The story is enacted in England during Queen Anne's reign.

First sung at Vienna Court Opera, November 25, 1847.

Composer: Friedrich Freiherr von Flotow.

Author: W. Friedrich (F.W. Riese).

ACT I

One morning during fair time in Richmond the Lady Harriet, maid of honour to her Majesty Queen Anne, was sitting in her boudoir at her toilet table. She and all her maids and women friends who were attending at her toilet were bored to death.

"Did any one ever know such a stupid, dismal life as we are leading?"

they declared. "In heaven's name, why doesn't some one think of something to do that will vary the monotony of this routine existence?

We rise in the morning, make a toilet, go to her Majesty, make a toilet, breakfast, read to her Majesty, make a toilet, dine, walk with her Majesty, sup, unmake a toilet and go to bed! Of all the awful existences I really believe ours has become the most so."

"It is as you say, but we cannot improve matters by groaning about it.

Lady Harriet, Sir Tristram has sent you some flowers," Nancy, Lady Harriet's favourite, cried, handing them to her ladyship.

"Well, do you call that something new? because I don't! Why doesn't the cook send me some flowers--or maybe the hostler--somebody, something new? Take them out of my sight--and Sir Tristram with them, in case he appears."

"Look at these diamonds: they sparkle like morning showers on the flowers. The sight of them is enough to please any one!"

"It is not enough to please me," Lady Harriet declared petulantly, determined to be pleased with nothing.

"Who is that? There is some one who wishes an audience with me! I'll see no one."

"Ah," a man's voice announced from the curtains, "but I have come to tell you of something new, Lady Harriet!"

"You? Sir Tristram? Is there anything new under the sun? If you really have something to suggest that is worth hearing, you may come in."

"Listen, ladies! and tell me if I haven't conceived a clever thought.

The fair is on at Richmond----"

"Well--it is always on, isn't it?"

"Oh, no, ladies. Only once a year--this is the time. There is a fair and there are c.o.c.k-fights----"

"Ah--that sounds rather thrilling."

"And donkeys----"

"Oh, there are always donkeys--always!" the ladies cried, looking hopelessly at poor Sir Tristram.

"I mean _real_ donkeys," the poor man explained patiently.

"So do we mean _real_ donkeys," they sighed.

"And there are the races--and--well, if you will come I am certain there are several new attractions. Let me take you, Lady Harriet, and I promise to make you forget your _ennui_ for once. c.o.c.k-fights and----"

"Donkeys," she sighed, rising. "Very well, one might as well die of donkeys and c.o.c.k-fights as of nothing at all. It is too hot, open the window----"

"I fly."

"Oh, heavens! now it is too cold--shut it----"

"I fly," the unhappy Sir Tristram replied.

"Give me my fan----"

"I fly." He flies.

"O lord, I don't want it----"

"I fl--oh!" he sighed and sank into a chair, exhausted.

[Music:

Come away, Maidens gay, To the fair All repair, Let us go, Let us show Willing hearts, Fair deserts!]

"What is that?" Harriet asked impatiently, as she heard this gay chorus sung just outside her windows.

"A gay measure: the girls and lads going to the fair," Nancy replied.

"Servant girls and stable boys--bah!"

"Yes--shocking! Who would give them a thought?" Sir Tristram rashly remarked.

"Why, I don't know! after all, they sound very gay indeed. You haven't very good taste, Sir Tristram, I declare." And at this the poor old fop should have seen that she would contradict anything that he said.

"Oh, I remember now! Fair day is the day when all the pretty girls dress in their best and go to the fair to seek for places, to get situations. They hire themselves out for a certain length of time!--till next year, I think. Meantime they dance in their best dresses and have a very gay day of it."

"That sounds to me rather attractive," Lady Harriet remarked thoughtfully.

"A foolish fancy, your ladyship," the unfortunate Sir Tristram put in.

"Now I am resolved to go! Get me that bodice I wore at the fancy dress ball, Nancy. We shall all go--I shall be Martha,--Nancy, and old Rob."

"And--and who may be 'old Rob,' your ladyship?" Sir Tristram asked, feeling much pained at this frivolity.

"Why, you, to be sure. Come! No mumps! No dumps! We are off!"

"Oh, this is too much."

"What, Sir Tristram, is that the extent of your love for me?"

"No, no--I shall do as you wish--but," the poor old chap sighed heavily.

"To be sure you will--so now, Nancy, teach old Rob how the yokels dance, and we'll be off."