Gilda Ruth Benedict '20 A little girl, sister to Beppo Adelina, another little girl Maiserie MacCracken '31 Nurse Edith Ward Pierrot Harlequin Pant Aloon Polichinello Colombine Strolling players Courtiers, Ladies-in-Waiting, Soldiers, Pages, Musicians, Towns-people, Children PROLOGUE [Anselmo and Luigi] ANSELMO. What think you,--lies there any truth in the tale The King will wed again? LUIGI. Why not, Anselmo? A king is no less lonely than a collier When his wife dies, And his young daughter there, For all her being a princess, is no less A motherless child, and cries herself to sleep Night after night, as noisily as any, You may be sure. ANSELMO. A motherless child loves not, They say, the second mother. Though the King May find him comfort in another face,-- As it is well he should--the child, I fancy, Is not so lonely as she is distraught With grief for the dead Queen, and will not lightly Be parted from her tears. LUIGI. If tales be true, The woman hath a daughter, near the age Of his, will be a playmate for the Princess. CURTAIN ACT I Scene 1 [Scene: A garden of the palace at Fiori; four years later.] [Discovered seated Laura, Francesca and Fidelio, Laura embroidering, Fidelio strumming his flute, Francesca lost in thought.] LAURA. You,--Fool! If there be two chords to your lute, Give us the other for a time! FRANCESCA. And yet, Laura, I somewhat fancied that soft sound he made. 'Twas all on the same tone,--but 'twas a sweet tone. LAURA. 'Tis like you. As for myself, let music change From time to time, or have done altogether. Sing us the song, Fidelio, that you made Last night,--a song of flowers, and fair skies, And nightingales, and love. FIDELIO. I know the song. It is a song of winter. LAURA. How is that? FIDELIO. Because it is a song of summer set To a sad tune. FRANCESCA. [Sadly] Ah, well,--so that it be not A song of autumn, I can bear to hear it. LAURA. In any case, music. I am in a mood for music. I am in a mood where if something be not done To startle me, I shall confess my sins. [Enter Carlotta.] CARLOTTA. Ha! I will have that woman yet by the hair! LAURA. What woman, pray, Carlotta? CAR. Ho! What woman! Who but that scullery-wench, that onion-monger, That slatternly, pale bakress, that foul witch, The coroneted Fish-Wife of Fiori, Her Majesty, the Queen! FRA. Hush--hush--Carlotta! You could be put to death for less than that! CAR. Not I, my duck. When I am put to death 'Twill be for more! Oh, I will have her yet By the hair! [For the first time noticing Fidelio.] Fidelio, if you breathe one word Of this, I will scratch the Princess into ribbons, Whom you love better than your wit.