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.
_Enter_ FIGARO, _behind_.
_Figaro._ Here am I. (_Aside._)
_Count._ And if I have reason to suppose them plotting
against me, he shall marry Marcelina.
_Figaro._ Perhaps not. (_Aside._)
_Count._ But in that case, what must Susan be?
_Figaro._ My Wife, if you please.--
(_Figaro’s eagerness occasions him to speak
aloud----The Count turns round astonished._)
_Count._ My Wife, if you please!--To whom did you say my
Wife, if you please?
_Figaro._ To--to--to--That is--They were the last words of
a sentence I was saying to one of the Servants--Go and tell
so and so to--_my Wife, if you please_.
_Count._ Your Wife!--Zounds, you are very fond of your Wife.
_Figaro._ I love to be singular.
_Count._ You have made me wait for you here a long while.
_Figaro._ I have been changing my Stockings, which I
dirtied in the fall.
_Count._ Servants, I think, are longer dressing than their
Masters.
_Figaro._ Well they may--They are obliged to dress
themselves.
_Count._ If in sifting my Gentleman, I find him unwilling
to go to France, I may conclude Susan has betrayed me.
(_Aside._)
_Figaro._ He has mischief in his head, but I’ll watch his
motions. (_Aside._)
_Count._ (_Approaches Figaro with familiarity_)--Thou
knowest, Figaro, it was my intention to have taken thee
with me on my Embassy to Paris, but I believe thou dost not
understand French.
_Figaro._ Perfectly.
_Count._ Indeed!--Let’s hear.--(_Figaro pulls out his purse
and jingles it_)--Is that all the French thou understandest?
_Figaro._ All!--Is not that enough, think you, my
Lord?--That’s a Language understood in every corner of
the habitable Earth, and in no place better than in
Paris.--{{“Your Philosophers, who lament the loss of an
universal Language, are Fools--They always carry one
in their pockets.”}} As for a knowledge of French, my
Lord, I maintain, _s’il vous plait_, and a Purse are all
that’s necessary--Let but the sound of Silver jingle in a
Frenchman’s ears, and he will instantly understand your
meaning, be it what it will.--{{“If you have a Law-suit,
and wish to gain your Cause, go to the Judge, pull off
your Hat, and pull out your Purse; smile, shake it, and
pronounce, _s’il vous plait, Monsieur_--
_Count._ “And your Adversary is overthrown.
_Figaro._ “Undoubtedly--Unless he understands French
still better than you--Do you wish the _Friendship_ of a
great Lord, or a great Lady, its still the same--Chink,
chink, and _s’il vous plait, Monseigneur--S’il vous plait,
Madame_--The French are a very witty People!--Amazingly
quick of apprehension!--Therefore, my Lord, if you have no
other reason than this for leaving me behind--”}}
_Count._ But thou art no Politician.
_Figaro._ Pardon me, my Lord, I am as great a master of
Politics----
_Count._ As thou art of French.
_Figaro._ Oh, my Lord, the thing is so easy--He must be
a Fool indeed who could find his vanity flattered by his
skill in Politics--To appear always deeply concerned
for the good of the State, yet to have no other end but
Self-interest; to assemble and say Nothing; to pretend
vast Secrecy where there is nothing to conceal; to shut
yourself up in your Chamber, and mend your pen or pick
your Teeth, while your Footmen inform the attending Croud
you are too busy to be approach’d--this, with the art of
intercepting Letters, imitating Hands, pensioning Traitors,
and rewarding Flatterers, is the whole mystery of Politics,
or I am an Idiot.
_Count._ This is the definition of a Partisan not a
Politician.
_Figaro._ Party and Politics are much the same, they are
become synonimous terms.
_Count._ (_Aside_) Since he is so willing to go to Paris,
Susan has said nothing.
_Figaro._ ’Tis now my turn to attack. (_Aside._)
_Count._ And--I suppose thou wilt take thy Wife with
thee--to Paris?
_Figaro._ No--no--I should be obliged to quit her so
frequently, that I am afraid the Cares of the marriage
state would lie too heavy on my head (_significantly._)
_Count._ Susan has betrayed me. (_Aside._)
_Figaro._ (_Aside_) He does not like the retort.
(_The Count smiles, approaches Figaro with
great familiarity, and leans upon his
shoulder--By-play between the Count and
Figaro._)
_Count._ The time was, Figaro, when thou wert more
open--Formerly thou wouldst tell me any thing.
_Figaro._ And at present I conceal nothing.
_Count._ What can be the Countess’s motives--(_The Count
puts his arm round Figaro’s neck--By-play again_)--I--Thou
seest I anticipate her wishes, load her with presents----
_Figaro._ Will give her any thing but yourself--Of what
worth are Trinkets when we are in want of Necessaries?
_Count._ Come, come; be sincere--Tell me--How much did the
Countess give thee for this last plot?
_Figaro._ As much as your Lordship gave me for helping you
to steal her from her old jealous Guardian--{{“A noble Lord
should not endeavour to degrade an honest Servant, lest he
should make him a Knave.”}}
_Count._ But wherefore is there continually some Mystery in
thy conduct?
_Figaro._ Because the Conduct of others is mysterious.
_Count._ Appearances, my dear Figaro, really speak thee a
great Knave.
_Figaro._ (_Looking round at the Count’s hand upon his
shoulders, and observing his familiarity_)--_Appearances_,
my dear Lord, are frequently false--I am much better
than I appear to be-Can the Great in general say as
much?--(_Aside_)--Take that.
_Count._ Yes, yes; she has told him. (_Aside._)
{{_Figaro._ “I shall content myself, my Lord, with the
portion your Lordship has promised me on my Marriage, and
the place of Steward of this Castle, with which you have
honoured me, and willingly remain with my Wife here in
Andalusia, far from troubles and intrigue.
_Count._ “But thou hast Abilities, and might rise to
Preferment.
_Figaro._ “Preferred by my Abilities my Lord!----Your
Lordship is pleased to laugh at me.”}}
_Count._ Yes, yes; Susan has betrayed me, and my Gentleman
marries Marcelina. (_Aside._)
_Figaro._ He has been angling for Gudgeons, and what has he
caught? (_Aside._)
_Enter a_ SERVANT.
_Servant._ Don Guzman and the Counsellors are without.
_Count._ Let them wait.
_Figaro._ (_Ironically_) Aye, let them wait. (_Exit Serv._)
_Count._ And dost thou expect to gain thy Cause?
_Figaro._ With the assistance of Justice and my Lord’s good
wishes, who respects Youth too much himself to force others
to wed with Age.
_Count._ A Judge knows no distinction of persons.
_Figaro._ “Well--Time, say the Italians, is a valiant
Fellow, and tells Truth”--But what was it your Lordship was
pleased to send for me for?
_Count._ For--(_Somewhat embarrassed_) To see these benches
and chairs set in order.
_Figaro._ That is already done, my Lord. Here is the great
chair for your Lordship, a seat for the President, a table
and stool for his Clerk, two benches for the Lawyers, the
middle for the Beau monde, and the Mob in the back ground.
(_Exit._)
_Count._ He is too cunning; I can get nothing out of him;
but they certainly understand each other.--They may toy and
be as loving as they please, but as for wedding--
_Enter_ SUSAN.
(_She comes up to the Count’s elbow while he is speaking,
and is surprized to see him in such an ill humour._)
_Susan._ My Lord!
_Count._ My Lady!
_Susan._ My Lady has sent me for your Lordship’s
smelling-bottle; she has got the vapours.
_Count._ Here; and when she has done with it, borrow it for
yourself,--it may be useful.
_Susan._ I the vapours, my Lord! Oh no, that’s too polite
a disease for a Servant to pretend to!
_Count._ Fits may come;--Love so violent as yours cannot
bear disappointment; and when Figaro marries Marcelina--
_Susan._ Oh, suppose the worst, my Lord, we can pay
Marcelina with the Portion your Lordship has promised us!
_Count._ I promis’d you a portion?
_Susan._ If my ears did not deceive me, I understood as
much.
_Count._ Yes, if you had pleas’d to _understand_ me, but
since you do not.--
_Susan._ (_Pretending bashfulness_) It’s always soon enough
to own one’s weakness, my Lord.
_Count._ (_with an instant change of countenance_) What!
Wilt thou take a walk this evening in the garden, by the
Pavilion?
_Susan._ Don’t I take Walks every evening, my Lord?
_Count._ Nay, nay, but let us understand each other--No
Pavilion, no Marriage.
_Susan._ And no Marriage, no Pavilion, my Lord!
(_curtsying_)
_Count._ What a witty little Devil! I wonder what she does
to fascinate me so!--But prithee tell me why hast thou
always, till now, refused with such obstinacy? This very
Morning, thou knowest----
_Susan._ This Morning, my Lord!--What, and the Page behind
the Great-chair!
_Count._ Oh, true! I had forgot!--But when Basil has spoken
to thee in my behalf.--
_Susan._ Is it necessary, my Lord, such a knave as Basil
should know every thing that passes?
_Count._ She is right again!--But--(_Suspicious_) thou wilt
go, now, and tell Figaro all.
_Susan._ To be sure, my Lord. I always tell him all--except
what is necessary to conceal.
_Count._ Ah the Hussey! What a charming little Knave it is!
Run, run to thy Mistress; she is waiting, and may suspect
us.
_Susan._ (_Hesitating_) So your Lordship can’t perceive
that I only wanted a pretext to speak to your Lordship.
(_The Count unable to conceal his transport, is
going to kiss her, but hears somebody coming,
and they separate_)
_Count._ (_As he turns._) She absolutely bewitches me! I
had sworn to think no more of her, but she winds me just as
she pleases!
(_The Count goes off, and Figaro enters, but
the Count hearing Figaro’s Voice, returns and
peeps_)
_Figaro._ Well, my Susan, what does he say?
_Susan._ Hush! Hush! He is just gone--Thou hast gained thy
Cause--Run, run, run.
(_Exit Susan, running, Figaro following._)
_Figaro._ Well, but how, how, my Charmer?
(_Exeunt._)
_Re-enter_ COUNT.
_Count._ Thou hast gained thy Cause--Aha! And
is it so, my pair of Knaves!--Am I your Dupe
then?--A very pretty Net! But the Cuckoo is not
caught--Come!--Proceed we to judgment! (_With passion_) Be
we just!--Cool!--Impartial!--Inflexible--
(_Exit._)
_Enter_ Don GUZMAN, MARCELINA, _and_ DOCTOR.
_Marcelina._ I shall be happy, Mr. President, to explain
the justice of my Cause.
_Doctor._ To shew you on what grounds this Lady proceeds.
_D. Guzman._ (_Stuttering_) We-e-e-ell, le-et us exa-a-mine
the matter ve-erbally.
_Marcelina._ There is a promise of Marriage----
_Guzman._ I co-o-o-ompre--hend! Gi-i-iven by you-ou-ou--to--
_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, given _to_ me.
_Guz._ I co-o-o-omprehend! Gi-iven _to_ you.
_Marcelina._ And a sum of Money which I----
_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend! Which you-ou ha-ave received.
_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, which I have lent.
_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend!--It is re-e-paid.
_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, it is _not_ repaid.
_Guzman._ I co-o-o-omprehend--The m-m-man would marry you
to pay his de-de-de-bts.
_Marcelina._ No, Mr. President, he would neither marry me,
_nor_ pay his debts.
_Guzman._ D-d--do you think I d-d-d-don’t co-o-omprehend
you?
_Doctor._ And are you, Mr. President, to judge this Cause?
_Guzman._ T-t-t-to be sure--Wha-at else did I purchase my
Place for thi-ink you, (_Laughs stupidly at the supposed
folly of the Question_) And where is the De-fe-e-endant?
_Enter_ FIGARO.
_Figaro._ Here, at your service.
_Doctor._ Yes, that’s the Knave.
_Figaro._ Perhaps I interrupt you.
{{_Guzman._ “Ha-ave not I see-een you before, young Man?
_Figaro._ “Oh yes, Mr. President, I once served your Lady.
_Guzman._ “How lo-ong since?
_Figaro._ “Nine months before the birth of her last
Child--And a fine Boy it is, though I say it.
_Guzman._ “Y-es--He’s the F-flower of the Flock”--}} And
the cau-ause betwee-een--
_Figaro._ A Bagatelle, Mr. President! A Bagatelle.
_Guzman._ (_Laughs._) A Ba-ag-a-telle! A pro-o-mise of
Ma-a-arriage a Ba-a-gatelle! Ha! ha! ha!----And dost thou
hope to ca-ast the Pla-aintiff?
_Figaro._ To be sure, Mr. President! You being one of the
Judges.
_Guzman._ (_With stupid dignity_) Ye-e-es! I am one of the
Judges!--Hast thou see-een D-D-Doublefee, my Se-ecretary?
_Figaro._ Yes, Mr. President! That’s a duty not to be
neglected.
_Guzman._ The young Fellow is not so si-i-imple I thought.
_Enter Cryer of the Court, Guards, Count, Counsellors and
Vassals._
_Cryer._ Make room there, for my Lord, the Count.
_Count._ Wherefore in your Robes, Don Guzman? It was
unnecessary for a mere domestic matter like this.
_Guzman._ Pa-a-ardon me, my Lord! {{“Those who would
tre-e-emble at the Clerk of the Court in his Robes, would
la-augh at the Judge without ’em.”}} Forms! Forms! are
sacred things.
(_The Count and the Court seat themselves._)
_Count._ Call silence in the Court.
_Cryer._ Silence in the Court.
_Guzman._ Read “over the Causes”, D-D-Doublefee.
{{_Doublefee._ “The Count de los Altos Montes di Agnas
Frescas, Señor di Montes Fieros, y otros Montes, Plaintiff,
against Alonzo Calderon, a Comic Poet. The question at
present before the Court, is, to know the Author of a
Comedy that has been damned; which they mutually disavow
and attribute to each other.
_Count._ “They are both very right in mutually disavowing
it; and be it decreed, that if, hereafter, they should
produce a successful Piece, its Fame shall appertain to the
Count, and its Merit to the Poet--The next.
_Doublefee._ “Diego Macho, Day-labourer, Plaintiff, against
Gil-Perez-Borcado, Tax-gatherer, and receiver of the
Gabels, for having violently dispossessed the said Diego
Macho, Day-labourer, of his Cow.
_Count._ “This Cause does not come within my Jurisdiction;
but as it is probable the Day-labourer will never obtain
Justice; do thou see, Figaro, that another Cow be sent him;
lest his Family should be starved--The next.”}}
_Doublefee._ Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio,
Spinster, Plaintiff, against--(_To Figaro_) Here’s no
surname!
_Figaro._ Anonymous.
_Guzman._ Ano-o-onymous--I never heard the Name before!
_Doublefee._ Against Figaro Anonymous. What Profession?
_Figaro._ Gentleman.
_Count._ Gentleman!
_Figaro._ I might have been born a Prince, if Heaven had
pleased.
_Doublefee._ Against Figaro Anonymous, Gentleman,
Defendant. The Question before the Court relates to a
promise of Marriage; the Parties have retained no Council,
contrary to the ancient and established practice of Courts.
_Figaro._ What occasion for Council? A race of Gentlemen
who are always so very learned, they know every thing,
except their Briefs! Who insolently interrogate Modesty
and Timidity, and endeavour, by confusing, to make Honesty
forswear itself; and, after having laboured for hours, with
all legal prolixity, to perplex self-evident Propositions,
and bewilder the understandings of the Judges, sit down
as proud as if they had just pronounced a Phillipic of
Demosthenes--(_Addressing himself to the Court_) My Lord,
and Gentlemen--The Question before the Court is----
_Doublefee._ (_Interrupting him_) It is not you to speak,
you are the Defendant----Who pleads for the Plaintiff?
_Doctor._ I.
_Doublefee._ You! A Physician turn Lawyer?--
_Figaro._ Oh yes, and equally skilful in both.
_Count._ Read the Promise of Marriage, Doctor.
_Guzman._ Re-e-ead the Pro-o-omise of Marriage.
_Doctor._ (_Reads_) I acknowledge to have received
of Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the sum
of two thousand Piasters, in the Castle of Count
Almaviva, which sum I promise to repay to the said
Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, _and_ to marry
her. Signed, Figaro. (_Addressing himself to the Count_) My
Lord, and Gentlemen! Hem! Never did cause more interesting,
more intricate, or in which the Interest of Mankind,
their Rights, Properties, Lives and Liberties were more
materially involved, ever claim the profound Attention of
this most learned, most honourable Court, and from the
time of Alexander the Great, who promised to espouse the
beauteous Thalestris----
_Count._ Stop, most formidable Orator; and ere you proceed,
enquire whether the Defendant does not contest the validity
of your Deed.
_Guzman._ (_To Figaro_) Do you co-ontest the
va-va-va-va-lidity of the Dee-eed?
_Figaro._ My Lord and Gentlemen! Hem! There is
in this Case, either Fraud, Error, Malice, or
mischievous Intention, for the Words of the
Acknowledgment are, I promise to repay the said
Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the said sum of
two thousand Piasters _or_ to marry her, which is very
different.
_Doctor._ I affirm it is AND.
_Figaro._ I affirm it is OR.
_Doctor._ Well, suppose it.
_Figaro._ No Supposition, I will have it granted.
_Count._ Clerk, Read you the Promise.
_Guzman._ Re-e-ead the P-P-P-Promise, D-D-D-Double-fee.
_Doublefee._ (_Reads_) I acknowledge to have
received of Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio,
the sum of two thousand Piasters, in the Castle
of Count Almaviva, which sum I promise to repay
the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio,
_and--or--and--or--or_--The Word is blotted.
_Doctor._ No matter; the Sense of the Phrase is equally
clear. This learned Court is not now to be informed the
word or particle, Or, hath various significations--It means
_otherwise_ and _either_--It likewise means _before_--For
example, in the language of the Poet.
_Or_ ’ere the Sun decline the western Sky,
’Tis Fate’s decree the Victims all must die.
_Figaro._ This was the language of Prophesy, and spoken of
the Doctor’s own Patients.
{{_Count._ “Silence in the Court.
_Crier._ “Silence in the Court.
_Doctor._ “Hence then, I clearly deduce (granting the
word to be _Or_) the Defendant doth hereby promise, not
only to pay the Plaintiff, but marry her _before_ he pays
her--Again, the word _Or_ doth sometimes signify
_Wherefore_, as another great and learned Poet hath it,
“_Or_ how could heav’nly Justice damn us all,
Who ne’er consented to our Father’s Fall?
“That is _wherefore_? For what reason could heavenly
Justice do such an unjust thing? Let us then substitute
the adverb _Wherefore_, and the intent and meaning of
the Promise will be incontestable; for, after reciting
an acknowledgement of the debt, it concludes with the
remarkable words, _Or_ to marry her, that is, wherefore,
for which reason, out of gratitude, for the Favour above
done me, _I will marry her_.
_Figaro._ “Oh most celebrated Doctor? Most poetic Quibbler!
“Hark with what florid Impotence he speaks,
And as his Malice prompts, the Puppet squeaks,
_Or_ at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad,
Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad
In legal Puns, _or_ Quibbles, Quirks, _or_ Lies,
_Or_ Spite, _or_ Taunts, _or_ Rhymes, _or_ Blasphemies.
“What think you we know not Quotations, and Poets, and
_Ands_, and _Ors_, and _Whys_, and _Wherefores_.
“What Drop _or_ Nostrum, can such Plagues remove,
_Or_ which must end me, a Fool’s Wrath--_Or_ Love?
(_Pointing first to the Doctor, and then to
Marcelina_)
“We have neither forgot our Reading nor our Syntax, but can
easily translate a dull Knave into a palpable Fool--”}} My
Lord, and Gentlemen, You hear his Sophisms, Poetical, and
Conundrums, Grammatical.
_Count._ Yes, yes, we hear.
(_Count and the Counsellors rise and consult together._)
_Antonio._ I’m glad they have put an end to your prating.
_Marcelina._ Their Whisperings and wise Grimaces forebode
me no good. That Susan has corrupted the chief Judge, and
he is corrupting all the others.
_Doctor._ It looks devilish like it.
(_The Count and Counsellors resume their
seats._)
_Doublefee._ Silence in the Court.
_Crier._ Silence in the Court.
_Count._ The judgment of the Court is, that since
the validity of the promise of Marriage is not well
established, Figaro is permitted to dispose of his Person.
_Figaro._ The Day’s my own.
_Marcelina._ I thought how it would be.
_Count._ But as the Acknowledgement clearly expresses
the words, _Which sum I promise to pay the said
Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, or to marry her_,
the said Figaro stands condemned to pay the two thousand
Piasters to the Plaintiff, or marry her in the course of
the Day.
_Figaro._ I’m undone!
_Marcelina._ I am happy!
_Count._ And I am revenged!
_Antonio._ Thank your noble Lordship! Most humbly thank
your noble Lordship!--Ah ha! I’m glad thou art not to marry
my Niece! I’ll go and tell her the good news!
(_Exit._)
_Crier._ Clear the Court.
(_Exeunt Guards, Counsellors, and Vassals._
_Manent Don Guzman, Figaro, Marcelina and Dr. Bartholo._
_Figaro._ ’Tis this Furze-ball, this Fungus of a President
that has lost me my Cause.
_Guzman._ I a F-F-Furze-ball and a F-F-Fungus!
_Figaro._ (_Sits down dejected_) I will never marry her.
_Guzman._ Thou mu-ust ma-arry her.
_Figaro._ What! Without the Consent of my noble Parents?
_Count._ (_Returning_) Where are they? Who are they?--He
will still complain of injustice--Name them.
_Figaro._ Allow me time, my Lord--I must first know where
to find them, and yet it ought not to be long, for I have
been seeking them these five Years.
_Doctor._ What! A Foundling?
_Figaro._ No Foundling, but stolen from my Parents.
_Count._ Poh! This is too palpable.
(_Exit Count_)
_Figaro._ Had I no other Proof of my Birth than the
precious Stones, Ring, and Jewels found upon me, these
would be sufficient--but I bear the Mark----
(_He is going to shew his Arm._)
_Marcelina._ Of a Lobster on your left Arm.
_Figaro._ How do you know that?
_Marcelina._ ’Tis he himself!
{{_Figaro._ “Yes, it’s me myself.”}}
_Marcelina._ ’Tis Fernando!
_Doctor._ Thou wert stolen away by Gypsies.
_Figaro._ By Gypsies!--Oh Doctor, if thou can’st but
restore me to my illustrious Parents, {{“Mountains of Gold
will not sufficiently speak their gratitude.”}}
_Doctor._ Behold thy Mother.
(_Pointing to Marcelina._)
_Figaro._ Nurse, you mean!
_Doctor._ Thy own Mother!
_Figaro._ Explain!
_Marcelina._ And there behold thy Father.
(_Pointing to the Doctor._)
_Figaro._ He, my Father! Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Oh Lord!
(_Stamps about._)
_Guzman._ (_With great wisdom_) It will be no
m-m-match--that’s evi-dent.
_Marcelina._ Hast thou not felt Nature pleading within
thee, at sight of me?
_Figaro._ Never.
_Marcelina_. This was the secret cause of all my Fondness
for thee.
_Figaro._ No doubt--And of my aversion--Instinct is very
powerful.
_Marcelina._ Come to my arms, my dear, my long lost Child.
(_Figaro and Marcelina embrace, the Doctor
leans against the Benches._)
_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ SUSAN.
(_The latter runs to find the Count_)
_Susan._ (_In great Agitation_) Oh, where is my Lord? Here
is the Money to pay Marcelina with! The Portion which my
noble and generous Lady has given me!
_Antonio._ (_pulling Susan, and pointing to Figaro, who
kisses Marcelina._) Here! here! Look this way!
(_Susan, at seeing them embrace becomes
furious, and is going away, Figaro runs and
brings her back._)
_Figaro._ Stop, stop, my Susan.
_Susan._ I have seen enough--Since you are so fond of her,
pray marry her.
_Figaro._ Thou art mistaken.
_Susan._ No, I am not mistaken.
(_Gives him a slap in the face._)
{{_Figaro._ (_Rubbing his Cheek_) “This is Love--Pshaw!
Prithee come hither, look at that Lady--How dost thou like
her?
_Susan._ “Not at all.
_Figaro._ “Well said Jealousy, she does not mince the
Matter.”}}
_Marcelina._ Dear Susan, this, this is my Son!
{{_Figaro._ “Yes, they wanted me to marry my Mother.”
_Antonio._ “Your Mother!----It is not long since----
_Figaro._ “I have known it--True.”}}
_Marcelina._ Yes, my dearest Susan, embrace thy Mother--Thy
Mother, who will love thee dearly.
_Susan._ And do you consent I shall have my Figaro?
_Marcelina._ Willingly. (_Susan runs and kisses her_) Here,
my Son, here is the Promise.
(_Gives him the Paper._)
_Susan._ And here is the Portion.
(_Gives him a Purse of Money._)
{{_Figaro._ “My manly Pride would fain make me restrain my
tears, but they flew in spite of me--Well, let ’em! Let ’em
flow! Joys like these never come twice in one’s Life! Oh,
my Mother, Oh, my Susan!”}}
(_They all three embrace, weeping._)
_Guzman._ (_weeping._) What a Foo-oo-ool am I! L-L-Look, if
I don’t k-k-k-cry as well as the best of ’em.
_Figaro._ (_to the Doctor_) My Father.
_Doctor._ Keep off! I disclaim thee!
_Antonio._ Why then, if you are his Father, you are a
Turkish Jew, and no Christian Father.
_Doctor._ A Knave that tricked me of my Ward, cheated me of
my Money, and now has been turning my Wisdom into ridicule.
_Susan._ And are not you, being a wise Man, proud to have
a Son wiser than yourself?
_Doctor._ No--I would have no one wiser than myself.
_Antonio._ Come, come, look you, I am {{“a good Catholic,
and”}} an old Castilian, therefore, unless your Father and
Mother become lawful Man and Wife, I will never consent to
give you my Niece. No, no, she sha’n’t marry a man who is
the child of Nobody, neither.
_Guzman._ Here’s an old Fool!--The Child of Nobody, Ha!
ha! ha! (_Laughs stupidly, and then assumes great Wisdom_)
Hav’n’t you lived long enough to know that every Child must
have a Father?
{{_Marcelina._ “Consider, good Doctor, your Promise, if
ever our Child was found.
_Doctor._ “Pshaw!
_Marcelina._ “And here is a Son you surely need not be
ashamed of.
_Susan._ “Ah my dear Pappa!
_Figaro._ “My generous, worthy Father.
(_Susan strokes his Cheek, Figaro kneels, and
Marcelina coaxes him._)
_Susan._ “You don’t know how we will all love you.
_Marcelina._ “What care we will take of you.
_Figaro._ “How happy we will make you.
_Doctor._ “Good Doctor, dear Pappa, generous Father!
(_Bursts out a crying_) See, if I am not even a greater
Foo-oo-ool than Mr. President! (_Guzman staggers back at
the Doctor’s Compliment_) they mould me like Dough, lead me
like a Child. (_Marcelina, Susan, and Figaro testify their
Joy by their Actions._) Nay, nay, but I hav’n’t yet said
yes.
_Susan._ “But you have thought yes.
_Marcelina._ “And look’d yes.
_Figaro._ “Come, come, we must be quick; let us run and
find the Count, otherwise he will invent some new pretext
to break off the Match.
(_Exeunt Doctor, Marcelina, Figaro and Susan._)
_Manent Don_ GUZMAN.
_Guzman._ “A greater Foo-oo-ool than Mr. President!--The
People in this House are truly very stupid and ill bred.”
(_Exit._)}}
End of ACT III.