Читать книгу: «Operas Every Child Should Know», страница 6
"For him maybe." Carmen returns, insolently looking about to see if she can espy José. The girls urge her not to go too far; to keep out of José's way, but she refuses point blank.
"Leave the fight and Escamillo? Not for twenty Josés. Here I am, and here I stay," she declares. Everybody but Carmen thinks of the fortune in the cave: death, death, death! But gradually the great crowd passes into the amphitheatre, and Carmen has promised Escamillo to await him when he shall come out triumphant; and Escamillo has no sooner bade Carmen good-bye than José swings into the square in search of Carmen.
Carmen sees him and watches him. He does not look angry. As a matter of fact he has gone through so much sorrow (the death of his mother, and the jeers of his friends) that he has sought Carmen only with tenderness in his heart. He now goes up to her and tells her this.
"Indeed, I thought you had come to murder me."
"I have come to take you away from these gipsies and smugglers. If you are apart from them you will do better. I love you and want you to go away from here, and together we will begin over and try to do better."
Carmen looks at him and laughs. Suddenly she hears cheering from the amphitheatre and starts toward it. José interposes.
"You let me alone. I want to go in – "
"To see Escamillo – "
"Why not – since I love him – "
"How is that?"
"As I said – " At this, a blind rage takes possession of Don José. All his good purposes are forgotten. For a moment he still pleads with her to go away, and she taunts him more cruelly. Then in a flash José's knife is drawn, another flash and Carmen's fortune is verified: she falls dead at the entrance to the amphitheatre, just as the crowd is coming out, cheering the victorious Escamillo. José falls beside her, nearly mad with grief for what he has done in a fit of rage, while Escamillo comes out, already fascinated by some other girl, and caring little that Carmen is dead – except that the body is in the way. José is under arrest, Carmen dead, and the great crowd passes on, cheering:
"Escamillo, Escamillo forever!"
DeKoven
SMITH and DeKoven, who have made countless thousands laugh, are living still, and will very likely continue to do gracious things for the comic-opera-loving public.
The very imperfect sketch of the opera, "Robin Hood," given in this book, is lacking in coherence and in completeness in every way, but a prompt-book, being necessary properly to give the story, is not obtainable. Rather than ignore an American performance which is so graceful, so elegant, and which should certainly be known to every child, an attempt had been made to outline the story.
Little idea can be had of the opera's charm from this sketch, but the opera is likely to live, even after the topical stories of "Pinafore" and "The Mikado" have lost their application, because the story of Robin Hood is romantic forever, and the DeKoven music is not likely to lose its charm.
"Robin Hood" was first produced at the Chicago Opera House, June 9, 1890, by the Bostonian Opera Company. In January, 1891, under the management of Mr. Horace Sedger, the opera was produced, under the title of "Maid Marian," at the Prince of Wales's Theatre in London. The cast included Mr. Haydn Coffin, Mr. Harry Markham, Miss Marion Manola, and Miss Violet Cameron.
ROBIN HOOD
CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA
ACT I
In Sherwood forest, the merriest of lives,
Is our outlaw's life so free!
We roam and rove in Sherwood's grove,
Beneath the greenwood tree.
Through all the glades and sylvan shades
Our homes (through the glades) are found;
We hunt the deer, afar and near,
Our hunting horns do we sound.
And thus begins the merriest tale of the merriest lives imaginable. It is on a May morning: every young sprint and his sweetheart in Nottingham are out in their best, for the fair – May-day fair in Nottingham; and near at hand, Alan-a-Dale, Little John, Will Scarlet, Friar Tuck, and the finest company of outlaws ever told about, are just entering the town to add to the gaiety.
Now in the village of Nottingham lived Dame Durden and her daughter, Annabel. Annabel was a flirtatious young woman who welcomed the outlaws in her very best manner. She assured them that outlaws of such high position would surely add much to the happiness of the occasion; and they certainly did, before the day was over. The outlaws came in, as fine a looking lot and as handsome as one would wish to see, and joined the village dance. It was an old English dance, called a "Morris Dance," with a lilt and a tilt which set all feet a-going.
[Listen]
Fa la, fa la,
Trip a morris dance hilarious,
Lightly brightly,
Trip in measure multifarious,
Fa la la, fa la la,
Trip a morris dance hilarious,
Lightly and brightly we celebrate the fair!
If anything was needed to add to the gaiety of the day, the outlaws furnished it, because, among other things, they brought to the fair a lot of goods belonging to other people, and they meant to put them up at auction.
Friar Tuck was an old renegade monk who travelled about with the merry men of Sherwood, to seem to lend a little piety to their doings. He had a little bottle-shaped belly and the dirtiest face possible, a tonsured head, and he wore a long brown habit tied round the middle with a piece of rope which did duty for several things besides tying this gown. He was a droll, jolly little bad man and he began the auction with mock piety:
As an honest auctioneer,
I'm prepared to sell you here
Some goods in an assortment that is various;
Here's a late lamented deer
(That was once a King's, I fear)
Killing him was certainly precarious.
Here I have for sale
Casks of brown October ale,
Brewed to make humanity hilarious;
Here's a suit of homespun brave
Fit for honest man or knave;
Here's a stock in fact that's multifarious.
And so it was!
His stock consisted of the most curious assortment of plunder one ever saw even at a Nottingham fair in the outlaw days of Robin Hood.
While all that tow-wow was going on, people were coming in droves to the fair; and among them came Robert of Huntingdon. The name is very thrilling, since the first part gives one an inkling that he beholds for the first time the future Robin Hood. However, on that May morning he was not yet an outlaw. He was a simple Knight of the Shire.
The Sheriff, who was a great personage in Nottingham, had a ward whom he had foisted upon the good folks of Nottinghamshire as an Earl, but as a fact he was simply a country lout, and all the teachings of the Sheriff would not make him appear anything different. Robert of Huntingdon was the Earl, in fact, and the Sheriff was going to try to keep him out of his title and estates. The merry men of Sherwood forest were great favourites with Robert and they were his friends. During the fair a fine cavalier, very dainty for a man, fascinating, was caught by Friar Tuck kissing a girl, and was brought in with a great to-do. She declared that she had a right to kiss a pretty girl, since her business was that of cavalier. Robin Hood discovered her sex, underneath her disguise, and began to make love to her.
Among other reasons for Robin Hood being at the fair was that of making the Sheriff confer upon him his title to the Earldom. When he boldly made his demand, the foxy Sheriff declared that he had a half-brother brought up by him, and that the half-brother, and not Robert, was the Earl.
"You are a vain, presumptuous youth," the Sheriff declared. "You are no Earl, instead it is this lovely youth whom I have brought up so carefully." And he put forth Guy, the bumpkin. This created an awful stir, and all the outlaws who were fond of Robin Hood took up the case for him.
"A nice sort of Earl, that," Little John cried.
"You think we will acknowledge him as heir to the estates of Huntingdon? Never!" Scarlet declared.
"Traitor!" Robin Hood cried to the Sheriff. "In the absence of the King I know that your word is law; but wait till the King returns from his Crusade! I'll show you then whose word is to prevail."
"My friend!" Little John then cried, stepping into the middle of the row, "take thou this good stout bow of yew. You are going to join us and make one of Sherwood's merry men till his Majesty returns and reinstates you as the rightful Earl of Huntingdon. Come! Say you will be one of us." All the outlaws crowded affectionately about Robert and urged him.
"You shall become King of Outlaws, if you will," Scarlet cried. "Come! accept our friendship. Become our outlaw king!"
After thinking a moment, Robert turned and looked at the gay cavalier whom he knew to be his cousin Marian, in masquerade, and whom he loved. Then he decided he would go and live a gay and roving life in the forest till he could return and marry his cousin as the Earl of Huntingdon should.
"Farewell," he sang to her. "Farewell, till we meet again," and he was carried off amid the uproarious welcome of the outlaws of Sherwood forest, to become their leader till the King returned from the Crusades to make him Earl.
ACT II
Away in Sherwood forest the outlaws were encamped – which meant merely the building of a fire and the assembling of the merry men. Robin Hood had become their leader.
Oh, cheerily soundeth the hunter's horn,
Its clarion blast so fine;
Through depths of old Sherwood so clearly borne,
We hear it at eve and at break of morn,
Of Robin Hood's band the sign.
A hunting we will go,
Tra-ra-ra-tra-ra!
We'll chase for the roe,
Tra-ra-ra-tra-ra!
Oh where is band so jolly
As Robin's band in their Lincoln green?
Their life is naught but folly,
A rollicking life I ween!
Now the merry men gathered about their fire, and while the old monk was broiling the meat, they all lounged about in comfortable ways and Little John sang to them:
And it's will ye quaff with me, my lads,
And it's will ye quaff with me?
It is a draught of nut-brown ale
I offer unto ye.
All humming in the tankard, lads,
It cheers the heart forlorn;
Oh! here's a friend to everyone,
'Tis stout John Barley-corn.
So laugh, lads, and quaff, lads!
'Twill make you stout and hale,
Through all my days I'll sing the praise
Of brown October ale!
While the outlaws were lounging thus, in came the Sheriff, Sir Guy, the spurious Earl, and a lot of journeymen tinkers. Immediately they began a gay chorus, telling how they were men of such metal that no can or kettle can withstand their attack, and as they hammered upon their tin pans, one believed them. Of all the merriment and nonsense that ever was, the most infectious took place there in the forest, while the tinkers sang and hammered, and Friar Tuck made jokes, and the other outlaws drank their brown October ale: but soon Maid Marian, the dainty cavalier, wandered that way, looking for Robin Hood – Robert of Huntingdon. She had missed him dreadfully, and finally could not refrain from going in search of him. She was certain she should find him thinking of her and as true to her as she was to him.
Robin Hood found that she had come to the forest, and sang to her a serenade which was overheard by the other outlaws. Alan-a-Dale, who was in love, became jealous, and the Sheriff came on to the scene, and the outlaws, finding him on their ground, took him prisoner, and Dame Durden, who secretly had been married to the Sheriff, and from whose shrewish tongue the Sheriff had fled, came to free him. She declared that if the Sheriff of Nottingham would acknowledge her, she would get him free from the stocks, into which the outlaws had put him, and would take him home. But the prospect of having to stand Dame Durden's tongue was so much worse than the stocks, that the Sheriff begged the outlaws to take him anywhere so long as it was away from his wife.
Woman, get thee gone,
I'd rather live alone!
If Guy should come with the King's men,
I'd turn the tables on them.
the Sheriff cried, trying to plan a way to get free.
At that all the outlaws danced gaily about him, gibing at him and making the pompous Sheriff miserable. They were trying to pay him for his mistreatment of Robin Hood, their beloved leader.
In the height of their gaiety in rushed Sir Guy with the King's men.
"We're lost," all cried.
"You are," Sir Guy recklessly shouts, "because we're brave as lions, all of us, and shall make short work of you."
We're brave as lions, every one,
We're brave as lions – for we're two to one,
all cried, and immediately they marched the gay outlaws off to prison and set the Sheriff free.
As it turned out, Maid Marian, the cousin and beloved of Robin Hood, had been commanded by the King himself to become Robin's wife, or rather the wife of the Earl of Huntingdon. As the false Earl, Guy had tried to make love to the maid, and to win her, but the cousins loved each other, and all Guy's efforts were quite hopeless. But now that the outlaws, and Robin Hood with them, were all in the power of the Sheriff again, the case looked serious. As outlaws, the Sheriff could hang them, every one. Little John and the leading outlaws pleaded for their friend, reminding the Sheriff and Sir Guy that, since Robin must, by the King's command, marry Marian, the Sheriff dare not kill him.
"Don't count upon that," the wily Sheriff cried "The King's command was to the Earl of Huntingdon – and he is my ward, Sir Guy; not your outlaw friend! Robin Hood shall go to the gallows and Guy shall marry the Maid Marian." At that everybody sighed very sadly. It really began to look as if the wicked Sheriff was going to get the best of them.
ACT III
Among the outlaws, the strongest and also the cleverest, perhaps, was Will Scarlet. He had not been captured with the others of the band, and so he had come into Nottingham, whence the prisoners had been taken, to spy out the ground and to see if he could not help to free his comrades. He had set up a blacksmith's shop and had set about forging a sword. All the while he was watching what took place about him, and hoping to get news of his friends.
Friar Tuck was finally discovered locked up in a tower, and with his dirty face at the window. It would have been a shame for so dirty and merry a gentleman as the Friar to have his life cut short, and of course he was freed, but before this happened he had plenty of chance to get scared half to death.
At the very moment when Maid Marian was distracted because she feared that her lover, Robin Hood, was to be led to the gallows, a message came from the King, pardoning all of the outlaws. Some one had revealed to his Majesty the doings of the Sheriff, and the King had hastened to look into matters. When everybody's life seemed to be in danger, the King rushed back from the Crusades and saved them all, and put the temporary outlaw into his rightful place, and forgave all the other merry men because they had befriended Robert of Huntingdon.
In the midst of the rejoicing, Robin bade the foresters farewell, clasped his cousin in his arms, the Sheriff was properly punished, and the merriest of operas came to an end.
FLOTOW
THERE has never been more uncertainty and disagreement about the production, composition, and source of any opera than about the opera of "Martha." Among the reasonable guesses as to its source is one that Flotow found the theme for the story in a French ballet named "Lady Henriette, ou la Foire de Richmond," also, "Lady Harriette, ou la Servante de Greenwich." Among the German titles we find "Martha, oder der Markt zu Richmond," and "Martha, oder der Mägdemarkt zu Richmond." When all is said and done, it is still a German opera.
Flotow belonged to the petty nobility of Mecklenburg. He was destined for the diplomatic profession and his art work was continually interrupted by revolutions in his own country and in France.
He had already written a number of unimportant pieces before he undertook "Martha." This opera was made under particularly interesting circumstances, being originally the work of three composers. The Marquis Saint-Georges – the librettist of the day – asked Flotow to undertake the music of one act only, as the other two had already been assigned to two different composers. This proved to be on account of a contract made by the manager of the Grand Opéra with the French Government to produce a new ballet in three acts every year – and the Marquis had tried to evade the contract on the ground that it would bankrupt him. The manager's Première heard of this appeal, and she in her turn went to headquarters, asking that the manager be compelled to put on the piece as agreed. The next day he received an offer of 100,000 francs to mount the new ballet if he would put the dancer, Mlle. Dumilatre, into the leading part, and do it in an incredibly short time. This was how three composers brought into being the piece that one day was to become the "Martha" with which we are now familiar. After Flotow had written "Stradella" he was asked to write an opera for the court, and remembering the peculiarly carpentered piece, "Martha," he went to Saint-Georges's ballet for his court-opera theme. When finished it was "Martha."
The librettist for "Martha" and another Flotow piece was Reise, but he wrote under the name of W. Friedrich. Balfe used the story for an opera which he called "The Maid of Honour." The opera was about ten years in gaining popularity outside of Germany. It was perhaps somewhat longer than that in reaching Paris and London. It was known in New York, having been presented at Niblo's Garden, before it was known in Paris or London, and Madame Anna Bishop sang it. The great singers who have appeared in the cast are Anna Bishop, Mario, Lehman, Nilsson, Patti, Brignoli, and others.
Flotow's best claim to distinction lies in this opera of "Martha." He was not a special favourite nor a genius, but in "Martha" he turned out a number of fascinating tunes of a humable sort. One of them has been adapted to sacred words, and is much used in churches, but for the most part "Martha" is made of a series of jiggy choruses. Berlioz, who especially hated Flotow, declared that the "introduction of the Irish melody ('Last Rose of Summer') served to disinfect the rottenness of the Martha music."
Flotow was born April 27, 1812. Died January 24, 1883.
MARTHA
CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA WITH THE ORIGINAL CAST AS PRESENTED AT THE FIRST PERFORMANCE
Sheriff of Richmond, three servants of Lady Harriet, three maid servants.
Chorus of ladies, servants, farmers, hunters and huntresses, pages, etc.
The story is enacted in England during Queen Anne's reign.
First sung at Vienna Court Opera, November 25, 1847.
Composer: Friedrich Freiherr von Flotow.
Author: W. Friedrich (F.W. Riese).
ACT I
One morning during fair time in Richmond the Lady Harriet, maid of honour to her Majesty Queen Anne, was sitting in her boudoir at her toilet table. She and all her maids and women friends who were attending at her toilet were bored to death.
"Did any one ever know such a stupid, dismal life as we are leading?" they declared. "In heaven's name, why doesn't some one think of something to do that will vary the monotony of this routine existence? We rise in the morning, make a toilet, go to her Majesty, make a toilet, breakfast, read to her Majesty, make a toilet, dine, walk with her Majesty, sup, unmake a toilet and go to bed! Of all the awful existences I really believe ours has become the most so."
"It is as you say, but we cannot improve matters by groaning about it. Lady Harriet, Sir Tristram has sent you some flowers," Nancy, Lady Harriet's favourite, cried, handing them to her ladyship.
"Well, do you call that something new? because I don't! Why doesn't the cook send me some flowers – or maybe the hostler – somebody, something new? Take them out of my sight – and Sir Tristram with them, in case he appears."
"Look at these diamonds: they sparkle like morning showers on the flowers. The sight of them is enough to please any one!"
"It is not enough to please me," Lady Harriet declared petulantly, determined to be pleased with nothing.
"Who is that? There is some one who wishes an audience with me! I'll see no one."
"Ah," a man's voice announced from the curtains, "but I have come to tell you of something new, Lady Harriet!"
"You? Sir Tristram? Is there anything new under the sun? If you really have something to suggest that is worth hearing, you may come in."
"Listen, ladies! and tell me if I haven't conceived a clever thought. The fair is on at Richmond – "
"Well – it is always on, isn't it?"
"Oh, no, ladies. Only once a year – this is the time. There is a fair and there are cock-fights – "
"Ah – that sounds rather thrilling."
"And donkeys – "
"Oh, there are always donkeys – always!" the ladies cried, looking hopelessly at poor Sir Tristram.
"I mean real donkeys," the poor man explained patiently.
"So do we mean real donkeys," they sighed.
"And there are the races – and – well, if you will come I am certain there are several new attractions. Let me take you, Lady Harriet, and I promise to make you forget your ennui for once. Cock-fights and – "
"Donkeys," she sighed, rising. "Very well, one might as well die of donkeys and cock-fights as of nothing at all. It is too hot, open the window – "
"I fly."
"Oh, heavens! now it is too cold – shut it – "
"I fly," the unhappy Sir Tristram replied.
"Give me my fan – "
"I fly." He flies.
"O lord, I don't want it – "
"I fl – oh!" he sighed and sank into a chair, exhausted.
[Listen]
Come away,
Maidens gay,
To the fair
All repair,
Let us go,
Let us show
Willing hearts,
Fair deserts!
"What is that?" Harriet asked impatiently, as she heard this gay chorus sung just outside her windows.
"A gay measure: the girls and lads going to the fair," Nancy replied.
"Servant girls and stable boys – bah!"
"Yes – shocking! Who would give them a thought?" Sir Tristram rashly remarked.
"Why, I don't know! after all, they sound very gay indeed. You haven't very good taste, Sir Tristram, I declare." And at this the poor old fop should have seen that she would contradict anything that he said.
"Oh, I remember now! Fair day is the day when all the pretty girls dress in their best and go to the fair to seek for places, to get situations. They hire themselves out for a certain length of time! – till next year, I think. Meantime they dance in their best dresses and have a very gay day of it."
"That sounds to me rather attractive," Lady Harriet remarked thoughtfully.
"A foolish fancy, your ladyship," the unfortunate Sir Tristram put in.
"Now I am resolved to go! Get me that bodice I wore at the fancy dress ball, Nancy. We shall all go – I shall be Martha, – Nancy, and old Rob."
"And – and who may be 'old Rob,' your ladyship?" Sir Tristram asked, feeling much pained at this frivolity.
"Why, you, to be sure. Come! No mumps! No dumps! We are off!"
"Oh, this is too much."
"What, Sir Tristram, is that the extent of your love for me?"
"No, no – I shall do as you wish – but," the poor old chap sighed heavily.
"To be sure you will – so now, Nancy, teach old Rob how the yokels dance, and we'll be off."
"This is too much. I can't dance in that manner."
"Dance – or leave me! Dance – or stay at home, sir!" Harriet cried sternly.
"O heaven – I'll dance," and so he tried, and the teases put him through all the absurd paces they knew, till he fell exhausted into a seat.
"That was almost true to nature," they laughed. "You will do, so come along. But don't forget your part. Don't let us see any of the airs of a nobleman or you shall leave us. We'll take you, but if you forget your part we shall certainly leave you," and they dragged him off recklessly.
At the fair, ribbons were flying, bands were playing, lads and lasses were dancing, and farmers were singing:
[Listen]
Bright and buxom lasses,
Come, the fair shall now begin,
Show your rosy faces
And our hearts ye soon shall win.
Fleet of foot, and clad with neatness,
Come and let the master choose;
Sweet of temper, all discreetness,
Who a prize like this would lose?
Done is the bargain if the maid is trusty, blythe and willing;
Done is the bargain if she accepts the master's proffered shilling!
Thus, the farmers who had come to the fair to choose a maid-servant, sang together. The maid-servants were meanwhile singing a song of their own, and everybody was in high feather.
Now to this fair had come two farmers in particular; one being farmer Plunkett, and the other, altogether a handsome fellow, named Lionel, who was the foster-brother of Plunkett. As a matter of fact, he was left in his babyhood on the doorstep of Plunkett's father, who adopted him and brought him up with his own son. The baby had had nothing by which he could be identified, but there was a ring left with him, and the instruction that it was to be shown to the Queen in case the boy should ever find himself in serious trouble when he grew up. Now both these gay farmers had come to secure maid-servants for the year, and Plunkett came up to inspect the girls as they assembled.
"What a clatter! This becomes a serious matter. How on earth is a man to make a choice with such confusion all about him?"
"Oh well, there is no haste," Lionel replied leisurely.
"No haste? I tell you, Lionel, we can't afford to lose any time. There is that farm falling to pieces for need of a competent servant to look after it! I should say there was haste, with a vengeance. We must get a good stout maid to go home with us, or we shall be in a pretty fix. You don't know much about these things, to be sure. You were always our mother's favourite, and I the clumsy bear who got most of the cuffs and ran the farm; but take my word for it, if we don't find good maids we shall soon be ruined, because you are of no more use on a farm than the fifth wheel is on a wagon."
"Oh, come, come, brother, don't – "
"That's all right! I meant no harm. You are my brother and I'll stick by you forever, but you aren't practical. Leave this maid-servant business to me, and take my word for it we must hurry the matter up and get home. Some day you'll be giving that fine ring of yours to Queen Anne, Lionel, and then heaven knows what will happen; but I suspect that whatever it is I shall find myself without a brother."
"It shall never happen. I shall live and die quite contented beneath the roof where we have grown up together and where I have been happiest."
"Ohe! Ohe! Ohe! the fair begins! Here comes the sheriff with his bell. Ye maids, come forth now, both young and old! Come forth, come forth! Make way there for the Law!" bawled a crier, clearing the way for the sheriff, who had come to preside over the business of contract-making between the serving maids and the farmers.
I the statute first will read,
Then to business we'll proceed,
the burly sheriff called at the top of his voice; and all the yokels laughed and crowded about him while he mounted a box and began to read the Law. "'Tis our royal will and pleasure – ' Hats off! Rustics, look at me! Loyal feelings let us cherish! 'We, Queen Anne, hereby decree to all subjects of the crown, dwelling here in Richmond town, whoso at the fair engages, to perform a servant's part, for a year her service pledges; from this law let none depart.'"
When the earnest money's taken, let the bargain stay unshaken!
"Now, then, ye have heard? Stick to the bargains ye make – or the law will get ye!"
"And now what can ye do, Molly Pitt?"
I can sow, sir,
I can mow, sir,
I can bake and brew,
Mend things like new,
Can mind a house, and rule it, too,
There's naught I cannot do.
"She's worth four guineas. Who will hire her?"
Molly was at once hired by a farmer.
"And now you, Polly Smith?"
I can cook, sir,
By the book, sir,
I can roast and toast,
And 'tis my boast
That nothing in house
That I preside in yet was lost.
"Polly's worth five guineas. Who wants her?"
Polly was immediately hired by a farmer. After half a dozen buxom girls had told what they could do, and had found places for the year – none of them satisfying Plunkett and Lionel, however, who are feeling almost discouraged at the outlook – Lady Harriet (who called herself Martha) and Nancy and Sir Tristram came pushing merrily into the crowd. Lady Harriet (or Martha) was certain to want to see everything. Old Sir Tristram was protesting and having a most dreadful time of it.
"This way, Rob," Martha called, dragging him by the hand and laughing. "What! must I lead you?"
"Come, good, good Rob," Nancy mocked, entering into the spirit of it and poking the old beau ahead of her. Sir Tristram groaned.
"Oh, I am just like a lamb led to the slaughter."
"Look, brother," Plunkett now said, nudging Lionel. "What pretty lasses! Theirs are not like servants' faces."
"Let's inquire," Lionel replied, a good deal interested and staring at Nancy and Martha.
"Do you see how these disgusting rustics are staring? Let us fly, Lady – "
"Martha," Lady Harriet reproved him. "Don't forget I'm Martha."
"Well, 'Martha,' let us go – "
"Not I! I am having the first moment of gaiety I have known in a year. No, ye'll not go." Then in bravado and to torment Sir Tristram she set up a cry:
"No, here in the open fair, I refuse you for my master! I won't go with you!" By that outbreak she had attracted the attention of everybody about. Nancy, too, set up a screech and everybody crowded about them. Sir Tristram dared not say a word to help himself, because if he should really displease Lady Harriet he knew it would be all up with him.
"Nonsense, nonsense," he said, confused and tormented.
"Well, you can't force her, Master Rob," the frolicsome Nancy joined in.
"Force the girl? No, I think not, old fellow," Plunkett now cried, coming forward with Lionel. The two of them had been watching the quarrel. "No farmer can hire a maid against her will. There are servants to spare here; take your pick and let these alone," and the tricky Martha and Nancy nearly fainted with trying to suppress their laughter as they witnessed Sir Tristram's plight.
At that moment all the unhired serving maids rushed to Sir Tristram and crowded about him and began their eternal, "I can bake, sir, I can brew, sir," etc., and begged him to hire them. Now this was the last straw, and Sir Tristram looked for Martha and Nancy to come to his assistance, but they only shrieked with laughter and urged the girls on. Meantime, Plunkett and Lionel had approached them, and, when Martha noticed that they were about to speak, she became a little frightened.
