Act 3 — SCENE II.
Hannibal Evans Lloyd translation
At Mr. Drave's.
Enter Mr. DRAVE and PHILIP BROOK.
Mr. D. Indeed, Brook, I must confess your inactivity vexes me.
Philip. You mistake for inactivity, a mere external forbearance.
Mr. D. It is easier to complain of mankind, than to act for their welfare. The first is the part of a gloomy, discontented mind; the latter, the virtue of a good citizen, and should be yours.
Philip. Now then I will speak. By my affection for my guiltless and injured uncle, it shall be mine. I am bound, as his relation, to rescue him from captivity. The rights of humanity are injured in his person. Though apparently quiet, I am seeking to revenge him; and what you call inactivity shall not prove without advantage to my country.
Mr. D. If this be so, I commend you.
Philip. I have pretended to bear with indifference, that my designs might not be crossed. My plan both to liberate my uncle, and to entangle a villain in his own snares, is nearly ripe. I have long sought for proofs: I now have them, and the hopes of our worthy Minister's support, if they shall appear to him convincing. The most important witness I still expect.
Mr. D. And who is it?
Philip. My uncle himself. I bribed his keeper to let him escape, and sent persons to meet him. They missed him, and he is gone alone, I know not whither. The Chancellor, as well as myself, is seeking him. When once I have found him, the mine shall blow up.
Mr. D. Heaven bless you, my noble friend!
Enter LEWIS BROOK.
Mr. D. But here comes somebody you must speak to [going up to the door—returns and steps between the two brothers]. The last words of your father on his death-bed were, "Live united like brothers." [Exit. Drave.
Lewis [rather at a loss]. I am glad, indeed, I am happily surprised——
Philip. Happily surprised? I thank you, brother.
Lewis [with feigned interest]. Undoubtedly; it is long since we have met each other.
Philip. It is. [A pause]. Do we live like brothers?
Lewis. Indeed, if all is not right, you are in fault; you require too much.
Philip. Require too much? Your own welfare! brotherly affection! is that too much? Our interviews are prepared by strangers. Things are gone far; and perhaps even this meeting may avail nothing.
Lewis [with seeming politeness]. For my part, you may depend upon me: upon my honour——
Philip. Lewis, I spoke with a full heart, and you answer with outward civilities.
Lewis. You mistake me: I am heartily inclined to a reconciliation.
Philip. So! I should think it unnecessary!
Lewis. How you take that again!
Philip. I apprehended your passion, your reproaches, but was not prepared for your coldness. Well; suspect me, mistake me, offend me, my heart will be still the same. We are brothers; they should never want reconciliation.
Lewis. But why all this?
Philip [with warmth]. If the moment should ever arrive when your confidence in mankind shall be lost—if unexpected misfortunes, or discordant interests, should cause those who now call themselves your friends to desert you, at that moment remember me; entrust your cares with confidence to my bosom! this heart, which you now reject, will ever rejoice to receive you with the affection of a brother. [Exit.
Lewis. Excellent, upon my soul! There he goes, and leaves me like a downright sinner. What have I done to him? was ever such insolence heard of? Fine sentiments upon his lips, and malice in his heart. I have borne with all these hypocrites, till I am tired; and now they shall pay for all.
Enter LISETTE.
Lisette. What, are you here, Mr. Brook! I can hardly believe my eyes.
Lewis. Not trust those charming eyes?
Lisette. You're really here at last?
Lewis. And now I am here?——
Lisette. I am glad you have not forgotten us. [Going.
Lewis. Why in such a hurry to run away?
Lisette. I am looking for Mr. Drave; he is wanted at Rose's Bank; Mr. Rose himself called for him. Has not he been here?
Lewis. Yes, a few minutes ago.
Lisette. Then I will go after him.
Lewis. No, no; let the old fellows look for each other, while we are happy at having met here.
Lisette. You have always some obliging turn ready, but you are never in earnest.
(AUGUSTA enters).
Lewis. Not in earnest, my little charmer! [kisses her.]
Lisette. Mr. Brook! Mr. Brook! [she turns him towards Augusta, and leaves the room, making a low curt'sy].
Lewis. So! my fair Augusta [kisses her hand].
Augusta. In truth, I seem to have made my appearance rather mal-apropos.
Lewis [smiling]. Only offerings at the entrance of the temple of Love.
Augusta. It is long since we have seen you.
Lewis. Only five days; truly happy am I, if they have seemed long.
Augusta. I know your talent for compliments,
Lewis. Truth is not a compliment.
Augusta. Truth towards women is perhaps not your fault.
Lewis. How?
Augusta. In general not the most striking feature in the character of your sex.
Lewis. A sad prejudice, indeed, against our sex! [ironically] but you must except me.
Augusta [smiling]. Dare I?
Lewis. Certainly. I am——
Augusta. Sincerity, constancy itself.
Lewis. Certainly.
Augusta [pointing to the door at which Lisette went out]. There went a proof of your unparalleled fidelity!
Lewis [laughing]. Nay, now, you are——
Augusta. Fortunately, I was the only witness; yet think if your favourite lady had seen it!
Lewis. She would excuse me.
Augusta. But if she also loved you?
Lewis. Then she would still more readily overlook such a trifle.
Augusta. Your lightness must grieve her.
Lewis [laughing]. Then hers would be quite an old-fashioned love.
Augusta [surprised]. Old-fashioned! What am I to understand by that?
Lewis. I mean, [with affected seriousness] a love, such as does not now exist; a true, sincere love.
Augusta. Have you any reason to doubt the existence of such a love?
Lewis. Too many.
Augusta. You have been deceived then?
Lewis. Oh, a thousand times—and undoubtedly shall again.
Augusta. You exaggerate.
Lewis. No, no. With the first object of my passion, I was up to the ears in love. My goddess, to reward my cruel sufferings, allowed me only a place by her chair, and the honour of being marked as her most obedient slave; I sighed, languished, complained, despaired: saw at last, what she meant, and was cured—forever, as I presumed; but, alas! I soon trusted another. Well; there I was made use of to excite the jealousy of her inconstant favourite.
Augusta. You misrepresent, Mr. Brook.
Lewis. Another bright angel then delighted to have an attendant to hand her to her carriage, to accompany her wherever she thought proper; there again I was—but I tire you with all these melancholy instances of my delusion.
Augusta. If all this be true, I pity you.
Lewis. Once, indeed, I got a dangerous illness by my folly; but it cured me effectually.
Augusta. And now you chuse the way of retaliation?
Lewis. Why not?
Augusta. But did you ever reflect how many an innocent breast you robbed of its peace?
Lewis. I cannot reproach myself with that.
Augusta. How many you have plunged in sorrow?
Lewis [goodnaturedly]. Not a single one. As for protestations of love, extravagant praises of their beauty, and so forth, they are mere words of course; ladies know that very well from their childhood—a woman of sense never trusts them.
Augusta. Yet how unfortunate must she be, who loves sincerely!
Lewis. Why so?
Augusta. Who loves only one, and, if deceived, can never love another?
Lewis. Why, indeed, true love holds for ever, and is not dependant upon circumstances. A man may be obliged to marry against his inclination, to make his fortune: but this is a cold prudential bargain, with which love has nothing to do. True love is ever the same; and——But what is the matter with you?
Augusta [with difficulty holding herself upright]. Nothing of consequence.
Lewis. But——
Augusta. You put me in mind of one of my friends. She was deceived so, and now——
Lewis. Well?
Augusta. She is unhappy for ever. [Exit Augusta.
Lewis. Bless me! how deeply in love! Such tenderness I have never before met with. When I remember my other coquette sweetheart, I have almost a mind to run after her——but liberty, dear liberty—no, I dare not.
Enter DRAVE.
Mr. D. Good morning, Lewis; I did not expect to meet you, we are so seldom favoured with your visits.
Lewis. I am afraid of interfering with more important concerns.
Mr. D. I am indeed much concerned for you.
Lewis [with politeness]. You have always been so attentive to my interest, I am entirely convinced.
Mr. D. You are not convinced.
Lewis. Upon my honour.
Mr. D. Why this forced politeness? I do not wish it. You cannot judge of my actions, or their motives; but I am still your friend. The common frailties of youth I can overlook; but dissimulation, it is true, I cannot bear.
Lewis. You cannot surely accuse me of that.
Mr. D. Give me proofs, and I will thank you.
Lewis. How can I, being entirely misunderstood?
Mr. D. Convince me of your sincere attachment to my house.
Lewis. I protest——
Mr. D. No protestations! proofs! Besides shall enquire more deeply to-day, and would fain believe you if possible.
Lewis. You may securely.
Mr. D. Your way of life is not the best. It is time to think of entering on some more settled plan.
Lewis. I am glad you mention it; it was for this very purpose I came here. I am determined to seek for a fixed employment.
Mr. D. You give me pleasure; with your talents you cannot fail of success.
Lewis. I flatter myself the more, as for a long while——
Mr. D. What!
Lewis. I will unfold my heart. Be not severe, or you will drive me to despair.
Mr. D. [kindly]. Well; speak.
Lewis [flatteringly]. I beg you to look upon my wishes, not as a guardian, but as a friend, as a father—I—I love—and your consent to a marriage will make me happy.
Mr. D. Brook! [with warmth] you really love the girl, and sincerely?
Lewis. Not to madness, but truly and honourably.
Mr. D. Are you perfectly sincere?
Lewis. Why should you doubt?
Mr. D. Brook! I never was at a wedding, but the question arose, Will it be happy? To be unhappily married is dreadful.
Lewis. I have considered maturely.
Mr. D. The means of amending an inconsiderate step afterwards are shocking; still worse than the misfortune itself.
Lewis. It is too true. But why this to me? You disquiet yourself without cause. Love, our best reformer, has inspired me with juster sentiments.
Mr. D. Then God be praised! both will be happy.
Lewis. It was for the sole purpose of asking your consent that I came hither.
Mr. D. But why did not you speak sooner?
Lewis. My doubts—the disorder of my affairs—
Mr. D. [smiling]. We will soon put them in order.
Lewis. Then you give your consent?
Mr. D. [earnestly]. Yes!—But you will alter your mode of living?
Lewis. You shall be satisfied with my conduct.
Mr. D. Yes, yes. I always said you had many excellent qualities, and would turn out well, if once they were awakened; thank God, they are!
Lewis. Besides, this marriage gives me some hopes of an honourable place.
Mr. D. Not exactly the marriage; but——
Lewis. Why not? has any body more interest than the Chancellor?
Mr. D. No; but he may not interest himself much about your affairs for the future.
Lewis. Now more than ever, most assuredly.
Mr. D. Now?
Lewis. As I marry his daughter.
Mr. D. What do you say?
Lewis. As I marry his daughter.
Mr. D. Whom do you marry?
Lewis. Miss Fleffel.
Mr. D. No, never!
Lewis. How? why not?
Mr. D. No! by all that is sacred you shall not marry her!
Lewis. Inconceivable! you gave your consent.
Mr. D. I withdraw it.
Lewis. [sneeringly] Very extraordinary! then why give it?
Mr. D. [harshly]. I misunderstood you.
Lewis. So! cunning enough! to put me first off my guard.
Mr. D. Be so good as to leave me.
Lewis. To give me confidence!
Mr. D. Leave me, I say.
Lewis. That you might more easily draw my secret from me!
Mr. D. For God's sake leave me!
Lewis. A fine trick for a man who glories in his sincerity!
Mr. D. Sir, I warn you——
Lewis. Who boasts of his plain dealing; yet, in spite of his honesty, commits acts——
Mr. D. Young man, be silent!
Lewis. Acts that any body would be ashamed of. Sir, you may know I have always seen through your mask. We have only two years more to be concerned with each other. You may release yourself before, if you please.—I thank you for all your cares.
Mr. D. Ungrateful miscreant!—Oh, my child, my poor child!
Lewis. So! you perhaps had other designs?
Mr. D. Yes, yes, I had. My child—I would have confided her to you.—She loves you—Now go, relate your triumphs; defame her, and me also.
Lewis. Indeed, Sir, I am grieved.
Mr. D. Say that I made offers; that I proposed the match, and was refused.—Oh, my unhappy Augusta!—Go, leave my house—never let me see you more!
Lewis [hastily]. I assure you I have the highest esteem for Miss Augusta.
Mr. D. My daughter is virtuous, and wants not the testimony of a——, not yours.
Lewis. I protest.
Mr. D. I hate your protestations. Never mention her again; promise me that solemnly.
Lewis. I give——
Mr. D. It is to no purpose; speak no more—but if you, in any respect whatever, insult my daughter——you know me. [Wipes his forehead—pause] We have done—adieu, Sir!
Lewis [coldly]. And in respect to my marriage——
Mr. D. I will tell you in the afternoon.
Lewis. Very well. [Exit Lewis.
Mr. D. Is it come to this? Now I see my misfortune clearly [throws himself into a chair]. Is this my reward! What must be done now?
Enter Mr. ROSE.
Mr. R. Forgive me, dear Drave, if I interrupt——
Mr. D. Do not take it amiss, Rose; but indeed you have come at a wrong time——
Mr. R. 'Tis too true; I have come at a wrong time; would to God there had been no necessity! yet hear me.
Mr. D. I cannot; my heart is distracted—
Mr. R. For heaven's sake, hear an unfortunate man.
Mr. D. If your misfortune is greater than mine, I will hear you.
Mr. R. You knew me once as a rich, as a wealthy man.
Mr. D. Yes.
Mr. R. I am so no longer.
Mr. D. Impossible!
Mr. R. By a bankruptcy in Amsterdam, I am entirely ruined.
Mr. D. Can I assist, support you, dear Rose? I am at your service.
Mr. R. Merciful heaven! can you forget—
Mr. D. What?
Mr. R. Your ward's property.
Mr. D. Almighty God!
Mr. R. Unhappy man! you gave security.
Mr. D. Oh my family, my child!'
Mr. R. Can you forgive me?
Mr. D. [lost in thought]. Insulted first; then reduced to beggary.
Mr. R. I have been seeking in vain for you, and for Brook: now the seals are put on every thing, and I have undone my best friend.
Mr. D. [as before]. The trial is hard.—Oh heaven! from wealth to poverty, in a single day! [Rose sits down, quite dejected].
Mr. D. [with emotion]. God's will be done!
Mr. R. [rises hastily and takes Drave's hand]. Hard is your fate; yet God knows, mine is still more so. I am reduced to nothing.
Mr. D. [softly]. I also shall have little remaining.
Mr. R. My helpless children!
Mr. D. And my poor daughter!
Mr. R. Here our fate is the same. Yet you are only unfortunate; and I—shall be regarded as a villain. You are a sufferer, and I the cause: I cannot bear this thought. Hear me—Brook is still rich.—The preservation of a worthy family, is a duty, and will excuse it—Let us deny the security——you can then pay him half, and he may lose the rest.
Mr. D. No!
Mr. R. Do it while there is yet time.—I will bear my lot in patience; but let not the thought of having ruined you imbitter my wretched existence. Do it.
Mr. D. Never!
Mr. R. For God's sake, do it. The Chancellor is your enemy; I know it too well: this makes him now so busy about my affairs.
Mr. D. I will not, cannot.—Have I risked my ward's property too inconsiderately, I must bear the consequences.
Mr. R. Who can blame you? Where was there a safer house than mine?
Mr. D. They can seize all my fortune, and undoubtedly will; I hope it is sufficient.
Mr. R. You cannot avoid blaming me.
Mr. D. Do not be uneasy on my account. I have still strength and activity. I may prosper again: if not, God will support my wife and daughter, and in the grave at least I shall find repose.
Mr. R. I look at you with awful repentance. Father in heaven, I thank thee for this man!—I sought comfort from my friends, and met reproaches—I fled to my daughter—Oh, my daughter!
Mr. D. Go to her now; she will cheer the remainder of your days.
Mr. R. No, no, never!
Mr. D. Why not?
Mr. R. I went to her.—She was my darling—a kind look from her was my greatest delight—I gave her a large portion. I came from the Chancellor's—my agitation—my anxiety—I was overheated.—I threw myself into her arms—Nancy, said I, give me something to drink—I sought for consolation from her, and she——she upbraided me for my careless management.
Mr. D. Horror!
Mr. R. She went away—her children felt in my pockets, and asked what I had brought them. I had nothing.—A servant brought me a glass of water, and took the children.
Mr. D. Come to my arms, most injured sufferer! my Augusta will not desert you.——Oh, I am happy—I am rich; highly blessed——Come—we will bear our misfortunes together—will share our sufferings and our comforts, even to the last morsel of bread.
Mr. R. All deserted me. You only, whom I have ruined, remain my friend. Oh, hear and tremble—you prevented——suicide——
Mr. D. How!
Mr. R. Yes. My unfeeling child brought me to despair—God bless you!
Mr. D. Unhappy father!
Mr. R. When your last hour approaches, may this action insure your repose!—Many a distressed heart have you comforted—many tears have you wiped away.—Your kindness to me—oh, on that day when Virtue shall triumph, merciful God! let it be rewarded! [Exit.