Operas Every Child Should Know Part 35

Bill Bobstay Boatswain's mate.

Bob Becket Carpenter's mate.

Tom Tucker Mids.h.i.+pmate.

Sergeant of marines Josephine The Captain's daughter.

Hebe Sir Joseph's first cousin.

Little b.u.t.tercup A Portsmouth b.u.mboat woman.

First Lord's sisters, his cousins, his aunts, sailors, marines, etc.

The story takes place on the quarterdeck of H.M.S. _Pinafore_, off Portsmouth.

Composer: Sir Arthur Sullivan. Author: W.S. Gilbert.

[Footnote B: Her Majesty's s.h.i.+p.]

ACT I

On the quarterdeck of the good s.h.i.+p _Pinafore_, along about noon, on a brilliant sunny day, the sailors, in charge of the Boatswain, are polis.h.i.+ng up the bra.s.swork of the s.h.i.+p, splicing rope, and doing general housekeeping, for the excellent reason that the high c.o.c.kalorum of the navy--the Admiral, Sir Joseph Porter--together with all his sisters and his cousins and his aunts, is expected on board about luncheon time. When an Admiral goes visiting either on land or sea, there are certain to be "doings," and there are going to be mighty big doings on this occasion. If sailors were ever proud of a s.h.i.+p, those of the _Pinafore_ are they. The _Pinafore_ was, in fact, the dandiest thing afloat. No sailor ever did anything without singing about it, and as they "Heave ho, my hearties"--or whatever it is sailors do--they sing their minds about the _Pinafore_ in a way to leave no mistake as to their opinions.

We sail the ocean blue, And our saucy s.h.i.+p's a beauty.

We're sober men and true, And attentive to our duty.

When the b.a.l.l.s whistle free, O'er the bright blue sea, We stand to our guns all day.

When at anchor we ride, On the Portsmouth tide, We've plenty of time for play--Ahoy, Ahoy!

And then, while they are polis.h.i.+ng at top speed, on board scrambles Little b.u.t.tercup. Naturally, being a b.u.mboat woman, she had her basket on her arm.

"Little b.u.t.tercup!" the crew shouts; they know her well on pay-day.

"Yes--here's an end at last of all privation," she a.s.sures them, spreading out her wares, and this ridiculous "little" b.u.t.tercup sings:

[Music:

I'm called little b.u.t.tercup, Dear little b.u.t.tercup, Though I could never tell why, But still I'm called b.u.t.tercup, Poor little b.u.t.tercup, Sweet little b.u.t.tercup I.]

I've snuff and tobaccy, And excellent jacky; I've scissors and watches and knives.

I've ribbons and laces To set off the faces Of pretty young sweethearts and wives.

I've treacle and toffee, I've tea and I've coffee, Soft tommy and succulent chops, I've chickens and conies, I've pretty polonies, And excellent peppermint drops--

which would imply that Little b.u.t.tercup might supply on demand anything from a wrought-iron gate to a paper of toothpicks.

"Well, Little b.u.t.tercup, you're the rosiest and roundest beauty in all the navy, and we're always glad to see you."

"The rosiest and roundest, eh? Did it ever occur to you that beneath my gay exterior a fearful tragedy may be brewing?" she asks in her most mysterious tones.

"We never thought of that," the Boatswain reflects.

"I have thought of it often," a growling voice interrupts, and everybody looks up to see d.i.c.k Deadeye. d.i.c.k is a darling, if appearances count. He was named Deadeye because he _had_ a dead-eye, and he is about as sinister and ominous a creature as ever made a comic opera s.h.i.+ver.

"You _look_ as if you had often thought of it," somebody retorts, as all move away from him in a manner which shows d.i.c.k to be no favourite.

"You don't care much about me, I should say?" d.i.c.k offers, looking about at his mates.

"Well, now, honest, d.i.c.k, ye can't just expect to be loved, with such a name as Deadeye."

Little b.u.t.tercup, who has been offering her wares to the other sailors, now observes a very good-looking chap coming on deck.

"Who is that youth, whose faltering feet with difficulty bear him on his course?" b.u.t.tercup asks--which is quite ridiculous, if you only dissect her language! Those "faltering feet which with difficulty bear him on his course" belong to Ralph Rackstraw, who is about the most das.h.i.+ng sailor in the fleet. The moment b.u.t.tercup hears his name, she gasps to music:

"Remorse, remorse," which is very, very funny indeed, since there appears to be nothing at all remarkable or remorseful about Ralph Rackstraw. But Ralph immediately begins to sing about a nightingale and a moon's bright ray and several other things most inappropriate to the occasion, and winds up with "He sang, Ah, well-a-day," in the most pathetic manner. The other sailors repeat after him, "Ah, well-a-day,"

also in a very pathetic manner, and Ralph thanks them in the politest, most heartbroken manner, by saying:

I know the value of a kindly chorus, But choruses yield little consolation When we have pain and sorrow, too, before us!

I love, and love, alas! above my station.

Which lets the cat out of the bag, at last! "He loves above his station!" b.u.t.tercup sighs, and pretty much the entire navy sighs.

Those sailors are very sentimental chaps, very!--They are supposed to have a sweetheart in every port, though, to be sure, none of them are likely be above anybody's station. But their sighs are an encouragement to Ralph to tell all about his sweetheart, and he immediately does so. He sings rapturously of her appearance and of how unworthy he is. The crew nearly melts to tears during the recital.

Just as Ralph has revealed that his love is Josephine, the Captain's daughter, and all the crew but d.i.c.k Deadeye are about to burst out weeping, the Captain puts in an appearance.

"My gallant crew,--good morning!" he says amiably, in that condescending manner quite to be expected of a Captain. He inquires nicely about the general health of the crew, and announces that he is in reasonable health himself. Then with the best intentions in the world, he begins to throw bouquets at himself:

I am the Captain of the _Pinafore_,

he announces, and the crew returns:

And a right good Captain too.

You're very, very good, And be it understood, I command a right good crew,

he a.s.sures them.

Tho' related to a peer, I can hand, reef and steer, Or s.h.i.+p a selvagee; I'm never known to quail At the fury of a gale,-- And I'm never, never sick at sea!

But this is altogether too much. The crew haven't summered and wintered with this gallant Captain for nothing.

"What, never?" they admonish him.

"No,--never."

"What!--NEVER?" and there is no mistaking their emphasis.

"Oh, well--hardly ever!" he admits, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g his statement a little: and thus harmony is restored. Now when he has thus agreeably said good morning to his crew, they leave him to meditate alone, and no one but Little b.u.t.tercup remains. For some reason she perceives that the Captain is sad. He doesn't look it, but the most comic moments in comic opera are likely enough to be the saddest. Hence Little b.u.t.tercup reminds him that she is a mother (she doesn't look it) and therefore to be confided in.

"If you must know, Little b.u.t.tercup, my daughter Josephine! the fairest flower that ever blossomed on ancestral timber"--which is very neat indeed--"has received an offer of marriage from Sir Joseph Porter. It is a great honour, Little b.u.t.tercup, but I am sorry to say my daughter doesn't seem to take kindly to it."

"Ah, poor Sir Joseph, I know perfectly what it means to love not wisely but too well," she remarks, sighing tenderly and looking most sentimentally at the Captain. She does this so capably that as she goes off the deck the Captain looks after her and remarks abstractedly:

"A plump and pleasing person!" At this blessed minute the daughter Josephine, who does not love in the right place, and who is beloved from all quarters at once, wanders upon the deck with a basket of flowers in her hand. Then she begins to sing very distractedly about loving the wrong man, and that "hope is dead," and several other pitiable things, which are very funny. The Captain, her father, is watching her, and presently he admonishes her to look her best, and to stop sighing all over the s.h.i.+p--at least till her high-born suitor, Sir Joseph Porter, shall have made his expected visit.

"You must look your best to-day, Josephine, because the Admiral is coming on board to ask your hand in marriage." At this Josephine nearly drops into the sea.