Part 3

PHILIBERT, _a rich Dutch merchant._ GIANNINA, _his daughter._ RICCARDO, _a broker._ COSTANZA, _his daughter._ DE LA COTTERIE, _a French lieutenant._ MARIANNA, _Mademoiselle Giannina's servant._ GASCOIGNE, _De la Cotterie's servant._

_The Scene is at the Hague, in the house of_ PHILIBERT.

A CURIOUS MISHAP.

## ACT I.

## SCENE I.--Gascoigne, _packing his master's trunk._

_Enter_ Marianna.

_Mar._ May I wish good-morning to Monsieur Gascoigne?

_Gas._ Yes, my sweet Marianna, I thank you for your good-morning, but good-night would be more agreeable to me from your lips.

_Mar._ From what I see, I should rather wish you a pleasant journey.

_Gas._ Oh, my precious jewel, such a melancholy departure must be followed by a most doleful journey!

_Mar._ Then you are sorry to go?

_Gas._ How can you doubt it? After having enjoyed your delightful society for six months, can I leave you without the deepest sorrow?

_Mar._ And who forces you to do what is so disagreeable?

_Gas._ Do you not know? My master.

_Mar._ Masters are not wanting at the Hague, and you can easily find one who will give you better wages than a poor French officer, a prisoner of war, and a man in every way roughly used by fortune.

_Gas._ Pardon me, such language does not become so good a girl as you are. I have for many years had the honour of serving my excellent master; his father, I may say, recommended me to him; I have attended him in the war, and have not shunned danger to show my fidelity. He is poor, but never man had a better heart. Were he promoted, I am sure I should share his good fortune. Would you desire me to abandon him, and let him return to France without me?

_Mar._ You speak like the worthy fellow you are; but I cannot conceal my affection for you.

_Gas._ Dear Marianna, I am as much distressed as you are, but I hope to see you again, and then to be able to say, Here I am, I can support you, and, if you wish it, I am yours.

_Mar._ Heaven grant it! But why is the Lieutenant in such haste to depart? My master is fond of his company, and I think the daughter not less so than the father.

_Gas._ Too true; and that is his reason for going.

_Mar._ What! does he dislike people to be fond of him?

_Gas._ Ah, my Marianna, my poor master is desperately in love with your young mistress; he leads the most wretched life in the world; he knows their love for each other is increasing every day, and, as they can no longer hide it, he fears for himself, and for Mademoiselle Giannina. Your master is rich, and mine is poor. Monsieur Philibert has this only daughter, and will not give her to a younger son, a soldier; one, in short, who would have to live on her means. The Lieutenant, though poor, is a man of honour; he respects the obligations of hospitality, of friendship, of good faith; he fears he may be overcome and seduced by love, and that he in turn may seduce his mistress from her duty. This being the case, he does violence to his feelings, sacrifices love to principle, and is resolved to go.

_Mar._ I admire his heroic conduct, but could not imitate it.

_Gas._ We must exert self-control.

_Mar._ You can do so more easily than I.

_Gas._ Indeed, a man's resolution is stronger than a woman's.

_Mar._ Say rather his affections are weaker.

_Gas._ So far as regards me, you are wrong.

_Mar._ I look at acts, not words.

_Gas._ What can I do to convince you of my love?

_Mar._ Monsieur Gascoigne does not need me for a teacher.

_Gas._ Do you wish me to marry you before I go?

_Mar._ That would, indeed, remove all doubt.

_Gas._ But then I should have to leave you.

_Mar._ And could you have the heart to abandon me?

_Gas._ Oh, you might go with me!

_Mar._ That would be much better.

_Gas._ To encounter so many hardships?

_Mar._ In truth, that would not suit me so well.

_Gas._ Should I remain here with you, would that satisfy you?

_Mar._ Perfectly.

_Gas._ For how long?

_Mar._ A year at least.

_Gas._ And after a year, would you let me go?

_Mar._ Yes, a year after our marriage, if you found it easy to do so.

_Gas._ I daresay you would let me go after a month.

_Mar._ I know better.

_Gas._ I am sure of it.

_Mar._ Let us try.

_Gas._ My master is coming; another time we will talk it over.

_Mar._ Ah, Monsieur Gascoigne, this conversation has unnerved me; do what you please, I trust to you.--[_Aside._] Indeed, I know not what I say. [_Exit._

_Gas._ If I had not more sense than she, the folly would have been committed before now.

_Enter_ De la Cotterie.

_De la Cot._ [_To himself._] Oh, Heaven! how wretched I am! how unfortunate!

_Gas._ The trunk, sir, is packed.

_De la Cot._ Ah, Gascoigne! I am in despair.

_Gas._ Alas! what misfortune has happened?

_De la Cot._ The worst that could befall me.

_Gas._ Our troubles seldom come alone.

_De la Cot._ Mine is alone, but so great that I cannot support it.

_Gas._ I suppose you allude to your love?

_De la Cot._ Yes; but it has increased to such a degree that I have no longer firmness enough to resist it.

_Gas._ What if the lady is unconcerned at your departure, and does not love you as you imagine she does?

_De la Cot._ On the contrary, she is more affectionate, and more devoted to me than ever. Oh, God! what will my despair drive me to? I saw her weep.

_Gas._ Well, this is bad enough, but I thought it was something much worse.

_De la Cot._ Inhuman! unfeeling! vile plebeian soul! can you imagine anything worse in the world than the tears of a tender-hearted, distressed lady, who accuses me of cruelty, who makes my resolution waver, and puts to a severe trial my honour, my reputation, and my friendship?

_Gas._ I am not conscious of deserving so harsh a reproof; this is a just recompense for ten years' service.

_De la Cot._ Ah! put yourself in my place, and then, if you can, condemn my transports. My wounds, my blood, my being a prisoner of war, which prevents my promotion, the narrowness of my fortune, all appear nothing in comparison with the love which inflames my soul. The excellent principles of the young lady prevented her from assuring me that I possessed her heart, and in consequence I resolved to leave her. Ah! at the moment of taking leave, tears and sobs prevented her from speaking, and they proved her love was equal to mine. My wretchedness is extreme; my resolution seems barbarous; and now, frantic with love, reason appears to desert me.

_Gas._ Take time, sir; remain here. Monsieur Philibert is the best man in the world; in Holland they pride themselves on their hospitality, and our host takes the greatest interest in you, and in your health. You are not perfectly cured, and this is a good reason for not going.

_De la Cot._ I will think over what you say; very little would change my determination.

_Gas._ With your leave I will at once unpack the trunk. [_Unpacking._]

_De la Cot._ [_Apart._] What will they say if I remain after having taken my leave?

_Gas._ [_Apart._] Marianna will not be sorry for this.

_De la Cot._ [_Apart._] If I allege I am unwell, my sadness will make it appear so.

_Gas._ [_Apart._] Nor indeed am I.

_De la Cot._ But the longer I remain, the more my love increases; and what remedy can there be for it? what hope is there for my desperate passion?

_Gas._ Time accomplishes wonders. [_Still unpacking._]

_De la Cot._ How much better to meet death at once than to live in such torture!

_Gas._ My master will be obliged to me.

_De la Cot._ What shall I do?

_Gas._ The trunk is unpacked, sir.

_De la Cot._ Who told you to unpack it?

_Gas._ I said I was going to do it, and you did not forbid me.

_De la Cot._ Blockhead! put up the clothes. I shall go.

_Gas._ Well, whatever happens, let them remain now.

_De la Cot._ Do not make me angry.

_Gas._ I will put them up this evening.

_De la Cot._ Do it at once, and order the post-horses at twelve o'clock.

_Gas._ And the tears of Mademoiselle?

_De la Cot._ Wretch! have you the heart to torment me?

_Gas._ My poor master!

_De la Cot._ Indeed, I am an object of compassion.

_Gas._ Let us stay.

_De la Cot._ No.

_Gas._ Shall I pack up the things, then?

_De la Cot._ Yes.

_Gas._ How I pity him! [_Putting the clothes in the trunk._]

_De la Cot._ Can I leave this house without seeing her again?

_Gas._ While he continues in this state of mind, we shall never be done.

_De la Cot._ By leaving her, I fear my love will not leave me.

_Gas._ Alas, poor master! [_Looking out._] What do I see?

_De la Cot._ What is the matter? Why do you stop?

_Gas._ I am going on, sir.

_De la Cot._ You are confused?

_Gas._ A little.

_De la Cot._ What are you looking at?

_Gas._ Nothing.

_De la Cot._ Oh, Heaven! Mademoiselle Giannina! What an encounter! What do you advise me to do?

_Gas._ I do not know; any course is dangerous.

_De la Cot._ Do not leave me.

_Gas._ I will not.

_De la Cot._ I will go away.

_Gas._ As you please.

_De la Cot._ I cannot.

_Gas._ I pity you.

_De la Cot._ Why does she stop? Why does she not come in?

_Gas._ She is afraid of disturbing you.

_De la Cot._ No; it is because you are here.

_Gas._ Then I will go. [_Going._]

_De la Cot._ Stay.

_Gas._ I will remain, then.

_De la Cot._ Have you the snuff-box? bring it.

_Gas._ I will go for it. [_Exit._

_De la Cot._ Hear me! where are you going? Poor me! Gascoigne! [_Calls._]

_Enter_ Giannina.

_Gian._ Are you in want of anything?

_De la Cot._ Excuse me, I want my servant.

_Gian._ If yours is not here, there are others. Do you want any one?

_De la Cot._ No, I thank you; my trunk must be packed up.

_Gian._ And are you disturbed in this manner about so trifling an affair? do you fear there will not be time? Perhaps you are already expecting horses? If the air of this country is not favourable to your health, or rather if you are tired of us, I will myself hasten forward your departure.

_De la Cot._ Mademoiselle, have compassion on me; do not add to my suffering.

_Gian._ If I knew the cause of your suffering, instead of increasing, I would endeavour to diminish it.

_De la Cot._ Seek the cause in yourself; there is no need for me to tell you.

_Gian._ Then you go away on my account?

_De la Cot._ Yes, it is on your account that I am compelled to hasten my departure.

_Gian._ Have I become so odious in your sight?

_De la Cot._ Oh, Heaven! you never appeared to me so lovely; your eyes never beamed with so much tenderness.

_Gian._ Ah, were this true, you would not be so anxious to go.

_De la Cot._ If I loved only the beauty of your person, I should yield to the strength of my attachment, which bids me stay with you; but I love you for your virtues; I see your peace of mind is in danger, and in return for the kindness you have shown me, I mean to sacrifice the dearest hopes of my life.

_Gian._ I do not believe you have so little resolution as not to be able to control your passion, and you do me injustice if you think I cannot resist the inclinations of my heart. I own my love for you without a blush: this virtuous love, I feel, will never leave me, and I cannot persuade myself a man is less able than I am to sustain with glory the conflict of his passions. I can love you without danger; it is happiness enough for me to see you. You, on the contrary, by determining to depart, go in quest of more easy enjoyment, and show that your obstinacy prevails over your love. It is said hope always comforts the lover. He who will not use the means proves he cares but little for the end, and, if you go, you will still suffer the tortures of disappointed desire; you will act either with culpable weakness, or unfeeling indifference. Whatever cause hurries you away, go, proud of your resolution, but be at least ashamed of your cruelty.

_De la Cot._ Ah, no, Mademoiselle! do not tax me with ingratitude, do not accuse me of cruelty. I thought, by my departure, to do you an act of kindness. If I am wrong, pardon me. If you command it, I will remain.

_Gian._ No; my commands shall never control your inclination; follow the dictates of your own heart.

_De la Cot._ My heart tells me to remain.

_Gian._ Then obey it without fear, and, if your courage does not fail, rely on my constancy.

_De la Cot._ What will your father say to my change of mind?

_Gian._ He is almost as much grieved at your departure as I am; he is not satisfied about your recovery; and whether it is the consequence of your wound, or of mental affliction, the surgeons do not believe your health is re-established, and my father thinks it too soon for you to undertake the journey. He loves and esteems you, and would be much pleased at your remaining.

_De la Cot._ Has he any suspicion of my love for you? and that it is mutual?

_Gian._ Our conduct has given him no cause for suspicion.

_De la Cot._ Can it be possible it has never passed through his mind that I, an open, frank man, and a soldier, might be captivated by the beauty and merit of his daughter?

_Gian._ A man like my father is not inclined to suspicion; the cordiality with which he received you as a guest in his family, assures him he may rely on the correct conduct of an officer of honour; and his knowledge of my disposition makes him perfectly easy: he does not deceive himself in regard to either of us. A tender passion has arisen in our hearts, but we will neither depart from the laws of virtue, nor violate his confidence.

_De la Cot._ Is there no hope his goodness may make him agree to our marriage?

_Gian._ My hope is that in time it will; the obstacles do not arise from motives of interest, but from the customs of our nation. Were you a merchant of Holland, poor, with only moderate expectations, you would immediately obtain my hand, and a hundred thousand florins for an establishment; but an officer, who is a younger son, is considered among us as a wretched match, and were my father inclined to give his consent, he would incur the severe censure of his relations, his friends, and indeed of the public.

_De la Cot._ But I cannot flatter myself with the prospect of being in a better condition.

_Gian._ In the course of time circumstances may occur that may prove favourable to our union.

_De la Cot._ Do you reckon among these the death of your father?

_Gian._ Heaven grant that the day may be distant! but then I should be my own mistress.

_De la Cot._ And do you wish me to remain in your house as long as he lives?

_Gian._ No, Lieutenant; stay here as long as your convenience permits, but do not appear so anxious to go while there are good reasons for your remaining. Our hopes do not depend on the death of my father, but I have reasons to flatter myself our attachment in the end may be rewarded. Our love we must not relinquish, but avail ourselves of every advantage that occasion may offer.

_De la Cot._ Adorable Giannina, how much am I indebted to your kindness! Dispose of me as you please; I am entirely yours; I will not go unless you order me to do so. Persuade your father to bear with my presence, and be certain that no place on earth is so agreeable to me as this.

_Gian._ I have only one request to make.

_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.