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Title: The Follies of a Day; or, The Marriage of Figaro
- A comedy, as it is now performing at the Theatre-Royal, Covent-Garden. From the French of M. de Beaumarchais
Author: Beaumarchais, Pierre Augustin Caron de
Language: English
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- A comedy, as it is now performing at the Theatre-Royal, Covent-Garden. From the French of M. de Beaumarchais" ***
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MARRIAGE OF FIGARO ***
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Original stage directions were usually in italic and
placed in parentheses ( ). A few inconsistencies--no
closing parenthesis, use of [ instead of (, no
italic--have been left unchanged.
Stage directions were usually right-aligned with varying
indentation on the left, sometimes beginning on the same
line as the dialog, sometimes on a new line. This etext
generally puts them on a new right-aligned line(s) with
an indentation on the left of 12 spaces. They have been
kept in-line with the dialog when it made sense to do so.
As noted under the list of Dramatis Personæ ‘The
Passages put between inverted Commas are omitted in the
Representation’--meaning that this marked dialog was
omitted by the actors in the Theatre-Royal production
of the play. The start and end of these passages are
marked with {{ and }} in this etext. The inverted commas
are shown as opening and closing double quotes: “ and ”.
Redundant inverted commas at the beginning of lines have
been removed.
The original text used the longform ſ, replaced here by
the modern s.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Some minor corrections to the text are noted at the end
of the book.
THE
FOLLIES OF A DAY;
MARRIAGE OF FIGARO.
A COMEDY,
AS IT IS NOW PERFORMING AT THE
THEATRE-ROYAL,
COVENT-GARDEN.
FROM THE
FRENCH OF M. DE BEAUMARCHAIS.
BY THOMAS HOLCROFT.
AUTHOR OF DUPLICITY, A COMEDY, THE NOBLE
PEASANT, AN OPERA, &C.
LONDON:
Printed for G. G. J. and J. ROBINSON,
PATER-NOSTER ROW.
M DCC LXXXV.
ADVERTISEMENT.
Though to thank the Public is to thank nobody, since
no particular Person takes this Sort of Compliments to
himself, yet were I not to feel that Gratitude, which
individually I know not where to pay, I were unworthy of
past, of present, or of future Favours.
An Author’s Thanks to the World at large may be seen under
two very different Aspects: For, to thank the Public is
to tell the Public he is successful; which, supposing it
true, it would be strange if they did not already know;
it appears therefore only to be taking an Opportunity of
indulging his Vanity: And yet to thank them seems his Duty,
since his Silence might not only be construed a want of
Respect, but an arrogant Self-confidence that, when they
applauded or approved his Work, they only did him justice.
The Reader must determine which of these Faces he will
please to view.
I am so well convinced that the best Writer stands in need
of Indulgence, and that he only does well by Comparison,
and might do much better, that I shall find little
Mortification in subscribing to the Opinions of those who
shall tell me I am in this latter Predicament.
Readers are divided into two Classes; the one will allow an
Author much more than he merits, and the other much less;
but the principal Excellencies of _The Follies of a Day_
are so known to be another’s Right, that for me to claim
them would be ridiculous. Some, however, have affirmed that
it is a mere Translation, who have never seen, read, or
heard the Original; if they had, indeed, they would have
been still more culpable. Few will trouble themselves to
examine the precise Extent of my Claims; nor, if they did,
would they have an Opportunity ’till M. _de Beaumarchais_
shall think proper to publish LA FOLLE JOURNÉE. The Public
in general are so willing to overlook Defects, and applaud
wherever they can, that to complain of, or be angry at
the Few who seek for, and wish to find, Errors only, can
proceed alone from that Self-love which is so inherent and
irritable in all bosoms, and so difficult to subdue.
To enumerate all the Obstacles encountered and overcome
in bringing this Comedy on the English Stage, would be
to indulge this Vanity; which it is every wise Man’s
Pride, and every prudent Man’s Interest to resist. It may,
however, afford some Pleasure to be informed, that, finding
it impossible to procure a Copy of the original French,
though a Journey to Paris was undertaken expressly for that
Purpose, the Copy made use of in the composing _The Follies
of a Day_, was taken by Memory, only, during eight or nine
Representations; that I furnished the Plot, Incidents,
Entrances, and Exits, and gave some other occasional Hints;
that the remainder was the Work of a young Frenchman, whose
Talents and whose Heart are an Ornament and an Honour to
his Country; and that, after it was brought to _England_
and received by Mr. _Harris_, it was translated, cast,
copied, recopied, studied, and, in one of its longest
Parts, re-studied, and played in little more than a Month.
The Attention and Care of Mr. _Harris_, and the Merits
of the respective Performers in playing, as they did,
under such Circumstances, need not my Encomiums. Had the
Town known the peculiar Exertions, of those especially
who performed the longest and most essential Parts, the
applause would have been endless. From me they are justly
entitled to my warmest and sincerest Thanks.
UPPER MARY-LE-BONE STREET,
FEB. 21, 1785.
PROLOGUE,
Spoken by Mr. DAVIES.
To-night, a Child of Chance is hither brought,
Who could be neither _borrow’d_, _begg’d_, nor _bought_;
Nay, so alert was said to be the Droll,
’Twas well affirm’d he was not to be _stole_;
But hence dispatch’d, back’d by Apollo’s warrant,
A messenger has _kidnapp’d_ this Wag-errant;
Poetic Fugitive, has hither dragg’d him,
And, safely here arriv’d, has now ungagg’d him,
To plead before this Court, his whole amenance;
Where, should you sentence him to public Penance,
Oh, sad reverse! how would he foam and fret,
And sigh for Paris and his sweet _Soubrette_!
Where twice ten thousand tongues are proud to greet him,
And wing’d Applause, on tip-toe, stands to meet him;
Where the grim Guard, in nightly rapture, stands,
And grounds his musquet to get at his hands;
Where the retentive Pitt, all prone t’adore him,
Repeat his _Bon mots_ half a bar before him;
While every _Bel-Esprit_, at every hit,
Grows fifty-fold more conscious of his Wit.
If _far fetch’d and dear bought_ give Trifles worth,
Sure you’ll applaud our FIGARO’s second birth.
Nought of his present merit must we say;
Bear but in mind, OUR Day’s a SPANISH Day.
Cupid, in warmer Climes, urg’d by the Grape,
Calls not each petty violence a Rape!
But oft his Votaries leaves intoxicate,
Hence FIGARO himself is illegitimate.
Sanction’d by you, howe’er, this little Blot,
So much in fashion, will be soon forgot;
That Signature which each kind hand bestows,
Shall make him well receiv’d where’er he goes!
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Count Almaviva, Mr. LEWIS.
Don Guzman, Mr. QUICK.
Doctor Bartholo, Mr. WILSON.
Figaro, Mr. BONNOR.
Antonio, Mr. EDWIN.
Basil, Mr. WEWITZER.
Doublefee, Mr. THOMPSON.
Bounce, Mr. STEVENS.
Courier, Mr. JONES.
Crier of the Court, Mr. BATES.
Servant, Mr. NEWTON.
Page, Mrs. MARTYR.
Countess, Mrs. BATES.
Marcelina, Mrs. WEBB.
Agnes, Miss WEWITZER.
Susan, Miss YOUNGE.
Counsellors, Guards, Vassals.
☞ _The Passages put between inverted Commas are omitted in
the Representation._
THE
FOLLIES OF A DAY.
ACT I.
SCENE, the Castle of Count ALMAVIVA.
FIGARO _and_ SUSAN.
(_Figaro measuring the chamber with a wand._)
_Figaro._ Eighteen feet by twenty-six, good.
_Susan._ What art thou so busy about?
_Figaro._ Measuring, to try if the bed our noble Lord
intends to give us will stand well here.
_Susan._ In this chamber!
_Figaro._ Yes.
_Susan._ I won’t lie in this chamber.
_Figaro._ Why so?
_Susan._ I tell you I won’t lie in this chamber.
_Figaro._ Well but----
_Susan._ I don’t like it.
_Figaro._ Your reason.
_Susan._ What if I have no reason?--What if I don’t chuse
to give my reason?
{{_Figaro._ “Ah, ah!--Thus it is when once they think they
have us fast.
_Susan._ “Are you, or are you not my most obedient very
humble servant?
_Figaro._ “Your slave----(_Bows very low._)
_Susan._ “Oh!
_Figaro._ “But wherefore take exception to the most
convenient room in the whole house?
_Susan._ “Yes, yes!--The most convenient!--(_Satirically._)
_Figaro._ “If during the night my Lady should be taken ill,
she rings her bell, and crack!--in two steps--thou art
standing at her side.--In the morning when my Lord wakes,
he calls, I start, and pop--three skips and I am there.
_Susan._ “Very true--And in the morning when my Lord has
sent thee on some fine errand of an hour long, he starts
from his bed as soon as Mr. Figaro’s back is turn’d, and
crack!--in three skips--he--(_significantly._)
_Figaro._ “He?
_Susan._ “Yes--he----
_Figaro._ “(_Keeps rubbing his forehead and looking at
Susan._) He!
_Susan._ “He!----Dost thou feel any thing?
_Figaro._ “(_Presses his finger and thumb against his
forehead_) Buttons!--In pairs!----Mushrooms sprout not so
suddenly--Yes, yes--it’s a fruitful spot.”}}
_Susan._ Thou knowest how our _generous_ Count when he by
thy help obtained Rosina’s hand, and made her Countess of
Almaviva, during the first transports of love abolished a
certain gothic right----
_Figaro._ Of sleeping the first night with every Bride.
_Susan._ Which as Lord of the Manor he could claim.
_Figaro._ Know it!--To be sure I do, or I would not have
married even my charming Susan in his Domain.
_Susan._ Tired of prowling among the rustic beauties of the
neighbourhood he returned to the Castle--
_Figaro._ And his wife.
_Susan._ And _thy_ wife--(_Figaro stares_)--Dost thou
understand me?
_Figaro._ Perfectly!
_Susan._ And endeavours, once more, secretly to purchase
from her, a right which he now most sincerely repents he
ever parted with.
_Figaro._ Most gracious Penitent!
_Susan._ This is what he hints to me every instant, and
this the faithful Basil, honest agent of his pleasures,
and my most noble music master, every day repeats with my
lesson.
_Figaro._ Basil!
_Susan._ Basil.
_Figaro._ Indeed! But if tough ashen plant or supple-jack
twine not round thy lazy sides, Rascal--
_Susan._ Ha, ha, ha! Why wert thou ever wise enough to
imagine the portion the Count intends to give us was meant
as a reward for thy services?
_Figaro._ I think I had some reason to hope as much.
_Susan._ Lord, lord! What great fools are you men of wit!
_Figaro._ I believe so.
_Susan._ I am sure so.
_Figaro._ Oh that it were possible to deceive this arch
Deceiver, this Lord of mine! To lead him into some
excellent snare, pocket his gold and--
_Susan._ Hah! Now thou art in thy element--Gold and
intrigue--Plots and purses--But let him that diggeth a pit
beware he--
_Figaro._ I’ll try--{{“The Lover’s jealousy and the
Husband’s shame shall not deter me”}}--Your trick, most
noble Count, is common place--A thousand blundering
Boobies have had art enough to filch a Wife from the side
of her sleeping, simple, unsuspecting Spouse, and if he
complained, to redress his injuries with a cudgel--But
to turn the tables on this Poacher, make him pay for a
delicious morsel he shall never taste, infect him with
fears for his own honor, to--
_Susan._ (_The bell rings_) Hark! My Lady is awake--I must
run, for she has several times strictly charged me to be
the first at her bedside the morning of my marriage.
_Figaro._ Why the first?
_Susan._ The old saying tells us, that to meet a young
Bride the first on the morning of her wedding-day is lucky
to a neglected wife. (_Going._)
_Figaro._ Prithee, my Susan, give me a kiss before thou
goest--It will quicken my wits, and lend imagination a new
impulse.
_Susan._ To be sure!--But if I kiss my Lover to-day what
will my Husband say to me to-morrow? (_seems to refuse,
Figaro kisses her_). Pshaw Figaro! when wilt thou cease to
trifle thus from morning till night (_playfully_).
_Figaro._ When I may trifle from night to morning (_in the
same tone_).
_Susan._ There, there--There’s all the kisses I shall give.
(_Kisses her hand at him and runs, he pursues
to the side._)
_Figaro._ Stop, stop, you cheating little knave; that was
not the way you received them. (_Returns_) A sweet Girl!
An Angel! Such wit! Such grace! and so much prudence and
modesty too!--I am a happy fellow!--So Mr. Basil! Is it
me, Rascal, you mean to practice the tricks of your trade
upon?--I’ll teach you to put your spoon in my milk--But
hold--Dissemble is the word--Feign we ignorance and
endeavour to catch them in their own traps--I wondered why
the Count, who had made me Steward and Inspector-general
of the Castle, should change his mind so suddenly, and
want to take me with him on his embassy to Paris, there
to institute me his Messenger in ordinary--A cunning
contrivance that--He, Plenipotentiary in chief, I, a
break-neck Politician, and Susan, Lady of the back-stairs,
Ambassadress of the bed-chamber--I dashing through thick
and thin and wearing myself to a skeleton, for the good of
my most gracious Lord’s family, and he labouring, night
and day, for the increase of mine--Really, most honorable
Count, you are too kind--What to represent his Majesty
and me both at once--It’s too much, too much by half----A
moment’s reflection friend Figaro on the events of the
day--First, thou must promote the Sports and Feasting
already projected, that appearances may not cool, but that
thy Marriage may proceed with greater certainty; next, keep
off one madam Marcelina, whose liquorish mouth waters at
thee, and to whom thou hast given a Promise of Marriage,
in default of the repayment of certain borrowed Sums which
it would be very convenient to thy affairs never more to
mention--Talk of the Devil and----
_Enter Doctor_ BARTHOLO _and_ MARCELINA.
_Marcelina._ Good-morrow to Mr. Bridegroom.
_Figaro._ Good-morrow to madam Marcelina--What! My old fat
friend the Doctor! Are you there?
_Doctor._ Yes, Knave’s face.
_Figaro._ As witty, I perceive, and no doubt as wise as
ever--And have you been complaisant enough to come thus far
to see me married?
_Doctor._ To see thee hang’d.
_Figaro._ Most kind Doctor--But who takes care of your
Mule? I know you have as much mercy on your Beast as you
have on your Patient.
_Doctor._ Do you hear him?
_Figaro._ And you, gentle Marcelina, do you still wish to
marry me--What, because I cannot fall in love with you,
would you drive me to hate you?
[_Exit Figaro._
_Doctor._ The Rascal will never mend.
_Marcelina._ ’Tis you, Doctor, will never mend--{{“You are
so eternally wise, dull and slow, that when a Patient has
need of your assistance he may die before you get to him,
like as formerly your Mistress got married in spite of your
precautions.”}}
_Doctor._ Was it to entertain me thus agreeably that you
sent for me in such haste from Seville?
_Marcelina._ Not entirely for that.
_Doctor._ What then--Is any body ill? Is the Count
indisposed?
_Marcelina._ No, it is the Countess who is indisposed.
_Doctor._ What the artful, the deceitful Rosina? What’s her
disorder?
_Marcelina._ A faithless Husband.
_Doctor._ A very common complaint indeed.
_Marcelina._ The Count forsakes her, and falls in love with
every fresh face.
_Doctor._ I am glad of it--I am glad of it--I foresaw it--I
thought Count Almaviva would revenge the wrongs of Doctor
Bartholo.
_Marcelina._ After toying with a thousand neighbouring
Beauties, he now returns to the castle to terminate the
marriage of Susan and Figaro.
_Doctor._ Which he himself has made necessary.
_Marcelina_. Oh no--But at which he wishes to act rather as
a Principal than an Agent.
_Doctor._ In private with the Bride.
_Marcelina._ Even so.
_Doctor._ She I suppose has no great objection.
_Marcelina._ Charitable Doctor--Basil, however, her music
master, who takes great pains to instruct her, says to the
contrary.
_Doctor._ Basil! What is that other Rascal here too?--Why
the house is a den of Thieves--What does he do here?
_Marcelina._ All the mischief he can--He persecutes me with
his odious love unceasingly; I cannot get rid of him.
_Doctor._ Marry him--I’ll answer for his cure.
_Marcelina._ That’s what he wants--But pray Doctor, why
will not you get rid of me by the same means? The claims of
Justice and oaths out of number should--
_Doctor._ So so so so--What is the matrimonial furor come
upon you again?
_Marcelina._ Our long lost son, Fernando! the dear pledge
of my virgin love! were he but found, perhaps--
_Doctor._ And so you sent for me to hear this stale
rhodomontade?
{{_Marcelina._ “And are you, now you have lost your Rosina,
as inflexible and unjust as ever?”}}
_Doctor._ Pshaw!
_Marcelina._ Well--Since you are determined never to marry
me yourself, will you have the complaisance to aid me in
marrying another?
_Doctor._ With all my heart!--With all my heart!--
_Marcelina._ Ah! (_curtsies_).
_Doctor._ But who?--What miserable Mortal, abandoned of
Heaven and Women--
_Marcelina._ Who but the amiable, the gay, the ever
sprightly Figaro?
_Doctor._ Figaro! That Rascal!
_Marcelina._ Youthful and generous!
_Doctor._ As a Highwayman.
_Marcelina._ As a Nobleman--
_Doctor._ Pshaw, impossible! what on the very day he is
going to marry another?
{{_Marcelina._ “Things more improbable have come to pass.
_Doctor._ “But your motive?
_Marcelina._ “For you, Doctor, I have no secrets.
_Doctor._ “Women seldom have for Doctors.
_Marcelina._ “I own our sex, though timid, is ardent in the
pursuit of pleasure. There is, in all our bosoms, a small
still voice which unceasing cries--Woman, be as beautiful
as thou canst, as virtuous as thou wilt, but, at all
events, be conspicuous, be talk’d about; for thy Wisdom, if
thou hast it--if not for thy Folly.
_Doctor._ “She utters Oracles--Well, well, accomplish this,
and I will engage you shall be talk’d about.”}}
_Marcelina._ We must endeavour to work upon Susan by fear
and shame, for the more obstinately she refuses the amorous
offers of the Count, the more effectually she will serve
our purpose; disappointment and revenge will lead him to
support my cause, and as he is sovereign Judge in his own
Lordship, his power may make Figaro’s promise of marriage
to me valid.
_Doctor._ Promise--Has he given you any such promise?
_Marcelina._ A written one--You shall see it.
_Doctor._ By Galen, this is excellent! The rascal shall
marry my old House-keeper, and I shall be revenged for the
tricks he lately played me, and the hundred pistoles he
contrived to cheat me of.
_Marcelina._ (_transported_) Yes, yes, Doctor! I shall have
him! He shall marry me! He shall marry me!
_Enter_ SUSAN, _with a gown on her arm, and a cap and
riband of the Countess, in her hand_.
_Susan._ Marry you! Who is to marry you? Not my Figaro, I
assure you, madam.
_Marcelina._ Why not me, as soon as you, madam?
_Susan._ Indeed! your most obedient, madam.
_Doctor._ (_aside_) So now for a merry scolding match.--We
were saying, handsome Susan, how happy Figaro must be in
such a Bride--
(_Susan curtsies to the Doctor._)
_Marcelina._ Not to mention the secret satisfaction of my
Lord the Count.
_Susan._ Dear madam, you are so abundantly kind.
_Marcelina._ Not so abundant in kindness, as a liberal
young Lord--But I own it is very natural, he should partake
the pleasures he so freely bestows upon his Vassals.
_Susan._ (_half angry_) Partake--Happily madam, your Envy
is as obvious, and your Slander as false, as your Claims on
Figaro are weak and ill founded.
{{_Marcelina._ “If they are weak, it is because I wanted
the art to strengthen them, after the manner of madam.
_Susan._ “Yet madam has ever been reckoned a mistress of
her art.
_Marcelina._ “I hope, madam, I shall always have your good
word, _madam_. (_Curtsies._)
_Susan._ “Oh, I can assure you, madam, you have nothing to
regret on that score, _madam_.” (_Curtsies mockingly._)}}
_Marcelina._ The young Lady is really a very pretty kind of
Person--(_with a contemptuous side glance._)
_Susan._ Oh yes (_mimicking_) The young Lady is at least as
pretty as the old Lady.
{{_Marcelina._ “And very respectable.
Susan. “Respectable! Oh no, that is the characteristic of
a Duenna.
_Marcelina._ “A Duenna! A Duenna!
_Doctor._ (_coming between them_) “Come, come--
_Marcelina._ “I--I--You--your very humble servant, _madam_.
_Susan._ “Your most devoted, _madam_.”}}
_Marcelina._ Farewell, _madam_.
(_Exeunt Doctor and Marcelina._)
_Susan._ Adieu, _madam_--this old Sibyl, because she
formerly tormented the infancy of my Lady, thinks she has
a right to domineer over every person in the Castle--I
declare I have forgot what I came for.
(_Susan bangs the gown on a great arm chair
that stands in the room, and keeps the cap and
riband of the Countess in her hand._)
_Enter_ HANNIBAL _the Page, running_.
_Susan._ So, Youth! What do you do here?
_Page._ Good morrow, Susan--I have been watching these two
hours to find you alone.
_Susan._ Well, what have you to say, now you have found me?
_Page._ (_Childishly amorous_) How does your beauteous Lady
do, Susan?
_Susan._ Very well.
_Page._ (_Poutingly_) Do you know, Susan, my Lord is going
to send me back to my Pappa and Mamma?
_Susan._ Poor Child!
_Page._ Child indeed!--Umph!--And if my charming
God-mother, your dear Lady, cannot obtain my pardon, I
shall soon be deprived of the pleasure of your company,
Susan.
_Susan._ Upon my word!--He is toying all day long with
Agnes, and is, moreover, in love with my Lady, and then
comes to tell me he shall be deprived of my company.
(_Aside._)
_Page._ Agnes is good natured enough to listen to me, and
that is more than you are, Susan, for all I love you so.
_Susan._ Love me!--Why you amorous little villain, you are
in love with every Woman you meet.
_Page._ So I am, Susan, and I can’t help it--If no-body is
by, I swear it to the trees, the waters, and the winds,
nay, to myself--Yesterday I happened to meet Marcelina--
_Susan._ Marcelina! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
_Page._ Why, she is a Woman, Susan.
_Susan._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
_Page._ And what’s more, unmarried? Oh how sweet are the
words Woman, Maiden, and Love, in my ear!
_Susan._ Ha! ha! ha!--He’s bewitch’d!--And what is the
Count going to send you from the Castle for?
_Page._ Last night, you must know, he caught me in the
chamber with Agnes; begone, said he, thou little--
_Susan._ Little what?
_Page._ Lord, he called me such a name, I can’t for shame
repeat it before a woman.
_Susan._ And what were you doing in the chamber of Agnes?
_Page._ Teaching her her part.
_Susan._ Her part?
_Page._ Yes, the love scene, you know, she is to play in
the Comedy this evening.
_Susan._ Which my Lord would chuse to teach her himself.
(_aside._)
_Page._ Agnes is very kind, Susan.
_Susan._ Well, well, I’ll tell the Countess what you
say--But you are a little more circumspect in her presence.
_Page._ Ah Susan, she is a Divinity! How noble is her
manner! Her very smiles are awful!
_Susan._ That is to say, you can take what liberties you
please with such people as me.
_Page._ Oh how do I envy thy happiness, Susan! Always near
her! Dressing her every morning! Undressing her every
evening! Putting her to bed! Touching her! Looking at her!
Speaking to--What is it thou hast got there, Susan?
_Susan._ (_Counterfeiting the amorous air, and animated
tone of the Page._) It is the fortunate riband of the happy
cap, which at night enfolds the auburn ringlets of the
beauteous Countess.
_Page._ Give it me--Nay, give it me--I will have it.
_Susan._ But I say you shan’t (_the Page snatches it, and
runs round the great chair, dodging Susan_) Oh my riband!
_Page._ Be as angry as thou wilt, but thou shalt _never_
have it again, thou shouldst have one of my eyes rather.
_Susan._ I can venture to predict, young gentleman, that
three or four years hence, thou wilt be one of the most
deceitful veriest Knaves--
_Page._ If thou dost not hold thy tongue, Susan, I’ll kiss
thee into the bargain.
_Susan._ Kiss me!--Do not come near me, if thou lov’st
thy ears--I say, beg my Lord to forgive you, indeed! No I
assure you--{{“I shall say to him, you do very right, my
Lord, to send this little Rascal packing, who is not only
in love with my Lady, but wants to kiss other folks into
the bargain.”
_Page._ “How can I help it, Susan”?}} Here, take this paper.
_Susan._ For what?
_Page._ It contains a Song I have written on thy beauteous
Lady, my charming God-mother.
_Count._ (_without_) Jaquez.
_Page._ Ah! I’m undone!--’Tis my Lord!
(_The Page crouches down, and hides himself
behind Susan’s petticoats and the great chair._)
_Enter_ Count ALMAVIVA.
(_Page remains hid behind the great chair._)
_Count._ So, charming Susan, have I found thee at last? But
thou seemest frightened my little Beauty.
_Susan._ Consider, my Lord, if any body should come and
catch you here--
_Count._ That would be rather mal-a-propos; but there’s no
great danger.
(_The Count offers to kiss Susan._)
_Susan._ Fie, my Lord!
(_The Count seats himself in the great chair,
and endeavours to pull Susan on his knee, who
resists._)
_Count._ Thou knowest, my charming Susan, the King has
done me the honour to appoint me Ambassador to the court
of Paris. I shall take Figaro with me, and give him a
very--_excellent_ post; and as it is the duty of a Wife to
follow her Husband, we shall then have every opportunity we
could wish.
_Susan._ I really don’t understand you, my Lord. I thought
your affection for my Lady, whom you took so much pains to
steal from her old Guardian, Dr. Bartholo, and for love of
whom you generously abolished a certain vile privilege.--
_Count._ For which all the young girls are very sorry; are
they not?
_Susan._ No indeed, my Lord--I thought, my Lord, I say--
_Count._ Prithee say no more, my sweet Susan, but promise
thou wilt meet me this evening, at twilight, by the
Pavilion in the garden; and be certain, that if thou wilt
but grant me this small favour, nothing thou canst ask
shall--
_Basil._ (_without._) He is not in his own room.
_Count._ Heavens! Here’s somebody coming! Where can I hide!
Is there no place here?
(_The Count runs to get behind the great chair,
Susan keeps between him and the Page, who
steals away as the Count advances, leaps into
the great chair, with his legs doubled under
him, and is covered over with the Countess’s
gown, by Susan._)
_Enter_ BASIL.
_Basil._ Ah, Susan, Good morrow--Is my lord the Count here?
_Susan._ Here! What should he be here for?
_Basil._ Nay, there would be no miracle in it if he were:
would there, hey gentle Susan? (_Smiles and leers at her._)
_Susan._ It would be a greater miracle to see you honest.
_Basil._ Figaro is in search of him.
_Susan._ Then he is in search of the man who wishes most to
injure him--yourself excepted.
_Basil._ It is strange, that a man should injure the
Husband by obliging the Wife.
(_The Count peeps from behind the great chair._)
_Count._ I shall hear, now, how well he pleads my cause.
_Basil._ For my part, Marriage being, of all serious
things, the greatest Farce, I imagined--
_Susan._ All manner of wickedness.
_Basil._ That though you are obliged to fast to-day, you
might be glad to feed to-morrow, grace being first duly
said.
_Susan._ Be gone, and do not shock my ears with your vile
principles.
_Basil._ Yes, my pretty Susan, but you must not suppose
I am the dupe of these fine appearances. I know it isn’t
Figaro who is the great obstacle to my Lord’s happiness,
but a certain beardless Page, whom I surprised here, this
morning, looking for you as I entered.
_Susan._ I wish you would be gone, you wicked--Devil.
_Basil._ Wicked Devil! Ah, one is a wicked Devil for not
shutting one’s eyes.
_Susan._ I wish you would be gone, I tell you.
_Basil._ Was it not for you that he wrote the Song, which
he goes chanting up and down the house, at every instant?
_Susan._ O yes! For me, to be sure!
_Basil._ At least it was either for you, or your Lady.
_Susan._ What next?
_Basil._ Why really, when he sits at table, he does cast
certain very significant glances towards a beauteous
Countess, who shall be nameless--But let him beware! If
my Lord catches him at his tricks, he’ll make him dance
without music.
_Susan._ Nobody, but such a wicked creature as you, could
ever invent such scandalous tales, to the ruin of a poor
Youth, who has unhappily fallen into his Lord’s disgrace.
_Basil._ I invent! Why it is in every body’s mouth.
(_The Count discovers himself, and comes
forward._)
_Count._ How! In every body’s mouth!
_Basil._ Zounds.
_Count._ Run, Basil, let him have fifty pistoles and a
horse given him, and sent back to his friends instantly.
_Basil._ I’m very sorry, my Lord, I happened to speak--
_Susan._ I’m quite suffocated.
(_Susan seems almost ready to faint, the Count
supports her, and Basil assists._)
_Count._ Let us seat her in this great chair, Basil.
_Susan._ (_Frightened, and exclaims_) No!--I won’t sit
down!----(_After a pause_)--This wicked fellow has ruined
the poor boy.
_Basil._ I assure you, my Lord, what I said, was only meant
to sound Susan.
_Count._ No matter, he shall depart! A little, wanton,
impudent Rascal, that I meet at every turning--No longer
ago than yesterday I surprised him with the Gardener’s
daughter.
_Basil._ Agnes?
_Count._ In her very bed-chamber.
_Susan._ Where my Lord happened to have business himself.
_Count._ Hem!--I was going there to seek your uncle
Antonio, Susan, my drunken Gardener; I knock’d at the door,
and waited some time; at last Agnes came, with confusion
in her countenance--I entered, cast a look round, and
perceiving a kind of long Cloak, or Curtain, or some such
thing, approach’d, and without seeming to take the least
notice, drew it gently aside, thus--Hey!
_Basil._ Zounds!
(_The Count, during his speech, approaches the
arm chair, and acting his description draws
aside the gown that hides the Page. They all
stand motionless with surprise, for some time._)
_Count._ Why, this is a better trick than t’other!
_Basil._ No!--I won’t sit down! (_Mimicking Susan._)
_Count._ (_To Susan_) And so it was to receive this pretty
Youth, that you were so desirous of being alone--And you,
you little Villain, what you don’t intend to mend your
manners then? But forgetting all respect for your friend
Figaro, and for the Countess your Godmother, likewise, you
are endeavouring here to seduce her favourite woman! I,
however (_turning towards Basil_) shall not suffer Figaro,
a man--whom--I _esteem--sincerely_--to fall the Victim of
such deceit--Did he enter with you, Basil?
_Basil._ No, my Lord.
_Susan._ There is neither Victim nor deceit in the case, my
Lord. He was here when you entered.
_Count._ I hope that’s false: his greatest Enemy could not
wish him so much mischief.
_Susan._ Knowing that you were angry with him, the poor Boy
came running to me, begging me to solicit my Lady in his
favor, in hopes she might engage you to forgive him; but
was so terrified, as soon as he heard you coming, that he
hid himself in the great Chair.
_Count._ A likely story--I sat down in it, as soon as I
came in.
_Page._ Yes, my Lord, but I was then trembling behind it.
_Count._ That’s false, again, for I hid myself behind it,
when Basil entered.
_Page._ (_Timidly_) Pardon me, my Lord, but as you
approach’d, I retired, and crouched down as you now see me.
_Count._ (_Angrily_) It’s a little Serpent that glides
into every crevice--And he has been listening too to our
discourse!
_Page._ Indeed, my Lord, I did all I could not to hear a
word.
_Count._ (_To Susan_) There is no Figaro, no Husband for
you, however.
_Basil._ Somebody is coming; get down.
_Enter the_ COUNTESS, FIGARO, AGNES, _and_ VASSALS, _in
their holiday cloaths_. Figaro _carrying the nuptial
cap--The_ Count _runs and plucks the Page from the great
chair, just as they enter_.
_Count._ What! Would you continue crouching there before
the whole world?
_(The Count and Countess salute._
_Figaro._ We are come, my Lord, to beg a favour, which we
hope, for your Lady’s sake, you will grant. (_Aside to
Susan_) Be sure to second what I say.
_Susan._ It will end in nothing. (_Aside._
_Figaro._ No matter: let us try, at least. (_Aside._
_Countess._ You see, my Lord, I am supposed to have a much
greater degree of influence over you than I really possess.
_Count._ Oh no, my Lady; not an atom, I assure you.
_Figaro._ (_Presenting the cap to the Count_) Our petition
is, that the Bride may have the honor of receiving from
our worthy Lord’s hand, this Nuptial-Cap; ornamented with
half-blown roses, and white ribbands, Symbols of the purity
of his intentions.
_Count._ Do they mean to laugh at me? (_Aside._
{{_Figaro._ “And as you have been kindly pleased to abolish
that abominable right, which, as Lord of the Manor, you
might have claimed, permit us, your Vassals, to celebrate
your praise, in a rustic Chorus I have prepared for this
occasion. The Virtues of so good a master should not remain
unsung.
_Count._ “A Lover, a Poet, and a Musician!--These titles,
Figaro, might perhaps merit our indulgence, if”--}}
_Countess._ Let me beg, my Lord, you will not deny their
request: in the name of that Love you once had for me.
_Count._ And have still, Madam.
_Figaro._ Join with me, my friends.
_Omnes._ My Lord.
_Susan._ Why should your Lordship refuse Eulogiums which
you merit so well?
_Count._ Oh the Traitress. (_Aside_) Well, well,--I consent.
_Figaro._ Look at her, my Lord; never could a more
beauteous Bride better prove the greatness of the sacrifice
you have made.
_Susan._ Oh do not speak of my Beauty, but of his
Lordship’s Virtues.
_Count._ My Virtues!--Yes, yes,--I see they understand each
other. (_Aside_) Who can tell me where is Marcelina?
_Agnes._ I met her, my Lord, just now, in the close walk by
the park wall, along with Doctor Bartholo. She seemed in a
passion, and the Doctor tried to pacify her. I heard her
mention my Cousin Figaro’s name.
_Count._ (_Aside_) No Cousin yet, my dear; and perhaps
never may be.
_Agnes._ (_Pointing to the Page_) Have you forgiven what
happened yesterday, my Lord?
_Count._ (_Afraid lest the Countess should hear, and
chucking Agnes under the chin_) Hush!
_Figaro._ (_To the Page_) What’s the matter, young Hannibal
the brave? What makes you so silent?
_Susan._ He is sorrowful because my Lord is going to send
him from the castle.
_Omnes._ Oh pray, my Lord!
_Countess._ Let me beg you will forgive him.
_Count._ He does not deserve to be forgiven.
_Countess._ Consider, he is so young.
_Count._ (_Half aside_) Not so young, perhaps, as you
suppose.
_Page._ My Lord certainly has not ceded away the right to
pardon.
_Susan._ And if he had, that would certainly be the first
he would _secretly_ endeavour to reclaim. (_Looking
significantly at the Count and Figaro, by turns._)
_Count._ (_Understanding her_) No doubt: no doubt.
_Page._ My conduct, my Lord, may have been indiscreet, but
I can assure your Lordship, that never the least word shall
pass my lips----
_Count._ (_Interrupting him_) Enough, enough--Since every
body begs for him, I must grant--I shall moreover give him
a Company in my Regiment.
_Omnes._ Thanks noble Count.
_Count._ But on condition that he depart immediately for
Catalonia to join the Corps.
_Omnes._ Oh my Lord?
_Figaro._ To-morrow my Lord.
_Count._ To day! It shall be so. (_To the Page_) Take leave
of your Godmother, and beg her protection.
(_The Page kneels to the Countess with a
sorrowful air. As he approaches to kneel, he
goes very slowly and Figaro gently pushes him
forward._)
_Fig._ Go, go, Child; go.
_Countess._ (_With great emotion_) Since--it is not
possible--to obtain leave--for you to remain here to-day,
depart, young man, and follow the noble career which lies
before you--Forget not those with whom you have spent some
of the first years of your life, and among whom you have
friends who wish you every success--Go where Fortune and
Glory call--Be obedient, polite, and brave, and be certain
we shall take part in your Prosperity. (_Raises him._
_Count._ You seem agitated Madam.
_Countess._ How can I help it, recollecting the perils to
which his youth must be exposed? He has been bred in the
same house with me, is of the same kindred, and is likewise
my Godson.
_Count._ (_Aside_) Basil I see was in the right.----
(_Turns to the Page_) Go, kiss Susan for the last time.
(_The Page and Susan approach, Figaro steps
between them and intercepts the Page._)
_Fig._ Oh! There’s no occasion for kissing, my Lord: he’ll
return in the winter, and in the mean time he may kiss
me.--The scene must now be changed my delicate Youth: you
must not run up stairs and down, into the Women’s Chambers,
play at Hunt-the-slipper, steal Cream, suck Oranges, and
live upon Sweetmeats. Instead of that, Zounds! You must
look bluff! Tan your face! Handle your musket! Turn to the
right! Wheel to the left! And march to Glory.--At least if
you are not stopt short by a Bullet.
_Susan._ Fie, Figaro.
_Countess._ (_Terrified._) What a Prophecy!
_Fig._ Were I a Soldier I would make some of them
scamper--But, come, come, my friends; let us prepare our
feast against the evening. Marcelina I hear intends to
disturb our Diversions.
_Count._ That she will I can assure you. (_Aside_) I must
go and send for her. (_going._)
_Countess._ You will not leave us, my Lord?
_Count._ I am undrest, you see.
_Countess._ We shall see nobody but our own servants.
_Count._ I must do what you please. Wait for me in the
study, Basil.
(_Exeunt Count, Countess, and Vassals._
_Manent Figaro, Basil and Page._
_Fig._ (_Retains the Page_) Come, come; let us study our
parts well for the Play in the evening: and do not let us
resemble those Actors who never play so ill as on the first
night of a Piece; when Criticism is most watchful to detect
Errors, and when they ought to play the best--{{“_We_ shall
not have an opportunity of playing better to-morrow.”}}
_Basil._ My part is more difficult than you imagine.
_Figaro._ And you may be rewarded for it, in a manner you
little expect. [_Aside._
_Page._ You forget, Figaro, that I am going.
_Figaro._ And you wish to stay? (_In the same sorrowful
tone._)
_Page._ (_Sighs._) Ah yes.
_Figaro._ Follow my advice, and so thou shalt.
_Page._ How, how?
_Figaro._ Make no murmuring, but clap on your boots, and
seem to depart; gallop as far as the Farm, return to the
Castle on foot, enter by the back way, and hide yourself
till I can come to you.
_Page._ And who shall teach Agnes her part, then?
_Figaro._ Oh oh!
_Basil._ Why, what the devil have you been about, young
Gentleman, for these eight days past, during which you
have hardly ever left her? Take care, Hannibal, take care,
or your Scholar will give her Tutor a bad character.--Ah
Hannibal! Hannibal! The Pitcher that goes often to the
Well--
_Figaro._ Listen to the Pedant and his Proverb.--Well, and
what says the wisdom of Nations--_The pitcher that goes
often to the well_--
_Basil._ Stands a chance, sometime, to return full.
_Figaro._ Not so foolish as I thought.
End of ACT I.
ACT II.
SCENE, the COUNTESS’s Bed-Chamber.
(_A state-bed in the back ground under an Alcove:
three doors; one the entrance into the room, another
into Susan’s room, and the third to the Countess’s
dressing-room; a large window that opens to the street._)
_The_ COUNTESS _seated_, SUSAN _waiting_.
_Countess._ Shut the door--And so the Page was hid behind
the great chair?
_Susan._ Yes, Madam.
_Countess._ But how did he happen to be in your room, Susan?
_Susan._ The poor Boy came to beg I would prevail on you to
obtain his pardon of my Lord the Count.
_Countess._ But why did not he come to me himself? I should
not have refused him a favor of that kind.
_Susan._ Bashfulness, Madam. _Ah Susan!_ said he, _she is
a Divinity! How noble is her Manner! Her very smiles are
awful._
_Countess._ (_Smiling_) Is that true, Susan?
_Susan._ Can you doubt it, Madam?
_Countess._ I have always afforded him my protection.
_Susan._ Had you, Madam, but seen him snatch the ribband
from me!
_Countess._ (_Rising_) Pshaw! Enough of this nonsense--And
so my Lord the Count endeavours to seduce you, Susan?
_Susan._ Oh, no indeed, Madam, he does not give himself
the trouble to seduce; he endeavours to purchase me: and
because I refuse him will certainly prevent my marriage
with Figaro, and support the pretensions of Marcelina.
_Countess._ Fear nothing--We shall have need, however, of a
little artifice perhaps; in the execution of which Figaro’s
assistance may not be amiss.
_Susan._ He will be here, Madam, as soon as my Lord is gone
a coursing.
_Countess._ Your Lord is an ungrateful man, Susan!--An
ungrateful man! (_The Countess walks up and down the room
with some emotion_) Open the window; I am stifled for
want of air--Vows, protestations and tenderness are all
forgotten--My Love offends, my Caresses disgust--He thinks
his own Infidelities must all be overlook’d, yet my Conduct
must be irreproachable.
_Susan_ (_At the window looking into the street_). Yonder
goes my Lord with all his Grooms and Greyhounds.
_Countess._ To _divert_ himself with hunting a poor timid
harmless Hare to death--This, however, will give us
time--Somebody knocks, Susan.
{{_Susan._ “For Figaro’s the lad, is the lad for me.”}}
(_Goes singing to the Door._)
_Enter_ FIGARO.
(_He kisses Susan’s hand, she makes signs to
him to be more prudent, and points to the
Countess._)
_Countess._ Well, Figaro, you have heard of my Lord the
Count’s designs on your young Bride.
_Figaro._ Oh yes, my Lady. There was nothing very
surprising in the news. My Lord sees a sweet, young,
lovely--Angel! (_Susan curtsies_) and wishes to have her
for himself. Can any thing be more natural? I wish the very
same--
_Countess._ I don’t find it so very pleasant, Figaro.
_Figaro._ He endeavours to overturn the schemes of those
who oppose his wishes; and in this he only follows the
example of the rest of the world. I endeavour to do the
very same.
_Susan._ But with less probability of success, Figaro.
_Figaro._ Follow my advice, and I’ll convince you of your
mistake.
_Countess._ Let me hear.
_Figaro._ You, my lovely Susan, must appoint the Count to
meet him, as he proposed, this evening, by the Pavilion in
the Garden.
_Countess._ How! Figaro! Can you consent?
_Figaro._ And why not, Madam?
_Susan._ But if you can, sir, do you think I--
_Figaro._ Nay, my Charmer, do not imagine I would wish thee
to grant him any thing thou wishest to refuse--But first we
must dress up the Page in your cloaths, my dear Susan--, he
is to be your Representative.
_Countess._ The Page!
_Susan._ He is gone.
_Figaro._ Is he?--Perhaps so. But a whistle from me will
bring him back. (_The Countess seems pleased._)
_Susan._ So! Now Figaro’s happy!--Plots and Contrivances--
_Figaro._ Two! Three! Four at a time! Embarrass’d!
Involv’d! Perplex’d!--Leave me to unravel them. I was born
to thrive in Courts.
_Susan._ I have heard the Trade of a Courtier is not so
difficult as some pretend.
_Figaro._ Ask for every thing that falls, seize every thing
in your power, and accept every thing that’s offered--There
is the whole art and mystery in three words.
_Countess._ Well, but the Count, Figaro?
_Figaro._ Permit me, Madam, to manage him--And first, the
better to secure _my_ property, I shall begin by making him
dread the loss of _his own_.--{{“Oh, what pleasure shall
I have in cutting out Employment for him during the whole
day!--To see him waste that time in jealously-watching
your conduct, Madam, which he meant to employ in amorous
dalliance with my sweet Bride--To behold him running
here and there and he does not know where, and hunting a
monstrous Shadow, which he dreads to find, yet longs to
grasp.”}}
_Countess._ Surely, Figaro, you are out of your wits.
_Figaro._ Pardon, my dear Lady, but it is your good Lord
who will soon be out of his wits.
_Countess._ But as you know him to be so jealous, how will
you dare?--
_Figaro._ Oh, Madam! Were he not jealous, my scheme would
not be worth a doit: but it will now serve a double
purpose--The Jewel which Possession has made him neglect,
will again become valuable, if once he can be brought to
dread its loss.
_Countess._ To confess the truth, Figaro, your project
exactly corresponds with the one I meant to practise--An
anonymous Letter must be sent, informing him, that a
Gallant, meaning to profit by his neglect--
_Figaro._ And absence--is at present with his beauteous
Countess----The thing is already done, Madam.
_Countess._ How!--Have you dared to trifle thus with a
Woman of Honor?
_Figaro._ Oh, Madam, it is only with a Woman of Honor I
should presume to take a liberty like this; least my Joke
should happen to prove a Reality.
_Countess_ (_Smiles_). You don’t want an agreeable excuse,
Figaro.
_Figaro._ The hour of performing the marriage Ceremony will
arrive post haste--he will be disconcerted, and having no
good excuse ready, will never venture in your presence,
Madam, to oppose our union.
_Susan._ But if he will not, Marcelina will; and thou wilt
be condemned to pay--
_Figaro._ Poh! Thou hast forgot the Count is our
Judge!--And, after being entrapp’d at the rendezvous, will
he condemn us, thinkest thou?--But come, come, we must be
quick--I’ll send the Page hither to be dress’d--We must not
lose a moment.
(_Exit Figaro._
_Countess_ (_Examining her head dress in a pocket
looking-glass_). What a hideous cap this is, Susan; its
quite awry--This Youth who is coming--
_Susan._ Ah, Madam! Your Beauty needs not the addition of
Art in his eyes.
_Countess._ And my hair too--I assure you, Susan, I shall
be very severe with him.
_Susan_ (_Smoothing the Countess’s hair_). Let me spread
this Curl a little, Madam--Oh, pray Madam, make him sing
the song he has written.
(_Susan throws the song into the Countess’s
lap, which the Page had given her._)
_Countess._ I shall tell him of all the complaints I hear
against him.
_Susan._ Oh Yes Madam; I can see you will scold him,
heartily.
_Countess_ (_Seriously_). What do you say, Susan?
_Susan_ (_Goes to the door_). Come; come in Mr. Soldier.
_Enter_ PAGE.
(_Susan pretends to threaten him by signs._)
_Page._ Um--(_Pouts aside._)
_Countess._ Well, young gentleman, (_With assumed
severity_)--How innocent he looks, Susan! (_Aside to
Susan_).
_Susan._ And how bashful, Madam!
_Countess_ (_Resuming her serious air_). Have you reflected
on the duties of your new Profession?
(_The Page imagines the Countess is angry, and
timidly draws back._)
Susan (_Aside to the Page_). Ay, ay, young Rake, I’ll tell
all I know.--(_Returns to the Countess_). Observe his
downcast eyes, Madam, and long eye-lashes.--(_Aside to the
Page_) Yes, Hypocrite, I’ll tell.
_Countess_ (_Seeing the Page more and more fearful_). Nay,
Hannibal--don’t--be terrified--I--Come nearer.
_Susan_ (_Pushing him towards the Countess_). Advance,
Modesty.
_Countess._ Poor Youth, he is quite affected--I am not
angry with you; I was only going to speak to you on the
duties of a Soldier--Why do you seem so sorrowful?
_Page._ Alas, Madam, I may well be sorrowful! Being, as I
am, obliged to leave a Lady so gentle and so kind----
_Susan._ And so beautiful--(_In the same tone and half
aside._)
_Page._ Ah, yes! (_Sighs_).
_Susan_ (_Mimicking_). Ah, yes!--Come, come, let me try
on one of my Gowns upon you--Come here--Let us measure--I
declare the little Villain is not so tall as I am.
_Page._ Um--(_Pouts._)
_Susan._ Turn about--Let me untie your cloak.
(_Susan takes off the Page’s cloak._)
_Countess._ But suppose somebody should come?
_Susan._ Dear, my Lady, we are not doing any harm--I’ll
lock the door, however, for fear--(_The Page casts a glance
or two at the Countess, Susan returns_) Well! Have you
nothing to say to my beauteous Lady, and your charming
God-mother?
_Page_ (_Sighs_). Oh, yes! That I am sure I shall love her
as long as I live!
_Countess._ Esteem, you mean, Hannibal.
_Page._ Ye--ye--yes--Es--teem! I should have said.
_Susan_ (_Laughs_). Yes, yes, Esteem! The poor Youth
overflows with Es--teem and Aff--ection--and--
_Page._ Um! (_Aside to Susan_).
_Susan._ Nia, nia, nia, (_Mocking the Page_).--Dear Madam,
do make him sing those good-for-nothing Verses.
_Countess._ (_Takes the verses Susan gave her, from her
pocket_) Pray who wrote them?
_Susan_ (_Pointing to the Page_). Look, Madam, look! His
sins rise in his face--Nobody but an Author could look so
silly--
_Countess._ Come, Hannibal, sing.
_Susan._ Ah, the bashful Scribbler!
SONG.
To the Winds, to the Waves, to the Woods I complain;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
They hear not my Sighs, and they heed not my Pain;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
{{“The name of my Goddess I ’grave on each Tree;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
’Tis I wound the bark, but Love’s arrows wound me:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
The Heav’ns I view with their azure bright skies;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
But Heaven to me are her still brighter eyes:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!”}}
To the Sun’s morning splendor the poor Indian bows;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
But I dare not worship where I pay my Vows:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
{{“His God each morn rises and he can adore;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
But my Goddess to me must soon never rise more:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!”}}
(_During the song the Countess is evidently
affected by the Passion with which the Page
sings._
_Susan._ Now let us try whether one of my Caps--
_Countess._ There is one of mine lies on my dressing-table.
(_Exit Susan to the dressing room of the Countess._)--Is
your Commission made out?
_Page._ Oh yes, Madam, and given me; Here it is.
(_Presents his commission to the Countess._)
_Countess._ Already? They have made haste I see! They are
not willing to lose a moment--Their hurry has made them
even forget to affix the Seal.
_Susan._ (_Returns_) The Seal! To what, Madam?
_Countess._ His Commission.
_Susan._ So soon!
_Countess._ I was observing, there has been no time lost.
(_Returns the Page his Commission; he sticks it
in his girdle._)
_Susan._ Come--(_Makes the Page kneel down, and puts him
on the cap_) What a pretty little Villain it is! I declare
I am jealous: see if he is not handsomer than I am! Turn
about--There--What’s here?--The riband!--So, so, so! Now
all is out! I’m glad of it--I told my young Gentleman I
would let you know his thievish tricks, Madam.
_Countess._ Fetch me some black patches Susan.
(_Exit Susan to her own chamber._
_The Countess and the Page remain mute for a
considerable time during which the Page looks
at the Countess with great passion, though
with the bashful side glances natural to his
character--The Countess pretends not to observe
him, and visibly makes several efforts to
overcome her own feelings._)
_Countess._ And--and--so--you--you are sorry--to leave us?
_Page._ Ye--yes--Madam.
_Countess._ (_Observing the Page’s heart so full that he
is ready to burst into tears_) ’Tis that good-for-nothing
Figaro who has frightened the child with his prognostics.
_Page._ (_Unable to contain himself any longer_) N-o-o-o
indee-ee-eed, Madam, I-I-am o-on-only-gri-ieved to part
from-so dear a-La-a-ady.
_Countess._ (_Takes out her handkerchief and wipes his
eyes_) Nay, but don’t weep, don’t weep--Come, come, be
comforted. (_A knocking is heard at the Countess’s chamber
door_) Who’s there? (_In an authoritative tone._)
_The Count speaks without._
_Count._ Open the door, my Lady.
_Countess._ Heavens! It is the Count!--I am ruined!--If
he finds the Page here after receiving Figaro’s anonymous
Letter I shall be for ever lost!--What imprudence!
_Count._ (_Without_) Why don’t you open the door?
_Countess._ Because----I’m alone.
_Count._ Alone! Who are you talking to then!
_Countess._ To you, to be sure--How could I be so
thoughtless--This villainous Figaro.
_Page._ After the scene of the great chair this morning he
will certainly murder me if he finds me here.
_Countess._ Run into my dressing-room and lock the door on
the inside. (_the Countess opens the door to the Count._)
_Enter the_ COUNT.
_Count._ You did not use to lock yourself in, when you were
alone, Madam! Who were you speaking to?
_Countess._ (_Endeavouring to conceal her agitation_)
To--To Susan, who is rumaging in her own room.
_Count._ But you seem agitated, Madam.
_Countess._ That is not impossible (_affecting to take a
serious air_) We were speaking of you.
_Count._ Of me!
_Countess._ Your jealousy, your indifference, my Lord.
{{_Count._ “I cannot say for indifference, my Lady, and as
for jealousy, you know best whether I have any cause.
_Countess._ “My Lord!
_Count._ “In short, my Lady, there are people in the world,
who are malicious enough to wish to disturb either your
repose or mine. I have received private advice that a
certain Thing called a Lover--
_Countess._ “Lover!
_Count._ “Ay, or Gallant, or any other title you like
best, meant to take advantage of my absence, and introduce
himself into the Castle.
_Countess._ “If there even were any one audacious enough to
make such an attempt, he would find himself disappointed of
meeting me; for I shall not stir out of my room to-day.
_Count._ “What, not to the Wedding?
_Countess._ “I am indisposed.
_Count._ “Its lucky then that the Doctor is here.”}}
(_The Page oversets a table in the Countess’s
dressing-room._)
_Countess._ (_Terrified._) What will become of me?
(_Aside._)
_Count._ What noise is that?
_Countess._ I heard no noise.
_Count._ No? You must be most confoundedly absent, then.
_Countess._ (_Affecting to return his irony_) Oh, to be
sure.
_Count._ But there is somebody in your dressing-room, Madam.
_Countess._ Who should there be?
_Count._ That’s what I want to know.
_Countess._ It is Susan, I suppose, putting the chairs and
tables to rights.
_Count._ What! Your favourite woman turned house-maid! You
told me just now she was in her own room.
_Countess._ In _her_ room, or _my_ room, it is all one.
_Count._ Really, my Lady, this Susan of yours is a very
nimble, convenient kind of person.
_Countess._ Really, my Lord, this Susan of mine disturbs
your quiet very much.
_Count._ Very true, my Lady, so much that I am determined
to see her.
_Countess._ These suspicions are very much to your credit,
my Lord.
_Count._ If they are not to your discredit, my Lady, it
is very easy to remove them--But I see you mean to trifle
with me (_he goes to the Countess’s dressing-room door, and
calls_) Susan! Susan! If Susan you are, come forth!
_Countess._ Very well, my Lord! Very well! Would you have
the girl come out half undressed? She is trying on one of
my left off dresses--To disturb female privacy, in this
manner, my Lord, is certainly very unprecedented.
(_During the warmth of this dispute, Susan
comes from her own room, perceives what is
passing, and after listening long enough to
know how to act, slips, unseen by both, behind
the curtains of the bed which stands in the
Alcove._)
_Count._ Well, if she can’t come out, she can answer at
least. (_Calls_) Susan!--Answer me, Susan.
_Countess._ I say, do not answer, Susan! I forbid you to
speak a word!--We shall see who she’ll obey.
_Count._ But if you are so innocent, Madam, what is the
reason of that emotion and perplexity so very evident in
your countenance?
_Countess._ (_Affecting to laugh_) Emotion and perplexity!
Ha! ha! ha! Ridiculous!
_Count._ Well, Madam, be it as ridiculous as it may, I am
determined to be satisfied, and I think present appearances
give me a sufficient plea. (_Goes to the side of the Scenes
and calls_) Hollo! Who waits there?
_Countess._ Do, do, my Lord! Expose your jealousy to your
very servants! Make yourself and me the jest of the whole
world.
_Count._ Why do you oblige me to it?--However, Madam, since
you will not suffer that door to be opened, will you please
to accompany me while I procure an instrument to force it?
_Countess._ To be sure, my Lord! To be sure! If you please.
_Count._ And, in order that you may be fully justified, I
will make this other door fast (_Goes to Susan’s chamber
door, locks it, and takes the key._) As to the Susan of the
dressing-room, she must have the complaisance to wait my
return.
_Countess._ This behaviour is greatly to your honor, my
Lord! (_This speech is heard as they are going through the
door, which the Count locks after him._)
(Exeunt)
_Enter_ SUSAN, _peeping as they go off, then runs to the
dressing-room door and calls_.
_Susan._ Hannibal!--Hannibal!--Open the door! Quick!
Quick!--It’s I, Susan.
_Enter_ PAGE, _frightened_.
_Page._ Oh Susan!
_Susan._ Oh my poor Mistress!
_Page._ What will become of her?
_Susan._ What will become of my marriage?
_Page._ What will become of me?
_Susan._ Don’t stand babbling here, but fly.
_Page._ The doors are all fast, how can I fly?
_Susan._ Don’t ask me! Fly!
_Page._ Here’s a window open (_runs to the window_)
Underneath is a bed of flowers; I’ll leap out.
_Susan._ (_Screams_) You’ll break your neck!
_Page._ Better that than ruin my dear Lady--Give me one
kiss Susan.
_Susan._ Was there ever seen such a young--(_Page kisses
her, runs and leaps out of the window, and Susan shrieks
at seeing him_) Ah! (_Susan sinks into a chair, overcome
with fear--At last she takes courage, rises, goes with
dread towards the window, and after looking out, turns
round with her hand upon her heart, a sigh of relief and
a smile expressive of sudden ease and pleasure._) He
is safe! Yonder he runs!--As light and as swift as the
winds!--If that Boy does not make some woman’s heart ache
I’m mistaken. (_Susan goes towards the dressing-room door,
enters, and peeps out as she is going to shut it._) And
now, my good jealous Count, perhaps, I may teach you to
break open doors another time. (_Locks herself in._)
_Enter_ COUNT, _with a wrenching iron in one hand, and
leading in the_ COUNTESS _with the other. Goes and
examines the doors._
_Count._ Every thing is as I left it. We now shall come to
an eclaircissement.
_Countess._ But, my Lord!--He’ll murder him! (_Aside._)
_Count._ Now we shall know--Do you still persist in forcing
me to break open this door?--I am determined to see who’s
within.
_Countess._ Let me beg, my Lord, you’ll have a moment’s
patience!--Hear me only and you shall satisfy your utmost
curiosity!--Let me intreat you to be assured, that, however
appearances may condemn me, no injury was intended to your
honour.
_Count._ Then there is a man?
_Countess._ No--none of whom you can reasonably entertain
the least suspicion.
_Count._ How?
_Countess._ A jest!--A meer innocent, harmless frolic, for
our evening’s diversion! Nothing more, upon my Honor!--On
my soul!
_Count._ But who--who is it?
_Countess._ A Child!
_Count._ Let us see your child!--What child?
_Countess._ Hannibal.
_Count._ The Page! (_Turns away_) This damnable Page
again?----Thus then is the Letter!----thus are my
Suspicions realized at last!--I am now no longer
astonished, Madam, at your emotion for your pretty Godson
this morning!--The whole is unravelled!--Come forth, Viper!
(_In great wrath._)
_Countess._ (_Terrified and trembling_) Do not let the
Disorder in which you will see him----
_Count._ The Disorder!--The Disorder!
_Countess._ We were going to dress him in women’s cloaths
for our evening’s diversion--
_Count._ I’ll stab him!--I’ll!--{{“And this is your
indisposition!--This is why you would keep your Chamber
all day! False, unworthy Woman! You shall keep it longer
than you expected.”}}--I’ll make him a terrible example of
an injured Husband’s wrath!
_Countess._ (_Falling on her knees between the Count and
the door_) Hold, my Lord, hold! Or let your anger light on
me!--I, alone, am guilty! If there be any guilt--Have pity
on his youth! His infancy!
_Count._ What! Intercede for him!--On your knees!--And to
me! There wanted but this!--I’ll rack him!--Rise!--I’ll
(_Furiously._)
_Countess._ Promise me to spare his life!
_Count._ Rise!
(_The Countess rises terrified, and sinks into
an arm chair ready to faint._
_Countess._ He’ll murder him!
_Count._ Come forth, I say, once more; or I’ll
drag--(_While the Count is speaking, Susan unlocks the door
and bolts out upon him._)
_Susan._ I’ll stab him!--I’ll rack him!
(_The Countess, at hearing Susan’s voice,
recovers sufficiently to look round--Is
astonished, endeavours to collect herself, and
turns back into her former position to conceal
her surprise._)
_Countess._ (_After standing fixed some time, and first
looking at Susan and then at the Countess_) Here’s a
seminary!--And can you act astonishment too, Madam?
(_Observing the Countess, who cannot totally hide her
surprise._).
_Countess._ _Attempting to speak_) I--My Lord--
_Count._ (_Recollecting himself._) But, perhaps, she was
not alone. (_Enters the dressing-room, Countess again
alarmed, Susan runs to the Countess._
_Susan._ Fear nothing--He is not there--He has jumped out
of the window.
_Countess._ And broke his neck! (_Her terror returns._)
_Susan._ Hush! (_Susan claps herself bolt upright against
her Lady, to hide her new disorder from the Count._) Hem!
Hem!
_Re-enter_ COUNT, (_greatly abashed_)
_Count._ Nobody there!--I have been to blame--(_approaching
the Countess_.) Madam!--
(_With great submission as if going to beg her
pardon, but the confusion still visible in her
countenance calls up the recollection of all
that had just passed, and he bursts out into an
exclamation._)
Upon my soul, Madam, you are a most excellent Actress!
_Susan._ And am not I too, my Lord?
_Count._ You see my Confusion, Madam--be generous.
_Susan._ As you have been.
_Count._ Hush!--(_Makes signs to Susan to take his part._)
My dear Rosina----
_Countess._ No, no, my Lord! I am no longer that Rosina
whom you formerly loved with such affection!--I am now
nothing but the poor Countess of Almaviva! A neglected
Wife, and not a beloved Mistress.
_Count._ Nay, do not make my humiliation too severe--(_His
suspicions again in part revive._) But wherefore, my Lady,
have you been thus mysterious on this occasion?
_Countess._ That I might not betray that headlong
thoughtless Figaro.
_Count._ What! He wrote the anonymous billet then?
_Countess._ It was without my knowledge, my Lord.
_Count._ But you were afterwards informed of it?
_Countess._ Certainly.
_Count._ Who did he give it to?
_Countess._ Basil--
_Count._ Who sent it me by a Peasant--Indeed, Mr.
Basil.--Yes, vile Thrummer, thou shalt pay for all!
_Countess._ But where is the justice of refusing that
pardon to others we stand so much in need of ourselves? If
ever I could be brought to forgive, it should only be on
condition of passing a general amnesty.
_Count._ I acknowledge my guilt.
(_The Countess stands in the middle of the
stage, the Count a little in the back ground,
as if expressive of his timidity, but his
countenance shews he is confident of obtaining
his pardon--Susan stands forwarder than either,
and her looks are significantly applicable to
the circumstances of both parties._)
_Susan._ To suspect a man in my Lady’s dressing-room!--
_Count._ And to be thus severely punished for my
suspicion!--
_Susan._ Not to believe my Lady when she _assured_ you it
was her Woman!
_Count._ Ah!----(_with affected confusion_) Deign, Madam,
once more, to repeat my pardon.
_Countess._ Have I already pronounced it, Susan?
_Susan._ Not that I heard, Madam.
_Count._ Let the gentle sentence then escape.
_Countess._ And do you merit it, ungrateful man? (_with
tenderness._)
_Count._ (_Looking at Susan, who returns his look_)
Certainly, my Lady.
_Countess._ A fine example I set you, Susan! (_The Count
takes her hand and kisses it._) Who, hereafter, will dread
a Woman’s anger?
(_Countess turns her head towards Susan, and
laughs as she says this._)
_Susan._ (_In the same tone_) Yes, yes, Madam--I
observe----Men may well accuse us of frailty.
_Count._ And yet I cannot, for the soul of me, forget the
agony, Rosina, in which you seemed to be just now! Your
cries, your tears, your----How was it possible, this being
a Fiction, you should so suddenly give it the tragic tone
of a Reality?--Ha! ha! ha!--So astonishingly natural!
_Countess._ You see your Page, and I dare say your Lordship
was not sorry for the mistake--I’m sure the sight of Susan
does not give you offence.
_Count._ Hem!--Offence! Oh! No, no, no--But what’s the
reason, you malicious little hussey, you did not come when
I called?
_Susan._ What! Undress’d, my Lord?
_Count._ But why didn’t you answer then?
_Susan._ My Lady forbad me: and good reason she had so to
do.
_Count._ Such distraction in your countenance! (_To the
Countess_) Nay, it’s not calm even yet!
_Countess._ Oh you--you fancy so my Lord.
_Count._ Men, I perceive, are poor Politicians--Women make
Children of us----Were his Majesty wise, he would name you,
and not me, for his Ambassador.
_Enter_ FIGARO, _chearfully; perceives the Count, who
puts on a very serious air_.
_Fig._ They told me my Lady was indisposed, I ran to
enquire, and am very happy to find there was nothing in it.
_Count._ You are very attentive.
_Fig._ It is my duty so to be, my Lord. (_Turns to Susan._)
Come, come, my Charmer! Prepare for the Ceremony! Go to
your Bridemaids.
_Count._ But who is to guard the Countess in the mean time?
_Figaro._ (_Surprised_) Guard her, my Lord! My Lady seems
very well: she wants no guarding.
_Count._ From the Gallant, who was to profit by my absence?
(_Susan and the Countess make signs to Figaro._)
_Countess._ Nay, nay, Figaro, the Count knows all.
_Susan._ Yes, yes, we have told my Lord every thing.--The
jest is ended--Its all over.
_Figaro._ The jest is ended!--And its all over!
_Count._ Yes--Ended, ended, ended!----And all over--What
have you to say to that?
_Fig._ Say, my Lord!
(_The confusion of Figaro arises from not
supposing it possible the Countess and
Susan should have betrayed him, and when he
understands something by their signs, from not
knowing how much they have told._)
_Count._ Ay, say.
_Fig._ I--I--I wish I could say as much of my Marriage.
_Count._ And who wrote the pretty Letter?
_Figaro._ Not I, my Lord.
_Count._ If I did not know thou liest, I could read it in
thy face.
_Figaro._ Indeed, my Lord!--Then it is my face that lies;
and not I.
_Countess._ Pshaw, Figaro! Why should you endeavour to
conceal any thing, when I tell you we have confess’d all?
_Susan._ (_Making signs to Figaro_) We have told my Lord
of the Letter, which made him suspect that Hannibal, the
Page, who is far enough off by this, was hid in my Lady’s
dressing-room, where I myself was lock’d in.
_Figaro._ Well, well, since my Lord will have it so, and my
Lady will have it so, and you all will have it so, why then
so let it be.
_Count._ Still at his Wiles.----
_Countess._ Why, my Lord, would you oblige him to speak
truth, so much against his inclination? (_Count and
Countess walk familiarly up the stage._)
_Susan._ Hast thou seen the Page?
_Fig._ Yes, yes: you have shook his young joints for him,
among you.
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _the Gardener, with a broken Flower-pot
under his arm half drunk_.
_Antonio._ My Lord--My good Lord--If so be as your Lordship
will not have the goodness to have these Windows nailed up,
I shall never have a Nosegay fit to give to my Lady--They
break all my pots, and spoil my flowers; for they not only
throw other Rubbish out of the windows, as they used to do,
but they have just now tossed out a Man.
_Count._ A Man!--(_The Count’s suspicions all revive._)
_Antonio._ In white stockings!
(_Countess and Susan discover their fears,
and make signs to Figaro to assist them if
possible._)
_Count._ Where is the Man? (_Eagerly._)
_Antonio._ That’s what I want to know, my Lord!--I wish
I could find him,--I am your Lordship’s Gardener; and,
tho’ I say it, a better Gardener is not to be found in all
Spain;--but if Chambermaids are permitted to toss men out
of the window to save their own Reputation, what is to
become of mine?--{{“It will wither with my flowers to be
sure.”}}
_Figaro._ Oh fie! What sotting so soon in a morning?
_Antonio._ Why, can one begin one’s day’s work too early?
_Count._ Your day’s work, Sir?
_Antonio._ Your Lordship knows my Niece, there she stands,
is to be married to day; and I am sure she would never
forgive me if----
_Count._ If you were not to get drunk an hour sooner than
usual--But on with your story, Sir--What of the Man?--What
followed?
_Antonio._ I followed him myself, my Lord, as fast as I
could; but, somehow, I unluckily happened to make a false
step, and came with such a confounded whirl against the
Garden-gate--that I--I quite for--forgot my Errand.
_Count._ And should you know this man again?
_Antonio._ To be sure I should, my Lord!--If I had seen
him, that is.
_Count._ Either speak more clearly, Rascal, or I’ll send
you packing to----
_Antonio._ Send me packing, my Lord?--Oh, no! If your
Lordship has not enough--enough (_Points to his forehead_)
to know when you have a good Gardener, I warrant I know
when I have a good Place.
_Figaro._ There is no occasion, my Lord, for all this
mystery! It was I who jump’d out of the window into the
garden.
_Count._ You?
_Figaro._ My own self, my Lord.
_Count._ Jump out of a one pair of stairs window and run
the risk of breaking your Neck?
_Figaro._ The ground was soft, my Lord.
_Antonio._ And his Neck is in no danger of being broken.
_Figaro._ To be sure I hurt my right leg, a little, in the
fall; just here at the ancle--I feel it still. (_Rubbing
his ancle._)
_Count._ But what reason had you to jump out of the window?
_Figaro._ You had received my letter, my Lord, since I must
own it, and was come, somewhat sooner than I expected, in
a dreadful passion, in search of a man.--
_Antonio._ If it was you, you have grown plaguy fast within
this half hour, to my thinking. The man that I saw did not
seem so tall by the head and shoulders.
_Figaro._ Pshaw! Does not one double one’s self up when one
takes a leap?
_Antonio._ It seem’d a great deal more like the Page.
_Count._ The Page!
_Figaro._ Oh yes, to be sure, the Page has gallop’d back
from Seville, Horse and all, to leap out of the window!
_Antonio._ No, no, my Lord! I saw no such thing! I’ll take
my oath I saw no horse leap out of the window.
_Figaro._ Come, come, let us prepare for our sports.
_Antonio._ Well, since it was you, as I am an honest man,
I ought to return you this Paper which drop’d out of your
pocket as you fell.
_Count._ (_Snatches the paper. The Countess, Figaro, and
Susan are all surprised and embarrassed. Figaro shakes
himself, and endeavours to recover his fortitude._) Ay,
since it was you, you doubtless can tell what this Paper
contains (_claps the paper behind his back as he faces
Figaro_) and how it happened to come in your Pocket?
_Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, I have such quantities of Papers
(_searches his pockets, pulls out a great many_) No, it
is not this!--Hem!--This is a double Love-letter from
Marcelina, in seven pages--Hem!--Hem!--It would do a man’s
heart good to read it--Hem!--And this is a petition from
the poor Poacher in prison. I never presented it to your
Lordship, because I know you have affairs much more serious
on your hands, than the Complaints of such half-starved
Rascals--Ah!--Hem!--this--this--no, this is an Inventory
of your Lordship’s Sword-knots, Ruffs, Ruffles, and
Roses--must take care of this--(_Endeavours to gain time,
and keeps glancing and hemming to Susan and the Countess,
to look at the paper and give him a hint._)
_Count._ It is neither this, nor this, nor that, nor
t’other, that you have in your hand, but what I hold here
in mine, that I want to know the contents of. (_Holds out
the paper in action as he speaks, the Countess who stands
next him catches a sight of it._)
_Countess._ ’Tis the Commission. (_Aside to Susan._)
_Susan._ The Page’s Commission. (_Aside to Figaro._)
_Count._ Well, Sir!--So you know nothing of the matter?
_Antonio._ (_Reels round to Figaro_) My Lord says you--know
nothing of the matter.
_Figaro._ Keep off, and don’t come to whisper me.
(_pretending to recollect himself._) Oh Lord! Lord! What a
stupid fool I am!--I declare it is the Commission of that
poor youth, Hannibal--which I, like a Blockhead, forgot to
return him--He will be quite unhappy about it, poor Boy.
_Count._ And how came you by it?
_Figaro._ By it, my Lord?
_Count._ Why did he give it you?
_Figaro._ To--to--to----
_Count._ To what?
_Figaro._ To get--
_Count._ To get what? It wants nothing!
_Countess._ (_to Susan_) It wants the Seal.
_Susan._ (_to Figaro_) It wants the Seal.
_Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, what it wants to be sure is a mere
trifle.
_Count._ What trifle?
_Figaro._ You know, my Lord, it’s customary to--
_Count._ To what?
_Figaro._ To affix your Lordship’s Seal.
_Count._ (_Looks at the Commission, finds the Seal is
wanting, and exclaims with vexation and disappointment_)
The Devil and his Imps!--It is written, Count, thou shalt
be a Dupe!--Where is this Marcelina?
[_Going._
_Figaro._ Are you going, my Lord, without giving Orders for
our Wedding?
_Enter_ MARCELINA, BASIL, BOUNCE, _and Vassals_.
(_The Count returns._)
_Marcelina._ Forbear, my Lord, to give such Orders; in
Justice forbear. I have a written promise under his hand,
and I appeal to you, to redress my injuries! You are my
lawful Judge.
_Figaro._ Pshaw! A trifle, my Lord: a note of hand for
money borrowed; nothing more.
_Count._ Let the Advocates and Officers of Justice be
assembled in the great Hall; we will there determine on
the justice of your claim. It becomes us not to suffer any
Vassal of ours, however we may privately esteem him, to be
guilty of public injury.
_Basil._ Your Lordship is acquainted with my claims on
Marcelina: I hope your Lordship will grant me your support.
_Count._ Oh, oh! Are you there, Prince of Knaves?
_Antonio._ Yes, that’s his title, sure enough.
_Count._ Approach, honest Basil; faithful Agent of our
Will and Pleasure. (_Basil bows_) Go order the Lawyers to
assemble.
_Basil._ My Lord!--
_Count._ And tell the Peasant, by whom you sent me the
Letter this morning, I want to speak with him.
_Basil._ Your Lordship is pleased to joke with your humble
Servant. I know no such Peasant.
_Count._ You will be pleased to find him, notwithstanding.
_Basil._ My Office, in this House, as your Lordship knows,
is not to go of Errands! Think, my Lord, how that would
degrade a man of my talents; who have the honour to teach
my Lady the Harpsichord, the Mandoline to her Woman, and to
entertain your Lordship, and your Lordship’s good Company,
with my Voice and my Guitar, whenever your Lordship pleases
to honor me with your Commands.
_Bounce._ I will go, if your Lordship pleases to let me:
I should be very glad to oblige your Lordship.
_Count._ What’s thy Name?
_Bounce._ Pedro Bounce, my Lord, Fire-work maker to your
Lordship.
_Count._ Thy zeal pleases me, thou shalt go.
_Bounce._ Thank your Lordship, thank your noble Lordship.
(_Leaps._)
_Count._ (_To Basil_) And do you be pleased, Sir, to
entertain the Gentleman, on his Journey, with your Voice
and your Guitar; he is part of my good Company.
_Bounce._ (_Leaps_) I am part of my Lord’s good Company!
Who would have thought it!
_Basil._ My Lord----
_Count._ Depart! Obey! Or, depart from my Service.
(_Exit._)
_Basil._ ’Tis in vain to resist. Shall I wage war with a
Lion, who am only----
_Figaro._ A Calf--{{“But come, you seem vex’d about
it--I will open the Ball--Strike up, tis my Susan’s
Wedding-day.”}}
_Basil._ Come along, Mr. Bounce. (_Basil begins to play,
Figaro dances and sings off before him, and Bounce follows,
dancing after._)
(_Exeunt._)
_Manent_ COUNTESS _and_ SUSAN.
_Countess._ You see, Susan, to what Danger I have been
exposed by Figaro and his fine concerted Billet.
{{_Susan._ “Dear Madam, if you had but seen yourself when
I bounced out upon my Lord! So pale, such Terror in your
Countenance! And then your suddenly assumed tranquillity!
_Countess._ “Oh no, every Faculty was lost in my Fears.
_Susan._ “I assure your Ladyship to the contrary; in a few
Lessons you would learn to dissemble and fib with as good
a Grace as any Lady in the Land.”}}
_Countess._ And so that poor Child jumped out of the Window?
_Susan._ Without the least hesitation--as light and as
chearful as a Linnet.
_Countess._ I wish however I could convict my false Count
of his Infidelity.
_Susan._ The Page will never dare, after this, to make a
second attempt.
_Countess._ Ha!--A lucky project! I will meet him myself;
and then nobody will be exposed.
_Susan._ But suppose, Madam--
_Countess._ My Success has emboldened me, and I am
determined to try--(_Sees the Riband left on the chair_)
What’s here? My Riband! I will keep it as a Memento of the
danger to which that poor Youth--{{“Ah my Lord--Yet let
me have a care, let me look to myself, to my own Conduct,
lest I should give occasion to say--Ah my Lady!”}} (_The
Countess puts the Riband in her Pocket._) You must not
mention a Word of this, Susan, to any body.
_Susan._ Except Figaro.
_Countess._ No exceptions, he must not be told; he will
spoil it, by mixing some plot of his own with it--I have
promised thee a Portion thou knowest--these men are liberal
in their Pleasures--Perhaps I may double it for thee; it
will be Susan’s Right.
_Susan._ Your Project is a charming one, Madam, and I shall
yet have my Figaro.
[_Exit Susan, kissing the Countess’s Hand._
End of ACT II.
ACT III.
SCENE, the Great Hall.
(_A Judge’s Chair, four other Chairs, Benches with red
Baize, a Table and at Stool, with Pen, Ink and Paper._)
_Enter the_ COUNT, _dressed, and a_ SERVANT, _booted._
_Count._ Ride to Seville with all speed; enquire if the
Page has joined his Regiment, and at what o’clock precisely
he arrived; give him this Commission, and return like
lightening.
_Servant._ And if he is not there--
_Count._ Return still quicker.--Go; fly!----(_Exit
Servant_)--I was wrong to send Basil out of the way--He
might have been very serviceable--But Anger was never
wise--I scarcely know at present what I wish--When once
the Passions have obtained the Mastery, there is no Mind,
however consistent, but becomes as wild and incongruous
as a Dream--If the Countess, Susan, and Figaro should
understand each other and plot to betray me!--If the Page
_was_ shut up in her dressing-room--Oh! no!--The Respect
she bears herself--my Honor!--My Honor? And in my Wife’s
keeping?--Honor in a Woman’s possession, like Ice Cream in
the mouth, melts away in a contest of Pleasure and Pain--I
will sound Figaro, however.
_Enter_ FIGARO, _behind_.
_Figaro._ Here am I. (_Aside._)
_Count._ And if I have reason to suppose them plotting
against me, he shall marry Marcelina.
_Figaro._ Perhaps not. (_Aside._)
_Count._ But in that case, what must Susan be?
_Figaro._ My Wife, if you please.--
(_Figaro’s eagerness occasions him to speak
aloud----The Count turns round astonished._)
_Count._ My Wife, if you please!--To whom did you say my
Wife, if you please?
_Figaro._ To--to--to--That is--They were the last words of
a sentence I was saying to one of the Servants--Go and tell
so and so to--_my Wife, if you please_.
_Count._ Your Wife!--Zounds, you are very fond of your Wife.
_Figaro._ I love to be singular.
_Count._ You have made me wait for you here a long while.
_Figaro._ I have been changing my Stockings, which I
dirtied in the fall.
_Count._ Servants, I think, are longer dressing than their
Masters.
_Figaro._ Well they may--They are obliged to dress
themselves.
_Count._ If in sifting my Gentleman, I find him unwilling
to go to France, I may conclude Susan has betrayed me.
(_Aside._)
_Figaro._ He has mischief in his head, but I’ll watch his
motions. (_Aside._)
_Count._ (_Approaches Figaro with familiarity_)--Thou
knowest, Figaro, it was my intention to have taken thee
with me on my Embassy to Paris, but I believe thou dost not
understand French.
_Figaro._ Perfectly.
_Count._ Indeed!--Let’s hear.--(_Figaro pulls out his purse
and jingles it_)--Is that all the French thou understandest?
_Figaro._ All!--Is not that enough, think you, my
Lord?--That’s a Language understood in every corner of
the habitable Earth, and in no place better than in
Paris.--{{“Your Philosophers, who lament the loss of an
universal Language, are Fools--They always carry one
in their pockets.”}} As for a knowledge of French, my
Lord, I maintain, _s’il vous plait_, and a Purse are all
that’s necessary--Let but the sound of Silver jingle in a
Frenchman’s ears, and he will instantly understand your
meaning, be it what it will.--{{“If you have a Law-suit,
and wish to gain your Cause, go to the Judge, pull off
your Hat, and pull out your Purse; smile, shake it, and
pronounce, _s’il vous plait, Monsieur_--
_Count._ “And your Adversary is overthrown.
_Figaro._ “Undoubtedly--Unless he understands French
still better than you--Do you wish the _Friendship_ of a
great Lord, or a great Lady, its still the same--Chink,
chink, and _s’il vous plait, Monseigneur--S’il vous plait,
Madame_--The French are a very witty People!--Amazingly
quick of apprehension!--Therefore, my Lord, if you have no
other reason than this for leaving me behind--”}}
_Count._ But thou art no Politician.
_Figaro._ Pardon me, my Lord, I am as great a master of
Politics----
_Count._ As thou art of French.
_Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, the thing is so easy--He must be
a Fool indeed who could find his vanity flattered by his
skill in Politics--To appear always deeply concerned
for the good of the State, yet to have no other end but
Self-interest; to assemble and say Nothing; to pretend
vast Secrecy where there is nothing to conceal; to shut
yourself up in your Chamber, and mend your pen or pick
your Teeth, while your Footmen inform the attending Croud
you are too busy to be approach’d--this, with the art of
intercepting Letters, imitating Hands, pensioning Traitors,
and rewarding Flatterers, is the whole mystery of Politics,
or I am an Idiot.
_Count._ This is the definition of a Partisan not a
Politician.
_Figaro._ Party and Politics are much the same, they are
become synonimous terms.
_Count._ (_Aside_) Since he is so willing to go to Paris,
Susan has said nothing.
_Figaro._ ’Tis now my turn to attack. (_Aside._)
_Count._ And--I suppose thou wilt take thy Wife with
thee--to Paris?
_Figaro._ No--no--I should be obliged to quit her so
frequently, that I am afraid the Cares of the marriage
state would lie too heavy on my head (_significantly._)
_Count._ Susan has betrayed me. (_Aside._)
_Figaro._ (_Aside_) He does not like the retort.
(_The Count smiles, approaches Figaro with
great familiarity, and leans upon his
shoulder--By-play between the Count and
Figaro._)
_Count._ The time was, Figaro, when thou wert more
open--Formerly thou wouldst tell me any thing.
_Figaro._ And at present I conceal nothing.
_Count._ What can be the Countess’s motives--(_The Count
puts his arm round Figaro’s neck--By-play again_)--I--Thou
seest I anticipate her wishes, load her with presents----
_Figaro._ Will give her any thing but yourself--Of what
worth are Trinkets when we are in want of Necessaries?
_Count._ Come, come; be sincere--Tell me--How much did the
Countess give thee for this last plot?
_Figaro._ As much as your Lordship gave me for helping you
to steal her from her old jealous Guardian--{{“A noble Lord
should not endeavour to degrade an honest Servant, lest he
should make him a Knave.”}}
_Count._ But wherefore is there continually some Mystery in
thy conduct?
_Figaro._ Because the Conduct of others is mysterious.
_Count._ Appearances, my dear Figaro, really speak thee a
great Knave.
_Figaro._ (_Looking round at the Count’s hand upon his
shoulders, and observing his familiarity_)--_Appearances_,
my dear Lord, are frequently false--I am much better
than I appear to be-Can the Great in general say as
much?--(_Aside_)--Take that.
_Count._ Yes, yes; she has told him. (_Aside._)
{{_Figaro._ “I shall content myself, my Lord, with the
portion your Lordship has promised me on my Marriage, and
the place of Steward of this Castle, with which you have
honoured me, and willingly remain with my Wife here in
Andalusia, far from troubles and intrigue.
_Count._ “But thou hast Abilities, and might rise to
Preferment.
_Figaro._ “Preferred by my Abilities my Lord!----Your
Lordship is pleased to laugh at me.”}}
_Count._ Yes, yes; Susan has betrayed me, and my Gentleman
marries Marcelina. (_Aside._)
_Figaro._ He has been angling for Gudgeons, and what has he
caught? (_Aside._)
_Enter a_ SERVANT.
_Servant._ Don Guzman and the Counsellors are without.
_Count._ Let them wait.
_Figaro._ (_Ironically_) Aye, let them wait. (_Exit Serv._)
_Count._ And dost thou expect to gain thy Cause?
_Figaro._ With the assistance of Justice and my Lord’s good
wishes, who respects Youth too much himself to force others
to wed with Age.
_Count._ A Judge knows no distinction of persons.
_Figaro._ “Well--Time, say the Italians, is a valiant
Fellow, and tells Truth”--But what was it your Lordship was
pleased to send for me for?
_Count._ For--(_Somewhat embarrassed_) To see these benches
and chairs set in order.
_Figaro._ That is already done, my Lord. Here is the great
chair for your Lordship, a seat for the President, a table
and stool for his Clerk, two benches for the Lawyers, the
middle for the Beau monde, and the Mob in the back ground.
(_Exit._)
_Count._ He is too cunning; I can get nothing out of him;
but they certainly understand each other.--They may toy and
be as loving as they please, but as for wedding--
_Enter_ SUSAN.
(_She comes up to the Count’s elbow while he is speaking,
and is surprized to see him in such an ill humour._)
_Susan._ My Lord!
_Count._ My Lady!
_Susan._ My Lady has sent me for your Lordship’s
smelling-bottle; she has got the vapours.
_Count._ Here; and when she has done with it, borrow it for
yourself,--it may be useful.
_Susan._ I the vapours, my Lord! Oh no, that’s too polite
a disease for a Servant to pretend to!
_Count._ Fits may come;--Love so violent as yours cannot
bear disappointment; and when Figaro marries Marcelina--
_Susan._ Oh, suppose the worst, my Lord, we can pay
Marcelina with the Portion your Lordship has promised us!
_Count._ I promis’d you a portion?
_Susan._ If my ears did not deceive me, I understood as
much.
_Count._ Yes, if you had pleas’d to _understand_ me, but
since you do not.--
_Susan._ (_Pretending bashfulness_) It’s always soon enough
to own one’s weakness, my Lord.
_Count._ (_with an instant change of countenance_) What!
Wilt thou take a walk this evening in the garden, by the
Pavilion?
_Susan._ Don’t I take Walks every evening, my Lord?
_Count._ Nay, nay, but let us understand each other--No
Pavilion, no Marriage.
_Susan._ And no Marriage, no Pavilion, my Lord!
(_curtsying_)
_Count._ What a witty little Devil! I wonder what she does
to fascinate me so!--But prithee tell me why hast thou
always, till now, refused with such obstinacy? This very
Morning, thou knowest----
_Susan._ This Morning, my Lord!--What, and the Page behind
the Great-chair!
_Count._ Oh, true! I had forgot!--But when Basil has spoken
to thee in my behalf.--
_Susan._ Is it necessary, my Lord, such a knave as Basil
should know every thing that passes?
_Count._ She is right again!--But--(_Suspicious_) thou wilt
go, now, and tell Figaro all.
_Susan._ To be sure, my Lord. I always tell him all--except
what is necessary to conceal.
_Count._ Ah the Hussey! What a charming little Knave it is!
Run, run to thy Mistress; she is waiting, and may suspect
us.
_Susan._ (_Hesitating_) So your Lordship can’t perceive
that I only wanted a pretext to speak to your Lordship.
(_The Count unable to conceal his transport, is
going to kiss her, but hears somebody coming,
and they separate_)
_Count._ (_As he turns._) She absolutely bewitches me! I
had sworn to think no more of her, but she winds me just as
she pleases!
(_The Count goes off, and Figaro enters, but
the Count hearing Figaro’s Voice, returns and
peeps_)
_Figaro._ Well, my Susan, what does he say?
_Susan._ Hush! Hush! He is just gone--Thou hast gained thy
Cause--Run, run, run.
(_Exit Susan, running, Figaro following._)
_Figaro._ Well, but how, how, my Charmer?
(_Exeunt._)
_Re-enter_ COUNT.
_Count._ Thou hast gained thy Cause--Aha! And
is it so, my pair of Knaves!--Am I your Dupe
then?--A very pretty Net! But the Cuckoo is not
caught--Come!--Proceed we to judgment! (_With passion_) Be
we just!--Cool!--Impartial!--Inflexible--
(_Exit._)
_Enter_ Don GUZMAN, MARCELINA, _and_ DOCTOR.
_Marcelina._ I shall be happy, Mr. President, to explain
the justice of my Cause.
_Doctor._ To shew you on what grounds this Lady proceeds.
_D. Guzman._ (_Stuttering_) We-e-e-ell, le-et us exa-a-mine
the matter ve-erbally.
_Marcelina._ There is a promise of Marriage----
_Guzman._ I co-o-o-ompre--hend! Gi-i-iven by you-ou-ou--to--
_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, given _to_ me.
_Guz._ I co-o-o-omprehend! Gi-iven _to_ you.
_Marcelina._ And a sum of Money which I----
_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend! Which you-ou ha-ave received.
_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, which I have lent.
_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend!--It is re-e-paid.
_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, it is _not_ repaid.
_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend--The m-m-man would marry you
to pay his de-de-de-bts.
_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, he would neither marry me,
_nor_ pay his debts.
_Guzman._ D-d--do you think I d-d-d-don’t co-o-omprehend
you?
_Doctor._ And are you, Mr. President, to judge this Cause?
_Guzman._ T-t-t-to be sure--Wha-at else did I purchase my
Place for thi-ink you, (_Laughs stupidly at the supposed
folly of the Question_) And where is the De-fe-e-endant?
_Enter_ FIGARO.
_Figaro._ Here, at your service.
_Doctor._ Yes, that’s the Knave.
_Figaro._ Perhaps I interrupt you.
{{_Guzman._ “Ha-ave not I see-een you before, young Man?
_Figaro._ “Oh yes, Mr. President, I once served your Lady.
_Guzman._ “How lo-ong since?
_Figaro._ “Nine months before the birth of her last
Child--And a fine Boy it is, though I say it.
_Guzman._ “Y-es--He’s the F-flower of the Flock”--}} And
the cau-ause betwee-een--
_Figaro._ A Bagatelle, Mr. President! A Bagatelle.
_Guzman._ (_Laughs._) A Ba-ag-a-telle! A pro-o-mise of
Ma-a-arriage a Ba-a-gatelle! Ha! ha! ha!----And dost thou
hope to ca-ast the Pla-aintiff?
_Figaro._ To be sure, Mr. President! You being one of the
Judges.
_Guzman._ (_With stupid dignity_) Ye-e-es! I am one of the
Judges!--Hast thou see-een D-D-Doublefee, my Se-ecretary?
_Figaro._ Yes, Mr. President! That’s a duty not to be
neglected.
_Guzman._ The young Fellow is not so si-i-imple I thought.
_Enter Cryer of the Court, Guards, Count, Counsellors and
Vassals._
_Cryer._ Make room there, for my Lord, the Count.
_Count._ Wherefore in your Robes, Don Guzman? It was
unnecessary for a mere domestic matter like this.
_Guzman._ Pa-a-ardon me, my Lord! {{“Those who would
tre-e-emble at the Clerk of the Court in his Robes, would
la-augh at the Judge without ’em.”}} Forms! Forms! are
sacred things.
(_The Count and the Court seat themselves._)
_Count._ Call silence in the Court.
_Cryer._ Silence in the Court.
_Guzman._ Read “over the Causes”, D-D-Doublefee.
{{_Doublefee._ “The Count de los Altos Montes di Agnas
Frescas, Señor di Montes Fieros, y otros Montes, Plaintiff,
against Alonzo Calderon, a Comic Poet. The question at
present before the Court, is, to know the Author of a
Comedy that has been damned; which they mutually disavow
and attribute to each other.
_Count._ “They are both very right in mutually disavowing
it; and be it decreed, that if, hereafter, they should
produce a successful Piece, its Fame shall appertain to the
Count, and its Merit to the Poet--The next.
_Doublefee._ “Diego Macho, Day-labourer, Plaintiff, against
Gil-Perez-Borcado, Tax-gatherer, and receiver of the
Gabels, for having violently dispossessed the said Diego
Macho, Day-labourer, of his Cow.
_Count._ “This Cause does not come within my Jurisdiction;
but as it is probable the Day-labourer will never obtain
Justice; do thou see, Figaro, that another Cow be sent him;
lest his Family should be starved--The next.”}}
_Doublefee._ Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio,
Spinster, Plaintiff, against--(_To Figaro_) Here’s no
surname!
_Figaro._ Anonymous.
_Guzman._ Ano-o-onymous--I never heard the Name before!
_Doublefee._ Against Figaro Anonymous. What Profession?
_Figaro._ Gentleman.
_Count._ Gentleman!
_Figaro._ I might have been born a Prince, if Heaven had
pleased.
_Doublefee._ Against Figaro Anonymous, Gentleman,
Defendant. The Question before the Court relates to a
promise of Marriage; the Parties have retained no Council,
contrary to the ancient and established practice of Courts.
_Figaro._ What occasion for Council? A race of Gentlemen
who are always so very learned, they know every thing,
except their Briefs! Who insolently interrogate Modesty
and Timidity, and endeavour, by confusing, to make Honesty
forswear itself; and, after having laboured for hours, with
all legal prolixity, to perplex self-evident Propositions,
and bewilder the understandings of the Judges, sit down
as proud as if they had just pronounced a Phillipic of
Demosthenes--(_Addressing himself to the Court_) My Lord,
and Gentlemen--The Question before the Court is----
_Doublefee._ (_Interrupting him_) It is not you to speak,
you are the Defendant----Who pleads for the Plaintiff?
_Doctor._ I.
_Doublefee._ You! A Physician turn Lawyer?--
_Figaro._ Oh yes, and equally skilful in both.
_Count._ Read the Promise of Marriage, Doctor.
_Guzman._ Re-e-ead the Pro-o-omise of Marriage.
_Doctor._ (_Reads_) I acknowledge to have received
of Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the sum
of two thousand Piasters, in the Castle of Count
Almaviva, which sum I promise to repay to the said
Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, _and_ to marry
her. Signed, Figaro. (_Addressing himself to the Count_) My
Lord, and Gentlemen! Hem! Never did cause more interesting,
more intricate, or in which the Interest of Mankind,
their Rights, Properties, Lives and Liberties were more
materially involved, ever claim the profound Attention of
this most learned, most honourable Court, and from the
time of Alexander the Great, who promised to espouse the
beauteous Thalestris----
_Count._ Stop, most formidable Orator; and ere you proceed,
enquire whether the Defendant does not contest the validity
of your Deed.
_Guzman._ (_To Figaro_) Do you co-ontest the
va-va-va-va-lidity of the Dee-eed?
_Figaro._ My Lord and Gentlemen! Hem! There is
in this Case, either Fraud, Error, Malice, or
mischievous Intention, for the Words of the
Acknowledgment are, I promise to repay the said
Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the said sum of
two thousand Piasters _or_ to marry her, which is very
different.
_Doctor._ I affirm it is AND.
_Figaro._ I affirm it is OR.
_Doctor._ Well, suppose it.
_Figaro._ No Supposition, I will have it granted.
_Count._ Clerk, Read you the Promise.
_Guzman._ Re-e-ead the P-P-P-Promise, D-D-D-Double-fee.
_Doublefee._ (_Reads_) I acknowledge to have
received of Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio,
the sum of two thousand Piasters, in the Castle
of Count Almaviva, which sum I promise to repay
the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio,
_and--or--and--or--or_--The Word is blotted.
_Doctor._ No matter; the Sense of the Phrase is equally
clear. This learned Court is not now to be informed the
word or particle, Or, hath various significations--It means
_otherwise_ and _either_--It likewise means _before_--For
example, in the language of the Poet.
_Or_ ’ere the Sun decline the western Sky,
’Tis Fate’s decree the Victims all must die.
_Figaro._ This was the language of Prophesy, and spoken of
the Doctor’s own Patients.
{{_Count._ “Silence in the Court.
_Crier._ “Silence in the Court.
_Doctor._ “Hence then, I clearly deduce (granting the
word to be _Or_) the Defendant doth hereby promise, not
only to pay the Plaintiff, but marry her _before_ he pays
her--Again, the word _Or_ doth sometimes signify
_Wherefore_, as another great and learned Poet hath it,
“_Or_ how could heav’nly Justice damn us all,
Who ne’er consented to our Father’s Fall?
“That is _wherefore_? For what reason could heavenly
Justice do such an unjust thing? Let us then substitute
the adverb _Wherefore_, and the intent and meaning of
the Promise will be incontestable; for, after reciting
an acknowledgement of the debt, it concludes with the
remarkable words, _Or_ to marry her, that is, wherefore,
for which reason, out of gratitude, for the Favour above
done me, _I will marry her_.
_Figaro._ “Oh most celebrated Doctor? Most poetic Quibbler!
“Hark with what florid Impotence he speaks,
And as his Malice prompts, the Puppet squeaks,
_Or_ at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad,
Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad
In legal Puns, _or_ Quibbles, Quirks, _or_ Lies,
_Or_ Spite, _or_ Taunts, _or_ Rhymes, _or_ Blasphemies.
“What think you we know not Quotations, and Poets, and
_Ands_, and _Ors_, and _Whys_, and _Wherefores_.
“What Drop _or_ Nostrum, can such Plagues remove,
_Or_ which must end me, a Fool’s Wrath--_Or_ Love?
(_Pointing first to the Doctor, and then to
Marcelina_)
“We have neither forgot our Reading nor our Syntax, but can
easily translate a dull Knave into a palpable Fool--”}} My
Lord, and Gentlemen, You hear his Sophisms, Poetical, and
Conundrums, Grammatical.
_Count._ Yes, yes, we hear.
(_Count and the Counsellors rise and consult together._)
_Antonio._ I’m glad they have put an end to your prating.
_Marcelina._ Their Whisperings and wise Grimaces forebode
me no good. That Susan has corrupted the chief Judge, and
he is corrupting all the others.
_Doctor._ It looks devilish like it.
(_The Count and Counsellors resume their
seats._)
_Doublefee._ Silence in the Court.
_Crier._ Silence in the Court.
_Count._ The judgment of the Court is, that since
the validity of the promise of Marriage is not well
established, Figaro is permitted to dispose of his Person.
_Figaro._ The Day’s my own.
_Marcelina._ I thought how it would be.
_Count._ But as the Acknowledgement clearly expresses
the words, _Which sum I promise to pay the said
Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, or to marry her_,
the said Figaro stands condemned to pay the two thousand
Piasters to the Plaintiff, or marry her in the course of
the Day.
_Figaro._ I’m undone!
_Marcelina._ I am happy!
_Count._ And I am revenged!
_Antonio._ Thank your noble Lordship! Most humbly thank
your noble Lordship!--Ah ha! I’m glad thou art not to marry
my Niece! I’ll go and tell her the good news!
(_Exit._)
_Crier._ Clear the Court.
(_Exeunt Guards, Counsellors, and Vassals._
_Manent Don Guzman, Figaro, Marcelina and Dr. Bartholo._
_Figaro._ ’Tis this Furze-ball, this Fungus of a President
that has lost me my Cause.
_Guzman._ I a F-F-Furze-ball and a F-F-Fungus!
_Figaro._ (_Sits down dejected_) I will never marry her.
_Guzman._ Thou mu-ust ma-arry her.
_Figaro._ What! Without the Consent of my noble Parents?
_Count._ (_Returning_) Where are they? Who are they?--He
will still complain of injustice--Name them.
_Figaro._ Allow me time, my Lord--I must first know where
to find them, and yet it ought not to be long, for I have
been seeking them these five Years.
_Doctor._ What! A Foundling?
_Figaro._ No Foundling, but stolen from my Parents.
_Count._ Poh! This is too palpable.
(_Exit Count_)
_Figaro._ Had I no other Proof of my Birth than the
precious Stones, Ring, and Jewels found upon me, these
would be sufficient--but I bear the Mark----
(_He is going to shew his Arm._)
_Marcelina._ Of a Lobster on your left Arm.
_Figaro._ How do you know that?
_Marcelina._ ’Tis he himself!
{{_Figaro._ “Yes, it’s me myself.”}}
_Marcelina._ ’Tis Fernando!
_Doctor._ Thou wert stolen away by Gypsies.
_Figaro._ By Gypsies!--Oh Doctor, if thou can’st but
restore me to my illustrious Parents, {{“Mountains of Gold
will not sufficiently speak their gratitude.”}}
_Doctor._ Behold thy Mother.
(_Pointing to Marcelina._)
_Figaro._ Nurse, you mean!
_Doctor._ Thy own Mother!
_Figaro._ Explain!
_Marcelina._ And there behold thy Father.
(_Pointing to the Doctor._)
_Figaro._ He, my Father! Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Oh Lord!
(_Stamps about._)
_Guzman._ (_With great wisdom_) It will be no
m-m-match--that’s evi-dent.
_Marcelina._ Hast thou not felt Nature pleading within
thee, at sight of me?
_Figaro._ Never.
_Marcelina_. This was the secret cause of all my Fondness
for thee.
_Figaro._ No doubt--And of my aversion--Instinct is very
powerful.
_Marcelina._ Come to my arms, my dear, my long lost Child.
(_Figaro and Marcelina embrace, the Doctor
leans against the Benches._)
_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ SUSAN.
(_The latter runs to find the Count_)
_Susan._ (_In great Agitation_) Oh, where is my Lord? Here
is the Money to pay Marcelina with! The Portion which my
noble and generous Lady has given me!
_Antonio._ (_pulling Susan, and pointing to Figaro, who
kisses Marcelina._) Here! here! Look this way!
(_Susan, at seeing them embrace becomes
furious, and is going away, Figaro runs and
brings her back._)
_Figaro._ Stop, stop, my Susan.
_Susan._ I have seen enough--Since you are so fond of her,
pray marry her.
_Figaro._ Thou art mistaken.
_Susan._ No, I am not mistaken.
(_Gives him a slap in the face._)
{{_Figaro._ (_Rubbing his Cheek_) “This is Love--Pshaw!
Prithee come hither, look at that Lady--How dost thou like
her?
_Susan._ “Not at all.
_Figaro._ “Well said Jealousy, she does not mince the
Matter.”}}
_Marcelina._ Dear Susan, this, this is my Son!
{{_Figaro._ “Yes, they wanted me to marry my Mother.”
_Antonio._ “Your Mother!----It is not long since----
_Figaro._ “I have known it--True.”}}
_Marcelina._ Yes, my dearest Susan, embrace thy Mother--Thy
Mother, who will love thee dearly.
_Susan._ And do you consent I shall have my Figaro?
_Marcelina._ Willingly. (_Susan runs and kisses her_) Here,
my Son, here is the Promise.
(_Gives him the Paper._)
_Susan._ And here is the Portion.
(_Gives him a Purse of Money._)
{{_Figaro._ “My manly Pride would fain make me restrain my
tears, but they flew in spite of me--Well, let ’em! Let ’em
flow! Joys like these never come twice in one’s Life! Oh,
my Mother, Oh, my Susan!”}}
(_They all three embrace, weeping._)
_Guzman._ (_weeping._) What a Foo-oo-ool am I! L-L-Look, if
I don’t k-k-k-cry as well as the best of ’em.
_Figaro._ (_to the Doctor_) My Father.
_Doctor._ Keep off! I disclaim thee!
_Antonio._ Why then, if you are his Father, you are a
Turkish Jew, and no Christian Father.
_Doctor._ A Knave that tricked me of my Ward, cheated me of
my Money, and now has been turning my Wisdom into ridicule.
_Susan._ And are not you, being a wise Man, proud to have
a Son wiser than yourself?
_Doctor._ No--I would have no one wiser than myself.
_Antonio._ Come, come, look you, I am {{“a good Catholic,
and”}} an old Castilian, therefore, unless your Father and
Mother become lawful Man and Wife, I will never consent to
give you my Niece. No, no, she sha’n’t marry a man who is
the child of Nobody, neither.
_Guzman._ Here’s an old Fool!--The Child of Nobody, Ha!
ha! ha! (_Laughs stupidly, and then assumes great Wisdom_)
Hav’n’t you lived long enough to know that every Child must
have a Father?
{{_Marcelina._ “Consider, good Doctor, your Promise, if
ever our Child was found.
_Doctor._ “Pshaw!
_Marcelina._ “And here is a Son you surely need not be
ashamed of.
_Susan._ “Ah my dear Pappa!
_Figaro._ “My generous, worthy Father.
(_Susan strokes his Cheek, Figaro kneels, and
Marcelina coaxes him._)
_Susan._ “You don’t know how we will all love you.
_Marcelina._ “What care we will take of you.
_Figaro._ “How happy we will make you.
_Doctor._ “Good Doctor, dear Pappa, generous Father!
(_Bursts out a crying_) See, if I am not even a greater
Foo-oo-ool than Mr. President! (_Guzman staggers back at
the Doctor’s Compliment_) they mould me like Dough, lead me
like a Child. (_Marcelina, Susan, and Figaro testify their
Joy by their Actions._) Nay, nay, but I hav’n’t yet said
yes.
_Susan._ “But you have thought yes.
_Marcelina._ “And look’d yes.
_Figaro._ “Come, come, we must be quick; let us run and
find the Count, otherwise he will invent some new pretext
to break off the Match.
(_Exeunt Doctor, Marcelina, Figaro and Susan._)
_Manent Don_ GUZMAN.
_Guzman._ “A greater Foo-oo-ool than Mr. President!--The
People in this House are truly very stupid and ill bred.”
(_Exit._)}}
End of ACT III.
ACT IV.
SCENE, a large Saloon.
FIGARO _and_ SUSAN, _both joyous_.
_Figaro._ She has converted her Doctor at last--They are to
be married, and these so late implacable Enemies are now
become our dearest Friends.
_Susan._ What unexpected Happiness!
_Figaro._ Chance, my Susan--All the effect of
Chance--{{“Yesterday, without a Relation in the World I
could claim, to-day, behold me restored to my Parents--True
it is, they are neither so rich nor so right honorable,
so belaced nor betitled as my imagination had painted
them--But that’s all one, they are mine”}}--I may truly
be called both a Chance Child, and a Child of Chance--By
Chance was I begot, by Chance brought into the World, by
Chance was I stole, by Chance am I found, by Chance have
I lived, and by Chance I shall die--Chance is Nature’s
Sovereign, and must be mine.
_Susan._ Yes, and by Chance thou mayst come to be hang’d.
(_Laughs._)
_Figaro._ Or thou to be an Empress--Neither of them are
impossible--He, the Conqueror, whose Ambition ravages the
Earth, and whose Pride eats up Nations, is not less the
sport of Chance than the blind Beggar who is conducted by
his dog.
_Susan._ Ha, ha, ha!--Prithee leave thy Philosophy, and--
_Figaro._ And think of that other blind beggar, Love--Most
willingly, my Angel. (_Kisses her._)
_Susan._ Pooh, Pooh!--That was not what I meant.
_Figaro._ Rather say it was not half thy meaning, or thy
meaning ill expressed. (_Kisses her again._)
_Susan._ Ah, Figaro! Were this fondness, these days but
durable--
_Figaro._ Durable!--Iron and Adamant--No; may millions of
imaginary Gallants wrack my heart and decorate my--
{{_Susan._ “No rhodomantade, Figaro--Tell me the simple
truth.
_Figaro._ “By the truest of all Truths I swear--
_Susan._ “Truest of Truths!--Are there various kinds of
Truths then?
_Figaro._ “No doubt.
_Susan._ “Fie!
_Figaro._ “There are Truths that may be spoken: such as
the Peccadillos of a poor Rascal! Truths that may not be
spoken: such as the Robberies of a rich Rascal--There are
your Truths comprehensible: such as that two and two make
four; and your Truths incomprehensible: such as that two
and two make five--Then there are your Tradesman’s Truths,
which he retails to his Customers, your Lover’s Truths,
which he pours wholesale into his Mistress’s ear--Your
Courtier’s Truths, on which he feeds his Dependants
and Parasites--Your Court of Law, or Kiss-the-Book
Truths, which are the daily support of a _vast_ number
of _very_ honest people--There are also your physical
and metaphysical Truths--Your old Truths and your new
Truths--Your heterodox and orthodox Truths--Your Mahometan
Truths, your Jewish Truths, and your--other kind of truths,
concerning which there never was nor ever will be any
doubt--Not to mention your Truths _in_ fashion: such as
that Idleness, Ignorance, Dissipation, Gaming and Seduction
are the requisites of a Gentleman--And your Truths _out_ of
fashion: such as that Gentleness, Obedience, Œconomy, and
connubial Love are the requisites of a _Gentlewoman_.
_Susan._ “I find by your account of the matter, Figaro,
that poor Truth, like a Lottery Ticket, is so divided and
sub-divided, so halved, quartered, cut, carv’d, split and
spliced, it is no where entire to be found.
_Figaro._ “No where.
_Susan._ “And moreover, that what is Truth to-day may be a
Lie to-morrow.
_Figaro._ “May be! Must be.
_Susan._ “Consequently, that in less than twenty-four
hours, my very tender submissive, ardent Lover may be
metamorphosed into an arbitrary, cold, haughty _Husband_.
_Figaro._ “Impossible!--Impossible, my Susan! As it is
for thee, my gentle, kind, and beauteous Bride, to be
transformed into an ill-tempered, extravagant slatternly
_Wife_.
_Susan._ “I understand thee”}}--Well, Well--We will
endeavour to convert the iron Bands of Matrimony into a
flowery Wreath which Love shall teach us to bear lightly
and joyously through Life.
_Figaro._ Aye, and thus live a happy Exception to the
established usage of a mad World.
_Susan._ But prithee, who is to go disguised and meet the
Count?
_Figaro._ Who?--Nobody--Let him wait and fret, and bite his
Nails--I never meant thou shouldst go.
_Susan._ I assure thee I never had any inclination.
{{_Figaro._ “Is that the real Truth, Susan?”
_Susan._ “What! Thinkest thou I am as learned as thou art?
And that I keep several sorts of Truths?”}}
_Figaro._ (_With fond Vivacity_). And dost thou love me?
_Susan._ (_Tenderly_). Too much, I doubt.
_Figaro._ Ah!--That’s but little.
_Susan._ How!
_Figaro._ In Love’s Creed, too much is not even enough.
_Susan._ I understand nothing of this over-refinement, but
I feel I shall love my Husband most heartily.
_Figaro._ Keep thy word, and put our modern Wives to the
blush.
_Susan._ Afford them a subject to laugh and point at, thou
mean’st.
_Enter the_ COUNTESS.
_Countess._ Wherever you meet One of them, be certain
you shall find a Pair. (_They salute the Countess_)--The
Bridesmen and Maids wait for you, Figaro.
_Figaro._ I will take my excuse in my hand--(_Going to lead
out Susan_)--Few offenders can plead so charming a one.
_Countess._ No, no; stop Susan: I want you--She shall
come presently. (_Exit Figaro_).--Well, Susan, the time
approaches, we must prepare for the Rendezvous.
{{_Susan._ “I must not go, Madam, Figaro is unwilling.
_Countess._ (_Angry_). “Figaro!--Figaro is not so
scrupulous when a Marriage-portion is in question--That’s a
poor Pretence; you are sorry you have told the truth, and
discovered the Intentions of the Count.--Go, go--I am not
to be so deceived. (_Going_).
_Susan._ (_Catching hold of her and kneeling_). “Ah, Madam!
Let me conjure you to hear me, to pardon me.--How can you
think me capable of deceiving so good, so liberal a Lady,
whose bounties I have so often felt!----Oh, no; it is
because I have promised Figaro.
_Countess._ (_Mildly and Smiling_). “Rise--Hast thou
forgot, silly Girl, that it is I who am to go and not
thee.--(_Kisses her forehead_)--But--I was too hasty.
_Susan._ “My dear, my generous Mistress.”}}
_Countess._ And what is the place of Rendezvous?
_Susan._ The Pavilion in the Garden.
_Countess._ There are two.
_Susan._ But they are opposite.
_Countess._ True--At what hour?
_Susan._ I don’t know.
_Countess._ That must be fixed--Sit down, take the pen and
write--
(_Susan sits down, the Countess dictates_)
A NEW SONG,
To the Tune of,
_The Twilight past, the Bell had toll’d_.
_Susan._ (_Writes_). New song--Tune of--Bell had
toll’d--What next, Madam?
_Countess._ Dost think he will not understand thee?
_Susan._ (_Looking archly at the Countess_). Very
true--(_Folding up the Letter_)--But here is neither Wax
nor Wafer.
_Countess._ Fasten it with a Pin, and write on the
direction, _Return the Seal_. (_Smiling._)
_Susan._ (_Laughs_) The Seal!--(_Gets up._)--This is not
quite so serious as the Commission just now was.
_Countess._ (_Sighs_). Ah, Susan.
_Susan._ I have never a Pin.
_Countess._ Take this.
(_Gives her one which fastened the Page’s
riband to her breast; it falls._)
_Susan._ (_Picking up the riband_) This is the Page’s
riband, Madam.
_Countess._ Wouldst thou have me let him wear it? It will
do for Agnes; I will give it her the first Bouquet she
presents me.
(_Just as the Countess has said this, Agnes and
a troop of young Maidens, among them the Page,
in girl’s cloaths, enter with nosegays for the
Countess, who instantly puts the riband in her
pocket, with an evident wish, by her looks and
action, to preserve it._)
_Countess._ (_Looking at the Page_) What pretty maiden is
this?
_Agnes._ A Cousin of mine, Madam, that we have invited to
the Wedding.
_Countess._ Well, then, as we can wear but one nosegay, let
us do honour to the Stranger. (_Takes the Nosegay from the
Page, and kisses his forehead._--(_Aside to Susan_) Don’t
you think, Susan, she resembles amazingly--(_Stops short,
and looks at Susan_).
_Susan._ Amazingly, indeed, Madam!
_Page._ (_Aside_) What a precious kiss! I feel
it here. (_Putting his hand on his heart._)
_Enter the Count, and Antonio with a hat in his hand._
_Antonio._ (_As he enters_) Yes, yes, my Lord, I’m certain
it was him. The rakish little Rascal is disguised among
the Girls. I found his new hat and cockade here--hid in
a basket. (_The Countess and Susan surprised, look at
the Page, and then at each other. The girls surround and
endeavour to hide Hannibal; Antonio seeks among them_). Ay,
ay, here he is--here he is. (_Antonio takes off his cap,
and puts on his hat_) There, my Lord! There’s a pretty,
modest Virgin for you!
_Count._ Well, my Lady!
_Countess._ Well, my Lord!--I am as much surprized as you
can be; and, I assure you, not less vex’d.--At present,
however, it is time to tell you the whole Truth: This
young gentleman (_Pointing to the Page_) was hid in my
Dressing-room.--We attempted a Joke, which these Girls have
put in practice.
_Count._ But wherefore hide him from me?
_Countess._ Because, my Lord, when your Passions are
predominant, you are incapable of either listening to or
believing the Truth.
_Count._ (_Aside_) Must I for ever be disturbed, haunted,
and bewitch’d thus by this beardless Boy? (_Turning with
great wrath towards the Page_) What is the reason, Sir, you
have not obeyed my Commands?
_Page._ (_Draws back frightened, and takes off his hat_)
My-my-my Lord, I staid to teach Agnes the Love scene she is
to play in the Comedy this evening.
_Agnes._ (_Steps forward_) Ah, my Lord, when you come to my
room, you know, and want to kiss me--
_Count._ I!
(_The Countess remarks his embarrassment,
Susan laughs silently, and makes signs to the
Countess_).
_Agnes._ Yes, my Lord! You say to me, My pretty Agnes, if
you will but love me, I will give you any thing you wish
to have; now, my Lord, if you will give me Hannibal for a
husband, I will love you with all my heart.
_Countess._ You hear, my Lord!--Has not the simplicity
of this Child’s confession, as artless as the one I have
this moment made, sufficiently justified my Conduct? And
do not circumstances prove, how injurious your Suspicions
have been, and how well founded mine? (_Count bows to the
Countess._)
_Antonio._ You see, my Lord, what a giddy young thing it is.
_Count._ And very loving too.
_Antonio._ Her mother, as every body knows, was just such
another.
_Enter_ FIGARO.
_Figaro._ Come, my pretty Maidens, come. (_Turns to the
Count_) While you keep the Lasses here, my Lord, we can
neither begin our Procession nor our Dances.
_Count._ (_Gravely putting on his hat_) Why surely, Sir,
you don’t intend to dance.
_Figaro._ Why not, my Lord?
_Count._ What! With a hurt in your ancle?
_Figaro._ Oh! Is that all?--It pains me a little, to be
sure; but that’s a trifle--Come Girls.
_Count._ (_Turning him back_) You were very lucky to light
upon such soft ground.
_Figaro._ Exceedingly, my Lord:--Come Lasses.
_Antonio._ (_Turning him back on the other side_) And then
you double yourself up, when you take a leap? Yet, like a
Cat, you fall on your feet.
_Figaro._ What then?--Come Gir--
_Count._ But how unhappy the poor Youth will be about his
Commission.
_Figaro._ What is the meaning of all this, my Lord?
_Antonio._ (_Bringing the Page forward_) Do you know this
bashful young Lady?
_Figaro._ The Devil! Hannibal!--(_Aside._) Well, and what
Riddle has he to propound?
_Count._ No Riddle, Sir, but a simple matter of fact:--He
affirms, it was he who jump’d out of the window.
_Figaro._ Does he?--Well, if he say so, I suppose it is so.
_Count._ How! What two at a time?
_Figaro._ Two? Twenty! Why not, my Lord? One sheep begins,
and the rest naturally follow: (_Flourish of Music
without_) Come, come, my merry Maidens, don’t you hear the
music? Quick, quick, run, run, run.
(_Exeunt Susan and Figaro, with the Girls._)
_Count._ (_To the Page_) Harkee, little Rascal, begone,
instantly; put off your Petticoats, and don’t stir out of
your room the rest of the day.--Take care, Sir, I don’t
meet you again.
_Page._ (_Putting on his hat_) No matter--I bare away that
upon my forehead, which would compensate for an age of
imprisonment. (_Exit joyously_).
_Count._ (_Looks at the Countess, who recollects the kiss
she had just given the Page_) His forehead! What is it he
bears away so triumphantly upon his forehead?
_Countess._ (_Embarrassed_) A--His Officer’s hat, I
suppose. Every new Bauble pleases a Child.
(_Going._)
_Count._ The Procession is coming, will not your Ladyship
stay and be a witness of your Favourite’s happiness?
_Countess._ As your Lordship pleases.
_Enter the Procession of the two Weddings. A March is
played; Doctor Bartholo and Marcelina are preceded by
Cryer of the Court, Guards, Doublefee, Counsellors, Don
Guzman; after them come Antonio, Figaro, and Susan,
followed by the Bridesmen and Maids, and a troop of
Dancers. They all salute the Count and Countess as they
pass; and after making the tour of the stage, Antonio
presents his Niece to the Count; Susan kneels, one of the
Bridemaids gives the Count the nuptial Cap; and Susan,
while the Count is placing it on her head, plucks him by
the cloak, and shews him the Note she had just before
written. He pretends to keep adjusting the Cap, and slily
reaches to take the Note, which he instantly claps in
his bosom, having previously unbuttoned himself for that
purpose. While this is transacting a Castanet-Dance is
performed. As soon as Susan rises, she purposely places
herself before the Countess, to encourage the Count to
read the Note, who accordingly steps forward, is going
to open it, and pricks his finger with the Pin, which he
plucks out and throws angrily on the floor._)
_Count._ These Women and their curst Pins.
_Figaro._ (_Aside to his Mother laughing_) The Count has
received a Billet-doux from some pretty Girl, sealed with
a Pin! This is a new fashion, which he does not seem to
admire.
(_The Count reads the Note, is exceedingly
pleased, folds it up again, and reads on the
outside, “Return the Seal;” he pretends to
walk carelessly about the stage, but is all
the while looking earnestly for the pin he had
thrown away, which he at last finds, picks up
and sticks upon his Sleeve._)
_Figaro._ (_To his Mother_) Every thing is precious that
appertains to a beloved object.--He picks up the very Pin,
you see.
(_All this while Susan and the Countess remark
what is passing with laughter, and private
looks and gestures._)
_Countess._ (_Rising_) Come with me, Susan. We shall soon
be back, my Lord. (_Aside to Susan_) Let us make haste and
exchange dresses.
(_Exeunt Countess and Susan._
{{_Crier._ “Guards! Guards!--This way, Guards! (_Places the
Guards at the door, runs up to the Count_) My Lord, here’s
Mr. Basil coming, my Lord, with the whole Village at his
heels; because he has been singing all the way he went.
_Figaro._ “Orpheus and the Brutes. But I’ll make him change
his Tune.”}}
_Enter_ BASIL _singing, followed by_ BOUNCE.
_Count._ So, Mr. Basil, what is your will and pleasure?
{{_Basil._ “After having fulfilled your Lordship’s
commands, by amusing this honest Gentleman----
_Bounce._ “Me, my Lord? I assure your Lordship he has not
amused me in the least.
_Basil._ “I now return to enforce my claims on Marcelina.
_Figaro._ “Look you, Sir--Should you venture but to cast
one look, or approach one step nearer that Lady----
_Doctor._ “Let him speak, Figaro, let him speak.
_Guzman._ “Oh f-f-fie!--What f-f-friends!--
_Figaro._ “I disclaim such friendship.
_Basil._ “And I----Error in Judgment, Mr. President.
_Figaro._ “He!--A Street-corner Ballad-Bawler!
_Basil._ “As good, at least, as a Barber-Surgeon!
_Figaro._ “Who hashes up a dinner out of Horse-hair and
Catgut!
_Basil._ “Who has hungrily devoured Razors and Hones, and
fed half his life upon Froth! (_Imitates beating up a
Lather._)
_Figaro._ “The high Priest of Pimps!
_Basil._ “The vile Drudge of Intrigue!
_Figaro._ “Execrated by those he serves!
_Basil._ “Gulled by his own Cunning!
_Figaro._ “So great a Fool, Knavery itself cannot make him
thrive!
_Basil._ “So stupid, he never yet could invent a probable
Lie!
_Doctor._ } “Hold, hold.
_Guzman._ }
_Figaro._ “A Pedantic!
_Basil._ “Pert!
_Figaro._ “Preposterous!
_Basil._ “Pragmatical!
_Figaro._ “Braying!
_Basil._ “Lop-eared!
_Figaro._ “Ass!
_Count._ “How now!--Is this all the Respect you shew?--
_Basil._ “You hear, my Lord, how he insults me! When, it
is well known, there is not, in all Andalusia, a more
eminent!----
_Figaro._ “Empty!
_Basil._ “Able!
_Figaro._ “Abject!
_Basil._ “Musician!
_Figaro._ “Miscreant!
_Basil._ “Is this to be borne?
_Figaro._ “Whose countenance prophecies of Pillories,
Scaffolds, and the stretching of Hemp; and whose whole
appearance is a continual Memento of public Calamity,
Plague, Pestilence, and Famine;--A Misericordia,
Sackcloth-and-ashes Knave;--A Scape Goat, that looks like
a Jew in the yellow Jaundice.
(_Doctor Bartholo and Don Guzman prevent Basil
from falling upon Figaro._)
_Count._ “Do you think this proper, Mr. Figaro?
_Figaro._ “Why not, my Lord?--Let him listen to Truth,
since he is too Poor to pay Parasites and Liars.
_Count._ “Silence, Sir!--Let us hear, Mr. Basil, what you
have to say.
_Basil._ “(_Composing himself_) I demand the hand of
Marcelina, my Lord, who promised to marry me.
_Marcelina._ “On what condition was this promise made?
_Basil._ “That I should adopt your lost Son, if ever you
should be happy enough to find him.
_Marcelina._ “Well.
_Doctor._ “He is found.
_Basil._ “Where is he?
_Doctor._ “Here he stands. (_Pointing to Figaro_).
_Guzman._ “The-e-e-ere he stands.
_Basil._ “He!--Oh, my curst Stars!
_Guzman._ “Do you re-e-nounce your pre-e-tentions to his
de-e-ear Mother?
_Basil._ “Renounce!--As I would renounce the Devil and all
his Works.
_Figaro._ “What! Renounce your best Friend?--But that’s
like your Rogue’s tricks.
_Basil._ “I will not live under the same roof with him--I
would rather even quit the service of my Lord.
_Figaro._ “Don’t be uneasy, I shan’t trouble you
long--Restored to my Parents, and married to my Susan, I
shall retire and live in Peace.
_Count._ “(_Aside_) And I shall retire to meet my Mistress.
_Guzman._ “So every body is sa-a-tisfied.”}}
_Count._ Let the marriage Contracts be prepared, and I will
sign them.
_Figaro._ Thanks, gracious Lord.
_Bounce._ And I will go and prepare the Fireworks in the
Garden, near the Pavilion.
_Count._ (_Returning_) Who, pray Sir, gave you those
Orders?--The Countess is too much indisposed to come out;
let them, therefore, be played off in front of the Castle,
facing her Windows--(_Aside_)--The Rascal was going to set
fire to my Place of Rendezvous! (_Exeunt_).
_Manent_ FIGARO _and_ MARCELINA.
_Figaro._ How attentive he is to his Wife.
_Marcelina._ {{“It is necessary”}}--My dear Figaro,
{{“I should undeceive thee respecting my former false
accusations of Susan--Basil has always told me she
obstinately refused to listen to the Count’s Overtures,
and”}} I am both sorry and ashamed to have excited thy
Jealousy.
_Figaro._ Oh, be under no apprehensions, my dear Mother;
Jealousy is the foolish Child of Pride, the Disease of a
Madman--My Philosophy is invulnerable to its poisonous
Arrows. (_Figaro turns and sees Agnes just behind him,
coming down the Stage_).--So! What you have been listening,
my little inquisitive Cousin?
_Agnes._ Oh, no; they tell me that is not polite.
_Figaro._ Then what’s your errand?--He is not here.
_Agnes._ Who?
_Figaro._ Hannibal.
_Agnes._ Oh, I know that very well--I know where he is--I
want my Cousin Susan.
_Figaro._ Aye!--And what do you want with her?
_Agnes._ Not much; only to give her a Pin.
_Figaro._ (_Starts_) A Pin! (_Striding about in great
anger_) A Pin!--And how dare you, you little Hussey,
undertake such Messages?--What! Have you learnt your
trade already?--(_Marcelina makes a sign to Figaro,
who recollects himself, and endeavours to disguise his
feelings_)--Come, come, my pretty Cousin, don’t be
frighten’d, I was but in joke--I--I--I know all about it;
it’s a Pin that my Lord has sent by you to Susan.
_Agnes._ Since you know so well, why need you ask me then?
_Figaro._ (_Coaxing_) Only to hear what my Lord said when
he sent thee on this errand.
_Agnes._ Here, said he, here, my pretty little Agnes, take
this Pin to thy Cousin Susan, and tell her it is the Seal
of the new Song about the Twilight and the Pavilion.
_Figaro._ And the----
_Agnes._ The Pavilion--And take great care, said he, that
nobody sees thee.
_Figaro._ Well, well, I was but joking; go and execute thy
Message faithfully, exactly as my Lord bade thee.
_Agnes._ Law! My Cousin takes me for a Ninny, I believe.
(_Exit skipping_).
_Figaro._ So, my Mother!
_Marcelina._ So, my Son!
_Figaro._ Here’s a sweet Daughter!--A delightful
Bride!--And will be a most virtuous Wife!----(_Walking up
and down with great agitation_)----A false--Deceitful--I’m
happy, however, I have found her out--I will detect,
expose, and abandon her!
_Marcelina._ Nay, but gently, my Son, gently; recollect
that Jealousy is the disease of a Madman, and that your
Philosophy is invulnerable.--Fie! fie!--All this passion
about a Pin!
_Figaro._ A Pin that has wounded me to the heart!--Didn’t
we see the Count pick it up?
_Marcelina._ We did so; but how can we tell whether she
means to deceive thee or him?--Art thou sure she will go to
the Rendezvous; and wilt thou condemn her without hearing
her?
_Figaro._ I am sorry--I am a Fool--And yet!--If she should
be false!
_Marcelina._ Nay, but my dear Figaro----
_Figaro._ Well, well; I will be calm--Yes, my amorous
Count, you will at least meet with somebody you don’t
expect--If you do not make haste we shall be at the
Pavilion, as soon as your Lordship!
(_Exeunt_).
The End of ACT IV.
ACT V.
SCENE, _the Garden_,
_With walks of cut trees in the back ground, and two
Pavilions, one on each side of the stage_.
_Enter_ AGNES. (_A lanthorn in one hand, and two cakes
and an orange in the other_)
_Agnes._ The Pavilion to the left? Ay, that’s it.--But if
he should not come soon!--He has not half learnt me my part
yet--Poor thing, he hasn’t eat any thing all day; and the
cross, good-for-nothing Cook would not give me a morsel for
him; so I was obliged to ask the Butler for these Cakes and
this Orange:--It cost me a good kiss on the cheek, but I
know who’ll repay--Oh dear, here’s somebody coming!--
_Enter_ FIGARO, _disguised in a red Rocquelaure_; Doctor
Bartholo, Don Guzman, Basil, Antonio. _Figaro imagines
at first Agnes to be Susan; and, as it is too dark to
see, endeavours to follow the sound of her voice, having
entered while she was speaking. Agnes enters the Pavilion
on the left._
_Figaro._ I was mistaken, ’tis Agnes! (_They all grope down
the stage till they get round Figaro_) What a clock is it?
_Antonio._ Almost near the moon’s rising.
_Basil._ What a gloomy night.
_Doctor._ We look like so many Conspirators.
_Figaro._ You understand, Gentlemen, why you are come
hither--It is to be Witnesses of the Conduct of the
virtuous Bride I am soon to espouse, and the honourable
Lord who has graciously bestowed her upon me.
_Basil._ (_Aside_) This will be a precious Revenge.
_Doctor._ Remember, Figaro, a wise Man has never any
Contest with the Great; it is the Battle of Don Quixote
with the Windmills; they whirl and dash you to a Distance,
without once altering or retarding their Course.
_Figaro._ Rather remember they have not courage to oppress
any but Cowards.
_Doctor._ He’s mad.
_Guzman._ Ye-e-es, he is ma-a-ad.
_Antonio._ But what about?
_Basil._ A certain Rendezvous;--Come this way, and I’ll
tell you the whole.
_Figaro._ Hide yourselves hereabouts, and come running the
Moment you hear me call.
_Doctor._ He is turning Fool.
_Guzman._ Ye-e-es, he’s turning foo-oo-ool--Stay and take
ca-are of him.
(_Exeunt._
_Manent_ Figaro _and_ Doctor.
{{_Figaro._ “Oh Woman, Woman, Woman! Inconstant, weak,
deceitful Woman!--But each Animal is obliged to follow the
instinct of its Nature; and it is thine to betray!----What,
after swearing this very Morning to remain for ever
Faithful; and on the identical Day! The bridal Day!----
_Doctor._ “Patience.
_Figaro._ “I even saw her laugh with Delight, while he read
her Billet!----They think themselves secure, but perhaps
they yet may be deceived.”}}----No, my very worthy Lord and
Master, you have not got her yet.--What! Because you are
a great Man, you fancy yourself a great Genius.--{{“Which
way?--How came you to be the rich and mighty Count
Almaviva? Why truly, you gave yourself the Trouble to
be born! While the obscurity in which I have been cast
demanded more Abilities to gain a mere Subsistence than
are requisite to govern Empires. And what, most noble
Count, are your Claims to Distinction, to pompous Titles,
and immense Wealth, of which you are so proud, and which,
by Accident, you possess? For which of your Virtues? Your
Wisdom? Your Generosity? Your Justice?--The Wisdom you have
acquired consists in vile Arts, to gratify vile Passions;
your Generosity is lavished on your hireling Instruments,
but whose Necessities make them far less Contemptible than
yourself; and your Justice is the inveterate Persecution
of those who have the Will and the Wit to resist your
Depredations.”}} But this has ever been the Practice of the
_little_ Great; those they cannot degrade, they endeavour
to crush.
_Doctor._ Be advised, Figaro--be calm--there has ever been
a Respect paid--
_Figaro._ To Vice--where it is not due.--Shame light on
them that pay it.
_Doctor._ Consider, he is----
_Figaro._ A Lord--and I am--a Man!--Yes, I am a Man,
but the nocturnal Spells of that enchantress Woman,
soon shall make me a Monster. {{“Why, what an Ass am
I!--Acting here the idiot part of a (_Strikes his
forehead_)--a--Husband--Altho’ I am but half finished.”}}
(_Agnes peers out of the Pavilion, and
approaches a little way to listen_.)
_Agnes._ Is that Hannibal?
_Doctor._ I hear somebody! (_Agnes hears the voice of the
Doctor, and runs in again_) I will retire, but if you are
wise, you will wait the Event patiently; your suspicions
may be unjust,--should they prove real, then shake her from
you, as her Ingratitude deserves.
(_Exit_.
_Figaro._ {{“Oh, how easy it is for the prayer mumbling
Priest to bid the Wretch on the Rack suffer patiently.
(_Figaro listens_) I hear nothing--all is silent--and
dark as their designs. (_Figaro pulls off his Roquelaure,
and throws it on a Garden-bench_) Why, what a Destiny
is mine--Am I for ever doom’d to be the foot-ball of
Fortune?--Son of I knew not who, stol’n I knew not how,
and brought up to I knew not what, lying and thieving
excepted, I had the sense, tho’ young, to despise a life
so base, and fled such infernal Tutors. My Genius, tho’
cramp’d, could not be totally subdued, and I spent what
little time and money I could spare in Books and Study.
Alas! it was but time and money thrown away. Desolate
in the world, unfriended, unprotected, my poor stock of
knowledge not being whip’d into me by the masculine hic
hæc hoc hand of a School-master, I could not get Bread,
much less Preferment.----Disheartened by the failure
of all my projects, I yet had the audacity to attempt
a Comedy, but as I had the still greater audacity to
attack the favorite Vice of the favorite Mistress, of the
favorite Footman of the favorite Minister, I could not
get it licensed.--It happened about that time, that the
fashionable Question of the day was an enquiry into the
real and imaginary Wealth of Nations; and, as it is not
necessary to possess the thing you write about, I, with
lank Cheeks, pennnyless Purse, and all the simplicity
of a Boy, or a Philosopher, freely described the true
causes of national Poverty: when suddenly I was awaken’d
in my bed at Mid-night, and entrusted to the tender care
of his Catholic Majesty’s Mirmidons, whose Magic-power
caused the heavy gates of an old Castle to fly open at
my approach, where I was graciously received, lodged,
and ornamented, according to the fashion of the place,
and provided with Straw, and Bread, and Water gratis. My
ardor for Liberty sufficiently cool’d. I was once more
turned adrift into the wide World, with leave to provide
Straw and Bread and Water for myself.--On this my second
birth, I found all Madrid in Raptures, concerning a most
generous Royal Edict, lately published, in favor of the
Liberty of the Press: and I soon learnt, that, provided
I neither spoke of the Wealth of Nations in my writings,
nor of the Government, nor of Religion, nor of any
Corporate-Companies, nor offended the favorite Mistress
of the Minister’s favorite Footman, nor said any one
thing which could be twisted into a reference, or hint,
derogatory to any one Individual, who had more powerful
friends than I had, I was at liberty to write, freely, all,
and whatever I pleased, under the inspection of some two
or three Censors!----Soon after this, a Place happened to
be vacant, which required a person well acquainted with
Calculation; I offered my Services; my Abilities were
not questioned; I waited, in anxious expectation of the
Event, and, in three days, learnt it had been bestowed,
two days before, upon a Dancing-master.--Persecuted by
Creditors, tired of starving, and unable, through the
feebleness of Youth to sustain so unequal a Struggle, I
had the weakness, at last, to sink before Temptation,
and set up a Pharaoh Bank. And now, for once, behold the
Scene changed! See me equally familiar with Lords as with
their Lacquies! Every door was open to me! Every hand
held out! But, notwithstanding my desire to be Something
in this world, my detestation of the brazen Effrontery,
profound Ignorance, and insupportable Insolence of these
fashionable Friends of Nobility was so innate that I found
I could better endure all the Miseries of Poverty than the
Disgrace and Disgust of such Society.--Quitting, therefore,
with contempt this new Trade, and leaving false Shame
behind me, as a burthen too heavy for a Foot-passenger,
I once more took up my strap and hone, and travelled for
employment from Town to Town.----At Seville I found a
Lord mad to marry his Mistress; my Wit procured him what
his could not, a Wife; and, in return, he gratefully
endeavours to Seduce mine--Strange concatenation of
circumstance! My Parents all at once claim me!--’Tis he,
’tis she, ’tis me, ’tis--I don’t know who!--I came into
the world without my Knowledge, and I shall go out on’t
without my Will; and thus do I continue to torment myself
about this Being of mine, without understanding what this
Being is, what it was, what it shall be, whence it came,
where it is, or whither it shall go.--I only know it to
be a compound of Contradictions! A little, wise, foolish
Animal, ardent in the pursuit of Pleasure, capricious
through Vanity, laborious from Necessity, but indolent by
Choice. After having exhausted every Art for enjoyment,
and every Profession for a livelihood, I found myself
intoxicated by a heavenly Illusion, that has vanish’d at
my approach!--Vanished!--And is it vanish’d?”}}--Oh Susan!
Susan!
(_Figaro sinks melancholy upon the garden-seat;
but being suddenly roused by a noise, wraps
himself up in his Rocquelaure._
_Enter softly, in each other’s dress, the_ COUNTESS _and_
SUSAN, _followed by_ MARCELINA.
_Susan._ So Figaro is to be here. (_In an under voice_)
_Marcelina._ He is here.
_Susan._ Thus one is come to lay the Springe, and the other
to seize the Game.
_Marcelina._ I will go and hide myself in this Pavilion,
where I shall hear all.
(_Exit into the Pavilion on the left._)
_Susan._ We may begin. (_Speaks louder_) If my Lady does
not want me, I will walk and enjoy the fresh air.
_Figaro._ Oh, the Cocatrice.
_Countess._ It may give thee cold.
_Susan._ Oh no, my Lady.
_Figaro._ Oh no! She’ll not take cold to-night. (_Aside_).
_Susan retires a little towards the Pavilion on
the left; Hannibal is heard singing, and, as
he enters, perceives the Countess, in Susan’s
dress._
_Page._ Is that Agnes, yonder? (_He approaches_) By her
long Lappets and white Feathers, it must be Susan. (_Comes
up and takes hold of the Countess’s hand_. Ah, my dear
Susan!
_Countess._ Let me go. (_In a feigned voice._)
_Page._ Come, Come; don’t be so coy. I know it is not
Figaro you are waiting for, it is my Lord the Count--What!
Did not I hear, this Morning, when I was behind the great
Chair?
_Susan._ (_Aside_). The babbling little Villain.
_Enter the_ COUNT _behind, and hears the Page_.
_Count._ Is not that somebody with Susan?--(_Advances close
up to them, and draws back in a fury_).--’Tis that infernal
Page again.
(_Susan keeps out of the way and silently
laughing._)
_Page._ ’Tis in vain to say no:--Since thou art going to be
the Representative of the Countess, I am determined to give
the one kiss for thyself, and a hundred for thy beauteous
Lady.
{{_Susan._ (_Aside_). “As impudent as a Page, says the
Proverb.”}}
(_The Countess draws back to avoid being
kissed by the Page, and the Count advances and
presents himself in her place; the Page feels
the rough beard of the Count, and suddenly
retreats, crying in an under voice_)--Oh, the
Devil!--The Count again!
(_Exit Page into the Pavilion on the left._)
(_While this passes, Figaro likewise advances
to drive the Page from Susan; meanwhile the
Count, on the Page’s supposed next approach,
prepares to give him a proper reception_).
_Count._ (_Thinking he speaks to the Page_). Since you are
so fond of kissing, take that. (_Gives Figaro a severe box
on the ear_).
_Figaro._ I have paid for listening. (_Susan cannot contain
herself, but bursts out a laughing_).
_Count._ (_Hears her laugh_). Why this is
inconceiveable!--Do such Salutations make the impudent
Rascal laugh?
_Figaro._ It would be strange if he should cry this time.
(_Aside_).
(_Count and Countess approach_).
_Count._ But let us not lose the precious moments, my
charming Susan!--Let these Kisses speak my ardour! (_Kisses
the Countess several times with rapture_).
_Figaro._ (_Aside, and beating his forehead_). Oh! Oh! Oh!
_Count._ Why dost thou tremble?
_Countess._ (_Continuing her feigned voice_). Because I am
afraid.
_Count._ Thou seemest to have got a cold. (_Takes the
Countess’s hand between his own, and amorously strokes
and kisses her fingers_). What a sweet, delicate, Angel’s
hand!--How smooth and soft!--How long and small the
fingers!--What pleasure in the touch!--Ah! How different is
this from the Countess’s hand!--
_Countess._ (_Sighing_). And yet you loved her once.
_Count._ Yes--Yes--I did so--But three Years of
better Acquaintance has made the Marriage-state so
respectable--And then Wives are so loving--when they _do_
love, that is--that one is surprised when in search of
Pleasure, to find Satiety.
_Countess._ Pleasure?--Love!
_Count._ Oh, no; Love is but the Romance of the Heart;
Pleasure is its History--As for thee, my dear Susan, add
but one grain more of Caprice to thy Composition and thou
wilt make one of the most enticing, teazing, agreeable
Mistresses.
_Countess._ ’Tis my Duty to oblige my Lord.
_Figaro._ Her Duty!--
_Count._ Yes--Women’s Duties are unlimited--They owe
all--Men nothing.
_Countess._ Nothing?
_Count._ It is not our Faults; ’tis the law of Nature--And
then Wives think to ensure our fidelity by being always
Wives--Whereas they should sometimes become----
_Countess._ What?
_Count._ Our Mistresses----I hope thou wilt not forget this
Lesson.
_Countess._ Oh no, indeed, not I.
_Susan._ (_Aloud_). Nor I.
_Figaro._ (_Aloud_). Nor I.
_Count._ (_Astonished_). Are there Echoes here?
_Countess._ Oh, yes.
_Count._ And now, my sweet Susan, receive the Portion I
promised thee. (_Gives a purse and puts a ring upon her
finger_)--And continue likewise to wear this Ring for my
sake.
_Countess._ Susan accepts your Favors.
_Figaro._ (_Aside_). Was there ever so faithless a Hussey?
_Susan._ (_Aside_). These riches are all for us! (_Still
keeps chuckling very heartily at what is going forwards._)
_Countess._ I perceive Torches.
_Count._ They are preparatory to thy Nuptials. (_the
Countess pretends to be afraid_). Come, come, let us retire
for a moment into the Pavilion.
_Countess._ What! In the dark?
_Count._ Why not? There are no Spirits.
_Figaro._ (_Aside_). Yes, but there are; and evil ones
too. (_Countess follows the Count_). She is going!----Hem!
(_Figaro hem’s in a great passion_).
_Count._ (_Raising his voice majesterially_). Who goes
there!
_Figaro._ A man.
_Count._ (_Aside to the Countess_). It’s Figaro!
(_The Countess enters the Pavilion on the right
hand and the Count retires_).
_Figaro._ (_Desperate_). They are gone in. (_Walks about_).
Let her go.--Let her go!
_Susan._ (_Aside._) Thou shalt pay presently for these fine
Suspicions. (_Susan advances and mimics the voice of the
Countess_). Who is that?
_Figaro._ ’Tis the Countess (_Aside_).--What lucky Chance
conducted you hither, Madam--You know not what Scenes are
this moment transacting.
_Susan._ Oh yes, but I do, Figaro.
_Figaro._ What! That the Count and my very virtuous Bride
are this moment in yonder Pavilion Madam!
_Susan._ (_Aside_). Very well, my Gentleman!--I know more
than thou dost.
_Figaro._ And will you not be revenged?
_Susan._ Oh yes, we always have our Revenge in our own
power.
_Figaro._ (_Aside_). What does she mean?--Perhaps what I
suspect--Why that would be a glorious Retaliation.--(_To
Susan._) There is no Means but one, Madam, of revenging
such Wrongs; that now presents itself.
_Susan._ (_Jealous_) What does the good-for-nothing Fellow
mean? (_Speaks in a tone of compliance to Figaro_). Does it
Figaro?
_Figaro._ Pardon my Presumption, Madam! On any other
occasion, the Respect I bear your Ladyship would keep me
silent, but on the present I dare encounter all! (_Falls on
his knees_). Oh, excuse, forgive me, Madam; but let not
the precious moments slip!--Grant me your hand.
_Susan._ (_Unable any longer to contain herself gives him
a slap on the face_). Take it.
_Figaro._ I have it, I think!--The Devil! This is the Day
of Stripes!
_Susan._ Susan gives it thee (_as soon as Figaro hears
it is Susan, his satisfaction is so extreme, he laughs
very heartily, and keeps laughing all the while she keeps
beating him_) and that, and that, and that, and that for
thy Insolence--And that for thy Jealousy--And that for thy
Infidelity.
(_Susan out of breath, Figaro still laughing._)
_Figaro._ Oh happy Figaro--Take thy Revenge, my dear, kind,
good Angel; Never did Man or Martyr suffer with such Extacy!
_Susan._ Don’t tell me of your Extacy! How durst you, you
good for nothing, base, false-hearted Man, make love to me,
supposing me the Countess.
_Figaro._ I must bring myself off, (_aside_)--Dost think I
could mistake the music of my Susan’s Voice?
_Susan._ What, you pretend you knew me then?
_Figaro._ Pretend! Canst thou doubt it?
_Susan._ And this was a Trick upon me!--But I’ll be
revenged.
_Figaro._ Talk not of Revenge, my Love, but tell me what
blest Angel sent thee hither, and how thou camest by this
Disguise, which so fully proves thy Innocence!
{{_Susan._ “I could find in my Heart not to tell thee; but
know, to thy Confusion, it is my Lady’s; and that, coming
to catch one Fox, we have entrapped two!
_Figaro._ “But who has taken the other?
_Susan._ “His Wife.
_Figaro._ “His Wife!--Go and hang thyself, Figaro--Go and
hang thyself, for wanting the Wit to divine this Plot!--And
has all this intriguing been about his Wife?
_Susan._ “_Yes, about his Wife._
_Figaro._ (_a little suspicious_) “But who did the Page
kiss?
_Susan._ “The Count.
_Figaro._ “The Count! Ha! ha! ha! that is excellent,
(_Resuming his gravity_) But who did the Count kiss?
_Susan._ “The Countess.
_Figaro._ “Ay, but who did he kiss this Morning----behind
the great Chair?
_Susan._ (_Gravely_) “Nobody.
_Figaro._ “Art thou--quite sure?”}}
_Susan._ (_Holding out her Hand_) Dost thou want another
Proof?
_Figaro._ Ah! Thine are but proofs of Love--That of the
Count, indeed, was not so gentle.
_Enter_ COUNT _behind_.
_Count._ ’St--’st! Susan!--Susan!
_Figaro._ (_Aside to Susan_) A lucky thought strikes me;
prithee second me, Susan, (_Speaks in a feigned Voice,
falls on his Knees and kisses Susan’s Hand_)--Ah Madam! Let
us not longer converse of Love, but enjoy it’s Treasures.
_Count._ What’s here! A Man on his Knees to the
Countess!--(_Feels for his Sword, they keep silently
laughing_) And I unarm’d!
_Figaro._ (_Acting the Petit Maitre_) Upon my honour,
Madam, I could not have supposed Timidity should make you
hesitate a moment.
_Count._ (_Furiously_) So this is our Dressing-room
Gentleman, at last! I shall know all at least,
now--(_Figaro kisses her hand again._) Oh Rage! Oh Hell!
_Susan._ How delightfully he swears.
_Figaro._ (_Figaro and Susan still inwardly laughing_)
Quickly then, Madam, let us repair the wrong which Love
this Morning suffered at the impertinent intrusion of your
Lord.
_Count._ This is not to be borne.
(_Darts between them, seizes Figaro by the
Collar, while Susan escapes into the Pavilion
on the left._)
_Figaro_ (_Pretends amazement_) My Lord!
_Count._ How! Rascal! And is it you!--Hollo--Hollo--Who
hears?
_Enter blundering in the dark, and in a great hurry, the
COURIER, who had been to Seville after the Page._
_Courier._ Here!--Here!--Here am I, my Lord! Just arrived
from Seville! But he is not there! I might as well have
sought for this Page in my pocket! Here is the Packet again.
_Count._ Stand out of the way, Rascal----Hollo!--Where are
my People? Lights! Lights!
_Courier._ What’s my Lord afraid of? Is there not Mr.
Figaro and I?
_Enter Flambeaux, Don_ GUZMAN, _Dr._ BARTHOLO, ANTONIO,
BASIL, _and Servants_.
_Count._ (_To the Servants_) Guard that Door and some of
you seize this Fellow.
_Figaro._ You command, with absolute Authority, over all
present, my Lord, except yourself.
{{_Count._ “The Villain’s impenetrable, cool Impudence is
intolerable.
_Figaro._ “We are not Soldiers, that we should kill one
another without Malice: for my part, I like to know why I
am angry.”}}
_Count._ Be pleased, Sir, to declare, before this Company,
who the--the--Woman is that just now ran into that Pavilion.
_Figaro._ Into that--(_Going to cross to the Pavilion on
the right._)
_Count._ (_Stopping him_) No, prevaricating Fiend; into
that. (_Pointing to the other._)
_Figaro._ Ah! That alters the Case.
_Count._ Answer, or--
{{_Figaro._ “The Lady that escaped into that Pavilion?
_Count._ “Ay, Demon, the Lady.”}}
_Figaro._ The Lady {{“that escaped into that Pavilion,”}}
is a young Lady to whom my Lord once paid his Addresses,
but who, happening to love me more than my Betters, has
this day yielded me the Preference.
_Count._ The Preference!--The Preference!--he does not lie
at least.----Yes, Gentlemen, what he confesses, I pledge
my Honour I just have heard from the very mouth of his
Accomplice!
_Guzman._ His Accomplice!
_Count._ Come forth, Madam! (_Enters the Pavilion._)
_Basil._ Which of these two has made a--Gentleman of the
other.
_Figaro._ Perhaps neither.
_Count._ (_In the Pavilion._) Come forth, I say, shew
yourself. (_Enter, dragging out the_ PAGE, _still speaking,
and not looking at him till he gets on a line with the rest
of the Company_.) Happily, Madam, there is no Pledge of a
Union, now so justly detested.----
_Omnes._ The Page!
_Guzman._ (_After all the rest._) The Pa-a-age!
_Count._ Again! And again! And everlastingly this damn’d,
diabolical Page. (_Page flies to the other side of the
stage._) You shall find, however, he was not alone.
_Page._ Ah, no! My lot would have been hard indeed then.
_Count._ Enter Antonio, and drag the guilty Thing before
her Judge.
_Antonio._ (_In the Pavilion._) Come, Madam, you must come
out; I must not let you go since my Lord knows you are here.
_Enter with his Daughter_, AGNES.
_Omnes._ Agnes!
_Guzman._ A-A-Agnes!
_Antonio._ Odzooks, my Lord, its a pleasant Trick, enough,
to send me in, before all these good Folks, for my Daughter.
_Count._ I’ll find her, I warrant. (_Going._)
_Doctor._ (_Stopping the Count._) Pardon me, my Lord, but
you are too angry at present; let me go.
(_Exit Doctor to the Pavilion._)
_Guzman._ This Cause is very perplex’d.
_Doctor._ (_Entering with Marcelina._) Fear nothing, Madam,
fear nothing.
_Omnes._ Marcelina!
_Figaro._ My Mother too! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
_Count._ Where then is this Daughter of Infamy thus evades
my just Fury?
_Enter_ SUSAN, _with her Fan before her face_.
Here she comes, at last; bearing her own Shame and my
Dishonour. (_Susan kneels to him, still hiding her Face._)
_Omnes._ Pardon, pardon, gracious Lord!
_Count._ No! No! No! (_They all fall on their knees._) No!
No! Were the World to kneel I would be deaf.
_Enter the_ COUNTESS _from the Pavilion on the right, and
kneels to the Count, whose back is turned to her_.
_Countess._ At least I will make one of the Number.
(_Susan drops her fan, the Count hears the
voice of the Countess, looks round, and
suddenly conceives the whole Trick they have
been playing him. All the Company burst into a
laugh: the Count’s shame, confusion, &c._)
_Guzman._ (_Laughing stupidly_) Ha! ha! ha! ha! ’Tis the
Countess!
_Count._ (_With great humility._) And--is it you my Lady?
_Countess._ (_Inclines her body in token of Affirmation._)
_Count._ (_Returning her bow with great confusion._)
Ah!--Yes!--Yes! A generous pardon--tho’ unmerited.----
_Countess._ Were you in my place, you would exclaim, No!
No! No! But I grant it without a single Stipulation.
_Susan._ And I.
_Figaro._ And I.--There are Echoes here.
_Count._ (_Surprised_) I perceive--I perceive----I have
been rightly served.
_Countess._ Here, Susan, here is the Purse and Ring, which
my Lord gave thee. He will remember thy sweet delicate
Fingers, so long and so small.
_Susan._ Thank your Lordship--Here Figaro.
(_Gives him the Purse._
_Figaro._ It was devilish hard to get at--
_Count._ (_To Susan_) And the Letter you wrote--
_Susan._ Was dictated by my Lady.
_Count._ (_Smiling good naturedly._) Well, well! I am an
Answer in her Debt.
_Figaro._ Thus every Man shall have his own.
_Bounce._ And shall we throw the Stocking?
_Countess._ There is the Garter.
(_Throws down the Riband Hannibal had stolen in
the Morning; Bounce is going to stoop for it,
and the Page pushes him back._)
_Page._ This is my Right, and if any one dare dispute it
with me----
_Count._ Indeed! Mr. Officer--So bold a Champion
already!--Pray how did your Valour like the Box on the Ear
I gave you just now?
_Page._ (_With his Hand to his Sword_) Me! My Colonel?
_Figaro._ Which I kindly received.
_Count._ Thou!
_Figaro._ I--And thus do the Great distribute Justice.
_Count._ (_laughing_) Well, Mr. President, (_Don Guzman
instantly calls up all his Wisdom on finding himself
addressed_) what do you think of all these things?
_Guzman._ Thi-ink, my Lord? (_Considers_) I--I think
that--I do-o-on’t know what to think.
_Figaro._ I think, a few such Days as this would form an
excellent Ambassador--But lately I was a poor, deserted,
solitary Being, in this wide World, and now I have Gold,
Relations, and a handsome Wife----
_Doctor._ And Friends will flock in abundance.
_Figaro._ Do you think so?
_Doctor._ Oh I know so.
_Figaro._ Well, let them, they shall be welcome to all I
have--My Wife and my Wealth excepted.
_Susan._
Our Errors past, and all our Follies done,
Oh! That ’twere possible you might be won
To pardon Faults, and Misdemeanors smother,
With the same ease we pardon One-another!
So should we rest, To-night, devoid of Sorrow,
And hope to meet you, joyously, To-morrow.
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
A few obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors
have been corrected after careful comparison with other
occurrences within the text and consultation of external
sources.
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in
the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been
retained.
Pg 10: Speaker name ‘Marcelino’ replaced by ‘Marcelina’.
Pg 17: ‘Gardiner’s daughter’ replaced by ‘Gardener’s daughter’.
Pg 17: ‘my drunken Gardiner’ replaced by ‘my drunken Gardener’.
Pg 18: ‘wish hm so much’ replaced by ‘wish him so much’.
Pg 21: ‘young Hanibal the’ replaced by ‘young Hannibal the’.
Pg 25: ‘COUNTESS’s Bed-Chmber’ replaced by
‘COUNTESS’s Bed-Chamber’.
Pg 27: ‘by the Pavillion’ replaced by ‘by the Pavilion’.
Pg 29: ‘will not, Marcellina’ replaced by ‘will not, Marcelina’.
Pg 43: ‘you malicicious little’ replaced by
‘you malicious little’.
Pg 45: ‘the Gardiner, with’ replaced by ‘the Gardener, with’.
Pg 48: ‘and eadeavours to’ replaced by ‘and endeavours to’.
Pg 50: Speaker name ‘Antanio’ replaced by ‘Antonio’.
Pg 64: ‘Angelica-Mustacio’ replaced by ‘Angelica-Mustachio’.
Pg 64: ‘Gentleman who are’ replaced by ‘Gentlemen who are’.
Pg 66: ‘Again, the the word’ replaced by ‘Again, the word’.
Pg 76: ‘honest ple’ replaced by ‘honest people’.
Pg 83: ‘Girl, ealed with’ replaced by ‘Girl, sealed with’.
Pg 90: Missing speaker name ‘Agnes’ inserted.
Pg 92: ‘those who who have’ replaced by ‘those who have’.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Follies of a Day; or, The Marriage of Figaro
- A comedy, as it is now performing at the Theatre-Royal, Covent-Garden. From the French of M. de Beaumarchais" ***
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