TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Original stage directions were usually in italic and
placed in parentheses ( ). A few inconsistencies--no
closing parenthesis, use of [ instead of (, no
italic--have been left unchanged.
Stage directions were usually right-aligned with varying
indentation on the left, sometimes beginning on the same
line as the dialog, sometimes on a new line. This etext
generally puts them on a new right-aligned line(s) with
an indentation on the left of 12 spaces. They have been
kept in-line with the dialog when it made sense to do so.
As noted under the list of Dramatis Personæ ‘The
Passages put between inverted Commas are omitted in the
Representation’--meaning that this marked dialog was
omitted by the actors in the Theatre-Royal production
of the play. The start and end of these passages are
marked with {{ and }} in this etext. The inverted commas
are shown as opening and closing double quotes: “ and ”.
Redundant inverted commas at the beginning of lines have
been removed.
The original text used the longform ſ, replaced here by
the modern s.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Some minor corrections to the text are noted at the end
of the book.
THE
FOLLIES OF A DAY;
OR, THE
MARRIAGE OF FIGARO.
A COMEDY,
AS IT IS NOW PERFORMING AT THE
THEATRE-ROYAL,
COVENT-GARDEN.
FROM THE
FRENCH OF M. DE BEAUMARCHAIS.
BY THOMAS HOLCROFT.
AUTHOR OF DUPLICITY, A COMEDY, THE NOBLE
PEASANT, AN OPERA, &C.
LONDON:
Printed for G. G. J. and J. ROBINSON,
PATER-NOSTER ROW.
M DCC LXXXV.
ADVERTISEMENT.
Though to thank the Public is to thank nobody, since
no particular Person takes this Sort of Compliments to
himself, yet were I not to feel that Gratitude, which
individually I know not where to pay, I were unworthy of
past, of present, or of future Favours.
An Author’s Thanks to the World at large may be seen under
two very different Aspects: For, to thank the Public is
to tell the Public he is successful; which, supposing it
true, it would be strange if they did not already know;
it appears therefore only to be taking an Opportunity of
indulging his Vanity: And yet to thank them seems his Duty,
since his Silence might not only be construed a want of
Respect, but an arrogant Self-confidence that, when they
applauded or approved his Work, they only did him justice.
The Reader must determine which of these Faces he will
please to view.
I am so well convinced that the best Writer stands in need
of Indulgence, and that he only does well by Comparison,
and might do much better, that I shall find little
Mortification in subscribing to the Opinions of those who
shall tell me I am in this latter Predicament.
Readers are divided into two Classes; the one will allow an
Author much more than he merits, and the other much less;
but the principal Excellencies of _The Follies of a Day_
are so known to be another’s Right, that for me to claim
them would be ridiculous. Some, however, have affirmed that
it is a mere Translation, who have never seen, read, or
heard the Original; if they had, indeed, they would have
been still more culpable. Few will trouble themselves to
examine the precise Extent of my Claims; nor, if they did,
would they have an Opportunity ’till M. _de Beaumarchais_
shall think proper to publish LA FOLLE JOURNÉE. The Public
in general are so willing to overlook Defects, and applaud
wherever they can, that to complain of, or be angry at
the Few who seek for, and wish to find, Errors only, can
proceed alone from that Self-love which is so inherent and
irritable in all bosoms, and so difficult to subdue.
To enumerate all the Obstacles encountered and overcome
in bringing this Comedy on the English Stage, would be
to indulge this Vanity; which it is every wise Man’s
Pride, and every prudent Man’s Interest to resist. It may,
however, afford some Pleasure to be informed, that, finding
it impossible to procure a Copy of the original French,
though a Journey to Paris was undertaken expressly for that
Purpose, the Copy made use of in the composing _The Follies
of a Day_, was taken by Memory, only, during eight or nine
Representations; that I furnished the Plot, Incidents,
Entrances, and Exits, and gave some other occasional Hints;
that the remainder was the Work of a young Frenchman, whose
Talents and whose Heart are an Ornament and an Honour to
his Country; and that, after it was brought to _England_
and received by Mr. _Harris_, it was translated, cast,
copied, recopied, studied, and, in one of its longest
Parts, re-studied, and played in little more than a Month.
The Attention and Care of Mr. _Harris_, and the Merits
of the respective Performers in playing, as they did,
under such Circumstances, need not my Encomiums. Had the
Town known the peculiar Exertions, of those especially
who performed the longest and most essential Parts, the
applause would have been endless. From me they are justly
entitled to my warmest and sincerest Thanks.
UPPER MARY-LE-BONE STREET,
FEB. 21, 1785.
PROLOGUE,
Spoken by Mr. DAVIES.
To-night, a Child of Chance is hither brought,
Who could be neither _borrow’d_, _begg’d_, nor _bought_;
Nay, so alert was said to be the Droll,
’Twas well affirm’d he was not to be _stole_;
But hence dispatch’d, back’d by Apollo’s warrant,
A messenger has _kidnapp’d_ this Wag-errant;
Poetic Fugitive, has hither dragg’d him,
And, safely here arriv’d, has now ungagg’d him,
To plead before this Court, his whole amenance;
Where, should you sentence him to public Penance,
Oh, sad reverse! how would he foam and fret,
And sigh for Paris and his sweet _Soubrette_!
Where twice ten thousand tongues are proud to greet him,
And wing’d Applause, on tip-toe, stands to meet him;
Where the grim Guard, in nightly rapture, stands,
And grounds his musquet to get at his hands;
Where the retentive Pitt, all prone t’adore him,
Repeat his _Bon mots_ half a bar before him;
While every _Bel-Esprit_, at every hit,
Grows fifty-fold more conscious of his Wit.
If _far fetch’d and dear bought_ give Trifles worth,
Sure you’ll applaud our FIGARO’s second birth.
Nought of his present merit must we say;
Bear but in mind, OUR Day’s a SPANISH Day.
Cupid, in warmer Climes, urg’d by the Grape,
Calls not each petty violence a Rape!
But oft his Votaries leaves intoxicate,
Hence FIGARO himself is illegitimate.
Sanction’d by you, howe’er, this little Blot,
So much in fashion, will be soon forgot;
That Signature which each kind hand bestows,
Shall make him well receiv’d where’er he goes!
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Count Almaviva, Mr. LEWIS.
Don Guzman, Mr. QUICK.
Doctor Bartholo, Mr. WILSON.
Figaro, Mr. BONNOR.
Antonio, Mr. EDWIN.
Basil, Mr. WEWITZER.
Doublefee, Mr. THOMPSON.
Bounce, Mr. STEVENS.
Courier, Mr. JONES.
Crier of the Court, Mr. BATES.
Servant, Mr. NEWTON.
Page, Mrs. MARTYR.
Countess, Mrs. BATES.
Marcelina, Mrs. WEBB.
Agnes, Miss WEWITZER.
Susan, Miss YOUNGE.
Counsellors, Guards, Vassals.
☞ _The Passages put between inverted Commas are omitted in
the Representation._
THE
FOLLIES OF A DAY.
ACT I.
SCENE, the Castle of Count ALMAVIVA.
FIGARO _and_ SUSAN.
(_Figaro measuring the chamber with a wand._)
_Figaro._ Eighteen feet by twenty-six, good.
_Susan._ What art thou so busy about?
_Figaro._ Measuring, to try if the bed our noble Lord
intends to give us will stand well here.
_Susan._ In this chamber!
_Figaro._ Yes.
_Susan._ I won’t lie in this chamber.
_Figaro._ Why so?
_Susan._ I tell you I won’t lie in this chamber.
_Figaro._ Well but----
_Susan._ I don’t like it.
_Figaro._ Your reason.
_Susan._ What if I have no reason?--What if I don’t chuse
to give my reason?
{{_Figaro._ “Ah, ah!--Thus it is when once they think they
have us fast.
_Susan._ “Are you, or are you not my most obedient very
humble servant?
_Figaro._ “Your slave----(_Bows very low._)
_Susan._ “Oh!
_Figaro._ “But wherefore take exception to the most
convenient room in the whole house?
_Susan._ “Yes, yes!--The most convenient!--(_Satirically._)
_Figaro._ “If during the night my Lady should be taken ill,
she rings her bell, and crack!--in two steps--thou art
standing at her side.--In the morning when my Lord wakes,
he calls, I start, and pop--three skips and I am there.
_Susan._ “Very true--And in the morning when my Lord has
sent thee on some fine errand of an hour long, he starts
from his bed as soon as Mr. Figaro’s back is turn’d, and
crack!--in three skips--he--(_significantly._)
_Figaro._ “He?
_Susan._ “Yes--he----
_Figaro._ “(_Keeps rubbing his forehead and looking at
Susan._) He!
_Susan._ “He!----Dost thou feel any thing?
_Figaro._ “(_Presses his finger and thumb against his
forehead_) Buttons!--In pairs!----Mushrooms sprout not so
suddenly--Yes, yes--it’s a fruitful spot.”}}
_Susan._ Thou knowest how our _generous_ Count when he by
thy help obtained Rosina’s hand, and made her Countess of
Almaviva, during the first transports of love abolished a
certain gothic right----
_Figaro._ Of sleeping the first night with every Bride.
_Susan._ Which as Lord of the Manor he could claim.
_Figaro._ Know it!--To be sure I do, or I would not have
married even my charming Susan in his Domain.
_Susan._ Tired of prowling among the rustic beauties of the
neighbourhood he returned to the Castle--
_Figaro._ And his wife.
_Susan._ And _thy_ wife--(_Figaro stares_)--Dost thou
understand me?
_Figaro._ Perfectly!
_Susan._ And endeavours, once more, secretly to purchase
from her, a right which he now most sincerely repents he
ever parted with.
_Figaro._ Most gracious Penitent!
_Susan._ This is what he hints to me every instant, and
this the faithful Basil, honest agent of his pleasures,
and my most noble music master, every day repeats with my
lesson.
_Figaro._ Basil!
_Susan._ Basil.
_Figaro._ Indeed! But if tough ashen plant or supple-jack
twine not round thy lazy sides, Rascal--
_Susan._ Ha, ha, ha! Why wert thou ever wise enough to
imagine the portion the Count intends to give us was meant
as a reward for thy services?
_Figaro._ I think I had some reason to hope as much.
_Susan._ Lord, lord! What great fools are you men of wit!
_Figaro._ I believe so.
_Susan._ I am sure so.
_Figaro._ Oh that it were possible to deceive this arch
Deceiver, this Lord of mine! To lead him into some
excellent snare, pocket his gold and--
_Susan._ Hah! Now thou art in thy element--Gold and
intrigue--Plots and purses--But let him that diggeth a pit
beware he--
_Figaro._ I’ll try--{{“The Lover’s jealousy and the
Husband’s shame shall not deter me”}}--Your trick, most
noble Count, is common place--A thousand blundering
Boobies have had art enough to filch a Wife from the side
of her sleeping, simple, unsuspecting Spouse, and if he
complained, to redress his injuries with a cudgel--But
to turn the tables on this Poacher, make him pay for a
delicious morsel he shall never taste, infect him with
fears for his own honor, to--
_Susan._ (_The bell rings_) Hark! My Lady is awake--I must
run, for she has several times strictly charged me to be
the first at her bedside the morning of my marriage.
_Figaro._ Why the first?
_Susan._ The old saying tells us, that to meet a young
Bride the first on the morning of her wedding-day is lucky
to a neglected wife. (_Going._)
_Figaro._ Prithee, my Susan, give me a kiss before thou
goest--It will quicken my wits, and lend imagination a new
impulse.
_Susan._ To be sure!--But if I kiss my Lover to-day what
will my Husband say to me to-morrow? (_seems to refuse,
Figaro kisses her_). Pshaw Figaro! when wilt thou cease to
trifle thus from morning till night (_playfully_).
_Figaro._ When I may trifle from night to morning (_in the
same tone_).
_Susan._ There, there--There’s all the kisses I shall give.
(_Kisses her hand at him and runs, he pursues
to the side._)
_Figaro._ Stop, stop, you cheating little knave; that was
not the way you received them. (_Returns_) A sweet Girl!
An Angel! Such wit! Such grace! and so much prudence and
modesty too!--I am a happy fellow!--So Mr. Basil! Is it
me, Rascal, you mean to practice the tricks of your trade
upon?--I’ll teach you to put your spoon in my milk--But
hold--Dissemble is the word--Feign we ignorance and
endeavour to catch them in their own traps--I wondered why
the Count, who had made me Steward and Inspector-general
of the Castle, should change his mind so suddenly, and
want to take me with him on his embassy to Paris, there
to institute me his Messenger in ordinary--A cunning
contrivance that--He, Plenipotentiary in chief, I, a
break-neck Politician, and Susan, Lady of the back-stairs,
Ambassadress of the bed-chamber--I dashing through thick
and thin and wearing myself to a skeleton, for the good of
my most gracious Lord’s family, and he labouring, night
and day, for the increase of mine--Really, most honorable
Count, you are too kind--What to represent his Majesty
and me both at once--It’s too much, too much by half----A
moment’s reflection friend Figaro on the events of the
day--First, thou must promote the Sports and Feasting
already projected, that appearances may not cool, but that
thy Marriage may proceed with greater certainty; next, keep
off one madam Marcelina, whose liquorish mouth waters at
thee, and to whom thou hast given a Promise of Marriage,
in default of the repayment of certain borrowed Sums which
it would be very convenient to thy affairs never more to
mention--Talk of the Devil and----
_Enter Doctor_ BARTHOLO _and_ MARCELINA.
_Marcelina._ Good-morrow to Mr. Bridegroom.
_Figaro._ Good-morrow to madam Marcelina--What! My old fat
friend the Doctor! Are you there?
_Doctor._ Yes, Knave’s face.
_Figaro._ As witty, I perceive, and no doubt as wise as
ever--And have you been complaisant enough to come thus far
to see me married?
_Doctor._ To see thee hang’d.
_Figaro._ Most kind Doctor--But who takes care of your
Mule? I know you have as much mercy on your Beast as you
have on your Patient.
_Doctor._ Do you hear him?
_Figaro._ And you, gentle Marcelina, do you still wish to
marry me--What, because I cannot fall in love with you,
would you drive me to hate you?
[_Exit Figaro._
_Doctor._ The Rascal will never mend.
_Marcelina._ ’Tis you, Doctor, will never mend--{{“You are
so eternally wise, dull and slow, that when a Patient has
need of your assistance he may die before you get to him,
like as formerly your Mistress got married in spite of your
precautions.”}}
_Doctor._ Was it to entertain me thus agreeably that you
sent for me in such haste from Seville?
_Marcelina._ Not entirely for that.
_Doctor._ What then--Is any body ill? Is the Count
indisposed?
_Marcelina._ No, it is the Countess who is indisposed.
_Doctor._ What the artful, the deceitful Rosina? What’s her
disorder?
_Marcelina._ A faithless Husband.
_Doctor._ A very common complaint indeed.
_Marcelina._ The Count forsakes her, and falls in love with
every fresh face.
_Doctor._ I am glad of it--I am glad of it--I foresaw it--I
thought Count Almaviva would revenge the wrongs of Doctor
Bartholo.
_Marcelina._ After toying with a thousand neighbouring
Beauties, he now returns to the castle to terminate the
marriage of Susan and Figaro.
_Doctor._ Which he himself has made necessary.
_Marcelina_. Oh no--But at which he wishes to act rather as
a Principal than an Agent.
_Doctor._ In private with the Bride.
_Marcelina._ Even so.
_Doctor._ She I suppose has no great objection.
_Marcelina._ Charitable Doctor--Basil, however, her music
master, who takes great pains to instruct her, says to the
contrary.
_Doctor._ Basil! What is that other Rascal here too?--Why
the house is a den of Thieves--What does he do here?
_Marcelina._ All the mischief he can--He persecutes me with
his odious love unceasingly; I cannot get rid of him.
_Doctor._ Marry him--I’ll answer for his cure.
_Marcelina._ That’s what he wants--But pray Doctor, why
will not you get rid of me by the same means? The claims of
Justice and oaths out of number should--
_Doctor._ So so so so--What is the matrimonial furor come
upon you again?
_Marcelina._ Our long lost son, Fernando! the dear pledge
of my virgin love! were he but found, perhaps--
_Doctor._ And so you sent for me to hear this stale
rhodomontade?
{{_Marcelina._ “And are you, now you have lost your Rosina,
as inflexible and unjust as ever?”}}
_Doctor._ Pshaw!
_Marcelina._ Well--Since you are determined never to marry
me yourself, will you have the complaisance to aid me in
marrying another?
_Doctor._ With all my heart!--With all my heart!--
_Marcelina._ Ah! (_curtsies_).
_Doctor._ But who?--What miserable Mortal, abandoned of
Heaven and Women--
_Marcelina._ Who but the amiable, the gay, the ever
sprightly Figaro?
_Doctor._ Figaro! That Rascal!
_Marcelina._ Youthful and generous!
_Doctor._ As a Highwayman.
_Marcelina._ As a Nobleman--
_Doctor._ Pshaw, impossible! what on the very day he is
going to marry another?
{{_Marcelina._ “Things more improbable have come to pass.
_Doctor._ “But your motive?
_Marcelina._ “For you, Doctor, I have no secrets.
_Doctor._ “Women seldom have for Doctors.
_Marcelina._ “I own our sex, though timid, is ardent in the
pursuit of pleasure. There is, in all our bosoms, a small
still voice which unceasing cries--Woman, be as beautiful
as thou canst, as virtuous as thou wilt, but, at all
events, be conspicuous, be talk’d about; for thy Wisdom, if
thou hast it--if not for thy Folly.
_Doctor._ “She utters Oracles--Well, well, accomplish this,
and I will engage you shall be talk’d about.”}}
_Marcelina._ We must endeavour to work upon Susan by fear
and shame, for the more obstinately she refuses the amorous
offers of the Count, the more effectually she will serve
our purpose; disappointment and revenge will lead him to
support my cause, and as he is sovereign Judge in his own
Lordship, his power may make Figaro’s promise of marriage
to me valid.
_Doctor._ Promise--Has he given you any such promise?
_Marcelina._ A written one--You shall see it.
_Doctor._ By Galen, this is excellent! The rascal shall
marry my old House-keeper, and I shall be revenged for the
tricks he lately played me, and the hundred pistoles he
contrived to cheat me of.
_Marcelina._ (_transported_) Yes, yes, Doctor! I shall have
him! He shall marry me! He shall marry me!
_Enter_ SUSAN, _with a gown on her arm, and a cap and
riband of the Countess, in her hand_.
_Susan._ Marry you! Who is to marry you? Not my Figaro, I
assure you, madam.
_Marcelina._ Why not me, as soon as you, madam?
_Susan._ Indeed! your most obedient, madam.
_Doctor._ (_aside_) So now for a merry scolding match.--We
were saying, handsome Susan, how happy Figaro must be in
such a Bride--
(_Susan curtsies to the Doctor._)
_Marcelina._ Not to mention the secret satisfaction of my
Lord the Count.
_Susan._ Dear madam, you are so abundantly kind.
_Marcelina._ Not so abundant in kindness, as a liberal
young Lord--But I own it is very natural, he should partake
the pleasures he so freely bestows upon his Vassals.
_Susan._ (_half angry_) Partake--Happily madam, your Envy
is as obvious, and your Slander as false, as your Claims on
Figaro are weak and ill founded.
{{_Marcelina._ “If they are weak, it is because I wanted
the art to strengthen them, after the manner of madam.
_Susan._ “Yet madam has ever been reckoned a mistress of
her art.
_Marcelina._ “I hope, madam, I shall always have your good
word, _madam_. (_Curtsies._)
_Susan._ “Oh, I can assure you, madam, you have nothing to
regret on that score, _madam_.” (_Curtsies mockingly._)}}
_Marcelina._ The young Lady is really a very pretty kind of
Person--(_with a contemptuous side glance._)
_Susan._ Oh yes (_mimicking_) The young Lady is at least as
pretty as the old Lady.
{{_Marcelina._ “And very respectable.
Susan. “Respectable! Oh no, that is the characteristic of
a Duenna.
_Marcelina._ “A Duenna! A Duenna!
_Doctor._ (_coming between them_) “Come, come--
_Marcelina._ “I--I--You--your very humble servant, _madam_.
_Susan._ “Your most devoted, _madam_.”}}
_Marcelina._ Farewell, _madam_.
(_Exeunt Doctor and Marcelina._)
_Susan._ Adieu, _madam_--this old Sibyl, because she
formerly tormented the infancy of my Lady, thinks she has
a right to domineer over every person in the Castle--I
declare I have forgot what I came for.
(_Susan bangs the gown on a great arm chair
that stands in the room, and keeps the cap and
riband of the Countess in her hand._)
_Enter_ HANNIBAL _the Page, running_.
_Susan._ So, Youth! What do you do here?
_Page._ Good morrow, Susan--I have been watching these two
hours to find you alone.
_Susan._ Well, what have you to say, now you have found me?
_Page._ (_Childishly amorous_) How does your beauteous Lady
do, Susan?
_Susan._ Very well.
_Page._ (_Poutingly_) Do you know, Susan, my Lord is going
to send me back to my Pappa and Mamma?
_Susan._ Poor Child!
_Page._ Child indeed!--Umph!--And if my charming
God-mother, your dear Lady, cannot obtain my pardon, I
shall soon be deprived of the pleasure of your company,
Susan.
_Susan._ Upon my word!--He is toying all day long with
Agnes, and is, moreover, in love with my Lady, and then
comes to tell me he shall be deprived of my company.
(_Aside._)
_Page._ Agnes is good natured enough to listen to me, and
that is more than you are, Susan, for all I love you so.
_Susan._ Love me!--Why you amorous little villain, you are
in love with every Woman you meet.
_Page._ So I am, Susan, and I can’t help it--If no-body is
by, I swear it to the trees, the waters, and the winds,
nay, to myself--Yesterday I happened to meet Marcelina--
_Susan._ Marcelina! Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
_Page._ Why, she is a Woman, Susan.
_Susan._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
_Page._ And what’s more, unmarried? Oh how sweet are the
words Woman, Maiden, and Love, in my ear!
_Susan._ Ha! ha! ha!--He’s bewitch’d!--And what is the
Count going to send you from the Castle for?
_Page._ Last night, you must know, he caught me in the
chamber with Agnes; begone, said he, thou little--
_Susan._ Little what?
_Page._ Lord, he called me such a name, I can’t for shame
repeat it before a woman.
_Susan._ And what were you doing in the chamber of Agnes?
_Page._ Teaching her her part.
_Susan._ Her part?
_Page._ Yes, the love scene, you know, she is to play in
the Comedy this evening.
_Susan._ Which my Lord would chuse to teach her himself.
(_aside._)
_Page._ Agnes is very kind, Susan.
_Susan._ Well, well, I’ll tell the Countess what you
say--But you are a little more circumspect in her presence.
_Page._ Ah Susan, she is a Divinity! How noble is her
manner! Her very smiles are awful!
_Susan._ That is to say, you can take what liberties you
please with such people as me.
_Page._ Oh how do I envy thy happiness, Susan! Always near
her! Dressing her every morning! Undressing her every
evening! Putting her to bed! Touching her! Looking at her!
Speaking to--What is it thou hast got there, Susan?
_Susan._ (_Counterfeiting the amorous air, and animated
tone of the Page._) It is the fortunate riband of the happy
cap, which at night enfolds the auburn ringlets of the
beauteous Countess.
_Page._ Give it me--Nay, give it me--I will have it.
_Susan._ But I say you shan’t (_the Page snatches it, and
runs round the great chair, dodging Susan_) Oh my riband!
_Page._ Be as angry as thou wilt, but thou shalt _never_
have it again, thou shouldst have one of my eyes rather.
_Susan._ I can venture to predict, young gentleman, that
three or four years hence, thou wilt be one of the most
deceitful veriest Knaves--
_Page._ If thou dost not hold thy tongue, Susan, I’ll kiss
thee into the bargain.
_Susan._ Kiss me!--Do not come near me, if thou lov’st
thy ears--I say, beg my Lord to forgive you, indeed! No I
assure you--{{“I shall say to him, you do very right, my
Lord, to send this little Rascal packing, who is not only
in love with my Lady, but wants to kiss other folks into
the bargain.”
_Page._ “How can I help it, Susan”?}} Here, take this paper.
_Susan._ For what?
_Page._ It contains a Song I have written on thy beauteous
Lady, my charming God-mother.
_Count._ (_without_) Jaquez.
_Page._ Ah! I’m undone!--’Tis my Lord!
(_The Page crouches down, and hides himself
behind Susan’s petticoats and the great chair._)
_Enter_ Count ALMAVIVA.
(_Page remains hid behind the great chair._)
_Count._ So, charming Susan, have I found thee at last? But
thou seemest frightened my little Beauty.
_Susan._ Consider, my Lord, if any body should come and
catch you here--
_Count._ That would be rather mal-a-propos; but there’s no
great danger.
(_The Count offers to kiss Susan._)
_Susan._ Fie, my Lord!
(_The Count seats himself in the great chair,
and endeavours to pull Susan on his knee, who
resists._)
_Count._ Thou knowest, my charming Susan, the King has
done me the honour to appoint me Ambassador to the court
of Paris. I shall take Figaro with me, and give him a
very--_excellent_ post; and as it is the duty of a Wife to
follow her Husband, we shall then have every opportunity we
could wish.
_Susan._ I really don’t understand you, my Lord. I thought
your affection for my Lady, whom you took so much pains to
steal from her old Guardian, Dr. Bartholo, and for love of
whom you generously abolished a certain vile privilege.--
_Count._ For which all the young girls are very sorry; are
they not?
_Susan._ No indeed, my Lord--I thought, my Lord, I say--
_Count._ Prithee say no more, my sweet Susan, but promise
thou wilt meet me this evening, at twilight, by the
Pavilion in the garden; and be certain, that if thou wilt
but grant me this small favour, nothing thou canst ask
shall--
_Basil._ (_without._) He is not in his own room.
_Count._ Heavens! Here’s somebody coming! Where can I hide!
Is there no place here?
(_The Count runs to get behind the great chair,
Susan keeps between him and the Page, who
steals away as the Count advances, leaps into
the great chair, with his legs doubled under
him, and is covered over with the Countess’s
gown, by Susan._)
_Enter_ BASIL.
_Basil._ Ah, Susan, Good morrow--Is my lord the Count here?
_Susan._ Here! What should he be here for?
_Basil._ Nay, there would be no miracle in it if he were:
would there, hey gentle Susan? (_Smiles and leers at her._)
_Susan._ It would be a greater miracle to see you honest.
_Basil._ Figaro is in search of him.
_Susan._ Then he is in search of the man who wishes most to
injure him--yourself excepted.
_Basil._ It is strange, that a man should injure the
Husband by obliging the Wife.
(_The Count peeps from behind the great chair._)
_Count._ I shall hear, now, how well he pleads my cause.
_Basil._ For my part, Marriage being, of all serious
things, the greatest Farce, I imagined--
_Susan._ All manner of wickedness.
_Basil._ That though you are obliged to fast to-day, you
might be glad to feed to-morrow, grace being first duly
said.
_Susan._ Be gone, and do not shock my ears with your vile
principles.
_Basil._ Yes, my pretty Susan, but you must not suppose
I am the dupe of these fine appearances. I know it isn’t
Figaro who is the great obstacle to my Lord’s happiness,
but a certain beardless Page, whom I surprised here, this
morning, looking for you as I entered.
_Susan._ I wish you would be gone, you wicked--Devil.
_Basil._ Wicked Devil! Ah, one is a wicked Devil for not
shutting one’s eyes.
_Susan._ I wish you would be gone, I tell you.
_Basil._ Was it not for you that he wrote the Song, which
he goes chanting up and down the house, at every instant?
_Susan._ O yes! For me, to be sure!
_Basil._ At least it was either for you, or your Lady.
_Susan._ What next?
_Basil._ Why really, when he sits at table, he does cast
certain very significant glances towards a beauteous
Countess, who shall be nameless--But let him beware! If
my Lord catches him at his tricks, he’ll make him dance
without music.
_Susan._ Nobody, but such a wicked creature as you, could
ever invent such scandalous tales, to the ruin of a poor
Youth, who has unhappily fallen into his Lord’s disgrace.
_Basil._ I invent! Why it is in every body’s mouth.
(_The Count discovers himself, and comes
forward._)
_Count._ How! In every body’s mouth!
_Basil._ Zounds.
_Count._ Run, Basil, let him have fifty pistoles and a
horse given him, and sent back to his friends instantly.
_Basil._ I’m very sorry, my Lord, I happened to speak--
_Susan._ I’m quite suffocated.
(_Susan seems almost ready to faint, the Count
supports her, and Basil assists._)
_Count._ Let us seat her in this great chair, Basil.
_Susan._ (_Frightened, and exclaims_) No!--I won’t sit
down!----(_After a pause_)--This wicked fellow has ruined
the poor boy.
_Basil._ I assure you, my Lord, what I said, was only meant
to sound Susan.
_Count._ No matter, he shall depart! A little, wanton,
impudent Rascal, that I meet at every turning--No longer
ago than yesterday I surprised him with the Gardener’s
daughter.
_Basil._ Agnes?
_Count._ In her very bed-chamber.
_Susan._ Where my Lord happened to have business himself.
_Count._ Hem!--I was going there to seek your uncle
Antonio, Susan, my drunken Gardener; I knock’d at the door,
and waited some time; at last Agnes came, with confusion
in her countenance--I entered, cast a look round, and
perceiving a kind of long Cloak, or Curtain, or some such
thing, approach’d, and without seeming to take the least
notice, drew it gently aside, thus--Hey!
_Basil._ Zounds!
(_The Count, during his speech, approaches the
arm chair, and acting his description draws
aside the gown that hides the Page. They all
stand motionless with surprise, for some time._)
_Count._ Why, this is a better trick than t’other!
_Basil._ No!--I won’t sit down! (_Mimicking Susan._)
_Count._ (_To Susan_) And so it was to receive this pretty
Youth, that you were so desirous of being alone--And you,
you little Villain, what you don’t intend to mend your
manners then? But forgetting all respect for your friend
Figaro, and for the Countess your Godmother, likewise, you
are endeavouring here to seduce her favourite woman! I,
however (_turning towards Basil_) shall not suffer Figaro,
a man--whom--I _esteem--sincerely_--to fall the Victim of
such deceit--Did he enter with you, Basil?
_Basil._ No, my Lord.
_Susan._ There is neither Victim nor deceit in the case, my
Lord. He was here when you entered.
_Count._ I hope that’s false: his greatest Enemy could not
wish him so much mischief.
_Susan._ Knowing that you were angry with him, the poor Boy
came running to me, begging me to solicit my Lady in his
favor, in hopes she might engage you to forgive him; but
was so terrified, as soon as he heard you coming, that he
hid himself in the great Chair.
_Count._ A likely story--I sat down in it, as soon as I
came in.
_Page._ Yes, my Lord, but I was then trembling behind it.
_Count._ That’s false, again, for I hid myself behind it,
when Basil entered.
_Page._ (_Timidly_) Pardon me, my Lord, but as you
approach’d, I retired, and crouched down as you now see me.
_Count._ (_Angrily_) It’s a little Serpent that glides
into every crevice--And he has been listening too to our
discourse!
_Page._ Indeed, my Lord, I did all I could not to hear a
word.
_Count._ (_To Susan_) There is no Figaro, no Husband for
you, however.
_Basil._ Somebody is coming; get down.
_Enter the_ COUNTESS, FIGARO, AGNES, _and_ VASSALS, _in
their holiday cloaths_. Figaro _carrying the nuptial
cap--The_ Count _runs and plucks the Page from the great
chair, just as they enter_.
_Count._ What! Would you continue crouching there before
the whole world?
_(The Count and Countess salute._
_Figaro._ We are come, my Lord, to beg a favour, which we
hope, for your Lady’s sake, you will grant. (_Aside to
Susan_) Be sure to second what I say.
_Susan._ It will end in nothing. (_Aside._
_Figaro._ No matter: let us try, at least. (_Aside._
_Countess._ You see, my Lord, I am supposed to have a much
greater degree of influence over you than I really possess.
_Count._ Oh no, my Lady; not an atom, I assure you.
_Figaro._ (_Presenting the cap to the Count_) Our petition
is, that the Bride may have the honor of receiving from
our worthy Lord’s hand, this Nuptial-Cap; ornamented with
half-blown roses, and white ribbands, Symbols of the purity
of his intentions.
_Count._ Do they mean to laugh at me? (_Aside._
{{_Figaro._ “And as you have been kindly pleased to abolish
that abominable right, which, as Lord of the Manor, you
might have claimed, permit us, your Vassals, to celebrate
your praise, in a rustic Chorus I have prepared for this
occasion. The Virtues of so good a master should not remain
unsung.
_Count._ “A Lover, a Poet, and a Musician!--These titles,
Figaro, might perhaps merit our indulgence, if”--}}
_Countess._ Let me beg, my Lord, you will not deny their
request: in the name of that Love you once had for me.
_Count._ And have still, Madam.
_Figaro._ Join with me, my friends.
_Omnes._ My Lord.
_Susan._ Why should your Lordship refuse Eulogiums which
you merit so well?
_Count._ Oh the Traitress. (_Aside_) Well, well,--I consent.
_Figaro._ Look at her, my Lord; never could a more
beauteous Bride better prove the greatness of the sacrifice
you have made.
_Susan._ Oh do not speak of my Beauty, but of his
Lordship’s Virtues.
_Count._ My Virtues!--Yes, yes,--I see they understand each
other. (_Aside_) Who can tell me where is Marcelina?
_Agnes._ I met her, my Lord, just now, in the close walk by
the park wall, along with Doctor Bartholo. She seemed in a
passion, and the Doctor tried to pacify her. I heard her
mention my Cousin Figaro’s name.
_Count._ (_Aside_) No Cousin yet, my dear; and perhaps
never may be.
_Agnes._ (_Pointing to the Page_) Have you forgiven what
happened yesterday, my Lord?
_Count._ (_Afraid lest the Countess should hear, and
chucking Agnes under the chin_) Hush!
_Figaro._ (_To the Page_) What’s the matter, young Hannibal
the brave? What makes you so silent?
_Susan._ He is sorrowful because my Lord is going to send
him from the castle.
_Omnes._ Oh pray, my Lord!
_Countess._ Let me beg you will forgive him.
_Count._ He does not deserve to be forgiven.
_Countess._ Consider, he is so young.
_Count._ (_Half aside_) Not so young, perhaps, as you
suppose.
_Page._ My Lord certainly has not ceded away the right to
pardon.
_Susan._ And if he had, that would certainly be the first
he would _secretly_ endeavour to reclaim. (_Looking
significantly at the Count and Figaro, by turns._)
_Count._ (_Understanding her_) No doubt: no doubt.
_Page._ My conduct, my Lord, may have been indiscreet, but
I can assure your Lordship, that never the least word shall
pass my lips----
_Count._ (_Interrupting him_) Enough, enough--Since every
body begs for him, I must grant--I shall moreover give him
a Company in my Regiment.
_Omnes._ Thanks noble Count.
_Count._ But on condition that he depart immediately for
Catalonia to join the Corps.
_Omnes._ Oh my Lord?
_Figaro._ To-morrow my Lord.
_Count._ To day! It shall be so. (_To the Page_) Take leave
of your Godmother, and beg her protection.
(_The Page kneels to the Countess with a
sorrowful air. As he approaches to kneel, he
goes very slowly and Figaro gently pushes him
forward._)
_Fig._ Go, go, Child; go.
_Countess._ (_With great emotion_) Since--it is not
possible--to obtain leave--for you to remain here to-day,
depart, young man, and follow the noble career which lies
before you--Forget not those with whom you have spent some
of the first years of your life, and among whom you have
friends who wish you every success--Go where Fortune and
Glory call--Be obedient, polite, and brave, and be certain
we shall take part in your Prosperity. (_Raises him._
_Count._ You seem agitated Madam.
_Countess._ How can I help it, recollecting the perils to
which his youth must be exposed? He has been bred in the
same house with me, is of the same kindred, and is likewise
my Godson.
_Count._ (_Aside_) Basil I see was in the right.----
(_Turns to the Page_) Go, kiss Susan for the last time.
(_The Page and Susan approach, Figaro steps
between them and intercepts the Page._)
_Fig._ Oh! There’s no occasion for kissing, my Lord: he’ll
return in the winter, and in the mean time he may kiss
me.--The scene must now be changed my delicate Youth: you
must not run up stairs and down, into the Women’s Chambers,
play at Hunt-the-slipper, steal Cream, suck Oranges, and
live upon Sweetmeats. Instead of that, Zounds! You must
look bluff! Tan your face! Handle your musket! Turn to the
right! Wheel to the left! And march to Glory.--At least if
you are not stopt short by a Bullet.
_Susan._ Fie, Figaro.
_Countess._ (_Terrified._) What a Prophecy!
_Fig._ Were I a Soldier I would make some of them
scamper--But, come, come, my friends; let us prepare our
feast against the evening. Marcelina I hear intends to
disturb our Diversions.
_Count._ That she will I can assure you. (_Aside_) I must
go and send for her. (_going._)
_Countess._ You will not leave us, my Lord?
_Count._ I am undrest, you see.
_Countess._ We shall see nobody but our own servants.
_Count._ I must do what you please. Wait for me in the
study, Basil.
(_Exeunt Count, Countess, and Vassals._
_Manent Figaro, Basil and Page._
_Fig._ (_Retains the Page_) Come, come; let us study our
parts well for the Play in the evening: and do not let us
resemble those Actors who never play so ill as on the first
night of a Piece; when Criticism is most watchful to detect
Errors, and when they ought to play the best--{{“_We_ shall
not have an opportunity of playing better to-morrow.”}}
_Basil._ My part is more difficult than you imagine.
_Figaro._ And you may be rewarded for it, in a manner you
little expect. [_Aside._
_Page._ You forget, Figaro, that I am going.
_Figaro._ And you wish to stay? (_In the same sorrowful
tone._)
_Page._ (_Sighs._) Ah yes.
_Figaro._ Follow my advice, and so thou shalt.
_Page._ How, how?
_Figaro._ Make no murmuring, but clap on your boots, and
seem to depart; gallop as far as the Farm, return to the
Castle on foot, enter by the back way, and hide yourself
till I can come to you.
_Page._ And who shall teach Agnes her part, then?
_Figaro._ Oh oh!
_Basil._ Why, what the devil have you been about, young
Gentleman, for these eight days past, during which you
have hardly ever left her? Take care, Hannibal, take care,
or your Scholar will give her Tutor a bad character.--Ah
Hannibal! Hannibal! The Pitcher that goes often to the
Well--
_Figaro._ Listen to the Pedant and his Proverb.--Well, and
what says the wisdom of Nations--_The pitcher that goes
often to the well_--
_Basil._ Stands a chance, sometime, to return full.
_Figaro._ Not so foolish as I thought.
End of ACT I.