CHAPTER III.

Don Pasquale got himself up in such style for the reception of his bride that his own servants did not know him. In fact he hardly knew himself, and felt rather taller. But he was not comfortable, and indeed as he gave his servants orders to admit none but the doctor and the person who might be with him, he blushed rather red, which last word is superfluous, for no don in the world could blush blue! Well, the servants departed; he danced again, and then growing tired he was fatigued with waiting.

Soon they arrived. The doctor pushing his “sister” forward with angry jerks. As for her, with her veil down over her meek face, she was uttering cries of fright and mild opposition.

“Courage, courage, sister.”

“Oh, dear me--that is--I can’t--please, brother, do not leave me.”

Here the don danced up to the young lady, adjusting his necktie gracefully round his neck.

“Something like a giggle was heard, but the next moment a voice from under the veil said,

“Oh, dear, dear, dear, I can’t--that is, I’d rather go away. Please, brother, don’t--_don’t_ leave me.”

“Do not be afraid.”

“Oh, I’d rather stand behind.” And behind she went.

The doctor went up to the don apologetically, saying that the poor girl was but just fresh from the convent. In fact, he said, she was naturally of a wild disposition, and it was for the don to tame her.

“Oh, brother, brother, come here.”

“Just one moment, sister--”

“Suppose some one should come in, I should faint.” Here the young and bashful widow covered her mouth with her hand, and laughed.

Said the don to himself, keeping away from the lady, whose face had not yet turned towards him, “If her face is equal to her voice, Don Pasquale, you lucky man you, you have waited for something.”

“Brother, brother, I don’t like to be left alone.”

“My dear, you are not alone, I am here, and here is Don Pasquale.”

“Oh! oh! a man!--oh my goodness! a man,--oh take me away--a man! oh I never!” Here there was another laugh.

Here the don congratulated himself more than ever.

And here, also, the Doctor said to himself, “Poor old fellow.”

Then he added, “Don’t be afraid, sister, this is the noble Don Pasquale.”

“Oh indeed!”

Don Pasquale made as low a bow as a stout old gentleman could. The timid young lady made him a sweeping curtesy.

“Thank you, sir--your most obedient. Oh, oh.” Here the don was taking her hand.

“Oh loving hand,” muttered the old don.

And while he pranced off after three chairs, there was another laugh, suppressed, from under the veil.

Each chair the doctor set down with a puff and a bang, and at last he sat himself down in the center one.

“What do you think of her?” (in a low voice to the don.)

“What indeed! But that veil?” (in a lower voice to the doctor.)

“Oh! she would not dare to speak to a man, unveiled. Talk to her a little; see if your dispositions agree. Then we will question the veil.”

“Hum--hum--(courage, don, courage)--Am delighted--have the honor--your brother--Dr. Malatesta--pray did you speak?”

Here she got up and made him another curtesy. “Oh--sir your most obedient--sir.”

“I was going to say, no doubt you like company of an evening.”

“Oh _dear_ no. We never do at the convent. We always go to bed.”

“Ah, but you _some_times went to the theatre?”

“Oh!--dear,--what--is--that? I’m sure--I never _wished_ to go there.”

“Delightful,” thought the old don, and added, “And pray, now, how did you pass your time?”

“Oh, sir, in sewing, and knitting, and embroidering, and sometimes I played with the pretty little cats.”

“Ah, ah.” (doctor.)

“Dear me, doctor, pray be still; ’tis rude to laugh, even at one’s sister. But doctor, that veil!”

“Dear sister, remove thy veil.”

“Oh! no, I couldn’t--before a man.”

“But I bid you.”

“Oh yes--oh yes, brother--I obey.”

The don rose in honor of this act, but no sooner did he see the dove-like face, than he fell upon his seat again with a crash.

“Pray, Don Pasquale, what’s the matter?”

“Can’t tell, doctor. But it seemed to go right through me--speak for me, doctor. Tell her how I love her.”

“Courage, old friend. She does not seem indisposed towards thee. Now tell me, sister--this gentleman--do you like him?”

After casting a glance at the don who was admiring his own legs, she said. “--I--I--I think I do.”

“She consents, don; she is yours!”

“Oh bliss; oh joy; oh delight, oh!”

Here came another of those mysterious laughs.

Said then the don in a loud voice (when he had recovered it,) “A notary.”

“Ah, don, a notary is not like a glass of wine, ever at hand; but anticipating this joyful moment, I have brought a notary with us.”

“Quick, quick, quick,” said the don.

“Yes, yes, yes,” replied the doctor, and running; but he returned immediately, with the false notary, Nephew Charles.

Solemnly this functionary walked to a table, sat down a mass of black folds, and severely took up a pen.

Then said the doctor pompously, and dictating to the grave notary, “On the one part, et cetera, et cetera, Sophronia Malatesta, residing et cetera, et cetera, and the rest of it. And on the other part, Don Pasquale, et cetera, et cetera, residing at et cetera, et cetera, and also all the rest of it.”

The notary, writing hurriedly, soon completed the work.

“Very good!” said the proud don, “and then continue--which above-named gentleman (I mean myself,) from this hour, makes over one half his goods and property, by a deed of gift made before his death, to his most beloved wife.”

This was also written in a hurry.

“Bless you! bless you!” said the doctor.

“Bl-l-less you, sir, your obedient,” chimed in the lady.

The notary gravely held out the pen for signatures. Thereupon the don seized it, and speedily signed his name.

“Oh, dear sir, I’d rather not; no, don’t brother.”

For the doctor was again pushing her forward. The modest woman didn’t like to sign, and again her face was buried in her handkerchief.

“Where are the witnesses?” said the grave notary.

And at this moment, the voice of a gentleman named Ernesto was heard at high words with the obdurate footman. The face of the lady thereupon grew very grave, and indeed she dropped her pen.

“Back, back!” shouted Ernesto, without the room.

And the lady was forced to confess to herself, that she now really began to tremble.

And so also did the doctor tremble, for Ernesto had not been informed of these plans, and he might in consequences spoil all.

At this moment there was a rush at the door, the next moment it was flung open, and in the doorway stood the young nephew.

“Sir,” said this latter, “I came to take my leave of you, and I am debarred your presence as though I were a robber.”

“We were busy, young man, _very_ busy when you came to the door; however, now you are here, stop; sign--witness. Let the bride advance.”

Tableau.

The “young man” was about explaining, when he felt his coat pulled. Then the doctor said quite solemnly, “This is Sophronia--my sister.”

“So--who?”

“So that you be quiet--never mind who,” said the doctor, lowly. “For your own sake, be still--be dumb: excuse him, don--the poor youth, I will explain all to him.” And as the old don bowed in his own absurd fashion, the doctor led the youth on one side, and thus admonished him: “Now, if you wish to be your own enemy and Norina’s, go on; but if you are not your own enemy and Norina’s, don’t.”

“Just so--but--”

“Yes--exactly--don’t, as I said before; come and sign the contract.”

Which, with great doubt still, the jealous lover did.

Said the stern notary, rising from his chair, “You are man and wife.”

The writer _would_ respectfully have it understood that _he_ is in no way responsible for this astounding free and easy marriage; far be it from him so to dispose of brides. But he opines that ’tis a way they have in Spain.

Upon that notarial announcement, the don was faint with joy, and the next moment he was nearly faint with surprise.

For hardly was the contract completed, hardly had the astounding notarial intimation been given, than the bride throws aside her veil, and with it her meek look. Let it not, however, he said she assumed a bold look--say rather, an easy, cool, pleasant countenance.

The don advanced towards the lady to give her a marital embrace, but she gently pushed him back. “Softly pray; calm your ardor; you should first entreat permission.”

“And I do!”--

“And I do _not_ permit.”

The don fell plump upon his chair, and looked unmeaningly after the notary, who was quietly withdrawing.

“Ah, ah, oh,” said the youth Ernesto, as he saw the blank expression on his uncle’s face.

“Sir Nephew, how dare you laugh. Quit this house. Begone!”

“Begone, don, fie!” said the new wife contemptuously. “What rudeness! Pray remain, sir.” Then turning rapidly to the don, she said, “I must teach you better manners.”

“Doctor Malatesta!” said the astounded don.

“Don Pasquale!” said the doctor in the same tone.

“This is quite another woman, doctor.”

“I am turned to stone, don.”

“What does she mean?”

“By your leave, I’ll ask her.” And the doctor luckily turned away, for his red face was quivering.

As for the lady Norina, she marched with dignity up to and against the don, and thus terribly spoke. “You are too old, too stout, too slow, to take charge of a young wife through the streets; this young cavalier shall be my BEAU!”

“Oh, dear NO.”

“And pray who will prevent it?”

“_I_ will.”

“You said--”

“_I_ will.”

“_In_deed.” (Here she tenderly approached him, and stroked his friendly old grey head.) “Dear husband; now forget those horrid words ‘I will,’ or at least leave them with me, with me alone, for the wife _should_ be obeyed.”

“But--but!”

“But us no buts, dear man. Be still, I say. What, are you one of those men who will not be led by kindness? what, would you dare!”

Here there was a dull rap distinctly heard, it was a knock on the don’s expostulating knuckles.

“Am I awake?” asked the don of himself. “What has happened? blows I think! Pray what shall come next?”

In fact, the don looked as though petrified--dreaming--struck by lightning, as though he were anybody but himself.

“Courage, don, courage,” said the doctor.

“Courage, oh dear,” said Don Pasquale, the married man sinking lower and lower in his chair.

Suddenly the new lady of the house flew at the bell, and rang it till the room seemed made of bells. As a servant entered, she cast the implement at him.

“Let all the servants come directly, rascal.”

“Oh, heavens!” sighed Don Pasquale.

Two servants and the steward came running in a moment after at a tremendous pace.

“Three! _Three_ beggarly servants. Three. As for you, steward. Bow lower, sir, bow lower” (stamp of the foot); “listen to these my orders. Turn those cubs away at once. Get new servants, good looking young men that will do us credit; two dozen will do.”

“Oh, heaven!” exclaimed Don Pasquale.

“Steward,” (another stamp of the foot) “how dare you turn away. Let there be two new carriages this very evening in MY stables; as for MY new horses, I leave the choice to you. And as for these apartments, they are frightful, they shall be rebuilt. And as for this horrid furniture, it shall be burnt.”

“Oh, heaven! have you done ma’m?”

“No, man. Steward (greater stamp of the foot than ever,) how dare you not keep your eyes on me? Let everything, everywhere, always be in the first style, so that people may respect us. Begone, fool!”

“And pray now ma’m,” suggested the don, “who pays?”

“And pray now sir, who should know better than you?”

“Oh, heaven! Pray am I master, or am I not?”

“You are not--master, where I am! Zounds!” She flings over a chair.

“Sister, sister,” said the doctor, but the sister did not even look at him. She flew at the don as well as she could, seeing she was a wingless angel; and arrived within a quarter of an inch of his head, bade him, in the most impassioned language, depart.

“Tell me, some one, _have_ I married her?”

“Ah, you poor man you,” said the new wife; with a sneer.

Here the don went off into a roaring, yelping, yelling rage, tearing his own clothes, dilapidating his own walls with his own head, and damaging his personal appearance with nobody’s hands but his own.

“Oh, brother, brother,” shrieked the doctor, dashing after the don, who was taking a tour of destruction all round the drawing-room to the north, while his lady was doing precisely the same thing to the south.

“Oh, will anybody tell me,” asked the don--“am I mad?”

Well, Norina in her rage worked round to where Ernesto was standing--and then she was wearing her own natural bright face, and reaching that youth she uttered this little speech. “Ah! well--Ernesto”--To which the youth answered--“Ah! dear Norina.”

So it may be supposed that both were gratified.

The next moment she had recommenced her sail round the room: but by this time the doctor had run up to the don and deftly turned him away from this affectionate little duet of soft words.

“My goodness, don, what a pulse--eighty, ninety, one hundred and twenty, twenty-five--Don Pasquale you must straightway go to BED!”