No More Learning

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

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

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

[Exit MILLER.



SCENE IV.

FERDINAND alone.

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

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



SCENE V.

MILLER returning, and FERDINAND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

MILLER. God gave her to me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

FERDINAND. And what of that?

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

FERDINAND. An extraordinary thing, it must be admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



SCENE VI.

LOUISA with a glass of lemonade; the former.

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

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

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

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

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

MILLER. Am I to see the president himself?

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

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

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

MILLER (going). Very well, baron!

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

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

[Exit.

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



SCENE VII.

FERDINAND and LOUISA.

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

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

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

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

LOUISA. Oh! I am very wretched!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LOUISA. You are merry, Baron von Walter!

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

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

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

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

FERDINAND (imperiously). Drink! I say.

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

LOUISA. The lemonade is good.

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

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

FERDINAND. Indeed!

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

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

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

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

LOUISA. My God! what mean you!

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

LOUISA. Drink! drink! it will cool you.

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

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

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

LOUISA. Oh! that it should come to this!

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

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

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

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

FERDINAND (falls upon her neck, weeping bitterly). Yet once more, my
Louisa! Yet once again, as on the day of our first kiss, when you
faltered forth the name of Ferdinand, and the first endearing "Thou! "
trembled on thy burning lips.