⁠Good morning, fair Margaret! I come to have the felicity of half an hour's conversation with Rosella. I hope this will prove to her, as well as myself, the most agreeable way of receiving an answer to the billet which I had the honour to send her this morning. ⁠Indeed, honoured Sir, she is in no spirits to receive company at present, and wishes to be alone. ⁠Ha! she is considering of it then. It is indeed a serious consideration; but after the favour—I may indeed call it so—the condescension ​at least with which she has received my devoted attentions, I might fairly have supposed that a short time would have sufficed for the ceremony of consideration. ⁠I believe, Baron, that ceremony, as you are pleased to term it, has been gone through already. At least, I believe, this billet which she desired me to put into your own hands, along with this case of jewels, will convince you that further consideration were needless. I was just going to your house to deliver them to you. ⁠What does she mean? return my present! ⁠The letter will, no doubt, explain it.

⁠"Only friendship to return for all.—Pleasure in your society as a neighbour and a kinsman.—Beg of you to accept my grateful acknowledgments." What is all this? Would she prolong the fooling of attendance another half year? Let her beware how she sports with devoted affection like mine. (Walks to and fro somewhat disturbed, then returns to Margaret.) I understand all this well enough. Let me find her in her own apartment. ​

⁠Nay, Sir, you must not.

⁠Foolish girl! I know thy fair friend better than thou dost. Let me pass to her apartment, and I'll soon make her glowing lips contradict the cold words of her letter. ⁠Indeed, Baron Hartman, you must not pass. ⁠Why so? Nonsensical mummery! ⁠She wishes to be alone. ⁠Alone! wishes to be alone! that is not her usual inclination. What is the matter? ⁠She is indisposed, and can see no one. And I must take the liberty to say that you are deluding yourself when you mistake that cheerful gaiety of her manner, which is natural to her, for a proof of partiality to your company. ⁠If what you say be true, young mistress,—if this answer of hers be a serious one, I have not deluded myself, but she has deluded me. ​ ⁠Then every pleasant man of her acquaintance might say the same thing, for she is cheerful and affable with them all. ⁠No, madam; affable and cheerful as you please, but she has not demeaned herself towards them as she has done towards me: and I will know the cause why I am so treated, before another hour passes over my head. (Going.) ⁠But you will be pleased to take this with you, Baron. (Offering him the case of jewels, which he casts from him indignantly.) ⁠Let any jilt in Lubeck wear the paltry baubles for me.⁠[Exit. ⁠The vanity of that man is unconquerable; and yet I cannot help pitying him a little; for Rosella, to conceal her betrothment to Claudien, has amused herself with his folly too long. (Picking up the case.) I must keep these rich jewels carefully, however, and restore them to him at a more favourable moment.⁠[Exit. ​

The Apartment of Rosella. She is discovered sitting by a table writing, and Claudien standing behind her chair, overlooking her as she writes.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ⁠Oh, woman, woman! ⁠Baron Hartman here! ⁠Yes, madam; and, as I perceive, not altogether welcome. ⁠In this place and at this hour, Baron! ⁠An injured man, madam, regards not time or place. As a near kinsman, had there been no other plea, I might have been admitted for one half hour into your presence, to know the cause why, after such long and well-received attentions, I am now to be discarded from your favour. But this, forsooth, could not be: you were indisposed; you were alone, and wished to be alone. I have, no doubt, grievously offended in breaking thus upon the privacy of one who loves so very much to be alone. ⁠Truly, Baron, I have, like yourself, come unbidden into this lady's presence, and have cast myself at her feet, as you have witnessed; for ​which humiliation she has only rewarded me with mocking: had you done the same, Baron, you would, perhaps, have fared no better. ⁠Count Claudien, the freedom of a careless stranger may be some excuse for your intrusion here, but can be none for her excluding me on pretences so frivolous; for the alleged indisposition is, I perceive, only the being indisposed for my company, who am an old and faithful friend; ay, and her kinsman to boot. ⁠My noble baron, you and I are rivals, and rest our pretensions here on very different foundations; you on being known to the lady, I on the reverse. But I am the wiser of the two. ⁠How so, I pray? ⁠Is it not a notorious fact, that strangers of any apparent likelihood always occupy the vantage ground in every woman's favour? Had the fair Rosella known me as long as she has known you, she might have discovered in me as many faults, perhaps, as would have excluded me from the very threshold of her vestibule. ⁠So you see, my dear cousin, that the wisest ​thing you can do, is to leave the count and me time enough to discover how foolish we both are. ⁠The wisest thing I can do, madam, is to forget and despise the heartless caprice of a fickle, fantastical beauty. ⁠Be wise, then, good cousin, since you have found out the way. ⁠Heartless woman! canst thou treat with such levity the misery thou hast occasioned? ⁠O pardon me, my dear Hartman! thou takest this matter more deeply than I dreamt of. Think not so severely of me; if I have erred, lend me of thine own generosity some further credit on thy good opinion, and I will redeem it. Have you not always known me as your gay and thoughtless cousin? and why will you tax me now as a grave and prudent dame? Come to me to-morrow; I shall then have seen my brother, and will talk to you seriously on a subject which to-day I would avoid. ⁠At what hour shall I meet you? ​ ⁠Not at an early hour.—At noon.—No, not so soon.—In the afternoon—in the evening: that will suit me best. ⁠Well, since it must be deferred so long, let the evening be the time. But remember, madam, I will submit no longer to be the sport of female caprice. If this gay stranger takes such treatment more lightly, he is of a different temperament, perhaps, and it may agree with him; but it will not pass with Baron Hartman.

⁠[Exit, proudly.

⁠My dear Rosella! I fear thou hast been leading on this poor man in a fool's chase. I pity him. ⁠I fear I have, and do repent me of it. ⁠It was but the foible of thy gay and thoughtless nature. ⁠Ah no! I fear I have not that excuse. ⁠Intentional deceit! ​ ⁠Dearest Claudien! kill me not with that word and that look! It was to conceal my connection with thee, that I have of late received the gallantries of Hartman with more than usual graciousness; but it was to deceive the world rather than himself. Fool that I was! ⁠Yes, it was foolish. ⁠But though I might have guessed that his inordinate vanity would construe my behaviour into downright love of his fine form and mental endowments, I never imagined he would feel more pain in the disappointment than a little wounded vanity might inflict, nor am I sure that he really feels more deeply. ⁠I fear thou dost him wrong. I pity him from my heart; and were it possible for me to chide what is so dear, I should inflict upon thee, at this moment, words of grave rebuke. ⁠Nay, not now, dear Claudien! reserve them till thy return, for then I shall be so happy that they will sound in my ear like harmony. I cannot bear them now. (Weeping.) ​ ⁠Nay, nay, mistress of my soul! I meant not to distress thee so much. Those tears are a greater punishment to me than I can bear. And let me wipe them off,—kiss them off. Thou shalt never shed tears again for Claudien's sternness. ⁠What is the matter? ⁠Nothing; I am only come to inform the Count that the master of the vessel is below, and wishes to know his will concerning the removal of his luggage. ⁠Ha! very true; I should have waited for him at home, and it slipt from my memory entirely. Keep thee from being in love, fair Margaret, it makes one's head not worth a maravedi. ⁠But the heart finds what the head loses, and where is the waste? ⁠True, girl; and be pleasant and amusing to thy friend here, while I am absent.⁠[Exit. ​ ⁠My dear Margaret, didst thou see Hartman when he left the house? ⁠Only a glimpse of him. ⁠Did he look very miserable? ⁠I do think he did, poor man; but he is so vain, he will be the better for his mortification. ⁠I thank thee, Margaret; it does me good to hear thee say so; for I know that thy thoughts and thy words are the same. ⁠Come along, my dear child, and I will tell thee a new story of his consummate conceit as we go: sha'n't we take our usual turn on the terrace?⁠[Exeunt. ​

Enter Hartman, walking backward and forward in a perturbed manner, and presently enter Kranzberg, who stands observing him curiously before he speaks.

⁠Good morning, kinsman; nothing, I hope, has happened to disturb you: I have marked you at a distance, striding along with a quick unusual pace: pardon the solicitude of friendship, if I am anxious to know what discomposes you so much. ⁠Let it pass, let it pass! I know my place and my pretensions as well as any man; she shall neither break my heart nor discompose me long. ⁠It is a woman, then, who is the cause of your agitation. What kind of woman can she be who is unfavourable to the suit of Baron Hartman? ​ ⁠Thou may'st well ask that question, my friend; it would, I believe, cause some surprise in many a noble citizen of Lubeck. ⁠In many a noble lady of Lubeck we may, at least, aver, though strange unnatural things will sometimes happen, as if by witchery. But let her have her way; she will be glad enough at last to bring you back to her toils again by humble submission, if you will have spirit enough to forswear her company for a time. ⁠A time! ⁠Ay, some weeks or so. ⁠Perhaps thou art right. I had good reason to believe my company was agreeable to her. But—but—— ⁠Out with it, Baron! you cannot question my friendship or secrecy, and perhaps I may be of use to you. ⁠This cousin of mine—— ​ ⁠What, the fair Rosella; she is the culprit!—I had almost guessed as much. ⁠But thou canst not guess the excess of her fickleness. ⁠I will not attempt it, for you shall tell me. ⁠She denied me access to her presence this very morning, on the pretence of being unwell, and wishing to be alone; and when I made my entry by stealth through the private door of her apartment, I found her engaged in playful coquetry with Claudien. ⁠I fear there is something more than play concerned in this coquetry. ⁠But she has not regarded him of late; her smiles were bestowed upon me. ⁠Deceitful smiles, to cover secret passion. Believe me, kinsman, she has only made you the cover for her wiles; and I am well assured, that when he is returned from Copenhagen, where he goes to remove some obstacle to their wishes, they ​will, with the approbation of her brother Van Maurice, throw aside all disguise, and be married. He sails in the Mermaid to-morrow. ⁠May the waves of the sea be his winding-sheet! May the fishes of the ocean devour his lothly carcass! ⁠It may, indeed, be lothly enough when it falls to their share, but for his living carcass, at least, you must own that is noble and goodly. ⁠I own it not: to me there is something in his air, his form, his mien, in the glance of his eye, yea, in the garb which he wears, that is intolerable. ⁠The ladies of Lubeck think differently. ⁠Let them think as they will! it makes me mad to hear of such stupid, such perverse, such blind partiality. Senseless, fickle fools! ⁠True, they are fickle enough; but never mind it, that will cure the evil. They will praise him for an Apollo till he marry Rosella, and abuse him for a scarecrow afterwards. ​ ⁠Marry Rosella! I will have the heart's blood from his body ere I endure this misery for one day longer. ⁠Fy, fy, good Baron! I am very sorry I have said so much to you on this subject; but the friendly,—I may truly say, affectionate regard I feel for you, besides the admiration I have long entertained for your merits, made me unable to conceal from you longer the unworthy deceit which has been practised upon you. When I saw her smile upon you, and glance secret looks of fondness to Claudien,—— ⁠Say no more of it; my very ears are ringing with the sound, I will have vengeance ere another day pass over my head.
⁠[Exit furiously. ⁠Let the fool work upon this! it will embroil him at least with Van Maurice and his sister, and I shall have the management of himself and his fortune in my own hands. (In a calculating posture, after having taken a turn across the Stage, muttering to himself.) Well, two thousand good acres, corn-land and forest, though encumbered with the due maintenance of the proprietor, may be as profitable to me as a third part of the fee-​simple. What idiots they are who put their throats in jeopardy of the hangman, to have the actual property of money, when without risk or trouble they may have the actual spending thereof!—O there is nothing one may not procure, when one is happy enough to have a rich fool for one's friend—one's very dear, noble, feeling, high-minded friend! To soil one's hands with crime but for a little more than one can safely wheedle from him; it is the act of a hot-headed idiot!⁠[Exit.

A Library, with globes, cabinets, and other furniture, denoting the apartment of a student; a Table in front, on which burns a Lamp, the back of the Stage being entirely in shade.

Enter Claudien by a concealed door at the bottom of the Stage, who walks once or twice across it in a distracted manner, and then leaning his back against the wall, continues motionless.

⁠It is very strange; the passage opened to my ​hand in this very book but the other day, and now it is nowhere to be found. (A heavy sigh is uttered by Claudien.) I thought I heard something. (Looking round.) It is fancy. (Turning over the leaves again.) I will not give up the search; it was certainly here, and it will bear me out in every thing I have advanced on the subject. (A deep sigh, uttered as before.) There is somebody near me. (Looking round the room more perfectly, and discovering Claudien.) Who art thou, lurking yonder in the shade? Come forward to the light, be thy designs hostile or friendly. Speak; say who thou art? Thy friend. ​ ​ ​ ​ ⁠How intent you have been on your studies, good Baron! to let us knock so long at your door! ⁠I expected no visiters at this hour. ⁠Visiters will come at all hours when matters of moment compel them. I have that to tell you of which it concerns you much to know.— ​But you look as if you knew it already, for your face is as white as your neckcloth. ⁠I know not what you mean; but I expect to hear something very dreadful from the alarm of your manner. What concern have I in your tale? which you had better tell me quickly in as few words as may be. What has happened? ⁠Your cousin, Baron Hartman, is murdered; the body has been found in a field, under the northern rampart. ⁠Are you sure he is dead? The dagger, perhaps, has not gone so deep as you imagine; and he may but have fainted from loss of blood. ⁠And how do you know, Sir, that it is a dagger which has given the wound? ⁠I guess—I suppose—it is the common weapon of an assassin. ⁠Did you mark that? I have my suspicions. ​ ⁠But you give us no orders, Van Maurice? You are his nearest kinsman: it belongs to you to act on this unhappy occasion. ⁠Yes, true; something should be done. Let the body be removed to his house, and try if it can possibly be recovered. ⁠That has been done already, and it is as dead as the corpse of your grandfather. Are these all the orders you have to give? Sha'n't we send an armed party through the country to track out the murderer? ⁠We need not track him far. (Holding up the dagger.) Here is his mark: and, Baron Van Maurice, I arrest thee in the name of the state. (Laying hold of him.) ⁠Lay no hands on me, or ye may dearly answer for such an outrage. I am most innocent of the ​crime with which you would charge me; though I may well look disturbed on hearing such terrible intelligence. ⁠Ay, so thou may'st; but there is more than looks to condemn thee. (Showing him the dagger, upon which he recoils some paces back, and seems confounded.) Does this appal thee? We arrest thee in the name of the state, and this shall be our witness that we have not acted rashly. ⁠Lay hands on our master! Ye shall take our lives, hell-hounds, ere ye wrong one hair of his head. ⁠We arrest him in the name of the state, and he is our lawful prisoner. ⁠And I will blow your brains out in my own name, if ye do not let him go i' the instant. ​ ⁠Ye see I am freed from your grasp, and ye are now prisoners in this house during my pleasure. ⁠Yes, noble Baron; give them to our charge, and we will keep them securely, I warrant you. ⁠I thank you, my friends; but I have somewhat more to say to these gentlemen. Ye see that I might detain you here, as long as my own convenience or safety, granting I were guilty, might require it; but I release you freely, upon this condition, that I shall remain at liberty, unmolested, till to-morrow mid-day; after that hour, I bind myself, as a man of honour, to be found here in my own house, ready without resistance to obey the laws of my country. ⁠Spoken like a man of honour, and we will trust you. ⁠And you promise this? (To Second Officer.) And you. ⁠We do. ⁠Let these gentlemen retire freely when it is ​their pleasure. (To Kranzberg.) Kinsman, good night. [Exit.

[Kranzberg and Officers remain on the front, whilst the Servants retire to the bottom of the Stage.]

⁠Had we not better go hence and return by and by with a guard to hover, concealed round the house, and watch his motions? He may make his escape else, for all his fair promises. ⁠Let him do so; if he fly the country he is outlawed, and that will serve the purpose as effectually. ⁠Purpose! is there any other purpose but the vindication of the law, which says, "He who sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed." ⁠What! man, dost thou not understand him? ⁠No, faith! and thy wit is sharper than I reckon for if thou dost. ​ ⁠Yet the mystery is not very deep neither. The Baron here is heir to Baron Hartman, and Kranzberg again is next heir after him, the lands being strictly so destined; and an outlaw, thou knowest, is a dead man as to all inheritance. ⁠Why, there's some sense in that. And by my faith! if Van Maurice has murdered Hartman to transfer his large estate to Kranzberg, he has sold himself to the devil for a ducat. ⁠Yes; hell will have a good bargain of it every way, for the revenues of the land will be as much spent for its interest in the possession of Kranzberg, as if given in fee simple to Beelzebub. ⁠Nay, nay; he lives in good repute,—thou art uncharitable. ⁠Come, friends; let us return to our homes; to-morrow, at mid-day, we meet here again.

⁠[Exeunt. ​

⁠And the wind is fair, thou sayest, but the sky foretelling change. Thou art an old mariner, good Jacome, and hast skill in sky and weather; tell me, then, faithfully, does it forbode a storm? ⁠No, madam; not to say a storm; nothing to make you or any of the friends of Count Claudien uneasy: a stiff gale or so; and that, with a tight new vessel to trust to, is but a passing rouse for sailors or passengers either. It only makes a stir on board and the blood circulate more quickly. No, no, no! nothing to make one uneasy. ⁠God grant it may be so! ⁠Fear not, madam, fear not! You know I never speak but as I think; and I would not disgrace my former calling now by lying like a landsman. ​

⁠I hear them coming; do what I desired thee, quickly.
⁠[Exit Jacome.

​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ⁠There is a ship-boy below with notice that the Mermaid is just leaving port. ​ ⁠What did he whisper to thee, Margaret? I am frightened at every thing. ⁠Nothing of importance: it was only to tell me that some necessary business might detain him from home the whole day; and, if so, you must not be uneasy. ⁠Uneasy! I may be as I will now: it matters not how I am till Claudien return again.

⁠[Exeunt.