ACT II.

SCENE, the COUNTESS’s Bed-Chamber.

(_A state-bed in the back ground under an Alcove: three doors; one the entrance into the room, another into Susan’s room, and the third to the Countess’s dressing-room; a large window that opens to the street._)

_The_ COUNTESS _seated_, SUSAN _waiting_.

_Countess._ Shut the door--And so the Page was hid behind the great chair?

_Susan._ Yes, Madam.

_Countess._ But how did he happen to be in your room, Susan?

_Susan._ The poor Boy came to beg I would prevail on you to obtain his pardon of my Lord the Count.

_Countess._ But why did not he come to me himself? I should not have refused him a favor of that kind.

_Susan._ Bashfulness, Madam. _Ah Susan!_ said he, _she is a Divinity! How noble is her Manner! Her very smiles are awful._

_Countess._ (_Smiling_) Is that true, Susan?

_Susan._ Can you doubt it, Madam?

_Countess._ I have always afforded him my protection.

_Susan._ Had you, Madam, but seen him snatch the ribband from me!

_Countess._ (_Rising_) Pshaw! Enough of this nonsense--And so my Lord the Count endeavours to seduce you, Susan?

_Susan._ Oh, no indeed, Madam, he does not give himself the trouble to seduce; he endeavours to purchase me: and because I refuse him will certainly prevent my marriage with Figaro, and support the pretensions of Marcelina.

_Countess._ Fear nothing--We shall have need, however, of a little artifice perhaps; in the execution of which Figaro’s assistance may not be amiss.

_Susan._ He will be here, Madam, as soon as my Lord is gone a coursing.

_Countess._ Your Lord is an ungrateful man, Susan!--An ungrateful man! (_The Countess walks up and down the room with some emotion_) Open the window; I am stifled for want of air--Vows, protestations and tenderness are all forgotten--My Love offends, my Caresses disgust--He thinks his own Infidelities must all be overlook’d, yet my Conduct must be irreproachable.

_Susan_ (_At the window looking into the street_). Yonder goes my Lord with all his Grooms and Greyhounds.

_Countess._ To _divert_ himself with hunting a poor timid harmless Hare to death--This, however, will give us time--Somebody knocks, Susan.

{{_Susan._ “For Figaro’s the lad, is the lad for me.”}}

(_Goes singing to the Door._)

_Enter_ FIGARO.

(_He kisses Susan’s hand, she makes signs to him to be more prudent, and points to the Countess._)

_Countess._ Well, Figaro, you have heard of my Lord the Count’s designs on your young Bride.

_Figaro._ Oh yes, my Lady. There was nothing very surprising in the news. My Lord sees a sweet, young, lovely--Angel! (_Susan curtsies_) and wishes to have her for himself. Can any thing be more natural? I wish the very same--

_Countess._ I don’t find it so very pleasant, Figaro.

_Figaro._ He endeavours to overturn the schemes of those who oppose his wishes; and in this he only follows the example of the rest of the world. I endeavour to do the very same.

_Susan._ But with less probability of success, Figaro.

_Figaro._ Follow my advice, and I’ll convince you of your mistake.

_Countess._ Let me hear.

_Figaro._ You, my lovely Susan, must appoint the Count to meet him, as he proposed, this evening, by the Pavilion in the Garden.

_Countess._ How! Figaro! Can you consent?

_Figaro._ And why not, Madam?

_Susan._ But if you can, sir, do you think I--

_Figaro._ Nay, my Charmer, do not imagine I would wish thee to grant him any thing thou wishest to refuse--But first we must dress up the Page in your cloaths, my dear Susan--, he is to be your Representative.

_Countess._ The Page!

_Susan._ He is gone.

_Figaro._ Is he?--Perhaps so. But a whistle from me will bring him back. (_The Countess seems pleased._)

_Susan._ So! Now Figaro’s happy!--Plots and Contrivances--

_Figaro._ Two! Three! Four at a time! Embarrass’d! Involv’d! Perplex’d!--Leave me to unravel them. I was born to thrive in Courts.

_Susan._ I have heard the Trade of a Courtier is not so difficult as some pretend.

_Figaro._ Ask for every thing that falls, seize every thing in your power, and accept every thing that’s offered--There is the whole art and mystery in three words.

_Countess._ Well, but the Count, Figaro?

_Figaro._ Permit me, Madam, to manage him--And first, the better to secure _my_ property, I shall begin by making him dread the loss of _his own_.--{{“Oh, what pleasure shall I have in cutting out Employment for him during the whole day!--To see him waste that time in jealously-watching your conduct, Madam, which he meant to employ in amorous dalliance with my sweet Bride--To behold him running here and there and he does not know where, and hunting a monstrous Shadow, which he dreads to find, yet longs to grasp.”}}

_Countess._ Surely, Figaro, you are out of your wits.

_Figaro._ Pardon, my dear Lady, but it is your good Lord who will soon be out of his wits.

_Countess._ But as you know him to be so jealous, how will you dare?--

_Figaro._ Oh, Madam! Were he not jealous, my scheme would not be worth a doit: but it will now serve a double purpose--The Jewel which Possession has made him neglect, will again become valuable, if once he can be brought to dread its loss.

_Countess._ To confess the truth, Figaro, your project exactly corresponds with the one I meant to practise--An anonymous Letter must be sent, informing him, that a Gallant, meaning to profit by his neglect--

_Figaro._ And absence--is at present with his beauteous Countess----The thing is already done, Madam.

_Countess._ How!--Have you dared to trifle thus with a Woman of Honor?

_Figaro._ Oh, Madam, it is only with a Woman of Honor I should presume to take a liberty like this; least my Joke should happen to prove a Reality.

_Countess_ (_Smiles_). You don’t want an agreeable excuse, Figaro.

_Figaro._ The hour of performing the marriage Ceremony will arrive post haste--he will be disconcerted, and having no good excuse ready, will never venture in your presence, Madam, to oppose our union.

_Susan._ But if he will not, Marcelina will; and thou wilt be condemned to pay--

_Figaro._ Poh! Thou hast forgot the Count is our Judge!--And, after being entrapp’d at the rendezvous, will he condemn us, thinkest thou?--But come, come, we must be quick--I’ll send the Page hither to be dress’d--We must not lose a moment.

(_Exit Figaro._

_Countess_ (_Examining her head dress in a pocket looking-glass_). What a hideous cap this is, Susan; its quite awry--This Youth who is coming--

_Susan._ Ah, Madam! Your Beauty needs not the addition of Art in his eyes.

_Countess._ And my hair too--I assure you, Susan, I shall be very severe with him.

_Susan_ (_Smoothing the Countess’s hair_). Let me spread this Curl a little, Madam--Oh, pray Madam, make him sing the song he has written.

(_Susan throws the song into the Countess’s lap, which the Page had given her._)

_Countess._ I shall tell him of all the complaints I hear against him.

_Susan._ Oh Yes Madam; I can see you will scold him, heartily.

_Countess_ (_Seriously_). What do you say, Susan?

_Susan_ (_Goes to the door_). Come; come in Mr. Soldier.

_Enter_ PAGE.

(_Susan pretends to threaten him by signs._)

_Page._ Um--(_Pouts aside._)

_Countess._ Well, young gentleman, (_With assumed severity_)--How innocent he looks, Susan! (_Aside to Susan_).

_Susan._ And how bashful, Madam!

_Countess_ (_Resuming her serious air_). Have you reflected on the duties of your new Profession?

(_The Page imagines the Countess is angry, and timidly draws back._)

Susan (_Aside to the Page_). Ay, ay, young Rake, I’ll tell all I know.--(_Returns to the Countess_). Observe his downcast eyes, Madam, and long eye-lashes.--(_Aside to the Page_) Yes, Hypocrite, I’ll tell.

_Countess_ (_Seeing the Page more and more fearful_). Nay, Hannibal--don’t--be terrified--I--Come nearer.

_Susan_ (_Pushing him towards the Countess_). Advance, Modesty.

_Countess._ Poor Youth, he is quite affected--I am not angry with you; I was only going to speak to you on the duties of a Soldier--Why do you seem so sorrowful?

_Page._ Alas, Madam, I may well be sorrowful! Being, as I am, obliged to leave a Lady so gentle and so kind----

_Susan._ And so beautiful--(_In the same tone and half aside._)

_Page._ Ah, yes! (_Sighs_).

_Susan_ (_Mimicking_). Ah, yes!--Come, come, let me try on one of my Gowns upon you--Come here--Let us measure--I declare the little Villain is not so tall as I am.

_Page._ Um--(_Pouts._)

_Susan._ Turn about--Let me untie your cloak.

(_Susan takes off the Page’s cloak._)

_Countess._ But suppose somebody should come?

_Susan._ Dear, my Lady, we are not doing any harm--I’ll lock the door, however, for fear--(_The Page casts a glance or two at the Countess, Susan returns_) Well! Have you nothing to say to my beauteous Lady, and your charming God-mother?

_Page_ (_Sighs_). Oh, yes! That I am sure I shall love her as long as I live!

_Countess._ Esteem, you mean, Hannibal.

_Page._ Ye--ye--yes--Es--teem! I should have said.

_Susan_ (_Laughs_). Yes, yes, Esteem! The poor Youth overflows with Es--teem and Aff--ection--and--

_Page._ Um! (_Aside to Susan_).

_Susan._ Nia, nia, nia, (_Mocking the Page_).--Dear Madam, do make him sing those good-for-nothing Verses.

_Countess._ (_Takes the verses Susan gave her, from her pocket_) Pray who wrote them?

_Susan_ (_Pointing to the Page_). Look, Madam, look! His sins rise in his face--Nobody but an Author could look so silly--

_Countess._ Come, Hannibal, sing.

_Susan._ Ah, the bashful Scribbler!

SONG.

To the Winds, to the Waves, to the Woods I complain; Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart! They hear not my Sighs, and they heed not my Pain; Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!

{{“The name of my Goddess I ’grave on each Tree; Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart! ’Tis I wound the bark, but Love’s arrows wound me: Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!

The Heav’ns I view with their azure bright skies; Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart! But Heaven to me are her still brighter eyes: Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!”}}

To the Sun’s morning splendor the poor Indian bows; Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart! But I dare not worship where I pay my Vows: Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!

{{“His God each morn rises and he can adore; Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart! But my Goddess to me must soon never rise more: Ah, well-a-day! My poor heart!”}}

(_During the song the Countess is evidently affected by the Passion with which the Page sings._

_Susan._ Now let us try whether one of my Caps--

_Countess._ There is one of mine lies on my dressing-table. (_Exit Susan to the dressing room of the Countess._)--Is your Commission made out?

_Page._ Oh yes, Madam, and given me; Here it is.

(_Presents his commission to the Countess._)

_Countess._ Already? They have made haste I see! They are not willing to lose a moment--Their hurry has made them even forget to affix the Seal.

_Susan._ (_Returns_) The Seal! To what, Madam?

_Countess._ His Commission.

_Susan._ So soon!

_Countess._ I was observing, there has been no time lost.

(_Returns the Page his Commission; he sticks it in his girdle._)

_Susan._ Come--(_Makes the Page kneel down, and puts him on the cap_) What a pretty little Villain it is! I declare I am jealous: see if he is not handsomer than I am! Turn about--There--What’s here?--The riband!--So, so, so! Now all is out! I’m glad of it--I told my young Gentleman I would let you know his thievish tricks, Madam.

_Countess._ Fetch me some black patches Susan.

(_Exit Susan to her own chamber._

_The Countess and the Page remain mute for a considerable time during which the Page looks at the Countess with great passion, though with the bashful side glances natural to his character--The Countess pretends not to observe him, and visibly makes several efforts to overcome her own feelings._)

_Countess._ And--and--so--you--you are sorry--to leave us?

_Page._ Ye--yes--Madam.

_Countess._ (_Observing the Page’s heart so full that he is ready to burst into tears_) ’Tis that good-for-nothing Figaro who has frightened the child with his prognostics.

_Page._ (_Unable to contain himself any longer_) N-o-o-o indee-ee-eed, Madam, I-I-am o-on-only-gri-ieved to part from-so dear a-La-a-ady.

_Countess._ (_Takes out her handkerchief and wipes his eyes_) Nay, but don’t weep, don’t weep--Come, come, be comforted. (_A knocking is heard at the Countess’s chamber door_) Who’s there? (_In an authoritative tone._)

_The Count speaks without._

_Count._ Open the door, my Lady.

_Countess._ Heavens! It is the Count!--I am ruined!--If he finds the Page here after receiving Figaro’s anonymous