THE
CASTLE OF ANDALUSIA;
A COMIC OPERA,
IN THREE ACTS;

By JOHN O'KEEFFE, Esq.

AS PERFORMED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.

PRINTED UNDER THE AUTHORITY OF THE MANAGERS
FROM THE PROMPT BOOK.

WITH REMARKS
BY MRS. INCHBALD.

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.

Edinburgh:
Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.

REMARKS.

A reader must be acquainted with O'Keeffe on the stage to admire him in the closet. Yet he is entitled to more praise, in being the original author of a certain species of drama, made up of whim and frolic than numberless retailers of wit and sentiment with whom that class of readers are charmed, who are not in the habit of detecting plagiarism.

From Operas, since the Beggar's Opera, little has been required by the town except music and broad humour. The first delights the elegant, the second the inelegant part of an audience; by which means all parties are gratified.

Had O'Keeffe written less, his reputation would have stood higher with the public; and so would that of many an author beside himself: but when a man makes writing his only profession—industry, and prudent forecast for the morrow, will often stimulate him to produce, with heavy heart, that composition which his own judgment condemns. Yet is he compelled to bear the critic's censure, as one whom vanity has incited to send forth crude thoughts with his entire good will, and perfect security as to the high value they will have with the world.

Let it be known to the world, that more than half the authors who come before them thus apparently bold and self-approved, are perhaps sinking under the shame of their puerile works, and discerning in them more faults, from closer attention and laudable timidity, than the most severe of their censurers can point out.

These observations might be some apology for this Opera, if it required any. But it has pleased so well in representation, that its deserts as an exhibition are acknowledged; and if in reading there should appear something of too much intricacy in the plot, or of improbability in the events, the author must be supposed to have seen those faults himself; though want of time, or, most likely, greater reliance upon the power of music than upon his own labour, impelled him gladly to spare the one, in reverence to the other.

The songs have great comic effect on the stage; particularly those by some of the male characters: and the mistakes which arise from the impositions of Spado are highly risible.

As the reader, to form a just judgment on "The Castle of Andalusia," should see it acted; so the auditor, to be equally just, must read it.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

SCENE,—Spain.

THE CASTLE OF ANDALUSIA.

ACT THE FIRST.

SCENE I.

A Cavern with winding Stairs, and recesses cut in the Rock; a large Lamp hanging in the Centre; a Table, Wine, Fruits, &c. in disorder.—At the Head Don Cæsar; on each Side Spado, Sanguino, Rapino, and others of the Banditti.

AIR I. AND CHORUS.

Don Cæsar. Here we sons of freedom dwell,

In our friendly, rock-hewn cell;

Pleasure's dictates we obey,

Nature points us out the way,

Ever social, great and free,

Valour guards our liberty.

AIR.

Don Cæsar. Of severe and partial laws,

Venal judges, Alguazils;

Dreary dungeons' iron jaws,

Oar and gibbet—whips or wheels,

Let's never think

While thus me drink

Sweet Muscadine!

O life divine!

Chorus.—Here we sons of freedom dwell, &c.

Don Cæsar. Come, cavaliers, our carbines are loaded, our hearts are light: charge your glasses, Bacchus gives the word, and a volley makes us immortal as the rosy god.—Fire!

Spado. Ay, captain, this is noble firing—Oh, I love a volley of grape-shot.—Are we to have any sky-light in our cave?

[Looking at Sanguino's Glass.

Don Cæsar. Oh, no! a brimmer round.—Come, a good booty to us to-night.

[All drink.

Spado. Booty! Oh, I love to rob a fat priest.—Stand, says I, and then I knock him down.

Sang. My nose bleeds. [Looks at his Handkerchief.] I wonder what colour is a coward's blood?

Spado. Don't you see it's red?

Sang. Ha! call me coward, [Rises in fury.] sirrah? Captain! cavaliers!—But this scar on my forehead contradicts the miscreant.

Spado. Scar on your forehead!—Ay, you will look behind you, when you run away.

Sang. I'll stab the villain—[Draws Stilletto.]—I will, by Heaven.

Don Cæsar. Pho, Sanguino! you know when a jest offers, Spado regards neither time, place, nor person.

All. [Interposing.] Don't hurt little Spado.

Spado. [Hiding behind.] No, don't hurt little Spado.

Sang. Run away! Armies have confessed my valour: the time has been—but no matter.

[Sits.

Don Cæsar. Come, away with reflection on the past, or care for the future; the present is the golden moment of possession.—Let us enjoy it.

All. Ay, ay, let us enjoy it.

Don Cæsar. You know, cavaliers, when I entered into this noble fraternity, I boasted only of a little courage sharpened by necessity, the result of my youthful follies, a father's severity, and the malice of a good-natured dame.

Spado. Captain, here's a speedy walk-off to old women.

All. [Drink] Ha! ha! ha! ha!

Don Cæsar. When you did me the honour to elect me your captain, two conditions I stipulated:——Though at war with the world abroad, unity and social mirth should preside over our little commonwealth at home.

Spado. Yes, but Sanguino's for no head—he'll have ours a commonwealth of fists and elbows.

Don Cæsar. The other, unless to preserve your own lives, never commit a murder.

Spado. I murdered since that——a bishop's coach-horse.

All. Ha! ha! ha!

Don Cæsar. Hand me that red wine.

AIR II.—DON CÆSAR.

Flow, thou regal purple stream,

Tinctur'd by the solar beam,

In my goblet sparkling rise,

Cheer my heart and glad my eyes.

My brain ascend on fancy's wing,

'Noint me, wine, a jovial king.

While I live, I'll lave my clay,

When I'm dead and gone away,

Let my thirsty subjects say,

A month he reign'd, but that was May.

[Thunder.]

Don Cæsar. Hark, how distinct we hear the thunder through this vast body of earth and rock.—Rapino, is Calvette above, upon his post?

Rap. Yes.

Don Cæsar. Spado, 'tis your business to relieve the centinel.

Spado. Relieve! what's the matter with him?

Don Cæsar. Come, come, no jesting with duty—'tis your watch.

Spado. Let the wolves watch for me—my duty is to get supper ready.—[Thunder.]—Go up! Od's fire, do you think I'm a Salamander?—D'ye hear?

Sang. No sport, I fear.

Don Cæsar. Then call Calvette, lock down the trap-door, and get us some more wine from the cistern.

Spado. Wine! Ay, captain; and this being a night of peace, we'll have a dish of olives.

Sang. No, peace! we'll up and scour the forest presently. But well thought on; a rich old fellow, one Don Scipio, has lately come to reside in the castle on the skirts of the forest—what say you to plunder there?

Don Cæsar. Not to-night—I know my time—I have my reasons—I shall give command on that business. But where's the stranger we brought in at our last excursion?

Rap. He reposes in yonder recess.

Spado. Ay, egad, there he lies, with a face as innocent—[Aside.]—If my fellow-rooks would but fly off, I'd have the pigeon here within all to myself.

Cal. [Appears at the Top of the winding Stairs, with a Lanthorn.] A booty.

Sang. Good news, cavaliers; here comes Calvette.

Cal. A booty!

Sang. What! where?

Cal. Soft—but one man!

Sang. But one man! Is he alone?

Cal. Quite.

Spado. One man, and alone—that's odd!

Cal. He seems in years, but his habit, as well as I could distinguish, speaks him noble.

[Descends.

Don Cæsar. Then he'll fight.—My arms!

Spado. Oh, he'll fight—get my arms; no, my legs will do for me.

[Aside.

Sang. Come, my carbine—quick!

Don Cæsar. To the attack of one man—paltry! Only you, Calvette, Sanguino, Rapino, and Spado go; the rest prepare for our general excursion.

Spado. Captain, don't send me; indeed I'm too rash!

Don Cæsar. Come, come, leave buffoonery, and to your duty.

[Calvette and Rapino ascend; the rest go in at several Recesses; Spado, the last, ascends up slowly.

Enter Don Alphonso.

Don Alph. I find myself somewhat refreshed by my slumber; at such a time to fall into the hands of these ruffians, how unlucky! I'm pent up here; my rival, Fernando, once my friend, reaches Don Scipio's castle, weds my charming Victoria, and I lose her for ever; but if I could secure an interview, love should plead my cause.

AIR III.—DON ALPHONSO.

The hardy sailor braves the ocean,

Fearless of the roaring wind;

Yet his heart, with soft emotion,

Throbs to leave his love behind.

To dread of foreign foes a stranger,

Tho' the youth can dauntless roam,

Alarming fears paint every danger

In a rival, left at home.

Spado returns down the Stairs.

Spado. [Aside.] Now for some talk with our prisoner here—Stay, are they all out of ear-shot? How the poor bird sings in its cage! I know more of his affairs than he thinks of, by overhearing his conversation at the inn at Lorca.

Don Alph. How shall I escape from these rascals? Oh, here is one of the gentlemen. Pray, sir, may I take the liberty—

Spado. No liberty for you.—Yet upon certain conditions, indeed—give me your hand.

Don Alph. [Aside.] Impudent scoundrel!

Spado. Signor, I wish to serve you—and serve you I will; but I must know the channel, before I make for the coast; therefore, to examine you with the pious severity of an holy inquisitor, who the devil are you?

Don Alph. A pious adjuration truly!—[Aside.]—Sir, my name is Alphonso, and I am son of a banker at Madrid.

Spado. Banker! Oh! I thought he sung like a young goldfinch.

Don Alph. Perhaps, by trusting this fellow, I may make my escape.

[Aside.

Spado. I'll convince him I know his secrets, and then I hold his purse-strings.

Don Alph. You won't betray me?

Spado. Honour among thieves.

Don Alph. Then you must know, when your gang attacked me yesterday evening—

Spado. You were posting full gallop to Don Scipio's castle, on the confines of the forest here.

Don Alph. Hey! then perhaps you know my passion for—

Spado. Donna Victoria, his daughter.

Don Alph. Then you know that she's contracted—

Spado. To your friend Don Fernando de Zelva, who is now on his journey to the castle, and, to the destruction of your hopes, weds the lady on his arrival.

Don Alph. True, while I am pent up in this cursed cavern; but how you got my story, I——

Spado. No matter! I could let you out of this cursed cavern.

Don Alph. And will you?

Spado. Ah, our trap-door above requires a golden key.

Don Alph. Your comrades have not left me a piastre.

Spado. Will you give me an order on your father's bank for fifty pieces, and I'll let you out?

Don Alph. You shall have it.

Spado. A bargain. I'll secure your escape.

Enter Don Cæsar, behind.

Don Cæsar. How's this?

Spado. Zounds, the captain Ramirez! [Aside.]—Ay, you dog, I'll secure you for an escape! Do you think I'd set you at liberty without the captain's orders? Betray my trust for a bribe! What the devil do you take me for? [In a seeming rage.] Oh, captain, I did not see you.

Don Cæsar. What's the matter?

Spado. Nothing, only our prisoner here was mistaken in his man—that's all. Let you escape, indeed!

Don Alph. Here's a rascal!

Spado. Rascal! D'ye hear him? He has been abusing me this half hour, because I would not convey him out without your knowledge. Oh, what offers he did make me! but my integrity is proof against Gallions, Escurials, Perus, and Mexicos.

Don Cæsar. Begone instantly to your comrades. [Spado ascends.] Signor, no occasion to tamper with my companions; you shall owe your liberty to none but me. I'll convey you to the cottage of the vines, belonging to the peasant Philippo, not far from Don Scipio's castle; there you may rest in safety to-night, and—

Don Alph. Ah, captain! no rest for me.

Don Cæsar. Look ye, signor, I am a ruffian, perhaps worse, but venture to trust me.—A picklock may be used to get to a treasure—don't wish to know more of me than I now chuse to tell you; but, if your mistress loves you as well as you seem to love her, to-morrow night she's yours.

Don Alph. My good friend!

Don Cæsar. Now for Philippo—I don't suppose you wish to see any of our work above—ha! ha! ha!—Well, well, I was once a lover, but now—

AIR IV.—DON CÆSAR.

On by the spur of valour goaded,

Pistols primed, and carbines loaded,

Courage strikes on hearts of steel;

While each spark,

Through the dark

Gloom of night,

Lends a clear and cheering light,

Who a fear or doubt can feel?

Like serpents now, through thickets creeping,

Then on our prey, like lions, leaping!

Calvette to the onset leads us,

Let the wand'ring trav'ler dread us!

Struck with terror and amaze,

While our swords with lightning blaze.

[Thunder.

Thunder to our carbines roaring,

Bursting clouds in torrents pouring,

Each a free and roving blade,

Ours a free and roving trade,

To the onset let's away,

Valour calls, and we obey.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Forest.

A stormy Night.

Enter Don Fernando.

Don Fer. Pedrillo! [Calling.] What a dreadful night, and horrid place to be benighted! Pedrillo!—I fear I've lost my servant; but by the pace I rode since I left Ecceija, Don Scipio's castle can't be very far distant: this was to have been my wedding night, if I arrived there. Pedrillo! Pedrillo!

[Calling.

Ped. [Within] Sir!

Don Fer. Where are you, sirrah?

Ped. Quite astray, sir.

Don Fer. This way.

Enter Pedrillo, groping his way.

Ped. Any body's way, for I have lost my own.—Do you see me, sir?

Don Fer. No indeed, Pedrillo!

[Lightning.

Ped. You saw me then, sir. [Thunder.] Ah, this must frighten the mules, they'll break their bridles; I tied the poor beasts to a tree.

Don Fer. Well, we may find them in the morning, if they escape the banditti, which I am told infests this forest.

Ped. Banditti! [A shot without.] Ah! we are dead men.

Don Fer. Somebody in trouble!

Ped. No, somebody's troubles are over.

Don Fer. Draw and follow me, Pedrillo.

Ped. Lord, sir! ha'n't we troubles enough of our own?

Don Fer. Follow! Who can deny assistance to his fellow creature in distress?

[Draws.—Exit.

Ped. What fine creatures these gentlemen are!—But for me, I am a poor, mean, rascally servant—so I'll even take my chance with the mules.

AIR V.—PEDRILLO.

A master I have, and I am his man,

Galloping, dreary, dun,

And he'll get a wife as fast as he can,

With a haily, gaily, gambo raily,

Giggling, niggling,

Galloping galloway, draggle tail, dreary dun.

I saddled his steed so fine and so gay,

Galloping, dreary, dun,

I mounted my mule, and we rode away,

With our haily, &c.

We canter'd along until it grew dark,

Galloping, dreary, dun,

The nightingale sung instead of the lark,

With her, &c.

We met with a friar, and ask'd him our way,

Galloping, dreary, dun,

By the Lord, says the friar, you're both gone astray,

With your, &c.

Our journey, I fear, will do us no good,

Galloping, dreary, dun,

We wander alone, like the babes in the wood,

With our, &c.

My master is fighting, and I'll take a peep,

Galloping, dreary, dun,

But now I think better, I'd better go sleep,

With my, &c.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A thicker Part of the Forest.—Large Tree and Stone Cross.

Enter Don Scipio, attacked by Sanguino, Rapino, and Calvette.

Sang. Now, Rapino, lop off his sword-arm.

Don Scipio. Forbear! there's my purse, you rascals!

[Throws it down.

Sang. Fire!

Spado. [Peeping from the large Tree.] No, don't fire.

Sang. I am wounded—hew him to pieces.

[As Don Scipio is nearly overpowered,

Enter Don Fernando.

Don Fer. Ha! what murderous ruffians!

[Engages the Banditti, who precipitately disperse several ways.

Spado. Holloa! the forest is surrounded with inquisitors, alguazils, corrigidores, and holy fathers.

Don Scipio. Oh, I hav'n't fought so much these twenty years!

Spado. Eh, we have lost the field, cursed dark; though I think I could perceive but one man come to the relief of our old Don here.

Don Scipio. But where are you, signor? Approach, my brave deliverer.

Spado. So, here's a victory, and nobody to claim it! I think I'll go down and pick up the laurel. [Descends from the Tree.] I'll take the merit of this exploit, I may get something by it.

Don Scipio. I long to thank, embrace, worship this generous stranger, as my guardian angel.

Spado. [Aside.] I may pass for this angel in the dark—Villains! scoundrels! robbers! to attack an honest old gentleman on the king's highway!—but I made the dogs scamper!

[Vapouring about.

Don Scipio. Oh dear! this is my preserver!

Spado. Who's there! Oh, you are the worthy old gentleman I rescued from these rascal banditti.

Don Scipio. Noble, valiant stranger—I—

Spado. No thanks, signor; I have saved your life; and a good action rewards itself.

Don Scipio. A gallant fellow, 'faith—Eh, as well as I could distinguish in the dark, you looked much taller just now.

[Looking close at him.

Spado. When I was fighting? true, anger raises me—I always appear six foot in a passion: besides, my hat and plume added to my height.

Don Scipio. [By Accident treading on the Purse.] Hey, the rogues have run off without my purse too.

Spado. O, ho! [Aside.]—What, I have saved your purse, as well as your precious life! Well, of a poor fellow, I am the luckiest dog in all Spain.

Don Scipio. Poor! Good friend, accept this purse, as a small token of my gratitude.

Spado. Nay, dear sir!

Don Scipio. You shall take it.

Spado. Lord, I am so awkward at taking a purse.

[Takes it.

Don Scipio. Hey, if I could find my cane too;—I dropped it somewhere hereabouts, when I drew to defend myself.

[Looking about.

Spado. Zounds! I fancy here comes the real conqueror—no matter—I've got the spoils of the field.

[Aside—Chinks the Purse, and retires.

Don Scipio. Ah, my amber-headed cane!

[Still looking about.

Enter Don Fernando.

Don Fer. The villains!

Don Scipio. Ay, you made them fly like pigeons, my little game-cock!

Don Fer. Oh, I fancy this is the gentleman that was attacked. Not hurt, I hope, sir?

Don Scipio. No, I'm a tough old blade—Oh, gadso, well thought on—feel if there's a ring in the purse, it's a relic of my deceased lady, it's with some regret I ask you to return it.

Don Fer. Return what, sir?

Don Scipio. A ring you'll find in the purse.