SCENE IV.
Reading edition
An Apartment in Scipio's Castle.
Enter Victoria and Catilina.
Catil. Nay, dear madam, do not submit to go into the nunnery.
Vic. Yes, Catilina, my father desires I shall take the veil, and a parent's voice is the call of Heaven!
Catil. Heaven! Well, though the fellows swear I'm an angel, this world is good enough for me—Dear ma'am, I wish I could but once see you in love.
Vic. Heigho! Catilina, I wonder what sort of gentleman this Don Fernando is, who is contracted to me, and hourly expected at the castle.
Catil. A beautiful man, I warrant—But, ma'am, you're not to have him. Hush! Dame Isabel, not content with making your father, by slights and ill usage, force your brother, poor Don Cæsar, to run about the world, in the Lord knows what wild courses, but she now has persuaded the old gentleman to pass her daughter on Don Fernando, for you—There, yonder she is, flaunting, so be-jewelled and be-plumed—Well, if I was you, they might take my birthright—but my husband—take my man—the deuce shall take them first! Ah, no! if ever I do go to heaven, I'll have a smart lad in my company.—Send you to a nunnery!
Vic. Was my fond mother alive!—Catilina, my father will certainly marry this Dame Isabel; I'm now an alien to his affections, bereft of every joy and every hope, I shall quit the world without a sigh.
AIR V.—VICTORIA.
Ah, solitude, take my distress, My griefs I'll unbosom to thee, Each sigh thou canst gently repress, Thy silence is music to me. Yet peace from my sonnet may spring, For peace let me fly the gay throng, To soften my sorrows I sing, Yet sorrow's the theme of my song.
[Exit Victoria.
Catil. I quit this castle as soon as ever Donna Victoria enters a nunnery—Shall I go with her? No, I was never made for a nun—Ay, I'll back to the vineyard, and if my sweetheart, Philippo, is as fond as ever, who knows—I was his queen of all the girls, though the charming youth was the guitar, flute, fiddle, and hautboy of our village.
AIR VI.—CATILINA.
Like my dear swain, no youth you'd see So blithe, so gay, so full of glee, In all our village, who but he To foot it up so featly— His lute to hear, From far and near, Each female came, Both girl and dame, And all his boon For every tune, To kiss 'em round so sweetly. While round him in the jocund ring, We nimbly danced, he'd play or sing, Of May the youth was chosen king, He caught our ears so neatly. Such music rare In his guitar, But touch his flute The crowd was mute, His only boon, For every tune, To kiss us round so sweetly.
[Exit.
Enter Vasquez, introducing Spado.
Vas. I'll inform Dame Isabel, sir—please to wait a moment.
[Exit Vasquez.
Spado. Sir!—This Dame Isabel is, it seems, a widow-gentlewoman, whom Don Scipio has retained ever since the death of his lady, as supreme directress over his family, has such an ascendancy, prevailed on him even to drive his own son out of his house, and, ha! ha! ha! is now drawing the old don into a matrimonial noose, ha! ha! ha! Egad, I am told, rules the roast here in the castle—Yes, yes, she's my mark—Hem! Now for my story, but my scheme is up, if I tell her a single truth—Ah, no fear of that.—Oh, this way she moves—
Enter Dame Isabel and Vasquez.
Isab. Don Scipio not returned! a foolish old man, rambling about at this time of night! Stay, Vasquez, where's this strange, ugly little fellow you said wanted to speak with me?
Vas. [Confused.] Madam, I did not say—
Spado. No matter, young man—Hem!
[Exit Vasquez.
Isab. Well, sir, pray who are you?
Spado. [Bowing obsequiously.] Madam, I have the honour to be confidential servant and secretary to Don Juan, father to Don Fernando de Zelva.
Isab. Don Fernando! Heavens! is he arrived? Here, Vasquez, Lopez, Diego!
[Calling.
Spado. Hold, madam! he's not arrived: Most sagacious lady, please to lend your attention for a few moments to an affair of the highest importance to Don Scipio's family. My young master is coming—
Isab. Well, sir!
Spado. Incog.
Isab. Incog!
Spado. Madam, you shall hear—[Aside.]—Now for a lie worth twenty pistoles—The morning before his departure, Don Fernando calls me into his closet, and shutting the door, "Spado," says he, "you know this obstinate father of mine has engaged me to marry a lady I have never seen, and to-morrow, by his order, I set out for Don Scipio, her father's castle, for that purpose; but," says he, striking his breast with one hand, twisting his mustaches with the other, and turning up his eyes—"if, when I see her, she don't hit my fancy, I'll not marry her, by the——"—I sha'n't mention his oath before you, madam.
Isab. No, pray don't, sir.
Spado. "Therefore," says he, "I design to dress Pedrillo, my arch dog of a valet, in a suit of my clothes, and he shall personate me at Don Scipio's castle, while I, in a livery, pass for him—If I like the lady, I resume my own character, and take her hand; if not, the deceit continues, and Pedrillo weds Donna Victoria, just to warn parental tyranny how it dares to clap up marriage, without consulting our inclinations."
Isab. Here's a discovery! so then, it's my poor child that must have fallen into this snare—[Aside.] Well, good sir.
Spado. "And, (continued he) Spado, I appoint you my trusty spy in this Don Scipio's family; to cover our designs, let it be a secret that you belong to me, and I sha'n't seem even to know you—You'll easily get a footing in the family (says he) by imposing some lie or other upon a foolish woman, I'm told, is in the castle. Dame Isabel I think they call her."
Isab. He shall find I am not so easily imposed upon.
Spado. I said so, madam; says I, a lady of Dame Isabel's wisdom must soon find me out, was I to tell her a lie.
Isab. Ay, that I should, sir.
Enter Vasquez.
Vas. Oh, madam! my master is returned, and Don Fernando de Zelva with him.
[Exit Vasquez.
Isab. Don Fernando! Oh, then, this is the rascally valet, but I'll give him a welcome with a vengeance!
Spado. Hold, madam! Suppose, for a little sport, you seem to humour the deceit, only to see how the fellow acts his part; he'll play the gentleman very well, I'll warrant; the dog is an excellent mimic; for, you must know, ma'am, this Pedrillo's mother was a gipsy, his father a merry andrew to a mountebank, and he himself five years trumpeter to a company of strolling players.
Isab. So, I was likely to have a hopeful son-in-law! Good sir, we are eternally indebted to you for this timely notice of the imposition.
Spado. Madam, I've done the common duties of an honest man—I have been long in the family, and can't see my master making such a fool of himself, without endeavouring to prevent any mischance in consequence.
Isab. Dear sir, I beseech you be at home under this roof; pray be free, and want for nothing the house affords.
Spado. [Bows.] Good madam! I'll want for nothing I can lay my fingers on. [Aside.]
[Exit Spado.
Isab. Heavens! what an honest soul it is! what a lucky discovery! Oh, here comes my darling girl!
Enter Lorenza, magnificently dressed.
Lor. Oh, cara Madre! See, behold!—Can I fail of captivating Don Fernando? Don't I look charming?
Isab. Why, Lorenza, I must say the toilet has done its duty; I'm glad to see you in such spirits, my dear child!
Lor. Spirits! ever gay, ever sprightly, cheerful as a lark—but how shall I forget my Florence lover, my dear Ramirez?
Isab. I request, my dear, you'll not think of this Ramirez—even from your own account of him, he must be a person of most dissolute principles—fortunately he knows you only by your name of Lorenza. I hope he won't find you out here.
Lor. Then farewell, beloved Ramirez! In obedience to your commands, madam, I shall accept of this Don Fernando; and as a husband, I will love him if I can—
AIR VII.—LORENZA.
Love! gay illusion! Pleasing delusion, With sweet intrusion, Possesses the mind. Love with love meeting, Passion is fleeting; Vows in repeating We trust to the wind. Faith to faith plighted, Love may be blighted; Hearts often slighted Will cease to be kind.
Enter Vasquez.
Vas. Madam—my master and Don Fernando.
Isab. Has Don Fernando a servant with him?
Vas. No, madam.
Isab. Oh, when he comes, take notice of him.
Enter Don Scipio and Fernando.
Don Scipio. Oh, my darling dame, and my delicate daughter, bless your stars that you see poor old Scipio alive again—Behold my son-in-law and the preserver of my life—Don Fernando, there's your spouse, and this is Donna Isabella, a lady of vast merit, of which my heart is sensible.
Don Fer. Madam!
[Salutes.
Isab. What an impudent fellow!
[Aside.
Don Scipio. Dear Fernando, you are as welcome to this castle as flattery to a lady, but there she is—bill and coo—embrace—caress her.
[Fernando salutes Lorenza.
Lor. If I had never seen Ramirez, I should think the man tolerable enough!
[Aside.
Don Scipio. Ha! ha! this shall be the happy night—Eh, Dame Isabel, by our agreement, before the lark sings, I take possession of this noble tenement.
Don Fer. Don Scipio, I hoped to have the honour of seeing your son.
Don Scipio. My son! Who, Cæsar? Oh, lord! He's—He was a—turned out a profligate—Sent him to Italy—got into bad company—don't know what's become of him—My dear friend, if you would not offend me, never mention Don Cæsar in my hearing. Egad—Eh, my dainty dame, is not Don Fernando a fine fellow?
Isab. Yes, he's well enough for a trumpeter.
Don Scipio. Trumpeter! [With surprise.] what the devil do you mean by that? Oh, because I sound his praise; but, madam, he's a cavalier of noble birth, title, fortune, and valour—
Isab. Don Scipio, a word if you please.
[Takes him aside.
Lor. [To Fernando.] Si—Signor, our castle here is rather a gloomy mansion, when compared to the beautiful cassinos on the banks of the Arno.
Don Fer. Arno! true, Don Scipio said in his letter, that his daughter had been bred at Florence.
Lor. You have had an unpleasant journey, signor?
Don Fer. I have encountered some difficulties by the way, it is true, madam; but am amply repaid by the honour and happiness I now enjoy.
[Bows.
Lor. Sir!—I swear he's a polite cavalier! [Aside.] Won't you please to sit, sir? I fancy you must be somewhat weary.
[Sits.
Don Scipio. What the devil! Eh, sure—what this fellow only Don Fernando's footman! how! it can't be!
Isab. A fact; and presently you'll see Don Fernando himself in livery.
Don Scipio. Look at the impudent son of a gipsy—Sat himself down—Zounds! I'll—
Isab. Hold! let him play off a few of his airs.
Don Scipio. A footman! Ay, this accounts for his behaviour in the forest—Don Fernando would never have accepted my purse—[Taps his Shoulder.]—Hey, what, you've got there!
Don Fer. Will you please to sit, sir?
[Rises.
Don Scipio. Yes, he looks like a trumpeter. [Aside.] You may sit down, friend.
[With contempt.
Don Fer. A strange old gentleman!
Enter Vasquez.
Vas. Sir, your servant Pedrillo is arrived.
[Exit Vasquez.
Isab. Servant Pedrillo! Ay, this is Fernando himself.
[Apart, joyfully to Scipio.
Don Fer. Oh, then the fellow has found his way at last. Don Scipio—Ladies—excuse me a moment.
[Exit Fernando.
Lor. What a charming fellow!
Don Scipio. What an impudent rascal!
Ped. [Without.] Is my master this way?
Don Scipio. Master! ay, this is Fernando.
Enter Pedrillo, with a Portmanteau.
Ped. Oh dear! I've got among the gentlefolks—I ask pardon.
Isab. How well he does look and act the servant!
Don Scipio. Admirable; yet I perceive the grandee under the livery.
Isab. Please to sit, sir.
[With great respect.
Lor. A livery servant sit down by me!
Don Scipio. Pray sit down, sir.
[Ceremoniously.
Ped. Sit down! [Sits.] Oh, these must be the upper servants of the family—her ladyship here is the housekeeper, I suppose—the young tawdry tit, lady's maid—(Hey, her mistress throws off good clothes,) and Old Whiskers, Don Scipio's butler.
[Aside.
Enter Don Fernando.
Don Fer. Pedrillo! how! seated! what means this disrespect?
Ped. Sir, [Rises to him.] Old Whiskers, the butler there, asked me to sit down by Signora the waiting-maid here.
Don Fer. Sirrah!
Ped. Yes, sir.
Don Scipio. Sir and sirrah! how rarely they act their parts! I'll give them an item, though, that I understand the plot of their comedy.
[Aside.
AIR VIII.—QUINTETTO.
D. Scipio. Signor! [To Pedrillo.] Your wits must be keener, Our prudence to elude, Your fine plot, Tho' so pat, Will do you little good. Ped. My fine plot! I'm a sot, If I know what These gentlefolks are at. Fer. Past the perils of the night, Tempests, darkness, rude alarms; Phœbus rises clear and bright, In the lustre of your charms. Lor. O, charming, I declare, So polite a cavalier! He understands the duty And homage due to beauty. D. Scipio. Bravo! O bravissimo! Lor. Caro! O carissimo! How sweet his honey words, How noble is his mien! D. Scipio. Fine feathers make fine birds, The footman's to be seen. But both deserve a basting! Ped. Since morning I've been fasting. D. Scipio. Yet I could laugh for anger. Ped. Oh, I could cry for hunger. D. Scipio. I could laugh. Ped. I could cry. D. Scipio. I could quaff. Ped. So could I. D. Scipio. Ha! ha! ha! I'm in a fit. Ped. Oh, I could pick a little bit. D. Scipio. Ha! ha! ha! Ped. Oh! oh! oh! Lor. A very pleasant party! D. Fer. A whimsical reception! D. Scipio. A whimsical deception! But master and man, accept a welcome hearty. D. Fer.Ped.} Accept our thanks sincere, for such a welcome hearty.