SCENE, the COUNTESS’s Bed-Chamber.
(_A state-bed in the back ground under an Alcove:
three doors; one the entrance into the room, another
into Susan’s room, and the third to the Countess’s
dressing-room; a large window that opens to the street._)
_The_ COUNTESS _seated_, SUSAN _waiting_.
_Countess._ Shut the door--And so the Page was hid behind
the great chair?
_Susan._ Yes, Madam.
_Countess._ But how did he happen to be in your room, Susan?
_Susan._ The poor Boy came to beg I would prevail on you to
obtain his pardon of my Lord the Count.
_Countess._ But why did not he come to me himself? I should
not have refused him a favor of that kind.
_Susan._ Bashfulness, Madam. _Ah Susan!_ said he, _she is
a Divinity! How noble is her Manner! Her very smiles are
awful._
_Countess._ (_Smiling_) Is that true, Susan?
_Susan._ Can you doubt it, Madam?
_Countess._ I have always afforded him my protection.
_Susan._ Had you, Madam, but seen him snatch the ribband
from me!
_Countess._ (_Rising_) Pshaw! Enough of this nonsense--And
so my Lord the Count endeavours to seduce you, Susan?
_Susan._ Oh, no indeed, Madam, he does not give himself
the trouble to seduce; he endeavours to purchase me: and
because I refuse him will certainly prevent my marriage
with Figaro, and support the pretensions of Marcelina.
_Countess._ Fear nothing--We shall have need, however, of a
little artifice perhaps; in the execution of which Figaro’s
assistance may not be amiss.
_Susan._ He will be here, Madam, as soon as my Lord is gone
a coursing.
_Countess._ Your Lord is an ungrateful man, Susan!--An
ungrateful man! (_The Countess walks up and down the room
with some emotion_) Open the window; I am stifled for
want of air--Vows, protestations and tenderness are all
forgotten--My Love offends, my Caresses disgust--He thinks
his own Infidelities must all be overlook’d, yet my Conduct
must be irreproachable.
_Susan_ (_At the window looking into the street_). Yonder
goes my Lord with all his Grooms and Greyhounds.
_Countess._ To _divert_ himself with hunting a poor timid
harmless Hare to death--This, however, will give us
time--Somebody knocks, Susan.
{{_Susan._ “For Figaro’s the lad, is the lad for me.”}}
(_Goes singing to the Door._)
_Enter_ FIGARO.
(_He kisses Susan’s hand, she makes signs to
him to be more prudent, and points to the
Countess._)
_Countess._ Well, Figaro, you have heard of my Lord the
Count’s designs on your young Bride.
_Figaro._ Oh yes, my Lady. There was nothing very
surprising in the news. My Lord sees a sweet, young,
lovely--Angel! (_Susan curtsies_) and wishes to have her
for himself. Can any thing be more natural? I wish the very
same--
_Countess._ I don’t find it so very pleasant, Figaro.
_Figaro._ He endeavours to overturn the schemes of those
who oppose his wishes; and in this he only follows the
example of the rest of the world. I endeavour to do the
very same.
_Susan._ But with less probability of success, Figaro.
_Figaro._ Follow my advice, and I’ll convince you of your
mistake.
_Countess._ Let me hear.
_Figaro._ You, my lovely Susan, must appoint the Count to
meet him, as he proposed, this evening, by the Pavilion in
the Garden.
_Countess._ How! Figaro! Can you consent?
_Figaro._ And why not, Madam?
_Susan._ But if you can, sir, do you think I--
_Figaro._ Nay, my Charmer, do not imagine I would wish thee
to grant him any thing thou wishest to refuse--But first we
must dress up the Page in your cloaths, my dear Susan--, he
is to be your Representative.
_Countess._ The Page!
_Susan._ He is gone.
_Figaro._ Is he?--Perhaps so. But a whistle from me will
bring him back. (_The Countess seems pleased._)
_Susan._ So! Now Figaro’s happy!--Plots and Contrivances--
_Figaro._ Two! Three! Four at a time! Embarrass’d!
Involv’d! Perplex’d!--Leave me to unravel them. I was born
to thrive in Courts.
_Susan._ I have heard the Trade of a Courtier is not so
difficult as some pretend.
_Figaro._ Ask for every thing that falls, seize every thing
in your power, and accept every thing that’s offered--There
is the whole art and mystery in three words.
_Countess._ Well, but the Count, Figaro?
_Figaro._ Permit me, Madam, to manage him--And first, the
better to secure _my_ property, I shall begin by making him
dread the loss of _his own_.--{{“Oh, what pleasure shall
I have in cutting out Employment for him during the whole
day!--To see him waste that time in jealously-watching
your conduct, Madam, which he meant to employ in amorous
dalliance with my sweet Bride--To behold him running
here and there and he does not know where, and hunting a
monstrous Shadow, which he dreads to find, yet longs to
grasp.”}}
_Countess._ Surely, Figaro, you are out of your wits.
_Figaro._ Pardon, my dear Lady, but it is your good Lord
who will soon be out of his wits.
_Countess._ But as you know him to be so jealous, how will
you dare?--
_Figaro._ Oh, Madam! Were he not jealous, my scheme would
not be worth a doit: but it will now serve a double
purpose--The Jewel which Possession has made him neglect,
will again become valuable, if once he can be brought to
dread its loss.
_Countess._ To confess the truth, Figaro, your project
exactly corresponds with the one I meant to practise--An
anonymous Letter must be sent, informing him, that a
Gallant, meaning to profit by his neglect--
_Figaro._ And absence--is at present with his beauteous
Countess----The thing is already done, Madam.
_Countess._ How!--Have you dared to trifle thus with a
Woman of Honor?
_Figaro._ Oh, Madam, it is only with a Woman of Honor I
should presume to take a liberty like this; least my Joke
should happen to prove a Reality.
_Countess_ (_Smiles_). You don’t want an agreeable excuse,
Figaro.
_Figaro._ The hour of performing the marriage Ceremony will
arrive post haste--he will be disconcerted, and having no
good excuse ready, will never venture in your presence,
Madam, to oppose our union.
_Susan._ But if he will not, Marcelina will; and thou wilt
be condemned to pay--
_Figaro._ Poh! Thou hast forgot the Count is our
Judge!--And, after being entrapp’d at the rendezvous, will
he condemn us, thinkest thou?--But come, come, we must be
quick--I’ll send the Page hither to be dress’d--We must not
lose a moment.
(_Exit Figaro._
_Countess_ (_Examining her head dress in a pocket
looking-glass_). What a hideous cap this is, Susan; its
quite awry--This Youth who is coming--
_Susan._ Ah, Madam! Your Beauty needs not the addition of
Art in his eyes.
_Countess._ And my hair too--I assure you, Susan, I shall
be very severe with him.
_Susan_ (_Smoothing the Countess’s hair_). Let me spread
this Curl a little, Madam--Oh, pray Madam, make him sing
the song he has written.
(_Susan throws the song into the Countess’s
lap, which the Page had given her._)
_Countess._ I shall tell him of all the complaints I hear
against him.
_Susan._ Oh Yes Madam; I can see you will scold him,
heartily.
_Countess_ (_Seriously_). What do you say, Susan?
_Susan_ (_Goes to the door_). Come; come in Mr. Soldier.
_Enter_ PAGE.
(_Susan pretends to threaten him by signs._)
_Page._ Um--(_Pouts aside._)
_Countess._ Well, young gentleman, (_With assumed
severity_)--How innocent he looks, Susan! (_Aside to
Susan_).
_Susan._ And how bashful, Madam!
_Countess_ (_Resuming her serious air_). Have you reflected
on the duties of your new Profession?
(_The Page imagines the Countess is angry, and
timidly draws back._)
Susan (_Aside to the Page_). Ay, ay, young Rake, I’ll tell
all I know.--(_Returns to the Countess_). Observe his
downcast eyes, Madam, and long eye-lashes.--(_Aside to the
Page_) Yes, Hypocrite, I’ll tell.
_Countess_ (_Seeing the Page more and more fearful_). Nay,
Hannibal--don’t--be terrified--I--Come nearer.
_Susan_ (_Pushing him towards the Countess_). Advance,
Modesty.
_Countess._ Poor Youth, he is quite affected--I am not
angry with you; I was only going to speak to you on the
duties of a Soldier--Why do you seem so sorrowful?
_Page._ Alas, Madam, I may well be sorrowful! Being, as I
am, obliged to leave a Lady so gentle and so kind----
_Susan._ And so beautiful--(_In the same tone and half
aside._)
_Page._ Ah, yes! (_Sighs_).
_Susan_ (_Mimicking_). Ah, yes!--Come, come, let me try
on one of my Gowns upon you--Come here--Let us measure--I
declare the little Villain is not so tall as I am.
_Page._ Um--(_Pouts._)
_Susan._ Turn about--Let me untie your cloak.
(_Susan takes off the Page’s cloak._)
_Countess._ But suppose somebody should come?
_Susan._ Dear, my Lady, we are not doing any harm--I’ll
lock the door, however, for fear--(_The Page casts a glance
or two at the Countess, Susan returns_) Well! Have you
nothing to say to my beauteous Lady, and your charming
God-mother?
_Page_ (_Sighs_). Oh, yes! That I am sure I shall love her
as long as I live!
_Countess._ Esteem, you mean, Hannibal.
_Page._ Ye--ye--yes--Es--teem! I should have said.
_Susan_ (_Laughs_). Yes, yes, Esteem! The poor Youth
overflows with Es--teem and Aff--ection--and--
_Page._ Um! (_Aside to Susan_).
_Susan._ Nia, nia, nia, (_Mocking the Page_).--Dear Madam,
do make him sing those good-for-nothing Verses.
_Countess._ (_Takes the verses Susan gave her, from her
pocket_) Pray who wrote them?
_Susan_ (_Pointing to the Page_). Look, Madam, look! His
sins rise in his face--Nobody but an Author could look so
silly--
_Countess._ Come, Hannibal, sing.
_Susan._ Ah, the bashful Scribbler!
SONG.
To the Winds, to the Waves, to the Woods I complain;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
They hear not my Sighs, and they heed not my Pain;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
{{“The name of my Goddess I ’grave on each Tree;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
’Tis I wound the bark, but Love’s arrows wound me:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
The Heav’ns I view with their azure bright skies;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
But Heaven to me are her still brighter eyes:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!”}}
To the Sun’s morning splendor the poor Indian bows;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
But I dare not worship where I pay my Vows:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
{{“His God each morn rises and he can adore;
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!
But my Goddess to me must soon never rise more:
Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!”}}
(_During the song the Countess is evidently
affected by the Passion with which the Page
sings._
_Susan._ Now let us try whether one of my Caps--
_Countess._ There is one of mine lies on my dressing-table.
(_Exit Susan to the dressing room of the Countess._)--Is
your Commission made out?
_Page._ Oh yes, Madam, and given me; Here it is.
(_Presents his commission to the Countess._)
_Countess._ Already? They have made haste I see! They are
not willing to lose a moment--Their hurry has made them
even forget to affix the Seal.
_Susan._ (_Returns_) The Seal! To what, Madam?
_Countess._ His Commission.
_Susan._ So soon!
_Countess._ I was observing, there has been no time lost.
(_Returns the Page his Commission; he sticks it
in his girdle._)
_Susan._ Come--(_Makes the Page kneel down, and puts him
on the cap_) What a pretty little Villain it is! I declare
I am jealous: see if he is not handsomer than I am! Turn
about--There--What’s here?--The riband!--So, so, so! Now
all is out! I’m glad of it--I told my young Gentleman I
would let you know his thievish tricks, Madam.
_Countess._ Fetch me some black patches Susan.
(_Exit Susan to her own chamber._
_The Countess and the Page remain mute for a
considerable time during which the Page looks
at the Countess with great passion, though
with the bashful side glances natural to his
character--The Countess pretends not to observe
him, and visibly makes several efforts to
overcome her own feelings._)
_Countess._ And--and--so--you--you are sorry--to leave us?
_Page._ Ye--yes--Madam.
_Countess._ (_Observing the Page’s heart so full that he
is ready to burst into tears_) ’Tis that good-for-nothing
Figaro who has frightened the child with his prognostics.
_Page._ (_Unable to contain himself any longer_) N-o-o-o
indee-ee-eed, Madam, I-I-am o-on-only-gri-ieved to part
from-so dear a-La-a-ady.
_Countess._ (_Takes out her handkerchief and wipes his
eyes_) Nay, but don’t weep, don’t weep--Come, come, be
comforted. (_A knocking is heard at the Countess’s chamber
door_) Who’s there? (_In an authoritative tone._)
_The Count speaks without._
_Count._ Open the door, my Lady.
_Countess._ Heavens! It is the Count!--I am ruined!--If
he finds the Page here after receiving Figaro’s anonymous
Letter I shall be for ever lost!--What imprudence!
_Count._ (_Without_) Why don’t you open the door?
_Countess._ Because----I’m alone.
_Count._ Alone! Who are you talking to then!
_Countess._ To you, to be sure--How could I be so
thoughtless--This villainous Figaro.
_Page._ After the scene of the great chair this morning he
will certainly murder me if he finds me here.
_Countess._ Run into my dressing-room and lock the door on
the inside. (_the Countess opens the door to the Count._)
_Enter the_ COUNT.
_Count._ You did not use to lock yourself in, when you were
alone, Madam! Who were you speaking to?
_Countess._ (_Endeavouring to conceal her agitation_)
To--To Susan, who is rumaging in her own room.
_Count._ But you seem agitated, Madam.
_Countess._ That is not impossible (_affecting to take a
serious air_) We were speaking of you.
_Count._ Of me!
_Countess._ Your jealousy, your indifference, my Lord.
{{_Count._ “I cannot say for indifference, my Lady, and as
for jealousy, you know best whether I have any cause.
_Countess._ “My Lord!
_Count._ “In short, my Lady, there are people in the world,
who are malicious enough to wish to disturb either your
repose or mine. I have received private advice that a
certain Thing called a Lover--
_Countess._ “Lover!
_Count._ “Ay, or Gallant, or any other title you like
best, meant to take advantage of my absence, and introduce
himself into the Castle.
_Countess._ “If there even were any one audacious enough to
make such an attempt, he would find himself disappointed of
meeting me; for I shall not stir out of my room to-day.
_Count._ “What, not to the Wedding?
_Countess._ “I am indisposed.
_Count._ “Its lucky then that the Doctor is here.”}}
(_The Page oversets a table in the Countess’s
dressing-room._)
_Countess._ (_Terrified._) What will become of me?
(_Aside._)
_Count._ What noise is that?
_Countess._ I heard no noise.
_Count._ No? You must be most confoundedly absent, then.
_Countess._ (_Affecting to return his irony_) Oh, to be
sure.
_Count._ But there is somebody in your dressing-room, Madam.
_Countess._ Who should there be?
_Count._ That’s what I want to know.
_Countess._ It is Susan, I suppose, putting the chairs and
tables to rights.
_Count._ What! Your favourite woman turned house-maid! You
told me just now she was in her own room.
_Countess._ In _her_ room, or _my_ room, it is all one.
_Count._ Really, my Lady, this Susan of yours is a very
nimble, convenient kind of person.
_Countess._ Really, my Lord, this Susan of mine disturbs
your quiet very much.
_Count._ Very true, my Lady, so much that I am determined
to see her.
_Countess._ These suspicions are very much to your credit,
my Lord.
_Count._ If they are not to your discredit, my Lady, it
is very easy to remove them--But I see you mean to trifle
with me (_he goes to the Countess’s dressing-room door, and
calls_) Susan! Susan! If Susan you are, come forth!
_Countess._ Very well, my Lord! Very well! Would you have
the girl come out half undressed? She is trying on one of
my left off dresses--To disturb female privacy, in this
manner, my Lord, is certainly very unprecedented.
(_During the warmth of this dispute, Susan
comes from her own room, perceives what is
passing, and after listening long enough to
know how to act, slips, unseen by both, behind
the curtains of the bed which stands in the
Alcove._)
_Count._ Well, if she can’t come out, she can answer at
least. (_Calls_) Susan!--Answer me, Susan.
_Countess._ I say, do not answer, Susan! I forbid you to
speak a word!--We shall see who she’ll obey.
_Count._ But if you are so innocent, Madam, what is the
reason of that emotion and perplexity so very evident in
your countenance?
_Countess._ (_Affecting to laugh_) Emotion and perplexity!
Ha! ha! ha! Ridiculous!
_Count._ Well, Madam, be it as ridiculous as it may, I am
determined to be satisfied, and I think present appearances
give me a sufficient plea. (_Goes to the side of the Scenes
and calls_) Hollo! Who waits there?
_Countess._ Do, do, my Lord! Expose your jealousy to your
very servants! Make yourself and me the jest of the whole
world.
_Count._ Why do you oblige me to it?--However, Madam, since
you will not suffer that door to be opened, will you please
to accompany me while I procure an instrument to force it?
_Countess._ To be sure, my Lord! To be sure! If you please.
_Count._ And, in order that you may be fully justified, I
will make this other door fast (_Goes to Susan’s chamber
door, locks it, and takes the key._) As to the Susan of the
dressing-room, she must have the complaisance to wait my
return.
_Countess._ This behaviour is greatly to your honor, my
Lord! (_This speech is heard as they are going through the
door, which the Count locks after him._)
(Exeunt)
_Enter_ SUSAN, _peeping as they go off, then runs to the
dressing-room door and calls_.
_Susan._ Hannibal!--Hannibal!--Open the door! Quick!
Quick!--It’s I, Susan.
_Enter_ PAGE, _frightened_.
_Page._ Oh Susan!
_Susan._ Oh my poor Mistress!
_Page._ What will become of her?
_Susan._ What will become of my marriage?
_Page._ What will become of me?
_Susan._ Don’t stand babbling here, but fly.
_Page._ The doors are all fast, how can I fly?
_Susan._ Don’t ask me! Fly!
_Page._ Here’s a window open (_runs to the window_)
Underneath is a bed of flowers; I’ll leap out.
_Susan._ (_Screams_) You’ll break your neck!
_Page._ Better that than ruin my dear Lady--Give me one
kiss Susan.
_Susan._ Was there ever seen such a young--(_Page kisses
her, runs and leaps out of the window, and Susan shrieks
at seeing him_) Ah! (_Susan sinks into a chair, overcome
with fear--At last she takes courage, rises, goes with
dread towards the window, and after looking out, turns
round with her hand upon her heart, a sigh of relief and
a smile expressive of sudden ease and pleasure._) He
is safe! Yonder he runs!--As light and as swift as the
winds!--If that Boy does not make some woman’s heart ache
I’m mistaken. (_Susan goes towards the dressing-room door,
enters, and peeps out as she is going to shut it._) And
now, my good jealous Count, perhaps, I may teach you to
break open doors another time. (_Locks herself in._)
_Enter_ COUNT, _with a wrenching iron in one hand, and
leading in the_ COUNTESS _with the other. Goes and
examines the doors._
_Count._ Every thing is as I left it. We now shall come to
an eclaircissement.
_Countess._ But, my Lord!--He’ll murder him! (_Aside._)
_Count._ Now we shall know--Do you still persist in forcing
me to break open this door?--I am determined to see who’s
within.
_Countess._ Let me beg, my Lord, you’ll have a moment’s
patience!--Hear me only and you shall satisfy your utmost
curiosity!--Let me intreat you to be assured, that, however
appearances may condemn me, no injury was intended to your
honour.
_Count._ Then there is a man?
_Countess._ No--none of whom you can reasonably entertain
the least suspicion.
_Count._ How?
_Countess._ A jest!--A meer innocent, harmless frolic, for
our evening’s diversion! Nothing more, upon my Honor!--On
my soul!
_Count._ But who--who is it?
_Countess._ A Child!
_Count._ Let us see your child!--What child?
_Countess._ Hannibal.
_Count._ The Page! (_Turns away_) This damnable Page
again?----Thus then is the Letter!----thus are my
Suspicions realized at last!--I am now no longer
astonished, Madam, at your emotion for your pretty Godson
this morning!--The whole is unravelled!--Come forth, Viper!
(_In great wrath._)
_Countess._ (_Terrified and trembling_) Do not let the
Disorder in which you will see him----
_Count._ The Disorder!--The Disorder!
_Countess._ We were going to dress him in women’s cloaths
for our evening’s diversion--
_Count._ I’ll stab him!--I’ll!--{{“And this is your
indisposition!--This is why you would keep your Chamber
all day! False, unworthy Woman! You shall keep it longer
than you expected.”}}--I’ll make him a terrible example of
an injured Husband’s wrath!
_Countess._ (_Falling on her knees between the Count and
the door_) Hold, my Lord, hold! Or let your anger light on
me!--I, alone, am guilty! If there be any guilt--Have pity
on his youth! His infancy!
_Count._ What! Intercede for him!--On your knees!--And to
me! There wanted but this!--I’ll rack him!--Rise!--I’ll
(_Furiously._)
_Countess._ Promise me to spare his life!
_Count._ Rise!
(_The Countess rises terrified, and sinks into
an arm chair ready to faint._
_Countess._ He’ll murder him!
_Count._ Come forth, I say, once more; or I’ll
drag--(_While the Count is speaking, Susan unlocks the door
and bolts out upon him._)
_Susan._ I’ll stab him!--I’ll rack him!
(_The Countess, at hearing Susan’s voice,
recovers sufficiently to look round--Is
astonished, endeavours to collect herself, and
turns back into her former position to conceal
her surprise._)
_Countess._ (_After standing fixed some time, and first
looking at Susan and then at the Countess_) Here’s a
seminary!--And can you act astonishment too, Madam?
(_Observing the Countess, who cannot totally hide her
surprise._).
_Countess._ _Attempting to speak_) I--My Lord--
_Count._ (_Recollecting himself._) But, perhaps, she was
not alone. (_Enters the dressing-room, Countess again
alarmed, Susan runs to the Countess._
_Susan._ Fear nothing--He is not there--He has jumped out
of the window.
_Countess._ And broke his neck! (_Her terror returns._)
_Susan._ Hush! (_Susan claps herself bolt upright against
her Lady, to hide her new disorder from the Count._) Hem!
Hem!
_Re-enter_ COUNT, (_greatly abashed_)
_Count._ Nobody there!--I have been to blame--(_approaching
the Countess_.) Madam!--
(_With great submission as if going to beg her
pardon, but the confusion still visible in her
countenance calls up the recollection of all
that had just passed, and he bursts out into an
exclamation._)
Upon my soul, Madam, you are a most excellent Actress!
_Susan._ And am not I too, my Lord?
_Count._ You see my Confusion, Madam--be generous.
_Susan._ As you have been.
_Count._ Hush!--(_Makes signs to Susan to take his part._)
My dear Rosina----
_Countess._ No, no, my Lord! I am no longer that Rosina
whom you formerly loved with such affection!--I am now
nothing but the poor Countess of Almaviva! A neglected
Wife, and not a beloved Mistress.
_Count._ Nay, do not make my humiliation too severe--(_His
suspicions again in part revive._) But wherefore, my Lady,
have you been thus mysterious on this occasion?
_Countess._ That I might not betray that headlong
thoughtless Figaro.
_Count._ What! He wrote the anonymous billet then?
_Countess._ It was without my knowledge, my Lord.
_Count._ But you were afterwards informed of it?
_Countess._ Certainly.
_Count._ Who did he give it to?
_Countess._ Basil--
_Count._ Who sent it me by a Peasant--Indeed, Mr.
Basil.--Yes, vile Thrummer, thou shalt pay for all!
_Countess._ But where is the justice of refusing that
pardon to others we stand so much in need of ourselves? If
ever I could be brought to forgive, it should only be on
condition of passing a general amnesty.
_Count._ I acknowledge my guilt.
(_The Countess stands in the middle of the
stage, the Count a little in the back ground,
as if expressive of his timidity, but his
countenance shews he is confident of obtaining
his pardon--Susan stands forwarder than either,
and her looks are significantly applicable to
the circumstances of both parties._)
_Susan._ To suspect a man in my Lady’s dressing-room!--
_Count._ And to be thus severely punished for my
suspicion!--
_Susan._ Not to believe my Lady when she _assured_ you it
was her Woman!
_Count._ Ah!----(_with affected confusion_) Deign, Madam,
once more, to repeat my pardon.
_Countess._ Have I already pronounced it, Susan?
_Susan._ Not that I heard, Madam.
_Count._ Let the gentle sentence then escape.
_Countess._ And do you merit it, ungrateful man? (_with
tenderness._)
_Count._ (_Looking at Susan, who returns his look_)
Certainly, my Lady.
_Countess._ A fine example I set you, Susan! (_The Count
takes her hand and kisses it._) Who, hereafter, will dread
a Woman’s anger?
(_Countess turns her head towards Susan, and
laughs as she says this._)
_Susan._ (_In the same tone_) Yes, yes, Madam--I
observe----Men may well accuse us of frailty.
_Count._ And yet I cannot, for the soul of me, forget the
agony, Rosina, in which you seemed to be just now! Your
cries, your tears, your----How was it possible, this being
a Fiction, you should so suddenly give it the tragic tone
of a Reality?--Ha! ha! ha!--So astonishingly natural!
_Countess._ You see your Page, and I dare say your Lordship
was not sorry for the mistake--I’m sure the sight of Susan
does not give you offence.
_Count._ Hem!--Offence! Oh! No, no, no--But what’s the
reason, you malicious little hussey, you did not come when
I called?
_Susan._ What! Undress’d, my Lord?
_Count._ But why didn’t you answer then?
_Susan._ My Lady forbad me: and good reason she had so to
do.
_Count._ Such distraction in your countenance! (_To the
Countess_) Nay, it’s not calm even yet!
_Countess._ Oh you--you fancy so my Lord.
_Count._ Men, I perceive, are poor Politicians--Women make
Children of us----Were his Majesty wise, he would name you,
and not me, for his Ambassador.
_Enter_ FIGARO, _chearfully; perceives the Count, who
puts on a very serious air_.
_Fig._ They told me my Lady was indisposed, I ran to
enquire, and am very happy to find there was nothing in it.
_Count._ You are very attentive.
_Fig._ It is my duty so to be, my Lord. (_Turns to Susan._)
Come, come, my Charmer! Prepare for the Ceremony! Go to
your Bridemaids.
_Count._ But who is to guard the Countess in the mean time?
_Figaro._ (_Surprised_) Guard her, my Lord! My Lady seems
very well: she wants no guarding.
_Count._ From the Gallant, who was to profit by my absence?
(_Susan and the Countess make signs to Figaro._)
_Countess._ Nay, nay, Figaro, the Count knows all.
_Susan._ Yes, yes, we have told my Lord every thing.--The
jest is ended--Its all over.
_Figaro._ The jest is ended!--And its all over!
_Count._ Yes--Ended, ended, ended!----And all over--What
have you to say to that?
_Fig._ Say, my Lord!
(_The confusion of Figaro arises from not
supposing it possible the Countess and
Susan should have betrayed him, and when he
understands something by their signs, from not
knowing how much they have told._)
_Count._ Ay, say.
_Fig._ I--I--I wish I could say as much of my Marriage.
_Count._ And who wrote the pretty Letter?
_Figaro._ Not I, my Lord.
_Count._ If I did not know thou liest, I could read it in
thy face.
_Figaro._ Indeed, my Lord!--Then it is my face that lies;
and not I.
_Countess._ Pshaw, Figaro! Why should you endeavour to
conceal any thing, when I tell you we have confess’d all?
_Susan._ (_Making signs to Figaro_) We have told my Lord
of the Letter, which made him suspect that Hannibal, the
Page, who is far enough off by this, was hid in my Lady’s
dressing-room, where I myself was lock’d in.
_Figaro._ Well, well, since my Lord will have it so, and my
Lady will have it so, and you all will have it so, why then
so let it be.
_Count._ Still at his Wiles.----
_Countess._ Why, my Lord, would you oblige him to speak
truth, so much against his inclination? (_Count and
Countess walk familiarly up the stage._)
_Susan._ Hast thou seen the Page?
_Fig._ Yes, yes: you have shook his young joints for him,
among you.
_Enter_ ANTONIO, _the Gardener, with a broken Flower-pot
under his arm half drunk_.
_Antonio._ My Lord--My good Lord--If so be as your Lordship
will not have the goodness to have these Windows nailed up,
I shall never have a Nosegay fit to give to my Lady--They
break all my pots, and spoil my flowers; for they not only
throw other Rubbish out of the windows, as they used to do,
but they have just now tossed out a Man.
_Count._ A Man!--(_The Count’s suspicions all revive._)
_Antonio._ In white stockings!
(_Countess and Susan discover their fears,
and make signs to Figaro to assist them if
possible._)
_Count._ Where is the Man? (_Eagerly._)
_Antonio._ That’s what I want to know, my Lord!--I wish
I could find him,--I am your Lordship’s Gardener; and,
tho’ I say it, a better Gardener is not to be found in all
Spain;--but if Chambermaids are permitted to toss men out
of the window to save their own Reputation, what is to
become of mine?--{{“It will wither with my flowers to be
sure.”}}
_Figaro._ Oh fie! What sotting so soon in a morning?
_Antonio._ Why, can one begin one’s day’s work too early?
_Count._ Your day’s work, Sir?
_Antonio._ Your Lordship knows my Niece, there she stands,
is to be married to day; and I am sure she would never
forgive me if----
_Count._ If you were not to get drunk an hour sooner than
usual--But on with your story, Sir--What of the Man?--What
followed?
_Antonio._ I followed him myself, my Lord, as fast as I
could; but, somehow, I unluckily happened to make a false
step, and came with such a confounded whirl against the
Garden-gate--that I--I quite for--forgot my Errand.
_Count._ And should you know this man again?
_Antonio._ To be sure I should, my Lord!--If I had seen
him, that is.
_Count._ Either speak more clearly, Rascal, or I’ll send
you packing to----
_Antonio._ Send me packing, my Lord?--Oh, no! If your
Lordship has not enough--enough (_Points to his forehead_)
to know when you have a good Gardener, I warrant I know
when I have a good Place.
_Figaro._ There is no occasion, my Lord, for all this
mystery! It was I who jump’d out of the window into the
garden.
_Count._ You?
_Figaro._ My own self, my Lord.
_Count._ Jump out of a one pair of stairs window and run
the risk of breaking your Neck?
_Figaro._ The ground was soft, my Lord.
_Antonio._ And his Neck is in no danger of being broken.
_Figaro._ To be sure I hurt my right leg, a little, in the
fall; just here at the ancle--I feel it still. (_Rubbing
his ancle._)
_Count._ But what reason had you to jump out of the window?
_Figaro._ You had received my letter, my Lord, since I must
own it, and was come, somewhat sooner than I expected, in
a dreadful passion, in search of a man.--
_Antonio._ If it was you, you have grown plaguy fast within
this half hour, to my thinking. The man that I saw did not
seem so tall by the head and shoulders.
_Figaro._ Pshaw! Does not one double one’s self up when one
takes a leap?
_Antonio._ It seem’d a great deal more like the Page.
_Count._ The Page!
_Figaro._ Oh yes, to be sure, the Page has gallop’d back
from Seville, Horse and all, to leap out of the window!
_Antonio._ No, no, my Lord! I saw no such thing! I’ll take
my oath I saw no horse leap out of the window.
_Figaro._ Come, come, let us prepare for our sports.
_Antonio._ Well, since it was you, as I am an honest man,
I ought to return you this Paper which drop’d out of your
pocket as you fell.
_Count._ (_Snatches the paper. The Countess, Figaro, and
Susan are all surprised and embarrassed. Figaro shakes
himself, and endeavours to recover his fortitude._) Ay,
since it was you, you doubtless can tell what this Paper
contains (_claps the paper behind his back as he faces
Figaro_) and how it happened to come in your Pocket?
_Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, I have such quantities of Papers
(_searches his pockets, pulls out a great many_) No, it
is not this!--Hem!--This is a double Love-letter from
Marcelina, in seven pages--Hem!--Hem!--It would do a man’s
heart good to read it--Hem!--And this is a petition from
the poor Poacher in prison. I never presented it to your
Lordship, because I know you have affairs much more serious
on your hands, than the Complaints of such half-starved
Rascals--Ah!--Hem!--this--this--no, this is an Inventory
of your Lordship’s Sword-knots, Ruffs, Ruffles, and
Roses--must take care of this--(_Endeavours to gain time,
and keeps glancing and hemming to Susan and the Countess,
to look at the paper and give him a hint._)
_Count._ It is neither this, nor this, nor that, nor
t’other, that you have in your hand, but what I hold here
in mine, that I want to know the contents of. (_Holds out
the paper in action as he speaks, the Countess who stands
next him catches a sight of it._)
_Countess._ ’Tis the Commission. (_Aside to Susan._)
_Susan._ The Page’s Commission. (_Aside to Figaro._)
_Count._ Well, Sir!--So you know nothing of the matter?
_Antonio._ (_Reels round to Figaro_) My Lord says you--know
nothing of the matter.
_Figaro._ Keep off, and don’t come to whisper me.
(_pretending to recollect himself._) Oh Lord! Lord! What a
stupid fool I am!--I declare it is the Commission of that
poor youth, Hannibal--which I, like a Blockhead, forgot to
return him--He will be quite unhappy about it, poor Boy.
_Count._ And how came you by it?
_Figaro._ By it, my Lord?
_Count._ Why did he give it you?
_Figaro._ To--to--to----
_Count._ To what?
_Figaro._ To get--
_Count._ To get what? It wants nothing!
_Countess._ (_to Susan_) It wants the Seal.
_Susan._ (_to Figaro_) It wants the Seal.
_Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, what it wants to be sure is a mere
trifle.
_Count._ What trifle?
_Figaro._ You know, my Lord, it’s customary to--
_Count._ To what?
_Figaro._ To affix your Lordship’s Seal.
_Count._ (_Looks at the Commission, finds the Seal is
wanting, and exclaims with vexation and disappointment_)
The Devil and his Imps!--It is written, Count, thou shalt
be a Dupe!--Where is this Marcelina?
[_Going._
_Figaro._ Are you going, my Lord, without giving Orders for
our Wedding?
_Enter_ MARCELINA, BASIL, BOUNCE, _and Vassals_.
(_The Count returns._)
_Marcelina._ Forbear, my Lord, to give such Orders; in
Justice forbear. I have a written promise under his hand,
and I appeal to you, to redress my injuries! You are my
lawful Judge.
_Figaro._ Pshaw! A trifle, my Lord: a note of hand for
money borrowed; nothing more.
_Count._ Let the Advocates and Officers of Justice be
assembled in the great Hall; we will there determine on
the justice of your claim. It becomes us not to suffer any
Vassal of ours, however we may privately esteem him, to be
guilty of public injury.
_Basil._ Your Lordship is acquainted with my claims on
Marcelina: I hope your Lordship will grant me your support.
_Count._ Oh, oh! Are you there, Prince of Knaves?
_Antonio._ Yes, that’s his title, sure enough.
_Count._ Approach, honest Basil; faithful Agent of our
Will and Pleasure. (_Basil bows_) Go order the Lawyers to
assemble.
_Basil._ My Lord!--
_Count._ And tell the Peasant, by whom you sent me the
Letter this morning, I want to speak with him.
_Basil._ Your Lordship is pleased to joke with your humble
Servant. I know no such Peasant.
_Count._ You will be pleased to find him, notwithstanding.
_Basil._ My Office, in this House, as your Lordship knows,
is not to go of Errands! Think, my Lord, how that would
degrade a man of my talents; who have the honour to teach
my Lady the Harpsichord, the Mandoline to her Woman, and to
entertain your Lordship, and your Lordship’s good Company,
with my Voice and my Guitar, whenever your Lordship pleases
to honor me with your Commands.
_Bounce._ I will go, if your Lordship pleases to let me:
I should be very glad to oblige your Lordship.
_Count._ What’s thy Name?
_Bounce._ Pedro Bounce, my Lord, Fire-work maker to your
Lordship.
_Count._ Thy zeal pleases me, thou shalt go.
_Bounce._ Thank your Lordship, thank your noble Lordship.
(_Leaps._)
_Count._ (_To Basil_) And do you be pleased, Sir, to
entertain the Gentleman, on his Journey, with your Voice
and your Guitar; he is part of my good Company.
_Bounce._ (_Leaps_) I am part of my Lord’s good Company!
Who would have thought it!
_Basil._ My Lord----
_Count._ Depart! Obey! Or, depart from my Service.
(_Exit._)
_Basil._ ’Tis in vain to resist. Shall I wage war with a
Lion, who am only----
_Figaro._ A Calf--{{“But come, you seem vex’d about
it--I will open the Ball--Strike up, tis my Susan’s
Wedding-day.”}}
_Basil._ Come along, Mr. Bounce. (_Basil begins to play,
Figaro dances and sings off before him, and Bounce follows,
dancing after._)
(_Exeunt._)
_Manent_ COUNTESS _and_ SUSAN.
_Countess._ You see, Susan, to what Danger I have been
exposed by Figaro and his fine concerted Billet.
{{_Susan._ “Dear Madam, if you had but seen yourself when
I bounced out upon my Lord! So pale, such Terror in your
Countenance! And then your suddenly assumed tranquillity!
_Countess._ “Oh no, every Faculty was lost in my Fears.
_Susan._ “I assure your Ladyship to the contrary; in a few
Lessons you would learn to dissemble and fib with as good
a Grace as any Lady in the Land.”}}
_Countess._ And so that poor Child jumped out of the Window?
_Susan._ Without the least hesitation--as light and as
chearful as a Linnet.
_Countess._ I wish however I could convict my false Count
of his Infidelity.
_Susan._ The Page will never dare, after this, to make a
second attempt.
_Countess._ Ha!--A lucky project! I will meet him myself;
and then nobody will be exposed.
_Susan._ But suppose, Madam--
_Countess._ My Success has emboldened me, and I am
determined to try--(_Sees the Riband left on the chair_)
What’s here? My Riband! I will keep it as a Memento of the
danger to which that poor Youth--{{“Ah my Lord--Yet let
me have a care, let me look to myself, to my own Conduct,
lest I should give occasion to say--Ah my Lady!”}} (_The
Countess puts the Riband in her Pocket._) You must not
mention a Word of this, Susan, to any body.
_Susan._ Except Figaro.
_Countess._ No exceptions, he must not be told; he will
spoil it, by mixing some plot of his own with it--I have
promised thee a Portion thou knowest--these men are liberal
in their Pleasures--Perhaps I may double it for thee; it
will be Susan’s Right.
_Susan._ Your Project is a charming one, Madam, and I shall
yet have my Figaro.
[_Exit Susan, kissing the Countess’s Hand._
End of ACT II.