The Barber of Seville and The Marriage of Figaro

By Pierre Beaumarchais

Eighteenth century French author Pierre Beaumarchais is best known today for his Figaro plays. Beaumarchais had an action-filled career as a watchmaker, musician, secret agent, businessman, diplomat, and a financer of revolutions. His literary career was as turbulent as his personal life. After a series of lawsuits in Paris, the accounts of his trials made his reputation as a sarcastic, effective, and recognized writer. First performed in 1773, “The Barber of Seville” is the story of a Spanish count who has fallen for the beautiful Rosine. In order to determine whether or not she could love him for himself and not his wealth and status the count disguises himself as a poor student and attempts to woo her. “The Marriage of Figaro” picks up where “The Barber of Seville” leaves off, three years later as Figaro and Suzanne, two members of the count’s staff, plan to marry. The count now bored with his marriage to Rosine, plans a liaison with Figaro’s intended. Two masterpieces of commedia dell’arte, these works were provocative in their time for their criticism of the nobility and would go on to inspire some of the most famous operas of all time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Digireads.com Publishing
• Release date: Dec 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781420979459

Book preview

The Barber of Seville

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

COUNT ALMAVIVA

DOCTOR

BARTOLO

FIGARO

BASIL

ROSINA

MARCELLINA

&c. &c. &c.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

[Seville—Doctor Bartolo’s house L.—Figaro’s shop, R, over his door is written, "Barber, Surgeon, Dentist," &c.—The shop is shut.—Time: Day-break, and the light increasing through the scene.]

[Enter from the L. U. E. Fiorello with a letter in his hand; he comes cautiously down the stage and examines Figaro’s shop.]

[Enter Serenaders, L. U. E.]

SERENADE.

FIORELLO. Piano! Pianissimo! in tender sound

Let Love’s light airs now float around!

SERENADERS. Piano! pianissimo! Love’s music sound!

FIORELLO. All wrapt in silence—no soul is near,

No wand’ring footstep falls on the ear.

CHORUS. Many thanks, sir, for this favor,

Better master, nor a braver,

Never did we sing a stave for.

Ever, sir, command our throats!

We will ever sing and pray for

One who gives us gold for notes.

FIORELLO. Silence, silence, cease your bawling,

Nor like cats, with caterwauling,

Wake the neighbors—stop your squalling,

Rascals, or I’ll dust your coats!

[FIORELLO sends the Serenaders away.]

BARTOLO. [calls within, L.] Rosina! Rosina!

ROSINA. [to FIORELLO.] ’Tis my guardian’s voice! hide under the window!

BARTOLO. [entering the balcony.] Rosina, my love, what, at your matins so early?

ROSINA. Yes, sir! the beauty of the morning tempted me out; the birds caroll’d their songs of freedom, why not I mine of captivity?

BARTOLO. Well, well, so long as you do sing, no matter for what; and, as you are in a singing mood, will you favor me with the song you sung so well last night?

ROSINA. [looking over some music.] I would with great pleasure, sir, but unluckily I have left it in my own room; if you will do me the favor to fetch it, I will sing with cheerfulness.

BARTOLO. Good girl! good girl! how kind and complying! I’ll fetch it back in an instant. [exit from balcony.]

ROSINA. Now, then, to make the most of that instant!

[Takes pencil and writes on a song.]

FIORELLO. [from under the balcony.] Signora! Signora! shall I run and fetch my master?

ROSINA. No, no; bear this song to him, I shall have done it in an instant.

BARTOLO. [speaks without.] The song aint in your room! I’ve search’d for it high and low.

ROSINA. [embarrassed.] Oh! dear sir, I’m sorry you’ve had the trouble; I’ve got it, here it is—

[Holds it out, drops it, and screams. Enter BARTOLO at balcony.]

Ah! it has fallen into the street; Oh, my dear sir, run down and get it! I would not lose it for the world.

BARTOLO. Oh! Jade! Jade! you dropt it on purpose! I perceived it! In with you!—I’ll fetch it; but I’ll fasten the balcony first. In, in, I say!

[They retire, end BARTOLO fastens the blind.]

FIORELLO. [takes up the song.] Now, then, with the wings of Mercury to delight my master.

FIGARO. [peeping from his door.] Hold! don’t forget to whom you are indebted for all this; and tell the Count to come to me with speed—away, away!

[Exit FIORELLO, L. U. E.— FIGARO returns into his house. Enter BARTOLO from his door, stooping to pick up the song.]

BARTOLO. Why, where the devil is it? [looks about.] Gone! gone! and I’m trick’d! Oh, that balcony—that balcony is a temptation to intrigue; I’ll have it pulled down, and the window brick’d up!

[FIGARO enters with guitar.]

SONG—FIGARO.

Lo! the factotum of this gay place, I come.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

When in my shop I exhibit my face, all come.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

All say I’m the dandy, clever and handy,

Pleasant and gay, still in demand.

All night and day, all night and day,

Ah! Bravo, Figaro! bravo, bravissimo, bravo.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Fortune, on Figaro never can frown;

All his deserts ’tis her care still to crown.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

At work or at play, by night or by day,

There’s nothing amiss can happen to me.

In city or place, one more fit for the race

Of wit and dexterity never can be.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

My comb and my razor, my lancets they praise,

And my scissors for giving to stray locks a grace.

My powder puff blowing, perfumes about throwing;

With lather or curls I bedizen each face.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Then, by my trade, sirs, I could give aid, sirs,

And quite recover each sighing lover.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Ev’ry one calling me, pulling and mauling me;

Young lads and lasses, doating old asses;

Some wanting shaving, or in love raving,

Quick, come and dress me.—"A billet doux! bless me."

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Here, Figaro! Figaro!! Figaro!!!

Zounds what a squalling, confusion, and calling.

Ladies, dear ladies!—Oh! gentlemen, pray!

To each, in your turn, I’ve something to say.

La, la, la, la, la, la, la.

Figaro!—I’m here. Figaro!—Oh dear!

Figaro, here, Figaro, there, Figaro, what? Figaro there,

Figaro high, Figaro low, Figaro come, Figaro go.

Thus, like a shuttlecock struck to and fro,

Between lovers and customers flying I go.

Oh! what a fortunate fellow am I.

Ah! bravo, Figaro! bravo, bravissimo!

Night or day, thus it passes in this busy place;

Shaving gallants, pleasing lasses, smoothing a heart or a face.

Thus my happy moments fly;

Oh, what a fortunate fellow am I?

[He makes signs to FIORELLO, who beckons on COUNT ALMAVIVA from L. U. E.—He runs to FIGARO.]

COUNT. Ah, my faithful Figaro.

FIGARO. Yes, my lord, your honest old servant.

COUNT. Hush—[stops his mouth.] My title and your honesty must not be mentioned now! I am here in disguise, perhaps you are the same; I say nothing of your roguery, you say nothing of my rank.

FIGARO. I’ll not mention a word, my lord.

COUNT. Silence, rascal! Or I’ll break your bones.

FIGARO. Thank you, a thousand times; the same kind, familiar, free-spoken, friendly, noble—

COUNT. Hold, knave; you, I find still the same chattering blockhead, with all your bad habits confirmed.

FIGARO. Why, as you turned me off for making too free with your good ones, I think you should’t find fault with me for using my own.

COUNT. Well, Figaro; you haven’t starved since we parted; I think you are much lustier.

FIGARO. Yes, Signor; want and fasting have done it.

COUNT. Want?

FIGARO. Yes, Signor; it has puff’d me out, as starv’d land produces a toad-stool.

COUNT. But, when you left me at Madrid, you got employment how did you play your cards to lose that?

FIGARO. All owing to an odd trick, sir; so they cut me out of the game: upon which I turned my back upon Madrid, and, with all my worldly wealth in a pocket handkerchief, I took a sentimental journey to Seville, to which place I begg’d, borrowed, and shaved my way, till, having overcame all difficulties, I am at last settled in this shop, by Doctor Bartolo.

COUNT. Know, then, about six months ago, I met Rosina on the Prado at Madrid—she captivated me beyond my power to describe; I sought her in vain, thro’ every house in the city. At length discovered her to be of noble extraction, an orphan, and, they say, married to Doctor Bartolo.

FIGARO. They say, who says?

COUNT. Common report.

FIGARO. Common report’s a common liar; the Doctor gives himself out for her husband merely to keep off" others; she is yet only his ward; but tomorrow, indeed, will make her his wife.

COUNT. That tomorrow shall never come.

FIGARO. Lord, sir; you don’t mean to murder him?

COUNT. No; but I mean to carry off Rosina, and that will save the necessity. What is the outline of old Bartolo’s character?

FIGARO. A peeping, peering, growling, grunting, spying, spiteful, stingy, jealous, old curmudgeon.

COUNT. His private virtues concisely summed up, now for his public ones?

FIGARO. He has