Act 2
SCENE I.
REPRESENTS ROSINA’S APARTMENT, THE WINDOW AT THE END OF THE THEATRE SHUT WITH A BAR’D JALOUSIE.
ROSINA [ALONE, A LIGHT IN HER HAND, TAKES PAPER OFF OF THE TABLE AND GOES TO WRITE.
Marcelina is indisposed, all the other Servants are employ’d, and no one at leisure to observe my Actions, I know not if these Walls have Ears and Eyes, or that my Argus has some evil Spirit that’s ever ready to inform his Master: but every Word I utter, every Step I take, he, as by Magic, instantly guesses, and even discovers my Intentions; alas Lindor! [seals her Letter] I’ll e’en prepare my Letter, tho’ I know not how, nor when I shall convey it to him; this Morning looking thro’ the Jalousie I saw him in Conversation with the Barber Figaro, he’s an honest Man, that has sometimes seem’d to pity me; if I could speak to him!
SCENE II.
ROSINA AND FIGARO.
Rosina, [in a surprise.
Oh, Mr. Figaro, I’m very glad to see you!
Figaro.
I thank you Ma’am, I hope, I see you well.
Rosina.
Not very well, this solitude destroys me.
Figaro.
I do not doubt it, it only fattens Fools.
Rosina.
Who was it you held such earnest Conversation with yonder? I did not hear it! but—
Figaro.
It was a young Student my Relation, a Youth of promising Genius, excellent Talents, acute Wit, most refined Sentiments, and a very pleasing Figure.
Rosina.
Very pleasing I assure you! very pleasing! pray what is his Name?
Figaro.
Lindor, Ma’am, he has no Fortune; but had he staid at Madrid, I’m sure, with his Parts, he would have found very good Employment.
Rosina.
He surely will here—a young Man, such as you describe, cannot remain neglected.
Figaro, [aside]
Very well [aloud] But he has one great failing which I fear will impede his Advancement.
Rosina.
A Failing did you say, Mr. Figaro! a Failing, and are you sure of it.
Figaro.
He is in Love.
Rosina.
In Love, and do you call that a Failing?
Figaro.
Why truly, it only is one relative to his ill fortune.
Rosina.
Oh how unjust is Fate! and does he name the object of his Passion? I cannot help being curious.
Figaro.
You are the last Person in the World, I would chuse to impart it to.
Rosina hastily.
Why, Mr. Figaro, I assure you I am very discreet; this young Man is your Relation, and I cannot help interesting myself in whatever concerns him, so pray tell me.
Figaro [looking slyly at her.
Then, Ma’am, imagine to yourself the prettiest little Girl you ever saw, with a soft, tender, blooming, delicate Shape, Ivory Neck, taper Arms, snowy Hands, and Lips, Cheeks and Eyes that surpass all Description!
Rosina.
And lives in this Town?
Figaro.
Aye, and in this Neighbourhood.
Rosina.
Perhaps in this Street.
Figaro.
Very near me.
Rosina.
How fortunate this is for your Relation, and her Name is—
Figaro.
I have not nam’d her.
Rosina [hastily.
That is the only Thing you have forgot—Pray tell me instantly; for should some one enter, I cou’d never know.
Figaro.
If you must absolutely know, who this lovely Creature is, I’ll tell you, it is the Ward of your Guardian.
Rosina.
The Ward!
Figaro.
Of Doctor Bartholo.
Rosina, [with emotion.
Oh fie, Mr. Figaro, I can’t believe you, indeed I don’t.
Figaro.
And he is dying with Impatience, to tell you so himself.
Rosina.
Oh dear, you make me tremble!
Figaro.
O you must not be frighten’d: Besides you are perfectly safe, I am just come from disposing of the Doctor’s Spies, and will answer for their good Behaviour during the next twenty-four Hours.
Rosina.
If he really loves me, he will shew it, by remaining perfectly at Rest.
Figaro.
Oh, Madam, can Love and Rest dwell in the same Breast?—The Youths of our Days are so unhappy as to have only this sad Alternative;—Love without Repose, or Repose without Love.
Rosina, [looking down.
Repose without Love seems—
Figaro.
Extremely insipid, Love without Repose seems much more desireable; for my part, were I a Woman.
Rosina.
It is certain a young Person, cannot prevent a Gentleman having an Esteem for her; but if he is imprudent, Mr. Figaro, he will ruin us.
Figaro [aside.
He will ruin us. [aloud] Would it not be well done to write him a Line or two to caution him? The least Hint from you would have great Weight.
Rosina [gives him the Letter she had wrote.
I have not Time to begin this over again, but when you deliver it, tell him—be sure to tell him.—
[listens.
Figaro.
Nobody’s coming, I assure you Ma’am.
Rosina.
That what I do is from pure Friendship.
Figaro.
Oh that’s very plain, Love wears quite a different Aspect.
Rosina.
Yes indeed, pure Friendship! I only fear shou’d be dishearten’d by Difficulties, and—
Figaro.
Yes shou’d take Fire, you know, Madam, the same Wind that blows out a Light, will blow up Embers, and we are exactly like those Embers; for by talking only of his Passion, there exhaled such a Heat, that my Heart is almost in a Flame, tho’ only a Looker on!
Rosina.
Oh merciful! I hear my Guardian, if he should find you here; go thro’ the Closet my Harpsichord stands in, and slip thro’ the back Stairs as softly as possible.
Figaro.
Don’t be frighten’d. [aside] This is better than all my Observations.
[he retires in the Closet.
SCENE III.
Rosina [alone.
I die with Anxiety to know he got away safe; O how I like this good Figaro! He is so honest a Man, so kind a Relation; Ah! here comes my Tyrant; I must return to my Work.
[Blows out the Bougee, and sits to her Tambour.
SCENE IV.
BARTHOLO; ROSINA.
Bartholo [in a passion.
A Curse upon him for a knavish Scoundrel, that Pick-pocket Figaro; I cannot go out of my House without being certain on my Return.
Rosina.
Lord, Sir, What makes you so angry?
Bartholo.
That infernal Barber has within this half Hour disabled every Servant I have, he has given a Narcotic to Sprightly, a Sternulative to Youthfull, bled Marcelina in the Foot, even my Mule has not escap’d him, he has clap’d a monstrous Cataplasm over the only Eye the poor Beast saw with; All this because he owes me a hundred Piasters and wants to swell his Bill; but let him come with it if he dare;—What not a Servant in the Anti-chamber? One comes in here with as little Ceremony, as into a public Market.
Rosina.
And who but yourself, can come in here?
Bartholo.
I’d rather be too cautious then too secure, this Town swarms with enterprizing Vagabonds;—even this Morning did not somebody pick up the Song you dropt, whilst I went down to look for it.
Rosina.
You delight in giving Consequence to Triffles, perhaps the Wind blew it away, or some chance Passenger found it.
Bartholo.
The Wind! Some chance Passenger! It is always one placed for the Purpose, who picks up the Papers a Woman affects to let drop, as by Accident.
Rosina.
Affects, Sir?
Bartholo.
Yes, Madam, affects.
Rosina [aside.
Oh! the wicked old Wretch.
Bartholo.
But the like Misfortune won’t happen again; for I shall have these Bars secur’d immediately.
Rosina.
Do more, wall up the Windows, the Difference is but trifling, between a Prison and a Dungeon!
Bartholo.
As for those towards the Street, it would not perhaps be amiss; I hope the Barber did not enter your Apartment.
Rosina.
Does he also disturb your Rest?
Bartholo.
As much as any other.
Rosina.
Your Replies are exceeding polite!
Bartholo.
Aye, aye, trust every one, and you’ll soon have your House incomparably furnish’d, with a good Wife to cuckold you, good Friends to be her Gallants, and as good Servants for their Purpose.
Rosina.
What will you not allow one may have sufficient Principle to withstand the Seductions of Figaro?
Bartholo.
Who the Devil can comprehend these female Niceties?
Rosina [angrily.
If every Man has sufficient Charms to please me, whence comes it, I have so unalterable an Aversion to you?
Bartholo [vext.
Whence? Whence comes it? But you have not answer’d my Question about the Barber?
Rosina.
Know then he has been here, I saw him, spoke to him, and will not conceal to you that I found him very agreeable, and may you die with Spight at hearing of it.
[Exit.
SCENE V.
Bartholo [alone.
Oh the Rascals! the Dogs of Footmen! Youthfull? Sprightly? That cursed Sprightly!
SCENE VI.
BARTHOLO, SPRIGHTLY.
Sprightly [comes in yawning and half asleep.
Yah, yah, yah, yah!
Bartholo.
Where was you, you careless Scoundrel, when the Barber got in here?
Sprightly.
Sir,—Yah, yah, yah, yah, yah—
Bartholo.
Contriving some Mischief or other, I suppose, and so you did not see him?
Sprightly.
Indeed, but I did see him; and he found me very ill, as he told me, and I believe he was right; for as he spoke of it, I felt a Numbness in all my Limbs, just as he said I had, yah, yah, yah—
Bartholo [counterfeiting him.
Yaw, yaw, yaw! Just as he said, Yah, yah, yah. Where is the Rascal Youthfull? What Business had this Fellow to give the Lad Medicines without my prescribing! There is some conceal’d Villainy.
SCENE VII.
THE PRECEDING ACTORS.—YOUTHFULL COMES IN AS AN OLD MAN LEANING ON HIS STICK. SNEEZES SEVERAL TIMES.
Sprightly [still yawning calls.
Youthfull.
Youthfull [comes in sneezing.
Snee—
Bartholo.
Come hither, wilt thou never have done sneezing? Or wilt thou sneeze till Doomsday?
Youthfull.
I have sneezed above fif [sneezes] ty [sneezes] times [sneezes] in a Minute—this sneezing [sneezes] has almost shook me to pieces.
Bartholo.
How, how, I ask’d you both if any body had been into Rosina’s Apartments, and neither of you told me the Barber had.
Sprightly [yawning.
Yaw,—Why as to Mr. Figaro I did not think he was anybody. Yah, yah, yaw.
Bartholo.
I would lay any Thing that artful Rogue, and this Puppy have an Understanding together.
Sprightly [crying foolishly.
I, yah, I understand, yah, yah.
Youthfull [sneezing.
But, Sir, is there any [sneezes] any Justice? [sneezes.]
Bartholo.
Justice! What insolence, such Wretches to talk of Justice, ’tis well amongst yourselves; but I, I that am your Master insist on being right.
Youthfull [sneezing.
But, Sir, When a Thing is true!
Bartholo.
If I will not have it so, it cannot be true; if once these Rascals are allowed to be right, all Authority will soon vanish, not a Shadow will remain e’er long.
Youthfull [sneezing.
I [sneezes] had rather be paid [sneezes] my Wages, [sneezes] and turn’d off. [sneezes.]
Sprightly [crying and yawning.
A yah! poor honest Yah, Man is treated—Yah, here like Yah, a Pick-pocket, yah, yah.
Bartholo.
Get from my Sight thou poor honest Man, and thou Chi, cha, chi, Damn ’em both for two Ideots, the one sneezes in my Face, while the other yawns instead of answering me.
Youthfull.
If it [sneezes] was not for La Signora, no Mortal could live a Half an Hour in your House.
[Exit sneezing.
SCENE VIII.
BARTHOLO, DON BAZILE. FIGARO CONCEALED IN THE CLOSET, PEEPS OUT NOW AND THEN AND LISTENS.
Bartholo.
Ah, Don Bazile, do you come to give Rosina her Lesson of Music?
Bazile.
That’s the least of my Business.
Bartholo.
I was at your House not long since, but did not find you there.
Bazile.
I was out upon your Business, and have learnt some disagreeable News.
Bartholo.
To you?
Bazile.
No, to you; Count Almaviva is in this Town.
Bartholo.
Speak softly, is it him that caus’d such researches after Rosina in Madrid?
Bazile.
The same. He has Lodgings in the great Square, and goes out every Day in disguise.
Bartholo.
Without doubt this Intelligence concerns me: What can be done?
Bazile.
If he was a private Person, one cou’d easily get him out of the Way.
Bartholo.
Yes, by keeping a close Watch for him every Night, and arm’d Cap-a-pee, with Dagger, Stilletto, Blunderbuss.
Bazile.
Bone Deus! and so involve oneself in Mischief! No, no, a little Calumny properly managed may do much in the Business.
Bartholo.
That’s a strange Way to get rid of an Enemy!
Bazile.
Calumny, Sir! You are not acquainted with what you so much despise, I have known Persons of the most exalted Probity ready to sink under it, there is nothing too base, horrible or absurd for the idlers in a great City to believe, and we have People here of excellent Address for such an Undertaking. Who with a Shrug, a Nod, a Whisper, which only skims the surface of Malice, as a Swallow does the Earth before Rain,—pianissimo in gentle Murmurs, the poisonous Gale shedding its baneful Influence, where e’er it passes; then piano, piano, creeps into the Ear, there taking Root, sprouts and flourishes, and reinforzado from Mouth to Mouth, it spreads like Pestilence, then suddenly no one knows how, bursts forth with all its Horrors, and thank Heaven, becomes a public Crescendo, a popular Opinion, a general Chorus of Hatred and Proscription! Tell me then who can resist it?
Bartholo.
A fine Rigmarole truly, What the Devil has piano Crescendo to do with my Situation?
Bazile.
To do with your Situation? What is always done to drive away an Enemy, must now be done to prevent your’s from approaching.
Bartholo.
A Fig for Calumny! I hope to be married to Rosina before she can learn, there exists such a Being as the Count.
Bazile.
In that Case your have not a Moment to lose.
Bartholo.
And on whom else Bazile does it depend besides yourself? I have entrusted you with the Conduct of the whole Affair.
Bazile.
Yes, but your Restrictions as to Expence will retard it greatly; for in legal Harmony, an unequal Marriage, an iniquitous Decree, a fraudulent Conveyance, &c. are Discords, which must always be prepared and resolved by the perfect Accordance of Gold.
Bartholo, [giving him Money.
Well, well, here you may proceed your own way, if you do but use Expedition.
Bazile.
Now you speak to the Purpose;—To-morrow all shall be compleated; but Care must be taken that no one gets Access to your Ward this Day.
Bartholo.
Oh! Trust me for that.—Pray will you come to Night?
Bazile.
Don’t expect me; your Marriage Articles will take me up the whole day—Don’t expect me.
Bartholo, [accompanying him.
Your Servant.
Bazile.
Do not move; I pray you, Doctor, not to trouble yourself.
Bartholo.
Permit me, I want to shut the Door after you.
[Exit.
SCENE IX.
FIGARO, ALONE, COMING OUT OF THE CLOSET.
A very wise Precaution! But I shall take the Liberty of opening it, that I may go out, and the Count come in. What a Villain is that Bazille! ’Tis happy for the World he’s as great a Fool as he’s a Knave. A Rank, a Character, a Family, or a fortune are necessary to a Calumniator; but Bazile is so insignificant, nay, has so contemptible a Character, that he may without Prejudice to any Body tell a Thousand Lyes, for no Mortal will believe one of them.
SCENE X.
ENTER ROSINA, RUNNING.
Ah! What are you still here, Mr. Figaro?
Figaro.
Most fortunately for you, Ma’am; for your Guardian and Musick Master, supposing themselves safe from being heard, have been opening their Hearts.
Rosina.
And you listen’d to their Conversation;—Indeed, Figaro, it was very ill done.
Figaro.
It was the only way of hearing it.—Your Guardian intends you the Honour of his Hand Tomorrow.
Rosina.
Heavens! What shall I do?
Figaro.
Fear nothing, Signora; I promise you we will give him so much other Employment, that he shall have no Time to think of his Nuptials.
Rosina.
Go down the little Stair-case; you make me die with Fear.
[Exit Figaro.
SCENE XI.
ENTER BARTHOLO.
Rosina.
You had Somebody with you, Sir?
Bartholo.
’Twas Don Bazile I conducted to the Door for a particular Reason; you, I suppose, had rather it had been sweet Mr. Figaro.
Rosina.
’Tis perfectly alike to me, I can assure you.
Bartholo.
I should be glad to know what the Barber had of such Importance to converse with you upon?
Rosina.
If I must tell you, he came to give me an Account of poor Marcelina’s Health, who, he says, he found very poorly.
Bartholo.
Give you an Account! more likely he came to deliver you some Letter.
Rosina.
And pray, Sir, from whom do you suppose it came?
Bartholo.
Oh, from whom! From such a one a Woman takes care never to name. How should I know? Perhaps a Reply to the Paper you had the Misfortune to drop out of the Window.
Rosina [aside.
He has guessed very right. [aloud.] You deserve it should be so.
Bartholo, [looking at her Fingers.
And it was so, and you have also been a writing.
Rosina, [with Embarrassment.
It would be droll enough if you could make me agree with you, I did.
Bartholo, [taking hold of her Hand.
No, not I; but the Ink is yet on your Fingers. Ha! artful Girl.
Rosina [aside.
Cursed Man!
Bartholo.
A Woman supposes herself quite safe because she is alone.
[takes hold of her Hand.
Rosina.
Oh! without Doubt a fine Proof indeed! Pray, Sir, have done; you wrench my Arm. In twisting up the little Bougee, I burnt my Finger, and dipt it in the Ink to cure it, for I have often heard ’twas a certain Cure.
Bartholo.
That’s what you have been about, is it? Now let us examine a second Witness, and see if he will confirm the Testimony of the first. How many Sheets of Paper have you here? I know there were six this Morning, for I counted them twice over.
Rosina [aside.
Oh! how stupid! The Sixth.
Bartholo [counting.
Three, four, five, Oh! Oh! the sixth Sheet is gone.
Rosina, [with downcast Looks.
The Sixth? I made Use of it to wrap up some Sugar Plumbs I sent Figaro’s little Girl?
Bartholo.
To Figaro’s little Girl? That Pen was new this Morning: ’tis row half worn out; but that’s with writing the Direction to Figaro’s little Girl, I suppose.
Rosina [aside.
This Man has an Instinct of Jealousy. [aloud] I made Use of the Pen to draw a Flower in the Waistcoat I am embroidering for you on the Tambour.
Bartholo.
How ingenious! But when you wish to be believed, Child, do not blush at disguising repeatedly the Truth; you are not quite perfect in the Art.
Rosina.
And who can help blushing, when you draw such malicious Conclusions from the most innocent Actions?
Bartholo.
I certainly am in the Wrong. She burnt her Finger, dipt it in Ink to cure it, wrap’d up a Paper of Sugar Plumbs for Figaro’s little Girl, drew a Flower on my Waistcoat—What could be more innocent! How many Lyes heap’d on each other to veil a single Deed. I was alone, Nobody saw me, I am sure I may safely tell a Story; but the Finger remains ink’d, the Pen’s half worn out, the Paper missing. ’Tis impossible to think of every Thing; but most assuredly, Signora, when I go out again a double lock’d Door shall secure you.
SCENE XII.
Bartholo.
What would this Man have? A Soldier! Go into your Closet, Rosina.
Count [sings, and advances toward Rosina.
Which of you two Ladies is call’d Doctor Balordo? [Aside to Rosina] I am Lindor.
Bartholo.
I am Doctor Bartholo, Fellow.
Rosina, [aside.
He nam’d Lindor, methinks.
Count.
Balordo or Barkholloa, it’s all one to me, only tell me which of you two is him. [To Rosina, shewing her a Paper] Take this Letter.
Bartholo.
Which! Surely you may see it is I—Go in, Rosina; this Fellow’s in Liquor.
Rosina.
It is for that Reason I would stay; you are alone, and the Presence of a Woman may be a Restraint upon him.
Bartholo.
Go in; go in; I am not afraid. [Exit Rosina.
SCENE XIII.
Count.
Oh! I could not help knowing you, Doctor, for you answer perfectly your Description.
Bartholo, [whilst the Count puts up a Letter.
What’s that? What’s that you are hiding in your Pocket?
Count.
What! That which I hide is what I do not want you to see.
Bartholo.
By my Description: These Fellows always think they are speaking to their Comrades.
Count.
Do you think it then so difficult a Matter to describe you? List to the Description.
[sings.
This famed Doctor may be known,
By shaking Head, and by bald Crown,
And by the Manners of a Clown.
Bartholo.
What do you mean? Are you come here to insult me? Get out of my House this Instant.
Count.
Get out of your House! Oh fie! That’s not very civil.—Can you read, Doctor?
Bartholo.
Another impertinent Question.
Count.
Oh! don’t let that put you out of Humour; for I that am at least as good a Physician as you—
Bartholo.
What do you say?
Count.
Say! That I am a Physician to all the Horses in the Regiment, and that was the Reason they billetted me, at a Brother Doctor’s.
Bartholo.
What? Dare compare me to a Farrier.
COUNT SINGS. [*Music in French]
CATCH.
Brother, sure you’re scarce awake,
I must no Precedence take,
Of the learned Sons of Galen:
For when they procure no Ease,
And cannot cure the Disease,
They take off the Person ailing.
[at the End of the Song.] Is not this very civil?
Bartholo.
It ill becomes an ignorant Maker of Horse Shoes to turn the most useful and learned Science into Ridicule.
Count.
Oh! very useful to its Practitioners.
Bartholo.
An Art whose Knowledge and Wonders the Sun shines to enlighten.
Count.
Whose Ignorance and Blunders our Mother Earth conceals.
Bartholo.
It is easily seen, you ill-bred Puppy, that you are accustomed to converse only with Horses.
Count.
Converse with Horses! Oh! Doctor, for so learned a Man as you are; is it not notorious that a Farrier cures his Patients without asking them a single Question, whilst Physicians ask theirs a Hundred?
Bartholo.
Without curing them you wou’d say?
Count.
It’s you, yourself who said it.
Bartholo.
Who the Devil could send me this cursed drunken Fellow to plague me?
Count.
I believe you are paying me Compliments.
Bartholo.
What Business brings you here? What do you want?
Count, feigning to be in a Passion.
Oh! So you are affronted—What do I want!—Cannot you see what I want?
SCENE XIV.
ENTER ROSINA IN HASTE.
Pray Mr. Soldier don’t be angry. [To Bartholo.] Speak mildly to him, Sir, you see the Man is not sober.
Count.
You are in the Right, he is not sober, but we are! I am civil, and you are pretty, that’s enough; the Truth of the Matter is, I’ll have nothing to do in this House with any body but yourself.
Rosina.
Pray in what can I serve you, Mr. Soldier?
Count.
’Tis only a Trifle, and if I don’t explain myself fully.
Rosina.
I’ll catch your Meaning.
Count [shewing a Letter.
No, rather stick to the Letter, to the Letter it only respects; but what I say is honourably and well meant; that you must give me a Bed to Night.
Bartholo.
Nothing else?
Count.
No, nothing more, but read this Billet-deux from our Quarter-master.
Bartholo.
Let’s see.
[Count conceals the Letter, and gives him another Paper, the Doctor reads it.]
“Doctor Bartholo, shall receive, feed, and lodge—
Count [repeats.
And lodge.
Bartholo [continues.
“For one Night only, Lindor call’d the Student Grenadier of the Regiment—
Rosina.
’Tis him, ’tis himself.
Bartholo [to Rosina.
What’s the Matter?
Count.
Well, who is wrong now Doctor Barbaro?
Bartholo.
One wou’d swear this Man took pleasure in disfiguring and playing the Devil with my poor Name, go to Hell with your Barbaro, and tell your impertinent Rascal of a Quarter-Master that since my journey to Madrid, I am exempt from lodging Troops.
Count.
Heavens! what an unexpected Disappointment.
Bartholo.
Ah! ah! my Friend, you are disappointed; this sobers you a little; however, decamp this Instant.
Count,
[aside] I fear’d, I had betray’d myself. [aloud] Decamp! if you are exempted from lodging Troops, you are not from behaving with Civilty. Decamp! not till you produce your Brevet of Exemption, tho’ I can’t read, I shall soon see.
Bartholo.
I shall not want much time to produce it, it is in this Bureau.
Count, [while Bartholo goes, says without moving from his place.
Ah! my lovely Rosina!
Rosina.
And is it you, Lindor?
Count.
Do but receive this Letter.
Rosina.
Take Care we are observ’d
Count [approaching near her.
Take out your Handkerchief, and I’ll let it fall.
Bartholo.
Softly, softly, Mr. Soldier, I don’t chuse any one shou’d examine my Wife so near—
Count.
She your Wife?
Bartholo.
And what of that?
Count.
I thought you was her great Grandfather, I’m sure there is at least three Generations between you, and her.
Bartholo, [reads a parchment.
Whereas upon true and faithful Report, made unto us—
Count [knocks it out of his hand.
What need have I for all this Gibberish?
Bartholo.
Do you know, Soldier! If I call my Servants you will get the Treatment you deserve.
Count.
What are you for a Fight? With all my Heart, ’tis my profession (shewing the Pistol at his Girdle) this will scatter a little Powder in their eyes, perhaps Madam, you never saw a Battle.
Rosina.
No, nor do desire to see one.
Count.
There is nothing more diverting than a Battle [pushing the Doctor] first the Enemy is on one Side of the Ravelin, and the Friends on the other [to Rosina’s shewing her the Letter] pull out your Handkerchief [he spits] here’s the Ravelin, you understand.
Rosina pull’s out her Handkerchief, the Count drops the Letter between her and himself.
Bartholo [stooping.
Ah! Ah!
Count [takes up the Letter again.
Hold—I was going to teach you the Secrets of my art—a very discreet Wife indeed! is not this a love Letter she dropt out of her Pocket?
Bartholo.
Give it to me, give it to me?
Count.
Not quite so fast, Doctor, let every one mind his Business. If a dose of Rhubarb had fallen out of pocket do ye think?—
Rosina [stretching her Hand.
Oh! I know what it is Mr. Soldier.
[puts it in a Pocket of her Apron.
Bartholo.
Will you leave this House by fair means?
Count.
I go; adieu Doctor, I bear you no Malice, and only in return beg you to do me a small Favour, that is to intercede with Death, to spare me a few Compaigns longer, for Life was ne’er before so dear to me.
Bartholo.
Get you gone, had I any interest with Death—
Count.
Oh, Doctor! you send him so many Recruits he can refuse you nothing.
[Exit
SCENE XV.
BARTHOLO WATCHING THE COUNT GO OUT.
[aside.] I must dissemble.
Rosina.
You must allow, Sir, the young Soldier was very humorous; though in Liquor one could perceive he is well educated, and does not want for Wit.
Bartholo.
Indeed, my lovely Dear, we are well quit of him; but have you no Curiosity to read the Paper he gave you?
Rosina.
What Paper?
Bartholo.
That which he pretended to find on the Floor, and gave to you.
Rosina.
Pooh! That was my Cousin’s Letter which fell out of my Pocket.
Bartholo.
I have a strong Notion he took it out of his own.
Rosina.
I directly knew what it was.
Bartholo.
It cannot be much trouble to look at it again?
Rosina.
I can’t even tell where I put it.
Bartholo [pointing to her Pocket.
You put it into that Pocket.
Rosina.
Oh, yes, I did without thinking of it.
Bartholo.
Oh to be sure, but you’ll see it is some piece of Nonsense.
Rosina [aside.
Unless I make him angry, I see no refusal will do.
Bartholo.
Come Deary, do give it me.
Rosina.
What fancy have you taken now, Sir, to insist so strenuously, have you more Doubts? more Jealousy?
Bartholo.
And what Fancy have you taken, that you will not shew it.
Rosina.
I tell you again, Sir, that the Paper was nothing but my Cousin’s Letter, which you gave me Yesterday unseal’d, and now we are on this Subject, I must tell you plainly your taking such Liberty’s highly displeases me.
Bartholo.
I don’t understand you!
Rosina.
Do I ever open the Letters which come to you, wherefore then do you inspect those which are address’d to me; if Jealousy is your Motive, it is an Insult; if it is to shew the Extent of an usurp’d Authority, ’tis an Abuse of it to which I never will submit.
Bartholo.
How? not submit; your Language, is intirely new.
Rosina.
If I have till now conceal’d my just Resentment it was not with an Intention of suffering you to continue insulting me unreprehended.
Bartholo.
Of what Insult are you Talking?
Rosina.
The unparallel’d one of opening a Person’s Letters.
Bartholo.
The Letters of my Wife?
Rosina.
’Tis what I am not yet; and if ’twere so wou’d such a relationship gain me a preference to receive Indignities, which you durst not offer a Stranger?
Bartholo.
I see these Complaints are design’d to withdraw my Attention from the Letter, which I am convinc’d came from a Lover, and therefore will see it I assure you.
Rosina.
You never shall, and if you dare approach me, I instantly will fly from this detested Prison, and beg protection of some pitying Stranger.
Bartholo.
And not meet with it.
Rosina.
At least I’ll try.
Bartholo.
Thank Heaven we are not in England, were Women are always in the right, but effectually to banish such romantick Notions from your Brains I’ll go and lock the Door.
Rosina, [while Bartholo goes out.
Oh Heavens! what shall I do? ’tis best to change it for my Cousin’s Letter, and by resisting, encrease his Curiosity and Disappointment.
[she changes the Letters putting that from her Cousin into her Pockot with one corner out.
Bartholo, [returns.
I hope after all you will let me see it.
Rosina.
By what Right, pray do you expect I shou’d?
Bartholo.
By the acknowledg’d one of superior Strength.
Rosina.
You shall sooner take Life.
Bartholo [stamping with anger.
Madam, Madam!
Rosina [throws herself in a Chair, seeme to faint.
Ah! what Indignity!
Bartholo.
Give me the Letter directly or dread my anger!
Rosina [leaning back.
Unfortunate Rosina!
Bartholo.
What is the Matter?
Rosina.
To what Miseries, am I doom’d!
Bartholo.
Rosina!
Rosina.
I die with Rage!
Bartholo.
She is not well, she faints.
Rosina.
Oh! I die, I die.!
Bartholo [aside.
Oh! here is the letter! I’ll read it without her knowledge
[feels her Pulse and takes the Letter which he tries to read.
Rosina [still in the same Attitude.
Oh! unhappy me!
Bartholo.
What an unaccountable Desire one has to discover that which one dreads to know!
Rosina.
Oh! wretched Rosina!
Bartholo.
The too free Use of Perfumes are very apt to occasion these spasmodic Affections
[he reads the Letter, which he finds is from her Cousin.
[Rosina looks slyly at him, and takes no Notice.
Bartholo [aside.
The Letter is really her Cousin’s! Cursed Suspicion! How shall I pacify her Rage? ’Tis well she does nor know I’ve read it.
[he seems to support Rosina, and puts back the Letter into her Pocket.
Rosina [sighs.
Ah!
Bartholo.
Well, Child, I hope all’s over; you’ll soon be well; your Illness was nothing but Hysterics: I felt your Pulse—it did not alter in the least.
[he goes to reach a Vial off of the Drawers.
Rosina.
Oh! ’Tis well, he has put the Letter again into my Pocket.
Bartholo.
My dear Rosina, take a few of these Drops.
Rosina.
Not from your Hand; pray leave me.
Bartholo.
Oh! forgive me; I confess I was too intent on seeing the Letter; I should not have been so importunate.
Rosina.
The Letter itself was of no Consequence; but your Manner of requiring my Compliance is past Forgiveness.
Bartholo [on his Knees.
I feel I was to blame, and here upon my Knees I beg your Pardon.
Rosina.
My Pardon, when you won’t believe that the Letter was from my Cousin!
Bartholo.
Let the Letter come from whence it will I don’t care; I won’t suffer you to say any more about it.
Rosina, [presenting him the Letter.
There I willingly grant to your request what your Commands should ne’er have forced from me.
Bartholo.
This generous Behaviour dissipates my Suspicions, and convinces me how much I was to blame ever to entertain any on your Conduct.
Rosina.
There, Sir, pray read it.
Bartholo.
God forbid I shou’d do thee so much Injustice!
Rosina.
You vex me by refusing.
Bartholo.
As a Reparation for my Fault, receive this Mark of my Confidence; I’m going to see poor Marcelina, whom that Knave Figaro (I don’t know why) let Blood in the Foot to Day—Won’t you come with me?
Rosina.
I will follow you in a Moment.
Bartholo.
Come, my Darling, since the Peace is made between us, give me thy Hand to seal it; if thou can’st but love me, how happy wilt thou be!
Rosina.
If you could but please me, how I would love you!
Bartholo.
I will please thee, my Duck; I will please thee; believe me, I will please thee.
[Exit.
SCENE XVI.
ROSINA [OBSERVING HIM GO, CRIES OUT.
Ah! Lindor, he says he will please me! I will read this Letter, which had like to have caused me so much Trouble. Oh! I’ve read too late; he advises me to have an open Quarrel with my Guardian, and I have just let an excellent one escape me! When I received his Letter I felt my Blushes rise. Ah! My Guardian is right, I am very far from having that Art and Knowledge of the World which brings Women through so many Difficulties; but Necessity and a Tyrant would make Innocence itself outplot a Machiavel.