Карло Гольдони
The Comedies of Carlo Goldoni
ACT III
Scene I. – Philibert and Marianna
Mar. Excuse me for interrupting you again.
Phil. I suppose you have some new piece of nonsense?
Mar. I hope you will not again call me blockhead.
Phil. Not unless you utter more absurdities.
Mar. I have only to tell you I am just going to be married, and to bespeak your kindness.
Phil. Then you have determined to marry before your mistress?
Mar. No, sir; she is to be married to-day, and I shall be married to-morrow.
Phil. And you do not wish me to call you blockhead?
Mar. You still persist in concealing it from me?
Phil. Concealing what?
Mar. The marriage of my young lady.
Phil. Are you out of your senses?
Mar. Now, to show you I am not so foolish, I will own a fault I have committed, from curiosity. I stood behind the hangings, and heard Monsieur de la Cotterie talking with your daughter, and it is fixed on that they are to be married privately this evening, and you have given five hundred guineas on account of her portion.
Phil. On account of her portion! [Laughing.]
Mar. Yes, I think on account of her portion; I saw the guineas with my own eyes.
Phil. Yes, you are foolish, more foolish, most foolish.
Mar. [Aside.] He vexes me so I hardly know what to do.
Phil. The Lieutenant, however, has acted very improperly; he ought not to have mentioned it to my daughter, especially when there was danger of being overheard.
Mar. If you hide it from me for fear I shall make it public, you do wrong to my discretion.
Phil. Your discretion, indeed! you conceal yourself, listen to what people are talking about, misunderstand them, and then report such nonsense.
Mar. I was wrong to listen, I admit; but as to misunderstanding, I am sure I heard right.
Phil. You will force me to say or do something not very pleasant.
Mar. Well, well! where did Mademoiselle Giannina go just now?
Phil. Where did she go?
Mar. Did she not go out with Monsieur de la Cotterie?
Phil. Where?
Mar. I heard they went to Madame Gertrude's.
Phil. To my sister's?
Mar. Yes, sir.
Phil. Giannina may have gone there, not the Lieutenant.
Mar. I know they went out together, sir.
Phil. The Lieutenant may have accompanied her; my sister's house is near the place where he was to go; my daughter might choose to be at hand to hear the news. I know all; everything goes on well, and I say again you are a blockhead.
Mar. [Aside.] This is too bad; I can scarcely keep my temper.
Phil. See who is in the hall – I hear some one.
Mar. [Aside.] Oh, it will be excellent if a trick has been played on the old gentleman! but it is impossible.
[Exit.
Phil. [Alone.] Heaven grant it may end well! The imprudence of the Lieutenant might have ruined the plot, but young persons are subject to these indiscretions. I fortunately had sense enough when I was a young man, and have more now I am old.
Enter Gascoigne
Gas. Your servant, Monsieur Philibert.
Phil. Good-day, my friend. What news have you?
Gas. My master sends his best compliments.
Phil. Where is the Lieutenant? What is he doing? How go his affairs?
Gas. I believe this note will give you full information.
Phil. Let us see. [Opens it.]
Gas. [Aside.] As he does not send me away, I will remain here.
Phil. [To himself.] There is a paper enclosed, which seems to be written by my daughter. Let us first know what my friend says.
Gas. [Aside.] Marianna is listening behind the hangings; she is as curious as I am.
Phil. [Reading.] "Monsieur: Your advice has encouraged me to a step which I should not have had the boldness to venture on, however urged by the violence of my love." Yes, indeed, he wanted courage. "I have carried Mademoiselle to a respectable and secure house, that is to say, to her aunt's."
He must have met Costanza, and they have gone together. I did well to send her quickly; all my own work!
"The tears of the girl softened the good old lady, and she assented to our marriage." Excellent, excellent! it could not be better done.
"Orders were given for a notary to be called in, and the marriage service was performed in the presence of two witnesses."
Admirable – all has gone on well. "I cannot express to you my confusion, not having the courage to ask anything but your kind wishes; the rest will be added in the writing of your daughter, whom you will more readily pardon. I kiss your hand."
What does he want of me that he has not the courage to ask, and gets my daughter to intercede? Let me read the enclosed. He must have gone immediately to my sister's, to let Giannina know when the marriage was over. Well, what says my daughter?
"Dear father." She writes well – a good mercantile hand; she is a fine girl, God bless her. "Permit me, through this letter, to throw myself at your feet, and to ask your pardon." Oh, Heavens! what has she done?
"Informed by yourself of the advice you had given to Monsieur de la Cotterie, and of the money you furnished him with to carry it into execution, I have yielded to my affection, and married the Lieutenant."
Oh, infamous! Deceiver! traitress! abandoned! They have killed me!
Enter Marianna
Mar. What has happened, sir?
Phil. Help me! support me! for Heaven's sake do not leave me!
Mar. How can such a blockhead help you?
Phil. You are right; laugh at me – abuse me – show me no mercy. I deserve it all, and I give you full liberty to do so.
Mar. No; I feel compassion for you.
Phil. I am not worthy of your compassion.
Gas. Do not, sir, abandon yourself to despair; my master is an honourable gentleman, of a noble family.
Phil. He has ruined my daughter; he has destroyed my hopes.
Mar. You are able to provide handsomely for him.
Phil. And shall my estate go in this way?
Gas. Pardon me, sir; the same arguments you urged to convince Monsieur Riccardo may serve to convince yourself.
Phil. Ah, traitor! do you amuse yourself at my folly?
Mar. Gascoigne speaks to the purpose, and you have no right to complain of him. [With warmth.]
Phil. Yes, insult me, rejoice at my disgrace!
Mar. I have pity on you, blinded as you are by anger.
Gas. Condemn yourself for the fruits of your own bad advice.
Phil. Why deceive me? why make me believe the love of the officer was for Mademoiselle Costanza?
Gas. Because love is full of stratagems, and teaches lovers to conceal their passion, and to contrive schemes for their own happiness.
Phil. And if Monsieur Riccardo had agreed to the marriage of his daughter, what a figure I should have made in the affair!
Gas. My master never asked you to interfere for him.
Phil. No, but he let me do it.
Gas. Say, rather, that you did not understand him.
Phil. In short, they have betrayed and cheated me; the conduct of my daughter is treacherous, and that of the Lieutenant infamous.
Gas. You should speak more respectfully, sir, of an officer.
Mar. Remember, soldiers swear swords.
Phil. Yes, that is right; all he has to do now is to kill me.
Gas. My master has no such cruel design; you will soon see him come to ask your pardon.
Phil. I do not wish to see him at all.
Gas. Your daughter, then, shall come instead of him.
Phil. Name her not to me.
Mar. Your own flesh and blood, sir!
Phil. Ungrateful! she was my love – my only joy.
Gas. What is done cannot be undone.
Phil. I know it, insolent – I know it too well.
Gas. Do not be offended with me, sir.
Mar. Have compassion on him, his anger overpowers him. My poor master! he hoped to marry his daughter to a man of his own choice – to have her always near him – to see his grandchildren around him – to delight in their caresses, and to instruct them himself.
Phil. All my hopes are gone; no consolation is left for me.
Gas. Do you think, sir, your excellent son-in-law, a worthy Frenchman, and a good soldier, cannot provide grandchildren for you?
Mar. Not a year shall pass, but you will see the finest boy in the world gambolling around your feet.
Phil. My hatred for the father will make me hate the child.
Mar. Oh, the sense of consanguinity will cause you to forget every injury.
Gas. You have one only daughter in the world; can you have the heart to abandon her – never to see her more?
Phil. My anguish of mind will kill me. [Covers his face with his hands.]
Mar. Gascoigne!
Gas. What do you say?
Mar. Do you understand me? [Makes a sign for him to go out.]
Gas. I understand.
Mar. Now is the time.
Gas. So it may prove.
Phil. What do you say?
Mar. I am telling Gascoigne to go away, to disturb you no longer, and not to abuse your patience.
Phil. Yes, let him leave me.
Gas. Your servant, sir. Excuse me, if, after having committed such an offence in your house, you see me no more. My master, as things appear at present, will be forced to leave this, and to carry his wife to France. Have you no message to your poor daughter?
Phil. Do you think he will go away so soon?
Gas. He told me, if he received no kind answer from you, to order horses immediately.
Mar. It is a great grief to a father never to see his daughter again.
Phil. Is your master a barbarian? is he so ungrateful? Could I have done more for him? And he has used me with the greatest inhumanity; to seduce the heart of my daughter, and the whole time to conceal it from me.
Gas. He would willingly have brought her to you before now, but for the fear of your resentment.
Phil. Perfidious! I have to applaud him for his handsome action, – I have to be grateful for his treachery; he shuns the reproaches of an offended father, – he cannot bear to hear himself called traitor.
Gas. I understand; by your leave. [Going.]
Phil. Tell him he must never dare to come in my presence; I do not wish to see him, – I do not desire it.
Gas. [Aside.] I understand perfectly; nature never fails.
[Exit.
Mar. [Aside.] Matters will soon be accommodated.
Phil. [To himself.] My own injury! this is good! – to my own injury!
Mar. To turn your thoughts from this subject, sir, may I now speak to you concerning my own affairs?
Phil. I need nothing else to torment me but for you to talk of your marriage. I hate the very word, and never wish to hear it again while I live.
Mar. It seems, then, you want the world to come to an end.
Phil. For me it is ended.
Mar. My poor master! and where will your estate go – your riches?
Phil. May the devil take them!
Mar. You would die rich, and let your daughter live in want?
Phil. Poor unhappy girl!
Mar. And would you carry this hatred in your bosom, and feel remorse at your death?
Phil. Be silent, devil! torture me no more.
Enter Mademoiselle Costanza
Cost. Monsieur Philibert, you have made sport of me.
Phil. [Aside.] This was wanting to complete all.
Cost. I have been waiting two hours, and no one has appeared.
Phil. [Aside.] I know not what answer to make.
Cost. Did you not urge me to return to my aunt's, telling me the Lieutenant would be there?
Mar. My young lady, you shall hear how it was. The Lieutenant had to go to the aunt's, – and to the aunt's he went. There he was to have an understanding with Mademoiselle, – and he had an understanding with Mademoiselle. But the poor gentleman mistook the house: instead of going to Aunt Hortensia's he found himself at Aunt Gertrude's, and instead of marrying Mademoiselle Costanza, he has married Mademoiselle Giannina.
Cost. Can it be possible they have laughed at and deceived me in this manner? Speak, Monsieur Philibert; tell me truly what has been done, and do not suppose me patient enough to submit to such an injury.
Phil. Oh, if I submit to it, you must submit too.
Cost. And what have you to submit to?
Phil. On your account I have been accessory to the ruin of my daughter.
Cost. On my account?
Phil. Yes; the machine I contrived for you has fallen on my own head.
Mar. Fortunately my master's skull is reasonably thick.
Cost. I understand nothing of all this.
Phil. I will tell you plainly and distinctly the whole affair. Know then —
Enter Monsieur Riccardo
Ric. [To Costanza.] What are you doing here?
Phil. [To himself.] Another torment!
Cost. Sir, you have never forbidden my coming here.
Ric. Well, now I forbid it. I know what you have come for; I know your love for the foreigner, and your schemes against my authority and your own honour.
Phil. [To Riccardo, with asperity.] You know nothing. If you knew as much as I do, you would not speak so.
Ric. I speak so in consequence of what you told me this morning, and no light matter it is; enough to make me forbid my daughter's coming to your house.
Mar. Are you afraid they will marry her against your wishes?
Ric. I may well fear it.
Mar. Listen to me: if she does not marry my master, there is nobody else here for her to marry.
Ric. Where is the Frenchman – the officer?
Mar. Shall I tell him, sir?
Phil. Ah! he will hear it soon enough.
Mar. Know, then, the officer has presumed to marry my young mistress.
Ric. Ah! [With surprise.]
Phil. Oh! [With vexation.]
Cost. This is the wrong I apprehended. Ah, my father, resent the insult they have offered to me! They have made use of me to accomplish their designs; they have flattered me to expose me to ridicule; and the injury I have received is an insult to our family.
Ric. Yes, I will resent the insult they have offered to me. You I will send to a convent; and Monsieur Philibert makes amends for his offence by his own shame.
Phil. [Aside.] Quite right – I deserve yet more.
Cost. [Aside.] Wretched me! to what am I brought by my passion, my wretchedness, and disobedience!
Phil. My dear friend, excuse my impatient manner. I acknowledge the injustice I have done you, and Heaven punishes me rightly for my improper intentions. Ah, Monsieur Riccardo, I have lost my daughter! – I contrived my own disgrace!
Ric. Lost! she is only married – not entirely lost.
Phil. I fear I shall never see her again. Who knows but that monster has already carried her away? I gave him five hundred guineas to carry away my heart – my daughter – my only daughter – my love – my only love! Ah, could I embrace her once more! I wish to know if she is gone; I want to see her again. If she is gone, I will kill myself with my own hand. [Going, meets his daughter.]
Enter Mademoiselle Giannina, and a little after, De la Cotterie
Gian. Ah, dearest father!
Phil. Ah, most ungrateful daughter!
Gian. For mercy's sake, pardon me! [Throws herself on her knees.]
Phil. Do you deserve pardon?
Gian. Your anger is most just.
Phil. [Aside.] I shall not survive it; I must die.
Ric. Both are to be pitied.
Cost. [Aside.] I shall be revenged if her father refuses to forgive her.
Phil. Rise.
Gian. I will not rise without your pardon.
Phil. How could you have the heart to cause me so great an affliction?
Gian. Ah, sir, your advice —
Phil. Not a word of it! torture me no more; never mention again my own folly and weakness. Rise; on that condition I pardon you.
Gian. Oh, dearest father! [Rises.]
Cost. [Aside.] She obtains forgiveness on easy terms.
Gian. Ah, sir, let your grace extend —
Phil. Do not speak to me of your husband!
Gian. Oh, give him a place in your heart, or I shall be forced to leave you.
Phil. Perfidious! to talk so to your father!
Gian. Conjugal duty will oblige me to take this step.
Phil. Oh, hard fate of a father! but it is just – I deserve more.
Ric. My friend, the act is done, there is no remedy. I advise you to be reconciled to him before your curious mishap is known throughout the whole city.
Phil. [To Costanza.] I entreat you, Mademoiselle – I entreat you not to make it known, for the sake of my honour and reputation. [To Marianna.] I tell you not to speak of it. My daughter, mention it to no one.
Gian. No, for the love of Heaven, let nobody hear of it. Quick! let everything be settled before any one leaves this room. Quick, my dear husband, come here; throw yourself at my father's feet, ask his pardon, kiss his hand; and do you pardon him, receive him for a son-in-law and for a son. Quick! hush! that no one may hear of it. [She rapidly does everything as she says it.]
Phil. [Aside.] I am confounded; I know not what to say.
Cost. He has not the firmness to resist the sight of his ungrateful daughter.
[Exit.
De la Cot. Have I your pardon, sir?
Phil. Do you think you deserve it?
Gian. For Heaven's sake, say no more! We must take care that nobody shall know what has happened. My father is anxious to save the honour of his family; and, above all things, I charge you never to urge in your justification that he advised the scheme, and gave you five hundred guineas to carry it into execution.
Phil. [To Giannina, with asperity.] I commanded you not to mention it.
Gian. I was only informing my husband of your commands.
Ric. Well, Monsieur Philibert, are you reconciled?
Phil. What can I do? I am constrained by necessity, by affection, by my own kind disposition, to be reconciled to them. You are husband and wife, you are in my house, remain here, and may Heaven bless you!
Gian. Oh, perfect happiness!
De la Cot. I hope, sir, you will never repent of your pardon and kindness to me.
Mar. Hush! quick! that nobody may know it.
Phil. What now?
Mar. Hush! quick! There is a little affair of mine to be finished. Gascoigne is to be my husband, with the permission of our masters.
Gas. [To his master.] By your leave, sir. [Gives her his hand.]
Mar. Hush! quick! that nobody may know it.
Gian. Against your marriage nothing can be said; mine may be condemned. I confess that I have exceeded the limits of duty, that I have been wanting in respect to my father, and have exposed to hazard my own honour and the reputation of my family. Those who now see me happy, and not punished, must be cautious not to follow a bad example; let them rather say it has pleased Heaven to mortify the father, and not that the daughter is exempt from remorse and regret. Most kind spectators, let the moral of this representation be a warning to families, and may whatever enjoyment you derive from it be consistent with the principles of duty and of virtue.
THE END OF "A CURIOUS MISHAP."
THE BENEFICENT BEAR 2
(IL BURBERO BENEFICO)
(LE BOURRU BIENFAISANT)
A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
Geronte.
Dalancourt, his nephew.
Dorval, the friend of Geronte.
Valerio, the lover of Angelica.
Piccardo, the servant of Geronte.
A Servant of Dalancourt.
Madame Dalancourt.
Angelica, sister of Dalancourt.
Martuccia, housekeeper to Geronte.
The Scene is in Paris, at the house of Geronte
ACT I
Scene I. – Martuccia, Angelica, and Valerio
Ang. Valerio, leave me, I entreat you; I fear for myself, I fear for you. Ah! if we should be surprised —
Val. My dear Angelica!
Mar. Do go, sir.
Val. [To Martuccia.] One moment more. If I could be well assured —
Mar. Of what?
Val. Of her love – of her constancy.
Ang. Ah, Valerio! can you doubt it?
Mar. Go, go, sir; she loves you but too well.
Val. This is the happiness of my life —
Mar. Quick, go away. If my master should come in suddenly!
Ang. [To Martuccia.] He never leaves his room so early.
Mar. That is true; but you know he walks and amuses himself in this room. Here are his chessmen, and here he often plays. Oh, don't you know Signor Geronte?
Val. Pardon me, he is Angelica's uncle. I know my father was his friend, but I have never spoken to him.
Mar. He is a man, sir, of a most singular character. At bottom a most worthy man, but impatient, and peculiar to the last degree.
Ang. Yes, he tells me he loves me, and I believe him; but while he tells me so, he makes me tremble.
Val. [To Angelica.] What have you to fear? you have neither father nor mother. You are at your brother's disposal, and he is my friend; I will speak to him.
Mar. Ah! Exactly! Trust to Signor Dalancourt.
Val. Well, can he refuse me?
Mar. Indeed, I think he can.
Val. Why so?
Mar. Listen; I will explain the whole matter in a few words. My nephew, your brother the lawyer's new clerk, has told me what I will now tell you. He has been with him only a fortnight, I heard it from him this morning; but he confided it to me as the greatest secret: for Heaven's sake do not betray me!
Val. Do not fear.
Ang. You know me.
Mar. [Speaking in a low tone to Valerio, and looking towards the door.] Signor Dalancourt is a ruined man, overwhelmed. He has run through all his fortune, and perhaps his sister's dowry too. Angelica is a burden too great for him to bear, and to free himself from it, he means to shut her up in a convent.
Ang. Oh, Heavens! What do you tell me?
Val. Can it be possible? I have known him a long time. Dalancourt always appeared to me a young man of good sense and honourable principles; sometimes impetuous, and apt to take offence, but —
Mar. Impetuous – oh, most impetuous! – a match for his uncle, but far from having his uncle's excellent feelings.
Val. He is esteemed, beloved by every one. His father was perfectly satisfied with him.
Mar. Ah, sir, since his marriage he is no longer the same man.
Val. Can it be that Madame Dalancourt —
Mar. Yes, she, they say, is the cause of this great change. Signor Geronte is deeply offended with his nephew for his foolish compliance with the whims of his wife, and – I know nothing, but I would lay a wager that this plan of the convent is of her contrivance.
Ang. [To Martuccia.] You surprise me. My sister-in-law, whom I looked on as so discreet, who showed me so much friendship! I never could have thought it.
Val. I know her, and cannot believe it.
Mar. Surely you are not serious? Does any lady dress more elegantly? Is there any new fashion that she does not immediately adopt? At balls and plays, is she not always the first?
Val. But her husband is ever at her side.
Ang. Yes, my brother never leaves her.
Mar. Well, they are both fools, and both will be ruined together.
Val. It is impossible.
Mar. Very well, very well. I have told you what you wanted to know. Now go at once, and do not expose my mistress to the danger of losing her uncle's favour. He alone can be of any service to her.
Val. Keep calm, Angelica. No question of interest shall ever form an obstacle.
Mar. I hear a noise. Go at once.
[Exit Valerio.
Ang. How miserable I am!
Mar. There's your uncle coming. Did I not tell you so?
Ang. I am going.
Mar. No, remain here, and open your heart to him.
Ang. I would as soon put my hand in the fire.
Mar. Come, come; he is sometimes a little hasty, but he has not a bad heart.
Ang. You direct his household, you have influence with him; speak to him for me.
Mar. No, you must speak to him yourself; all I can do is to hint at the matter, and dispose him to listen to you.
Ang. Yes, yes, say something to him, and I will speak to him afterwards. [Going.]
Mar. Remain here.
Ang. No, no; when it is time, call me. I shall not be far off.
[Exit Angelica.
Martuccia, alone
Mar. How gentle she is – how amiable. I have been with her from her babyhood. I love her; I am distressed for her, and wish to see her happy. Here he is.
Enter Geronte
Ger. [To Martuccia.] Where's Piccardo?
Mar. Signor —
Ger. Call Piccardo!
Mar. Yes, sir. But may I say one word to you?
Ger. [Very impatiently.] Piccardo, Piccardo!
Mar. [In the same tone.] Piccardo, Piccardo!
Enter Piccardo
Pic. Here, sir; here, sir.
Mar. [To Piccardo angrily.] Your master —
Pic. [To Geronte.] Here I am, sir.
Ger. Go to my friend Dorval, and tell him I am waiting to play a game of chess with him.
Pic. Yes, sir, but —
Ger. But what?
Pic. I have a commission —
Ger. To do what?
Pic. From your nephew.
Ger. [In a passion.] Go to Dorval's.
Pic. He wishes to speak to you.
Ger. Begone, sir!
Pic. What a man!
[Exit.
Ger. A madman – a miserable creature! No, I will not see him; I will not permit him to come and disturb my tranquillity. [Goes to the table.]
Mar. [Aside.] There, he is in a rage at once. Most unfortunate for me.
Ger. [Sitting down.] What a move that was I made yesterday! what a fatality! How in the world could I be checkmated with a game so well arranged? Let me see; this game kept me awake the whole night. [Looking over the game.]
Mar. May I speak to you, sir?
Ger. No.
Mar. No! But I have something important to say to you.
Ger. Well, what have you to say? let me hear it.
Mar. Your niece wishes to speak to you.
Ger. I have no time now.
Mar. Really! Is what you are about, then, of such very great importance?
Ger. Yes, of the utmost importance; I don't often amuse myself, and then I do not choose to be plagued to death. Do you hear?
Mar. This poor girl —
Ger. What has happened to her?
Mar. They want to shut her up in a convent.
Ger. In a convent! – To shut my niece in a convent! to dispose of my niece without my approbation, without my knowing anything about it!
Mar. You know your nephew's embarrassments.
Ger. I have nothing to do with my nephew's embarrassments, nor his wife's follies. He has his own property; if he squanders it, if he ruins himself, so much the worse for him. But as for my niece, I am the head of the family, I am the master; it is for me to provide for her.
Mar. So much the better for her, sir, so much the better. I am glad to see you get so warm in the dear girl's behalf.
Ger. Where is she?
Mar. She is near, sir. Wait a moment —
Ger. Let her come in.
Mar. Yes, she most earnestly desires to do so, but —
Ger. But what?
Mar. She is timid.
Ger. Well, what then?
Mar. If you speak to her —
Ger. I must speak to her.
Mar. Yes, but in this tone of voice —
Ger. The tone of my voice hurts nobody; let her come and rely on my heart, not on my tone of voice.
Mar. That is true, sir. I know you; you are good, humane, charitable; but I entreat you, do not frighten the poor girl; speak to her with a little gentleness.
Ger. Yes, I will speak to her with gentleness.
Mar. You promise me?
Ger. I promise you.
Mar. Do not forget it.
Ger. [Beginning to be impatient.] No.
Mar. Above all, do not get impatient.
Ger. [Impatiently.] I tell you, no.
Mar. I tremble for Angelica.
[Exit.
Geronte, alone
Ger. She is right; I sometimes suffer myself to be carried away by my irritable temper. My niece deserves to be treated with tenderness.
Enter Angelica. —She remains at a distance
Ger. Come near.
Ang. Sir? [Timidly advancing one step.]
Ger. [Warmly.] How can you expect me to hear you when you are three miles off?
Ang. Excuse me, sir. [She approaches him, trembling.]
Ger. What have you to say to me?
Ang. Has not Martuccia told you something?
Ger. [At first gently, then by degrees he gets excited.] Yes, she has spoken to me of you, of that insensate brother of yours, that extravagant fellow, who suffers himself to be led by the nose by his silly wife, who is ruined, utterly lost, and has no longer any respect for me. [Angelica moves as though to go away.] Where are you going? [Very impetuously.]
Ang. You are angry, sir.
Ger. Well, what is that to you? If I get angry at a blockhead, I am not angry with you. Come near; speak; you must not be afraid of my anger.
Ang. My dear uncle, I can't speak to you unless I see you calm.
Ger. What martyrdom! Well, I am calm. Speak. [Trying to compose himself.]
Ang. Martuccia, sir, has told you —
Ger. I don't mind what Martuccia says. I want to hear it from yourself.
Ang. My brother —
Ger. Your brother —
Ang. Wishes to shut me up in a convent.
Ger. Well, do you wish to go into a convent?
Ang. But, sir —
Ger. [With warmth.] Well! Speak.
Ang. It is not for me to decide.
Ger. [With a little more warmth.] I do not say it is for you to decide, but I want to know your inclination.
Ang. You make me tremble, sir.
Ger. [Aside, restraining himself.] I shall burst with rage. – Come near. I understand, then, a convent is not to your liking?
Ang. No, sir.
Ger. For what have you an inclination?
Ang. Sir —
Ger. Do not be afraid. I am calm. Speak freely.
Ang. Ah! I have not the courage.
Ger. Come here. Do you wish to be married?
Ang. Sir —
Ger. Yes or no?
Ang. If you desire —
Ger. Yes or no?
Ang. Well, yes —
Ger. Yes! you wish to be married! to lose your liberty, your tranquillity! Very well; so much the worse for you. Yes, I will marry you.
Ang. [Aside.] How good he is for all his hasty temper!
Ger. Have you an inclination for any one in particular?
Ang. [Aside.] Now, if I had the courage to speak to him of Valerio!
Ger. Well, have you any lover?
Ang. [Aside.] This is not the opportune moment. I will get Martuccia to speak to him.
Ger. Come, come, let us end the matter. The house in which you live, the persons you see, may perhaps have led you to form an attachment. I wish to know the truth. Yes, I will do something handsome for you, but on the condition that you deserve it. Do you understand? [With great warmth.]
Ang. [Trembling.] Yes, sir.
Ger. Speak openly, frankly. Have you any attachment? [In the same tone.]
Ang. [Hesitating and trembling.] But – no, sir. – No, sir, I have none.
Ger. So much the better. I will find a husband for you.
Ang. Oh, God! I should not like, sir —
Ger. What is it?
Ang. You know my timidity.
Ger. Yes, yes, your timidity. I know womankind; now you are a dove, but get married, and you will be a hawk.
Ang. Ah, my uncle! since you are so good —
Ger. Yes, too good.
Ang. Let me tell you —
Ger. Dorval not come yet! [Going to the table.]
Ang. Hear me, my dear uncle.
Ger. Don't disturb me now. [Intent on the chessboard.]
Ang. One single word —
Ger. [Impatiently.] Enough has been said.
Ang. [Aside.] Oh, Heaven! I am more unhappy than ever. Ah, my dear Martuccia will not abandon me!
[Exit.
Geronte, alone
Ger. She is a good girl; I would willingly do all I can for her. If she had any attachment, I would endeavour to please her, but she has none. I will see, I will look about. But what in the world detains Dorval? Is he never coming? I long to try that cursed combination again that made me lose the last game. Certainly, I ought to have won it – he did not beat me, I beat myself. I must have lost my senses. Let us see a little. My pieces were placed so, and Dorval's so. I moved the king to his castle's square; Dorval placed his bishop on his king's second square. I – check – yes, I take the pawn – Dorval – he takes my bishop, – Dorval – yes, he takes my bishop, and I – give check with my knight. By Jove! Dorval loses his queen. He plays his king, and I take his queen. Yes, the fellow, with his king, has taken my knight. But so much the worse for him. Now he is in my nets; his king is fast. Here is my queen; Yes, here she is. Checkmate. It is clear. Checkmate, and the game is won. Ah! if Dorval would come, he should see it. – [Calls.] Piccardo!