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Cast

Lord Byron

Fletcher

Angelina

Angelina's Papa

Father Spoonelli

Countess Vorsperg

Tita - B's Gondolier

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​Scene 1

 

1819 - the Palazzo Mocenigo, Venice

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B: Fletcher, a vase for this little posy if you would (plucks a petal) - d'you know, in Venice, these shy little flowers can only be grown in a window-box? (sniffs) - the violets, the verbena! - la mia povera ragazza - ah! Angelina!

F: Yes, my Lord - er, who?

B: An old acquaintance of mine, Fletcher - a captive of the Commissary of Police, of the strictures of ancient nobility, of nosy neighbours - and of the most flinty-hearted, truculent tyrant of a father under the sun!

F: This lady - she's a nun?

B: No, you blockhead - despite being quite without flaw, she is captive in her own palazzo - and such a pretty - sweet-tempered - quiet, feminine being as ever you saw! (bites nails, paces)  Sink me Fletcher, if a bouquet isn't hurled into the gondola whene'er I pass by this wond'rous ragazza! - a tribute to Tita's rowing skills - or my riding breeches - whether or which - I admit to being quite, quite charmed after three years in the service of your more veteran creatures

F: Say owt, my Lord! (panics) - does that Margharita Fornarina know? (looks into hallway)
B: There's nothing to fear on that account, for I have never actually had the pleasure - her Parish Priest has seen to that (grinds teeth)

F: She is unmarried! My Lord - these be Italian morality! - a catastrophy awaits my Lord, an 1816-level catastrophy! 

B: Unmarried - and unspotted in her chastity - and I intend to keep it that way, Fletcher, for I am damnably in love, and mercifully that she is married

F: That  Contessa has left a note via her maid, Fanny (mumbles) - 't warn thee my Lord - Fanny and Tita seem cosi fan tutti

B: By the Dente della Vergine! - would you please have one of your washerwomen teach you a few comprehensible words of Italian - three years residence, Fletcher! Good god - now, take care of those flowers - put them in my principal bedroom where only I may admire them

F: Yes, my Lord

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B sits, smokes and twirls his quill

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B(to self): Tricky - damned tricky - juggling an awful lot at the moment - hmm - shall have to pension off my Nine Muses - dash it! “ my system is terrible" sayeth the castrato Chevalier Mengaldo! - an excellent swimmer but what a hypocrite! - would keep a well-stocked casino too if he could afford it  - NO! - I am in love and must shut up shop!

T: Buongiorno milord

B: Ah Tita! - have you a note for me?

T: I have two milord - I found this one (holds up slightly soggy note) -  just thrown into our gondola, along with these little pansies

B(opens both): Two? - yikes - and oons! Grazie, Tita (sighs) I fear nothing can detangle my current dilemma - not your gentle ministrations, nor yet a gallon of neat French brandies

T: Scuse, milord - er - Miss Fanny said ‘the G' - I know not who that is - requires an immediate answer

B: Does she by God!? (remembers he is in love with ‘the G' ) - of course - wait there

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B dashes off a passionate declaration of love and promises of lifestyle changes

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B: Thank you, Tita 

T: Milord (bows, departs)

B: That does it!- bien sûr, t'is to Romagna I go (shrugs) - but I can't leave my Adriatic nymph dangling out her balcony in this weather - I shall pay a visit in propriâ personâ and put our chaste liaison to rest (growls) - forever!

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Scene 2

 

​​A red-hot Conversazione at Contessa Benzone’s 

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CB: Milord Byron - you are not leaving already? - there is no moon out tonight - you per caso could meet with an accident on our slimy old stones and scatter your innards like confetti!

B: I fear I must - I have a rather labyrinthine rendezvous to keep (kisses CB's hand and is lunged at voluptuously) - non, Contessa - grazie (ponders momentarily on the number of Contessas he has in hand)

CB: The best of luck - milord - with both your ragazze (smirks)

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B and T row down the Grand Canal until they reach Angelina's palazzo

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T: Your dama's window is grated milord - shall I get the bolt-cutters?

B(laughs): Fenced with iron within and without - to let the lover in, or the lady out! - mind not, Tita - I have the skill of a harlequin re. jumping and balancing - just give me a lift up and return for me in - yea, two? - nay - four hours hence

T: Si, milord 

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T hands B onto balcony ledge - B slips and falls into canal

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B: Merde! - row on Tita - I shall help myself from here 

T: Milord - you are soaked and will bring on a tertian! (watches B draping himself across balcony) - ah! you are like Arlecchino indeed! (laughs) - an inglese sea-urchin! Take care with that maiden - and her Papa - milord (T gently rows off into the moonless night) 

B(barks through grate): Angelina - hurry - the husk of my immortal kernel is shivering!

A(whispers): Wait until my candle goes out - that's the sign Papa has gone to his casino - ah! mio amore - you are quivering!

B: Aye, my blood is chilling and my sides are shaking, Angelina! I flounced like a carp into the canal - and I am drenched! 

A: I too am drenched with love - but we shall have to wait, mio Byron!

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B waits, perched and dripping like a Triton, on the balcony for a good two hours

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A(opens window): At last Byron - Papa is gone - dio! your drapery is dribbling - I shall fetch fresh towels and, er? - ah, flannel pyjamas? - if you would not object to donning the nocturnal attire of our more prosperous farmers

B: Mio piccolo amica - I imagine towels will do (kisses A's fairy hand) 

A: Take care! - our neighbour, the Countess Vorsperg, has been knocking spy holes through our adjoining walls all week - we must whisper - Mama is asleep 

B: What of the servants?

A: As always, the common people are on the side of love!

B(sneezes): Finally Angelina - we are alone - thanks be to all the stars and saints and heavens etc. above!

A: Si - no Byron! - there shall be no kissing until you divorce your English wife

B: It can not be done, amore mio! (muses) - perchance in Scotland? - yet that would entail my return, I'd barely escape with my hair - never mind my life - no! - my Angelina, capisci? - in England the only divorce obtainable is for female infidelity

A: And pray, how do you know what she - tua moglie - may have been doing these last three years?

B(splutters at the notion): I could not tell - the status of Cuckoldom is not quite so flourishing in Great Britain as with us Venetians - mio Angelina, from mia moglie, I never received even one bouquet!

A: Quanto è ridicolo! - can't you get rid of her some other way?

B: Not more than I've done already (laughs) - what? (shrugs) - would you have me poison her? 

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A smiles sweetly - and says nothing - B is aghast 

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Scene 3

 

​B returns to the Palazzo

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B: Fletcher!! - my fur-trimmed pelisse and pipe if you would

F(is in a state): Notes from the Contessa G. have been spewing in all night my Lord - Fanny and Tita are occupying all the best bedrooms - that monstris monkey hath scratched my face - where have ye been so late into the night?

B: Enough Fletcher! - I have had travails of my own (sits and stirs fire) Fletcher? - at any point in your liaisons - have whomsoever of your washerwomen asked you to poison the others?

F(shrugs): Aye - they poison each other all the time

B: Zounds! - such a true and odd national trait, for the passions of a sunny soil are paramount to all other considerations (sneezes) - Fletcher - fetch me a hot port, and a quart of Canary wine

F: Yes, my Lord

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La Fornarina hauls a gaggle of irate petitioners into B's grand salon

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Papa: It is the Lord Byron - is it not? Please dress yourself with decorum, Sir - I am Angelina père!

B: Fletcher

F: Aye, I'll fetch the Mantons (regards A's savage père) - and offer up another prayer (sighs, and scowls)

Papa: My neighbour, the Countess Vorsperg here, tells me you paid a visit to my unspotted daughter this evening!

V: You forgot ze spy hole in ze  pyjama closet, ze Englischer Lord

B(is outraged): Outrageous! In England we do not spy for scandalous extra-maritals - we gossip and rumour-monger with skill and speed (shakes head at intruders) for shame! - and you, her Parish Priest - 'tis you I blame

PP: Milord - you must understand that in Italy, an unmarried girl naturally wishes to be married 

Papa(is distraught): Bread and water - prayers and pleadings - did not appease my determined daughter

V: If she can marry and love at the same time, that is an excellent plan - at any rate she must love - but not love a married  English man

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B calms and paces

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B: I respect your earnest petitions - moreover, upon my honour as an acknowledged keeper of Nine Muses - I left her as sweet-tempered and quiet a being as I found her - and wish Angelina nothing so much as marriage to respectable seventy-year-old Grand Seigneur

Papa: Very well - shall we part as gentlemen?

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All shake hands - the Countess slips a note into B's hand - La Fornarina throws the visitors downstairs

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F and B look astoundedly at each other 

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B: By the beard of my Father! - the unctuous irony of it, my faithful yeoman! Never a husband or brother - yea, father confessor, or man-at-law - of any of my 2000 unlawful loves - and who could, in truth, claim justification - have ever harassed my door

F(bravely faces B): 'Twas a close-run thing this time my Lord, the Mantons were powdered and primed!! (weeps) If I may sue, my Lord - though you are in the early stages of a tertian - though your heart be still as loving - though you are not yet weary of this Adriatic excursion - (throws note from Countess V into fire) - fly to your Contessa G in Romagna - and, pray, my Lord - please go no more a-roving 

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B and his monkey are snoring erratically by the fire - F covers him with a plaid shawl and starts packing for Ravenna - vestments, menagerie, and cellar entire

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END

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