(1732-1799)
BY BRANDER MATTHEWS
ierre Augustin Caron was born in Paris, January 24th, 1732. He was the son of a watchmaker, and learned his father's trade. He invented a new escapement, and was allowed to call himself "Clockmaker to the King"--Louis XV. At twenty-four he married a widow, and took the name of Beaumarchais from a small fief belonging to her. Within a year his wife died. Being a fine musician, he was appointed instructor of the King's daughters; and he was quick to turn to good account the influence thus acquired. In 1764 he made a sudden trip to Spain to vindicate a sister of his, who had been betrothed to a man called Clavijo and whom this Spaniard had refused to marry. He succeeded in his mission, and his own brilliant account of this characteristic episode in his career suggested to Goethe the play of 'Clavigo.' Beaumarchais himself brought back from Madrid a liking for things Spanish and a knowledge of Iberian customs and character.
Beaumarchais.
He had been a watchmaker, a musician, a court official, a speculator, and it was only when he was thirty-five that he turned dramatist. Various French authors, Diderot especially, weary of confinement to tragedy and comedy, the only two forms then admitted on the French stage, were seeking a new dramatic formula in which they might treat pathetic situations of modern life; and it is due largely to their efforts that the modern "play" or "drama," the story of every-day existence, has been evolved. The first dramatic attempt of Beaumarchais was a drama called 'Eugénie,' acted at the Théâtre Français in 1767, and succeeding just enough to encourage him to try again. The second, 'The Two Friends,' acted in 1770, was a frank failure. For the pathetic, Beaumarchais had little aptitude; and these two serious efforts were of use to him only so far as their performance may have helped him to master the many technical difficulties of the theatre.
Beaumarchais had married a second time in 1768, and he had been engaged in various speculations with the financier Pâris-Duverney. In 1770 his wife died, and so did his associate; and he found himself soon involved in lawsuits, into the details of which it is needless to go, but in the course of which he published a series of memoirs, or statements of his case for the public at large. These memoirs are among the most vigorous of all polemical writings; they were very clever and very witty; they were vivacious and audacious; they were unfailingly interesting; and they were read as eagerly as the 'Letters of Junius.' Personal at first, the suits soon became political; and part of the public approval given to the attack of Beaumarchais on judicial injustice was due no doubt to the general discontent with the existing order in France. His daring conduct of his own cause made him a personality. He was intrusted with one secret mission by Louis XV; and when Louis XVI came to the throne, he managed to get him again employed confidentially.
Not long after his two attempts at the serious drama, he had tried to turn to account his musical faculty by writing both the book and the score of a comic opera, which had, however, been rejected by the Comédie-Italienne (the predecessor of the present Opéra Comique). After a while Beaumarchais cut out his music and worked over his plot into a five-act comedy in prose, 'The Barber of Seville.' It was produced by the Théâtre Français in 1775, and like the contemporary 'Rivals' of Sheridan,--the one English author with whom Beaumarchais must always be compared,--it was a failure on the first night and a lasting success after the author had reduced it and rearranged it. 'The Barber of Seville' was like the 'Gil Blas' of Lesage in that, while it was seemingly Spanish in its scenes, it was in reality essentially French. It contained one of the strongest characters in literature,--Figaro, a reincarnation of the intriguing servant of Menander and Plautus and Molière. Simple in plot, ingenious in incident, brisk in dialogue, broadly effective in character-drawing, 'The Barber of Seville' is the most famous French comedy of the eighteenth century, with the single exception of its successor from the same pen, which appeared nine years later.
During those years Beaumarchais was not idle. Like Defoe, he was always devising projects for money-making. A few months after 'The Barber of Seville' had been acted, the American Revolution began, and Beaumarchais was a chief agent in supplying the Americans with arms, ammunition, and supplies. He had a cruiser of his own, Le Fier Roderigue, which was in D'Estaing's fleet. When the independence of the United States was recognized at last, Beaumarchais had a pecuniary claim against the young nation which long remained unsettled.
Not content with making war on his own account almost, Beaumarchais also undertook the immense task of publishing a complete edition of Voltaire. He also prepared a sequel to the 'Barber,' in which Figaro should be even more important, and should serve as a mouthpiece for declamatory criticism of the social order. But his 'Marriage of Figaro' was so full of the revolutionary ferment that its performance was forbidden. Following the example of Molière under the similar interdiction of 'Tartuffe,' Beaumarchais was untiring in arousing interest in his unacted play, reading it himself in the houses of the great. Finally it was authorized, and when the first performance took place at the Théâtre Français in 1784, the crush to see it was so great that three persons were stifled to death. The new comedy was as amusing and as adroit as its predecessor, and the hits at the times were sharper and swifter and more frequent. How demoralized society was then may be gauged by the fact that this disintegrating satire was soon acted by the amateurs of the court, a chief character being impersonated by Marie Antoinette herself.
The career of Beaumarchais reached its climax with the production of the second of the Figaro plays. Afterward he wrote the libretto for an opera, 'Tarare,' produced with Salieri's music in 1787; the year before he had married for the third time. In a heavy play called 'The Guilty Mother,' acted with slight success in 1790, he brought in Figaro yet once more. During the Terror he emigrated to Holland, returning to Paris in 1796 to find his sumptuous mansion despoiled. May 18th, 1799, he died, leaving a fortune of $200,000, besides numerous claims against the French nation and the United States.
An interesting parallel could be drawn between 'The Rivals' and the 'School for Scandal' on the one side, and on the other 'The Barber of Seville' and 'The Marriage of Figaro'; and there are also piquant points of likeness between Sheridan and Beaumarchais. But Sheridan, with all his failings, was of sterner stuff than Beaumarchais. He had a loftier political morality, and he served the State more loyally. Yet the two comedies of Beaumarchais are like the two comedies of Sheridan in their incessant wit, in their dramaturgic effectiveness, and in the histrionic opportunities they afford. Indeed, the French comedies have had a wider audience than the English, thanks to an Italian and a German,--to Rossini who set 'The Barber of Seville' to music, and to Mozart who did a like service for 'The Marriage of Figaro.'
FROM 'THE BARBER OF SEVILLE'
OUTWITTING A GUARDIAN
[Rosina's lover, Count Almaviva, attempts to meet and converse with her by hoodwinking Dr. Bartolo, her zealous guardian. He comes in disguise to Bartolo's dwelling, in a room of which the scene is laid.]
[Enter Count Almaviva, dressed as a student.]
Count [solemnly]--May peace and joy abide here evermore!
Bartolo [brusquely]--Never, young sir, was wish more àpropos! What do you want?
Count--Sir, I am one Alonzo, a bachelor of arts--
Bartolo--Sir, I need no instructor.
Count---- ---- a pupil of Don Basilio, the organist of the convent, who teaches music to Madame your--
Bartolo [suspiciously]--Basilio! Organist! Yes, I know him. Well?
Count [aside]--What a man! [Aloud.] He's confined to his bed with a sudden illness.
Bartolo--Confined to his bed! Basilio! He's very good to send word, for I've just seen him.
Count [aside]--Oh, the devil! [Aloud.] When I say to his bed, sir, it's--I mean to his room.
Bartolo--Whatever's the matter with him, go, if you please.
Count [embarrassed]--Sir, I was asked--Can no one hear us?
Bartolo [aside]--It's some rogue! [Aloud.] What's that? No, Monsieur Mysterious, no one can hear! Speak frankly--if you can.
Count [aside]--Plague take the old rascal! [Aloud.] Don Basilio asked me to tell you--
Bartolo--Speak louder. I'm deaf in one ear.
Count [raising his voice]--Ah! quite right: he asks me to say to you that one Count Almaviva, who was lodging on the great square--
Bartolo [frightened]--Speak low, speak low.
Count [louder]----moved away from there this morning. As it was I who told him that this Count Almaviva--
Bartolo--Low, speak lower, I beg of you.
Count [in the same tone]--Was in this city, and as I have discovered that Señorita Rosina has been writing to him--
Bartolo--Has been writing to him? My dear friend, I implore you, do speak low! Come, let's sit down, let's have a friendly chat. You have discovered, you say, that Rosina--
Count [angrily]--Certainly. Basilio, anxious about this correspondence on your account, asked me to show you her letter; but the way you take things--
Bartolo--Good Lord! I take them well enough. But can't you possibly speak a little lower?
Count--You told me you were deaf in one ear.
Bartolo--I beg your pardon, I beg your pardon, if I've been surly and suspicious, Signor Alonzo: I'm surrounded with spies--and then your figure, your age, your whole air--I beg your pardon. Well? Have you the letter?
Count--I'm glad you're barely civil at last, sir. But are you quite sure no one can overhear us?
Bartolo--Not a soul. My servants are all tired out. Señorita Rosina has shut herself up in a rage! The very devil's to pay in this house. Still I'll go and make sure. [He goes to peep into Rosina's room.]
Count [aside]--Well, I've caught myself now in my own trap. Now what shall I do about the letter? If I were to run off?--but then I might just as well not have come. Shall I show it to him? If I could only warn Rosina beforehand! To show it would be a master-stroke.
Bartolo [returning on tiptoe]--She's sitting by the window with her back to the door, and re-reading a cousin's letter which I opened. Now, now--let me see hers.
Count [handing him Rosina's letter]--Here it is. [Aside.] She's re-reading my letter.
Bartolo [reads quickly]--"Since you have told me your name and estate--" Ah, the little traitress! Yes, it's her writing.
Count [frightened]--Speak low yourself, won't you?
Bartolo--What for, if you please?
Count--When we've finished, you can do as you choose. But after all, Don Basilio's negotiation with a lawyer--
Bartolo--With a lawyer? About my marriage?
Count--Would I have stopped you for anything else? He told me to say that all can be ready to-morrow. Then, if she resists--
Bartolo--She will.
Count [wants to take back the letter; Bartolo clutches it]--I'll tell you what we'll do. We will show her her letter; and then, if necessary, [more mysteriously] I'll even tell her that it was given to me by a woman--to whom the Count is sacrificing her. Shame and rage may bring her to terms on the spot.
Bartolo [laughing]--Calumny, eh? My dear fellow, I see very well now that you come from Basilio. But lest we should seem to have planned this together, don't you think it would be better if she'd met you before?
Count [repressing a start of joy]--Don Basilio thought so, I know. But how can we manage it? It is late already. There's not much time left.
Bartolo--I will tell her you've come in his place. Couldn't you give her a lesson?
Count--I'll do anything you like. But take care she doesn't suspect. All these dodges of pretended masters are rather old and theatrical.
Bartolo--She won't suspect if I introduce you. But how you do look! You've much more the air of a disguised lover than of a zealous student-friend.
Count--Really? Don't you think I can hoodwink her all the better for that?
Bartolo--She'll never guess. She's in a horrible temper this evening. But if she'll only see you--Her harpsichord is in this room. Amuse yourself while you're waiting. I'll do all I can to bring her here.
Count--Don't say a word about the letter.
Bartolo--Before the right moment? It would lose all effect if I did. It's not necessary to tell me things twice; it's not necessary to tell me things twice. [He goes.]
Count [alone, soliloquizes]--At last I've won! Ouf! What a difficult little old imp he is! Figaro understands him. I found myself lying, and that made me awkward; and he has eyes for everything! On my honor, if the letter hadn't inspired me he'd have thought me a fool!--Ah, how they are disputing in there!--What if she refuses to come? Listen--If she won't, my coming is all thrown away. There she is: I won't show myself at first.
[Rosina enters.]
Rosina [angrily]--There's no use talking about it, sir. I've made up my mind. I don't want to hear anything more about music.
Bartolo--But, my child, do listen! It is Señor Alonzo, the friend and pupil of Don Basilio, whom he has chosen as one of our marriage witnesses. I'm sure that music will calm you.
Rosina--Oh! you needn't concern yourself about that; and as for singing this evening--Where is this master you're so afraid of dismissing? I'll settle him in a minute--and Señor Basilio too. [She sees her lover and exclaims:] Ah!
Bartolo--Eh, eh, what is the matter?
Rosina [pressing her hands to her heart]--Ah, sir! Ah, sir!
Bartolo--She is ill again! Señor Alonzo!
Rosina--No, I am not ill--but as I was turning--ah!
Count--Did you sprain your foot, Madame?
Rosina--Yes, yes, I sprained my foot! I--hurt myself dreadfully.
Count--So I perceived.
Rosina [looking at the Count]--The pain really makes me feel faint.
Bartolo--A chair--a chair there! And not a single chair here! [He goes to get one.]
Count--Ah, Rosina!
Rosina--What imprudence!
Count--There are a hundred things I must say to you.
Rosina--He won't leave us alone.
Count--Figaro will help us.
Bartolo [bringing an arm-chair]--Wait a minute, my child. Sit down here. She can't take a lesson this evening, Señor: you must postpone it. Good-by.
Rosina [to the Count]--No, wait; my pain is better. [To Bartolo.] I feel that I've acted foolishly! I'll imitate you, and atone at once by taking my lesson.
Bartolo--Oh! Such a kind little woman at heart! But after so much excitement, my child, I can't let you make any exertion. So good-bye, Señor, good-bye.
Rosina [to the Count]--Do wait a minute! [To Bartolo.] I shall think that you don't care to please me if you won't let me show my regret by taking my lesson.
Count [aside to Bartolo]--I wouldn't oppose her, if I were you.
Bartolo--That settles it, my love: I am so anxious to please you that I shall stay here all the time you are practicing.
Rosina--No, don't. I know you don't care for music.
Bartolo--It will charm me this evening, I'm sure.
Rosina [aside to the Count]--I'm tormented to death!
Count [taking a sheet of music from the stand]--Will you sing this, Madame?
Rosina--Yes, indeed--it's a very pretty thing out of the opera 'The Useless Precaution.'
Bartolo--Why do you always sing from 'The Useless Precaution'?
Count--There is nothing newer! It's a picture of spring in a very bright style. So if Madame wants to try it--
Rosina [looking at the Count]--With pleasure. A picture of spring is delightful! It is the youth of nature. It seems as if the heart always feels more when winter's just over. It's like a slave who finds liberty all the more charming after a long confinement.
Bartolo [to the Count]--Always romantic ideas in her head!
Count [in a low tone]--Did you notice the application?
Bartolo--Zounds!
[He sits down in the chair which Rosina has been occupying. Rosina sings, during which Bartolo goes to sleep. Under cover of the refrain the Count seizes Rosina's hand and covers it with kisses. In her emotion she sings brokenly, and finally breaks off altogether. The sudden silence awakens Bartolo. The Count starts up, and Rosina quickly resumes her song.]
[Don Basilio enters. Figaro in background.]
Rosina [startled, to herself]--Don Basilio!
Count [aside]--Good Heaven!
Figaro--The devil!
Bartolo [going to meet him]--Ah! welcome, Basilio. So your accident was not very serious? Alonzo quite alarmed me about you. He will tell you that I was just going to see you, and if he had not detained me--
Basilio [in astonishment]--Señor Alonzo?
Figaro [stamping his foot]--Well, well! How long must I wait? Two hours wasted already over your beard--Miserable business!
Basilio [looking at every one in amazement]--But, gentlemen, will you please tell me--
Figaro--You can talk to him after I've gone.
Basilio--But still, would--
Count--You'd better be quiet, Basilio. Do you think you can inform him of anything new? I've told him that you sent me for the music lesson instead of coming himself.
Basilio [still more astonished]--The music lesson! Alonzo!
Rosina [aside to Basilio]--Do hold your tongue, can't you?
Basilio--She, too!
Count [to Bartolo]--Let him know what you and I have agreed upon.
Bartolo [aside to Basilio]--Don't contradict, and say that he is not your pupil, or you will spoil everything.
Basilio--Ah! Ah!
Bartolo [aloud]--Indeed, Basilio, your pupil has a great deal of talent.
Basilio [stupefied]--My pupil! [In a low tone.] I came to tell you that the Count has moved.
Bartolo [low]--I know it. Hush.
Basilio [low]--Who told you?
Bartolo [low]--He did, of course.
Count [low]--It was I, naturally. Just listen, won't you?
Rosina [low to Basilio]--Is it so hard to keep still?
Figaro [low to Basilio]--Hum! The sharper! He is deaf!
Basilio [aside]--Who the devil are they trying to deceive here? Everybody seems to be in it!
Bartolo [aloud]--Well, Basilio--about your lawyer--?
Figaro--You have the whole evening to talk about the lawyer.
Bartolo [to Basilio]--One word; only tell me if you are satisfied with the lawyer.
Basilio [startled]--With the lawyer?
Count [smiling]--Haven't you seen the lawyer?
Basilio [impatient]--Eh? No, I haven't seen the lawyer.
Count [aside to Bartolo]--Do you want him to explain matters before her? Send him away.
Bartolo [low to the Count]--You are right. [To Basilio.] But what made you ill, all of a sudden?
Basilio [angrily]--I don't understand you.
Count [secretly slipping a purse into his hands]--Yes: he wants to know what you are doing here, when you are so far from well?
Figaro--He's as pale as a ghost!
Basilio--Ah! I understand.
Count--Go to bed, dear Basilio. You are not at all well, and you make us all anxious. Go to bed.
Figaro--He looks quite upset. Go to bed.
Bartolo--I'm sure he seems feverish. Go to bed.
Rosina--Why did you come out? They say that it's catching. Go to bed.
Basilio [in the greatest amazement]--I'm to go to bed!
All the others together--Yes, you must.
Basilio [looking at them all]--Indeed, I think I will have to withdraw. I don't feel quite as well as usual.
Bartolo--We'll look for you to-morrow, if you are better.
Count--I'll see you soon, Basilio.
Basilio [aside]--Devil take it if I understand all this! And if it weren't for this purse--
All--Good-night, Basilio, good-night.
Basilio [going]--Very well, then; good-night, good-night.
[The others, all laughing, push him civilly out of the room.]
FROM 'THE MARRIAGE OF FIGARO'
OUTWITTING A HUSBAND
[The scene is the boudoir of young Countess Almaviva, the Rosina of the previous selection. She is seated alone, when her clever maid Susanna ushers in the young page Cherubino, just banished from the house because obnoxious to the jealous Count.]
Susanna--Here's our young Captain, Madame.
Cherubino [timidly]--The title is a sad reminder that--that I must leave this delightful home and the godmother who has been so kind--
Susanna--And so beautiful!
Cherubino [sighing]--Ah, yes!
Susanna [mocking his sigh]--Ah, yes! Just look at his hypocritical eyelids! Madame, make him sing his new song. [She gives it to him.] Come now, my beautiful bluebird, sing away.
Countess--Does the manuscript say who wrote this--song?
Susanna--The blushes of guilt betray him.
Cherubino--Madame, I--I--tremble so.
Susanna--Ta, ta, ta, ta--! Come, modest author--since you are so commanded. Madame, I'll accompany him.
Countess [to Susanna]--Take my guitar.
[Cherubino sings his ballad to the air of 'Malbrouck.' The Countess reads the words of it from his manuscript, with an occasional glance at him; he sometimes looks at her and sometimes lowers his eyes as he sings. Susanna, accompanying him, watches them both, laughing.]
Countess [folding the song]--Enough, my boy. Thank you. It is very good--full of feeling--
Susanna--Ah! as for feeling--this is a young man who--well!
[Cherubino tries to stop her by catching hold of her dress. Susanna whispers to him]--Ah, you good-for-nothing! I'm going to tell her. [Aloud.] Well--Captain! We'll amuse ourselves by seeing how you look in one of my dresses!
Countess--Susanna, how can you go on so?
Susanna [going up to Cherubino and measuring herself with him]--He's just the right height. Off with your coat. [She draws it off.]
Countess--But what if some one should come?
Susanna--What if they do? We're doing no wrong. But I'll lock the door, just the same. [Locks it.] I want to see him in a woman's head-dress!
Countess--Well, you'll find my little cap in my dressing-room on the toilet table.
[Susanna gets the cap, and then, sitting down on a stool, she makes Cherubino kneel before her and arranges it on his hair.]
Susanna--Goodness, isn't he a pretty girl? I'm jealous. Cherubino, you're altogether too pretty.
Countess--Undo his collar a little; that will give a more feminine air. [Susanna loosens his collar so as to show his neck.] Now push up his sleeves, so that the under ones show more. [While Susanna rolls up Cherubino's sleeves, the Countess notices her lost ribbon around his wrist.] What is that? My ribbon?
Susanna--Ah! I'm very glad you've seen it, for I told him I should tell. I should certainly have taken it away from him if the Count hadn't come just then; for I am almost as strong as he is.
Countess [with surprise, unrolling the ribbon]--There's blood on it!
Cherubino--Yes, I was tightening the curb of my horse this morning, he curvetted and gave me a push with his head, and the bridle stud grazed my arm.
Countess--I never saw a ribbon used as a bandage before.
Susanna--Especially a stolen ribbon. What may all those things be--the curb, the curvetting, the bridle stud? [Glances at his arms.] What white arms he has! just like a woman's. Madame, they are whiter than mine.
Countess--Never mind that, but run and find me some oiled silk.
[Susanna goes out, after humorously pushing Cherubino over so that he falls forward on his hands. He and the Countess look at each other for some time; then she breaks the silence.]
Countess--I hope you are plucky enough. Don't show yourself before the Count again to-day. We'll tell him to hurry up your commission in his regiment.
Cherubino--I already have it, Madame. Basilio brought it to me. [He draws the commission from his pocket and hands it to her.]
Countess--Already! They haven't lost any time. [She opens it.] Oh, in their hurry they've forgotten to add the seal to it.
Susanna [returning with the oiled silk]--Seal what?
Countess--His commission in the regiment.
Susanna--Already?
Countess--That's what I said.
Susanna--And the bandage?
Countess--Oh, when you are getting my things, take a ribbon from one of your caps. [Susanna goes out again]
Countess--This ribbon is of my favorite color. I must tell you I was greatly displeased at your taking it.
Cherubino--That one would heal me quickest.
Countess--And--why so?
Cherubino--When a ribbon--has pressed the head, and--touched the skin of one--
Countess [hastily]--Very strange--then it can cure wounds? I never heard that before. I shall certainly try it on the first wound of any of--my maids--
Cherubino [sadly]--I must go away from here!
Countess--But not for always? [Cherubino begins to weep.] And now you are crying! At that prediction of Figaro?
Cherubino--I'm just where he said I'd be. [Some one knocks on the door].
Countess--Who can be knocking like that?
The Count [outside]--Open the door!
Countess--Heavens! It's my husband. Where can you hide?
The Count [outside]--Open the door, I say.
Countess--There's no one here, you see.
The Count--But who are you talking to then?
Countess--To you, I suppose. [To Cherubino.] Hide yourself, quick--in the dressing-room!
Cherubino--Ah, after this morning, he'd kill me if he found me here.
[He runs into the dressing-room on the right, which is also Susanna's room; the Countess, after locking him in and taking the key, admits the Count.]
Count--You don't usually lock yourself in, Madame.
Countess--I--I--was gossiping with Susanna. She's gone. [Pointing to her maid's room.]
Count--And you seem very much agitated, Madame.
Countess--Not at all, I assure you! We were talking about you. She's just gone--as I told you.
Count--I must say, Madame, you and I seem to be surrounded by spiteful people. Just as I'm starting for a ride, I'm handed a note which informs me that a certain person whom I suppose far enough away is to visit you this evening.
Countess--The bold fellow, whoever he is, will have to come here, then; for I don't intend to leave my room to-day.
[Something falls heavily in the dressing-room where Cherubino is.]
Count--Ah, Madame, something dropped just then!
Countess--I didn't hear anything.
Count--You must be very absent-minded, then. Somebody is in that room!
Countess--Who do you think could be there?
Count--Madame, that is what I'm asking you. I have just come in.
Countess--Probably it's Susanna wandering about.
Count [pointing]--But you just told me that she went that way.
Countess--This way or that--I don't know which.
Count--Very well, Madame, I must see her.--Come here, Susanna.
Countess--She cannot. Pray wait! She's but half dressed. She's trying on things that I've given her for her wedding.
Count--Dressed or not, I wish to see her at once.
Countess--I can't prevent your doing so anywhere else, but here--
Count--You may say what you choose--I will see her.
Countess--I thoroughly believe you'd like to see her in that state! but--
Count--Very well, Madame. If Susanna can't come out, at least she can talk. [Turning toward the dressing-room.] Susanna, are you there? Answer, I command you.
Countess [peremptorily]--Don't answer, Susanna! I forbid you! Sir, how can you be such a petty tyrant? Fine suspicions, indeed!
[Susanna slips by and hides behind the Countess's bed without being noticed either by her or by the Count.]
Count--They are all the easier to dispel. I can see that it would be useless to ask you for the key, but it's easy enough to break in the door. Here, somebody!
Countess--Will you really make yourself the laughing-stock of the chateau for such a silly suspicion?
Count--- You are quite right. I shall simply force the door myself. I am going for tools.
Countess--Sir, if your conduct were prompted by love, I'd forgive your jealousy for the sake of the motive. But its cause is only your vanity.
Count--Love or vanity, Madame, I mean to know who is in that room! And to guard against any tricks, I am going to lock the door to your maid's room. You, Madame, will kindly come with me, and without any noise, if you please. [He leads her away.] As for the Susanna in the dressing-room, she will please wait a few minutes.
Countess [going out with him]--Sir, I assure you--
Susanna [coming out from behind the bed and running to the dressing-room]--Cherubino! Open quick! It's Susanna. [Cherubino hurries out of the dressing-room.] Escape--you haven't a minute to lose!
Cherubino--Where can I go?
Susanna--I don't know, I don't know at all! but do go somewhere!
Cherubino [running to the window, then coming back]--The window isn't so very high.
Susanna [frightened and holding him back]--He'll kill himself!
Cherubino--Ah, Susie, I'd rather jump into a gulf than put the Countess in danger. [He snatches a kiss, then runs to the window, hesitates, and finally jumps down into the garden.]
Susanna--Ah! [She falls fainting into an arm-chair. Recovering slowly, she rises, and seeing Cherubino running through the garden she comes forward panting.] He's far away already! ... Little scamp! as nimble as he is handsome! [She next runs to the dressing-room.] Now, Count Almaviva, knock as hard as you like, break down the door. Plague take me if I answer you. [Goes into the dressing-room and shuts the door.]
[Count and Countess return.]
Count--Now, Madame, consider well before you drive me to extremes.
Countess--I--I beg of you--!
Count [preparing to burst open the door]--You can't cajole me now.
Countess [throwing herself on her knees]--Then I will open it! Here is the key.
Count--So it is not Susanna?
Countess--No, but it's no one who should offend you.
Count--If it's a man I kill him! Unworthy wife! You wish to stay shut up in your room--you shall stay in it long enough, I promise you. Now I understand the note--my suspicions are justified!
Countess--Will you listen to me one minute?
Count--Who is in that room?
Countess--Your page.
Count--Cherubino! The little scoundrel!--just let me catch him! I don't wonder you were so agitated.
Countess--I--I assure you we were only planning an innocent joke.
[The Count snatches the key, and goes to the dressing-room door; the Countess throws herself at his feet.]
Countess--Have mercy, Count! Spare this poor child; and although the disorder in which you will find him--
Count--What, Madame? What do you mean? What disorder?
Countess--He was just changing his coat--his neck and arms are bare--
[The Countess throws herself into a chair and turns away her head.]
Count [running to the dressing-room]--Come out here, you young villain!
Count [seeing Susanna come out of the dressing-room]--Eh! Why, it is Susanna! [Aside.] What, a lesson!
Susanna [mocking him]--"I will kill him! I will kill him!" Well, then, why don't you kill this mischievous page?
Count [to the Countess, who at the sight of Susanna shows the greatest surprise]--So you also play astonishment, Madame?
Countess--Why shouldn't I?
Count--But perhaps she wasn't alone in there. I'll find out. [He goes into the dressing-room.]
Countess--- Susanna, I'm nearly dead.
Count [aside, as he returns]--No one there! So this time I really am wrong. [To the Countess, coldly.] You excel at comedy, Madame.
Susanna--And what about me, sir?
Count--And so do you.
Countess--Aren't you glad you found her instead of Cherubino? [Meaningly.] You are generally pleased to come across her.
Susanna--Madame ought to have let you break in the doors, call the servants--
Count--Yes, it's quite true--I'm at fault--I'm humiliated enough! But why didn't you answer, you cruel girl, when I called you?
Susanna--I was dressing as well as I could--with the aid of pins, and Madame knew why she forbade me to answer. She had her lessons.
Count--Why don't you help me get pardon, instead of making me out as bad as you can?
Countess--Did I marry you to be eternally subjected to jealousy and neglect? I mean to join the Ursulines, and--
Count--But, Rosina!
Countess--I am no longer the Rosina whom you loved so well. I am only poor Countess Almaviva, deserted wife of a madly jealous husband.
Count--I assure you, Rosina, this man, this letter, had excited me so--
Countess--I never gave my consent.
Count--What, you knew about it?
Countess--This rattlepate Figaro, without my sanction--
Count--He did it, eh! and Basilio pretended that a peasant brought it. Crafty wag, ready to impose on everybody!
Countess--You beg pardon, but you never grant pardon. If I grant it, it shall only be on condition of a general amnesty.
Count--Well, then, so be it. I agree. But I don't understand how your sex can adapt itself to circumstances so quickly and so nicely. You were certainly much agitated; and for that matter, you are yet.
Countess--Men aren't sharp enough to distinguish between honest indignation at unjust suspicion, and the confusion of guilt.
Count--We men think we know something of politics, but we are only children. Madame, the King ought to name you his ambassador to London.--And now pray forget this unfortunate business, so humiliating for me.
Countess--For us both.
Count--Won't you tell me again that you forgive me?
Countess--Have I said that, Susanna?
Count--Ah, say it now.
Countess--Do you deserve it, culprit?
Count--Yes, honestly, for my repentance.
Countess [giving him her hand]--How weak I am! What an example I set you, Susanna! He'll never believe in a woman's anger.
Susanna--You are prisoner on parole; and you shall see we are honorable.