Act 1
SCENE I.
REPRESENTS A STREET IN SEVILLE, WHERE ALL THE WINDOWS ARE SECURED WITH JEALOUSIES (OR BLINDS.)
Count Almaviva alone, dressed in a long brown Cloak, his Hat flap’d, looks at his Watch, as he walks.
’Tis earlier than I imagin’d, the Hour is not yet come in which she usually appears at the Jealousie; no matter, better wait Half the Day, then be one Instant too late for such a Sight; could any of my gay Companions take a View of me here an hundred Leagues from Madrid cooling my Heels under the Window of a Woman to whom I have never spoke a single Word, they wou’d think me transform’d into a Spaniard of Queen Isabella’s reign, and why not? Every one seeks his own Happiness, and mine is center’d in Rosina’s Bosom. But hold, let me reason this Affair a little with myself; how comes it to pass that for one Woman I have journey’d all the Way to Seville while by staying at Madrid I had my choice of an Hundred? Faith, it is even that Plenty which I fly from, I am tired with the Conquests which convenience, Interest or Vanity daily offer; Oh how sweet, how exquisite the Pleasure of being lov’d for oneself; if under this Disguise it be possible to arrive at such Happiness!—the Devil take this Intruder.
[Count conceals himself.
SCENE II.
Enter Figaro, his Guitar slung on his Back by a broad Ribbon, hums a Tune merrily; a Paper and Pencil in his hand.
Song the 1st. by Figaro. [*Music, in French]
Lover why art thou repining?
Cast away thy Sighs and whining
Is’t for Love of Daphne? fye
Rather to the buxom Lass
Let us fill this brimming Glass
—Sorrow is confounded dry.
So far is not bad—Hem! Hem! Tol Lol.
[Sings again.
Love and Laziness claim Part.
Both contesting for my Heart.
Oh no, they don’t contest for my Heart, they reign in it peaceably together.
“Share between ’em all my Heart.”
Does one say share?---Pooh, our Comic Opera-Makers are not so nice now a Days—what is not worth being spoken, is sung.
[Sings.
Love and Laziness claim Part,
Both contesting for my Heart.
I should like to finish with something fine, brilliant, dazling—with a something, which had the Air of a good Thought
[He puts one Knee on the Ground, and writes whilst he sings.
If one has my Affections,
Why t’others Predilections.
Oh fie! that’s flat, that won’t do, I must have an Opposition, an Antithesis.—O now I’ve got the whole of it.
[He writes and sings.
Love and Laziness have Part,
They between them share my heart,
I to each his Portion gave,
No Injustice can be seen,
For tho’ one I’ve made my Queen,
Yet the other’s still my Slave.
Hem! Hem! When this is set to Music, properly accompanied, we shall see, Gentleman Critics, whether or no, I know what I am about.—
[he perceives the Count.
—I have seen that Student before.
[he arises.
Count, [aside.
That Fellow’s Face is not unknown to me.
Figaro.
Oh! no, he’s no Student—that Air of bon Ton—
Count.
What a grotesque Figure!
Figaro.
I’m not mistaken ’tis Count Almaviva.
Count.
I really believe, ’tis that Knave Figaro.
Figaro.
’Tis his ownself, my Lord.
Count.
Silence, Puppy, if thou say’st a Word.
Figaro.
I now am certain ’tis you, my Lord, for you always treated me with this Familiarity and Kindness.
Count.
It was with difficulty I recollected thee, thou art so much increased in Bulk.
Figaro.
’Tis the effect of mere Want, my Lord, how can I help it.
Count.
I pity thee, but how cam’st thou at Seville! I had recommended thee to an Employment at Madrid.
Figaro.
I obtain’d it, my Lord, and my Gratitude—
Count.
Call me Lindor, can’st thou not see by my Disguise I wish to be unknown.
Figaro.
Pardon me, I go.
Count.
No, rather stay, I am waiting here; and two Persons talking, are less liable to be suspected, than one who saunters, let us seem to converse; well and this Employment.
Figaro.
The Minister, paying due Regard to your Excellency’s Recommendation, appointed me immediately to the Office of Apothecary’s Assistant.
Count.
In the Military Hospital?
Figaro.
No, in the Royal Stables of Andalusia.
Count.
That was an honourable Preferment.
Figaro.
The Place was not so indifferent neither; for having in my Department the Care of the Drugs, I frequently had an Opportunity of selling to my fellow Creatures excellent Horse Medicines.
Count.
And by those Means kill’d his Majesty’s liege Subjects.
Figaro.
Why there is no such Thing as an universal Remedy; but I have more than once succeeded with Gallicans, Catalonians, Auvergnans, and wandering Scotchmen.
Count.
And wherefore, then, did’st thou quit it?
Figaro.
Quit it, my Lord!—It quitted me: Some evil-minded Villain hurt my Interest with the Minister. [Heroically.] Pale, ghastly Envy, with her crooked Talons.
Count.
Oh! Mercy! Mercy!—And dost thou make Verses as well as Medicines? I thought I perceived thee scribbling on one Knee, and singing thy Works so early.
Figaro.
This unfortunate Turn was the Cause of my Disgrace; when the Minister heard I had made Verses (tolerable good ones too, I may without Vanity say) Poesies to Cloris, sent Riddles to the Diaries, and that some Madrigals in my style were handed about—In short, when he found I was printed alive, he took the Matter in a serious Light, and turned me out of my employment, under Pretext that the Love of the Muses, and Attention to Horse affairs were incompatible.
Count.
Most profound Wisdom! And did you not remonstrate?
Figaro.
No, I thought myself blest in being forgotten; knowing from Observation, that a great Man shews us a particular Kindness when he does us no Injury.
Count.
I do not believe thou tellest all the Truth; I remember thou had’st but a dubious Character when in my Service.
Figaro.
My God! my Lord, you rich Folks always would have us poor ones be entirely without faults.
Count.
Idle, debauch’d...
Figaro.
According to the Perfections you fine Gentleman expect in your Servants, does your Excellency think many of your Acquaintance worthy the Office of Valet-de-Chambre?
Count, [aside.
(That’s not bad;) And so you retir’d to this City.
Figaro.
Not immediately.
Count, [stopping him.
A Moment—I thought it was her—But proceed, I hear you.
Figaro.
Return’d to Madrid, I tried once more my literary Talents, and the Stage seem’d to offer me a Field of Honour.
Count.
Oh merciful!
Figaro.
[While he speaks the Count fixes his Eyes on the Jealousie] In Truth, I cannot guess why I had not the greatest Success; for I had taken Care to place a Party in the Galleries, with Hands like Battledores, and forbad Gloves, Canes, and every dull Token of Applause; and upon my Honour before the Curtain was drawn up, the House appeared most favourably disposed: but Party—
Count.
Oh! poor Mr. Author, your Works were made a Party-affair of, were they?
Figaro.
And why not mine as well as another’s? The Play was hiss’d, and totally underwent Damnation; but if ever I have them assembled again—
Count.
Dullness will amply revenge thee.
Figaro.
A Curse on them, how I will treat ’em!
Count.
Hush! You’ll be carried before the Magistrates for Swearing.
Figaro.
No fear of that from my Antagonists, those Gentleman respect Justice too much to look it in the Face; and understand Punctilios so exactly, as never to dispute Place, even with a Bailiff’s Follower.
Count.
Thy merry Rage amuses me; but thou hast omitted telling me why thou left Madrid.
Figaro.
It certainly was at the Instigation of my good Genius, since I have here the Happiness of meeting with your Excellency. Perceiving the Literati of that City waged continual War among themselves, and that there were Critics of all Magnitude and Degrees of Strength, as Vultures, carrion Crows, small carnivorous Birds, Wasps, Flies, Gnats, and Hornets, ever ready to devour the remains of such unfortunate Authors as fall in their intestine Skirmishes: Tir’d of my Pen, my Neighbours, and myself, having weighty Debts, light Pockets, and being by sad experience convinc’d that the certain Income of the Razor was more to be depended on, than the glorious one of the Pen, I took french leave of Madrid and made a sentimental, philosophical Journey, through the two Castiles, la Mancha, Extramadura, Sienna, Morenna, and Andalusia: was well receiv’d in some Towns, imprison’d in others, ever above the Frowns of Fortune, despising Fools, defying Knaves, laughing at Poverty, and shaving all the World before me; so at last you find me here settled in Seville, and ready to serve your Excellency in all you shall please to command me.
Count.
How hast thou acquired so merry a Philosophy.
Figaro.
Accustomed to Misfortunes I laugh at every Event, least on consideration I shou’d find myself more dispos’d to cry; but wherefore, my Lord, are your Eyes always fixt that Way.
Count.
Let’s get away.
Figaro.
Why so?
Count.
Make haste Blockhead, or you’ll ruin me
[both withdraw.]
SCENE III.
THE JEALOUSIE ON THE FIRST FLOOR OPENS AND BARTHOLO AND ROSINA APPEAR AT THE WINDOW.
Rosina.
How agreeable it is to breath the fresh Air! this Jalousie is so seldom open.
Bartholo.
What Paper is that in your hand?
Rosina.
Some Verses of a Song in "Labour in Vain," which my singing Master gave me yesterday.
Bartholo.
"Labour in Vain," what’s that "Labour in Vain?"
Rosina.
It’s a new Play.
Bartholo.
Something dramatic, some new Piece of Folly.
Rosina.
I know nothing about it.
Bartholo.
The News Papers will take it and the Author to Task;—what an ignorant Age we live in!
Rosina.
You are always finding Fault with the poor Age we live in.
Bartholo.
Oh! I beg Pardon for taking so much Liberty; but pray what has it produced? A Variety of Follies, Free-thinking, Electricity, Attraction, Toleration, Inoculation, Jesuits Bark, the Encyclopedy, and Loads of nonsensical Plays.
Rosina [drops the Paper out of the Window.
Oh! my Song! My Song is fall’n out of the Window, while I was listening to you; pray make haste, run down, or it will certainly be lost.
Bartholo.
What the Devil was you thinking of? Don’t you know how to hold a Bit of Paper in your hand?
[He leaves the Balcony. Rosina looks down into the street and makes a sign.
Rosina.
Hist! hist! Take it up and retire quickly.
[The Count appears, snatches it up and withdraws.
Bartholo, [comes out of the House and seeks.
Where about is it? I can find nothing.
Rosina.
Under the Balcony close to the Wall.
Bartholo.
A fine Errand, this you’ve sent me on—somebody has certainly been here.
Rosina.
I have seen no Body.
Bartholo [to himself.
And I was simple enough to look for it.---Oh! Bartholo, my Friend, thou art a mere Dupe; this may warn you in future not to open Jealousies towards the Street.
Rosina [still in the Balcony.
My Situation must plead my Excuse; alone, confin’d, subject to the Persecutions of a Man I abhor, attempting my Liberty sure is no Crime.
Bartholo [appearing at the Balcony.
Please to walk in, Signora; this Time it was my Fault, you dropt your Song, but I give you my Word the like Misfortune shall not happen to you again.
[He locks the Jealousies.
SCENE IV.
COUNT AND FIGARO ENTER SOFTLY.
Count.
Now they are retir’d let us examine this Song; it certainly contains some Mystery.---’Tis a Letter!
Figaro.
He ask’d what Labour in Vain was.
Count [reads hastily,
“Your Assiduity excites my Curiosity; as soon as my Guardian is gone out, sing carelessly to the Tune of this Song, some Words which may inform me of the Name, Condition, and Intentions of him who appears so obstinately attached to the unfortunate Rosina.”
Figaro, [mimicking Rosina.
Oh my Song! My Song is fallen down, pray run down and seek it (laughs) Ha! ha! Oh these Women! If by Chance one was born free from Art, lock her up, and---
Count.
My dear Rosina!
Figaro.
Oh! my Lord, ’tis needless I should trouble you with any further Questions on the Motives of your Disguise---You make Love in Perspective.
Count.
Thou hast guest the Cause, but if thou pratest---
Figaro.
I prate! Not to tire you with long Protestations of my inviolable Attachment, or the extreme Delicacy of my Sentiments in Points of Honour, I’ll say but one Word, my Interest will answer for me.
Count.
I understand thee.---Know then about six Months past I met on the Prado a young Person so beautiful---(but thou hast just now seen her) all the Researches I made after her in Madrid were vain, ’tis but within these few Days I have discover’d that her name is Rosina, an Orphan of a noble Family, and married to a Physician of this City call’d Bartholo.—
Figaro.
In Faith, a rare Bird! and very hard to come at, but who told you she is the Doctor’s Wife?
Count.
Every Body.
Figaro.
’Tis no such Thing, he spread that report on his Arrival at Madrid to keep off Suitors, as yet she is only his Ward, but will ere long---
Count, [with earnestness.
Never! had the fatal Knot been tied, no human Means shou’d have prevented me from informing her, how poignant wou’d have been my Regret; but since I find her free I will not lose a Moment to secure that Freedom, and save her from the horrid Fetters which are forging for her; but dost thou know this Guardian?
Figaro.
As well as my own Mother.
Count.
What sort of a Man is he?
Figaro [with vivacity
He is a fat, short, grey old Man, with a close shav’d Chin and shining Face, who peeps, watches, scolds, and grunts, continually.
Count [out of patience.
Oh! I have seen him, pray what’s his disposition?
Figaro, [with Vivacity.
Brutal, avaricious, amorous, jealous to Excess of his Ward, who in return hates him mortally.
Count [impatiently.
Then his Means of Pleasing are—
Figaro.
None.
Count.
So much the better, I shall punish a Knave in making myself happy.
Figaro.
This will be doing at the same Time a public and private Good! what a Master-piece of Morality!
Count.
You say the Fear of Suitors to Rosina, makes him shut his Doors to all, but his Intimates.
Figaro.
’Gainst every Soul, he’d Stop—each Crevice.
Count.
The Devil! that’s bad; and cannot you contrive to get Access?
Figaro.
Cannot I? Imprimis, the House I live in belongs to the Doctor, who gives me Lodging gratis.
Count.
Ha, Ha!
Figaro.
Yes, and I in return, as a Mark of Gratitude, promise him five Doubloons a Year, but that also gratis.
Count.
Then, thou art his Tenant?
Figaro.
Aye, and likewise his Barber Surgeon, Apothecary; no one in this House, is ever combed, shaved, bled,—but by the Hand of your humble Servant.
Count (embracing Figaro.)
Ah my Friend Figaro, thou will be my best Benefactor, my guardian Angel.
Figaro.
The Devil! how quickly Utility levels Distinction! grant me kind Fortune, every Master to be in Love.
Count.
Happy Figaro! thou may’st approach Rosina, thou wilt behold her! what Happiness?
Figaro.
How unfortunate it is that you, and not I are in Love with Rosina; if we cou’d change Places.
Count.
Oh! could we but blind the Argus’s who watch her!
Figaro.
I was considering about that.
Count.
If but for twelve Hours only—
Figaro.
By keeping People employ’d in their own Affairs, they are prevented in meddling with those of others.
Count.
Doubtless, but what!
Figaro.
Methinks the Pharmacopeia might furnish us some little innocent means—
Count.
Oh Villain!
Figaro.
Did I tell you I meant to hurt them? they all have occasion for physical Assistance, and I can lay them under courses, the very same Day.
Count.
But the Doctor may suspect.
Figaro.
We must use such Dispatch, that Suspicion may not have time to arise, a Thought has just occurr’d to me, the Regiment of Royal Infantry is just arriv’d in this City.
Count.
The Colonel is my friend.
Figaro.
Good, you shall introduce yourself to the Doctor in the uniform, with your Billet for Quarters, he cannot avoid receiving you, and I’ll conduct the rest.
Count.
Excellent!
Figaro.
It will not be amiss if you pretend to be in Liquor.
Count.
Of what use wou’d that be?
Figaro.
To lull his Suspicions, and make him suppose you more likely to sleep than intrigue in his house.
Count.
Incomparably plan’d! and why will not thou go.
Figaro.
I! we shall be very fortunate, if he does not know you whom he has never seen, and how to introduce you afterwards?
Count.
That’s true.
Figaro.
Can you, do you think act the part of a Cavalier in Liquor.
Count.
Thou jests with me. [assuming the Voice of a drunken Man]—Is not this the house of Doctor Bartholo Friend?
Figaro.
That’s not amiss, only stagger more—(In a more drunken tone of Voice) Is not this the House?
Count.
Oh fye! that’s the Drunkenness of a Blackguard.
Figaro.
’Tis the best Kind! and the most jovial.
Count.
The Door opens.
Figaro.
’Tis the Doctor; we must withdraw, till he is gone.
SCENE V.
COUNT AND FIGARO HID; BARTHOLO AS HE LEAVES THE HOUSE SAYS,
Bartholo.
I’ll return instantly, let no one come in; what Folly it was in me to go down, sure her desiring it of me was enough to raise my suspicions, and Bazile does not come tho’ he had promis’d, that ere now every Thing shou’d be ready for our Marriage, that it might be secretly concluded to Morrow; but no news of him, I must go and see what can cause this Delay.
SCENE VI.
COUNT AND FIGARO, APPEAR.
Count.
Heavens! what did I hear; to morrow he weds Rosina in private!
Figaro.
My Lord, the more difficulty there is to your succeeding, only adds to the Necessity of your Undertaking.
Count.
Who is this Bazile, that assists him in this Marriage.
Figaro.
A reduc’d Gentleman who teaches his Ward Music; infatuated to his own Performance, he is knavish and needy, idolizes Money, wou’d go on his Knees before a Piaster, and may be easily bribed, my Lord [looking at the Jalousie] there, there.
Count.
Where! where!
Figaro.
Behind the Jalousie, there she is, there she is, dont’ look.
Count.
Why?
Figaro.
Did she not in her letter desire you wou’d sing carelessly, but there! there she is.
Count.
Since I find I have made some Progress in her favour, without being known, I will not quit the Name of Lindor, my Triumph will be more compleat. But how shall I set Words to this Music; who never cou’d make a common Distich?
[he unfolds the Paper which Rosina threw out of the Window.
Figaro.
Whatever comes first into your Head, Lovers are never severe Critics, take my Guittar.
Count.
To what purpose! I play so intolerably bad!
Figaro.
Can any Man like you be ignorant of any Arts, strike with the back of your Hand, thrum, thrum, thrum, were you to sing without a Guittar every school Boy in Seville wou’d run after you, in spite of your Disguise, you’d soon be known.
[Figaro, stands close to the Wall under the Balcony.
[Count. Sings walking accompanies his Voice with his Guittar.
Figaro.
In a low Voice. Very well; come take Courage, my Lord.
Count, sings.
SONG by the Count. [*Music, in French]
Behold your Lover fearful grown,
All his fond Hopes are chas’d away,
He durst adore you whilst unknown,
But now your Will he dreads t’obey.
In me an humble Youth behold,
With me an humble Lot you’ll prove.
I’ve neither Titles, Gems, nor Gold,
Yet am I passing rich in Love.
Here poor Lindor shall chaunt his Strain.
At Morn, at Noon, at Eve, at Night,
And tho’ his Vows prove but in vain,
Your Beauties still shall bless his Sight.
Figaro, [comes to the Count and kisses the bottom of his Garment with a shrug.
On my Soul this exceeds all.
Count.
Figaro?
Figaro.
Your Excellency.
Count.
Do you think she heard me?
Rosina [sings within, they hear the Windows shut suddenly.
Each hour I’m convinc’d that my Lindor is charming,
Soft thoughts my fond Heart are forever alarming.
Figaro.
Will you believe now, she heard you?
Count.
She has shut her Windows, some one no doubt enter’d her Appartment.
Figaro.
Oh, no Matter! you have caught her my Lord! Did not you remark how the poor Thing seem’d to tremble as she sung.
Count.
Dear Angel! she made use of the same Means she taught me: each Hour I’m convinc’d that my Lindor is charming—what Graces, what Wit!
Figaro.
What Beauty, what Cunning, what Love!
Count.
And do’st thou think she will be mine Figaro?
Figaro.
She’ll sooner come thro’ those iron Bars, if necessary, than disappoint you.
Count.
Then ’tis fix’d, and I’ll be thine Rosina, during life.
Figaro.
You forget; she is no longer listening to you.
Count.
Do you hear Figaro? I have but one Word to tell you; I mean Rosina for my Wife, and if you are faithful and assist me in my project of concealing my Name—you understand me, you know.
Figaro.
I’ll do my utmost; now, my Boy, Figaro fly to meet thy fortune with open Arms.
Count.
Let us retire to avoid Suspicion.
Figaro, [hastily.
I’ll enter here, and by my Magic Art, with one stroke of my Wand, awaken Love, lull Vigilance asleep, bewilder Jealousy, Rouze Intrigue, and overturn every Obstacle that comes in our Way; you, my Lord, must haste to my House and equip yourself with Regimentals, the Billet for your Quarters and Gold in your Pocket.
Count.
Gold, for what Use?
Figaro.
For what Use? for every Use; ’tis the Sinews, the Soul of Intrigue.
Count.
Don’t be angry, Figaro; I’ll take care to bring Plenty.
Figaro.
I will be with you quickly.
Count.
Figaro?
Figaro.
What wou’d you have?
Count.
Here take thy Guittar?
Figaro.
Surely, I am bewilder’d to forget my Guittar.
[Exit.
Count.
And your Direction, thoughtless?
Figaro.
I believe I’m Planet-struck! my Shop’s not ten Doors from thence, ’tis painted blue, Casement Windows, three bleeding Cups lined with red Rags in the Air, an Eye in Hand, underneath is Written, Concilio Manuque, and the great Name of Figaro, in brilliant Letters of Gold.
[Exit.