CAST

Lord Byron

Lord Sligo

Nicolo Giraud

A Band of Mainnotes

The Academy

sundry servants, medics,

dragomen etc.

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​​​Scene 1

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Byron's Franciscan monastery, Athens, 1810 - Lord Sligo calls

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S: Hullo the house! - holy fires - the dining room is massacred! Byron, have you no washerwomen?

B: Dio benedetto, Sligo (yawns) - this? (scans room) - oh, last eve I hosted an Attic feast (rummages for leftovers) which went off with great eclât - the Waywode and the Mufti of Thebes supped and made themselves beastly with raw rum and questionable brandies

S: And where is the Padre Abbate of this convent, that most ungodly of dandies? 

B: Pfft! - he was as drunk as we! (scowls & prowls) Sink me Sligo, if Athens is not presently infested with the English! Had a devil of a time dissuading some dull fellows from joining our repast - produced the Mufti to testify that the clap is contagious via unpeeled grapes and communion wine - oons! (snickers) - weren't they aghast!

S: Nincoms! (sighs) I too noticed a preponderance of the marble-hunting roundheads - hence, I shall be leaving for Constantinople presently - pray, would you care to join me and my crew of purloined cabin-boys?

B: You have been sailing so long, Sligo - you are quite the tarpaulin! (scoffs) I shall decline, this time, for I have some idea of purchasing the Island of Ithaca and auditioning a harem - what think you of that for a paradise of joys?!

​S: Admirable - perhaps you shall be greeted by one of the seven Pleiades

B: Nay - I hear they are wintering in the Cyclades 

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A loud clank is heard on the stairs

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B: Nicolo? what in the name of Lucifer are you dragging?

N: Milord - I have packed your tronchi che nuotano and cleaned your pistoles

B: My swimming trowsers? Packed? Why?

N: You have dimenticato, si? no - forgotten your tour, milord?

B(jumps up): Ah yes! - och, my head! (sits down) - forget Ithaca and my harem, Sligo! - perhaps you shall join me - for I have a touring expedition planned with the French Consul, an Italian painter, a Teutonic Count, and sundry artistic types - we will eat well, drink skinfuls of  Zean wine, and go a-duck-hunting for sport

S: A caravan of culture! an Academy, of a sort

B: An Academy? (is inspired) certes, I shall take Plato's part - e'en though I despise his system, in truth - Nicolo? am I in possession of a toga? (silence) - tsk! Fletcher better knew my habiliments, forsooth (grinds teeth) - at any rate, I believe we are to leave Athens to set off for the wilds of Cape Colonna in great force 

N: La tua memoria è pessima, milord!

B: Prepara il mio olio di macassar - e vai!! shoo!

S(snarkily): The Italian is coming along splendidly, Byron - your man Nicolo is quite the preceptor

B: Pfft - damned if I had a choice between pantomime or silence! Besides, that timber-headed Fletcher - who bent my ears sighing for ale, and idleness, and a wife - has returned home to Newstead - and - I don't miss him at all! (attempts to tie cravat) Viscillie and Dervise are admirable waiters (are in a drunken heap under the table) - and Nicolo here is my Dragoman, Major Domo, and waxer of my gaiters

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N beams proudly

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S: You are well set up domestically Byron - but beware! - I suspect you will soon feel the want of another Englishman - any news, or a tattered newspaper from Grub Street, will be a very grateful present 'ere long (starts) - oh!! incidentally, don't mention my cabin boys to our acquaintance or the Mufti or my Mother!! (B sneers) - but for now, anon - enjoy your tour of bandit country and breezes coastal - I pray your Academicians are not teetotal

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The friends part - B scowls at the disturbing notion

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​​​Scene 2

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The Academy - Messrs. Cockerell, Graham, Lusieri, Baron Haller, and his Lordship - hit the road in an impressive caravan led by twenty-nine horses

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B: Cockerell, I must say I am much taken with your Skye terrier 

C: Fop? - aye, 'tis only great fortune he sits upon my saddle at all (Fop jumps to B's saddle) Two months ago, he tripped into a well, and a rescuing peasant - who had never seen anything like a Skye terrier before - took him for a fiend or a goblin, crossed himself with violent devotion and ran screaming to the parish priest

B: I well credit it - my stout ex-valet was oft mistaken for a debilitated bear 

G(gallops at speed): Gentlemen! I've been put on notice that we shall meet with pirates along our way to the Cape, for they dislike Englishmen and (yelps) torture them in their lair!

B: Pshaw! pay no heed, Graham - we are armed up to the oxters - besides, it is in the power of our British minister to protect the subjects of his Sovereign from foreign insult

C(incredulous): Brutality upon tourists will not be countenanced even by the Turks - hospitality is the Barbarian’s virtue!

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​The forward party is heard singing one of Byron's favourite songs, ‘The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington'

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C: Baron Haller should perhaps muffle the yodeling, we are nearing the bounty hunter's caves - hoy! Nicolo, race ahead and tell the Baron to keep his trap shut 

B: Digli di stare zitto - velocemente, Nicolo! (N, the light Greek, carols by) 

BH(flippantly returns): My Lord, ve are in a very advantageous position among zese columns and ruins - the roaming rascals are ignorant of our vast numbers of attendants, cooks, side arms, fusils, ataghans and votnot - ve shall not fear any plausible perils

B: How'n'ever, Baron - Nicolo and Lusieri (whispers) - snake down to the caves beneath the Minerva Sunias cliff and discreetly assess their degree of habitation - ye, at least, will not be mistaken for auctionable Englishmen

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N & L sprint quietly down to the infamous caves of Cape Colonna

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Scene 3

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N &L breathlessly report back to the Academicians

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N(flustered): Mio Padrone! - there are five and twenty savage Mainnotes in the caves - 'twould appear they lately had some brave Greek boatmen and sundry idle Turkish varlets as their prisoners

B: Dolce madre di Maria!! five and twenty?

N: They demanded of the Greeks who were the raucous Franks singing above their heads - and sent two of the oldest up the cliff - as listeners

L(hysterically): Oh, milord! One of these Greeks knew you upon hearing your singing voice - 'twas then they fled - covering their ears - shouting ‘ for freedom, let us rejoice!'

N: Sì sì! - as the Mainnotes were preparing to attack our convoy, the Turkish prisoners spied our Albanian security detail and - conjecturing there were others in the vicinity - were seized with a panic - and also escaped!

L: Then - then, dio!...

B: God's teeth - there's more?

L: Sì, there is - for an irked pirate then crept up the cliff in search of the Greeks - spied you, milord, mounted on a chestnut horse carrying a double-barrel shotgun - and also escaped!

B(pats horse):  John Johnson? aye, the Pacha of the Morea made me a present of this fine stallion..

C: Enough of that - is it only the Mainnotes left in the caves?

L: er (thinks) - sì, Mr. Cockerell and one large drunken sailor - oh, milord! - they plan selective kidnapping, auctioning your marbles and stripping yourselves right naked for the auction of slaves

B: Indeed? - such risqué audacity! (chuckles) Quite astounding fellows - however, we are all well armed - as are our attendants - are we not lads?! (weapons are foisted in a supposed warlike fashion)

C: Shall we run them through? 'Twould spare us listening to their impenetrable prattle

B: Hmm - though we are primed for resistance, I am inclined to think - as we have barely launched upon our holidays - we are rather better off without a battle

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B ponders and plans​

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​Scene 4

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The Byronic blood spurs an obtuse course of action

 

B: Comrades, wait for me by yon ancient Corinthian column upon which I've hacked my name - I shall descend to the caves in a harlequinish jiggle - for there have been but few grim situations in life out of which I have not been able to wriggle 

N: Dio!! - sarai massacrato, Milord! (weeps) - you will be slaughtered!

CH: Here, bring them some of ze brandy - laced with ze hemlock

L: Socrates’s Hemlock? (shrugs) - that don't poison people nowadays

N: Milord - they shall cut your hair (weeps hysterically) and slice you side-aways! 

B(snorts): I trust I shall go through the process with a creditable “sang froid” and not disgrace my line of cut-throat ancestors

N: Saints be praised!

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The party is alarmed by bullets and badly-aimed spears whizzing over their heads

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G: Go to it, Byron (helpfully pushes him off his saddle) - addio, we shall never forget you​

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B is gone for some time, the party are cowering and wrapping a marble toe fragment when a voice warbling ‘Ned of the Hills' is heard  - B emerges, merry and unmolested

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N: Milord! you are impervious to danger, si? (claps) - our eroe Magnifico!

B(nods in agreement): Grazie, Nicolo - gentlemen, follow me - pronto (they remain) - trust Byron, my friends, you are perfectly safe 

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The Academy descends to find the five and twenty Mainnotes quietly and delightedly reading

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G: By the foot of the Pharoh! I can scare credit it - they've laid down their weapons to read?!

B(laughs): A phenomenon of the criminal classes indeed! It happens that my sublime English Bards is in great demand on pirate ships, esp. during the doldrums - lacerating the English as it does - I autographed their volume, recited the least flattering passages - and saved our hides from these divers angry people with their mustachios so flaxen (frowns & glares) - whom it is proper we should ordinarily shoot at, by way of Ultramontane satisfaction

N & L: Praise paradiso! 'tis miracolo!

B: Grazie, Nicolo - as the fates would have it - and despite kidnapping/ slave trading to supplement their crustaceanal shortfalls - the pirates too are hiding from the current swarm of Englishmen, most of whom fetch very low cash money in the slave markets, as they habitually disgrace themselves on the most precious of Mainnote carpets

L: 'Tis too true - you must zip it, Mr. Cockerell!! Assume a slovenly continental aspect else your survival cannot be guaranteed - oh, and hide Fop - they have a partiality to limb of dog 

C: pfft! - you could scarcely get one chop out of Fop! (is irritated) - if they despise the English, Byron, why did they not brand you with a slave's iron?

B: The saucy pups believe me to be a Scot - I dinna ken wha (shrugs, unconvincingly)

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​The pirates clean up the cave and prepare to dance for the great Scottish poet's friends

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Mainnote: Wine and figs, friends of milord Scozzese? - please, come rest on this most comfortable divan and be entertained as we dance maniacally and fire our shotguns randomly

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A pitiful squeal is heard from the divan

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S: Get off me, you Levantine lunatics! (starts) - good god, Byron?!

All: Lord Sligo!! (all are doubled in mirth)

S: Help me - help me! - I was captured - given up - sold, in truth - by my cabin boys to these murderous scoundrels! What will mother say? (weeps) The Mufti will have me greased and put in a harem by break of day! (weeps some more)

Mainnotes(tunefully): We smelled the blubber of an Englishman!

B(suppresses hysteria): And what of your barque?

S: What of it indeed! I had a brig with 50 men who wouldn't work, 12 guns that refused to go off, and sails that cut every wind except a contrary one! Worse, by God! - the odious scamps stole my 12 cases of champagne and cherry brandy (B chokes) - sold them off to another party of English tourists - whom, not to gainsay (recovers his dignity) my savage captors! - are headed this a-way!

Mainnote: Inglesi?? This-a-way? Men! - to arms, harpoons and trails of pork pies leading down to the cave, pronto - don't skulk! The Mufti is low on eunuchs and will purchase them in bulk!

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The dashing pirates go about their business 

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B(sighs): Heigh ho, Sligo! - what with the imminent arrival of yet more Angles - how deeply I regret abandoning my dream of Ithaca and purchasing a harem! (whispers) Could you arrange a maritime escape - or are you a fugitive of the high seas? (tears, without disarranging, his hair) - Fie on't! - our trogloditic Academy has become scarcely more thrilling than Lady Charlemont's afternoon teas

S: There may be a way (ponders) - as I was being rolled into the cave, I spotted a pretty little skiff owned by these same rascals, which I'm sure they won't miss (rummages, with difficulty) - as I have in the pocket of my nankeens, somewhat smartly - ouch! - as you can see, the complete works of Robert Burns, to distract them whilst we flee (places book next to shotguns)

B: To Ithaca! (steals a sack of wine, rescues Fop the terrier from a casserole pot) - and addio to the Academy, ye oddments of warring nations

N: Wait for me milord - you have not yet perfected your conjugations! (N scampers after B)

 

The remaining Academicians commence an Attic feast of their own - Baron Haller decapitates a large chicken with a Highland Broadsword, a drunken Lusieri is eating the pork pie trail and Cockerell, gamely attempting a Scottish burr, recites Burns to the admiration and delight of the well-read, savage Mainnotes

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END

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