Plumptre, Anne. The Natural Son. Ed. Thomas C. Crochunis. British Women Playwrights around 1800. 15 July 2000.
Act V
Scene 1
[The Cottager's room, as in the second Act. Wilhelmina, the Cottager, and his Wife.]
Wilhelmina.
Good Father, go out once more, and see whether he be not coming.Cottager.
That will not bring him, good woman!—I am but this moment come in, and have looked about every where, and can see nobody.Wife.
Only have a little patience—who knows whither he may be gone.Cottager.
Yes, indeed, he may be straggled into the town.Wife.
True, husband!—but he won't get much by that; people are hard-hearted enough in the town.Wilhel.
Yet go once more, I entreat you, father!—Perhaps he may soon come now.Cottager.
Directly!—to oblige you![Exit.]
Wife.
If your son did but know what God has been pleased to send in his absence, he'd have been here long ago.Wilhel.
I am so anxious.Wife.
How!—anxious!—One who has such a purse full of money cannot be anxious in mind;—that is to say, if she come by it honestly.Wilhel.
Where can he stay so long?—He has been gone already four hours.—Some misfortune must have happened to him.Wife.
No, no!—What misfortune should happen?—It is still broad day-light. Be cheery, and of good heart; we'll have a good supper at night.—Oh, you may live a long time upon that money, and do whatever you please.—Is it not true that our Baron is a fine noble gentleman.Wilhel.
How can he have learnt that I was here?Wife.
Nay, that heaven only knows!—Mr. Frank was so secret.Wilhel. [Half aside.]
Does he then know me?—It must be so, else he would not have been so very liberal.Wife.
I do'nt think that follows!—Our good Baron is kind both to those he knows, and to strangers.[The Cottager re-enters, scratching his head.]
Wilhel. [as soon as she sees him]
Well! still no tidings.Cottager.
One might gape till one was blind, and not see him at last.Wilhel.
Ah, God!—what can come of this?Cottager.
I saw our good Pastor coming round the corner there.Wilhel.
Coming hither?Cottager.
Who knows?—he commonly comes hither once in three or four weeks, to enquire after us.Wife.
Yes, he is very attentive in visiting all his parishioners, and then he asks how we go on with our employments, and how we live among each other.—If there's any quarrels or discontents among us, he makes them up;—if any poor man is in great want he assists him.— You know, husband, how lately he sent one of his cows to the lame Michael.Cottager.
Yes, he sent him the best milch-cow, out of his yard.—God bless him for it!Wife.
God bless him!Scene 2
[Enter the Pastor.]
Pastor.
God bless you, my children!Cottager and Wife.
Thank you kindly, Sir!Cottager.
You are kindly welcome to us indeed.Wife. [reaches a chair, which she wipes with her apron]
Pray sit down!Cottager.
The weather is warm, let me fetch you a glass of beer.Wife.
Or some nice juicy pears.Pastor.
I thank you, good people, but I am not thirsty. You appear to have visitors.Cottager.
Ah! dear Sir, she is a poor woman, very sick and weak—we took her in here from the road.Pastor.
God will reward your goodness.Cottager.
He has rewarded it already.—We are as happy and joyful to day, as if we were going to the wake tomorrow—an't we Bet? [holds out his hand to his wife.]Wife.
Yes husband! [she takes his hand and shakes it heartily.]Pastor. [to Wilhelmina.]
Who are you, good woman?Wilhel.
I!—Ah, Sir!—[in a half whisper] Oh that we were alone!Pastor. [to the Cottager]
Be so kind, John, as to leave me alone with this woman for a few minutes—I wish for some private conversation with her.Cottager.
Do you hear, Bet! come along.[Exeunt.]
Scene 3
[The Pastor and Wilhelmina.]
Pastor.
Well, my good woman, we are alone.Wilhel.
Before I tell you what I was, and who I am, allow me to ask you some questions. Are you a native of this country?Pastor.
No, I came from Franconia.Wilhel.
Did you know the worthy old Pastor, your predecessor?Pastor.
No.Wilhel. [inquisitively]
You really then do not know any particulars of my unhappy story, and it was merely chance that brought you hither?Pastor.
If you are, indeed, the person I suppose you, and whom I have so long sought, your story is not wholly unknown to me.Wilhel.
Whom you suppose?—and whom you have so long sought?—who then gave you such a commission?Pastor.
A man who interests himself deeply in your fate.Wilhel.
Indeed—Oh quickly tell me then—whom do you suppose me to be?Pastor.
Wilhelmina Böettcher.Wilhel.
Yes, I am the unfortunate, seduced Wilhelmina!—and the man who takes so deep an interest in my fate—I suppose is Baron Wildenhain—he who robbed me of my innocence—the murderer of my father—who for twenty years consigned me and his child to misery, and who now hopes to atone for all, by a despicable purse of gold. [Draws out the purse sent her by the Baron.] I know not with what view you may now come hither, whether to reproach, or to console me, or whether to banish me from these borders, that my presence may not be a reproach to the voluptuary—but one request I have earnestly to make you!—carry back this purse to the man who has ruined me—tell him, that my virtue was not to be bartered for gold—that gold cannot repay me for my lost peace of mind, nor can the curse of an aged parent be redeemed by gold. Tell him, that the poor starving Wilhelmina, though clothed in beggar's rags, is still too proud in spirit to receive benefits from her seducer. We have no feelings now in common with each other—he despised my heart—with equal contempt I spurn his gold!—he has trampled me under foot—I trample under foot his gold. [She throws the purse disdainfully upon the ground.] But he shall be left to his repose—wholly to his repose—he shall live as hitherto, in mirth and cheerfulness, nor shall the sight of Wilhelmina imbitter his pleasures. As soon as I have somewhat recovered my strength, I will for ever leave the place, where the name of Wildenhain, and the grave of my poor father, bow me to the ground; and tell him that I knew not he was returned from Franconia, knew not that he was so near me!—Assure him earnestly of this, or he may believe that I came hither in search of him.—Oh he must not believe that!—And now, Sir, you see that your presence, the object of your visit, have exhausted my little strength.—I know not how to say more—I know not what more he who sent you can require of me, [with indignation.] Yet one thing farther, perhaps the Baron has recollected, that he once promised me marriage—that on his knees before me, he called on God to witness his vows, and pledged his honour for their performance—but tell him not to be uneasy on that account, for the remembrance has long since been banished from my bosom.Pastor.
I have listened to you with patience, that I might learn your whole sentiments of the Baron, and your own peculiar ways of thinking. In this unprepared moment, when your full heart overflowed, you doubtless have not dissembled, and I rejoice to find you a woman of the noblest sentiments, worthy of the highest atonement that a man of honour—a man of strict honour can make you.—With what satisfaction therefore, can I correct an error, which, has perhaps, occasioned much of the bitterness you have expressed against the Baron. Had he known that the sick woman in this cottage was Wilhelmina Böettcher, and had sent to her this purse, he had deserved that his own son should be his murderer!—but no! believe me, no!—this has he not done. Look me in the face, my profession demands confidence, but, independently of that, you surely would believe me incapable of a falshood—and I do solemnly assure you, that it was chance alone, made you the object of his bounty, which he believed was exercised towards an entire stranger.Wilhel.
How, Sir!—Would you persuade me, that such a present as this was the effect of chance?—To a stranger one sends a florin, a dollar, but not a purse of gold.Pastor.
I grant it is extraordinary—but the occasion was extraordinary. Your son—Wilhel.
What! my Son?Pastor.
Be calm. An affectionate Son begged for his Mother—that affected the Baron.Wilhel.
Begged of the Baron!—of his Father!Pastor.
Even so!—but understand, that neither knew the other—and that the mother received this present for the sake of the son.Wilhel.
Knew not each other!—And where is my son?Pastor.
At the castle.Wilhel.
And still are they unknown to each other?Pastor.
No—all is now revealed, and I am sent hither by the Baron, not to an unknown sick-woman, but to Wilhelmina Böettcher, not with money, but with a commission to act as my own heart shall dictate.Wilhel.
Your heart!—oh, Sir, pledge not your feelings for those of this obdurate man!—Yet will the woman forget, what she has suffered for his sake, if he only will atone for it to the mother—the woman will pardon him, if he deserve the Mother's thanks. In what state then is my Frederick—how has the baron received him?Pastor.
I left him overcome by violent emotions—it was even then the moment of discovery—nothing was yet decided—yet, doubtless, at this instant the son is clasped in his father's arms. I will warrant that his heart—Wilhel.
Again his heart!—heaven's how is the heart of this man thus suddenly changed?—for twenty years deaf to the voice of nature—Pastor.
You do him injustice!—hear before you judge him. Many errors appear to us at the first view detestable—but if we knew all that led to them, all the intervening circumstances which insensibly prompted to the deed, all the trifles whose influence is so imperceptible, and yet so great, how might our opinions be altered.—Could we have accompanied the offender step by step, instead of, as now, seeing only the first, the tenth, and the twentieth, often indeed, should we exculpate, where we at present condemn. Far be it from me to defend the Baron's misconduct, but this I dare assert, that even a good man may once in his life be guilty of a lapse, without deserving to forfeit entirely his character for goodness. Where is the demi-god, who can dare to vaunt, my conscience is clear, pure as falling snow!—and if such a boaster live, for God's-sake trust him not, he is far more dangerous than a repentant sinner.—Pardon my diffuseness—in a few words you shall now have the Baron's story since your separation.—At that time he loved you most sincerely, but the fear of his rigid mother prevented the fulfilment of his vows. The war recalled him to the field, where he was severely wounded, made a prisoner, and for a whole year was confined to his bed, unable to write to you, or to obtain any information concerning you—Then did your image first begin to grow fainter in his mind. In consequence of his dangerous wounds, he was carried from the field of battle to a neighbouring mansion, the owner of which was a man of rank and benevolence, possessed of a large estate, and the father of a beautiful daughter. The maiden was particularly pleased with the young man, scarcely ever left his bed-side, nursed him like a sister, and shed tears for his sufferings, to which the Baron's heart could not be insensible. Philanthropy and gratitude knit the bands, which death tore asunder but a few weeks since. Thus was the remembrance of you obliterated. He exchanged his native country for a noble residence in Franconia; he became a husband, a father, and employed himself in the improvement of his estates—no object that he beheld reminded him of you, nor could any thing revive your image in his mind, till his life became imbittered by domestic feuds. Too late he discovered in his wife a proud, imperious woman, a spoiled child possessing a spirit of contradiction, and pertinaciously adhering to her own opinions. She seemed to have rescued him from death, merely to torment him to death herself. Chance at that time conducted me to his house—I gained his friendship—I became the instructor of his only daughter, and was soon admitted to his confidence.—Oh how often has he with a distressed heart, said, "This woman revenges on me the wrongs of my Wilhelmina."—How often has he cursed, the wealth, which his wife brought him, and in fancy enjoyed a less brilliant, but more happy lot, in your arms. When at length this living became vacant, and he offered me the cure, the first words with which he accompanied the proposal were, "my Friend, there will you learn what is become of my Wilhelmina."—Every letter that I afterwards received from him, contained this exclamation—"Still no tidings of my Wilhelmina!"—These letters are now in my possession—you may see them. I never was able to discover the place of your abode—fate prevented it—having in its view this more important day.Wilhel.
You have affected me much—and the emotions which I feel press conviction to my heart. How will all this end?—What now is to become of me?Pastor.
The Baron did not indeed signify to me his intentions should you be found, but your wrongs demand atonement, and I know but of one way in which it can be made.—Exalted woman! If your strength permit you to accompany me—my carriage waits—the road is short and easy.Wilhel.
I go with you?—Go before the Baron in these rags?Pastor.
And wherefore not?Wilhel.
Will they not reproach him?Pastor.
Noble-minded woman!—come with me then; we will stop at my house; my sister will quickly furnish you with clothes.Wilhel.
But shall I find my Frederick at the castle?Pastor.
Most certainly!Wilhel. [rising.]
Well!—for his sake then I will submit to this arduous task!—He is the only branch on which my hopes still blossom—the rest are all withered, dead!—But where are my good Host and Hostess, that I may take my leave, and thank them?Pastor. [takes up the purse, goes to the door and calls.]
Here, Neighbour!—John!Scene 4
[Enter Cottager and his Wife.]
Cottager.
Here I am!Wife.
Thank God, she is upon her legs once more! I am heartily glad of it.Pastor.
Yes, good people, I will take this woman with me—she will have better accommodations.Cottager.
Yes, indeed!—she is but badly off here.Wife.
We were glad to do the best we could for her, but we could do but sorrily after all.Pastor.
You have acted like worthy people—take that as a reward for your kindness! [Offers the purse to the Cottager, who puts his hands before him, plays with his fingers in his waistcoat, looks at the money, and shakes his head.] Will you not take it? [Offers it to the wife; she plays with her apron, looks at it with half-averted eyes, and shakes her head.] What is your objection?Cottager.
Pray don't take it amiss, good Sir; I can't think of being paid for doing my duty.Wife. [looking up to heaven]
There we look for our reward.Pastor. [laying a hand on the shoulder of each, much affected]
That you will!—Heaven bless you both!Wilhel.
You will not refuse my thanks?Cottager.
You are kindly welcome.Wife.
Yes, you are heartily welcome.Wilhel.
Farewell, kind people!—[She shakes them both by the hand.]Cottager.
Farewell, farewell!—I hope you'll soon be better.Wife.
And if you ever come this way, pray call in.Pastor.
God preserve you! [Offers his arm to Wilhelmina, who takes hold of it, wipes the tears from her eyes, and supports herself by a stick in the other hand.]Cottager.
Adieu, good Pastor! [Pulls off his hat, and makes many scrapings with his foot.]Wife.
And I thank you kindly for this visit.Both.
And we hope you'll come again soon. [They go to the door with the Pastor and Wilhelmina.]Cottager. [taking his wife by the hand]
Well, Bet, what think you? How shall we sleep to-night?Wife. [pressing his hand]
As sound as tops.[Exeunt.]
Scene 5
[A Room in the Castle. The Baron sits on a sopha, exhausted by various emotions—Frederick stands by, bending over him, and pressing one of the Baron's hands between his.]
Baron.
So, you have really seen service—smelt gun-powder—I'd lay my life, young man, that as Frederick von Wildenhain, you had been spoiled both by father and mother; but as Frederick Böettcher, you are grown to be a brave fellow. Thou hast hitherto been exposed to hardships and dangers—thy youthful path has not been strewed with roses!—Well, well, Frederick, it shall be otherwise now—the future shall reward thee for the past. The opprobium of thy birth shall be removed—Indeed it shall. I will publicly acknowledge thee as my only son, and as heir to my estates!—What say'st thou to this?Fred.
And my mother?Baron.
Oh, fear not that she shall starve!—Thou can'st not suppose thy father will do things by halves. Knowest thou not that Wildenhain is one of the best estates in this country, and only a mile from hence lies Wellendorf, a little estate of mine? Besides, through my wife, God rest her soul! I have three large manors in Franconia.Fred.
But my mother?Baron.
I was going to say, that your mother shall have her choice of an abode. If she does not like Franconia, she may remain at Wellendorf. There is a neat house, neither too large nor too small—a pretty garden, and in a delightful country—in short, a paradise in miniature. There shall she want for nothing—there shall a happy old age smooth the furrows which a youth of sorrow has made in her cheeks.Fred. [starting back]
How!Baron.
Yes, indeed!—And you know, Frederick, as the distance is not great, in the morning, should we be inclined to make your mother a visit, 'tis only to saddle the horses, and we can be there in an hour.Fred.
Indeed!—And by what name shall my mother be called?Baron. [confused]
How?Fred.
Is she to be considered as your housekeeper, or your mistress?Baron.
Fool!Fred.
I understand you!—and will withdraw myself, my father, that you may have time to consider of your resolution; only I assure you, by all that is most dear, most sacred to me, (nor can any thing shake my determination) that my fate is inseparably united to my mother's—it must be Wilhelmina von Wildenhain, and Frederick von Wildenhain, or Wilhelmina Böettcher and Frederick Böettcher.[Exit.]
Baron.
So!—What would he then?—Surely he does not mean that I should marry his mother?—Young man! young man! thou must not presume to prescribe laws to thy father!—I thought I had arranged every thing admirably well—I was as happy as a king—I had relieved my conscience of a burden, and was recovering my breath, then comes this fellow and rolls another great stone in the path over which I must stumble. Well, well, friend Conscience, God be thanked, thou and I are friends again.— Hey! how's this? What am I to understand?—Thou art silent—or rather seemeth to murmur a little!Scene 6
[Enter the Pastor.]
Baron.
You are come in happy time, my friend; my conscience and I have commenced a suit, and such suits properly belong to your jurisdiction.Pastor.
Your conscience is in the right.Baron.
Hey, hey, Mr. Judge, not so partial if you please!—you know not yet what the question is.Pastor.
Conscience is always in the right, for it never speaks but when it is in the right.Baron.
Well,—but I am not yet certain whether it speaks, or is silent, only in such cases persons of your profession have quicker ears than our own. Listen then, a few words will state the case.—I have found my son, [Clapping his hand on his shoulder] a fine, noble youth, good Pastor! full of fire as a Frenchman, proud as an Englishman, and full of honour as a German.—Be this as it may, I mean to remove the opprobrium of his illegitimacy.—Am I not right in this?Pastor.
Perfectly right!Baron.
And his mother shall, in her old age, lead an affluent and happy life. I will give her my estate of Wellendorf, there may she live, form it according to her taste, live again in her son, and in her grand-children.—Am I not right in this.Pastor.
No.Baron. [Standing back.]
No!—What then should I do?Pastor.
Marry her!Baron.
No surely.Pastor.
Baron Wildenhain is a man who does not act without reason.—I stand here as the advocate of your conscience, and request to know upon what grounds you now proceed—and I will answer you.Baron.
Would you have me marry a beggar?Pastor. [after a pause.]
Is that all?Baron. [confused.]
No,—I have further grounds:—much further!Pastor.
May I request to know them?Baron. [still much confused.]
I am a Nobleman.Pastor.
What more?Baron.
People will point their fingers at me.Pastor.
Proceed.—Baron.
My relations will look askance at me.Pastor.
Well.—Baron.
And—and—[very hastily] plague take it, I can recollect nothing more!Pastor.
Now, then, it is my turn to speak. But before I begin, let me put a few questions to you: Did Wilhelmina, through coquetry, lay herself open to seduction.Baron.
No, no, she was always a modest, prudent girl.Pastor.
Did it cost you much trouble to subdue her virtue.Baron. [shortly.]
Yes.Pastor.
Did you not promise her marriage? [the Baron hesitates, the Pastor asks again more earnestly.) Did you not promise her marriage?Baron.
Yes!Pastor.
And called God to witness your promise?Baron.
Yes.Pastor.
And pledged your honour for its performance?Baron. [impatiently.)
The devil!—Yes!Pastor.
Well then, my Lord,—God was your witness—God, who saw you at that moment, and who sees you now.—Your honour was your pledge, which you must now redeem, if you are indeed a man of honour. I now stand before you, impressed with the dignity of my sublime vocation, and dare speak to you as to the lowest of your peasants; my duty requires it, and I will fulfil my duty, even at the hazard of your friendship. Did you, as a thoughtless youth, who lives only for the present moment, seduce an innocent girl without thinking on the consequences; but, in maturer years, repenting of your youthful follies, have you to the utmost of your power repaired your faults, then are you indeed a man deserving the esteem of the honest and the virtuous.—But—has the voluptuous youth, through wicked snares, involved a guiltless creature in misery, and deprived a maiden of her virtue, her happiness, to satisfy the passion of a moment? did he pledge his word of honour in intoxication, and offer up his conscience as a sacrifice to his desires, and believes he that all is to be atoned for by a handful of gold, of which chance alone makes him the possessor.—Oh, does not such an one deserve—Pardon my warmth, my lord! it might injure a good cause, were it not here most natural. Farewell the good old days of chivalry. The virtues of our ancestors, their high sense of honour, their reverence for female delicacy, are buried in one common grave; nothing now remains but the most trivial or the worst part, their titles, and their single combats. A victory over innocence is in these days a deed of heroism, of which the conqueror vaunts over his bottle, while the poor object of seduction, drowned in her tears, curses the murderer of her honour and peace of mind, and perhaps harbours the horrid thought of being the murderer of the infant she bears. I repeat, then, my Lord, that you ought to keep your word, even though you were a prince! A prince may indeed be released by the state from its performance, but never can be acquitted by his own conscience!—Have you not reason then to thank God, that you are not a prince? that it is in your power to purchase repose of heart, that highest of all treasures, at so cheap a price?—The resolution to marry Wilhelmina is not even a merit, for this union will increase your own happiness. 'Tis pity indeed that it costs you no sacrifice, that your whole fortune is not at stake; then might you well come forth, and say, do I not act nobly? I marry Wilhelmina!—But now, since Wilhelmina brings you such a dowry, greater than any princess could bestow—repose to your conscience, and a son so worthy of your affection.—Now may you well exclaim with me,—wish me joy, my friend! I marry Wilhelmina!Baron. [During this speech he has appeared extremely agitated, now walking backwards and forwards, then pausing—one moment testifying indignation, the next the most affecting emotions—at length when the Pastor has done speaking, he approaches him with open arms, presses him to his bosom, and exclaims)
My Friend! wish me joy, I marry Wilhelmina!!!Pastor. [returning his embrace.)
I do wish you joy!Baron.
Where is she?—have you seen her?Pastor.
She is in your study. To avoid observation I conducted her in through the garden.Baron.
Well then, this shall be the wedding day!—You, my Friend, shall give us your blessing this very evening.Pastor.
Oh no! not so hastily—not so privately. The whole village was witness to Wilhelmina's shame—it must also be witness to the restoration of her honour. Three Sundays successively must the banns be published; are you content that it shall be so?Baron.
I am content.Pastor.
And then will we solemnize a happy nuptial feast, and the whole village shall unite in jubilee on the occasion. Are you satisfied?Baron.
Perfectly!Pastor.
Is the suit now decided?—is your conscience easy?Baron.
Completely so—I wish only that the first interview were over. I feel the same shame in appearing before her whom I have injured, as a thief before the man he has robbed.Pastor.
Be calm!—Wilhelmina's heart is your judge.Baron.
And then—Wherefore should I not confess it? prejudices are like old Wounds! when the weather changes they still smart.—I—I cannot help feeling somewhat ashamed when I think that all must be known to my daughter—to the count—to all my domestics. I would it were already over—till it is, I will not see Wilhelmina, that when we meet, nothing may remain but joy—but transport!—Frank! [calls to a Huntsman who enters) Where are my daughter and the count?Huntsman.
In the dining-room, my Lord.Baron.
Desire them to come hither.[Exit Huntsman.
Remain here with me, good Pastor! that the Coxcomb with his privy-chamber airs, may not disconcert me. I shall speak my mind to him clearly and concisely, and when that is done, let his horses be put to the carriage, and he may go with his pommade to the devil.Scene 7
[Enter Amelia and the Count.]
Count.
Nous voila à vos ordres, mon Colonel! we have taken a most delicieuse promenade. Wildenhain is an earthly Paradise, and possesses an Eve, who resembles the Mother of all mankind—only il manquoit un Adam who might take with extasies from her hand even the Apple of death itself!—But now he is found, cet Adam!—he is found!Baron.
Who is found?—Frederick, but not Adam!Count.
Frederick!—Who is this Frederick?Baron.
My son!—my only Son!Count.
Comment? your Lordship's son?—Mon Pere informed me that you had only this daughter.Baron.
Your Pere could not know that I had a son, for I knew it myself but a few minutes ago.Count.
Vouz parlez des enigmes.Baron.
In short, the young man who attacked us on the highway to day—You may remember it well, as you ran away so fast.Count.
I have a confused remembrance of it. But—Baron.
Well, he is my son!Count.
He?—but how is it possible to believe this?Baron.
Yes, he! [aside to the Pastor) Speak for me, I am ashamed before that coxcomb.Pastor.
A man like you abashed before such an animal!Baron.
He is my natural son.—But what of that—before the expiration of many weeks, I shall marry his mother, and whoever shall dare to sneer at it, shall be properly chastised. Yes, yes, Amelia, look up my child, you have found a brother.Amelia. [with extacy)
Are you not joking?—may I believe it?Count.
And may one ask the name of his Mother?—Is she of Family?Baron.
She is—good Pastor, tell him what she is!Pastor.
A beggar.Count. [laughing)
Vouz badinez!Pastor.
Her name, if you wish to know it, Wilhelmina Böettcher.Count.
Von Böettcher? I never heard of the family.Baron.
She belongs to the family of honest people, and that is a damn'd small one.Count.
Quite a Mesalliance then?Pastor.
Generosity and integrity, unite themselves with love and constancy.—Call that a Mesalliance if you please.Count.
It must be acknowledged, that one ought to be un Oedipe, in order to develope all these riddles. Un fils naturel!—à la bonne heure, mon Colonel!—Why I have two. There must be moments in a man's life, when if a pretty girl fall in his way—such things happen every day. But mon dieu! one never troubles one's head with such beings—unless to put them to some trade perhaps, and so make them useful in the world. Mine are both to be made friseurs.Baron.
And mine shall be a nobleman—and inherit the estates of Wildenhain and Wellendorf.Count.
Me voila stupefait!—Most charming young lady, I must plead your cause—they are au point de vous ecraser.Amelia.
Do not give yourself that trouble.Count.
La fille unique!—L'unique heritiere.Amelia.
Il me reste l'amour de mon pere!Baron.
Bravo, Amelia!—bravo!—Come hither, and let me give you a kiss! [Amelia flies into his arms) Count, you will do me a favour, if you will take yourself away. A scene may, perhaps, pass here, from which you will derive no satisfaction.Count.
De tout mon coeur!—At present, if I mistake not, we have clair de lune, and I shall be enabled this very evening to return into the town.Baron.
As you please.Count.
A dire vrai, mon Colonel! I came not hither to seek a voleur de grand chemin as brother-in-law, nor a Gueuse as a step-mother. Henri! Henri![Skips out.
Scene 8
[The Baron, Amelia, and the Pastor.]
Baron. [still clasping Amelia in his arms)
Ah, I breathe more freely!—And now a word with you, my Amelia—Twenty years ago, your father was guilty of a lapse—seduced a poor girl, and gave existence to a child, who till this day has wandered about the world in meanness and poverty. The circumstance has pressed upon my mind like a rock of granite—You may remember how many an evening I have spent in gloom and deep dejection—with my eyes fixed as I sat in my arm-chair smoking my pipe—not hearing you when you spoke, not smiling when you caressed me—then was it that my conscience upbraided me—that all my wealth, my rank, nor even you, my child, could procure me the repose which a spotless mind alone can feel. Now I have found both wife and son; and this worthy man, [pointing to the Pastor) as well as this, [pointing to his heart) both tell me 'tis my duty publicly to acknowlege them as such. What think you?Amelia. [caressing him.)
My Father need not ask that.Baron.
Will not the loss you must experience, cost you one sigh? Will a father's repose pay you for all?Amelia.
What loss?Baron.
You were considered as my only heiress.Amelia. [tenderly reproving him.)
Oh my Father!Baron.
You lose two fine estates.Amelia.
But a Brother's love will amply repay them.Baron.
And mine! [pressing her eagerly to his bosom.)Pastor. [turning aside.)
Oh why not mine also!Baron. [to the Pastor.)
My friend, for a victory over one prejudice, I have to thank you!—for a victory over a second, I must thank myself!—A man like you, the teacher, and the image of virtue, raises his profession to one of the noblest that the world can boast. Were all your brethren like yourself, christianity might well be proud of them!—you are a noble man—I am only a Nobleman—or, if I am now likely to become more, it is to you I shall be indebted for the change. I am indeed very much your debtor—Amelia, will you pay for me? [Amelia looks at her Father doubtfully for a few moments, then lets fall her hands, turns to the Pastor, and flies into his arms.)Pastor. [in the utmost astonishment.)
My God!—my Lord Baron.Baron.
Silence, silence! Not a word.Amelia. [kissing him)
Silence, silence! You, indeed, love me! [The Pastor loosens himself from her arms, bursts into tears, attempts to speak, but is unable—he goes up to the Baron, takes his hand, and is about pressing it to his month, when the Baron withdraws his hand, and presses him in his arms.)Amelia.
Oh, I am so happy!Baron. [withdrawing his arms from the Pastor)
Enough, enough!—Oh, I could cry like a child!—Suffer me, suffer me to compose myself a few moments—I have yet another scene to come, more heart-affecting than even this.—Now, dearest son, in a few minutes all shall be accomplished, and the last rays of the declining sun shall beam upon the happiest group in Nature's wide-extended kingdom.—Where is Wilhelmina?Pastor.
I will fetch her.Baron.
Stop!—my mind is agitated!—my heart so throbs!—one moment to recover myself. [He walks backwards and forwards, breathes with difficulty, and casts his eyes frequently towards the door of the adjoining room.) That way will she come—that was my mother's chamber—thence have I often seen her come—have feasted on her sweet smile—how can I bear now to see her sorrow-worn countenance?—Frederick must plead for me—Where is my Frederick? [calls) Frank! [Huntsman enters) Where is my son?Huntsman.
In his room.Baron.
Desire him to come hither! [to the Pastor) Now!—my heart beats eagerly! Haste! Haste!—conduct her in! [The Pastor goes out at the side-door—the Baron turns towards it, but starts back some steps, while all his features betray the greatest agitation).Scene 9
[Enter the Pastor, conducting in Wilhelmina—the Baron catches her speechless in his arms—she almost faints. The Baron and Pastor place her in a chair; the Baron kneels before her, with one arm round her waist, and her hand pressed in the other.]
Baron.
Wilhelmina! know you not my voice?Wilhel. [tenderly and faintly)
Wildenhain!Baron.
Can you forgive me?Wilhel.
I forgive you!Fred. [enters hastily)
My mother's voice!—Oh, mother!—father! [He throws himself on his knees by the other side of his mother—she bends tenderly over both—the Pastor stands with his eyes gratefully turned towards heaven—Amelia leans on his shoulder, and wipes the tears from her eyes).[The curtain falls.)
END OF THE PLAY.