In fact, what he most needed was will, which, after all, makes the man.

He tried to fling himself from his horse, which carried him where he did not desire to go; but he felt that his feet held firm in the stirrup; he had not strength to disengage them, and he remained in the saddle.

Not being able to be a great man, he abandoned himself to his fate, which condemned him to be only a knave.

At the expiration of his term of freedom, he declared himself solvent, and the princess took possession of her merchandise.
"Yes, poets are corrupters," thought Count Abel Larinski.

"If Samuel Brohl never had read _The Merchant of Venice_, or _Egmont_, a tragedy in five acts, or Schiller's ballads, he would have been resigned to his new position; he would have seen its good sides, and would have eaten and drunk his shame in peace, without experiencing any uncomfortable sensations; but he had read the poets, and he grew disgusted, nauseated.
He was dying with desire to get away, and the princess suspected it.