THE FIRST ACT
SCENE: The terrace of the Hotel Regina Margherita, on the cliff at Sorrento, overlooking the Bay of Naples.
There is a view of the bay and its semi-circular coast-line, dotted with villages; Vesuvius gray in the distance. Across the stage at the rear runs a marble balustrade about three feet high, guarding the edge of the cliff. Upon the left is seen part of one wing of the hotel, entrance to which is afforded by wide-open double doors approached by four or five marble steps with a railing and small stoop. The hotel is of pink and white stucco, and striped awnings shield the windows. Upon the right is a lemon grove and shrubberies. There are two or three small white wicker tea-tables and a number of wicker chairs upon the left, and a square table laid with white cloth on the right.
As the curtain rises mandolins and guitars are heard, and the "Fisherman's Song," the time very rapid and gay, the musicians being unseen.[pg 014]
MARIANO, maître d'hôtel, is discovered laying the table down R.C. with eggs, coffee, and rolls for two. He is a pleasant-faced, elderly man, stout, swarthy, clean shaven; wears dress-clothes, white waist-coat, and black tie. He is annoyed by the music.
[calling to the unseen musicians crossly]
Silenzio!
[MICHELE enters from the hotel. He is young, clean-shaven except for a dark mustache, wears a white tie, a blue coat, cut like dress-coat, blue trousers with red side stripes, brass buttons; his waistcoat is of striped red and blue.]
[speaking over his shoulder]
Par ici, Monsieur Ribiere, pour le maître d'hôtel.
[RIBIERE enters from the hotel.]
[MICHELE immediately withdraws.]
[RIBIERE is a trim, business-like young Frenchman of some distinction of appearance. He wears a well-made English dark "cutaway" walking-suit, a derby hat, and carries a handsome leather writing-case under his arm.][pg 015]
[as he enters]
Ah, Mariano!
[bowing and greeting him gayly]
Monsieur Ribiere! J'espère que vous êtes—
[He breaks off, turns on his heel toward the invisible musicians, and shouts.]
Silenzio!
[He turns again quickly to RIBIERE.]
[with a warning glance toward hotel]
Let us speak English. There are not so many who understand.
[politely]
I hope Monsieur still occupy the exalt' position of secretar' to Monseigneur the Grand-Duke.
[sits and opens writing-case, answers gravely]
We will not mention the name or rank of my employer.
[with gesture and accent of despair]
Again incognito! Every year he come to our hotel for two, three day, but always incognito.
[He finishes setting the table.]
We lose the honor to have it known.
[looking at his watch]
He comes in his automobile from Naples. Everything is to be as on my employer's former visits—strictly incognito. It [pg 016] is understood every one shall address him as Herr von Gröllerhagen—
[repeating the name carefully]
Herr von Gröllerhagen—
He wishes to be thought a German.
[Takes a note-book from case.]
Such a man! of caprice? Excentrique? Ha!
You have said it. Last night he talked by chance to a singular North American in the hotel at Napoli. To-day he has that stranger for companion in the automobile. I remonstrate. What use? He laugh for half an hour!
He is not like those cousin of his at St. Petersburg an' Moscowa. An' yet though Monseigneur is so good an' generoso, will not the anarchist strike against the name of royalty himself? You have not the fear?
[opening his note-book]
I have. He has not. I take what precaution I can secretly from him. You have few guests?
[smiling]
It is so early in the season. Those poor musician'
[nodding off right]
they wait always at every gate, to play when they see any one coming. There is only seex peoples in the 'ole house! All of one party.[pg 017]
Good! Who are they?
There is Milor', an English Excellency—the Earl of Hawcastle; there is his son, the Excellency Honorabile Almeric St. Aubyn; there is Miladi Creeshe, an English Miladi who is sister-in-law to Milor' Hawcastle.
[taking notes]
Three English.
There is an American Signorina, Mees Granger-Seempsone. Miladi Creeshe travel with her to be chaperone.
[Enthusiastically.]
She is young, generosa, she give money to every one, she is multa bella, so pretty, weeth charm—
[puzzled]
You speak now of Lady Creeshe?
[taken aback]
Oh no, no, no! Miladi Creeshe is ol' lady
[tapping his ears]
Not hear well. Deaf. No pourboires. Nothing. I speak of the young American lady, Mees Granger-Seempsone who the English Honorabile son of Milor' Hawcastle wish to espouse, I think.
Who else is there?
There is the brother of Mees Granger-Seempsone, a young gentleman of North America. He make the eyes
[laughing]
all day at another lady who is of the party, a French lady, Comtesse de Champigny. Ha, ha! That amuse' me![pg 018]
Why?
Beckoss I think Comtesse de Champigny is a such good friend of the ol' English Milor' Hawcastle. A maître d'hôtel see many things, an' I think Milor' Hawcastle and Madame de Champigny have know each other from long, perhaps. This déjeuner is for them.
And who else?
It is all.
Good! no Russians?
I think Milor' Hawcastle and Madame de Champigny have been in Russia sometime.
[putting his note-book in his pocket]
Why?
Beckoss once I have hear them spik Russian togezzer.
I think there is small chance that they recognize my employer. His portrait is little known.
And this North American who come in the automobile—does he know who he travel wiz? Does he know his Highness?
No more than the baby which is not borned.
[lifting his eyes to heaven]
Ah!
[looking at his watch]
Set déjeuner on [pg 019] the terrace instantly when he arrive: a perch, petit pois, iced figs, tea. I will send his own caviar and vodka from the supplies I carry.
I set for one?
For two. He desires that the North American breakfast with him. Do not forget that the incognito is to be absolute.
[Exit into hotel.]
Va bene, Signore!
[Puts finishing-touches to the table.]
[Enter from the grove, LORD HAWCASTLE. He is a well-preserved man of fifty-six with close-clipped gray mustache and gray hair; his eyes are quick and shrewd; his face shows some slight traces of high living; he carries himself well and his general air is distinguished and high-bred. He wears a suit of thinly striped white flannel and white shoes, a four-in-hand tie of pale old-rose crape, a Panama hat with broad ribbon striped with white and old-rose of the same shade as his tie. His accent is that of a man of the world, and quite without affectation. [pg 020] He comes at once upon his entrance to a chair at the table.]
[MICHELE enters at same time up left, with a folded newspaper.]
[as he enters]
Good-morning, Mariano!
[bowing]
Milor' Hawcastle is serve.
[Takes HAWCASTLE'S hat and places it upon a stool behind table.]
[hands HAWCASTLE newspaper from under his arm]
Il Mattino, the morning journal from Napoli, Milor'.
[accepting paper and unfolding it]
No English papers?
Milor', the mail is late.
[Exit up left.]
[sitting]
And Madame de Champigny?
[MARIANO serves coffee, etc.]
[As HAWCASTLE speaks the COMTESSE DE CHAMPIGNY enters from hotel. She is a pretty Frenchwoman of thirty-two. She wears a fashionable summer Parisian morning dress, light and gay in color, a short-sleeved little Empire jacket, and long [pg 021] gloves. She carries a parasol. Her elaborately dressed hair is surmounted by a jaunty Parisian toque.]
[lifting her hand gayly as she enters, and striking a little attitude before she descends the steps]
Me voici!
[half rising and bowing]
My esteemed relative is still asleep?
[speaking gayly, with a very slight accent, as she crosses to a chair at the table]
I trust your beautiful son has found much better employment—as our hearts would wish him to.
He has. He's off on a canter with the little American, thank God!
[interjecting the word]
Bravo!
[She turns the hands of her gloves back and sips coffee, MARIANO serving.]
[continuing]
But I didn't mean Almeric. I meant my august sister-in-law.
[He reads the paper.]
[smiling]
The amiable Lady Victoria Hermione Trevelyan Creech has déjeuner in her apartment. What you find to read?
I'm such a duffer at Italian, but [pg 022] apparently the people along the coast are having a scare over an escaped convict—a Russian.
[starting slightly, drops a spoon noisily upon a plate on the table]
Pardon, Milor'!
[setting down her coffee abruptly]
A Russian?
[translating with difficulty]
"An escaped Russian bandit has been traced to Castellamare—"
[Pauses.]
[awe-struck]
Castellamare—not twelve kilometres from here!
[continuing]
"—and a confidential agent"—
[looking up]
—secret-service man, I dare say—"has requested his arrest. But the brigand tore himself"—
[repeating slowly]
—"tore himself"—What the deuce does that mean?
[bowing]
Pardon, Milor'—if I might—
Quite right, Mariano!
[Handing him the paper.]
Translate for us.
[reading rapidly, but with growing agitation which he tries to conceal]
"The brigan' tore himself from the hands of the carabiniere and without the doubts he conceal himself in some of those grotto near Sorrento and searchment is being execute'. [pg 023] The agent of the Russian embassy have inform' the bureau that this escaped one is a mos' in-fay-mose robber and danger brigand."
[quickly]
What name does the journal say he has?
[hurriedly]
It has not to say. That is all. Will Milor' and Madame la Comtesse excuse me? And may I take the journal? There is one who should see it.
[indifferently]
Very well.
Thank you, Milor'!
[Bows hastily and hurries out up left.]
[gravely, drawing back from the table.]
I should like much to know his name.
[smiling, and eating composedly]
You may be sure it isn't Ivanoff.
[not changing her attitude]
How can one know it is not
[pauses and speaks the name very gravely]
Ivanoff?
[laughing]
He wouldn't be called an infamous brigand.
[very gravely]
That, my friend, may be only Italian journalism.
Pooh! This means a highwayman—
[finishes [pg 024] his coffee coolly]
—not—not an embezzler, Hélène.
[taking a deep breath and sinking back in her chair with a fixed gaze]
I am glad to believe it, but I care for no more to eat. I have some foolish feeling of unsafety. It is now two nights that I dream of him—of Ivanoff—bad dreams for us both, my friend.
[laughing]
What rot! It takes more than a dream to bring a man back from Siberia.
Then I pray there has been no more than dreams.
[Music of mandolins and guitars heard off to the right with song—"The Fisherman's Song."]
[Enter ETHEL gayly and quickly from the grove, her face radiant. She is a very pretty American girl of twenty. She wears a light-brown linen skirted coat, fitting closely, and a country riding-skirt of the same material and color, with boots, a shirt-waist, collar and tie, and three-cornered hat. She carries a riding-crop. She is followed by three musicians (two mandolins and [pg 025] a guitar), who laughingly continue the song. They are shabby fellows, two of them barefooted, wearing shabby, patched velveteen trousers and blue flannel shirts open at the throat, with big black hats, old and shapeless. One makes a low and sweeping bow before ETHEL; she takes money from her glove and gives it to him, the other two not discontinuing the song; the three immediately 'bout face and go out gleefully, capering and still singing.]
[who has risen]
The divine Miss Granger-Simpson!
[with a pronounced "English accent"]
The divinely happy Miss Granger-Simpson!
[rising, running to her, and kissing her]
Oh, I hope you mean—
[with some excitement in his voice]
You mean you have made my son divinely happy?
[ETHEL, as he speaks, extricates herself laughingly from MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY.]
Is not every one happy in Sorrento—
[with a wave of her riding-crop]
[Exit laughingly and hurriedly into the hotel.]
[MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY goes to stool behind table and gets her parasol, as HAWCASTLE resumes his seat.]
Ah! that is good. Listen!
[A piano sounds from the room ETHEL has just entered, breaking loudly and gayly into Chaminade's "Elevation." ETHEL'S voice is heard for a moment, also, singing.]
She has flown to her piano. It looks well, indeed—our little enterprise.
[grimly]
It's time. If Almeric had been anything but a clumsy oof he'd have made her settle it weeks ago!
[quickly]
You are invidious, mon ami! My affair is not settled—am I a clumsy oof?
[leaning toward her across the table and speaking sharply and earnestly]
No, Hélène. Your little American, brother Horace, is so in love with you, if you asked him suddenly, "Is this day or night?" he would answer, "It's Hélène." But [pg 027] he's too shy to speak. You're a woman—you can't press matters; but Almeric's a man—he can. He can urge an immediate marriage, which means an immediate settlement, and a direct one.
[seriously, quickly]
It will not be small, that settlement?
[He shakes his head grimly, leaning back to look at her. She continues eagerly.]
You have decide' what sum?
[He nods decidedly.]
What?
[sharply, with determination, yet quietly]
A hundred and fifty thousand pounds!
[excited and breathless]
My friend! Will she?
[Turns and stares toward ETHEL'S room, where the piano is still heard softly playing.]
Not for Almeric, but to be the future Countess of Hawcastle. My sister-in-law hasn't been her chaperone for a year for nothing. And, by Jove, she hasn't done it for nothing, either!
[He laughs grimly, moving back from the table.]
[coldly]
Why?
[rising]
It was she who found these people. Indeed, we might say that both you and I owe her something also.
[Comes around behind table to MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY.]
Even a less captious respectability than Lady Creech's might have looked askance at the long friendship
[kisses her hand]
which has existed between us. Yet she has always countenanced us, though she must have guessed—a great many things. And she will help us to urge an immediate marriage. You know as well as I do that unless it is immediate, there'll be the devil to pay. Don't miss that essential: something must be done at once. We're at the breaking-point—if you like the words—a most damnable insolvency.
[Enter ALMERIC from the grove. He is a fair, fresh-colored Englishman of twenty-five, handsome in a rather vacuous way. He wears white duck riding-breeches, light-tan leather riding-gaiters and shoes, a riding-coat of white duck, a waistcoat light tan in shade, and a high riding-stock, the collar of which is white, the "puffed" tie pink; a Panama hat [pg 029] with a fold of light tan and white silk round the crown. Carries a riding-crop.]
[as he enters]
Hello, Governor!
[His voice is habitually loud and his accent somewhat foppish, having a little of the "Guardsman" affectation of languor and indifference.]
Howdy, Countess!
[He drops into a chair at the breakfast-table with a slight effect of sprawling.]
[sharply]
Almeric!
Out riding a bit ago, you know, with Miss Granger-Simpson. Rippin' girl, isn't she?
[leaning across the table toward him, anxiously]
Go on!
[continuing, slapping his gaiters carelessly with his crop]
Didn't stop with her, though.
[angrily]
Why not?
A sort of man in the village got me to go look at a bull-terrier pup. Wonderful little beast for points. Jolly luck—wasn't it? He's got a head on him—
[bitterly]
We'll concede his tremendous advantage over you in that respect.[pg 030]
[Throws his cigar disgustedly into one of the coffee-cups on the table.]
[eagerly]
Is that all you have to tell us?
Oh no! She accepted me.
[HAWCASTLE drops into a chair with a long breath of relief.]
[waving her parasol]
Enfin! Bravo! And will she let it be soon?
[sincerely]
I dare say there'll be no row about that; I've made her aw'fly happy.
On my soul, I believe you're right—and thank God you are!
[Rises as he speaks and walks up centre. Breaks off short as he sees HORACE.]
"OH NO! SHE ACCEPTED ME"
Here's the brother—attention now!
[HORACE enters the hotel. He is a boyish-looking American of twenty-two, smooth-shaven. He wears white flannels, the coat double-breasted and buttoned, the tie is light blue "puffing" fastened with a large pearl. He wears light-yellow chamois gloves, white shoes, a small, stiff English straw hat with blue-and-white [pg 031] ribbon. When he speaks it is with a strong "English accent," which he sometimes forgets. At present he is flushed and almost overcome with happy emotion. As he comes down the steps MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY rushes toward him, taking both his hands.]
[excitedly]
Ah, my dear Horace Granger-Simpson! Has your sister told you?
[radiant, but almost tearful]
She has, indeed. I assure you I'm quite overcome.
[MADAME DE CHAMPIGNY, dropping his hands, laughs deprecatingly, and steps back from him.]
Really, I assure you.
[shaking hands with him very heartily]
My dear young friend, not at all, not at all.
[fanning himself with his hat and wiping his brow]
I assure you I am, I assure you I am—it's quite overpowering—isn't it?
Ah, poor Monsieur Horace!
[crossing and grasping his hand]
She's worthy of it—she's worthy of it. I know she is. And when will it be?
Enchanting.
Oh, the date? I dare say within a year—two years—
[COMTESSE starts to exclaim, but HAWCASTLE checks her.]