Карло Гольдони
The Comedies of Carlo Goldoni
De la Cot. May you not command?
Gian. Have regard for one defect which is common to lovers; – do not, I entreat you, give me any cause for jealousy.
De la Cot. Am I capable of doing so?
Gian. I will tell you. Mademoiselle Costanza, in the last few days, has visited our house more frequently than usual; her eyes look tenderly on you, and she manifests rather too much sympathy for your misfortunes. You are of a gentle disposition, and, to own the truth, I sometimes feel uneasy.
De la Cot. Henceforth I will use the greatest caution, that she may indulge no hopes, and that you may be at ease.
Gian. But so conduct yourself, that neither my jealousy nor your love for me shall be remarked.
De la Cot. Ah, would to Heaven, Mademoiselle, our troubles were at an end!
Gian. We must bear them, to deserve good fortune.
De la Cot. Yes, dearest, I bear all with this delightful hope. Permit me now to inquire for my servant, to get him to countermand the horses.
Gian. Were they ordered?
De la Cot. Yes, indeed.
Gian. Unkind one!
De la Cot. Pardon me.
Gian. Let the order be countermanded before my father knows it.
De la Cot. My hope and my comfort! may Heaven be propitious to our wishes, and reward true love and virtuous constancy.
[Exit.
Gian. I never could have believed it possible for me to be brought to such a step; that I should, of my own accord, use language and contrive means to detain him. But unless I had done so, in a moment he would have been gone, and I should have died immediately afterwards. But here comes my father; I am sorry he finds me in our visitor's room. Thank Heaven, the Lieutenant is gone out! All appearance of sorrow must vanish from my face.
Enter Philibert
Phil. My daughter, what are you doing in this room?
Gian. Curiosity, sir, brought me here.
Phil. And what excites your curiosity?
Gian. To see a master who understands nothing of such things, and an awkward servant endeavouring to pack up a trunk.
Phil. Do you know when he goes away?
Gian. He intended going this morning, but, in walking across the room, his legs trembled so, that I fear he will not stand the journey.
Phil. I think his present disease has deeper roots than his wound.
Gian. Yet only one hurt has been discovered by the surgeons.
Phil. Oh, there are wounds which they know nothing of.
Gian. Every wound, however slight, makes its mark.
Phil. Eh! there are weapons that give an inward wound.
Gian. Without breaking the skin?
Phil. Certainly.
Gian. How do these wounds enter?
Phil. By the eyes, the ears, the touch.
Gian. You must mean by the percussion of the air.
Phil. Air! no, I mean flame.
Gian. Indeed, sir, I do not comprehend you.
Phil. You do not choose to comprehend me.
Gian. Do you think I have any mischievous design in my head?
Phil. No; I think you a good girl, wise, prudent, who knows what the officer suffers from, and who, from a sense of propriety, appears not to know it.
Gian. [Aside.] Poor me! his manner of talking alarms me.
Phil. Giannina, you seem to me to blush.
Gian. What you say, sir, of necessity makes me blush. I now begin to understand something of the mysterious wound of which you speak; but, be it as it may, I know neither his disease nor the remedy.
Phil. My daughter, let us speak plainly. Monsieur de la Cotterie was perfectly cured a month after he arrived here; he was apparently in health, ate heartily, and began to recover his strength; he had a good complexion, and was the delight of our table and our circle. By degrees he grew sad, lost his appetite, became thin, and his gaiety was changed to sighs. I am something of a philosopher, and suspect his disease is more of the mind than of the body, and, to speak still more plainly, I believe he is in love.
Gian. It may be as you say; but I think, were he in love, he would not be leaving.
Phil. Here again my philosophy explains everything. Suppose, by chance, the young lady of whom he is enamoured were rich, dependent on her father, and could not encourage his hopes; would it be strange if despair counselled him to leave her?
Gian. [Aside.] He seems to know all.
Phil. And this tremor of the limbs, occurring just as he is to set out, must, I should say, viewed philosophically, arise from the conflict of two opposing passions.
Gian. [Aside.] I could imprecate his philosophy!
Phil. In short, the benevolence of my character, hospitality, to which my heart is much inclined, humanity itself, which causes me to desire the good of my neighbours, all cause me to interest myself in him; but I would not wish my daughter to have any share in this disease.
Gian. Ah, you make me laugh! Do I look thin and pale? am I melancholy? What says your philosophy to the external signs of my countenance and of my cheerfulness.
Phil. I am suspended between two opinions: you have either the power of self-control, or are practising deception.
Gian. Have you ever found me capable of deception?
Phil. Never, and for that reason I cannot believe it now.
Gian. You have determined in your own mind that the officer is in love, which is very likely; but I am not the only person he may be suspected of loving.
Phil. As the Lieutenant leaves our house so seldom, it is fair to infer his disease had its origin here.
Gian. There are many handsome young ladies who visit us, and one of them may be his choice.
Phil. Very true; and, as you are with them, and do not want wit and observation, you ought to know exactly how it is, and to relieve me from all suspicion.
Gian. But if I have promised not to speak of it?
Phil. A father should be excepted from such a promise.
Gian. Yes, certainly, especially if silence can cause him any pain.
Phil. Come, then, my good girl, let us hear. – [Aside.] I am sorry I suspected her.
Gian. [Aside.] I find myself obliged to deceive him. – Do you know, sir, that poor Monsieur de la Cotterie loves to madness Mademoiselle Costanza?
Phil. What! the daughter of Monsieur Riccardo?
Gian. The same.
Phil. And does the girl return his affection?
Gian. With the greatest possible ardour.
Phil. And what obstacle prevents the accomplishment of their wishes?
Gian. Why, the father of the girl will hardly consent to give her to an officer who is not in a condition to maintain her reputably.
Phil. A curious obstacle, truly. And who is this Monsieur Riccardo, that he has such rigorous maxims? He is nothing but a broker, sprung from the mud, grown rich amid the execrations of the people. Does he think to rank himself among the merchants of Holland? A marriage with an officer would be an honour to his daughter, and he could not better dispose of his ill-got wealth.
Gian. It seems, then, if you were a broker, you would not refuse him your daughter?
Phil. Assuredly not.
Gian. But, being a Dutch merchant, the match does not suit you?
Phil. No, certainly not; not at all – you know it very well.
Gian. So I thought.
Phil. I must interest myself in behalf of Monsieur de la Cotterie.
Gian. In what manner, sir?
Phil. By persuading Monsieur Riccardo to give him his daughter.
Gian. I would not advise you to meddle in the affair.
Phil. Let us hear what the Lieutenant will say.
Gian. Yes, you should hear him first. – [Aside.] I must give him warning beforehand.
Phil. Do you think he will set out on his journey immediately?
Gian. I know he has already ordered his horses.
Phil. I will send directly to see.
Gian. I will go myself, sir. – [Aside.] I must take care not to make matters worse.
[Exit.
Phil. [Alone.] I feel I have done injustice to my daughter in distrusting her; it is a happiness to me to be again certain of her sincerity. There may be some concealed deception in her words, but I will not believe her so artful; she is the daughter of a man who loves truth, and never departs from it, even in jest. Everything she tells me is quite reasonable: the officer may be in love with Mademoiselle Costanza; the absurd pride of the father considers the match as far below what his daughter is entitled to. I will, if possible, bring about the marriage by my mediation. On the one hand, we have nobility reduced in circumstances; on the other, a little accidental wealth; these fairly balance one another, and each party will find the alliance advantageous.
Enter Marianna
Mar. Isn't my mistress here, sir?
Phil. She is just gone.
Mar. By your leave. [Going.]
Phil. Why are you in such haste?
Mar. I am going to find my mistress.
Phil. Have you anything of consequence to say to her?
Mar. A lady has asked for her.
Phil. Who is she?
Mar. Mademoiselle Costanza.
Phil. Oh! is Mademoiselle Costanza here?
Mar. Yes; and I suspect, by her coming at this unusual hour, that it is something extraordinary that brings her here.
Phil. I know what this extraordinary something is. [Smiling.] Say to Mademoiselle Costanza, that, before going to my daughter's room, I will thank her to let me see her here.
Mar. You shall be obeyed, sir.
Phil. Is the officer in?
Mar. No, sir, he is gone out.
Phil. As soon as he returns, ask him to come to me in this room.
Mar. Yes, sir. Do you think he will go away to-day?
Phil. I am sure he will not.
Mar. Indeed, his health is so bad, that it would be dangerous for him to proceed on his journey.
Phil. He shall remain with us, and he shall get well.
Mar. My dear master, you alone have the power of restoring him to health.
Phil. I? How! do you know what is the Lieutenant's disease?
Mar. I know it; but do you, sir?
Phil. I know everything.
Mar. Who told you?
Phil. My daughter.
Mar. Indeed! [With an expression of surprise.]
Phil. Why are you surprised? Would not my daughter be wrong to conceal the truth from her father?
Mar. Certainly; she has acted most wisely.
Phil. Now we can find the remedy.
Mar. In truth, it is an honourable love.
Phil. Most honourable.
Mar. The Lieutenant is an excellent young man.
Phil. Most excellent.
Mar. It is his only misfortune that he is not rich.
Phil. A handsome fortune with his wife would indeed make his situation more comfortable.
Mar. If the father is satisfied, no one has a right to complain.
Phil. A father with an only child, when he finds an opportunity of marrying her respectably, ought to be pleased to avail himself of it.
Mar. May God bless you! these are sentiments worthy of so good a man. I am delighted both for the officer and the young lady. – [Aside.] And not less so for myself, as my beloved Gascoigne may now remain with me.
[Exit.
Enter Mademoiselle Costanza
Phil. [To himself.] Good actions deserve praise, and every person of sense will approve of what I am doing.
Cost. Here I am, sir, at your commands.
Phil. Ah, Mademoiselle Costanza! it gives me great pleasure to see you.
Cost. You are very kind.
Phil. I am gratified at your friendship for my daughter.
Cost. She deserves it, and I love her with all my heart.
Phil. Ah, do not say with all your heart!
Cost. Why not? are you not convinced I love her sincerely?
Phil. Sincerely, I believe, but not with all your heart.
Cost. Why should you doubt it?
Phil. Because, if you loved my daughter with all your heart, there would be none of it left for any one else.
Cost. You make me laugh; and who should have a part of it?
Phil. Ah, Mademoiselle, we understand!
Cost. Indeed, I do not understand.
Phil. Now let us dismiss Lady Modesty, and introduce Lady Sincerity.
Cost. [Aside.] I cannot discover what he is aiming at.
Phil. Tell me, have you come on purpose to visit my daughter?
Cost. Yes, sir.
Phil. No, Mademoiselle.
Cost. For what, then?
Phil. Know I am an astrologer. I am visited by a certain spirit that tells me everything, and hence I have learnt this: Mademoiselle Costanza has come not to visit those who stay, but those who go away.
Cost. [Aside.] I suspect there is some truth in what the spirit says.
Phil. What! are you puzzled how to answer?
Cost. I will answer you frankly: if I have come to show civility to your guest, I do not perceive I deserve reproof.
Phil. Reproof! on the contrary, praise; acts of civility ought not to be omitted – especially when dictated by a more tender feeling.
Cost. You seem to be in a humour for jesting this morning.
Phil. And you seem to be out of spirits; but I lay a wager I can cheer you up.
Cost. Indeed?
Phil. Without fail.
Cost. And how?
Phil. With two words.
Cost. And what are those fine words?
Phil. You shall hear them. Come this way – a little nearer. The Lieutenant is not going away. Does not your heart leap at this unexpected news?
Cost. For mercy's sake! Monsieur Philibert, do you believe me in love?
Phil. Say no, if you can.
Cost. No; I can say it.
Phil. Swear to it.
Cost. Oh, I will not swear for such a trifle.
Phil. You wish to hide the truth from me, as if I had not the power of serving you, or was unwilling to do so, and of serving the poor young man too, who is so unhappy.
Cost. Unhappy, for what?
Phil. On account of you.
Cost. On account of me?
Phil. Yes, you; we are in the dark, so that his love for you is in a manner hidden, and every one does not know that his despair sends him away.
Cost. Despair for what?
Phil. Because your father, from pride and avarice, will not consent to give you to him: this, my girl, is the whole affair.
Cost. It appears that you know more of it than I do.
Phil. You know, and do not choose to know. I make allowance for your modesty; but when a gentleman speaks to you, when a man of my character exerts himself in your behalf, you ought to lay aside modesty and open your heart freely.
Cost. You take me so by surprise, I am embarrassed what answer to make.
Phil. Let us end this conversation. Tell me, like an honest girl as you are, do you not love Monsieur de la Cotterie?
Cost. You force me to own it.
Phil. [Aside.] Thank Heaven! so my daughter spoke the truth. – And he loves you with an equal affection.
Cost. Of that, sir, I know nothing.
Phil. If you do not know it, I tell you so; he loves you to perdition.
Cost. [Aside.] Can it be possible? and he has never declared it to me!
Phil. And I have undertaken to persuade your father.
Cost. But does my father know I am in love with the officer?
Phil. He certainly ought to know.
Cost. He has never mentioned it to me.
Phil. Oh, your father will soon come and talk with you on the subject.
Cost. He has never objected to my coming here, where I meet the officer.
Phil. He knows that you are visiting in an honourable house; no greater liberty would be allowed you here than is proper for a modest young lady. In a word, are you willing that I should manage the affair?
Cost. Entirely willing.
Phil. Bravo! this is enough; and what would it avail you to deny with your lips what your looks proclaim? the flame that burns in your heart sparkles in your eyes.
Cost. You have a most penetrating glance.
Phil. Ah, here comes the officer.
Cost. By your leave, sir.
Phil. Where are you going?
Cost. To Mademoiselle Giannina.
Phil. Remain here, if you will.
Cost. Oh no, sir, excuse me – your servant. – [Aside.] I am overjoyed! I know not in what world I am!
[Exit.
Philibert, alone
Phil. How amusing these girls are! Boldness and modesty are mingled in so strange a manner, that it is a pleasure to observe them. Here is an instance of love to devotion, and if it succeeds it will be owing to my daughter's intervention.
Enter De la Cotterie
De la Cot. They told me, sir, that you asked for me.
Phil. Have you seen Mademoiselle Giannina?
De la Cot. No, sir, I have not seen her.
Phil. I am sorry that you appear so melancholy.
De la Cot. One whose health is bad cannot be expected to look cheerful.
Phil. Do you not know I am a physician, and have the skill to cure you?
De la Cot. I did not know that you were skilled in the medical art.
Phil. Well, my friend, capacities often exist where they are not suspected.
De la Cot. Why, then, have you not prescribed for me before now?
Phil. Because I did not sooner know the nature of your disease.
De la Cot. Do you think you know it now?
Phil. Yes, certainly – indubitably.
De la Cot. If you are learned in the medical art, sir, you know much better than I do how fallacious and how little to be relied on are all the symptoms that seem to indicate the causes of disease.
Phil. The indications of your disease are so infallible, that I am confident there is no mistake, and on condition that you trust to my friendship, you shall soon have reason to be content.
De la Cot. And by what process do you propose to cure me?
Phil. My first prescription shall be for you to abandon all intention of going away, and to take the benefit of this air, which will speedily restore you to health.
De la Cot. On the contrary, I fear this air is most injurious to me.
Phil. Do you not know that even from hemlock a most salutary medicine is extracted?
De la Cot. I am not ignorant of the late discoveries, but your allusion covers some mystery.
Phil. No, my friend; so far as mystery is concerned, each of us is now acting his part; but let us speak without metaphor. Your disease arises from love, and you think to find a remedy by going away, whereas it is an act of mere desperation. You carry the arrow in your heart, and hope to be relieved; but the same hand which placed it there must draw it out.
De la Cot. Your discourse, sir, is altogether new to me.
Phil. Why pretend not to understand me! Speak to me as a friend who loves you, and takes the same interest in you as if you were his son. Consider: by dissembling you may destroy your happiness for ever. My attachment to you arises from a knowledge of your merit, and from your having spent several months with me; besides, I should be mortified for you to have contracted in my house an unhappy passion; and therefore I most zealously interfere in your favour, and am anxious to find a remedy for you.
De la Cot. My dear friend, how have you discovered the origin of my unhappiness?
Phil. Shall I say the truth? – my daughter revealed it to me.
De la Cot. Heavens! had she the courage to disclose it?
Phil. Yes, after a little persuasion she told me everything.
De la Cot. Oh, by the friendship you possess for me, have pity on my love!
Phil. I have pity on you; I know what human frailty is at your age, and the violence of passion.
De la Cot. I confess I ought not to have encouraged my affection, and concealed it from such a friend.
Phil. This is the only complaint I have to make. You have not treated me with that unreserved confidence which I think I was entitled to.
De la Cot. I had not the courage.
Phil. Well, Heaven be praised! There is yet time. I know the girl loves you, for she told me so herself.
De la Cot. And what do you say to it, sir?
Phil. I approve of the marriage.
De la Cot. You overwhelm me with joy.
Phil. You see I am the good physician who understands the disease and knows the remedy.
De la Cot. I can hardly feel assured of this great happiness.
Phil. Why not?
De la Cot. I thought the narrowness of my fortune an insuperable obstacle.
Phil. Family and merit on your side are equal to a rich dower on the other.
De la Cot. Your kindness to me is unequalled.
Phil. But my kindness has yet done nothing; now it shall be my endeavour to provide for your happiness.
De la Cot. This will depend entirely on your own good heart.
Phil. We must exert ourselves to overcome the difficulties.
De la Cot. And what are the difficulties?
Phil. The consent of the father of the girl.
De la Cot. My friend, it seems you are making game of me; from the way you spoke just now, I thought all obstacles were removed.
Phil. But I have not mentioned it to him yet.
De la Cot. To whom have you not mentioned it?
Phil. To the father of the girl.
De la Cot. Oh, Heavens! and who is the father of the girl?
Phil. Good! You do not know him? you do not know the father of Mademoiselle Costanza, that horrid savage, Monsieur Riccardo, who has grown rich by usury, and has no idol but his money?
De la Cot. [Aside.] I shall go mad! Thus end all my hopes.
Phil. Riccardo does not visit at my house, you never go out, so it is not surprising you do not know him.
De la Cot. [Aside.] Ah! I am obliged to dissemble, not to disclose my love at a moment so unpropitious.
Phil. But how did you know the father would not give you his daughter if you did not know him?
De la Cot. I had reasons for thinking so, and for my despair there is no remedy.
Phil. Am I not your physician?
De la Cot. All your attention will be unavailing.
Phil. Leave it to me; I will go immediately to find Monsieur Riccardo, and I flatter myself —
De la Cot. No, sir, do not.
Phil. It seems the prospect of success turns your head; just now you were all joy. Whence arises this sudden change?
De la Cot. I am certain it will end unfortunately.
Phil. Such despondency is unworthy of you, and unjust to me.
De la Cot. Do not add to my unhappiness by your interference.
Phil. Are you afraid the father will be obstinate? let me try.
De la Cot. By no means; I am altogether opposed to it.
Phil. And I am altogether for it, and will speak to him.
De la Cot. I shall leave the Hague; I shall go in a few minutes.
Phil. You will not treat me with so much incivility.
Enter Giannina
Gian. What, sirs, is the cause of this altercation?
Phil. Monsieur de la Cotterie acts towards me with a degree of ingratitude that is anything but agreeable.
Gian. Is it possible he can be capable of this?
De la Cot. Ah, Mademoiselle, I am a most unfortunate man!
Phil. I may say he does not know his own mind. He confessed his passion, and, when I offered to assist him, fell into transports; and then, when I promised to obtain the hand of Mademoiselle Costanza for him, he got furious, and threatened to go away.
Gian. I am surprised the Lieutenant should still speak of leaving us.
De la Cot. Would you have me stay and entertain such hopes? [Ironically.]
Gian. I would have you stay, and entertain a mistress who loves you. With my father's permission, you shall hear what Mademoiselle Costanza has just said of you.
Phil. May I not hear it?
Gian. Impossible; my friend directed me to tell it to him alone.
Phil. [Aside.] I shall hear all from my daughter when we are by ourselves.
Gian. [Apart to De la Cotterie.] I have contrived to make my father believe you were in love with Mademoiselle Costanza. As you love me, say it is so, and talk no more of going away.
De la Cot. [Aside.] Oh, the stratagems of love!
Phil. Will you still persist in your obstinacy?
De la Cot. Ah, no, sir; I rely on your kindness.
Phil. Do you desire me to speak to Monsieur Riccardo?
De la Cot. Do what you please.
Phil. Are you still anxious to go?
De la Cot. I promise you to remain here.
Phil. [Aside.] What magic words have wrought this change? I am curious to hear them.
De la Cot. Pardon, I pray you, my strange conduct.
Phil. Willingly; the actions of lovers are often extravagant. Tell me, Giannina, is Mademoiselle Costanza gone?
Gian. No, sir; she is waiting in my room.
Phil. Go, Lieutenant, and keep her company for a little while.
De la Cot. I would rather not, sir.
Gian. Go, go. – [Aside to De la Cotterie.] Listen! Wait for me in the antechamber; I will be there presently.
De la Cot. I shall obey you, sir.
[Exit.
Phil. [Aside.] The power of words! – Well, what did you say to him?
Gian. I told him to go to his mistress; that she expected him.
Phil. But the first time you spoke to him?
Gian. I said that Mademoiselle Costanza had hope she could persuade her father.
Phil. Why did you not tell him so openly, before me?
Gian. Things said in private often make the greatest impression.
Phil. Perhaps so.
Gian. By your leave.[Going.]
Phil. Where are you going?
Gian. To encourage this timid gentleman.
Phil. Yes, by all means; I recommend him to you.
Gian. Doubt not I shall take good care of him.
[Exit.
Phil. My girl has a good heart, and mine is like hers.