LADY MILFORD (rising, with a laugh). One or the other, sweet sir. In
the meantime take this paper to your duke for his dessert. (To SOPHIA.)
Do you, Sophia, give directions to have my carriage brought to the door
without delay, and call my whole household together in this saloon.

SOPHIA (goes out in great astonishment). Heavens! What do I forebode?
What will this end in?

MARSHAL. You seem excited, my lady!

LADY MILFORD. The greater the chance of my letting you into a little
truth. Rejoice, my Lord Marshal! There is a place vacant at court. A
fine time for panders. (As the MARSHAL throws a look of suspicion upon
the paper.) Read it, read it! 'Tis my desire that the contents should
be made public. (While he reads it, the domestics enter, and range
themselves in the background.)

MARSHAL (reading). "Your highness--an engagement, broken by you so
lightly, can no longer be binding on me. The happiness of your subjects
was the condition of my love. For three years the deception has lasted.
The veil at length falls from my eyes! I look with disgust on favors
which are stained with the tears of your subjects. Bestow the love which
I can no longer accept upon your weeping country, and learn from a
British princess compassion to your German people. Within an hour I
shall have quitted your dominions.        JOANNA NORFOLK"

SERVANTS (exclaiming to each other in astonishment). Quitted the
dominions!

MARSHAL (replaces the letter upon the table in terror). God forbid, my
dear and most excellent lady! The bearer of such a letter would be as
mad as the writer!

LADY MILFORD. That is your concern, you pink of a courtier! Alas! I am
sorry to know that you, and such as you, would choke even in the
utterance of what others dare to do. My advice is that you bake the
letter in a venison pasty, so that his most serene highness may find it
on his plate!

MARSHAL. God preserve me! What presumption! Ponder well, I entreat
you. Reflect on the disgrace which you will bring down upon yourself, my
lady!

LADY MILFORD (turning to the assembled domestics, and addressing them in
the deepest emotion). You seem amazed, good people; and anxiously
awaiting the solution of this riddle? Draw nearer, my friends! You have
served me truly and affectionately; have looked into my eyes rather than
my purse. My pleasure was your study, my approbation your pride! Woe is
me, that the remembrance of your fidelity must be the record of my
unworthiness! Unhappy fate, that the darkest season of my life should
have been the brightest of yours! (Her eyes suffused with tears.) We
must part, my children. Lady Milford has ceased to exist, and Joanna of
Norfolk is too poor to repay your love. What little wealth I have my
treasurer will share among you. This palace belongs to the duke. The
poorest of you will quit it far richer than his mistress! Farewell, my
children! (She extends her hand, which they all in turn kiss, with marks
of sorrow and affection.) I understand you, my good people! Farewell!
forever farewell! (Struggling with her feelings.) I hear the carriage
at the door. (She tears herself away, and is hurrying out when the
MARSHAL arrests her progress.) How, now? Pitiful creature, art thou
still there?

MARSHAL (who all this while has been gazing in vacant astonishment at the
letter). And must I be the person to put this letter into the most
august hands of his most serene highness?

LADY MILFORD. Pitiful creature, even thou! Thou must deliver into his
most august hands, and convey to his most august ears, that, as I cannot
go barefoot to Loretto, I will support myself by the labor of my hands,
that I may be purified from the disgrace of having condescended to rule
him. (She hurries off--the rest silently disperse.)




ACT V.

SCENE I.--Twilight; a room in MILLER'S house.

   LOUISA sits silent and motionless in a dark corner of the room,
   her head reclining upon her hand. After a long pause, MILLER
   enters with a lantern, the light of which he casts anxiously
   round the chamber, without observing LOUISA, he then puts his
   hat on the table, and sets down the lantern.

   LOUISA, MILLER.

MILLER. She is not here either. No, she is not here! I have wandered
through every street; I have sought her with every acquaintance; I have
inquired at every door! No one has seen my child! (A silence of some
moments.) Patience, poor unhappy father! Patience till morning; then
perhaps the corpse of your only one may come floating to shore. Oh, God
in heaven! What though my heart has hung too idolatrously upon this
daughter, yet surely the punishment is severe! Heavenly Father! Surely
it is severe! I will not murmur, Heavenly Father; but the punishment is
indeed severe! (Throws himself sorrowfully into a chair.)

LOUISA (without moving from her seat). Thou dost well, wretched old man!
Learn betimes to lose.

MILLER (starts up eagerly). Ah! art thou there, my child? Art thou
there? But wherefore thus alone, and without a light?

LOUISA. Yet am I not alone. When all things around me are dark and
gloomy then have I the companionship which most I love.

MILLER. God defend thee, my child! The worm of conscience alone wakes
and watches with the owl; none shun the light but criminals and evil
spirits.

LOUISA. And eternity, father, which speaks to the soul in solitude!

MILLER. Louisa, my child! What words are these?

LOUISA (rises, and comes forward). I have fought a hard fight--you know
it, father! but God gave me the strength! The fight is over! Father,
our sex is called timid and weak; believe it no more! We tremble at a
spider, but the black monster, corruption, we hug to our arms in sport!
This for your edification, father. Your Louisa is merry.

MILLER. I had rather you wept. It would, please me better.

LOUISA. How I will outwit him, father! How I shall cheat the tyrant!
Love is more crafty than malice, and bolder--he knew not that, the man of
the unlucky star! Oh! they are cunning so long as they have but to do
with the head; but when they have to grapple with the heart the villains
are at fault. He thought to seal his treachery with an oath! Oaths,
father, may bind the living, but death dissolves even the iron bonds of
the sacrament! Ferdinand will learn to know his Louisa. Father, will
you deliver this letter for me? Will you do me the kindness?

MILLER. To whom, my child?

LOUISA. Strange question! Infinitude and my heart together had not
space enough for a single thought but of him. To whom else should I
write?

MILLER (anxiously). Hear me, Louisa! I must read this letter!

LOUISA. As you please, father! but you will not understand it. The
characters lie there like inanimate corpses, and live but for the eye of
love.

MILLER (reading). "You are betrayed, Ferdinand! An unparalleled piece
of villany has dissolved the union of our hearts; but a dreadful vow
binds my tongue, and your father has spies stationed upon every side.
But, if thou hast courage, my beloved, I know a place where oaths no
longer bind, and where spies cannot enter." (MILLER stops short, and
gazes upon her steadfastly.)

LOUISA. Why that earnest look, father? Read what follows.

MILLER. "But thou must be fearless enough to wander through a gloomy
path with no other guides than God and thy Louisa. Thou must have no
companion but love; leave behind all thy hopes, all thy tumultuous
wishes--thou wilt need nothing on this journey but thy heart. Darest
thou come; then set out as the bell tolls twelve from the Carmelite
Tower. Dost thou fear; then erase from the vocabulary of thy sex's
virtues the word courage, for a maiden will have put thee to shame."
(MILLER lays down the letter and fixes his eyes upon the ground in deep
sorrow. At length he turns to LOUISA, and says, in a low, broken voice)
Daughter, where is that place?

LOUISA. Don't you know it, father? Do you really not know it? 'Tis
strange! I have described it unmistakably! Ferdinand will not fail to
find it.

MILLER. Pray speak plainer!

LOUISA. I can think of no pleasing name for it just now! You must not
be alarmed, father, if the name I give it has a terrible sound. That
place,----Oh! why has no lover invented a name for it! He would have
chosen the softest, the sweetest--that place, my dear father--but you
must not interrupt me--that place is--the grave!

MILLER (staggering to a seat). Oh, God!

LOUISA (hastens to him, and supports him). Nay, father, be not alarmed!
These are but terrors which hover round an empty word! Take away the
name and the grave will seem to be a bridal-bed over which Aurora spreads
her golden canopy and spring strews her fairest flowers. None but a
groaning sinner pictures death as a skeleton; to others he is a gentle,
smiling boy, blooming as the god of love, but not so false--a silent,
ministering spirit who guides the exhausted pilgrim through the desert of
eternity, unlocks for him the fairy palace of everlasting joy, invites
him in with friendly smiles, and vanishes forever!

MILLER. What meanest thou, my child? Surely, thou wilt not lay guilty
hands on thine own life?

LOUISA. Speak not thus, father! To quit a community from which I am
already rejected, to fly voluntarily to a place from which I cannot much
longer be absent, is that a sin?

MILLER. Suicide is the most horrible of sins, my child. 'Tis the only
one that can never he repented, since death arrives at the moment the
crime is committed.

LOUISA (stands motionless with horror). That is dreadful! But my death
will not be so sudden, father. I will spring into the river, and while
the waters are closing over me, cry to the Almighty for mercy and
forgiveness!

MILLER. That is to say, you will repent the theft as soon as the
treasure is secure! Daughter! Daughter! beware how you mock your God
when you most need his help! Oh! you have gone far, far astray! You have
forgotten the worship of your Creator, and he has withdrawn his
protecting hand from you!

LOUISA. Is it, then, a crime to love, father?

MILLER. So long as thou lovest God thou wilt never love man to idolatry.
Thou hast bowed me down low, my only one! low! very low! perhaps to the
grave! Yet will I not increase the sadness of thy heart. Daughter! I
gave vent to my feelings as I entered. I thought myself alone! Thou
hast overheard me! and why should I longer conceal the truth. Thou wert
my idol! Hear me, Louisa, if there is yet room in thy heart for a
father's feelings. Thou wert my all! Of thine own thou hast nothing
more to lose, but I have my all at stake! My life depends on thee! My
hairs are turning gray, Louisa; they show that the time is drawing nigh
with me when fathers look for a return of the capital invested in the
hearts of their children. Wilt thou defraud me of this, Louisa? Wilt
thou away and bear with thee all the wealth of thy father?

LOUISA (kissing his hand in the deepest emotion). No, father, no! I go
from this world deeply in your debt, and will repay you with usury in the
world to come.

MILLER. Beware, my child, lest thy reckoning should be false! (very
earnestly and solemnly). Art thou certain that we shall meet in that
world to come? Lo! how the color fades from thy cheek! My child must
feel that I can scarcely overtake her in that other world if she hurries
there before me. (LOUISA throws herself shuddering into his arms, he
clasps her warmly to his bosom, and continues in a tone of fervent
adjuration.) Oh! Louisa! Louisa! Fallen, perhaps already lost,
daughter! Treasure in thy heart the solemn counsels of a father! I
cannot eternally watch over thee! I may snatch the dagger from thy
hands; but thou canst let out life with a bodkin. I may remove poison
from thy reach; but thou canst strangle thyself with a necklace. Louisa!
Louisa! I can only warn thee. Wilt thou rush boldly forward till the
perfidious phantom which lured thee on vanishes at the awful brink of
eternity? Wilt thou dare approach the throne of the Omniscient with the
lie on thy lips? "At thy call am I here, Creator!" while thy guilty eyes
are in search only of their mortal idol! And when thou shalt see this
perishable god of thine own creation, a worm like thee, writhing at the
Almighty's feet; when thou shalt hear him in the awful moment give the
lie to thy guilty daring, and blast thy delusive hopes of eternal mercy,
which the wretch implores in vain for himself; what then! (Louder and
more fervently), What, then, unhappy one? (He clasps her still closer to
his bosom, and gazes upon her with wild and piercing looks; then suddenly
disengages himself.) I can do no more! (Raising his right hand towards
heaven.) Immortal Judge, I can do no more to save this soul from ruin!
Louisa, do what thou wilt. Offer up a sacrifice at the altar of this
idolized youth that shall make thy evil genius howl for transport and thy
good angels forsake thee in despair. Go on! Heap sin upon sin,--add to
them this, the last, the heaviest,--and, if the scale be still too light
throw in my curse to complete the measure. Here is a knife; pierce thy
own heart, and (weeping aloud and rushing away), and with it, thy
father's!

LOUISA (following and detaining him). Stay! stay! Oh! father, father!--
to think that affection should wound more cruelly than a tyrant's rage!
What shall I?--I cannot!--what must I do?

MILLER. If thy lover's kisses burn hotter than thy father's tears--then
die!

LOUISA (after a violent internal struggle, firmly). Father! Here is my
hand! I will--God! God! what am I doing! What would I?--father, I
swear. Woe is me! Criminal that I am where'er I turn! Father, be it
so! Ferdinand. God, look down upon the act! Thus I destroy the last
memorial of him. (Tearing the letter.)

MILLER (throwing himself in ecstasy upon her neck). There spoke my
daughter! Look up, my child! Thou hast lost a lover, but thou hast made
a father happy. (Embracing her, and alternately laughing and crying.)
My child! my child! I was not worthy to live so blest a moment! God
knows how I, poor miserable sinner, became possessed of such an angel!
My Louisa! My paradise! Oh! I know but little of love; but that to rend
its bonds must be a bitter grief I can well believe!

LOUISA. But let us hasten from this place, my father! Let us fly from
the city, where my companions scoff at me, and my good name is lost
forever--let us away, far away, from a spot where every object tells of
my ruined happiness,--let us fly if it be possible!

MILLER. Whither thou wilt, my daughter! The bread of the Lord grows
everywhere, and He will grant ears to listen to my music. Yes! we will
fly and leave all behind. I will set the story of your sorrows to the
lute, and sing of the daughter who rent her own heart to preserve her
father's. We will beg with the ballad from door to door, and sweet will
be the alms bestowed by the hand of weeping sympathy!



SCENE II.

   The former; FERDINAND.

LOUISA (who perceives him first, throws herself shrieking into MILLER'S
arms). God! There he is! I am lost!

MILLER. Who? Where?

LOUISA (points, with averted face, to the MAJOR, and presses closer to
her father). 'Tis he! 'Tis he! himself! Look round, father, look
round!--he comes to murder me!

MILLER (perceives him and starts back). How, baron? You here?

FERDINAND (approaches slowly, stands opposite to LOUISA, and fixes a
stern and piercing look upon her. After a pause, he says). Stricken
conscience, I thank thee! Thy confession is dreadful, but swift and
true, and spares me the torment of an explanation! Good evening, Miller!

MILLER. For God's sake! baron, what seek you? What brings you hither?
What means this surprise?

FERDINAND. I knew a time when the day was divided into seconds, when
eagerness for my presence hung upon the weights of the tardy clock, and
when every pulse-throb was counted until the moment of my coming. How is
it that I now surprise?

MILLER. Oh, leave us, leave us, baron! If but one spark of humanity
still linger in your bosom;--if you seek not utterly to destroy her whom
you profess to love, fly from this house, stay not one moment longer.
The blessing of God deserted us when your foot first crossed its
threshold. You have brought misery under a roof where all before was joy
and happiness. Are you not yet content? Do you seek to deepen the wound
which your fatal passion has planted in the heart of my only child?

FERDINAND. Strange father, I have come to bring joyful tidings to your
daughter.

MILLER. Perchance fresh hopes, to add to her despair. Away, away, thou
messenger of ill! Thy looks belie thy words.

FERDINAND. At length the goal of my hopes appears in view! Lady
Milford, the most fearful obstacle to our love, has this moment fled the
land. My father sanctions my choice. Fate grows weary of persecuting
us, and our propitious stars now blaze in the ascendant--I am come to
fulfil my plighted troth, and to lead my bride to the altar.

MILLER. Dost thou hear him, my child? Dost thou hear him mock at thy
cheated hopes? Oh, truly, baron! It is so worthy of the deceiver to
make a jest of his own crime!

FERDINAND. You think I am jesting? By my honor I am not! My
protestations are as true as the love of my Louisa, and I will keep them
as sacred as she has kept her oaths. Nothing to me is more sacred. Can
you still doubt? Still no joyful blush upon the cheek of my fair bride?
'Tis strange! Falsehood must needs be here the current coin, since truth
finds so little credit. You mistrust my words, it seems? Then read this
written testimony. (He throws LOUISA her letter to the MARSHAL. She
opens it, and sinks upon the floor pale as death.)

MILLER (not observing this). What can this mean, baron? I do not
understand you.

FERDINAND. (leads him to LOUISA). But your daughter has understood me
well.

MILLER (throws himself on his knees beside her). Oh, God! my child!

FERDINAND. Pale as a corpse! 'Tis thus your daughter pleases me the
best. Your demure and virtuous daughter was never half so lovely as with
that deathlike paleness. The blast of the day of judgment, which strips
the varnish from every lie, has wafted the painted colors from her cheek,
or the juggler might have cheated even the angels of light. This is her
fairest countenance. Now for the first time do I see it in its truth.
Let me kiss it. (He approaches her.)

MILLER. Back! Away, boy! Trifle not with a father's feelings. I could
not defend her from your caresses, but I can from your insults.

FERDINAND. What wouldst thou, old man? With thee I have naught to do.
Engage not in a game so irrevocably lost. Or hast thou, too, been wiser
than I thought? Hast thou employed the wisdom of thy sixty years in
pandering to thy daughter's amours, and disgraced those hoary locks with
the office of a pimp? Oh! if it be not so, wretched old man, then lay
thyself down and die. There is still time. Thou mayest breathe by last
in the sweet delusion, "I was a happy father!" Wait but a moment longer
and thine own hand will dash to her infernal home this poisonous viper;
thou wilt curse the gift, and him who gave it, and sink to the grave in
blasphemy and despair. (To LOUISA.) Speak, wretched one, speak! Didst
thou write this letter?

MILLER (to LOUISA, impressively). For God's sake, daughter, forget not!
forget not!

LOUISA. Oh, father--that letter!

FERDINAND. Oh! that it should have fallen into the wrong hands. Now
blessed be the accident! It has effected more than the most consummate
prudence, and will at the day of judgment avail more than the united
wisdom of sages. Accident, did I say? Oh! Providence directs, when a
sparrow falls, why not when a devil is unmasked? But I will be answered!
Didst thou write that letter?

MILLER (to LOUISA, in a tone of entreaty). Be firm, my child, be firm!
But a single "Yes," and all will be over.

FERDINAND. Excellent! excellent! The father, too, is deceived! All,
all are deceived by her! Look, how the perfidious one stands there; even
her tongue refuses participation in her last lie. I adjure thee by that
God so terrible and true--didst thou write that letter?

LOUISA (after a painful struggle, with firmness and decision). I did!

FERDINAND (stands aghast). No! As my soul liveth, thou hast lied. Even
innocence itself, when extended on the rack, confesses crime which it
never committed--I ask too passionately. Is it not so, Louisa? Thou
didst but confess, because I asked passionately?

LOUISA. I confessed the truth!

FERDINAND. No, I tell thee! No! no! Thou didst not write that letter!
It is not like thy hand! And, even though it were, why should it be more
difficult to counterfeit a writing than to undo a heart? Tell me truly,
Louisa! Yet no, no, do not! Thou mightest say yes again, and then I
were lost forever. A lie, Louisa! A lie! Oh! if thou didst but know
one now--if thou wouldst utter it with that open angelic mien--if thou
wouldst but persuade mine ear and eye, though it should deceive my heart
ever so monstrously! Oh, Louisa! Then might truth depart in the same
breath--depart from our creation, and the sacred cause itself henceforth
bow her stiff neck to the courtly arts of deception.

LOUISA. By the Almighty God! by Him who is so terrible and true! I did!

FERDINAND (after a pause, with the expression of the most heartfelt
sorrow). Woman! Woman! With what a face thou standest now before me!
Offer Paradise with that look, and even in the regions of the damned thou
wilt find no purchaser. Didst thou know what thou wert to me, Louisa?
Impossible! No! thou knewest not that thou wert my all--all! 'Tis a
poor insignificant word! but eternity itself can scarcely circumscribe
it. Within it systems of worlds can roll their mighty orbs. All! and to
sport with it so wickedly. Oh, 'tis horrible.

LOUISA. Baron von Walter, you have heard my confession! I have
pronounced my own condemnation! Now go! Fly from a house where you have
been so unhappy.

FERDINAND. 'Tis well! 'tis well! You see I am calm; calm, too, they
say, is the shuddering land through which the plague has swept. I am
calm. Yet ere I go, Louisa, one more request! It shall be my last. My
brain burns with fever! I need refreshment! Will you make me some
lemonade?

                     [Exit LOUISA.



SCENE III.

   FERDINAND and MILLER.

   They both pace up and down without speaking, on opposite sides
   of the room, for some minutes.

MILLER (standing still at length, and regarding the MAJOR with a
sorrowful air). Dear baron, perhaps it may alleviate your distress to
say that I feel for you most deeply.

FERDINAND. Enough of this, Miller. (Silence again for some moments.)
Miller, I forget what first brought me to your house. What was the
occasion of it?

MILLER. How, baron? Don't you remember? You came to take lessons on
the flute.

FERDINAND (suddenly). And I beheld his daughter! (Another pause.) You
have not kept your faith with me, friend! You were to provide me with
repose for my leisure hours; but you betrayed me and sold me scorpions.
(Observing MILLER'S agitation.) Tremble not, good old man! (falling
deeply affected on his neck)--the fault was none of thine!

MILLER (wiping his eyes). Heaven knows, it was not!

FERDINAND (traversing the room, plunged in the most gloomy meditation).
Strange! Oh! beyond conception strange, are the Almighty's dealings with
us! How often do terrific weights hang upon slender, almost invisible
threads! Did man but know that he should eat death in a particular
apple! Hem! Could he but know that! (He walks a few more turns; then
stops suddenly, and grasps MILLER'S hand with strong emotion.) Friend, I
have paid dearly for thy lessons--and thou, too, hast been no gainer--
perhaps mayst even lose thy all. (Quitting him dejectedly.) Unhappy
flute-playing, would that it never entered my brain!

MILLER (striving to repress his feelings). The lemonade is long in
coming. I will inquire after it, if you will excuse me.

FERDINAND. No hurry, dear Miller! (Muttering to himself.) At least to
her father there is none. Stay here a moment. What was I about to ask
you? Ay, I remember! Is Louisa your only daughter? Have you no other
child?

MILLER (warmly). I have no other, baron, and I wish for no other. That
child is my only solace in this world, and on her have I embarked my
whole stock of affection.

FERDINAND (much agitated). Ha! Pray see for the drink, good Miller!

                        [Exit MILLER.



SCENE IV.

   FERDINAND alone.

FERDINAND. His only child! Dost thou feel that, murderer? His only
one! Murderer, didst thou hear, his only one? The man has nothing in
God's wide world but his instrument and that only daughter! And wilt
thou rob him of her?

Rob him? Rob a beggar of his last pittance? Break the lame man's
crutch, and cast the fragments at his feet? How? Have I the heart to do
this? And when he hastens home, impatient to reckon in his daughter's
smiles the whole sum of his happiness; and when he enters the chamber,
and there lies the rose--withered--dead--crushed--his last, his only, his
sustaining hope. Ha! And when he stands before her, and all nature
looks on in breathless horror, while his vacant eye wanders hopelessly
through the gloom of futurity, and seeks God, but finds him nowhere, and
then returns disappointed and despairing! Great God! and has not my
father, too, an only son? an only child, but not his only treasure.
(After a pause.) Yet stay! What will the old man lose? She who could
wantonly jest with the most sacred feelings of love, will she make a
father happy? She cannot! She will not! And I deserve thanks for
crushing this viper ere the parent feels its sting.



SCENE V.

   MILLER returning, and FERDINAND.

MILLER. You shall be served instantly, baron! The poor thing is sitting
without, weeping as though her heart would break! Your drink will be
mingled with her tears.

FERDINAND. 'Twere well for her were it only with tears! We were
speaking of my lessons, Miller. (Taking out a purse.) I remember that I
am still in your debt.

MILLER. How? What? Go along with you, baron! What do you take me for?
There is time enough for payment. Do not put such an affront on me; we
are not together for the last time, please God.

FERDINAND. Who can tell? Take your money. It is for life or death.

MILLER (laughing). Oh! for the matter of that, baron! As regards that I
don't think I should run much risk with you!

FERDINAND. You would run the greatest. Have you never heard that youths
have died. That damsels and youths have died, the children of hope, the
airy castles of their disappointed parents? What is safe from age and
worms has often perished by a thunderbolt. Even your Louisa is not
immortal.

MILLER. God gave her to me.

FERDINAND. Hear me! I say to you your Louisa is not immortal. That
daughter is the apple of your eye; you hang upon her with your whole
heart and soul. Be prudent, Miller! None but a desperate gamester
stakes his all upon a single cast. The merchant would be called a madman
who embarked his whole fortune in one ship. Think upon this, and
remember that I warned you. But why do you not take your money?

MILLER. How, baron, how? All that enormous purse? What can you be
thinking of?

FERDINAND. Upon my debt! There! (Throws a heavy purse on the table;
some gold drops out.) I cannot hold the dross to eternity.

MILLER (astonished). Mercy on us! what is this? The sound was not of
silver! (Goes to the table and cries out in astonishment.) In heaven's
name, baron, what means this? What are you about? You must be out of
your mind! (Clasping his hands.) There it lies! or I am bewitched.
'Tis damnable! I feel it now; the beauteous, shining, glorious heap of
gold! No, Satan, thou shalt not catch my soul with this!

FERDINAND. Have you drunk old wine, or new, Miller?

MILLER (violently). Death and furies! Look yourself, then. It is gold!

FERDINAND. And what of that?

MILLER. Let me implore you, baron! In the name of all the saints in
heaven, I entreat you! It is gold!

FERDINAND. An extraordinary thing, it must be admitted.

MILLER (after a pause; addressing him with emotion). Noble sir, I am a
plain, straightforward man--do you wish to tempt me to some piece of
knavery?--for, heaven knows, that so much gold cannot be got honestly!

FERDINAND (moved). Make yourself quite easy, dear Miller! You have well
earned the money. God forbid that I should use it to the corruption of
your conscience!

MILLER (jumping about like a madman). It is mine, then! Mine indeed!
Mine with the knowledge and consent of God! (Hastening to the door.)
Daughter, wife, hurrah, come hither! (Returning.) But, for heaven's
sake, how have I all at once deserved this awful treasure? How am I to
earn it? How repay it, eh?

FERDINAND. Not by your music lessons, Miller! With this gold do I pay
you for (stops suddenly, and shudders)--I pay you--(after a pause, with
emotion)--for my three months' unhappy dream of your daughter!

MILLER (taking his hand and pressing it affectionately). Most gracious
sir! were you some poor and low-born citizen, and my daughter refused
your love, I would pierce her heart with my own hands. (Returning to the
gold in a sorrowful tone.) But then I shall have all, and you nothing--
and I should have to give up all this glorious heap again, eh?

FERDINAND. Let not that thought distress you, friend. I am about to
quit this country, and in that to which I am journeying such coin is not
current.

MILLER (still fixing his eyes in transport on the money). Mine, then, it
remains? Mine? Yet it grieves me that you are going to leave us. Only
just wait a little and you shall see how I'll come out! I'll hold up my
head with the best of them. (Puts on his hat with an air, and struts up
and down the room.) I'll give my lessons in the great concert-room, and
won't I smoke away at the best puyke varinas--and, when you catch me
again fiddling at the penny-hop, may the devil take me!

FERDINAND. Stay, Miller! Be silent, and gather up your gold.
(Mysteriously.) Keep silence only for this one evening, and do me the
favor henceforward to give no more music lessons.

MILLER (still more vehemently grasping his hand, full of inward joy).
And my daughter, baron! my daughter! (Letting go.) No, no! Money does
not make the man--whether I feed on vegetables or on partridges, enough
is enough, and this coat will do very well as long as the sunbeams don't
peep in at the elbows. To me money is mere dross. But my girl shall
benefit by the blessing; whatever wish I can read in her eyes shall be
gratified.

FERDINAND (suddenly interrupting him). Oh! silence! silence!

MILLER (still more warmly). And she shall learn to speak French like a
born native, and to dance minuets, and to sing, so that people shall read
of her in the newspapers; and she shall wear a cap like the judge's
daughter, and a kidebarri [meaning, no doubt, Cul de Paris, a bustle], as
they call it; and the fiddler's daughter shall be talked of for twenty
miles round.

FERDINAND. (seizing his hand in extreme agitation). No more! no more!
For God's sake be silent! Be silent but for this one night; 'tis the
only favor I ask of you.



SCENE VI.

   LOUISA with a glass of lemonade; the former.

LOUISA (her eyes swelled with weeping, and trembling voice, while she
presents the glass to FERDINAND). Tell me, if it be not to your taste.

FERDINAND (takes the glass, places it on the table, and turns to MILLER).
Oh! I had almost forgotten! Good Miller, I have a request to make. Will
you do me a little favor?

MILLER. A thousand with pleasure! What are your commands?

FERDINAND. My father will expect me at table. Unfortunately I am in
very ill humor. 'Twould be insupportable to me just now to mix in
society. Will you go to my father and excuse my absence?

LOUISA (terrified, interrupts him hastily). Oh, let me go!

MILLER. Am I to see the president himself?

FERDINAND. Not himself. Give your message to one of the servants in the
ante-chamber. Here is my watch as a credential that I sent you. I shall
be here when you return. You will wait for an answer.

LOUISA (very anxiously). Cannot I be the bearer of your message?

FERDINAND (to MILLER, who is going). Stay--one thing more! Here is a
letter to my father, which I received this evening enclosed in one to
myself. Perhaps on business of importance. You may as well deliver it
at the same time.

MILLER (going). Very well, baron!

LOUISA (stopping him, and speaking in a tone of the most exquisite
terror). But, dear father, I could do all this very well! Pray let
me go!

MILLER. It is night, my child! and you must not venture out alone!

                           [Exit.

FERDINAND. Light your father down, Louisa. (LOUISA takes a candle and
follows MILLER. FERDINAND in the meantime approaches the table and
throws poison into the lemonade). Yes! she must die! The higher powers
look down, and nod their terrible assent. The vengeance of heaven
subscribes to my decree. Her good angels forsake her, and leave her to
her fate!



SCENE VII.

   FERDINAND and LOUISA.

   LOUISA re-enters slowly with the light, places it on the table,
   and stops on the opposite side of the room, her eyes fixed on
   the ground, except when she raises them to him with timid, stolen
   glances. He stands opposite, looking steadfastly on the earth--a
   long and deep silence.

LOUISA. If you will accompany me, Baron von Walter, I will try a piece
on the harpsichord! (She opens the instrument. FERDINAND makes no
answer. A pause.)

LOUISA. You owe me a revenge at chess. Will you play a game with me,
Baron von Walter? (Another pause.)

LOUISA. I have begun the pocketbook, baron, which I promised to
embroider for you. Will you look at the design? (Still a pause.)

LOUISA. Oh! I am very wretched!

FERDINAND (without changing his attitude). That may well be!

LOUISA. It is not my fault, Baron von Walter, that you are so badly
entertained!

FERDINAND (with an insulting laugh). You are not to blame for my bashful
modesty----

LOUISA. I am quite aware that we are no longer fit companions. I
confess that I was terrified when you sent away my father. I believe,
Baron von Walter, that this moment is equally insupportable to us both.
Permit me to ask some of my acquaintances to join us.

FERDINAND. Yes, pray do so! And I too will go and invite some of mine.

LOUISA (looking at him with surprise). Baron von Walter!

FERDINAND (very spitefully). By my honor, the most fortunate idea that
in our situation could ever enter mortal brain? Let us change this
wearisome duet into sport and merriment, and by the aid of certain
gallantries, revenge ourselves on the caprices of love.

LOUISA. You are merry, Baron von Walter!

FERDINAND. Oh! wonderfully so! The very street-boys would hunt me
through the market-place for a merry-andrew! In fact, Louisa, your
example has inspired me--you shall be my teacher. They are fools who
prate of endless affection--never-ending sameness grows flat and insipid
--variety alone gives zest to pleasure. Have with you, Louisa, we are
now of one mind. We will skip from amour to amour, whirl from vice to
vice; you in one direction, I in another. Perhaps I may recover my lost
tranquillity in some brothel. Perhaps, when our merry race is run, and
we become two mouldering skeletons, chance again may bring us together
with the most pleasing surprise, and we may, as in a melodrama, recognize
each other by a common feature of disease--that mother whom her children
can never disavow. Then, perhaps, disgust and shame may create that
union between us which could not be effected by the most tender love.

LOUISA. Oh, Walter! Walter! Thou art already unhappy--wilt thou
deserve to be so?

FERDINAND (muttering passionately through his teeth). Unhappy? Who told
thee so? Woman, thou art too vile to have any feelings of thine own;
how, then, canst thou judge of the feelings of others? Unhappy, did she
say?--ha! that word would call my anger from the grave! She knew that I
must become unhappy. Death and damnation! she knew it, and yet betrayed
me! Look to it, serpent! That was thy only chance of forgiveness. This
confession has condemned thee. Till now I thought to palliate thy crime
with thy simplicity, and in my contempt thou hadst well nigh escaped my
vengeance (seizing the glass hastily). Thou wert not thoughtless, then--
thou wert not simple--thou wert nor more nor less than a devil! (He
drinks.) The drink is bad, like thy soul! Taste it!

LOUISA. Oh, heavens! 'Twas not without reason that I dreaded this
meeting.

FERDINAND (imperiously). Drink! I say.

   [LOUISA, offended, takes the glass and drinks. The moment she
   raises the cup to her lips, FERDINAND turns away with a sudden
   paleness, and recedes to the further corner of the chamber.]

LOUISA. The lemonade is good.

FERDINAND (his face averted and shuddering.) Much good may it do thee!

LOUISA (sets down the glass). Oh! could you but know, Walter, how
cruelly you wrong me!

FERDINAND. Indeed!

LOUISA. A time will come, Walter----

FERDINAND (advancing). Oh! we have done with time.

LOUISA. When the remembrance of this evening will lie heavy on your
heart!

FERDINAND (begins to walk to and fro more vehemently, and to become more
agitated; he throws away his sash and sword.) Farewell the prince's
service!

LOUISA. My God! what mean you!

FERDINAND. I am hot, and oppressed. I would be more at ease.

LOUISA. Drink! drink! it will cool you.

FERDINAND. That it will, most effectually. The strumpet, though, is
kind-hearted! Ay, ay, so are they all!

LOUISA (rushing into his arms with the deepest expression of love). That
to thy Louisa, Ferdinand?

FERDINAND (thrusting her from him). Away! away! Hence with those soft
and melting eyes! they subdue me. Come to me, snake, in all thy
monstrous terrors! Spring upon me, scorpion! Display thy hideous folds,
and rear thy proud coils to heaven! Stand before my eyes, hateful as the
abyss of hell e'er saw thee! but not in that angel form! Take any shape
but that! 'Tis too late. I must crush thee like a viper, or despair!
Mercy on thy soul!

LOUISA. Oh! that it should come to this!

FERDINAND (gazing on her). So fair a work of the heavenly artist! Who
would believe it? Who can believe it? (Taking her hand and elevating
it.) I will not arraign thy ordinations, oh! incomprehensible Creator!
Yet wherefore didst thou pour thy poison into such beauteous vessels?
Can crime inhabit so fair a region? Oh! 'tis strange! 'tis passing
strange!

LOUISA. To hear this, and yet be compelled to silence!

FERDINAND. And that soft, melodious voice! How can broken chords
discourse such harmony? (Gazing rapturously upon her figure.) All so
lovely! so full of symmetry! so divinely perfect! Throughout the whole
such signs that 'twas the favorite work of God! By heaven, as though all
mankind had been created but to practise the Creator, ere he modelled
this his masterpiece! And that the Almighty should have failed in the
soul alone? Is it possible that this monstrous abortion of nature should
have escaped as perfect? (Quitting her hastily.) Or did God see an
angel's form rising beneath his chisel, and balance the error by giving
her a heart wicked in proportion?

LOUISA. Alas for this criminal wilfulness! Rather than confess his own
rashness, he accuses the wisdom of heaven!

FERDINAND (falls upon her neck, weeping bitterly). Yet once more, my
Louisa! Yet once again, as on the day of our first kiss, when you
faltered forth the name of Ferdinand, and the first endearing "Thou!"
trembled on thy burning lips. Oh! a harvest of endless and unutterable
joys seemed to me at that moment to be budding forth. There lay eternity
like a bright May-day before our eyes; thousands of golden years, fair as
brides, danced around our souls. Then was I so happy! Oh! Louisa!
Louisa! Louisa! Why hast thou used me thus?

LOUISA. Weep, Walter, weep! Your compassion will be more just towards
me than your wrath.

FERDINAND. You deceive yourself. These are not nature's tears! not that
warm delicious dew which flows like balsam on the wounded soul, and
drives the chilled current of feeling swiftly along its course. They are
solitary ice-cold drops! the awful, eternal farewell of my love! (With
fearful solemnity, laying his hand on her head.) They are tears for thy
soul, Louisa! tears for the Deity, whose inexhaustible beneficence has
here missed its aim, and whose noblest work is cast away thus wantonly.
Oh methinks the whole universe should clothe itself in black, and weep at
the fearful example now passing in its centre. 'Tis but a common sorrow
when mortals fall and Paradise is lost; but, when the plague extends its
ravages to angels, then should there be wailing throughout the whole
creation!

LOUISA. Drive me not to extremities, Walter. I have fortitude equal to
most, but it must not be tried by a more than human test. Walter! one
word, and then--we part forever. A dreadful fatality has deranged the
language of our hearts. Dared I unclose these lips, Walter, I could tell
thee things! I could----But cruel fate has alike fettered my tongue and
my heart, and I must endure in silence, even though you revile me as a
common strumpet.

FERDINAND. Dost thou feel well, Louisa?

LOUISA. Why that question?

FERDINAND. It would grieve me shouldst thou be called hence with a lie
upon thy lips.

LOUISA. I implore you, Walter----

FERDINAND (in violent agitation). No! no! That revenge were too
satanic! No! God forbid! I will not extend my anger beyond the grave!
Louisa, didst thou love the marshal? Thou wilt leave this room no more!

LOUISA (sitting down). Ask what you will. I shall give no answer.

FERDINAND (in a solemn voice). Take heed for thy immortal soul! Louisa!
Didst thou love the marshal? Thou wilt leave this room no more!

LOUISA. I shall give no answer.

FERDINAND (throwing himself on his knees before her in the deepest
emotion). Louisa! Didst thou love the marshal? Before this light burns
out--thou wilt stand--before the throne of God!

LOUISA (starting from her seat in terror). Merciful Jesus! what was
that? And I feel so ill! (She falls back into her chair.)

FERDINAND. Already? Oh, woman, thou eternal paradox! thy delicate
nerves can sport with crimes at which manhood trembles; yet one poor
grain of arsenic destroys them utterly!

LOUISA. Poison! poison! Oh! Almighty God!

FERDINAND. I fear it is so! Thy lemonade was seasoned in hell! Thou
hast pledged death in the draught!

LOUISA. To die! To die! All-merciful God! Poison in my drink! And to
die! Oh! have mercy on my soul, thou Father in heaven!

FERDINAND. Ay, be that thy chief concern: I will join thee in that
prayer.

LOUISA. And my mother! My father, too! Saviour of the world! My poor
forlorn father! Is there then no hope? And I so young, and yet no hope?
And must I die so soon?

FERDINAND. There is no hope! None!--you are already doomed! But be
calm. We shall journey together.

LOUISA. Thou too, Ferdinand? Poison, Ferdinand! From thee! Oh! God
forgive him! God of mercy, lay not this crime on him!

FERDINAND. Look to your own account. I fear it stands but ill.

LOUISA. Ferdinand! Ferdinand! Oh! I can be no longer silent. Death--
death absolves all oaths. Ferdinand! Heaven and earth contain nothing
more unfortunate than thou! I die innocent, Ferdinand!

FERDINAND (terrified). Ah! What do I hear? Would she rush into the
presence of her Maker with a lie on her lips?

LOUISA. I lie not! I do not lie! In my whole life I never lied but
once! Ugh! what an icy shivering creeps through my veins! When I wrote
that letter to the marshal.

FERDINAND. Ha! That letter! Blessed be to God! Now I am myself again!

LOUISA (her voice every moment becomes more indistinct. Her fingers
tremble with a convulsive motion). That letter. Prepare yourself for a
terrible disclosure! My hand wrote what my heart abhorred. It was
dictated by your father! (Ferdinand stands like a statue petrified with
horror. After a long silence, he falls upon the floor as if struck by
lightning.) Oh! that sorrowful act!----Ferdinand--I was compelled--
forgive me--thy Louisa would have preferred death--but my father--his
life in danger! They were so crafty in their villany.

FERDINAND (starting furiously from the ground). God be thanked! The
poison spares me yet! (He seizes his sword.)

LOUISA (growing weaker by degrees). Alas! what would you? He is thy
father!

FERDINAND (in the most ungovernable fury). A murderer--the murderer of
his son; he must along with us that the Judge of the world may pour his
wrath on the guilty alone. (Hastening away).

LOUISA. My dying Redeemer pardoned his murderers,--may God pardon thee
and thy father! (She dies.)

FERDINAND (turns quickly round, and perceives her in the convulsions of
death, throws himself distractedly on the body). Stay! stay! Fly not
from me, angel of light! (Takes her hand, but lets it fall again
instantly.) Cold! cold and damp! her soul has flown! (Starting up
suddenly.) God of my Louisa! Mercy! Mercy for the most accursed of
murderers! Such was her dying prayer! How fair, how lovely even in
death! The pitying destroyer has touched gently on those heavenly
features. That sweetness was no mask--the hand of death even has not
removed it! (After a pause.) But how is this? why do I feel nothing.
Will the vigor of my youth save me? Thankless care! That shall it not.
(He seizes the glass.)



SCENE VIII.

   FERDINAND, the PRESIDENT, WORM, and SERVANTS, who all rush in alarm
   into the room. Afterwards MILLER, with a crowd, and OFFICERS of
   justice, who assemble in the background.

PRESIDENT (an open letter in his hand). My son! what means this? I
never can believe----

FERDINAND (throwing the glass at his feet). Convince thyself, murderer!
(The PRESIDENT staggers back. All stand speechless. A dreadful pause.)

PRESIDENT. My son! Why hast thou done this?

FERDINAND (without looking at him). Why, to be sure I ought first to
have asked the statesman whether the trick suited his cards. Admirably
fine and skilful, I confess, was the scheme of jealousy to break the bond
of our hearts! The calculation shows a master-mind; 'twas pity only that
indignant love would not move on wires like thy wooden puppets.

PRESIDENT (looking round the circle with rolling eyes). Is there no one
here who weeps for a despairing father?

MILLER (calling behind the scenes). Let me in! For God's sake, let
me in!

FERDINAND. She is now a saint in heaven! Her cause is in the hands of
another! (He opens the door for MILLER, who rushes in, followed by
officers of justice and a crowd of people.)

MILLER (in the most dreadful alarm). My child! My child! Poison, they
cry--poison has been here! My daughter! Where art thou?

FERDINAND (leading him between the PRESIDENT and LOUISA'S corpse). I am
innocent. Thank this man for the deed.

MILLER (throwing himself on the body). Oh, Jesus!

FERDINAND. In few words, father!--they begin to be precious to me. I
have been robbed of my life by villanous artifice--robbed of it by you!
How I may stand with God I tremble to think, but a deliberate villain I
have never been! Be my final judgment what it will, may it not fall on
thee! But I have committed murder! (In a loud and fearful voice.) A
murder whose weight thou canst not hope that I should drag alone before
the judgment-seat of God. Here I solemnly bequeath to thee the heaviest,
the bloodiest part; how thou mayst answer it be that thy care! (Leading
him to LOUISA.) Here, barbarian! Feast thine eyes on the terrible
fruits of thy intrigues! Upon this face thy name is inscribed in the
convulsions of death, and will be registered by the destroying angel!
May a form like this draw thy curtain when thou sleepest, and grasp thee
with its clay-cold hand! May a form like this flit before thy soul when
thou diest, and drive away thy expiring prayer for mercy! May a form
like this stand by thy grave at the resurrection, and before the throne
of God when he pronounces thy doom! (He faints, the servants receive him
in their arms.)

PRESIDENT (extending his arms convulsively towards heaven). Not from me,
Judge of the world. Ask not these souls from me, but from him!
(Pointing to WORM.)

WORM (starting). From me?

PRESIDENT. Accursed villain, from thee! From thee, Satan! Thou gavest
the serpent's counsel! thine be the responsibility; their blood be not on
my head, but on thine!

WORM. On mine! on mine! (laughing hysterically.) Oh! Excellent! Now I
understand the gratitude of devils. On mine, thou senseless villain!
Was he my son? Was I thy master? Mine the responsibility? Ha! by this
sight which freezes the very marrow in my bones! Mine it shall be! I
will brave destruction, but thou shalt perish with me. Away! away! Cry
murder in the streets! Awaken justice! Bind me, officers! Lead me
hence! I will discover secrets which shall make the hearer's blood run
cold. (Going.)

PRESIDENT (detaining him). Surely, madman, thou wilt not dare?

WORM (tapping him on the shoulder). I will, though,--comrade, I will! I
am mad, 'tis true; but my madness is thy work, and now I will act like a
madman! Arm in arm with thee will I to the scaffold! Arm in arm with
thee to hell! Oh! how it tickles my fancy, villain, to be damned with
thee! (The officers carry him off.)

MILLER (who has lain upon LOUISA'S corpse in silent anguish, starts
suddenly up, and throws the purse before the MAJOR'S feet.) Poisoner,
take back thy accursed gold! Didst thou think to purchase my child with
it? (Rushes distractedly out of the chamber.)

FERDINAND (in a voice scarcely audible). Follow him! He is desperate.
The gold must be taken care of for his use; 'tis the dreadful
acknowlegment of my debt to him. Louisa! I come! Farewell! On this
altar let me breathe my last.

PRESIDENT (recovering from his stupor). Ferdinand! my son! Not one last
look for a despairing father? (FERDINAND is laid by the side of LOUISA.)

FERDINAND. My last must sue to God for mercy on myself.

PRESIDENT (falling down before him in the most dreadful agony). The
Creator and the created abandon me! Not one last look to cheer me in the
hour of death! (FERDINAND stretches out his trembling hand to him, and
expires.)