Act 3
SCENE I.
BARTHOLO ALONE AND DISTRESS’D.
WHAT a Temper! What a Temper! I thought she was appeased; who the Devil now could put it in her Head to take no more Lessons of Don Bazile? She knows to be sure I have charg’d him to settle every Thing necessary for our Wedding. [a Knock at the Door] Do all you can to please a Woman, if you omit one single Trifle—I say only a Trifle—[second Knock] Who can be now a coming?
SCENE II.
ENTER COUNT, DRESSED LIKE A BATCHELOR OF ARTS.
May Peace and Happiness e’er dwell within these Walls!
Bartholo, [abruptly.
Ne’er was to me a Wish more desirable;—What is your Will?
Count.
Sir, my Name is Alonzo, Batchelor licentiate.
Bartholo.
I have no need of a Preceptor.
Count.
A Pupil of Don Bazile, Organist of the Grey Friars and black Nuns, who has the Honour to teach la Signora—
Bartholo.
Bazile! Organist! Who has the Honour! I know it; but to your Business.
Count, [aside.
What a Man.—A sudden Illness has confin’d him to his Bed.
Bartholo.
Bazile confin’d to his Bed! I am glad he sent, I’ll this instant go and see him.
Count [aside.
The Devil—When I said to his Bed, Sir, I meant only to his Room.
Bartholo.
No Matter, let his Indisposition be ever so trifling, I’ll go instantly and visit him, go tell him so, I’ll follow you.
Count, [perplex’d.
I was only commission’d, Sir, but pray can no one hear us?
Bartholo [aside.
This man has all the appearance of an Impostor—No, Sir, there needs no Mystery! compose yourself if you can, and let’s hear what you have to say.
Count, [aside.
What a sly old Villain!—Don Bazile desired me to inform you—
Bartholo.
Speak louder, for I am deaf of one Ear.
Count, [raising his Voice.
Oh most willingly, that Count Almaviva, who lodges in the Square—
Bartholo, [frightened.
Speak lower, speak lower!
Count, [still louder.
Has left his Lodgings this Morning, and as it was me, who had inform’d him that Count Almaviva—
Bartholo.
Speak lower; I pray you will speak lower.
Count, [in the same tone.
Was in this Town, and I have discover’d that Signora Rosina has wrote to him.
Bartholo.
Wrote to him, did you say! My dear Friend speak lower, I beseech you! let us sit down and talk without reserve on this Subject, you say you have discover’d that Rosina—
Count, [haughtily.
Certainly I have! Bazile uneasy on your account, at this Discovery, desired me to shew you her Letter, but the Reception you give me—
Bartholo.
For Heaven’s sake don’t be angry! for I meant no Offence; but prithee cannot you speak more softly? I have particular Reasons for making you this Request.
Count.
Why, I thought you said you were deaf of one Ear.
Bartholo.
Oh pardon, pardon me, Signor Alonzo, If I receiv’d you with Coldness and Distrust; but I am so surrounded with the Snares of designing Men,—and then your Figure, Age, Manner, Air, in short, your whole Person wou’d justify Suspicions in a Stranger, which I hope you’ll pardon—and you say you saw the Letter?
Count.
Make no further Apologies I am satisfy’d, Sir, but are you sure no one can hear us?
Bartholo.
Alas! who should? all my Servants are laid up: Rosina flown to her Room in a Passion: some Evil Genius has certainly turn’d my House topsyturvy: but to be more certain, I’ll go and assure myself no one is near.
[goes softly to Rosina’s Door.]
Count [aside.
What a Scrape have I now got into—and how shall I avoid shewing the Letter! to retreat; I might as well not have come. If I could but inform Rosina of it; the shewing it would be a Master piece.
Bartholo, [returns on Tiptoes.
She’s sitting near the Window, Reading the Letter I broke open from her Cousin—you may now with all safety shew me her’s.
Count [gives him Rosina’s Letter.
Here it is.— [aside] he certainly mistook my Letter, for her Cousin’s.
Bartholo [reads.
“Since you have inform’d me of your Name and Condition”—How treacherous! I’m certain ’tis her Hand writing.
Count, [frighten’d.
You should, speak softly.
Bartholo.
What Obligations am I under?
Count.
Forbear mentioning at present: when every Thing is over you may then—from the Business Don Bazile is now upon with a Lawyer.
Bartholo.
With a Lawyer! ’tis concerning my Marriage.
Count.
No Doubt it is, he desired me to tell you every Thing wou’d be ready to-morrow; if she shou’d still be obstinate.
Bartholo.
She certainly will.
Count, [wants to take back the Letter, Bartholo puts it up.
Now is the Time to serve you; well produce her Letter, and if necessary [with a mysterious Look] I’ll even say that I had it from a Woman to whom the Count made a Sacrifice of it; you conceive that Shame, Confusion, and Spight, may dispose her directly to—
Bartholo [laughing.
What Calumny! I am now satisfied, my Friend, ’twas Don Bazile sent you, but that it might not seem concerted, wou’d it not be better, she first were acquainted with you?
Count [endeavouring to conceal his Joy.
Don Bazile thought it would have been better; but how can we do that? it is so late and there is so little Time left.
Bartholo.
I shall say he sent you to give her a Lesson, you can do that no Doubt!
Count.
There is nothing but I’ll do to oblige you, but take care she does not suspect any Thing; for the stale Story of a supposed Master is common in every Play.
Bartholo.
My introducing you to her can cause no Suspicion of the Kind; you have more the Appearance of a Lover in Disguise, than an officious Friend.
Count.
Really! do you think my Appearance can favour the Deceit?
Bartholo.
I wou’d lay any Wager, the most knowing Ones might be mistaken by it; besides, she is horridly out of Humour this Evening; however if she cou’d but see you—her Harpsichord is in this Closet, amuse yourself whilst I go try every Means to bring her hither.
Count.
Beware not to mention the Letter to her.
Bartholo.
No, not till it is Time to do it, it wou’d be without Effect; a Hint to me is sufficient.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
COUNT ALONE.
Now I am safe. How hard it is to deal with this Man? ah, Figaro knows him well; the being forc’d to tell so many Lyes made me act very aukwardly; then his Eyes are so watchful! that truly had I not been inspired with the Thought of producing the Letter, I own I must have decamp’d and should have look’d like a Fool! but I think I hear them quarrelling, if she shou’d persist in not leaving the Room—I’ll listen—she refuses to come, and now all the Fruit of my Stratagem is lost. [goes again to listen] Oh! she’s now a coming; I’ll not shew myself so suddenly
[goes in the Closet]
SCENE IV.
ROSINA IN A FEIGN’D PASSION.
Indeed all you can say, Sir, is to no Purpose, I’ll hear no more of Music, I am resolv’d—
Bartholo.
Prithee, my Love, be persuaded, ’tis Signor Alonzo the Pupil and Friend of Don Bazile, whom he has chosen to be one of our Witnesses—attend to him, Music will calm thy Soul, I assure thee.
Rosina.
’Tis in vain to think of it; for if I sing to Night—pray where is that Music Master you so much fear to send back? I’ll soon send him about his Business, as well as Bazile [perceiving her Lover screams] Ah!
Bartholo.
What’s happen’d to you, Child?
Rosina [pressing her Hands to her Bosom in agitation.
Oh dear! Oh dear! Sir!
Bartholo.
I fear she will faint, Signor Alonzo!
Rosina.
Oh, no—I am not fainting but in turning, Oh!
Count.
You strain’d your Ankle, Madam.
Rosina.
Yes, I have strain’d my Ankle, and have hurt myself terribly.
Count.
Oh, I perceiv’d it, Madam.
Rosina [looking at the Count.
The Pain I felt, went to my Heart.
Bartholo.
A Seat, a Seat—what, not an Arm-Chair in the Room!
[goes for one.
Count.
Ah, Rosina!
Rosina.
What Imprudence!
Count.
I have a Thousand things of Consequence to tell you.
Rosina.
But he will not leave us.
Count,
Figaro will come to our Assistance.
Bartholo [brings an Arm-Chair.
Here Darling sit down, ’tis not likely Signor she can take a Lesson this Evening, it must be for another time, farewell.
Rosina
[to the Count.] No wait, my Pain is a little eas’d. [To Bartholo.] I acknowledge I was wrong to Dispute with you, Sir, will imitate you, in making immediate amends by—
Bartholo.
Oh the best natur’d of Women! but after having such a Fright, I will not suffer you Child to make the least Effort—good Night, Signor, good Night.
Rosina
[to the Count.] Stop a Moment I pray. [To Bartholo.] I shall think you won’t oblige me, if you prevent me from shewing You, by taking my Lesson, how sorry I am to—
Count [to Bartholo.
If you take my Advice, you will not oppose her Inclination.
Bartholo.
I have done my Lamb, and am so far from disobliging thee, that I will stay while thou tak’st thy Lesson.
Rosina.
Do not constrain yourself, Sir, I know that to you Music has no Charms.
Bartholo.
Believe me thy Voice will enchant me to Night.
Rosina [aside to the Count.
I’m on the Rack.
Count [takes a piece of Music.
Is this what you wou’d sing, Madam?
Rosina.
Oh! Yes; ’tis a charming Part in "Labour in Vain."
Bartholo.
Nothing but "Labour in Vain."
Count.
’Tis the newest Piece we have; it’s an Image of Spring, that’s very lively—Will you try it, Madam?
Rosina, [looking at the Count.
With great Pleasure—An Image of Spring is to me ravishing; ’tis the Bloom of Nature leaving Winter; the Heart seems to acquire a higher Degree of Sensibility: as the Raptures of a poor Slave, that has long experienced the Hardships of Bondage, when the Charms of Liberty are offer’d him.
Bartholo, [in a low Voice to the Count.
Her Head is always full of romantic Notions.
Count.
Do you feel the Force of their Application?
Bartholo.
Do I feel them! [aside] Damnation!
[goes and sits in the Arm Chair Rosina sat in.
Rosina sings.
Rosina’s Song. [*Music, in French]
See, Lovers, see on yonder Plain.
Gay Spring appears!—And once again
Young Cupid comes with jocund Train!
To Nature he new Life imparts,
While Fruits, and Flow’rs, and Lovers Hearts
All feel his pow’rful pleasing Darts.
All Nature now seems chearful, glad, and gay,
Save poor Lindor. who casts no Thought away;
Nor does he harbour one within his Breast,
Save how to make the much-lov’d Object blest.
Whilst she returns his ardent Love,
With Smiles rewards her Lindor’s Pain;
Lovers like these must surely prove
A Guardian’s Labour is in Vain.
For when two Hearts are join’d in one,
(By Cupid join’d, by Venus blest)
Too firm the sacred Knot to be undone
By all the Labour of a jealous Breast.
Count.
The Music is really charming; and Signora has executed it with superior Skill.
Rosina.
You flatter me, Sir; the Praise is wholly due to my Master.
Bartholo, [Yawning.
I believe I nodded a little during this fine Piece; I have my Patients, and am oblig’d to run here and there, and spin like a Top—Then as soon as I set down to rest, my poor weary Limbs—
[gets up, and pushes the Chair.
Rosina, [in a low Voice to the Count.
Figaro does not come.
Count, [to Rosina, in a low Voice.
Spin out the Time.
Bartholo.
But, Batchelor, I have often desired Don Bazile to teach her Songs which are more gay than those grand Compositions which go from one End of the Harpsichord to the other, drawling he, ho, ha, ha, haa, and are like so many funeral Dirges. When I was young, there were lively little Songs, which were easily learnt, I could have sung them myself; for Example.
Bartholo Sings. [*Music, in French.]
Buy a Bargain, Rosinette;
Buy a Husband for a Pet.
Tol, lol, de lol.
[During the Repetition he sings, scratching his Head, and snapping his Fingers, and shaking his Knees, as if dancing.
[To the Count.] It is Francinette in the Song; but to render it more agreeable and suitable to my present Circumstances, I chang’d it for Rosinetta’s. [laughs] Ha! Ha! Ha!—An’t I right—Isn’t it the Tune?
Count, laughing. Ha! Ha! Ha! Excellent indeed!
SCENE V.
FIGARO AT THE END OF THE STAGE.
BARTHOLO SINGS THE WHOLE OF THE CATCH.
CATCH.
Buy a Bargain, Rosinette,
Buy a Husband for a Pet;—
There’s one now, e’en in this House,
Who will make a charming Spouse;
He’s no sighing Swain, ’tis true,
Yet not the worse, my Girl, for you;
He’s a buxom, jovial Wight,
Not one made to shock the Sight;
And remember what they say,
“All Cats in the Night are grey.”
[In singing the Burden of the Songs he dances. Figaro mimicks him behind his Back.
He’s a Buxom, &c. [Perceiving the Barber.] Oh! Come in, come in, Mr. Barber—You are a pretty Fellow indeed.
Figaro, [bowing.
Indeed, ’tis what my Mother has often told me formerly; but I’m greatly alter’d since that Time. [Aside to the Count.] Bravo, my Lord.
[During all this Scene the Count endeavours to speak to Rosina; but the ever-watchful Eye of the Guardian prevents them; which forms a dumb Scene between all the Actors, foreign to the Debate between Figaro and the Doctor.
Bartholo.
Are you come to disturb all my Servants again with your Lancet and Drugs?
Figaro.
Oh! Every day is no Holiday, nor have I always Leisure for such Undertakings; but not to mention my daily Assiduity, you must be sensible, Sir, that when an Opportunity offers to do you Service, my Zeal does not wait for Orders.
Bartholo.
Your Zeal don’t wait?—What will you say of your Zeal to that poor Fellow who yawns and sleeps as he stands; and the other, who for these three Hours sneezes enough to shiver his Pericranium, and shatter his Brains to Atoms?—What will you say to them?
Figaro.
What will I say to them?
Bartholo.
Ay.
Figaro.
Why, I’ll say to him that sneezes, God bless you; and go to bed, to him that yawns.—Won’t that be proper? I am sure at least it will neither hurt them, nor swell your Bill.
Bartholo.
No truly, but Bleeding and Medicines would, if I were Fool enough to pay for them.—It was out of Zeal too, I suppose, that you wrap’d up my blind Mule’s Head with your Cataplasm.
Figaro.
Well, if that does not restore her Sight, you cannot say that will make her lose it.
Bartholo.
If I see that Article on your Bill I’ll—I’ll submit to no such Imposition.
Figaro.
By my Faith, Sir, there’s but small Choice between a Fool and a Madman, and where I can’t get Profit, I’ll at least have Amusement; let’s be merry while we may, God knows whether the World will stand a Month longer.
Bartholo.
You had better, Mr. Logician, cease attempting to bamboozle me: and pay me my hundred Piasters, with Interest, which you owe me.
Figaro.
Do you doubt my Honour, Sir?—I had rather owe them you all my Life than once deny it.
Bartholo.
Pray tell me how did your little Girl like the Sugar Plumbs you carried home to her?
Figaro.
What Sugar Plumbs do you mean?
Bartholo.
Those Sugar Plumbs you carried Home to her in a Sheet of Writing paper.
Figaro.
The Devil take me if—
Rosina, [interrupting him.
I hope you did not forget Figaro to tell her I sent them—I gave you repeated Charge to do so.
Figaro.
Aye, aye, the Sugar Plumbs this Morning: I am the most stupid Blockhead that ever was, it had quite flip’d my Memory, oh! they were excellent, she liked them mightily.
Bartholo.
Recollect yourself, Mr. Barber, you have began an incomparable Business—
Figaro.
What Business, pray Sir?
Bartholo.
By which you’ll acquire a fine Character.
Figaro.
I’ll defend it, Sir—
Bartholo.
Say you’ll deserve it, Sir—
Figaro.
As you please, Sir.
Bartholo.
You take the Matter in a very high Strain, but know that when I dispute with an ignorant Fellow I always maintain my Point.
Figaro turning his Back on him. In this we differ, for in that Case I always give up mine.
Bartholo.
Ha! what’s that he says, Batchelor?
Figaro.
You imagine I presume you have to deal with some Country Barber, who packs up his Knowledge in his Razor-Case? but know, Sir, that I have work’d with my Pen in Madrid, and had not envious People—
Bartholo.
Why did you leave it, and come here to take up a new Trade?
Figaro.
One does the best one can, put yourself in my Place.
Bartholo.
I should talk very absurdly, if I were Figaro—I think you don’t make a bad Beginning as it is, I’ll appeal for that to your Brother Doctor, who stands there in Contemplation,—
Count [recollecting himself.
I—I am not of the Fraternity.
Figaro.
No: I beg Pardon, but seeing you here in Conference with the Doctor, I imagin’d your Pursuits were the same.
Bartholo [in a passion.
To have done with your Impertinence, pray what Business brings you here—have you any Letters to deliver to Signora? must I leave the Room?
Figaro.
How harshly you treat your Dependants! why, Sir, I am come to shave you; is not this shaving-day?
Bartholo.
You must call again by and by.
Figaro.
That’s impossible! To-morrow the whole Garrison is to be purg’d, I have by my interest obtain’d the Jobb, and I leave you to judge, if I have Time to lose—Will you step into your dressing Room?
Bartholo.
No, Sir, I do not chuse to go in my dressing Room, why can’t you shave me here?
Rosina, [with disdain.
You are really very civil, why surely you wou’d not be shav’d in my Appartment?
Bartholo.
Nay, my Lamb, don’t be angry: you have your Lesson to finish, and I am unwilling to lose an Instant the Pleasure of hearing you.
Figaro [to the Count, in a low Voice.
There will be no getting him from hence. Come Sprightly, Youthfull, bring the Bason, Water and every thing necessary for your Master’s shaving.
Bartholo.
Your calling them will be to some Purpose to be sure, when you forced them to their Bed by your devilish Medicines.
Figaro.
Well then I’ll wait on myself, are not the things in your Chamber?—[aside] this will draw him out of the Room.
Bartholo [unties a Bunch of Keys, and as if upon second Thoughts.
No, no, I’ll go myself. [to the Count low.] Have an Eye upon him I pray?
[Exit.
SCENE VI.
THE SAME ACTORS.
Figaro.
What a fine Opportunity is lost! He was going to give me the Keys—Is not that of the Jealousie among them?
Rosina.
Yes; ’tis the newest of all.
SCENE VII.
Bartholo [aside.
Goodness! I don’t know what I was thinking of, to leave the Room while this cursed Barber is in it! [gives him the Bunch of Keys]—In my Closet upon the Bureau; but don’t touch any Thing.
Figaro.
A Plague upon you, Sir; you are so suspicious, that to do it would be a good Action.—[to the Count, aside.] See how Heaven protects Innocence.
[Exit.
SCENE VIII.
BARTHOLO LOW TO THE COUNT.
That is the Rascal who carried her Letter to the Count.
Count, [low to him.
He has a very knavish look.
Bartholo.
He shall not catch me again.
Count.
I believe, as to that, he has done his worst.
Bartholo.
All things considered, I thought it safer to send him to my Room than leave him here with her.
Count.
I wou’d have taken Care to hear every Word they shou’d have said to each other.
Rosina.
You are very polite, Gentlemen, to whisper continually; and my Lesson—
[A Noise of breaking China is heard.
Bartholo [screams.
What Noise is that? This hellish Barber has thrown every Thing I have down Stairs, and broke my best Piece of China.
[runs out.
SCENE IX.
Count.
Let us avail ourselves of the precious Instant, which Figaro’s Policy has procured us; allow me to Night, I conjure you, a Moment’s Conference indispensably necessary to secure you from the Slavery of which you are on the Brink.
Rosina.
Ah! Lindor!
Count.
I can climb up to your Jealousie; as for the Letter I received from you this Morning, I was absolutely oblig’d—
SCENE X.
ENTER FIGARO AND BARTHOLO.
Bartholo.
I was not mistaken, every thing is broke to shatters.
Figaro.
See the great Misfortune here’s so much Noise about!—It’s as dark as Pitch on the Stairs.—[Shewing the Key to the Count] As I was running up, my Sleeve caught on a Key.
Bartholo.
Hooked by a Key! You should have taken better Care; but you ever are wonderfully handy.
Figaro.
Faith, Sir, you may look for one that’s more so.
SCENE XI.
ENTER DON BAZILE.
Rosina, [frightened, aside.
Don Bazile!
Count, [aside.
Heavens!
Figaro, [aside.
This is the Devil.
Bartholo [goes to meet him.
Ah! My dear Friend, I am glad to see you so well recovered; your Illness was of no long Continuance: Signor Alonzo alarm’d me greatly on your Account. Ask him if I was not just coming to make you a Visit, if he had not stopt me—
Bazile [amaz’d.
Signor Alonzo!
Figaro, [stamping with his Foot.
Always some Delays; two Hours Attendance for one paltry Beard—What a tiresome Customer!
Bazile, [looking around.
Will you do me the Favour to tell me the Gentleman?
Figaro.
You will have full Leizure when I am gone.
Bazile.
But at least I may—
Count.
You may hold your Tongue; do you suppose you can tell Signor Bartholo any Thing he does not already know—I told him you sent me to give a singing Lesson in your Stead.
Bazile, [more amaz’d.
A Lesson of Singing!—Alonzo!
Rosina, [aside to Bazile.
Can’t you hold your Tongue?
Bazile.
And she too!
Count, [low to Bartholo.
Whisper to him, that we have settled the Plan.
Bartholo, [to Bazile, aside.
Do not contradict us, or deny he is your Pupil, it would spoil all.
Bazile.
Ah! Ah!
Bartholo, [aloud.
It’s impossible to find a Person possess’d of more Talents than your Pupil.
Bazile, [stupefied.
Than my Pupil!—[low] I came to tell you the Count has left his Lodgings.
Bartholo,[ low.
I know it—be silent.
Bazile, [low.
Who told you so?
Bartholo, [low.
Why him, to be sure.
Count, [low.
It was I, to be sure—Do you only listen.
Rosina, [low to Bazile.
Do you find it so difficult to hold your Tongue?
Figaro, [low, to Bazile.
Hush! Great Booby—He is deaf.
Bazile [aside.
Who the Devil is it they would cheat here! Every one is in the Secret!
Bartholo [aloud.
Well, Bazile!—And the Lawyer!
Figaro.
You will have all the Evening to talk about your Lawyer.
Bazile, [bewildered.
About the Lawyer!
Count, [smiling.
You have not seen the Lawyer?
Bazile, [out of Patience.
Why, no, I have not seen the Lawyer.
Count, [to Bartholo aside.
What, wou’d you have him explain himself here before her? Try to send him away.
Bartholo, [low, to the Count.
You are in the Right.—[to Bazile] But the sudden Illness with which you were seized—Of what Nature was it?
Bazile, [in a Passion.
I don’t understand you.
Count, [slipping a Purse in his Hand.
Yes, Signor Bartholo asks, why you ventured abroad in your present bad State of Health?
Figaro.
He is as pale as Death.
Bazile.
Oh! I understand.
Count.
Go to Bed, my dear Bazile; you are not well, and we are alarm’d to see you look so ill:---Go to Bed,
Figaro.
His Countenance is totally chang’d.
Bartholo.
He has a Fever one cou’d smell at a League’s Distance.
Rosina.
’Tis said Fevers are infectious;—why did you come here?—Pray go to Bed.
Bazile, [in the greatest Surprise.
I go to Bed!
All the Actors together.
Certainly, certainly!
Bazile, [looking round at them.
Truly, Gentlemen, I believe I had better retire; for I am not by any Means at Ease at present.
Bartholo.
Tomorrow, I hope, if you are better—
Count.
Bazile, I will call on you very early.
Figaro.
Take my Advice, get into a warm Bed as soon as possible—
Rosina.
Good Night, Mr. Bazile.
Bazile, [to himself.
The Devil take me if I comprehend what they all mean, and was it not for this Purse—
All.
Good Night, Bazile—good Night.
Bazile, [going.
Well then, since it must be so, good Night.
[Exit They all conduct him laughing to the Side of the Scenes.
SCENE XII.
Bartholo, [with an Air of Consequence.
That Man is far from being well.
Rosina.
His Eyes look quite wild.
Count.
The Night Air has certainly hurt him.
Figaro.
Did you observe how he mutter’d to himself? What frail Mortals are we! [to Bartholo] Are you ready?
[pushes the Arm Chair from the Count, and offers the shaving Cloth.
Count.
Before I conclude, I must tell you, Signora, something very essential to your Progress in the Art which I have the Honour of teaching you.
[draws nearer, and whispers to her.
Bartholo, [to Figaro.
But you place yourself directly before me; as if on Purpose to prevent my seeing.
Count, [softly to Rosina.
We have the Key, and will be here at Midnight.
Figaro [puts the Cloth round Bartholo’s Neck.
What wou’d you see? Was’t a dancing Lesson well and good; but you don’t hear with your Eyes, do you? Ay, ay.—
Bartholo.
What’s the Matter?
Figaro.
I don’t know what has got into my Eye.
[Puts his Head closer.
Bartholo.
Don’t rub it.
Figaro.
Here, ’tis my left, pray do me the Favour to blow in it.
[Bartholo takes hold of Figaro’s Head, and looks over it; pushes him violently, and goes to listen to the Lovers Conversation.
Count, [low, to Rosina.
As to your Letter, I found so many Obstacles to my staying here—
Figaro, [to give them Notice.
Hem! Hem!
Count.
And fearful this new Disguise shou’d be rendered useless—
Bartholo, [stepping between ’em.
This new Disguise shou’d be render’d useless!
Rosina, [frighten’d.
Ah!
Bartholo.
Very well, Signora, don’t constrain yourself. What in my Presence, before my eyes, to injure me so grosly!
Count.
What is the matter with you Signor?
Bartholo.
Treacherous Alonzo!
Count.
Indeed, Signor Bartholo, if you often take such Vagaries as this I have just been a Witness to, I am not surpris’d at the Aversion Signora Rosina shews at the Thought of becoming your Wife.
Rosina.
I become his Wife! To pass my Hours with a jealous Dotard, and waste my youthful Days of Joy and Pleasure in Slavery and Confinement!
Bartholo.
What do I hear?
Rosina.
Yes, aloud I say it, my Hand, my Heart shall be for him who frees me from this detested prison, where my Person and my Fortune are detain’d against all Laws both human and divine.
[Exit.
SCENE XIII.
Bartholo.
I am choak’d with Rage.
Count.
Indeed, Sir, it’s impossible that a young Woman—
Figaro.
Yes, a great Age and a young Wife perplex an old Man confoundedly.
Bartholo.
How! when I catch her in the Fact!—Cursed Barber!—I have a great Mind to—
Figaro.
I’ll be gone, for he is mad.
Count.
So will I;—Upon Honour he’s mad.
Figaro.
Oh! He is mad! He is mad as a March Hare, ’fore Heaven!
[Both exit.
SCENE XIV.
BARTHOLO ALONE, GOES AFTER THEM.
I am mad!—Eh! Cursed Procurers! Satan’s Emissaries, of which you have here filled the Office! May he tear you Limb from Limb!—I’m mad!—I saw it as plain as I do that Musick Book, and to deny it so audaciously!—Oh! Bazile alone can explain this Mystery—I’ll send for him—Holloa! Who’s there? Ah me! I forgot I have nobody here.—Neighbours!—Oh! any Body!—No Matter—It’s enough to turn one’s Brain!—It’s enough to turn one’s Brain in good earnest!
[During these two Acts the Scene grows dark, the Noise of a Storm is heard, and the Orchestra plays, viz.—the Storm Piece in the Music. [*Music, in French]
End of the Third Act.