No More Learning

They
XI-405


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6466
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
say I have been hard with them; but God knows, if I have ever
taken anything from them it was not out of malice. I even
think [takes him by the arm and leads him aside] - I even think
there may be a sort of complaint against me. Why, in fact, is
the Inspector coming to us? Listen, Ivan Kusmitch: why can't
you—for our common good, you know-open every letter which
passes through your office, going or coming, and read it, to see
whether it contains a complaint or is simply correspondence? If
it does not, then you can seal it up again. Besides, you could
even deliver the letter unsealed.
Postmaster-I know, I know. You can't tell me anything
about that; I always do it, not out of circumspection but out of
curiosity: I'm deadly fond of knowing what is going on in the
world. It's very interesting reading, I can tell you! It is a real
treat to read some letters: they contain such descriptions of occur-
rences, and they're so improving- better than the Moscow News.
[The play proceeds: two men, the town busybodies, happen to find at
the inn a traveler who has been living on credit and going nowhere for two
weeks. The landlord is about to put his lodger in prison for debt, when these
men jump to the conclusion that he is the Inspector. The Prefect and other
terrified officials accept the suggestion, in spite of his plain statement as to
his identity. They set about making the town presentable, entertain and
bribe him, and bow down to him. He accepts their hospitality, asks loans,
makes love to the Prefect's silly wife and daughter, betroths himself to the
latter, receives the petitions and bribes of the oppressed townspeople,-and
drives off with the best post-horses the town can furnish, ostensibly to ask the
blessing of his rich old uncle on his marriage. The Postmaster intercepts a
letter which he has written to a friend. Its revelations, and the ridicule which
he therein casts on his hosts, open their eyes at last. At that moment a
gendarme appears and announces that the Inspector has arrived. Tableau. ]
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Isabel F.
Hapgood
OLD-FASHIONED GENTRY
From Mirgorod›
I
AM very fond of the modest life of those isolated owners of
remote estates which are generally called "old-fashioned" in
Little Russia, and which, like ruinous and picturesque houses,
are beautiful through their simplicity and complete contrast to
a new and regular building whose walls have never yet been
washed by the rain, whose roof has not yet been overgrown with
moss, and whose porch, still possessed of its stucco, does not yet


## p. 6467 (#449) ###########################################

NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
6467
display its red bricks. I can still see the low-roofed little house,
with its veranda of slender, blackened wooden columns, surround-
ing it on all sides, so that in case of a thunder-storm or a hail-
storm you could close the window shutters without getting wet;
behind it fragrant wild-cherry trees, row upon row of dwarf
fruit-trees, overtopped by crimson cherries and a purple sea of
plums, covered with a lead-colored bloom, luxuriant maples under
whose shade rugs were spread for repose; in front of the house
the spacious yard, with short fresh grass, through which paths
had been worn from the storehouses to the kitchen, from the
kitchen to the apartments of the family; a long-necked goose
drinking water with her young goslings, soft as down; the picket
fence festooned with bunches of dried apples and pears, and
rugs hung out to air; a cart-load of melons standing near the
store-house, the oxen unyoked and lying lazily beside it.
All
this has for me an indescribable charm,- perhaps because I no
longer see it, and because anything from which we are separated
pleases us.
But more than all else, the owners of this distant nook,—
an old man and old woman,- hastening eagerly out to meet me,
gave me pleasure. Afanasy Ivanovitch Tovstogub and his wife,
Pulkheria Ivanovna Tovstogubikha, according to the neighboring
peasants' way of expressing it, were the old people of whom I
began to speak. If I were a painter and wished to depict Phile-
mon and Baucis on canvas, I could have found no better models
than they. Afanasy Ivanovitch was sixty years old, Pulkheria
Ivanovna was fifty-five. Afanasy Ivanovitch was tall, always wore
a short sheepskin coat covered with camlet, sat all doubled up,
and was almost always smiling, whether he were telling a story
or only listening to one. Pulkheria Ivanovna was rather serious,
and hardly ever laughed; but her face and eyes expressed so
much goodness, so much eagerness to treat you to all the best
they owned, that you would probably have found a smile too
repelling on her kind face. The delicate wrinkles were so agree-
ably disposed on their countenances that an artist would certainly
have appropriated them. It seemed as though in them you might
read their whole life: the pure, peaceful life led by the old,
patriotic, simple-hearted, and at the same time wealthy families,
which always present a marked contrast to those baser Little-
Russians who work up from tar-burners and peddlers, throng the
court-rooms like grasshoppers, squeeze the last copper from their


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6468
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
fellow-countrymen, crowd Petersburg with scandal-mongers, finally
acquire capital, and triumphantly add an f to their surnames
which end in o. No, they did not resemble those despicable and
miserable creatures, but all ancient and native Little-Russian
families.
They never had any children, so all their affection was con-
centrated on themselves.
The rooms of the little house in which our old couple dwelt
were small, low-ceiled, such as are generally to be seen with old-
fashioned people. In each room stood a huge stove, which occu-
pied nearly one-third of the space. These little rooms were
frightfully hot, because both Afanasy Ivanovitch and Pulkheria
Ivanovna were fond of heat. All their fuel was stored in the
ante-room, which was always filled nearly to the ceiling with.
straw, which is generally used in Little Russia in place of wood.
The chairs of the room were of wood, and massive, in the
style which generally marked those of the olden times: all had
high, turned backs of natural wood, without any paint or var-
nish; they were not even upholstered, and somewhat resembled
those which are still used by bishops. Triangular tables stood in
the corners, a square table stood in front of the sofa; and there
was a large mirror in a slender gilt frame, carved in foliage,
which the flies had covered with black spots; in front of the
sofa was a mat with flowers which resembled birds, and birds
which resembled flowers: and these things constituted almost the
entire furniture of the far from elegant little house where my
old people lived. The maids' room was filled with young and
elderly serving-women in striped chemises, to whom Pulkheria
Ivanovna sometimes gave trifles to sew, and whom she set to
picking over berries, but who ran about the kitchen or slept the
greater part of the time. Pulkheria Ivanovna regarded it as a
necessity that she should keep them in the house, and she kept a
strict watch of their morals; but to no purpose.
Afanasy Ivan'itch very rarely occupied himself with the farm-
ing; although he sometimes went out to see the mowers and
reapers, and gazed with great intensity at their work. All the
burden of management devolved upon Pulkheria Ivan'na. Pul-
kheria Ivanovna's housekeeping consisted of a constant locking
and unlocking of the storehouse, of salting, drying, and preserv-
ing incalculable quantities of fruits and vegetables. Her house
was exactly like a chemical laboratory. A fire was constantly


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
6469
laid under an apple-tree; and the kettle or the brass pan with
preserves, jelly, marmalade,—made with honey, with sugar, and
with I know not what else,- was hardly ever taken from the
tripod. Under another tree the coachman was forever distilling
vodka with peach-leaves, with wild cherry, cherry flowers, wild
gentian, or cherry-stones, in a copper still; and at the end of the
process he was never able to control his tongue, but chattered all
sorts of nonsense which Pulkheria Ivanovna did not understand,
and took himself off to the kitchen to sleep. Such a quantity of
all this stuff was preserved, salted, and dried that it would prob-
ably have overwhelmed the whole yard at least (for Pulkheria
Ivanovna liked to lay in a store far beyond what was calculated
for consumption), if the greater part of it had not been devoured
by the maid-servants, who crept into the storehouse and over-
ate themselves to such a fearful extent that they groaned and
complained of their stomachs for a whole day afterwards.
Both the old folks, in accordance with old-fashioned customs,
were very fond of eating. As soon as daylight dawned (they
always rose early) and the doors had begun their many-toned
concert of squeaks, they sat down at the table and drank coffee.
When Afanasy Ivanovitch had drunk his coffee, he went out,
flirted his handkerchief, and said, "Kish, kish! go away from
the veranda, geese! " In the yard he generally encountered the
steward: he usually entered into conversation with him, inquired
about the work of the estate with the greatest minuteness, and
imparted to him such a multitude of observations and orders as
would have caused any one to marvel at his understanding of
business; and no novice would have ventured to conjecture that
so acute a master could be robbed. But his steward was a clever
rascal: he knew well what answers he must give, and better still
how to manage things.
This done, Afanasy Ivanovitch returned to the house, and
approaching Pulkheria Ivanovna, said, "Well, Pulkheria Ivan'na,
is it time to eat something, do you think? ”
some
"What shall we have to eat now, Afanasy Ivan'itch,-
wheat and suet cakes, or some patties with poppy-seeds, or some
salted mushrooms? »
-
"Some mushrooms, then, or some patties, if you please," said
Afanasy Ivan'itch; and then suddenly a table-cloth would make
its appearance on the table, with the patties and mushrooms.
An hour before dinner Afanasy Ivan'itch took another snack,
and drank vodka from an ancient silver cup, ate mushrooms,


## p. 6470 (#452) ###########################################

6470
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
divers dried fishes, and other things. They sat down to dine at
twelve o'clock. There stood upon the table, in addition to the
platters and sauce-boats, a multitude of pots with covers pasted
on, that the appetizing products of the savory old-fashioned
cooking might not be exhaled abroad. At dinner the conversa-
tion turned upon subjects closely connected with the meal.
After dinner Afanasy Ivanovitch went to lie down for an
hour, at the end of which time Pulkheria Ivanovna brought him.
a sliced watermelon and said, "Here, try this, Afanasy Ivan'itch;
see what a good melon it is. "
"Don't put faith in it because it is red in the centre, Pul-
kheria Ivan'na," said Afanasy Ivanovitch, taking a good-sized
chunk. "Sometimes they are not good though they are red. "
But the watermelon slowly disappeared. Then Afanasy Ivan-
ovitch ate a few pears, and went out into the garden for a walk
with Pulkheria Ivanovna. When they returned to the house,
Pulkheria Ivanovna went about her own affairs; but he sat down
on the veranda facing the yard, and observed how the interior
of the store-room was alternately disclosed and revealed, and how
the girls jostled each other as they carried in or brought out all
sorts of stuff in wooden boxes, sieves, trays, and other recep-
tacles for fruit. After waiting a while, he sent for Pulkheria
Ivanovna or went in search of her himself, and said, "What is
there for me to eat, Pulkheria Ivan'na? "
"What is there? " asked Pulkheria Ivanovna.
"Shall I go
and tell them to bring you some curd dumplings with berries,
which I had set aside for you? "
"That would be good," answered Afanasy Ivanovitch.
"Or perhaps you could eat some kisel? " [A jelly-like pud-
ding, made of potato flour, and flavored with some sour fruit
juice. ]
"That is good also," replied Afanasy Invanovitch; whereupon
all of them were immediately brought and eaten in due course.
Before supper Afanasy Invanovitch took another appetizing
snack.
After supper
At half-past nine they sat down to supper.
they went directly to bed, and universal silence settled down
upon this busy yet quiet nook.
The chamber in which Afanasy Ivanovitch and Pulkheria
Ivanovna slept was so hot that very few people could have
stayed in it more than a few hours; but Afanasy Ivanovitch, for
the sake of more warmth, slept upon the stove bench, although


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
6471
the excessive heat caused him to rise several times in the course
of the night and walk about the room. Sometimes Afanasy Ivan-
ovitch groaned as he walked thus about the room.
Then Pulkheria Ivanovna inquired, "Why do you groan,
Afanasy Ivan'itch? "
"God knows, Pulkheria Ivan'na! It seems to me that my
stomach aches a little," said Afanasy Ivanovitch.
"Hadn't you better eat something, Afanasy Ivan'itch? "
"I don't know; perhaps it would be well, Pulkheria Ivan'na:
by the way, what is there to eat? "
"Sour milk, or some stewed dried pears. "
"If you please, I will try them," said Afanasy Ivanovitch. A
sleepy maid was sent to ransack the cupboards, and Afanasy
Ivanovitch ate a plateful; after which he remarked, "Now I
seem to feel relieved. "
I loved to visit them; and though I over-ate myself horribly,
like all their guests, and although it was very bad for me, still
I was always glad to go to them. Besides, I think that the air
of Little Russia must possess some special properties which aid
digestion; for if any one were to undertake to eat in that way
here, there is not a doubt but that he would find himself lying
on the table a corpse, instead of in bed.
Pulkheria Ivanovna had a little gray cat, which almost always
lay coiled up in a ball at her feet. Pulkheria Ivanovna stroked
her occasionally, and tickled her neck with her finger, the petted
cat stretching it out as long as possible. It would not be correct
to affirm that Pulkheria Ivanovna loved her so very much, but
she had simply become attached to her from seeing her continu-
ally about. Afanasy Ivanovitch often joked about the attachment.
Behind their garden lay a large forest, which had been spared
by the enterprising steward, possibly because the sound of the
axe might have reached the ears of Pulkheria Ivanovna.
It was
dense, neglected; the old tree trunks were concealed by luxuriant
hazel-bushes, and resembled the feathered legs of pigeons. In
this wood dwelt wild cats. These cats had a long conference
with Pulkheria Ivanovna's tame cat through a hole under the
storehouse, and at last led her astray, as a detachment of sol-
diers leads astray a dull-witted peasant. Pulkheria Ivanovna
noticed that her cat was missing, and caused search to be made
for her; but no cat was to be found. Three days passed; Pulkhe-
ria Ivanovna felt sorry, but in the end forgot all about her loss.


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6472
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
[The cat returns to the place half starved, and is coaxed to come into the
house and eat, but runs away on Pulkheria Ivanovna's trying to pet her. ]
The old woman became pensive. "It is my death which is
come for me," she said to herself; and nothing could cheer her.
All day she was sad. In vain did Afanasy Ivanovitch jest, and
seek to discover why she had suddenly grown so grave. Pul-
kheria Ivanovna either made no reply, or one which did not
in the least satisfy Afanasy Ivanovitch. The next day she had
grown visibly thinner.
"What is the matter with you, Pulkheria Ivanovna? You are
not ill? »
"No, I am not ill, Afanasy Ivan'itch. I want to tell you
about a strange occurrence. I know that I shall die this year;
my death has already come for me. "
Afanasy Ivanovitch's mouth was distorted with pain. Never-
theless he tried to conquer the sad feeling in his mind, and said
smiling, "God only knows what you are talking about, Pulkheria
Ivan'na! You must have drunk some of your peach infusion
instead of your usual herb tea. "
"No, Afanasy Ivan'itch, I have not drunk my peach infusion,”
replied Pulkheria Ivanovna. "I beg of you, Afanasy Ivan'itch, to
fulfill my wishes. When I die, bury me by the church wall.
Put on me my grayish gown, the one with the small flowers on
a cinnamon ground. My satin gown with the red stripes you
must not put on me: a corpse needs no clothes; of what use
are they to her?
Make yourself
a fine dressing-gown, in case visitors come, so that you can make
a good appearance when you receive them. ”
But it will be good for you.
But it will be good for you.
"God knows what you are saying, Pulkheria Ivan'na! " said
Afanasy Ivanovitch. "Death will come some time; but you
frighten me with such remarks. "
"Mind, Yavdokha," she said, turning to the housekeeper, whom
she had sent for expressly, "that you look after your master when
I am dead, and cherish him like the apple of your eye, like your
own child. See that everything he likes is prepared in the
kitchen; that his linen and clothes are always clean; that when
visitors happen in, you dress him properly, otherwise he will
come forth in his old dressing-gown, for he often forgets now
whether it is a festival or an ordinary day. "
-
Poor old woman! She had no thought for the great moment
which was awaiting her, nor of her soul, nor of the future life;


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NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
6473
she thought only of her poor companion, with whom she had
passed her life, and whom she was about to leave an orphan and
unprotected. After this fashion did she arrange everything with
great skill, so that after her death Afanasy Ivanovitch might
not perceive her absence. Her faith in her approaching end was
so firm, and her mind was so fixed upon it, that in a few days
she actually took to her bed, and was unable to swallow any
nourishment.
Afanasy Ivanovitch was all attention, and never left her bed-
side. "Perhaps you could eat something, Pulkheria Ivan'na," he
said, gazing uneasily into her eyes. But Pulkheria Ivanovna
made no reply. At length, after a long silence, she moved her
lips as though desirous of saying something- and her spirit fled.
Afanasy Ivanovitch was utterly amazed. It seemed to him so
terrible that he did not even weep. He gazed at her with
troubled eyes, as though he did not understand the meaning of
a corpse.
Five years passed. Being in the vicinity at the end of the
five years, I went to the little estate of Afanasy Ivanovitch, to
inquire after my old neighbor, with whom I had spent the day
so agreeably in former times, dining always on the choicest deli-
cacies of his kind-hearted wife. When I drove up to the door,
the house seemed twice as old as formerly; the peasants' cot-
tages were lying on one side, without doubt exactly like their
owners; the fence and hedge around the yard were dilapidated;
and I myself saw the cook pull out a paling to heat the stove,
when she had only a couple of steps to take in order to get the
kindling-wood which had been piled there expressly for her use.
I stepped sadly upon the veranda; the same dogs, now blind or
with broken legs, raised their bushy tails, all matted with burs,
and barked.
The old man came out to meet me. So this was he! I recog-
nized him at once, but he was twice as bent as formerly. He
knew me, and greeted me with the smile which was so familiar
to me. I followed him into the room. All there seemed as in
the past; but I observed a strange disorder, a tangible loss of
something. In everything was visible the absence of the pains-
taking Pulkheria Ivanovna. At table, they gave us a knife with
out a handle; the dishes were prepared with little art. I did not
care to inquire about the management of the estate; I was even
afraid to glance at the farm buildings. I tried to interest Afanasy


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6474
NIKOLAI VASILIEVITCH GOGOL
Ivanovitch in something, and told him divers bits of news. He
listened with his customary smile, but his glance was at times
quite unintelligent; and thoughts did not wander therein - they
simply disappeared.
"This is the dish-" said Afanasy Ivanovitch when they
brought us curds and flour with cream, "this is the dish—»
he continued, and I observed that his voice began to quiver, and
that tears were on the point of bursting from his leaden eyes;
but he collected all his strength in the effort to repress them:
"this is the dish which the-the- the de-ceas-" and his tears
suddenly gushed forth, his hand fell upon his plate, the plate
was overturned, flew from the table, and was broken. He sat
stupidly, holding the spoon, and tears like a never-ceasing fount-
ain flowed, flowed in streams down upon his napkin.
He did not live long after this. I heard of his death recently.
What was strange, though, was that the circumstances attending
it somewhat resembled those connected with the death of Pul-
kheria Ivanovna. One day, Afanasy Ivanovitch decided to take a
short stroll in the garden. As he went slowly down the path
with his usual heedlessness, a strange thing happened to him.
All at once he heard some one behind him say in a distinct
voice, "Afanasy Ivan'itch! " He turned round, but there was no
one there. He looked on all sides; he peered into the shrubbery,
no one anywhere. The day was calm and the sun was shin-
ing brightly. He pondered for a moment. Then his face lighted
up, and at last he cried, "It is Pulkheria Ivanovna calling me! "
He surrendered himself utterly to the moral conviction that
Pulkheria Ivanovna was calling him. He yielded with the meek-
ness of a submissive child, withered up, coughed, melted away
like a candle, and at last expired like it when nothing remains to
feed its poor flame. "Lay me beside Pulkheria Ivan'na "— that
was all he said before his death.
-
His wish was fulfilled; and they buried him beside the church-
yard wall close to Pulkheria Ivanovna's grave. The guests at
the funeral were few, but there was a throng of common and
poor people. The house was already quite deserted. The enter-
prising clerk and village elder carried off to their cottages all
the old household utensils which the housekeeper did not man-
age to appropriate.
Translated for A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by Isabel F.
Hapgood


## p. 6474 (#457) ###########################################



## p. 6474 (#458) ###########################################


CARLO GOLDONI.


## p. 6474 (#459) ###########################################

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## p. 6474 (#460) ###########################################



## p.
6475 (#461) ###########################################

6475
CARLO GOLDONI
(1707-1793)
BY WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON
TALY is generally felt to be, above all other lands, the natural
home of the drama. In acting, as in music, indeed, the scep-
tre has never wholly passed from her: Ristori and Salvini
certainly are not yet forgotten. The Græco-Roman comedies of Plau-
tus and Terence, the rhetorical tragedy of Seneca, have had a far
more direct hand in molding the modern dramatists' art than have
the loftier creative masterpieces of the great Attic Four. Indeed,
Latin has never become in Italy a really dead language, remote from
the popular consciousness. The splendor of the Church ritual, the
great mass of the educated clergy, the almost purely Latin roots of
the vernacular, have made such a loss impossible.
In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries Terence and Plautus were
often revived on the stage, still oftener imitated in Latin. Many of
the greatest names in modern Italian literature are in some degree
associated with drama. Thus Machiavelli made free Italian versions
from both the comic Latin poets, and wrote a powerful though im-
moral prose comedy, The Magic Draught' (Mandragola). Tasso's
'Aminta' is as sweet and musical, and hardly so artificial, as that
famous 'Pastor Fido' of Guarini, which has become the ideal type of
all the mock-pastoral comedy out of which the modern opera has
risen.
་
So, when Goldoni is hailed as the father of modern Italian com-
edy, it can only mean that his prolific Muse has dominated the stage
in our own century and in its native land. In his delightfully naïve
Memoirs he frequently announces himself as the leader of reform in
the dramatic art. And this claim is better founded; though there is
a startling discrepancy between the character, the temper, the life
of this child of the sun, and the Anglo-Saxon ideal of "Man the
Reformer " as delineated, for instance, by our own cooler-blooded
Emerson!
Under the lead of Goldoni's elder contemporary Metastasio, the
lyrical drama of pastoral and artificial love had become fully wed-
ded to music; and it is rightly felt that the resulting modern opera
is a genus of its own, not essentially nor chiefly dramatic in charac-
ter and aims. An opera can be sung without action; it cannot be


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6476
CARLO GOLDONI
acted without music. On the other hand, the farce had become almost
restricted to the stock masked characters, Pantaloon, the Dottore,
Arlecchino, and the rest, with a narrow range of childish buffoonery
in the action. The companies of professional actors, endowed with
that marvelous power of improvisation which the very language of
Italy seems to stimulate, hardly permitted the poet to offer them
more than a mere outline of a shallow plot, to be filled in from
scene to scene at the impulse of the moment on the stage!
Under these circumstances it was indeed necessary to reclaim the
rights of the dramatic poet, to reduce to decent limits the "gag"
which the comic actor has doubtless always been eager to use, and
also to educate or beguile his public up to the point of lending a
moderately attentive ear to a play of sustained interest and culminat-
ing plot. In this seemingly modest but really most difficult task,
Goldoni scored a decided success,- a triumph.
Even his checkered life as a whole was, at eighty, in his own
retrospect a happy comedy, mingled with few serious reverses and
hardly darkened at all by remorse. Such lives at best are nowise
Adequate self-portraitures of successful artists are so rare
that the autobiographies of the gentle Goldoni, and of his savage
fellow-countryman Benvenuto Cellini, almost form a class of literature
by themselves.
numerous.
Born in Venice in fair social position, Goldoni spent his childhood
chiefly in Chiozza, a ruder and humbler miniature of the island city
some twenty-five miles away. Though an incurable wanderer,— in-
deed, so filled with the true Bohemian's feverish love for change that
he never could endure even success anywhere for many summers,
he yet gave more of his best years, and a heartier loyalty, to Venice
than to any other home. He knew best, and delineated best, the
ordinary life of the lagoons. Mr. Howells, himself by long residence
and love a half-Venetian, declares that the comedies in the local dia-
lect are invariably the best, and next best the Italian plays whose
scenes are at least laid in Venice. Perhaps the critic is here himself
unduly swayed by his affections. Goldoni knew well nearly all Italian
lands. He had even, for a series of years, a career as an advocate in
Pisa. "My comic genius was not extinguished, but suppressed," he
explains. He did not even then give up play-writing, and a traveling
theatre manager easily beguiled him back to Venice. This was in
1747, and this same manager, Medebac, setting up a new theatre in
Venice, absorbed Goldoni's energies for several years. It was in 1750
that he successfully carried out a rash vow to produce sixteen new
comedies in a single year! Among these are a goodly number of his
best, including The Coffee-House,' from which a few scenes are
given below.


## p. 6477 (#463) ###########################################

CARLO GOLDONI
6477
Though he passed over into the service of a different theatre,
traveled constantly with his actors, accepted invitations to Parma,
Rome, etc. , to oversee the performance of his plays, yet he never
gave up his home in Venice altogether, until summoned to Paris in
1761. These fourteen years, moreover, form the happiest period of his
life. His income from the theatres, from published editions of his
comedies, and from his inherited property, would have made him
wealthy, but for his extravagant and careless mode of life.
Despite one notable success in French with the comedy 'The Surly
Benefactor' (1771), Goldoni's life in France was relatively unprofitable
and ignoble. He became Italian teacher of various royal princesses,
with the utmost uncertainty and delay as to his salaries or pensions.
Yet he could never break the fascination of Paris. The art of the
French actors was a never-failing delight to him. There, at the age
of eighty, in French, he wrote and published his 'Memoirs. ' The
Revolution swept away his negligent patrons. In poverty and utter
neglect he died at last, just as the republicans were ready to restore
his royal pension.
Goldoni was the child of Italy and of the eighteenth century. He
had no serious quarrel with his environment. He was not greatly
superior, in actual character or aspirations, to his associates. His
affection for his devoted wife did not save him from many a wander-
ing passion. The promising prima donnas, in particular, found in him.
an all too devoted instructor and protector. The gaming-table and
the lottery are apparently irresistible to any true Italian, and Goldoni
knew by heart the passions which he ridicules or condemns, though
without bitterness, upon his stage. His oft-repeated claim to have
reformed the Italian theatre meant chiefly this: that between the
lyrical drama of Metastasio on the one hand, and the popular masque
with stock characters on the other,—and while contributing to both
these forms of art,- he did firmly establish the comedy of plot and
dialogue, carefully learned and rehearsed, in which the players must
speak the speech as it is pronounced to them by the poet.
Goldoni himself acknowledges, perhaps not too sincerely, in his
Parisian memoirs, the superiority, the mastership, of Molière. In
truth, the great Frenchman stands, with Aristophanes and Shake-
speare, upon a lonely height quite unapproached by lesser devotees of
Thalia. We must not seek in Goldoni a prober of the human heart,
not even a fearless satirist of social conditions. In his rollicking
good-humor and content with the world as he finds it, Goldoni is
much like Plautus. He is moreover under a censorship hardly less
severe. He dares not, for instance, introduce upon his stage any
really offensive type of Venetian nobleman. As for religious dicta-
tion, the convent must not even be mentioned, though the aunt with


## p. 6478 (#464) ###########################################

6478
CARLO GOLDONI
whom the young lady is visiting sometimes becomes as transparent
an idiom as the "uncle" of a spendthrift cockney! The audience,
moreover, demand only diversion, not serious instruction (as Goethe
complains, even of his grave Germans, in the 'Prolog im Theater').
It is remarkable, under all these conditions, how healthy, how kindly,
how proper, most of Goldoni's work is. Doubtless, like Goldsmith, he
could preach the more gracefully, persuasively, and unobservedly,
because he never attempted to escape from the very vices or indul-
gences that he satirizes. But even the most determined seeker for
the moral element in art will find little indeed thereof in Goldoni's
merry comedies. Incredible as it seems to us Puritans, he really
made it his mission to amuse. Thoroughly in love with the rather
ignoble, trivial life of his day, he holds the dramatic mirror up to it
with lifelong optimism and enjoyment. His wit is not keen, his
poetic imagination is slight indeed. Aside from the true dramatist's
skill in construction, in plot, his power lies chiefly in the rapid, clear,
firm outlines of his character-drawing. These characters are for the
most part just about such men and women, such creatures of impulse
and whim, such genial mingling of naughtiness and good intentions,
as we see about us. He never delineates a saint or a hero; hardly a
monster of wickedness. He had never known either, and would not
have been interested if he had. The charm of Goldoni is felt chiefly
in Venice, or at least in Italy, while listening to his comedy and
watching the enjoyment mirrored in the faces of his own audience.
It evaporates in translation, and his plays are meant only to be heard,
not read. To Mr. Howells's own affectionate testimony we may add
his happy citation from Goethe, who is writing from Venice in 1786:
"Yesterday, at the theatre of St. Luke, was performed 'Le Baruffe-Chio-
zotte,' which I should interpret The Frays and Feuds of Chiozza. ' The dra-
matis personæ are principally seafaring people, inhabitants of Chiozza, with
their wives, sisters, and daughters. The usual noisy demonstrations of such
sort of people in their good or ill luck,- their dealings one with another, their
vehemence but goodness of heart, commonplace remarks and unaffected man-
ners, their naïve wit and humor,- all this was excellently imitated. The piece
moreover is Goldoni's, and as I had been only the day before in the place
itself, and as the tones and manners of the sailors and people of the seaport
still echoed in my ears and floated before my eyes, it delighted me very much;
and although I did not understand a single allusion, I was nevertheless, on the
whole, able to follow it pretty well. . . I never witnessed anything like
the noisy delight the people evinced at seeing themselves and their mates
represented with such truth of nature. It was one continued laugh and
tumultuous shout of exultation from beginning to end. . . . Great praise
is due to the author, who out of nothing has here created the most amusing
divertissement. However, he never could have done it with any other people
than his own merry and light-hearted countrymen. »
.


## p. 6479 (#465) ###########################################

CARLO GOLDONI
6479
Of Goldoni's one hundred and sixty comedies, only a scanty hand-
ful have been tolerably translated in English. As accessible and
agreeable an introduction as any, perhaps, is the version of four not-
able plays by Miss Helen Zimmern in the series Masterpieces of
Foreign Authors. ' The 'Memoirs' have been fairly rendered by John
Black, and this version, considerably abridged, was served up by Mr.
Howells in 1877 among his series of Choice Autobiographies. ' Mr.
Howells's introductory essay appeared also in the Atlantic Monthly.
It has been drawn upon somewhat in the present sketch.
William Grandlan
Lawton.
FIRST LOVE AND PARTING
From the Memoirs of Carlo Goldoni'
I
WAS intrusted some time afterwards with another commission,
of a much more agreeable and amusing nature. This was to
carry through an investigation, ten leagues from the town,
into the circumstances of a dispute where firearms had been
made use of and dangerous wounds received. As the country
where this happened was flat, and the road lay through charming
estates and country-houses, I engaged several of my friends to
follow me; we were in all twelve, six males and six females, and
four domestics. We all rode on horseback, and we employed
twelve days in this delicious expedition.
In this party there were two sisters, one married and the other
single. The latter was very much to my liking, and I may say
I made the party for her alone. She was as prudent and modest
as her sister was headstrong and foolish; the singularity of our
journey afforded us an opportunity of coming to an explanation,
and we became lovers.
My investigation was concluded in two hours; we selected
another road for our return, to vary our pleasure. . . The six
gentlemen of our party proposed another species of entertainment.
In the palace of the governor there was a theatre, which they
wished to put to some use; and they did me the honor to tell me
that they had conceived the project on my account, and they left
me the power of choosing the pieces and distributing the char-
acters. I thanked them, and accepted the proposition; and with
the approbation of his Excellency and my chancellor, I put myself


## p. 6480 (#466) ###########################################

6480
CARLO GOLDONI
at the head of this new entertainment. I could have wished some-
thing comic, but I was not fond of buffoonery, and there were no
good comedies; I therefore gave the preference to tragedy. As
the operas of Metastasio were then represented everywhere, even
without music, I put the airs into recitative; I endeavored as
well as I could to approximate the style of that charming author;
and I made choice of 'Didone' and 'Siroe' for our representation.
I distributed the parts according to the characters of my actors,
whom I knew, and I reserved the worst for myself. In this I
acted wisely, for I was completely unsuited for tragedy. Fortu-
nately, I had composed two small pieces in which I played two
parts of character, and redeemed my reputation. The first of these
pieces was 'The Good Father,' and the second 'La Cantatrice. '
Both were approved of, and my acting was considered passable
for an amateur. I saw the last of these pieces some time after-
wards at Venice, where a young advocate thought proper to give
it out as his own work, and to receive compliments on the sub-
ject; but having been imprudent enough to publish it with his
name, he experienced the mortification of seeing his plagiarism
unmasked.
I did what I could to engage my beautiful Angelica to accept
a part in our tragedies, but it was impossible; she was timid, and
had she even been willing, her parents would not have given
their permission. She visited us; but this pleasure cost her tears,
for she was jealous, and suffered much from seeing me on such
a familiar footing with my fair companions. The poor little girl
loved me with tenderness and sincerity, and I loved her also with
my whole soul; I may say she was the first person whom I ever
loved. She aspired to become my wife, which she would have
been if certain singular reflections, that however were well
founded, had not turned me from the design. Her elder sister
had been remarkably beautiful, and after her first child she be-
came ugly. The youngest had the same skin and the same
features; she was one of those delicate beauties whom the air
injures, and whom the smallest fatigue or pain discomposes: of
all of which I saw a convincing proof. The fatigue of our jour-
ney produced a visible change upon her: I was young, and if my
wife were in a short time to have lost her bloom, I foresaw what
would have been my despair. This was reasoning curiously for
a lover; but whether from virtue, weakness, or inconstancy, I
quitted Feltre without marrying her.


## p. 6481 (#467) ###########################################

CARLO GOLDONI
6481
THE ORIGIN OF "MASKS » IN THE ITALIAN COMEDY
From the Memoirs of Carlo Goldoni ›
THE
HE amateurs of the old comedy, on seeing the rapid progress
of the new, declared everywhere that it was unworthy of
an Italian to give a blow to a species of comedy in which
Italy had attained great distinction, and which no other nation
had ever yet been able to imitate. But what made the greatest
impression on the discontented was the suppression of masks,
which my system appeared to threaten. It was said that these
personages had for two centuries been the amusement of Italy,
and that it ought not to be deprived of a species of comic diver-
sion which it had created and so well supported.
Before venturing to give any opinion on this subject, I imagine
the reader will have no objection to listen for a few minutes to
a short account of the origin, employment, and effects of these
four masks. Comedy, which in all ages has been the favorite
entertainment of polished nations, shared the fate of the arts and
sciences, and was buried under the ruins of the Empire during
the decay of letters. The germ of comedy, however, was never
altogether extinguished in the fertile bosom of Italy. Those who
first endeavored to bring about its revival, not finding in an
ignorant age writers of sufficient skill, had the boldness to draw
out plans, to distribute them into acts and scenes, and to utter
extempore the subjects, thoughts, and witticisms which they had
concerted among themselves. Those who could read (and neither
the great nor the rich were of the number) found that in the
comedies of Plautus and Terence there were always duped fathers,
debauched sons, enamored girls, knavish servants, and mercenary
maids; and, running over the different districts of Italy, they
took the fathers from Venice and Bologna, the servants from
Bergamo, and the lovers and waiting-maids from the dominions
of Rome and Tuscany. Written proofs are not to be expected of
what took place in a time when writing was not in use; but I
prove my assertion in this way: Pantaloon has always been a
Venetian, the Doctor a Bolognese, and Brighella and Harlequin
Bergamasks; and from these places, therefore, the comic person-
ages called the four masks of the Italian comedy were taken
by the players. What I say on this subject is not altogether
the creature of my imagination; I possess a manuscript of the
XI-406


## p. 6482 (#468) ###########################################

6482
CARLO GOLDONI
fifteenth century, in very good preservation and bound in parch-
ment, containing a hundred and twenty subjects or sketches of
Italian pieces, called comedies of art, and of which the basis of
the comic humor is always Pantaloon, a Venetian merchant; the
Doctor, a Bolognese jurisconsult; and Brighella and Harlequin,
Bergamask valets, - the first clever and sprightly, and the other
a mere dolt. Their antiquity and their long existence indicate
their origin.
With respect to their employment, Pantaloon and the Doctor,
called by the Italians the two old men, represent the part of
fathers, and the other parts where cloaks are worn. The first is
a merchant, because Venice in its ancient times was the richest
and most extensively commercial country of Italy. He has
always preserved the ancient Venetian costume; the black dress
and the woolen bonnet are still worn in Venice; and the red
under-waistcoat and breeches, cut out like drawers, with red
stockings and slippers, are a most exact representation of the
equipment of the first inhabitants of the Adriatic marshes. The
beard, which was considered as an ornament in those remote
ages, has been caricatured and rendered ridiculous in subsequent
periods.
The second old man, called the Doctor, was taken from among
the lawyers, for the sake of opposing a learned man to a mer-
chant; and Bologna was selected because in that city there
existed a university, which, notwithstanding the ignorance of the
times, still preserved the offices and emoluments of the profess-
ors. In the dress of the Doctor we observe the ancient costume
of the university and bar of Bologna, which is nearly the same
at this day; and the idea of the singular mask which covers his
face and nose was taken from a wine stain which disfigured the
countenance of a jurisconsult in those times. This is a tradition
still existing among the amateurs of the comedy of art.
Brighella and Harlequin, called in Italy the two Zani, were
taken from Bergamo; because, the former being a very sharp
fellow and the other a stupid clown, these two extremes are only
to be found among the lower orders of that part of the country.
Brighella represents an intriguing, deceitful, and knavish valet.
His dress is a species of livery; his swarthy mask is a caricature
of the color of the inhabitants of those high mountains, tanned
by the heat of the sun. Some comedians, in this character, have
taken the name of Fenocchio, Fiqueto, and Scapin; but they


## p. 6483 (#469) ###########################################

CARLO GOLDONI
6483
have always represented the same valet and the same Bergamask.
The harlequins have also assumed other names: they have been
sometimes Tracagnins, Truffaldins, Gradelins, and Mezetins; but
they have always been stupid Bergamasks. Their dress is an
exact representation of that of a poor devil who has picked up
pieces of stuffs of different colors to patch his dress; his hat cor-
responds with his mendicity, and the hare's tail with which it
is ornamented is still common in the dress of the peasantry of
Bergamo.
I have thus, I trust, sufficiently demonstrated the origin and
employment of the four masks of the Italian comedy; it now
remains for me to mention the effects resulting from them. The
mask must always be very prejudicial to the action of the per-
former, either in joy or sorrow: whether he be in love, cross, or
good-humored, the same features are always exhibited; and how-
ever he may gesticulate and vary the tone, he can never convey
by the countenance, which is the interpreter of the heart, the
different passions with which he is inwardly agitated. The masks
of the Greeks and Romans were a sort of speaking-trumpets,
invented for the purpose of conveying the sound through the
vast extent of their amphitheatres. Passion and sentiment were
not in those times carried to the pitch of delicacy now actually.
necessary. The actor must in our days possess a soul; and the
soul under a mask is like a fire under ashes. These were the
reasons which induced me to endeavor the reform of the Italian
theatre, and to supply the place of farces with comedies. But
the complaints became louder and louder: I was disgusted with
the two parties, and I endeavored to satisfy both; I undertook to
produce a few pieces merely sketched, without ceasing to give
comedies of character. I employed the masks in the former,
and I displayed a more noble and interesting comic humor in the
others: each participated in the species of pleasure with which
they were most delighted; with time and patience I brought
about a reconciliation between them; and I had the satisfaction
at length to see myself authorized in following my own taste,
which became in a few years the most general and prevailing in
Italy. I willingly pardoned the partisans of the comedians with
masks the injuries they laid to my charge; for they were very
able amateurs, who had the merit of giving themselves an inter-
est to sketched comedies.


## p. 6484 (#470) ###########################################

6484
CARLO GOLDONI
――――――
PURISTS AND PEDANTRY
From the Memoirs of Carlo Goldoni'
Μ΄
Y JOURNEY to Parma, and the pension and diploma conferred
on me, excited the envy and rage of my adversaries.
They had reported at Venice during my absence that I
was dead; and there was a monk who had even the temerity to
say he had been at my funeral. On arriving home safe and
sound, the evil-disposed began to display their irritation at my
good fortune. It was not the authors, my antagonists, who tor-
mented me, but the partisans of the different theatres of Venice.
I was defended by literary men, who entertained a favorable
opinion of me; and this gave rise to a warfare in which I was
very innocently the victim of the irritation which had been ex-
cited. My system has always been never to mention the names
of my adversaries: but I cannot avoid expressing the honor
which I feel in proclaiming those of my advocates. Father
Roberti, a Jesuit, at present the Abbé Roberti, one of the most
illustrious poets of the suppressed society, published a poem in
blank verse, entitled 'Comedy '; and by dwelling on the reforma-
tion effected by me, and analyzing several scenes in my pieces,
he encouraged his countrymen and mine to follow the example
and the system of the Venetian author. Count Verri, a Milanese,
followed the Abbé Roberti. .
Other patricians of Venice
wrote in my favor, on account of the disputes which were every
day growing warmer and warmer.
. Every day witnessed
some new composition for or against me; but I had this advan-
tage, that those who interested themselves for me, from their
manners, their talents, and their reputation, were among the
most prudent and distinguished men in Italy.
One of the articles for which I was most keenly attacked was
a violation of the purity of the language. I was a Venetian, and
I had had the disadvantage of sucking in with my mother's milk
the use of a very agreeable and seductive patois, which however
was not Tuscan. I learned by principle, and cultivated by read-
ing, the language of the good Italian authors; but first impres-
sions will return at times, notwithstanding every attention used
in avoiding them. I had undertaken a journey into Tuscany,
where I remained for four years, with the view of becoming
familiar with the language; and I printed the first edition of my


## p. 6485 (#471) ###########################################

CARLO GOLDONI
6485
works at Florence, under the eyes and the criticism of the
learned of that place, that I might purify them from errors of
language. All my precautions were insufficient to satisfy the
rigorists: I always failed in one thing or other; and I was per-
petually reproached with the original sin of Venetianism.
Amidst all this tedious trifling, I recollected one day that
Tasso had been worried his whole lifetime by the Academicians
della Crusca, who maintained that his 'Jerusalem Delivered' had
not passed through the sieve which is the emblem of their soci-
ety. I was then in my closet, and I turned my eyes towards
the twelve quarto volumes of the works of that author, and ex-
claimed, “Oh heavens! must no one write in the Italian language
who has not been born in Tuscany? " I turned up mechanically
the five volumes of the Dictionary della Crusca, where I found
more than six hundred words, and a number of expressions, ap-
proved of by the academy and rejected by the world; I ran over
several ancient authors considered as classical, whom it would be
impossible to imitate in the present day without censure; and I
came to this conclusion—that we must write in good Italian, but
write at the same time so as to be understood in every corner of
Italy. Tasso was therefore wrong in reforming his poem to
please the Academicians della Crusca: his 'Jerusalem Delivered '
is read by everybody, while nobody thinks of reading his 'Jeru-
salem Conquered. '
A POET'S OLD AGE
From the Memoirs of Carlo Goldoni ›
I
RETURN to my regimen,-you will say here also, perhaps, that
I ought to omit it: you are in the right; but all this is in
my head, and I must be delivered of it by degrees; I can-
not spare you a single comma. After dinner I am not fond of
either working or walking. Sometimes I go to the theatre, but
I am most generally in parties till nine o'clock in the evening.
I always return before ten o'clock. I take two or three small
cakes with a glass of wine and water, and this is the whole of
my supper. I converse with my wife till midnight; I very soon
fall asleep, and pass the night tranquilly.
It sometimes happens to me, as well as every other person, to
have my head occupied with something capable of retarding my


## p. 6486 (#472) ###########################################

6486
CARLO GOLDONI
sleep. In this case I have a certain remedy to lull myself asleep,
and it is this: I had long projected a vocabulary of the Venetian
dialect, and I had even communicated my intention to the public,
who are still in expectation of it.