MOOR. Sir, as securely as upon my knavery. If a single head escape me,
pluck out my eyes and shoot at sparrows with them. (Going.)

FIESCO. Stop! I've another piece of business for thee. The arrival of
the galleys will excite suspicion in the city. If any one inquire of
thee about them, say thou hast heard it rumored that thy master intends
to cruise against the Turks. Dost thou understand me?

MOOR. Yes, yes--the beards of the Mussulmen at the masthead, but the
devil for a steersman. (Going.)

FIESCO. Gently--one more precaution. Gianettino has new reasons to hate
me and lay snares against my life. Go--sound the fellows of thy trade;
see if thou canst not smell out some plot on foot against me. Visit the
brothels--Doria often frequents them. The secrets of the cabinet are
sometimes lodged within the folds of a petticoat. Promise these ladies
golden customers. Promise them thy master. Let nothing be too sacred to
be used in gaining the desired information.

MOOR. Ha! luckily I am acquainted with one Diana Buononi, whom I have
served above a year as procurer. The other day I saw the Signor
Lomellino coming out of her house.

FIESCO. That suits my purpose well. This very Lomellino is the key to
all Doria's follies. To-morrow thou shalt go thither. Perhaps he is
to-night the Endymion of this chaste Diana.

MOOR. One more question, my lord. Suppose the people ask me--and that
they will, I'll pawn my soul upon it--suppose they ask, "What does Fiesco
think of Genoa?" Would you still wear the mask?--or--how shall I answer
them?

FIESCO. Answer? Hum! The fruit is ripe. The pains of labor announce
the approaching birth. Answer that Genoa lies upon the block, and that
thy master's name is--John Louis Fiesco----

MOOR (with an air of satisfaction). That, by my rogue's honor, shall be
done to your heart's content. Now be wide awake, friend Hassan! First
to a tavern! My feet have work enough cut out for them. I must coax my
stomach to intercede with my legs. (Hastening away--returns.) Oh,
apropos! My chattering made me almost forget one circumstance. You
wished to know what passed between Calcagno and your wife. A refusal,
sir--that's all.

                      [Runs off.



SCENE XVI.

   FIESCO alone.

FIESCO. I pity thee, Calcagno. Didst thou think I should, upon so
delicate a point, have been thus careless had I not relied in perfect
security on my wife's virtue and my own deserts? Yet I welcome this
passion. Thou art a good soldier. It shall procure me thy arm for the
destruction of Doria. (Walking up and down.) Now, Doria, to the scene
of action! All the machines are ready for the grand attempt--the
instruments are tuned for the terrific concert. Naught is wanting but to
throw off the mask, and show Fiesco to the patriots of Genoa. (Some
persons are heard approaching.) Ha! Visitors! Who can be coming to
disturb me?



SCENE XVII.

   FIESCO, VERRINA, ROMANO, with a picture; SACCO, BOURGOGNINO,
   CALCAGNO.

FIESCO (receiving them with great affability). Welcome, my worthy
friends! What important business brings you all hither? Are you, too,
come, my dear brother, Verrina? I should almost have forgotten you, had
you not oftener been present to my thoughts than to my sight. I think I
have not seen you since my last entertainment.

VERRINA. Do not count the hours, Fiesco! Heavy burdens have in that
interval weighed down my aged head. But enough of this----

FIESCO. Not enough to satisfy the anxiety of friendship. You must
inform me farther when we are alone. (Addressing BOURGOGNINO.) Welcome,
brave youth! Our acquaintance is yet green; but my affection for thee is
already ripe. Has your esteem for me improved?

BOURGOGNINO. 'Tis on the increase.

FIESCO. Verrina, it is reported that this brave young man is to be your
son-in-law. Receive my warmest approbation of your choice. I have
conversed with him but once; and yet I should be proud to call him my
relation.

VERRINA. That judgment makes me of my daughter vain.

FIESCO (to the others). Sacco, Calcagno--all unfrequent visitors--I
should fear the absence of Genoa's noblest ornaments were a proof that I
had been deficient in hospitality. And here I greet a fifth guest,
unknown to me, indeed, but sufficiently recommended by this worthy
circle.

ROMANO. He, my lord, is simply a painter, by name Julio Romano, who
lives by theft and counterfeit of Nature's charms. His pencil is his
only escutcheon; and he now comes hither (bowing profoundly) to seek the
manly outlines of a Brutus.

FIESCO. Give me your hand, Romano! I love the mistress of your soul
with a holy fire. Art is the right hand of Nature. The latter only gave
us being, but 'twas the former made us men. What are the subjects of
your labor?

ROMANO. Scenes from the heroic ages of antiquity. At Florence is my
dying Hercules, at Venice my Cleopatra, the raging Ajax at Rome, where,
in the Vatican, the heroes of former times rise again to light.

FIESCO. And what just now employs you?

ROMANO. Alas! my lord, I've thrown away my pencil. The lamp of genius
burns quicker than the lamp of life. Beyond a certain moment the flame
flickers and dies. This is my last production.

FIESCO (in a lively manner). It could not come more opportune. I feel
to-day a more than usual cheerfulness. A sentiment of calm delight
pervades my being, and fits it to receive the impression of Nature's
beauties. Let us view your picture. I shall feast upon the sight.
Come, friends, we will devote ourselves entirely to the artist. Place
your picture.

VERRINA (apart to the others). Now, Genoese, observe!

ROMANO (placing the picture). The light must fall upon it thus. Draw up
that curtain--let fall the other,--right. (Standing on one side). It is
the story of Virginia and Appius Claudius. (A long pause; all
contemplate the picture.)

VERRINA (with enthusiasm). Strike, aged father! Dost thou tremble,
tyrant? How pale you stand there, Romans! Imitate him, senseless
Romans! The sword yet glitters! Imitate me, senseless Genoese! Down
with Doria! Down with him! (Striking at the picture.)

FIESCO (to the painter, smiling). Could you desire greater applause?
Your art has transformed this old man into a youthful enthusiast.

VERRINA (exhausted). Where am I! What has become of them! They
vanished like bubbles. You here, Fiesco! and the tyrant living!

FIESCO. My friend, amidst this admiration you have overlooked the parts
most truly beauteous. Does this Roman's head thus strike you? Look
there! Observe that damsel--what soft expression! What feminine
delicacy! How sweetly touched are those pale lips! How exquisite that
dying look! Inimitable! Divine, Romano! And that white, dazzling
breast, that heaves with the last pulse of life. Draw more such
beauties, Romano, and I will give up Nature to worship thy creative
fancy.

BOURGOGNINO. Is it thus, Verrina, your hopes are answered?

VERRINA. Take courage, son! The Almighty has rejected the arm of
FIESCO. Upon ours he must rely.

FIESCO (to ROMANO). Well--'tis your last work, Romano. Your powers are
exhausted. Lay down your pencil. Yet, whilst I am admiring the artist,
I forget to satiate on the work. I could stand gazing on it, regardless
of an earthquake. Take away your picture--the wealth of Genoa would
scarcely reach the value of this Virginia. Away with it.

ROMANO. Honor is the artist's noblest reward. I present it to you.
(Offers to go away.)

FIESCO. Stay, Romano! (He walks majestically up and down the room,
seeming to reflect on something of importance. Sometimes he casts a
quick and penetrating glance at the others; at last he takes ROMANO
by the hand, and leads him to the picture.) Come near, painter.
(With dignified pride.) Proudly stand'st thou there because, upon
the dead canvas, thou canst simulate life, and immortalize great deeds
with small endeavor. Thou canst dilate with the poet's fire on the
empty puppet-show of fancy, without heart and without the nerve of
life-inspiring deeds; depose tyrants on canvas, and be thyself a
miserable slave! Thou canst liberate Republics with a dash of the
pencil, yet not break thy own chains! (In a loud and commanding tone.)
Go! Thy work is a mere juggle. Let the semblance give place to reality!
(With haughtiness, overturning the picture.) I have done what thou hast
only painted. (All struck with astonishment; ROMANO carries away the
picture in confusion.)



SCENE XVIII.

   The former, except ROMANO.

FIESCO. Did you suppose the lion slept because he ceased to roar? Did
your vain thoughts persuade you that none but you could feel the chains
of Genoa? That none but you durst break them? Before you knew their
weight, Fiesco had already broken them. (He opens an escritoire, takes
out a parcel of letters, and throws them on the table.) These bring
soldiers from Parma;--these, French money;-these, four galleys from the
Pope. What now is wanting to rouse the tyrant in his lair? Tell me,
what think you wanting? (All stand silent with astonishment.)
Republicans! you waste your time in curses when you should overthrow the
tyrant. (All but VERRINA throw themselves at FIESCO'S feet.)

VERRINA. Fiesco, my spirit bends to thine, but my knee cannot. Thy soul
is great; but--rise, Genoese! (They rise.)

FIESCO. All Genoa was indignant at the effeminate Fiesco; all Genoa
cursed the profligate FIESCO. Genoese! my amours have blinded the
cunning despot. My wild excesses served to guard my plans from the
danger of an imprudent confidence. Concealed beneath the cloak of luxury
the infant plot grew up. Enough--I'm known sufficiently to Genoa in
being known to you. I have attained my utmost wish.

BOURGOGNINO (throwing himself indignantly into a chair). Am I, then,
nothing?

FIESCO. But let us turn from thought to action. All the engines are
prepared--I can storm the city by sea and land. Rome, France, and Parma
cover me; the nobles are disaffected; the hearts of the populace are
mine; I have lulled to sleep the tyrants; the state is ripe for
revolution. We are no longer in the hands of Fortune. Nothing is
wanting. Verrina is lost in thought.

BOURGOGNINO. Patience! I have a word to say, which will more quickly
rouse him than the trumpet of the last day. (To VERRINA--calls out to
him emphatically.) Father! Awake! Thy Bertha will despair.

VERRINA. Who spoke those words? Genoese, to arms!

FIESCO. Think on the means of forwarding our plan. Night has advanced
upon our discourse; Genoa is wrapped in sleep; the tyrant sinks exhausted
beneath the sins of the day. Let us watch o'er both.

BOURGOGNINO. Let us, before we part, consecrate our heroic union by an
embrace! (They form a circle, with joined arms.) Here unite five of the
bravest hearts in Genoa to decide their country's fate. (All embrace
eagerly.) When the universe shall fall asunder, and the eternal sentence
shall cut in twain the bonds of consanguinity and love, then may this
fivefold band of heroes still remain entire! (They separate.)

VERRINA. When shall we next assemble?

FIESCO. At noon to-morrow I'll hear your sentiments.

VERRINA. 'Tis well--at noon to-morrow. Goodnight, Fiesco! Come,
Bourgognino, you will hear something marvellous.

                    [Exeunt VERRINA and BOURGOGNINO.

FIESCO (to the others). Depart by the back gates, that Doria's spies may
not suspect us.

                    [Exeunt SACCO and CALCAGNO.



SCENE XIX. FIESCO, alone.

FIESCO (walking up and down in meditation). What a tumult is in my
breast! What a concourse of dark, uncertain images! Like guilty
wretches stealing out in secret to do some horrid deed, with trembling
steps and blushing faces bent toward the ground, these flattering
phantoms glide athwart my soul. Stay! stay!--let me examine you more
closely. A virtuous thought strengthens the heart of man, and boldly
meets the day. Ha! I know you--robed in the livery of Satan--avaunt!
(A pause; he continues with energy.) Fiesco, the patriot! the Duke
Fiesco! Peace! On this steep precipice the boundaries of virtue
terminate: here heaven and hell are separated. Here have heroes
stumbled, here have they fallen, and left behind a name loaded with
curses--here, too, have heroes paused, here checked their course, and
risen to immortality. (More vehemently.) To know the hearts of Genoa
mine! To govern with a master's hand this formidable state! Oh,
artifice of sin, that masks each devil with an angel's face! Fatal
ambition! Everlasting tempter! Won by thy charms, angels abandoned
heaven, and death sprung from thy embraces. (Shuddering.) Thy syren
voice drew angels from their celestial mansions--man thou ensnarest with
beauty, riches, power. (After a pause, in a firm tone.) To gain a
diadem is great--to reject it is divine! (Resolutely.) Perish the
tyrant! Let Genoa be free--and I (much affected) will be its happiest
citizen.




ACT III.

SCENE I.--Midnight. A dreary wilderness.

   VERRINA and BOURGOGNINO entering.

BOURGOGNINO (stands still). Whither are you leading me, father. The
heavy grief that hung upon your brow when first you bade me follow you
still seems to labor in your panting breast. Break this dreadful
silence! Speak. I will go no further.

VERRINA. This is the place.

BOURGOGNINO. You could not choose a spot more awful. Father, if the
deed you purpose be like the place--father--my hair will stand on end
with horror.

VERRINA. And yet 'tis cheerfulness itself to the gloom that enwraps my
soul. Follow me to yon churchyard, where corruption preys on the
mouldering remnants of mortality, and death holds his fearful banquet--
where shrieks of damned souls delight the listening fiends, and sorrow
weeps her fruitless tears into the never-filling urn. Follow me, my son,
to where the condition of this world is changed; and God throws off his
attributes of mercy--there will I speak to thee in agony, and thou shalt
hear with despair.

BOURGOGNINO. Hear! what? I conjure you, father.

VERRINA. Youth! I fear. Youth, thy blood is warm and crimson--thy
heart is soft and tender--such natures are alive to human kindness--this
warmth of feeling melts my obdurate wisdom. If the frost of age or
sorrow's leaden pressure had chilled the springtide vigor of thy spirits
--if black congealed blood had closed the avenues of thy heart against
the approaches of humanity--then would thy mind be attuned to the
language of my grief, and thou wouldst look with admiration on my
project.

BOURGOGNINO. I will hear it, and embrace it as my own.

VERRINA. Not so, my son--Verrina will not wound thy heart with it. O
Scipio, heavy burdens lie on me. A thought more dark and horrible than
night, too vast to be contained within the breast of man! Mark me--my
hand alone shall execute the deed; but my mind cannot alone support the
weight of it. If I were proud, Scipio, I might say greatness unshared is
torture. It was a burden to the Deity himself, and he created angels to
partake his counsels. Hear, Scipio!

BOURGOGNINO. My soul devours thy words.

VERRINA. Hear! But answer nothing--nothing, young man! Observe me--not
a word--Fiesco must die.

BOURGOGNINO (struck with astonishment). Die! Fiesco!

VERRINA. Die--I thank thee, God, 'tis out at last--Fiesco must die. My
son--die by my hand. Now, go. There are deeds too high for human
judgment. They appeal alone to heaven's tribunal. Such a one is this.
Go! I neither ask thy blame nor approbation. I know my inward
struggles, and that's enough. But hear! These thoughts might weary out
thy mind even to madness. Hear! Didst thou observe yesterday with what
pride he viewed his greatness reflected from our wondering countenances?
The man whose smiles deceived all Italy, will he endure equals in Genoa?
Go! 'Tis certain that Fiesco will overthrow the tyrant. 'Tis as certain
he will become a tyrant still more dangerous.

   [Exit hastily. BOURGOGNINO looks after him with speechless
   surprise, then follows slowly.



SCENE II.--An apartment in FIESCO'S house. In the middle of the back
scene a glass door, through which is seen a view of the sea and Genoa.
Daybreak.

   FIESCO at the window.

FIESCO. What do I see! The moon hath hid its face. The morn is rising
fiery from the sea. Wild fancies have beset my sleep, and kept my soul
convulsed by one idea. Let me inhale the pure, refreshing breeze. (He
opens a window; the city and ocean appear red with the tint of morning.
FIESCO walking up and down the room with energy.) I the greatest man in
Genoa! And should not lesser souls bow down before the greater? But is
not this to trample upon virtue? (Musing.) Virtue? The elevated mind
is exposed to other than ordinary temptations--shall it then be governed
by the ordinary rules of virtue? Is the armor which encases the pigmy's
feeble frame suited to the giant? (The sun rises over Genoa.) This
majestic city mine! (Spreading out his arms as if to embrace it.) To
flame above it like the god of day! To rule over it with a monarch mind!
To hold in subjection all the raging passions, all the insatiable desires
in this fathomless ocean! 'Tis certain, though the cunning of the thief
ennoble not the theft, yet doth the prize ennoble the thief. It is base
to filch a purse--daring to embezzle a million,--but it is immeasurably
great to steal a diadem. As guilt extends its sphere, the infamy
decreaseth. (A pause, then with energy.) To obey! or to command! A
fearful dizzying gulf--that absorbs whate'er is precious in the eyes of
men. The trophies of the conqueror--the immortal works of science and of
art--the voluptuous pleasures of the epicure--the whole wealth
encompassed by the seas. To obey! or to command! To be, or not to be!
The space between is as wide as from the lowest depths of hell to the
throne of the Almighty. (In an elevated tone.) From that awful height
to look down securely upon the impetuous whirlpool of mankind, where
blind fortune holds capricious sway! To quaff at the fountainhead
unlimited draughts from the rich cup of pleasure! To hold that armed
giant law beneath my feet in leading-strings, and see it struggle with
fruitless efforts against the sacred power of majesty! To tame the
stubborn passions of the people, and curb them with a playful rein, as a
skilful horseman guides the fiery steed! With a breath--one single
breath--to quell the rising pride of vassals, whilst the prince, with the
motion of his sceptre, can embody even his wildest dreams of fancy! Ah!
What thoughts are these which transport the astounded mind beyond its
boundaries! Prince! To be for one moment prince comprises the essence
of a whole existence. 'Tis not the mere stage of life--but the part we
play on it that gives the value. The murmurs which compose the thunder's
roar might singly lull an infant to repose--but united their crash can
shake the eternal vault of heaven. I am resolved. (Walking up and down
majestically.)



SCENE III.

   FIESCO; LEONORA, entering with a look of anxiety.

LEONORA. Pardon me, count. I fear I interrupt your morning rest.

FIESCO (steps back with astonishment). Indeed, madam, you do surprise me
not a little.

LEONORA. That never happens to those who love.

FIESCO. Charming countess, you expose your beauty to the rude breath of
morning.

LEONORA. I know not why I should preserve its small remains for grief to
feed on.

FIESCO. Grief, my love? I thought that to be free from cares of state
was happiness.

LEONORA. It may be so. Yet do I feel that my weak heart is breaking
amidst this happiness. I come, sir, to trouble you with a trifling
request, if you can spare a moment's time to hear me. These seven months
past I have indulged the pleasing dream of being Countess of Lavagna. It
now has passed away and left a painful weight upon my mind. Amid the
pleasures of my innocent childhood I must seek relief to my disordered
spirits. Permit me, therefore, to return to the arms of my beloved
mother----

FIESCO (with astonishment). Countess!

LEONORA. My heart is a poor trembling thing which you should pity. Even
the least remembrance of my visionary joy might wound my sickly fancy. I
therefore restore the last memorials of your kindness to their rightful
owner. (She lays some trinkets on the table.) This, too, that like a
dagger struck my heart (presenting a letter). This, too (going to rush
out of the door in tears), and I will retain nothing but the wound.

FIESCO (agitated, hastens after and detains her). Leonora! For God's
sake, stay!

LEONORA (falls into his arms exhausted). To be your wife was more than I
deserved. But she who was your wife deserved at least respect. How
bitter is the tongue of calumny. How the wives and maidens of Genoa now
look down upon me! "See," they say, "how droops the haughty one whose
vanity aspired to Fiesco!" Cruel punishment of my pride! I triumphed
over my whole sex when Fiesco led me to the altar----

FIESCO. Really, Madonna! All this is most surprising----

LEONORA (aside). Ah! he changes color--now I revive.

FIESCO. Wait only two days, countess--then judge my conduct----

LEONORA. To be sacrificed! Let me not speak it in thy chaste presence,
oh, thou virgin day! To be sacrificed to a shameless wanton! Look on
me, my husband! Ah, surely those eyes that make all Genoa tremble, must
hide themselves before a weeping woman----

FIESCO (extremely confused). No more, signora! No more----

LEONORA (with a melancholy look of reproach). To rend the heart of a
poor helpless woman! Oh, it is so worthy of the manly sex. Into his
arms I threw myself, and on his strength confidingly reposed my feminine
weakness. To him I trusted the heaven of my hopes. The generous man
bestowed it on a----

FIESCO (interrupting her, with vehemence). No, my Leonora! No!

LEONORA. My Leonora! Heaven, I thank thee! These were the angelic
sounds of love once more. I ought to hate thee, faithless man! And yet
I fondly grasp the shadow of thy tenderness. Hate! said I? Hate Fiesco?
Oh, believe it not! Thy perfidy may bid me die, but cannot bid me hate
thee. I did not know my heart----(The MOOR is heard approaching.)

FIESCO. Leonora! grant me one trifling favor.

LEONORA. Everything, Fiesco--but indifference.

FIESCO. Well, well (significantly). Till Genoa be two days older,
inquire not! condemn me not! (Leads her politely to another apartment.)



SCENE IV.

   FIESCO; the MOOR, entering hastily.

FIESCO. Whence come you thus out of breath?

MOOR. Quick, my lord!

FIESCO. Has anything run into the net?

MOOR. Read this letter. Am I really here? Methinks Genoa is become
shorter by twelve streets, or else my legs have grown that much longer!
You change color? Yes, yes--they play at cards for heads, and yours is
the chief stake. How do you like it?

FIESCO (throws the letter on the table with horror). Thou woolly-pated
rascal! How camest thou by that letter?

MOOR. Much in the same way as your grace will come by the republic. An
express was sent with it towards Levanto. I smelt out the game; waylaid
the fellow in a narrow pass, despatched the fox, and brought the poultry
hither----

FIESCO. His blood be on thy head! As for the letter, 'tis not to be
paid with gold.

MOOR. Yet I will be content with silver for it--(seriously, and with a
look of importance). Count of Lavagna! 'twas but the other day I sought
your life. To-day (pointing to the letter) I have preserved it. Now I
think his lordship and the scoundrel are even. My further service is an
act of friendship--(presents another letter) number two!

FIESCO (receives it with astonishment). Art thou mad?

MOOR. Number two--(with an arrogant air--his arms akimbo) the lion has
not acted foolishly in pardoning the mouse. Ah! 'twas a deed of policy.
Who else could e'er have gnawed the net with which he was surrounded?
Now, sir, how like you that?

FIESCO. Fellow, how many devils hast thou in pay?

MOOR. But one, sir, at your service; and he is in your grace's keeping.

FIESCO. What! Doria's own signature! Whence dost thou bring this
paper?

MOOR. Fresh from the hands of my Diana. I went to her last night,
tempted her with your charming words, and still more charming sequins.
The last prevailed. She bade me call early in the morning. Lomellino
had been there as you predicted, and paid the toll to his contraband
heaven with this deposit.

FIESCO (indignantly). Oh, these despicable woman-slaves! They would
govern kingdoms, and cannot keep a secret from a harlot. By these papers
I learn that Doria and his party have formed a plot to murder me, with
eleven senators, and to place Gianettino on the throne.

MOOR. Even so--and that upon the morning of the ducal election, the
third of this month.

FIESCO (vehemently). The night of our enterprise shall smother that
morning in its very birth. Speed thee, Hassan. My affairs are ripe.
Collect our fellows. We will take bloody lead of our adversaries. Be
active, Hassan!

MOOR. I have a budget full of news beside. Two thousand soldiers are
safely smuggled into the city. I've lodged them with the Capuchins,
where not even a prying sunbeam can espy them. They burn with eagerness
to see their leader. They are fine fellows.

FIESCO. Each head of them shall yield thee a ducat. Is there no talk
about my galleys?

MOOR. Oh, I've a pleasant story of them, my lord. Above four hundred
adventurers, whom the peace 'twixt France and Spain has left without
employ, besought my people to recommend them to your grace to fight
against the infidels. I have appointed them to meet this evening in the
palace-court.

FIESCO (pleased). I could almost embrace thee, rascal. A masterly
stroke! Four hundred, said'st thou? Genoa is in my power. Four hundred
crowns are thine----

MOOR (with an air of confidence). Eh, Fiesco? We two will pull the
state in pieces, and sweep away the laws as with a besom. You know not
how many hearty fellows I have among the garrison--lads that I can reckon
on as surely as on a trip to hell. Now I've so laid my plans that at
each gate we have among the guard at least six of our creatures, who will
be enough to overcome the others by persuasion or by wine. If you wish
to risk a blow to-night, you'll find the sentinels all drenched with
liquor.

FIESCO. Peace, fellow! Hitherto I have moved the vast machine alone;
shall I now, at the very goal, be put to shame by the greatest rascal
under the sun? Here's my hand upon it, fellow--whate'er the Count
remains indebted to thee, the Duke shall pay.

MOOR. And here, too, is a note from the Countess Imperiali. She
beckoned to me from her window, when I went up received me graciously,
and asked me ironically if the Countess of Lavagna had not been lately
troubled with the spleen. Does your grace, said I, inquire but for one
person?

FIESCO (having read the letter throws it aside). Well said. What answer
made she?

MOOR. She answered, that she still lamented the fate of the poor
bereaved widow--that she was willing to give her satisfaction, and meant
to forbid your grace's attentions.

FIESCO (with a sneer). Which of themselves may possibly cease sometime
before the day of judgment. Is that all thy business, Hassan?

MOOR (ironically). My lord, the affairs of the ladies are next to those
of state.

FIESCO. Without a doubt, and these especially. But for what purpose are
these papers?

MOOR. To remove one plague by another. These powders the signora gave
me, to mix one every day with your wife's chocolate.

FIESCO (starting). Gave thee?

MOOR. Donna Julia, Countess Imperiali.

FIESCO (snatching them from him eagerly). If thou liest, rascal, I'll
hang thee up alive in irons at the weathercock of the Lorenzo tower,
where the wind shall whirl thee nine times round with every blast. The
powders?

MOOR (impatiently). I am to give your wife mixed with her chocolate.
Such were the orders of Donna Julia Imperiali.

FIESCO (enraged). Monster! monster! This lovely creature! Is there
room for so much hell within a female bosom? And I forgot to thank thee,
heavenly Providence, that has rendered it abortive--abortive through a
greater devil. Wondrous are thy ways! (To the MOOR.) Swear to me to
obey, and keep this secret.

MOOR. Very well. The latter I can afford--she paid me ready money.

FIESCO. This note invites me to her. I'll be with you, madam!--and find
means to lure you hither, too. Now haste thee, with all thy speed, and
call together the conspirators.

MOOR. This order I anticipated, and therefore at my own risk appointed
every one to come at ten o'clock precisely.

FIESCO. I hear the sound of footsteps. They are here. Fellow, thy
villany deserves a gallows of its own, on which no son of Adam was ever
yet suspended. Wait in the ante-chamber till I call for thee.

MOOR. The Moor has done his work--the Moor may go.

                         [Exit.



SCENE V.

   FIESCO, VERRINA, BOURGOGNINO, CALCAGNO, SACCO.

FIESCO (meeting them). The tempest is approaching: the clouds rash
together. Advance with caution. Let all the doors be locked.

VERRINA. Eight chambers have I made fast behind. Suspicion cannot come
within a hundred steps of us.

BOURGOGNINO. Here is no traitor, unless our fear become one.

FIESCO. Fear cannot pass my threshold. Welcome he whose mind remains
the same as yesterday. Be seated. (They seat themselves.)

BOURGOGNINO (walking up and down). I care not to sit in cold
deliberation when action calls upon me.

FIESCO. Genoese, this hour is eventful.

VERRINA. Thou hast challenged us to consider a plan for dethroning the
tyrant. Demand of us--we are here to answer thee.

FIESCO. First, then, a question which, as it comes so late, you may
think strange. Who is to fall? (A pause.)

BOURGOGNINO (leaning over FIESCO'S chair, with an expressive look). The
tyrants.

FIESCO. Well spoken. The tyrants. I entreat you weigh well the
importance of the word. Is he who threatens the overthrow of liberty--or
he who has it in his power--the greater tyrant?

VERRINA. The first I hate, I fear the latter. Let Andreas Doria fall!

CALCAGNO (with emotion). Andreas? The old Andreas! who perhaps
to-morrow may pay the debt of nature----

SACCO. Andreas? That mild old man!

FIESCO. Formidable is that old man's mildness, O my friend--the
brutality of Gianettino only deserves contempt. "Let Andreas fall!"
There spoke thy wisdom, Verrina.

BOURGOGNINO. The chain of iron, and the cord of silk, alike are bonds.
Let Andreas perish!

FIESCO (going to the table). The sentence, then is passed upon the uncle
and the nephew. Sign it! (They all sign.) The question who is settled.
How must be next determined. Speak first, Calcagno.

CALCAGNO. We must execute it either as soldiers or assassins. The first
is dangerous, because we must have many confidants. 'Tis also doubtful,
because the peoples' hearts are not all with us. To act the second our
five good daggers are sufficient. Two days hence high mass will be
performed in the Lorenzo Church--both the Dorias will be present. In the
house of God even a tyrant's cares are lulled to sleep. I have done.

FIESCO (turning away). Calcagno, your plan is politic, but 'tis
detestable. Raphael Sacco, yours?

SACCO. Calcagno's reasons please me, but the means he chooses my mind
revolts at. Better were it that Fiesco should invite both the uncle and
nephew to a feast, where, pressed on all sides by the vengeance of the
republic, they must swallow death at the dagger's point, or in a bumper
of good Cyprian. This method is at least convenient.

FIESCO (with horror). Ah, Sacco! What if the wine their dying tongues
shall taste become for us torments of burning pitch in hell! Away with
this advice! Speak thou, Verrina.

VERRINA. An open heart shows a bold front. Assassination degrades us to
banditti. The hero advances sword in hand. I propose to give aloud the
signal of revolt, and boldly rouse the patriots of Genoa to vengeance.
(He starts from his seat, the others do the same.)

BOURGOGNINO (embracing him). And with armed hand wrest Fortune's favors
from her. This is the voice of honor, and is mine.

FIESCO. And mine. Shame on you, Genoese! (to SACCO and CALCAGNO).
Fortune has already done too much for us, let something be our own.
Therefore open revolt! And that, Genoese, this very night----(VERRINA
and BOURGOGNINO astonished--the others terrified.)

CALCAGNO. What! To-night! The tyrants are yet too powerful, our force
too small.

SACCO. To-night! And naught prepared? The day is fast declining.

FIESCO. Your doubts are reasonable, but read these papers. (He gives
them GIANETTINO'S papers, and walks up and down with a look of
satisfaction, whilst they read them eagerly.) Now, farewell, thou proud
and haughty star of Genoa, that didst seem to fill the whole horizon with
thy brightness. Knowest thou not that the majestic sun himself must quit
the heavens, and yield his sceptre to the radiant moon? Farewell, Doria,
beauteous star!

   Patroclus to the shades is gone,
   And he was more than thou.

BOURGOGNINO (after reading the papers). This is horrible.

CALCAGNO. Twelve victims at a blow!

VERRINA. To-morrow in the senate-house!

BOURGOGNINO. Give me these papers, and I will ride with them through
Genoa, holding them up to view. The very stones will rise in mutiny, and
even the dogs will howl against the tyrant.

ALL. Revenge! Revenge! Revenge! This very night!

FIESCO. Now you have reached the point. At sunset I will invite hither
the principal malcontents--those that stand upon the bloody list of
Gianettino! Besides the Sauli, the Gentili, Vivaldi, Vesodimari, all
mortal enemies of the house of Doria; but whom the tyrant forgot to fear.
They, doubtless, will embrace my plan with eagerness.

BOURGOGNINO. I doubt it not.

FIESCO. Above all things, we must render ourselves masters of the sea.
Galleys and seamen I have ready. The twenty vessels of the Dorias are
dismantled, and may be easily surprised. The entrance of the inner
harbor must be blocked up, all hope of flight cut off. If we secure this
point, all Genoa is in our power.

VERRINA. Doubtless.

FIESCO. Then we must seize the strongest posts in the city, especially
the gate of St. Thomas, which, leading to the harbor, connects our land
and naval forces. Both the Dorias must be surprised within their
palaces, and killed. The bells must toll, the citizens be called upon to
side with us, and vindicate the liberties of Genoa. If Fortune favor us,
you shall hear the rest in the senate.

VERRINA. The plan is good. Now for the distribution of our parts.

FIESCO (significantly). Genoese, you chose me, of your own accord, as
chief of the conspiracy. Will you obey my further orders?

VERRINA. As certainly as they shall be the best.

FIESCO. Verrina, dost thou know the principle of all warlike enterprise?
Instruct him, Genoese. It is subordination. If your will be not
subjected to mine--observe me well--if I be not the head of the
conspiracy, I am no more a member.

VERRINA. A life of freedom is well worth some hours of slavery. We
obey.

FIESCO. Then leave me now. Let one of you reconnoitre the city and
inform me of the strength or weakness of the several posts. Let
another find out the watchword. A third must see that the galleys
are in readiness. A fourth conduct the two thousand soldiers into my
palace-court. I myself will make all preparations here for the evening,
and pass the interval perhaps in play. At nine precisely let all be at
my palace to hear my final orders. (Rings the bell.)

VERRINA. I take the harbor.

BOURGOGNINO. I the soldiers.

CALCAGNO. I will learn the watchword.

SACCO. I will reconnoitre Genoa.

                [Exeunt.



SCENE VI.

   FIESCO, MOOR.

FIESCO (seated at a desk, and writing). Did they not struggle against
the word subordination as the worm against the needle which transfixes
it? But 'tis too late, republicans.

MOOR (entering). My lord----

FIESCO (giving him a paper). Invite all those whose names are written
here to see a play this evening at my palace.

MOOR. Perhaps to act a part, and pay the admittance with their heads.

FIESCO (in a haughty and contemptuous manner). When that is over I will
no longer detain thee here in Genoa. (Going, throws him a purse.) This
is thy last employment.

                   [Exit.



SCENE VII.

   MOOR, alone.

MOOR (taking up the purse slowly, and looking after FIESCO with
surprise). Are we, then, on these terms? "I will detain thee in Genoa
no longer." That is to say, translated from the Christian language into
my heathen tongue, "When I am duke I shall hang up my friend the Moor
upon a Genoese gallows." Hum! He fears, because I know his tricks, my
tongue may bring his honor into danger when he is duke. When he is duke?
Hold, master count! That event remains to be considered. Ah! old Doria,
thy life is in my hands. Thou art lost unless I warn thee of thy danger.
Now, if I go to him and discover the plot, I save the Duke of Genoa no
less than his existence and his dukedom, and gain at least this hatful of
gold for my reward. (Going, stops suddenly.) But stay, friend Hassan,
thou art going on a foolish errand. Suppose this scene of riot is
prevented, and nothing but good is the result. Pshaw! what a cursed
trick my avarice would then have played me! Come, devil, help me to make
out what promises the greatest mischief; to cheat Fiesco, or to give up
Doria to the dagger. If Fiesco succeed then Genoa may prosper. Away!
That must not be. If this Doria escape, then all remains as it was
before, and Genoa is quiet. That's still worse! Ay, but to see these
rebels' heads upon the block! Hum! On the other hand 'twould be amusing
to behold the illustrious Dorias in this evening's massacre the victims
of a rascally Moor. No. This doubtful question a Christian might
perhaps resolve, but 'tis too deep a riddle for my Moorish brains. I'll
go propose it to some learned man.

                   [Exit.



SCENE VIII.

   An apartment in the house of the COUNTESS IMPERIALI.

   JULIA in dishabille. GIANETTINO enters, agitated.

GIANETTINO. Good-evening, sister.

JULIA (rising). It must be something extraordinary which brings the
crown-prince of Genoa to his sister!

GIANETTINO. Sister, you are continually surrounded by butterflies and I
by wasps. How is it possible that we should meet? Let's be seated.

JULIA. You almost excite my curiosity.

GIANETTINO. When did Fiesco visit you last?

JULIA. A strange question. As if I burdened my memory with such
trifles!

GIANETTINO. I must know--positively.

JULIA. Well, then, he was here yesterday.

GIANETTINO. And behaved without reserve?

JULIA. As usual.

GIANETTINO. As much a coxcomb as ever.

JULIA (offended). Brother!

GIANETTINO (more vehemently). I say--as much a coxcomb----

JULIA (rises, with indignation). Sir! What do you take me for?

GIANETTINO (keeps his seat--sarcastically). For a mere piece of
woman-flesh, wrapped up in a great--great patent of nobility. This
between ourselves--there is no one by to hear us.

JULIA (enraged). Between ourselves--you are an impertinent jackanapes,
and presume upon the credit of your uncle. No one by to hear us, indeed!

GIANETTINO. Sister! sister! don't be angry. I'm only merry because
Fiesco is still as much a coxcomb as ever. That's all I wanted to know.
Your servant----(Going.)



SCENE IX.

   The former, LOMELLINO, entering.

LOMELLINO (to JULIA, respectfully). Pardon my boldness, gracious lady.
(To GIANETTINO.) Certain affairs which cannot be delayed----(GIANETTINO
takes him aside; JULIA sits down angrily at the pianoforte and plays an
allegro.)

GIANETTINO (to LOMELLINO). Is everything prepared for to-morrow?

LOMELLINO. Everything, prince--but the courier, who was despatched this
morning to Levanto, is not yet returned, nor is Spinola arrived. Should
he be intercepted! I'm much alarmed----

GIANETTINO. Fear nothing. You have that list at hand?

LOMELLINO (embarrassed). My lord--the list? I do not know--I must have
left it at home in my other pocket.

GIANETTINO. It does not signify--would that Spinola were but here.
Fiesco will be found dead in his bed. I have taken measures for it.

LOMELLINO. But it will cause great consternation.

GIANETTINO. In that lies our security. Common crimes but move the blood
and stir it to revenge: atrocious deeds freeze it with terror, and
annihilate the faculties of man. You know the fabled power of Medusa's
head--they who but looked on it were turned to stone. What may not be
done, my boy, before stories are warmed to animation?

LOMELLINO. Have you given the countess any intimation of it?

GIANETTINO. That would never do! We must deal more cautiously with her
attachment to FIESCO. When she shares the sweets, the cost will soon be
forgotten. Come, I expect troops this evening from Milan, and must give
orders at the gates for their reception. (To JULIA.) Well, sister, have
you almost thrummed away your anger?

JULIA. Go! You're a rude unmannered creature. (GIANETTINO, going,
meets FIESCO.)



SCENE X.

   The former; FIESCO.

GIANETTINO (stepping back). Ha!

FIESCO (with politeness). Prince, you spare me a visit which I was just
now about to pay.

GIANETTINO. And I, too, count, am pleased to meet you here.

FIESCO (approaching JULIA courteously). Your charms, signora, always
surpass expectation.

JULIA. Fie! that in another would sound ambiguous--but I'm shocked at my
dishabille--excuse me, count--(going).

FIESCO. Stay, my beauteous lady. Woman's beauty is ne'er so charming as
when in the toilet's simplest garb (laughingly). An undress is her
surest robe of conquest. Permit me to loosen these tresses----

JULIA. Oh, how ready are you men to cause confusion!

FIESCO (with a smile to GIANETTINO). In dress, as in the state--is it
not so? (To JULIA.) This ribbon, too, is awkwardly put on. Sit down,
fair countess--your Laura's skill may strike the eye, but cannot reach
the heart. Let me play the chambermaid for once. (She sits down, he
arranges her dress.)

GIANETTINO (aside to LOMELLINO). Poor frivolous fellow!

FIESCO (engaged about her bosom). Now see--this I prudently conceal.
The senses should always be blind messengers, and not know the secret
compact between nature and fancy.

JULIA. That is trifling.

FIESCO. Not at all; for, consider, the prettiest novelty loses all its
zest when once become familiar. Our senses are but the rabble of our
inward republic. The noble live by them, but elevate themselves above
their low, degenerate tastes. (Having adjusted her toilet, he leads her
to a glass.) Now, by my honor! this must on the morrow be Genoa's
fashion--(politely)--may I have the honor of leading you so abroad,
countess?

JULIA. The cunning flatterer! How artfully he lays his plans to ensnare
me. No! I have a headache, and will stay at home.

FIESCO. Pardon me, countess. You may be so cruel, but surely you will
not. To-day a company of Florentine comedians arrive at my palace. Most
of the Genoese ladies will be present this evening at their performance,
and I am uncertain whom to place in the chief box without offending
others. There is but one expedient. (Making a low bow.) If you would
condescend, signora----

JULIA (blushing, retires to a side apartment). Laura!

GIANETTINO (approaching FIESCO). Count, you remember an unpleasant
circumstance----

FIESCO (interrupting him). 'Tis my wish, prince, we should both forget
it. The actions of men are regulated by their knowledge of each other.
It is my fault that you knew me so imperfectly.

GIANETTINO. I shall never think of it without craving your pardon from
my inmost soul----

FIESCO. Nor I without forgiving you from my heart's core. (JULIA
returns, her dress a little altered.)

GIANETTINO. Count, I just now recollect that you are going to cruise
against the Turks----

FIESCO. This evening we weigh anchor. On that account I had some
apprehensions from which my friend Doria's kindness may deliver me.

GIANETTINO (obsequiously). Most willingly. Command my utmost influence!

FIESCO. The circumstance might cause a concourse toward the harbor, and
about my palace, which the duke your uncle might misinterpret.

GIANETTINO (in a friendly manner). I'll manage that for you. Continue
your preparations, and may success attend your enterprise!

FIESCO (with a smile). I'm much obliged to you.



SCENE XI.

   The former--A GERMAN of the body-guard.

GIANETTINO. What now?

GERMAN. Passing by the gate of St. Thomas I observed a great number of
armed soldiers hastening towards the harbor. The galleys of the Count
Fiesco were preparing for sea.

GIANETTINO. Is that all? Report it no further.

GERMAN. Very well. From the convent of the Capuchins, too, suspicious
rabble are pouring, and steal toward the market-place. From their gait
and appearance I should suppose them soldiers.

GIANETTINO (angrily). Out upon this fool's zeal! (To LOMELLINO, aside.)
These are undoubtedly my Milanese.

GERMAN. Does your grace command that they should be arrested?

GIANETTINO (aloud to LOMELLINO). Look to them, Lomellino. (To the
GERMAN.) Begone! 'Tis all well. (Aside to LOMELLINO.) Bid that German
beast be silent.

                [Exeunt LOMELLINO and GERMAN.

FIESCO (in another part of the room with JULIA--looks toward
GIANETTINO.). Our friend Doria seems displeased. May I inquire the
reason?

GIANETTINO. No wonder. These eternal messages.

                       [Exit hastily.

FIESCO. The play awaits us, too, signora. May I offer you my hand?

JULIA. Stay, let me take my cloak. 'Tis no tragedy I hope, count? It
would haunt me in my dreams.

FIESCO (sarcastically). 'Twill excite immoderate laughter.

   [He hands her out--the curtain falls.




ACT IV.

SCENE I.--Night. The court of FIESCO'S palace. The lamps lighted.
Persons carrying in arms. A wing of the palace illuminated. A heap of
arms on one side of the stage.

   BOURGOGNINO, leading a band of soldiers.

BOURGOGNINO. Halt! Let four sentinels be stationed at the great gate.
Two at every door of the palace. (The sentinels take their posts.) Let
every one that chooses enter, but none depart. If any one attempts to
force his way run him through. (Goes with the rest into the palace. The
sentinels walk up and down. A pause.)



SCENE II.

   ZENTURIONE entering.

SENTINELS AT THE GATE (call out). Who goes there?

ZENTURIONE. A friend of Lavagna. (Goes across the court to the palace
on the right.)

SENTINEL THERE. Back! (ZENTURIONE starts, and goes to the door on the
left.)

SENTINEL ON THE LEFT. Back!

ZENTURIONE (stands still with surprise. A pause. Then to the SENTINEL
on the left). Friend, which is the way to the theatre?

SENTINEL. Don't know.

ZENTURIONE (walks up and down with increasing surprise--then to the
SENTINEL on the right). Friend, when does the play begin?

SENTINEL. Don't know.

ZENTURIONE (astonished, walks up and down. Perceives the weapons;
alarmed). Friend, what mean these?

SENTINEL. Don't know.

ZENTURIONE (wraps himself up in his cloak, alarmed). Strange!

SENTINELS AT THE GATE (calling out). Who goes there?



SCENE III.

   The former, ZIBO entering.

ZIBO. A friend of Lavagna.

ZENTURIONE. Zibo, where are we?

ZIBO. What mean you?

ZENTURIONE. Look around you, Zibo.

ZIBO. Where? What?

ZENTURIONE. All the doors are guarded!

ZIBO. Here are arms----

ZENTURIONE. No one that will answer----

ZIBO. 'Tis strange!

ZENTURIONE. What is it o'clock?

ZIBO. Past eight.

ZENTURIONE. How bitter cold it is!

ZIBO. Eight was the hour appointed.

ZENTURIONE (shaking his head). 'Tis not all as it should be here.

ZIBO. Fiesco means to jest with us----

ZENTURIONE. To-morrow will be the ducal election. Zibo, all's not right
here, depend upon it.

ZIBO. Hush! hush!

ZENTURIONE. The right wing of the palace is full of lights.

ZIBO. Do you hear nothing?

ZENTURIONE. A confused murmuring within--and----

ZIBO. The sound of clattering arms----

ZENTURIONE. Horrible! horrible!

ZIBO. A carriage--it stops at the gate!

SENTINELS AT THE GATE (calling out). Who goes there?



SCENE IV.

   The former, four of the ASSERATO family.

ASSERATO (entering). A friend of FIESCO.

ZIBO. They are the four Asserati.

ZENTURIONE. Good evening, friends!

ASSERATO. We are going to the play.

ZIBO. A pleasant journey to you!

ASSERATO. Are you not going also?

ZENTURIONE. Walk on. We'll just take a breath of air first.

ASSERATO. 'Twill soon begin. Come. (Going.)

SENTINEL. Back!

ASSERATO. What can this mean?

ZENTURIONE (laughing). To keep you from the palace.

ASSERATO. Here's some mistake----

ZIBO. That's plain enough. (Music is heard in the right wing.)

ASSERATO. Do you hear the symphony? The comedy is going to begin.

ZENTURIONE. I think it has begun, and we are acting our parts as fools.

ZIBO. I'm not over warm--I'll return home.

ASSERATO. Arms here, too?

ZIBO. Poh! Mere play-house articles.

ZENTURIONE. Shall we stand waiting, like ghosts upon the banks of
Acheron? Come, let us to a tavern! (All six go towards the gate.)

SENTINELS (calling loudly). Back! Back!

ZENTURIONE. Death and the devil! We are caught.

ZIBO. My sword shall open a passage!

ASSERATO. Put it up! The count's a man of honor.

ZIBO. We are sold! betrayed! The comedy was a bait, and we're caught in
a trap.

ASSERATO. Heaven forbid! And yet I tremble for the event.



SCENE V.

   The former--VERRINA, SACCO, and NOBLES.

SENTINELS. Who goes there?

VERRINA. Friends of the house. (Seven NOBLES enter with him.)

ZIBO. These are his confidants. Now all will be explained.

SACCO (in conversation with VERRINA). 'Tis as I told you; Lascaro is on
guard at the St. Thomas' gate, the best officer of Doria, and blindly
devoted to him.

VERRINA. I'm glad of it.

ZIBO (to VERRINA). Verrina, you come opportunely to clear up the
mystery.

VERRINA. How so? What mean you?

ZENTURIONE. We are invited to a comedy.

VERRINA. Then we are going the same way.

ZENTURIONE (impatiently). Yes--the way of all flesh. You see--the doors
are guarded. Why guard the doors?

ZIBO. Why these sentinels?

ZENTURIONE. We stand here like criminals beneath the gallows.

VERRINA. The count will come himself.

ZENTURIONE. 'Twere well if he came a little faster. My patience begins
to fail. (All the NOBLES walk up and down in the background.)

BOURGOGNINO (coming out of the palace, to VERRINA). How goes it in the
harbor?

VERRINA. They're all safe on board.

BOURGOGNINO. The palace is full of soldiers.

VERRINA. 'Tis almost nine.

BOURGOGNINO. The count is long in coming.

VERRINA. And yet too quick to gain his wishes. Bourgognino! There is a
thought that freezes me.

BOURGOGNINO. Father, be not too hasty.

VERRINA. It is impossible to be too hasty where delay is fatal. I must
commit a second murder to justify the first.

BOURGOGNINO. But--when must Fiesco fall?

VERRINA. When Genoa is free Fiesco dies!

SENTINELS. Who goes there?



SCENE VI.

   The former, FIESCO.

FIESCO. A friend! (The NOBLES bow--the SENTINELS present their arms.)
Welcome, my worthy guests! You must have been displeased at my long
absence. Pardon me. (In a low voice to VERRINA.) Ready?

VERRINA (in the same manner). As you wish.

FIESCO (to BOURGOGNINO). And you?

BOURGOGNINO. Quite prepared.

FIESCO (to SACCO). And you?

SACCO. All's right.

FIESCO. And Calcagno?

BOURGOGNINO. Is not yet arrived.

FIESCO (aloud to the SENTINELS). Make fast the gates! (He takes off his
hat, and steps forward with dignity towards the assembly.) My friends--I
have invited you hither to a play--not as spectators, but to allot to
each a part therein.

Long enough have we borne the insolence of Gianettino Doria, and the
usurpation of Andreas. My friends, if we would deliver Genoa, no time is
to be lost. For what purpose, think you, are those twenty galleys which
beset our harbor? For what purpose the alliances which the Dorias have
of late concluded? For what purpose the foreign forces which they have
collected even in the heart of Genoa? Murmurs and execrations avail no
longer. To save all we must dare all. A desperate disease requires a
desperate remedy. Is there one base enough in this assembly to own an
equal for his master? (Murmurs.) Here is not one whose ancestors did
not watch around the cradle of infant Genoa. What!--in Heaven's name!--
what, I ask you, have these two citizens to boast of that they could urge
their daring flight so far above our head? (Increasing murmurs.) Every
one of you is loudly called upon to fight for the cause of Genoa against
its tyrants. No one can surrender a hair's-breadth of his rights without
betraying the soul of the whole state. (Interrupted by violent
commotions he proceeds.)

You feel your wrongs--then everything is gained. I have already paved
your way to glory--Genoese, will you follow? I am prepared to lead you.
Those signs of war which you just now beheld with horror should awaken
your heroism. Your anxious shuddering must warm into a glorious zeal
that you may unite your efforts with this patriotic band to overthrow the
tyrant. Success will crown the enterprise, for all our preparations are
well arranged. The cause is just, for Genoa suffers. The attempt will
render us immortal, for it is vast and glorious----

ZENTURIONE (vehemently, and agitated). Enough! Genoa shall be free! Be
this our shout of onset against hell itself!

ZIBO. And may he who is not roused by it pant at the slavish oar till
the last trumpet break his chains----

FIESCO. Spoken like men. Now you deserve to know the danger that hung
over yourselves and Genoa. (Gives them the papers of the MOOR.) Lights,
soldiers! (The nobles crowd about the lights, and read--FIESCO aside to
VERRINA.) Friend, it went as I could wish.

VERRINA. Be not too certain. Upon the left I saw countenances that grew
pale, and knees that tottered.

ZENTURIONE (enraged). Twelve senators! Infernal villany! Seize each a
sword! (All, except two, eagerly take up the weapons that lie in
readiness.)

ZIBO. Thy name, too, Bourgognino, is written there.

BOURGOGNINO. Ay, and if Heaven permit, it shall be written to-day upon
the throat of Gianettino.

ZENTURIONE. Two swords remain----

ZIBO. Ah! What sayest thou?

ZENTURIONE. Two amongst us have not taken swords.

ASSERATO. My brothers cannot bear the sight of blood--pray spare them!

ZENTURIONE (vehemently). What! Not a tyrant's blood! Tear them to
pieces--cowards! Let such bastards be driven from the republic! (Some
of the assembly attack the two ASSERATI.)

FIESCO (restraining them). Cease! Shall Genoa owe its liberty to
slaves? Shall our pure gold be debased by this alloy? (He disengages
them.) Gentlemen, you must be content to take up your abode within my
palace until our business be decided. (To the sentinels.) These are
your prisoners; you answer for their safety! Guard them with loaded
arms. (They are led off--a knocking heard at the gate.)

SENTINEL. Who is there?

CALCAGNO (without, eagerly). Open the gate! A friend! for God's sake,
open!

BOURGOGNINO. It is Calcagno--heavens! What can this mean?

FIESCO. Open the gate, soldiers.



SCENE VII.

   The former--CALCAGNO, out of breath.

CALCAGNO. All is lost! all is lost! Fly, every one that can!

BOURGOGNINO. What's lost? Have they flesh of brass? Are our swords
made of rushes?

FIESCO. Consider, Calcagno! An error now is fatal.

CALCAGNO. We are betrayed! Your Moor, Lavagna, is the rascal! I come
from the senate-house. He had an audience of the duke.

VERRINA (with a resolute tone, to the sentinels). Soldiers! let me rush
upon your halberts! I will not perish by the hangman's hands. (The
assembly show marks of confusion.)

FIESCO (with firmness). What are you about? 'Sdeath, Calcagno!
Friends, 'tis a false alarm. (To CALCAGNO, aside.) Woman that thou art
to tell these boys this tale. Thou, too, Verrina? and thou, Bourgognino?
Whither wouldst thou go?

BOURGOGNINO. Home--to kill my Bertha--and then return to fall with thee.

FIESCO (bursting into a loud laugh). Stay! stay! Is this the valor that
should punish tyrants? Well didst thou play thy part, Calcagno. Did
none of you perceive that this alarm was my contrivance? Speak,
Calcagno? Was it not my order that you should put these Romans to this
trial?

VERRINA. Well, if you can laugh I'll believe you--or never more think
you man.

FIESCO. Shame on you, men! to fail in such a boyish trial! Resume your
arms--you must fight like lions to atone for this disgrace. (Aside to
CALCAGNO.) Were you there yourself?

CALCAGNO (low). I made my way among the guards to hear, as was my
business, the watchword from the duke. As I was returning the Moor was
brought----

FIESCO (aloud). So the old man is gone to bed--we'll drum him out of his
feathers. (Low.) Did he talk long with the duke?

CALCAGNO (low). My sudden fright and your impending danger drove me away
in haste----

FIESCO (aloud). See how our countrymen still tremble.

CALCAGNO (aloud). You should have carried on the jest. (Low.) For
God's sake, friend, what will this artifice avail us?

FIESCO. 'Twill gain us time, and dissipate the first panic. (Aloud.)
Ho! bring wine here! (Low.) Did the duke turn pale? (Aloud.) Well,
brothers, let us drink success to this night's entertainment. (Low.)
Did the duke turn pale?

CALCAGNO. The Moor's first word must have been conspiracy; for the old
man started back as pale as ashes.

FIESCO (confused). Hum! the devil is an artful counsellor. Calcagno--
the Moor was cunning, he betrayed nothing till the knife was at his
throat. Now he is indeed their savior. (Wine is brought, he drinks to
the assembly.) Comrades, success! (A knocking is heard.)

SENTINELS. Who is without?

A VOICE. The guard of the duke's. (The NOBLES rush about the court in
despair.)

FIESCO (stepping forward). Oh, my friends! Be not alarmed! I am here--
quick, remove these arms--be men. I entreat you--this visit makes me
hope that Andreas still doubts our plot. Retire into the palace: recall
your spirits. Soldiers, throw open the gate! (They retire, the gates
are opened.)



SCENE VIII.

   FIESCO (as if coming from the palace). Three GERMAN SOLDIERS
   bringing the MOOR, bound.

FIESCO. Who calls me?

GERMANS. Bring us to the count!

FIESCO. The count is here, who wants me?

GERMAN (presenting his arms). Greeting from the duke!--he delivers up to
your grace this Moor in chains, who had basely slandered you: the rest
this note will tell.

FIESCO (takes it with an air of indifference). Have I not threatened
thee already with the galleys? (To the GERMAN.) Very well, my friend,
my respects to the duke.

MOOR (hallooing after them). Mine, too--and tell the duke had he not
employed an ass for his messenger he would have learned that two thousand
soldiers are concealed within these palace walls.

                   [Exeunt GERMANS, the NOBLES return.



SCENE IX.

   FIESCO, the CONSPIRATORS, MOOR (looking at them unconcerned.)

THE CONSPIRATORS (shuddering at the sight of the MOOR). Ha! what means
this?

FIESCO (after reading the note with suppressed anger). Genoese, the
danger is past--but the conspiracy is likewise at an end----

VERRINA (astonished). What! Are the Dorias dead?

FIESCO (violently agitated). By heavens! I was prepared to encounter
the whole force of the republic, but not this blow. This old nerveless
man, with his pen, annihilates three thousand soldiers (his hands sink
down). Doria overcomes Fiesco!

BOURGOGNINO. Speak, count, we are amazed!

FIESCO (reading). "Lavagna, your fate resembles mine; benevolence is
rewarded with ingratitude. The Moor informs me of a plot: I send him
back to you in chains, and shall sleep to-night without a guard." (He
drops the paper--the rest look at each other.)

VERRINA. Well, Fiesco?

FIESCO (with dignity). Shall Doria surpass me in magnanimity? Shall the
race of Fiesco want this one virtue? No, by my honor--disperse--I'll go
and own the whole----

VERRINA (stopping him). Art thou mad? Was, then, our enterprise some
thievish act of villany? Was it not our country's cause? Was Andreas
the object of thy hatred, and not the tyrant? Stay! I arrest thee as a
traitor to thy country.

CONSPIRATORS. Bind him! throw him down!

FIESCO (snatching up his sword, and making way through them). Gently!
Who will be the first to throw the cord around the tiger? See, Genoese,
--I stand here at liberty, and might force my way with ease, had I the
will--but I will stay--I have other thoughts----

BOURGOGNINO. Are they thoughts of duty?

FIESCO (haughtily). Ha! boy! learn first to know thy own--and towards me
restrain that tongue! Be appeased, Genoese,--our plans remain unaltered.
(To the MOOR, whose cords he cuts with a sword). Thou hast the merit of
causing a noble act--fly!

CALCAGNO (enraged). What? Shall that scoundrel live,--he who has
betrayed us all?

FIESCO. Live--though he has frightened you all. Rascal, begone! See
that thou turn thy back quickly on Genoa; lest some one immolate thee to
the manes of his courage.

MOOR. So, then, the devil does not forsake his friends. Your servant,
gentlemen! I see that Italy does not produce my halter; I must seek it
elsewhere.

                     [Exit, laughing.



SCENE X.

   FIESCO, CONSPIRATORS. Enter SERVANT.

SERVANT. The Countess Imperiali has already asked three times for your
grace.

FIESCO. Ha! then the comedy must indeed begin! Tell her I come
directly. Desire my wife to hasten to the concert-room, and there remain
concealed behind the tapestry. (Exit SERVANT.) In these papers your
several stations are appointed: let each but act his part, the plan is
perfect. Verrina will lead the forces to the harbor, and when the ships
are seized will fire a shot as a signal for the general attack. I now
leave you upon important business; when you hear the bell come all
together to my concert-room. Meanwhile enjoy my Cyprian wine within.
(They depart into the palace.)



SCENE XI.

   LEONORA, ARABELLA, and ROSA.

LEONORA. Fiesco promised to meet me here, and comes not. 'Tis past
eleven. The sound of arms and men rings frightfully through the palace,
and no Fiesco comes.

ROSA. You are to conceal yourself behind the tapestry--what can the
count intend?

LEONORA. He directs and I obey. Why should I fear? And yet I tremble,
Arabella, and my heart beats fearfully with apprehension. For heaven's
sake, damsels, do not leave me.

ARABELLA. Fear nothing; our timidity subdues our curiosity.

LEONORA. Where'er I turn my eyes strange shapes appear with hollow and
distracted countenances. Whomsoever I address trembles like a criminal,
and withdraws into the thickest gloom of night, that fearful refuge of a
guilty conscience. Whate'er they answer falls from the trembling tongue
in doubtful accents. Oh, Fiesco! what horrid business dost thou
meditate? Ye heavenly powers! watch over my Fiesco!

ROSA (alarmed). Oh, heavens! what noise is that without?

ARABELLA. It is the soldier who stands there as sentinel. (The SENTINEL
without calls, "Who goes there?")

LEONORA. Some one approaches. Quick! behind the curtain. (They conceal
themselves.)



SCENE XII.

   JULIA and FIESCO, in conversation.

JULIA (much agitated). Forbear, count! Your passion meets no longer an
indifferent ear, but fires the raging blood--where am I? Naught but
seducing night is here! Whither has your artful tongue lured my
unguarded heart?

FIESCO. To this spot where timid love grows bold, and where emotions
mingle unrestrained.

JULIA. Hold, Fiesco! For Heaven's sake no more! 'Tis the thick veil of
night alone which covers the burning blushes on my cheeks, else wouldst
thou pity me.

FIESCO. Rather, Julia, thy blushes would inflame my passions, and urge
them to their utmost height. (Kisses her hand eagerly.)

JULIA. Thy countenance is glowing as thy words! Ah! and my own, too,
burns with guilty fire. Hence, I entreat thee, hence--let us seek the
light! The tempting darkness might lead astray the excited senses, and
in the absence of the modest day might stir them to rebellion. Haste, I
conjure thee, leave this solitude!

FIESCO (more pressing). Why so alarmed, my love? Shall the mistress
fear her slave?

JULIA. O man, eternal paradox! then are you truly conquerors, when you
bow as captives before our self-conceit. Shall I confess, Fiesco? It
was my vice alone that could protect my virtue--my pride alone defied
your artifices--thus far, my principles prevailed, and all your arts were
foiled--but in despair of every other suit you made appeal to Julia's
passion--and here my principles deserted me----

FIESCO (with levity). And what loss was that?

JULIA (with emotion). If I betray the safeguards of my honor, that thou
mayest cover me with shame at will, what have I less to lose than all?
Wouldst thou know more, scoffer? Shall I confess that the whole secret
wisdom of our sex is but a sorry precaution for the defence of this weak
fortress, which in the end is the sole object of assault by all your vows
and protestations, and which (I blush to own it) is so willingly
surrendered--so often betrayed to the enemy upon the first wavering of
virtue? That woman's whole art is enlisted in fortifying a defenceless
position, just as in chess the pieces move and form a breastwork round
the defenceless king?--surprise the latter--check-mate! and the whole
board is thrown into confusion. (After a pause--with earnestness),
behold the picture of our boasting weakness. Be generous, Fiesco!

FIESCO. And yet, my Julia--where could'st thou bestow this treasure
better than on my endless passion?

JULIA. Certainly, nowhere better, and nowhere worse? Tell me, Fiesco,
how long will this endless passion endure? But, alas! I've risked too
much already now to hesitate at staking my last. I trusted boldly to my
charms to captivate thee--to preserve thy love, I fear they'll prove too
weak. Fie upon me!--what am I uttering? (Hides her face with her
hands.)

FIESCO. Two sins in one breath. Mistrust in my taste, and treason
against the sovereignty of your charms? Which of the two is the most
difficult to forgive?

JULIA (in a tremulous, imploring tone). Falsehood is the armory of hell!
Fiesco needs not this to gain his Julia. (She sinks exhausted on a sofa:
after a pause--energetically.) Hear, Fiesco! One word more. When we
know our virtue to be in safety, we are heroines; in its defence, no more
than children; (fixing her eyes on him wildly)--furies, when we avenge
it. Hear me! Should'st thou strike me to the heart with coldness?

FIESCO (assuming an angry tone). Coldness? coldness? Heavens! What
does the insatiable vanity of woman look for, if she even doubt the man
who lies prostrate at her feet? Ha! my spirit is awakened; my eyes at
length are opened. (With an air of coldness.) What was this mighty
sacrifice? Man dearly purchases a woman's highest favors by the
slightest degradation! (Bowing ceremoniously.) Take courage, madam! you
are safe.

JULIA (with astonishment). Count! what sudden change is this?

FIESCO (with great indifference). True, madam! You judge most rightly;
we both have risked our honor. (Bowing ceremoniously.) I will await the
pleasure of your company among my guests. (Going.)

JULIA (stops him). Stay! art thou mad? Must I, then, declare a passion
which the whole race of men, upon their knees, should not extort from my
inflexible pride? Alas! in vain the darkness strives to hide the blushes
which betray my guilt. Fiesco--I wound the pride of all my sex--my sex
will all detest me--Fiesco--I adore thee--(falls at his feet).

FIESCO (steps back without raising her, laughing with exultation). That
I am sorry for, signora--(rings the bell--draws the tapestry, and
discovers LEONORA). Here is my wife--an angel of a woman! (Embracing
her.)

JULIA (with a shriek). Unheard-of treachery!



SCENE XIII.

   The CONSPIRATORS, entering in a body--LADIES on
   the other side--FIESCO, JULIA, and LEONORA.

LEONORA. Oh, my husband, that was too cruel!

FIESCO. A wicked heart deserved no less. I owed this satisfaction to
your tears. (To the company.) No,--my friends--I am not wont on every
slight occasion to kindle into passion. The follies of mankind amuse me
long ere they excite my anger; but this woman merits my whole resentment.
Behold the poison which she had mingled for my beloved Leonora. (Shows
the poison to the company--they start with horror.)

JULIA (biting her lips with rage). Good! Good! Very good, Sir!
(Going.)

FIESCO (leads her back by the arm). You must have patience, madam;
something else remains. My friends, perhaps, would gladly learn why I
debased my reason with the farce of love for Genoa's silliest coquette.

JULIA (starting up). It is not to be borne. But tremble! Doria rules
in Genoa, and I am Doria's sister----

FIESCO. Poor, indeed, if that be your only sting! Know that Fiesco of
Lavagna has changed the diadem of your illustrious brother for a halter,
and means this night to hang the thief of the republic. (She is struck
with terror--he continues with a sarcastic laugh.) Ha! that was
unexpected. And do you see, madam, 'twas for this purpose that I tried
to blind the eyes of the Dorias. For this I assumed a mock passion--
(pointing to JULIA.) For this I cast away this precious jewel--(pointing
to LEONORA); and by shining bait ensnared my prey. I thank you for your
complaisance, signora--(to JULIA;) and resign the trappings of my assumed
character. (Delivers her the miniature with a bow.)

LEONORA (to FIESCO, in a supplicating tone). She weeps, my Lodovico.
May your Leonora, trembling, entreat you?

JULIA (enraged, to LEONORA). Silence, detested woman!

FIESCO (to a SERVANT). Be polite to my friend; escort this lady. She
has a mind to see my prison-chamber--take care that none approach to
incommode her. The night air is blowing somewhat keenly, the storm which
rives the house of Doria may, perchance, ruffle the lady's head-dress.

JULIA. Curses on thee, black, detested hypocrite! (Enraged, to
LEONORA.) Rejoice not at thy triumph! He will destroy thee also, and
himself--and then despair! (Rushing out!)

FIESCO (to the guests). You were witnesses; let your report in Genoa
preserve my honor. (To the CONSPIRATORS.) Call on me as soon as the
cannon gives the signal. (All the guests retire.)



SCENE XIV.

   LEONORA and FIESCO.

LEONORA (approaching with anxiety). Fiesco! Fiesco! I understand but
half your meaning; yet I begin to tremble.

FIESCO (significantly). Leonora! I once saw you yield the place of
honor to another. I saw you, in the presence of the nobles, receive the
second compliment. Leonora, that sight tormented me. I resolved it
should be so no longer. Henceforth it ceases. Do you hear the warlike
noise which echoes through my palace? What you suspect is true. Retire
to rest, countess, to-morrow you shall awake Duchess of Genoa.

LEONORA (clasping her hands together, and throwing herself into a chair).
O God! My very fears! I am undone!

FIESCO (seriously, and with dignity). Let me speak out, my love. Two of
my ancestors wore the triple crown. The blood of the Fiescos flows not
pure unless beneath the purple. Shall your husband only reflect a
borrowed splendor? (In a more energetic manner.) What! shall he owe his
rank alone to capricious chance, which, from the ashes of mouldering
greatness, has patched together a John Louis Fiesco? No, Leonora, I am
too proud to accept from others what my own powers may achieve. This
night the hereditary titles of my ancestors shall return to deck their
tombs--Lavagna's counts exist no longer--a race of princes shall begin.

LEONORA (mournfully, and giving way to imagination). I see my husband
fall, transfixed by deadly wounds. (In a hollow voice.) I see them bear
my husband's mangled corpse towards me. (Starting up.) The first--the
only ball has pierced Fiesco's heart.

FIESCO (tenderly seizing her hand). Be calm, my love. The only ball
will not strike me.

LEONORA (looking steadfastly at him). Does Fiesco so confidently
challenge Heaven? If, in the scope of countless possibilities, one
chance alone were adverse, that one might happen, and I should lose my
husband. Think that thou venturest Heaven, Fiesco; and though a million
chances were in thy favor, wouldst thou dare tempt the Almighty by
risking on a cast thy hopes of everlasting happiness? No, my husband!
When thy whole being is at stake each throw is blasphemy.

FIESCO. Be not alarmed. Fortune and I are better friends.

LEONORA. Ah! say you so, Fiesco? You, who have watched the
soul-convulsing game, which some call pastime? Have you not seen
the sly deceiver, Fortune, how she leads on her votary with gradual
favors, till, heated with success, he rushes headlong and stakes his all
upon a single cast? Then in the decisive moment she forsakes him, a
victim of his rashness--and stood you then unmoved? Oh, my husband,
think not that thou hast but to show thyself among the people to be
adored. 'Tis no slight task to rouse republicans from their slumber and
turn them loose, like the unbridled steed, just conscious of his hoofs.
Trust not those traitors. They among them who are most discerning, even
while they instigate thy valor, fear it; the vulgar worship thou with
senseless and unprofitable adoration. Whichever way I look Fiesco is
undone.

FIESCO (pacing the room in great emotion). To be irresolute is the most
certain danger. He that aspires to greatness must be daring.

LEONORA. Greatness, Fiesco! Alas! thy towering spirit ill accords with
the fond wishes of my heart. Should fortune favor thy attempt--shouldst
thou obtain dominion--alas! I then shall be but the more wretched.
Condemned to misery shouldst thou fail--if thou succeed, to misery still
greater. Here is no choice but evil. Unless he gain the ducal power,
Fiesco perishes--if I embrace the duke I lose my husband.

FIESCO. I understand you not.

LEONORA. Ah! my Fiesco, in the stormy atmosphere that surrounds a throne
the tender plant of love must perish. The heart of man, e'en were that
heart Fiesco's, is not vast enough for two all-powerful idols--idols so
hostile to each other. Love has tears, and can sympathize with tears.
Ambition has eyes of stone, from which no drop of tenderness can e'er
distil. Love has but one favored object, and is indifferent to all the
world beside. Ambition, with insatiable hunger, rages amid the spoil
of nature, and changes the immense world into one dark and horrid
prison-house. Love paints in every desert an elysium. And when thou
wouldest recline upon my bosom, the cares of empires, or rebellious
vassals, would fright away repose. If I should throw myself into thy
arms, thy despot fears would hear a murderer rushing forth to strike
thee, and urge thy trembling flight through all the palace. Nay, black
suspicion would at last o'erwhelm domestic concord. If thy Leonora's
tenderness should offer thee a refreshing draught, thou wouldst with
horror push away the goblet, and call it poison----

FIESCO (starting). Leonora, cease! These thoughts are dreadful.

LEONORA. And yet the picture is not finished. Let love be sacrificed to
greatness--and even peace of mind--if Fiesco but remained unchanged. O
God! that thought is racking torture. Seldom do angels ascend the
throne--still seldomer do they descend it such. Can he know pity who is
raised above the common fears of man? Will he speak the accents of
compassion who at every wish can launch a bolt of thunder to enforce it.
(She stops, then timidly advances, and takes his hand with a look of
tender reproach.) Princes, Fiesco--these abortions of ambition and
weakness--who presume to sit in judgment 'twixt the godhead and
mortality. Wicked servants--worse rulers.

FIESCO (walking about much agitated). Leonora, cease! The bridge is
raised behind me----

LEONORA (with a look of tenderness). And why, my husband? Deeds alone
are irrevocable. Thou once didst swear (fondly clinging to him, and
somewhat archly) that all thy projects vanished before my beauty. Thou
hast foresworn thyself, dissembler--or else my charms have prematurely
withered. Ask thy own heart where lies the blame? (More ardently, and
throwing her arms round him.) Return, Fiesco! Conquer thyself!
Renounce! Love shall indemnify thee. O Fiesco, if my heart cannot
appease thy insatiate passions, the diadem will be found still poorer.
Come, I'll study the inmost wishes of this soul. I will melt into one
kiss of love all the charms of nature, to retain forever in these
heavenly bonds the illustrious captive. As thy heart is infinite, so
shall be my passion. To be a source of happiness to a being who places
all its heaven in thee, Fiesco? Ought that to leave any void in thy
heart.

FIESCO (with great emotion). Leonora--what hast thou done? (He falls,
overcome, on her neck.) I shall never more dare to meet the eyes of
Genoa's citizens.

LEONORA (with lively expression). Let us fly, Fiesco! let us with scorn
reject these gaudy nothings, and pass our future days only in the
retreats of love! (She presses him to her breast with rapture.) Our
souls, serene as the unclouded sky, shall never more be blackened by the
poisonous breath of sorrow; our lives shall flow harmoniously as the
music of the murmuring brook. (A cannon-shot is heard--FIESCO disengages
himself--all the conspirators enter.)



SCENE XV.

CONSPIRATORS. The hour is come!

FIESCO (to LEONORA, firmly). Farewell! forever unless Genoa to-morrow be
laid prostrate at thy feet. (Going to rush out.)

BOURGOGNINO (cries out). The countess faints! (LEONORA in a swoon--all
run to support her.)

FIESCO (kneeling before her, in a tone of despair). Leonora! Save her!
For heaven's sake save her! (ROSA and ARABELLA run to her assistance.)
She lives--she opens her eyes (jumps up resolutely). Now to close
Doria's! (Conspirators rush out.)




ACT V.

SCENE I.-After midnight. The great street of Genoa. A few lamps, which
gradually become extinguished. In the background is seen the Gate of St.
Thomas, which is shut. Men pass over the stage with lanterns. The
patrol go their round. Afterwards, everything is quiet except the waves
of the sea, which are heard at a distance, rather tempestuous.

   FIESCO (armed, before the Doria Palace), and ANDREAS.

FIESCO. The old man has kept his word. The lights are all extinguished
in the palace--the guards dismissed--I'll ring. (Rings at the gate.)
Ho! Halloo! Awake, Doria! Thou art betrayed. Awake! Halloo! Halloo!

ANDREAS (appearing at the balcony). Who rings there?

FIESCO (in a feigned voice). Ask not, but follow me! Duke, thy star has
set; Genoa is in arms against thee! Thy executioners are near, and canst
thou sleep, Andreas?

ANDREAS (with dignity). I remember when the raging sea contended with my
gallant vessel--when her keel cracked and the wind split her topmast.
Yet Andreas Doria then slept soundly. Who sends these executioners!

FIESCO. A man more terrible than your raging sea--John Louis Fiesco.

ANDREAS (laughs). You jest, my friend. Come in the daytime to play your
tricks. Midnight suits them badly.

FIESCO. Dost thou then despise thy monitor?

ANDREAS. I thank him and retire to rest. Fiesco, wearied with his
rioting, sleeps, and has no time to think of Doria.

FIESCO. Wretched old man! Trust not the artful serpent! Its back is
decked with beauteous colors; but when you would approach to view it you
are suddenly entwined within its deadly folds. You despised the
perfidious Moor. Do not despise the counsels of a friend. A horse
stands ready saddled for you; fly, while you have time!

ANDREAS. Fiesco has a noble mind. I never injured him, and he will not
betray me.

FIESCO. Fiesco has a noble mind and yet betrays thee. He gives thee
proof of both.

ANDREAS. There is a guard, which would defy Fiesco's power, unless he
led against them legions of spirits.

FIESCO (scornfully). That guard I should be glad to see to despatch it
with a message for eternity.

ANDREAS (in an elevated manner). Vain scoffer! Knowest thou not that
Andreas has seen his eightieth year, and that Genoa beneath his rule is
happy? (Leaves the balcony.)

FIESCO (looks after him with astonishment). Must I then destroy this man
before I have learnt how difficult it is to equal him? (He walks up and
down some time in meditation). 'Tis past, Andreas. I have repaid the
debt of greatness. Destruction take thy course! (He hastens into a
remote street. Drums are heard on all sides. A hot engagement at the
St. Thomas' Gate. The gate is forced, and opens a prospect in the
harbor, in which lie several ships with lights on board.)



SCENE II.

   GIANETTINO (in a scarlet mantle). LOMELLINO--(Servants going
   before them with torches).

GIANETTINO (stops). Who was it that commanded the alarm to be beat?

LOMELLINO. A cannon was fired on board one of the galleys.

GIANETTINO. The slaves perhaps have risen in mutiny. (Firing heard at
the gate of St. Thomas.)

LOMELLINO. Hark! A shot!

GIANETTINO. The gate is open. The guards are in confusion. (To the
servants.) Quick, rascals! Light us to the harbor. (Proceeding hastily
towards the gate.)



SCENE III.

   The former; BOURGOGNINO, with some CONSPIRATORS, coming
   from the gate of St. Thomas.

BOURGOGNINO. Sebastian Lascaro was a brave soldier.

ZENTURIONE. He defended himself like a bear till he fell.

GIANETTINO (steps back startled). What do I hear? (to his servants).
Stop!

BOURGOGNINO. Who goes there with torches?

LOMELLINO (to GIANETTINO). Prince, they are enemies. Turn to the left.

BOURGOGNINO (calls to then peremptorily). Who goes there with the
torches?

ZENTURIONE. Stand! Your watchword?

GIANETTINO (draws his sword fiercely). Loyalty and Doria!

BOURGOGNINO (foaming with rage). Violator of the republic and of my
bride! (To the CONSPIRATORS, rushing upon GIANETTINO.) Brothers, this
shortens our labor. His devils themselves deliver him into our hands--
(runs him through with his sword).

GIANETTINO (falling). Murder! Murder! Murder! Revenge me, Lomellino----

LOMELLINO and SERVANTS (flying). Help! Murder! Murder!

ZENTURIONE (halloing with vehemence). Doria is down. Stop the Count
Lomellino! (LOMELLINO is taken).

LOMELLINO (kneeling). Spare but my life, I'll join your party.

BOURGOGNINO (looking at GIANETTINO). Is this monster yet alive? Let the
coward fly. (LOMELLINO escapes.)

ZENTURIONE. St. Thomas' gate our own! Gianettino slain! Haste some of
you and tell Fiesco.

GIANETTINO (heaving himself from the ground in agony). Fiesco!
Damnation! (Dies.)

BOURGOGNINO (pulling the sword out of GIANETTINO'S body). Freedom to
Genoa, and to my Bertha. Your sword, Zenturione. Take to my bride this
bloody weapon--her dungeon is thrown open. I'll follow thee, and bring
the bridal kiss. (They separate through different streets.)



SCENE IV.

   ANDREAS DORIA, GERMANS.

GERMAN. The storm drove that way. Mount your horse, duke!

ANDREAS. Let me cast a parting look at Genoa's towers! No; it is not a
dream. Andreas is betrayed.

GERMAN. The enemy is all around us. Away! Fly! Beyond the boundaries!

ANDREAS (throwing himself upon the dead body of his nephew). Here will I
die. Let no one talk of flight. Here lies the prop of my old age--my
career is ended. (CALCAGNO appears at a distance, with CONSPIRATORS.)

GERMAN. Danger is near. Fly, prince! (Drums beat.)

ANDREAS. Hark, Germans, bark! These are the Genoese whose chains I
broke. (Hiding his face.) Do your countrymen thus recompense their
benefactors?

GERMAN. Away! Away! while we stay here, and notch their swords upon our
German bones. (CALCAGNO comes nearer.)

ANDREAS. Save yourselves! Leave me! and go, declare the horrid story to
the shuddering nations that Genoa slew its father----

GERMAN. Slew! 'Sdeath, that shall not be. Comrades, stand firm!
Surround the duke! (They draw their swords.) Teach these Italian dogs
to reverence his gray head----

CALCAGNO (calls out). Who goes there? What have we here?

GERMAN. German blows--(retreat fighting, and carry off the body of
GIANETTINO.)



SCENE V.

   LEONORA, in male attire, ARABELLA following--
   they walk along timidly.

ARABELLA. Come, my lady, pray let us hasten onward.

LEONORA. This way the tumult rages--hark! was not that a dying groan?
Ah, they surround him! At Fiesco's breast they point their fatal
muskets--at my breast they point them. Hold! hold! It is my husband!
(Throws her arms up in agony.)

ARABELLA. For heaven's sake, my lady!

LEONORA (with wild enthusiasm, calling on all sides). O my Fiesco! my
Fiesco! His firmest friends desert him. The faith of rebels is unsteady
(shuddering). Rebels! Heaven? Is Fiesco, then, a chief of rebels?

ARABELLA. No, signora. He is the great deliverer of Genoa.

LEONORA (emphatically). Ha! that would indeed be glorious! And shall
Leonora tremble?--shall the bravest republican be wedded to the most
timid woman? Go, Arabella! When men contend for empires even a woman's
soul may kindle into valor. (Drums again heard.) I'll rush among the
combatants.

ARABELLA (clasping her hands together). All gracious heaven!

LEONORA. Softly! What strikes my foot? Here is a hat--and here a
mantle! A sword, too! (she lifts it up)--a heavy sword, my Arabella; but
I can carry it, and the sword shall not disgrace its bearer. (The
alarm-bell sounds.)

ARABELLA. Hark! hark! How terrible it sounds yonder, from the tower of
the Dominicans! God have mercy on us!

LEONORA (enthusiastically). Rather say, how delightful! In the majestic
sound of this alarm-bell my Fiesco speaks to Genoa. (Drums are heard
louder.) Ha! did flutes so sweetly strike my ear. Even these drums are
animated by Fiesco. My heart beats higher. All Genoa is roused; the
very mercenaries follow his name with transport--and shall his wife be
fearful? (Alarm-bells from three other towers.) No--my hero shall
embrace a heroine. My Brutus clasp within his arms a Roman wife. I'll
be his Portia. (Putting on GIANETTINO'S hat and throwing his scarlet
mantle round her.)

ARABELLA. My gracious lady, how wildly do you rave. (Alarm-bells and
drums are heard.)

LEONORA. Cold-blooded wretch; canst thou see and hear all this, and yet
not rave? The very stones are ready to weep that they have not feet to
run and join Fiesco. These palaces upbraid the builder, who had laid
their foundations so firmly in the earth that they cannot fly to join
Fiesco. The very shores, were they able, would forsake their office in
order to follow his glorious banner, though by so doing they abandoned
Genoa to the mercy of the ocean. What might shake death himself out of
his leaden sleep has not power to rouse thy courage? Away! I'll find my
way alone.

ARABELLA. Great God! You will not act thus madly?

LEONORA (with heroic haughtiness). Weak girl! I will. (With great
animation.) Where the tumult rages the most fiercely. Where Fiesco
himself leads on the combat. Methinks I hear them ask, "Is that Lavagna,
the unconquered hero, who with his sword decides the fate of Genoa? Is
that Lavagna?" Yes, I will say; yes, Genoese, that is Lavagna; and that
Lavagna is my husband!

SACCO (entering with CONSPIRATORS). Who goes there--Doria or Fiesco?

LEONORA (with enthusiasm). Fiesco and liberty. (Retires into another
street. A tumult, ARABELLA lost in the crowd.)



SCENE VI.

   SACCO, with a number of followers. CALCAGNO,
   meeting him with others.

CALCAGNO. Andreas has escaped.

SACCO. Unwelcome tidings to Fiesco.

CALCAGNO. Those Germans fight like furies! They planted themselves
around the old man like rocks. I could not even get a glimpse of him.
Nine of our men are done for; I myself was slightly wounded. Zounds! If
they thus serve a foreign tyrant, how will they guard the princes of
their country?

SACCO. Numbers have flocked already to our standard, and all the gates
are ours.

CALCAGNO. I hear they still are fighting desperately at the citadel.

SACCO. Bourgognino is amongst them. Where is Verrina?

CALCAGNO. He guards, like Cerberus, the passage between Genoa and the
sea--an anchovy could scarcely pass him.

SACCO. I'll rouse the suburbs----

CALCAGNO. I'll away to the market-place. Drummers, strike up! (They
march off, drums beating.)



SCENE VII.

   MOOR. A troop of THIEVES, with lighted matches.

MOOR. Now I'll let you into a secret, my boys; 'twas I that cooked this
soup, but the devil a spoonful do they give me. Well, I care not. This
hubbub is just to my taste. We'll set about burning and plundering.
While they are squabbling for a dukedom we'll make a bonfire in the
churches that shall warm the frozen apostles. (They disperse themselves
among the neighboring houses.)



SCENE VIII.

   BOURGOGNINO--BERTHA, disguised as a boy.

BOURGOGNINO. Rest here, dear youth; thou art in safety. Dost thou
bleed?

BERTHA (in a feigned voice). No; not at all.

BOURGOGNINO (with energy). Rise, then, I'll lead thee where thou mayst
gain wounds for Genoa--wounds beautiful like these. (Uncovering his
arm.)

BERTHA (starting). Heavens!

BOURGOGNINO. Art thou frightened, youth? Too early didst thou put on
the man. What age hast thou?

BERTHA. Fifteen years.

BOURGOGNINO. That is unfortunate! For this night's business thou art
five years too young. Who is thy father?

BERTHA. The truest citizen in Genoa.

BOURGOGNINO. Gently, boy! That name belongs alone to the father of my
betrothed bride. Dost thou know the house of Verrina?

BERTHA. I should think so.

BOURGOGNINO (eagerly). And knowest thou his lovely daughter?

BERTHA. Her name is Bertha.

BOURGOGNINO. Go, quickly! Carry her this ring. Say it shall be our
wedding-ring; and tell her the blue crest fights bravely. Now farewell!
I must hasten yonder. The danger is not yet over. (Some houses are seen
on fire.)

BERTHA (in a soft voice). Scipio!

BOURGOGNINO (struck with astonishment). By my sword! I know that voice.

BERTHA (falling upon his neck). By my heart! I am well known here.

BOURGOGNINO. Bertha! (Alarm-bells sound in the suburbs--a tumult--
BOURGOGNINO and BERTHA embrace, and are lost in the crowd.) [NOTE]


[NOTE] In lieu of this scene Schiller substituted the following, during
his stay at Leipzig in 1786, for the use of the theatre there:--

   A subterranean vault, lighted by a single lamp. The background
   remains quite dark. BERTHA is discovered sitting on a stone in
   the foreground; a black veil covers her face. After a pause she
   rises and walks to and fro.

BERTHA. Still no sound? No sign of human footstep? No approach of
my deliverers. Horrible suspense! Fearful and hopeless as that of
one buried alive beneath the sod of the churchyard. And for what dost
thou sit, poor deceived one? An inviolable oath immures thee in this
dungeon. Gianettino Doria must fall, and Genoa be free, or Bertha left
to pine away her miserable existence, such was my father's oath.
Fearful prison-house to which there is no key but the death-groan of a
well-guarded tyrant. (Looking round the vault) How awful is this
stillness! terrible as the silence of the grave! How fearfully the
darkness creeps from yonder vaults! My lamp, too, is flickering in its
socket. (Walking up and down energetically). Oh, come, come, my
beloved, 'tis horrible to die here. (A pause--then she starts up and
rushes to and fro wringing her hands to deep despair.) He has forsaken
me. He has broken his oath. He has forgotten his Bertha. The living
think not of the dead, and this vault is my tomb. Hope no more, wretched
one. Hope flourishes only where the eye of the Almighty pervades--into
this dungeon it never penetrates. (Again a pause; she becomes still more
alarmed.)

Or have my deliverers perished? Perchance the bold attempt has failed,
the danger has overwhelmed the courageous youth. O unhappy Bertha,
perhaps even now their ghosts are wandering through these vaults, and
weep over thy vain hopes. (Shuddering.) Heavens! if they are dead I am
irrevocably lost, irrevocably abandoned to a horrible death. (Leans
against the wall for support. After a pause she continues despondingly.)
And if my beloved one still lives--if he should return to keep his word,
to fetch his bride away in triumph, and find all here lonely and silent,
and the inanimate corpse no longer sensible to his transports--when his
burning kisses shall in vain endeavor to restore the life which has fled
from these lips, and his tears flow on me hopelessly--when my father
shall sink weeping on the body of his daughter, and the voice of his
lamentations echo through the regions of my prison-house. Oh, then
repeat not to them my complaints, ye walls! Tell them that I suffered
like a heroine, and that my last sigh was forgiveness. (Sinks exhausted
on the stone--pause--a confused sound of drums and bells is heard from
behind the stage in various directions. BERTHA starts to her feet.)
Hark! what means this? Am I awake, or do I dream? How dreadfully the
bells clang! That is no sound of ringing to prayers. (The noise comes
nearer and increases; she rushes to and fro alarmed.) Louder and louder
yet! Heavens, they are alarm-bells! they are alarm-bells! Have enemies
surprised the city? Is Genoa in flames? A wild and dreadful din, like
the trampling of myriads! What's that? (Someone knocks loudly at the
door.) They cone this way--they draw the bolts--(rushing towards the
background). Men! Men! Liberty! Deliverance! (BOURGOGNINO enters
hastily with a drawn sword, followed by several torch-bearers.)

BOURGOGNINO (calling out loudly). Thou art free, Bertha! The tyrant is
dead! This sword has passed through his heart.

BERTHA (running into his arms). My deliverer! my angel!

BOURGOGNINO. Dost thou hear the alarm-bells, and the roll of the drums?
Fiesco has conquered, Genoa is free, and thy father's curse annihilated.

BERTHA. Oh, heavens! This dreadful uproar, these alarm-bells, then,
were for me?

BOURGOGNINO. For thee, Bertha! They are our marriage chimes. Leave
this horrid dungeon and follow me to the altar.

BERTHA. To the altar, Bourgognino? Now, at this midnight hour? While
this awful tumult is raging as though the whole globe were crushing to
atoms! (VERRINA enters unperceived, and remains standing silently at the
entrance.)

BOURGOGNINO. In this beautiful, glorious night, in which all Genoa
celebrates its freedom, as a bond of love this sword, still dyed with the
tyrant's blood, shall be my wedding gear--this hand, still warm from the
heroic deed, the priest shall lay in thine. Fear not my love, and follow
me to the church. (VERRINA approaches, steps between both, and embraces
them.)

VERRINA. God bless you, my children!

BERTHA AND BOURGOGNINO (falling at his feet). O my father!

VERRINA (lays his hands on them both--a pause--then he turns solemnly to
BOURGOGNINO). Never forget how dearly thou hast won her. Never forget
that thy marriage dates from the day of Genoa's freedom. (Turning
towards BERTHA in a grave and dignified manner.) Thou art the daughter
of Verrina, and 'twas thy husband slew the tyrant. (After a pause he
beckons them to rise, and says, with suppressed emotion.) The priest
awaits you.

BERTHA AND BOURGOGNINO (together). How, my father? Will you not
accompany us thither?

VERRINA (very gravely). A terrible duty calls me elsewhere; my prayers
shall accompany you. (Drums and trumpets, intermixed with acclamations,
are heard in the distance.) What means this shouting?

BOURGOGNINO. They are proclaiming Fiesco duke. The populace adore him,
and with eager acclamations brought him the purple; the nobles looked on
with dismay, but dared not refuse their sanction.

VERRINA (laughs bitterly). You see, my son, I must away with speed to be
the first to tender the oath of allegiance to the new monarch.

BOURGOGNINO (holds him back alarmed). What is your purpose! I'll go
with you.

BERTHA (hanging anxiously on BOURGOGNINO). Heavens! what means this,
Bourgognino? What is my father meditating?

VERRINA. My son, I have converted all my possessions into gold, and have
conveyed it on board thy ship. Take thy bride and embark without delay.
Perhaps I shall soon follow, perhaps never. Hasten to Marseilles, and
(embracing them with emotion) God be with you.

BOURGOGNINO (determinedly). Verrina, I must stay; the danger is not yet
past.

VERRINA (leading him towards BERTHA). Look to thy bride, thou proud,
insatiable one. Thou hast despatched thy tyrant, leave me to deal with
mine. [Exeunt.



SCENE IX.

   FIESCO and ZIBO from different sides. Attendants.

FIESCO (in great anger). Who set fire to those houses?

ZIBO. The citadel is taken.

FIESCO. Who set those houses on fire?

ZIBO (to the attendants). Despatch a guard to apprehend the villains.
(Some soldiers go.)

FIESCO. Will they make me an incendiary? Hasten with the engines!
(Attendants go.) But are you sure that Gianettino has fallen?

ZIBO. So they say.

FIESCO (wildly). They say so only! Who say? Declare, upon your honor,
has he escaped?

ZIBO (doubtfully). If I may trust my eyes against the assertion of a
nobleman, then--Gianettino lives.

FIESCO (starting). Zibo, your eyes may cost your head----

ZIBO. 'Tis but eight minutes since I saw him in the crowd dressed in his
scarlet cloak and yellow plume.

FIESCO (wildly). Heaven and hell! Zibo! Bourgognino shall answer for
it with his head. Hasten, Zibo! secure the barriers. Sink all the boats
that he may not escape by sea. This diamond, Zibo--the richest in all
Italy--this diamond shall reward the man who brings me tidings of
Gianettino's death. (ZIBO hastens away.) Fly, Zibo!



SCENE X.

   FIESCO, SACCO, the MOOR, SOLDIERS.

SACCO. We found this Moor throwing a lighted match into the convent of
the Jesuits.

FIESCO. Thy treachery was overlooked when it concerned myself alone.
The halter awaits the incendiary. Take him away and hang him at the
church-door.

MOOR. Plague on it! that's an awkward piece of business. Is there no
way out of it?

FIESCO. No.

MOOR. Send me awhile to the galleys----

FIESCO (beckoning to the attendants). To the gallows.

MOOR (impudently). Then I'll turn Christian.

FIESCO. The church refuses the dregs of infidelity.

MOOR (in an insinuating manner). At least send me drunk into eternity!

FIESCO. Sober.

MOOR. Don't hang me up, however, beside a Christian church!

FIESCO. A man of honor keeps his word. I promised thee a gallows of
thy own.

SACCO. No more prating, heathen! we've business of more consequence.

MOOR. But, stay! Perhaps the rope may break?

FIESCO (to SACCO). Let it be double.

MOOR. Well, if it must be so, the devil may make ready for an extra
guest. (Soldiers lead him off, and hang him at a little distance.)



SCENE XI.

   FIESCO--LEONORA appearing at a distance, in the scarlet
   cloak of GIANETTINO.

FIESCO (perceiving her, rushes forward--then stops). Do I know that
crest and mantle? (Rushes on furiously.) Yes, I know them. (Runs her
through with his sword.) If thou hast three lives then rise again.
(LEONORA falls with a hollow groan, the march of victory is heard, with
drums, horns, and hautboys.)



SCENE XII.

   FIESCO, CALCAGNO, ZENTURIONE, ZIBO:
   SOLDIERS, with drums and colors.

FIESCO (advancing towards them in triumph). Genoese--the die is cast.
Here lies the viper of my soul, the abhorred food of my resentment. Lift
high your swords! Gianettino is no more!

CALCAGNO. And I come to inform you that two-thirds of Genoa have
declared for our party, and swear obedience to Fiesco's standard.

ZIBO. By me Verrina sends his greeting to you from the admiral's galley,
with the dominion of the sea.

ZENTURIONE. By me the governor of the city sends his keys and staff of
office.

SACCO. And in me (kneeling) the less and greater senate of the republic
kneel down before their master, and supplicate for favor and protection.

CALCAGNO. Let me be the first to welcome the illustrious conquerer
within the walls. Bow your colors! Hail, Duke of Genoa!

ALL (taking off their hats). Hail! Hail, Duke of Genoa! (March of
triumph--FIESCO stands the whole time with his head sunk upon his breast,
in a meditating posture.)

CALCAGNO. The people and the senate wait to see their gracious sovereign
invested in the robes of dignity. Great duke, permit us to follow you in
triumph to the senate-house.

FIESCO. First allow me to listen to the dictates of my heart. I was
obliged to leave a most dear person in anxious apprehension--a person who
will share with me the glory of this night. (To the company.) Will you,
my friends, attend me to your amiable duchess! (Going.)

CALCAGNO. Shall this murderous villain lie here, and hide his infamy in
obscurity?

ZENTURIONE. Plant his head upon a halberd.

ZIBO. Let his mangled carcass sweep the streets! (They hold lights
toward the body.)

CALCAGNO (terrified and in a low voice). Look, Genoese! By heavens,
this is not the face of Gianettino! (All look at the body.)

FIESCO (fixes his eyes upon it with an eager look, which he withdraws
slowly--then, with convulsive wildness, exclaims). No! ye devils! That
is not the face of Gianettino--Oh, malicious fiend! Genoa is mine, say
you? Mine? (Rushing forward with a dreadful shriek.) Oh, trickery of
hell! It is my wife! (He sinks to the ground in agony--The CONSPIRATORS
stand around in groups, shuddering--a dead silence.)

FIESCO (raising himself exhausted--in a faint voice). But tell me truly,
Genoese, have I indeed slain my wife? I conjure you look not so ghastly
upon this illusion! Heaven be praised! there are fates which man has not
to fear, because he is but man. This must be one of them. He who is
denied the joys of heaven can scarce be doomed to bear the pains of hell.
This dread infliction would be even more. God be praised! It must be
so. And this is naught but the chimera of a disordered brain.



SCENE XIII.

   The former--ARABELLA enters weeping.

ARABELLA. Let them kill me! What have I now to dread? Have pity on me,
Genoese. 'Twas here I left my dearest mistress, and nowhere can I find
her.

FIESCO (approaching her--with a low and trembling voice.) Was Leonora
thy mistress?

ARABELLA (with pleasure). Are you there, my most gracious and dear good
lord? Be not displeased with us. We could no longer restrain her.

FIESCO (in alarm). Restrain her! Wretch! From what?

ARABELLA. From following----

FIESCO (violently). Ha! From following what?

ARABELLA. The tumult----

FIESCO. What was her dress?

ARABELLA. A Scarlet mantle.

FIESCO (in a transport of rage). Get thee to the abyss of hell! The
mantle?

ARABELLA. Lay here upon the ground.

SOME OF THE CONSPIRATORS (talking apart). 'Twas here that Gianettino was
killed.

FIESCO (ready to faint, to ARABELLA). Thy mistress is found--(ARABELLA
advances anxiously--FIESCO casts his eyes round the whole circle--then,
with a faltering voice)--'Tis true--'Tis true--And I am the instrument of
this horrid deed. (Madly.) Back! back! ye human forms! Oh! (gnashing
his teeth wildly, and looking up toward heaven) had I but this created
orb between my teeth--I feel as though I could tear the universe to
fragments, till nature's face was hideous as the pain that gnaws my soul!
(To the others, that stand around, trembling.) See, how they stand
aghast there, miserable creatures! blessing themselves and rejoicing that
they are not as I am. I alone feel the blow. (Wildly.) I!--why I? Why
not these as well? Why is my sorrow denied the balm of being shared with
others?

CALCAGNO (timidly). Most gracious duke!

FIESCO (rushes on hint with a look of fiendlike joy). Ha! Welcome!
Here, Heaven be thanked, is one whom the same thunderbolt has struck!
(Pressing CALCAGNO furiously in his arms.) Brother of my sorrows!
Welcome to your share of destruction! She's dead. Didst thou not also
love her? (Forcing him toward the dead body.) Behold her and despair!
She's dead. (Fixing his eyes earnestly on one part of the stage.) Oh,
that I could stand upon the brink of the infernal gulf, and view below
all hell's variety of torments!--could hear the horrid shrieks of damned
souls! (Approaching the body, trembling.) Here lies my murdered wife.
Nay--that says too little--the wife that I myself have murdered. Oh!
'Tis the cunningest of hell's devices--first I was allured to the topmost
pinnacle of joy--to the very threshold of heaven--then--in an instant
hurled headlong down--and then--oh that my breath could send a pestilence
to hell! And then was made the murderer of my wife--fool that I was to
trust two erring eyes? Oh, fiends, this is your masterpiece of torture!
(All the CONSPIRATORS lean upon their swords much afflicted--a pause.)

FIESCO (exhausted, and looking mournfully round the circle). Yes, by
heavens! They who feared not to draw their swords against their prince
are shedding tears! (With dejection.) Speak! Do you weep over this
havoc caused by treacherous death, or do you bewail the fall of your
leader's spirit? (Turning toward the dead body in an affecting posture.)
Where iron-hearted warriors were melted into tears, Fiesco uttered only
imprecations of despair. (Kneels down, weeping, by her side.) Pardon
me, Leonora--the decrees of heaven are immutable; they yield not to
mortal anger. (With a melancholy tenderness.) O Leonora, years ago my
fancy painted that triumphant hour when I should present thee to Genoa as
her duchess--methought I saw the lovely blush that tinged thy modest
cheek--the timid heaving of thy beauteous bosom beneath the snowy gauze--
I heard the gentle murmurs of thy voice, which died away in rapture!
(More lively.) Ah, how intoxicating to my soul were the proud
acclamations of the people! How did my love rejoice to see its triumph
marked in the sinking envy of its rivals! Leonora! The hour which
should confirm these hopes is come. Thy Fiesco is Duke of Genoa--and yet
the meanest beggar would not exchange his poverty for my greatness and my
sufferings. (More affected.) He has a wife to share his troubles--with
whom can I share my splendor? (He weeps bitterly, and throws himself on
the dead body. Compassion marked upon the countenances of all.)

CALCAGNO. She was, indeed, a most excellent lady.

ZIBO. This event must be concealed from the people. 'Twould damp the
ardor of our party and elevate the enemy with hope.

FIESCO (rises, collected and firm). Here me, Genoese! Providence, if
rightly I interpret its designs, has struck me with this wound only to
try my heart for my approaching greatness. The blow was terrible. Since
I have felt it, I fear neither torture nor pleasure. Come! Genoa, you
say, awaits me--I will give to Genoa a prince more truly great than
Europe ever saw. Away!--for this unhappy princess I will prepare a
funeral so splendid that life shall lose its charms, and cold corruption
glitter like a bride. Follow your duke!

                     [Exeunt, with music and colors.



SCENE XIV.

   ANDREAS, LOMELLINO.

ANDREAS. Yonder they go, with shouts of exultation.

LOMELLINO. They are intoxicated with success. The gates are deserted
and all are hastening toward the senate-house.

ANDREAS. It was my nephew only whom Genoa could not brook. My nephew is
no more. Hear, Lomellino!

LOMELLINO. What, duke--still--do you still hope?

ANDREAS (sternly). And dost thou tremble for my life, and mock me with
the name of duke the while thou wouldst forbid me hope.

LOMELLINO. My gracious lord, a raging nation lies in Fiesco's scale;
what counterpoise in yours?

ANDREAS (with dignity and animation). Heaven!

LOMELLINO (shrugging up his shoulders). The times are past, my lord,
when armies fought under the guidance of celestial leaders. Since
gunpowder was invented angels have ceased to fight.

ANDREAS. Wretch that thou art! Wouldst thou bereave an aged head of its
support, its God. (In an earnest and commanding tone.) Go! Make it
known throughout Genoa that Andreas Doria is still alive. Say that
Andreas entreats the citizens, his children, not to drive him, in his old
age, to dwell with foreigners, who ne'er would pardon the exalted state
to which he raised his country. Say this--and further say, Andreas begs
but so much ground within his fatherland as may contain his bones.

LOMELLINO. I obey; but I despair of success. (Going.)

ANDREAS. Stay; take with thee this snowy lock, and say it was the last
upon my head. Say that I plucked it on that night when ungrateful Genoa
tore itself from my heart. For fourscore years it hung upon my temples,
and now has left my bald head, chilled with the winter of age. The lock
is weak, but 'twill suffice to fasten the purple on that young usurper.

   [Exit--LOMELLINO hastens into another street--Shouts are heard,
   with trumpets and drums.



SCENE XV.

   VERRINA (coming from the harbor), BERTHA, and BOURGOGNINO.

VERRINA. What mean these shouts?

BOURGOGNINO. They proclaim Fiesco duke.

BERTHA (to BOURGOGNINO, timidly). Scipio! My father's looks are
dreadful----

VERRINA. Leave me, my children. O Genoa! Genoa!

BOURGOGNINO. The populace adore him, and with transports hailed him as
their duke. The nobles looked on with horror, but dared not oppose it.

VERRINA. My son, I have converted all my possessions into gold, and
conveyed it on board thy vessel. Take thy wife with thee, and set sail
immediately. Perhaps I soon shall follow. Perhaps--never more. Hasten
to Marseilles, and--(embracing them mournfully and with energy)--may the
Almighty guide you.               [Exit hastily.

BERTHA. I beseech thee, say, on what dreadful project does my father
brood?

BOURGOGNINO. Didst thou understand thy father?

BERTHA. He bade us fly. Merciful Heaven! Fly on our bridal day!

BOURGOGNINO. He spoke it, and we must obey.

                     [Exeunt towards the harbor.



SCENE XVI.

   VERRINA, and FIESCO (in the ducal habit), meeting.

FIESCO. Welcome, Verrina! I was anxious to meet thee.

VERRINA. I also sought Fiesco.

FIESCO. Does Verrina perceive no alteration in his friend?

VERRINA (with reserve). I wish for none.

FIESCO. But do you see none?

VERRINA (without looking at him). I should hope not!

FIESCO. I ask, do you perceive none?

VERRINA (after a slight glance). None!

FIESCO. See, then, how idle is the observation that power makes a
tyrant. Since we parted I am become the Duke of Genoa, and yet Verrina
(pressing him to his bosom) finds my embrace still glowing as before.

VERRINA. I grieve that I must return it coldly. The sight of majesty
falls like a keen-edged weapon, cutting off all affection between the
duke and me. To John Louis Fiesco belonged the territory of my heart.
Now he has conquered Genoa I resume that poor possession.

FIESCO (with astonishment). Forbid it, Heaven! That price is too
enormous even for a dukedom.

VEERINA (muttering). Hum! Is liberty then out of fashion, that
republics are so lightly thrown away upon the first that offers himself?

FIESCO (bites his lips). Verrina, say this to no one but Fiesco.

VERRINA. Oh, of course! Great indeed must be that mind which can hear
the voice of truth without offence. But alas! the cunning gamester has
failed in one single card. He calculated all the chances of envious
opposition, but unfortunately overlooked one antagonist--the patriot--
(very significantly). But perhaps the oppressor of liberty has still in
store some scheme for banishing patriotic virtue. I swear by the living
God that posterity shall sooner collect my mouldering bones from off the
wheel than from a sepulchre within that country which is governed by a
duke.

FIESCO (taking him tenderly by the hand). Not even when that duke is thy
brother? Not if he should make his principality the treasury of that
benevolence which was restrained by his domestic poverty? Not even then,
Verrina.

VERRINA. No--not even then! We pardon not the robber because he made
gifts of his plunder, nor does such generosity suit Verrina. I might
permit my fellow-citizens to confer a benefit on me--because I should
hope some day to make them an adequate return. That which a prince
confers is bounty; but bounty undeserved I would receive alone from God.

FIESCO (angrily). It were as easy to tear Italy from the bosom of the
ocean as to shake this stubborn enthusiast from his prejudices.

VERRINA. Well mayst thou talk of tearing: thou hast torn the republic
from Doria, as a lamb from the jaws of the wolf, only that thou mightest
devour it thyself. But enough of this--just tell me, duke, what crime
the poor wretch committed whom you ordered to be hung up at the church of
the Jesuits?

FIESCO. The scoundrel set fire to the city.

VERRINA. Yet the scoundrel left the laws untouched.

FIESCO. Verrina presumes upon my friendship.

VERRINA. Away with friendship! I tell thee I no longer love thee. I
swear to thee that I hate thee--hate thee like the serpent of Paradise,
that first disturbed the happiness of creation, and brought upon mankind
unbounded sorrow. Hear me, Fiesco, I speak to thee not as a subject to
his master, not as a friend to his friend, but as man to man--(with
bitterness and vehemence). Thou hast committed a crime against the
majesty of the eternal God in permitting virtue to lead thy hands to
wickedness, and in suffering the patriots of Genoa to violate their
country. Fiesco, had thy villany deceived me also!--Fiesco, by all the
horrors of eternity! with my own hands I would have strangled myself, and
on thy head spurted the venom of my departing soul. A princely crime may
break the scale of human justice, but thou hast insulted heaven, and the
last judgment will decide the cause. (Fiesco remains speechless, looking
at him with astonishment.) Do not attempt to answer me. Now we have
done. (After walking several times up and down.) Duke of Genoa, in the
vessels of yesterday's tyrant, I have seen a miserable race who, at every
stroke of their oars, ruminate upon their long-expiated guilt, and weep
their tears into the ocean, which, like a rich man, is too proud to count
them. A good prince begins his reign with acts of mercy. Wilt thou
release the galley-slaves?

FIESCO (sharply). Let them be the first fruits of my tyranny. Go, and
announce to them their deliverance.

VERRINA. You will enjoy but half the pleasure unless you see their
happiness. Perform this deed thyself. The great are seldom witnesses of
the evils which they cause. And shall they, too, do good by stealth and
in obscurity? Methinks the duke is not too great to sympathize with a
beggar.

FIESCO. Man, thou art dreadful; yet I know not why I must follow thee.
(Both go toward the sea.)

VERRINA (stops, much affected). But once more embrace me, Fiesco. Here
is no one by to see Verrina weep, or to behold a prince give way to
feeling--(he embraces him eagerly). Surely never beat two greater hearts
together--we loved each other so fraternally--(weeping violently on
Fiasco's neck). Fiesco! Fiesco! Thou makest a void in my bosom which
all mankind, thrice numbered, could not fill up.

FIESCO (much affected). Be still, my friend.

VERRINA. Throw off this hateful purple, and I will be so. The first
prince was a murderer, and assumed the purple to hide the bloody stains
of his detested deeds. Hear me, Fiesco! I am a warrior, little used to
weeping--Fiesco--these are my first tears--throw off this purple!

FIESCO. Peace.

VERRINA (more vehemently). Fiesco, place on the one side all the honors
of this great globe, on the other all its tortures; they should not make
me kneel before a mortal--Fiesco (falling on his knee), this is the first
bending of my knee--throw off this purple!

FIESCO. Rise, and no longer irritate me!

VERRINA (in a determined tone). I rise then, and will no longer irritate
thee. (They stand on a board leading to a galley.) The prince must take
precedence.

FIESCO. Why do you pull my cloak? It falls----

VERRINA (with bitter irony). If the purple falls the duke must after it.
(He pushes him into the sea.)

FIESCO (calls out of the waves). Help, Genoa! Help! Help thy duke!
(Sinks.)



SCENE XVII.

   CALCAGNO, SACCO, ZIBO, ZENTURIONE, Conspirators, People.

CALCAGNO (crying out). Fiesco! Fiesco! Andreas is returned--half Genoa
joins Andreas. Where is Fiesco?

VERRINA (in a firm tone). Drowning.

ZENTURIONE. Does hell or madness prompt thy answer?

VERRINA. Drowned--if that sound better. I go to join Andreas.

   (The CONSPIRATORS stand in groups, astonished. The curtain falls.)






             LOVE AND INTRIGUE.

               A TRAGEDY.

            By Frederich Schiller



DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

PRESIDENT VON WALTER, Prime Minister in the Court of a German Prince.
FERDINAND, his son; a Major in the Army; in love with Louisa Miller.
BARON VON KALB, Court Marshal (or Chamberlain).
WORM, Private Secretary to the President.
MILLER, the Town Musician, and Teacher of Music.
MRS. MILLER, his wife.
LOUISA, the daughter of Miller, in love with Ferdinand.
LADY MILFORD, the Prince's Mistress.
SOPHY, attendant on Lady Milford.
An old Valet in the service of the Prince.
Officers, Attendants, etc.




ACT I.

SCENE I.

   MILLER--MRS. MILLER.

MILLER (walking quickly up and down the room). Once for all! The
affair is becoming serious. My daughter and the baron will soon be the
town-talk--my house lose its character--the president will get wind of
it, and--the short and long of the matter is, I'll show the younker the
door.

MRS MILLER. You did not entice him to your house--did not thrust your
daughter upon him!

MILLER. Didn't entice him to my house--didn't thrust the girl upon him!
Who'll believe me? I was master of my own house. I ought to have taken
more care of my daughter. I should have bundled the major out at once,
or have gone straight to his excellency, his papa, and disclosed all.
The young baron will get off merely with a snubbing, I know that well
enough, and all the blame will fall upon the fiddler.

MRS MILLER (sipping her coffee). Pooh! nonsense! How can it fall upon
you? What have people to do with you? You follow your profession, and
pick up pupils wherever you can find them.

MILLER. All very fine, but please to tell me what will be the upshot of
the whole affair? He can't marry the girl--marriage is out of the
question, and to make her his--God help us! "Good-by t'ye!" No, no--when
such a sprig of nobility has been nibbling here and there and everywhere,
and has glutted himself with the devil knows what all, of course it will
be a relish to my young gentleman to get a mouthful of sweet water. Take
heed! Take heed! If you were dotted with eyes, and could place a
sentinel for every hair of your head, he'll bamboozle her under your very
nose; add one to her reckoning, take himself off, and the girl's ruined
for life, left in the lurch, or, having once tasted the trade, will carry
it on. (Striking his forehead.) Oh, horrible thought!

MRS MILLER. God in his mercy protect us!

MILLER. We shall want his protection. You may well say that. What
other object can such a scapegrace have? The girl is handsome--well
made--can show a pretty foot. How the upper story is furnished matters
little. That's blinked in you women if nature has not played the niggard
in other respects. Let this harum-scarum but turn over this chapter--ho!
ho! his eyes will glisten like Rodney's when he got scent of a French
frigate; then up with all sail and at her, and I don't blame him for it--
flesh is flesh. I know that very well.

MRS MILLER. You should only read the beautiful billy-doux which the
baron writes to your daughter. Gracious me! Why it's as clear as the
sun at noonday that he loves her purely for her virtuous soul.

MILLER. That's the right strain! We beat the sack, but mean the ass's
back. He who wishes to pay his respects to the flesh needs only a kind
heart for a go-between. What did I myself? When we've once so far
cleared the ground that the affections cry ready! slap! the bodies follow
their example, the appetites are obedient, and the silver moon kindly
plays the pimp.

MRS MILLER. And then only think of the beautiful books that the major
has sent us. Your daughter always prays out of them.

MILLER (whistles). Prays! You've hit the mark. The plain, simple food
of nature is much too raw and indigestible for this maccaroni gentleman's
stomach. It must be cooked for him artificially in the infernal
pestilential pitcher of your novel-writers. Into the fire with the
rubbish! I shall have the girl taking up with--God knows what all--about
heavenly fooleries that will get into her blood, like Spanish flies, and
scatter to the winds the handful of Christianity that cost her father so
much trouble to keep together. Into the fire with them I say! The girl
will take the devil's own nonsense into her head; amidst the dreams of
her fool's paradise she'll not know her own home, but forget and feel
ashamed of her father, the music-master; and, lastly, I shall lose a
worthy, honest son-in-law who might have nestled himself so snugly into
my connections. No! damn it! (Jumps up in a passion.) I'll break the
neck of it at once, and the major--yes, yes, the major! shall be shown
where the carpenter made the door. (Going.)

MRS MILLER. Be civil, Miller! How many a bright shilling have his
presents----

MILLER (comes back, and goes up to her). The blood money of my daughter?
To Beelzebub with thee, thou infamous bawd! Sooner will I vagabondize
with my violin and fiddle for a bit of bread--sooner will I break to
pieces my instrument and carry dung on the sounding-board than taste a
mouthful earned by my only child at the price of her soul and future
happiness. Give up your cursed coffee and snuff-taking, and there will
be no need to carry your daughter's face to market. I have always had my
bellyful and a good shirt to my back before this confounded scamp put his
nose into my crib.

MRS MILLER. Now don't be so ready to pitch the house out of window. How
you flare up all of a sudden. I only meant to say that we shouldn't
offend the major, because he is the son of the president.

MILLER. There lies the root of the mischief. For that reason--for that
very reason the thing must be put a stop to this very day! The
president, if he is a just and upright father, will give me his thanks.
You must brush up my red plush, and I will go straight to his excellency.
I shall say to him,--"Your excellency's son has an eye to my daughter; my
daughter is not good enough to be your excellency's son's wife, but too
good to be your excellency's son's strumpet, and there's an end of the
matter. My name is Miller."



SCENE II.

   Enter SECRETARY WORM.

MRS MILLER. Ah! Good morning, Mr. Seckertary! Have we indeed the
pleasure of seeing you again?

WORM. All on my side--on my side, cousin Miller! Where a high-born
cavalier's visits are received mine can be of no account whatever.

MRS MILLER. How can you think so, Mr. Seckertary? His lordship the
baron, Major Ferdinand, certainly does us the honor to look in now and
then; but, for all that, we don't undervalue others.

MILLER (vexed). A chair, wife, for the gentleman! Be seated, kinsman.

WORM (lays aside hat and stick, and seats himself). Well, well--and how
then is my future--or past--bride? I hope she'll not be--may I not have
the honor of seeing--Miss Louisa?

MRS MILLER. Thanks for inquiries, Mr. Seckertary, but my daughter is not
at all proud.

MILLER (angry, jogs her with his elbow). Woman!

MRS MILLER. Sorry she can't have that honor, Mr. Seckertary. My
daughter is now at mass.

WORM. I am glad to hear it,--glad to hear it. I shall have in her a
pious, Christian wife!

MRS MILLER (smiling in a stupidly affected manner). Yes--but, Mr.
Seckertary----

MILLER (greatly incensed, pulls her ears). Woman!

MRS MILLER. If our family can serve you in any other way--with the
greatest pleasure, Mr. Seckertary----

WORM (frowning angrily). In any other way? Much obliged! much
obliged!--hm! hm! hm!

MRS MILLER. But, as you yourself must see, Mr. Seckertary----

MILLER (in a rage, shaking his fist at her). Woman!

MRS MILLER. Good is good, and better is better, and one does not like to
stand between fortune and one's only child (with vulgar pride). You
understand me, Mr. Seckertary?

WORM. Understand. Not exac---. Oh, yes. But what do you really mean?

MRS MILLER. Why--why--I only think--I mean--(coughs). Since then
Providence has determined to make a great lady of my daughter----

WORM (jumping from his chair). What's that you say? what?

MILLER. Keep your seat, keep your seat, Mr. Secretary! The woman's an
out-and-out fool! Where's the great lady to come from? How you show
your donkey's ears by talking such stuff.

MRS MILLER. Scold as long as you will. I know what I know, and what the
major said he said.

MILLER (snatches up his fiddle in anger). Will you hold your tongue?
Shall I throw my fiddle at your head? What can you know? What can he
have said? Take no notice of her clack, kinsman! Away with you to your
kitchen! You'll not think me first cousin of a fool, and that I'm
looking out so high for the girl? You'll not think that of me, Mr.
Secretary?

WORM. Nor have I deserved it of you, Mr. Miller! You have always shown
yourself a man of your word, and my contract to your daughter was as good
as signed. I hold an office that will maintain a thrifty manager; the
president befriends me; the door to advancement is open to me whenever I
may choose to take advantage of it. You see that my intentions towards
Miss Louisa are serious; if you have been won over by a fop of rank----

MRS MILLER. Mr. Seckertary! more respect, I beg----

MILLER. Hold your tongue, I say. Never mind her, kinsman. Things
remain as they were. The answer I gave you last harvest, I repeat
to-day. I'll not force my daughter. If you suit her, well and good;
then it's for her to see that she can be happy with you. If she shakes
her head--still better--be it so, I should say--then you must be content
to pocket the refusal, and part in good fellowship over a bottle with her
father. 'Tis the girl who is to live with you--not I. Why should I, out
of sheer caprice, fasten a husband upon the girl for whom she has no
inclination? That the evil one may haunt me down like a wild beast in my
old age--that in every drop I drink--in every bit of bread I bite, I
might swallow the bitter reproach: Thou art the villain who destroyed his
child's happiness!

MRS MILLER. The short and the long of it is--I refuse my consent
downright; my daughter's intended for a lofty station, and I'll go to law
if my husband is going to be talked over.

MILLER. Shall I break every bone in your body, you millclack?

WORM (to MILLER). Paternal advice goes a great way with the daughter,
and I hope you know me, Mr. Miller?

MILLER. Plague take you! 'Tis the girl must know you. What an old
crabstick like me can see in you is just the very last thing that a
dainty young girl wants. I'll tell you to a hair if you're the man for
an orchestra--but a woman's heart is far too deep for a music-master.
And then, to be frank with you--you know that I'm a blunt,
straightforward fellow--you'll not give thank'ye for my advice. I'll
persuade my daughter to no one--but from you Mr. Sec--I would dissuade
her! A lover who calls upon the father for help--with permission--is not
worth a pinch of snuff. If he has anything in him, he'll be ashamed to
take that old-fashioned way of making his deserts known to his
sweetheart. If he hasn't the courage, why he's a milksop, and no Louisas
were born for the like of him. No! he must carry on his commerce with
the daughter behind the father's back. He must manage so to win her
heart, that she would rather wish both father and mother at Old Harry
than give him up--or that she come herself, fall at her father's feet,
and implore either for death on the rack, or the only one of her heart.
That's the fellow for me! that I call love! and he who can't bring
matters to that pitch with a petticoat may--stick the goose feather in
his cap.

WORM (seizes hat and stick and hurries out of the room). Much obliged,
Mr. Miller!

MILLER (going after him slowly). For what? for what? You haven't taken
anything, Mr. Secretary! (Comes back.) He won't hear, and off he's
gone. The very sight of that quill-driver is like poison and brimstone
to me. An ugly, contraband knave, smuggled into the world by some lewd
prank of the devil--with his malicious little pig's eyes, foxy hair, and
nut-cracker chin, just as if Nature, enraged at such a bungled piece of
goods, had seized the ugly monster by it, and flung him aside. No!
rather than throw away my daughter on a vagabond like him, she may--God
forgive me!

MRS MILLER. The wretch!--but you'll be made to keep a clean tongue in
your head!

MILLER. Ay, and you too, with your pestilential baron--you, too, must
put my bristles up. You're never more stupid than when you have the most
occasion to show a little sense. What's the meaning of all that trash
about your daughter being a great lady? If it's to be cried out about
the town to-morrow, you need only let that fellow get scent of it. He is
one of your worthies who go sniffing about into people's houses, dispute
upon everything, and, if a slip of the tongue happen to you, skurry with
it straight to the prince, mistress, and minister, and then there's the
devil to pay.



SCENE III.

   Enter LOUISA with a book in her hand.

LOUISA. Good morning, dear father!

MILLER (affectionately). Bless thee, my Louisa! I rejoice to see thy
thoughts are turned so diligently to thy Creator. Continue so, and his
arm will support thee.

LOUISA. Oh! I am a great sinner, father! Was he not here, mother?

MRS MILLER. Who, my child?

LOUISA. Ah! I forgot that there are others in the world besides him--my
head wanders so. Was he not here? Ferdinand?

MILLER (with melancholy, serious voice). I thought my Louisa had
forgotten that name in her devotions?

LOUISA (after looking at him steadfastly for some time). I understand
you, father. I feel the knife which stabs my conscience; but it comes
too late. I can no longer pray, father. Heaven and Ferdinand divide my
bleeding soul, and I fear--I fear--(after a pause). Yet no, no, good
father. The painter is best praised when we forget him in the
contemplation of his picture. When in the contemplation of his
masterpiece, my delight makes me forget the Creator,--is not that,
father, the true praise of God?

MILLER (throws himself in displeasure on a chair). There we have it!
Those are the fruits of your ungodly reading.

LOUISA (uneasy, goes to the window). Where can he be now? Ah! the
high-born ladies who see him--listen to him----I am a poor forgotten
maiden. (Startles at that word, and rushes to her father.) But no, no!
forgive me. I do not repine at my lot. I ask but little--to think on
him--that can harm no one. Ah! that I might breathe out this little
spark of life in one soft fondling zephyr to cool his check! That this
fragile floweret, youth, were a violet, on which he might tread, and I
die modestly beneath his feet! I ask no more, father! Can the proud,
majestic day-star punish the gnat for basking in its rays?

MILLER (deeply affected, leans on the arm of his chair, and covers his
face). My child, my child, with joy would I sacrifice the remnant of my
days hadst thou never seen the major.

LOUISA (terrified.) How; how? What did you say? No, no! that could not
be your meaning, good father. You know not that Ferdinand is mine! You
know not that God created him for me, and for my delight alone! (After a
pause of recollection.) The first moment that I beheld him--and the
blood rushed into my glowing cheeks--every pulse beat with joy; every
throb told me, every breath whispered, "'Tis he!" And my heart,
recognizing the long-desired one, repeated "'Tis he!" And the whole
world was as one melodious echo of my delight! Then--oh! then was the
first dawning of my soul! A thousand new sentiments arose in my bosom,
as flowers arise from the earth when spring approaches. I forgot there
was a world, yet never had I felt that world so dear to me! I forgot
there was a God, yet never had I so loved him!

MILLER (runs to her and clasps her to his bosom). Louisa! my beloved, my
admirable child! Do what thou wilt. Take all--all--my life--the baron--
God is my witness--him I can never give thee!       [Exit.

LOUISA. Nor would I have him now, father! Time on earth is but a
stinted dewdrop in the ocean of eternity. 'Twill swiftly glide in one
delicious dream of Ferdinand. I renounce him for this life! But then,
mother--then when the bounds of separation are removed--when the hated
distinctions of rank no longer part us--when men will be only men--I
shall bring nothing with me save my innocence! Yet often has my father
told me that at the Almighty's coming riches and titles will be
worthless; and that hearts alone will be beyond all price. Oh! then
shall I be rich! There, tears will be reckoned for triumphs, and purity
of soul be preferred to an illustrious ancestry. Then, then, mother,
shall I be noble! In what will he then be superior to the girl of his
heart?

MRS. MILLER (starts from her seat). Louisa! the baron! He is jumping
over the fence! Where shall I hide myself?

LOUISA (begins to tremble). Oh! do not leave me, mother!

MRS MILLER. Mercy! What a figure I am. I am quite ashamed! I cannot
let his lordship see me in this state!

                          [Exit.



SCENE IV.

   LOUISA--FERDINAND. (He flies towards her--she falls back into her
   chair, pale and trembling. He remains standing before her--they
   look at each other for some moments in silence. A pause.)

FERDINAND. So pale, Louisa?

LOUISA (rising, and embracing him). It is nothing--nothing now that you
are here--it is over.

FERDINAND (takes her hand and raises it to his lips). And does my Louisa
still love me? My heart is yesterday's; is thine the same? I flew
hither to see if thou wert happy, that I might return and be so too. But
I find thee whelmed in sorrow!

LOUISA. Not so, my beloved, not so!

FERDINAND. Confess, Louisa! you are not happy. I see through your soul
as clearly as through the transparent lustre of this brilliant. No spot
can harbor here unmarked by me--no thought can cloud your brow that does
not reach your lover's heart. Whence comes this grief? Tell me, I
beseech you! Ah! could I feel assured this mirror still remained
unsullied, there'd seem to me no cloud in all the universe! Tell me,
dear Louisa, what afflicts you?

LOUISA (looking at him with anxiety for a few moments). Ferdinand!
couldst thou but know how such discourse exalts the tradesman's
daughter----

FERDINAND (surprised). What say'st thou? Tell me, girl! how camest thou
by that thought? Thou art my Louisa! who told thee thou couldst be aught
else? See, false one, see, for what coldness I must chide thee! Were
indeed thy whole soul absorbed by love for me, never hadst thou found
time to draw comparisons! When I am with thee, my prudence is lost in
one look from thine eyes: when I am absent in a dream of thee! But thou
--thou canst harbor prudence in the sane breast with love! Fie on thee!
Every moment bestowed on this sorrow was a robbery from affection and
from me!

LOUISA (pressing his hand and shaking her head with a melancholy air).
Ferdinand, you would lull my apprehensions to sleep; you would divert my
eyes from the precipice into which I am falling. I can see the future!
The voice of honor--your prospects, your father's anger--my nothingness.
(Shuddering and suddenly drops his hands.) Ferdinand! a sword hangs over
us! They would separate us!

FERDINAND (jumps up). Separate us! Whence these apprehensions, Louisa?
Who can rend the bonds that bind two hearts, or separate the tones of one
accord? True, I am a nobleman--but show me that my patent of nobility is
older than the eternal laws of the universe--or my escutcheon more valid
than the handwriting of heaven in my Louisa's eyes? "This woman is for
this man?" I am son of the prime minister. For that very reason, what
but love can soften the curses which my father's extortions from the
country will entail upon me?

LOUISA. Oh! how I fear that father!

FERDINAND. I fear nothing--nothing but that your affection should know
bounds. Let obstacles rise between us, huge as mountains, I will look
upon them as a ladder by which to fly into the arms of my Louisa! The
tempest of opposing fate shall but fan the flame of my affection dangers
will only serve to make Louisa yet more charming. Then speak no more of
terrors, my love! I myself--I will watch over thee carefully as the
enchanter's dragon watches over buried gold. Trust thyself to me! thou
shalt need no other angel. I will throw myself between thee and fate--
for thee receive each wound. For thee will I catch each drop distilled
from the cup of joy, and bring thee in the bowl of love. (Embracing
affectionately.) This arm shall support my Louisa through life. Fairer
than it dismissed thee, shall heaven receive thee back, and confess with
delight that love alone can give perfection to the soul.

LOUISA (disengaging herself from him, greatly agitated). No more! I
beseech thee, Ferdinand! no more! Couldst thou know. Oh! leave me,
leave me! Little dost thou feel how these hopes rend my heart in pieces
like fiends! (Going.)

FERDINAND (detaining her). Stay, Louisa! stay! Why this agitation? Why
those anxious looks?

LOUISA. I had forgotten these dreams, and was happy. Now--now--from
this day is the tranquillity of my heart no more. Wild impetuous wishes
will torment my bosom! Go! God forgive thee! Thou hast hurled a
firebrand into my young peaceful heart which nothing can extinguish!
(She breaks from him, and rushes from the apartment, followed by
FERDINAND.)



SCENE V.--A Chamber in the PRESIDENT.'S House.

   The PRESIDENT, with the grand order of the cross about his neck,
   and a star at his breast--SECRETARY WORM.

PRESIDENT. A serious attachment, say you? No, no, Worm; that I never
can believe.

WORM. If your excellency pleases, I will bring proofs of my assertions.

PRESIDENT. That he has a fancy for the wench--flatters her--and, if you
will, pretends to love her--all this is very possible--nay--excusable
--but--and the daughter of a musician, you say?

WORM. Of Miller, the music-master.

PRESIDENT. Handsome? But that, of course.

WORM (with warmth). A most captivating and lovely blondine, who, without
saying too much, might figure advantageously beside the greatest beauties
of the court.

PRESIDENT (laughs). It's very plain, Worm, that you have an eye upon the
jade yourself--I see that. But listen, Worm. That my son has a passion
for the fair sex gives me hope that he will find favor with the ladies.
He may make his way at court. The girl is handsome, you say; I am glad
to think my son has taste. Can he deceive the silly wench by holding out
honorable intentions--still better; it will show that he is shrewd enough
to play the hypocrite when it serves his purpose. He may become prime
minister--if he accomplishes his purpose! Admirable! that will prove to
me that fortune favors him. Should the farce end with a chubby
grandchild--incomparable! I will drink an extra bottle of Malaga to the
prospects of my pedigree, and cheerfully pay the wench's lying-in
expenses.

WORM. All I wish is that your excellency may not have to drink that
bottle to drown your sorrow.

PRESIDENT (sternly). Worm! remember that what I once believe, I believe
obstinately--that I am furious when angered. I am willing to pass over
as a joke this attempt to stir my blood. That you are desirous of
getting rid of your rival, I can very well comprehend, and that, because
you might have some difficulty in supplanting the son, you endeavor to
make a cat's-paw of the father, I can also understand--I am even
delighted to find that you are master of such excellent qualifications in
the way of roguery. Only, friend Worm, pray don't make me, too, the butt
of your knavery. Understand me, have a care that your cunning trench not
upon my plans!

WORM. Pardon me, your excellency! If even--as you suspect--jealousy is
concerned, it is only with the eye, and not with the tongue.

PRESIDENT. It would be better to dispense with it altogether. What can
it matter to you, simpleton, whether you get your coin fresh from the
mint, or it comes through a banker? Console yourself with the example of
our nobility. Whether known to the bridegroom or not, I can assure you
that, amongst us of rank, scarcely a marriage takes place but what at
least half a dozen of the guests--or the footmen--can state the
geometrical area of the bridegroom's paradise.

WORM (bowing). My lord! Upon this head I confess myself a plebeian.

PRESIDENT. And, besides, you may soon have the satisfaction of turning
the laugh most handsomely against your rival. At this very moment it is
under consideration in the cabinet, that, upon the arrival of the new
duchess, Lady Milford shall apparently be discarded, and, to complete the
deception, form an alliance. You know, Worm, how greatly my influence
depends upon this lady--how my mightiest prospects hang upon the passions
of the prince. The duke is now seeking a partner for Lady Milford. Some
one else may step in--conclude the bargain for her ladyship, win the
confidence of the prince, and make himself indispensable, to my cost.
Now, to retain the prince in the meshes of my family, I have resolved
that my Ferdinand shall marry Lady Milford. Is that clear to you?

WORM. Quite dazzling! Your excellency has at least convinced me that,
compared with the president, the father is but a novice. Should the
major prove as obedient a son as you show yourself a tender father, your
demand may chance to be returned with a protest.

PRESIDENT. Fortunately I have never yet had to fear opposition to my
will when once I have pronounced, "It shall be so!" But now, Worm, that
brings us back to our former subject! I will propose Lady Milford to my
son this very day. The face which he puts upon it shall either confirm
your suspicions or entirely confute them.

WORM. Pardon me, my lord! The sullen face which he most assuredly will
put upon it may be placed equally to the account of the bride you offer
to him as of her from whom you wish to separate him. I would beg of you
a more positive test! Propose to him some perfectly unexceptionable
woman. Then, if he consents, let Secretary Worm break stones on the
highway for the next three years.

PRESIDENT (biting his lips). The devil!

WORM. Such is the case, you may rest assured! The mother--stupidity
itself--has, in her simplicity, betrayed all to me.

PRESIDENT (pacing the room, and trying to repress his rage). Good! this
very morning, then!

WORM. Yet, let me entreat your excellency not to forget that the major--
is my master's son----

PRESIDENT. No harm shall come to him, Worm.

WORM. And that my service in ridding you of an unwelcome
daughter-in-law----

PRESIDENT. Should be rewarded by me helping you to a wife? That too,
Worm!

WORM (bowing with delight). Eternally your lordship's slave. (Going.)

PRESIDENT (threatening him). As to what I have confided to you, Worm! If
you dare but to whisper a syllable----

WORM (laughs). Then your excellency will no doubt expose my forgeries!

                           [Exit.

PRESIDENT. Yes, yes, you are safe enough! I hold you in the fetters of
your own knavery, like a trout on the hook!

   Enter SERVANT.

SERVANT. Marshal Kalb----

PRESIDENT. The very man I wished to see. Introduce him.

                         [Exit SERVANT.



SCENE VI.

   MARSHAL KALB, in a rich but tasteless court-dress, with
   Chamberlain's keys, two watches, sword, three-cornered
   hat, and hair dressed a la Herisson. He bustles up to
   the PRESIDENT, and diffuses a strong scent of musk through
   the whole theatre--PRESIDENT.

MARSHAL. Ah! good morning, my dear baron! Quite delighted to see you
again--pray forgive my not having paid my respects to you at an earlier
hour--the most pressing business--the duke's bill of fare--invitation
cards--arrangements for the sledge party to-day--ah!--besides it was
necessary for me to be at the levee, to inform his highness of the state
of the weather.

PRESIDENT. True, marshal! Such weighty concerns were not to be
neglected!

MARSHAL. Then a rascally tailor, too, kept me waiting for him!

PRESIDENT. And yet ready to the moment?

MARSHAL. Nor is that all! One misfortune follows at the heels of the
other to-day! Only hear me!

PRESIDENT (absent). Can it be possible?

MARSHAL. Just listen! Scarce had I quitted my carriage, when the horses
became restive, and began to plunge and rear--only imagine!--splashed my
breeches all over with mud! What was to be done? Fancy, my dear baron,
just fancy yourself for a moment in my predicament! There I stood! the
hour was late! a day's journey to return--yet to appear before his
highness in this--good heavens! What did I bethink me of? I pretended
to faint! They bundle me into my carriage! I drive home like mad--
change my dress--hasten back--and only think!--in spite of all this I was
the first person in the antechamber! What say you to that?

PRESIDENT. A most admirable impromptu of mortal wit--but tell me, Kalb,
did you speak to the duke?

MARSHAL (importantly). Full twenty minutes and a half.

PRESIDENT. Indeed? Then doubtless you have important news to impart
to me?

MARSHAL (seriously, after a pause of reflection). His highness wears a
Merde d'Oye beaver to-day.

PRESIDENT. God bless me!--and yet, marshal, I have even greater news to
tell you. Lady Milford will soon become my daughter-in-law. That, I
think will be new to you?

MARSHAL. Is it possible! And is it already agreed upon?

PRESIDENT. It is settled, marshal--and you would oblige me by forthwith
waiting upon her ladyship, and preparing her to receive Ferdinand's
visit. You have full liberty, also, to circulate the news of my son's
approaching nuptials.

MARSHAL. My dear friend! With consummate pleasure! What can I desire
more? I fly to the baroness this moment. Adieu! (Embracing him.) In
less than three-quarters of an hour it shall be known throughout the
town.                       [Skips off.

PRESIDENT (smiling contemptuously). How can people say that such
creatures are of no use in the world? Now, then, Master Ferdinand must
either consent or give the whole town the lie. (Rings--WORM enters.)
Send my son hither. (WORM retires; the PRESIDENT walks up and down, full
of thought.)



SCENE VII.

   PRESIDENT--FERDINAND.

FERDINAND. In obedience to your commands, sir----

PRESIDENT. Ay, if I desire the presence of my son, I must command it--
Ferdinand, I have observed you for some time past, and find no longer
that open vivacity of youth which once so delighted me. An unusual
sorrow broods upon your features; you shun your father; you shun society.
For shame, Ferdinand! At your age a thousand irregularities are easier
forgiven than one instant of idle melancholy. Leave this to me, my son!
Leave the care of your future happiness to my direction, and study only
to co-operate with my designs--come, Ferdinand, embrace me!

FERDINAND. You are most gracious to-day, father!

PRESIDENT. "To-day," you rogue? and your "to-day" with such a vinegar
look? (Seriously.) Ferdinand! For whose sake have I trod that
dangerous path which leads to the affections of the prince? For whose
sake have I forever destroyed my peace with Heaven and my conscience?
Hear me, Ferdinand--I am speaking to my son. For whom have I paved the
way by the removal of my predecessor? a deed which the more deeply gores
my inward feelings the more carefully I conceal the dagger from the
world! Tell me, Ferdinand, for whose sake have I done all this?

FERDINAND (recoiling with horror). Surely not for mine, father, not for
mine? Surely not on me can fall the bloody reflection of this murder?
By my Almighty Maker, it were better never to have been born than to be
the pretext for such a crime!

PRESIDENT. What sayest thou? How? But I will attribute these strange
notions to thy romantic brain, Ferdinand; let me not lose my temper--
ungrateful boy! Thus dost thou repay me for my sleepless nights? Thus
for my restless anxiety to promote thy good? Thus for the never-dying
scorpion of my conscience? Upon me must fall the burden of
responsibility; upon me the curse, the thunderbolt of the Judge. Thou
receivest thy fortune from another's hand--the crime is not attached to
the inheritance.

FERDINAND (extending his right hand towards heaven). Here I solemnly
abjure an inheritance which must ever remind me of a parent's guilt!

PRESIDENT. Hear me, sirrah! and do not incense me! Were you left to
your own direction you would crawl through life in the dust.

FERDINAND. Oh! better, father, far, far better, than to crawl about a
throne!

PRESIDENT (repressing his anger). So! Then compulsion must make you
sensible of your good fortune! To that point, which, with the utmost
striving a thousand others fail to reach, you have been exalted in your
very sleep. At twelve you received a commission; at twenty a command. I
have succeeded in obtaining for you the duke's patronage. He bids you
lay aside your uniform, and share with me his favor and his confidence.
He spoke of titles--embassies--of honors bestowed but upon few. A
glorious prospect spreads itself before you! The direct path to the
place next the throne lies open to you! Nay, to the throne itself, if
the actual power of ruling is equivalent to the mere symbol. Does not
that idea awaken your ambition?

FERDINAND. No! My ideas of greatness and happiness differ widely from
yours. Your happiness is but seldom known, except by the misery of
others. Envy, terror, hatred are the melancholy mirrors in which the
smiles of princes are reflected. Tears, curses, and the wailings of
despair, the horrid banquet that feasts your supposed elect of fortune;
intoxicated with these they rush headlong into eternity, staggering to
the throne of judgment. My ideas of happiness teach me to look for its
fountain in myself! All my wishes lie centered in my heart!

PRESIDENT. Masterly! Inimitable! Admirable! The first schooling I
have received these thirty years! Pity that the brain at fifty should be
so dull at learning! But--that such talent may not rust, I will place
one by your side on whom you can practise your harlequinade follies at
pleasure. You will resolve--resolve this very day--to take a wife.

FERDINAND (starting back amazed). Father!

PRESIDENT. Answer me not. I have made proposals, in your name, to Lady
Milford. You will instantly determine upon going to her, and declaring
yourself her bridegroom.

FERDINAND. Lady Milford! father?

PRESIDENT. I presume she is not unknown to you!

FERDINAND (passionately). To what brothel is she unknown through the
dukedom? But pardon me, dearest father! It is ridiculous to imagine
that your proposal can be serious. Would you call yourself father of
that infamous son who married a licensed prostitute?

PRESIDENT. Nay, more. I would ask her hand myself, if she would take a
man of fifty. Would not you call yourself that infamous father's son?

FERDINAND. No! as God lives! that would I not!

PRESIDENT. An audacity, by my honor! which I pardon for its excessive
singularity.

FERDINAND. I entreat you, father, release me from a demand which would
render it insupportable to call myself your son.

PRESIDENT. Are you distracted, boy? What reasonable man would not
thirst after a distinction which makes him, as one of a trio, the equal
and co-partner of his sovereign?

FERDINAND. You are quite an enigma to me, father! "A distinction," do
you call it? A distinction to share that with a prince, wherein he
places himself on a level with the meanest of his subjects? (The
PRESIDENT bursts into a loud laugh.) You may scoff--I must submit to it
in a father. With what countenance should I support the gaze of the
meanest laborer, who at least receives an undivided person as the portion
of his bride? With what countenance should I present myself before the
world? before the prince? nay, before the harlot herself, who seeks to
wash out in my shame the brandmarks of her honor?

PRESIDENT. Where in the world couldst thou collect such notions, boy?

FERDINAND. I implore you, father, by heaven and earth! By thus
sacrificing your only son you can never become so happy as you will make
him miserable! If my life can be a step to your advancement, dispose of
it. My life you gave me; and I will never hesitate a moment to sacrifice
it wholly to your welfare. But my honor, father! If you deprive me of
this, the giving me life was a mere trick of wanton cruelty, and I must
equally curse the parent and the pander.

PRESIDENT (tapping him on the shoulder in a friendly manner). That's as
it should be, my dear boy! Now I see that you are a brave and noble
fellow, and worthy of the first woman in the dukedom. You shall have
her. This very day you shall be affianced to the Countess of Ostheim.

FERDINAND (in new disorder). Is this, then, destined to be the hour of
my destruction?

PRESIDENT (regarding him with an eye of suspicion). In this union, I
imagine, you can have no objection on the score of honor?

FERDINAND. None, father, none whatever. Frederica of Ostheim would make
any other the happiest of men. (Aside, in the greatest agitation.) His
kindness rends in pieces that remnant of my heart which his cruelty left
unwounded.

PRESIDENT (his eye still fixed upon him). I expect your gratitude,
Ferdinand!

FERDINAND (rushes towards him and kisses his hands). Father, your
goodness awakens every spark of sentiment in my bosom. Father! receive
my warmest thanks for your kind intentions. Your choice is
unexceptionable! But I cannot--I dare not--pity me, father, I never can
love the countess.

PRESIDENT (draws back). Ha! ha! now I've caught you, young gentleman!
The cunning fox has tumbled into the trap. Oh, you artful hypocrite! It
was not then honor which made you refuse Lady Milford? It was not the
woman, but the nuptials which alarmed you! (FERDINAND stands petrified
for a moment; then recovers himself and prepares to quit the chamber
hastily.) Whither now? Stay, sir. Is this the respect due to your
father? (FERDINAND returns slowly.) Her ladyship expects you. The duke
has my promise! Both court and city believe all is settled. If thou
makest me appear a liar, boy! If, before the duke--the lady--the court
and city--thou shouldst make me appear a liar!--tremble, boy!--or when I
have gained information of certain circumstances--how now? Why does the
color so suddenly forsake your cheeks?

FERDINAND (pale and trembling). How? What? Nothing--it is nothing, my
father!

PRESIDENT (casting upon him a dreadful look). Should there be cause. If
I should discover the source whence this obstinacy proceeds! Boy! boy!
the very suspicion drives me distracted! Leave me this moment. 'Tis now
the hour of parade. As soon as the word is given, go thou to her
ladyship. At my nod a dukedom trembles; we shall see whether a
disobedient son dare dispute my will! (Going, returns.) Remember, sir!
fail not to wait on Lady Milford, or dread my anger!

                             [Exit.

FERDINAND (awakens, as if from a dream). Is he gone? Was that a
father's voice? Yes, I will go--I will see her--I will say such things
to her--hold such a mirror before her eyes. Then, base woman, shouldst
thou still demand my hand--in the presence of the assembled nobles, the
military, and the people--gird thyself with all the pride of thy native
Britain--I, a German youth, will spurn thee!

                          [Exit.




ACT II.

SCENE I.--A room in LADY MILFORD'S house. On the right of the stage
stands a sofa, on the left a pianoforte.

   LADY MILFORD, in a loose but elegant negligee, is running her hand
   over the keys of the pianoforte as SOPHY advances from the window.

SOPHY. The parade is over, and the officers are separating, but I see no
signs of the major.

LADY MILFORD (rises and walks up and down the room in visible agitation).
I know not what ails me to-day, Sophy! I never felt so before--you say
you do not see him! It is evident enough that he is by no means
impatient for this meeting--my heart feels oppressed as if by some heavy
crime. Go! Sophy, order the most spirited horse in the stable to be
saddled for me--I must away into the open air where I may look on the
blue sky and hear the busy hum of man. I must dispel this gloominess by
change and motion.

SOPHY. If you feel out of spirits, my lady, why not invite company! Let
the prince give an entertainment here, or have the ombre table brought to
you. If the prince and all his court were at my beck and call I would
let no whim or fancy trouble me!

LADY MILFORD (throwing herself on the couch). Pray, spare me. I would
gladly give a jewel in exchange for every hour's respite from the
infliction of such company! I always have my rooms tapestried with these
creatures! Narrow-minded, miserable beings, who are quite shocked if by
chance a candid and heartfelt word should escape one's lips! and stand
aghast as though they saw an apparition; slaves, moved by a single
puppet-wire, which I can govern as easily as the threads of my
embroidery! What can I have in common with such insipid wretches, whose
souls, like their watches, are regulated by machinery? What pleasure can
I have in the society of people whose answers to my questions I know
beforehand? How can I hold communion with men who dare not venture on an
opinion of their own lest it should differ from mine! Away with them--I
care not to ride a horse that has not spirit enough to champ the bit!
(Goes to the window.)

SOPHY. But surely, my lady, you except the prince, the handsomest, the
wittiest, and the most gallant man in all his duchy.

LADY MILFORD (returning). Yes, in his duchy, that was well said--and it
is only a royal duchy, Sophy, that could in the least excuse my weakness.
You say the world envies me! Poor thing! It should rather pity me!
Believe me, of all who drink of the streams of royal bounty there is none
more miserable than the sovereign's favorite, for he who is great and
mighty in the eyes of others comes to her but as the humble suppliant!
It is true that by the talisman of his greatness he can realize every
wish of my heart as readily as the magician calls forth the fairy palace
from the depths of the earth! He can place the luxuries of both Indies
upon my table, turn the barren wilderness to a paradise, can bid the
broad rivers of his land play in triumphal arches over my path, or expend
all the hard-earned gains of his subjects in a single feu-de-joie to my
honor. But can he school his heart to respond to one great or ardent
emotion? Can he extort one noble thought from his weak and indigent
brain? Alas! my heart is thirsting amid all this ocean of splendor; what
avail, then, a thousand virtuous sentiments when I am only permitted to
indulge in the pleasures of the senses.

SOFHY (regarding her with surprise). Dear lady, you amaze me! how long
is it since I entered your service?

LADY MILFORD. Do you ask because this is the first day on which you have
learnt to know me? I have sold my honor to the prince, it is true, but
my heart is still my own--a heart, dear Sophy, which even yet may be
worth the acceptance of an honorable man--a heart over which the
pestilential blast of courtly corruption has passed as the breath which
for a moment dims the mirror's lustre. Believe me my spirit would long
since have revolted against this miserable thraldom could my ambition
have submitted to see another advanced to my place.

SOPHY. And could a heart like yours so readily surrender itself to mere
ambition?

LADY MILFORD (with energy). Has it not already been avenged? nay, is it
not even at this very moment making me pay a heavy atonement (with
emphasis laying her hand on SOPHY'S shoulder)? Believe me, Sophy, woman
has but to choose between ruling and serving, but the utmost joy of power
is a worthless possession if the mightier joy of being slave to the man
we love be denied us.

SOPHY. A truth, dear lady, which I could least of all have expected to
hear from your lips!

LADY MILFORD. And wherefore, Sophy? Does not woman show, by her
childish mode of swaying the sceptre of power, that she is only fit to go
in leading-strings! Have not my fickle humors--my eager pursuit of wild
dissipation--betrayed to you that I sought in these to stifle the still
wilder throbbings of my heart?

SOPHY (starting back with surprise). This from you, my lady?

LADY MILFORD (continuing with increasing energy). Appease these
throbbings. Give me the man in whom my thoughts are centered--the man I
adore, without whom life were worse than death. Let me but hear from his
lips that the tears of love with which my eyes are bedewed outvie the
gems that sparkle in my hair, and I will throw at the feet of the prince
his heart and his dukedom, and flee to the uttermost parts of the earth
with the man of my love!

SOPHY (looking at her in alarm). Heavens! my lady! control your
emotion----

LADY MILFORD (in surprise). You change color! To what have I given
utterance? Yet, since I have said thus much, let me say still more--let
my confidence be a pledge of your fidelity,--I will tell you all.

SOPHY (looking anxiously around). I fear my lady--I dread it--I have
heard enough!

LADY MILFORD. This alliance with the major--you, like the rest of the
world, believe to be the result of a court intrigue--Sophy, blush not--be
not ashamed of me--it is the work of--my love!

SOPHY. Heavens! As I suspected!

LADY MILFORD. Yes, Sophy, they are all deceived. The weak prince--the
diplomatic baron--the silly marshal--each and all of these are firmly
convinced that this marriage is a most infallible means of preserving me
to the prince, and of uniting us still more firmly! But this will prove
the very means of separating us forever, and bursting asunder these
execrable bonds. The cheater cheated--outwitted by a weak woman. Ye
yourselves are leading me to the man of my heart--this was all I sought.
Let him but once be mine--be but mine--then, oh, then, a long farewell to
all this despicable pomp!



SCENE II.--An old valet of the DUKE'S, with a casket of jewels. The
former.

VALET. His serene highness begs your ladyship's acceptance of these
jewels as a nuptial present. They have just arrived from Venice.

LADY MILFORD (opens the casket and starts back in astonishment). What
did these jewels cost the duke?

VALET. Nothing!

LADY MILFORD. Nothing! Are you beside yourself? (retreating a step or
two.) Old man! you fix on me a look as though you would pierce me
through. Did you say these precious jewels cost nothing?

VALET. Yesterday seven thousand children of the land left their homes to
go to America--they pay for all.

LADY MILFORD (sets the casket suddenly down, and paces up and down the
room; after a pause, to the VALET). What distresses you, old man? you
are weeping!

VALET (wiping his eyes, and trembling violently). Yes, for these jewels.
My two sons are among the number.

LADY MILFORD. But they went not by compulsion?

VALET (laughing bitterly). Oh! dear no! they were all volunteers! There
were certainly some few forward lads who pushed to the front of the ranks
and inquired of the colonel at what price the prince sold his subjects
per yoke, upon which our gracious ruler ordered the regiments to be
marched to the parade, and the malcontents to be shot. We heard the
report of the muskets, and saw brains and blood spurting about us, while
the whole band shouted--"Hurrah for America!"

LADY MILFORD. And I heard nothing of all this! saw nothing!

VALET. No, most gracious lady, because you rode off to the bear-hunt
with his highness just at the moment the drum was beating for the march.
'Tis a pity your ladyship missed the pleasure of the sight--here, crying
children might be seen following their wretched father--there, a mother
distracted with grief was rushing forward to throw her tender infant
among the bristling bayonets--here, a bride and bridegroom were separated
with the sabre's stroke--and there, graybeards were seen to stand in
despair, and fling their very crutches after their sons in the New World
--and, in the midst of all this, the drums were beating loudly, that the
prayers and lamentations might not reach the Almighty ear.

LADY MILFORD (rising in violent emotion). Away with these jewels--their
rays pierce my bosom like the flames of hell. Moderate your grief, old
man. Your children shall be restored to you. You shall again clasp them
to your bosom.

VALET (with warmth). Yes, heaven knows! We shall meet again! As they
passed the city gates they turned round and cried aloud: "God bless our
wives and children--long life to our gracious sovereign. At the day of
judgment we shall all meet again!"

LADY MILFORD (walks up and down the room in great agitation). Horrible!
most horrible!--and they would persuade me that I had dried up all the
tears in the land. Now, indeed, my eyes are fearfully opened! Go--tell
the prince that I will thank him in person! (As the valet is going she
drops the purse into his hat.) And take this as a recompense for the
truth you have revealed to me.

VALET (throws the purse with contempt on the table). Keep it, with your
other treasures.                     [Exit.

LADY MILFORD (looking after him in astonishment). Sophy, follow him,
and inquire his name. His sons shall be restored to him. (SOPHY goes.
LADY MILFORD becomes absorbed in thought. Pause. Then to SOPHY as she
returns.) Was there not a report that some town on the frontier had
been destroyed by fire, and four hundred families reduced to beggary?
(She rings.)

SOPHY. What has made your ladyship just think of that? Yes--such was
certainly the fact, and most of these poor creatures are either compelled
to serve their creditors as bondsmen, or are dragging out their miserable
days in the depths of the royal silver mines.

Enter a SERVANT. What are your ladyship's commands?

LADY MILFORD (giving him the case of jewels). Carry this to my treasurer
without delay. Let the jewels be sold and the money distributed among
the four hundred families who were ruined by the fire.

SOPHY. Consider, my lady, the risk you run of displeasing his highness.

LADY MILFORD (with dignity). Should I encircle my brows with the curses
of his subjects? (Makes a sign to the servant, who goes away with the
jewel case.) Wouldst thou have me dragged to the earth by the dreadful
weight of the tears of misery? Nay! Sophy, it is better far to wear
false jewels on the brow, and to have the consciousness of a good deed
within the breast!

SOPHY. But diamonds of such value! Why not rather give some that are
less precious? Truly, my lady, it is an unpardonable act.

LADY MILFORD. Foolish girl! For this deed more brilliants and pearls
will flow for me in one moment than kings ever wore in their richest
diadems! Ay, and infinitely more beautiful!

SERVANT enters. Major von Walter!

SOPHY (running hastily to the help of LADY MILFORD, who seems fainting).
Heavens, my lady, you change color!

LADY MILFORD. The first man who ever made me tremble. (To the SERVANT.)
I am not well--but stay--what said the major?--how? O Sophy! I look
sadly ill, do I not?

SOPHY. I entreat you, my lady, compose yourself.

SERVANT. Is it your ladyship's wish that I should deny you to the major?

LADY MILFORD (hesitating). Tell him--I shall be happy to see him. (Exit
SERVANT.) What shall I say to him, Sophy? how shall I receive him? I
will be silent--alas! I fear he will despise my weakness. He will--ah,
me! what sad forebodings oppress my heart! You are going Sophy! stay,
yet--no, no--he comes--yes, stay, stay with me----

SOPHY. Collect yourself, my lady, the major----



SCENE III.--FERDINAND VON WALTER. The former.

FERDINAND (with a slight bow). I hope I do not interrupt your ladyship?

LADY MILFORD (with visible emotion). Not at all, baron--not in the
least.

FERDINAND. I wait on your ladyship, at the command of my father.

LADY MILFORD. Therein I am his debtor.

FERDINAND. And I am charged to announce to you that our marriage is
determined on. Thus far I fulfil the commission of my father.

LADY MILFORD (changing color and trembling). And not of your own heart?

FERDINAND. Ministers and panders have no concern with hearts.

LADY MILFORD (almost speechless with emotion). And you yourself--have
you nothing to add?

FERDINAND (looking at SOPHY). Much! my lady, much!

LADY MILFORD (motions to SOPHY to withdraw). May I beg you to take a
seat by my side?

FERDINAND. I will be brief, lady.

LADY MILFORD. Well!

FERDINAND. I am a man of honor!

LADY MILFORD. Whose worth I know how to appreciate.

FERDINAND. I am of noble birth!

LADY MILFORD. Noble as any in the land!

FERDINAND. A soldier!

LADY MILFORD (in a soft, affectionate manner). Thus far you have only
enumerated advantages which you share in common with many others. Why
are you so silent regarding those noble qualities which are peculiarly
your own?

FERDINAND (coldly). Here they would be out of place.

LADY MILFORD (with increasing agitation). In what light am I to
understand this prelude?

FERDINAND (slowly, and with emphasis). As the protest of the voice of
honor--should you think proper to enforce the possession of my hand!

LADY MILFORD (starting with indignation). Major von Walter! What
language is this?

FERDINAND (calmly). The language of my heart--of my unspotted name--and
of this true sword.

LADY MILFORD. Your sword was given to you by the prince.

FERDINAND. 'Twas the state which gave it, by the hands of the prince.
God bestowed on me an honest heart. My nobility is derived from a line
of ancestry extending through centuries.

LADY MILFORD. But the authority of the prince----

FERDINAND (with warmth). Can he subvert the laws of humanity, or stamp
glory on our actions as easily as he stamps value on the coin of his
realm? He himself is not raised above the laws of honor, although he may
stifle its whispers with gold--and shroud his infamy in robes of ermine!
But enough of this, lady!--it is too late now to talk of blasted
prospects--or of the desecration of ancestry--or of that nice sense of
honor--girded on with my sword--or of the world's opinion. All these I
am ready to trample under foot as soon as you have proved to me that the
reward is not inferior to the sacrifice.

LADY MILFORD (in extreme distress turning away). Major! I have not
deserved this!

FERDINAND (taking her hand). Pardon me, lady--we are without witnesses.
The circumstance which brings us together to-day--and only to-day--
justifies me, nay, compels me, to reveal to you my most secret feelings.
I cannot comprehend, lady, how a being gifted with so much beauty and
spirit--qualities which a man cannot fail to admire--could throw herself
away on a prince incapable of valuing aught beyond her mere person--and
yet not feel some visitings of shame, when she steps forth to offer her
heart to a man of honor!

LADY MILFORD (looking at him with an air of pride). Say on, sir, without
reserve.

FERDINAND. You call yourself an Englishwoman--pardon me, lady, I can
hardly believe you. The free-born daughter of the freest people under
heaven--a people too proud to imitate even foreign virtues--would surely
never have sold herself to foreign vices! It is not possible, lady, that
you should be a native of Britain, unless indeed your heart be as much
below as the sons of Britannia vaunt theirs to be above all others!

LADY MILFORD. Have you done, sir?

FERDINAND. Womanly vanity--passions--temperament--a natural appetite for
pleasure--all these might, perhaps, be pleaded in extenuation--for virtue
often survives honor--and many who once trod the paths of infamy have
subsequently reconciled themselves to society by the performance of noble
deeds, and have thus thrown a halo of glory round their evil doings--but
if this were so, whence comes the monstrous extortion that now oppresses
the people with a weight never before known? This I would ask in the
name of my fatherland--and now, lady, I have done!

LADY MILFORD (with gentleness and dignity). This is the first time,
Baron von Walter, that words such as these have been addressed to me--and
you are the only man to whom I would in return have vouchsafed an answer.
Your rejection of my hand commands my esteem. Your invectives against my
heart have my full forgiveness, for I will not believe you sincere, since
he who dares hold such language to a woman, that could ruin him in an
instant--must either believe that she possesses a great and noble heart--
or must be the most desperate of madmen. That you ascribe the misery of
this land to me may He forgive, before whose throne you, and I, and the
prince shall one day meet! But, as in my person you have insulted the
daughter of Britain, so in vindication of my country's honor you must
hear my exculpation.

FERDINAND (leaning on his sword). Lady, I listen with interest.

LADY MILFORD. Hear, then, that which I have never yet breathed to
mortal, and which none but yourself will ever learn from my lips. I am
not the low adventurer you suppose me, sir! Nay! did I listen to the
voice of pride, I might even boast myself to be of royal birth; I am
descended from the unhappy Thomas Norfolk, who paid the penalty of his
adherence to the cause of Mary, Queen of Scots, by a bloody death on the
scaffold. My father, who, as royal chamberlain, had once enjoyed his
sovereign's confidence, was accused of maintaining treasonable relations
with France, and was condemned and executed by a decree of the Parliament
of Great Britain. Our estates were confiscated, and our family banished
from their native soil. My mother died on the day of my father's
execution, and I--then a girl of fourteen--fled to Germany with one
faithful attendant. A casket of jewels, and this crucifix, placed in my
bosom by my dying mother, were all my fortune!

   [FERDINAND, absorbed in thought, surveys LADY MILFORD with looks of
   compassion and sympathy.

LADY MILFORD (continuing with increased emotion). Without a name--
without protection or property--a foreigner and an orphan, I reached
Hamburg. I had learnt nothing but a little French, and to run my fingers
over the embroidery frame, or the keys of my harpsichord. But, though I
was ignorant of all useful arts, I had learnt full well to feast off gold
and silver, to sleep beneath silken hangings, to bid attendant pages obey
my voice, and to listen to the honeyed words of flattery and adulation.
Six years passed away in sorrow and in sadness--the remnant of my scanty
means was fast melting away--my old and faithful nurse was no more--and--
and then it was that fate brought your sovereign to Hamburg. I was
walking beside the shores of the Elbe, wondering, as I gazed on its
waters, whether they or my sorrows were the deeper, when the duke crossed
my path. He followed me, traced me to my humble abode, and, casting
himself at my feet, vowed that he loved me. (She pauses, and, after
struggling with her emotion, continues in a voice choked by tears.) All
the images of my happy childhood were revived in hues of delusive
brightness--while the future lowered before me black as the grave. My
heart panted for communion with another--and I sank into the arms opened
to receive me! (Turning away.) And now you condemn me!

FERDINAND (greatly agitated, follows her and leads her back). Lady!
heavens! what do I hear! What have I done? The guilt of my conduct is
unveiled in all its deformity! It is impossible you should forgive me.

LADY MILFORD (endeavoring to overcome her emotion). Hear me on! The
prince, it is true, overcame my unprotected youth, but the blood of the
Howards still glowed within my veins, and never ceased to reproach me;
that I, the descendant of royal ancestors, should stoop to be a prince's
paramour! Pride and destiny still contended in my bosom, when the duke
brought me hither, where scenes the most revolting burst upon my sight!
The voluptuousness of the great is an insatiable hyena--the craving of
whose appetite demands perpetual victims. Fearfully had it laid this
country waste separating bridegroom and bride--and tearing asunder even
the holy bonds of marriage. Here it had destroyed the tranquil happiness
of a whole family--there the blighting pest had seized on a young and
inexperienced heart, and expiring victims called down bitter imprecations
on the heads of the undoers. It was then that I stepped forth between
the lamb and the tiger, and, in a moment of dalliance, extorted from the
duke his royal promise that this revolting licentiousness should cease.

FERDINAND (pacing the room in violent agitation). No more, lady! No
more!

LADY MILFORD. This gloomy period was succeeded by one still more gloomy.
The court swarmed with French and Italian adventurers--the royal sceptre
became the plaything of Parisian harlots, and the people writhed and bled
beneath their capricious rule. Each had her day. I saw them sink before
me, one by one, for I was the most skilful coquette of all! It was then
that I seized and wielded the tyrant's sceptre whilst he slumbered
voluptuously in my embrace--then, Walter, thy country, for the first
time, felt the hand of humanity, and reposed in confidence on my bosom.
(A pause, during which she gazes upon him with tenderness.) Oh! 'that
the man, by whom, of all others, I least wish to be misunderstood, should
compel me to turn braggart and parade my unobtrusive virtues to the glare
of admiration! Walter, I have burst open the doors of prisons--I have
cancelled death-warrants and shortened many a frightful eternity upon the
galleys. Into wounds beyond my power to heal I have at least poured
soothing balsam. I have hurled mighty villains to the earth, and oft
with the tears of a harlot saved the cause of innocence from impending
ruin. Ah! young man, how sweet were then my feelings! How proudly did
these actions teach my heart to support the reproaches of my noble blood!
And now comes the man who alone can repay me for all that I have
suffered--the man, whom perhaps my relenting destiny created as a
compensation for former sorrows--the man, whom with ardent affection, I
already clasped in my dreams.

FERDINAND (interrupting her). Hold, lady, hold! You exceed the bounds of
our conference! You undertook to clear yourself from reproach, and you
make me a criminal! Spare me, I beseech you! Spare a heart already
overwhelmed by confusion and remorse!

LADY MILFORD (grasping his hand). You must hear me, Walter! hear me now
or never. Long enough has the heroine sustained me; now you must feel
the whole weight of these tears! Mark me, Walter! Should an
unfortunate--impetuously, irresistibly attracted towards you--clasp you
to her bosom full of unutterable, inextinguishable love--should this
unfortunate--bowed down with the consciousness of shame--disgusted with
vicious pleasures--heroically exalted by the inspiration of virtue--throw
herself--thus into your arms (embracing him in an eager and supplicating
manner); should she do this, and you still pronounce the freezing word
"Honor!" Should she pray that through you she might be saved--that
through you she might be restored to her hopes of heaven! (Turning away
her head, and speaking in a hollow, faltering voice.) Or should she, her
prayer refused, listen to the voice of despair, and to escape from your
image plunge herself into yet more fearful depths of infamy and vice----

FERDINAND (breaking from her in great emotion). No, by heaven! This is
more than I can endure! Lady, I am compelled--Heaven and earth compels
me--to make the honest avowal of my sentiments and situation.

LADY MILFORD (hastening from him). Oh! not now! By all that is holy I
entreat you--spare me in this dreadful moment when my lacerated heart
bleeds from a thousand wounds. Be your decision life or death--I dare
not--I will not hear it!

FERDINAND. I entreat you, lady! I insist! What I have to say will
mitigate my offence, and warmly plead your forgiveness for the past. I
have been deceived in you, lady. I expected--nay, I wished to find you
deserving my contempt. I came determined to insult you, and to make
myself the object of your hate. Happy would it have been for us both had
my purpose succeeded! (He pauses; then proceeds in a gentle and
faltering voice.) Lady, I love!--I love a maid of humble birth--Louisa
Miller is her name, the daughter of a music-master. (LADY MILFORD turns
away pale and greatly agitated.) I know into what an abyss I plunge
myself; but, though prudence bids me conceal my passion, honor overpowers
its precepts. I am the criminal--I first destroyed the golden calm of
Louisa's innocence--I lulled her heart with aspiring hopes, and
surrendered it, like a betrayer, a prey to the wildest of passions. You
will bid me remember my rank--my birth--my father--schemes of
aggrandisement. But in vain--I love! My hopes become more fervent as
the breach widens between nature and the mere conventions of society--
between my resolution and worldly prejudices! We shall see whether love
or interest is victorious. (LADY MILFORD during this has retired to the
extreme end of the apartment, and covers her face with both hands.
FERDINAND approaches her.) Have you aught to answer, lady?

LADY MILFORD (in a tone of intense suffering). Nothing! Nothing! but
that you destroy yourself and me--and, with us yet a third.

FERDINAND. A third?

LADY MILFORD. Never can you marry Louisa; never can you be happy with
me. We shall all be the victims of your father's rashness. I can never
hope to possess the heart of a husband who has been forced to give me his
hand.

FERDINAND. Forced, lady? Forced? And yet given? Will you enforce a
hand without a heart? Will you tear from a maiden a man who is the whole
world to her? Will you tear a maiden from a man who has centered all his
hopes of happiness on her alone? Will you do this, lady? you who but a
moment before were the lofty, noble-minded daughter of Britain?

LADY MILFORD. I will because I must! (earnestly and firmly). My
passions, Walter, overcome my tenderness for you. My honor has no
alternative. Our union is the talk of the whole city. Every eye, every
shaft of ridicule is bent against me. 'Twere a stain which time could
never efface should a subject of the prince reject my hand! Appease your
father if you have the power! Defend yourself as you best may! my
resolution is taken. The mine is fired and I abide the issue.

   [Exit. FERDINAND remains in speechless astonishment for some
   moments; then rushes wildly out.



SCENE IV.--Miller's House.

   MILLER meeting LOUISA and MRS. MILLER.

MILLER. Ay! ay! I told you how it would be!

LOUISA (hastening to him with anxiety). What, father? What?

MILLER (running up and down the room). My cloak, there. Quick, quick!
I must be beforehand with him. My cloak, I say! Yes, yes! this was just
what I expected!

LOUISA. For God's sake, father! tell me?

MRS. MILLER. What is the matter, Miller? What alarms you?

MILLER (throwing down his wig). Let that go to the friezer. What is the
matter, indeed? And my beard, too, is nearly half an inch long. What's
the matter? What do you think, you old carrion. The devil has broke
loose, and you may look out for squalls.

MRS. MILLER. There, now, that's just the way! When anything goes wrong
it is always my fault.

MILLER. Your fault? Yes, you brimstone fagot! and whose else should it
be? This very morning when you were holding forth about that confounded
major, did I not say then what would be the consequence? That knave,
Worm, has blabbed.

MRS. MILLER. Gracious heavens! But how do you know?

MILLER. How do I know? Look yonder! a messenger of the minister is
already at the door inquiring for the fiddler.

LOUISA (turning pale, and sitting down). Oh! God! I am in agony!

MILLER. And you, too, with that languishing air? (laughs bitterly).
But, right! Right! There is an old saying that where the devil keeps a
breeding-cage he is sure to hatch a handsome daughter.

MRS. MILLER. But how do you know that Louisa is in question? You may
have been recommended to the duke; he may want you in his orchestra.

MILLER (jumping up, and seizing his fiddlestick). May the sulphurous
rain of hell consume thee! Orchestra, indeed! Ay, where you, you old
procuress, shall howl the treble whilst my smarting back groans the base
(Throwing himself upon a chair.) Oh! God in heaven!

LOUISA (sinks on the sofa, pale as death). Father! Mother! Oh! my
heart sinks within me.

MILLER (starting up with anger). But let me only lay hands on that
infernal quill-driver! I'll make him skip--be it in this world or the
next; if I don't pound him to a jelly, body and soul; if I don't write
all the Ten Commandments, the seven Penitential Psalms, the five books of
Moses, and the whole of the Prophets upon his rascally hide so distinctly
that the blue hieroglyphics shall be legible at the day of judgment--if I
don't, may I----

MRS. MILLER. Yes, yes, curse and swear your hardest! That's the way to
frighten the devil! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Oh, gracious heavens! What
shall we do? Who can advise us? Speak, Miller, speak; this silence
distracts me! (She runs screaming up and down the room.)

MILLER. I will instantly to the minister! I will open my mouth boldly,
and tell him all from beginning to end. You knew it before me, and ought
to have given me a hint of what was going on! The girl might yet have
been advised. It might still have been time to save her! But, no!
There was something for your meddling and making, and you must needs add
fuel to the fire. Now you have made your bed you may lie on it. As you
have brewed so you may drink; I shall take my daughter under my arm and
be off with her over the borders.



SCENE V.

   MILLER, MRS. MILLER, LOUISA, FERDINND.

(All speaking together).

 FERDINAND (rushes in, terrified, and out of breath). Has my father
 been here?

 LOUISA (starts back in horror). His father? Gracious heaven!

 MRS. MILLER (wringing her hands). The minister here? Then it's all
 over with us!

 MILLER (laughs bitterly). Thank God! Thank God! Now comes our
 benefit!

FERDINAND (rushing towards LOUISA, and clasping her in his arms). Mine
thou art, though heaven and hell were placed between us!

LOUISA. I am doomed! Speak, Ferdinand! Did you not utter that dreaded
name? Your father?

FERDINAND. Be not alarmed! the danger has passed! I have thee again!
again thou hast me! Let me regain my breath on thy dear bosom. It was a
dreadful hour!

LOUISA. What was a dreadful hour? Answer me, Ferdinand! I die with
apprehension!

FERDINAND (drawing back, gazing upon her earnestly, then in a solemn
tone). An hour, Louisa, when another's form stepped between my heart and
thee--an hour in which my love grew pale before my conscience--when
Louisa ceased to be all in all to Ferdinand!

   [LOUISA sinks back upon her chair, and conceals her face.

(FERDINAND stands before her in speechless agitation, then turns away
from her suddenly and exclaims). Never, never! Baroness, 'tis
impossible! you ask too much! Never can I sacrifice this innocence at
your shrine. No, by the eternal God! I cannot recall my oath, which
speaks to me from thy soul--thrilling eyes louder than the thunders of
heaven! Behold, lady! Inhuman father, look on this! Would you have me
destroy this angel? Shall my perfidy kindle a hell in this heavenly
bosom? (turning towards her with firmness). No! I will bear her to thy
throne, Almighty Judge! Thy voice shall declare if my affection be a
crime. (He grasps her hand, and raises her from the sofa.) Courage, my
beloved!--thou hast conquered--and I come forth a victor from the
terrible conflict!

LOUISA. No, no, Ferdinand, conceal nothing from me! Declare boldly the
dreadful decree! You named your father! You spoke of the baroness! The
shivering of death seizes my heart! 'Tis said she is about to be
married!

FERDINAND (quite overcome, throws himself at her feet). Yes, and to me,
dear unfortunate. Such is my father's will!

LOUISA (after a deep pause, in a tremulous voice, but with assumed
resignation). Well! Why am I thus affrighted? Has not my dear father
often told me that you never could be mine? But I was obstinate, and
believed him not. (A second pause; she falls weeping into her father's
arms.) Father, thy daughter is thine own again! Father, forgive me!
'Twas not your child's fault that the dream was so heavenly--the waking
so terrible!

MILLER. Louisa! Louisa! O merciful heaven! she has lost her senses!
My daughter! My poor child! Curses upon thy seducer! Curses upon the
pandering mother who threw thee in his way!

MRS. MILLER (weeping on LOUISA'S neck). Daughter, do I deserve this
curse? God forgive you, major! What has this poor lamb done that you
bring this misery upon her?

FERDINAND (with resolution). I will unravel the meshes of these
intrigues. I will burst asunder these iron chains of prejudice. As a
free-born man will I make my choice, and crush these insect souls with
the colossal force of my love!              [Going.

LOUISA (rises trembling from the sofa, and attempts to follow him).
Stay, oh, stay! Whither are you going? Father! Mother! He deserts us
in this fearful hour!

MRS. MILLER (hastens towards him, and detains him). The president is
coming hither? He will ill-use my child! He will ill-use us all,--and
yet, major, you are going to leave us.

MILLER (laughs hysterically). Leave us. Of course he is! What should
hinder him? The girl has given him all she had. (Grasping FERDINAND
with one hand, and LOUISA with the other.) Listen to me, young
gentleman. The only way out of my house is over my daughter's body. If
you possess one single spark of honor await your father's coming; tell
him, deceiver, how you stole her young and inexperienced heart; or, by
the God who made me! (thrusting LOUISA towards him with violence and
passion) you shall crush before my eyes this trembling worm whom love for
you has brought to shame and infamy!

FERDINAND (returns, and walks to and fro in deep thought). 'Tis true,
the President's power is great--parental authority is a mighty word--even
crimes claim respect when concealed within its folds. He may push that
authority far--very far! But love goes beyond it. Hear me, Louisa; give
me thy hand! (clasping it firmly). As surely as I hope for Heaven's
mercy in my dying hour, I swear that the moment which separates these
hands shall also rend asunder the thread that binds me to existence!

LOUISA. You terrify me! Turn from me! Your lips tremble! Your eyes
roll fearfully!

FERDINAND. Nay, Louisa! fear nothing! It is not madness which prompts
my oath! 'tis the choicest gift of Heaven, decision, sent to my aid at
that critical moment, when an oppressed bosom can only find relief in
some desperate remedy. I love thee, Louisa! Thou shalt be mine! 'Tis
resolved! And now for my father!

   [He rushes out, and is met by the PRESIDENT.



SCENE VI.

   MILLER, MRS. MILLER, LOUISA, FERDINAND, PRESIDENT, with SERVANTS.

PRESIDENT (as he enters). So! here he is! (All start in terror.)

FERDINAND (retiring a few paces). In the house of innocence!

PRESIDENT. Where a son learns obedience to his father!

FERDINAND. Permit me to----

PRESIDENT (interrupting him, turns to MILLER). The father, I presume?

MILLER. I am Miller, the musician.

PRESIDENT (to MRS. MILLER). And you, the mother?

MRS. MILLER. Yes, alas! her unfortunate mother!

FERDINAND (to MILLER.) Father, take Louisa to her chamber--she is
fainting.

PRESIDENT. An unnecessary precaution! I will soon arouse her. (To
LOUISA.) How long have you been acquainted with the President's son?

LOUISA (with timidity). Of the President's son I have never thought.
Ferdinand von Walter has paid his addresses to me since November last.

FERDINAND. And he adores her!

PRESIDENT (to LOUISA). Has he given you any assurance of his love?

FERDINAND. But a few minutes since, the most solemn, and God was my
witness.

PRESIDENT (to his son angrily). Silence! You shall have opportunity
enough of confessing your folly. (To LOUISA.) I await your answer.

LOUISA. He swore eternal love to me.

FERDINAND. And I will keep my oath.

PRESIDENT (to FERDINAND). Must I command your silence? (To LOUISA).
Did you accept his rash vows?

LOUISA (with tenderness). I did, and gave him mine in exchange.

FERDINAND (resolutely). The bond is irrevocable----

PRESIDENT (to FERDINAND). If you dare to interrupt me again I'll teach
you better manners. (To LOUISA, sneeringly.) And he paid handsomely
every time, no doubt?

LOUISA. I do not understand your question.

PRESIDENT (with an insulting laugh). Oh, indeed! Well, I only meant to
hint that--as everything has its price--I hope you have been more
provident than to bestow your favors gratis--or perhaps you were
satisfied with merely participating in the pleasure? Eh? how was it?

FERDINAND (infuriated). Hell and confusion! What does this mean?

LOUISA (to FERDINAND, with dignity and emotion). Baron von Walter, now
you are free!

FERDINAND. Father! virtue though clothed in a beggar's garb commands
respect!

PRESIDENT (laughing aloud). A most excellent joke! The father is
commanded to honor his son's strumpet!

LOUISA. Oh! Heaven and earth! (Sinks down in a swoon.)

FERDINAND (drawing his sword). Father, you gave me life, and, till now,
I acknowledged your claim on it. That debt is cancelled. (Replaces his
sword in the scabbard, and points to LOUISA.) There lies the bond of
filial duty torn to atoms!

MILLER (who has stood apart trembling, now comes forward, by turns
gnashing his teeth in rage, and shrinking back in terror). Your
excellency, the child is the father's second self. No offence, I hope!
Who strikes the child hits the father--blow for blow--that's our rule
here. No offence, I hope!

MRS. MILLER. God have mercy on us! Now the old man has begun--we shall
all catch it with a vengeance!

PRESIDENT (who has not understood what MILLER said). What? is the old
pander stirred up? We shall have something to settle together presently,
Mr. Pander!

MILLER. You mistake me, my lord. My name is Miller, at your service for
an adagio--but, as to ladybirds, I cannot serve you. As long as there is
such an assortment at court, we poor citizens can't afford to lay in
stock! No offence, I hope!

MRS. MILLER. For Heaven's sake, man, hold your tongue! would you ruin
both wife and child?

FERDINAND (to his father). You play but a sorry part here, my lord, and
might well have dispensed with these witnesses.

MILLER (coming nearer, with increasing confidence). To be plain and
above board--No offence, I hope--your excellency may have it all your own
way in the Cabinet--but this is my house. I'm your most obedient, very
humble servant when I wait upon you with a petition, but the rude,
unmannerly intruder I have the right to bundle out--no offence, I hope!

PRESIDENT (pale with anger, and approaching MILLER). What? What's that
you dare to utter?

MILLER (retreating a few steps). Only a little bit of my mind sir--no
offence, I hope!

PRESIDENT (furiously). Insolent villain! Your impertinence shall
procure you a lodging in prison. (To his servants). Call in the
officers of justice! Away! (Some of the attendants go out. The
PRESIDENT paces the stage with a furious air.) The father shall to
prison; the mother and her strumpet daughter to the pillory! Justice
shall lend her sword to my rage! For this insult will I have ample
amends. Shall such contemptible creatures thwart my plans, and set
father and son against each other with impunity? Tremble, miscreants! I
will glut my hate in your destruction--the whole brood of you--father,
mother, and daughter shall be sacrificed to my vengeance!

FERDINAND (to MILLER, in a collected and firm manner). Oh! not so! Fear
not, friends! I am your protector. (Turning to the PRESIDENT, with
deference). Be not so rash, father! For your own sake let me beg of you
no violence. There is a corner of my heart where the name of father has
never yet been heard. Oh! press not into that!

PRESIDENT. Silence, unworthy boy! Rouse not my anger to greater fury!

MILLER (recovering from a stupor). Wife, look you to your daughter! I
fly to the duke. His highness' tailor--God be praised for reminding me
of it at this moment--learns the flute of me--I cannot fail of success.
(Is hastening off.)

PRESIDENT. To the duke, will you? Have you forgotten that I am the
threshold over which you must pass, or failing, perish? To the duke, you
fool? Try to reach him with your lamentations, when, reduced to a living
skeleton, you lie buried in a dungeon five fathoms deep, where light and
sound never enter; where darkness goggles at hell with gloating eyes!
There gnash thy teeth in anguish; there rattle thy chains in despair, and
groan, "Woe is me! This is beyond human endurance!"



SCENE VII.

   Officers of Justice--the former.

FERDINAND (flies to LOUISA, who, overcome with fear, faints in his arms.)
Louisa!--Help, for God's sake! Terror overpowers her!

   [MILLER, catching up his cane and putting on his hat,
   prepares for defense. MRS. MILLER throws herself on her
   knees before the PRESIDENT.

PRESIDENT (to the officers, showing his star). Arrest these offenders in
the duke's name. Boy, let go that strumpet! Fainting or not--when once
her neck is fitted with the iron collar the mob will pelt her till she
revives.

MRS. MILLER. Mercy, your excellency! Mercy! mercy!

MILLER (snatching her from the ground with violence). Kneel to God, you
howling fool, and not to villains--since I must to prison any way!

PRESIDENT (biting his lips.) You may be out in your reckoning,
scoundrel! There are still gallows to spare! (To the officers.) Must I
repeat my orders?

   [They approach LOUISA--FERDINAND places himself before her.

FERDINAND (fiercely). Touch her who dare! (He draws his sword and
flourishes it.) Let no one presume to lay a finger on her, whose life is
not well insured. (To the PRESIDENT.) As you value your own safety,
father, urge me no further!

PRESIDENT (to the officers in a threatening voice). At your peril,
cowards! (They again attempt to seize LOUISA.)

FERDINAND. Hell and furies! Back, I say! (Driving them away.) Once
more, father, I warn you--have some thought for your own safety! Drive
me not to extremity!

PRESIDENT (enraged to the officers). Scoundrels! Is this your
obedience? (The officers renew their efforts.)

FERDINAND. Well, if it must be so (attacking and wounding several of
them), Justice forgive me!

PRESIDENT (exasperated to the utmost). Let me see whether I, too, must
feel your weapon! (He seizes LOUISA and delivers her to an officer.)

FERDINAND (laughing bitterly). Father! father! Your conduct is a
galling satire upon Providence, who has so ill understood her people as
to make bad statesmen of excellent executioners!

PRESIDENT (to the officers). Away with her!

FERDINAND. Father, if I cannot prevent it, she must stand in the
pillory--but by her side will also stand the son of the president. Do
you still insist?

PRESIDENT. The more entertaining will be the exhibition. Away with her!

FERDINAND. I will pledge the honor of an officer's sword for her. Do
you still insist?

PRESIDENT. Your sword is already familiar with disgrace. Away! away!
You know my will.

FERDINAND (wrests LOUISA from the officer and holds her with one arm,
with the other points his sword at her bosom.) Father, rather than
tamely see my wife branded with infamy I will plunge this sword into her
bosom. Do you still insist?

PRESIDENT. Do it, if the point be sharp enough!

FERDINAND (releases LOUISA, and looks wildly towards heaven). Be thou
witness, Almighty God, that I have left no human means untried to save
her! Forgive me now if I have recourse to hellish means. While you are
leading her to the pillory (speaking loudly in the PRESIDENT'S ear), I
will publish throughout the town a pleasant history of how a president's
chair may be gained!                   [Exit.

PRESIDENT (as if thunder-struck). How? What said he? Ferdinand!
Release her instantly! (Rushes after his son.)




ACT III.

SCENE I.

   Room at the President's. Enter PRESIDENT and WORM.

PRESIDENT. That was an infernal piece of business!

WORM. Just what I feared, your excellency. Opposition may inflame the
enthusiast, but never converts him.

PRESIDENT. I had placed my whole reliance upon the success of this
attempt. I made no doubt but if the girl were once publicly disgraced,
he would be obliged as an officer and a gentleman to resign her.

WORM. An admirable idea!--had you but succeeded in disgracing her.

PRESIDENT. And yet--when I reflect on the matter coolly--I ought not to
have suffered myself to be overawed. It was a threat which he never
could have meant seriously.

WORM. Be not too certain of that! There is no folly too gross for
excited passion! You say that the baron has always looked upon
government with an eye of disapprobation. I can readily believe it. The
principles which he brought with him from college are ill-suited to our
atmosphere. What have the fantastic visions of personal nobility and
greatness of soul to do in court, where 'tis the perfection of wisdom to
be great and little by turns, as occasion demands? The baron is too
young and too fiery to take pleasure in the slow and crooked paths of
intrigue. That alone can give impulse to his ambition which seems
glorious and romantic!

PRESIDENT (impatiently). But how will these sagacious remarks advance
our affairs?

WORM. They will point out to your excellency where the wound lies, and
so, perhaps, help you to find a remedy. Such a character--pardon the
observation--ought never to have been made a confidant, or should never
have been roused to enmity. He detests the means by which you have risen
to power! Perhaps it is only the son that has hitherto sealed the lips
of the betrayer! Give him but a fair opportunity for throwing off the
bonds imposed upon him by nature! only convince him, by unrelenting
opposition to his passion, that you are no longer an affectionate father,
and that moment the duties of a patriot will rush upon him with
irresistible force! Nay, the high-wrought idea of offering so
unparalleled a sacrifice at the shrine of justice might of itself alone
have charms sufficient to reconcile him to the ruin of a parent!

PRESIDENT. Worm! Worm! To what a horrible abyss do you lead me!

WORM. Never fear, my lord, I will lead you back in safety! May I speak
without restraint?

PRESIDENT (throwing himself into a seat). Freely, as felon with felon.

WORM. Forgive me, then. It seems to me that you have to ascribe all
your influence as president to the courtly art of intrigue; why not
resort to the same means for attaining your ends as a father? I well
remember with what seeming frankness you invited your predecessor to a
game at piquet, and caroused half the night with him over bumpers of
Burgundy; and yet it was the same night on which the great mine you had
planned to annihilate him was to explode. Why did you make a public
exhibition of enmity to the major? You should by no means have let it
appear that you knew anything of his love affair. You should have made
the girl the object of your attacks and have preserved the affection of
your son; like the prudent general who does not engage the prime of the
enemy's force but creates disaffection among the ranks?

PRESIDENT. How could this have been effected?

WORM. In the simplest manner--even now the game is not entirely lost!
Forget for a time that you are a father. Do not contend against a
passion which opposition only renders more formidable. Leave me to
hatch, from the heat of their own passions, the basilisk which shall
destroy them.

PRESIDENT. I am all attention.

WORM. Either my knowledge of human character is very small, or the major
is as impetuous in jealousy as in love. Make him suspect the girl's
constancy,--whether probable or not does not signify. One grain of
leaven will be enough to ferment the whole mass.

PRESIDENT. But where shall we find that grain?

WORM. Now, then, I come to the point. But first explain to me how much
depends upon the major's compliance. How far is it of consequence that
the romance with the music-master's daughter should be brought to a
conclusion and the marriage with Lady Milford effected?

PRESIDENT. How can you ask me, Worm? If the match with Lady Milford is
broken off I stand a fair chance of losing my whole influence; on the
other hand, if I force the major's consent, of losing my head.

WORM (with animation). Now have the kindness to listen to me. The major
must be entangled in a web. Your whole power must be employed against
his mistress. We must make her write a love-letter, address it to a
third party, and contrive to drop it cleverly in the way of the major.

PRESIDENT. Absurd proposal! As if she would consent to sign her own
death-warrant.

WORM. She must do so if you will but let me follow my own plan. I know
her gentle heart thoroughly; she has but two vulnerable sides by which
her conscience can be attacked; they are her father and the major. The
latter is entirely out of the question; we must, therefore, make the most
of the musician.

PRESIDENT. In what way?

WORM. From the description your excellency gave me of what passed in his
house nothing can be easier than to terrify the father with the threat of
a criminal process. The person of his favorite, and of the keeper of the
seals, is in some degree the representative of the duke himself, and he
who offends the former is guilty of treason towards the latter. At any
rate I will engage with these pretences to conjure up such a phantom as
shall scare the poor devil out of his seven senses.

PRESIDENT. But recollect, Worm, the affair must not be carried so far as
to become serious.

WORM. Nor shall it. It shall be carried no further than is necessary to
frighten the family into our toils. The musician, therefore, must be
quietly arrested. To make the necessity yet more urgent, we may also
take possession of the mother;--and then we begin to talk of criminal
process, of the scaffold, and of imprisonment for life, and make the
daughter's letter the sole condition of the parent's release.

PRESIDENT. Excellent! Excellent! Now I begin to understand you!

WORM. Louisa loves her father--I might say even to adoration! The
danger which threatens his life, or at least his freedom--the reproaches
of her conscience for being the cause of his misfortunes--the
impossibility of ever becoming the major's wife--the confusion of her
brain, which I take upon myself to produce--all these considerations make
our plan certain of success. She must be caught in the snare.

PRESIDENT. But my son--will he not instantly get scent of it? Will it
not make him yet more desperate?

WORM. Leave that to me, your excellency! The old folks shall not be set
at liberty till they and their daughter have taken the most solemn oath
to keep the whole transaction secret, and never to confess the deception.

PRESIDENT. An oath! Ridiculous! What restraint can an oath be?

WORM. None upon us, my lord, but the most binding upon people of their
stamp. Observe, how dexterously by this measure we shall both reach the
goal of our desires. The girl loses at once the affection of her lover,
and her good name; the parents will lower their tone, and, thoroughly
humbled by misfortune, will esteem it an act of mercy, if, by giving her
my hand, I re-establish their daughter's reputation.

PRESIDENT (shaking his head and smiling). Artful villain! I confess
myself outdone--no devil could spin a finer snare! The scholar excels
his master. The next question is, to whom must the letter be addressed--
with whom to accuse her of having an intrigue?

WORM. It must necessarily be some one who has all to gain or all to lose
by your son's decision in this affair.

PRESIDENT (after a moment's reflection). I can think of no one but the
marshal.

WORM (shrugs his shoulders). The marshal! He would certainly not be my
choice were I Louisa Miller.

PRESIDENT. And why not? What a strange notion! A man who dresses in
the height of fashion--who carries with him an atmosphere of eau de mille
fleurs and musk--who can garnish every silly speech with a handful of
ducats--could all this possibly fail to overcome the delicacy of a
tradesman's daughter? No, no, my good friend, jealousy is not quite so
hard of belief. I shall send for the marshal immediately. (Rings.)

WORM. While your excellency takes care of him, and of the fiddler's
arrest, I will go and indite the aforesaid letter.

PRESIDENT (seats himself at his writing-table). Do so; and, as soon as
it is ready, bring it hither for my perusal.

                     [Exit WORM.

   [The PRESIDENT, having written, rises and hands the paper
   to a servant who enters.

See this arrest executed without a moment's delay, and let Marshal von
Kalb be informed that I wish to see him immediately.

SERVANT. The marshal's carriage has just stopped at your lordship's
door.

PRESIDENT. So much the better--as for the arrest, let it be managed with
such precaution that no disturbance arise.

SERVANT. I will take care, my lord.

PRESIDENT. You understand me? The business must be kept quite secret.

SERVANT. Your excellency shall be obeyed.

                    [Exit SERVANT.



SCENE II.

   The PRESIDENT--MARSHALL KALB.

MARSHAL (hastily). I have just looked in, en passant, my dear friend!
How are you? How do you get on? We are to have the grand opera Dido
to-night! Such a conflagration!--a whole town will be in flames!--you
will come to the blaze of course--eh?

PRESIDENT. I have conflagration enough in my own house, one that
threatens the destruction of all I possess. Be seated, my dear marshal.
You arrive very opportunely to give me your advice and assistance in a
certain business which will either advance our fortunes or utterly ruin
us both!

MARSHAL. Don't alarm me so, my dear friend!

PRESIDENT. As I said before, it must exalt or ruin us entirely! You
know my project respecting the major and Lady Milford--you are not
ignorant how necessary this union is to secure both our fortunes!
Marshal, our plans threaten to come to naught. My son refuses to marry
her!

MARSHAL. Refuses! Refuses to marry her? But, my goodness! I have
published the news through the whole town. The union is the general
topic of conversation.

PRESIDENT. Then you will be talked of by all the town as a spreader of
false reports,--in short, Ferdinand loves another.

MARSHAL. Pooh! you are joking! As if that were an obstacle?

PRESIDENT. With such an enthusiast a most insurmountable one!

MARSHAL. Can he be mad enough to spurn his good-fortune? Eh?

PRESIDENT. Ask him yourself and you'll hear what he will answer.

MARSHAL. But, mon Dieu! what can he answer?

PRESIDENT. That he will publish to the world the crime by which we rose
to power--that he will denounce our forged letters and receipts--that he
will send us both to the scaffold. That is what he can answer.

MARSHAL. Are you out of your mind?

PRESIDENT. Nay, that is what he has already answered? He was actually
on the point of putting these threats into execution; and it was only by
the most abject submission that I could persuade him to abandon his
design. What say you to this, marshal?

MARSHAL (with a look of bewildered stupidity). I am at my wits' end!

PRESIDENT. That might have blown over. But my spies have just brought
me notice that the grand cupbearer, von Bock, is on the point of offering
himself as a suitor to her ladyship.

MARSHAL. You drive me distracted! Whom did you say? Von Bock? Don't
you know that we are mortal enemies? And don't you know why?

PRESIDENT. The first word that I ever heard of it!

MARSHAL. My dear count! You shall hear--your hair will stand on end!
You must remember the famous court ball--it is now just twenty years ago.
It was the first time that English country-dances were introduced--you
remember how the hot wax trickled from the great chandelier on Count
Meerschaum's blue and silver domino. Surely, you cannot have forgotten
that affair!

PRESIDENT. Who could forget so remarkable a circumstance!

MARSHAL. Well, then, in the heat of the dance Princess Amelia lost her
garter. The whole ball, as you may imagine, was instantly thrown into
confusion. Von Bock and myself--we were then fellow-pages--crept through
the whole saloon in search of the garter. At length I discovered it.
Von Bock perceives my good-fortune--rushes forward--tears it from my
hands, and, just fancy--presents it to the princess, and so cheated me of
the honor I had so fortunately earned. What do you think of that?

PRESIDENT. 'Twas most insolent!

MARSHAL. I thought I should have fainted upon the spot. A trick so
malicious was beyond the powers of mortal endurance. At length I
recovered myself; and, approaching the princess, said,--"Von Bock, 'tis
true, was fortunate enough to present the garter to your highness; but he
who first discovered that treasure finds his reward in silence, and is
dumb!"

PRESIDENT. Bravo, marshal! Admirably said! Most admirable!

MARSHAL. And is dumb! But till the day of judgment will I remember his
conduct--the mean, sneaking sycophant! And as if that were not
aggravation enough, he actually, as we were struggling on the ground for
the garter, rubbed all the powder from one side of my peruke with his
sleeve, and ruined me for the rest of the evening.

PRESIDENT. This is the man who will marry Lady Milford, and consequently
soon take the lead at court.

MARSHAL. You plunge a dagger in my heart! But why must he? Why should
he marry her? Why he? Where is the necessity?

PRESIDENT. Because Ferdinand refuses her, and there is no other
candidate.

MARSHAL. But is there no possible method of obtaining your son's
consent? Let the measure be ever so extravagant or desperate--there is
nothing to which I should not willingly consent in order to supplant the
hated von Bock.

PRESIDENT. I know but one means of accomplishing this, and that rests
entirely with you.

MARSHAL. With me? Name it, my dear count, name it!

PRESIDENT. You must set Ferdinand and his mistress against each other.

MARSHAL. Against each other? How do you mean?--and how would that be
possible.

PRESIDENT. Everything is ours could we make him suspect the girl.

MARSHAL. Ah, of theft, you mean?

PRESIDENT. Pshaw!--he would never believe that! No, no--I mean that she
is carrying on an intrigue with another.

MARSHAL. And this other, who is he to be?

PRESIDENT. Yourself!

MARSHAL. How? Must I be her lover? Is she of noble birth?

PRESIDENT. What signifies that? What an idea!--she is the daughter of a
musician.

MARSHAL. A plebeian?--that will never do!

PRESIDENT. What will never do? Nonsense, man! Who in the name of
wonder would think of asking a pair of rosy cheeks for their owner's
pedigree?

MARSHAL. But consider, my dear count, a married man! And my reputation
at court!

PRESIDENT. Oh! that's quite another thing! I beg a thousand pardons,
marshal; I was not aware that a man of unblemished morals held a higher
place in your estimation than a man of power! Let us break up our
conference.

MARSHAL. Be not so hasty, count. I did not mean to say that.

PRESIDENT (coldly.) No--no! You are perfectly right. I, too, am weary
of office. I shall throw up the game, tender my resignation to the duke,
and congratulate von Bock on his accession to the premiership. This
duchy is not all the world.

MARSHAL. And what am I to do? It is very fine for you to talk thus!
You are a man of learning! But I--mon Dieu! What shall I be if his
highness dismisses me?

PRESIDENT. A stale jest!--a thing out of fashion!

MARSHAL. I implore you, my dearest, my most valued friend. Abandon
those thoughts. I will consent to everything!

PRESIDENT. Will you lend your name to an assignation to which this
Louisa Miller shall invite you in writing?

MARSHAL. Well, in God's name let it be so!

PRESIDENT. And drop the letter where the major cannot fail to find it.

MARSHAL. For instance, on the parade, where I can let it fall as if
accidentally in drawing out my handkerchief.

PRESIDENT. And when the baron questions you will you assume the
character of a favored rival?

MARSHAL. Mort de ma vie! I'll teach him manners! I'll cure him of
interfering in my amours!

PRESIDENT. Good! Now you speak in the right key. The letter shall be
written immediately! Come in the evening to receive it, and we will talk
over the part you are to play.

MARSHAL. I will be with you the instant I have paid sixteen visits of
the very highest importance. Permit me, therefore, to take my leave
without delay. (Going.)

PRESIDENT (rings). I reckon upon your discretion, marshal.

MARSHAL (calls back). Ah, mon Dieu! you know me!

                      [Exit MARSHAL.



SCENE III.

   The PRESIDENT and WORM.

WORM. The music-master and his wife have been arrested without the least
disturbance. Will your excellency read this letter?

PRESIDENT (having read it). Excellent! Excellent, my dear secretary!
poison like this would convert health itself into jaundiced leprosy. The
marshal, too, has taken the bait. Now then away with my proposals to the
father, and then lose no time--with the daughter.

                   [Exeunt on different sides.



SCENE IV.--Room in MILLER'S House.

   LOUISA and FERDINAND.

LOUISA. Cease, I implore you! I expect no more days of happiness. All
my hopes are levelled with the dust.

FERDINAND. All mine are exalted to heaven! My father's passions are
roused! He will direct his whole artillery against us! He will force me
to become an unnatural son. I will not answer for my filial duty. Rage
and despair will wring from me the dark secret that my father is an
assassin! The son will deliver the parent into the hands of the
executioner. This is a moment of extreme danger, and extreme danger
alone could prompt my love to take so daring a leap! Hear me, Louisa! A
thought, vast and immeasurable as my love, has arisen in my soul--Thou,
Louisa, and I, and Love! Lies not a whole heaven within this circle? Or
dost thou feel that there is still something wanting?

LOUISA. Oh! cease! No more! I tremble to think what you would say.

FERDINAND. If we have no longer a claim upon the world, why should we
seek its approbation? Why venture where nothing can be gained and all
may be lost? Will thine eyes sparkle less brightly reflected by the
Baltic waves than by the waters of the Rhine or the Elbe? Where Louise
loves me there is my native land! Thy footsteps will make the wild and
sandy desert far more attractive than the marble halls of my ancestors.
Shall we miss the pomp of cities? Be we where we may, Louisa, a sun will
rise and a sun will set--scenes before which the most glorious
achievements of art grow pale and dim! Though we serve God no more in
his consecrated churches, yet the night shall spread her solemn shadows
round us; the changing moon shall hear our confession, and a glorious
congregation of stars join in our prayers! Think you our talk of love
can ever be exhausted! Oh, no! One smile from Louisa were a theme for
centuries--the dream of life will be over ere I can exhaust the charms of
a single tear.

LOUISA. And hast thou no duty save that of love?

FERDINAND (embracing her). None so sacred as thy peace of mind!

LOUISA (very seriously). Cease, then, and leave me. I have a father who
possesses no treasure save one only daughter. To-morrow he will be sixty
years old--that he will fall a victim to the vengeance of the President
is most certain!

FERDINAND (interrupting her). He shall accompany us. Therefore no more
objections, my beloved. I will go and convert my valuables into gold,
and raise money on my father's credit! It is lawful to plunder a robber,
and are not his treasures the price for which he has sold his country?
This night, when the clock strikes one, a carriage will stop at your
door--throw yourself into it, and we fly!

LOUISA. Pursued by your father's curse! a curse, unthinking one, which
is never pronounced in vain even by murderers--which the avenging angel
hears when uttered by a malefactor in his last agony--which, like a fury,
will fearfully pursue the fugitives from shore to shore! No, my beloved!
If naught but a crime can preserve you to me, I still have courage to
resign you!

FERDINAND (mutters gloomily). Indeed!

LOUISA. Resign you? Oh! horrible beyond all measure is the thought.
Horrible enough to pierce the immortal spirit and pale the glowing cheeks
of joy! Ferdinand! To resign you! Yet how can one resign what one
never possessed? Your heart is the property of your station. My claim
was sacrilege, and, shuddering, I withdraw it!

FERDINAND (with convulsed features, and biting his underlip). You
withdraw it!

LOUISA. Nay! look upon me, dearest Ferdinand. Gnash not your teeth so
bitterly! Come, let my example rouse your slumbering courage. Let me be
the heroine of this moment. Let me restore to a father his lost son. I
will renounce a union which would sever the bonds by which society is
held together, and overthrow the landmarks of social order. I am the
criminal. My bosom has nourished proud and foolish wishes, and my
present misery is a just punishment. Oh! leave me then the sweet, the
consoling idea that mine is the sacrifice. Canst thou deny me this last
satisfaction? (FERDINAND, stupefied with agitation and anger, seizes a
violin and strikes a few notes upon it; and then tears away the strings,
dashes the instrument upon the ground, and, stamping it to pieces, bursts
into a loud laugh.) Walter! God in Heaven! What mean you? Be not thus
unmanned! This hour requires fortitude; it is the hour of separation!
You have a heart, dear Walter; I know that heart--warm as life is your
love--boundless and immeasurable--bestow it on one more noble, more
worthy--she need not envy the most fortunate of her sex! (Striving to
repress her tears.) You shall see me no more! Leave the vain
disappointed girl to bewail her sorrow in sad and lonely seclusion; where
her tears will flow unheeded. Dead and gone are all my hopes of
happiness in this world; yet still shall I inhale ever and anon the
perfumes of the faded wreath! (Giving him her trembling hand, while her
face is turned away.) Baron Walter, farewell!

FERDINAND (recovering from the stupor in which he was plunged). Louisa,
I fly! Do you indeed refuse to follow me?

LOUISA (who has retreated to the further end of the apartment, conceals
her countenance with her hands). My duty bids me stay, and suffer.

FERDINAND. Serpent! thou liest--some other motive chains thee here!

LOUISA (in a tone of the most heartfelt sorrow). Encourage that belief.
Haply it may make our parting more supportable.

FERDINAND. What? Oppose freezing duty to fiery love! And dost thou
think to cheat me with that delusion? Some rival detains thee here, and
woe be to thee and him should my suspicions be confirmed!

                         [Exit.



SCENE V.

LOUISA (she remains for some time motionless in the seat upon which she
has thrown herself. At length she rises, comes forward, and looks
timidly around). Where can my parents be? My father promised to return
in a few minutes; yet full five dreadful hours have passed since his
departure. Should any accident----good Heavens! What is come over me?
Why does my heart palpitate so violently? (Here WORM enters, and remains
standing unobserved in the background.) It can be nothing real. 'Tis
but the terrible delusion of my over-heated blood. When once the soul is
wrapped in terror the eye behold spectres in every shadow.



SCENE VI.

   LOUISA and WORM.

WORM (approaches her). Good evening, miss.

LOUISA. Heavens! who speaks! (Perceives him, and starts back in
terror.) Ha! Dreadful! dreadful! I fear some dire misfortune is even
now realizing the forebodings of my soul! (To WORM, with a look of
disdain.) Do you seek the president? he is no longer here.

WORM. 'Tis you I seek, miss!

LOUISA. I wonder, then, that you did not direct your steps towards the
market-place.

WORM. What should I do there?

LOUISA. Release your betrothed from the pillory.

WORM. Louisa, you cherish some false suspicion----

LOUISA (sharply interrupting him). What is your business with me?

WORM. I come with a message from your father.

LOUISA (agitated). From my father? Oh! Where is my father?

WORM. Where he would fain not be!

LOUISA. Quick, quick, for God's sake! Oh! my foreboding heart! Where
is my father!

WORM. In prison, if you needs must know!

LOUISA (with a look towards heaven). This, too! This, too! In prison,
said you? And why in prison?

WORM. It is the duke's order.

LOUISA. The duke's?

WORM. Who thinking his own dignity offended by the insults offered to
the person of his representative----

LOUISA. How? How? Oh ye Almighty Powers!

WORM.----Has resolved to inflict the most exemplary punishment.

LOUISA. This was still wanting! This! Yes, in truth. I now feel that
my heart does love another besides Ferdinand! That could not be allowed
to escape! The prince's dignity offended? Heavenly Providence! Save,
oh! save my sinking faith! (After a moment's pause, she turns to WORM.)
And Ferdinand?

WORM. Must choose between Lady Milford's hand and his father's curse and
disinheritance.

LOUISA. Terrible choice!--and yet--yet is he the happier of the two. He
has no father to lose--and yet to have none is misery enough! My father
imprisoned for treason--my Ferdinand compelled to choose between Lady
Milford's hand or a parent's curse and disinheritance! Truly admirable!
for even villany so perfect is perfection! Perfection? No! something is
still wanting to complete that. Where is my mother?

WORM. In the house of correction.

LOUISA (with a smile of despair). Now the measure is full! It is full,
and I am free--released from all duties--all sorrows--all joys! Released
even from Providence! I have nothing more to do with it! (A dreadful
pause.) Have you aught else to communicate? Speak freely--now I can
hear anything with indifference.

WORM. All that has happened you already know.

LOUISA. But not that which is yet to happen! (Another pause, during
which she surveys WORM from head to foot.) Unfortunate man! you
have entered on a melancholy employment, which can never lead you to
happiness. To cause misery to others is sad enough--but to be the
messenger of evil is horrible indeed--to be the first to shriek the
screech-owl's song, to stand by when the bleeding heart trembles upon
the iron shaft of necessity, and the Christian doubts the existence of a
God--Heaven protect me! Wert thou paid a ton of gold for every tear of
anguish which thou must witness, I would not be a wretch like thee! What
is there yet to happen?

WORM. I know not.

LOUISA. You pretend not to know? This light-shunning embassy trembles
at the sound of words, but the spectre betrays itself in your ghastly
visage. What is there yet to happen? You said the duke will inflict
upon him a most exemplary punishment. What call you exemplary?

WORM. Ask me no more.

LOUISA. Terrible man! Some hangman must have schooled thee! Else thou
hast not so well learned to prolong the torture of thy victim before
giving the finishing stroke to the agonized heart! Speak! What fate
awaits my father? Death thou canst announce with a laughing sneer--what
then must that be which thou dost hesitate to disclose? Speak out! Let
me at once receive the overwhelming weight of thy tidings! What fate
awaits my father?

WORM. A criminal process.

LOUISA. But what is that? I am an ignorant, innocent girl, and
understand but little of your fearful terms of law. What mean you by a
criminal process?

WORM. Judgment upon life or death.

LOUISA (firmly). Ah! I thank you.

               [Exit hastily by a side door.

WORM (alarmed). What means this? Should the simpleton perchance--
confusion! Surely she will not--I must follow her. I am answerable for
her life. (As he is going towards the door, LOUISA returns, wrapped in a
cloak.)

LOUISA. Your pardon, Mr. Secretary, I must lock the door.

WORM. Whither in such haste?

LOUISA (passing him). To the duke.

WORM (alarmed, detains her). How? Whither?

LOUISA. To the duke. Do you not hear? Even to that very duke whose
will is to decide upon my father's life or death. Yet no?--'tis not his
will that decides, but the will of wicked men who surround his throne.
He lends naught to this process, save the shadow of his majesty, and his
royal signature.

WORM (with a burst of laughter). To the duke!

LOUISA. I know the meaning of that sneering laugh--you would tell me
that I shall find no compassion there. But though I may meet (God
preserve me!) with nothing but scorn--scorn at my sorrows--yet will I to
the duke. I have been told that the great never know what misery is;
that they fly from the knowledge of it. But I will teach the duke what
misery is; I will paint to him, in all the writhing agonies of death,
what misery is; I will cry aloud in wailings that shall creep through the
very marrow of his bones, what misery is; and, while at my picture his
hairs shall stand on end like quills upon the porcupine, will I shriek
into his affrighted ear, that in the hour of death the sinews of these
mighty gods of earth shall shrivel and shrink, and that at the day of
judgment beggars and kings shall be weighed together in the same balance
(Going.)

WORM (ironically). By all means go to the duke! You can really do
nothing more prudent; I advise you heartily to the step. Only go, and I
give you my word that the duke will grant your suit.

LOUISA (stopping suddenly). What said you? Do you yourself advise the
step? (Returns hastily). What am I about to do? Something wicked
surely, since this man approves it--how know you that the prince will
grant my suit?

WORM. Because he will not have to grant it unrewarded.

LOUISA. Not unrewarded? And what price does he set on his humanity?

WORM. The person of the fair suppliant will be payment enough!

LOUISA (stopping for a moment in mute dismay--in a feeble voice).
Almighty God!

WORM. And I trust that you will not think your father's life over-valued
when 'tis purchased at so gracious a price.

LOUISA (with great indignation). True, oh! true! The great are
entrenched from truth behind their own vices, safely as behind the swords
of cherubim. The Almighty protect thee, father! Your child can die--
but not sin for thee.

WORM. This will be agreeable news for the poor disconsolate old man.
"My Louisa," says he, "has bowed me down to the earth; but my Louisa will
raise me up again." I hasten to him with your answer. (Affects to be
about to depart.)

LOUISA (flies after him and holds him back). Stay! stay! one moment's
patience! How nimble this Satan is, when his business is to drive
humanity distracted! I have bowed him to the earth! I must raise him up
again! Speak to me! Counsel me! What can I, what must I do?

WORM. There is but one means of saving him!

LOUISA. What is that means?

WORM. And your father approves of it----

LOUISA. My father? Oh! name that means.

WORM. It is easy for you to execute.

LOUISA. I know of nothing harder than infamy!

WORM. Suppose you were to release the major from his engagement?

LOUISA. Release him! Do you mock me? Do you call that a choice to
which force compelled me?

WORM. You mistake me, dear girl! The major must resign you willingly,
and be the first to retract his engagement.

LOUISA. That he will never do.

WORM. So it appears. Should we, do you think, have had recourse to you
were it not that you alone are able to help us?

LOUISA. I cannot compel him to hate me.

WORM. We will try! Be seated.

LOUISA (drawing back). Man! What is brooding in thy artful brain?

WORM. Be seated. Here are paper, pens, and ink. Write what I dictate.

LOUISA (sitting down in the greatest uneasiness). What must I write? To
whom must I write?

WORM. To your father's executioner.

LOUISA. Ah! How well thou knowest to torture souls to thy purpose.
(Takes a pen.)

WORM (dictating to her). "My dear Sir (LOUISA writes with a trembling
hand,) three days, three insupportable days, have already passed--already
passed--since last we met."

LOUISA (starts, and lays down her pen). To whom is the letter?

WORM. To your father's executioner.

LOUISA. Oh! my God!

WORM. "But for this you must blame the major--the major--who watches me
all day with the vigilance of an Argus."

LOUISA (starting up). Villany! Villany beyond all precedent! To whom
is the letter?

WORM. To your father's executioner.

LOUISA (paces to and fro, wringing her hands). No, no, no! This is
tyrannical! Oh Heaven! If mortals provoke thee, punish them like
mortals; but wherefore must I be placed between two precipices?
Wherefore am I hurled by turns from death to infamy, from infamy to
death? Wherefore is my neck made the footstool of this blood-sucking
fiend? No; do what thou wilt, I will never write that!

WORM (seizing his hat). As you please, miss! It rests entirely on your
own pleasure!

LOUISA. Pleasure, say'st thou? On my own pleasure? Go, barbarian!
Suspend some unfortunate over the pit of hell; then make your demands,
and ask your victim if it be his pleasure to grant your request! Oh!
Thou knowest but too well that the bonds of nature bind our hearts as
firmly as chains! But all is now alike indifferent. Dictate! I cease
to think! Artifices of hell, I yield to ye! (She resumes her seat at
the table.)

WORM. "With the vigilance of an Argus." Have you written it?

LOUISA. Proceed, proceed!

WORM. "The president was here yesterday. It was amusing to see how warm
the poor major was in defence of my honor."

LOUISA. Excellent! Excellent! Oh! Admirable! Quick! quick, go on!

WORM. "I had recourse to a swoon--a swoon--that I might not laugh
aloud"----

LOUISA. Oh, Heavens!

WORM. "But the mask which I have worn so long is becoming insupportable
--insupportable. Oh! if I could but rid myself of him."

LOUISA (rises, and walks a few turns with her head bent down, as if she
sought something upon the floor: then returns to her place, and continues
to write). "Rid myself of him."

WORM. "He will be on duty to-morrow--observe when he leaves me, and
hasten to the usual place." Have you written "the usual place?"

LOUISA. Everything, everything!

WORM. "To the usual place, to meet your devotedly attached Louisa."

LOUISA. Now then, the address?

WORM. "To Marshal von Kalb."

LOUISA. Eternal Providence! A name as foreign to my ear as these
scandalous lines are to my heart! (She rises, and for some moments
surveys the writing with a vacant gaze. At length she hands it to WORM,
speaking in a voice trembling and exhausted.) Take it, Sir! What I now
put into your hands is my good name. It is Ferdinand--it is the whole
joy of my life! You have it, and now I am a beggar----

WORM. Oh! Not so! Despair not, dear girl! You inspire me with the
most heartfelt pity! Perhaps--who knows? I might even now overlook
certain parts of your conduct--yes! Heaven is my witness, how deeply I
compassionate your sorrows!

LOUISA (giving him a piercing look). Do not explain yourself! You are
on the point of asking something more terrible than all.

WORM (attempting to kiss her hand). What if I asked this little hand?
Would that be terrible, Louisa?

LOUISA (with great indignation). Yes! for I should strangle you on the
bridal night: and for such a deed I would joyfully yield my body to be
torn on the rack! (She is going, but comes hurriedly back.) Is all
settled between us, sir? May the dove be released?

WORM. A trifle yet remains, maiden! You must swear, by the holy
sacrament, to acknowledge this letter for your free and voluntary act.

LOUISA. Oh God! Oh God! And wilt thou grant thine own seal to confirm
the works of hell? (WORM leads her away.)




ACT IV.

SCENE I. Saloon in the PRESIDENT'S House.

   FERDINAND VON WALTER enters in great excitement with an open letter
   in his hand, and is met by a SERVANT.

FERDINAND. Is the marshal here?

SERVANT. My lord, his highness the president is inquiring for you.

FERDINAND. Fire and fury! I ask is the marshal here?

SERVANT. His honor is engaged at the faro-table, above stairs.

FERDINAND. Tell his honor, in the name of all the devils in hell, to
make his appearance this instant!

                  [Exit SERVANT.



SCENE II.

FERDINAND (hastily reading the letter, at one moment seeming petrified
with astonishment, at the next pacing the room with fury). Impossible!
quite impossible! A form so heavenly cannot hide so devilish a heart.
And yet!--and yet! Though all the angels of heaven should descend on
earth and proclaim her innocence--though heaven and earth, the Creator
and the created, should, with one accord, vouch for her innocence--it is
her hand, her own hand! Treachery, monstrous, infernal treachery, such
as humanity never before witnessed! This, then, was the reason she so
resolutely opposed our flight! This it was--Oh, God! Now I awake from
my dream! Now the veil is lifted! This, then, is why she surrendered
with so much seeming heroism her claims on my affection, and all but
cheated me with her saint-like demeanor! (He traverses the chamber
rapidly, and then remains for some moments in deep thought.) To fathom
my heart to its very core! To reciprocate every lofty sentiment, every
gentle emotion, every fiery ebullition! To sympathize with every secret
breathing of my soul! To study me even in her tears! To mount with me
to the sublimest heights of passion--to brave with me, undaunted, each
fearful precipice! God of heaven! And was all this deceit? mere
grimace? Oh, if falsehood can assume so lovely an appearance of truth
why has no devil yet lied himself back into heaven?

When I unfolded to her the dangers which threatened our affection, with
what convincing artifice did the false one turn pale! With what
overpowering dignity did she repulse my father's licentious scoffs! yet
at that very moment the deceiver was conscious of her guilt! Nay, did
she not even undergo the fiery ordeal of truth? Forsooth, the hypocrite
fainted! What must now be thy language, sensibility, since coquettes
faint? How wilt thou vindicate thyself, innocence?--for even strumpets
faint?

She knows her power over me--she has seen through my very heart! My soul
shone conspicuous in my eyes at the blush of her first kiss. And that
she should have felt nothing! or perhaps felt only the triumph of her
art; whilst my happy delirium fancied that in her I embraced a whole
heaven, my wildest wishes were hushed! No thought but of her and
eternity was present to my mind. Oh, God! and yet she felt nothing?
Nothing? but that her artifice had triumphed! That her charms were
flattered! Death and vengeance! Nothing, but that I was betrayed!



SCENE III.

   FERDINAND, the MARSHAL.

MARSHAL (tripping into the room). I am told, my dear baron, that you
have expressed a wish----

FERDINAND (muttering to himself). To break your rascally neck. (Aloud.)
Marshal, this letter must have dropped out of your pocket on parade.
(With a malicious smile.) And I have been the fortunate finder.

MARSHAL. You?

FERDINAND. By a singular coincidence! Now, balance thy account with
heaven!

MARSHAL. You quite alarm me, baron!

FERDINAND. Read it, sir, read it! (Turning from him.) If I am not good
enough for a lover perhaps I may do for a pimp. (While the MARSHAL
reads, FERDINAND goes to the wall and takes down the pistols.)

KALB (throws the letter upon the table, and rushes off). Confusion!

FERDINAND (leads him back by the arm). Wait a little, my dear marshal!
The intelligence contained in that letter appears to be agreeable! The
finder must have his reward. (Showing him the pistols.)

MARSHAL (starts back in alarm). Have you lost your senses, baron?

FERDINAND (in a terrible voice). I have more than enough left to rid the
world of such a scoundrel as you! Choose one of these instantly! (He
forces a pistol into the MARSHAL'S hand, and then draws out his
handkerchief.) And now take the other end of this handkerchief! It was
given me by the strumpet herself!

MARSHAL. What, shoot over the handkerchief? Baron, are you mad? What
can you be thinking of?

FERDINAND. Lay hold of it, I say! or you will be sure to miss your aim,
coward! How the coward trembles! You should thank God, you pitiful
coward, that you have a chance for once of getting something in your
empty brain-box. (The MARSHAL takes to his heels.) Gently, gently!
I'll take care of that. (Overtakes him and bolts the door.)

MARSHAL. Surely you will not fight in the chamber?

FERDINAND. As if you were worth the trouble of a walk beyond the
boundaries! The report, my dear fellow, will be louder, and, for the
first time, you will make some noise in the world. Now, then, take hold!

MARSHAL (wiping his forehead). Yet consider, I entreat. Would you risk
your precious life, young and promising as you are, in this desperate
manner?

FERDINAND. Take hold, I say! I have nothing more to do in this world!

MARSHAL. But I have much, my dearest, most excellent friend!

FERDINAND. Thou, wretch--thou? What hast thou to do, but to play the
stop-gap, where honest men keep aloof! To stretch or shrink seven times
in an instant, like the butterfly on a pin? To be privy registrar in
chief and clerk of the jordan? To be the cap-and-bell buffoon on which
your master sharpens his wit? Well, well, let it be so. I will carry you
about with me, as I would a marmot of rare training. You shall skip and
dance, like a tamed monkey, to the howling of the damned; fetch, carry,
and serve; and with your courtly arts enliven the wailings of everlasting
despair!

MARSHAL. Anything you please, dear major! Whatever you please! Only
take away the pistols!

FERDINAND. How he stands there, poor trembling wretch! There he stands,
a blot on the sixth day of creation. He looks as if he were a piratical
counterfeit of the Almighty original. Pity, eternal pity! that an atom
of brains should lie wasting in so barren a skull! That single atom
bestowed upon a baboon might have made him a perfect man, whereas it is
now a mere useless fragment. And that she should share her heart with a
thing like this! Monstrous! Incredible! A wretch more formed to wean
from sin than to excite it!

MARSHAL. Praised be Heaven! he is getting witty.

FERDINAND. I will let him live! That toleration which spares the
caterpillar shall be extended to him! Men shall look on him in wonder,
and, shrugging their shoulders, admire the wise dispensation of
Providence, which can feed its creatures with husks and scourings; which
spreads the table for the raven on the gallows, and for the courtier in
the slime of majesty. We wonder at the wisdom of Providence, which even
in the world of spirits maintains its staff of venomous reptiles for the
dissemination of poison. (Relapsing into rage.) But such vermin shall
not pollute my rose; sooner will I crush it to atoms (seizing the MARSHAL
and shaking him roughly), thus--and thus--and thus----

MARSHAL. Oh! God, that I were away from here! hundreds of miles away in
the asylum for maniacs at Paris! Anywhere but near this man!

FERDINAND. Villain! If she be no longer pure! Villain! If thou hast
profaned where I worshipped! (with increased fury). If thou hast
polluted, where I believed myself the god! (Pausing suddenly; then in a
solemn terrible voice.) It were better for thee, villain, to flee to
hell, than to encounter my wrath in heaven! Confess! To what extent has
your unhallowed love proceeded?

MARSHAL. Let me go! I will confess everything.

FERDINAND. Oh! it must be more rapturous even to be her licentious
paramour than to burn with the purest flame for any other! Would she
surrender her charms to unlicensed pleasure she might dissolve the soul
itself to sin, and make voluptuousness pass for virtue (pressing his
pistol against the MARSHAL'S breast). To what extremities have you
proceeded? Confess this instant or I fire!

MARSHAL. There is nothing at all in it, I assure you! There is not a
syllable of truth in the whole business! Have but a moment's patience!
You are deceived, indeed you are!

FERDINAND (furiously). And dare you remind me of that, villain? To what
extremities have you proceeded? Confess, or you are a dead man!

MARSHAL. Mon Dieu! My God! You mistake my words! Only listen for a
moment. When a father----

FERDINAND (still more enraged). No doubt! He threw his daughter into
your arms? And how far have you proceeded? Confess, or I will murder
you!

MARSHAL. You rave! You will not listen! I never saw her! I don't know
her! I know nothing at all about her!

FERDINAND (drawing back). You never saw her? You don't know her? Know
nothing at all about her? Louisa is lost to me forever on thy account,
and yet in one breath hast thou denied her thrice. Go, wretch, go (he
gives him a blow with the pistol, and thrusts him out of the chamber);
powder were thrown away on such a miscreant.

                       [Exit MARSHAL.



SCENE IV.

FERDINAND (after a long silence, during which his countenance declares
him to be agitated by some dreadful idea). Forever lost? Yes, false
unfortunate, both are lost! Ay, by the Almighty God! if I am lost, thou
art so too. Judge of the world, ask her not from me! She is mine. For
her sake I renounced the whole world--abandoned all thy glorious
creation. Leave me the maid, great Judge of the world! Millions of
souls pour out their plaints to thee--turn on them thine eye of
compassion, but leave me, Almighty Judge--leave me to myself. (Clasping
his hands in agony.) Can the bountiful, the munificent Creator be
covetous of one miserable soul, and that soul the worst of his creation?
The maiden is mine! Once I was her god, but now I am her devil!

   (Fixes his eyes with terrible expression.)

An eternity passed with her upon the rack of everlasting perdition! Her
melting eye-balls riveted on mine! Our blazing locks entwined together!
Our shrieks of agony dissolving into one! And then to renew to her my
vows of love, and chant unceasingly her broken oaths! God! God! The
union is dreadful--and eternal! (As he is about to rush off, the
PRESIDENT meets him.)



SCENE V.

   FERDINAND, the PRESIDENT.

FERDINAND (starting back). Ha! my father.

PRESIDENT. I am glad to meet with you, Ferdinand! I come to bring you
some pleasant news--something that will certainly surprise you, my dear
son. Shall we be seated?

FERDINAND (after gazing upon him for some time with a vacant stare). My
father! (Going to him with emotion, and grasping his hand.) My father!
(Kissing it, and falling at his feet.) Oh, father!

PRESIDENT. What is the matter? Rise, my son. Your hand burns and
trembles!

FERDINAND (wildly). Forgive my ingratitude, father! I am a lost man! I
have misinterpreted your kindness! Your meaning was so truly--truly
paternal! Oh! you had a prophetic soul! Now it is too late! Pardon!
pardon! Your blessing, my dear father!

PRESIDENT (feigning astonishment). Arise, my son! Recollect that your
words to me are riddles!

FERDINAND. This Louisa, dear father! Oh! You understand mankind! Your
anger was so just, so noble, so truly the zeal of a father! had not its
very earnestness led you to mistake the way. This Louisa!

PRESIDENT. Spare me, dear boy! Curses on my severity! come to entreat
your forgiveness----

FERDINAND. Forgiveness from me! Curse me rather. Your disapproval was
wisdom! Your severity was heavenly mercy! This Louisa, father----

PRESIDENT. Is a noble, a lovely girl! I recall my too rash suspicions!
She has won my entire esteem!

FERDINAND (starting up). What? You, too? Father, even you? And is she
not, father, the very personification of innocence? And is it not so
natural to love this maiden?

PRESIDENT. Say, rather, 'twere a crime not to love her.

FERDINAND. Incredible! wonderful! And you, too, who can so thoroughly
see through the heart! And you, who saw her faults with the eyes of
hatred! Oh, unexampled hypocrisy! This Louisa, father!

PRESIDENT. Is worthy to be my daughter! Her virtues supply the want of
ancestry, her beauty the want of fortune. My prudential maxims yield to
the force of your attachment. Louisa shall be yours!

FERDINAND. Naught but this wanting! Father, farewell! (Rushes out of
the apartment.)

PRESIDENT (following him). Stay, my son, stay! Whither do you fly?



SCENE VI.--A magnificent Saloon in LADY MILFORD'S House.

   Enter LADY MILFORD and SOPHIA.

LADY MILFORD. You have seen her then? Will she come?

SOPHIA. Yes, in a moment! She was in dishabille, and only requested
time to change her dress.

LADY MILFORD. Speak not of her. Silence! I tremble like a criminal at
the prospect of beholding that fortunate woman whose heart sympathizes
thus cruelly with my own. And how did she receive my invitation?

SOPHIA. She seemed surprised, became thoughtful, fixed her eyes on me
steadfastly, and for a while remained silent. I was already prepared for
her excuses, when she returned me this answer with a look that quite
astonished me; "Tell your mistress that she commands what I myself
intended to request to-morrow."

LADY MILFORD. Leave me, Sophia! Pity me! I must blush if she is but an
ordinary woman--despair if she is more!

SOPHIA. But, my lady! it is not in this spirit that a rival should be
received! Remember who you are! Summon to your aid your birth, your
rank, your power! A prouder soul should heighten the gorgeous splendor
of your appearance.

LADY MILFORD (in a fit of absence). What is the simpleton babbling
about?

SOPHIA (maliciously). Or, is it, perhaps, by chance that to-day, in
particular, you are adorned with your most costly brilliants? by chance
that you are to-day arrayed in your most sumptuous robes? that your
antechamber is crowded with guards and pages; and that the tradesman's
daughter is to be received in the most stately apartment of the palace?

LADY MILFORD (angry and nettled). This is outrageous! Insupportable!
Oh that woman should have such argus-eyes for woman's weakness! How low,
how irretrievably low must I have fallen when such a creature has power
to fathom me!

   LADY MILFORD, SOPHIA, a SERVANT.

SERVANT (entering). Ma'mselle Miller waits.

LADY MILFORD (to SOPHIA). Hence with you! Leave the room instantly!
(Imperiously, as the latter hesitates.) Must I repeat my orders?
(SOPHIA retires--LADY MILFORD takes a few turns hastily.) So; 'tis well
that I have been excited! I am in the fitter mood for this meeting. (To
the SERVANT.) Let her approach.

   [Exit SERVANT. LADY MILFORD throws herself upon the sofa,
   and assumes a negligent but studied attitude.



SCENE VII.

   LADY MILFORD, LOUISA.

   LOUISA enters timidly, and remains standing at a great distance
   from LADY MILFORD, who has turned her back towards her, and for
   some time watches her attentively in the opposite looking-glass.
   After a pause-----

LOUISA. Noble lady, I await your commands.

LADY MILFORD (turning towards LOUISA, and making a slight and distant
motion with her head.) Oh! Are you there? I presume the young lady--a
certain----. Pray what is your name?

LOUISA (somewhat sensitively). My father's name is Miller. Your
ladyship expressed a wish to see his daughter.

LADY MILFORD. True, true! I remember. The poor musician's daughter, of
whom we were speaking the other day. (Aside, after a pause.) Very
interesting, but no beauty! (To LOUISA.) Come nearer, my child. (Again
aside.) Eyes well practised in weeping. Oh! How I love those eyes!
(Aloud.) Nearer--come nearer! Quite close! I really think, my good
child, that you are afraid of me!

LOUISA (with firmness and dignity). No, my lady--I despise the opinion
of the multitude!

LADY MILFORD (aside). Well, to be sure! She has learnt this boldness
from him. (To LOUISA.) You have been recommended to me, miss! I am
told that you have been decently educated, and are well disposed. I can
readily believe it; besides, I would not, for the world, doubt the word
of so warm an advocate.

LOUISA. And yet I remember no one, my lady, who would be at the trouble
to seek your ladyship's patronage for me!

LADY MILFORD (significantly). Does that imply my unworthiness, or your
humility?

LOUISA. Your words are beyond my comprehension, lady.

LADY MILFORD. More cunning than I should have expected from that open
countenance. (To LOUISA.) Your name is Louisa, I believe? May I
inquire your age?

LOUISA. Sixteen, just turned.

LADY MILFORD (starting up). Ha! There it is! Sixteen! The first
pulsation of love! The first sweet vibration upon the yet unsounded
harp! Nothing is more fascinating. (To LOUISA.) Be seated, lovely
girl--I am anxious about you. (To herself.) And he, too, loves for the
first time! What wonder, if the ruddy morning beams should meet and
blend? (To LOUISA, taking her hand affectionately.) 'Tis settled: I
will make your fortune. (To herself.) Oh! there is nothing in it:
nothing, but the sweet transient vision of youth! (To LOUISA, patting
her on the cheek.) My Sophy is on the point of leaving me to be married:
you shall have her place. But just sixteen? Oh! it can never last.

LOUISA (kissing her hand respectfully). Receive my thanks, lady, for
your intended favors, and believe me not the less grateful though I may
decline to accept them.

LADY MILFORD (relapsing into disdain and anger). Only hear the great
lady! Girls of your station generally think themselves fortunate to
obtain such promotion. What is your dependence, my dainty one? Are
these fingers too delicate for work?--or is it your pretty baby-face that
makes you give yourself these airs?

LOUISA. My face, lady, is as little of my own choice as my station!

LADY MILFORD. Perhaps you believe that your beauty will last forever?
Poor creature! Whoever put that into your head--be he who he may--has
deceived both you and himself! The colors of those cheeks are not burnt
in with fire: what your mirror passes off upon you as solid and enduring
is but a slight tinselling, which, sooner or later, will rub off in the
hands of the purchaser. What then, will you do?

LOUISA. Pity the purchaser, lady, who bought a diamond because it
appeared to be set in gold.

LADY MILFORD (affecting not to hear her). A damsel of your age has ever
two mirrors, the real one, and her admirer. The flattering complaisance
of the latter counterbalances the rough honesty of the former. What the
one proclaims frightful pock-marks, the other declares to be dimples that
would adorn the Graces. The credulous maid believes only so much of the
former as is confirmed by the latter, and hies from one to the other till
she confounds their testimonies, and concludes by fancying them to be
both of one opinion. Why do you stare at me so?

LOUISA. Pardon me, lady! I was just then pitying those gorgeous
sparkling brilliants, which are unconscious that their possessor is so
strenuous a foe to vanity.

LADY MILFORD (reddening). No evasion, miss. Were it not that you depend
upon personal attractions, what in the world could induce you to reject a
situation, the only one where you can acquire polish of manners and
divest yourself of your plebeian prejudices?

LOUISA. And with them, I presume, my plebeian innocence!

LADY MILFORD. Preposterous objection! The most dissolute libertine
dares not to disrespect our sex, unless we ourselves encourage him by
advances. Prove what you are; make manifest your virtue and honor, and I
will guarantee your innocence from danger.

LOUISA. Of that, lady, permit me to entertain a doubt! The palaces of
certain ladies are but too often made a theatre for the most unbridled
licentiousness. Who will believe that a poor musician's daughter could
have the heroism to plunge into the midst of contagion and yet preserve
herself untainted? Who will believe that Lady Milford would perpetually
hold a scorpion to her breast, and lavish her wealth to purchase the
advantage of every moment feeling her cheeks dyed with the crimson blush
of shame? I will be frank, lady!--while I adorned you for some
assignation, could you meet my eye unabashed? Could you endure my glance
when you returned? Oh! better, far better, would it be that oceans
should roll between us--that we should inhabit different climes! Beware,
my lady!--hours of temperance, moments of satiety might intrude; the
gnawing worm of remorse might plant its sting in your bosom, and then
what a torment would it be for you to read in the countenance of your
handmaid that calm serenity with which virtue ever rewards an uncorrupted
heart! (Retiring a few steps.) Once more, gracious lady, I entreat your
pardon!

LADY MILFORD (extremely agitated). Insupportable, that she should tell
me this! Still more insupportable, that what she tells is true!
(Turning to LOUISA, and looking at her steadfastly.) Girl! girl! this
artifice does not blind me. Mere opinions do not speak out so warmly.
Beneath the cloak of these sentiments lurks some far dearer interest.
'Tis that which makes my service particularly distasteful--which gives
such energy to your language. (In a threatening voice.) What it is I am
determined to discover.

LOUISA (with calm dignity). And what if you do discover it? Suppose the
contemptuous trampling of your foot should rouse the injured worm, which
its Creator has furnished with a sting to protect it against misusage. I
fear not your vengeance, lady! The poor criminal extended on the rack
can look unappalled even on the dissolution of the world. My misery is
so exquisite that even sincerity cannot draw down upon me any further
infliction! (After a pause.) You say that you would raise me from the
obscurity of my station. I will not examine the motives of this
suspicious favor. I will only ask, what could induce you to think me so
foolish as to blush at my station? What could induce you to become the
architect of my happiness, before you knew whether I was willing to
receive that happiness at your hands? I had forever renounced all claims
upon the pleasures of the world. I had forgiven fortune that she had
dealt with me so niggardly. Ah! why do you remind me of all this. If
the Almighty himself hides his glory from the eyes of his creatures, lest
the highest seraph should be overwhelmed by a sense of his own
insignificance, why should mortals be so cruelly compassionate? Lady,
lady! why is your vaunted happiness so anxious to excite the envy and
wonder of the wretched? Does your bliss stand in need of the exhibition
of despair for entertainment? Oh! rather grant me that blindness which
alone can reconcile me to my barbarous lot! The insect feels itself as
happy in a drop of water as though that drop was a paradise: so happy,
and so contented! till some one tells it of a world of water, where
navies ride and whales disport themselves! But you wish to make me
happy, say you? (After a pause, she advances towards LADY MILFORD, and
asks her suddenly.) Are you happy, lady? (LADY MILFORD turns from her
hastily, and overpowered. LOUISA follows her, and lays her hand upon her
bosom.) Does this heart wear the smile of its station? Could we now
exchange breast for breast, and fate for fate--were I, in childlike
innocence, to ask you on your conscience--were I to ask you as a mother--
would you really counsel me to make the exchange?

LADY MILFORD (greatly excited, throwing herself on the sofa).
Intolerable! Incomprehensible! No, Louisa, no! This greatness of
thought is not your own, and your conceptions are too fiery, too full of
youth, to be inspired by your father. Deceive me not! I detect another
teacher----

LOUISA (looking piercingly at her). I cannot but wonder, my lady, that
you should have only just discovered that other teacher, and yet have
previously shown so much anxiety to patronize me!

LADY MILFORD (starting up). 'Tis not to be borne! Well, then, since I
cannot escape you, I know him--know everything--know more than I wish to
know! (Suddenly restraining herself, then continuing with a violence
which by degrees increases to frenzy.) But dare, unhappy one!--dare but
still to love, or be beloved by him! What did I say? Dare but to think
of him, or to be one of his thoughts! I am powerful, unhappy one!--
dreadful in my vengeance! As sure as there is a God in heaven thou art
lost forever!

LOUISA (undaunted). Past all redemption, my lady, the moment you succeed
in compelling him to love you!

LADY MILFORD. I understand you--but I care not for his love! I will
conquer this disgraceful passion. I will torture my own heart; but thine
will I crush to atoms! Rocks and chasms will I hurl between you. I will
rush, like a fury, into the heaven of your joys. My name shall affright
your loves as a spectre scares an assassin. That young and blooming form
in his embrace shall wither to a skeleton. I cannot be blest with him--
neither shalt thou. Know, wretched girl; that to blast the happiness of
others is in itself a happiness!

LOUISA. A happiness, my lady, which is already beyond your reach! Seek
not to deceive your own heart! You are incapable of executing what you
threaten! You are incapable of torturing a being who has done you no
wrong--but whose misfortune it is that her feelings have been sensible to
impressions like your own. But I love you for these transports, my lady!

LADY MILFORD (recovering herself). Where am I? What have I done? What
sentiments have I betrayed? To whom have I betrayed them? Oh, Louisa,
noble, great, divine soul, forgive the ravings of a maniac! Fear not, my
child! I will not injure a hair of thy head! Name thy wishes! Ask what
thou wilt! I will serve thee with all my power; I will be thy friend--
thy sister! Thou art poor; look (taking off her brilliants), I will sell
these jewels--sell my wardrobe--my carriages and horses--all shall be
thine--grant me but Ferdinand!

LOUISA (draws back indignantly). Does she mock my despair?--or is she
really innocent of participation in that cruel deed? Ha! then I may yet
assume the heroine, and make my surrender of him pass for a sacrifice!
(Remains for a while absorbed in thought, then approaches LADY MILFORD,
seizes her hand, and gazes on her with a fixed and significant look.)
Take him, lady! I here voluntarily resign the man whom hellish arts have
torn from my bleeding bosom! Perchance you know it not, my lady! but you
have destroyed the paradise of two lovers; you have torn asunder two
hearts which God had linked together; you have crushed a creature not
less dear to him than yourself, and no less created for happiness; one by
whom he was worshipped as sincerely as by you; but who, henceforth, will
worship him no more. But the Almighty is ever open to receive the last
groan of the trampled worm. He will not look on with indifference when
creatures in his keeping are murdered. Now Ferdinand is yours. Take
him, lady, take him! Rush into his arms! Drag him with you to the
altar! But forget not that the spectre of a suicide will rush between
you and the bridal kiss. God be merciful! No choice is left me!
(Rushes out of the chamber.)



SCENE VIII.

   LADY MILFORD alone, in extreme agitation, gazing on the door by
   which LOUISA left. At length she recovers from her stupor.

LADY MILFORD. What was that? What preys so on my heart? What said the
unhappy one? Still, O heaven, the dreadful, damning words ring in my
ears! "Take him! Take him!" What should I take, unfortunate? the
bequest of your dying groan--the fearful legacy of your despair?
Gracious heaven! am I then fallen so low? Am I so suddenly hurled from
the towering throne of my pride that I greedily await what a beggar's
generosity may throw me in the last struggle of death? "Take him! Take
him!" And with what a tone was it uttered!--with what a look! What!
Amelia! is it for this thou hast overleaped the bounds of thy sex? For
this didst thou vaunt the glorious title of a free-born Briton, that thy
boasted edifice of honor might sink before the nobler soul of a despised
and lowly maiden? No, proud unfortunate! No! Amelia Milford may blush
for shame,--but shall never be despised. I, too, have courage to resign.
(She walks a few paces with a majestic gait.) Hide thyself, weak,
suffering woman! Hence, ye sweet and golden dreams of love! Magnanimity
alone be now my guide. These lovers are lost, or Amelia must withdraw
her claim, and renounce the prince's heart. (After a pause, with
animation.) It is determined! The dreadful obstacle is removed--broken
are the bonds which bound me to the duke--torn from my bosom this raging
passion. Virtue, into thy arms I throw myself. Receive thy repentant
daughter. Ha! how happy do I feel! How suddenly relieved my heart, and
how exalted! Glorious as the setting sun, will I this day descend from
the pinnacle of my greatness; my grandeur shall expire with my love, and
my own heart be the only sharer of my proud exile! (Going to her
writing-table with a determined air.) It must be done at once--now, on
the spot--before the recollection of Ferdinand renews the cruel conflict
in my bosom! (She seats herself, and begins to write).



SCENE IX.

   LADY MILFORD, an ATTENDANT, SOPHIA, afterwards the MARSHAL,
   and then SERVANTS.

SERVANT. Marshal von Kalb is in the ante-chamber, and brings a message
from his highness.

LADY MILFORD (not hearing him in the eagerness of writing). How the
illustrious puppet will stare! The idea is singular enough, I own, the
presuming to astonish his serene numskull. In what confusion will his
court be thrown! The whole country will be in a ferment.

SERVANT and SOPHIA. Marshal von Kalb, my lady!

LADY MILFORD (turning round). Who? the marshal? So much the better!
Such creatures were designed by nature to carry the ass' panniers.

                       [Exit SERVANT.

SOPHIA (approaching anxiously). If I were not fearful, my lady, that you
would think it presumption. (LADY MILFORD continuing to write eagerly.)
Louisa Miller rushed madly to the hall--you are agitated--you speak to
yourself. (LADY MILFORD continues writing.) I am quite alarmed. What
can have happened? (The MARSHAL enters, making repeated bows at LADY
MILFORD'S back; as she takes no notice of him, he comes nearer, stands
behind her chair, touches the hem of her dress, and imprints a kiss on
it, saying in a tremulous voice.) His serene highness----

LADY MILFORD (while she peruses hastily what she has written). He will
tax me with black ingratitude! "I was poor and forsaken! He raised me
from misery! From misery." Detestable exchange! Annul my bond,
seducer! The blush of my eternal shame repays my debt with interest.

MARSHAL (after endeavoring in vain to catch her eye). Your ladyship
seems somewhat absent. I take the liberty of permitting myself the
boldness (very loud)--his serene highness, my lady, has sent me to
inquire whether you mean to honor this evening's gala with your presence,
or the theatre?

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.)