SCENE, a large Saloon.
FIGARO _and_ SUSAN, _both joyous_.
_Figaro._ She has converted her Doctor at last--They are to
be married, and these so late implacable Enemies are now
become our dearest Friends.
_Susan._ What unexpected Happiness!
_Figaro._ Chance, my Susan--All the effect of
Chance--{{“Yesterday, without a Relation in the World I
could claim, to-day, behold me restored to my Parents--True
it is, they are neither so rich nor so right honorable,
so belaced nor betitled as my imagination had painted
them--But that’s all one, they are mine”}}--I may truly
be called both a Chance Child, and a Child of Chance--By
Chance was I begot, by Chance brought into the World, by
Chance was I stole, by Chance am I found, by Chance have
I lived, and by Chance I shall die--Chance is Nature’s
Sovereign, and must be mine.
_Susan._ Yes, and by Chance thou mayst come to be hang’d.
(_Laughs._)
_Figaro._ Or thou to be an Empress--Neither of them are
impossible--He, the Conqueror, whose Ambition ravages the
Earth, and whose Pride eats up Nations, is not less the
sport of Chance than the blind Beggar who is conducted by
his dog.
_Susan._ Ha, ha, ha!--Prithee leave thy Philosophy, and--
_Figaro._ And think of that other blind beggar, Love--Most
willingly, my Angel. (_Kisses her._)
_Susan._ Pooh, Pooh!--That was not what I meant.
_Figaro._ Rather say it was not half thy meaning, or thy
meaning ill expressed. (_Kisses her again._)
_Susan._ Ah, Figaro! Were this fondness, these days but
durable--
_Figaro._ Durable!--Iron and Adamant--No; may millions of
imaginary Gallants wrack my heart and decorate my--
{{_Susan._ “No rhodomantade, Figaro--Tell me the simple
truth.
_Figaro._ “By the truest of all Truths I swear--
_Susan._ “Truest of Truths!--Are there various kinds of
Truths then?
_Figaro._ “No doubt.
_Susan._ “Fie!
_Figaro._ “There are Truths that may be spoken: such as
the Peccadillos of a poor Rascal! Truths that may not be
spoken: such as the Robberies of a rich Rascal--There are
your Truths comprehensible: such as that two and two make
four; and your Truths incomprehensible: such as that two
and two make five--Then there are your Tradesman’s Truths,
which he retails to his Customers, your Lover’s Truths,
which he pours wholesale into his Mistress’s ear--Your
Courtier’s Truths, on which he feeds his Dependants
and Parasites--Your Court of Law, or Kiss-the-Book
Truths, which are the daily support of a _vast_ number
of _very_ honest people--There are also your physical
and metaphysical Truths--Your old Truths and your new
Truths--Your heterodox and orthodox Truths--Your Mahometan
Truths, your Jewish Truths, and your--other kind of truths,
concerning which there never was nor ever will be any
doubt--Not to mention your Truths _in_ fashion: such as
that Idleness, Ignorance, Dissipation, Gaming and Seduction
are the requisites of a Gentleman--And your Truths _out_ of
fashion: such as that Gentleness, Obedience, Œconomy, and
connubial Love are the requisites of a _Gentlewoman_.
_Susan._ “I find by your account of the matter, Figaro,
that poor Truth, like a Lottery Ticket, is so divided and
sub-divided, so halved, quartered, cut, carv’d, split and
spliced, it is no where entire to be found.
_Figaro._ “No where.
_Susan._ “And moreover, that what is Truth to-day may be a
Lie to-morrow.
_Figaro._ “May be! Must be.
_Susan._ “Consequently, that in less than twenty-four
hours, my very tender submissive, ardent Lover may be
metamorphosed into an arbitrary, cold, haughty _Husband_.
_Figaro._ “Impossible!--Impossible, my Susan! As it is
for thee, my gentle, kind, and beauteous Bride, to be
transformed into an ill-tempered, extravagant slatternly
_Wife_.
_Susan._ “I understand thee”}}--Well, Well--We will
endeavour to convert the iron Bands of Matrimony into a
flowery Wreath which Love shall teach us to bear lightly
and joyously through Life.
_Figaro._ Aye, and thus live a happy Exception to the
established usage of a mad World.
_Susan._ But prithee, who is to go disguised and meet the
Count?
_Figaro._ Who?--Nobody--Let him wait and fret, and bite his
Nails--I never meant thou shouldst go.
_Susan._ I assure thee I never had any inclination.
{{_Figaro._ “Is that the real Truth, Susan?”
_Susan._ “What! Thinkest thou I am as learned as thou art?
And that I keep several sorts of Truths?”}}
_Figaro._ (_With fond Vivacity_). And dost thou love me?
_Susan._ (_Tenderly_). Too much, I doubt.
_Figaro._ Ah!--That’s but little.
_Susan._ How!
_Figaro._ In Love’s Creed, too much is not even enough.
_Susan._ I understand nothing of this over-refinement, but
I feel I shall love my Husband most heartily.
_Figaro._ Keep thy word, and put our modern Wives to the
blush.
_Susan._ Afford them a subject to laugh and point at, thou
mean’st.
_Enter the_ COUNTESS.
_Countess._ Wherever you meet One of them, be certain
you shall find a Pair. (_They salute the Countess_)--The
Bridesmen and Maids wait for you, Figaro.
_Figaro._ I will take my excuse in my hand--(_Going to lead
out Susan_)--Few offenders can plead so charming a one.
_Countess._ No, no; stop Susan: I want you--She shall
come presently. (_Exit Figaro_).--Well, Susan, the time
approaches, we must prepare for the Rendezvous.
{{_Susan._ “I must not go, Madam, Figaro is unwilling.
_Countess._ (_Angry_). “Figaro!--Figaro is not so
scrupulous when a Marriage-portion is in question--That’s a
poor Pretence; you are sorry you have told the truth, and
discovered the Intentions of the Count.--Go, go--I am not
to be so deceived. (_Going_).
_Susan._ (_Catching hold of her and kneeling_). “Ah, Madam!
Let me conjure you to hear me, to pardon me.--How can you
think me capable of deceiving so good, so liberal a Lady,
whose bounties I have so often felt!----Oh, no; it is
because I have promised Figaro.
_Countess._ (_Mildly and Smiling_). “Rise--Hast thou
forgot, silly Girl, that it is I who am to go and not
thee.--(_Kisses her forehead_)--But--I was too hasty.
_Susan._ “My dear, my generous Mistress.”}}
_Countess._ And what is the place of Rendezvous?
_Susan._ The Pavilion in the Garden.
_Countess._ There are two.
_Susan._ But they are opposite.
_Countess._ True--At what hour?
_Susan._ I don’t know.
_Countess._ That must be fixed--Sit down, take the pen and
write--
(_Susan sits down, the Countess dictates_)
A NEW SONG,
To the Tune of,
_The Twilight past, the Bell had toll’d_.
_Susan._ (_Writes_). New song--Tune of--Bell had
toll’d--What next, Madam?
_Countess._ Dost think he will not understand thee?
_Susan._ (_Looking archly at the Countess_). Very
true--(_Folding up the Letter_)--But here is neither Wax
nor Wafer.
_Countess._ Fasten it with a Pin, and write on the
direction, _Return the Seal_. (_Smiling._)
_Susan._ (_Laughs_) The Seal!--(_Gets up._)--This is not
quite so serious as the Commission just now was.
_Countess._ (_Sighs_). Ah, Susan.
_Susan._ I have never a Pin.
_Countess._ Take this.
(_Gives her one which fastened the Page’s
riband to her breast; it falls._)
_Susan._ (_Picking up the riband_) This is the Page’s
riband, Madam.
_Countess._ Wouldst thou have me let him wear it? It will
do for Agnes; I will give it her the first Bouquet she
presents me.
(_Just as the Countess has said this, Agnes and
a troop of young Maidens, among them the Page,
in girl’s cloaths, enter with nosegays for the
Countess, who instantly puts the riband in her
pocket, with an evident wish, by her looks and
action, to preserve it._)
_Countess._ (_Looking at the Page_) What pretty maiden is
this?
_Agnes._ A Cousin of mine, Madam, that we have invited to
the Wedding.
_Countess._ Well, then, as we can wear but one nosegay, let
us do honour to the Stranger. (_Takes the Nosegay from the
Page, and kisses his forehead._--(_Aside to Susan_) Don’t
you think, Susan, she resembles amazingly--(_Stops short,
and looks at Susan_).
_Susan._ Amazingly, indeed, Madam!
_Page._ (_Aside_) What a precious kiss! I feel
it here. (_Putting his hand on his heart._)
_Enter the Count, and Antonio with a hat in his hand._
_Antonio._ (_As he enters_) Yes, yes, my Lord, I’m certain
it was him. The rakish little Rascal is disguised among
the Girls. I found his new hat and cockade here--hid in
a basket. (_The Countess and Susan surprised, look at
the Page, and then at each other. The girls surround and
endeavour to hide Hannibal; Antonio seeks among them_). Ay,
ay, here he is--here he is. (_Antonio takes off his cap,
and puts on his hat_) There, my Lord! There’s a pretty,
modest Virgin for you!
_Count._ Well, my Lady!
_Countess._ Well, my Lord!--I am as much surprized as you
can be; and, I assure you, not less vex’d.--At present,
however, it is time to tell you the whole Truth: This
young gentleman (_Pointing to the Page_) was hid in my
Dressing-room.--We attempted a Joke, which these Girls have
put in practice.
_Count._ But wherefore hide him from me?
_Countess._ Because, my Lord, when your Passions are
predominant, you are incapable of either listening to or
believing the Truth.
_Count._ (_Aside_) Must I for ever be disturbed, haunted,
and bewitch’d thus by this beardless Boy? (_Turning with
great wrath towards the Page_) What is the reason, Sir, you
have not obeyed my Commands?
_Page._ (_Draws back frightened, and takes off his hat_)
My-my-my Lord, I staid to teach Agnes the Love scene she is
to play in the Comedy this evening.
_Agnes._ (_Steps forward_) Ah, my Lord, when you come to my
room, you know, and want to kiss me--
_Count._ I!
(_The Countess remarks his embarrassment,
Susan laughs silently, and makes signs to the
Countess_).
_Agnes._ Yes, my Lord! You say to me, My pretty Agnes, if
you will but love me, I will give you any thing you wish
to have; now, my Lord, if you will give me Hannibal for a
husband, I will love you with all my heart.
_Countess._ You hear, my Lord!--Has not the simplicity
of this Child’s confession, as artless as the one I have
this moment made, sufficiently justified my Conduct? And
do not circumstances prove, how injurious your Suspicions
have been, and how well founded mine? (_Count bows to the
Countess._)
_Antonio._ You see, my Lord, what a giddy young thing it is.
_Count._ And very loving too.
_Antonio._ Her mother, as every body knows, was just such
another.
_Enter_ FIGARO.
_Figaro._ Come, my pretty Maidens, come. (_Turns to the
Count_) While you keep the Lasses here, my Lord, we can
neither begin our Procession nor our Dances.
_Count._ (_Gravely putting on his hat_) Why surely, Sir,
you don’t intend to dance.
_Figaro._ Why not, my Lord?
_Count._ What! With a hurt in your ancle?
_Figaro._ Oh! Is that all?--It pains me a little, to be
sure; but that’s a trifle--Come Girls.
_Count._ (_Turning him back_) You were very lucky to light
upon such soft ground.
_Figaro._ Exceedingly, my Lord:--Come Lasses.
_Antonio._ (_Turning him back on the other side_) And then
you double yourself up, when you take a leap? Yet, like a
Cat, you fall on your feet.
_Figaro._ What then?--Come Gir--
_Count._ But how unhappy the poor Youth will be about his
Commission.
_Figaro._ What is the meaning of all this, my Lord?
_Antonio._ (_Bringing the Page forward_) Do you know this
bashful young Lady?
_Figaro._ The Devil! Hannibal!--(_Aside._) Well, and what
Riddle has he to propound?
_Count._ No Riddle, Sir, but a simple matter of fact:--He
affirms, it was he who jump’d out of the window.
_Figaro._ Does he?--Well, if he say so, I suppose it is so.
_Count._ How! What two at a time?
_Figaro._ Two? Twenty! Why not, my Lord? One sheep begins,
and the rest naturally follow: (_Flourish of Music
without_) Come, come, my merry Maidens, don’t you hear the
music? Quick, quick, run, run, run.
(_Exeunt Susan and Figaro, with the Girls._)
_Count._ (_To the Page_) Harkee, little Rascal, begone,
instantly; put off your Petticoats, and don’t stir out of
your room the rest of the day.--Take care, Sir, I don’t
meet you again.
_Page._ (_Putting on his hat_) No matter--I bare away that
upon my forehead, which would compensate for an age of
imprisonment. (_Exit joyously_).
_Count._ (_Looks at the Countess, who recollects the kiss
she had just given the Page_) His forehead! What is it he
bears away so triumphantly upon his forehead?
_Countess._ (_Embarrassed_) A--His Officer’s hat, I
suppose. Every new Bauble pleases a Child.
(_Going._)
_Count._ The Procession is coming, will not your Ladyship
stay and be a witness of your Favourite’s happiness?
_Countess._ As your Lordship pleases.
_Enter the Procession of the two Weddings. A March is
played; Doctor Bartholo and Marcelina are preceded by
Cryer of the Court, Guards, Doublefee, Counsellors, Don
Guzman; after them come Antonio, Figaro, and Susan,
followed by the Bridesmen and Maids, and a troop of
Dancers. They all salute the Count and Countess as they
pass; and after making the tour of the stage, Antonio
presents his Niece to the Count; Susan kneels, one of the
Bridemaids gives the Count the nuptial Cap; and Susan,
while the Count is placing it on her head, plucks him by
the cloak, and shews him the Note she had just before
written. He pretends to keep adjusting the Cap, and slily
reaches to take the Note, which he instantly claps in
his bosom, having previously unbuttoned himself for that
purpose. While this is transacting a Castanet-Dance is
performed. As soon as Susan rises, she purposely places
herself before the Countess, to encourage the Count to
read the Note, who accordingly steps forward, is going
to open it, and pricks his finger with the Pin, which he
plucks out and throws angrily on the floor._)
_Count._ These Women and their curst Pins.
_Figaro._ (_Aside to his Mother laughing_) The Count has
received a Billet-doux from some pretty Girl, sealed with
a Pin! This is a new fashion, which he does not seem to
admire.
(_The Count reads the Note, is exceedingly
pleased, folds it up again, and reads on the
outside, “Return the Seal;” he pretends to
walk carelessly about the stage, but is all
the while looking earnestly for the pin he had
thrown away, which he at last finds, picks up
and sticks upon his Sleeve._)
_Figaro._ (_To his Mother_) Every thing is precious that
appertains to a beloved object.--He picks up the very Pin,
you see.
(_All this while Susan and the Countess remark
what is passing with laughter, and private
looks and gestures._)
_Countess._ (_Rising_) Come with me, Susan. We shall soon
be back, my Lord. (_Aside to Susan_) Let us make haste and
exchange dresses.
(_Exeunt Countess and Susan._
{{_Crier._ “Guards! Guards!--This way, Guards! (_Places the
Guards at the door, runs up to the Count_) My Lord, here’s
Mr. Basil coming, my Lord, with the whole Village at his
heels; because he has been singing all the way he went.
_Figaro._ “Orpheus and the Brutes. But I’ll make him change
his Tune.”}}
_Enter_ BASIL _singing, followed by_ BOUNCE.
_Count._ So, Mr. Basil, what is your will and pleasure?
{{_Basil._ “After having fulfilled your Lordship’s
commands, by amusing this honest Gentleman----
_Bounce._ “Me, my Lord? I assure your Lordship he has not
amused me in the least.
_Basil._ “I now return to enforce my claims on Marcelina.
_Figaro._ “Look you, Sir--Should you venture but to cast
one look, or approach one step nearer that Lady----
_Doctor._ “Let him speak, Figaro, let him speak.
_Guzman._ “Oh f-f-fie!--What f-f-friends!--
_Figaro._ “I disclaim such friendship.
_Basil._ “And I----Error in Judgment, Mr. President.
_Figaro._ “He!--A Street-corner Ballad-Bawler!
_Basil._ “As good, at least, as a Barber-Surgeon!
_Figaro._ “Who hashes up a dinner out of Horse-hair and
Catgut!
_Basil._ “Who has hungrily devoured Razors and Hones, and
fed half his life upon Froth! (_Imitates beating up a
Lather._)
_Figaro._ “The high Priest of Pimps!
_Basil._ “The vile Drudge of Intrigue!
_Figaro._ “Execrated by those he serves!
_Basil._ “Gulled by his own Cunning!
_Figaro._ “So great a Fool, Knavery itself cannot make him
thrive!
_Basil._ “So stupid, he never yet could invent a probable
Lie!
_Doctor._ } “Hold, hold.
_Guzman._ }
_Figaro._ “A Pedantic!
_Basil._ “Pert!
_Figaro._ “Preposterous!
_Basil._ “Pragmatical!
_Figaro._ “Braying!
_Basil._ “Lop-eared!
_Figaro._ “Ass!
_Count._ “How now!--Is this all the Respect you shew?--
_Basil._ “You hear, my Lord, how he insults me! When, it
is well known, there is not, in all Andalusia, a more
eminent!----
_Figaro._ “Empty!
_Basil._ “Able!
_Figaro._ “Abject!
_Basil._ “Musician!
_Figaro._ “Miscreant!
_Basil._ “Is this to be borne?
_Figaro._ “Whose countenance prophecies of Pillories,
Scaffolds, and the stretching of Hemp; and whose whole
appearance is a continual Memento of public Calamity,
Plague, Pestilence, and Famine;--A Misericordia,
Sackcloth-and-ashes Knave;--A Scape Goat, that looks like
a Jew in the yellow Jaundice.
(_Doctor Bartholo and Don Guzman prevent Basil
from falling upon Figaro._)
_Count._ “Do you think this proper, Mr. Figaro?
_Figaro._ “Why not, my Lord?--Let him listen to Truth,
since he is too Poor to pay Parasites and Liars.
_Count._ “Silence, Sir!--Let us hear, Mr. Basil, what you
have to say.
_Basil._ “(_Composing himself_) I demand the hand of
Marcelina, my Lord, who promised to marry me.
_Marcelina._ “On what condition was this promise made?
_Basil._ “That I should adopt your lost Son, if ever you
should be happy enough to find him.
_Marcelina._ “Well.
_Doctor._ “He is found.
_Basil._ “Where is he?
_Doctor._ “Here he stands. (_Pointing to Figaro_).
_Guzman._ “The-e-e-ere he stands.
_Basil._ “He!--Oh, my curst Stars!
_Guzman._ “Do you re-e-nounce your pre-e-tentions to his
de-e-ear Mother?
_Basil._ “Renounce!--As I would renounce the Devil and all
his Works.
_Figaro._ “What! Renounce your best Friend?--But that’s
like your Rogue’s tricks.
_Basil._ “I will not live under the same roof with him--I
would rather even quit the service of my Lord.
_Figaro._ “Don’t be uneasy, I shan’t trouble you
long--Restored to my Parents, and married to my Susan, I
shall retire and live in Peace.
_Count._ “(_Aside_) And I shall retire to meet my Mistress.
_Guzman._ “So every body is sa-a-tisfied.”}}
_Count._ Let the marriage Contracts be prepared, and I will
sign them.
_Figaro._ Thanks, gracious Lord.
_Bounce._ And I will go and prepare the Fireworks in the
Garden, near the Pavilion.
_Count._ (_Returning_) Who, pray Sir, gave you those
Orders?--The Countess is too much indisposed to come out;
let them, therefore, be played off in front of the Castle,
facing her Windows--(_Aside_)--The Rascal was going to set
fire to my Place of Rendezvous! (_Exeunt_).
_Manent_ FIGARO _and_ MARCELINA.
_Figaro._ How attentive he is to his Wife.
_Marcelina._ {{“It is necessary”}}--My dear Figaro,
{{“I should undeceive thee respecting my former false
accusations of Susan--Basil has always told me she
obstinately refused to listen to the Count’s Overtures,
and”}} I am both sorry and ashamed to have excited thy
Jealousy.
_Figaro._ Oh, be under no apprehensions, my dear Mother;
Jealousy is the foolish Child of Pride, the Disease of a
Madman--My Philosophy is invulnerable to its poisonous
Arrows. (_Figaro turns and sees Agnes just behind him,
coming down the Stage_).--So! What you have been listening,
my little inquisitive Cousin?
_Agnes._ Oh, no; they tell me that is not polite.
_Figaro._ Then what’s your errand?--He is not here.
_Agnes._ Who?
_Figaro._ Hannibal.
_Agnes._ Oh, I know that very well--I know where he is--I
want my Cousin Susan.
_Figaro._ Aye!--And what do you want with her?
_Agnes._ Not much; only to give her a Pin.
_Figaro._ (_Starts_) A Pin! (_Striding about in great
anger_) A Pin!--And how dare you, you little Hussey,
undertake such Messages?--What! Have you learnt your
trade already?--(_Marcelina makes a sign to Figaro,
who recollects himself, and endeavours to disguise his
feelings_)--Come, come, my pretty Cousin, don’t be
frighten’d, I was but in joke--I--I--I know all about it;
it’s a Pin that my Lord has sent by you to Susan.
_Agnes._ Since you know so well, why need you ask me then?
_Figaro._ (_Coaxing_) Only to hear what my Lord said when
he sent thee on this errand.
_Agnes._ Here, said he, here, my pretty little Agnes, take
this Pin to thy Cousin Susan, and tell her it is the Seal
of the new Song about the Twilight and the Pavilion.
_Figaro._ And the----
_Agnes._ The Pavilion--And take great care, said he, that
nobody sees thee.
_Figaro._ Well, well, I was but joking; go and execute thy
Message faithfully, exactly as my Lord bade thee.
_Agnes._ Law! My Cousin takes me for a Ninny, I believe.
(_Exit skipping_).
_Figaro._ So, my Mother!
_Marcelina._ So, my Son!
_Figaro._ Here’s a sweet Daughter!--A delightful
Bride!--And will be a most virtuous Wife!----(_Walking up
and down with great agitation_)----A false--Deceitful--I’m
happy, however, I have found her out--I will detect,
expose, and abandon her!
_Marcelina._ Nay, but gently, my Son, gently; recollect
that Jealousy is the disease of a Madman, and that your
Philosophy is invulnerable.--Fie! fie!--All this passion
about a Pin!
_Figaro._ A Pin that has wounded me to the heart!--Didn’t
we see the Count pick it up?
_Marcelina._ We did so; but how can we tell whether she
means to deceive thee or him?--Art thou sure she will go to
the Rendezvous; and wilt thou condemn her without hearing
her?
_Figaro._ I am sorry--I am a Fool--And yet!--If she should
be false!
_Marcelina._ Nay, but my dear Figaro----
_Figaro._ Well, well; I will be calm--Yes, my amorous
Count, you will at least meet with somebody you don’t
expect--If you do not make haste we shall be at the
Pavilion, as soon as your Lordship!
(_Exeunt_).
The End of ACT IV.