The Firefly (1937)


CREDITS
BACKGROUND
PLOT
REVIEWS
RECORDINGS
MUSIC IN THE FILM


MGM.
Released November 5, 1937.
Directed by Robert Z. Leonard.
Produced by Hunt Stromberg and Robert Z. Leonard.
131 minutes. (Previewed at 140 minutes)
Issued in “Sepia-Platinum.”

French title: L’Espionne de Castille (The Spy from Castile) [Ironic—Castile is never mentioned]
Czech title: Spanelská vyzvedacka (Spanish Investigator)
Dutch title: De Spionne van Castillie (The Spy from Castile)
Italian title: La Lucciola (The Firefly)
German title: Tarantella
Portuguese title: O Vagalume (The Firefly)

Screenplay: Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett. Adaptation: Ogden Nash. Music Director: Herbert Stothart. Editor: Robert J. Kern. Photography: Oliver Marsh. Gowns by Adrian. Assistant Director: Joseph M. Newman. Treatment: Claudine West and Alice Duer Miller. Montages: Slavko Vorkapich and Elmer Sheeley. Art Direction: Cedric Gibbons. Art Associates: Paul Groesse, Edwin B. Willis. Music Arranger in Mexico: Leonid Raab. Chorus Coach: Enrico Ricardi. Dances: Albertina Rasch. Sound: Douglas Shearer. Music Recording in Mexico: Mike McLaughlin. Technical Adviser: George Richelavie.

The stage version, with music by Rudolf Friml and book and lyrics by Otto A. Harbach, opened at the Empire Theatre in Syracuse on October 14, 1912, and at the Lyric Theatre in New York City on December 2, 1912. It starred Emma Trentini as Nina, with Craig Campbell, Melville Stewart, and Audrey Maple (who later worked with Jeanette in Sunny Days).

Jeanette MacDonald (Nina Maria Azara)
Allan Jones (Don Diego Manrique de Lara AKA Captain François André)
Warren William (Colonel De Rougemont)
Douglass Dumbrille (Marquis DeMelito)
Leonard Penn (Etienne)
Billy Gilbert (Innkeeper)
Belle Mitchell (Lola)
Tom Rutherfurd (King Ferdinand)
Henry Daniell (General Savary)
George Zucco (St. Clair, French Secret Service Chief)
Ien Wulf [Ian Wolfe] (Izquierdo, Minister)
Manuel Alvarez Maciste (Pedro, the coachman)
Robert Spindola (Juan, his son)
Zeni Vatori (Waiter in café)
Frank Puglia (Pablo)
John Picorri (Café proprietor)
James B. Carson (Smiling waiter)
Milton Watson (French officer)
Peter DuRey (Officer)
Maurice Black (Pigeon vendor)
Maurice Cass (Strawberry vendor)
Sam Appel (Fruit vendor)
Rolfe Sedan (Hat vendor)
Mabel Colcord (Vendor)
Inez Palange (Flower vendor)
Theodor von Eltz (Captain Pierlot)
Pedro de Cordoba (Spanish general)
Monya André (Civilian wife)
Frank Campeau (Beggar)
Stanley Price (Joseph Bonaparte)
Guy D’Ennery (Spanish general)
Robert Wilber (Dying soldier)
Sidney Bracy (Secretary)
Roy Harris [Riley Hill] (Lieutenant)
Eugene Borden (Captain)
Jean Perry (Major)
Corbett Morris (Duval)
Ralph Byrd (French lieutenant)
Eddie Phillips (Captain)
Bentley Hewlett (Major)
Paul Sutton (Spanish civilian)
Capt. Fernando Garcia (Napoleonic officer)
Karl Hackett (Spaniard)
Boyd Gilbert (Aide)
Russ Powell (Stablehand)
Lane Chandler (Captain of the Guards)
Agostino Borgato (Peasant)
Matthew Boulton (Duke of Wellington
Edward Keane (Colonel, Chief of Staff)
Victor Adams (Jail guard)
Harry Worth (Adjutant, Secret Service)
Lew Harvey (Officer)
Jason Robards Sr (Spanish patriot)
David Tihmar (Madrid café dancer)
Soledad Gonzales (Extra)
Robert Z. Leonard, Albertina Rasch (Extras in Bayonne café)
Dennis O’Keefe, Raphael [Ray] Bennett (Soldiers in Bayonne café)
Jac (Jacques) George (Orchestra leader, Bayonne)
Joe North, Colin Kenny, Brandon Hurst, Pat Somerset (English generals)
Donald Reed, William Crowell, Drew Demorest, Lester Dorr, Hooper Atchley, John Merton, Ramsay Hill, Anthony Pawley (French officers)
Frank Yaconelli, Harry Semels, Charles Townsend, Frederic MacKaye, Roger Drake, Jacques Lory, Alan Curtis (French soldiers)
Gabriel Munoz, Carlos Ruffino (Gypsies)
Pilar Arcos (Old gypsy woman)
St. Luke’s Choristers
St. Brendan’s Boys Choir
Our Lady of the Angels Choir

One of sixteen top-grossing films of 1937-1938.


Background

The Firefly was Jeanette MacDonald’s first solo starring picture for MGM. Director Robert Z. Leonard repeated the somewhat leisurely pacing that had made much of Maytime so lovely. The scenes build slowly and beautifully, establishing mood in an unhurried manner, somehow as Spanish as our heroine is supposed to be.

The stage plot of The Firefly, concerning a New York street singer who follows her millionaire sweetheart to Bermuda on his fiancée’s yacht, disguised as a cabin boy, was utterly abandoned. Much of the score was retained, stuck in at any and every opportunity. (Both The Firefly and Naughty Marietta scores had originally been written to order for the popular star Emma Trentini, and both plots explained her Italian accent.)

In the film Firefly, our heroine is a Spanish Mata Hari in the days of Napoleon. The early scenes in the café, the “Donkey Serenade” sequence, the moonlit night in the garden, and the debut at Bayonne are all masterful pieces of mood, texture, and atmosphere. We are glorying in this atmosphere when we realize that we have been sitting a terribly long time and almost nothing has happened.

As if to rectify this, the screen suddenly launches into the entire British campaign in Spain. Our hero and heroine must choose between love and patriotism, a dramatic situation that is dissipated by permitting the war to consume the last two reels of the film until the lovers can be tidily if illogically reunited at its conclusion. Jeanette as Nina Maria performs some modest bits of spy subterfuge, but then is required by the script to explain them so elaborately to her enemies (and the audience) that their effect is lost.

The Firefly was not the only MGM film in 1937 that got bogged down in historical pageantry. The studio always had a penchant for epics backed up by a good story: Ben HurThe Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Mutiny on the Bounty. The long-awaited The Good Earth, which Thalberg had been working on at his death, finally reached the screen that year, winning Luise Rainer her second Oscar. But other top MGM talents fared worse at the hands of history. Greta Garbo and Charles Boyer floundered in the leaden accuracies of a Napoleonic epic called Conquest, and Clark Gable and Myrna Loy graced the graceless biography Parnell. The film industry was becoming so convinced of its own importance that it was reverting to a genre of film not seen since the works of some of the “master directors” of the silent era—the kind of film in which historical characters pop on and off the screen with dazzling speed to emphasize the significance of the production.

The Firefly suffered from this elephantiasis of the spirit. As with so many films that miss, the blame descended by default on the shoulders of its hapless star. True, Miss MacDonald has one especially weak dance number toward the end of the film, and she performs the incredible dramatic climax with a fervor that made it even worse. A better script and a long session in the cutting room might have made The Firefly a really good movie if not a great one, for Jeanette had rarely looked lovelier or performed with more sparkle. Perhaps it was because she was engaged to be married when the picture was completed. Certainly photographer Oliver Marsh (brother of D.W. Griffith star Mae Marsh) also contributed with his genius for making women as beautiful as they ought to be.

Jeanette’s Don Diego is tenor Allan Jones, who had done the opera sequences with her in Rose Marie. His career had skyrocketed so fast that films like A Night at the Opera (in which he replaced the fourth Marx Brother, Zeppo, as romantic lead) were already in release before films in which he had near walk-ons. (Students of Hollywood incongruities treasure the moment in The Great Ziegfeld when singer Stanley Morner, later rechristened Dennis Morgan, opens his mouth to sing “A Pretty Girl is Like a Melody,” and Jones’s voice emerges.) In 1936 Jones got the plum role of Ravenal opposite Irene Dunne in Show Boat when MGM refused to lend Universal their first choice, Nelson Eddy. Jones had a nice tenor voice, a breezy manner, and he looked terrific in tight Spanish pants. He and Miss MacDonald played extremely well together and became good friends off screen.

The Firefly was issued entirely in sepia-platinum, printed on film stock that produced a rose-brown and white image on the screen. (This same process had been used for inserts in the first release prints of Maytime.) MGM was the last major studio to produce a Technicolor feature, and they probably hoped that this much less expensive process would save them the expense. However, the reduced contrast annoyed many, and, since it cost more than black and white, it soon died out. Sepia-Platinum was used in 1938 for another Jeanette/Nelson film, The Girl of the Golden West. Its best applications were for the Kansas sequences in The Wizard of Oz (1939) and for Cabin in the Sky, the 1943 all-black musical. Thereafter it was generally relegated to westerns.


Plot

The film opens with an elaborately loving treatment of King Ferdinand’s triumphal en­trance into Madrid. (He marches on “Spanish Street” and into “Verona Square,” sets built for the Shearer-Howard Romeo and Juliet and used for many years. “Spanish Street” was also used for Monterey in The Girl of the Golden West.) The people adore their young King, but the mood is somewhat dampened by the ominous presence of French troops.

At a conference, the crafty French General Savary (Henry Daniell) soothes the new Spanish king, Ferdinand (Tom Rutherfurd). He assures him the French troops are only occupying Spain to “protect” it from the English. Since all Napoleon wants is peace in Europe, a meeting between him and the king should take place as soon as possible. Watching the smirking French general and the ingenuous king is the steely-eyed Marquis DeMelito (Douglass Dumbrille, Jeanette’s tyrannical uncle in Naughty Marietta).

The festivities continue with dancing, feast­ing, and fireworks. In a nearby tavern, the star attraction is Nina Maria Azara, the “Mosca del Fuego” (a bizarre mistranslation of “firefly”). She is dazzling the customers, including many French officers. One of them, Etienne (Leonard Penn), is suspicious when Nina Maria (Jeanette) says she is too tired to see him after the show. He’ll kill anyone he finds with her, he warns. Since the Marquis DeMelito is picking her up, this is somewhat inconvenient.

She decides to make Etienne think her newest admirer is someone in the tavern. Singing “Love is Like a Firefly,” she spots a brash young Spaniard in the audience and flirts with him coyly from behind her fan. Don Diego (Allan Jones) responds joyously, singing “A Woman’s Kiss.” Nina Maria is delighted and, whirling about to the exciting melody, she obeys the lyrics by giving him a long kiss. Etienne is convinced of her faithlessness and Don Diego of her interest.

The Don pursues her to her dressing room, where she explains that she only kissed him to get rid of the French officer. Through the win­dow, Don Diego spots Etienne lurking outside. She hasn’t succeeded. “I think you’d better try again,” he says, getting in position for another kiss.

Nina Maria begs him not to fight Etienne, who is an expert marksman, and departs to meet the Marquis. Lola, her hawk-faced maid (Belle Mitchell), sees Nina Maria and Don Diego to the door. “Good night, Senorita. Goodbye, Senor!”

Nina Maria’s “date” with the Marquis turns out to be business. She is using her job to get information from the French. The Marquis orders her to go to Bayonne, a French city near the Spanish border, where the conference between Napoleon and Ferdinand is to take place. He suspects a trap. Nina Maria readily accepts the assignment, although two agents have already been caught. The Marquis is pleased as always with his employee—no moods, no entanglements. “I can’t imagine any man as exciting as this service to my country,” she replies.

The next morning, her mule-driven coach is winding its way along a dusty mountain trail. The driver’s small son (Robert Spindola) hops out to urge the mules up a hill by playing on his flageolet. He dances ahead, whistling a jaunty melody on his small pipe. Suddenly the driver (Manuel Alvarez Maciste) spots a lone horseman silhouetted against the ridge. Bandits!

With Nina Maria and Lola clinging to each other in the swaying coach, they take off at full gallop. The rider descends the perilous mountainside at even greater speed and finally catches up with the frightened party. (Allan Jones—for it is Don Diego—rode his own horse for this sequence.)

Don Diego has come to tell Nina Maria that he didn’t fight the duel. He overslept. Nina Maria is furious at the fright he gave them and orders the driver to continue. Don Diego trots alongside as an uninvited escort. She picked him to get rid of the French officer, Nina Maria tells Lola, but how does she get rid of him?

Don Diego offers to sing to entertain her on the journey, but she tells him she is going to sleep. The driver’s small son again plays his “mule song.” To the clip-clop of their hooves, Don Diego sings the now-classic “Donkey Serenade,” written especially for the film. The catchy rhythms and counter-rhythms rouse even Nina Maria from her pretended slumber.

At the inn in Vittoria, their first night’s stop, she thanks Don Diego for making the journey so pleasant and says goodbye. In her room she is contacted by an agent who tells her the King has already started for the conference at Bayonne. If, as they suspect, a trap has been arranged, she is to send word through a poultry seller in the Bayonne market place.

The quiet evening Nina Maria has planned is interrupted by the persistent Don Diego. In a beautiful mood piece, they dine together and stroll through the moonlit garden, redolent with jasmine. She stops at the stable to check on her driver and then starts back to the inn. Diego delays her, seating her on a straw-covered cart. In an amusing interlude, he tries to convince her they are riding in a Venetian gondola. As proof, he sings the lushly romantic “Giannina Mia.” Her reserve softens in the fervent warmth of the music.

Reluctantly, she confesses that she was moved by his song. At the spot, just before the high note, she was wondering—but she’d better not tell him. He insists. “Just before the high note, I was wondering—” “Yes?” “I was wondering if you were going to make it!” More honestly, she tells him that perhaps when she returns from Bayonne she won’t be so discouraging.

Bayonne is a dazzling triumph. In Miss MacDonald’s most exciting tour-de-force number since “San Francisco,” she thrills the French officers with “He Who Loves and Runs Away.” (Among the extras are director Robert Z. Leonard, choreographer Albertina Rasch, and future star Dennis O’Keefe.) Nina Maria has eyes only for a distinguished older man at a center table. As she sings, she happily fingers his brand new Colonel’s insignia. He is the one she wants.

Her flirtation is interrupted by the sudden entrance of Don Diego. Startled, she pulls herself together and responds to the military turn of the music by seizing the Colonel’s bicorn hat and cocking it fetchingly on her own head. She salutes him soldier-fashion, and then, as the officers’ voices take up the martial tattoo, she struts elegantly on the stage, the camera sweeping after her in a glorious moment of sight and sound.

As intended, Colonel De Rougemont (Warren William) attempts to retrieve his hat in the lady’s dressing room, but they are repeatedly interrupted by notes and flowers from the jealous Don Diego. However, the Colonel succeeds in making a luncheon date with Nina Maria—tête-à-tête. Nina Maria tells him she wants to hear all about Napoleon. “If you only knew how I felt about Napoleon,” she gushes.

The next morning, Nina Maria stops at the stall of a poultry vendor (Maurice Black) to buy two pigeons—carrier pigeons for notifying the waiting Marquis DeMelito. She and Lola then stroll on among the vendors until they spot Don Diego trying on hats. One looks so comical that Nina Maria laughingly forgives him and consents to a sightseeing tour. He points out the house where Don Diego spent a night of torture after Nina Maria rebuffed him. “Funny, I don’t see a tablet,” she scoffs. They walk on, buying flowers, strawberries, and chestnuts from various stalls. Finally, crossing a rustic drawbridge, they settle on a bank beside a mill pond. Here director Leonard attempts a series of folksy cameos of French country types that comes off as unbearably arch.

Diego tells Nina Maria he doesn’t want her to have lunch with Colonel De Rougemont. She smiles at his jealousy and assures him the Colonel is a very important man. Diego admires the locket she is wearing. She opens it to show him pictures of her mother and father. They are dead, she says, killed twenty years before when the French invaded Spain. He thinks that should make her very bitter toward the French. “Oh, no,” she replies unconvincingly.

They toss the last of their chestnuts to the ducks, and Diego pretends to feed his finger to one obstreperous drake. Soothing his “injured” hand, she sings “Sympathy.”

Their little love scene is interrupted by Napoleon himself, marching into Bayonne. Nina Maria leaps up to keep her lunch engagement. Diego begs her not to go, but she insists. As a pledge of her love, she leaves him the locket, then rushes off to her apartment to change.

A message is waiting there from the Colonel. He is leaving Bayonne for several days and cannot keep their date. Nina Maria guesses he is on his way to Vittoria, the halfway point in King Ferdinand’s journey. He will promise Ferdinand anything to get him on French soil, but what are his orders if the king refuses to come?

She dresses in her loveliest frock and arrives at the Colonel’s apartment as he is packing. Coyly she serenades him on the spinet while he dresses in the next room: “When a Maid Comes Knocking.” The crucial dispatch arrives. She snatches it, playfully scolding it for taking the Colonel from her. Then, flinging herself into his arms, she manages to read the message through the envelope by the light of the window. (Quite a trick!) “Order for Arrest” is the heading.

Very reluctantly, the Colonel rides off. Nina Maria returns to her rooms to send this news to the Marquis. But the pigeons are not the ones she bought. Someone has switched their birds for hers. If she had sent the message, the French would have evidence against her.

Who can help her? Lola urges her to go to Don Diego. He can ride to Vittoria with the message. Nina Maria hesitates. Perhaps he is the one who is doing all this. Instead, she returns to the market place and learns the poultry seller has been taken away by the police. There is no one else to turn to.

From his window, Don Diego sees her coming. The Chief of the French secret police (George Zucco, the eternal villain) is at his elbow. Diego must get Nina Maria to confess while the Chief and his men hide in the next room. Grimly, Diego admits Nina Maria.

She makes tensely casual small talk, then asks him to deliver a message to Vittoria. He agrees, and she jots it down on a piece of paper. The paper is snatched from her hand by the gleeful Chief. But the message is a request for dinner reservations several days hence. Diego is revealed to be Captain François André of the secret police, who has been pursuing Nina Maria for months. Just to be sure the audience has understood the subtleties of the double-cross, the characters are forced to explain it again, and then Nina Maria is ordered to leave the country.

At the border, Don Diego stops her carriage to return the locket. Just when some kind of dramatic conclusion is called for, a second story begins. We are treated to a Slavko Vorkapich montage showing the oppression of the Spanish by the French. Nina Maria and the Marquis watch Napoleon’s brother, Joseph Bonaparte (Stanley Price), make a triumphal entrance into Madrid as the new Spanish ruler. Nina Maria regrets that all this was caused by her failure, but the Marquis tells her she will have another chance. She is to drop out of sight for a while.

The montage continues with peasants marching under a cloudless sky, a sea of scythes, hoes, and rakes against the guns of the French. Amidst the billows of gunsmoke, the Union Jack appears. A few bars of “The British Grenadiers” and we see Wellington marching to save the day. Symbolically, his line of troops and the peasant militia move down separate forks of a road to join in one great mass; symbolically, they march, and in a double image we see great rocks, carved with the names of Spanish victories, explode.

In a brief camp sequence, the Marquis advises Wellington (Matthew Boulton) that they cannot continue until they hear from a very special spy who is now behind the French lines. The military drums dissolve into a thumping dance rhythm. A group of wild Spanish gypsy girls is entertaining the troops around a campfire. One of them is Nina Maria. The delightful raw tones of the gypsy players evolve into a full orchestration of Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Capriccio Espagñole.” In a weakly choreo­graphed number, Miss MacDonald whirls before the flames. The passing Colonel De Rougemont spots her.

On the Colonel’s orders, Nina Maria is brought to headquarters where she is “caught” with a map of the French lines. The intelligence officer on duty is, of course, Captain André, the former Diego. He translates the coded message, and Nina Maria is imprisoned to await execution. The map shows the positions of the French troops and asks for verification. In the same code, Captain André writes on the map that all is correct except that the French center is weak. The Colonel orders half of each flank to the center, then releases one of Nina Maria’s pigeons with the message attached to its leg. From the headquarters window, André watches the bird rise, circle, and fly off.

From her prison window, Nina Maria also watches the bird, but with strange exultation. André visits her cell, and, as the Spanish troops close in, Nina Maria again explains. Her job was to get caught with the message. The Spanish know that any message they receive will have been sent by the French. They will attack whichever area is designated as the strongest, knowing it will be the weakest. André runs off to be with his men, but is waylaid by some unconvincing smoke pot bombs. Nina Maria sees him fall. In a somewhat incongruous reprise of their love song, she thrusts her arms through the bars toward him, singing “Giannina Mia” with tears streaming down her face.

The rumble of explosions fades before the triumphal chorus of victory, and in another montage we see the French flag fall into the dust. The symbolic peasant of Spain rises up and casts off his shackles, backlit by a glorious sunrise. America was very concerned with the Spanish Civil War in 1937, and this was supposed to be stirring stuff, but it is hard to believe that much of the audience found it more than a cliché.

The Marquis enters Nina Maria’s cell as the battle concludes. The cheers outside are for her, he says. She goes immediately to the open air hospitals, seeking her Don Diego. She finds him, bandaged and delirious, and sinks down beside him. Dissolve to the lovers, healthy and together in a mule-drawn wagon as they sing the “Donkey Serenade” and a few bars of “Giannina Mia.


Reviews

Variety thought that “when trimmed to proper length which will tighten the story interest, The Firefly will be a money getter.” They also found the sepia tone “monotonous and not nearly so effective as the conventional natural tone….Some radical deletions of footage will be necessary before it is ready for commercial distribution.” (Alas, the deletions were never made.)

William Boehnel of the New York World-Telegram compared the film to its predecessors: “Done in the manner of old-fashioned operettas, it throws right out the window all the crusading work done by directors such as W.S. Van Dyke, Rouben Mamoulian, and others in trying to convert the screen operetta into a realistic, pungent, believable medium.”

The New York Times reported that “[The Firefly] is told with such uninspired dialogue and transparency of intrigue that only the superb voices of Jeanette MacDonald and Allan Jones save the production from downright and beautifully photographed dullness. Miss MacDonald’s songs seem far too few and her dances far too many. She is neither actress enough nor dancer enough to do all the dissembling and dervishing that…this production requires of her. Miss MacDonald needs a Van Dyke or a Mamoulian to direct her, and it may be too that she needs rescuing from the kind of picture in which people write with feathers.” (Jeanette’s next film would return her to the hands of Van Dyke and provide her with a modern dress story for one of her more successful films, Sweethearts.)

Archer Winsten in the New York Post felt that Jeanette did too much singing, showing how hard it is to please all the critics all the time. “The scientific aspect of Miss MacDonald’s larynx is not wholly clear to this department, but surely something is there, perhaps high frequency if there is such a thing, that records better than other soprano voices. It is clear, rounded, and effortlessly melodious.” But he felt there was too much music before the story had been properly developed.

Almost alone among the reviewers, Time magazine found the film “excellently directed by Robert Z. Leonard. The present version will be supremely satisfying to devotees of Friml, of Allan Jones, and of Miss MacDonald’s beautifully denticulated soprano.”


Recordings

Both MacDonald and Jones made separate recordings of these two songs:

“The Donkey Serenade” (This song became an Allan Jones standard for fifty years.)
“Giannina Mia”


Music in the Film

All music is by Rudolf Friml and lyrics by Otto A. Harbach unless otherwise indicated. In listing performers after each title, “and” denotes a genuine duet, while commas between names indicate a sequence of singers.

Overture: “Giannina Mia,” “He Who Loves and Runs Away”
“English March” (chorus) – by Friml, Bob Wright, Chet Forrest
“Danse Jeanette” (orchestral) – Herbert Stothart
“Love is Like a Firefly” (MacDonald, male chorus)
[The Magic of] “A Woman’s Kiss” (Jones, male chorus with MacDonald) – originally “A
Woman’s Smile” in stage version, new lyrics by Wright and Forrest
“The Donkey Serenade” (Jones, Robert Spin dola, with guitar and flute solos; guitar played by
Manuel Alvarez Maciste) – based on Friml’s 1920 piano piece, “Chanson,” arranged by
Stothart, lyrics by Wright and Forrest. (“Chanson” was recopyrighted in 1923 as
“Chansonette.”)
“Para la Salud” (Maciste, male singers) – arranged by Stothart
“Ojos Rojos” (Maciste playing guitar and singing) – Argentinean folk song arranged by Maciste
“Giannina Mia” (Jones) – lyrics by Otto Harbach
“He Who Loves and Runs Away” (MacDonald and male chorus) – music by Friml,
source uncertain. Mrs. Friml believed this was written for the film. Lyrics by Gus Kahn.
“Sympathy” (MacDonald, Jones) – lyrics by Otto Harbach with Gus Kahn
“When a Maid Comes Knocking” (MacDonald with Warren William) – lyrics by Otto Harbach
with Wright and Forrest
“Gypsy Dance” (quartet of instruments) – source uncertain, INTO:
“Capriccio Espagñole” (orchestral dance number) – Nicholas Rimsky-Korsakov
“Giannina Mia” reprise (MacDonald)
Triumphal chorus (chorus) – Friml, Wright, and Forrest
Finale: “The Donkey Serenade” and “Giannina Mia” (MacDonald and Jones)