MIRETTE A New Opera in Three Acts. Written expressly for the Savoy Theatre. Founded on the French of Michel Carré. English Lyrics by Frederic E. Weatherly English Dialogue by Harry Greenbank. New Version, with New Lyrics by Adrian Ross. The Music by André Messager. Characters The Baron Van Den Berg Gerard de Montigny (Nephew of the Marquise) Gipsies: Picorin Bobinet Francal Bertuccio Mirette (a Gipsy) Bianca (Daughter of Baron Van Den Berg) Zerbinette (a gipsy) Marquise de Montigny Chorus of Gipsies, Soldiers, Villagers, Ladies, and Gentlemen. The Opera produced under the stage direction of Mr. Charles Harris, and under the personal supervision of the Author and Composer. Act I. — A Forest Glade in Flanders. — J. Harker. Act II. — Hall in the Château of the Marquise. — W. Harford. Act III. — A Village Green, near the Château. — T.E. Ryan (An interval of one month is supposed to elapse between Acts I and II, and an interval of three weeks between Acts II and III.) Period: 1785. ACT I. Scene. — A Forest Glade in Flanders. As the curtain rises Gipsies are discovered sitting and lying round a large fire, which is lighted in the centre of the stage. Francal and Bertuccio are throwing dice on a fallen tree. Some of the Gipsies are drinking. Chorus. [words by Adrian Ross] Chorus. From Egypt’s royal line We sprang in ages olden; We ought to quaff the wine From goblets gemm’d and golden! But since our royal pedigree And claims to Egypt’s land Are probably hid in a Pyramid, Under the desert sand, As kings without a crown, We wander up and down, From Cadiz to Cataro, And now the drink we share, From Flemish earthenware, Is only Flemish faro! Bertuccio. Pass the liquor, but be wary With the merry, foaming cup, Lest, by some absurd vagary, You should get us taken up. Francal. For the truly moral gipsy Ought to keep indulgence under, And he ought not to be tipsy When he’s going out for plunder! Bertuccio. But excuse my rash suggestion, Have we any right to do so? Francal. That is proved beyond a question By the learned Jean Jacques Rousseau. Zerbinette. Why should we abstain from robbing Wealthy lord and noble madam? In their veins the pulses throbbing Are the blood of Eve and Adam. Chorus. Down with lofty sir and madam, We are all the sons of Adam! Song. — Bertuccio with Chorus. [words by Adrian Ross] Bertuccio. The good old earth in the age of gold Had space for all her people, Ere ever a baron built his hold, Or a priest had reared his steeple. Never was hunger then to fear, Nor cold to make men shiver; For free to all were good red deer, And free were wood and river! All Adam’s heirs could take their shares, With none to say them nay! It was their right, by noon and night, In the bygone golden day! Chorus. All Adam’s heirs could take their shares, etc. Bertuccio. But lords sprang up by right of birth To waste the food of seven; They took the water and the earth, And the parsons took the heaven. There were three things they cannot bind, And four they rule not over, The sun, and the moon, and the roaming wind, And the heart of a gipsy rover! As Adam’s heirs we take our shares, And do not wait to pay! We have our right by darkest night, Though the lords may rule by day! Chorus. As Adam’s heirs we take our shares, etc. Dance. Francal. That’s right, Bertuccio. We gipsies are the only true philosophers. Zerbinette. Mercy! What’s that? Francal. A philosopher? Well, he’s a man who’s always talking, and nobody ever attends to him. Bertuccio. Like you, dear! Zerbinette. You’re always making fun of me. I don’t see why I should not do for your Queen, as well as that stupid little Mirette. Bertuccio. Where is Mirette? Francal. And where is our good Picorin? Zerbinette. Oh, Mirette’s mooning about the woods, somewhere, and Picorin’s mooning after Mirette. I hate to see a man so infatuated! Francal. Ha, ha! you needn’t mind, child; you’ve won Bobinet, and he is the prize of our lottery. Bertuccio. And where’s Bobinet? (A loud sneeze is heard behind the trees.) Zerbinette. That noise! Come to my arms! (Bobinet appears wet and muddy) — No, don’t! Go away! (Bobinet advances towards her, tries to embrace her, she boxes his ears and runs off.) Francal. Why, Bobinet, what have they done to you? Bertuccio. Why did they duck you? Had you been singing to them? Bobinet. Nothing of the sort. I’ve been hunting! (Bobinet goes to the fire to warm himself.) Francal. What have you caught? Bobinet. I have caught the biggest cold in Flanders, and I’ve brought it with me. Atschi! (Sneezes.) And I’ve got — atschi — something else. Here you are — catch! ca — atschi! (Throws duck at Francal.) Francal. A duck! How did you get it? Bobinet. I’ll tell you — but just wait a moment. Stand aside! (Makes awful faces, trying to sneeze.) Oh, no, it’s no good! When I’ve told my story I’ll go and change. I always like to dress for dinner. Song of the Duck. — Bobinet with Chorus. I know a little farmyard nicely stocked, But the churlish farmer keeps it locked; And the way that I go, when I pay a call Is over the top of the farmyard wall. So I climbed to the top, And down with a flop, And into the yard, you see; When bow-wow-wow Gr-r-row, row, A dog looked out at me! “Dilly, dilly, dilly,” said I to the duck, But she would not come — not she! And as I went after the duck, bad luck, The dog came after me! Chorus. “Dilly, dilly, dilly,” said he to the duck, But the dog looked fierce and grim, And as he went after the duck, bad luck, The dog came after him! Bobinet. Then away went the duck, and away went I, Under the gate, and into the sty, Till splash! in the pond, with a quack she fell, And splash! in the pond went I as well. It was green with weed, Very green indeed, And it’s left me much as you see: But I stuck to my duck With considerable pluck, Though the dog had stuck to me! “Dilly, dilly, dilly,” it’s a very fine duck, And so he ought to be! For though I have all of the duck, bad luck, The dog has part of me! Chorus. “Dilly, dilly, dilly,” it’s a very fine duck, And fine, and sound in wind and limb; But though he has all of the duck, bad luck, The dog has part of him! (After song Bobinet goes off.) Francal. Now, comrades, about our business. We’ll see if we can’t find a chicken or two to keep Bobinet’s duck company. Bertuccio. Shall we try the château, captain? They’ve just got in a nice lot of black Spanish. Francal. What, the Baron Van den Berg’s? No, don’t; he’d have us hanged for laying our rebellious hands on his nobly-born fowls. Bertuccio. Is Mirette coming with us? Francal. No, she’s too precious to be risked in our rough work. Ah, here she is! Enter Mirette. Valse Chorus. Women. We have missed the voice of our little Queen, Tenors. When you strayed away through the forest green; Women. Why do you wander far alone? Tenors. Do you not care to share your throne? Basses. To share your throne? Women. For we long to revel and sing, Tenors. When the Queen we worship shall choose a King! Women. His luck we’d hail without regret Men. Were you only happy, dear Mirette! Francal. Sing to us, child, a Gipsy song! Bertuccio. We have not heard your voice so long. Francal. Only sing, our own Mirette, Help us a little to forget The driving rain, the heavy sun, To think our endless march is done, Home again with fortune won! Chorus. Sing ere we go! Sing ere we go! Mirette. Ah! So many songs I know, What shall I sing you? Francal. The song of old, the song we sing To cheer our hearts in wayfaring! Chorus. Yes! Yes! the marching song! Bohemian Song. — Mirette with Chorus. Roaming on with never a rest, Forest and hill and lawn, Ah! Chorus. Ah! la la la la! Mirette. From the sun set in the west, On to the eastern dawn! Ah! Chorus. Ah! la la la la! Mirette. Taking all the days may bring, Sun and rain and snow, Who cares? Merrily we sing, Onward still we go! Sorrow to the winds we fling, Care we never know, Who cares? Merrily we sing, Onward still we go! Chorus. La la la la! Mirette. Forward, then, our way we wend Down the road that has no end, Over land and over sea, For this is the song of the Zingari! Chorus. Forward, then, our way we wend, etc. Mirette. Fire may fail in wintry frost, Winds may be keen and chill, Ah! Chorus. Ah! la la la la! Mirette. But our freedom’s worth its cost, They may be slaves who will! Ah! Chorus. Ah! la la la la! Mirette. Camping nightly in our ring, Round the fire’s glow, Who cares? Merrily we sing, Till the flame is low! Like the swallows on the wind, Like the winds that blow, Who cares? Merrily we sing, Onward still we go! Chorus. La la la la! Mirette. Forward, then, our way we wend Down the road that has no end, Over land and over sea, For this is the song of the Zingari! Chorus. Forward, then, our way we wend, etc. Francal. That’s our own little lass! Give me a kiss, child. Why do you always wander away dreaming? Mirette. I was thinking, Francal, of what you told me the other day. It was in this country road you found me, long ago; and I was wondering if I should ever learn who my parents were. Perhaps they might be — Francal. Might be — what? Mirette. You’ll only laugh at me if I tell you. Francal. Well, Mirette, your mother might have been a queen, for all I know, though I’m bound to say she was very well disguised. But we’ll inquire in the villages round here. Mirette. You are very kind. Francal. But why should you want to know? I’m a father to you, all the boys are your brothers, and want to be something better, and all the girls are as jealous of you as if you were their own sister. You’re our child, dear! Song. — Francal with Chorus. When winter gales were loud and winter snows were flying, We found a woman dying upon the frozen way: And at rest, on her breast her little child was lying; We took you and reared you to be our Queen today! Do you think of that, or no? It was sixteen years ago When I took you in my hand From her bosom frozen, To be child of all our band, Queen and lady chosen! Still with your smile the way beguile Sing to enchant us yet! You that have been our child and Queen, Our own, our own Mirette! You, you are our child and our Queen, Our own, our own Mirette! Chorus. Still with your smile, etc. Francal. And since that day gone by, that old and dead December, Your place beside the ember in winter time was made. Was July, hot and dry, we ever would remember To give you for shelter the deepest bit of forest shade! Luck has come to us, my child, Since the day when first you smiled; Like a magic amulet, Were the lays you sung us; Live with us and love us yet, Wedding one among us! Still with your smile, etc. Chorus. Still with your smile, etc. Mirette. It is my duty to help you still! Francal. We would not try to force your will, Or give your maiden beauty, Our little Queen, our magic girl, To some unloved and loveless churl! Choose whom you will, but choose this night! Mirette. This very night? Can that be right? Francal. See all of them before you, You know how they adore you, They wrangle, And they jangle, And fight and quarrel over you! For you they all reveal Their long and deep affection; Behold them, how they kneel And wait for your selection! Tenors. Ah! let your choice on me be set! I love you best, more than the rest, Mirette! Song. — Mirette (laughing). Ha! ha! ha! ha! it’s so amusing, my laughter pray excuse! You’ve asked me but this moment; how am I to choose? For when one is with lovers so very well provided, Why, one’s naturally rather just a little undecided! Ah! Then listen to me, one and all, And, oh, pardon my speaking so plainly, You, sir, are a little too tall, And you, sir, too short and ungainly! You’re too shy, sir, and you are too bold, You’re too young, you, too old! Excuse me, pray, excuse me, pray, If I refuse when such a choice is provided; But, if the truth I now must say, I’m undecided, still undecided! I can’t make up my mind, you see, I really don’t know what to do; But if I marry, if I marry, But if I marry, why it won’t be you! Chorus. But if she marries, etc. Francal. Come, Mirette, is there nobody here good enough for your ladyship? You’ve had your choice of all. No, not quite all! Bobinet’s come back and he’s dressing. Perhaps he’s the favoured man? No? — then there can only be one other, and that is — Picorin! (Enter Picorin from tent.) Picorin. Yes, Captain. Francal. What have you been doing, pray? Picorin (confused). Only spreading some cloaks in the tent. I thought — perhaps — Mirette — Mirette. It was very good of you, Picorin! Francal. Very good indeed. He’s the man, evidently. Well, we’re off now to reap our harvest. Come along! Picorin. Captain, let me stay and guard Mirette — Francal. Oh, that’s it, is it? Well, my lad, do your best to win here, for she must marry among us, and you’re our last chance — bar Bobinet, of course! (Exeunt all of the Gipsies except Francal, Picorin, and Mirette. Re-enter Bobinet in another dress, and Zerbinette.) Zerbinette. You’re no good, Bobinet — away all day, and coming back with a cold and a miserable duck. (Bobinet tries to kiss her.) No, you’ll be giving me a sneezing fit next. Come along! Bobinet. I’m not coming. I’ve done my work, and I’m going to stop by the fire. This is my best suit, and I can’t afford to risk it. Another duck — another ducking, at least — and I should have to pose as a living picture while my clothes were drying. Francal. All right, you’ll be sentinel, and guard the camp. There’s a gun for you. Bobinet. Thanks, I don’t want it. It might go off! Francal. Nonsense! And you won’t be alone — Picorin will be with you. Bobinet. But he might ho off, too! Francal. And Mirette will be here, too — Zerbinette. Oh, Mirette, Mirette! it’s always Mirette! Now, look here, Francal. Bobinet is a poor creature, but he’s the only sweetheart I’ve got, and I’m not going to have him marry Mirette. Bobinet. Make your mind easy, my dear. I promise to remain single for your sake, till you come back! (Exit Francal, followed by Zerbinette threatening Bobinet. Picorin and Mirette come down.) Picorin. Mirette, I have been wanting to speak to you all t-day. Mirette. Well, Picorin, you’ve had plenty of chances. Bobinet. Mirette, I should like to speak to you, too! Picorin. Get away, Mirette doesn’t want you! Bobinet. Picorin, you are rude — positively rude. However, I pardon you. An ordinary person like yourself cannot understand the attraction I possess for the softer sex. Mirette. But what will your sweetheart say to you? Picorin. Yes, and what will she do to you? Bobinet. That’s nothing. The loss of a mere handful of hair will not spoil my beauty. I would risk more than that to please Mirette. Mirette. But you don’t please me! Picorin. Look here, you were set to mount guard. Go and do it! (Pushes Bobinet up, and comes back.) Now, Mirette. Mirette. Now, Picorin. Picorin. Has Francal spoken to you about — Mirette. About marrying? Yes. He has told me to take my choice among the band, and I have chosen — Picorin. Chosen — whom? Mirette. Nobody. Picorin. Ah, Mirette! may I hope — (Bobinet comes down.) Bobinet. Look here, I don’t think I ought to leave you here — a young, innocent couple, wholly unprotected. Picorin. Go away! Keep to your beat! Bobinet. I do call that rude. (Retires up and paces to and fro behind the trees.) Mirette. I know what you are going to say, Picorin. You’re like all the other gipsies; you want to marry me. Picorin. Ah, Mirette! surely you are a witch to know my inmost thoughts! I have never told you I loved you. Mirette. No, but you are always looking at me — sighing — bringing me woodland flowers and greenhouse fruit. Do I not know what that means? Picorin. It means occasional difficulties with hireling gardeners. Mirette. You are too good to me. If I ever marry a gipsy it shall be you; — but perhaps I shall not marry a gipsy. Picorin. You love another? Mirette. I love no one as yet; but I have dreams of some lover, not like the gipsies — not like you — handsome. Picorin. Thank you. Mirette. Noble, wealthy — a prince — Picorin. Out of a fairy tale! Mirette. Surely there are such men? Picorin. But they don’t marry gipsy girls, except in fairy tales; and then the gipsies turn out to be princesses. Mirette. I might turn out to be somebody. Picorin. You have turned out to be somebody — the only somebody I ever cared for. Mirette. Well, Picorin, you have my promise. I feel weary now, and I’ll go into the tent. Picorin. Sweet dreams to you, dear. Dream of anything pleasant, except your fairy prince. Well, hang it! dream of him too, of it pleases you. What do I matter? Mirette. Good night, and thank you, dear Picorin! (Exit to tent.) Picorin. She says that as if she cared a little — ah, well! when she finds that fairy princes are not for her, I may have my chance. Good-night, dear. Song. — Picorin. [words by Adrian Ross] Now stars above the forest glimmer, And earth lies dreaming underneath their light, Your starry eyes grow dim and dimmer, ’Tis time to say, “good-night, good-night!” Oh, bird-song through the stillness throbbing, And brooklet sobbing, Down the woodland way, Wake not my love, till dawn of day, My love that in my keeping, Away from life lies softly sleeping! When night has drawn her veil above you, And golden dust of sleep has shut your eyes, Then I may dare to say ? I love you,” When only night replies. Then dreams of happy love deceive me, To leave me When the dawn is grey, For all my vision fade away, And you seem far above me. I dare not ask, I dare not hope that you, Mirette, may love me! (After song, Picorin walks to fire, Bobinet comes down.) Picorin. The fire is nearly out. Go and pick up a few sticks, Bobinet. I’ll mount guard. Bobinet. No, thank you. It’s dark and lonely out there, and I don’t like it. Besides, I was told to stand sentry here, and only a coward would desert his post in the hour of danger. Picorin. Then I’ll go myself. Keep a shark look-out, and see that no harm happens to Mirette. She’s asleep there. [Exit Picorin.] Bobinet. That’s all very well, but what am I to do? Here am I, an unprotected male, alone in a forest with a girl asleep. It’s not safe — I mean the forest isn’t safe. Who goes there? A friend? Give the pass word! I don’t know it myself, but that doesn’t matter. No, it’s a tree! I wish the trees wouldn’t walk about so. It does make me so nervous. I think I’ll sing, to keep my spirits up. If there’s anybody about, it may frighten them. Song. — Bobinet. Long ago in Alcala, Ta ra ra, ta ra ra ra ra ra ra! There dwelt a bold and bad grandee, Who used to sail upon the sea, Ta ra ra, ta ra ra, ta ra ra ra ra ra ra! He loved a maid of Alcala, Ta ra ra, ta ra ra ra ra ra ra! For he was fine, and frank, and free, And she was fair as a maid could be! Ta ra ra, ta ra ra, ta ra ra ra ra ra ra! He was a terrible tall Alcade, She was a lovely lady, Alcà, Alcà, Alcàdedà, The lovely lady of Alcala! Ta ra ra, ta ra ra! They met one eve in Alcala, Ta ra ra, ta ra ra, ta ra ra ra ra ra ra! He said, “Sweet maiden, come with me,” But she was as coy as a maid should be, Ta ra ra, ta ra ra, ta ra ra ra ra ra ra! So they sailed away, both he and she, Ta ra ra, ta ra ra ra ra ra ra! Which was rather odd, as it seems to me, For Alcala isn’t on the sea, It’s nowhere near the sea! Ta ra ra, ta ra ra, ta ra ra ra ra ra ra! Still, that’s the tale of the tall Alcade, Who sailed away with the lovely lady, Alcà, Alcà, Alcàdedà, Ta ra ra, ta ra ra! (Finishes with a dance.) Bobinet. It’s strange, but I don’t feel any better. What’s that? Voices coming this way? Where shall I go? I’ll get into the tree, it’ll be nice and quiet among the little green leaves. (Puts gun down and climbs tree.) What a nuisance! I’ve left my gun at the bottom. (Enter Baron Van den Berg and Gerard talking. They come down.) Who is it? Police? No, it’s a couple of noblemen. I’m sorry for Mirette. Gerard. But, my dear Baron — Baron. My dear Gerard, as you are about to become allied to our family by marrying my daughter, Bianca, it is necessary to settle these disputes at once. Gerard. Surely the marriage settles all disputes about land. Baron. Allow me to differ from you. This piece of ground on which we are standing has been for seven centuries disputed between the Van den Bergs and your family, the De Montignys. It has caused ten private wars, sixteen duels, mostly fatal, and a law suit of two centuries’ duration. Gerard. Yes, but it’s getting late, and the forest — Baron. An hour or two will be enough to explain the situation. There lie the lands of your aunt, the Marquise. (Affected.) Ah, your aunt! Gerard. Oh, my aunt! Baron. On that side lie my lands, duly settled on Bianca, and her heirs in tail male, with remainder to the collateral branch of Van den Berg-Schinkenstein. The boundary runs — Gerard. The boundary shall run where you like, sir. Baron. My dear Gerard, you are very good, but law is law. We have always contended that the border runs through the middle of this large tree — Bobinet. Oh, dear! Why couldn’t he choose another! Gerard (sees gun). Why, what’s this? A gun! Baron. A gun! It must belong to one of the poaching thieves who have been prowling round the country. Trio. — Gerard, Bobinet, and the Baron. [words by Adrian Ross] Gerard. Now here’s a gun that’s freshly primed, Where can the owner be? Bobinet. Oh, that’s a question most ill-timed! Baron. I think he possibly has climbed Up a tree! All. Up a tree! Up a tree! Gerard. Then look in every twig and bough, There’s something there, I see! Bobinet. I knew they’d find me out somehow! Baron. You villain, I have got you now Up a tree! All. Up a tree! Up a tree! Baron. Well, I say one, and I say two, And when I come to three Gerard. Come down, or he will riddle you! Bobinet. I’d rather stay and have the view Up a tree! All. Up a tree! Up a tree! Baron. But I object; and I have got The gun you left for me! Gerard. So come to us; if you do not — Bobinet. I’m coming quicker than a shot Down the tree! All. Down the tree! Down the tree! (Bobinet comes down the tree and is collared by the Baron. Dance.) Bobinet. Oh, have mercy, my lord! I’m a poor but honest robber. Baron. Are there any more of you here, rascal? Bobinet. Only Mirette, and she’s asleep. She won’t hurt you. Gerard. Mirette? A girl? Where is she? Bobinet. There, in the tent! Baron. Well, Mirette can go to jail with you, then. Gerard. Come, Baron. I don’t think we need trouble about a girl! Baron. She has been trespassing on my lands. Gerard. I beg your pardon, Baron, on my aunt’s lands. You see, as you remarked, the boundary runs through the middle of that tree. Baron. To be sure! But I hope you will not let a gipsy go free. These people are a pest to society. Bobinet. I call that very rude, when I am present. Baron. Hold your tongue, sirrah! Shall a Van den Berg bandy words with a gipsy — we who have never had less than sixty-four quarterings in our family? Bobinet. Sixty-four quarterings? Whew! that beats us; we never had anything worse than a few hangings in our family. Gerard. We needn’t be hard on a girl — perhaps a pretty girl. Bobinet. A very pretty girl! Baron. I think, M. Gerard de Montigny, I had better take charge of this very pretty girl! Bobinet. What a bad old Baron! Gerard. My dear Baron, if there’s any dispute, I shall claim your prisoner. The boundary goes through the tree, and he was on the tree. Baron. I say half of him belongs to me. Shall I make the division? Bobinet. No, I protest! If you are so rude, I shall feel very much cut up! Baron. But the girl is on your aunt’s lands, not on yours. Gerard. Exactly, and my aunt shall say what’s to be done with her. If the girl turns out pretty and clever, she may keep her at the château. She wants a maid. Baron. My dear Gerard, that alters the case. I thought — but no matter what. If the Marquise wishes for the girl — Bobinet. Or anything else that doesn’t belong to you! Baron (to Bobinet). Silence! (To Gerard). She shall have her. I will take this rascal to the village, and come back with a squad of soldiers to look up our gipsy friends. Now, knave, march! Bobinet. Mayn’t I say good-bye to Mirette? Baron. March, and if you try to escape — (Presents gun at Bobinet.) Bobinet. Now I call that rude — oh, don’t, please! My lord! your worship! your majesty! your admiralty! Oh, my own gun, too! [Exeunt Bobinet and Baron.] Gerard. Now for my sleeping beauty. That old fool of a Baron thinks his son-in-law should wear blinkers, and only see the daughter dangled in front of his nose. Bianca’s all very well — a little white mouse — but a man can’t be always hanging round one girl! Here’s the tent! (Draws curtain.) Ah, I see her! Duet. — Mirette and Gerard. Mirette (awakening). Ah! Gerard. Nay, do not fly from me! Mirette. Ah! Gerard. Come near! Come near! I am no wolf to eat you, dear, No harm can come when I am here! Mirette. I could not tell — It was so strange to see you by me, I thought no stranger knew our woodland dell! Gerard. Ah! say what name your people gave you? My forest nymph, my queen of song! Perhaps I have the power to save you From grief and woe, from want and wrong. Mirette. I am Mirette, or so they call me, Those who have reared me till today! They will not let a grief befall me That they have power to keep away — With them, with them I stay! Ensemble. Mirette. Gerard. So forget this woodland I shall love this woodland shady, shady, All we said let each As the spot where first forget; we met; You, a lord, must woo a Fair as any queen or lady, lady, Is the gipsy girl, I am the gipsy girl, Mirette! Mirette! Gerard. Mirette! It’s a pretty name! You are too sweet for this roving life. Come, I can save you from poverty. Mirette. Ah, no! I know what the promises of nobles mean — to gipsy girls! Gerard. But, child, why should you not come to the château — the Marquise de Montigny, my aunt, wants a girl; she said so only today. Mirette. A servant? Gerard. A pretty companion, to sing to her and cheer her. At a word from me, she would take you. Mirette. No, no. These gipsies are my people, and with them I must remain. Gerard. But you do not seem like one of them! There is something about you as if you were of a higher race. Mirette. You, too, think so? It may be true! Gerard (aside). I never knew that remark fail with the lower orders. (Aloud.) Come! Mirette. No! Go and leave me! You are not safe. The gipsies may return at any moment. (Sounds of branches snapping.) Hark! they are coming! Gerard. I am not afraid of them! Mirette. But I am afraid for you! For my sake — go! Gerard. Good-bye, Mirette. If you are in trouble, remember Gerard — Gerard de Montigny! (Exit as Picorin re-enters with bundle of sticks.) Picorin. Well, you little coward, Bobinet, you’ve given me a nice trouble! Not a dry stick for half-a-mile! Eh, Bobinet? Where are you going? Mirette. It was not Bobinet, Picorin. Picorin. Mirette, who has been here? Mirette. A gentleman — he called himself Gerard de Montigny! Picorin. Gerard de Montigny — and he was talking to you? Is he your fairy prince? Mirette. Oh, Picorin! Picorin. No! it’s oh, Mirette! So I find you flirting with the first fine coat you meet. Mirette. There was a gentleman inside the coat. Picorin. There always is inside any fine coat. Gold lace and a stick to hang it on — that’s your gentleman! Mirette. At any rate he has manners — which is more than you have! Picorin. There, Mirette, I dare say you meant no harm. Mirette. Thank you for very little. Picorin. But I’ll swear he did. Don’t you listen to these smooth- tongued fops. Mirette. I prefer them to rough-tongued churls, like yourself. Picorin. Mirette, you are not your old self to-night. Mirette. Then let my new self be, and go after the old one — you’ll find her in the woods. Addio, Signor Picorini! Picorin. One word, Mirette! [Exeunt.] Enter Chorus, Francal, Bertuccio, and Zerbinette. Chorus We’ve called as pillagers On the villagers, When they all were out; We’ve opened the doors Of barns and stores And left them a little bit thinner! So perhaps they’re wondering Who’s been plundering Every house about; But while they think, We’ll eat and drink Their goods for supper and dinner! Zerbinette (goes up to Picorin). Now then, Mr. Stay-at-home, see what I’ve got! (Holds up purse.) Picorin. Where did you get that? Zerbinette. Out of somebody’s pocket, of course! What do you think? Picorin. You’re not clever enough to pick a pocket. Zerbinette. Oh, I’m not, am I? Take the purse yourself — (throws purse to Picorin) — and I’ll show you how I got it. Pantomime Dance. (In which Picorin plays the part of the young man from whom Zerbinette steals the purse, and Francal that of her accomplice.) The Pantomime. A young man taking a walk is met by a pretty gipsy girl, who offers to tell his fortune. He crosses her hand with gold: she tells him he will marry three wives, and have all sorts of good luck. He tries to kiss her; she eludes him, but meanwhile steals his purse. He misses it — accuses her of the theft. She denies it. He makes her show her hands, which she does in turn; finally, putting both arms around his neck, and so passing the purse successfully behind his back to her confederate. Francal. A good night’s work indeed. But where’s Mirette? And where’s our sentinel Bobinet? Picorin. Mirette’s over there, and I’ll fetch her; but Bobinet’s gone. [Exit Picorin.] Zerbinette. He’s gone! Perhaps I was too cruel to him, and drove him to suicide! (Sobs.) Francal. Perhaps fiddlesticks! His gun’s gone too! Zerbinette. It is suicide! He’s blown out his brains! Francal. Brains! Impossible! Perhaps he’s run away from you, my dear. Zerbinette. He wouldn’t dare! He’s been carried off! Well, I don’t mind (sobs); I’m not such a stupid. But I should like to know where the poor boy is! (Sobs.) Francal. What’s this? The marks of feet — not Bobinet’s! Can the gendarmes have been here? We must be going at once. Bertuccio. Too late! I hear the tramp of soldiers! Francal. Put out the lights. Hide, all of you. [Gipsies conceal themselves.] Finale. The soldiers enter, the Baron at their head, with Bobinet held by two soldiers. Baron. Though the wood is very dark — Soldiers. And the night is very damp — Baron. Yet I venture to remark — Soldiers. This must be the gipsy camp. Bobinet. Here’s the tree where I was caught — Soldiers. What is that within the shade? Bobinet. Here they are, sir, as you thought! Baron. There they are, then, as I thought! Gipsies (starting up). Let us fly! We are betrayed! Baron. Arrest them! Arrest them all! Seize them! Seize them! Seize each bold offender! Gipsies. We surrender! Enter Picorin and Mirette in charge of two soldiers. Bobinet. Oh! that’s Mirette! Baron. Oh! that’s Mirette! Although you have a pretty name, You go to prison all the same! Gipsies. Shame! Shame! It is shameful! Shame! Shame! It is shameful! Mirette. Enough, my friends, we need not care, Though fate be hard, ’tis one for all; Your joy, your luck I used to share, Why should I shrink if ill befall? Nay, we are comrades still, Nay, we are comrades still, Comrades in good or ill, Ever and everywhere! Enter Gerard. Gerard. No, no! Her innocence I can proclaim, She was with me — she’s not to blame — So set her free! Mirette. Thanks! Thanks! But if ’tis so, Where shall I go? Where may I roam? I cannot find a home! Gerard. A home is yours at the château, As maid! Baron. Then let her go! Gipsies. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! He lets her go! Baron. Oh! ho! She’ll have a pleasant task. Now for her friend — (pointing to Picorin) What shall we do? Perhaps he’ll suit as valet, too! Picorin. Let me come, I love her so! Where she goes, I wish to go. I will serve you as you will If I can but serve her still; To be near her all the day, Grant me this for ample pay, And a debt I still shall owe, For I love her, love her so! Mirette. Sir, set him free! Baron. It shall be as you please! Mirette. He comes with me To serve the Marquise. (To Gipsies.) Friends, I will not forget; All I can do I will! Gipsies (girls only). Mirette! Good-bye! Gerard takes charge of Mirette and Picorin. Bobinet (to Baron). Well, what of me? Yes, what of me? I, sir, guided you over the trail! Baron. As a reward you shall go to jail! Come then! Quick march! Soldiers. Come along! Come along! Quick march! Gipsies. Good-bye, Mirette! Good-bye, Mirette! Mirette. Good-bye! Some day — who knows? Gipsies. Come along then! So let it be! So let it be! All. Where we sleep we do not care Prison cell or open air; Both alike are given free, And both are a home for the Zingari! Onward, then, with foe or friend Down the road that has no end; Still we sing our melody, The marching song of the Zingari! Curtain. ACT II. Scene. — Large Hall in the Château of the Marquise, a terrace at the back opening on the gardens. On the left, entrance to the banqueting hall. On the rising of the curtain the Marquise is discovered seated, listening to Mirette, who is singing to her a ballad from an old book. Old Ballad. — Mirette. So forward through the fading light, Her faithless lover rode away, Forgetting her he wooed last night, And all the vows of yesterday. “Ah stay! She loves thee so, Sir Knight!” But ever still he rode away. And all the birds were mute o’erhead, And all the stars grew dark in Heaven, Just for a word that was not said, Just for a kiss that was not given! Broken-hearted at the door, The little maiden pined away, Remembering all the love he swore, The golden dreams of yesterday! “Come back! She loves thee evermore! Come back, Sir Knight, come back and stay!” And then, ah! then, the word was said, And then, ah! then, the kiss was given; And all the birds sang overhead, And earth was Heaven, was Heaven! Marquise. Very pretty, but in real life girls don’t pine away. Mirette. I think I should, of my lover deserted me. Marquise. I thought so once myself. I will tell you a story — not poetical, but true. Once upon a time I was an extremely pretty girl. The Baron Van den Berg tells me I am so still; but he was always a gay deceiver. Well, one day a king — a young king — told me that he loved me. Mirette. A real king? Marquise. A real king. I can’t tell you his name, for he is married now, and mightn’t like it. He swore he would make me his queen, and we both vowed that if we were parted we should die. Well, we were parted! He married his cousin — it’s a way kings have — and I married a Marquis — an old Marquis. Mirette. Were you not very unhappy? Marquise. Yes, for a time — so was the Marquis, but we did not die. The Marquis died, certainly; but that was from gout in the — ahem! — the chest! That’s my story; and I don’t know why it should make you look so sad. Mirette. Pardon me, Madame. I was thinking of my poor friends, the gipsies. It is a month since I came here, and they are still in prison. Marquise. That is the Baron Van den Berg’s affair, not mine. Mirette. But I am sure the Baron would release them if you asked him, Madame. You will ask him! (Kneels at Marquise’s side.) Marquise. There, there, child! Somebody is coming! (Mirette rises confused, as Gerard enters.) Ah, Gerard! Gerard. And what of me, dear aunt? (Kisses Marquise’s hand.) Marquise (taps him with fan). No good, vagabond! Here you go hunting, when I’m expecting your sweetheart, Bianca, every moment. Gerard. And her father, the Baron, eh? Marquise. Naughty boy! Mirette. Then, Monsieur Gerard, you will intercede with the Baron for my poor friends in prison! Marquise. Yes, Gerard, it would look better from you, and he could refuse you nothing on your betrothal day. Mirette (aside). His betrothal day! Marquise. What’s the matter with the child? Gerard. Dearest aunt, you ask him; — send him a nice note — to please me! Marquise. Well, I will. You will have other business on hand. (Gerard gives an impatient start.) Yes, I quite understand, dear boy — you’re impatient to see Bianca — sweet child! Gerard (aside). Bother Bianca! Marquise. Come, Mirette, to keep me in countenance. I feel quite bashful writing to the Baron. (Going.) Mirette (goes up to Gerard). Monsieur Gerard, I do thank you for your kindness! Gerard. I would do far more for you, Mirette. Can’t you see — Marquise (turning at door). Mirette! Come! Mirette. Yes, Madame! [Exit after Marquise.] Gerard. I was going to make a fool of myself. That gipsy Mirette has bewitched me. Bianca’s a pretty child, but insipidly innocent. Yet I don’t dislike her either. There are two sides to me; one likes freedom, poaching — and Mirette; the other is all for respectability, game-preserving — and Bianca. Why can’t I be allowed to love them both at once? Song . — Gerard. [words by Adrian Ross] In quiet convent closes The rosebud maidens grow; The fairest of the roses Is mine from long ago. Mine is the right and power To win and wear her soon; My pure and perfect flower, The garden rose of June. Oh, my rose, shy rose, Purest pink and white; What joy to think the white and pink Is all for my delight! Above the hedge of briar That walls the woodland ways, High as my head and higher A lonely blossom sways: A rose that none has planted, A vagrant forest maid; To give one hour enchanted, And then to fail and fade. Oh, child rose, wild rose, Roses fade and fall; But till they’re thinned by Autumn wind, I love, I love then all! Gerard. Now for my convent rosebud! (Enter Mirette.) No, the other! Mirette! Mirette. Monsieur Gerard! I did not think you were here. Madame sent me to speak to Picorin. Gerard. Picorin can wait. Waiting is what he is paid for. Mirette. But Madame wishes the banqueting hall prepared for the guests who are coming — Gerard. To see me tied up! I know! Plague take them! Mirette. They say Mademoiselle Bianca is so pretty, and you are so fond of her. Gerard. I know someone prettier — and I’m fonder of that somebody! (Tries to put his arm round Mirette.) Mirette. Oh, Monsieur Gerard, that is very wrong of you. Gerard. I can’t help it. Mirette, I must tell you — (Enter Picorin.) Confound the fellow! Picorin (bowing). Has Monsieur any commands for me? Gerard. No — oh, yes! Go to the head gardener and tell him to make me up a bouquet of roses — red and white. Picorin (aside). Roses mean love! Whom does he want them for? (Aloud to Mirette.) Has Madame any orders for me, Mirette? Mirette. Yes, Picorin. Madame wants the banqueting hall got ready. Picorin (aside). Humph! I’ll look in on them now and then! (Exit.) Gerard. Mirette, you’re so pretty, and I’m so miserable having to marry a girl I don’t care for — I should like to throw up ranks and riches and turn gipsy. Mirette. You join the gipsies? You’re jesting! Gerard. I swear I mean it. There’s nothing I won’t do to be with you. Trio. — Gerard, Mirette, and Picorin. [words by Adrian Ross] Gerard. Maiden with the wavy tresses, And the look that is a spell, Do not shrink from my caresses, Hear me vow I love you well. Mirette. You are born so far above me, That I cannot hold you true, For I know you must not love me, And I cannot stay with you. Mirette and Gerard. Words are soft and glances tender, And our pulses leap and fall; Can we make the sweet surrender, Each to each be all in all? Gerard draws Mirette to him. Enter Picorin. They do not at first notice him. Picorin (to Gerard). Beg your pardon, if you please, sir, But my lady, the Marquise, sir, Wants to have the salon ready For the noble company. (to Mirette). You can stay there as you are, pet, And assist me with the carpet — Kindly hold it firm and steady, And you won’t mind me! Mirette and Gerard start each side, angrily. Picorin in centre shakes carpet. Ensemble. Mirette and Gerard. Picorin. Oh, it’s very disconcerting If they find me To be spied upon when disconcerting, flirting, They have probably been And we wonder what the use flirting, is And I wonder what the Of a servant such as he! deuce is For he’s only more annoying The result of this to By incessantly employing be! Such conventional excuses But I’ll stop his dainty As “Oh, don’t mind toying, me!” By incessantly employing Such conventional excuses As “Oh, don’t mind me!” Exit Picorin. Mirette and Gerard. Once again renew the rapture, Once again our love repeat, And recover and recapture All the bliss of lips they meet. Once again renew the rapture, etc. As Gerard is going to kiss Mirette, re-enter Picorin with bunch of roses. Picorin. Sir, I humbly beg your pardon, But there’s someone from the garden, Brought this very nice bouquet, sir, That I thought you’d better see. (to Mirette). Then I’ll put it here in water, For the noble Baron’s daughter, And it won’t be in my way, sir, If you won’t mind me. Ensemble. Mirette and Gerard. Picorin. It is vain to seek seclusion I can see, from their From continual intrusion; confusion, We had best adjourn the They object to my intrusion, meeting For a pair of lovers Till the time and meeting place are free. Do not want a Number For the words that might be Three; spoken But, before their love is Are irreparably broken spoken, By his imbecile Their embraces shall be repeating broken Of “Oh, don’t mind By my entrance and me!” repeating Of “Oh, don’t mind me!” Gerard tries to offer bouquet to Mirette, Picorin interposing. Enter Marquise. Marquise. Dear me! Why are you not arranging the banqueting hall, Picorin? Picorin. Monsieur Gerard ordered me to bring him some flowers. (Exit.) Marquise. What lovely roses! You are always robbing me of my flowers; but I’ll forgive you this time, as they are for Bianca. You are improving, Gerard. A bunch of roses is a declaration of love all the world over. What say you, Mirette? Mirette. Ah, Madame, a gipsy knows nothing of these pretty courtesies. Marquise. That reminds me, I have a note from the Baron. He has released the gipsies, and the good creatures are coming here to thank me. Mirette. Oh, Madame, you are good! Marquise. You will like to see your old friends; and if you want to show your gratitude you can sing us one of your songs this evening in your gipsy costume. Mirette. Shall I sing before all your company, Madame? Gerard (aside to Mirette). Yes, sing — for me, not for them! Marquise. What’s that? Mirette, go and get ready. (Mirette curtseys and exit.) And you, Gerard, do finish your toilet. Bianca may be here at any moment. Gerard (angrily). Bianca be —— All right, aunt, I’m going. (Exit.) Re-enter Picorin. Marquise. What is it, Picorin? Picorin. Madame, a deputation from the gipsies. Marquise. Show the deputation in. (Exit Picorin.) I wonder if Gerard has been making love to Mirette? He might wait till he was married. But young men nowadays have no sense of propriety. Re-enter Picorin, showing in Bobinet. Bobinet. Madame, I have the honour to solicit the privilege of laying at your feet the respectful homage of myself and my comrades. Marquise. I thank you, sir. Are your friends without? Bobinet. No, Madame. I am without my friends. Marquise (to Picorin). But you said there was a deputation. Bobinet. I am the deputation — Celestin Bobinet. Marquise. Pray be seated, Monsieur Bobinet. Bobinet (aside). What a splendid woman! I have evidently made an impression. Marquise. You can go and see to the banqueting room, Picorin. Bobinet. Yes, Picorin — we can do without you, dear boy. Good- bye! Picorin (aside to Bobinet). You little rascal! Wait till I catch you outside! (Exit). Bobinet. As you are probably aware, Madame, I am the leading comedian — light comedy, not low comedy — of the troupe of the celebrated Francal, who is about to re-open — Marquise. After a month in prison — Bobinet. I beg your pardon, Madame. In our profession, we call that resting — even when accompanied by hard labour. The Baron Van den Berg informed us that it is to your ladyship we owe the end of our holiday. We tender our humblest thanks. Marquise. You were glad to get out, I suppose. Bobinet. Madame, we had reason to be glad. The local magistrates kept a very bad table, and the straw they laid down in our cells was disgracefully damp — evidently not properly aired. We threatened to leave at once, but they paid no attention to our complaints. Marquise. Well, now you have left, I want you to do me a favour. My nephew signs his contract of marriage to-night. And I should like to celebrate the happy occasion with a little entertainment. Bobinet. Ah, Madame, you invite us to your party? We shall be delighted! Marquise. Yes, I invite you — to sing and dance. Bobinet. Quite so. (Aside.) An entertainment on the cheap. It’s been done before. Marquise. Of course your entertainment will be refined. Bobinet. Madame, I can only say it has been given before royalty, and royalty was graciously pleased to smile. That is a guarantee of perfect propriety. Marquise. You do not bring a clergyman on the stage, I hope. Bobinet. We did have a Doctor of Divinity, but he has now taken a degree in medicine. Marquise. Then propriety is satisfied! Duet. — Marquise and Bobinet. [words by Harry Greenbank.] Marquise. The programme I’ll discuss with you, So kindly take me through it. I want to know what you can do, And how you mean to do it; For, though it must be up-to-date, My friends and my relations Of course will only tolerate Respectable gyrations. Bobinet (bowing). Madame has made it clear as day, She wants a most refined display. Marquise. I beg you won’t by any chance Perform an unbecoming dance, You might, perhaps, suggest it so — But nothing more than that, you know! Ensemble. {Marquise. I beg you won’t by any chance, etc. {Bobinet. She begs, I won’t by any chance, etc. (Dance.) Bobinet. We’ve got the champion pugilist, And everybody backs him; Cuirasses that a shot resist By Dowe and by Maxim, Of comic songs you’ll hear the gem, And, when our audience wearies, We wake them up by showing them Our Tableaux Vivants series! Marquise. Oh! hush! my worthy fellow, hush! You wouldn’t like to see me blush! Bobinet. There’s nothing that will make you start, We only deal in works of art, And realize a picture, so — With just a little less, you know! Both. There’s nothing that will make you/me start, etc, (Dance.) Marquise. Although I’ve danced the minuet, So stately, grave, and haughty, I’ve never tried a dance as yet That anyone called naughty. Skirt dancing now is all the rage, I’d learn it in a minute; But do you think at middle age It’s prudent to begin it? Bobinet (bowing). Madame would look extremely sweet When tripping on those dainty feet! Marquise. You’ve no idea what ladies do! I’ve seen them dance the gay Chahût, And fling their little feet up so — But rather more than that, you know! Both. You’ve/I’ve no idea what ladies do! etc. (Dance.) Bobinet. I will not conceal from you, Madame, that these exertions have given me a magnificent appetite, and a still more magnificent thirst. (Enter Picorin.) Marquise. You shall have any refreshments you like. Picorin! Give Monsieur Bobinet all he desires. Bobinet (aside). She’s a splendid woman. (To Picorin.) Picorin, I’m dying of thirst; so if you can find me a ham — Picorin. That will make you thirstier still! Bobinet. Precisely. I shall have a thirst I wouldn’t take a Louis d’or for. Then I can do with a bottle or two of Rhine wine — Steinwein, I prefer. Picorin. Madame? Marquise. You hear what Monsieur Bobinet says. A ham and a bottle of Steinwein. Picorin (bows). Steinwein it is, Madame! (Exit.) Bobinet (to Picorin). In Boxbeutel, remember! (Aside.) She’s a splendid woman. (Exit after Picorin.) Servant (enters). The Baron Van den Berg and Mademoiselle Bianca. (Exit, as Baron and Bianca enter). Marquise. Delighted to see you, Baron. Ah, my dear child! (Kisses Bianca.) I hope you had a pleasant journey? Baron. Delightful, was it not, Bianca? Bianca (very primly). Yes, papa. Baron. That’s my own dear appreciative impulsive child! Ah, my daughter! Bianca. Ah, papa! Baron. Your happiness makes me think of my own young days. It is many years since then. Marquise. Don’t say how many, baron; you must remember that your young days were my young days as well. Baron. Then my young days have never ended. Marquise. Flatterer! Isn’t your papa a gay deceiver, Bianca? Bianca. Yes, Madame! Baron. Bianca! Bianca. You told me not to contradict, papa! Baron. You let your spirits run away with you, my child. I am an indulgent father, but I do not like impertinence. Bianca. Oh, papa! Marquise. Come, Baron, I must take Bianca under my wing. Well, child, I suppose you’re quite delighted that you’re going to be married — and to Gerard, too! — You like Gerard, don’t you? Bianca. Yes, Madame! Baron. That’s my dear affectionate gushing child! But, my dear, don’t be too hasty in showing your affection; let him know his happiness by degrees. Try to seem cold. Marquise. Yes, Bianca, always imitate your dear papa. Baron. Madame la Marquise! Ah, here is Gerard! Enter Gerard. Marquise. My dear boy, you have been keeping us waiting. Gerard. A thousand pardons, Baron! (Shakes hands.) Mademoiselle Bianca, my sincere homage. (Kisses Bianca’s hand.) Bianca (primly). I thank you, Monsieur Gerard. Marquise. Now, Baron, these young people will have a thousand and one things to say to each other. Give me your arm. Baron (to Marquise). Gerard is hardly so ardent as I should wish. (To Bianca.) Bianca — remember to be chilly at first, dear! Bianca. Yes, papa! (Exeunt Marquise and Baron. As soon as they are out, Bianca explodes with laughter.) Oh, ha, ha, ha! It is all so funny! Gerard (stiffly). I am glad I have the good fortune to amuse you, Mademoiselle. Bianca. No, it isn’t that, though you do look funny in your fine clothes. You can’t even put your own silly coat on right. Just stand still, and let me smooth out the wrinkles, dear! You don’t mind me calling you “dear,” do you? It is rather forward! Gerard. Oh no, not at all. Why should I? Bianca. Papa was just telling me — what do you think? You’ll never guess! I was to be cold to you, very chilly, and say “Yes, Monsieur” to you, just as I do to him. And then you would be ardent, he said! That’s all he knows about it! Gerard. Do you know much about it, then? Bianca. Well, papa thinks I don’t; but he doesn’t know! You don’t mind me chattering, do you? Your aunt — I am so fond of your aunt! — said we had a thousand and one things to say. I fancy you think I’m saying a thousand, and that’s why you won’t say the one. Gerard (aside). I haven’t had a chance yet! (Aloud.) Forgive me, Mademoiselle, I never was much of a speaker. Bianca. Why, papa says you can talk philosophy, and other pernicious nonsense, by the hour! Gerard. Really! Bianca. I like nonsense, for I’m always talking it myself. He says you would like to go about with gipsy vagabonds. Are gipsy girls pretty, Monsieur Gerard? Gerard. Ah — sometimes! Bianca. Papa says you picked up a pretty gipsy girl for your aunt’s maid. I shall be jealous of her. You might be running off with her some day, and I should never see you again till you were taken up for stealing your own chickens! Ha, ha, ha! Gerard (vexed). I am glad you are so easily amused! Bianca. Oh! to think of you as a gipsy! Oh! ha, ha, ha! Gerard. Don’t you think, Mademoiselle, that your thousand things are nearly said by now? Bianca. Now you are angry with me, Gerard. You would chatter if you’d been saying nothing for years but lessons and “Yes, papa!” You’re taking me out of all that old dismal life, and that’s why I’m fond of you — at least, that’s one of the reasons, and the rest I won’t tell you. Song. — Bianca. But yesterday, in convent gray, By gloomy walls enfolded, I was at studies all the day, And sometimes — often — well always scolded. ’Twas lessons on an endless plan, And miscalled recreation, And not a sight of any man, Except some near relation! Today the sky is bright on high, Today the world uncloses, I see unfold its gates of gold, And all the way is roses! Today, today my dream comes true, And all through you, and all through you! Today, today my dream comes true! And when a holiday would come I gained but little by it, Beneath the stern paternal thumb I was demure and quiet. He talked of genealogies, But I could not discover, In all those dead old pedigrees A single living lover! Good-bye to wars of ancestors I hear my bride-bells ringing, “Thou art a woman now,” they cry, And love is all they’re singing! Today, today my dream comes true, And all through you, and all through you! Today, today my dream comes true! Bianca. Well, Monsieur, you are very silent. Gerard. I was listening to you, Mademoiselle. Bianca. I see — you mean I do all the talking. Well, somebody must do the talking. When two people are fond of each other — Gerard (aside). When they are! Bianca. Then of course they want to be talking — or — or something to pass the time, you know. I have heard of people even — even kissing, sometimes, when they were very fond of each other! Gerard. Really, Mademoiselle, you are quite learned. (Aside.) I suppose I must! (Kisses Bianca on the forehead.) Bianca. Is that how you always mean to kiss me? Gerard. It’s the most respectful way! Bianca. But aren’t there any nicer ways? Ah! here’s my aunt! I mean your aunt! No, our aunt, of course! Enter Marquise. Marquise. Well, and how are the turtle doves getting on? (Aside to Bianca). Billing and cooing, eh, Bianca? Bianca (aside to Marquise). I have been doing all the cooing, Madame, and Monsieur Gerard — Marquise. He did the billing, eh? Bianca. It was a very little bill — only one. Marquise. I shall have to talk to that young man seriously. Gerard! Gerard (comes down). Yes, aunt? Bianca. Don’t say anything now, please, Madame! Marquise (to Gerard). I’ll talk to you later. (Aloud.) Our guests will be here soon. Come, Bianca, and let me put the finishing touches to your dress. (Exeunt Marquise and Bianca.) Gerard. She’s a nice little girl, but she hasn’t the charm of Mirette.(Enter Bobinet with napkin and table.) Eh? Who’s this? One of the noble guests? Bobinet. Perhaps you do not recollect me, my lord. When I had the honour of making your acquaintance I was up a tree — very much up a tree. You don’t mind my going on with my lunch? (Sits at table.) Gerard. This is an odd place for lunch. Bobinet. I know it is. I’ve been lunching all over the house. Are you having a spring-cleaning? I began in the kitchen, and was ousted by preparations for the banquet. I ate bread and ham up the back staircase — you could track me by the crumbs. I have just abandoned a very fine ham-bone because the servants were laying the table; and if I can’t find a refuge here I must try the garden. Gerard. Drink away, my good fellow. I shouldn’t mind a glass myself. Bobinet. Here, Picorin! A glass for Monsieur Gerard. Let us be hospitable! Where are you? (Enter Picorin with bottle. Picorin pours out wine for Gerard, who sits at table.) Gerard. To the help of our friends the gipsies! Bobinet. To our noble selves! (Drinks.) Gerard. Yours must be a merry life, eh? Bobinet (with his mouth full).Kindly ask him! (Points to Picorin.) He knows all about it — he’s one of us. Excuse me if I finish my lunch! Gerard. Well, Picorin, take a glad of wine yourself, and tell us how the gipsies live. I’ve often thought I should like to join them. Picorin. Well, Monsieur Gerard, I’m much obliged. (Sits at table.) We had a merry life enough till you found us — then of course Bobinet and the rest of them went to jail. Bobinet. Don’t say that. We went to the seaside, if you please. Picorin. And we lost Mirette — the luck of the band. Bobinet. Yes, our patron saint and prima donna! We’d do anything short of murder to get her back! (Drinks.) Gerard. Glasses round! All men are free and equal. (Servant brings bottle and exit.) Bobinet. Then I’ll make free with another bottle! Picorin. And I’m equal to another glass! Gerard. If you could get Mirette back I’d like to come too! Picorin (aside). I thought so! (Aloud.) You wouldn’t like our life — it’s a poor trade singing and dancing at fairs, telling fortunes, weaving baskets — Bobinet. And stealing ducks! What are you talking of? You’re drunk! Why it’s a glorious life — always merry, always laughing and quaffing, and singing good old drinking-songs. (Drinks.) Know our song about Old Noah? I’ll sing it! You don’t want to hear it, but I’ll sing it all the same! Picorin. Don’t sing, idiot! The noble guests may be here in a moment. Gerard (excited). Bother the noble guests! We’re all equal. Sing away. Trio. — Bobinet, Picorin, and Gerard. Bobinet. When Noah sailed his good old Ark, Gerard. Tique-tique, tique-tin, tin, tin! Picorin. He was a thirsty patriarch Gerard. Tique-tique, tique-tin, tin, tin! Bobinet. And like the ancient mariner Picorin. He was very, very sad to think Bobinet. It was water, water everywhere, All. And never any drop to drink! Picorin. So when he came to Ararat, Gerard. Tique-tique, tique-tin, tin, tin! Bobinet. He thought he’d had enough of that, Gerard. Tique-tique, tique-tin, tin, tin! Picorin. He planted half a mile of vine Bobinet. On a sunny mountain shelf, Picorin. And he brewed a barrel — Bobinet. Of good strong wine, All. And finished up the lot himself! All. Then by came Ham, his thirsty son, Tique-tique, tique-tin, tin, tin! And found the liquor all was done, Tique-tique, tique-tin, tin, tin! It’s written by a learned monk That this is the reason why Good wine will make you very, very drunk, And ham is sure to make you dry! Marquise (outside). Gerard, Gerard! Picorin. Mercy, the Marquise! Off with you, Bobinet! (Bobinet and Picorin bolt off different ways as Marquise enters.) Marquise. Gerard, this is most disgraceful conduct. Gerard. But really, aunt — Marquise. I’ll talk to you afterwards. Our friends have arrived. Enter Baron and Bianca, then the Guests. Chorus of Guests. Obedient to your kind command, Your courteous invitations, We come to give with heart and hand Our true congratulations! Long life to you, O happy pair, We sing to you, we sing to you, Warm hearts of love and hopeful prayer We bring to you, we bring to you; May all your day Be blithe and gay, With roses all the way. Marquise. Now, Bianca, my child, you’re the queen of the evening. Try to look like a bride. Bianca. Ah, Madame! I can’t, I’ve had so little experience. Marquise. The nuns must have neglected your education; but, poor things, you can’t expect them to know. Why they haven’t even taught you how to handle your fan. Bianca. Is that so important, Madame? Marquise. It is one of the most important branches of the higher education of women. Fan Song. — Marquise and Chorus. [words by Adrian Ross] Marquise. When Eve was mistress Adam, And lived in Eden Square, As far as we know, She hadn’t a clo’. Or anything fit to wear. But like a modern Madam, Who flirt with modern man, Though she’d even less Than an evening dress, She carried a palm leaf fan! A fan, a fan, a fan! Since ever the world began, The sword and shield That women wield, Is the swaying, playing fan! Chorus. A fan, a fan, a fan! etc. Marquise. And mother Eve’s invention Her daughters all can use; They put it like this When asking a kiss, A hint that you can’t refuse. It draws a man’s attention, Resist you how he can, When he sees your eyes In a shy surprise Peep over a plumy fan! A fan, a fan, a fan! From Italy to Japan, None can resist The skilful twist Of a dancing, glancing fan! Chorus. A fan, a fan, a fan! etc. Marquise. If someone woos too boldly, Your fan you shut and swing, You give him some taps That stop him, perhaps, (They don’t, as a general thing!) But if he lingers coldly, You try another plan: For you spread it wide, As a hint to hide Two faces behind a fan — A fan, a fan, a fan! When spread to its widest span, A beautiful blind To kiss behind, Is the screening, meaning fan! All. A fan, a fan, a fan! etc. Baron. A most interesting and delightful lecture, Madame la Marquise. May we ask for another — say on the ethics of flirting? Bianca. Would you like to be experimented on, papa? Baron. Bianca! Marquise. No, Baron, I have contrived a pleasant surprise for the company. The band of gipsies whom you released — Baron. At your command, Marquise! Marquise. Are coming to sing and dance for our entertainment, and Mirette — Gerard (comes down, aside). Mirette — Marquise. My maid, you know, Baron — she will give one of her songs that she used to sing at fairs. I hear them coming. Enter Gipsies, led by Francal, Bobinet, and Bertuccio. Finale. [words by Adrian Ross] Gipsies (entering). We come, Madame la Marquise; Here tonight, at your command, You and all your guests to please With the song and dance of gipsy-land. Song and dance, Song and dance, And we hope that they may please. Marquise. ’Tis well! But stay! Ere you begin, Where is Mirette? (Enter Mirette.) Chorus. Mirette! Marquise. She will dance tonight And sing for you a gipsy song. Chorus. Bravo! Bravo! Mirette. I will sing for you tonight! Chorus. Bravo! Bravo! Sing on, Mirette! Song. — Mirette with Chorus. Once a cavalier of Spain Loved a maid of low degree; He was come of royal strain, She was of the Zingari! So he offered house and land, Jewels gold, or anything; Only on her little hand, No ring! no ring! Zingari. La la la la, etc. Mirette. No, said she, no! Go, let me go! Take away your purse of gold! Costly dresses Win Princesses, Gipsy love is never sold! Love cannot be bought, Not bought, nor sold! Chorus. No, said she, no! Mirette. But the noble Spanish Don Could not brook a slight like this, So he would not get him gone, And he tried to snatch a kiss! Then a dagger bright he drew, Held it up before his eye, And no more he cared to woo — Good-bye! Good-bye! Zingari. La la la la, etc. Mirette. No, said she, no! Go, coward, go! Take the kiss, you feel the blade! Till the trusty Steel is rusty, None shall wrong the gipsy maid! She is not afraid, The gipsy maid! Chorus. No, said she, no! Dance. Guests. Brava, Mirette! Brava! Brava! Brava! Baron (ostentatiously taking out his purse). . Though the song’s absurd ferocity Much offends me, I confess, My ancestral generosity Forces me to give largesse! (He throws the purse before Mirette.) Gerard (goes to Mirette). Cast away the dross they fling to you, Gold and gems are all too mean; Take and wear the gift I bring to you, Royal roses for my queen. (He gives her roses, which she holds.) Marquise. Gerard, this is really scandalous, Are you mad, or are you tipsy? Baron. Do you dare to treat and handle us Worse than any common gipsy? Bianca. Gerard, why are you disgracing me? Tell me, why are you so cruel? Baron. He’ll explain when he is facing me In a sword or pistol duel! Gerard. For your feeble sword or gunnery I have neither care nor dread; Take your daughter to a nunnery, You yourself go home to bed! To a nunnery, nunnery, go! Bianca. No, no nunnery, nunnery, no! Gerard. To a nunnery, nunnery, go! Gerard and Chorus. To a nunnery, nunnery, go! Marquise. For this insolence of attitude You shall have the fate you merited; (To Mirette.) You’re dismissed for your ingratitude! (To Gerard.) You, sir, shall be disinherited! Gerard. Keep your girl, and all the dross of her, Keep your houses and your land; I, a penniless philosopher, Join the merry gipsy band! For the wind of night comes wandering, And forth with the wind we wander, We’re queen and king of the birds that sing In the lands of morning yonder! Mirette and Gerard. We’ll seek the shore of a southern sea, We’ll take the path of the swallow, Who would be free with him and me, Follow, follow us, follow, follow! Chorus. Gipsies. Guests. Hail to gipsy mirth and Out on this absurd frivolity! jollity, How can he be maddened so, As we wander to and fro! As to leave a bride of quality, Freedom, brotherhood, equality, And a-gipsying to go! Those are all the laws we know! During Chorus enter Picorin, who at first cannot understand what is happening, but is informed by Francal. Ensemble. Bianca. Marquise. All my innocent frivolity, Such inconsequent frivolity, Turns to bitter grief and woe! Will result in bitter woe! Why does he, a man of quality, Though he is a man of quality, With a gipsy maiden go? That is what he does not know. Picorin. Bobinet. When a man of noble quality, Won’t we all have mirth and Tries a-gipsying to go! jollity, He will find it won’t be Won’t our stalls and boxes go! jollity, When we have a man of quality, Or I hope to teach him so. Playing in our splendid show! Baron. Gipsies. It’s these notions of equality, Hail to gipsy mirth and That upset the country so! jollity, etc. All our European polity, Will to rack and ruin go. Guests. Out on this absurd frivolity! etc. Ensemble. Bianca, Marquise, Baron, Mirette, Picorin, Bobinet, Gerard, Guests. Gipsies. This blend of high and low We’ll seek the shore of the degree southern sea, Is far too silly to swallow; We’ll take the path of the All who will be such fools as swallow, he, Who would be free and glad as we, Follow, follow him, follow, Follow, follow us, follow, follow! follow! Picorin tears off his badge and throws it down before the Marquise. She waves him away disdainfully, and he goes to Mirette, and beckons her to the door. Bianca appeals to Gerard, who repulses her, and she falls fainting into the Baron’s arms.) Curtain. ACT III. Scene. — A village green, near the Château of the Marquise. Village fair going on. Showmen’s booths erected. Pedlars, dancers, and men drinking at the tavern. Chorus. Oh, the light of the golden summer, Mirth and merriment everywhere — Join our revelry, every comer, This is the happy village fair! Summer passes, Lads and lasses, Faded soon is the rose of June; Then in cadence, Men and maidens, Beat the time to every tune! Drinkers [Basses]. So drink, my lads, and drink again, And make the glasses clink again! And cast a glance At girls that dance, Until they blush and wink again! We will not stop to think again, To see the liquor shrink again, But chalk the score, And call for more, And drink again! Pedlars [Tenors] (offering their good to the young girls.) Come, buy my jewels, buy my laces, Pretty things for pretty faces. Feathers, slipper, fans, and gloves, Meant for you, my pretty loves. Good and cheap, and useful too, Come and buy, they’re all for you! Girls. Come, show your jewels, show your laces, Pretty things to suit our faces. Feathers, slipper, fans, and gloves, Oh! what beauties! Oh! what loves! Take the money, take it do; If you cheat us, woe to you! Repeat ensemble. Picorin as conjuror, Mirette as harlequina, Gerard as pantaloon, and Bertuccio as clown, invite people to their booth. Gerard beats a drum. Picorin. Walk up! walk up! walk up! Now, ladies and gentlemen, I want you to walk up and watch me closely. There is no deception. I have nothing up my sleeve or concealed about my person, but simply by my skill and dexterity I will endeavour to astonish those who are good enough to honour me with their attention for a few minutes. Ladies and gentlemen, our entertainment is unique. Any young lady of fifteen may bring her other with perfect safety. We have a magnificent band, as you may observe. I will now perform a few feats of pure sleight-of-hand, and explain them with drum obbligato. Where have you put that drum obbligato? Mirette. Wake up, Gerard — drum! drum! drum! Gerard (sullenly). Confound it! (Drums.) There, will that do? (Enter Francal.) Francal. Now, then, keep it up, my boys! Capital, Mirette! Good business, Picorin! Picorin. Will any lady or gentleman oblige me with a tall hat? I won’t hurt — only knock the crown out! Ah, here is one! (Snatches off Gerard’s hat.) Ah! stupid fellow! you’ve left your head in it! (Produces cauliflower. Laughter.) Gerard. The devil! Francal. Come, my boy, it’s only his fun. Drum away now! Earn your dinner. (Gerard drums viciously.) Mirette (to a man who has come forward). Cross your palm with silver, and I’ll tell your fortune. Ah! it’s a bad one! The Man. A bad fortune? Mirette. No, a bad florin! (Bites coin and throws it away.) Give me a good one, or I’ll tell the Burgomaster! (The man gives coin.) Now your hand — oh, what a bad line of life! If you try to pass another bad florin you’ll be hanged! Francal. Ah, Gerard, my lad, there isn’t anything like a gipsy life! Gerard (savagely). You’re right — there isn’t! (Bangs drum.) Picorin. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I will swallow an ordinary bedroom candlestick and bring it out lighted. During the performance my assistant will perform the Prussian Grenadier March on the drum to drown my screams of agony. (To Gerard.) Drum, now, stupid — drum! Gerard (enraged). The devil take the drum. (Throws off drum.) Bertuccio. Thank you. (Takes drum.) Mirette. Oh, Gerard, we all help in the show! Why should you mind? (Mirette takes Gerard down.) Gerard. I wasn’t born a mountebank. Mirette. Still, as you have taken up the business, you might do it better. If you want to be a noble again, go back; if you’re a gipsy, try to be a decent gipsy! Gerard. Oh, Mirette, you are too cruel! Mirette. There, no more! I might have told two florins’ worth of fortunes while I’ve been talking to you. Picorin. Walk up! walk up! and see the show! Mirette. This way, ladies and gentlemen, to see the waxworks — all the prominent statesmen of Europe, including a very fine stuffed crocodile. (Mirette enters her booth, followed by some of the people and Picorin. Enter Bobinet and Zerbinette with bows, bow-strings, and arrows.) Bobinet. Hi! hi! hi! Who’s going to enter for the archery contest? Ten shots at fifteen yards. Prizes given by the Baron Van den Berg! Gerard. The deuce! Bobinet (notices Gerard). Oh, you’re there, are you? All your friends are coming found to see you perform. There’s the Baron and his daughter! (Gerard starts.) Zerbinette. Yes, and I saw your noble aunt, the Marquise, in the fair! Bobinet. The Marquise is a splendid woman! (Zerbinette puts her hand on his mouth.) Francal. I think I see her coming! Gerard. Where shall I fly? If my aunt sees me in this dress — oh, the devil! (Gerard tries to escape. Francal and Bertuccio head him off. They produce a big circus-hoop with paper.) Zerbinette. Houp-la! (Gerard jumps through the hoop and bolts into the inn. Francal and Bertuccio exeunt laughing.) Bobinet. Now them who wants bow-strings? Bow-strings, first quality, as used by the Sultan of Turkey for his favourite wives! Bows? anybody want any more bows? Bows are cheap today. No lady should be without a beau, or better still, two beaux. Buy, buy! who’ll buy? Hang it! I’ll buy one of myself, and go shooting. Zerbinette. Are you an archer, then? Bobinet. I should think I am! I’d beat Robin Hood, William Tell, and anybody else at drawing the long bow! Long Bow Song. — Bobinet and Zerbinette and Chorus. [words by Adrian Ross] Bobinet. Good William Tell was a mighty one, In the days of long ago; Chorus. In the days of long ago; Bobinet. He shot an apple off his son, At a thousand yards or so; Chorus. At a thousand yards or so; Bobinet. But since the self-same tale is told Of each and every bowman bold, I fear some chronicler of old Was drawing the long, long bow. Chorus. We fear some chronicler of old, etc. Bobinet. So pull the bow-string up to the ear, And let the arrow go! Chorus. So pull the bow-string up to the ear, And let the arrow go! Bobinet. And if you miss the target clear, You’ll hit some neighbor in the rear; So shoot away, and have no fear Of drawing the long, long bow! Chorus. And if you miss the target clear, etc. Zerbinette. If you are a maker of patent pills, Or a salt that’s good eno’, Chorus. Or a salt that’s good eno’, Zerbinette. Of course you cure all human ills, From a cold to lumbago. Chorus. From a cold to lumbago. Zerbinette. And noblemen and noble wives Will say your drugs have saved their lives — A needy noble often thrives By drawing the long, long bow! Chorus. A needy noble often thrives, etc. Zerbinette. Then bill your nostrums everywhere, Let handbills fly like snow! Chorus. Then bill your nostrums everywhere, Let handbills fly like snow! Zerbinette. And get some lovely dame to swear She owes to you her wealth of hair. For none can match a lady fair In drawing the long, long bow! Chorus. And get some lovely dame to swear, etc. Bobinet. If you’re a great financial man, And you want to start a Co.; Chorus. And you want to start a Co.; Bobinet. You’ll find the most successful plan Is to gas, and puff, and blow. Chorus. You must gas, and puff, and blow. Bobinet. You’ll scoop the curate’s little store, And ruin windows by the score, And bag the half-pay man of war, By drawing the long, long bow! Chorus. You bag the half-pay man of war, etc. Bobinet. Then put the money in a mine Away in Mexico! Chorus. So put the money in a mine Away in Mexico! Bobinet. And then, with booty large and fine, You seek the distant Argentine; Like other men who used to shine, In drawing the long, long bow! Chorus. And then, with booty large and fine, etc. Chorus go off, with bows, arrows, etc., bought of Bobinet. Bobinet. Not a bad day’s haul. We’ve sold two dozen bows. Now for my bow! (Strings bow and strikes attitude.) Zerbinette. Are you really going to compete? You’re no shot. Bobinet. True, but I have kept the only good bow in my stock. I may hit the target by a fluke; I know the others can’t if they use the bows I sold them. Zerbinette (looking off.) Here’s a lady coming. Bobinet. It’s that splendid woman, the Marquise! Zerbinette. If you dare to wink at her I’ll pull your hair out, and never speak to you again! (Enter Marquise.) Marquise. Excuse me, my good girl — Zerbinette. I am not your good girl! Bobinet. She’s nobody’s good girl! Marquise. You seem to be a mountebank of some sort. Have you seen a young man of the name of Gerard? I will describe him — Bobinet. No need, Madame — he is with us! Marquise. Oh! (Recognizes Bobinet.) Thank you. Then I need not ask this young person further. (Is going, as Baron enters.) Baron (looking round wildly). Have you seen my daughter, Mademoiselle Bianca — Ah! it is you, Madame la Marquise! (Bows very coldly.) Marquise. Precisely, Monsieur le Baron! Baron. I presume that Madame has not seen my daughter anywhere? My dear, heedless child has apparently lost her way in the fair. Marquise. I have not seen Mademoiselle. Baron. A thousand thanks! Then I will no longer annoy Madame with my presence. (Bows very coldly.) Marquise. As Monsieur le Baron pleases! (Curtseys coldly.) (To Zerbinette.) May I ask if a young woman of the name of Mirette is here? (Picorin enters from his booth.) Picorin. Who wants Mirette? (Sees Marquise.) Madame! Marquise. I beg that you will not address me, fellow! Zerbinette. Well, we are all doing the high and mighty to-day! Quintet. — Zerbinette, Marquise, Picorin, Bobinet, and the Baron. [words by Adrian Ross] Zerbinette. I’m a little gipsy dancer, though my dress is rather Flemish; Marquise. I’m a very lofty lady with a scutcheon void of blemish; Picorin. I am posing as a juggler, though I really am a gipsy; Bobinet. And I’m nothing in particular except a little tipsy. Baron. I’m a very noble Baron with a very charming daughter, Who was jilted by a villain I would dearly like to slaughter. All. But our recent circumstances have been really so unpleasant, That we will not recognize each other just at present. Marquise. Well I should prefer to have it thus Baron. And, although my wrath I smother, Bobinet. I don’t know her — Zerbinette and Picorin. And they won’t know us, All. And we none of us know each other! Zerbinette. I had rather not associate with nobles proud and haughty; Marquise. I object to little dancers, who are usually naughty; Bobinet. She’s a really splendid woman, but a little bit too fussy, Baron. And her nephew left my daughter for a nameless gipsy hussy. Picorin. That remark is quite uncalled for and as false as it is cruel, And I’d like to meet the speaker in a very deadly duel. If he were not old and noble, I would carve him like a pheasant, But I mustn’t cut him living, so I’ll cut him dead at present. Zerbinette. You are young and slim, Marquise. And a lord is he, Bobinet. And you’re not the lady’s brother, Picorin. So I can’t fight him, Bobinet. And you can’t fight me, All. And we none of us fight each other! Zerbinette. So there’s really nothing for it but to part without a greeting, Marquise. And I’ll take extreme precautions to avoid another meeting; Picorin. I will go and play the jester and repeat the ancient wheezes, Bobinet. And I’ll steel my manly bosom to the charms of fair Marquises. Baron. And although this noble dame was once the prettiest of ladies, If her nephew jilts my daughter, she may go to well to Hades! All. So the dancer, lady, gipsy, noble lord, and comic peasant Will agree with one accord to cut each other dead at present. Picorin. So I’ll cough, Ahem! Bobinet. And I’ll shout, Yah, boo! Zerbinette. And I’ll say that you’re another! Marquise. Then I’ll cut them — Baron. And she’ll cut you — All. And we’ll all of us cut each other! Exeunt all, cutting each other. As they go, enter Mirette from booth. Mirette. I’m out of patience with Monsieur Gerard — he’s not a bit like a fairy prince. Fairy princes can do everything well, and he can’t even beat a drum. Rally these great people are rather tiresome. I wonder if my parents were great people, as I used to fancy? (Enter Bianca, with hood drawn round her face.) Ah, a customer! Do you want your fortune told, my pretty lady? Bianca. There is my hand. Mirette (aside). Where have I heard that voice before? (Aloud.) You will have a long and happy life — you will marry the man you love. Bianca. Oh, no, I sha’n’t! (Throws back hood.) It’s you who will marry him — Mirette. Mademoiselle Bianca! Bianca. Hush! Don’t speak so loud! Papa’s looking for me all over the fair! I have slipped away from him — oh! such fun — at least, it would be fun if I were not so unhap — hap — happy! (Sobs.) Mirette (aside). Poor child! (Aloud.) What is the matter, Mademoiselle? Bianca (indignantly). You know what the matter is. You’ve taken Gerard away, and now papa wants to marry me to a horrid old count, and I wish I was dead — of I wish somebody was dead! Mirette. Are you so fond of Monsieur Gerard, then? Bianca. You call him Monsieur still. Are you not — married? Mirette. Certainly not; I can’t afford to keep a husband! Bianca. Then papa is right after all; he said he was sure Gerard would never marry you. Mirette. I’m much obliged to your father, Mademoiselle! Bianca. Oh, you mustn’t mind what papa says — I never do, I pretend to. But, Mademoiselle — Mirette. Call me Mirette. Bianca. Mirette, then — I thought that if Gerard hasn’t married you — and you haven’t married him — you can’t love him so very much. People who love each other always get married, don’t they? Mirette. Not quite always, I think! Bianca. Well, you know more about it than I do. But I was thinking that if you didn’t love Gerard very much, you might — Mirette. I might send him back to somebody who does. Bianca. Oh, I never said that! I know it’s a great deal to ask. Of course you must love Gerard — nobody could help that — but if you don’t think it would quite kill you to give him up — (Sobs.) Mirette. Poor child! Well, Mademoiselle Bianca, I will give him up. Bianca. Oh, thank you, thank you, Mirette! (Embraces Mirette.) But are you sure — quite sure — it won’t kill you? If you went into a decline I should never forgive myself. Mirette. No, no, I sha’n’t pine away to a shadow just yet! Now, come into my booth. (Opens the door of booth.) Gerard’s there! (Pointing to inn.) Bianca. Let me go to him — Mirette. Not for worlds. I must speak to him first. (Pushes Bianca into booth.) Yes, that settles the matter. I must give Gerard up — I daresay he won’t mind much — and take pity on poor Picorin. It’s all right in fairy tales for princes to love peasants, but in real life it’s hardly ever a success! Song. — Mirette. There was once a pretty peasant, And she had a gipsy swain, (With a heigh, ho! heigh, ho! summer days are fair!) And his wooing was as pleasant As the sunshine after rain (With a heigh, ho! heigh, ho! little birds will pair!) But a noble high and mighty, Came to court the peasant girl, And her little heart was flighty And her head was in a whirl, So she left the woodland shady, In the hope to be a lady (With a heigh, ho! heigh, ho! castles in the air!) Sing, ho! Sing, heigh! for the reason why A lass is bold, or a lad is shy. Sing, ho! Sing, heigh! for a maid should know The high to the high, and the low to the low! So she tried to ape the fashion Of a girl of noble rank (With a heigh, ho! heigh, ho! so a lass pretends!) And the noble in his passion Turned a gipsy mountebank (With a heigh, ho! heigh, ho! pleasant for his friends!) But the dresses didn’t fit her, And the manners wouldn’t come, And the noble found it bitter To be beating of a drum, Till she managed to discover She preferred her gipsy lover (With a heigh, ho! heigh, ho! so the story ends!) Sing, ho! Sing, heigh! for a foolish sigh, For the old loves live, and the new loves die. Sing, ho! Sing, heigh! for the dreams that go, And that is the end of the tale, you know! Exit Mirette. Enter Chorus, some of the men as archers, with scarves, banners, bugles, bows, and arrows. Chorus. Hurrah! Hurrah! for the merry yeomen Farmers of Flanders, her bone and marrow, Come to contend with the bow and arrow! Here’s to the bowmen, the bowmen bold, Unrivalled for planting a shot in the gold! Here’s to the archery festival! And drink to the bowmen, now, one and all! Halt, there! Attention! Do stay still! Here comes the dancing girl, to show her skill! Halt, there! Attention! Halt, there! Attention! Dance. — Bobinet and Zerbinette. Chorus. Then shoulder bows and march away, And let our banners gaily swing, And he who wins at archers play, Shall rule us through our holiday, And be our noble archer King! Yes, he shall rule the holiday, And be our noble archer King! Exeunt all. Enter Picorin from booth. Picorin. I can’t stay any longer near Mirette and see her so fond of this Gerard. I don’t know what she can see in the fellow. But he’s a noble, and that’s enough. I’ll give her up, and go — (Enter Mirette from her booth. She comes up to Picorin.) Mirette. Picorin! Picorin. Mirette! Mirette. Why have you not gone to the archery? Picorin. I haven’t the heart to play the fool any more to-day. I’ve earned enough. Mirette. Indeed you have. You’re a capital showman. When you played that trick upon poor Gerard — Picorin. I am sorry, Mirette — I ought not to have done it. I should have remembered — Mirette. What? Picorin. That you are going to marry him! Mirette. You ought to remember it, certainly; for I fancy Gerard is rather forgetful. Picorin. Does the villain dare — Mirette. He’s not a villain, and he doesn’t dare. Only he’s been silly, and he’s beginning to find it out. So am I, Picorin. Picorin. Mirette, I cannot understand you. Mirette. I daresay not, you stupid boy! It would take a cleverer man than you! Picorin. Somebody like Gerard, I suppose. Mirette. Gerard’s beginning to understand me, and I’m beginning to understand him. Picorin. Because you love each other so much! Mirette. On the contrary — because we don’t! Picorin. But surely, Mirette — you don’t mean it? Why, has he not left his home for your sake? Did he not love you when he kissed you at the Château, and I surprised you? Mirette. That’s nothing, Picorin. Do you want to pay him out? I see him coming. You kiss me — and let him surprise us. Then we shall have the joke! (Gerard appears at the door of the inn in his ordinary dress.) Picorin. I don’t understand you, Mirette! Mirette. I don’t want you to. Kiss me — that’s what you have to do. Gerard (aside). What’s this? Picorin. I ought not to — but I can’t help it. (Kisses Mirette.) Gerard. Mirette! (Comes out, Picorin steps back.) Mirette. Oh, Monsieur Gerard, how you startled me! Gerard. Evidently! I see I am not wanted here! Mirette. But you are. Picorin, go away for a minute, while I talk to Monsieur Gerard. Picorin. I’ll go. (Aside.) Yes, I’ll go for good and all. So she only used me to draw him in. (Exit into booth.) Gerard. What is the meaning of this pretty little scene? Mirette. Well, as a noble patron of the drama, what do you think? Gerard. I think that I have been a fool — an idiot! Mirette. That seems to be the prevailing opinion. Gerard. Then you, too, think I was a fool to love you — to lose my rank and my wealth for you? Mirette. You can’t expect me to say I think so. Besides, you haven’t lost them; you can have rank and wealth, and love too, any time you like! Gerard. Kindly explain yourself. Mirette. No, I won’t explain; but I’ll send you some one who can. Au revoir, Monsieur Gerard! (Exit into booth.) Gerard. Whom can she mean? I suppose she’ll go to my aunt. Well, this gipsy life is purgatory. I can’t stand it any longer, even for her. (Enter Bianca from the first booth. He does not see her.) Why did I behave so badly to that poor little Bianca? Bianca (aside). Yes, poor little Bianca! Gerard. But it’s no use thinking of her — she could never forgive me! Bianca (advances). Are you quite sure? Gerard (turns round). Bianca! Mademoiselle Van den Berg! Bianca. Those are my names, Gerard — Monsieur de Montigny, I mean! Gerard. You heard what I said? Bianca. Not being deaf, Monsieur, I did. Gerard. Then what can you think of me? Bianca (demurely). A good many things — too numerous to tell you now. Gerard. But listen to me! I know I’ve behaved like a brute, but if only you would give me another chance — Bianca. But what would papa say? Gerard. Confound papa — I beg your pardon! Bianca. I don’t know if I can trust you, Gerard. You told me before that you loved me. Gerard. Did I? Bianca. No, it was other people told me you loved me — but the effect was the same! Gerard. Then there was an effect. You loved me? Bianca. I tried to show you, didn’t I? But what was your answer? One little kiss on my front curl, and then — a parting! (Sobs.) Gerard (agitated). Dearest, darling, don’t cry! If you’ll only forgive me, I won’t part your hair — I mean, I won’t kiss you on your parting — I mean — Bianca (puts up her face). Is that what you mean? Gerard. Is it? (Kisses Bianca.) Bianca. Oh, that’s a much nicer way! (Enter Marquise hurriedly.) Marquise. Ah, those gipsy vagabonds are out, and I may find Gerard alone. (Sees Gerard.) There he is — and with a girl, too! The young reprobate — it’s not even Mirette. Bianca (looks up). No, Madame, it’s not Mirette! Marquise. Gracious! what can this mean? Gerard, my dear boy, you’ve behaved disgracefully, and I’m delighted! You deserve a scolding, though! Gerard. I deserve everything, aunt, except this dear child. Bianca. Don’t scold him, dearest auntie. (Embraces Marquise.) I’m going to do all that now! Marquise. But what will the Baron say? Bianca. Papa? Oh, you tell him, and all will be right. Marquise. My dear, I can’t! Gerard. You must, aunt. I see him coming this way, so I’ll withdraw till my peace is made. (Exeunt Bianca and Gerard into inn as Baron enters.) Marquise (aside). How my heart flutters! Baron. Where can my daughter Bianca be? She was seen her last! Marquise. Bianca is quite safe, Monsieur le Baron! Baron. Madame! (Advance to her, recollects and bows coldly.) I thank you for the information. Kindly tell me where I can find her. Marquise. All in good time, Baron. I must have a talk with you first. Baron. Excuse me, Madame, if I decline the honour! Marquise. That is too bad of you! Duet. — Marquise and Baron. [words by Adrian Ross] Marquise. Ah, Monsieur le Baron! Baron. Madame la Marquise! Marquise. Quelque froideur de ton! Baron. And why not, if you please? Marquise. A manner so chilly Is hardly in season. Baron. Madame, this is silly, You must know the reason. Marquise. So cold is your carriage, As cold as December! Baron. The cause is a marriage, You doubtless remember; So my manner must freeze — Marquise. Oui, comme un vrai glaçon! Baron. Madame la Marquise! Marquise. Ah! Monsieur le Baron! Marquise. Ah, Monsieur le Baron! Baron. Madame la Marquise! Marquise. Mon ami, soyez bon! Baron. Excusez ma surprise. Marquise. My nephew, I know it, Has jilted your daughter. Baron. I cannot condone it — He’s fickle as water. Marquise. He craves for your pardon And vows reformation Baron. I won’t be too hard on A young aberration! If he falls on his knees — Marquise. Il aura son pardon? Baron. Madame la Marquise! Marquise. Oh, Monsieur le Baron! Marquise. Ah, Monsieur le Baron! Baron. Madame la Marquise! Marquise. Puis-je dire, Gaston? Baron. Puis-je dire, Louise? Marquise. Ah, do you remember The passion you cherished? Baron. Though sunk to an ember, The flame has not perished. Marquise. You’re really so pressing, I cannot resist you. Baron. Recall the old blessing The day when I kissed you. Quelle douceur exquise! (kisses Marquise.) Marquise. Je ne peux dire non! Baron. Madame la Marquise! Marquise. Oh, Monsieur le Baron! Dance. As Baron embraces Marquise, enter Gerard and Bianca, together, and Mirette from booth. Mirette. Really, Madame, I can’t permit such goings on before my booth! Baron. The gipsy girl! Bianca. Oh, papa! it’s all her doing, and I am so happy! Marquise. Dear Mirette, I thank you with all my heart. But you have given up so much — Mirette. Not at all, Madame — I’m provided for. (Enter Picorin on the steps of the booth with sticks and bundle.) There’s my lover! Gerard. But he’s going away, surely! Mirette. That’s only his shyness. I positively had to make love to him — I did make him kiss me; and he was so shocked that he’s got his bundle and is running off, for fear he should have to marry me! Picorin. Then you meant it, Mirette! (Throws away bundle, runs to Mirette and embraces her. Enter Francal and Bertuccio.) Francal. Mirette! we’ve seen the old parish clerk! Bertuccio. And he knows who your mother was! Mirette. Stop! — I’m going to marry Picorin, if she was a queen. Now tell me! Francal. She was dressed like a beggar, you know! Mirette. Yes, yes — what was she? Bertuccio. Well, she was a beggar! Mirette. I’m glad of it! Picorin. So am I, dear! (Shouts outside. The Chorus begin to re- enter shouting, “Hurrah! Hurrah!”) Gerard. It’s Bobinet! He’s won the match! (Re-enter all. Bobinet is carried in triumph on the shoulders of some of the men. He has his bow and is holding Zerbinette.) Finale. Chorus. Oh! the pride of the Belgian bowmen, He’s the best of us, young and old! Hail him king of the village yeomen, One of his shafts has hit the gold! Fill your glasses, Lads and lasses, Dance around him and gaily sing! Drain a rummer, To the mummer, He’s the noble archer king! Fill the beaker with golden Rhenish, Fill the mug to frothing brim! Every goblet and glass replenish, Here’s to our king, a health to him! Mirette. Picorin and Francal. Still as your wife Still as my/his wife I’ll share your life, You’ll share my/our life, Wander beside you yet, Wander beside me/us yet, I that have been You that have been Your gipsy queen My/Our gipsy queen Are still your own Mirette! Are still my/our own Mirette! Bertuccio brings out the drum, which he beats. Zerbinette and Bobinet. Then ring the bells and rattle the drum, And blow the flageolet! Chorus. Then ring the bells and rattle the drum, And blow the flageolet! Zerbinette and Bobinet. Let everyone that is not dumb Proclaim with shouts to all and some The joyous wedding day has come, Good luck to dear Mirette! Chorus. Let everyone that is not dumb, etc. End of Opera.