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Follies of a Day; OR, The Marriage of Figaro (English)

<h2 class="p2 nobreak" id="ACT_III">ACT III.</h2></div> SCENE, the Great Hall. <div class="blockquotxx"> (A Judge’s Chair, four other Chairs, Benches with red Baize, a Table and at Stool, with Pen, Ink and Paper.) </div> <div class="blockquot"> Enter the COUNT, dressed, and a SERVANT, booted. </div> Count. Ride to Seville with all speed; enquire if the Page has joined his Regiment, and at what o’clock precisely he arrived; give him this Commission, and return like lightening. Servant. And if he is not there— Count. Return still quicker.—Go; fly!——(Exit Servant)—I was wrong to send Basil out of the way—He might have been very serviceable—But Anger was never wise—I scarcely know at present what I wish—When once the Passions have obtained the Mastery, there is no Mind, however consistent, but becomes as wild and incongruous as a Dream—If the Countess, Susan, and Figaro should understand each other and plot to betray me!—If the Page was shut up in her dressing-room—Oh! no!—The Respect she bears herself—my Honor!—My Honor? And in my Wife’s keeping?—Honor in a Woman’s possession, like Ice Cream in the mouth, melts away in[54] a contest of Pleasure and Pain—I will sound Figaro, however. <div class="blockquot"> Enter FIGARO, behind. </div> Figaro. Here am I. (Aside.) Count. And if I have reason to suppose them plotting against me, he shall marry Marcelina. Figaro. Perhaps not. (Aside.) Count. But in that case, what must Susan be? Figaro. My Wife, if you please.— <div class="blockquot"> (Figaro’s eagerness occasions him to speak aloud——The Count turns round astonished.) </div> Count. My Wife, if you please!—To whom did you say my Wife, if you please? Figaro. To—to—to—That is—They were the last words of a sentence I was saying to one of the Servants—Go and tell so and so to—my Wife, if you please. Count. Your Wife!—Zounds, you are very fond of your Wife. Figaro. I love to be singular. Count. You have made me wait for you here a long while. Figaro. I have been changing my Stockings, which I dirtied in the fall. Count. Servants, I think, are longer dressing than their Masters. Figaro. Well they may—They are obliged to dress themselves. Count. If in sifting my Gentleman, I find him unwilling to go to France, I may conclude Susan has betrayed me. (Aside.) Figaro. He has mischief in his head, but I’ll watch his motions. (Aside.) [55] Count. (Approaches Figaro with familiarity)—Thou knowest, Figaro, it was my intention to have taken thee with me on my Embassy to Paris, but I believe thou dost not understand French. Figaro. Perfectly. Count. Indeed!—Let’s hear.—(Figaro pulls out his purse and jingles it)—Is that all the French thou understandest? Figaro. All!—Is not that enough, think you, my Lord?—That’s a Language understood in every corner of the habitable Earth, and in no place better than in Paris.—“Your Philosophers, who lament the loss of an universal Language, are Fools—They always carry one in their pockets.” As for a knowledge of French, my Lord, I maintain, s’il vous plait, and a Purse are all that’s necessary—Let but the sound of Silver jingle in a Frenchman’s ears, and he will instantly understand your meaning, be it what it will.— “If you have a Law-suit, and wish to gain your Cause, go to the Judge, pull off your Hat, and pull out your Purse; smile, shake it, and pronounce, s’il vous plait, Monsieur— <div class="omitted"> Count. “And your Adversary is overthrown. Figaro. “Undoubtedly—Unless he understands French still better than you—Do you wish the Friendship of a great Lord, or a great Lady, its still the same—Chink, chink, and s’il vous plait, Monseigneur—S’il vous plait, Madame—The French are a very witty People!—Amazingly quick of apprehension!—Therefore, my Lord, if you have no other reason than this for leaving me behind—” </div> Count. But thou art no Politician. [56] Figaro. Pardon me, my Lord, I am as great a master of Politics—— Count. As thou art of French. Figaro. Oh, my Lord, the thing is so easy—He must be a Fool indeed who could find his vanity flattered by his skill in Politics—To appear always deeply concerned for the good of the State, yet to have no other end but Self-interest; to assemble and say Nothing; to pretend vast Secrecy where there is nothing to conceal; to shut yourself up in your Chamber, and mend your pen or pick your Teeth, while your Footmen inform the attending Croud you are too busy to be approach’d—this, with the art of intercepting Letters, imitating Hands, pensioning Traitors, and rewarding Flatterers, is the whole mystery of Politics, or I am an Idiot. Count. This is the definition of a Partisan not a Politician. Figaro. Party and Politics are much the same, they are become synonimous terms. Count. (Aside) Since he is so willing to go to Paris, Susan has said nothing. Figaro. ’Tis now my turn to attack. (Aside.) Count. And—I suppose thou wilt take thy Wife with thee—to Paris? Figaro. No—no—I should be obliged to quit her so frequently, that I am afraid the Cares of the marriage state would lie too heavy on my head (significantly.) Count. Susan has betrayed me. (Aside.) Figaro. (Aside) He does not like the retort. <div class="blockquot"> (The Count smiles, approaches Figaro with great familiarity, and leans upon his shoulder—By-play between the Count and Figaro.) </div> [57] Count. The time was, Figaro, when thou wert more open—Formerly thou wouldst tell me any thing. Figaro. And at present I conceal nothing. Count. What can be the Countess’s motives—(The Count puts his arm round Figaro’s neck—By-play again)—I—Thou seest I anticipate her wishes, load her with presents—— Figaro. Will give her any thing but yourself—Of what worth are Trinkets when we are in want of Necessaries? Count. Come, come; be sincere—Tell me—How much did the Countess give thee for this last plot? Figaro. As much as your Lordship gave me for helping you to steal her from her old jealous Guardian—“A noble Lord should not endeavour to degrade an honest Servant, lest he should make him a Knave.” Count. But wherefore is there continually some Mystery in thy conduct? Figaro. Because the Conduct of others is mysterious. Count. Appearances, my dear Figaro, really speak thee a great Knave. Figaro. (Looking round at the Count’s hand upon his shoulders, and observing his familiarity)—Appearances, my dear Lord, are frequently false—I am much better than I appear to be-Can the Great in general say as much?—(Aside)—Take that. Count. Yes, yes; she has told him. (Aside.) <div class="omitted"> Figaro. “I shall content myself, my Lord, with the portion your Lordship has promised me on my Marriage, and the place of Steward[58] of this Castle, with which you have honoured me, and willingly remain with my Wife here in Andalusia, far from troubles and intrigue. Count. “But thou hast Abilities, and might rise to Preferment. Figaro. “Preferred by my Abilities my Lord!——Your Lordship is pleased to laugh at me.” </div> Count. Yes, yes; Susan has betrayed me, and my Gentleman marries Marcelina. (Aside.) Figaro. He has been angling for Gudgeons, and what has he caught? (Aside.) <div class="blockquot"> Enter a SERVANT. </div> Servant. Don Guzman and the Counsellors are without. Count. Let them wait. Figaro. (Ironically) Aye, let them wait. (Exit Serv.) Count. And dost thou expect to gain thy Cause? Figaro. With the assistance of Justice and my Lord’s good wishes, who respects Youth too much himself to force others to wed with Age. Count. A Judge knows no distinction of persons. Figaro. “Well—Time, say the Italians, is a valiant Fellow, and tells Truth”—But what was it your Lordship was pleased to send for me for? Count. For—(Somewhat embarrassed) To see these benches and chairs set in order. Figaro. That is already done, my Lord. Here is the great chair for your Lordship, a seat for the President, a table and stool for his Clerk, two benches for the Lawyers, the middle for the Beau monde, and the Mob in the back ground. (Exit.) [59] Count. He is too cunning; I can get nothing out of him; but they certainly understand each other.—They may toy and be as loving as they please, but as for wedding— <div class="blockquot"> Enter SUSAN. </div> <div class="blockquot"> (She comes up to the Count’s elbow while he is speaking, and is surprized to see him in such an ill humour.) </div> Susan. My Lord! Count. My Lady! Susan. My Lady has sent me for your Lordship’s smelling-bottle; she has got the vapours. Count. Here; and when she has done with it, borrow it for yourself,—it may be useful. Susan. I the vapours, my Lord! Oh no, that’s too polite a disease for a Servant to pretend to! Count. Fits may come;—Love so violent as yours cannot bear disappointment; and when Figaro marries Marcelina— Susan. Oh, suppose the worst, my Lord, we can pay Marcelina with the Portion your Lordship has promised us! Count. I promis’d you a portion? Susan. If my ears did not deceive me, I understood as much. Count. Yes, if you had pleas’d to understand me, but since you do not.— Susan. (Pretending bashfulness) It’s always soon enough to own one’s weakness, my Lord. Count. (with an instant change of countenance) What! Wilt thou take a walk this evening in the garden, by the Pavilion? Susan. Don’t I take Walks every evening, my Lord? Count. Nay, nay, but let us understand each other—No Pavilion, no Marriage. [60] Susan. And no Marriage, no Pavilion, my Lord! (curtsying) Count. What a witty little Devil! I wonder what she does to fascinate me so!—But prithee tell me why hast thou always, till now, refused with such obstinacy? This very Morning, thou knowest—— Susan. This Morning, my Lord!—What, and the Page behind the Great-chair! Count. Oh, true! I had forgot!—But when Basil has spoken to thee in my behalf.— Susan. Is it necessary, my Lord, such a knave as Basil should know every thing that passes? Count. She is right again!—But—(Suspicious) thou wilt go, now, and tell Figaro all. Susan. To be sure, my Lord. I always tell him all—except what is necessary to conceal. Count. Ah the Hussey! What a charming little Knave it is! Run, run to thy Mistress; she is waiting, and may suspect us. Susan. (Hesitating) So your Lordship can’t perceive that I only wanted a pretext to speak to your Lordship. <div class="blockquot"> (The Count unable to conceal his transport, is going to kiss her, but hears somebody coming, and they separate) </div> Count. (As he turns.) She absolutely bewitches me! I had sworn to think no more of her, but she winds me just as she pleases! <div class="blockquot"> (The Count goes off, and Figaro enters, but the Count hearing Figaro’s Voice, returns and peeps) </div> Figaro. Well, my Susan, what does he say? Susan. Hush! Hush! He is just gone—Thou hast gained thy Cause—Run, run, run. (Exit Susan, running, Figaro following.) [61] Figaro. Well, but how, how, my Charmer? (Exeunt.) <div class="blockquot"> Re-enter COUNT. </div> Count. Thou hast gained thy Cause—Aha! And is it so, my pair of Knaves!—Am I your Dupe then?—A very pretty Net! But the Cuckoo is not caught—Come!—Proceed we to judgment! (With passion) Be we just!—Cool!—Impartial!—Inflexible— (Exit.) <div class="blockquot"> Enter Don GUZMAN, MARCELINA, and DOCTOR. </div> Marcelina. I shall be happy, Mr. President, to explain the justice of my Cause. Doctor. To shew you on what grounds this Lady proceeds. D. Guzman. (Stuttering) We-e-e-ell, le-et us exa-a-mine the matter ve-erbally. Marcelina. There is a promise of Marriage—— Guzman. I co-o-o-ompre—hend! Gi-i-iven by you-ou-ou—to— Marcelina. No, Mr. President, given to me. Guz. I co-o-o-omprehend! Gi-iven to you. Marcelina. And a sum of Money which I—— Guzman. I co-o-o-omprehend! Which you-ou ha-ave received. Marcelina. No, Mr. President, which I have lent. Guzman. I co-o-o-omprehend!—It is re-e-paid. Marcelina. No, Mr. President, it is not repaid. Guzman. I co-o-o-omprehend—The m-m-man would marry you to pay his de-de-de-bts. Marcelina. No, Mr. President, he would neither marry me, nor pay his debts. [62] Guzman. D-d—do you think I d-d-d-don’t co-o-omprehend you? Doctor. And are you, Mr. President, to judge this Cause? Guzman. T-t-t-to be sure—Wha-at else did I purchase my Place for thi-ink you, (Laughs stupidly at the supposed folly of the Question) And where is the De-fe-e-endant? <div class="blockquot"> Enter FIGARO. </div> Figaro. Here, at your service. Doctor. Yes, that’s the Knave. Figaro. Perhaps I interrupt you. <div class="omitted"> Guzman. “Ha-ave not I see-een you before, young Man? Figaro. “Oh yes, Mr. President, I once served your Lady. Guzman. “How lo-ong since? Figaro. “Nine months before the birth of her last Child—And a fine Boy it is, though I say it. </div> Guzman. “Y-es—He’s the F-flower of the Flock”— And the cau-ause betwee-een— Figaro. A Bagatelle, Mr. President! A Bagatelle. Guzman. (Laughs.) A Ba-ag-a-telle! A pro-o-mise of Ma-a-arriage a Ba-a-gatelle! Ha! ha! ha!——And dost thou hope to ca-ast the Pla-aintiff? Figaro. To be sure, Mr. President! You being one of the Judges. Guzman. (With stupid dignity) Ye-e-es! I am one of the Judges!—Hast thou see-een D-D-Doublefee, my Se-ecretary? Figaro. Yes, Mr. President! That’s a duty not to be neglected. Guzman. The young Fellow is not so si-i-imple I thought. [63] <div class="blockquot"> Enter Cryer of the Court, Guards, Count, Counsellors and Vassals. </div> Cryer. Make room there, for my Lord, the Count. Count. Wherefore in your Robes, Don Guzman? It was unnecessary for a mere domestic matter like this. Guzman. Pa-a-ardon me, my Lord! “Those who would tre-e-emble at the Clerk of the Court in his Robes, would la-augh at the Judge without ’em.” Forms! Forms! are sacred things. (The Count and the Court seat themselves.) Count. Call silence in the Court. Cryer. Silence in the Court. Guzman. Read “over the Causes”, D-D-Doublefee. <div class="omitted"> Doublefee. “The Count de los Altos Montes di Agnas Frescas, Señor di Montes Fieros, y otros Montes, Plaintiff, against Alonzo Calderon, a Comic Poet. The question at present before the Court, is, to know the Author of a Comedy that has been damned; which they mutually disavow and attribute to each other. Count. “They are both very right in mutually disavowing it; and be it decreed, that if, hereafter, they should produce a successful Piece, its Fame shall appertain to the Count, and its Merit to the Poet—The next. Doublefee. “Diego Macho, Day-labourer, Plaintiff, against Gil-Perez-Borcado, Tax-gatherer, and receiver of the Gabels, for having violently dispossessed the said Diego Macho, Day-labourer, of his Cow. Count. “This Cause does not come within my[64] Jurisdiction; but as it is probable the Day-labourer will never obtain Justice; do thou see, Figaro, that another Cow be sent him; lest his Family should be starved—The next.” </div> Doublefee. Marcelina-Jane-Maria<ins class="corr" id="tn-64" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: '-Angelica-Mustacio'"> -Angelica-Mustachio</ins>, Spinster, Plaintiff, against—(To Figaro) Here’s no surname! Figaro. Anonymous. Guzman. Ano-o-onymous—I never heard the Name before! Doublefee. Against Figaro Anonymous. What Profession? Figaro. Gentleman. Count. Gentleman! Figaro. I might have been born a Prince, if Heaven had pleased. Doublefee. Against Figaro Anonymous, Gentleman, Defendant. The Question before the Court relates to a promise of Marriage; the Parties have retained no Council, contrary to the ancient and established practice of Courts. Figaro. What occasion for Council? A race of <ins class="corr" id="tn-64a" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Gentleman who are'"> Gentlemen who are</ins> always so very learned, they know every thing, except their Briefs! Who insolently interrogate Modesty and Timidity, and endeavour, by confusing, to make Honesty forswear itself; and, after having laboured for hours, with all legal prolixity, to perplex self-evident Propositions, and bewilder the understandings of the Judges, sit down as proud as if they had just pronounced a Phillipic of Demosthenes—(Addressing himself to the Court) My Lord, and Gentlemen—The Question before the Court is—— Doublefee. (Interrupting him) It is not you to speak, you are the Defendant——Who pleads for the Plaintiff? [65] Doctor. I. Doublefee. You! A Physician turn Lawyer?— Figaro. Oh yes, and equally skilful in both. Count. Read the Promise of Marriage, Doctor. Guzman. Re-e-ead the Pro-o-omise of Marriage. Doctor. (Reads) I acknowledge to have received of Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the sum of two thousand Piasters, in the Castle of Count Almaviva, which sum I promise to repay to the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, and to marry her. Signed, Figaro. (Addressing himself to the Count) My Lord, and Gentlemen! Hem! Never did cause more interesting, more intricate, or in which the Interest of Mankind, their Rights, Properties, Lives and Liberties were more materially involved, ever claim the profound Attention of this most learned, most honourable Court, and from the time of Alexander the Great, who promised to espouse the beauteous Thalestris—— Count. Stop, most formidable Orator; and ere you proceed, enquire whether the Defendant does not contest the validity of your Deed. Guzman. (To Figaro) Do you co-ontest the va-va-va-va-lidity of the Dee-eed? Figaro. My Lord and Gentlemen! Hem! There is in this Case, either Fraud, Error, Malice, or mischievous Intention, for the Words of the Acknowledgment are, I promise to repay the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the said sum of two thousand Piasters or to marry her, which is very different. Doctor. I affirm it is AND. Figaro. I affirm it is OR. Doctor. Well, suppose it. [66] Figaro. No Supposition, I will have it granted. Count. Clerk, Read you the Promise. Guzman. Re-e-ead the P-P-P-Promise, D-D-D-Double-fee. Doublefee. (Reads) I acknowledge to have received of Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, the sum of two thousand Piasters, in the Castle of Count Almaviva, which sum I promise to repay the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, and—or—and—or—or—The Word is blotted. Doctor. No matter; the Sense of the Phrase is equally clear. This learned Court is not now to be informed the word or particle, Or, hath various significations—It means otherwise and either—It likewise means before—For example, in the language of the Poet. <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="poetry"> <div class="verse indent0">Or ’ere the Sun decline the western Sky,</div> <div class="verse indent0">’Tis Fate’s decree the Victims all must die.</div> </div></div> Figaro. This was the language of Prophesy, and spoken of the Doctor’s own Patients. <div class="omitted"> Count. “Silence in the Court. Crier. “Silence in the Court. Doctor. “Hence then, I clearly deduce (granting the word to be Or) the Defendant doth hereby promise, not only to pay the Plaintiff, but marry her before he pays her—<ins class="corr" id="tn-66" title="Transcriber’s Note—Original text: 'Again, the the word'"> Again, the word</ins> Or doth sometimes signify Wherefore, as another great and learned Poet hath it, <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="poetry"> <div class="verse indentq">“Or how could heav’nly Justice damn us all,</div> <div class="verse indent0">Who ne’er consented to our Father’s Fall?</div> </div></div> “That is wherefore? For what reason could[67] heavenly Justice do such an unjust thing? Let us then substitute the adverb Wherefore, and the intent and meaning of the Promise will be incontestable; for, after reciting an acknowledgement of the debt, it concludes with the remarkable words, Or to marry her, that is, wherefore, for which reason, out of gratitude, for the Favour above done me, I will marry her. Figaro. “Oh most celebrated Doctor? Most poetic Quibbler! <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="poetry"> <div class="verse indentq">“Hark with what florid Impotence he speaks,</div> <div class="verse indent0">And as his Malice prompts, the Puppet squeaks,</div> <div class="verse indent0">Or at the ear of Eve, familiar Toad,</div> <div class="verse indent0">Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad</div> <div class="verse indent0">In legal Puns, or Quibbles, Quirks, or Lies,</div> <div class="verse indent0">Or Spite, or Taunts, or Rhymes, or Blasphemies.</div> </div></div> “What think you we know not Quotations, and Poets, and Ands, and Ors, and Whys, and Wherefores. <div class="poetry-container"> <div class="poetry"> <div class="verse indentq">“What Drop or Nostrum, can such Plagues remove,</div> <div class="verse indent0">Or which must end me, a Fool’s Wrath—Or Love?</div> </div></div> (Pointing first to the Doctor, and then to Marcelina) </div> “We have neither forgot our Reading nor our Syntax, but can easily translate a dull Knave into a palpable Fool—” My Lord, and Gentlemen, You hear his Sophisms, Poetical, and Conundrums, Grammatical. [68] Count. Yes, yes, we hear. (Count and the Counsellors rise and consult together.) Antonio. I’m glad they have put an end to your prating. Marcelina. Their Whisperings and wise Grimaces forebode me no good. That Susan has corrupted the chief Judge, and he is corrupting all the others. Doctor. It looks devilish like it. (The Count and Counsellors resume their seats.) Doublefee. Silence in the Court. Crier. Silence in the Court. Count. The judgment of the Court is, that since the validity of the promise of Marriage is not well established, Figaro is permitted to dispose of his Person. Figaro. The Day’s my own. Marcelina. I thought how it would be. Count. But as the Acknowledgement clearly expresses the words, Which sum I promise to pay the said Marcelina-Jane-Maria-Angelica-Mustachio, or to marry her, the said Figaro stands condemned to pay the two thousand Piasters to the Plaintiff, or marry her in the course of the Day. Figaro. I’m undone! Marcelina. I am happy! Count. And I am revenged! Antonio. Thank your noble Lordship! Most humbly thank your noble Lordship!—Ah ha! I’m glad thou art not to marry my Niece! I’ll go and tell her the good news! (Exit.) Crier. Clear the Court. (Exeunt Guards, Counsellors, and Vassals. [69] <div class="blockquot"> Manent Don Guzman, Figaro, Marcelina and Dr. Bartholo. </div> Figaro. ’Tis this Furze-ball, this Fungus of a President that has lost me my Cause. Guzman. I a F-F-Furze-ball and a F-F-Fungus! Figaro. (Sits down dejected) I will never marry her. Guzman. Thou mu-ust ma-arry her. Figaro. What! Without the Consent of my noble Parents? Count. (Returning) Where are they? Who are they?—He will still complain of injustice—Name them. Figaro. Allow me time, my Lord—I must first know where to find them, and yet it ought not to be long, for I have been seeking them these five Years. Doctor. What! A Foundling? Figaro. No Foundling, but stolen from my Parents. Count. Poh! This is too palpable. (Exit Count) Figaro. Had I no other Proof of my Birth than the precious Stones, Ring, and Jewels found upon me, these would be sufficient—but I bear the Mark—— (He is going to shew his Arm.) Marcelina. Of a Lobster on your left Arm. Figaro. How do you know that? Marcelina. ’Tis he himself! Figaro. “Yes, it’s me myself.” Marcelina. ’Tis Fernando! Doctor. Thou wert stolen away by Gypsies. Figaro. By Gypsies!—Oh Doctor, if thou can’st but restore me to my illustrious Parents, “Mountains[70] of Gold will not sufficiently speak their gratitude.” Doctor. Behold thy Mother. (Pointing to Marcelina.) Figaro. Nurse, you mean! Doctor. Thy own Mother! Figaro. Explain! Marcelina. And there behold thy Father. (Pointing to the Doctor.) Figaro. He, my Father! Oh Lord! Oh Lord! Oh Lord! (Stamps about.) Guzman. (With great wisdom) It will be no m-m-match—that’s evi-dent. Marcelina. Hast thou not felt Nature pleading within thee, at sight of me? Figaro. Never. Marcelina. This was the secret cause of all my Fondness for thee. Figaro. No doubt—And of my aversion—Instinct is very powerful. Marcelina. Come to my arms, my dear, my long lost Child. <div class="blockquot"> (Figaro and Marcelina embrace, the Doctor leans against the Benches.) </div> <div class="blockquotxx"> Enter ANTONIO and SUSAN. </div> (The latter runs to find the Count) Susan. (In great Agitation) Oh, where is my Lord? Here is the Money to pay Marcelina with! The Portion which my noble and generous Lady has given me! Antonio. (pulling Susan, and pointing to Figaro, who kisses Marcelina.) Here! here! Look this way! <div class="blockquot"> (Susan, at seeing them embrace becomes furious, and is going away, Figaro runs and brings her back.) </div> [71] Figaro. Stop, stop, my Susan. Susan. I have seen enough—Since you are so fond of her, pray marry her. Figaro. Thou art mistaken. Susan. No, I am not mistaken. (Gives him a slap in the face.) <div class="omitted"> Figaro. (Rubbing his Cheek) “This is Love—Pshaw! Prithee come hither, look at that Lady—How dost thou like her? Susan. “Not at all. Figaro. “Well said Jealousy, she does not mince the Matter.” </div> Marcelina. Dear Susan, this, this is my Son! <div class="omitted"> Figaro. “Yes, they wanted me to marry my Mother.” Antonio. “Your Mother!——It is not long since—— Figaro. “I have known it—True.” </div> Marcelina. Yes, my dearest Susan, embrace thy Mother—Thy Mother, who will love thee dearly. Susan. And do you consent I shall have my Figaro? Marcelina. Willingly. (Susan runs and kisses her) Here, my Son, here is the Promise. (Gives him the Paper.) Susan. And here is the Portion. (Gives him a Purse of Money.) Figaro. “My manly Pride would fain make me restrain my tears, but they flew in spite of me—Well, let ’em! Let ’em flow! Joys like these never come twice in one’s Life! Oh, my Mother, Oh, my Susan!” (They all three embrace, weeping.) Guzman. (weeping.) What a Foo-oo-ool am I! L-L-Look, if I don’t k-k-k-cry as well as the best of ’em. Figaro. (to the Doctor) My Father. [72] Doctor. Keep off! I disclaim thee! Antonio. Why then, if you are his Father, you are a Turkish Jew, and no Christian Father. Doctor. A Knave that tricked me of my Ward, cheated me of my Money, and now has been turning my Wisdom into ridicule. Susan. And are not you, being a wise Man, proud to have a Son wiser than yourself? Doctor. No—I would have no one wiser than myself. Antonio. Come, come, look you, I am “a good Catholic, and” an old Castilian, therefore, unless your Father and Mother become lawful Man and Wife, I will never consent to give you my Niece. No, no, she sha’n’t marry a man who is the child of Nobody, neither. Guzman. Here’s an old Fool!—The Child of Nobody, Ha! ha! ha! (Laughs stupidly, and then assumes great Wisdom) Hav’n’t you lived long enough to know that every Child must have a Father? <div class="omitted"> Marcelina. “Consider, good Doctor, your Promise, if ever our Child was found. Doctor. “Pshaw! Marcelina. “And here is a Son you surely need not be ashamed of. Susan. “Ah my dear Pappa! Figaro. “My generous, worthy Father. <div class="blockquot"> (Susan strokes his Cheek, Figaro kneels, and Marcelina coaxes him.) </div> Susan. “You don’t know how we will all love you. Marcelina. “What care we will take of you. Figaro. “How happy we will make you. Doctor. “Good Doctor, dear Pappa, generous Father! (Bursts out a crying) See, if I am not even[73] a greater Foo-oo-ool than Mr. President! (Guzman staggers back at the Doctor’s Compliment) they mould me like Dough, lead me like a Child. (Marcelina, Susan, and Figaro testify their Joy by their Actions.) Nay, nay, but I hav’n’t yet said yes. Susan. “But you have thought yes. Marcelina. “And look’d yes. Figaro. “Come, come, we must be quick; let us run and find the Count, otherwise he will invent some new pretext to break off the Match. (Exeunt Doctor, Marcelina, Figaro and Susan.) <div class="blockquot"> Manent Don GUZMAN. </div> Guzman. “A greater Foo-oo-ool than Mr. President!—The People in this House are truly very stupid and ill bred.” </div> (Exit.) End   of   ACT III. </div> <div class="width30"> <hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> [74] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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