No More Learning

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.