Love and Intrigue | Page 9

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