SCENE II.
Reading edition
An Apartment.
Enter Don Fernando.
Don Fer. A wild scheme of my father's, to think of an alliance with this mad family; yes, Don Scipio's brain is certainly touched beyond cure, his daughter, my cara sposa of Italy, don't suit my idea of what a wife should be—no, the lovely novice, this poor relation of Dame Isabel, has caught my heart. I'm told to-morrow she's to be immured in a convent; what if I ask Dame Isabel, if—but she, and indeed Don Scipio, carry themselves very strangely towards me—I can't imagine what's become of my rascal Pedrillo.
Enter Pedrillo, in an elegant Morning Gown, Cap and Slippers.
Ped. Strange, the respect I meet in this family. I hope we don't take horse after my master's wedding. I should like to marry here myself,—before I unrobe I'll attack one of the maids!—Faith, a very modish dress to go courting in,—hide my livery, and I am quite gallant.
Don Fer. Oh here's a gentleman I ha'n't seen before!
Ped. Tol de rol!
Don Fer. Pray, sir, may I—Pedrillo, [Surprised.] where have you—hey! what, ha! ha! ha! what's the matter with you?
Ped. Matter!—Why, sir, I don't know how it was, but somehow or other last night, I happened to sit down to a supper of only twelve covers, cracked two bottles of choice wine, slept in an embroider'd bed, where I sunk in down, and lay till this morning like a diamond in cotton.—So, indeed, sir, I don't know what's the matter with me.
Don Fer. I can't imagine how, or what it all means.
Ped. Why, sir, Don Scipio, being a gentleman of discernment, perceives my worth, and values it.
Don Fer. Then, sir, if you are a gentleman of such prodigious merit, be so obliging, with submission to your cap and gown, as to—pull off my boots.
Enter Vasquez.
Vas. Sir, the ladies wait breakfast for you.
[To Pedrillo, with great respect.
Don Fer. My respects, I attend them.
Vas. You! I mean his honour here.
Ped. Oh, you mean my honour here.
Don Fer. Well, but perhaps, my good friend, I may like a dish of chocolate as well as his honour here.
Vas. Chocolate, ha! ha! ha!
[With a sneer.
Fed. Chocolate, ha! ha! ha!
Don Fer. I'll teach you to laugh, sirrah!
[Beats Pedrillo.
Ped. Teach me to laugh! you may be a good master, but you've a very bad method—But, hey for chocolate and the ladies.
[Exeunt Pedrillo and Vasquez.
Don Fer. Don Scipio shall render me an account for this treatment; bear his contempt, and become the butt for the jests of his insolent servants! As I don't like his daughter, I have now a fair excuse, and indeed a just cause, to break my contract, and quit his castle; but then, I leave behind the mistress of my soul—Suppose I make her a tender of my heart—but that might offend, as she must know my hand is engaged to another—When I looked, she turned her lovely eyes averted—Doom'd to a nunnery!
AIR XI.—FERNANDO.
My fair one, like the blushing rose, Can sweets to every sense disclose: Those sweets I'd gather, but her scorn Then wounds me like the sharpest thorn. With sighs each grace and charm I see Thus doom'd to wither on the tree, Till age shall chide the thoughtless maid, When all those blooming beauties fade.
Hey, who comes here? this is the smart little girl who seems so much attached to the beautiful novice—No harm to speak with her—
Enter Catilina.
So my pretty primrose!
Catil. How do you do, Mr—[Pert and familiar.] I don't know your name.
Don Fer. Not know my name! You must know who I am though, and my business here, child?
Catil. Lord, man, what signifies your going about to sift me, when the whole family knows you're Don Fernando's footman.
Don Fer. Am I faith? Ha! ha! ha! I'll humour this—Well then, my dear, you know that I am only Don Fernando's footman?
Catil. Yes, yes, we know that, notwithstanding your fine clothes.
Don Fer. But where's my master?
Catil. Don Fernando! he's parading the gallery yonder, in his sham livery and morning gown.
Don Fer. Oh, this accounts for twelve covers at supper and the embroider'd bed; but who could have set such a jest going? I'll carry it on though—[Aside.] So then after all I am known here?
Catil. Ay, and if all the impostors in the castle were as well known, we shou'd have no wedding to-morrow night.
Don Fer. Something else will out—I'll seem to be in the secret, and perhaps may come at it—[Aside.] Ay, ay, that piece of deceit is much worse than ours.
Catil. That! what, then you know that this Italian lady is not Don Scipio's daughter, but Dame Isabel's, and her true name Lorenza?
Don Fer. Here's a discovery! [Aside.] O yes, I know that.
Catil. You do! Perhaps you know too, that the young lady you saw me speak with just now is the real Donna Victoria?
Don Fer. Is it possible! Here's a piece of villany! [Aside.] Charming! let me kiss you, my dear girl.
[Kisses her.
Catil. Lord! he's a delightful man!
Don Fer. My little angel, a thousand thanks for this precious discovery.
Catil. Discovery!—Well, if you did not know it before, marry hang your assurance, I say—but I must about my business, can't play the lady as you played the gentleman, I've something else to do; so I desire you won't keep kissing me here all day.
[Exit.
Don Fer. Why what a villain is this Don Scipio! ungrateful to—but I scorn to think of the services I rendered him last night in the forest; a false friend to my father, an unnatural parent to his amiable daughter! here my charmer comes.
[Retires.
Enter Victoria.
Vict. Yes, Catilina must be mistaken, it is impossible he can be the servant,—no, no; that dignity of deportment, and native elegance of manner, can never be assumed; yonder he walks, and my fluttering heart tells me this is really the amiable Fernando, that I must resign to Dame Isabel's daughter.
Don Fer. Stay, lovely Victoria!
Vict. Did you call me, sir?—Heavens, what have I said! [Confused.] I mean, signor, would you wish to speak with Donna Victoria? I'll inform her, sir.
[Going.
Don Fer. Oh, I could speak to her for ever, for ever gaze upon her charms, thus transfixed with wonder and delight.
Vict. Pray, signor, suffer me to withdraw.
Don Fer. For worlds I would not offend! but think not, lady, 'tis the knowledge of your quality that attracts my admiration.
Vict. Nay, signor.
Don Fer. I know you to be Don Scipio's daughter, the innocent victim of injustice and oppression; therefore I acknowledge to you, and you alone, that, whatever you may have heard to the contrary, I really am Fernando de Zelva.
Vict. Signor, how you became acquainted with the secret of my birth I know not; but, from an acquaintance so recent, your compliment I receive as a mode of polite gallantry without a purpose.
Don Fer. What your modesty regards as cold compliments, are sentiments warm with the dearest purpose; I came hither to ratify a contract with Don Scipio's daughter; you are she, the beautiful Victoria, destined for the happy Fernando.
Vict. Pray rise, signor:—My father perhaps, even to himself, cannot justify his conduct to me: But to censure that, or to pervert his intentions, would, in me, be a breach of filial duty.
AIR XII.—VICTORIA.
By woes thus surrounded, how vain the gay smile Of the little blind archer, those woes to beguile! Though skilful, he misses, his aim it is cross'd, His quiver exhausted, his arrows are lost. Your love, though sincere, on the object you lose, [Aside] How sweet is the passion! Ah, must I refuse? If filial affection that passion should sway, Then love's gentle dictates I cannot obey.
Don Fer. And do you, can you, wish me to espouse Donna Lorenza, Isabella's daughter?—Say, you do not, do but satisfy me so far.
Vict. Signor, do not despise me if I own, that, before I saw in you the husband of Don Scipio's daughter, I did not once regret that I had lost that title.
Don Fer. A thousand thanks for this generous, this amiable condescension.—Oh, my Victoria! if fortune but favours my design, you shall yet triumph over the malice of your enemies.
Vict. Yonder is Dame Isabel, if she sees you speaking to me, she'll be early to frustrate whatever you may purpose for my advantage. Signor, farewell!
Don Fer. My life, my love, adieu!
AIR XIII. DUET.—Victoria and Fernando.
Don Fer. So faithful to my fair I'll prove, Vict. So kind and constant to my love, Don Fer. I'd never range, Vict. I'd never change, Both. Nor time, nor chance, my faith shall move. Vict. No ruby clusters grace the vine, Don Fer. Ye sparkling stars forget to shine, Vict. Sweet flowers to spring, Don Fer. Gay birds to sing, Both. Those hearts then part that love shall join.
[Exeunt.
Enter Fernando.
Don Fer. This is fortunate; the whole family, except Victoria, are firmly possessed with the idea that I am but the servant.—Well, since they will have me an impostor, they shall find me one: In Heaven's name, let them continue in their mistake, and bestow their mock Victoria upon my sham Fernando. I shall have a pleasant and just revenge for their perfidy; and, perhaps, obtain Don Scipio's real, lovely daughter, the sum of my wishes.—Here comes Don Scipio—Now to begin my operations.
Enter Don Scipio.
[As wishing Don Scipio to overhear him.] I'm quite weary of playing the gentleman, I long to get into my livery again.
Don Scipio. Get into his livery!
[Aside.
Don Fer. These clothes fall to my share, however; my master will never wear them after me.
Don Scipio. His master! ay, ay.
[Aside.
Don Fer. I wish he'd own himself, for I'm certain Don Scipio suspects who I am.
Don Scipio. Suspect? I know who you are, [Advancing to him.] so get into your livery again as fast as you can.
Don Fer. Ha, my dear friend, Don Scipio, I was—
Don Scipio. Friend! you impudent rascal! I'll break your head, if you make so free with me. None of your swaggering, sirrah—How the fellow acts! it wasn't for nothing he was among the strolling players; but, hark ye, my lad, be quiet, for you're blown here, without the help of your trumpet.
Don Fer. Lord, your honour, how came you to know that I am Pedrillo?
Don Scipio. Why, I was told of it by your fellow—hold, I must not betray my little dreamer though—[Aside.]—No matter who told me; I—but here comes your master.
Don Fer. Pedrillo! The fellow will spoil all; I wish I had given him his lesson before I began with Don Scipio.
[Aside.
Don Scipio. I hope he'll now have done with his gambols.
Don Fer. Sir, my master is such an obstinate gentleman, as sure as you stand here, he'll still deny himself to be Don Fernando.
Don Scipio. Will he? then I'll write his father an account of his vagaries.
Enter Pedrillo.
Ped. Master, shall I shave you this morning?
Don Scipio. Shave! Oh, my dear sir, time to give over your tricks and fancies.
Ped. [Surprised.] My tricks and fancies!
Don Fer. Yes, sir, you are found out.
Ped. I am found out!
Don Scipio. So you may as well confess.
Ped. What the devil shall I confess?
Don Scipio. He still persists! Hark ye, young gentleman, I'll send your father an account of your pranks, and he'll trim your jacket for you.
Ped. Nay, sir, for the matter of that, my father could trim your jacket for you.
Don Scipio. Trim my jacket, young gentleman!
Ped. Why, he's the best tailor in Cordova.
Don Scipio. His father's a tailor in Cordova!
Don Fer. Ay, he'll ruin all—[Aside.]—Let me speak to him. Tell Don Scipio you are the master.
[Apart to Pedrillo.
Ped. I will, sir—Don Scipio, you are the master.
Don Scipio. What!
Don Fer. Stupid dog!—[Apart to Pedrillo.]—Say you are Fernando, and I am Pedrillo.
Ped. I will—Sir, you are Fernando, and I am Pedrillo.
Don Fer. Dull rogue! [Aside.] I told you, sir, he'd persist in it.
[Apart to Don Scipio.
Don Scipio. Yes, I see it; but I tell you what, Don Fernando.—[Lorenza sings without.] My daughter! Zounds! don't let your mistress see you any more in this cursed livery.—Look at the gentleman, hold up your head—egad, Pedrillo's acting was better than your natural manner.
Don Fer. Ah, sir, if you were to see my master dressed—the livery makes such an alteration!
Don Scipio. True! curse the livery.
Ped. It's bad enough; but my master gives new liveries on his marriage.
Don Fer. An insensible scoundrel!
[Aside.
Enter Lorenza.
Lor. Oh, caro, signor, every body says that you are [To Don Fernando.] not Don Fernando.
Don Scipio. Every body's right, for here he stands like a young tailor of Cordova.
[To Pedrillo.
Lor. Oh, what? then this is Pedrillo?
[To Fernando.
Don Fer. At your service, ma'am.
[Bowing.
Ped. That Pedrillo! then, who the devil am I?
Don Fer. Here, rogue, this purse is yours—say you are Don Fernando.
[Apart to Pedrillo.
Ped. Oh, sir—now I understand you.—True, Don Scipio, I am all that he says.
Don Scipio. Hey! Now that's right and sensible, and like yourself; but I'll go bustle about our business, for we'll have all our love affairs settled this evening.
[Exeunt Don Scipio and Fernando.
Lor. So, then, you're to be my husband, ha! ha! ha!
Ped. Eh!
Lor. Well, if not, I can be as cold as you are indifferent.
AIR XIV.—LORENZA.
If I my heart surrender, Be ever fond and tender, And sweet connubial joys shall crown Each soft rosy hour: In pure delight each heart shall own Love's triumphant pow'r. See brilliant belles admiring, See splendid beaux desiring, All for a smile expiring, Where'er Lorenza moves. To balls and routs resorting, O bliss supreme, transporting! Yet ogling, flirting, courting, 'Tis you alone that loves. If I my heart surrender, &c.
[Exeunt.