No More Learning

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.