



Produced by Charles Bowen, from scans obtained from the Web Archive




[Transcriber's note:
Google:
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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 PERSONAE.

  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 amicitiae_ 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!


                               SCENE II.

                        Enter Counsellor SELLING.

_Sell._ Oh, dear Sir, what shall we do now? I have read that Benniger
such a lecture, and taken the money _ad depositum_. But, good heaven!
that fellow is a wild ferocious beast. He says, it is a bargain; that
the receiver is the thief, and not the bidder. He insists on having the
patent for the monopoly dispatched; if not, he swears he will play the
deuce.

_Reiss._ So much the better; let him do his best.

_Sell._ Ah, but, dear Sir, he does not say a word against the Privy
Counsellor; you and I are the scape-goats; every nerve trembles.

_Reiss._ So you are quite alarmed?

_Sell._ Truly.

_Reiss._ The rogue intended to bribe, and of course is liable to a
heavy punishment.

_Sell._ But then he is a stranger.

_Reiss._ Have him arrested, then he can do no harm.

_Sell._ But he can talk a good deal for all that.

_Reiss._ That is my business. Have him arrested.

_Sell._ But the Prime Minister--

_Reiss._ Is at a great distance, and do not you know, though I do not
publicly affect it, that I am the prime minister of this country.
Arrest him, I say.

_Sell._ Very well. But then I have--

_Reiss._ What else? To the point!

_Sell._ A concern, that lies very near my heart. I am told the Privy
Counsellor is to resign,--and perhaps to leave this town. I could not
help making his sister considerable presents this morning, which cost a
great deal of money; and, if his power should be at an end, all would
be thrown away; he ought to reimburse me.

_Reiss._ But those presents have been returned, I understand.

_Sell._ Without the least injury! but my expence was heavy. I must lose
by those things, if I were to dispose of them. Could not you manage so
by your authority, that he should take them at prime cost?

_Reiss._ No, I employ my authority to better purposes.

_Sell._ Good heaven! the gown of rose satin alone cost me--

_Reiss._ (displeased.) Let it be converted into a morning-gown for
yourself.

_Sell._ A morning-gown!--Ay, that will do. Rose colour becomes my
complexion. I thank you, it shall. I will have it lined with lawn. I
will have it made up directly. (Going.)

_Reiss._ And have the fellow secured.

_Sell._ Directly! the morning-gown made up, and the fellow arrested! I
thank you for extricating me out of this embarrassment.     [Exit.

_Reiss._ Blockhead!--My whole existence is at stake;--once won, won for
ever!


                               SCENE III.

                              Enter SOPHIA.

_Soph._ Father, I beg--

_Reiss._ Yes, you will soon beg.--Begone, be gone!

_Soph._ Your situation is dreadful, as dreadful as mine. Be kind and
just. Lend your helping hand.

_Reiss._ Be gone to the Carpenter. Out of my sight, be gone, I say!

_Soph._ I am come,--I cannot leave you till your mind is at ease.

_Reiss._ I shall be at ease as soon as you depart, the spy of my
actions. Be gone, I tell you!

_Soph._ Father!

_Reiss._ Begone, I tell you; begone, or I will have thee driven out of
my house! Out of my sight, snake, serpent, traitor, spy, begone!

_Soph._ I have ever obeyed you, and I will even obey this cruel
command.    [Exit.


                               SCENE IV.

                        Enter Lawyer WELLENBERG.

_Well._ You have sent for me;--here I am.

_Reiss._ I thank you;--sit down.

_Well._ What is your pleasure?

_Reiss._ I want to have a little conversation in a fair way.

_Well._ Propose fair things, and our conversation shall be fair. I will
listen.

_Reiss._ Well, Doctor Kannenfeld is no more.

_Well._ It has pleased the Disposer of all Events to call him.

_Reiss._ Very fortunately for him! That slanderer, I would--

_Well._ Not so. Slanderer, not so,--a true penitent, a sinner, and of
course one that has found mercy in the Divine Presence. He is dead as
to his earthly frame, but the tears of repentance which he so often
shed on my breast, I trust, will raise up fruits of joy and consolation
in it: With respect to you, he is not dead as long as I live. To the
point then;--in the name of heaven, what do you want?

_Reiss._ To offer a few propositions.

_Well._ Let us hear them.

_Reiss._ Sit down here, if you please.--(Wellenberg sits down at the
table.)--Our good ancient German ancestors used always to drink a glass
when they sat down on some good purpose, or when they had a mind to lay
down some good rules for their descendents. (Fills a glass.)

_Well._ Ay, if there were any such good purposes in the present case, I
would have no objection.

_Reiss._ Drink to a good intention, (raising the glass,) dear Mr.
Wellenberg.

_Well._ When the good shall be atchieved, we will take a little wine; a
very little, as an offering to gratitude.

_Reiss._ Wine cheers the heart of man.

_Well._ Good actions will cheer it much better. Come, _ad rem_.

_Reiss._ I am now possessed of the legacy,--you see. (drinks.) Your
health.

_Well._ To your amendment.

_Reiss._ Very well, I thank you. (Reaches him a glass.)

_Well._ (takes a sip.) In the name of goodness.--

_Reiss._ I have resolved to do something for all that for the children,
for whom I am very sorry.

_Well._ Something handsome. You must do every thing for the sake of the
children and your own soul.

_Reiss._ What do you mean by that?

_Well._ You must give up the whole.

_Reiss._ You are not in earnest?

_Well._ Do you never expect to be called to an account for your actions
in this world?

_Reiss._ The doctor's insanity has infected you.

_Well._ But the solemn oath, which I mean to have administered to you
in a public court of justice, will open doors that you little expect.

_Reiss._ I can take it! the--(Wellenberg rises.)--Where are you going?

_Well._ Away! for--for--I am seized with a tremor at the mere idea that
an oath does not shake your frame to its centre. What, will you stretch
out your hand against the judgments of God? Methinks I see the very
sparks of hell before my eyes; methinks I see an infernal fiend between
you and me, writhing, hissing, and sneering; methinks I see him anxious
to seize on your poor soul, as his prey for ever. I am ill; do good for
once, and permit me to go home and throw myself on my bed. (Going.)

_Reiss._ Stay.

_Well._ I cannot.

_Reiss._ But, as the advocate of the children, you ought to hear my
proposition.

_Well._ Then propose, briefly and fairly.

_Reiss._ Sit down.

_Well._ I must sit down; for the idea of your perjury has enfeebled me
so, that I cannot move. (Sits down.) Propose to the honour of your
Creator and the salvation of your soul, that I may recover my strength.

_Reiss._ Not as an obligation, but, through mere motives of pity and
christian charity, I will give the children half of the legacy. What do
you say to that?

_Well._ Half a virtue is no virtue at all; yet it is better than vice.

_Reiss._ Well?

_Well._ The fiend may yet lose his hold.

_Reiss._ Drink a glass.

_Well._ I almost stand in want of it, for I do not feel well on your
account. (Drinks off the glass of wine.)

_Reiss._ What am I about! I have, in the warmth of conversation, left
the bottle uncorked, and the spirit of the liquor, intended to honour
you, will evaporate. No matter; (takes the bottle to himself, and
substitutes the other, out of which he immediately fills him a glass,)
here is fresh wine.

_Well._ (puts down the glass.) I will drink no more.

_Reiss._ But, when we have done and agreed, in token of
reconciliation--

_Well._ My first and last words are, give up the whole of the bequest,
or take the oath!

_Reiss._ Ay! what is all that!--(Fills a glass for himself out of the
bottle which he had removed from Wellenberg's side.) A glass of wine
will warm you. Come, touch here! (Offers to touch glasses with him.)

_Well._ No! the inclinations which wine inspires are false. Good
inclinations ought to come from the heart instead of the bottle.

_Reiss._ Shall I tell you what carries me so far? It is your
honest character, and my respect for you; and, as my daughter is a
good-for-nothing hussy, I will, in the name of God, provided they let
me alone while I live, I will, after my death, bequeath the remainder
of the bequest to the children by a formal testament, which I wish you
to draw up immediately. That is, upon my word, more than fair! Come,
touch glasses upon that, and then we have done. (Touches glasses with
him, and drinks it off.)

_Well._ (touches glasses, but does not drink.) That is something.

_Reiss._ Is it not! (Fills his own glass.) Well, then, on with it!

_Well._ (holds up his glass, but does not drink.) The good spirit
begins to move you; and I begin to feel better in your company.

_Reiss._ (wipes his forehead.) I am glad of it.

_Well._ You wipe your forehead?

_Reiss._ Hem! you have put me in such a heat.

_Well._ Thank God! I wish you would examine your conscience fully, and
then wipe your eyes too; then I would, in the joy of my heart, empty my
glass at once.

_Reiss._ I thank you. Now to a prosperous futurity! (Holds up the
glass.)

_Well._ In heaven,--yes! (going to drink;) but (puts the glass down)
then every thing ought to be in a good state upon earth. Drink no more,
it will heat you; and, to do good, the soul ought to be sober.

_Reiss._ Well then--

_Well._ In your proposition there may still be an acceptable compromise
for the children. But--

_Reiss._ I should think so. Then accept it, give me your hand, and
empty your glass.

_Well._ Ay, if it concerned only the children, I would accept it. But
it concerns your soul, which cannot go out of this world in peace, if
your conscience is not at peace. Therefore I do not accede to the
proposition.

_Reiss._ What?

_Well._ I cannot accept it for the sake of your immortal soul, till you
quite clear yourself, and give up the whole.

_Reiss._ Is that your last determination?

_Well._ It is.

_Reiss._ Then I will give up nothing at all.

_Well._ Then God have mercy upon you! I have done my duty.

_Reiss._ Does not the will itself secure me against every claim?

_Well._ Not quite so.

_Reiss._ I beg your pardon; does not Article V. say--

_Well._ If you avail yourself of that plea, and the good spirit has
forsaken you, what must be the awful result! Think in time; what, to
barter everlasting happiness for a few pieces of yellow dirt! Now I
have done.     (Rises.)

_Reiss._ The fifth article says, "that if ever"--Stop a little; I have
the will at hand. (Goes into the closet.)

_Well._ I see there is nothing to be done here.
God have mercy upon this obstinate man!--Has he not even tried to tempt
me with his wine, that I might do what is evil? But heaven be praised,
he did not succeed; and how easily might he have succeeded, though my
nerves are worn out with age and infirmities! Besides, it is a very
strong wine; (takes the glass, and smells to it.) Very strong! (looks
at it;) rather feculent. (Puts the glass down, walks a few steps, and
seems to muse.) Hem! (examines Reissman's glass.) This one is fine;
(looks again at his own glass;) this is not so. (Puts it down.) This
glass came out of the second bottle. He has not drank of that, I think.
No, he has not, I now recollect. Perhaps,--but that is very wicked,--
perhaps not content with intoxication, he thought to get me to do the
evil that is in his soul? Such men are not to be trusted; their notions
are abominable. Perhaps he mixed some intoxicating ingredient in this
wine? He is capable of such an action; for, otherwise, why should he
press me to drink? Then my soul would have perished at the same time
with my philosophy!--I must know that; I will have it examined; and, if
so, I will thank God for my deliverance, and withdraw my hand for ever
from the obdurate sinner. (Takes both bottles, and goes away with them.
When he has left the room, Reissman comes out of the closet with the
will.)

_Reiss._ Look you here; here it expressly says.--Where is he? (Looks
out of the door, comes back, claps his hands together; pours the wine
that is in the two glasses out of the window; puts them in his pocket;
goes once more to the door, at which the Lawyer went out. He is in a
violent agitation; wipes the table very carefully with his
handkerchief; carries it into the closet, out of which he returns with
his hat and cane, and is going out by the door towards the street. When
he is at the door he returns, carefully examines the chair on which the
Lawyer has been seated, passes his handkerchief over it, carries both
chairs into the closet, examines the floor where the chairs stood, and
precipitately exit.)


                                SCENE V.

                       Master Clarenbach's house.

                       MASTER CLARENBACH, SOPHIA.

_Clar._ Step in here, child! here you are, if not rich, at least safe.
You have now done your duty as a daughter. Now recommend the perverse
man to heaven, and let things take their course.

_Soph._ Can I be easy with that? It is lamentable, that I have no other
means left.

_Clar._ My son has acted as a man of honour ought. He would not leave
me till I had given him my word, neither to act nor to speak against
your father.

_Soph._ You have given it.

_Clar._ And will keep it.

_Soph._ I will acknowledge it with filial affection, with the same care
and attention as if I were your own daughter.

_Clar._ Jack has obtained you by noble means, dear daughter; that is a
good and laudable commencement of the marriage-state.


                               SCENE VI.

                             Enter GERNAU.

_Gern._ Dear old man, I have forgotten all the wrongs the Privy
Counsellor ever did me. They now vanish like a dream. He has more than
compensated for all.

_Soph._ With respect to you?

_Gern._ That is out of his power now. But he has acted with such
discretion, with such abundance of good nature, and rendered so much
justice to every body else, that I must be devoid of all feeling, if I
could consider my accounts with him as unsettled.

_Clar._ Pray speak more of that. I have been unwilling this long while
to enquire into the actions of my son; but to-day I am so pleased with
him, that I could talk of him for ever without interruption.

_Gern._ He desired me to go home with him. Away with every penny, said
he, which I have not acquired fairly, or of which the least doubt
remains. Then he counted money, sealed it up, and called out to me
repair to the next trading town. I will give you the directions into
whose hands this cash is to go. I will wrong no man, assist me to
discharge my duty, name not who sent it! I will set off this very
day.--He is this moment gone to pay two people, that had been
overcharged in their contributions towards the construction of the
bridge. He intends to discharge that debt personally, because they are
good people on whom he can rely, who will not take advantage of his
frankness.

_Clar._ Your work, dear daughter! a clear conscience, joy, and honour!
what a valuable portion you bring into my family! When at evenings we
shall meet, and every one of us shall sum up the honest earnings of the
day, with what affection and gratitude shall we then calculate and pay
you the interest of your capital!


                               SCENE VII.

                            Enter FREDERICA.

_Fred._ Your father has been here this minute to enquire after Lawyer
Wellenberg.

_Soph._ (quick.) Is he gone yet?

_Fred._ He seemed in doubt some time, whether to go or stay, but then
he went without saying any thing.

_Clar._ Ah, the legacy,--his conscience--Dr. Kannenfeld,--it begins to
operate.

_Gern._ Yes, yes.

_Soph._ Oh, I wish that was settled!

_Clar._ Do not be uneasy; old Wellenberg has him entirely in his power,
and he knows what he is about.


                              SCENE VIII.

                   Enter Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH.

_P. Coun._ Sophia, I have kept my word.

_Clar._ (reaches him his hand.) We have been told so.

_Soph._ I know it.

_P. Coun._ My accounts are now settled, and my mind is at ease. I can
now call a furnished house and four thousand dollars my own honest
property. I have thrown off the burden, I have got rid of a connection
that imposed upon me.

_Gern._ Dear brother! how is it possible that any connection should
warp your generous principles.

_P. Coun._ Man does not warp all at once, but by degrees. Providence
lent me a hand. (Lays Sophia's hand on his breast.) You even look
kinder than you used to do.

_Fred._ I should never have forgiven you, if you had compelled me to
give my hand to Selling.

_P. Coun._ Dear Frederica!

_Clar._ Well, well! that was done while he was intoxicated with foreign
wine. The cup of pride produces that,--a good and useful beverage for
those that quaff it in moderation. Whoever cannot do that, had better
drink home-made wine.

_Soph._ But what do you intend to do with regard to your office, and
the charge brought against you concerning the monopoly?

_P. Coun._ I mean to set off for the capital, and candidly lay the
whole before the Minister; he is a good man; I will tell him I assumed
a burthen too heavy for my shoulders, and entreat him to lay it on some
person better suited to bear it.

_Clar._ That is right, Jack! When I was desired to sketch a design for
the Prince's palace in our neighbourhood, I also said, "Please your
Highness, I am a carpenter; the undertaking is beyond my sphere; send
for an architect, and what he plans I will endeavour to execute. My
head may conceive the plan for a common dwelling-house well enough, but
not for a palace; and so I do not wish to step out of my line." The old
Prince has since repeatedly thanked me for it, and said, with a
significant nod, "You were right, master, Clarenbach! I wish some of my
counsellors would do the same, and, when called on, say, I am not fit
to fill that office. But they take the hatchet in hand, and slash away
without any art or judgment."--My dear son, throw it down, and let some
good political carpenter take it up. God be with you!


                               SCENE IX.

                        Enter Lawyer WELLENBERG.

_Well._ Are you all here?--thank God!

_Clar._ You are welcome, Mr. Wellenberg.

_Well._ A chair, a chair. (P. Counsellor reaches a chair.)

_Clar._ What is the matter with you, pray?

_Well._ O Heaven! oh!

_Fred._ What ails you, Sir?

_Gern._ You make me uneasy.

_Soph._ Have you spoken with my father?

_Well._ Yes, yes, yes.

_P. Coun._ Dear Wellenberg, pray speak plain.

_Well._ _Est necesse, ut remotis testibus loquar._

_P. Coun._ _Dicam ergo aliis ut abeant._

_Well._ _Imo, jubeas, quaeso! sunt enim res summi momenti._

_P. Coun._ _Nunquid sane de sponsae meae parente?_

_Well._ _Quin ita! agitur enim vitae et animae salus._

_P. Coun._ Good folks, leave me a minute alone with this good
gentleman.

_Clar._ Good God!

_Soph._ It concerns my father.--O Clarenbach!

_P. Coun._ We will manage all for the best.

_Soph._ To your compassion, to your filial compassion,--to your duty as
a son, to your heart, to every thing I appeal, Clarenbach! You must
bring him back to the path of virtue, even against his will. You must,
and my gratitude shall be eternal.


                                SCENE X.

                    Enter Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN.

_Reiss._ Mr. Wellenberg!--

_Well._ Oh, that God--(Rises.)

_Reiss._ I want to speak with you.

_Well._ No, no! I will not.--Keep off, keep at six yards distance from
me at least.

_Reiss._ I must have a private conversation with you.

_Well._ God forbid!

_Soph._ Dear Mr. Wellenberg grant it; I entreat you.

_Well._ Can I?--ask him.

_P. Coun._ I beg, I entreat you.

_Well._ (after a pause?) Well, yes. Yes then, I will run the risk.

_Soph._ I thank you.

_Well._ But--(beckons the Privy Counsellor to come near him, and
whispers to him.)

_P. Coun._ Yes, I will. Come along.

_Reiss._ (alarmed.) What,--what, will you?

_P. Coun._ Nothing that can give you any uneasiness.

_Reiss._ Where do you intend to go?

_P. Coun._ To win this hand and your esteem. Come along. (All exeunt,
except Reissman and Wellenberg.)


                               SCENE XI.

              Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN, Lawyer WELLENBERG.

_Reiss._ Ay, dear Mr. Wallenberg, you are--it is--why are you--I cannot
conceive for what reason you left my house in that abrupt manner.

_Well._ The warning came from above to the unworthy. (Takes the bottle
out of his pocket.) What is this? (putting it on the chair.) Answer me
that!

_Reiss._ How!--(snatching at it.)

_Well._ Keep off!--It is poison!

_Reiss._ Ay, good God!

_Well._ There is poison in the wine you pressed me to drink.

_Reiss._ Should you by some unfortunate mistake--

_Well._ It is poison! it was intended to close my lips for ever! Lulled
to sleep by your artful proposals, I might have passed into the other
world according to the old proverb, "Dead men tell no tales;" but you
forgot that I should rise against you at the last day.

_Reiss._ (assuming courage.) Mr. Lawyer, dare you--

_Well._ I dare call you an assassin,

_Reiss._ Who knows what you have been doing with this bottle in the
mean while?

_Well._ So you think to escape by your cunning? This moment I see, and
you feel, the mark which the Almighty has impressed on your brow. Your
mind is callous, and yet you are so struck with terror, that your
tongue cleaves to the roof of your mouth, and cannot perform its
office.

_Reiss._ But, you, you--

_Well._ Silence! Is your soul insensible to the trepidation of your
body, or what I have not in my power to do? Here stands the evidence of
the crime, there the delinquent, and here I stand, either as judge or a
merciful man, if you deliver yourself up vanquished into my hands; and,
if not, as your accuser before the tribunal of the public. Kneel down
this moment, the sword of justice hangs over your head!

_Reiss._ (shaking.) My God!

_Well._ You are at the end of your career! The judgment of heaven is
committed to my hands, but mercy reigns in my heart: act in such a
manner, that my heart may preponderate; for I am a man whom you have
driven to extremes.

_Reiss._ (with terror.) What, what must I?--

_Well._ To the extreme, I say. I can hardly refrain from demanding
justice.

_Reiss._ What is your demand then?

_Well._ For myself I demand nothing. But what does your conscience
demand, wicked man? Is it silent? (With warmth;) Then, then I must do
what I ought to do.

_Reiss._ Well, then, I will give up the legacy at once.

_Well._ Further--

_Reiss._ What can I do more?

_Well._ Resign your office, that the corroding canker may be removed
from the breast of my country.

_Reiss._ But--

_Well._ God and man demand that I should utter this language.

_Reiss._ I will, I will.

_Well._ Consent to the Privy Counsellor's marriage, and do not
disinherit your virtuous daughter. All these points must be reduced to
writing, and signed by you this very day; then I will remain silent,
and spare you, that mercy in turn may be shewn to me.

_Reiss._ I will. Let the seal of silence be placed for ever on your
lips.

_Well._ Forever!

_Reiss._ Give me your word and hand.

_Well._ My word is sufficient. (Puts the bottle in his pocket.) If you
accomplish the conditions, this affair shall be buried in eternal
oblivion.

_Reiss._ All shall be done this very day.

_Well._ Now go, and inform the people of all the blessings you intend
to shower on them.

_Reiss._ I will grant them every thing, but I cannot tell them the
happy effects of our conversation.

_Well._ It must be so to save appearances.

_Reiss._ You are right! (Takes a ring from his finger.) Accept this, it
is of the first water, worth two hundred Louis d'ors.

_Well._ The tears of joy that your virtuous daughter will shed are the
purest christian water, and sparkle better. Those I will accept, and
thank God for the tribulations, for by this he has enabled me to
purchase what is good. Now go. I wish you to die well and soon. Thus I
discharge the sinner from his terrors and my hands, and recommend him
to the hand of the Father of all.--(Reissman slaps his forehead, and
exit.)--I think I have done well; at least, I do not know how I could
have done better. He has stood before the executioner; if that do not
shake and convert him, his good angel will veil his face and fly from
him, and then he will soon be hurled whither I would not wish.


                               SCENE XII.

                        Enter Master CLARENBACH.

_Clar._ Old friend, you have performed wonders!

_Well._ Not I, not I, (looking up to heaven,) but another.

_Clar._ He restores the legacy to the poor orphans; he consents to my
son's marriage.

_Well._ Even so, he has done no more than the duty of a Christian.

_Clar._ He does not disinherit his daughter; he gives the children
their inheritance.


                              SCENE XIII.

                   Enter Privy Counsellor CLARENBACH,
                     SOPHIA, FREDERICA, and GERNAU.

_P. Coun._ Matchless man!

_Soph._ Eternal, eternal gratitude!

_Well._ (Puts his hands in his pockets.) Spare my weak hands; my heart
is sound!--

_P. Coun._ How was it possible, how did it happen?

_Gern._ Tell us.

_Fred._ I cannot conceive it.

_Well._ That--

_P. Coun._ He uttered all these benefactions in such a hurry--

_Fred._ And at the same time looked nobody in the face--

_Gern._ And then he ran away.

_Clar._ I never saw a man do so much good in so ungracious a manner.

_Soph._ Good God! but he has done it after all, and--

_Clar._ Well, well; but how did it come about?

_Well._ Never ask that question again!--never! Do you understand me?

_Clar._ We thank God it is so; why should we enquire how it came to be
so?

_Well._ That is right, friend Clarenbach! (To the Privy Counsellor.)
And you resign the Privy Counsellorship?

_P. Coun._ My abilities are not adequate to it.

_Well._ Have I not told you a hundred times, when he was what they call
a Lawyer, and when he wrote with such humane feelings, with such fire,
with such indefatigability, in the cause of justice,--Master
Clarenbach, said I, Jack stands very high on level ground; do not
suffer him to rise higher, for he will tumble down.

_Clar._ It is true upon my word.

_Well._ So you came down of your accord? that is well done!

_P. Coun._ Henceforth I hope to prove useful to mankind. Under your
guidance, I will be a Lawyer once more.

_Well._ (with a smile.) Lawyer! I cannot bear that name; it conveys the
idea of an entangled net, or of a deceitful guide, that will lead you
out of the way into the pathless desert. We should not be called
Lawyers, but the Friends of Justice.

_Clar._ Yes, yes; Friends of Justice, the foes of chicanery!

_Well._ Who will not plead in an unjust cause! Do you promise that?
Have you the resolution to be an honest Lawyer?

_P. Coun._ With the greatest pleasure.

_Well._ Write little; act a good deal; take little money; have a good
stock of honesty and kind intentions; apply but seldom for advice to
the _corpus juris_, but often to the heart; and to the hour of death I
shall esteem you. I shall lead the way by the course of nature, but it
will yet be a consolation to me in my last moments to think I have left
an honest man behind me,--a man that will wipe away the tears of the
widow and the orphan.

_Clar._ Jack, listen to the words of this good old man; let them sink
deep into your heart; let them be your model! He possesses little
worldly wealth; but, at the last day, what myriads that now roll in
wealth would wish that they had possessed as little and done half as
much good with it; but it is not for me to judge; I only say, make him
your model.

_P. Coun._ Dear father, I will.

                    Enter Aulic Counsellor REISSMAN.

_Reiss._ I am come to tell you what I know will please you. How sweet
are the tears of repentance! how refreshing to the drooping soul! I
have at last settled my accounts with my conscience; I owe much, but I
will endeavour to pay all. Now I feel in earnest that I am a father,
and this is my dear daughter! (Embraces Sophia.)

_Soph._ O my dear father, the serenity of your brow, like a mild
evening-sun, sooths the perturbation of my mind. I see that all is
peace within. This single moment of joy would repay an age of sorrow.

_Reiss._ O my child! (embraces her again;) and this is my son!
(embraces Privy Counsellor; Clarenbach takes him by the hand.) I am now
completely happy, my mind tells me so; my feeble sight was dazzled with
the false lustre of gold; but honest Wellenberg took me by the hand and
conducted me into the path in which I ought to walk in the evening of
life.

_Clar._ I have not wept for some time; but nature, on the present
occasion, has indulged me with a few tears, and they shall be paid on
sight. (takes Reissman by the hand.) We are both in the evening of
life; let us descend with even step to the grave; our dear friend
Wellenberg will be our guide. Let us leave our children behind us, and,
if any evil should tempt them in an unguarded moment, may our example
interpose like a guardian angel! Splendor and ambition are gaudy signs,
painted by the hand of delusion, to lead the bewildered traveller still
farther astray. (Gernau kisses Sophia's hand, and gazes on Frederica
with fond attention.)

_Soph._ (embraces Frederica, and drops a tear.) Excuse me, I have a
tear for joy as well as sorrow.

_Clar._ Come, let us not delay the nuptial rites.  [Exeunt omnes.




                                THE END.




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A PRONOUNCING DICTIONARY of the ENGLISH LANGUAGE; the Accentuation
adjusted according to Sheridan and Walker; the Orthography chiefly
taken from Johnson. Pocket-Volume, Price 3s. 6d. bound.

THE CONFESSIONS of the celebrated COUNTESS of LICHTENAU, late MRS.
RIETZ; now confined in the Fortress of Gloglau as a State Prisoner.
Drawn from original Papers; translated from the German, with an
engraved Portrait of the Countess after an original Painting, in the
Possession of the COUNTESS MATUSKA.--Price 2s.









End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lawyers, A Drama in Five Acts, by
Augustus William Iffland

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