's songs, and see them trip her measures. They lament her absence and plead for her pardon. Compa.s.sion allied to curiosity impels the Queen to recall Iolanthe. For Iolanthe had chosen to dwell at the bottom of a stream, on whose banks we see the fairies disporting themselves. Rising from the pool, clad in water-weeds, Iolanthe receives the Royal pardon. Compa.s.sion having been exercised, curiosity demands satisfaction. The Queen enquires why Iolanthe should have chosen to live at the bottom of a stream. Iolanthe then reveals her secret. She has a son who was born shortly after her banishment, and she wished to be near him. The Queen and the other fairies are deeply interested, and just as the Queen is expressing her desire to see the "half-fairy, half-mortal"

Arcadian shepherd, Strephon, he dances up to Iolanthe, and with song and pipe urges her to rejoice because "I'm to be married to-day." Iolanthe tells Strephon that she has been pardoned, and presents Strephon to the Queen and to her fairy sisters. "My aunts!" exclaimed Strephon with obvious delight.

Strephon explains the peculiar difficulties consequent on being only half a fairy, and the Queen promises that henceforward the fairies will always be ready to come to his aid should be he in "doubt or danger, peril or perplexitee." Strephon is now joined by Phyllis--a beautiful ward of Chancery and his bride-elect. In the prelude to one of the most delightful love-songs ever written, Phyllis reveals her fear of the consequences which may fall upon Strephon for marrying her without the consent of the Lord Chancellor, and Strephon demonstrates that his fairy ancestry has not freed him from the pangs of jealousy.

We now witness the entrance and march of the peers in their gorgeous robes, to the strains of magnificent music, ending with a chorus which is a.s.sumed to embody the traditional att.i.tude of the peers to the people:--

"Bow, bow ye lower middle cla.s.ses, Bow, bow ye tradesmen, bow ye ma.s.ses."

The Lord Chancellor enters at the conclusion of this chorus, and after a song upon his responsibilities as "The const.i.tutional guardian I, of pretty young wards in Chancery," he announces that the business before the House concerns the disposal of the hand of Phyllis, a Ward of Court.

All the peers have fallen in love with her and wish the Lord Chancellor to bestow her upon the one whom she may select. The Lord Chancellor confesses to being "singularly attracted by this young person" and laments that his judicial position prevents him from awarding her to himself. Phyllis arrives, and after being proposed to by Lord Tolloller and Lord Mount-Ararat, the whole of the peers invite her acceptance of their coronets and hearts. Phyllis tells them that already "her heart is given." The Lord Chancellor indignantly demands the name of her lover.

Before Phyllis can reply, Strephon opportunely enters the "House" and claims "his darling's hand." The peers depart, dignified and stately, with haughty and disdainful glances upon the lovers.

The glee with which Strephon and Phyllis have regarded their departure is suddenly ended by the wrathful "Now, sir!" of the Lord Chancellor, who separates the lovers and bids Phyllis depart. His severe and sarcastic admonitions leave Strephon lamenting. Iolanthe returns to find her son in tears. As she tenderly consoles him, Phyllis stealthily re-enters escorted by the peers. Knowing nothing of her lover's fairy origin, and seeing him embracing one who appears equally young and beautiful as herself, she breaks from the hands of the peers just as Iolanthe and Strephon are parting, and accuses the latter of shameless deceit. Strephon's explanation that "this lady's my mother" is disbelieved by Phyllis and greeted with derision by the peers, who decline to admit that "a maid of seventeen" can be the mother of "a man of four or five-and-twenty."

Believing herself to have been deceived by Strephon, Phyllis now ruefully offers to accept either Tolloller or Mount-Ararat, but doesn't care which. Just as she has placed the n.o.ble lords in this quandary, Strephon reappears, and invokes the aid of the Fairy Queen.

Instantaneously the fairy band are seen "tripping hither, tripping thither" among the amazed peers, while the slender Lord Chancellor encounters a rude shock when he collides with the ma.s.sive form of the Queen. Strephon tells his tale of woe, and there follows an amazing and amusing exchange of reproach and ridicule. The infuriated Queen determines to punish the peers. Strephon shall go into Parliament to wreak vengeance on them. The recital of the measures which he is to carry through Parliament alarms the peers, and the first Act ends, after a pretence at defiance, in their vainly suing for mercy.

The second Act of "Iolanthe" is staged in the Palace Yard at Westminster. A solitary sentry is discovered moralising upon the proceedings in "that House." He has observed that if the members have--

"A brain and cerebellum, too, They've got to leave that brain outside And vote just as their leaders tell 'em to."

Presently the fairies reappear and rejoice over Strephon's success as a member of Parliament. Then the peers enter and reveal their annoyance with Strephon, whom they describe as "a Parliamentary Pickford--he carries everything." A heated argument ensues between the fairies and the peers. It is ended by a song from Mount-Ararat in praise of the House of Peers, which sparkles with satire on the members of that ancient inst.i.tution, who make "no pretence to intellectual eminence or scholars.h.i.+p sublime."

Having pleaded in vain that the fairies should prevent Strephon from doing further mischief, they depart in anger, and the Queen enters to find her band gazing wistfully after them. Scenting danger, the Queen calls upon them to subdue this "weakness," Celia retorts that "the weakness is so strong." The Queen replies by protesting that, although she herself is not "insensible to the effect of manly beauty" in the person of the stalwart Guardsman still on sentry-go, she is able to subdue her feelings, though in the famous "Captain Shaw" song which follows she asks:--