TRANSCRIBERâS 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 PersonÃ¦ âThe Passages put between inverted Commas are omitted in the Representationâ--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: â and â. Redundant inverted commas at the beginning of lines have been removed. The original text used the longform Å¿, 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 Authorâs 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 anotherâs 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 âtill M. _de Beaumarchais_ shall think proper to publish LA FOLLE JOURNÃE. 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 Manâs Pride, and every prudent Manâs 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 _borrowâd_, _beggâd_, nor _bought_; Nay, so alert was said to be the Droll, âTwas well affirmâd he was not to be _stole_; But hence dispatchâd, backâd by Apolloâs warrant, A messenger has _kidnappâd_ this Wag-errant; Poetic Fugitive, has hither draggâd him, And, safely here arrivâd, has now ungaggâd 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 wingâd 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 tâadore 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 fetchâd and dear bought_ give Trifles worth, Sure youâll applaud our FIGAROâs second birth. Nought of his present merit must we say; Bear but in mind, OUR Dayâs a SPANISH Day. Cupid, in warmer Climes, urgâd by the Grape, Calls not each petty violence a Rape! But oft his Votaries leaves intoxicate, Hence FIGARO himself is illegitimate. Sanctionâd by you, howeâer, this little Blot, So much in fashion, will be soon forgot; That Signature which each kind hand bestows, Shall make him well receivâd whereâer he goes! DRAMATIS PERSONÃ. 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. â _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 wonât lie in this chamber. _Figaro._ Why so? _Susan._ I tell you I wonât lie in this chamber. _Figaro._ Well but---- _Susan._ I donât like it. _Figaro._ Your reason. _Susan._ What if I have no reason?--What if I donât chuse to give my reason? {{_Figaro._ âAh, ah!--Thus it is when once they think they have us fast. _Susan._ âAre you, or are you not my most obedient very humble servant? _Figaro._ âYour slave----(_Bows very low._) _Susan._ âOh! _Figaro._ âBut wherefore take exception to the most convenient room in the whole house? _Susan._ âYes, yes!--The most convenient!--(_Satirically._) _Figaro._ âIf 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._ âVery 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. Figaroâs back is turnâd, and crack!--in three skips--he--(_significantly._) _Figaro._ âHe? _Susan._ âYes--he---- _Figaro._ â(_Keeps rubbing his forehead and looking at Susan._) He! _Susan._ âHe!----Dost thou feel any thing? _Figaro._ â(_Presses his finger and thumb against his forehead_) Buttons!--In pairs!----Mushrooms sprout not so suddenly--Yes, yes--itâs a fruitful spot.â}} _Susan._ Thou knowest how our _generous_ Count when he by thy help obtained Rosinaâs 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._ Iâll try--{{âThe Loverâs jealousy and the Husbandâs shame shall not deter meâ}}--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--Thereâs 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?--Iâll 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 Lordâs 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--Itâs too much, too much by half----A momentâs 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, Knaveâs 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 hangâd. _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._ âTis you, Doctor, will never mend--{{âYou 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.â}} _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? Whatâs 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--Iâll answer for his cure. _Marcelina._ Thatâs 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._ âAnd are you, now you have lost your Rosina, as inflexible and unjust as ever?â}} _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._ âThings more improbable have come to pass. _Doctor._ âBut your motive? _Marcelina._ âFor you, Doctor, I have no secrets. _Doctor._ âWomen seldom have for Doctors. _Marcelina._ âI 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 talkâd about; for thy Wisdom, if thou hast it--if not for thy Folly. _Doctor._ âShe utters Oracles--Well, well, accomplish this, and I will engage you shall be talkâd about.â}} _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 Figaroâs 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._ âIf they are weak, it is because I wanted the art to strengthen them, after the manner of madam. _Susan._ âYet madam has ever been reckoned a mistress of her art. _Marcelina._ âI hope, madam, I shall always have your good word, _madam_. (_Curtsies._) _Susan._ âOh, I can assure you, madam, you have nothing to regret on that score, _madam_.â (_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._ âAnd very respectable. Susan. âRespectable! Oh no, that is the characteristic of a Duenna. _Marcelina._ âA Duenna! A Duenna! _Doctor._ (_coming between them_) âCome, come-- _Marcelina._ âI--I--You--your very humble servant, _madam_. _Susan._ âYour most devoted, _madam_.â}} _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 canât 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 whatâs more, unmarried? Oh how sweet are the words Woman, Maiden, and Love, in my ear! _Susan._ Ha! ha! ha!--Heâs bewitchâd!--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 canât 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, Iâll 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 shanât (_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, Iâll kiss thee into the bargain. _Susan._ Kiss me!--Do not come near me, if thou lovâst thy ears--I say, beg my Lord to forgive you, indeed! No I assure you--{{âI 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.â _Page._ âHow can I help it, Susanâ?}} 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! Iâm undone!--âTis my Lord! (_The Page crouches down, and hides himself behind Susanâs 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 thereâs 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 donât 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! Hereâs 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 Countessâs 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 isnât Figaro who is the great obstacle to my Lordâs 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 oneâs 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, heâll 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 Lordâs disgrace. _Basil._ I invent! Why it is in every bodyâs mouth. (_The Count discovers himself, and comes forward._) _Count._ How! In every bodyâs mouth! _Basil._ Zounds. _Count._ Run, Basil, let him have fifty pistoles and a horse given him, and sent back to his friends instantly. _Basil._ Iâm very sorry, my Lord, I happened to speak-- _Susan._ Iâm 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 wonât 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 Gardenerâs 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 knockâd 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, approachâd, 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 tâother! _Basil._ No!--I wonât 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 donât 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 thatâs 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._ Thatâs false, again, for I hid myself behind it, when Basil entered. _Page._ (_Timidly_) Pardon me, my Lord, but as you approachâd, I retired, and crouched down as you now see me. _Count._ (_Angrily_) Itâs 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 Ladyâs 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 Lordâs 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._ âAnd 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._ âA Lover, a Poet, and a Musician!--These titles, Figaro, might perhaps merit our indulgence, ifâ--}} _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 Lordshipâs 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 Figaroâs 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_) Whatâs 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! Thereâs no occasion for kissing, my Lord: heâll 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 Womenâs 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--{{â_We_ shall not have an opportunity of playing better to-morrow.â}} _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. ACT II. SCENE, the COUNTESSâs Bed-Chamber. (_A state-bed in the back ground under an Alcove: three doors; one the entrance into the room, another into Susanâs room, and the third to the Countessâs 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 Figaroâs 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 overlookâd, 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._ âFor Figaroâs the lad, is the lad for me.â}} (_Goes singing to the Door._) _Enter_ FIGARO. (_He kisses Susanâs 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 Countâs 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 donât 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 Iâll 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 Figaroâs happy!--Plots and Contrivances-- _Figaro._ Two! Three! Four at a time! Embarrassâd! Involvâd! Perplexâd!--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 thatâs 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_.--{{âOh, 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.â}} _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 donât 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 entrappâd at the rendezvous, will he condemn us, thinkest thou?--But come, come, we must be quick--Iâll send the Page hither to be dressâd--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 Countessâs 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 Countessâs 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, Iâll tell all I know.--(_Returns to the Countess_). Observe his downcast eyes, Madam, and long eye-lashes.--(_Aside to the Page_) Yes, Hypocrite, Iâll tell. _Countess_ (_Seeing the Page more and more fearful_). Nay, Hannibal--donât--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 Pageâs cloak._) _Countess._ But suppose somebody should come? _Susan._ Dear, my Lady, we are not doing any harm--Iâll 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! {{âThe name of my Goddess I âgrave on each Tree; Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart! âTis I wound the bark, but Loveâs arrows wound me: Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart! The Heavâns I view with their azure bright skies; Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart! But Heaven to me
{'title': 'The Follies of a Day; or, The Marriage of Figaro by Beaumarchais', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}