The Dramatic Works of G. E. Lessing Part 41

Count Appiani.

Angelo, _a bandit_.

Pirro _and sundry servants_.

EMILIA GALOTTI.

ACT I.

 

Scene I.--_The Prince's Cabinet_.

_The_ Prince, _seated at a desk, which is covered with papers_.

PRINCE.

Complaints; nothing but complaints! Pet.i.tions; nothing but pet.i.tions!

Wretched employment! And yet we are envied! To be sure, if we could relieve every one, we might indeed be envied. Emilia? (_opening a pet.i.tion, and looking at the signature_.) An Emilia? Yes--but an Emilia Bruneschi--not Galotti. Not Emilia Galotti. What does she want, this Emilia Bruneschi? (_Reads_) She asks much--too much. But her name is Emilia. It is granted (_signs the paper, and rings_).

_Enter a_ Servant.

PRINCE.

Are any of the Councillors in the antechamber?

SERVANT.

No, your Highness.

PRINCE.

I have begun the day too early. The morning is so beautiful, I will take a drive. The Marquis Marinelli shall accompany me. Let him be called. (_Exit_ Servant.) I can attend to nothing more. I was so happy--delightful thought! so happy--when all at once this wretched Bruneschi must be named Emilia. Now all my peace is fled.

_Re-enter the_ Servant, _bringing a note_.

SERVANT.

The Marquis has been sent for; and here is a letter from the Countess Orsina.

PRINCE.

The Countess Orsina? Put it down.

SERVANT.

Her courier waits.

PRINCE.

I will send an answer if necessary. Where is she, in town, or at her villa?

SERVANT.

She arrived in town yesterday.

PRINCE.

So much the worse--the better, I mean. There is less reason for the messenger to wait. (_Exit_ Servant.) My dear Countess! (_with sarcasm, as he takes up the letter_) as good as read (_throwing it down again_).

Well, well, I fancied I loved her--one may fancy anything. It may be that I really did love her. But--I did.

_Re-enter_ Servant.

SERVANT.

The painter Conti requests the honour----

PRINCE.

Conti? Good! admit him. That will change the current of my thoughts (_rising_).

Scene II.

Conti, _The_ Prince.

PRINCE.

Good morning, Conti. How goes it with you? How does art thrive?

CONTI.

Art is starving, Prince.

PRINCE.

That must not--shall not be, within the limits of my small dominions.

But the artist must be willing to work.

CONTI.

Work! that is his happiness. But too much work may rain his claim to the t.i.tle of artist.

PRINCE.