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.
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.)
(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.
(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!
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.)
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.
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.
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 a 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.
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.)
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—
(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.)
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?
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.)
(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.)
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.
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.
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.
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.
