CHAPTER I.

Don Pasquale was an old bachelor, and as wealthy as he was old. He was saving, credulous, and obstinate. But for all that Don Pasquale was the best-hearted of dons.

Now he had a nephew, whose name was Ernesto. This youth had been continually either falling from the heights of his uncle’s approbation, or to the depths of his displeasure, only to be raised again the next day. But at last Ernesto forfeited the don’s approbation altogether, for he fell in love with Norina, of whom the don had no good opinion, though, in truth, he had never seen her. In the first place, according to the don, she was flighty; in the second place, she was impatient; in the third place, she was fiery; and the old bachelor had a horror of fiery women.

So when his nephew showed a disposition to speak in praise of his lady love, the don grew so obstinate and ill-tempered, that his friend, Doctor Malatesta, no longer recognized him as the old bachelor companion: Doctor Malatesta had known the bachelor don for more years than he would like to name, and known the nephew as long as the don himself, so he was like one of the family. It may also be stated that the doctor was a practical joker.

There is but a fourth party to this little tale--though she cannot be called one of the family--we mean Norina, a young widow, a delightful widow, perhaps impatient, as the don had declared, nay, perhaps even fiery, but for all that she was affectionate and sincere, and amazingly fond of Ernesto.

Well, it may be said at once, that the nephew persisted in adoring Norina; the old don then marked out a line of conduct, the effect of which was, that he sat in his breakfast parlor one fine morning, impatiently waiting for his friend Malatesta, and snappishly looking at the clock. Being old and a leetle deaf, he took the first sound he heard to be the doctor’s step--’twas only the wind; then he thought of the “pill” he had prepared for his obstinate nephew, moreover his insulting nephew, for that relation had gone so far as to indecently call him a donkey--call _him_, Don Pasquale--a donkey.

In the midst of his silent anger, the doctor arrived, a pleasant middle-aged gentleman, with a jolly, pleasant face.

“Well, well,” said the don.

“Well, indeed,” said the doctor.

“What, you have found--”

“Yes, indeed.”

The don embraced his friend in the Italian manner, and thereupon did not see the laugh that spread over the doctor’s merry countenance.

“Now for her portrait,” said the don; “I am all attention.”

“She is as beautiful as an angel who has missed her way, and wandered to earth; she is as fresh as a newly-blown lily, and her eyes are like darts that pierce the very heart--and whether you shall most admire the blackness of her hair, or the beauty of her smile, who shall say?”

“Blessed is the man who is blessed with such a wife.”

“And her modesty, and her grace, and her charity!”

“Yes, yes, doctor; and her family!”

“Such a family!”

“And her name--”

“Her name is Malatesta.”

“What! is she related to you?”

“A little; she’s my sister.”

“Oh, dear brother! when shall I see her?”

“To-morrow.”

“‘Tis an age! this very instant!”

“Ah!” said the doctor, “I can deny naught to a friend.”

Again the don embraced the doctor.

This second embrace was not so long as the first. The don ejected his friend from his arms, and said rapidly, “Go, go, go.”

Left to himself, it may be remarked the old don danced with glee. If you have not seen a gingerly old gentleman in such a situation, you have lost a sight. He was in the midst of this practice, when his nephew, Ernesto came running into the room.

“Good morning, nephew! You may sit down.”

“Surely, surely, uncle!”

“Don’t be afraid.”

“Surely, surely, uncle!”

“I am not going to scold you. Tell me, did I not, precisely two months ago, offer you the hand of a lady, as rich as beautiful, and as noble as both?”

“Surely, surely, uncle!”

“And did I not promise to give you all I had?”

“At your death--surely, surely.”

“And did I not say if you refused, I would marry her myself?”

“That is, marry somebody else--surely, surely.”

“Well, you did refuse; now, I offer you this young lady again--will you marry her?”

“Surely, surely--NO.”

“No!”

“No.”

“You homeless fellow, you!”

“You turn me out, uncle?”

“Yes, I do, to make room for your aunt.”

“You marry?”

“Surely, surely, nephew; I myself, the Don Pasquale, in very flesh and bone.”

“You take my breath away!”

“Yes, I myself, the Don Pasquale, sane and sound, I marry.”

“‘Tis a comedy!”

“Is it? Till to-morrow; wait till to-morrow.”

“Sir, I will.”

“Yes, but not here, in Don Pasquale’s house.”

The youth here grew very disconsolate, for indeed he was thinking if his uncle cut him off with that proverbial shilling, he would have to resign the promised hand of somebody whom he had no objection to marry whatever.

Meanwhile the don was watching him attentively, and half hoping that the youth would consent.

Said Ernesto, after the dismal pause, “Uncle, just two words.”

“Three--young man.”

“Don’t be rash--consult Doctor Malatesta.”

“Sir--I have consulted him.”

“And what is his advice?”

“He is as _willing for the match as I_. Oh, you may look astonished--as willing for the match as I. In fact, nephew--between ourselves--SHE IS HIS SISTER!”

“The doctor’s?”

“Well, he _said_ so.”

Poor Ernesto. The doctor had always been his best friend, and when the crashing announcement came, he thought Doctor Malatesta would be his man-at-arms, and now it seemed he had gone over to the enemy. And he looked even more dismal than before, for now, not only had his old love drifted away from him, but his old friend too.

The don saw these dismal marks of misery with dolorous satisfaction--the satisfaction arose out of his pride--and the dolor was buried in his heart. But for all that he showed his nephew to the door, though it should be said to his honor, that he did not dance when he was alone again.