SCENE I.

[Transcriber's note:

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THE

LAWYERS,

A

DRAMA,

_IN FIVE ACTS,_

TRANSLATED

FROM THE GERMAN

OF

_AUGUSTUS WILLIAM IFFLAND._

* * * * * * * * *

BY C. LUDGER.

* * * * * * * * *

LONDON:

PRINTED BV J. W. MYERS,

FOR W. WEST, NO. 27, PATERNOSTER-ROW,

1799.

[_Price Two Shillings and Sixpence._]

ADVERTISEMENT.

The Author of the following Drama is universally allowed to be the

Garrick of the German Stage, and the Dramatic Rival of KOTZEBUE in the

Closet.--The great Object of MR. IFFLAND, in all his Dramatic

Productions, is to render the Theatre what it was in the palmy Days of

Terence--a School of Morality, by exhibiting Virtue in all her native

Charms, and Vice in all her Deformity; or, in the Language of Pope,

"To wake the Soul by gentle Strokes of Art,

To raise the Genius, and to mend the Heart;

In conscious Innocence to make Men bold,

Live o'er each Scene, and be what you behold!"

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Deputy CLARENBACH.

CLARENBACH, Master Carpenter.

FREDERICA, his Daughter.

REISSMAN, Aulic Counsellor.

SOPHIA, his Daughter.

SELLING, Counsellor.

GERNAU, Ranger.

WELLENBERG, Lawyer.

GROBMAN, Iron Merchant.

LEWIS, Deputy Clarenbach's Servant.

A Servant of the Aulic Counsellor.

THE

LAWYERS,

A

DRAMA.

* * * * *

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A plain Tradesman's Room, with old fashioned Furniture.

_Master_ CLARENBACH. (Busied with a design.)

_Clar._ So!--there is my design, and I think it is a pretty good one.

It will make a substantial building.--When I am gone, people will say,

when they look at the pile, "Master Clarenbach was a man that knew what

he was about."

SCENE II.

Enter Lewis.

_Lew._ Deputy Clarenbach presents his compliments to Master Clarenbach,

and sends him something.

_Clar._ What?

_Lew._ Deputy Clarenbach presents his compliments, and sends something.

_Clar._ (takes off his spectacles.) So my son sends me his compliments?

So! well,--return him a good morrow from me. What is it he

sends?--money! (opens the paper;) for what? he has written nothing in

it, a mere blank.

_Lew._ I do not know; I am to have a receipt for it.

_Clar._ Take the money back.

_Lew._ What the deuce!

_Clar._ (rises.) No deuce here! and--take off your hat when you stand

in my presence, Monsieur Lewis.

_Lew._ (takes off his hat reluctantly.) I am--

_Clar._ The Deputy's footman, and I am the Deputy's father.

_Lew._ Aye, aye; Master Clarenbach, the--

_Clar._ The carpenter, citizen and master, trustee of the hospital, _ad

Sanctum Mauritium_ in this town, master in my own house and in my own

room; here is the money. I am busy, good bye. (Sits down to his

design.)

_Lew._ Very odd. [Exit.

_Clar._ Odd? hem! aye, aye. Odd you are, both the master and the

servant.

SCENE III.

Enter Fredericka, (with a glass of wine, and a crust

of bread on a plate.)

_Fred._ Father, the weather is very rough this morning.

_Clar._ Do you think so, my dear?

_Fred._ I cannot let you go out of the house so; you must take a glass

of wine.

_Clar._ You are right, I think; (takes it.) Moreover, I shall be out a

good while to day; (drinks;) perhaps I may not come home to dinner;

(drinks;) bring my dinner then to the timber-yard.

_Fred._ With all my heart.

_Clar._ (looking at her.) I do not think you will do it with

reluctance.

_Fred._ By no means. I will do it with pleasure. But my brother does

not altogether relish it; and, in those little matters, I think we

might please him.

_Clar._ (rises displeased.) I say, no! God bless him in the high

station he fills! But that cannot be, if ever he should forget what he

has been. And as his memory, in that respect, is daily impaired, it is

necessary therefore to put him the oftener in mind of it.

_Fred._ Yet I think--

_Clar._ He is a Deputy,--let him thank God for it! I am a carpenter,

thank heaven! You are my good dutiful daughter, that takes care of me,

nurses me, and gives me great satisfaction; and for that, I return

heaven threefold thanks from the bottom of my heart. (Fred. embraces

him.) Yes, you are very good! I only find fault with two things; in

every other respect you are a nice girl, quite the girl after my own

heart. First, you read too much, and then--

_Fred._ Dear father, do not I tell you a number of entertaining and

instructive things out of the books I read? Has my reading formed me

otherwise than you would have me?

_Clar._ Not as yet, if the evil do not come limping at the end! Good

God!--Books indeed impart information; that I must own. But since those

deep learned works have carried thy brother so high, and, at the same

time, so far from us; I think, when I behold the large heap of books in

his study, I think I see a finger-post that directs from the heart.

_Fred._ Your pursuits and his are different, father.

_Clar._ In our respective lines, I grant it. If his heart were not a

stranger to us from other motives, he would, when his work is done,

come and say,--Father! you build houses, and I build laws, that the

people may live secure in those houses. I have been successful to day

in my work, if God should prosper it; and how have you succeeded? Then

I would talk to him of my good old timber, and complain of the young

green wood; he might then tell me, how pleased he is with the old

colleagues that share his toils, or complain of the young green

ones.--Thus we might exchange toil and pleasure, complaint and

consolation; spend a comfortable hour together, and derive mutual

advantage from each other. But he does not choose to do that; and, if

his conscience now and then happen to twitch him a little, he sends me

money. Money! what is money to me? when have I ever wished for more

than to live? (With vivacity.) His money is the only thing I dislike

about him.

_Fred._ Why so, father?

_Clar._ Because he has not that great quantity of it--hem!

there--there, may be enough of it for this time. The second thing: I do

not like in you is to see you converse with that Counsellor Selling.

What is the meaning of it?

_Fred._ My brother entertains a high esteem for him.

_Clar._ Not I.

_Fred._ He is pleased to see him visit here.

_Clar._ Not I. And then have you not Gernau, the Ranger, whom you like,

and I too?

_Fred._ Well, are you content if I manage so, that I may keep upon good

terms with both?

_Clar._ I have no objection. But mind, all fair! none of your book

stories! (Looks at his watch,) Half past eleven; you will bring my

dinner to the yard.

_Fred._ Undoubtedly. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

Enter REISSMAN.

_Reiss._ Aye, good morrow, Miss! Good morrow, Mr. Clarenbach! Well, how

are you?

_Clar._ At work, Sir!

_Reiss._ So you have, _ex officio_, been appointed guardian of the poor

orphans of Brunnig?

_Clar._ Yes, Sir, these four days.

_Reiss._ Aye, aye; it will prove a troublesome piece of business. Poor

children! I pity them.

_Clar._ So do I.--And, to tell you the truth, the valuable bequest of

the old aunt ought to go to the children, and not to you; to whom,

contrary to all right and equity, she has bequeathed her all.

_Reiss._ Aye! Good heaven!--but then it is so in her will.

_Clar._ True enough. But the law should not permit it.

_Reiss._ A last will!--O Lord! that is a sacred thing. I pity the

children, but--

_Clar._ I intend to try the validity of it.

_Reiss._ Aye, aye? I have been told so.

_Clar._ You ought to decline the bequest, Mr. Reissman.

_Reiss._ But, what heaven has sent me--

_Clar._ The property of orphans!

_Reiss._ You would not have me rob my child of the divine blessings

which, without the least solicitation on my part, have devolved upon me

from a strange person?

_Clar._ Your daughter, is not poor. The children of Brunnig are all

beggars.

_Reiss._ Aye, good man, we will manage that, we will manage it!

_Clar._ How so?

_Reiss._ O heaven! Yes, we will send the children to the hospital to

receive a christian education, and to be instructed, and I will--

_Clar._ To what hospital?

_Reiss._ To ours, of which I am the director, and you a trustee.

_Clar._ That will not do.

_Reiss._ If it be our will---

_Clar._ It must not be our will.

_Reiss._ Who is to oppose us?

_Clar._ The rules of the foundation itself; right and equity. The

hospital, _ad Sanctum Mauritium_, is destined for the old and the sick;

we must not displace them. No, I will carry on the suit against you as

an unlawful heir.--

_Reiss._ Aye, thou good Lord in heaven! the will is so plain--

_Clar._ If I am cast, I will take Brunnig's children into my house, and

then I will immediately engage in more business, employ more hands, and

work hard to accomplish my design, with the aid of heaven.

_Reiss._ But your son, the deputy, approves of the children being sent

to the hospital.

_Clar._ I do not approve of it.

_Reiss._ Your son is a sensible learned man, who most certainly knows--

_Clar._ And I have spent a good deal on him too.

_Reiss._ And a just man too he is.

_Clar._ That is his duty.

_Reiss._ And as these children may be taken care of in another manner,

why would you, at your time of life, burthen yourself with more

trouble? You have now toiled long enough, and to your credit too: now

you should rest, and leave off business.

_Clar._ God forbid!

_Reiss._ Your son will not give up that point, I tell you: as a good

son, he will lead his father to honour.

_Clar._ To honour? And what honour do I want, pray? I am a good

workman, have sufficient to live on, employ fifteen people daily; share

my earnings with many a poor man, and have a good conscience. What

honour can he add to what I have?

_Reiss._ This very moment it is in agitation, to elect you mayor of our

town. That is as good as settled, only--

_Clar._ No, Sir! I will not listen to that. I am quite well, when

governed; and might not be so, if I were to govern others.

_Reiss._ But consider, how happy many a man would feel, if he--

_Clar._ Oh yes! I know well enough: many a man would wish to govern

now-a-days; but not I. I intend to remain reigning master-carpenter in

my own house and timber-yard.

_Reiss._ But perhaps your son might form connections--

_Clar._ A fig for every connection; cannot he form connections unless

his father be mayor?

_Reiss._ The world has its prejudices--

_Clar._ Not I.

_Reiss._ To whom it is often prudent to yield.

_Clar._ No, Sir, no!

_Reiss._ But, suppose your son should wish to rise still higher?

_Clar._ Then God grant it do him good! that is my cordial wish. But I

shall remain where I am, and I shall not climb after him.

_Reiss._ Well then, I must speak plain to you; your son pays his

addresses to my daughter.

_Clar._ Does he? that is well done. Your daughter is an amiable young

lady.

_Reiss._ Well, well;--but then I have some conditions to propose. I

only desire that you may change your situation in life.

_Clar._ Does your daughter likewise insist on it?

_Reiss._ Suppose she did?

_Clar._ Then I would, were I in my son's place, decline the hand of a

lady that would be ashamed of my father.

_Reiss._ But, if I should only ask that you shall leave off business--

_Clar._ Leave off business? I might as well leave off living. I am

proud of my business, for, upon my word, I am a good carpenter.

_Reiss._ Well then, you may say you have been a carpenter. When you are

Mayor, I will, with pleasure, call you brother. Only accept the office,

and we will see the business taken care of.

_Clar._ No. I would be what I was called. I had better keep away from

your council-board.

_Reiss._ I have now done my duty. Consider, that when the children come

out of the hospital, I intend to make them a present. And that, if an

action is brought against me, I shall not think myself under any

obligation whatever.

_Clar._ Do not take it amiss;--I am rather positive, for I am arrived

at the age in which people know which way the world turns, because they

have often been forced to turn along with it. Should the poor children

lose their suit, you are not the man neither of whom I should wish them

take alms.

_Reiss._ Oh! if matters stand so, then I will do nothing at all, for my

conscience is free, thank God.

_Clar._ I wish you joy.

_Reiss._ As for the rest, it is now all in your option, whether you

will promote your son's happiness through that marriage, or not. I wish

you good business, Master Clarenbach.

_Clar._ (alone.) Hem, hem!--I do not wish it, I know well enough;--but

I should be sorry for Jack, if he were to lose the girl on that

account.

SCENE V.

Enter GROBMAN.

_Grob._ Your humble servant, Mr. Clarenbach.

_Clar._ Servant, Sir! What is your pleasure?

_Grob._ My name is Grobman. I deal in iron wholesale.

_Clar._ Well; and--

_Grob._ And mean to settle here.

_Clar._ I wish you success.

_Grob._ But there is an other, who wishes to do the same,--one

Benninger.

_Clar._ Success to him likewise!

_Grob._ He is for having the monopoly of the article here.

_Clar._ If so, I look upon him in a bad point of view.

_Grob._ But it is very profitable. I have the same object in view. Your

son, the deputy, patronizes Mr. Benninger. But, if you would speak in

my favour to your son, I know I should succeed.

_Clar._ I am a carpenter.

_Grob._ Very right. But then you are the Deputy's father. Benninger, as

I am well informed, has secretly offered your son two thousand dollars

by way of present.

_Clar._ What?

_Grob._ They have agreed.

_Clar._ Infamous calumny!

_Grob._ I will give you two hundred dollars beside, if you--

_Clar._ Set off!--for, upon my word, I will do you some mischief.

_Grob._ Do you want more than two hundred?

_Clar._ Justice I want, Justice! My son shall send you to prison,

unless he be as great a good for nothing as yourself.

_Grob._ (laughs.) For what?

_Clar._ Sell! sell a monopoly! take money,--a bribe! My son, Jack

Clarenbach, the sovereign's deputy, take money!

_Grob._ (laughs.) Aye, sure, for the trouble that he--

_Clar._ I will bring an action against you.

_Grob._ Are you in your senses?

_Clar._ I will inform--

_Grob._ So you may.

_Clar._ All you have said.

_Grob._ Do so.

_Clar._ My son shall have ample satisfaction. Where is your conscience,

fellow? Defame a man in office and dignity? Now, go out by that door,

or I will lay both my hands on you.

_Grob._ The man must be tipsy. (Laughs, and exit.)

_Clar._ Aye, you may laugh, you cursed thief. All my limbs

tremble!--Some envious man, some fiend has sent him hither.--Jack would

not betray his native town.

SCENE VI.

Enter FREDERICA.

_Clar._ It is not possible.

_Fred._ Only think, dear father--

_Clar._ Curse the money!

_Fred._ Brother Jack is---

_Clar._ He has too much. Yes, yes, yes! I know, he has too much, and it

is impossible that he acquired it all in a fair way; but not so

neither. It may have been scraped together somewhat unfairly; but not

so neither, not so neither.

_Fred._ What ails you, pray? What do you talk about Jack and his money?

_Clar._ I cannot bear it, cannot bear his money.

_Fred._ Only think; Ranger Gernau sends me word, that yesterday the

news arrived, that my brother has been made a Privy Counsellor.

_Clar._ Privy Counsellor?--hem!--Curse that iron merchant, that--

_Fred._ He is now the first man in this town.

_Clar._ Take money! sell privileges! (walks up and down.) It is

impossible! Father and mother are honest people; he has been sent to

church and school, never saw any thing amiss in us; no, nothing amiss

in all his life-time. We have worked hard day after day; never indulged

ourselves with breakfast or bagging,[1] that he might have every

requisite, that we might spend on him as much as ever we could afford.

And now, he is got up so high, and is one of those that rule the

country, that now he should be worse than I would suffer a 'prentice

boy to be, that I employ in my yard! Oh! if that be so, Lord take him

or me, for I cannot bear it, either in this world or in the next! [Exit.

[Footnote 1: _Bagging_, in the North of England, is the common

expression for a meal taken between dinner and supper. And, as it

perfectly expresses the meaning of the German _vesperbrod_, I thought

myself authorized to adopt it here; particularly as _tea_, in the mouth

of a character, like carpenter Clarenbach, would appear preposterous.

The antiquaries of Yorkshire and Lancashire derive the word _bagging_

from the old custom of carrying bread and cheese in a bag, in the

afternoon, to the labourers in the fields; and this derivation is not

altogether improbable. _Translator._]

_Fred._ I do not understand a word of all this. What does he mean?

SCENE VII.

Enter GERNAU.

_Gern._ Good morrow, Frederica!

_Fred._ Why so ruffled? Is that your welcome, after having kept out of

the way for two days together?

_Gern._ Things grow worse and worse, between your brother and me, every

day.

_Fred._ Why so?

_Gern._ He would have me do things which I neither can, must, nor will

do.

SCENE VIII.

Enter CLARENBACH.

_Clar._ Jack a Privy Counsellor, you say?

_Fred._ Gernau says so.

_Gern._ His diploma arrived yesterday.

_Clar._ He has not mentioned it to me.

_Fred._ He will most certainly come to day.

_Clar._ But could he wait till to day?

_Fred._ Who knows but he wishes to surprise us?

_Clar._ He is going to be married too.

_Fred._ My brother?

_Clar._ I am told all this by strangers. Can he turn out so, because he

is a greater man than I? or, perhaps, he is altogether bad.--God knows!

_Fred._ He is so full of business.

_Clar._ So am I.

_Fred._ Those that work with the head are apt to be more absent than

those that work with the hand.

_Clar._ But is it not a real relaxation to act according to the

dictates of the heart? or have the hearts of those people nothing to do

with their concerns? If so, they are wretched beings indeed, and I am

very sorry for my son, that he must first lose the treasures of his

heart to hoard up gold. [Exit.

SCENE IX.

FREDERICA, GERNAU.

_Fred._ Tell me immediately, dear Gernau, what is the matter between

you and my brother?

_Gern._ He is not a good man, Frederica.

_Fred._ Shall I go to him, Gernau?

_Gern._ Do not embitter my life, good soul; I have trouble enough

besides. Your brother will drive me away.

_Fred._ What?

_Gern._ He will throw me out of my office.

_Fred._ Why?

_Gern._ To put a more accommodating man in my place.

_Fred._ He does not wish to do that certainly, nor could he even effect

it.

_Gern._ He is all-powerful here; his abilities, his connections at

Court, his office, render every thing possible that he wishes to

atchieve.

_Fred._ And what does he want of you? what displeases him?

_Gern._ Under the pretence of promoting agriculture, he wants the best

part of the forest for himself, which is of no great use to the

community. And this pretended plea is a garden, he means to lay out in

the English style for his own pleasure.

_Fred._ And should not an industrious man be indulged with some

pleasure?

_Gern._ Should he wish to have it at the expence of the public? I must

oppose it.

_Fred._ Does he know it?

_Gern._ Yes, he behaved so haughtily to me.

_Fred._ And you--

_Gern._ I thought on his sister,--and held my tongue.

_Fred._ (reaches him her hand.) Gernau!

_Gern._ He threatened me!

_Fred._ And you?

_Gern._ I curbed my passion. He bid me be gone,--and I shall not

trouble him again.

_Fred._ And what do you intend to do as to the forest?

_Gern._ My duty.

_Fred._ (draws back her hand.) Oh!

_Gern._ Yes, yes! It will cost me your hand, I foresee.

_Fred._ Never!--my affection is fixed, and can never be diverted from

the dear object.--Your complaisance--

_Gern._ I have been complaisant, as far as laid in my power. I cannot

be so at the expence of my duty.

_Fred._ I do not insist on that either. But,--but--

_Gern._ What would you wish that your own sentiments of equity forbids

you to utter?

_Fred._ I only wish--I demand nothing--I only wish you to soften your

rigid idea of duty, if you can.

_Gern._ I know nothing but justice, that will not admit of any by-road.

And if I were capable of such a sacrifice, whither would it lead me? It

would lead me to see you, Selling's wife, and to laugh at me.

_Fred._ Must I break with all the world, because our hearts beat in

unison? Am I criminal to listen to Selling's nonsense, because he is

the only man through whom I can act upon my brother?

_Gern._ Then I may rely upon you?

_Fred._ Undoubtedly.

_Gern._ Pledge me your hand!

_Fred._ With all my heart!

_Gern._ Thus love will not forsake me, when I shall fall a victim to my

duty.

_Fred._ I know no deceit, and follow the dictates of my heart.

_Gern._ In the name of heaven then I go to discharge my duty; it

rewards and strengthens. Good bye, Frederica!--One more word, you are

good; but are you resolute?

_Fred._ I am indeed!

_Gern._ Your brother has plans about you, in which I am most certainly

set down for nought.--Frederica, Frederica, let him drive me hence, but

not from you!

_Fred._ He shall not, he cannot. And no man can render me inconstant to

you, but yourself.

_Gern._ Then you are mine, and I am easy.

_Fred._ And owe no grudge to my brother?

_Gern._ Frederica, I am an honest man.

_Fred._ Whom the purest love shall reward, as far as love can reward!

_Gern._ Adieu, dear Frederica!

_Fred._ Adieu, Gernau! [Exeunt by opposite doors.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

A room in the Privy Counsellor's, furnished in the

modern stile.

REISSMAN, LEWIS.

_Lew._ I shall have the honour to let the Privy Counsellor know, that

the Aulic Counsellor Reissman waits. (Steps into a closet, out of which

the Privy Counsellor immediately comes, and Lewis sometime after.)

_Reiss._ I fly to congratulate you on your well-merited elevation.

_P. Coun._ I thank you with all my heart. I shall never forget that I

am indebted to you for it.

_Reiss._ I beg,--nay, I entreat--

_P. Coun._ Your advice.

_Reiss._ Too much modesty.

_P. Coun._ Your self-denial. For you yourself had the justest claims to

all the honours, with which you permitted me to be invested.

_Reiss._ _Audaces fortuna._--I am too old. Now you should enjoy life,

my friend. The merchant will endeavour to get a hundred per cent. if he

can; why should the statesman sell his labour to the state at three?

Away with the silly prejudice, and the retail-trade of your

conscientious precepts; carry on your business wholesale, on the sacred

principle of self-preservation.

_P. Coun._ I partly do so, but my father--

_Reiss._ I have paid the old honest man a visit.

_P. Coun._ Very kind of you! very kind of you indeed!

_Reiss._ He persists in his determination of setting the will aside.

_P. Coun._ Ridiculous!

_Reiss._ He will not suffer the children to go to the hospital, because

the institution is intended for old and decayed people.

_P. Coun._ Mere formalities, attached to old age!

_Reiss._ As for the rest, he appeared pleased with your proposed union

with my daughter.

_P. Coun._ Was he!

_Reiss._ He said many handsome things of the girl.

_P. Coun._ Too much cannot be said in her praise. She is an angel.

_Reiss._ I humbly thank you.--But he will not accept the office of

mayor on any account.

_P. Coun._ I thought so;--but he must.

_Reiss._ Oh, yes! I must request you to carry that point, for--

_P. Coun._ Without doubt.

_Reiss._ For, however pleased I may be with your connection, I could

not possibly think of giving my daughter to a man whose father earned

his bread as a mechanic.

_P. Coun._ Leave me alone for that. His whole mode of life will be

changed. Nay, this change has in some measure taken place already.

_Reiss._ Bravo, bravo!

_P. Coun._ His mansion--

_Reiss._ Right, right!

_P. Coun._ His dress--

_Reiss._ Very necessary.

_P. Coun._ Those pitiful caps of my sister--

_Reiss._ Oh, nice! Oh! there you remove a heavy weight from my mind.

And then the chief object, that law-suit--

_P. Coun._ You cannot lose it. The will--?

_Reiss._ I will stick to that, as if rivetted to it with iron.

_P. Coun._ It speaks in your favour in all its forms.

_Reiss._ But he is so obstinate in pursuit of the cause, and will--

_P. Coun._ He cannot gain it.

_Reiss._ I think so. But then he has engaged that old foolish lawyer

Wellenberg, that--

_P. Coun._ A fool, and a pedant.

_Reiss._ True! But then he is such a conscientious fellow; and,

besides, you know he is called the champion of the poor and the

guardian of orphans.

_P. Coun._ I have his opinion in my study. Mere declamation! nothing

else. Your answer is sound, legal, and argumentative, and then the

testamentary disposition is so plain that it cannot be set aside. If

you were inclined to make the plaintiff a present--

_Reiss._ O yes, O yes! notwithstanding I am very economical; for all

that I acquire is solely intended for my child, and when it shall

please heaven to call me, it will devolve to you, my dear Sir.

_P. Coun._ Very kind;--but--

Enter LEWIS.

_Lew._ The widow Rieder--

_P. Coun._ Some other time.

_Lew._ And Counsellor Wellenberg--

_P. Coun._ The day after to-morrow, at two o'clock.

_Lew._ Then there is old Schwartz--

_P. Coun._ I cannot be troubled with him now. [Exit Lewis.

_Reiss._ Always plagued, always tormented.--

_P. Coun._ Oh! there is no end of it!

_Reiss._ Why! But wealth and honours are very welcome things too. But

chiefly mind wealth; wealth is the word. High stations are exposed to

storms, like lofty trees in a forest. But, if you have wealth, then

come what will. A trunk filled with good bonds is soon packed up. The

rest of your moveables may be left to the commissaries, just as you

would throw a few bones to the dogs; then retire and go. I am your

servant. (Going.) [Privy Counsellor attends him to the door.

_Reiss._ No ceremony; the morning-hour yields a hundred per cent.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

PRIVY COUNSELLOR, LEWIS, MASTER CLARENBACH.

_Lew._ I will first see.

_Clar._ Why, I heard my son's voice!--

_P. Coun._ Ah! is it my father?--

_Clar._ Yes! (reaches him his hand.) God bless you, Jack!

_P. Coun._ (to Lewis.) Leave us to ourselves. [Lewis exit.

_Clar._ Halloo!--I say, Monsieur, stop a little, stay a little!--I mean

to speak ill of you.

_Lew._ So?

_P. Coun._ How so?

_Clar._ Only think, dear Jack, all the people you have refused to see,

this fellow has been snarling at. (To Lewis.) You must know those

people in the hall are all as good as myself, and my son has been what

I am, and in short we are all--men. Whilst the people know that my son

has not forgot that his rank and titles are pure gold, they will pass

at the highest course of exchange; but, as soon as they discover he has

forgot what he has been, then his rank and titles will appear

counterfeit. (To the Privy Counsellor.) They are all in the hall yet,

except the old lawyer, who has business elsewhere; I have told them

Monsieur Lewis had behaved very unmannerly, that I would let you know,

and that you would come out to them.

_P. Coun._ But--

_Clar._ And that you may remain in currency and value, be so good,

Jack, and go to them. [Privy Coun. after a pause, leaves the room.

SCENE III.

MASTER CLARENBACH, LEWIS.

_Lew._ I do not understand Master Clarenbach's behaviour to me.

_Clar._ I dare say you do not. But, do you see, I think you ought to

mend, or my son ought to send you about your business. To hear people,

to say either yes or no, is the least my son can do. If you should

attempt to hinder him from doing so, you are a rogue.

_Lew._ There is such constant intrusion.

_Clar._ Hem! and a great deal of distress too, and-- [Exit Lewis.

SCENE IV.

Enter PRIVY COUNSELLOR.

_P. Coun._ Well, what should it be? Petitions, memorials, poverty, and

faint hopes of relief.

_Clar._ Why, if you cannot relieve, mercy on us!

_P. Coun._ They are repeated so often, and I have so much business--

_Clar._ Now that you have been made a Privy Counsellor, I fear it will

still be worse! Well, heaven grant you health, and may you act as you

ought, and all may be well yet.

_P. Coun._ Why, father, did you return the money I sent?--

_Clar._ Because, thank God! I do not want it. What is the use of having

more than is necessary, to supply the wants of life?--I think you have

more.

_P. Coun._ There is no great harm in that.

_Clar._ But I think there is! People will have strange ideas, and do

strange things, when they have too much. If I must tell you my mind,

son, I am not altogether pleased to see you raised so high of a sudden,

Our plain citizens are not altogether satisfied with you and your

elevation. They think the other gentlemen shove you near the fire to

get the roasted chesnuts out of the coals for themselves, and that you

are a good cat's paw. Such, for instance, is that bequest to old

Counsellor Reissman.

_P. Coun._ Pray, tell me, father, what induces you to oppose that will,

which is legal, though I must own it bears hard on the children.

_Clar._ Jack, you know your father long, though for some time since you

have made a stranger of yourself.--What would you think of me, if I had

not commenced the suit?

_P. Coun._ The claim rests on a will.

_Clar._ Which has been obtained, by the old Counsellor, by undue

influence; is not that your opinion?

_P. Coun._ Can that be proved?--

_Clar._ We must see--

_P. Coun._ If you cannot prove it, the Counsellor will recover.

_Clar._ He certainly will, and therefore you must assist me to combat

him.

_P. Coun._ Who, I? How came you to think so? Well, we will leave the

cause to take its due course, and so should you.--

_Clar._ Ay, ay, Jack.

_P. Coun._ Besides, I must tell you, Reissman proposes to give me his

daughter.

_Clar._ So I hear. The lady has all my best wishes. Heaven prosper your

union! But sure you would not begin it by an act of injustice!

_P. Coun._ No, certainly not! But why would you, suppose even though

Reissman were wrong,--why would you, for the sake of strangers, destroy

my happiness?

_Clar._ Can poor, injured, unhappy children, in any situation, be

_strangers_ to me? And have wards, intrusted to my care, fewer titles

to my assistance than my own children? And have not you, in the name of

the magistrates, appointed me one of their guardians?

_P. Coun._ That, as they are unfortunate, I might see them in good

hands.

_Clar._ Why, they are in good hands. I am come to request you to see

the business speedily executed. Of the verdict itself I will make no

mention. You will act as an honest man, or else I must despise you, and

look for redress elsewhere. Meanwhile, I tell you, the children shall

not go to the hospital, because that is impracticable.

_P. Coun._ Father, I Have given my word.

_Clar._ You must recall it.

_P. Coun._ How can I?

_Clar._ Say you did not understand the matter. It is upon my word

better than to expose your name to shame or ridicule, and to fill your

mind with inquietude.

_P. Coun._ Father, I love you dearly, but pray do not interfere with my

business.

_Clar._ Very well; then you act as Privy Counsellor, as you think

proper; and I, as trustee of the hospital and guardian of the children,

will do the same.

_P. Coun._ Cannot we talk of more agreeable things, and drop that

question. I wish you so well, but you reject all I propose.

_Clar._ You make me presents in money, and, I am told, you want to make

me mayor of the town. Jack, make me no presents! do good to town and

country; and, if you can, come after your business is done. I do not

care if it be but once or twice every three months; come to me in my

timber-yard. Then we will close the doors, seat ourselves in the little

bower, where, when a boy, you used to sit so industriously about your

tasks; there we will spend an hour in happy converse, and drink a glass

of old wine that you shall send me; then I will thank God for my dear

boy, who has continued to be a good son, and, when you leave me again

to repair to your desk, I will give you my blessing, and look after

you, till you are quite out of sight! Do you see, Jack, I ask no

more;--I have no occasion for more; but this I earnestly request of you.

Give me your hand, that you will do it. That is the way I wish you to

honour and to please me.

_P. Coun._ I shall do more, father. Pray accept it, and--

_Clar._ All your other honours are of little estimation in my sight;

these grey hairs, blanched with care and toil, shall never be covered

with a long bushy wig; look at these hands, rough with labour; look on

your father, as you know his ways; you also know that he is neither to

be drawn nor driven out of them; Master Clarenbach, even in the office

of Mayor, would not suit your fine apartments and your fine company.

What, to remain at home, as motionless as an old statue, scarce

permitted to speak to an old friend, lest it should lessen his dignity,

or break in on his gravity! What, to remain in such a situation, and

see people work and move before his window! Jack, that will not do.

Pray, as I never found fault with you for being too high, do not find

fault with me for being too low; it is best suited to my age and

inclinations.

_P. Coun._ Certainly not; but Mr. Reissman insists on it, as a

principal condition.

_Clar._ I hope you know that there is a wide difference betwixt your

father and Mr. Reissman. My axe, since I could raise it, has been

employed in raising houses for the industrious, and his pen, since he

could handle it, in pulling them down again.

_P. Coun._ This is the only service you can render me now father; is it

not unkind to refuse me then?

_Clar._ The only service I can render you now? What, if the cares and

inquietudes of rank and office should lay you on a sick bed, who would

attend you with so much tenderness and affection as your old father?

What if your house should take fire, I would be the first to ascend

through the flames; but I will not climb into office and rank, I tell

you that.

_P. Coun._ You must give way, father.--

_Clar._ You now stand on high; may you so stand respected by your

fellow citizens and approved by your own conscience is the sincerest

wish of your old father! Therefore, I prefer my complaints to you

against a man; his name is Grobman, an ironmonger. This wretch wanted

to persuade me, that you had taken two thousand dollars from another,

to let him have the monopoly. He offered me two hundred dollars, if I

would gain you over to his interest. Arrest the vile slanderer.

_P. Coun._ That fellow is an ideot.

_Clar._ God forbid! he is much worse. I have told him I would inform

against him, and so I have to a few of my acquaintances.

_P. Coun._ Why so?

_Clar._ That you should make an example of him.

_P. Coun._ What is all this fuss? Why do you interfere with my

concerns?

_Clar._ Concerns? I am as anxious for your honour as I am for your

life! Do not you bear my name, which has always been as good as the

best bond, in this place, time out of mind? Are not you my son? Are not

you the representative of our sovereign? Is not the least stain visible

on your ermine? Is it, or is it not true, Jack?--No, no, I say; it is

impossible, it cannot be true!

_P. Coun._ It is possible; it is so, but done in a manner which

cannot--

_Clar._ Do not speak, I will not know it. I---I--cannot (going from

him) look on you. Is that your wisdom! your honour! your integrity!

Have I, therefore,--well,--if matters are so with you, then do as you

like; enquire no more after me, come no more to see me; you ought to be

ashamed of yourself, in the presence of your honest father. Farewell,

Jack; repent and amend. I will visit you no more, till you have altered

your ways, and divided your cursed mammon among the poor. Live on your

honest earnings; then come to me, tender me a clean hand, and I will

bless you. (Exit.)

SCENE V.

PRIVY COUNSELLOR, (alone.)

_P. Coun._ Whimsical, honest man!--Whoever is forced up to the giddy

summit, must hold as fast as he can, and by what he can.

SCENE IV.

Enter Counsellor SELLING.

_P. Coun._ What part of the world have you come from Selling?

_Sell._ From Miss Frederica.

_P. Coun._ From my sister? how is she? Has the new furniture been

carried home?

_Sell._ Beautiful, splendid! thanks to your care! Old papa will open

all his eyes when he comes home. All the old furniture has been carried

off, and the room looks very elegant with all the new things you have

sent.

_P. Coun._ And Frederica?--

_Sell._ She was so uneasy, she did not know what to do with herself.

She fixed her eyes on every article as it was carried off, as if she

took leave of an old friend. But the large easy chair still remains;

she grasped it with both hands, and would not suffer it to be removed.

_P. Coun._ These people must be metamorphosed; we must see how they

reconcile themselves to it.

_Sell._ But, what a man you are! What a noble heart, to be thus

attached to your family!

_P. Coun._ Very natural. I am indebted to my father for so many

things;--and Frederica is a good-natured creature.

_Sell._ More than that. I know none of her sex that strives so

anxiously to cultivate her understanding, and to exalt her faculties to

an extraordinary height.

_P. Coun._ (gives him his hand.) I am glad you find her so.

_Sell._ With your permission, Frederica will now assume a different

dress, better suited to the furniture you have sent.

_P. Coun._ I have to thank you for this attention.

_Sell._ By your direction I do all that lies in my power to fan the

girl's ambition. If that Mr. Gernau only--

_P. Coun._ That fool! He shall be removed. All has been prepared, and

is now determined on; He goes to Friethal. His patent is in hand.

_Sell._ It is too lenient for his stubborn opposition. This indulgence

on your side will gain you every heart.

_P. Coun._ Do you think I am rather popular?

_Sell._ Popular? People venerate you with enthusiasm! And what have you

not done to acquire this popularity? The formation of the new roads,

under your wise regulation, without any burthen to the individual! the

increase of commerce--

_P. Coun._ I have done a great deal; I think I may claim some merit.

_Sell._ The abolition of beggary; the institution for the support of

the indigent--

_P. Coun._ Oh! there are so many things to be done yet!

_Sell._ And you have so much power in your hand. What do you say to my

last performance?

_P. Coun._ I have perused it. To be candid, you must apply yourself

more to solid knowledge. There are glaring faults in it.--

_Sell._ Under your inspection--

_P. Coun._ With all my heart. But you must do more, and then the faults

in orthography are too numerous. Call in the assistance of a good

grammarian.

_Sell._ I will endeavour--

_P. Coun._ Your motion in the court-house of yesterday, that the

foot-passenger should be prohibited to walk in the middle of the

street, has provoked some laughter.

_Sell._ I wanted to propose something in my turn too.

_P. Coun._ It is too trifling. Wait for the motions of the senior

barristers, and--

_Sell._ I wanted to give myself a little air of consequence by a motion

of my own, hence--

_P. Coun._ No, no. If you have nothing of greater consequence to

propose, you had better walk like the rest in the middle of the street.

(They retire to the closet.)

SCENE VII.

Master CLARENBACH's house.

Instead of the furniture which appeared in the first act, a modern

writing-desk and handsome chairs.

Enter FREDERICA, followed by a servant with a large band-box.

_Fred._ My name is Frederica; what do you want with me?

_Serv._ To take these things, madam.

_Fred._ I will take nothing.

_Serv._ And I will take back nothing.

_Fred._ Who has sent you to me?

_Serv._ Somebody that has a right, I suppose. (Puts down the band-box,

and retires.)

_Fred._ (alone.) It may remain there, I will not touch it; I will not

look at it. (Going from the band-box.) Sure, there are some articles of

dress for me in it. It is odd that they will not leave us as we wish,

to our own wishes. (Draws a step nearer.) It may not be for me perhaps.

(Reads the direction at a distance.) To Miss Frederica Clarenbach; but

it is addressed to me, I see! If any person,--if Gernau should happen

to come in, I must remove the box. (Takes hold of it.) Quite light! as

light as a feather! What does it contain? What is that to me? (Takes it

up, and walks a few paces.) If Gernau should now meet me, it would look

as if I wanted to conceal something. Dear me! (Places it at some

distance on the floor,) my brother must have sent it! Somebody that has

a right to do so, the fellow said; that must be my brother, and so I

may look at it. Besides, my father will certainly send back the

furniture, and then this may bear the rest company. Now, if I should

not even look at it, it would seem as if I despised my brother. No, I

will open and look at the things; but certainly I will keep none.

(Kneels down, cuts the strings, opens the lid, and starts up in

surprise.) Ay dear! how pretty! (Kneels down again.) A cloak! O what

beautiful lace! hem! why, a cloak is not too gay for tradesfolks; I

think it is part of their dress; I may keep it. (Puts it on.) As if it

had been made for me! (Kneels down again.) A hat! a very pretty one

indeed!--but a feather,--no, God forbid! (Pause.) All but that

feather,--I might wear it without a feather. A new hat, I wonder how

I look in it! (Puts it on, and then steps up to the glass.) Pretty

well;--and the cap under the hat,--that looks like the picture of the

handsome English lady at my brother's. (Returns to the box.) What is

that red stuff? (Takes out a gown.) Rose-Colour! (Astonished, calls out

aloud.) Satin! (The gown drops on the floor?) Satin! God forbid I

should wear satin! That is too gaudy, too glossy, too shewy; it would

draw all the neighbours to their windows. (Takes up the gown.) I hope I

have spoiled nothing. (Hangs it over a chair, kneels down, and

continues to examine the box.)

SCENE VIII.

Enter SOPHIA REISSMAN.

Sophia knocks. Frederica screams, and covers her face with her hands.

_Soph._ (comes in.) Any good people in this house? (Fred. rises and

curtesies, her eyes cast down.) They must be all dead, as no one is to

be found.

_Fred._ I am quite alone in the house, madam.

_Soph._ Do you know me, sweet girl?

_Fred._ You are, Miss--yes--but--

_Soph._ Reissman. The Aulic Counsellor Reissman's daughter.

_Fred._ So; I am glad; I know it well enough; but pray do me the favour

to be seated.

_Soph._ My visit will be but short. I am come to form an acquaintance

with the sister of a gentleman who is not indifferent to me, as you may

know perhaps.

_Fred._ We have been told, that he is to have the honour--

_Soph._ And then I wish to put a question to you, in whose praise I

have heard so much, and for whom I entertain great esteem. I expect you

will answer it candidly.

_Fred._ You do me an honour.

_Soph._ Nothing of that. We are going to be nearer,--nay, very nearly

connected with one another. My happiness is concerned in that question;

and so I had rather hear you say, that the confidence I repose in you

gives you pleasure, if it really does so.

_Fred._ Pardon my surprise. I am not myself in this moment. I am

masqued in a dress that is not suited to my condition in life. My

brother has sent it to me. I mean to return the whole. Now I have told

you so, I am more easy; and I am now ready to answer every question you

may ask with candour.

_Soph._ Well then, I will candidly own, that I love and esteem your

brother for what he is, for what he yet may become, and for what, I

hope, he will yet be willing to become. In one respect only I am quite

a stranger to him, and in this respect I must remain so, if--and

therefore I have applied to you. Upon what footing, pray, are you with

him, you and your father?

_Fred._ We? Upon a good footing! (After a pause with affected

vivacity.) Oh, upon a very good footing!

_Soph._ I say no.

_Fred._ We are, indeed.

_Soph._ And again I say no. His silence made me suspect him. And you,

my good girl, if you were quite satisfied with his conduct, quite so,

as a sister would be with a good brother, you would, in answer to my

question, have told me all that love, gratitude, and benevolence, can

inspire in one continued strain. You, therefore, are not, at least not

particularly so, upon good terms. Whose fault can that be? I am sure

not your good father's: report contradicts that; and, I think, I have

partly convinced myself of it. Consequently, it is your brother's

fault; and that I do not like.

_Fred._ Your suppositions crowd so upon me--

_Soph._ Not my suppositions, but truth. Had you satisfactory truth to

return, you would not hesitate so much.

_Fred._ It may be easily conceived, that the difference of rank between

him and us will occasion many trifling differences, for which we blame

my brother more than we ought perhaps.

_Soph._ It may be so partly;--but then it should be no more than

trifling, and as such ought always to be removed by him who has the

advantage.

SCENE IX.

Enter GERNAU.

Gernau, startled at Frederica's dress, discovers the satin gown;--steps

forward; once more looks at Frederica, bows politely to Sophia, and is

going to withdraw.

_Fred._ Stay, if you please.--

_Gern._ I do not wish to intrude.

_Soph._ No ceremonies; our conversation is at an end. It is not the

last we shall have, I hope. In that case it has been of use, if not to

us all, most certainly to me.

Frederica is greatly embarrassed, while Gernau, unable to conceal his

chagrin, and to keep his countenance, examines the satin.

_Soph._ (observing both.) If I mistake not, Sir, you have a particular

interest that every dress should become this amiable girl;--you

certainly are of my opinion, that all the pretty things her brother has

just now sent her cannot add to her charms. (Curtesies to him and to

Frederica.) Good bye. (Goes.)

(Fred. attends her.)

_Soph._ (turns quick round.) If my visit has proved agreeable, I beg

you will not attend me; and you, Sir, may meanwhile confirm, that I am

right in my opinion of my young friend. (Exit quickly.)

SCENE X.

FREDERICA, GERNAU.

_Fred._ I shall stay then, dear Friend. What do you think of me? (Takes

off her cloak and hat.)

_Gern._ I think I find you quite in the modern stile.

_Fred._ All sent by my brother.

_Gern._ Very gallant! and then the furniture, all is strange to me.

_Fred._ All from my brother.

_Gern._ What is meant? Perhaps in honour of my departure?

_Fred._ Departure!--

_Gern._ I am going to be removed from this place.

_Fred._ Where to?

_Gern._ To Freethal.

_Fred._ Gernau!

_Gern._ Yes, yes! your brother, I see, has great views concerning this

house. O Frederica, I came in such a melancholy mood!--Your gaudy

dress, and all this superb furniture, cast such a gloom over my mind.

_Fred._ You removed? And, when he robs my heart of all that is dear to

it, he sends me satin and tinsel, and hopes by that to bribe me. What a

mean opinion he must entertain of me! and how I dislike him!

_Gern._ Frederica, what is to become of me! When we shall be at so

great a distance from each other; when, in obedience to my official

duties, I must fly over hill and valley, your picture in my mind, and

my heart beating only for you, the image of the poor huntsman will soon

be effaced by the splendid objects with which you are going to be

dazzled.

_Fred._ No! and away with the first temptation they have prepared for

me; help me to pack up these things; they shall be returned this

minute. (Takes the satin, Gernau helps her to fold it up, and they

carry it to the box; she kneels down to put the gown in, whilst he

holds the other end; he stoops and looks in the box, and then says,)

_Gern._ What is that?

_Fred._ (holding up the gown?) What?

_Gern._ A pocket-book!

_Fred._ Put it down. All shall go. I will keep nothing.

_Gern._ What paper is that, that sticks out there?

_Fred._ Take it.

_Gern._ (Pulls out a note.) That is not your brother's hand.

_Fred._ I have not yet seen that pocket-book.

_Gern._ Oh, very likely! (Reads.) "These dresses are destined to

envelope the angel I adore; accept them as a small token of my sincere

affections. _Selling._"--Take, for my last adieu, contempt, thou

faithless perfidious girl! (Throws the pocket-book at her feet, and

flies off.)

_Fred._ Gernau!

SCENE XI.

Enter Master CLARENBACH.

_Clar._ What is the matter here?

_Fred._ Stop him!

_Gern._ Leave me!--

_Clar._ (lays hold of him.) Well, stop a moment! What is it? What,

(looks round,) good heaven, what is all this!

_Fred._ My brother!--

_Gern._ (shoving the box towards him.) Counsellor Selling!

_Clar._ Where is my furniture? who had the impudence? who has permitted

it? Girl, daughter, Frederica! where was you when all this was done?

where is my furniture, my furniture? What are your intentions, people?

(looking at the box.) What is that, what is it?

_Gern._ Counsellor Selling's livery.

_Fred._ An incomprehensible present for me.

_Clar._ Pack up; lay hold; each of you a piece; carry it into the

passage! Ere night all shall be packed up, and packed off too. (All

take a piece of furniture, Gernau takes the band-box.) Stop, stop! each

two pieces! take up--(whilst they are each taking two pieces, he

discovers the easy chair, and shoves it into the middle of the room.)

So thou art here yet, old friend! that is right! (lifts up both his

arms.) You are the capital of my rank in life; (giving a knock against

the chair,) and thou art the land-mark to point out how far I should

extend the use of that capital. Away with the rest! away, I say! (They

carry off the furniture.)

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN's House.

Enter REISSMAN, with hat and cane.

_Reiss._ Not here neither? (Rings the bell.) Where then can she be,--my

young lady, my daughter?

Enter SERVANT.

_Reiss._ Where is my daughter?

_Serv._ In the garden.

_Reiss._ Run and tell her to come directly.

_Serv._ (exit.) Now it is done, (walking up and down pleased.) Now it

is right, and--(stops suddenly,) but that perverse old-fashioned

fellow, with his pious lamentations--Pshaw! my intended son-in-law must

manage him, and that quickly too, or he shall not have the girl. He is

in love with her and the money,--a twofold inducement! He is in my

hand, because his conscience is not altogether free,--a triple

security!

SCENE II.

Enter SOPHIA.

_Soph._ You have ordered--

_Reiss._ I congratulate you, my dear daughter, on your approaching

nuptials with the Privy Counsellor. The suit is won; the bequest is

confirmed; the money is mine; _Victoria_!

_Soph._ (coldly.) So?

_Reiss._ Yes, truly! Well, what does my dear child say?

_Soph._ You have carried off the prize.

_Reiss._ Yes! that is what I have just said.

_Soph._ Then you have attained your wish.

_Reiss._ Attained your wish! Is that a reply, when 10,000 pounds have

fallen to my lot? Is that the behaviour of a daughter to her father on

so happy an occasion.

_Soph._ Dear father, will not you permit me to reflect a little on

those that have lost that immense sum.

_Reiss._ They are entire strangers to us both, no way related to us.

_Soph._ The legacy was left by a stranger too.

_Reiss._ And now it is mine; and if thou wilt not rejoice with me--

_Soph._ Excuse me, I cannot.

_Reiss._ Then I will call in persons from the street, that they may

share my pleasure. (Pauses.) Speak, unnatural child, and rejoice!

_Soph._ I am silent, I do not wish to offend you, I love you with all

the tenderness of a dutiful child.

_Reiss._ Would I had a son that knew how to place a due value on this,

to enjoy it, to double it, then it would be worth while! But now, when

I wish to enjoy the result of all my plans, and the successes I have

met with in all my life, I have your sentimental feelings to encounter;

and then I would rather relate my happiness to one of the ever-green

pyramids in the garden than to you.

_Soph._ O heaven!

_Reiss._ And who is to reap the benefit but you, and you only? When I

am gone, you may settle annuities upon all the beggars of the country,

travel through the rugged mountains, waste my dear wealth in cottages,

and scatter hard dollars like pebbles.

_Soph._ Give me but a sufficient allowance, restore the remainder to

Brunnig's children, and I will thank you on my knees.

_Reiss._ Indeed! Aye, if I were to give you the money and the bond, to

divide among those brats, it would make a nice anecdote in the

newspapers. Zounds! I am apt to think, that, when you come to the

possession of all my property, you will scarce do so much as to erect a

small monument to the memory of your father.

_Soph._ Alas! Brunnig's children would form the fittest groupe of

weeping orphans around such a monument.

_Reiss._ Ungrateful wretch! is this the return for my parental

affection? Was it not through the view of gaining this legacy that I

raised a deputy to the rank of a privy counsellor? Who is my wealth to

devolve to but you and him?

SCENE III.

Enter Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH.

_Reiss._ There he is! Thanks, my hearty thanks for the dispatch! That

is what I call business. That is what I call a specimen of a useful

son-in-law.--Now Miss may fix the happy day. She will tell us more

about it at dinner, I will step down to the cellar, and take care that

we shall have the best it can afford. We will pour liquid gold down our

throats to solemnize the acquisition of solid gold. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

SOPHIA, Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH.

Sophia wipes her eyes.

_P. Coun._ (after a pause.) Why does my dear Sophia weep?

_Soph._ My father is pleased with you.

_P. Coun._ I see I am the cause of your grief.

_Soph._ Does your conscience tell you so?

_P. Coun._ Your tears do.

_Soph._ (after a pause.) Well, then, answer my tears.

P, Coun. (shrugs up his shoulders.) The dead letter has decided in this

business, as it does in many more, where our feelings would decide in a

different manner, but dare not.

_Soph._ And dare not!--Further--

_P. Coun._ Further it fills me with the deepest distress to see my

Sophia thus distressed. I am not to blame. I would give any thing to

alter the circumstance.

_Soph._ Any thing?--do not be offended at this question. It conveys no

doubt. It contains my firmest confidence in the heart of the man to

whom I am going to tender mine,--to whom I have tendered it already.

Yes, Clarenbach, I do not conceal it from you; I could not leave you

without giving myself up to those tears.

_P. Coun._ Sophia, my angel! the promised companion of my life, my

guardian angel, the most precious gift of providence! How dare I

presume to merit your partiality? No! I shall never be able to merit

you. Such purity and goodness of mind! how can I convince you of the

sincerity of my esteem?

_Soph._ Clarenbach!

_P. Coun._ (takes her by the hand.) Sophia!

_Soph._ A wife has many duties to discharge. And I must tell you before

hand, I shall never content myself merely to be your wife, unless I am

able to influence you and your actions.

_P. Coun._ To bless those for whom I am to act.

_Soph._ But what will be my powers over you? I know the first generous

impulse of your heart is always good; but then ambition,--let me speak

truth to you,--avarice, the offspring of ambition, leads you astray,

and contaminates the source of your first feelings.

_P. Coun._ (looks aside?) It is so! (after a pause?) Love will buoy me

up.

_Soph._ I shall crave little for myself; but in a just cause I shall at

all times insist upon having every thing entire. I shall not relent;

the man of my heart must act in full; his actions and motives must

appear as clear before the eye of the world as they do in the eye of

heaven.--Now the question is, will you, on these conditions, give me

your hand? Answer me?

_P. Coun._ (drops at his feet.) Sophia!

_Soph._ Rise! I expect no answer from love, but from your conviction.

Try your own self. The answer, which you are to give me now, is more

than that which you are to give at the foot of the altar; there we are

to exchange vows, and all will be settled; but here,--by ourselves,--no

witnesses but ourselves,--here, where nothing influences us but the

sentiment of future happiness or sorrow, which we create to ourselves,

and our eternal responsibility, which, at every motion of the pulse,

admonishes us with increased force:--to speak truth,--here we are to

unite our hearts for ever,--or separate. Once more then I repeat, on

different conditions I will not accept your hand; am I your choice on

these conditions!

_P. Coun._ Yes, yes, yes! Do not you read in my eyes that I understand

you, that I look up to you as the source of future bliss; that I repent

the past; that with candour and faith, from the bottom of my heart, in

this delightful solemn moment, I crave your hand, and feel myself quite

happy.

_Soph._ Well my friend, my dear, my beloved friend! I give credit to

all you say, and feel unspeakably happy; even your failings lie on the

road to rare perfections, and I vow to heaven that I hope those

failings will soon vanish.

_P. Coun._ You open to me the prospect of paridisic futurity. I shall

be active in the promoting the benefit of my country, and rise superior

to dirty, narrow, selfish views! recompensed by your approbation, your

joys, and sometimes by your tears. Your gentle hand shall reach me the

petitions of the wretched, the widow, and the orphan,--and my abilities

shall be called forth in their behalf. O Sophia! our wedding day shall

long be remembered by the cottagers; every face shall beam with smiles.

_Soph._ May it be so! may we, hand in hand, conduct our vows pure to

the altar, that we may become securities to each other for our future

happiness. In virtue of your solemn promise, and as your bride, I lay

down two conditions previous to our union; if you assent, I will be

your wife, not otherwise.

_P. Coun._ Speak, that I may have an opportunity to thank you; to

promise and perform.

_Soph._ The first is, that my father, convinced by you, shall

instantly? resign the legacy into the hands that ought to receive

it.--O Clarenbach! here the daughter must remain silent, and your

conviction must finish what would rend my heart! (Privy Counsellor

claps his hand together.--Sophia continues after a pause.) The second

condition is, that, as I feel I demand much, though convinced I could

demand no less,--you shall shorten that state of uncertainty, and by

three o'clock this afternoon bring me an answer on that subject. You

are not to bring it here; but to the place which this paper (taking out

of her pocket a sealed paper) points out. You must not open it till

five minutes before three. Pledge me your hand.

_P. Coun._ (pressing her hand.) My word of honour!

_Soph._ (after a pause, during which she has been gazing on him with

tenderness, utters in a steady tone,) Adieu, (going,) my friend!

_P. Coun._ (without parting with her hand.) O Sophia, Sophia! what have

you demanded!

_Soph._ (having gently disengaged her hand.) The Chief Judge of my

country cannot wish to give me the hand which signed the deed that robs

orphans of their right! And, if he thinks he has performed his duty as

a judge, let him blush as a man, if he means to conduct me and the

spoil at one and the same time to his house. If the man, whom I and the

people honour, cannot feel so, the sentiment of my own worth will teach

me how to forget him. [Exit.

_P. Coun._ Sophia,--girl,--soul, to which I know no equal! thou hast

raised and again precipitated me to the deepest abyss. You shewed me a

glimpse of heaven, and then veiled the bright view from my enraptured

sight. Noble, kind, cruel girl! Oh, I could weep as I did in the first

impression of love! (throws himself in a chair.) I could weep virtuous

tears! Oh! what now am I, what do I now feel! O the power of pure

love!--without thee I cannot exist. (Starts up.) Sophia! better being!

forget the past, build thy requests upon the future; they commit murder

on thy father and me! (Going, meets Counsellor Wellenberg at the door.)

SCENE V.

Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH, Counsellor WELLENBERG.

_Well._ Most honoured Sir.

_P. Coun._ What is your pleasure, Sir?

_Well._ I am forced, by necessity, to go in quest of you, Sir; the suit

of the poor orphans--

_P. Coun._ Is determined; the will is confirmed.

_Well._ I know. (Pulls out a paper.) This is the decree. The oftener I

peruse it, and the longer I consider it, the more it resembles a poor

chest forced open, beat to pieces, and in the end carried off.

_P. Coun._ You grow impertinent, Sir.

_Well._ No, most honoured Sir! but I am filled with spirit and courage,

like an old trusty servant, armed with perseverance and justice in the

cause of the orphan, which calls aloud to heaven for redress. That I

am, and that you will find me.

_P. Coun._ Do you intend to appeal?

_Well._ Yes, I do, indeed.

_P. Coun._ Well, do so, and leave me.

_Well._ No, no; I will not leave you. I appeal to you, most honoured

Sir, not _qua judex_, but _qua homo_, _qua homo_, who believes in the

day of judgment, and, at the sound of the last trump, would wish to be

called to the right; not to be left among the damned, where many an

Aulic Counsellor will be found, I am afraid.

_P. Coun._ I honour the feelings that animate you, Sir; but they are

foreign to the affair. Appeal in form, at--

_Well._ To avoid all _replicas_, _duplicas_, _et fatalia_, that may

delay and put off the cause, I will put you an _argumentum_, that, _eo

ipso_, shall invalidate your sentence, and re-instate the poor children

in their right, assigned to them by God and justice.

_P. Coun._ (pauses.) Are you possessed of such an argument? (With

surprise.) It will be welcome.

_Well._ Indeed! what you should call truly welcome?--

_P. Coun._ By heaven, very welcome!

_Well._ Then give me the embrace of a good man, (Privy Counsellor goes

to embrace him,) without touching my hands, which at this present time

labour under the _chiragra_. (Embraces him.) So our town has doubted

your humanity, and been of opinion that it is detained as a prisoner in

a gold purse.--You blush;--well, that for a Privy Counsellor is a good

sign; I will circulate it among the multitude. Now my _argumentum_ is,

that--

SCENE VI.

Enter Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN.

_Reiss._ Ay, see there our old honest friend Wellenberg. (Shakes him by

the hand.)

_Well._ Oh!--oh dear, oh dear! that God--

_Reiss._ What is the matter?

_Well._ (puts one hand in his bosom.) _Quoad_, old and honest? Yes,

_Quoad_, friend?--The _status amicitiæ_ case cannot exist; for, if that

were the case, you ought to have known that I am afflicted with the

_chiragra_, and not to have squeezed my hands so as to make me cry out

in such harsh tones, for which I ought to crave, and do crave, pardon

of my most honoured Sir.

_P. Coun._ A particular circumstance has taken place. The gentleman

thinks he has found an argument that will invalidate the sentence

pronounced in the cause of the disputed legatees, and re-instate the

heirs of Brunnig in that property.

_Reiss._ What?

_Well._ Yes, it is so. Doctor Kannenfeld, namely, has been visited by

heaven with a severe fit of illness, and brought near the gates of

death. Moved by the exhortations of his spiritual director, he sent for

me to attend, and, amidst tears and groans, confessed that he has

deprived the children of their lawful property--

_P. Coun._ What is that?

_Reiss._ (frightened.) How?

_Well._ Being, by a certain _quidam_, whom the finger of heaven, whilst

we are here speaking about the matter, has severely touched, persuaded,

and bribed, partly to conceal, and even partly to deny the insanity of

the testatrix, at the time when the will was made, which robs the true

heirs of their due.

_P. Coun._ (in a low voice.) My God! (Pauses.)

_Well._ It is so.

_Reiss._ (embarrassed) Is Doctor Kannenfeld ill? Ay, ay?

_Well._ He is very ill. He has stated and deposed all the particulars

concerning the certain _quidam_.

_Reiss._ Well,--and,--

_Well._ Ay, if I were in your stead, I would say to myself, "True, I

have won the cause, but I will not keep what is not mine;" your

conscience then would applaud you, and your fellow-citizens would

esteem you; you would find consolation under every affliction, and when

the cold hand of death had arrested almost every faculty, and benumbed

almost every sense, your soul would look up with trembling confidence

to heaven. The poor orphans would gather round your dying bed, and weep

for their second father. Thus speaks old Wallenberg, gentlemen, whose

life has been spent in settling the disputes of this world according to

the mild precepts of christianity, a religion that at once consults our

happiness here and hereafter. [Exit.

_P. Coun._ (to Reissman.) For heaven's sake!

_Reiss._ Poh! no matter, (Calls after Wellenberg.) Mr. Wellenberg!

_Well._ (turns round, without however coming back.) Well? _P[oe]nitet

me?_

_Reiss._ What ails Dr. Kannenfeld?

_Well._ A burning fever.

_Reiss._ So? Ho ho! A burning fever!--ha, ha, ha! old gentleman!--and

his intellects? When a man lies in a raging fever, and denounces honest

people, what credit ought to be attached to it?

_Well._ _In lucidis intervallis?_

_Reiss._ Burning fever is only another word for madness; the

denunciations of a madman is valid only with madmen.

_Well._ Shall I take them in the presence of witnesses? Shall the

faculty make an affidavit of the state of his mind?

_Reiss._ Do as you please.

_Well._ And should he die and leave such a deposition?

_Reiss._ Then it is the deposition of a madman.

_Well._ Hem! (musing.) And if, aided by all the courts, I were to put

you to an oath concerning the foul means you employed to get that will

made in your favour--

_Reiss._ What then?

_Well._ Then you will--

_P. Coun._ It is a disagreeable affair I see; and Mr. Reissman has

already declared that at all events he was disposed, through mere

benevolence, to give up part of the legacy.

_Reiss._ What?

_Well._ What he means to do, let him do in full, and not by halves.

_Reiss._ Nothing; not a single penny! as you want to compel me, not a

single penny! Your sick madman is a calumniator, and so--

_Well._ _Vera laus est laudari a viro laudato._

_Reiss._ Now, do not rouze my passion, but get you gone. In writing, do

as you think proper; I shall know what to do on my side.

_Well._ _Fiat!_--Then I will set to work, that the judgment of God may

be made manifest on the unjust. [Exit.

SCENE VII.

Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH, Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN.

_P. Coun._ (confused.) Sir, you see me go perplexed--

_Reiss._ Do not you talk, you have spoiled all.

_P. Coun._ I will run after him.

_Reiss._ You shall not, Sir.

_P. Coun._ You are undone.

_Reiss._ Who says so?

_P. Coun._ God forbid you should take the oath.

_Reiss._ Instead of standing there by the side of that insect of the

law, like a scholar that has received a wrap over his knuckles, you

ought to have thundered him down with the voice of a judge, with

influence and authority.

_P. Coun._ But I knew nothing of those shocking circumstances before.

_Reiss._ Hem! As if there was any difference between persuading a

foolish woman to make a will, or getting a fellow that is half mad to

draw it up. The former, however, you have supposed to be the case, and

yet your morality sustained no shock.

_P. Coun._ But the oath?--

_Reiss._ Your pretended delicacy of conscience revolts at it; the mere

cowardice of a boy. Who are you, that now takes the part of conscience

against me? Are you a better man than I?

_P. Coun._ Whose work is it?

_Reiss._ You are a greater coward, but not the better man. Do not

presume to raise yourself an inch above me. You have sold both right

and bread.

_P. Coun._ Sir, the pupil may yet recede.

_Reiss._ If the master will let him; but the master holds him in his

hand. If he recedes, mind that he must shrink into his original

insignificance. He must hide from this world, for I--I shall not fall

alone. If I fall, the ground around shall tremble! Do you take me?

_P. Coun._ Horrid and abominable!

_Reiss._ Perhaps you imagine, that I have transformed the carpenter's

son into a privy counsellor, merely for the sake of having him for a

son-in-law? or because you are master of a tolerable good stile? No,

you shall serve me, because you are both good enough and bad enough for

the purpose.

_P. Coun._ But I will not, I will not! I say, with all the resolution,

with all the exertion of every one of those good feelings which you

would sear and benumb.

_Reiss._ Too late. You are so entangled, that you can neither advance

nor recede. You are fixed where I have placed you.--Thus much for the

present. Now leave me in my native good humour. As to the old lawyer, I

can soon manage him, never fear--Get the better of your squeamish

conscience, and come to dinner.

_P. Coun._ I cannot.

_Reiss._ I desire it,--I insist upon it.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Counsellor SELLING.

_Sell._ Miss has sent me up;--dinner is on the table.

_Reiss._ Come, gentlemen.

_Sell._ You have won the day.

_Reiss._ Undoubtedly.

_Sell._ I wish you joy.

_Reiss._ Now here is the Privy Counsellor, who puzzles his head about

some talk concerning the will.

_Sell._ Ah, that should not puzzle me.

_Reiss._ _Beati possidentes!_ Either, or--

_P. Coun._ Or!---there is the rub.

SCENE IV.

Enter MASTER CLARENBACH.

_Clar._ With your permission, gentlemen, I want to speak with my son.

_Reiss._ By yourselves?

_Clar._ Hem!--I should think so!

_Reiss._ Well, then do not let us wait long. (to the Privy Counsellor,

half audible.) You have understood, me sufficiently, I think.--Servant,

Master Clarenbach. Come along, Counsellor. [Exeunt.

SCENE X.

PRIVY COUNSELLOR, MASTER CLARENBACH.

_Clar._ I must come to you once more;--have you seen old Wellenberg?

_P. Coun._ Yes.

_Clar._ Well, what do you say about it?

_P. Coun._ I am shocked.

_Clar._ Thank God! What do you mean to do?

_P. Coun._ Alas! what can I do?

_Clar._ Jack, your honour is already in great arrears with our town,

and your conscience does not altogether keep a fair day-book. I ask

you, in the name of God, what do you mean to do?

_P. Coun._ All I can, father!

_Clar._ If you are in earnest, come along with me; let us go from

hence.

_P. Coun._ Why so soon,--and whither?

_Clar._ Fly, fly from the brink of destruction. You must not dine here,

you must not remain here any longer. You must not marry into this

family.

_P. Coun._ The girl is my good genius. I cannot leave her.

_Clar._ Then her father, that bad genius, will not leave you! Do not

struggle between the two. Come along with me; do as you ought; be

afraid of no man, confide in God, and hope! You will have the girl at

last. Come along with me.

_P. Coun._ I wish I could! were I not at once rivetted down here by the

demon of evil, and irresistibly bid to stay by the power of virtue!

_Clar._ Jack, dear Jack, my son, do not send me away without you; come

along with me.

_P. Coun._ I cannot; you see I cannot.

_Clar._ God have mercy on thee! thou art undone!

_P. Coun._ It may be. I am undone whether I stay or go. And so I will

stay and strive, and see what I can yet retrieve of my honour.

_Clar._ How can you save the honour of your situation in life, if the

honour of your heart be lost, and that must be lost among these

people?--You have removed honest Gernau, because he acts up to his

duty.--Your sister weeps bitterly,--the town despises you;--I have not

yet frowned on you. and will not do so now, because I pity you. But I

will leave this town, and take shelter with honest Gernau, who is to be

my son-in-law.

_P. Coun._ You will leave this town?

_Clar._ I do not wish it. I shall, with tears, leave my timber-yard and

the work which hitherto I have carried on with pleasure and success.

But as there is no remedy to save you from destruction, I must go. I

cannot witness it.

_P. Coun._ Is it my fault, if--

_Clar._ Your faults are many and great; your native town knows them,

and despises you. I cannot see you lowered thus, Jack. It has not been

in my power to make a great man of you, but I have educated you to be

an honest man. I have taken care of the tree, while young, and now it

is grown up, one branch decays after the other. And if it must be so,

that no green sprig shall henceforth flourish, then I will turn my eyes

from it, visit it no more, nor live on the spot where the withered

stem, that I am so fond of, shall fall.

_P. Coun._ Father!

_Clar._ I cannot weep; but I feel myself very ill on your account.

Enter a Servant.

_Serv._ The company is waiting for the Privy Counsellor.

_P. Coun._ I am coming. [Exit Servant.

_Clar._ Dear son, do not let me go without you. Behold! you may still

go with me as half a good man; we will all strive to mend the other bad

half.--Have pity on yourself and me; you stand, upon my word, on the

spot where the road divides,--the bad people in there, and here your

old father. They hold out to you good and high life; I offer you peace

and happiness.--For God's sake, Jack, follow me!

_P. Coun._ (embraces him.) I cannot do that; but I vow to you I will

yet do much.

_Clar._ That is a good word, and no more. Farewell, I will set off.--I

shall not see you again. Once more give me your hand.

_P. Coun._ No, I shall not do that. I will not part with you in this

manner.

_Clar._ It is best so;--it shakes my whole frame,--and my daughter has

likewise a claim on my life! Come then once more to this heart, that

once delighted in you.--(Embraces him.)

_P. Coun._ Father!--

_Clar._ You weep over yourself! God! that it should come to this!--Now

farewell; I forgive thee, and so does thy sister. May God take thy

wealth from thee, that thou mayest amend, and sometime leave this world

in peace!--Farewell! (Attempts to go.)

SCENE XI.

Enter Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN.

_Reiss._ Well, we are waiting.

_Clar._ (pulling his son towards him.) You would take him away from

me,--tear him out of my arms,--drag him away!--he is my son, and no

father will tamely suffer his son to precipitate himself into

perdition. Jack, I will not leave thee, I will not yield thee up!--Thou

art mine, nature and thy heart have closely interwoven us together;

wilt thou, of thy own accord, leave me?

_P. Coun._ (throws his arms round him.) No, I cannot;--I will follow

you hence!

_Clar._ God be praised, my son is saved!

[Exeunt arm in arm.--Reissman follows them a few steps, sets his arms

a-kembow, and looks after them.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Aulic Counsellor Reissman's, the same room as in the preceding act.

Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN enters in a passion;

SOPHIA follows.

_Reiss._ Not a word, not a word more, not a single syllable of that

silly fool! What, to leave me and you, as if we were infected with the

plague and breathed contagion? I cannot bear the affront, it shall not

go unavenged. I had rather die a thousand deaths.

_Soph._ Was it not his father that desired him to go with him? and you

know he ought to obey him.

_Reiss._ Who am I, and what is his father? Do not name him any more in

my hearing; you must not see him any more, nor even think of him. That

petty Privy Counsellor is now dead and buried to me.

_Soph._ By your advice I listened to his addresses.

_Reiss._ Forget him then by my command.

SCENE II.

Enter Servant.

_Serv._ Grobman, the ironmonger.

_Reiss._ Very well, very well; shew him in. [Exit Servant.

_Reiss._ (to Sophia.) You may retire, go!

_Soph._ Your commands [Exit.

_Reiss._ Fie upon him! a creature that I raised from obscurity!--a

fellow, who eight years ago was a petty fogger, whom I have raised to

the rank of a Privy Counseller!--I was a fool when I did so;--such a

fellow soar over my head! (Stamps with his foot.) I would sooner see

the whole frame of nature dissolve. I will not lose sight of my object;

I will proceed with spirit and caution. I have raised the useless pile,

I will pull it down again.

SCENE III.

Enter GROBMAN.

_Reiss._ (calm and friendly.) What is your pleasure, dear Mr.----?

_Grob._ Benniger has obtained the monopoly.

_Reiss._ You do not say so, do you?

Grab. The Privy Counsellor is to procure it for 2300 dollars, which sum

is to be paid this afternoon.

_Reiss._ Impossible!

_Grob._ It is but too true. The money is to be paid to Counsellor

Selling.

_Reiss._ (confidentially.) I must tell you that Selling has already

mentioned something to me about it. The young man's conscience is

alarmed. He does not like to lend a hand in those sort of things. But I

would not believe it.

_Grob._ It is but too certain.

_Reiss._ O Lord! who could think any thing like it of such a man? that

is mean, that is--that must not be permitted. Ay, ay! and the minister

prefers such a man, reposes confidence in him, because men, like me,

take him by the hand. They think, because such a man is of a low

extraction, he must have the interest of the lower class at heart. And

then he will betray and sell the state!

_Grob._ As an inhabitant, I ought to have the preference to a stranger.

_Reiss._ Most undoubtedly.

_Grob._ I am very willing to go to some expence too, only--

_Reiss._ Not a single penny; God forbid I should be guilty of such a

sin! That contract with Benniger must be annulled.

_Grob._ If that were possible, I would with all my heart--

_Reiss._ Ay, it must be so. I am very intimate with the Privy

Counsellor. He was to have my daughter; but I will never give her to a

man like him. You must furnish me immediately with a plea, in which you

must develope the whole transaction.

_Grob._ Good God! the Privy Counsellor!

_Reiss._ I give you my word and hand, as an honest man, I will run all

the consequences. In such a case one is in conscience bound; only let

me have the declaration immediately. I will manage in such a manner

that the Privy Counsellor shall come off with tolerable good credit.

_Grob._ If you will do that--

_Reiss._ Yes, yes, yes!

_Grob._ But Counsellor Selling--

_Reiss._ Is a young man;--out of fear of displeasing the Privy

Counsellor, he has lent his aid. Such a young man may yet be taught in

time. That is my principal object.

_Grob._ Well, the declaration shall be drawn up without delay.

Heaven bless you, dear Sir, for thus taking the part of a poor

fellow-townsman! [Exit.

_Reiss._ My duty, my duty!--Bravo, little Selling, that is prettily

managed!

SCENE IV.

Enter Counsellor SELLING.

_Sell._ Old Wellenberg wishes to call on you.

_Reiss._ Has he taken any steps yet with the Doctor, concerning the mad

patient?

_Sell._ No, the Doctor is breathing his last.

_Reiss._ If God should call him off, the calumniator will escape a very

serious action in this world. Now my claims and the will have been

confirmed, I will, of my own accord, make the children a handsome

present.

_Sell._ Very laudable!

_Reiss._ When is Benniger to bring you the present for the Privy

Counsellor?

_Sell._ Very soon, I expect.

_Reiss._ Take it, that we may have a proof; then tell Benniger your

mind, and open the business to me.

_Sell._ But; then I fear the Privy Counsellor will take it in dudgeon.

_Reiss._ The Privy Counsellor! I will silence him with a single look;

ask me within a fortnight what the Privy Counsellor says,--ask me then

what he is. God! could I ever have dreamt of any such thing, when I was

raising and supporting that upstart!

_Sell._ Everyone is astonished at your condescension and kindness.

_Reiss._ All disinterestedness! all good-nature! Was I not going to

give him my child? but God forbid!--he does not deserve her.

_Sell._ Every one knows that you are in the highest favour with the

Ministry--

_Reiss._ These many years.--

_Sell._ That, properly speaking, you govern both the Privy Councilor

and the whole country.

_Reiss._ I know the country and the people.

_Sell._ To please you, I attached myself to the Privy Counsellor; but

his vanity is such that I cannot hold out with him any longer. He has

this very day told me that I learned nothing.

_Reiss._ There we have it.--

_Sell._ That I did not know my own language; that I made a motion in

court so ridiculous the other day, that every one laughed at me; nay,

he told me to my face that I attempted to assume an air of importance

that I was not entitled to.

_Reiss._ I am shocked at it, do you know? Your dear father, who is now

no more, was a man who--

_Sell._ Was Privy Counsellor! But that is nothing in his eyes. Such an

upstart will press forward, and people of our consequence must render

homage not only to him, but even to the carpenter's family.

_Reiss._ Pray, were not you to marry his sister?

_Sell._ No, no! yet, in the state of subjection he kept me, he might at

last have brought me to it. He would, as he calls it, correct my

writings, and then he would, by way of making it up, sometimes nod his

head by way of approbation.

_Reiss._ As I see that the fellow does not deserve what I have done for

him, all shall be altered in future: attach yourself to me.

_Sell._ Good God! I will with both my hands.

_Reiss._ I will make out the draft for the declaration, in which you

are to charge him with having taken a bribe, and also for having

constantly forced you to vote as he pleased in the court. I will carry

my point; the Prime Minister shall be informed of the whole. Go hence,

and I will send you every thing.

_Sell._ I shall be very glad to get rid of him; but you will assist me

occasionally to propose a law too? will you not?

_Reiss._ By way of practising? oh yes!

_Sell._ No, a real law, according to which the people are to act, be it

ever so trifling,--only that the world may know, that I can frame a law

as well as another. I only want it for the sake of the world, and the

consequence it will give me. [Exit.

_Reiss._ A shallow, shallow, ignorant boy!--but then he may be of use

to me.

SCENE V.

Enter Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH.

_P. Coun._ I have to explain to you, Sir.

_Reiss._ Just as you like, Sir.

_P. Coun._ I cannot remain the man, that, God knows how,--I have

gradually--

_Reiss._ I think so myself.

_P. Coun._ I can be dependent on you no longer; but I do not choose to

be ungrateful. Without enquiring into the motives which induced you to

raise me, I owe you my grateful thanks for having done so.

_Reiss._ I am hourly more and more convinced that I ought to have done

so.

_P. Coun._ This sarcastic remark shall not prevent me, as your intended

son-in-law, to render you my services from the purest motives and

filial zeal, and to endeavour to compromise that disagreeable affair

respecting the will.

_Reiss._ Ay! would you indeed?

_P. Coun._ If we only consider it as politically pernicious, it--

_Reiss._ There is nothing pernicious in the whole affair, my

affectionate Mr. Privy Counsellor, and your services are quite useless.

_P. Coun._ I wish they may prove so. Meanwhile you will not

misinterpret my intentions.

_Reiss._ Your intentions go to the future inheritance of my property,

my son-in-law that would be.--

_P. Coun._ Your daughter,--without any inheritance whatever--

_Reiss._ With or without inheritance, that is all over; you shall not

have her.

_P. Coun._ You may disinherit her, if you please, should I receive her

hand against your will; but your daughter is mine according to your

promise, and you can shew no cause for breaking it.

_Reiss._ (coldly.) Oh yes!

_P. Coun._ What? which?

_Reiss._ Some other time.

_P. Coun._ When? I desire to know it. I desire it, I tell you.

_Reiss._ You shall soon know it if you are in such a hurry.--I am now

busy.

_P. Coun._ Sir, if Sophia were not your daughter--

_Reiss._ Ah, that is the thing. Go, your papa is waiting for you:--if

you stay, he will come and take you away.

_P. Coun._ Sir!

_Reiss._ And come to save you too. Has not he saved you once already

this very day?--

_P. Coun._ Yes, he has that, honest man! May heaven reward him for it!

_Reiss._ He may perhaps save you once more yet, and perhaps

not.--Meanwhile, give yourself no farther trouble to call here. Your

servant, Sir.

_P. Coun._ (looks at his watch.) You distress me more than you know. If

that can give you pleasure, enjoy it. [Exit.

_Reiss._ (looking after him.) Hem! I ought to have discovered at first

sight that the fellow is not fit for my purpose; he is simple enough to

be in love in right earnest.--My foolish daughter loves him too; she

fans his hopes, so of course he will not injure me, when cashiered. The

Doctor is falling asleep, and the Lawyer,---hem!--must likewise be sent

to rest,--else I shall have no rest myself! [Exit.

SCENE VI.

Master Clarenbach's house.

Master CLARENBACH, FREDERICA, and GERNAU, busy with bringing in the

furniture seen in the first Act.

_Clar._ Courage, my dear children! about it! Thank God, we have got rid

of that fashionable trumpery. Set the table again there in its place.--

So!---how glad I am to behold my old friends again!

_Fred._ We shall have a comfortable repast on that table to night.

_Clar._ As Jack is to be one of the party, O yes!

_Gern._ I hope his change is right earnest; but I can scarcely believe

it.

_Clar._ No reflections, dear Gernau! What is past ought to be

forgotten.

_Gern._ But I must remove hence for all that.

_Clar._ Why, perhaps not. Jack will now employ his power to some good

purpose.

_Fred._ I wonder where he stays so long.

_Clar._ He is dissolving the partnership of sin with Reissman.

_Gern._ I wish it may be done in writing.

_Clar._ I have insisted on his having a conversation with him.

SCENE VII.

Enter SOPHIA.

_Clar._ Whom have I the honour to--(Bows, and all the rest rise.)

_Soph._ Without ceremony, my friends,

_Fred._ It is Miss Reissman, father!

_Soph._ Give me leave to wait for your son, Sir, who is to introduce me

to your acquaintance, (To Frederica.) We have seen one another already.

_Clar._ Miss Reissman? So--(with a smile.) The daughter of Mr.----; do

not take it amiss.

_Soph._ What?

_Fred._ Father, let it rest there.

_Clar._ Yes, yes! We do not like to mention any thing about it. You,

you are welcome wherever you go; and so you are to me, God knows! Sit

down here near an old man, if you have no objection. (Gern. reaches her

a chair.)

_Soph._ I know how to value the honour of this seat.

_Clar._ You have a good opinion of my son.

_Soph._ Yes, good Sir.

_Clar._ He is rather in an odd predicament to day; but I hope things

will take a better turn.

_Soph._ I sincerely hope so, good father.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH.

_P. Coun._ I am happy to find you, Sophia, by the side of my good

father, hand in hand. What an enchanting picture in my eye! love,

worth, and affection, hand in hand! my Sophia beneath the same roof

under which I was born!

_Soph._ Yes; and I read in your eyes that you were pleased to see me

here.

_P. Coun._ (kissing her hand.) God is my witness, this moment is the

happiest of my life; happiness has been a stranger to my heart this

long time.

_Soph._ (rises.) Let peace and happiness dwell in this house

henceforward; the good intelligence which I intended to bring about

between father and son, between brother and sister, and friend, has

taken place Without any interference;--so much the better!

_Clar._ Ay, I see that your good intentions were in my favour. They

were good I see,--I thank you for them. Give me your hand, sweet

creature! (shaking her good naturedly by the hand.) Blessed is the man

who is doomed to have you for his wife.

_Soph._ Happy is that son who has such a father! (She leads the son up

to the father, and they embrace.)

_P. Coun._ Behold the father of us both, Sophia!

_Soph._ O heaven!

_P. Coun._ How!

_Soph._ That is the grand question that must give us pause! (Clarenbach

makes a sign to Frederica and Gernau, and they retire with him.)

SCENE IX.

SOPHIA, Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH.

_P. Conn._ I have fulfilled one of your conditions. The other--

_Soph._ You have lost all your influence over my father.

_P. Coun._ Yes!

_Soph._ Then my condition is too hard,--I cancel it.

_P. Coun._ Heaven bless you!

_Soph._ I will substitute an other in its place, which depends entirely

on yourself.

_P. Coun._ Then it is already accomplished.

_Soph._ Am I your choice even without any inheritance?

_P. Coun._ Without any inheritance whatever!

_Soph._ Your hand and heart are all I crave. To be candid, I expected

nothing less from you. Now for the arduous question; hear me! The

disposition in which I find you to day is charming, but not

meritorious. You have not been moulded to it by virtue, but frightened

into it by vice. You are irritable, you are weak, you are ambitious. A

time may come, when neither your father, nor the woman you love will be

able to influence you, as they luckily do at present.

_P. Coun._ You wrong me.

_Soph._ No, my friend. Give me time to proceed. You are irritable,

weak, and ambitious! Do you think, that, on the summit which you now

stand, you can render yourself useful to your fellow subjects with

these three--I had almost called them vices.

_P. Coun._ Not if I remain as I am.

_Soph._ You have hitherto been the instrument of strangers, and, in

proportion as you rose in extrinsic pomp, you sunk in intrinsic merit.

_P. Coun._ True, it is too true.

_Soph._ You are not possessed of sufficient resolution to stand at the

helm of a government; but you have genius, a good heart, and learning

enough, sufficient to secure a tranquil passage through life. Let my

love supply the whole of my father's considerable fortune; I cannot

muster the requisite resolution. Can your esteem for me induce you to

renounce the gilded splendor of state and office, and to spend the

remainder of your days in the calm retirement of obscurity? (Eagerly.)

Have you the resolution, Clarenbach, to resign the Privy

Counsellorship?--I do not want an immediate answer.

_P. Coun._ Love shakes my resolution! but to resign, would it not lower

me in the public eye?

_Soph._ Would it lower you in your own mind?

_P. Coun._ No. But--

_Soph._ Contentment must dwell here. (Pointing to his heart.) If ever

you have felt content, I need say no more.

_P. Coun._ No! Oh no!

_Soph._ Who can refuse his esteem to the man who has tasted the cup of

luxury, and, in the flower of youth and in the height of his career,

can dash it from his lips, and say, "I will not drink it; I prefer the

charms of a tranquil life to all the noise and well-bred hate of a

court? I am too irritable to rule my fellow-citizens, notwithstanding I

wish to serve them."

_P. Coun._ Sophia!

_Soph._ Numbers are anxious to aspire to places, for which they are

neither qualified by nature nor education, and, when they have once

tasted the sweets of office, how difficult to resign!--I know it.

_P. Coun._ You shake my resolution.

_Soph._ But if I have not convinced you, then I will not proceed.

_P. Coun._ Yes, you convince me; but--

_Soph._ But you do not see what road to pursue after you shall have

resigned your bewitching offer? O my friend! whatever may be the choice

of your future pursuits, whatever may be the burthen, my heart, my

hands, will bear a part in it; I will joyfully, nay with rapture,

assist you in rearing the fabric of your happiness, of your tranquil

and real grandeur. Here or elsewhere, merchant, tutor, lawyer, or

farmer, whatever you pitch upon, that may afford maintenance and peace

of mind, choose that for you and me. I do not wish to have any other

share in your determination but the silent satisfaction of having, by

inward peace of mind, preserved the life of a good man, whom exterior

shew was rapidly conducting to a state of splendid misery.

_P. Coun._ You have gained your point!--I shall resign my gown. Peace,

toil, in future, provided I can call thee my guardian angel!

_Soph._ (embraces him.) I hope you will find me such.

_P. Coun._ Father, father!--Sophia, thou hast restored me to

myself!--but what is to be thy reward?

SCENE X.

Enter MASTER CLARENBACH.

_Clar._ What is the matter, my son?

_P. Coun._ Can you conceive it, father? I shall not be a Privy

Counsellor much longer.

_Clar._ How so?

_P. Coun._ I will lay down my gown, and, with heart and soul, work as I

did, before I was raised to that office.

_Clar._ In earnest? can I rely on it?

_P. Coun._ Sophia has resigned her fortune on my account, and I shall

resign it on hers;--I do not wish for any high office! I am going to

re-enter the tranquil class of the industrious citizens. She consents

to be my wife. It is her wish, and I see peace and happiness spring

from out of it.

_Soph._ Does it meet with your approbation, father?

_Clar._ Ay! You ought to read it in my countenance; I would fain open

the window, and call out, Jack is no more a Privy Counsellor,--_vivat_!

And then there is a pretty, amiable, discreet young lady, that is not

possessed with the demon of pride,--_vivat_! and she will be Master

Clarenbach's daughter in law,--_vivat_! huzza, I say, Gernau! Girl,

come, give me a kiss! (They kiss.)

SCENE XI.

Enter GERNAU and FREDERICA.

_Clar._ Jack is my son once more,--_vivat_! huzza! husband and wife!

(steps between them,) son and daughter! (Embraces him.)

_Fred._ What?

_Gern._ How?

_Clar._ More of it another time.

_P. Coun._ I will resign.

_Clar._ Look you here, my sweet girl! he was not calculated for it, no

more than a true genuine christian Privy Counsellor is calculated for a

carpenter. He has had some learning indeed; but then all that solid

by-work, such as is requisite for a Privy Counsellor, of that he never

was possessed; and so sit down to work. I must work too; we will scrape

plenty of money together, without wronging any one. Daughter-in-law,

Frederica, and I, will nurse him as the best soul we know. Now pray

give the girl a kiss, that I may believe in the relationship.--(Sophia

kisses her.)--And Jack too, that I may be quite happy!--(Sophia gives

him a kiss.)--And so God bless you in your pursuits!

_Soph._ (to the Privy Counsellor.) My father will be your father; and,

if ever he could forget it, spare him, and treat him with filial

affection.

_P. Coun._ I promise it. I shall apply once more for his consent, which

I once obtained.

_Fred._ Before you resign?

_Clar._ No, that were a cheat.--But, dear Jack, all,--how shall

I call it? (half audible,) all the earnings of unjust Privy

Counsellors,--return them to whom they may belong, then you can work

with heart-felt satisfaction.

SCENE XII.

Enter Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN.

_Reiss._ So, I must look for my young lady here?

_Clar._ Where she has been doing a deal of good. Come, Sir, come this

way; partake in the joys of good men, and think you are one of them.

_Soph._ Be moved by what you see; sanctify it by your blessing, and you

will make us all happy.

_P. Coun._ Yes, Sir.

_Clar._ Recollect yourself, and act in a good and fair manner; for,

upon my soul! you cannot go from hence but altogether good or bad; I

tell you that before hand.

_Reiss._ (to the Privy Counsellor.) You have sold a monopoly to

Benniger, Mr. Privy Counsellor.

_Clar._ There now. Curse that money!

_Reiss._ One of our citizens has lodged a complaint about it against

you.

_Clar._ Jack, return the wages of sin!

_P. Coun._ Immediately, and--

_Reiss._ Of course, and--

_Clar._ And then it is all over; for I must tell you, he will not fill

the office of a Privy Counsellor any longer.

_P. Coun._ Yes, Sir, I intend to give in my resignation this very day.

_Reiss._ Well, well; but your responsibility for the performance of

your duty hitherto, and the unconscientious--

_Soph._ Dear father!

_P. Coun._ Mr. Reissman!

_Clar._ I hope, you will not make that an object of minute enquiry?

_Reiss._ That depends on the nature of the remaining charges. A

resignation cannot undo what is done. Come along, daughter, let us go.

_Soph._ Dear father!

_P. Coun._ In virtue of your promise, you are my father-in-law; if you

wish to be my enemy in earnest, you may abide by the consequence.

Whatever I could do and urge against you, Sophia has my word for it, I

will do nothing. Sophia is my lawful bride.

_Reiss._ By no means, never!

_Soph._ I am his bride, father; you gave your word.

_Reiss._ Before he was impeached.

_Fred._ Sir--

_Gern._ (passionately.) That is too much!

_Clar._ Hush, Sir! or I will run and fetch all the children of Brunnig,

that have been robbed by you; their words, their tears, and their

curses, shall impeach you before God and man. You accuse others, who

are angels of light compared with you.

_Reiss._ (in a passion.) Do you intend to marry him?

_Soph._ Yes!

_Reiss._ Without office, without bread, without honour?

_Soph._ Without office, without bread, but who says without honour?

_Reiss._ I, I, I!

_Clar._ Thunder and lightning!

_P. Coun._ Patience, father!--Withdraw; your daughter stays with my

father.

_Reiss._ If she chooses to be disinherited.

_Soph._ Be it, in the name of God!

_Reiss._ I will shew her who is the man for whom she sacrifices her

inheritance.

_P. Coun._ Then I will inform the world who has made such a man of me;

whose contrivance it is, if ever I acted contrary to those principles

of honesty this worthy citizen had taught me.

_Reiss._ What!

_Soph._ Clarenbach, he is my father!--Clarenbach, where do I stand now?

_P. Coun._ Would you forsake me, helpless, on the brink of the

precipice from which you were just about to snatch me? Do you value my

soul less than my honour?

_Soph._ No, no! I will stay and support you. You have my word; I will

not break it.

_Reiss._ His disgrace shall break it, and distress punish it; you shall

never see my face again. [Exit.

_Soph._ Father!--

_Clar._ Here is one that has a heart for the distressed children! Come,

my daughter.

_P. Coun._ My resignation was to be spontaneous; it is now forced and

attended with disgrace.

_Soph._ My heart is Clarenbach's, whether he be fortunate or

unfortunate.

_P. Coun._ He will ruin me, and endeavour to dissolve our mutual tie.

_Clar._ But I and old Wellenberg say, he shall not; between us two old

boys we will sing him such a song, as will make him wish he were under

earth or water. Let me alone; your happiness is at stake.

_Soph._ He is my father,--he is old; for his daughter's sake do not

disgrace him.

_Clar._ But disgrace myself, ay? No; honour to him who honour deserves!

I will ring the bell of disgrace over him, so as to make the whole

country resound. (Disengages himself, and exit.)

_Soph._ On that condition I cannot be your wife. (Going.)

_P. Coun._ (stops her,) Sophia!

_Soph._ In this case, the voice of nature should over-rule that of

love! If he is to be ruined, were it to break my heart and cost me my

life, it is my duty to perish by his side. (Disengages herself, and

exit.)

_Fred._ Sister, dear sister! (Follows.)

_P. Coun._ (to Gernau.) Man! you, that, though poor and low, have

remained faithful to your duty; I apply to that heart which my power

has tortured, and seek for consolation. (Clings round his neck.)

_Gern._ I sympathize in your sufferings; let me go and get information,

and act for you.

_P. Coun._ No! If I should fall, I ought to rise by myself, and if I

cannot bring that about, I ought to perish in the dark, unpitied by

man. [Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Enter Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN, bringing in two bottles of wine, which

he puts on the table.

_Reiss._ The doctor is dead,--good night to him! The lawyer will soon

follow; he is an old man! Old people are subject to many accidents;

death has them constantly at his nod, such is the course of nature!