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 yourgood-morning, but good-night would be more agreeableto me from your lips.
Mar. From what I see, I should rather wish you apleasant journey.
Gas. Oh, my precious jewel, such a melancholydeparture must be followed by a most doleful journey!
Mar. Then you are sorry to go?
Gas. How can you doubt it? After having enjoyedyour delightful society for six months, can I leave youwithout 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 youcan easily find one who will give you better wages thana poor French officer, a prisoner of war, and a man inevery way roughly used by fortune.
Gas. Pardon me, such language does not become sogood a girl as you are. I have for many years had thehonour of serving my excellent master; his father, Imay say, recommended me to him; I have attendedhim in the war, and have not shunned danger to showmy fidelity. He is poor, but never man had a betterheart. Were he promoted, I am sure I should sharehis good fortune. Would you desire me to abandonhim, and let him return to France without me?
Mar. You speak like the worthy fellow you are; butI cannot conceal my affection for you.
Gas. Dear Marianna, I am as much distressed as youare, but I hope to see you again, and then to be able tosay, Here I am, I can support you, and, if you wish it, Iam yours.
Mar. Heaven grant it! But why is the Lieutenantin such haste to depart? My master is fond of hiscompany, and I think the daughter not less so than thefather.
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 desperatelyin love with your young mistress; he leads the mostwretched life in the world; he knows their love foreach other is increasing every day, and, as they can nolonger hide it, he fears for himself, and for MademoiselleGiannina. Your master is rich, and mine is poor.Monsieur Philibert has this only daughter, and willnot 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 obligationsof hospitality, of friendship, of good faith; hefears he may be overcome and seduced by love, andthat 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 notimitate 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 awoman'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 ateacher.
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 thatsatisfy 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 iteasy 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 willtalk it over.
Mar. Ah, Monsieur Gascoigne, this conversation hasunnerved 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 follywould have been committed before now.
Enter De la Cotterie.
De la Cot. [To himself.] Oh, Heaven! how wretchedI 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 cannotsupport it.
Gas. I suppose you allude to your love?
De la Cot. Yes; but it has increased to such a degreethat 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 shedoes?
De la Cot. On the contrary, she is more affectionate,and more devoted to me than ever. Oh, God! whatwill my despair drive me to? I saw her weep.
Gas. Well, this is bad enough, but I thought it wassomething much worse.
De la Cot. Inhuman! unfeeling! vile plebeian soul!can you imagine anything worse in the world than thetears of a tender-hearted, distressed lady, who accuses meof cruelty, who makes my resolution waver, and putsto a severe trial my honour, my reputation, and myfriendship?
Gas. I am not conscious of deserving so harsh areproof; 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 preventsmy promotion, the narrowness of my fortune, allappear nothing in comparison with the love whichinflames my soul. The excellent principles of theyoung lady prevented her from assuring me that Ipossessed her heart, and in consequence I resolved toleave her. Ah! at the moment of taking leave, tearsand sobs prevented her from speaking, and they provedher love was equal to mine. My wretchedness isextreme; my resolution seems barbarous; and now,frantic with love, reason appears to desert me.
Gas. Take time, sir; remain here. Monsieur Philibertis the best man in the world; in Holland theypride themselves on their hospitality, and our hosttakes the greatest interest in you, and in your health.You are not perfectly cured, and this is a good reasonfor not going.
De la Cot. I will think over what you say; very littlewould 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 remainafter having taken my leave?
Gas. [Apart.] Marianna will not be sorry for this.
De la Cot. [Apart.] If I allege I am unwell, my sadnesswill make it appear so.
Gas. [Apart.] Nor indeed am I.
De la Cot. But the longer I remain, the more my loveincreases; and what remedy can there be for it? whathope is there for my desperate passion?
Gas. Time accomplishes wonders. [Still unpacking.]
De la Cot. How much better to meet death at oncethan 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 notforbid 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 attwelve o'clock.
Gas. And the tears of Mademoiselle?
De la Cot. Wretch! have you the heart to tormentme?
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 thetrunk.]
De la Cot. Can I leave this house without seeing heragain?
Gas. While he continues in this state of mind, weshall never be done.
De la Cot. By leaving her, I fear my love will notleave me.
Gas. Alas, poor master! [Looking out.] What do Isee?
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 notcome 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? Poorme! 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. Doyou want any one?
De la Cot. No, I thank you; my trunk must bepacked up.
Gian. And are you disturbed in this manner aboutso trifling an affair? do you fear there will not betime? Perhaps you are already expecting horses?If the air of this country is not favourable to yourhealth, or rather if you are tired of us, I will myselfhasten 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, insteadof increasing, I would endeavour to diminish it.
De la Cot. Seek the cause in yourself; there is noneed 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 compelledto hasten my departure.
Gian. Have I become so odious in your sight?
De la Cot. Oh, Heaven! you never appeared to me solovely; your eyes never beamed with so much tenderness.
Gian. Ah, were this true, you would not be soanxious to go.
De la Cot. If I loved only the beauty of your person,I should yield to the strength of my attachment, whichbids me stay with you; but I love you for your virtues;I see your peace of mind is in danger, and in returnfor the kindness you have shown me, I mean to sacrificethe dearest hopes of my life.
Gian. I do not believe you have so little resolutionas not to be able to control your passion, and you dome injustice if you think I cannot resist the inclinationsof my heart. I own my love for you without ablush: this virtuous love, I feel, will never leave me,and I cannot persuade myself a man is less able thanI am to sustain with glory the conflict of his passions.I can love you without danger; it is happiness enoughfor me to see you. You, on the contrary, by determiningto depart, go in quest of more easy enjoyment, andshow that your obstinacy prevails over your love. Itis said hope always comforts the lover. He who willnot use the means proves he cares but little for theend, and, if you go, you will still suffer the tortures ofdisappointed desire; you will act either with culpableweakness, or unfeeling indifference. Whatever causehurries you away, go, proud of your resolution, butbe at least ashamed of your cruelty.
De la Cot. Ah, no, Mademoiselle! do not tax me withingratitude, do not accuse me of cruelty. I thought, bymy departure, to do you an act of kindness. If I amwrong, pardon me. If you command it, I will remain.
Gian. No; my commands shall never control yourinclination; follow the dictates of your own heart.
De la Cot. My heart tells me to remain.
Gian. Then obey it without fear, and, if yourcourage does not fail, rely on my constancy.
De la Cot. What will your father say to my changeof mind?
Gian. He is almost as much grieved at your departureas I am; he is not satisfied about your recovery; andwhether it is the consequence of your wound, or ofmental affliction, the surgeons do not believe your healthis re-established, and my father thinks it too soon foryou to undertake the journey. He loves and esteemsyou, 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 passedthrough his mind that I, an open, frank man, and asoldier, might be captivated by the beauty and meritof his daughter?
Gian. A man like my father is not inclined tosuspicion; the cordiality with which he received youas a guest in his family, assures him he may rely onthe correct conduct of an officer of honour; and hisknowledge of my disposition makes him perfectlyeasy: he does not deceive himself in regard to eitherof us. A tender passion has arisen in our hearts, butwe will neither depart from the laws of virtue, norviolate his confidence.
De la Cot. Is there no hope his goodness may makehim agree to our marriage?
Gian. My hope is that in time it will; the obstaclesdo not arise from motives of interest, but from thecustoms of our nation. Were you a merchant ofHolland, poor, with only moderate expectations, youwould immediately obtain my hand, and a hundredthousand florins for an establishment; but an officer,who is a younger son, is considered among us as awretched match, and were my father inclined to givehis consent, he would incur the severe censure of hisrelations, his friends, and indeed of the public.
De la Cot. But I cannot flatter myself with the prospectof being in a better condition.
Gian. In the course of time circumstances may occurthat may prove favourable to our union.
De la Cot. Do you reckon among these the death ofyour 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 yourhouse as long as he lives?
Gian. No, Lieutenant; stay here as long as yourconvenience permits, but do not appear so anxious togo 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 inthe end may be rewarded. Our love we must notrelinquish, but avail ourselves of every advantage thatoccasion may offer.
De la Cot. Adorable Giannina, how much am Iindebted to your kindness! Dispose of me as youplease; I am entirely yours; I will not go unless youorder me to do so. Persuade your father to bear withmy presence, and be certain that no place on earth isso 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 commonto lovers;—do not, I entreat you, give me any causefor jealousy.
De la Cot. Am I capable of doing so?
Gian. I will tell you. Mademoiselle Costanza, inthe last few days, has visited our house more frequentlythan usual; her eyes look tenderly on you, and shemanifests rather too much sympathy for your misfortunes.You are of a gentle disposition, and, to ownthe 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 beat ease.
Gian. But so conduct yourself, that neither myjealousy nor your love for me shall be remarked.
De la Cot. Ah, would to Heaven, Mademoiselle, ourtroubles were at an end!
Gian. We must bear them, to deserve good fortune.
De la Cot. Yes, dearest, I bear all with this delightfulhope. 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 myfather knows it.
De la Cot. My hope and my comfort! may Heaven bepropitious to our wishes, and reward true love andvirtuous constancy.[Exit.
Gian. I never could have believed it possible for meto be brought to such a step; that I should, of my ownaccord, use language and contrive means to detain him.But unless I had done so, in a moment he would havebeen gone, and I should have died immediately afterwards.But here comes my father; I am sorry he findsme in our visitor's room. Thank Heaven, the Lieutenantis gone out! All appearance of sorrow must vanish frommy 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 ofsuch things, and an awkward servant endeavouring topack up a trunk.
Phil. Do you know when he goes away?
Gian. He intended going this morning, but, in walkingacross the room, his legs trembled so, that I fearhe will not stand the journey.
Phil. I think his present disease has deeper rootsthan his wound.
Gian. Yet only one hurt has been discovered by thesurgeons.
Phil. Oh, there are wounds which they know nothingof.
Gian. Every wound, however slight, makes its mark.
Phil. Eh! there are weapons that give an inwardwound.
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 designin 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 talkingalarms me.
Phil. Giannina, you seem to me to blush.
Gian. What you say, sir, of necessity makes meblush. I now begin to understand something of themysterious wound of which you speak; but, be it asit may, I know neither his disease nor the remedy.
Phil. My daughter, let us speak plainly. Monsieurde la Cotterie was perfectly cured a month after hearrived 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, becamethin, and his gaiety was changed to sighs. I am somethingof a philosopher, and suspect his disease is moreof the mind than of the body, and, to speak still moreplainly, I believe he is in love.
Gian. It may be as you say; but I think, were hein love, he would not be leaving.
Phil. Here again my philosophy explains everything.Suppose, by chance, the young lady of whom he isenamoured were rich, dependent on her father, andcould not encourage his hopes; would it be strangeif despair counselled him to leave her?
Gian. [Aside.] He seems to know all.
Phil. And this tremor of the limbs, occurring just ashe 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 ofmy neighbours, all cause me to interest myself in him;but I would not wish my daughter to have any sharein this disease.
Gian. Ah, you make me laugh! Do I look thinand pale? am I melancholy? What says your philosophyto the external signs of my countenance and ofmy cheerfulness.
Phil. I am suspended between two opinions: youhave either the power of self-control, or are practisingdeception.
Gian. Have you ever found me capable of deception?
Phil. Never, and for that reason I cannot believeit now.
Gian. You have determined in your own mind thatthe officer is in love, which is very likely; but I amnot 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 whovisit us, and one of them may be his choice.
Phil. Very true; and, as you are with them, and donot want wit and observation, you ought to knowexactly 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 apromise.
Gian. Yes, certainly, especially if silence can causehim 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.—Doyou know, sir, that poor Monsieur de la Cotterieloves 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 accomplishmentof their wishes?
Gian. Why, the father of the girl will hardly consentto give her to an officer who is not in a condition tomaintain her reputably.
Phil. A curious obstacle, truly. And who is thisMonsieur 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. Doeshe think to rank himself among the merchants ofHolland? A marriage with an officer would be anhonour to his daughter, and he could not better disposeof his ill-got wealth.
Gian. It seems, then, if you were a broker, you wouldnot refuse him your daughter?
Phil. Assuredly not.
Gian. But, being a Dutch merchant, the match doesnot suit you?
Phil. No, certainly not; not at all—you know itvery well.
Gian. So I thought.
Phil. I must interest myself in behalf of Monsieurde la Cotterie.
Gian. In what manner, sir?
Phil. By persuading Monsieur Riccardo to give himhis 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.] Imust give him warning beforehand.
Phil. Do you think he will set out on his journeyimmediately?
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 takecare not to make matters worse.[Exit.
Phil. [Alone.] I feel I have done injustice to mydaughter in distrusting her; it is a happiness to me tobe again certain of her sincerity. There may be someconcealed deception in her words, but I will not believeher so artful; she is the daughter of a man who lovestruth, and never departs from it, even in jest. Everythingshe tells me is quite reasonable: the officer maybe in love with Mademoiselle Costanza; the absurdpride of the father considers the match as far belowwhat his daughter is entitled to. I will, if possible,bring about the marriage by my mediation. On theone hand, we have nobility reduced in circumstances;on the other, a little accidental wealth; these fairlybalance one another, and each party will find thealliance 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 thisunusual hour, that it is something extraordinary thatbrings her here.
Phil. I know what this extraordinary something is.[Smiling.] Say to Mademoiselle Costanza, that, beforegoing to my daughter's room, I will thank her to letme 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 mein this room.
Mar. Yes, sir. Do you think he will go awayto-day?
Phil. I am sure he will not.
Mar. Indeed, his health is so bad, that it would bedangerous 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 ofrestoring him to health.
Phil. I? How! do you know what is the Lieutenant'sdisease?
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 mydaughter 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 wouldindeed make his situation more comfortable.
Mar. If the father is satisfied, no one has a right tocomplain.
Phil. A father with an only child, when he finds anopportunity of marrying her respectably, ought to bepleased to avail himself of it.
Mar. May God bless you! these are sentimentsworthy of so good a man. I am delighted both for theofficer and the young lady.—[Aside.] And not less so formyself, as my beloved Gascoigne may now remain withme.[Exit.
Enter Mademoiselle Costanza.
Phil. [To himself.] Good actions deserve praise, andevery 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 greatpleasure to see you.
Cost. You are very kind.
Phil. I am gratified at your friendship for mydaughter.
Cost. She deserves it, and I love her with all myheart.
Phil. Ah, do not say with all your heart!
Cost. Why not? are you not convinced I love hersincerely?
Phil. Sincerely, I believe, but not with all yourheart.
Cost. Why should you doubt it?
Phil. Because, if you loved my daughter with allyour heart, there would be none of it left for any oneelse.
Cost. You make me laugh; and who should have apart of it?
Phil. Ah, Mademoiselle, we understand!
Cost. Indeed, I do not understand.
Phil. Now let us dismiss Lady Modesty, and introduceLady Sincerity.
Cost. [Aside.] I cannot discover what he is aimingat.
Phil. Tell me, have you come on purpose to visit mydaughter?
Cost. Yes, sir.
Phil. No, Mademoiselle.
Cost. For what, then?
Phil. Know I am an astrologer. I am visited by acertain spirit that tells me everything, and hence I havelearnt this: Mademoiselle Costanza has come not tovisit those who stay, but those who go away.
Cost. [Aside.] I suspect there is some truth in whatthe spirit says.
Phil. What! are you puzzled how to answer?
Cost. I will answer you frankly: if I have come toshow civility to your guest, I do not perceive I deservereproof.
Phil. Reproof! on the contrary, praise; acts ofcivility ought not to be omitted—especially whendictated by a more tender feeling.
Cost. You seem to be in a humour for jesting thismorning.
Phil. And you seem to be out of spirits; but I lay awager 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 littlenearer. The Lieutenant is not going away. Does notyour heart leap at this unexpected news?
Cost. For mercy's sake! Monsieur Philibert, do youbelieve 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 Ihad not the power of serving you, or was unwilling todo so, and of serving the poor young man too, who isso 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 lovefor you is in a manner hidden, and every one does notknow 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, isthe whole affair.
Cost. It appears that you know more of it than I do.
Phil. You know, and do not choose to know. I makeallowance for your modesty; but when a gentlemanspeaks to you, when a man of my character exerts himselfin your behalf, you ought to lay aside modesty andopen your heart freely.
Cost. You take me so by surprise, I am embarrassedwhat answer to make.
Phil. Let us end this conversation. Tell me, like anhonest girl as you are, do you not love Monsieur de laCotterie?
Cost. You force me to own it.
Phil. [Aside.] Thank Heaven! so my daughterspoke the truth.—And he loves you with an equalaffection.
Cost. Of that, sir, I know nothing.
Phil. If you do not know it, I tell you so; he lovesyou to perdition.
Cost. [Aside.] Can it be possible? and he has neverdeclared it to me!
Phil. And I have undertaken to persuade your father.
Cost. But does my father know I am in love with theofficer?
Phil. He certainly ought to know.
Cost. He has never mentioned it to me.
Phil. Oh, your father will soon come and talk withyou on the subject.
Cost. He has never objected to my coming here, whereI meet the officer.
Phil. He knows that you are visiting in an honourablehouse; no greater liberty would be allowed youhere than is proper for a modest young lady. In aword, are you willing that I should manage the affair?
Cost. Entirely willing.
Phil. Bravo! this is enough; and what would itavail you to deny with your lips what your looks proclaim?the flame that burns in your heart sparkles inyour 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 andmodesty are mingled in so strange a manner, that it isa pleasure to observe them. Here is an instance of loveto devotion, and if it succeeds it will be owing to mydaughter's intervention.
Enter De la Cotterie.
De la Cot. They told me, sir, that you asked forme.
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 expectedto look cheerful.
Phil. Do you not know I am a physician, and havethe skill to cure you?
De la Cot. I did not know that you were skilled inthe medical art.
Phil. Well, my friend, capacities often exist wherethey are not suspected.
De la Cot. Why, then, have you not prescribed forme before now?
Phil. Because I did not sooner know the nature ofyour 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 andhow little to be relied on are all the symptoms thatseem 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 conditionthat you trust to my friendship, you shall soon havereason to be content.
De la Cot. And by what process do you propose tocure me?
Phil. My first prescription shall be for you to abandonall intention of going away, and to take the benefit ofthis air, which will speedily restore you to health.
De la Cot. On the contrary, I fear this air is mostinjurious to me.
Phil. Do you not know that even from hemlock amost 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 speakwithout metaphor. Your disease arises from love, andyou think to find a remedy by going away, whereas itis an act of mere desperation. You carry the arrow inyour heart, and hope to be relieved; but the same handwhich 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! Speakto me as a friend who loves you, and takes the sameinterest in you as if you were his son. Consider: bydissembling you may destroy your happiness for ever.My attachment to you arises from a knowledge of yourmerit, and from your having spent several months withme; besides, I should be mortified for you to have contractedin my house an unhappy passion; and thereforeI most zealously interfere in your favour, and amanxious to find a remedy for you.
De la Cot. My dear friend, how have you discoveredthe origin of my unhappiness?
Phil. Shall I say the truth?—my daughter revealed itto me.
De la Cot. Heavens! had she the courage to discloseit?
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 humanfrailty is at your age, and the violence of passion.
De la Cot. I confess I ought not to have encouragedmy 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 confidencewhich 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 understandsthe disease and knows the remedy.
De la Cot. I can hardly feel assured of this greathappiness.
Phil. Why not?
De la Cot. I thought the narrowness of my fortune aninsuperable obstacle.
Phil. Family and merit on your side are equal to arich dower on the other.
De la Cot. Your kindness to me is unequalled.
Phil. But my kindness has yet done nothing; now itshall be my endeavour to provide for your happiness.
De la Cot. This will depend entirely on your own goodheart.
Phil. We must exert ourselves to overcome thedifficulties.
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 gameof me; from the way you spoke just now, I thought allobstacles 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 thegirl?
Phil. Good! You do not know him? you do not knowthe father of Mademoiselle Costanza, that horrid savage,Monsieur Riccardo, who has grown rich by usury, andhas no idol but his money?
De la Cot. [Aside.] I shall go mad! Thus end all myhopes.
Phil. Riccardo does not visit at my house, you nevergo 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 notgive you his daughter if you did not know him?
De la Cot. I had reasons for thinking so, and for mydespair 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 findMonsieur Riccardo, and I flatter myself—
De la Cot. No, sir, do not.
Phil. It seems the prospect of success turns yourhead; just now you were all joy. Whence arises thissudden change?
De la Cot. I am certain it will end unfortunately.
Phil. Such despondency is unworthy of you, andunjust to me.
De la Cot. Do not add to my unhappiness by yourinterference.
Phil. Are you afraid the father will be obstinate? letme try.
De la Cot. By no means; I am altogether opposed to it.
Phil. And I am altogether for it, and will speak tohim.
De la Cot. I shall leave the Hague; I shall go in afew 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 witha 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 unfortunateman!
Phil. I may say he does not know his own mind. Heconfessed his passion, and, when I offered to assist him,fell into transports; and then, when I promised toobtain the hand of Mademoiselle Costanza for him, hegot furious, and threatened to go away.
Gian. I am surprised the Lieutenant should still speakof leaving us.
De la Cot. Would you have me stay and entertainsuch hopes? [Ironically.]
Gian. I would have you stay, and entertain a mistresswho loves you. With my father's permission, you shallhear what Mademoiselle Costanza has just said of you.
Phil. May I not hear it?
Gian. Impossible; my friend directed me to tell it tohim alone.
Phil. [Aside.] I shall hear all from my daughter whenwe are by ourselves.
Gian. [Apart to De la Cotterie.] I have contrived tomake my father believe you were in love withMademoiselle Costanza. As you love me, say it is so, andtalk 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 thischange? I am curious to hear them.
De la Cot. Pardon, I pray you, my strange conduct.
Phil. Willingly; the actions of lovers are oftenextravagant. Tell me, Giannina, is MademoiselleCostanza gone?
Gian. No, sir; she is waiting in my room.
Phil. Go, Lieutenant, and keep her company for alittle 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 therepresently.
De la Cot. I shall obey you, sir.[Exit.
Phil. [Aside.] The power of words!—Well, whatdid you say to him?
Gian. I told him to go to his mistress; that sheexpected him.
Phil. But the first time you spoke to him?
Gian. I said that Mademoiselle Costanza had hopeshe could persuade her father.
Phil. Why did you not tell him so openly, before me?
Gian. Things said in private often make the greatestimpression.
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 likehers.

END OF THE FIRST ACT.