CHAPTER II.

One hour later and everybody in the market place was opening his or her eyes, as widely open he or she could. For with a great blowing of trumpets, and other unusual sounds, came _such_ a visitor!

In a carriage, too--not an ordinary carriage, but a gilt carriage. Not a mean covered-in carriage, like a van, but a fine open carriage, with _such_ a gentleman sitting within it. One had to look twice before he could comprehend him--he was _so_ grand. His waistcoat was a fair field, and his forehead a great plain. But as for his legs, to what shall they be compared? The legs of Jupiter himself, or perhaps Hercules! Yet he had a benignant face, this new comer, and he seemed to know he should be welcome.

Who was he--a lord, a prince?

And who was his trumpeter behind, blowing a triumphal march?

All the people gathered round this wonderful being with open-mouthed respect. Then this great man condescended to step from his grand carriage and address the villagers, as his carriage and his trumpeter stopped together.

“Listen, listen, listen--oh! oh! you rustics all Listen, listen, listen, or great and small. I am, I am, I am the greatest of great men! For I can fright away the greatest oldest wen! I, present now, Who make a bow. Am Doctor Dulcamara. In France I’m known, The French will own, In Venice and Ferrara. Such things I’ve done, That more than one Have said I am--no matter; But this I know, Where’er I go, I make no little clatter.

“Listen, listen, listen every one that’s here. If amongst you any’s dying, let him no longer fear. I’ll cure her, or I’ll cure him, with physic quite divine-- In fact, you wouldn’t know it from very nice sweet wine. Apoplexy Need not vex ye, If unto Dulcamara, With rapid run, You straightway come. And as for those with asthma, If they but drink, I’m sure they’ll think They need not drink much longer If they’re too weak Almost to speak, Quick--_presto_--they’ll be stronger.

“Oh! listen, listen, listen. If any one has gout. Oh! let him buy a bottle, and let him drink it out As for tooth-ache, But _one_ sip take, You’d think no more of _that_ tooth. And as to age, I do engage, _Two_ sips will bring back _your_ youth. Oh! yes I am, Your’e sure I am. Great Doctor Dulcamara In France he’s known, His fame has grown In Venice and Ferrara.

“Oh! listen, listen, listen. No doubt you think ’tis dear. Oh! rustics, rustics, rustics, of that now have no fear. A hundred pounds! A hundred crowns! A bottle I don’t ask you! Oh! yes--oh! yes, The price now guess. To guess high, I don’t ask you. Well, half-a-crown, Just lay it down. Ah! ah? my friend, health bless you. All doctors pale, Before me fail, _I_ only can redress you. Come buy, come buy--oh! rustics, that’s if you’d be well; Your duty is to purchase--my duty is to--sell.”

Now amongst the “rustics” who had heard this very eulogistic patter, was Nemorino; and this youth, biting the rim of his rustic hat, struck himself with the idea that the doctor could cure people of want of love.

“Sir doctor, pardon me, do you know many secrets?”

“Secrets, rustic, I’m _all_ secrets.”

“My faith! Well, have you, by chance, the love drink of Queen Isotta?”

“Hu-u-m. Well, well, well, rustic.”

“The real love-drink that awakens love?”

“Ah! I’m the only brewer of it.”

“And--and do you _sell_ it?”

“To those who can afford to buy it, rustic.”

“Good doctor, and what is the charge?”

“Well--hum--well!”

“I’ve half-a-dozen crowns.”

“I’ faith, you’ve hit it.”

Then the doctor went to his gilt carriage, and brought out something singularly like a small wine-bottle.

“I’ faith,” said the stout doctor, taking the crowns, “you will be cured if you drink that.”

“I’ faith (this to himself,) fools there are ’neath the sun;

A fool, yet none the less a brother--this one.”

“Oh, but doctor, how am I to manage?”

“Ah, I forgot, young rustic.

“Now with great care, In weather fair, The bottle must be taken; Then up and down, Mind, _do not frown_, The bottle must be shaken! Pulled out the cork Per screw or fork, The bottle to your lips, oh, You then must place, And--no grimace, The potion drink in sips, oh.”

“Yes, yes, young man, this is the _real_ elixir of love!”

(And perhaps it was, for ’twas good Bordeaux.)

“And young rustic, don’t take it till to-morrow. (By that time I shall be gone.)”

“Oh, good doctor!”

“I’ faith (to himself again,) fools there are ’neath the sun;

“A fool, yet none the less a brother--this one. And mind, young rustic. A word in your ear. Silence, _silence_! Tis dangerous to sell love-potions now-a-days. I don’t speak for myself, young rustic, for _I_’m the great Dulcamara, famed in Venice and Ferrara; but for _your_ sake, young rustic--ah! ah! all the women in the place will be dying for you. To-morrow, mind. Good bye young rustic, good bye.”

And the worthy doctor vanished through the doorway of the village inn.

“Faith,” said the lover to himself, no longer in a disconsolate tone, “a good thing is a good thing to-day as well as to-morrow. And ’tis fair weather, for am I not sitting down here with my elixir of love? And the bright sky above me. Good! I will!” Pop! ’tis the cork. “Ah, ah! good! another sip. Good!--another.”

“La, la, la, la, la, ra, ra.”

“Good! Good! yet another; and another sip.”

“La, la, la, la, la, ra, ree.”

“Can I believe my eyes; why ’tis Nemorino singing. Actually Nemorino singing. Ah, ah!”

“‘Tis she! I shall go to her! No; why should _I_ go to her? Let her come to me. La, la, la. La, la, la. For to-morrow; yes to-morrow. They’ll be sighing at my feet!”

“He doesn’t even look at me! ah, ah!” Rather a louder “ah, ah!” than the first.

“La, la, la, re, ra, ra, ra. Aie, aie, aie, eie, ah!”

“‘Tis all put on!”

“She’s very clearly not in love with me _yet_. La, la, la, re, ra, ra, ra. Aie, aie, eie, ah!”

“It MUST be put on! Good _evening_, Nemorino. _Very_ good. You’re taking my advice. You’re, you’re quite _merry_!”

“True; I like this new life.”

“Then your sighs, and your sobs, and your tears!”

“La, la, la.”

“Silence, sir.”

“Re, ra, ra, ra.”

“How dare you!”

“Aie, aie, aie, eie, a, a, le.”

“_Very_ good.”

“Oh! I shall be heart-whole to-morrow.”

“Indeed! we shall see! We shall see!” The second “we shall see” very low and confidential.

Then came a voice from the inn, which cried,

“Tran, tran, tran, In love or in war; Tran, tran, tran, You ne’er saw before; Tran, tran, tran, A Sergeant Belcore; Tran, tran, tran, A Sergeant Belcore.”

“Ah! here comes that _admirable_ sergeant. Ah, sergeant; is that you?”

“Yes; dear heart of stone!”

“Stone! oh no.”

“Sound to the assault, sergeant. Now, tell me; when shall we be married?”

“We-e-e-l-l-l--Perhaps s-o-o-o-o-n.”

“Ah!”

“He started,” said Adina in a low voice. “Don’t pull your moustaches, sergeant,” said she in a louder voice.

“Always obey orders; well, in six days?”

“Wel-l-l-l--Per-hap-p-p-s.”

“Victory, victory. As sure as I’m a sergeant!”

“Ah, ah, ah, ah, ah!” laughed Nemorino.

“Oh, oh! he’s actually laughing.” And somebody was almost crying.

“What’s that donkey laughing at?” shouted the sergeant. “If he don’t retreat I shall charge him.”

“Oh, I--could--bite--my--fingers--off--with--rage--he--don’t--seem-- to--care--in--the--_least_.”

“Ah, ah!” thought the donkey; “wait till to-morrow, brave sergeant; wait till to-morrow!”

“Tr-r-r-m, Tr-r-r-m, Tr-r-r-m.”

“Hallo! hallo! What’s that?”

“Sergeant;” here there was a military salute from a soldier. “Despatch.”

With a fierce twirl of his moustaches, “sergeant” opened the paper. “Hum! we march to-morrow.”

“Oh, _dear_!” cried several young girls together. And there was a general impression that a shifting garrison was a national wrong.

“Con-n-nfound it,” said the sergeant; “and my marriage.”

“Yes, yes! to-morrow, my friend,” again thought Nemorino.

“Oh! I shall not forget you, sergeant!”

“Forget! Peste! Hu-m-u-m, Adina--why can’t we be married to-day?”

“He--seems--moved--now; in--fact--he--seems--quite--frightened;” thought the little coquette.

“To-day;” thought rustic Nemorino, “to-day--if they’re married to-day there will be no to-morrow--and the elixir of love--will be useless!”

“We-l-l-l sergeant. Y-y-y-es; to-day!”

“Oh, no, no, no; Adina. Wait till to-morrow.”

“Ah, ah!”

“You cannot marry him; because, I--I--I--know why!”

“Co-r-r-r-rpodi Bacco!”

“You can’t, Adina. You’ll be sorry if you do. Don’t, don’t marry him till to-morrow.”

“Begone, booby; or I strangle you!”

“Sergeant, pray take no notice of the poor fellow. Half-witted, sergeant. He thought; ah, ah! thought I should--should _love_ him. Oh--the--ridiculous--creature. _He_ thought! I’ll be revenged on him,” she said to herself. “How _dared_ he to sing before me. He shall fall at my feet in penitence before I’ll have a word to say to him.”

And all the girls about said, “the _idea_! a common husbandman to dare to be the rival of a sergeant in the army; the _idea_!”

“Come, sergeant.”

“The notary; corpo di Bacco; the notary.”

“Yes, yes; sergeant, come.”

“Doctor, doctor,” shrieked out Nemorino. “Doctor, help! quick! help, doctor!”

“Now, then; all of you there; fall in; march.”

And away they all went to see sergeant Belcore married to Adina the coquette.

Leaving Nemorino the rustic to call for the doctor at his leisure.