BARON [taking out his purse]. I think, young soldier, it would be better if you were with your regiment on duty, instead of begging.

FREDERICK. I would with all my heart: but at this present moment my sorrows are too great.--[Baron gives something.] I entreat your pardon. What you have been so good as to give me is not enough.

BARON [surprised]. Not enough!

FREDERICK. No, it is not enough.

COUNT. The most singular beggar I ever met in all my travels.

FREDERICK. If you have a charitable heart, give me one dollar.

BARON. This is the first time I was ever dictated by a beggar what to give him.

FREDERICK. With one dollar you will save a distracted man.

BARON. I don't choose to give any more. Count, go on.

[Exit Count--as the Baron follows, Frederick seizes him by the breast and draws his sword.]

FREDERICK. Your purse, or your life.

BARON [calling]. Here! here! seize and secure him.

[Some of the Gamekeepers run on, lay hold of Frederick, and disarm him.]

FREDERICK. What have I done!

BARON. Rake him to the castle, and confine him in one of the towers.

I shall follow you immediately.

FREDERICK. One favour I have to beg, one favour only.--I know that I am guilty, and am ready to receive the punishment my crime deserves.

But I have a mother, who is expiring for want--pity her, if you cannot pity me--bestow on her relief. If you will send to yonder hut, you will find that I do not impose on you a falsehood. For her it was I drew my sword--for her I am ready to die.

BARON. Take him away, and imprison him where I told you.

FREDERICK [as he is forced off by the keepers]. Woe to that man to whom I owe my birth! [Exit.

BARON [calls another Keeper]. Here, Frank, run directly to yonder hamlet, inquire in the first, second, and third cottage for a poor sick woman--and if you really find such a person, give her this purse.

[Exit Gamekeeper.]

BARON. A most extraordinary event!--and what a well-looking youth!

something in his countenance and address which struck me inconceivably!--If it is true that he begged for his mother--But if he did----for the attempt upon my life, he must die. Vice is never half so dangerous, as when it a.s.sumes the garb of morality. [Exit.]

====== SCENE II. A room in the Castle.

AMELIA [alone.] Why am I so uneasy; so peevish; who has offended me?

I did not mean to come into this room. In the garden I intended to go [going, turns back]. No, I will not--yes, I will--just go, and look if my auriculas are still in blossom; and if the apple tree is grown which Mr. Anhalt planted.--I feel very low-spirited--something must be the matter.--Why do I cry?--Am I not well?

Enter Mr. ANHALT.

Ah! good morning, my dear Sir--Mr. Anhalt, I meant to say--I beg pardon.

ANHALT. Never mind, Miss Wildenhaim--I don't dislike to hear you call me as you did.

AMELIA. In earnest?

ANHALT. Really. You have been crying. May I know the reason? The loss of your mother, still?--

AMELIA. No--I have left off crying for her.

ANHALT. I beg pardon if I have come at an improper hour; but I wait upon you by the commands of your father.

AMELIA. You are welcome at all hours. My father has more than once told me that he who forms my mind I should always consider as my greatest benefactor. [looking down] And my heart tells me the same.

ANHALT. I think myself amply rewarded by the good opinion you have of me.

AMELIA. When I remember what trouble I have sometimes given you, I cannot be too grateful.

ANHALT [to himself]. Oh! Heavens!--[to Amelia]. I--I come from your father with a commission.--If you please, we will sit down. [He places chairs, and they sit.] Count Ca.s.sel is arrived.

AMELIA. Yes, I know.

ANHALT. And do you know for what reason?

AMELIA. He wishes to marry me.

ANHALT. Does he? hastily] But believe me, the Baron will not persuade you--No, I am sure he will not.

AMELIA. I know that.

ANHALT. He wishes that I should ascertain whether you have an inclination ----

AMELIA. For the Count, or for matrimony do you mean?

ANHALT. For matrimony.

AMELIA. All things that I don't know, and don't understand, are quite indifferent to me.

ANHALT. For that very reason I am sent to you to explain the good and the bad of which matrimony is composed.

AMELIA. Then I beg first to be acquainted with the good.

ANHALT. When two sympathetic hearts meet in the marriage state, matrimony may be called a happy life. When such a wedded pair find thorns in their path, each will be eager, for the sake of the other, to tear them from the root. Where they have to mount hills, or wind a labyrinth, the most experienced will lead the way, and be a guide to his companion. Patience and love will accompany them in their journey, while melancholy and discord they leave far behind.--Hand in hand they pa.s.s on from morning till evening, through their summer's day, till the night of age draws on, and the sleep of death overtakes the one. The other, weeping and mourning, yet looks forward to the bright region where he shall meet his still surviving partner, among trees and flowers which themselves have planted, in fields of eternal verdure.

AMELIA. You may tell my father--I'll marry. [Rises.]

ANHALT [rising]. This picture is pleasing; but I must beg you not to forget that there is another on the same subject.--When convenience, and fair appearance joined to folly and ill-humour, forge the fetters of matrimony, they gall with their weight the married pair.

Discontented with each other--at variance in opinions--their mutual aversion increases with the years they live together. They contend most, where they should most unite; torment, where they should most soothe. In this rugged way, choaked with the weeds of suspicion, jealousy, anger, and hatred, they take their daily journey, till one of these _also_ sleep in death. The other then lifts up his dejected head, and calls out in acclamations of joy--Oh, liberty! dear liberty!