SCENE.—A Rude and Picturesque Interior of a Franco-Spanish Inn. Near the
sea coast, Lower Pyrenees—doors R. and L., one at the back—practicable window,
L. U. E.—an old-fashioned flour-bin stands beneath it a cupboard to R. of C.
D.—rude chairs and table—Curtain rises to the last four bars of
overture.
Ignace enters from D. L. H., rain heard without.
Ignace.
Murder, how it is raining! The hens have not laid a single egg this morning;
here am I with an inn, and no customers—nobody to help me to eat and drink the
provisions; but worst of all, I am dying with fear, that the guerillas under the
fierce Tromb-al-ca-zar, will cross the frontier and butcher us all in cold blood
by way of amusement. (the door at back opens with a bang, and discovers
Vertpanne standing in a short black mantle.) Murder! wh—o—o—o are
yoo—o—ou? whe—e—e—re do you co—o—o—me from—and— wh—a—a—at do you wa—a—nt— are
you lawyer or thief?
Vertpanne.
Neither one or the other, my friend. (runs a roulade of bass
notes.) St. Peter be praised, my lower G is all right.
Ignace.
(aside.) What a fierce-looking fellow—he must be a brigand;
perhaps the great Tromb-al-ca-zar himself. (timidly.) I beg
pardon, sir, will you take anything?
Vertpanne.
(sharply.) No, my good man, no! (aside.) For
good reasons too. I've empty pockets—
Ignace.
(aside.) Not take anything! he can't be a thief then.
Vertpanne.
Listen. I have just come from the neighbouring town, where I believed I
should have made a splendid move by carrying off all the money the
people possessed—
Ignace.
(aside.) Murder! I've got the cold shivers.
Vertpanne.
But, in the very nick of time, when we thought to share a nice little sum
each, we were obliged to make our escape with empty hands.
Ignace.
We? who?
Vertpanne.
Myself and troupe.
Ignace.
(aside.) Troop! It's the ferocious Tromb-al-ca-zar himself,
without a doubt.
Vertpanne.
My poor comrades have tasted nothing since yesterday, not even a turnip
radish
Ignace.
(pointing to table.) There's a carrot, if you would like to
take it.
Vertpanne.
Be quiet—from you we demand nothing.
Ignace.
Then I'll get it for you directly.
Vertpanne.
No; the sons of Thespis know how to suffer privation—and sooner than beg for
a dinner—
Ignace.
(aside.) They'd steal it, I dare say. What a family of thieves
they must be.
Vertpanne.
If we receive an invitation, that's another thing. We are always too polite
to refuse.
Ignace.
(aside.) Well there must be a difference between begging or
thieving a dinner, to being invited to one. I'll make a sacrifice, I'll invite
him and his troupe to breakfast. I've got four sardines, perhaps they'll relish
the joke.
(runs off quickly, D. L.)
Vertpanne.
But you must know, my young son of Comus—(taking off moustachios and
putting them in his pocket)—that if you are inclined to do the polite to
a troupe of stranded comedians—(misses him.) Why! he's gone!
vanished through a vampire. I did wrong in telling him we were poor.
Beaujolais appears at window—Gigolette at C. D., with four ballet ladies
behind her.
Beaujolais.
(singing pomposo and ad lib.) “Behold! and gaze upon the
ruined monastery," "To Cupid consecrated." Ah, my brave basso—what news?
(jumps in, followed by four ballet gentlemen.) Advance, ye disciples of the Drama—Gigolette, my principal warbler—(she
advances)—Vertpanne, my—
Vertpanne.
Buffo basso.
Beaujolais.
And stock traitor.
Vertpanne.
Clown or jester on the shortest notice.
Beaujolais.
Roof of hospitality I salute thee. Beauties of the ballet, step forward.
(they do so.)
Vertpanne.
Dumb, but trusty allies.
Beaujolais.
Improbabilities in women. Now cut your sticks into the barn, until we see how
the land lays. (all exeunt, c.) To think that we should be
without even a mouthful of bread and cheese.
Vertpanne.
Beaujolais, my boy, what's the matter with you?
Beaujolais.
I cannot tell you, but I don't mind singing my miseries.
SONG—Beaujolais. — No. 1.
Beaujolais.
O horror! O despair! that lying weather glass too!
'Gainst heavy rain and light police our chance looks odd,
Stopping here we shall be stopp'd, where on then can we pass too,
Yes, scamper off we must, or scamper on to quod.
Yes I am Buridan—
Don Cæsar de Bazan—
Raoul—Marco Spada—
Ruy Blas—Gustibelza—
Yes, I am Buridan,
Don Cæsar de Bazan.
Buridan!
Don Cæsar de Bazan.
I'm corsair or bravo,
Gaspardo, Fra Diavolo.
Never demon seen was like me,
The pink of diablerie;
Yes, whene'er beheld
I was first—rate held,
Sublime, I may say, rather,
As poinarding my father,
Or poisoning my mother,
Or garotting my brother,
Oh I was fine,
Was divine,
Divine!
Yes, I am Buridan,
Don Cæsar de Bazan,
Raoul, Marco Spada,
Ruy Blas, Gastibelza,
Yes, I am Buridan!
Don Cæsar de Bazan!
Buridan!
Don Cæsar de Bazan.(Presto.)
Don Cæsar, Don Cæsar, Don Cæsar de Bazan.—(Bis.)
Gigolette.
(raising her dress, which is a Gitana's of brilliant colours)
And to be exposed to such weather as this, it's enough to give one chilblains
(takes off clogs and shawl)
Beaujolais.
Plague upon provincial play acting.
Vertpanne.
Bah! you are always whining.
Beaujolais.
Not without good reason. Consider our provincial poverty; without the aid of
puffs—(and how are they to be raised? — the press will not puff us without
money) we shall never make the public believe in us. Oh, my dramatic dreams!
Gigolette.
How provoking to have to scamper from the hall of Orpheus, just, too, when I
was becoming such a favourite. Why, the people was beginning to
wusship.
Vertpanne.
Gigolette, your inattention to conjugation will drive me mad. Listen to the
inflection of the verb "to be"—I am, thou art, he, she, or it
is, we, you, they were not was—and say worship, not
wusship.
Gigolette.
Oh, bother, it's all the same a hundred years after this. Didn't they call me
their little Rachel —their grand history?
Vertpanne.
(furious)
Rachel, not Rachel—and Ristori, not history.
Beaujolais.
Well, she can call it history if she likes!
Gigolette.
Of course I can. We are not all so perfect as the great Vertpanne.
Beaujolais.
Though he will speak sometimes as if he had a cold in his lose.
Vertpanne.
Better do that than rush on the stage as you did the other night, and instead
of saying "Princess, one word from you and I am saved," you shouted out,
"Princess, one phord from you and I am shaved."
Beaujolais.
Well, it created a sensation, and they are all the go just now. But do you
think we can't do a bit of juggling in this inn?
Vertpanne.
It's useless to disguise the truth, there's nothing to be had in the shape of
eating and drinking.
Beaujolais.
Then we must advertize to our stomachs, "The art and science of eating and
drinking without money," or else post up "The magic pancake."
Gigolette.
Or, "How to dine with Duke Humphrey," an English proverb in five acts.
Beaujolais.
Even that would be better than running the risk of being swallowed by such a
beast as the Crocodile of the Nile.
Gigolette.
Like the one we saw exhibited at the fair the other day?
Beaujolais.
Yes. But clear your pipes, my beauties, and let me see if we can get through
our trio.
Trio. —No. 2.
Beau.
The crocodile unto the war went bouncing,
He said to all his pretty little babes.
All.
Good bye.
Beau.
The crocodile fought well, but he got a famous trouncing,
And on the banks of Nile, he dead doth lie.
All.
And so good bye.
Beau.
The cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro crocodile,
Dead on banks of Nile doth lie, and so good bye, and so good bye.
All.
The cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, crocodile,
Dead on banks of Nile doth lie, and so good bye, and so good bye.
Vert.
If I a swallow were, with two wings I'd fly at ease,
But now the wing I'd swallow is ducks' wing stew'd in peas,
In green peas.
All.
In green peas.
Vert.
The cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, crocodile,
Dead on banks of Nile doth lie, and so good bye.
All.
And so good bye.
The cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, crocodile,
Dead on banks of Nile doth lie, and so good bye, and so good bye.
Gigo.
If I a swallow were to a restaurant's I'd fly.
And of his dainty stock soon a spectacle I'd make,
Dissolving views of viands choice, fowl and sav'ry pie,
Dessert of fruits the rarest, with luscious wine and cake,
Beau.
Wine and cake.
All.
Wine and cake.
Beau.
The cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, crocodile,
Dead on banks of Nile doth lie, and so good bye, and so good bye.
All.
The cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, cro, crocodile,
Dead on banks of Nile doth lie,
And so good bye, and so good bye, so good bye, so good bye.
Vertpanne.
Come, let us see if the coast is clear.
Beaujolais.
'Tis time we were on the road to Bayonne.
Ignace.
(without, L.) Here—hi, which of you is going to help me with
the breakfast—table?
Omnes.
Breakfast!
Beaujolais.
Delicious sound. (sings and dances with joy—Vertpanne runs and assists
Ignace to bring on a table covered with eatables, they place it B.
C.)
Beaujolais.
Eatables!
Gigolette.
Its equal to the manna of the dessert.
Vertpanne.
(correcting her.)
Desert, not dessert.
Beaujolais.
(to Ignace.) To think that we should have taken you for a
miserly old crab fish.
Ignace.
Your friend there said you were too polite to refuse when invited, so I
invite you.
Beaujolais.
And we accept. (bows.)
Ignace.
If you do not care to breakfast by yourselves, there's some very pleasant
company ascending from the road below.
Beaujolais.
Company?
Ignace.
Yes, a troop of horse—police.
Omnes.
What? Hey?
Beaujolais.
(listening.) I can hear their big hoofs on the ground.
TRIO.—No. 3. (The three voices together.)
All.
The police! that's a piece
Of bad news, to amuse
Our weak nerves, while time serves.
We must cut from this hut,
In a crack, off we pack.
'Tis no fun thus to run,
When to eat we'd a treat.
Yes I fear it's too clear,
We must steer off from here,
And must pack in a crack,
In a crack, we must pack.
The ladies and gentlemen of the ballet rush on—Beaujolais intimates to
them in Pantomime what threatens, they raise their arms in the air, clench their
fists, shake them at C. D., then rush off melo—dramatically, D. R.)
Ignace.
(who has stood in wonder at D. L.) What's their little game I
wonder. They've all run off, I've a good mind to run too; but, first of all,
I'll lock up the sardines. (puts them into cupboard at back.)
Gigolette.
(re-entering, R. door.) Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish we were
safe at Bayonne—celebrated for its hams, gammons of bacon, cod liver oil, and
sugar.
Ignace.
(turns and sees her.) Oh, the female thief has come back;
what's her little game I wonder; I don't see any swords, daggers, pistols, or
cannons. (aloud.) Hem! so it seems that you have no fear of the
police, or prison either?
Gigolette.
In our gipsy life we fear nothing. Listen, and learn a Gitana's joys :—
SONG. No. 4.
Gigolette.
The gipsy girl ah! (roulade.)
In song and smiles, ah, (roulade.)
A lovely pearl, ah, (roulade.)
The hour beguiles, ah, (roulade.)
At early dawn she with the lark is singing,
In song and smile she opens day,
As night draws on her voice thro' air is ringing,
Not e'en sleep arrests her lay,
Murm'ring notes her dreams betray,
Till smiling slumber wakes to day, ah!
The gipsy girl! ah, (roulade.)
In song and smiles, ah, (roulade.)
A lovely pearl, ah, (roulade.)
The hour beguiles ah, (roulade.)
The hour beguiles ah !
She makes the air with music ring,
She'll smile and sing,
And make the air with music ring,
With music ring—with music ring.
Undaunted by the thunder's roar, or lightning,
On land or on the restless wave,
Her voice and smile the murky tempest bright'ning;
Fiercely as the storm may rave
Fate she'll ever cheerly brave
And ne'er for worthless pleasures crave.
The gipsy girl &c. to end.
Beaujolais.
(behind.) All right, come along.
Ignace.
(aside.) The two principal scoundrels are returning.
Beaujolais and Vertpanne re—enter, door R.
Beaujolais.
Here he is. (advances and pinches Ignace by the ear.) I say
host, don't you try any more of your little tricks about policemen, or if you do
(kicks him.)
Ignace.
Depend upon it, I'll not—
Omnes.
Come, let us to breakfast. (all sit at table.)
Ignace.
I suppose I had better produce the sardines again (fetches them from
cupboard, Beaujolais serves out soup to Gigolette and Vertpanne, Ignace places
sardines on the table with a bang.)
Vertpanne.
What have we here?
Ignace.
Sardines.
Beaujolais.
What! to soup?
Gigolette.
Sardines! give us one.
Vertpanne.
(correcting her) Give me not us.
Gigolette.
Well, have it that way if you like—provided, I have something to eat.
Ignace.
Those little fish are excellent.
Gigolette.
They say little fish are sweetest.
Beaujolais.
But these smell strong.
Ignace.
Quite fresh I assure you. (aside.)—Last year.
Beaujolais.
Why the oil is rancid. Have you nothing better.
Ignace.
Yes, I've got a gammon of bacon.
Beaujolais.
(sings extempore.) "Produce your pig."
Gigolette.
(ditto.) "In perfect preservation."
Vertpanne.
Why not give to us.
Omnes.
Your gammon of bacon.
(They escort him to door with pomposity.—He enters the room, then returns
with a gammon of bacon on a dish.—A mock march—Beaujolais, L., Vertpanne, R.,
Gigolette in the rear, with their hands extended over the head of Ignace—they
advance with comic solemnity to table.)
Ignace.
(placing the dish.) The reason why I hesitated to offer you
this preserved pig, was, because it is not home fed. It comes from Bayonne.
Beaujolais.
(smacking his lips.) From Bayonne, the land of promise.
Beaujolais.
Let
Vertpanne.
Us
Beaujolais.
Then
Gigolette.
This
All.
ham lay on.
Then go ahead,
Beaujolais.
With knife and fork
Vertpanne.
Draw a cork,
Gigolette.
Bourdeaux red.
Beaujolais.
And the ham of fam'd Bayonne,
Vertpanne.
We'll at once
Gigolette.
Fall upon.
Beaujolais.
Fall upon.
Vertpanne.|Gigolette.
Upon
(Bis.)
Gigolette.
The land of Cane 'em.
Vertpanne.
(furious.) Canaan, not Cane 'em.
Gigolette.
Well it's all the same so long as we get something to eat.
Beaujolais.
Cease wrangling and salute the land.
Gigolette.
Canaa' em—(all bow with mock reverence,
Ignace steals off as they bow the second time, they resume their places
at the table.)
TRIO. No. 5.
Beaujolais.
See this ham from Bayonne,
All.
From Bayonne, then let's lay on;
Beaujolais.
'Tis a nosegay sweetly scented,
All.
We're quite contented.
Beaujolais.
It's good, good, good, wine too from the wood,
With wine from the wood, oh, ain't it good;
Wine's a relish rare, with ham of Bayonne.
Vertpanne.
Then
Beaujolais.
This
Gigolette.
Ham
All.
Of Bayonne lay on.
Beaujolais.
Let
Vertpanne.
Us
Beaujolais.
Then
Gigolette.
This
All.
Ham lay on.
Beaujolais.
With knife and fork, then go ahead.
Vertpanne.
Draw a cork.
Gigolette.
Bordeaux red.
Beaujolais.
And the ham of fam'd Bayonne.
Vertpanne.
We'll at once.
Gigolette.
Fall upon.
Beaujolais.
Fall
All.
Upon.(Bis.)
Beaujolais.
Fine Bourdeaux
Quite the go,
Good Moselle.
I can tell
Dame Cliquot
Don't I know
Of old Hock
Take my stock,
Frontignac
Spanish sack
Sherry fine
Port divine,
France or Spain
Don't complain,
All fall on
With ham Bayonne.
Gigolette.|Vertpanne.
To good wine I incline
'Tis a stimulant to dine
Besides a treat to fall on,
With the ham of old Bayonne.
Vertpanne.
We'll fall on, on the ham of Bayonne.
All.
The ham of old Bayonne!
(2nd Couplet.)
Beaujolais.
Veal with forc'd meat is nice,
And—
All.
Lyons sausage stew'd with rice,
Beaujolais.
In champagne the palate tickles,
All.
Or sous'd in pickles.
Beaujolais.
But not so good, e'en with wine from wood,
You may take my word 'tis not so good,
Nor a relish like the ham of Bayonne.
(Let us &c., to conclusion.)
Vertpanne.
Come fill up your goblets, and Beaujolais don't do as you did the other night
in Lucrezia Borgia.
Beaujolais.
What! kick over the fatal draught instead of a super.
Gigolette.
Ha, ha, ha, and when he wanted to die.
Beaujolais.
I was unable to fall into a chair thus and cry—"I die poisoned."
(falls into chair.)
Ignace.
(re—entering with a bottle.) Who's poisoned ?
Omnes.
(with terror.) Who's there?
Ignace.
Me and a bottle of—
Beaujolais.
What? cherry brandy ?
Ignace.
Yes.
Beaujolais.
From the Black forest? good, give it to me. (takes it, draws cork,
etc.)
Ignace.
If I can only get them drunk, I'll hand them over to the police; I'll be on
the watch for their tumbling under the table. (steals off
slyly.)
Beaujolais.
Come, let us drink success to our appearance in Bayonne.
(sings.)
Of wine, of wine,
Oh brandy—wine's the best.
Vertpanne.
(sings.)
With tobacco
We'll take our ease and rest.
Gigolette.
A new bacchanalian song, words—
Vertpanne.
By Monsieur Beaujolais, music—
Beaujolais.
By Vertpanne, the great—— (drinks.)
Gigolette.
Buffalo.
Beaujolais.
No, no, Buffo. (aside.) As a comedian, he's pretty fair; but
as a musician, pah—he's tacet.
(drinks.)
Vertpanne.
I shall object to our playing Tromb-al-ca-zar any more.
Gigolette.
Why? (drinks.)
Vertpanne.
Why? didn't the great thief himself come last night and pounce upon all the
money we had taken at the doors, and compel us to make our escape.
Beaujolais.
Yes, in our stage toggery too.
Vertpanne.
What the people of Bayonne will say to us I can't imagine.
Beaujolais.
That's a wonder, for you have a thumping lot of brains there. (taps
the back of his neck.) No, no I mean there. (taps his
forehead.)
Vertpanne.
(draws manuscript from his pocket.) Here's the blessed
play—what shall we do with it—tear it up?
Beaujolais.
No, I should think not. (snatches it—opens it—Ignace
appears watching—reads.) "Their Chief, Tromb-al-ca-zar."
Vertpanne.
That's you.
Ignace.
(aside.) I thought so. The rest of the gang is not far off.
(hides behind table.)
Vertpanne.
And I am your lieutenant Astolfio.
Beaujolais.
Here's the very spot we were interrupted at. (lights his pipe which he
has drawn from his boot.) Let us go through this bit. (drapes
himself with table—cloth.) Gigolette, take your place outside the
door.
Gigolette.
What for?
Beaujolais.
So that you may be ready with your complaint against the faithless betrayer
of your heart, (she exits c.) now for it, (in a tragic
tone.) "Think you this wretched hovel will prove a
certain—safe—secure—refuge? What say you to our host; methinks he is a spy."
Ignace.
(aside behind table.) Me—a spy?
Beaujolais.
"He shuns our company. What if we cut out his tongue ?"
Ignace.
(aside.) Oh dear! I wish I was out of this.
Beaujolais.
"Or lodge a bullet in his brain."
Vertpanne.
"Ah, what noise was that?"
Beaujolais.
(in his natural tone.) No, no, you fool, you don't say that
till the girl comes to seek protection. (three loud knocks at C.
D.) "Ha! some one taps softly at the door. Look to your pistols."
(they cock their pistols, stamp their feet, walk to opposite corners,
strike the hilts of their swords, return to C., Beaujolais goes to D. C., opens
it, and leads down Gigolette with thick Spanish veil, and fan, Ignace watching
them in fear.)
Beaujolais.
(raising veil.) "Is'nt she a stunner."
Vertpanne.
(correcting him.) No, no, the text is, "Behold is she not
beautiful?"
Beaujolais.
Right you are. (in tragic tones.) "Behold is she not
beautiful?" (to Gigolette who makes faces at him.) Don't make
such an ugly face as that or I can't act, (in tragic tone.) Fair
maid, declare thy wishes.
(QUARTETTE. No. 6.)
During the symphony, the two men consult in extravagant action—Gigolette
goes up the stage, and with her hand upon her heart—she expresses, in rapid
pantomine, her anxiety — Beaujolais motions her to approach—she does so as the
music commences, Andante.
Gigolette.
I on a fine delightful summer's morn was straying,
Vertpanne.
Morn was—
Beaujolais.
Straying.
Gigolette.
With downcast look as blushing maid may wear,
Vertpanne.
Blushing maid—
Beaujolais.
May wear.
Gigolette.
On the shore my heart I lost while idly playing,
Vertpanne.
Idly—
Beaujolais.
Playing.
Gigolette.
A youthful shepherd wand'ring found it there,
Vertpanne.
Found—
Beaujolais.
It there.
Gigolette.
A heart's no poodle dog, lost kid, or donkey,
To regain it then, what is one to do?
Not send the bellman round as if 'twere a stray monkey,
No heart have I now, but the youth has two.
All.
To him then I said, give me yours in return now,
He gave it, then basely stole it back from me,
And bestow'd it elsewhere, oh, at that I burn now,
Brigand, brigand, I demand an indem—dem—dem—nity.
Beaujolais.
This crime so foul your heart sears,
To him what shall we do?
Gigolette.
Lop one, or both of his ears,
Revenge for my virtue.
Vertpanne.
Hu—u—um!
Beaujolais.
Ha—a—ah!
Vertpanne.
Ha—a—ah!
Beaujolais.
Hu—u—um!
All.
Ah!
Beaujolais.|Vertpanne.
Tromb-al-ca-zar makes oath as you command,
On faith of robber, and of brigand.
Ignace.
(aside.) Tromb-al-ca-zar, Astolfio both ! Save me from your
dreadful wrath.
Gigolette.
You'll keep your oath.
Beaujolais.
I'll keep my oath.
Vertpanne.
We'll keep our oath.
Ignace.
Tromb-al-ca-zar, Astolfio both !
Save me from your dreadful wrath.
Gigolette.
Ah, Tromb-al-ca-zar, I have your oath!
Beaujolais.
Ah, Tromb-al-ca-zar gives you his oath!
Vertpanne.
Ah, Tromb-al-ca-zar gives you his oath !
Ignace.
(aside)
Your dreadful wrath.
(The four voices together.)
Gigolette.
Yes, he makes oath at your command,
In faith of robber and brigand,
Faith of robber and brigand..
Beaujolais.
Yes, he makes oath at my command,
In faith of robber and brigand,
Faith of robber and brigand,
Ignace.
Tromb-al-ca-zar, dread brigand,
And Astolfio, his right hand,
Save me from your dreadful band.
Vertpanne.
Yes, he makes oath at your command,
In faith of robber and brigand,
Faith of robber and brigand.
(Together—Presto.)
Gigolette.
Pay of vengeance all arrears,
Lop at once off both his ears,
Beaujolais.
Yes, we pay off his arrears,
Lop at once the rascal's ears.
Ignace.
Are they threats or only jeers,
Will the villains lop my ears?
Vertpanne.
Yes, we'll pay him full arrears,
Come, lop at once the scoundrel's ears.
(End of Quartette.)
(Comic bus during last "ensemble" Ignace fearing from the actions and
gesticulations that they are really about to cut off his ears.)
Beaujolais.
"His ears then will content thee?"
Gigolette.
"Yes; so that I can nail them to the door—posts of my dwelling."
Beaujolais.
(in natural tone to her.) I'll lend you two tenpenny
nails.
Gigolette.
(in natural tone.) Be quiet, do; how can I act. (in
dramatic tone.) “Yes, I will hang them up as a warning to deluders."
Beaujolais.
"We'll slice them for you. Astolfo, what ails thee? thy feet fret against the
floor, thy legs totter and tremble?
Vertpanne.
(correcting him.) No, no, its totter and tremble, (in
tragic tone.) "On mature deliberation I find this maid's vengeance is
much too mild. (very loud.) It will be necessary to strike."
Beaujolais.
"Speak low."
Ignace.
(catching the last words.) Oh, they will strike me low, will
they?
Beaujolais.
"Let him die by a fainting fit."
Gigolette.
"No; boil him!"
Ignace.
There's a ferocious female!
Beaujolais.
"What say you to stealing his life with the silent steel—not the steel that
strikes in the shades of midnight—but steel that glitters in the noonday sun
?"
Vertpanne.
"Well said, noble chieftain."
Gigolette.
Yes! yes!"
Beaujolais.
"Not by the knife of our guerillas, but by the nimble daggers of our gipsy
girls." We will crown him with roses— and in the midst of the intoxicating
dance."
Vertpanne.
"Bah!"
Beaujolais.
(in astonishment.) "Bah!"
Gigolette.
(throwing herself on her knees extravcgantly) "Me, e, e, e, r,
r, r, cy, o, o, o, h, m, e, e, r, r, r. cy!"
Beaujolais.
"Fair girrrl—arrrise"
Gigolette.
(in her natural tone.) I don't care if I do, for it hurts my
knees. (rises and resumes her acting.)But this
faithless swain—what shall we do with him?"
Beaujolais.
"Take him with us."
Vertpanne.
"The very thing—we want a simpleton for our business."
Ignace.
(aside in the bin.) They want to make a decoy duck of me.
(comes out of bin covered with flour.)
Vertpanne.
" As I live, there he is." (seeing Ignace)
Beaujolais.
(in natural tone.) He looks as if he'd been making pancakes.
Can you dance?
Ignace.
(stammering.) I can shuffle a little—but its very bad.
Beaujolais.
Never mind, the ladies will keep you right: merry Zingari, jolly guerillas,
appear.
(The ballet rush on and strike an attitude Ignace sinks down c., with
fear)
Ignace.
Million murders, mercy, and I will enrol myself as one of brave
Tromb-al-ca-zar's troupe.
Beaujolais.
(aside to Gigolette.) Here's fun, he takes us for real
brigands instead of actors.
Gigolette.
Let's keep him in ignorance of the truth.
Beaujolais.
Now for the dance (stamps thrice with his foot.)
Ignace.
(aside.) It's all up with me.
(During the symphony, the girls invite Ignace to dance by pantomimic
action.)
Gigolette.
(loudly.) Ah! where is the crown of roses ?
(Beaujolais throws it to her, having taken it from a carpet bag full of
properties brought on by one of the men—Gigolette places it on the head of
Ignace.)
Ignace.
(aside) She's ornamenting the victim for the sacrifice. I
shall look like a prize pig for the cattle show.
(Ballet begins to the waltz song—Ignace seeks to avoid the daggers that
always appear to menace him at last he falls on his knees, c. struck by the
blades which disappear in the hilts.)
Beaujolais.
(upon the pose) Strike.
Ignace.
Murder! don't (large bell behind rings as if at a
distance).
Vertpanne.
Ah, there's the bell of the steamer that is to convey us to Bayonne.
Gigolette.
Now, children of the sock and buskin, gather up the properties; Bayonne is
the province in which we must inaugurate our triumph of tenors.
Vertpanne.
Our bassos—
Gigolette.
And sopranos!
Beaujolais.
If you forget a word or note of our cantata in praise of gammon——
Vertpanne.
I'll cut off all your ears.
Ignace.
What a fancy they have for people's ears.
Vertpanne.
Yes, I'll crop you close as English bull-dogs.
Beaujolais.
(aside.) And pretty blackguards they look.
Vertpanne.
Now, are you all ready?
Beaujolais.
In a moment, patrons, please to proclaim a pleasing verdict on our musical
absurdity, and let the comic criminals go free.
Omnes.
Strike up the music.
(The orchestra strikes up "This gammon of good bacon"—Omnes sing refrain
(No. 7.) each one helps him or herself to plates, dishes, goblets,
etc.—Beaujolais strikes his sword into the gammon and elevates it as a
standard—the ballet roll in a barrel of wine—they clink their cups—the girls
strike their daggers against the plates, Ignace stands stupefied, c.
—dance—grand tableau, and
Curtain