Act I.

Street in Old Paris.

Chorus of Market Men and Women.

Hand in hand, gaily greeting,
Hand in hand, here we're meeting,
Blessings rare
We wish the happy pair.
Hallo ! Pomponnet!

Pom. (outside)

Here I am.

Cho.

The bridegroom, Pomponnet.

Pom.

Thanks, good friends.

Cho. (looking off R.)

Oh ! ain't he gay,
Fine at both ends.
Clairette !

Bab.

Mademoiselle's not ready yet.

Cho.

Indeed ! What, still at her toilet ?

Bab.

Of orange flowers a wreath so gay
A bride must wear on wedding day.

Cho.

Of orange flowers a wreath so gay
She must wear on her wedding day.

(Enter Pomponnet.)

Of orange flowers d'ye say
'Tis for me,
Pomponnet,
She wears this wreath so gay.

Song.

All day long must I be careful
Of this wreath so sweet and fair;
You may look, but must not dare pull.
E'en one leaf or blossom there.
I alone, am its sole owner.
Yes, 'tis mine, you understand,
And to-night I'll have the honour
To undo it with this hand.
Ah!
page 4 When I think on't, when I think on't,
How I shake from top to toe,
My wedding-day I'm on the brink on't,
What I feel you ne'er can know.

Cho.

When he thinks on't, when he thinks on't,
How he shakes from top to toe !
His wedding day lie's on the brink on't,
What he feels none e'er can know.

Bab.

Behold the lovely Bride ?

Pom.

'Tis my darling ?

Cho.

Keep silence!

(Minuet Chorus, during which Clairette enters from House L. in Bridal Costume.)

Beauty without pretence,
Model of innocence,
See her there !
Beauty e'en unadorned
By no means should be scorned,
But by such splendour warned
We hail her, doubly fair.

Chorus of Women.
Come kiss me for your mother !

Chorus of Men
Come hug me for your brother !

Soon in rags her dress would be, (to Clair.)
You'd better kiss no one but me.

Clair.

I think I'll kiss none of the three.

Cadet.

Well said, Clairette.

Javotte.

Clairette, my darling !
What think you of your wedding-morning?

Clair.

What do I think?

Cho.

Take courage, pray
Make no delay.

Clair.

I cannot say.

Romance.

I owe you all, I, Child of the market.
And when you tell me that wed I must be,
Bright be my future fortune, or dark; it
Rests with you now, I'm obedient you see.
Still, I don't know what I'm vowing and swearing.
No more than a salmon, or basket of greens,
For what wedlock is. Now don't all be staring,
I don't know—on my word—in the least what it means.
page 5

Cho.

What modesty ! What innocence !

Pom.

She's groen as grass, what happiness !

Clair.

Loft all alone, a poor orphan, deserted,
You have been parents and guardians to me;
And I've believed what you've always asserted
That parents should order and children obey.
Marriage is pleasant, you always are saying,
To all young girls who are out of their teens;
And I'd content be, since now 'tis past praying,
If I but knew, only knew, what it means.

Cho.

What modesty! What innocence;

Pom.

She's green as grass, what happiness!

Buteux.

Come, let's be off. This is no time for waiting.

Cadet.

It is too soon to see the mayor;
Indeed you know, the truth I'm stating,
For an hour he'll not be there.

Pom.

Oh ! how I chafe at this delay,
For every moment seems a day;
So let us haste, and have it o'er,
My trembling heart can bear no more.

Cho.

Yes, let us go and have it o'er,
His trembling heart can bear no more.
Hand-in-hand, gaily greeting,
Hand-in-hand, here we're meeting.
Blessings rare
We wish the happy pair.

(Enter Amaranthe, running.)
(Legend of Madame Angôt.)
A fishwife bold and trusty,
For reasons big us plums
'Gainst her none e'er ran rusty
In market, street, or slums.
When she got in a passion,
And whether right or wrong,
With fist on hip, so fashion—
Her arguments were strong.
Plump and pretty,
Rough and ready,
Lots of spirit she could show;
Joking, smiling,
Sport ne'er spiling,
A rare good sort was Ma'am Angôt.

Plump and pretty, &c.
page 6 Once up in a balloon, boys,
She sailed upon the breeze,
Got safely down, and soon boys
She dared the raging seas;
Ta'en captive in far Malabar,
Fat, fair, and forty she,
They took her for a widow there,
And got up a "Suttee."
Fair and forty,
Stout and hearty,
Tempest, faggot, friend, or foe;
Rude wave? dashing,
Lightning flashing,
Nothing daunted Ma'am Angôt.

Fair and forty, &c.
Through all her life a rover,
Of sweethearts she'd a score;
But Turkey gave a lover
Was worth them all, and more.
The Sultan, who'd five hundred wives
In sere and yellow leaf,
Cut off their whole five hundred lives,
And flung her his handkerchief.

Chorus.

Plump and pretty, &c.

(Rondo—Ange Pitou.)
Yes : certainly I love Clairetta;
But should I therefore die of grief,
When some other girl, both young and pretty,
Unto my heart may bring relief.
This little note so sweet and pressing,
In style quite worthy of a Queen,
A passion most sincere expressing,
Perfume breathes its folds between.
Yes; certainly I loved Clairetta,
'Tis she, not I, forgets her vows,
And though at first I may regret her
I'll find myself another spouse.
T'other was lovely, there's no denying,
For without beauty there's no power,
So I conclude 'tis worth the trying;
I burn to meet this beauteous flower.
Yes : certainly I loved Clairetta,
But she may wedded be to-day,
page 7 And so 'tis easy to forgot her
Since she herself lias led the way;
Besides, the unknown, the uncertain
Has for me a charm divine,
So to my first intent reverting,
This unknown fair one shall be mine.
But, still I think I love Clairetta,
Although she's false to me to-day,
And we shall see who'll get the better
When she is Madame Pomponnet.
Who's here, I wonder?

Duet.

Union is strength, I've often hoard so,
Together let us seek the way—
Your mother, dear, would have preferred to—
We'll find it out this very day.

Clair.

Suppose some illness I pretend?

Ange Pitou.

No, no; they'd for a doctor send.

Clair.

Ah! no; I fear that is no go.

Ange Pitou.

—You look too healthy dear, you know.

A due.
Madam Angôt would never have done so.

Another plan I will propose;
Suppose I kill your future spouse.

Clair.

Let me see.

Ange Pitou.

'Tis the very thing, it seems to me.

Clair.

No; 'tis no go.

A due.
Madam Angôt would never have done so.

Suppose you say—to Pomponnet—
Renounce my hand this very day !
Or you may find that with my true Love
I might perchance prove falso to you. Love!

Clair.

Such things are sometimes done,
But talked about by none.

Ange Pitou.

Oh ! dear ! Oh ! dear !
We're done for I fear !

Clair.

Take courage, Love ! Leave all to me,
If nought turn up to set me free;
When the Mayor makes the demand
"Say, will you give this man your hand?"
Instead of "Yes" I'll answer "No."

Ange Pitou.

You don't say so.
page 8

Clair.

I'll answer "No."

Ange Pitou.

Such good sense, and so pretty,
One sweet kiss, just for pity.

Clair.

No, indeed, don't touch my face,
My bridal wreath you might displace.

Ange Pitou.

That bridal wreath I hate to see,
I ask you now, on bended knee,
Clairette, grant me this favour sweet,
Or I die—Here at your feet.

Clair. (a due.)

No ! no ! sir, you must not kiss me,
I must go, or else they'll miss me.
Oh; you'll be my ruin now (he kisses her.)
Ah ! what are you doing now ?

Ange Pitou (a due.)

No; no! you must let me kiss you,
Never fear, no one will miss you;
Quite wrong you arc construing now
What I would bo doing now.

(Solo)

One sweet kiss I pray you grant.

Clair (solo.)

Kiss you! No; indeed I shan't.

Ange Pitou.

Clairette, grant one little kiss,
One sweet foretaste of our bliss,
Clairette!

Clair.

No !no!

(a due)
You will be my ruin now.
Ah ! what are you doing now?

At your feet I'm suing now,
Don't blame what I am doing now (kisses her.)

Duet.
Ange Pitou and Larivandiere.

The deuce ! You're Larivaudière!

Lar.

Yes, I am Larivaudière.

Ange Pitou.

Well, 'tis really rather queer
That you ill person should be here.

Lar.

You did not think to see me here,
Don't you feel it rather queer ?

Ange Pitou.

Ha! ha! ha! ha! (laughing.)

Lar.

What the devil makes you sneer ?

Ange Pitou.

(serio comically.) 'Tis the great Larivaudière.

Lar.

(imitating him.) Yes, 'tis I, Larivaudière.

Ange Pitou.

Egad, I did'nt know you.
page 9

Lar.

Oh I no offence indeed sir,
Will you help me at my need sir,
And just change in your clever song
Larivaudiére to Lavaujon.

Ange Pitou.

No; that would spoil the rhyme.

Lar.

We'll make that right in time,
A thousand crowns I'll freely spend.

Ange Pitou.

I'm not for sale, sir—there's an end.

Lar.

Five thousand: will that do ?

Ange Pitou.

No, not for Ange Pitou.

Lar.

Well, then, I'll give you ten !

Ange Pitou.

Ten thousand!

Lar.

Ten thousand, net !
'Tis a fortune for Clariette!
Why Pomponnet she'd quite forget.

Lar.

He hesitates—he's lost.
Come, come, don't count the cost,
Ten thousand.

Ange Pitou.

No!

Lar.

Fifteen I proffer,

Ange Pitou.

I scorn your offer.

Lar.

Well then here's twenty thousand for your coffer

Ange Pitou.

Honour's more than gold.

Lar.

More argument to shun,
Say thirty thousand told.
Come, d'ye say Done!"

Ange Pitou.

Thirty thousand!

Lar.

In gold!

Ange Pitou.

At thirty thousand I am sold.

Lar.

And you yourself will sing the song ?

Ange Pitou.

I know I'm doing very wrong.

Lar.

You'll sing the song!

Ange Pitou.

I'll sing it without fail,
But you must pay me on the nail.

Lar.

Correct, I'm sure, you'll find the tale.

Ange Pitou.

(a due.) So at last the bargain's ended,
With Clairette I'll gaily spend it.
For in Paris all's for sale
If you can pay down on the nail;
Easy way to end all bother,
Swap one surname for another,
And just change in my little song
Larivaudière to Lavaujon.
page 10

Lar.

(a due.) So at last the bargain's ended,
He may gaily go and spend it,
For in Paris all's for sale
If you can pay down on the nail.
Easy way my fault to smother,
Swap one surname for another,
And just change in a little song
Larivaudière to Lavaujon.

(Exit Larivaudiere.)

Finale.—Chorus of Citizens.
You said you'd sing a song,
Hot, and fierce, and strong
Come, begin at once, or dread our anger,
Come, eome, now don't be long,
We'll have it right or wrong;
You promised us a song, you did,
So come begin, do as you're bid,
Sing us the song,
Don't be so long.

(Re-enter the Market People.)

Just see what a riotous crowd!
What's this rout?
What's about?

Citizens.

Ange Pitou from singing has backed out.

Market People.

Pitou, he is a lout!
A lout! a lout! a dirty lying lout!

Citizens.

No! no! no! He's merely a poltroon.

A Nondescript.

He fears that if he sings he'll get in quod too soon.

Clair. (at the window.)

A happy thought—
I'll work it out,
For singing treason they'll nab one, no doubt.

Citizens.

He promised us a song.
So let him sing it quick;
Come, don't be long,
Or we will break your neck.
Sing the song,
Don't be long,
You said you'd sing a song,
Both hot, and fierce, and strong;
Come, begin at once, or dread our anger,
Come, come, now don't be long,
Well have it right or wring.
page 11 You promised us a song, you did.
So come begin, do as you're bid,
Sing us the song,
Don't be so long.

Clair. (coming forward)

Stop, I say.

Pom.

Shut up, I pray.

Clair.

This very song that he has lost to-day
I picked up as it in the gutter lay;
I can sing it every line,
Indeed it's monstrous line.

Cho.

What ! singing in the streets!

Pom.

And when the Mayor now for us waits,

Cadet (furious).

Our child to be singing,
Her voice all through the dirty gutters ringing;
Yet I'd like to hear the song.

Cho.

Yes, we'd like to hear the song,
Come listen all to this fine song.

Ange Pitou.

I tremble.

Clair.

Here goes—hurrah!

Political Song.

In days of yore, when kings had power,
They presents gave both rich and rare
To all their fav'rites of the hour,
Both male and female, dark and fair.
Republics now are all the go,
Yet things are no better as they are,
For Ma'amselle Lange, as we all know
Is the fav'rite Sultana of Barras.
He is our King, and she is our Queen,
And I don't think we've altered our case at all,
For no better off the people's been,
The Rich still push us to the wall.

Chorus.

He is our King. &c.

(Louchard appears, listening at back.)

To tax the people is not fair,
Our kings they did it ev'ry day,
And Barras lets Larivaudière
Our pockets pick his debts to pay;
Thus you see things are the same,
Whether Royalty be up or down,
Nought is changed except the name,
Our Monarch reigns without his crown.
He is our King, &c. (Louchard exit.)

Chorus.

He is our King, &c.

page 12

(Re-enter Louchard, with Soldiers)

Arrest that girl!

Cho.

Ah!

Ange Pitou.

Arrest her if you dare,
You do it at your peril,
The song I say is mine.

Cho.

Let go the girl, or else we swear
We'll murder you as you stand there.

Pom.

Have mercy, pray.

Ange Pitou.

The song is mine I say.

Pom.

All ! 'tis too bad I say
T' arrest her on our wedding-day.

Cho.

No ! our child shall not be taken
Pris'ner on her wedding-day;
Clairette shall not be forsaken,
Nor a captive made, we say.

Clair

Oh! I'd rather far be taken
Than remain here free to-day,
For while in prison I am quaking,
I can't wed little Pomponnet.

Cho.

She shan't be ta'em away,
She must wed Pomponnet.

End of Act.