Chapter 5

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.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

_ACT IV._