No More Learning

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?