man of too keen and feeling a disposition would not succeed. The
temperament must be such as that with which nature has favored me. My
moral qualities bear a resemblance to my physical: I dread neither cold
nor heat, and I neither allow myself to be inflamed by rage nor
intoxicated by joy....
I am now arrived at the year 1787, which is the eightieth of my age, and
that to which I have limited the course of my Memoirs. I have completed
my eightieth year; my work is also finished. All is over, and I proceed
to send my volumes to the press. This last chapter does not therefore
touch on the events of the current year; but I have still some duties to
discharge. I must begin with returning thanks to those persons who have
reposed so much confidence in me as to honor me with their
subscriptions.
I do not speak of the kindness and favors of the King and court; this is
not the place to mention them. I have named in my work some of my
friends and even some of my protectors. I beg pardon of them: if I have
done so without their permission, it is not through vanity; the occasion
has suggested it; their names have dropped from my pen, the heart has
seized on the instant, and the hand has not been unwilling. For example,
the following is one of the fortunate occasions I allude to. I was
unwell a few days ago; the Count Alfieri did me the honor to call on me;
I knew his talents, but his conversation impressed on me the wrong
which I should have done in omitting him. He is a very intelligent and
learned literary man, who principally excels in the art of Sophocles and
Euripides, and after these great models he has framed his tragedies.
They have gone through two editions in Italy, and are at present in the
press of Didot at Paris. I shall enter into no details respecting them,
as they may be seen and judged of by every one.
During my convalescence M. Caccia, a banker in Paris, my friend and
countryman, sent me a book addressed to him from Italy for me. It was a
collection of French epigrams and madrigals, translated into Italian by
the Count Roncali, of the city of Brescia in the Venetian dominions.
This charming poet has merely translated the thoughts; he has said the
same things in fewer words, and he has fallen upon as brilliant and
striking points in his own language as those of his originals.
I had the honor of seeing M. Roncali twelve years ago at Paris, and he
allows me to hope that I shall have the good fortune to see him again.
This is infinitely flattering to me; but I earnestly entreat him to make
haste, as my career is far advanced, and what is still worse, I am
extremely fatigued. I have undertaken too long and too laborious a work
for my age, and I have employed three years on it, always dreading lest
I should not have the pleasure of seeing it finished. However, I am
still in life, thanks to God, and I flatter myself that I shall see my
volumes printed, distributed, and read. If they be not praised, I hope
at least they will not be despised. I shall not be accused of vanity or
presumption in daring to hope for some share of favor for my Memoirs;
for had I thought that I should absolutely displease, I would not have
taken so much pains; and if in the good and ill which I say of myself,
the balance inclines to the favorable side, I owe more to nature than to
study. All the application employed by me in the construction of my
pieces has been that of not disfiguring nature, and all the care taken
by me in my Memoirs has been that of telling only the truth. The
criticism of my pieces may have the correction and improvement of comedy
in view; but the criticism of my Memoirs will be of no advantage to
literature. However, if any writer should think proper to employ his
time on me for the sole purpose of vexing me, he would lose his labor.
I am of a pacific disposition; I have always preserved my coolness of
character; at my age I read little, and I read only amusing books.
THE CAFE
[A few of the opening scenes from one of the popular Venetian
comedies are here given with occasional abridgment. They
illustrate the entirely practical theatrical skill of Goldoni's
plots, his rapid development of his characters, and the sound
morality which prevails without being aggressively prominent.
The permanent scene represents a small open square in Venice, or
a rather wide street, with three shops. The middle one is in use
as a cafe. To the right is a barber's. The one on the left is a
gambling-house. Beyond the barber's, across a street, is seen
the dancers' house, and beyond the gamblers' a hotel with
practicable doors and windows.]
Ridolfo, _master of the cafe_, Trappolo, _a waiter, and other
waiters_
_Ridolfo_--Come, children, look alive, be wide awake, ready to serve the
guests civilly and properly.
_Trappolo_--Master dear, to tell you the truth, this early rising
doesn't suit my complexion a bit. There's no one in sight. We could have
slept another hour yet.
_Ridolfo_--They'll be coming presently. Besides, 'tis not so very early.
Don't you see? The barber is open, he's in his shop working on hair. And
look! the playing-house is open too.
_Trappolo_--Oh, yes, indeed. The gambling-house has been open a good
bit. They've made a night of it.
_Ridolfo_--Good. Master Pandolfo will have had a good profit.
_Trappolo_--That dog always has good profit. He wins on the cards, he
profits by usury, he shares with the sharpers. He is sure of all the
money of whoever enters there. That poor Signor Eugenio--he has taken a
header!
_Ridolfo_--Just look at him, how little sense he has! With a wife, a
young woman of grace and sense,--but he runs after every petticoat; and
then he plays like a madman. But come, go roast the coffee and make a
fresh supply.
_Trappolo_--Shan't I warm over yesterday's supply?
_Ridolfo_--No, make it good.
_Trappolo_--Master has a short memory. How long since this shop opened?
_Ridolfo_--You know very well. 'Tis about eight months.
_Trappolo_--Then 'tis time for a change.
_Ridolfo_--What do you mean by that?
_Trappolo_--When a new shop opens, they make perfect coffee. After six
months,--hot water, thin broth. [_Exit._]
_Ridolfo_--He's a wit. I'm in hopes he'll help the shop. To a shop where
there's a fun-maker every one goes.
Pandolfo, _keeper of the gambling-house, comes in, rubbing his
eyes sleepily_
_Ridolfo_--Master Pandolfo, will you have coffee?
_Pandolfo_--Yes, if you please.
_Ridolfo_--Boys, serve coffee for Master Pandolfo. Be seated. Make
yourself comfortable.
_Pandolfo_--No, no, I must drink it at once and get back to work.
_Ridolfo_--Are they playing yet in the shop?
_Pandolfo_--They are busy at two tables.
_Ridolfo_--So early?
_Pandolfo_--They are at it since yesterday.
_Ridolfo_--What game?
_Pandolfo_--An innocent game: "first and second" [_i.e._, faro].
_Ridolfo_--And how does it go?
_Pandolfo_--For me it goes well.
_Ridolfo_--Have you amused yourself playing too?
_Pandolfo_--Yes, I took a little hand also.
_Ridolfo_--Excuse me, my friend; I've no business to meddle in your
affairs, but--it doesn't look well when the master of the shop plays;
because if he loses he's laughed at, and if he wins he's suspected.
_Pandolfo_--I am content if they haven't the laugh on me. As for the
rest, let them suspect as they please; I pay no attention.
_Ridolfo_--Dear friend, we are neighbors; I shouldn't want you to get
into trouble. You know, by your play before you have brought up in the
court.
_Pandolfo_--I'm easily satisfied. I won a pair of sequins, and wanted no
more.
_Ridolfo_--That's right. Pluck the quail without making it cry out. From
whom did you win them?
_Pandolfo_--A jeweler's boy.
_Ridolfo_--Bad. Very bad. That tempts the boys to rob their masters.
_Pandolfo_--Oh, don't moralize to me. Let the greenhorns stay at home. I
keep open for any one who wants to play.
_Ridolfo_--And has Signor Eugenio been playing this past night?
_Pandolfo_--He's playing yet. He hasn't dined, he hasn't slept, and he's
lost all his money.
_Ridolfo_ [_aside_]--Poor young man! [_Aloud._] And how much has he
lost?
_Pandolfo_--A hundred sequins in cash: and now he is playing on credit.
_Ridolfo_--With whom is he playing?
_Pandolfo_--With the count.
_Ridolfo_--And whom else?
_Pandolfo_--With him alone.
_Ridolfo_--It seems to me an honest man shouldn't stand by and see
people assassinated.
_Pandolfo_--Oho, my friend, if you're going to be so thin-skinned you'll
make little money.
_Ridolfo_--I don't care for that. Till now I have been in service, and
did my duty honestly. I saved a few pennies, and with the help of my old
master, who was Signor Eugenio's father, you know, I have opened this
shop. With it I mean to live honorably and not disgrace my profession.
[_People from the gambling-shop call "Cards!"_]
_Pandolfo_ [_answering_]--At your service.
_Ridolfo_--For mercy's sake, get poor Signor Eugenio away from the
table.
_Pandolfo_--For all me, he may lose his shirt: I don't care. [_Starts
out._]
_Ridolfo_--And the coffee--shall I charge it?
_Pandolfo_--Not at all: we'll deal a card for it.
_Ridolfo_--I'm no greenhorn, my friend.
_Pandolfo_--Oh well, what does it matter? You know my visitors make
trade for you. I am surprised that you trouble yourself about these
little matters. [_Exit._] ...
_A gentleman,_ Don Marzio, _enters_
_Ridolfo_ [_aside_]--Here is the man who never stops talking, and always
must have it his own way.
_Marzio_--Coffee.
_Ridolfo_--At once, sir.
_Marzio_--What's the news, Ridolfo?
_Ridolfo_--I couldn't say, sir.
_Marzio_--Has no one appeared here at your cafe yet?
_Ridolfo_--'Tis quite early still.
_Marzio_--Early? It has struck nine already.
_Ridolfo_--Oh no, honored sir, 'tis not seven yet.
_Marzio_--Get away with your nonsense.
_Ridolfo_--I assure you, it hasn't struck seven yet.
_Marzio_--Get out, stupid.
_Ridolfo_--You abuse me without reason, sir.
_Marzio_--I counted the strokes just now, and I tell you it is nine.
Besides, look at my watch: it never goes wrong. [_Shows it._]
_Ridolfo_--Very well, then; if your watch is never wrong,--it says a
quarter to seven.
_Marzio_--What? That can't be. [_Takes out his eye-glass and looks._]
_Ridolfo_--What do you say?
_Marzio_--My watch is wrong. It is nine o'olock. I heard it.
_Ridolfo_--Where did you buy that watch?
_Marzio_--I ordered it from London.
_Ridolfo_--They cheated you.
_Marzio_--Cheated me? How so? It is the very first quality.
_Ridolfo_--If it were a good one, it wouldn't be two hours wrong.
_Marzio_--It is always exactly right.
_Ridolfo_--But the watch says a quarter to seven, and you say it is
nine.
_Marzio_--My watch is right.
_Ridolfo_--Then it really is a little before seven, as I said.
_Marzio_---You're an insolent fellow. My watch is right: you talk
foolishly, and I've half a mind to box your ears. [_His coffee is
brought._]
_Ridolfo_ [_aside_]--Oh, what a beast!
_Marzio_--Have you seen Signor Eugenio?
_Ridolfo_--No, honored sir.
_Marzio_--At home, of course, petting his wife. What an uxorious fellow!
Always a wife! Always a wife! [_Drinks his coffee._]
_Ridolfo_--Anything but his wife. He's been gambling all night at
Pandolfo's.
_Marzio_--Just as I tell you. Always gambling.
_Ridolfo_ [_aside_]--"Always gambling," "Always his wife," "Always" the
Devil; I hope he'll catch him!
_Marzio_--He came to me the other day in all secrecy, to beg me to lend
him ten sequins on a pair of earrings of his wife's.
_Ridolfo_--Well, you know, every man is liable to have these little
difficulties; but they don't care to have them known, and that is
doubtless why he came to you, certain that you would tell no one.
_Marzio_--Oh, I say nothing. I help all, and take no credit for it. See!
Here are his wife's earrings. I lent him ten sequins on them. Do you
think I am secured?
_Ridolfo_--I'm no judge, but I think so.
_Marzio_--Halloa, Trappolo. [_Trappolo enters._] Here; go to the
jeweler's yonder, show him these earrings of Signor Eugenio's wife, and
ask him for me if they are security for ten sequins that I lent him.
_Trappolo_--And it doesn't harm Signor Eugenio to make his affairs
public?
_Marzio_--I am a person with whom a secret is safe. [_Exit Trappolo._]
Say, Ridolfo, what do you know of that dancer over there?
_Ridolfo_--I really know nothing about her.
_Marzio_--I've been told the Count Leandro is her protector.
_Ridolfo_--To be frank, I don't care much for other people's affairs.
_Marzio_--But 'tis well to know things, to govern one's self
accordingly. She has been under his protection for some time now, and
the dancer's earnings have paid the price of the protection. Instead of
spending anything, he devours all the poor wretch has. Indeed, he forces
her to do what she should not. Oh, what a villain!
_Ridolfo_--But I am here all day, and I can swear that no one goes to
her house except Leandro.
_Marzio_--It has a back door. Fool! Fool! Always the back door. Fool!
_Ridolfo_--I attend to my shop: if she has a back door, what is it to
me? I put my nose into no one's affairs.
_Marzio_--Beast! Do you speak like that to a gentleman of my station?
[This character of Don Marzio the slanderer is the most
effective one in the comedy. He finally brings upon himself
the bitterest ill-will of all the other characters, and feels
himself driven out of Venice, "a land in which all men live
at ease, all enjoy liberty, peace, and amusement, if only
they know how to be prudent, discreet, honorable."]
Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,'
by William C. Lawton
MEIR AARON GOLDSCHMIDT
(1819-1887)
[Illustration: GOLDSCHMIDT]
In the first line of his memoirs Goldschmidt states that he was of "the
tribe of Levi," a fact of which he was never unconscious, and which has
given him his peculiar position in modern Danish literature as the
exponent of the family and social life of the orthodox Jew. Brandes
writes of Goldschmidt that: "In spite of his cosmopolitan spirit, he has
always loved two nationalities above all others and equally well,--the
Jewish and the Danish. He has looked upon himself as a sort of
noble-born bastard; and with the bat of the fable he has said
alternately to the mice, 'I am a mouse' and to the birds, 'I have
wings.' He has endeavored to give his answer to the questions of the
Jew's place in modern culture."
Goldschmidt was born on the 26th of October, 1819. His early childhood
was spent partly in the country, in the full freedom of country life,
and partly in the city, where he was sent to school in preparation for
the professional career his father had planned for him, in preference to
a business life like his own. Goldschmidt took part in the religious
instruction of the school, at the same time observing the customs of the
Jewish ritual at home without a full understanding of its
meaning,--somewhat as he was taught to read Hebrew without being able to
translate a word of it into Danish. In the senior class his religious
instructor let him join in the Bible reading, but refused to admit him
to the catechism class; as a consequence he failed to answer a few
questions on his examination papers, and fell just short of a maximum.
This made him feel that he was ostracized by his Jewish birth, and put
an end to his desire for further academic studies.
At the age of eighteen he began his journalistic career as editor of a
provincial paper, the care of which cost him a lawsuit and subjected him
to a year's censorship. Soon after, he sold the paper for two hundred
dollars, and with this money he started the Copenhagen weekly The
Corsair, which in no time gained a large reading public, and whose
Friday appearance was awaited with weekly increasing interest. The
editorials were given up to aesthetic and poetic discussions, and the
small matter treated the questions of the day with a pointed wit that
soon made The Corsair as widely feared as it was eagerly read. He had
reached only the third number when it was put under censorship, and
lawsuits followed in quick succession. Goldschmidt did not officially
assume the responsibility of editor, although it was an open secret that
he was author of most of the articles; publicly the blows were warded
off by pretended owners whose names were often changed. One of the few
men whom The Corsair left unattacked was Soeren Kierkegaard, for whose
literary and scholarly talents Goldschmidt had great respect. That The
Corsair was under the ban of the law, so to speak, and had brought him
even a four-days' imprisonment, was a small matter to Goldschmidt; but
when Kierkegaard passed a scathing moral judgment on the paper,
Goldschmidt sold out for four thousand dollars and started with this sum
on his travels, "to get rid of wit and learn something better."
In 1847 he was again back in Copenhagen, and began life anew as editor
of North and South, a weekly containing excellent aesthetic and critical
studies, but mainly important on account of its social and political
influence. Already, in the time of The Corsair, Goldschmidt had begun
his work as novelist with 'A Jew,' written in 1843-45, and had taken
possession of the field which became his own. It was a promising book,
that met with immediate appreciation. Even Kierkegaard forgot for a
moment the editor of The Corsair in his praise. The Jews, however,
looked upon the descriptions of intimate Jewish family life somewhat as
a desecration of the Holy of Holies; and if broad-minded enough to
forgive this, thought it unwise to accentuate the Jew's position as an
element apart in social life. It argues a certain narrowness in
Goldschmidt that he has never been able to refrain from striking this
note, and Brandes blames him for the bad taste of "continually serving
his grandmother with sharp sauce."
Goldschmidt wrote another long novel, 'Homeless'; but it is principally
in his shorter works, such as 'Love Stories from Many Countries'
'Maser,' and 'Avromche Nightingale,' that he has left a great and good
gift to Danish literature. The shorter his composition, the more perfect
was his treatment. He was above all a stylist.
He always had a tendency to mysticism, and in his last years he was
greatly taken up with his theory of Nemesis, on which he wrote a book,
containing much that is suggestive but also much that is obviously the
result of the wish to make everything conform to a pet theory. His
lasting importance will be as the first and foremost influence on modern
Danish prose.
ASSAR AND MIRJAM
From 'Love Stories from Many Countries'
Assar, son of Juda, a valiant and jealous youth, came walking toward
Modin, when from one of the hills he saw a great sight on the plain.
Here warriors rode a chariot race in a great circle; many people stood
about, calling loudly to the drivers and the spirited horses. Yonder
were horsemen in golden armor, trying to catch rings on their spears;
and drums were beaten in honor of the winner. On the outskirts of the
plain was a little grove of olive-trees; it was not dense. In the grove
stood a nude woman hewn in marble; her hair was of gold and her eyes
were black, and young girls danced around her with garlands of flowers.
Then Assar said:--"Woe unto us! These are Jewish maidens dancing around
the idol, and these are Greek men carrying arms on our holy ground and
playing at games as if they were in their home! and no Jewish man makes
the game dangerous for them!"
He went down the hill and came to a thicket reaching down to a little
brook. On the other side of the brook stood a Greek centurion, a young
man, and he was talking to a girl, who stood on this side of the brook
on the edge of the thicket.
The warrior said:--"Thou sayest that thy God forbids thee to go over
into the grove. What a dark and unfriendly God they have given thee,
beautiful child of Juda! He hates thy youth, and the joy of life, and
the roses which ought to crown thy black hair. My gods are of a
friendlier mind toward mortals. Every morning Apollo drives his glorious
span over the arch of the heavens and lights warriors to their deeds;
Selene's milder torch glows at night for lovers, and to those who have
worshiped her in this life beautiful Aphrodite gives eternal life on her
blessed isle. It is her statue standing in the grove. When thou givest
thyself under her protection she gives thee in return a hero for thy
faithful lover, and later on, graceful daughter of Juda, some god will
set thee with thy radiant eyes among the stars, to be a light to mortals
and a witness of the beauty of earthly love."
The young girl might have answered; but at this moment Assar was near
her, and she knew him, and he saw that it was Mirjam, Rabbi Mattathew's
daughter,--the woman he loved, and who was his promised bride. She
turned and followed him; but the warrior on the other side of the brook
called out, "What right hast thou to lead this maiden away?"
Assar replied, "I have no right."
"Then why dost thou go with him, sweet daughter of Juda?" cried the
warrior.
Mirjam did not answer, but Assar said, "Because she has not yet given up
serving her Master."
"Who is her master?" asked the warrior. "I can buy thee freedom, my
beautiful child!"
Assar replied, "I wish thou may'st see him."[E]
[E] "Whoever sees God must die."
The warrior, who could not cross the brook at this place, or anywhere
near it, called as they went away, "Tell me thy master's name!"
Assar turned and answered, "I will beg him come to thee."
A hill hid them from the eyes of the warrior, and Mirjam said, "Assar!"
Assar replied, "Mirjam! I have never loved thee as dearly as I do
to-day--I do not know if it is a curse or a blessing which is in my
veins. Thou hast listened to the words of the heathen."
"I listened to them because he spoke kindly; but I have not betrayed the
Lord nor thee."
"Thou hast permitted his words to reach thy ear and thy soul."
"What could I do, Assar? He spoke kindly."
Assar stood still, and said to himself, "Yes, he spoke kindly. They do
speak kindly. And they spoke kind words to the poor girls who danced
around the idol in the grove. Had they spoken harsh and threatening
words, they would not have danced."
Again he stood still, and said to himself, "If they came using force,
the rabbi would kill her and then himself, or she would throw herself
from a rock of her own free will. But who can set a guard to watch over
kind words?"
The third time he stood still, and said, "O Israel, thou canst not bear
kind words!"
Mirjam thought that he suspected her; and she stood still and said, "I
am a rabbi's daughter!"
Assar replied, "O Mirjam, I am Assar, and I will be the son of my own
actions."
"For God's sake," exclaimed Mirjam, "do not seek that warrior, and do
not enter into a quarrel with him! He will kill thee or have thee put
into prison. There is misery enough in Israel! The strangers have
entered our towns. Let us bend our heads and await the will of God, but
not challenge! Assar, I should die if anything happened to thee!"
"And what would I do if anything happened to thee! My head swims!
Whither should I flee? Would thy father and thy brothers flee to the
wilds of the mountains?"
"They have spoken of that. But there is no place to flee to and not much
to flee from; for although the heathen have taken gold and goods, yet
they are kind this time."
Assar replied, "Oh yes, they are kind; I had almost forgotten it.
Mirjam, if I go away wilt thou believe, and go on believing, that I go
on God's errand?"
"Assar, a dark look from thee is dearer to me than the kindest from any
heathen, and a word of thine is more to me than many witnesses. But do
not leave me! Stay and protect me!"
"I go to protect thee! I go to the heights and to the depths to call
forth the God of Israel. Await his coming!" ...
Assar went to the King, Antiochus Epiphanes, bent low before him, and
said, "May the Master of the world guide thy steps!"
The King looked at him well pleased, and asked his name; whereupon Assar
answered that he was a man of the tribe of Juda.
The King said, "Few of thy countrymen come to serve me!"
Assar replied, "If thou wilt permit thy servant a bold word, King, the
fault is thine."
And when the King, astonished, asked how this might be, Assar answered,
"Because thou art too kind, lord."
The King turned to his adviser, and said laughingly, "When we took the
treasures of the temple in Jerusalem, they found it hard enough."
"O King," said Assar, "silver and gold and precious stones can be
regained, and the Israelites know this; but thou lettest them keep that
which cannot be regained when once it is lost."