SCENE I.—The Deck of a Ship, with a stormy Sea seen dimly beyond it. Sailors and Passengers are discovered, some on their knees, some clinging to the shrouds, some staggering about with wild gestures of despair, whilst some are endeavouring to work the ship, and disputing about what should be done; and a great confusion of voices is heard through the noise of the storm. The whole light should proceed from one part of the deck; viz. the binnacle, by which means want of expression of countenance in the under-actors will not be discovered, as none need come within the gleam of its light but those who can give expression. Claudien is discovered busy in assisting those who are endeavouring to save the vessel, near the bottom of the Stage.

⁠I say it must be done; she cannot else be saved. Boatswain, thy refractory spirit is more dangerous than the tempest. (A great confusion of sounds and voices.) All hands to work i' the instant! Cut down the mast; lighten her of every thing, bales, casks, and chests,—cast all to the deep! ​ ⁠By our Lady, it were downright cowardice to spoil ourselves of every thing for such a risk as this! ⁠Thou know'st nothing of the matter. ⁠I have been in worse peril before, when both mast and freightage have been saved. ⁠Be silent, madman! I am to judge of the peril, not thou. We are driving on the rocks of that very coast from which we departed: yonder gleams the lighthouse on the cliff. ⁠Lord have mercy on us! heaven have mercy on us! ⁠Silence, and hear my commands. All hands to work! life and death hang on your present exertions. ⁠It is all in vain! lighten her as you will, it can avail nothing as long as there is a murderer on board. ​ ⁠What meanest thou? On which of my passengers or crew dost thou fix such a horrible charge? ⁠To that man yonder, your noble Danish passenger. If the devil have him not presently under the waves, neither ship nor one soul of all her living freight will be afloat one hour longer. ⁠Thou speak'st in distraction. ⁠I know that sound in the blast: no natural tempest ever bellows so. ⁠Heaven have mercy upon us! it is a fearful sound! ⁠There be fiends on the clouds and on the waves; they are roaring for their prey, and in God's name cast it to them instantly. ⁠Thou art beside thyself! how knowest thou he is a murderer? ⁠I heard him utter exclamations when he thought there was no one near him. Question ​him thyself; if he will swear himself innocent of blood, send me to the bottom in his stead.

⁠Sir passenger, come hither. This man (pointing to First Sailor) has heard thee utter such words as compels him to accuse thee of murder. We may all be summoned few moments hence into the presence of our Great Judge, who cannot be deceived: if thou art guilty, cry to God for mercy and confess it; a ship in peril may not be laden with such an unblessed freight. Art thou innocent of blood?

⁠I am innocent of deliberate murder, but not of blood. ⁠He confesses. ⁠He confesses! he confesses! away with him! ⁠Cast him overboard, or we shall be all dead men presently. ⁠Hear me first, before ye be so rash. ⁠No, no, no! we cannot sacrifice our own lives for thine: cast him overboard. ​ ⁠Bind him hand and foot, and cast him to the fiends that are roaring for him. ⁠I will cut down the first man who dares to lay hands on me. Bind a fellow-creature and cast him to the waves! ye are worse than the fiends ye are afraid of: and if they be roaring for me, as ye apprehend, doubt not but they will have me, whether I am bound or free. ⁠He says well: cast him overboard unbound, that he may save himself if possible. ⁠Lay hands upon me at your peril! You need not be so fierce; for I will myself commit this body to the sea, that will, perhaps, be more merciful than you. ​ ⁠He is a brave man, let him be what be may. God have mercy on us, and send us safe on our voyage! We have paid for it a fearful price! (Calling to some who are looking over the side of the vessel.) Can you see aught? Does he sink or swim? ⁠I saw his dark head once above the waves. ⁠I saw it too. ⁠So did I. God help him, and us too! ⁠Look, look, yonder, I see it again! but a huge billow breaks over it: we shall see it no more. ⁠He is too deep now under water, to rise a living man. ⁠The tempest is as violent as ever! we must lighten the ship after all. ​

Enter Borion, a scroll in his hand, which he examines attentively. He then pauses, and considers before he speaks to himself.

⁠Proofs like these should condemn any man; why should I recoil from the task? (Paces up and down, and then stopping short.) Would this business were put into other hands! My client is candid and specious, as far as speech is concerned, but that sinister eye, the play of those muscles by the mouth, the widening of the nostrils at every virtuous sentiment he utters:—physiognomy is the whimsy of simpletons, if there be any truth or sincerity in that man. But here he comes. ⁠Well, learned Sir, having had full time for consideration, what think you of it now? (A pause.) You see, I found my prosecution on no slight or fanciful proofs. Thus it stands: next ​heir to the deceased; his confusion when we told him of the murder; that unwary expression which fell from him, showing that he knew with what weapon the wound was inflicted; and, above all, the dagger found in his apartment,—every thing combines to fix the foul deed upon him. There is no judge in the land who will hesitate to give sentence in my favour. ⁠In your favour, Sir! is it favour to you that your near relation should be publicly executed as a murderer? I thought you had prosecuted unwillingly, as next nearest of kin to the deceased, and therefore compelled to it. ⁠True—very true, learned Borion; in my favour as a prosecutor, who, from duty, would make good his accusation. But as a man and a kinsman, with the affections of both, which heaven knows how deeply I feel! most keenly and severely against me. You perceive the distinction here? ⁠It had escaped me. ⁠I am drawn two different ways by two powerful ties; but my duty to the public must be ​preferred. O, dear Sir! you little know the painful conflict in this bosom. ⁠I can guess at it, Sir. But does Van Maurice, since his imprisonment, still continue to assert his innocence? ⁠Of course he does. Is any man's assertion or oath regarded in a matter of this nature? ⁠Yes, Sir; there are some men, whose simple word will go far in a matter of any nature, and Van Maurice is one of those. ⁠Ah, my good Sir; there is a prepossession in your mind, but let my wretched kinsman have, the benefit of it; I wish not to remove it. Indeed I knew of this prepossession beforehand; and that I applied to you for the conduct of this prosecution, notwithstanding, shows how little I am disposed to deal hardly with the prisoner.—But here come the men whom you may question. ⁠Let them pass into the further apartment.

⁠[Exeunt Officers. ​

⁠You are cautious, I see, and would question them apart from me. But you are right; I am nowise offended; on the contrary, even your distrust of myself gives me confidence in your integrity. [Exit Borion, following the Officers, while Kranzberg looks angrily after him.] The devil take his incredulous nature! who would demur on such flagrant proof as this? If it were not that the trial comes on to-morrow, and I dare not delay it, lest he should, after all, be innocent, I would put it into other hands that would undertake it more heartily. (After consideration.) No, no! I must press him to retain it. Were it known that he had given it up, that would create a strong prejudice against me. I must press him to retain it.⁠ [Exit.

A Prison: Van Maurice is discovered at the bottom of the Stage in a thoughtful disconsolate posture; he then comes forward and remains a short time, muttering to himself before he speaks aloud.

​ ⁠And may not your faithful counsellor also be admitted? ⁠Ay, true; I forgot thee, good Ardusoffe.—Well, what hast thou done for me? Hast thou discovered any thing that may tend to my exculpation?—Alas! thou shakest thy head: thou hast not been successful. ⁠Not, I fear, in any material degree. Your ​servants unanimously declare their belief that you did not quit your apartments for the whole of that evening on which the fatal deed was committed: but as you were entirely shut up from the hour of twilight to almost midnight, the grounds of their belief are not satisfactory; your

apartments, unhappily, having a private door leading to the garden, and from thence into the street.

⁠True; their belief only, under such circumstances, is but weak evidence. ⁠It was your custom, they say, to ring your bell for some slight refreshment between nine and ten o'clock, but on that night, most unfortunately, you omitted it. ⁠My studies occupied me so entirely, that I forgot it. ⁠I do most perfectly believe you: but who, sitting in judgment on attested facts, and compelled to pronounce sentence accordingly, will regard such asseveration? In short, my dear client, I am obliged to forewarn you, that if you still persist in refusing to account for the dagger being found in your chamber, and your previous ​knowledge that the deceased was slain by a wound from such a weapon, I see not how your judges can acquit you. ⁠Be it so! I am innocent: Heaven will protect me. ⁠God grant you deliverance! But the ways of Divine Providence are mysterious as to this world. In the next, most assuredly, the innocent are always delivered. ⁠Have you, then, in the course of your legal experience, known instances of the innocent suffering death for imputed crimes? ⁠I have; even when tried by an impartial judge, and the fair laws of their country. ⁠But their memory was vindicated afterwards, else you had never been acquainted with such dismal perversion of circumstances. ⁠After many years,—nearly the lapse of half a century, it was discovered. ​ ⁠Awful dispensation? Almost all his contemporaries—those whom he had loved and regarded, would go down to their graves, believing him guilty and depraved.

⁠(Turns away from him much distressed.)

⁠Let me conjure you, then, to do justice to yourself! It is a fearful thing to be cut off in the prime of your days,—to die by the hands of an executioner,—to finish your course in disgrace. ⁠It is a fearful thing!—You tempt my mortal weakness almost beyond resistance. ⁠Let nature have its way! O, consider of it! Run not on self-destruction. ⁠Forbear a few moments, good Ardusoffe; I am considering of it. ⁠The dew-drops stand upon thy forehead, and ​thy whole frame is moved: decide as nature bids thee, and let this conflict cease. ⁠Dear lady, circumstances bear hard against your brother; and, from some point of honour which I am not permitted to know, he refrains from exculpating himself. Join your entreaties ​with mine; you who are so deeply concerned in his safety and justification. Death and disgrace must not be incurred from romantic adherence to honour. ⁠If I could gain a respite for some weeks! ⁠You may apply for it, and I will urge your suit; but it will be refused. Kranzberg, for his own sordid interest, pushes on the trial; and he is in high credit and favour with the judges. ​ ​ ​

⁠You're welcome, reverend Father. (To the Turnkey.) Does any attendant on this lady wait without? ​

⁠Yes, Baron; a lady waits for her, who accompanied her to the gate. ⁠Desire her to enter; I would speak with her. [Exit Turnkey.] Good Father, comfort this afflicted daughter.

⁠Sooth her, good Father; thou hast words of consolation for every earthly affliction.

⁠I thank thee, friendly Margaret, for thy kind attendance on my poor distressed sister. Come near to me. (Draws her to the front of the Stage, whilst the Confessor speaks in dumb show to Rosella behind.) Rosella is not well; there is fever upon her spirits, and her mind wanders wildly. Be not alarmed at this, but give her an opiate,—a very powerful opiate: she has need of rest, and nature has no sleep for one so distracted with anxiety.

⁠I will do so: she has been forwatched and ​greatly distressed. And I pray heaven, dear Baron, that you may also have rest!

⁠I thank thee, Margaret. But do not tarry here! lead her away immediately. I do not wish to see her till the trial is over. (Returning to Rosella.) Farewell, dear sister! I must now give my thoughts to things which regard not this world. [Exeunt Rosella and Margaret.] We will, if you please, good Father, retire to the inner cell.⁠ [Exeunt.

Enter Kranzberg, followed by Corman, bearing a salver with wine, &c. which he sets upon a table.

⁠Thou art right, Corman; a cup of this old Rhenish will do me good. I have been the whole day in a state of presentation; the eyes of many have been upon me; my cumbersome suit of decorum sits heavily upon me now; I must drop it for awhile and unbrace myself. ​ ⁠Here, Sir; this will refresh you in the mean time, and your repast will be ready presently. ⁠Ha, ha, ha! what a mountebank world we live in, full of inconsistencies: every body eagerly running after some wild delusion or other! To think, now, that a sober philosopher like Van Maurice should start up from his books, his globes, and compass, to put a foolish kinsman out of the world, and all for the enriching of Simon Kranzberg, whom he likes as much as thou dost a bit of musty stock-fish. By my faith, it is some waggish devil that hath tempted him to this imbecility of wickedness. ⁠Yes, master; and the devil will take care of your interest for his own advantage. ⁠But I'll cheat him, too, in the long run. ⁠It must be some clever device, indeed, that cheats him. ⁠I'll give donations to the church; or I'll endow a chapel, and appoint a priest to pray my soul out of purgatory. ​ ⁠Ah, Sir! that will be a hard work for a simple priest of your appointment; it would be work enough for an archbishop. But it will help at least to put you into credit with the world. ⁠Put me into credit with the world! Am I not in very good credit with the world?—Why dost thou shake thy head so? Am I not? I have broken no laws: I have disregarded no rules of decency. I have preserved a show of kindness to all men; ay, and have felt real kindness for some. What does the world know against me, that thou shouldst look so significantly? ⁠I don't say that they know any thing against you; but there is something in human nature called suspicion, that will sometimes contravene most provokingly all the good seeming that a painstaking man can put on. ⁠And what do they suspect? What cause have I given for suspicion? ⁠Why, my dear Sir, that story of the heiress stands somewhat between you and their good opinion. ​ ⁠They stumble at a small impediment, methinks. Was it my fault that her needy uncle ran off with her fortune? Would they have had me marry a beggar, because I had inadvertently made suit to her? ⁠Nay, heaven forbid! that were too romantic for a sane burgher of Lubeck; but they are not yet become liberal enough to tolerate inadvertent oaths. ⁠Out on thee! Hadst thou managed that business for me with three grains of common sense, the transaction would never have been known. ⁠Ah, my dear master! but you forget that my three grains of common sense were coupled with your three grains of cunning, and they did not prove prosperous yoke-fellows. ⁠Go to! it is a fair character that has but one blot upon it. ⁠True, if there were but one. ⁠Lay they any thing else to my charge? ​ ⁠That matter of the poor widow's leasehold, which you deprived her of so cleverly, was not exactly to their mind. ⁠Devil take them! and they boggle at that too! Had I not law on my side? ⁠I fear you had only decision. ⁠No, no! I had law. But those noodles are always canting about equity and natural justice; and one is obliged to do so too, till it is enough to make one sick. ⁠To be sure this last effect is rather sickening. ⁠And thy untimely bantering is little better. Say what thou wilt, I know that I stand in as good credit with the world as any man in our imperial city. But who comes here? Pshaw! It is Ardusoffe; I must on with my buckrams again. ⁠Sir, I am come from the prison of your ​unhappy kinsman, on a most earnest suit, which your known goodness and humanity will not, I am confident, suffer you to refuse. ⁠Speak it plainly and freely, Sir. He is, indeed, unhappy, and I am little less so, in being forced to prosecute a near relation for such an atrocious deed. You don't know how much I feel on this unfortunate occasion. ⁠Better, perhaps, than you are aware of. Your inward dispositions are too well depicted on your countenance to leave any one in doubt of your real worth. My present suit will give you an opportunity of proving your professions. I come most earnestly to request that you will use your interest with the judges to have this trial put off for a few weeks. ⁠Ah, good Ardusoffe! would that my bounden duty to society did not pull me the contrary way; and I would, on my bended knees, pray that it might be put off, not only for a few weeks, but a few months, a few years; ay, for ever. ⁠Nay, nay! you exceed in tender sympathy: a few weeks is all that we desire, and I will this ​moment go with you to the judges to beseech them to grant us this indulgence. ⁠No, that won't do; I must go to the judges alone. On such occasions a third party creates embarrassment. You understand me? ⁠I think I do, Sir; and will trust to your exertions accordingly. ⁠My dear Sir, you do not understand me. I will leave no entreaty untried to gain what you desire for your client. But what is your object in this delay? is there any witness that could exculpate your client, who might be summoned in that time? ⁠Yes; this is our reason for soliciting delay. ⁠And who is this witness? and from what place do you call him? ⁠That is a matter, good Sir, less material for you to know than for us to conceal. ⁠Very true; I should have remembered this: I respect you for your caution, though it is not ​my way of proceeding. I am so free and open myself, that I forget the prudent habits of concealment, which may be commendable in others. And now I will honestly tell you that I am certain my suit to the judges for delay will be of no avail. ⁠That you are certain, may be true; for you can make it so. ⁠You mistake me again. But I am not angry at this. I can forgive the jealousy which arises from the excess of laudable zeal; and to prove this I will frankly serve your client in the only way in my power. I will gain over the guard, who are appointed for this evening's watch, and favour his escape from prison. Do you pause at this when there is such damning evidence against him ? ⁠I shall report to him what you say. ⁠At the hour of twilight he will find his prison doors unbarred, and let him come forth fearlessly. ⁠I will go forthwith and report to him what you say. ⁠[Exit. ​

⁠Have I cozened that suspicious fellow at last? [Re-enter Corman, who had retired upon Ardusoffe's coming in.] I have cozened that suspicious fellow at last. If Van Maurice be caught making his escape, the trial will proceed immediately. The bright thought came into my head of a sudden; I wonder I did not think of it before.

⁠But if he were really to escape and be outlawed, would not that serve your turn sufficiently. ⁠Ay, if the present senior judge were to retain his office; but he will resign it in a month to one who is most partially attached to the family of Van Maurice. No, no! we should have him returning from his outlawry again, and submitting to a mock trial, which would declare him innocent, and restore him to his rights. No, no! the trial must proceed immediately; and it will do so if he be caught in an attempt to escape. ⁠Think you he will fall into the snare? ⁠I think he will; I am sure he will: and even if he should refuse, we can raise a great clamour ​and confusion about the prison walls as if he had attempted it, which may turn to our account nearly as well as the reality. I say our, for thou knowest well that when I take possession of the inheritance, a good portion of it will fall to thy share. Let me have my meal first, and I'll give thee thy directions about this matter afterwards. ⁠It is ready, Sir.⁠ [Exeunt.

Before the walls of a Prison: a Sentinel is discovered walking to and fro by an arched Gateway, and several Men muffled in cloaks, peeping occasionally from behind an outer buttress near the front. A small Door at the further end of the arch opens slowly, and Ardusoffe enters by it, through the gateway, his face hid by his cloak.

⁠Ho! you pass not so slily as you think: who are you? let me see your face? ⁠A friend to the noble prisoner, and the same who passed into that door half an hour ago. ​ ⁠Thou dost not speak with the same voice, I'm certain. ⁠Nay, my good friend; thine ears are deceived by thine own suspicion. (In a whisper.) Behold my face, dost thou not remember it? ⁠We seize thee in the name of the law. ⁠Go to! you mistake me for another; suffer me to pass. Ye have no right to detain me. ⁠Come under the lamp here, and let us see your face. ​ ⁠Resistance is in vain, Van Maurice: we seize thee in the act of making escape from prison; and in the name of the state we secure thee. ⁠I make no resistance to the will of the state, signified to me by such a worthy member thereof. ⁠Ardusoffe!

⁠Yea, the same, and thy accomplice in endeavouring to persuade a prisoner to escape from the hands of justice. (Seeing him look round significantly to Corman, who, thereupon, draws the other men to a distance.) What, art thou afraid those men should hear us; thou who art so free and open, even to imprudence? Thou wilt become a character of perfection by and by, since thou correctest thy errors so completely.

⁠Is Van Maurice then so assured of his innocence that he refuses to fly? ⁠Yes; right well assured of that or of thy perfidy; either assurance was sufficient; and if the one be as well grounded as the other, there is a ​higher agent at work for his deliverance than thou hast any knowledge of. ⁠What agent? ⁠Providence, which protects the innocent, and returns the cruelty of the wicked into his own portion. ⁠Art thou become his confessor, too? Why dost thou detain me here with thy homilies? ⁠Being so artless thyself, thou canst not possibly guess my reason. ⁠He has escaped! Ho, there!—to the search! to the pursuit! the prisoner has escaped. (Corman and the others run to him, and he gives them orders confusedly.) Go by the street, no—by the south walk—no, no, give the alarm there—lose not a moment. ⁠Let him take this alarm for his pains: would what he apprehends were true!⁠[Exit. ​ ⁠Perhaps it would be better to enter the prison first, and ascertain if the prisoner be really absent from his cell. ⁠Thou'rt right; let us go immediately.

⁠[Exeunt.

The House of the Senior Judge. Enter the Judge with a paper in his hand, followed by his Secretary.

⁠And tell my worthy colleague that I wish to have a conference with him, as soon as possible, on the subject of this petition to put off the trial for a month. It comes from those who must at least be treated with respect. What noise is that without? Go, see what it is.⁠ [Exit Secretary. ⁠There has been an attempt to favour the ​prisoner's escape, and the whole neighbourhood has been in commotion. ⁠But he has not escaped? ⁠They believe not. Shall I go with the message? ⁠By no means, till we see how the matter stands.

You come in good time, Kranzberg: know you any thing of this escape, or attempted escape, of Van Maurice?

⁠An escape has no doubt been attempted, and has been as certainly foiled. But there is such a confusion of accounts, that it would be difficult to come at the real truth, as is generally the case in such matters. ⁠It is very bad to petition for delay, and in the mean time attempt to elude justice. ⁠The cause, I fear, is desperate, and that must ​be their excuse who counsel the unhappy man; and it is for you now to consider whether, after this account, any request for deferring the trial should be granted. ⁠Granted! most assuredly not. Ought it to be? ⁠It becomes not me to give any opinion as to that, though I must confess it might be dangerous: my errand here has a different object. ⁠Speak out, worthy Kranzberg; what is it? ⁠It is my earnest request that, in judging of my unhappy kinsman, you would cast this attempt from your consideration altogether, and let no mention of it be made in court. ⁠Is it not an additional proof of guilt? ⁠Nay, my very learned and excellent Sir, do not so consider it. Who would not, in similar circumstances, with such strong presumptive evidence against him, do the same thing, even if he were conscious of being innocent? Life is ​sweet to every one, and the jeopardy of it appalling. ⁠Thy humanity equals thy candour.—But thou art too tender on this point. ⁠Do not say so, my excellent Sir. Let not this untoward attempt act on your mind to the prejudice of my miserable kinsman, if other evidence be not sufficient to condemn him. ⁠Let it be as thou wilt, then; but we must have no delays. The trial shall commence tomorrow at the hour which was originally fixed. Excuse me, I am busy now; good night.

⁠[Exit.

⁠Well, thanks to my good stars! I am not baffled, though I have been deceived. Matters still go as I wish.⁠ [Exit.