sentiments so charmingly expressed.
ALL. That's all right.
GIU. At the same time there is just one little grievance
that we should like to ventilate.
ALL (angrily). What?
GIU. Don't be alarmed—it's not serious. It is arranged
that, until it is decided which of us two is the actual King, we
are to act as one person.
GIORGIO. Exactly.
GIU. Now, although we act as one person, we are, in point
of fact, two persons.
ANNIBALE. Ah, I don't think we can go into that. It is a
legal fiction, and legal fictions are solemn things. Situated as
we are, we can't recognize two independent responsibilities.
GIU. No; but you can recognize two independent appetites.
It's all very well to say we act as one person, but when you
supply us with only one ration between us, I should describe it
as a legal fiction carried a little too far.
ANNI. It's rather a nice point. I don't like to express an
opinion off-hand. Suppose we reserve it for argument before the
full Court?
MAR. Yes, but what are we to do in the meantime?
MAR. and GIU. We want our tea.
ANNI. I think we may make an interim order for double
rations on their Majesties entering into the usual undertaking to
indemnify in the event of an adverse decision?
GIOR. That, I think, will meet the case. But you must work
hard—stick to it—nothing like work.
GIU. Oh, certainly. We quite understand that a man who
holds the magnificent position of King should do something to
justify it. We are called "Your Majesty"; we are allowed to buy
ourselves magnificent clothes; our subjects frequently nod to us
in the streets; the sentries always return our salutes; and we
enjoy the inestimable privilege of heading the subscription lists
to all the principal charities. In return for these advantages
the least we can do is to make ourselves useful about the Palace.
SONG—GIUSEPPE with CHORUS.
Rising early in the morning,
We proceed to light the fire,
Then our Majesty adorning
In its workaday attire,
We embark without delay
On the duties of the day.
First, we polish off some batches
Of political despatches,
And foreign politicians circumvent;
Then, if business isn't heavy,
We may hold a Royal levee,
Or ratify some Acts of Parliament.
Then we probably review the household troops—
With the usual "Shalloo humps!" and "Shalloo hoops!"
Or receive with ceremonial and state
An interesting Eastern potentate.
After that we generally
Go and dress our private valet—
(It's a rather nervous duty—he's a touchy little man)—
Write some letters literary
For our private secretary—
He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can.
Then, in view of cravings inner,
We go down and order dinner;
Then we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate—
Spend an hour in titivating
All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting;
Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State.
Oh, philosophers may sing
Of the troubles of a King;
Yet the duties are delightful, and the privileges great;
But the privilege and pleasure
That we treasure beyond measure
Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State.
CHORUS. Oh, philosophers may sing, etc.
After luncheon (making merry
On a bun and glass of sherry),
If we've nothing in particular to do,
We may make a Proclamation,
Or receive a deputation—
Then we possibly create a Peer or two.
Then we help a fellow-creature on his path
With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath,
Or we dress and toddle off in semi-state
To a festival, a function, or a fete.
Then we go and stand as sentry
At the Palace (private entry),
Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and
fro,
While the warrior on duty
Goes in search of beer and beauty
(And it generally happens that he hasn't far to go).
He relieves us, if he's able,
Just in time to lay the table,
Then we dine and serve the coffee, and at half-past twelve
or one,
With a pleasure that's emphatic,
We retire to our attic
With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done!
Oh, philosophers may sing
Of the troubles of a King,
But of pleasures there are many and of worries there are
none;
And the culminating pleasure
That we treasure beyond measure
Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done!
CHORUS. Oh, philosophers may sing, etc.
(Exeunt all but Marco and
Giuseppe.)
GIU. Yes, it really is a very pleasant existence. They're
all so singularly kind and considerate. You don't find them
wanting to do this, or wanting to do that, or saying "It's my
turn now." No, they let us have all the fun to ourselves, and
never seem to grudge it.
MAR. It makes one feel quite selfish. It almost seems like
taking advantage of their good nature.
GIU. How nice they were about the double rations.
MAR. Most considerate. Ah! there's only one thing wanting
to make us thoroughly comfortable.
GIU. And that is?
MAR. The dear little wives we left behind us three months
ago.