unruly crowd, commanding silence, and he himself undertakes the hearing of Claudio’s case in the sternest manner possible.  The implacable judge is already on the point of pronouncing sentence when Isabella enters, and requests, before them all, a private interview with the Regent.  In this interview she behaves with noble moderation towards the dreaded, yet despised man before her, and appeals at first only to his mildness and mercy.  His interruptions merely serve to stimulate her ardour:  she speaks of her brother’s offence in melting accents, and implores forgiveness for so human and by no means unpardonable a crime.  Seeing the effect of her moving appeal, she continues with increasing ardour to plead with the judge’s hard and unresponsive heart, which can certainly not have remained untouched by sentiments such as those which had actuated her brother, and she calls upon his memory of these to support her desperate plea for pity.  At last the ice of his heart is broken.  Friedrich, deeply stirred by Isabella’s beauty, can no longer contain himself, and promises to grant her petition at the price of her own love.  Scarcely has she become aware of the unexpected effect of her words when, filled with indignation at such incredible villainy, she cries to the people through doors and windows to come in, that she may unmask the hypocrite before the world.  The crowd is already rushing tumultuously into the hall of judgment, when, by a few significant hints, Friedrich, with frantic energy, succeeds in making Isabella realise the impossibility of her plan.  He would simply deny her charge, boldly pretend that his offer was merely made to test her, and would doubtless be readily believed so soon as it became only a question of rebutting a charge of lightly making love to her.  Isabella, ashamed and confounded, recognises the madness of her first step, and gnashes her teeth in silent despair.  While then Friedrich once more announces his stern resolve to the people, and pronounces sentence on the prisoner, it suddenly occurs to Isabella, spurred by the painful recollection of Marianne’s fate, that what she has failed to procure by open means she might possibly obtain by craft.  This thought suffices to dispel her sorrow, and to fill her with utmost gaiety.  Turning to her sorrowing brother, her agitated friends, and the perplexed crowd, she assures them all that she is ready to provide them with the most amusing of adventures.  She declares that the carnival festivities, which the Regent has just strictly forbidden, are to be celebrated this year with unusual licence; for this dreaded ruler only pretends to be so cruel, in order the more pleasantly to astonish them by himself taking a merry part in all that he has just forbidden.  They all believe that she has gone mad, and Friedrich in particular reproves her incomprehensible folly with passionate severity.  But a few words on her part suffice to transport the Regent himself with ecstasy; for in a whisper she promises to grant his desire, and that on the following night she will send him such a message as shall ensure his happiness.—­And so ends the first act in a whirl of excitement.