Cast

Lord Byron

Pietro Gamba

Teresa Guiccioli

Fletcher

Mrs. Catherine Potter Stith

​George Bancroft

Lieutenant Bankhead

Commodore Jones

Master in Command Wolcott Chauncey

First Mate Sipowitz

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​D

​Scene 1

 

Montenero, 1822 - Byron and Teresa are on the balcony of the Villa Dupouy

 

B: Here, mio tesoro - hold the telescope just so (adjusts lens) - can you see the American squadron anchored in the bay?

T: Ah, sì!  how does the Buon Governo allow all those grandi cannoni to be pointed at Pisa? (grasps B's arm) - do they intend us all to slay?!

B(laughs): Why, 'tis the flagship of the American navy - the USS Constitution - commissioned by the Cincinnatus of the West himself, Mr. Washington! A symbol of freedom from the imperial British yoke - ah! liberation! - t'other is the ‘Ontario' - are they not a fine sight, not at all baroque - the barques of a virile nation!

T: Consider, Byron - if you rechristened your little schooner the ‘Mr. Washington', maybe the Capo della Polizia would let you sail her

B: I shan't rely on the kindness and civility of that Tuscan cur! (leads T inside) - now my love, great honour has been done me - I have an invitation from the American Commodore to venture on board (hesitates) - amore mio, as 'tis bad luck to have females in near proximity to any nautical vessel, I must venture solus, besides, those rope ladders are fiendish to wrestle

T: No females? Who scrubs the deck, who irons the mainsail?

B: On American ships? (shuffles) I couldn't say - but trust to Byron, my love - e'en one of the Byronic blood would spurn a common deck scrubber

T: Naturalmente, I trust the Byronic blood will out (eyes telescope) - here, a red rose (bites off thorns) for your frock coat - wear it, mi amore, and take notes on the divertente American vernacular for your lonesome, infelice land-lubber

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Pietro enters

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P(in a state): Milord - a man at the door says he is a delegation from the Americans (panics) - this seems exceptionally confrontational, even for you! Will we be thrown out of Tuscany? (waves sword) - sant'antonio! - the Gambas - on the road again!!

B: Get off the parquetry stairs, Pietro - you're hacking the woodgrain

P: But why are the Carabinieri in Pisa? (is running in circles, B smokes) - milord, the Americanii!! - you are their Capo - do you not remember?

B: You poltroon Pietro! - he is an American, and I am to visit their vessels in the bay (kisses T's hand) - addio, my love - for you I shall collect enough amusing American manglings of the English language to shame its ancient splendour 

T(is cagey): Do enjoy that freedom of converse the members of a free nation so enjoy (glares) - look for me - from the balcony, I shall wave you ‘ahoy' ​​​​​

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​D

​​Scene 2

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The tender nears the Constitution - shouts and cheers from the ordinary seamen - B clambers up the rope ladder with the skill of a harlequin

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CJ: Welcome aboard ‘Old Ironsides', my Lord (bows as best he can)

B: I am sensible to the honour you do me, Commodore (bows, properly)

CJ: It is as well, my Lord, for we are all big fans (B is intrigued by the nomenclature) - yessiree, how we enjoyed the young Spaniard's spaniel-eating contest - quite, quite true to life, although we would have to do with roasted ratters and marshmallows - not much of a mouthful to be had with those little fellows (hearty, unsqueamish laughs all round) - well, you are not only the greatest poet of England - but grandson of  Foulweather Jack - oh! the stories, my Lord, blood-curdling stories we have of that gallant sailor!

LB: Peace be to his ashes!

CJ: Our Lieutenant Bankhead here came up against him in the Battle of Grenada

B(bows): Just so? That damned d'Estaing injured him more deeply than all the females of an Amazonian Armada

LB: I own, 'twas hard won - however, he is legendary amongst the ladies on that shore, who gawped through telescopes despite the midday Grenadian sun (hesitates) - if you'll permit, my Lord - how they speak e'en yet of that devilishly handsome, dashing Vice-Admiral Byron

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B blushes, and bows

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​CJ: If I may introduce Mr. George Bancroft - a friend to many of the Literary Great this side of the pond

GB: With the exception - until now - of the greatest!

 

B's shyness at such extravagant praise is becoming uncomfortable

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GB: Ah - yes - just finished supping with the German, Goethe - big fan - fancies you to be homicidal

B: Perhaps I shall fire a cannon at Pisa, massacre all the inhabitants and burn every bible - would the great man fancy that, Mr. Bancroft?
GB: Darn tootin' he would!

CJ: Why, his Lordship is like ourselves, you see (slaps B's back) - and ain't above making a right wake-snakes sort of a spree!

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The sailors laugh admiringly at B - B wishes for a notepad and quill​​​

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GB: I reckon you shall take luncheon with us, my Lord?

B: I thank you - but yon Ontario has also extended an invitation this day, and I've been promised a rendition of ‘Auld Lang Syne' on the banjo

GB: Humph! - their commander, Wolcott Chauncey, thinks the sun comes up just to hear him crow

B: er? - ah, I must oblige as the constabulary is hot on my tail re. a recent skirmish involving skittish livestock, guns, swords, and whatnot - verily, my sojourn is under threat, unless the Duke of Tuscany can get me off  the hook

CJ: How marvelous! - 'tis like a report from the more feral parts of our country - small wonder our penitentiaries demand your poesy more frequently than the Good Book!

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The beautiful Mrs. Catherine Potter Stith steps forward - the reserved Englishman is impressed by the unaffected boldness of the American

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CPS: I hope you won't think me too forward - my Lord? I am unsure how to address a nobleman - for we have none in our own country

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B glances towards the balcony of the Villa Dupouy

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B (to self: oy! does Teresa actually know how to use that telescope?): Wh..

CPS: I'm Mrs. Potter Stith - wife of the Consul to Tunis 

B: I am most plea...

CPS: You are a favorite of all the folks back home, donchaknow - I feel sure you will not begrudge me this (removes Teresa's red rose buttonhole) when I return to Philadelphia, my friends will ask for some token that I have spoken with Lord Byron - England's finest beau!

B: Ah - er - of course you may(to self:  oons! - Teresa will certainly omicidio me) - why, I would rather wish for a nod from a beautiful American, than a snuff-box from an emperor (bows)

CPS (whispers to GB): Why, holy pumpkins! - he's so unpretending and natural - like a sensitive, gracefully bashful boy - a young Jove, hiding his thunderbolts

B: Commodore, my Lady - all on aboard - I thank you for your graceful reception - Mr. Bancroft, please visit tomorrow and I shall gladly sign whatever your choose - Mrs. Potter Sith - your rose must pass away and lose its bloom (CPS is all ears) - for you, I shall also send an autographed volume (CPS squeals) - which, one hopes, will be of lasting value to you, and any institution to which your heirs bequeath it and to which one may have to sell an internal organ to get a fleeting look at in years hence - addio, my friends!

All: So long, Byron!

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The tender arrives to transport B to the ‘Ontario' - upon departure, the Constitution becomes the epicenter of frenzied women begging for rose leaves - CPS beats them off with an oar

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​D

​​​​​​Scene 3

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USS Ontario delivers a somewhat more formal welcome - a 21-gun salute is fired, the yards are manned and three cheers are given in glorious union 

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WC: Attention - hup! Men! Present arms!

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Pipes are played and a silk ladder, festooned with laurel leaves, is lowered, an able seaman hoists B from the tender to the deck - Master in Command Wolcott Chauncey greets the poet

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WC: My Lord (bows to the ground) - we are honoured beyond all comprehension to have you on board

B: You are? well er... zounds!

WC: You are impressed by our rigging - I can tell - for the sea is in your blood - come - we have prepared a banquet for you, in the manner of outdoorsy American cooking

B: I fear in this heat, and the quite marked sea-swell - I shall set my capricious digestion in a flummox

WC: Not at all! Why - our feast of turkey, chitlins, spareribs, Wisconsin butter-basted burgers (B pales) - apple pie and cheese-in-a-bottle would settle any sea-dog's stomach

S: May I add, Commander Chauncey, we have a fresh consignment of Bourbon - ‘Mad Jack o'the Hills '- by name

WC: Excellent, Sipowitz! - surely, a man used to Irish whiskey (shudders) could not resist tasting our native brew - a hangover-free version of same

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B's interest is piqued - is led to a lavishly laid table and is placed at the head of the table

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​S: Men - sit! 

WC: Dig in!!

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B awaits some form of brutalist American cutlery - settles on a knife and fork

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WC: How did you find our turkey-meat, my Lord? Nothing like a plump Italian goose, I'd wager

B: Aye - 'tis surprisingly light and toothsome (thinks: must acquire a coop of my own)

WC: Our spare cuisine keeps us an alert nation - now, here is an American edition of your poems - perhaps you shall find the notes instructive - ‘Whilome' was at first perceived to be a curse or blasphemy (shakes head) and was cleaved

B: That may be the kindest review of same I've yet received 

WC: Bless your heart! (leans in, whispers) I can offer you a passage to America - if you are in need of it - for I hear there is some current controversy about your person

B: Do you refer to the affray with Sergeant-Major Masi?

CW: No, I was thinking more of the ‘Bowles' Stricture on the Life and Writings of Pope' scandal and your scalping of that “maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers” - land sakes! I haven't seen such precision this side of the Tallahatchie 

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B correctly presumes a compliment

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S: If I may, Lord Byron, I knew your admirable father in Philadelphia - a dang redcoat though he was

CW: Aye - Jack Byron - 'twas said, and holds true - if all the English honoured their uniforms as he did - the war would have been over much sooner

B(is all amazement): How so?

S: Did he not force himself into taverns and bawdy-houses to avoid shooting at any of us Americans, to be sure? (nods all around) Did not a generation follow in his wake, all named Jack Byron by their various mothers, in honour of that devilishly handsome Englishman's allure!

B(raises a glass, flush with questionable family pride): I have been ever a Wellwisher to your Country and Countrymen - in common with all unprejudiced minds - and admire immensely your freedom, won by firmness without excess - to America!
 

Cheers all round as the Commodore and crew commence chanting  ‘Hail, Columbia'

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D

​​Scene 4

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Next morning at the Villa Dupouy​

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B: Buongiorno, amore mio

T: Buongiorno - Byron - I trust you enjoyed the energia maschile aboard the American ship yesterday?

B(sneakily looks for telescope): Que? er, yes - 'twas most flattering - Fletcher!! Do I possess any dark blue cutaway with perchance brass buttons and frogging? I feel a debt of honour has accrued to paternal memory

F: Nowt, my lord - Mr. Edwards, your tailor in the Row, asserts that in Blue you carry the aspect of a policeman in penury

B(recalls CW's tuneful exclamations): Well, to botheration, tarnation and damnation to it! 

F: Mr. Bancroft, an American citizen, ventures to request the honour of waiting on Lord Byron, your lordship

B: Fletcher - I'm not paying you by the word - show Mr. Bancroft in

GB: Good day, my lord

B: Ah! Mr. Bancroft, how d’ye do - I've been fixin', yes? - to present gifts for both yourself and Mrs. Stith (rummages, finds books)

GB: Golly! A copy of Don Juan - with your autograph on its fly-leaf! I shall treasure it!

B: And for Mrs. Stith - ‘Outlines to Faust’ by Goethe - 'tis a side-splitter

​​​​GB(winces): To trouble you further, your Lordship - another American - a Mr. West - has requested to paint your portrait - despite your reputation as a lousy sitter

B: Hmmm - my cheeks are particularly rotund at this juncture - but as he is an American - very well!

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GB is suddenly aware of a numinous vision quietly reclining on the sopha

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GB: Oh - do pardon me! (is mesmerised by Teresa's rose-gold locks and superb teeth) - my, what an impressive telescope, Madam

T: Like our tower, it is the best of Pisan engineering, Mr. Bancroft (twirls instrument with intent) and it can see what the trusting eye of a woman can not (plucks a red rose) why, did I not spy some washerwomen fighting over his Lordship's rose on board your boat? Dio Buono! - 'twas my folly to believe female beings could not float (laughs, coldly)

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B gulps, pales and glares at GB 

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GB: er - as a young nation, Madam, we have rapidly thrown off the superstitions of the old (gathers hat and gifts from B) Ah! jeepers - the ship's bell has tolled! So long (bows ) my Lord, Madam (departs, hurriedly)

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T hands rose to B

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B: Grazie, my love - and for you, as much Yankee jargon as I could remember

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T inspects notes

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B: Oons! I feel quite respawned by the energy of the Americans - ah! the illustriousness of my gallant Sire's career! not that I ever doubted it - just wait 'til I tell Augusta! (slashes the air with a non-existent sword) - the Byronic blood - mio tesoro - you had faith did you not? - verily - 'twil out, 'twil out!!

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B twiddles with rose - is stung by its thorns and bleeds profusely

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B: Figlio di puttana!! ouch!! (shakes paw) - land sakes, Teresa! - you left the thorns on?! - you have purposely let my blood? - for what - an antiquated matron? - perchance, I shall take up the Commodore's offer of a voyage to the New World, and have a down-home cabin-woman scrub my boots with her apron!

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T raises eyebrow and telescope in an unmistakenly hostile manoeuvre

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T: If you'd followed your own advice - my devilishly troppo bello Englishman - and kept this female away from nautical equipment - I should never have known that you gave my rose to that speckled American sea-trout - however - today, you have done me the honour of telling the truth (smiles gently, with satisfaction, as B is in a near-faint on the sopha) - for I can see that the Byronic blood is most decisively out (bandages the tiny scratch)

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B intends a two to three-day sulk 

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T(laughs): Dio, mio Byron (checks notes and puckers up) - why don't you (checks notes again) - er? dio! - ‘gimme some sugar'

B(growls): That timber-headed Fletcher gave it away as payment to his hooker - oh! (laughs, thinks) er - dang it! - mio tesoro, that would ‘just about butter my biscuit the right side of a Sunday night' (is hysterical) - English? pfft! - go hang it!

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Teresa works on her note-book of American colloquialisms, which, after this day, is now quite stout - as for B, why, he is just plum-tuckered out​​​​​​

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END​​​​​