2387 
 A3K5p 
 
 University of Ca 
 Southern Regi 
 Library FaciJ
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
 ENDOWMENT FUND
 
 "THE 
 
 NATURAL SON; 
 
 A FLAY, 
 *l IN FIVE ACTS, 
 
 BY 
 
 AUGUSTUS VON KOTZEBUE, 
 
 Poet Laureat and Director of the Imperial Theatre at Vienna, 
 
 BEING THE ORIGINAL OF 
 
 LOVERS' VOWS, 
 
 KOW PERFORMING, WITH UNIVERSAL APPLAUSE, AT THE 
 
 THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 i 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 By ANNE PLUMPTRE, 
 
 JAUTHOR OF THE RECTOR'S SON, ANTOINETTE, &C.) 
 Who has prefixed 
 
 A PREFACE, 
 
 Explaining the Alterations in the Representation ; and 
 
 A LIFE OF KOTZEBUE. 
 
 FOURTH EDITION. REVISED. 
 
 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR R. PHILLIPS : 
 
 SOLD BY H. D. SYMONDS, PATER-NO STER-ROW; CARPENTER 
 AND CO. OLD .'BOND STREET; R. H.WESTLV, STRAND*} 
 AND BY ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS 
 
 1798.
 
 . PT 
 
 Tranflator's Preface. ^ 3K ^f 
 
 lHE flattering Reception which the Natural 
 Son, under the adopted Title of LOVERS' 
 VOWS, has experienced from an Englifh Audience, 
 in an abridged and altered State, affords Reafon 
 to believe that a complete Tranflation of fo ad- 
 mirable a Drama will obtain at leaft an equal 
 Degree of Public Approbation. This Drama, 
 iince its firft Appearance in Germany, has uni- 
 formly ranked among the moft favourite Pro? 
 du&ions of the Pen of its illuftrious Author ; its 
 Celebrity had long attracted the Notice of the 
 Tranflator, and a Perufal of it fatisfied her, that 
 it was one of thofe brilliant Dramatic Meteors, 
 whofe Luftre ought to be extended from the 
 Qerman to the Englilh Horizon. 
 
 Her
 
 ii translator's preface. 
 
 Her original Defign was to adapt it to the 
 London Stage, and with this View (he actually 
 proceeded in the Tranflation j when, however, 
 fhe had made confiderable Progrefs, fhe learnt 
 that her Defign had been already anticipated, 
 and that a Tranflation, by a foreign Gentleman, 
 had been placed in the Hands of Mrs. Inchbald, 
 by the Manager of Covent Garden Theatre, for 
 the Purpofe of being adapted to Reprefentation 
 Satisfied, therefore, that the Work was in much 
 more able Hands, fhe totally relinquifhed her 
 Defign. 
 
 On the firft Night of the Reprefentation of 
 Lovers' Vows, fhe attended the Theatre, and 
 confefTes that fhe was much furprized at the Ex- 
 tent of the Alterations and Omiffions which had 
 been made. She readily admits that thefe Al- 
 terations may have been neceflary to accommo- 
 date the Play to the Tafte of an Englifh Audience. 
 Still, however, as fhe is of opinion that the 
 Piece has been diverted of fome of its principal 
 Beauties, and that it does not reflect the Mind, 
 the Principles, and the Genius of Kotzebue 
 
 fhe
 
 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. Ill 
 
 me feels herfelf irrefiftibly prompted to prefent 
 her favourite Author to the Public, in the 
 Form he has chofen for himfelf, anxious that* 
 as a Dramatic Writer, he Ihould be brought to 
 a fair Trial at the Bar of Criticifm. She wilhes 
 him to be exhibited in his own native Garb, not, 
 as he emphatically expreffes himfelf in his Pre- 
 face, " in the borrowed Plumage of others," 
 and that the Public may be enabled, at the fame 
 Time, to eftimate the Merits of the Author, 
 and appreciate the Value of the Alterations. 
 
 It will at once be candid and ufeful to enu- 
 merate the chief Points of Variation between 
 \ . . . . 
 
 the Play, as reprefented, and in its original 
 
 Form. 
 
 JThe moft effential Deviation refpects the im- 
 portant comic Character of the Count von der 
 Mulde, which fcarcely pofTefTes a fingle Feature 
 of the Original. As it (lands here, the Reader 
 will obferve, that it is a highly -wrought and 
 exquifitely finiflied Portrait of a German Cox- 
 comb. Whether this Character might have 
 
 A 2 been
 
 iv translator's preface. 
 
 been reliflied by an Englifh Audience, the 
 Tranflator will not pretend to decide ; her own 
 Judgment, however, leads hef to think that it 
 would have had much more Effect in its original, 
 than in its altered State. Diverted of all its 
 marked Features as a German Coxcomb, par- 
 ticularly of the French Phrafes fo appropriate 
 to that Character, yet not wholly transformed 
 into an Englifh Petit Maitre, we fcarcely un- 
 derftand among what Defeription of Perfons he 
 is intended to be clafTed. The Baron, indeed, 
 calls him a complete Monkey, but the fmart 
 Repartees put into his Mouth, feem wholly 
 inconfiftent with the Buffoonery befpoken by 
 that Appellation ; he is, indeed, rather a witty 
 Libertine than a Monkey. This very Appella- 
 tion, however, is a Deviation from the Original 
 where he is called a Coxcomb j but perhaps this 
 arofe from a Miftake of the Tranflator's, be- 
 tween Laffeii (a Coxcomb) and Affen (an Ape). 
 Befides this, from being one of the moil promi- 
 nent Perfonages in the Play, and defigned as a 
 forcible Contraft to the plain and grave, but 
 tlevated Character of Frederick, he is now de- 
 2 graded
 
 TRANSlATOR's PREFACE. V 
 
 graded into a fubordinate State, which leaves the 
 Performance without a due Share of Comic In- 
 tereft, and the happy Effect of the Contrail is 
 loft. The lafl Scene between him and the Baron 
 bears too much Refemblance to that where 
 Frederick difcovers himfelf to the Baron as his 
 Son, and confequently has a Tendency to weaken 
 the Effect of the latter Scene, which ought to 
 have been preferved as the mod impreffive in 
 the whole Play, 
 
 The Amelia in Lovers' Vows, fo far from 
 being the artlefs, innocent Child of Nature* 
 drawn by Kotzebue, appears a forward Country- 
 Hoyden, who deviates, in many Instances, from 
 the eftablifhed Ufages of Society, and the De- 
 corums of her Sex, in a Manner wholly unwar- 
 ranted by the Original. The moil amiable 
 Traits in her Character are difiorted and dif- 
 guifed, by a Pertnefs which greatly detracts 
 from the Efteem which her benevolent Conduct 
 would infpire. Perhaps the latter may be better 
 fuited to Reprefentation before an Englifh Au- 
 dience, but in the Clofet, the Amelia of Kot- 
 zebue
 
 VI TRANSLATOR' S PREFACE. 
 
 zebue will naturally excite the flronger Degree 
 of Intereft. 
 
 To the Alterations in the Character of the 
 Butler, the Tranflator can give her unqualified 
 Approbation. He appears as decidedly a Gainer 
 by the Garb in which Mrs. Inchbald h^s equipped 
 him, as the Count and Amelia are Lofers: This 
 Improvement, in fome Degree, atones for the 
 Lofs of humourous Effect in the Character of 
 the Count ; the doggrel Verfes are mod happily- 
 introduced, and are afi admirable Satire upon the 
 namby-pamby Effufions with which the Public 
 is fo profufely prefented. The Tranflator is feri- 
 fible that thofe here given from the original Play, 
 will, in Comparifon, appear infipid and defective 
 in broad Humour. 
 
 Some interefcing Scenes and exquilite Touches 
 of Nature are omitted. This the Tranflator has 
 Reafon to iufpect arofe from the Imperfection of 
 the Tranflation put into Mrs. Inchbald's Hands. 
 
 In the Fifth Scene of the Firft Act, the Be-. 
 nevoience of the Country Girl is not fufficiently 
 difplayed, through the Omiflion of the Paflage 
 
 in
 
 TRANSLATOR S PREFACE. VU 
 
 in which fhe gives fom.e Milk to the fainting 
 Wilhelmina. 
 
 The Sixth and Seventh Scenes of the Firfl Act, 
 and the Fifth Scene of the Fourth Act, are 
 wholly fuppreffed. 
 
 The Fourth Scene in the Fourth Act opens 
 very abruptly, in Confequence of the Freedom 
 with which the Pruning-knife has been wielded, 
 by lopping off the firft Half. The Reft of the 
 Omiffions confift of occasional Curtailments in the 
 Speeches and Dialogues. 
 
 The Tranflation here given is from the genuine 
 Leipfick Edition, publiGied by the Author in 
 1791,, Qf the very great Reputation which this 
 Play has acquired upon the Continent, fome Idea 
 may be formed from the Circumftance, that, 
 prior to the Appearance of that Publication, no 
 lefs than twelve fpurious and imperfect Editions 
 had been publifhed at Neuwied, Franckfort, Co- 
 logne, and Leipfick. 
 
 ANNE PLUMPTRE. 
 
 London, Off. 15, 1798.
 
 DRAMATIS PERSON JE. 
 
 Performed by 
 
 Baron von Wildenhain, a Co- 
 lonel out of fervice, . - - - Mr. Murray. 
 
 Amelia, bis Daughter, - - - Mrs. H. Johnston. 
 
 The Pastor of the Parijh, in which 
 lies the Baron's Eftate, performed 
 under the Name of Anhalt*, Mr. H. Johnston, 
 
 Count von der Mulde, per- 
 formed under the Name of Count 
 Cassel, ------- Mr. Knight. 
 
 WlLHELMINA BoETTCHER,/>*T- 
 
 formed under the Name of A gatha 
 
 Fribourg, ------ Mrs. Johnson. 
 
 Frederick Boettcher, ayoung 
 
 Soldier, performed under the Name 
 
 of Frederick Fribourg, Mr. Pope. 
 A Cottager, performed under the Name 
 
 of Hubert, ----- Mr. Powel. 
 
 Cottager's Wife, - - - Mrs. Davenport, 
 Christian, Butler in the Baron's 
 
 Family y ----___ Mr. MuNDEN, 
 
 Landlord of the Public Houfi% 
 
 ^Farmer. 
 
 .//Labourer. 
 
 A Young Country Girl. 
 
 A Jew. 
 
 ^Huntsman. 
 
 Servants and Huntsmen. 
 
 * This name, in the former Editions, is, by miftake, called 
 Arnaud.
 
 THE NATURAL SON, 
 
 ACT I, 
 
 SCENE I. The High-way leading to a Town. The Road 
 runs through afmall Village , the lajl Houfes of which 
 are in Sight r A Public Houfe on the Right. 
 
 Enter Landlord from the Public Houfe, pulling Wii> 
 HELmina out by the arms. 
 
 Landlord. 
 
 NO flaying here, woman, no ftaying here ! -It is the 
 fair to day in the village, and as the country people 
 pafsby with their wives and children, they'll be coming 
 in, and I fhall want every corner of my houfe. 
 
 Wilhel. Will you thruft a poor fick woman out of 
 doors ? 
 
 Land. I do not thrujl you out. 
 
 Wilhel. Your unkindnefs breaks my heart, 
 
 hand. It is no fuch mighty hardfhip. 
 
 Wilhel. I have fpent my laft penny with you. 
 
 Land. You have-*--and becaufe it was your laft, you 
 can ftay here no longer ? 
 
 Wilhel. I can work. 
 
 Land. Why you can fcarcely move your hands, 
 
 Wilhel. My ftrength will return. 
 
 Land, Well, then you may return hither, 
 
 Wilhel. But what will become of me in the mean 
 time ? 
 v Land. It is fine weather you may be any where. 
 
 Wilhel. Who will clothe me mould this my only wretch-, 
 ed garment be wet through with dew and rain ? 
 
 B ' Land.
 
 2 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Land. He who clothes the lilies of the field. 
 
 Wilhel. Who will give me a morfel of bread to ap~ 
 peafe my hunger ? 
 
 Land. He who feeds the fowls of the air. 
 
 Wilbel. Hard-hearted man ! you know that \ have 
 fafted ever fince yefterday morning. 
 
 Land. The fick can eat but little .eating is not good 
 for them. 
 
 Wilbel. I will faithfully and honourably pay for every 
 thing. 
 
 Land. By what means ? the times are hard. 
 
 Wilbel. My fate is alfo hard. 
 
 Land. I'll tell you what, woman here lies the high- 
 way ; the road is full of paffengers -beg a fmall matter 
 of fome pitiful heart. 
 
 IVilbel. Beg ! No -I will rather ftarve ! 
 
 Land. That's the great lady indeed ! but many an ho- 
 neft woman has begged for all that. Only try, cuftom, 
 makes every thing eafy. 
 
 (WiLHELMiNAyfo down on ajione under a tree.) 
 
 Land. And here comes fomebody I'll teach you how 
 to begin. 
 
 SCENE II. Enter a Labourer, with his implements 
 paffing along the Road. 
 
 Land, (to the Labourer) Good day ! 
 
 Lab. Good day. 
 
 Land. Neighbour Nicholas, won't you pleafe to beftow 
 a fmall matter upon a poor woman. ( The Labourer pajfes 
 off.) That won't do. The poor devil muft work him- 
 felf for his daily pay. But here comes our fat Farmer, 
 who every Sunday puts fome money into the poor's- 
 box, I'll lay a wager he gives you fomething. 
 
 SCENE III. Enter a jolly looking Farmer, who walks 
 on very Jlowly. . 
 
 Land. Good day, Mr. Farmer ! Fine weather ! . 
 Yonder fits a poor fick woman, who begs alms of you. 
 
 Farmer. Is me not afhamed of herfelf ? She is ftill 
 young ; fhe can work. 
 
 Land. She has had the fever. 
 
 Farmer. Aye, one may work one's fingers to the 
 bones j one may toil hard but money is fcarce enough 
 now-a-days, 
 
 2 Lat\i,
 
 A PLAY. 3 
 
 Land. Only beftow a fmall matter on her ! fhe is 
 hungry. 
 
 Farmer, (as he pajfes on) The harveft has been very 
 bad, and the diftemper has carried off the beft of my 
 cattle. [Exit. 
 
 Land. There's a mifer for you, that does nothing but 
 brood over his old dollars! But talking of brooding* 
 it comes into my head that my old hen hatches to day I 
 inuft make hafte and look after her. (Goes into the 
 houfe.) 
 
 SCENE IVi Wilhelmina alone. Her Clothe? 
 
 wretched^ her Countenance bearing Marks of Sicknefs 
 and Sorrow, yetjlill retaining Traces of Beauty. 
 
 Wilhel. O God ! thou knoweft that it was never thus 
 with me while I had wherewithal to give ! Deareft 
 God ! thou who haft hitherto fhel(;ered me from defpair, 
 accept my thanks. Oh that I could but work again ! 
 but this fever has fo fhaken me did my Frederick know 
 that his mother hungered ! Ah, lives he ftill, or does a 
 weight of earth now cover his remains ? Ah, no, no ! 
 God forbid ! I exift only to fee him once more. Thou 
 author of my woes, I will not curfe thee ; heaven fuffer 
 thee to profper, if it can grant profperity to the feducer 
 of innocence ! Should chance conduct thee this way, 
 fhouldft thou, amid thefe rags, beneath this forrow- 
 ftricken form, recognize thy formerly blooming Wil- 
 helmina what muft be thy feelings? Ah, I hunger; 
 had I but a morfel of bread ! but patience; here on the 
 highway I cannot long be fuffered to want. 
 
 SCENE V. Enter a young Country Girl, carrying 
 Eggs and Milk to Market Jhe pajfes brijkly on, but feeing 
 Wilhelmina, flops andfpeaks. 
 
 Country Girl. God preferve you. 
 
 Wilhel. I thank you kindly! Ah, deareft child, have 
 you not a morfel of bread to give to a poor woman ? 
 
 Country Girl, (with looks of compajjion) Bread ! no, 
 indeed, I have not any. Are you hungry then ? 
 
 WilheL Alas, I am. 
 
 B 2 Country
 
 4 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Country Girl. Ah, deareft God! and I have nor 
 money, and I have eaten the very laft morfel of my 
 brcalcfaft. But I will haften to the town, fell my milk 
 and eggs, and when I return I will give you a 
 Dreyer.* But, now 1 think of it, all that time you will 
 ftill be hungry. Will you drink a little of my milk ? 
 
 Wilhel. Oh, yes ! and thank you kindly, tender- 
 hearted girl. 
 
 Country Girl. Well, drink ! drink ! (Jhe holds the vef- 
 fel up to her with much kindnefs) Won't you have any- 
 more ? drink again if you like, you are heartily wel- 
 come. 
 
 Wilhel. Heaven reward you ! you have quite re- 
 vived me. 
 
 Country Girl. J am heartily glad of it (gives her a 
 friendly nod) good day, mother ! God protect you ! 
 
 [Exit.Jinging, 
 
 Wilhel. (looking after her) Such once was I like her, 
 brifk and joyous, and awake to pity, 
 
 SCENE VI. Enter a Huntsman, -with his Gun and 
 
 Dogs. 
 
 Wilhel. Good fport to you, honeft man ! 
 
 Huntfman. (as he pajjes on) Damnation \ muft I be 
 crofied on my way by an old woman at my firft fetting 
 " out I I (hall have no luck to day. The devil fetch 
 you, you old witch. [Exit. 
 
 Wilhel. That fellow feeks to varnifh over the hardnefs 
 of his heart by his fuperfHtion.~But here comes another 
 a Jew Ah, if I could beg of him would I afk relief, 
 for Chriffians do but profefs humanity. 
 
 SCENE VIL Enter a Jew, who is about to pafs on f 
 but feeing Wilhelmin a, flops and examines her coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 Wilhel. God blefs you ! 
 few. A thoufand thanks, poor woman ! you feera 
 
 very ill. 
 
 Wilhel. I have a fever. 
 
 Jew. (feeling haftily in his pockety whence he takes out a 
 
 fmall purfe, and gives her fome money.) Here, take this, 'tis 
 
 all I can fpare, I have not much myfelf. [Exit, 
 
 * About a halfpenny Englifli. T. 
 
 mibti.
 
 A PLAY, $ 
 
 Wilhel. (much afifecled calls after him) A thoufand 
 thanks ! a thoufand thanks ! Was I wrong ? Did my 
 expectation deceive me ? the creed has no influence 
 upon the heart. 
 
 SCENE VIII. Frederick enters with his Knapfack 
 at his Back x walks brifikly on, humming a Tune : as he 
 approaches, he obferves the Sign of the Public-Houfe, 
 and flops. 
 
 Fred. Humph ! to drink ! it is very hot to-day. 
 But let me firft examine my purfe. (takes out fome 
 pieces of money , which he contemplates as he holds them in 
 bis hand) Yes, to be fure there will be enough to pay 
 for a breakfaft and a dinner, and by evening, pleafe God, 
 I hope to be at home. Come, then, I am very thirfty 
 Holla ! Landlord ! (he fees Wilhelmina) But what have 
 we here ? a poor fick woman, pining, confuming away 
 ihe does not beg, but her fituation afks afliftance, and 
 fhould we always wait to give till we are entreated ? 
 fye, fye ! We muft forego the drinking, elfe fhall 
 we have nothing left for dinner ; be it fo ! To 
 perform a good action fatisfies both hunger and thirft 
 There ! (goes to her intending to give her the money , 
 which he was holding between his fingers to pay for his 
 liquor.) 
 
 Wilhel. (looks at himfledfaftly, then gives a loud Jhriek) 
 Frederick ! ! ! 
 
 Fred, (fitarts, gazes at her earnefitly, throws away his 
 money, knapfack, hat, /tick, whatever encumbers him, and 
 falls into her arms) Mother ! ! ! (both remain fpeechlefs 
 fome time Frederick firft recovers himfelf and proceeds) 
 Mother ! Good heavens ! to find you in this ftate ! 
 Mother ! what is the matter ! fpeak ! 
 
 Wilhel. (trembling) I cannot fpeak dear fon !--- 
 dear Frederick ! the joy ! the transport ! 
 
 Fred> Recover yourfelf, dear, dear mother ! (he refits 
 her head upon his breafit) Recover yourfelf! how you 
 tremble ! you are fainting. 
 
 Wilhel. I am fo weak my head is fo giddy the 
 whole of yefterday I had nothing to eat. 
 
 Fred, (ftarting up, wildly, and covering his face with 
 both hands) Ah, my God ! (he runs to his knapfack, tears 
 
 it
 
 6 THE NATURAL SOKj 
 
 it open, and takes out a piece of bread) here is bread I 
 (collects together the money which he had thrown away, 
 and adds what remained in his pocket) here is my little 
 ftore of money, and my coat, my cloak, my arms* 
 I'll fell them all. Ah, mother, mother. Holla, Land- 
 lord ! (knocks haftily at the public-houfe). 
 
 Landlord* (looking out at the window) What's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Fred* A bottle of wine here ! quick ! difpateh ( 
 
 Land. A bottle of wine ! 
 
 Fred. Yes, yes ! 
 
 Land. And for whom ? 
 
 Fred. For me ! the devil ! make hafte ! 
 
 Land. Well, well ! but, Mr. Soldier, can you pay 5 
 for it ? 
 
 Fred, Here is money ! but make hafte, or I'll break 
 every window in your houfe. 
 
 Land. Patience! patience! (he Jhuts the window) . 
 
 Fred, (to his mother) Fafted the whole day ! fafted ! 
 ^ and I had wherewithal to eat ! I had a good fupper 
 ferved up to me yefterday evening at the Inn, while my 
 mother hungered ! Oh, God ! how is all my promifed 
 joy embittered ! 
 
 Wilhel. Be comforted, dear Frederick \ I fee thee 
 again I am now well I have been very ill I fcarcely 
 hoped ever to fee thee more. 
 
 Fred. Ill ! and I was not with you \ Well, never 
 will I leave you more.~-See, I am become tall, and 
 ftrong, I will work for your fupport. 
 
 Enter Landlord with a bottle and glafs. 
 
 Land. There is wine of precious growth; a glorious 
 bottle ; 'tis only Franconian wine to be fure, but it is four 
 enough to pafs for good old Rhenifh. 
 
 Fred. Bring it hither ! What does the tram coft ? 
 
 Land. Train ! call one of the moft precious gifts of 
 Heaven tram ! Good friend my wine is no trafh ; I have 
 befides another delicious French wine in my cellar, aye,- 
 you ought to tafte that, fo rich, fo lufcious, when you 
 have emptied the giafs it looks dyed all over fuch a line 
 red. (Frederick impatiently attempts to fnatch the bottle 
 
 from
 
 A PLAY, 7 
 
 from him) Come, come, I muft have the money firft* 
 this bottle cofts half a guilder*. 
 
 Fred. (Gives him all his money) There ! there ! (pours 
 cut fame for his mother, who drinks, and eats a piece of 
 bread with it,) 
 
 Land. (Counting over the money) It is one drey er Ihort, 
 but however one ought to be companionate To revive * 
 poor fick woman, one may overlook fuch a thing ; but 
 take care of the bottle, and do not break the glafs, there's 
 a fine German verfe engrav'd upon it. [Exit. 
 
 Wilhel. I thank thee kindly, deareft. Frederick ! wine 
 is reviving, and wine, from the hands of afon, gives new 
 Jife. 
 
 Fred. Don't exhauft yourfelf by talking, mother ; re- 
 cover yourfelf ! 
 
 Wilhel. Tell me then how it has fared with you for 
 thefe lafr. five years ? 
 
 Fred. Good and ill jumbled together j one day 'twas all 
 plenty, the next nothing at all. 
 
 Wilhel. 'Tis a long time fince you have written to 
 
 me. 
 
 Fred. Ah deareft mother 'tis a hard matter for a poor 
 ibldier to afford the money for poftage, only think of the 
 diftance it takes half a year's pay, and you know one 
 muft live. And then I always thought within myfelf, 
 my mother is ftrong and healthy, and I am ftrong and 
 healthy, I may as well wait a few weeks longer ; and fo 
 I delayed it from one week to another, but I hope you'll 
 forgive me, deareft mother. 
 
 Wilhel. We eafily forgive neglect when the anxiety 
 it occafions is no longer felt. Have you then obtained 
 your difcharge ? 
 
 Fred. No. I have only procured leave of abfence for a 
 few months for a particular reafon ; but you want me, 
 I will continue with you. 
 
 Wilhel. There is no occafion, dear Frederick, your 
 vifit will reftore my health and renew my vigour, then 
 fliall I be able again to work, and you may return to 
 your regiment ; I would not be a hindrance to your for- 
 tune. But it feems you have obtained leave of abfence 
 for a particular reafon ? Did you not fay fo ? may I know 
 jthis reafon? 
 
 * About thirteen pence Englifh. T. 
 
 Frtd.
 
 * THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Fred. Oh yes, dear mother ! liften and I will relate 
 it. When I left you five years ago, you equipped me 
 excellently with clothes, and linen, and money, but one 
 trifle you forgot, the certificate of my birth. I was at 
 that time a giddy, thoughtlefs lad of fifteen, and this 
 never occurred to me, but it has fince occafioned mc 
 much vexation. Many times have I been heartily weary 
 of a foldier's buftling life, and was defirous of obtaining 
 my difcharge, that I might apply myfelf to learning fome 
 reputable trade, but whenever I mentioned this fubjet to 
 any tradefman, faying, " Good Sir, I wifh to bind my- 
 felf to you to learn your trade," the firft queftion always 
 was, " where's the certificate of your birth ?" That 
 fettled the point at once. I was vexed and continued a 
 foldier, for in that profefiion they only afk, whether all 
 is right about the heart j the certificate of birth is of no 
 more account than the diploma of nobility. But ftill 
 this brought me into many unpleafant fcrapes. My com- 
 rades found this out, and if any of them wimed to 
 teaze me, or were intoxicated, they would fneer at me, 
 and make ill-natured fpeeches, and endeavour to irri- 
 tate me. Twice I was even compelled to fight, and 
 was put under arreft. My captain frequently admonifhed 
 me- and at laft about five weeks ago, when another of 
 thefe quarrels happened, he called me to him in his own 
 room (Oh, mother, my captain is a fine charming man) 
 " Boettcher," faid he, " I am forry to learn, that 
 you are continually getting into quarrels and incurring pu- 
 nifhment, for in other relpects I am extremely fatisfied 
 with your fervice, and have a good opinion of you. The 
 ferjeant has informed me of the caufe. I'll tell you 
 what write home, and defire that your certificate 
 may be fent, or if you are inclined to go and fetch it 
 yourfelf, I will give you leave of abfence for a few 
 months, the time of exercifing is over." Oh, mother, 
 your form hovered before my eyes, as he fpoke fo kindly. 
 1 killed his hand and Hammered out my thanks. He 
 prefented me with a dollar,-" Go, my lad," faid 
 he, u may your journey be profperous, and remember 
 to return at the proper time." Now, mother, you fee 
 I am here, and this is the whole of theftory. 
 
 Wilkel. (who had lijlened to his narrative with embar- 
 rafsment.) And you are come hither, dear Frederick, to 
 fetch the certificate of your birth ? 
 
 Wilheh
 
 A PLAY. 9 
 
 Fred. Yes. 
 
 Wilhel. Oh heavens! 
 
 Fred. What is the matter? (Wilhelmina burfts into 
 tears) for God's fake what is the matter ? . 
 
 Wilhel. Alas, you can have no fuch certificate ! 
 
 Fred. How ? 
 
 Wilhel. You are a Natural Son 
 
 Fred. So, fo ! and who then is my father ? 
 
 Wilhel. Ah ! the wildnefs of your looks tortures me ! 
 
 Fred, (recovering himfelf and /peaking mildly and affic 
 tionately) Be not alarmed, deareft mother ! ftill I am 
 your fon tell me only who is my father ? 
 
 Wilhel. When you left me five years ago, you were 
 too young to be entrufted with fuch a fecret. Now your 
 maturer years demand my confidence. You are grown 
 to man's eftate, and are moreover worthy of the name 
 of man. My fair maternal hopes have not deceived me. 
 Ah, I have heard full often, how confolatory, how re- 
 viving it is to the fpirits of the affli&ed to meet with 
 one to whom their wrongs may be imparted. The tears 
 which thofe fufferings draw from the eyes of another, 
 afluage the anguim of the fufferer. Thanks, thanks be 
 to God the hour is arrived, in which I can enjoy this 
 confolation: my fon is my confident, be he alfo my 
 judge, for a ftrict judge I muft deprecate, but my fon 
 will not be fevere on me. 
 
 Fred. Speak, deareft mother ! lay open your whole 
 heart ! 
 
 Wilhel. Ah my fon, I will tell you all ; and yet fhame 
 almoft chains my tongue : do not then look at me. 
 
 Fred. Know I not well the heart of my mother ! ac- 
 curfed be the thought that would, condemn her for a 
 weaknefs of a crime fhe is incapable. 
 
 Wilhel. Yon village, the fpire of whofe church you 
 fee at a diftance, is the place of my birth : In that 
 church was I baptized, and there alfo was I inftrudr.ed in 
 the firft rudiments of our faith. My parents were pious 
 and good cottagers; poor, but honeft. When I was 
 fourteen years old, I chanced one day to be feen by the 
 lady of the caftle : I pleafed her, fhe took me to her 
 manfion, and delighted in forming my ruftic mind. She put 
 good books into my hands ; I was inftruted in French 
 and mufic ; my ideas and capacity for learning developed 
 themfelves, but fo ajfo did my vanity : Yes, under the 
 
 C appearance
 
 io THE NATURAL SON? 
 
 appearance of referve I became a vain filly girl. I had 
 juft attained my feventeenth year, when the fon of my 
 benefactrefs, who was in the Saxon fervice, obtained 
 leave of ab fence, and came to vifit us ; it was the firft 
 time of my feeing him ; he was a handfomeand engaging 
 youth ; he talked to me of love, of marriage ; he was 
 the firft man who had paid homage to my charms : Ah, 
 Frederick, do not look at me, I cannot go on. 
 
 Fred, (cafis down his eyes y and prejfes her band to his 
 heart both paufe. ) 
 
 IVilhel. I, too credulous creature, was beguiled of my 
 innocence ! he feigned the molt ardent love promifed me 
 marriage after the death of his aged mother fwore eter- 
 
 IT 
 
 nal faith and conftancy. Alas I and I forgot my pious 
 parents, the precepts of our worthy paftor, the kindnefs 
 of my fofter-m other Ah Frederick, Frederick, often as 
 I caft my eyes towards the tower of yonder church, fo 
 often does the figure of our good old paftor with his filver 
 hairs feem to ftand- before my eyes, as he appeared when 
 for the firft time I went to confeilion. How did my 
 young heart then flutter how full was I of virtue and 
 elevated devotion ! Oh at that time, certain of triumph, 
 I had courage frankly to acknowledge every failing. 
 How, good Heavens ! how could it be poffible, that a wild, 
 unthinking youth, fiiould, by a few idle words and 
 glances, efface that deep, deep imprefnon: yet fo it was 
 I became pregnant. We were both awakened from our 
 fweet intoxication, and (huddered at the fearful profpect 
 of the future. I had put every thing to the hazard he 
 only had to fear the anger of his mother, a good, but in- 
 exorably ftricl: woman. How tenderly did he conjure me, 
 how affeftingly did he entreat of me, not to betray him ! 
 How impreflively, how ardently did he promife hereafter 
 to make me amends for all and fo dearly did I love 
 him, that I gave him my word, to conceal the name of 
 my feducer, to bury his image in my heart, and pa- 
 tiently to endure, for his fake, whatever forrow might be 
 in ftore for me. Alas 'tis much indeed that I have fuf- 
 fered ! He departed, fatisfied meanwhile the time of 
 my delivery approached I could no longer conceal my 
 fituation Ah I was feverely dealt with for perfifting in 
 my refufal to name the father of my child. I was driven 
 indignantly from the houfe, and whenl came to the door 
 
 of
 
 A PLAY. 11 
 
 F my afflicted parents, there too was I denied admittance. 
 My rather upbraided me bitterly, and even was about to 
 curfe me, when my mother tore him haftily away. She 
 foon returned threw me a crooked dollar, which fhe 
 wore about her neck, and wept ; fince that time I never 
 have feen them. But the dollar I have ftill (/he draws it out 
 from her bofom.) I have fuffered hunger rather than part 
 with this ! (Jhe gazes on it fome time, kijfes it, and reji ores it 
 to its place.) Without a houfe in which to hide my head, 
 without money, without friends, I wandered a whole night 
 in the open fields. Once I had arrived at the river-fide, 
 there where ftands the mill, and forely was I tempted to 
 throw myfelf in under the mill-wheel, thus at once to 
 end my mifery. But immediately the image of the wor- 
 thy Paftor prefented itfelf before me with his gentle, 
 
 venerable mien. 1 ftarted back, and looked around 
 
 to fee whether he were not behind me. The thought 
 of him, and of his precepts, awakened my confidence 
 morning came on, I refolved to go to his houfe. He re- 
 ceived me afFeciionately, uttered not a fingle re- 
 proach " What is done," he laid, " is done ! Heaven 
 pardons the penitent reform then, my daughter, and all 
 may yet be well. Here in this village, however, thou 
 muff, not remain ; that will be to thee a continued mor- 
 tification, and a fcandal to my panihioners but," and 
 
 here he put a piece of gold into my hand, together with a 
 letter which he had written in my behalf, u go to the 
 town, my daughter, feek out an old and refpeiStable widow to 
 whom this letter is directed, with her thou wilt be fafe, 
 and fhe will hefides give thee inftruAion in what man- 
 ner to obtain an honeft livelihood." With thefe 
 words he laid his hand upon my forehead, and giving me 
 his blefling, promifed alfo to endeavour to foften my 
 father. Ah I feemed now to receive new life ! On my 
 way to the town I reconciled myfelf with my Creator, and 
 folemnly vowed never again to deviate from the path of 
 virtue that vow I have ftriclly kept, fo far may you 
 ftill refpect me, my Frederick. (Frederick pre/Jes her 
 filently in his arms, after a pauje Jhe proceeds) Your birth 
 was to me the caufe of much forrow, and much joy*- 
 Twice did I write to your father, but God only knows 
 whether he received the letters, no anfwer have I ever 
 obtaiaed. 
 
 C 2 Fred.
 
 j 2 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Fred. (Hajiily) No anfwer! 
 
 Wilbel. Be calm ! my fon, be calm ! It was in 
 time of war, his regiment was then in fervice, all was 
 buftle and confufion throughout the whole country, the 
 troops of three different powers purfued each other al- 
 ternately ; how eafily then might letters be loft ; No, 
 he certainly never received mine, for he was no villain, 
 5ince then indeed I have never troubled him ; it might 
 be pride, or call it what you pleafe, but I thought that if 
 he had not forgotten me, he would certainly feelc inform- 
 ation concerning me, learn from our paftor whither I 
 was retired, and come to fee me, but alas, he came not, 
 and fome years after I even heard (Jhe fighs deeply) that 
 he was married. Thus was I compelled to bid farewel 
 to my laft ray of hope ; in folitude and obfcurity I inha- 
 bited an indigent cottage, where I gained a livelihood 
 by the work of my hands, and by inftructing the neigh- 
 bouring children in what I had learnt at the caftle. 
 You, my deareft Frederick, were my only joy ; and on 
 your education I beftowed all that I could fpare from the 
 neceflaries of food and clothing. My diligence was not 
 ill repaid ; you were a good boy, only your wildnefs, your 
 youthful fire, your love for a foldier's life, and defire to 
 ramble about the world, occafioned me many a heart- 
 ache : at laft I thought it muft be as God pleafes ! Is it 
 the boy's deftination ? I will not hinder him, though 
 my heart fhould break at the feparation. Five years ago 
 therefore, I fuffered you to depart, giving you at that 
 time, all that I could pofiibly fpare, perhaps more than I 
 ought to have fpared, but I was then in health, and when 
 that is the cafe, one is too apt to think that ficknefs never 
 can come. Indeed had I continued well, I had ftill earnt 
 much more than I wanted for myfelf, had been a rich 
 woman for one in my fituation, and ftill, dear Frederick, 
 had fent you every year a Chriftmas prefent. But I 
 was attacked by a lingering illnefs there ended my 
 earnings my little ftore fcarcely fufficed for phyfician, 
 nurfe, and medicines, and I was obliged a few days ago, to 
 turn my back upon my poor little cottage, as I had no 
 longer wherewithal to pay the rent. My only refource 
 was to totter along the road with this ftick, this bag, and 
 thefe rags, and folicit a morfel of bread from the charity 
 of thofe who happened to pafs by. 
 
 5 Fred.
 
 A, PLAY. 13 
 
 Fred. Ah, if your Frederick had fufpe&ed this, how 
 bitter would have been every morfei he eat, every drop 
 that he drank. Well, God be thanked ! I am here 
 again, you are alive, and I will remain with you; I 
 will not on any account leave you ; and I will write thus 
 to my Captain. Let him take it as he will, let him re- 
 vile it as defertion, I will not ftir from my mother. 
 Alas ! however I have not learnt any art, any trade, but 
 I have a pair of nervous arms, I can guide the plough, I 
 can handle the flail; I will hire myfelf as a day-labourer, 
 and at night copy writings for fome lawyer ; for 
 thanks to you, my good mother, I write a fair and 
 legible hand. Oh, all will go well ! God will help 
 us, for he fupports thofe who honour their parents. 
 
 Wilhel. (clafps him in her arms much affecled) What 
 princefs could offer me an equivalent for fuch a fon ? 
 
 Fred. One thing you have ftill forgotten, mother 
 What is my father's name ? 
 
 Wilhel. Baron Wildenhain. 
 
 Fred. And he lives on this eftate ? 
 
 Wilhel. Here once lived his mother, but me is dead. 
 He himfelf married a noble heirefs in Franconia, and as 
 I am allured, has, to pleafe her, for ever forfaken his 
 native country. A Steward, in the mean time, lives in 
 the houfe, who manages the eftate at his pleafure. 
 
 Fred. I will haften to the Baron my father I will boldly 
 face him I will bear you upon my back to him. How 
 great is the diftance of Franconia ; from twenty to thirty 
 miles* ? only fo far has he removed himfelf, and has he 
 efcaped from his confeience at fofhort a diftance ? Truly, a 
 lazy creeping kind of a confeience, twenty years has it been 
 crawling after him, and not yet overtaken him ! Oh, 
 fhame J fhame t Wherefore muff. I know my father, when 
 my father is not an honeft man ? My heart was fatisfied 
 with a mother, a mother who has taught me to love, 
 and why fhould I know a father who will teach me to 
 hate ? No, I will not feek him ! Let him remain 
 where he is, and feaft and pamper himfelf till his laff. 
 hour, and then he may fee how he has prepared himfelf 
 to meet his God. Is it not true, mother, that we need 
 
 Jiim not ? We will but what is the matter ! your 
 
 countenance is changed ! Mother, what is the matter ? 
 
 * A German mile is equal to abotit five Englifli. T. 
 
 Wilhel.
 
 i 4 THE NATURAL SON ; 
 
 Wilhel. (very weak and almost fainting) Nothing 
 nothing ! my joy ! too much talking ! I wifh to be 
 quiet awhile. 
 
 Fred. My God ! I never till now perceived that we 
 were in the high way ! (he knocks at the door of the public- 
 houfe) Halloo ! Landlord ! 
 
 Land, {at the window) Well, what is the matter 
 now ? 
 
 Fred. Here, I want a bed in an inftant for this poor 
 woman. 
 
 Land. A bed for this poor woman! (fneeringly) Ha, ha, 
 ha I Laft night fhe lay in the ftall with my cattle, and 
 has bewitched them all ! (/huts the window). 
 
 Fred, {taking up a ftone in a rage) Curfed fcoundrel ! 
 {he looks at his mother and drops the ftone again) Ah, my 
 poor mother ! {he knocks in despairing anguijh at a cottage 
 door which ftands further in the back groud) Halloo ! 
 halloo ! 
 
 SCENE IX. Enter a Cottager from the Houfe. 
 
 Cottager. God preferve you ! What do you want ? 
 
 Fred. Good friend, look at this poor woman, fhe 
 is fainting here in the open air. She is my mother. Do 
 pray let her have a corner in your houfe, where fhe may 
 reft for half an hour. I beg it for God's fake, and hea- 
 ven will reward you ! 
 
 Cottager. Hold your tongue, I entreat ! I underftand 
 you perfectly well (fpeaking to fomebody in the houfe) Bet, 
 make up the bed there, quickly j you can lay the boy 
 upon the bench in the mean time : {to Frederick) Don't 
 tell me a long ftory again about God rewarding, and 
 heaven paying ; if God is to pay all fuch trifles, he'll 
 have enough to do indeed. Come, quick, fupport her, 
 let us lead her in gently. A bed, as good as I can give 
 her, fhe fhall have ; but indeed fhe will not find much 
 in my houfe befides. ( They lead her into the cottage). 
 
 >END OF THE FIRST ACT =
 
 A PLAY. t$ 
 
 ACT II. 
 
 SCENE I. A Room in the Cottage. 
 
 WlLHELMINA, FREDERICK, the COTTAGER and his 
 
 Wife. 
 
 Wilhelmina fits on a wooden Stool, with her Head 
 fupported on her Son's Breajl. 
 
 Frederick {[peaking to the Cottager and his Wife, as 
 they are bufied about the Cottage.) 
 
 Frederick. 
 
 DEAR good people, have you nothing then ? No- 
 thing ftrengthening ? nothing reviving ? 
 
 Wife. Run, hufband, to our neighbour at the public 
 houfe, and fetch a bottle of wine. 
 
 Fred. Ah, that will not do ! his wine is as bad as 
 his heart. She has already tried that, and I fear it has 
 proved poifon to her. 
 
 Cottager. Go and fee, wife, whether the black hen 
 has not laid an egg. A new laid egg boiled foft 
 
 Wife. Or a few ripe currants 
 
 Cottager. Or, the beft thing that I have a piece of 
 
 bacon. 
 
 Wife. Or, there's about half a pint of brandy ftanding 
 in the dairy. 
 
 Fred, (much ajfecled.) God blefs you and reward you 
 for your kind-heartednefs ! Do you hear mother (Wil- 
 helmina nods her head) Do you like any of thefe things? 
 (Wilhelmina makes a motion with her hand declining them) 
 She does not fancy them is there no phyfician in the 
 neighbourhood ? 
 
 Cottager. There's a horfe doctor lives in the village- 
 but I never in my life faw any other. 
 
 Fred.
 
 16 THE NATURAL SON ; 
 
 Fred. Oh God what fhall I do ! fhe will die in my 
 arms merciful God, take pity on me ! Kind people 
 pray for us pray l entreat you ! I cannot pray myfelf. 
 
 Wilhel. (with a broken voice,) Be comforted dear 
 Frederick I am well I am only faint, very faint a 
 glafs of good wine 
 
 Fred. Yes mother ! immediately mother directly ! 
 But, oh God where fhall I procure it ! no money 
 none, not a doit. 
 
 Wife. Look you here, hufband did you carry the 
 money for the rent yefterday to the fteward ? 
 
 Cottager. Yes, indeed, the more's the pity. What 
 can be done ! It is true, as I am an honeft man, that 
 I have not a fingle doit in the houfe. 
 
 Fred. I will I will beg and if I cannot fucceed by 
 begging, I will rob ! Good people, take care of my poor 
 mother do what you are able ! give her what help 
 you can !-~I will foon return. (Rujhes out of the houfe.) 
 
 SCENE II. Wilhelmina, the Cottager, and his 
 Wife. 
 
 Cottager. Should he but ftep to our paftor, he*ll give 
 fomething for certain. 
 
 Wilhel. Does the worthy old paftor then ftill live ? 
 
 Wife. Alas no ! The good old gentleman ! it has 
 pleafed God to take him he died two years ago, worn 
 out and weary of life. 
 
 Cottager. He went out like a lamp. 
 
 Wife, (wiping her eyes) We have reafon enough to 
 weep for him. 
 
 Cottager, (with tears alfo) He was our father. 
 
 Wilhel. (extremely ajfefted) Our father ! 
 
 Wife. We fhall never have fuch another. 
 
 Cottager. Well, well ! let every man have his due 
 we rauft not cry down any body. Our prefent paftor is 
 alfo a worthy good man. 
 
 Wife. Yes, indeed, hufband but very young. 
 
 Cottager. 'Tis true, one can't look up to him with quite 
 fo much refpeel our hearts don't take to him fo rea- 
 dily but our old paftor himfelf, you know, was once 
 young. 
 
 Wife.
 
 A PLAY. 17 
 
 Wife, (to Wilhelmina) This gentleman was tutor in 
 the family, and my lord the Baron was fo well fatisfied 
 with him, that he made him our paftor. 
 
 Cottager. And well he might be fatisfied ; for to be 
 fure our young lady, God blefs her, is a charming, af- 
 fable creature. 
 
 Wife. Not at all proud. When {he comes to church, 
 ihe nods her head round to all the countrywomen, firft 
 to one and then to another. 
 
 Cottager. And when {becomes into the pew, {beholds 
 her fan before her face, and prays with fuch devotion ! 
 
 Wife. And during the fermon, fhe never once turns 
 away her eyes from the paftor. 
 
 Wilhel. (with emotion) And who is this young lady ? 
 
 Cottager. The daughter of my lord the Baron. 
 
 Wilhel. Is {he here, then ? 
 
 Wife. Here! yes, to be fure! did not you know 
 that r Next Friday it will be five weeks fince his lord- 
 ihip made his entry into the Caftle, bag and baggage. 
 
 Wilhel. Baron Wildenhain ? 
 
 Wife. Yes, my lord himfelf. 
 
 Wilhel. And his lady ? 
 
 Cottager. Oh, no ; her ladyfhip is dead. They 
 lived fome hundred miles oft, in Franconia; and 
 while her ladymip was alive, my lord never came 
 amongft us. That has frequently been a great lofs 
 to us. (Speaking in a fort of ivhifper.) She was a proud 
 kind of lady, with a heap of fancies. Well, well, we 
 fhould not fpeak ill of the dead. The Baron is ftill a 
 very good kind of gentleman ; fcarcely had my lady 
 cloied her eyes, when he refolved immediately to leave 
 the place, and returned to Wildenhain. And well he 
 might, for this is his native place ; here he grew up to 
 manhood j many a time has he joined in our country 
 fports, and has often danced with my wife on a Sun- 
 day evening under the lime-trees. Don't you re- 
 member it, Bet ? 
 
 Wife. O yes, to be fure, I may well remember it. 
 The young gentleman ufed to wear a red coat, and fine 
 buckles fet withfparkling ftones. 
 
 Cottager. Afterwards, indeed, when he became an of- 
 ficer, he turned out rather wild ; but young folks mult 
 Cow their wild oats j the foil was naturally good, but 
 
 D the
 
 18 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 the richefl earth, you know, will fometimes beaf 
 weeds. 
 
 Wife. But do you remember, hufband, what a piece 
 of work he made with Boettcher's Minny ? That was 
 not right. 
 
 Cottager. Hufh, wife ! we muft not bring up fuch old 
 ftories. Befides, we don't know that he was the father 
 of her child ; (he never faid fo. 
 
 Wife. Well, for all that, I'd lay my Sunday gown 
 and laced cap that he was the man, and nobody elfe. 
 No, no, hufband, you muft not defend that that was 
 wicked. Who knows whether the poor creature has not 
 died of hunger and grief and her poor father, old 
 Boettcher, he might have lived longer, if he had not been 
 (o heart-broken about it. (Wilhelmina faints.) 
 
 Cottager, (firji perceiving her) Bet ! Bet I Help 1 
 Zounds, help ! 
 
 Wife. Ah ! my God ! poor woman ! 
 
 Cottager. Quick, quick, carry her into the chamber ; 
 lay her on the bed and then we'll go and fetch the 
 pallor, for file fcarccly can live till morning. 
 
 (They carry her in.) 
 
 SCENE III. J Room in the Baron 's Cajlle. 
 
 The Br eakfafl -table is fet out > a lighted Candle and a Roll 
 of wax Taper on the Table, 
 
 The Baron enters in his night gown. 
 
 Baron. Sleeps the Count ftill ? 
 
 Servant. No, my lord ; his hair is already drefled. 
 
 Baron. I fu {peeled fo ; the whole houfe is fcented witk 
 poudre a la Marechalle. Call my daughter hither. (The 
 fervant goes out, the Baron fills his pipe and lights it.) 
 It feems to me that the old privy-counfellor has faddled 
 me with a complete coxcomb ; whatever he fays and 
 does, is as filly and conceited as his countenance. No % 
 I will not be precipitate my Amelia is too dear tome 
 for that; I muft flift know the young gentleman a little 
 better, and not for the lake of an ancient friendfhip make 
 my daughter unhappy. The poor girl innocently fays 
 yes, arid ftie will do as her father pleafes, and he under- 
 
 ftands
 
 A PLAY. 19 
 
 ftarids thefe things better than herfelf. Pity, pity, in- 
 deed, that the girl war. not a boy ! Pity that the name 
 of Wildenhain muft be extinct, even as the flame which 
 I now blow out. (He blozvs out the candle with which he 
 
 had lighted his pipe.) All my fine eftates, my glorious 
 
 profpe<Sts, my honeft, well-conditioned tenants all, 
 all muft pafs into foreign hands !- 'tis to be regretted 
 much to be regretted ! 
 
 SCENE IV. Enter Amelia in a loofe morning drefs. 
 
 Amelia, (kijjing the Baron's hand) Good morrow, dear 
 father. 
 
 Baron. Good morrow, my daughter. You have flept 
 well, I hope ? 
 
 Amelia. Oh! yes. 
 . Baron. You have, indeed, flept well ? Not been at 
 all difturbed ? 
 
 Amelia. No only the gnats made rather a humming 
 in my ears. 
 
 Baron. The gnats ! Well, that does not much fig- 
 nify. We muft only fmoke a bough of" juniper in the 
 room. 'Tis eafier to drive away gnats than maggots. 
 
 Amelia. If you want to drive them away, 'tis only to 
 boil fome peas with a little quickiilver, and that will kill 
 them. 
 
 Baron, (laughing) Well, well, it will be happy for 
 you, Amelia, ifvou never know any other maggots than 
 what a plate of peas will kill. 
 
 Amelia. Oh, you mean maggots in the head ! No, no, 
 I have none of them. 
 
 Baron. So much the better. What, indeed, mould a 
 young, lively girl of fixteen like you, have to do with 
 maggots in her head. You have a father who loves you 
 tenderly, and a fuitor who begs permidion to love you. 
 How do you like the Count von der Mulde ? 
 
 Amelia. Very well. 
 
 Baron. Do you not bluih when I name him? 
 
 Amelia, (feeling her cheeks) No. 
 
 Baron. No! Humph! And you have not dreamt of 
 him ? 
 
 Amelia. No. 
 
 Baron. You did not dream at all, perhaps ? 
 
 D 2 AmAia.
 
 20 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Jmelia. (conftdering) Oh ! yes, I dreamt of OUT 
 paftor. 
 
 Baron. Aha ! as he flood before you, and afked you 
 for the ring ? 
 
 Jmelia. Oh, no ! not fo. I dreamt that we were ftill 
 in Francor.ia, and he was ftill my tutor, and was about 
 to depart, and that I wept' bitterly. 
 
 Baron. And that your father laughed, and your mother 
 fcclded ? Is it not true I Yes, yes, it was a foolifh 
 fcene. It is ftill perfectly in my remembrance. 
 
 Jmelia. And when I waked, my eyes were really wet. 
 
 Baron. Hear me, Amelia ! When you dream again of 
 t}ie paftor, let it be that he flood at the altar, and yoa 
 and the Count flood before him, and exchanged rings *. 
 What think you of that ? 
 
 Jmelia. I will moll certainly, dear father, if you com- 
 mand it. 
 
 Baron. The devil ! No, I do not command it ! But 
 I wifh to know whether you love him ? You know you 
 faw him at the ball, when we fpent a few days -in town 
 lafl winter. 
 
 Jmelia. Should I then love every body whom I fee at 
 a ball ? 
 
 Baron. Amelia ! Amelia ! Do not be ftupid ! I mean, 
 that at that time the Count von cer Mulde fimpered and 
 ogled with you danced an elegant minuet or two to- 
 gether he poured eau de mille Jieurs upon your pocket- 
 handkerchief, and God knows what he was talking about 
 all the time. 
 
 Jmelia. God knows, indeed ! I'm fure I remember 
 nothing about it. 
 
 Baron. Nothing ? 
 
 Jmelia. If it would be a fatisfaclion to you, I will en- 
 deavour to recollect as much as I can. 
 
 Baron. No, no, there is no occafion. What one is 
 forced to try to recollect, can only be brought forth from 
 a corner of the memory, not from the recefies of the 
 heart. You do not then love him ? 
 
 Jmelia. I believe not. 
 
 * In Germany, it is the practice, in the marriage ceremony, 
 
 for the bride and bridegroom to exchange rings. T. 
 
 Baron.
 
 A PLAY. 21 
 
 Baron, (afidd) I believe not too. Yet I wifh to 
 make you underftand the connection between his vifit 
 and my queftions. His father is a privy-counfellor a 
 man of wealth and rank of wealth and rank ! doft thou 
 hear ? 
 
 Amelia. Yes, dear father if you command it. But 
 our paftor always told me that I mould not regard fuch 
 things j that wealth and rank are mere gifts of chance. 
 
 Baron. Well, well, he is right enough in that. But if 
 it fo happen that wealth and rank go hand in hand with 
 merit, then they are an advantage. You underftand me ? 
 Amelia. Perfectly. (With fimpli city, and without any 
 apparent defign.) And is that the cafe with the Count 
 von der Mulde ? 
 
 Baron, (embarrajfed.) Humph ! His father has ren- 
 dered the State important fervices ; he is my old friend 
 he forwarded my fuit with your mother, and I have great 
 obligations to him ; andbecaufe he fo earneftly wiffres for 
 a marriage between you and his ion and becaufe he fup- 
 pofes that in time you will love the young man fo ar- 
 dently- 
 
 Amelia. Does he fuppofe that ? 
 
 Baron. Yes. But it appears to me that you are not 
 of the fame opinion ? 
 
 Amelia. Not entirely. Still, if you command, dear 
 
 father 
 
 Baron. The devil U I tell you that one mud not com- 
 mand in fuch things ; a marriage without love is like 
 
 flavery in the galleys ; none but congenial minds {hould 
 be united I would not pair a nightingale with a finch. If 
 you like each other, be it fo if not, here let the matter 
 reft. (More calmly.) Attend, my Amelia! the whole 
 of the affair is this can you, or can you not, love this 
 man? If you cannot, then we muft fend him back with 
 a refufal. 
 
 Amelia. Dear father, it appears to me that I never fhall 
 love him. I have read fo much in romances about love, 
 
 how ftrange and wonderful ate its effects 
 
 Baron. Hey! what! Don't prattle to me of your ro- 
 mances! they are the devil, indeed! they tell you a 
 parcel of nonfenfe, that never can ftand the teft of expe- 
 rience. But ftop ! I will put a few queftions to you 
 anfwer them with nnccrity, Amelia with ftrict fincerity. 
 
 Amelia.
 
 22 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Amelia. I have never anfwered you otherwife. 
 
 Baron. Are you pleafed when you hear people talk of 
 the Count ? 
 
 Amelia. Good or ill ? 
 
 Baron. Good, good ? 
 
 Amelia. Oh, yes. I am always pleafed when I hear 
 good of any man. 
 
 Baron. But are you not elated when you hear him 
 mentioned ? (She Jhakes her head.) Are you not embar- 
 rafied? (She /hakes her head.) Do you not wifh fome- 
 times that he mould be made the fubject of converfation, 
 yet have not courage to begin talking of him yourfelf ? 
 (She Jhakes her head.) Would you not defend him, if 
 you mould hear him calumniated ? 
 
 Amelia. Oh, certainly, if I could. Our paflor 
 
 Baron. Pfhaw ! Pfhaw ! we won't talk about our paftor 
 at prefent. How do you feel when you fee the Count ? 
 
 Amelia. Very well. 
 
 Baron. Don't you feed any palpitation as he approaches 
 you ? 
 
 Amelia. No. (Hajlily recolletting herfelf.) Yes, I did 
 once. 
 
 Baron. Aha ! now it's coming out. 
 
 Amelia. It was at the ball, when he trod on my foot. 
 
 Baron. Don't be foolifh, Amelia !- Don't you cad 
 down your eyes when he addrefles you ? 
 
 Amelia. I never caft my eyes down before any body. 
 
 Baron. Do you not play with your apron or handker- 
 chief, when he is talking to you ? 
 
 Amelia. No. 
 
 Baron. Does not your face glow when he makes you a 
 fine fpeech, referring perhaps to love or marriage ? 
 1 Amelia. Did he ever fay any thing of that kind to me ? 
 'Tis more than I recoiled!:. 
 
 Baron. Humph! humph! (After a paufe.) Have 
 
 you not fometimes yawned while he was talking to 
 you ? 
 
 Amelia. No, dear father that is not polite. 
 
 Baron. But were you ever difpofed to yawn ? 
 
 Amelia. Oh yes, dear father. 
 
 Baron. So ! then there is little hope. Do you think 
 him handfome ? 
 
 Amelia. I don't know. 
 
 Baron.
 
 A PLAY. n 
 
 Baron. Do not you know what beauty is ? or do you 
 not know whether you think him handfome ? 
 * Amelia. I never particularly examined him. 
 
 Baron. Bad again. How did you feel when he came 
 yefterday evening ? 
 
 Amelia. I was vexed ; for at the very time the fervant 
 fo unfeafonably called me, I was walking with our paftor 
 on the little romantic hill. 
 
 Baron. Unfeafonably ! Humph ! Well, only one 
 
 more queftion. Have you not undefignedly drafted your 
 hair this morning with unufual care, and fele<5ted a par- 
 ticularly becoming defhabille ? 
 
 Amelia, (furveying herfelf) This is not dirty yet, dear 
 father ; I only wore it yefterday and the day before. 
 
 Baron, (af.de) Here is, indeed, little profpect of fuccefs! 
 Well, my dear child, the Count, then, is indifferent to vou ? 
 Amelia. Why, yes unlefs you command 
 Baron, (warmly) Liften to me, Amelia ! If you 
 repeat again your damned command^ I may be tempt- 
 ed perhaps to command indeed. (More mildly.) To 
 fee you happv, my child, is my earner!: wifh, and com- 
 mands cannot produce happinefs. iMarriage is a very in- 
 harmonious duet, if the tones are ill alToned ; therefore 
 the great Compofer has planted in our hearts the pure 
 harmony of love. I'll tell you what, Amelia, I will fend 
 the paftor to you. 
 
 Amelia, (joyfully) The paftor \ 
 
 Baron. He fhall inftruct: you in the duties of the 
 marriage ftate ; for that office a clergyman is better qua- 
 lified than a father. Then examine yourfelf ; and if 
 you believe that the Count is the man towards whom 
 your heart can fulfil thefe duties, in God's name marry 
 him. Till then I fay no more, (calls) Henry ! (a 
 fervant enters) Go to the paftor, and defire him, if 
 he be difengaged, to come hither for a quarter of an 
 hour. (The fervant is going.) 
 .Amelia. And tell him, I wifh him a good morning. 
 Baron, (looking at his watch) My young gentleman 
 takes a devilifh time for dreffing, methinks. Come, 
 Amelia, pour out the tea. 
 
 (Amelia fits down at the tea-table.) 
 Baron. What fort of weather have we? Have you 
 put your head out of the window this morning Amelia ? 
 
 Amelia.
 
 24 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Amelia. Oh, I was in the garden by five o'clock ; it 
 is indeed a moit charming morning. 
 
 Baron. One may then take an hour's fhootingj I 
 know not what elfe to do with my gentleman he 
 fatigues me terribly. Ha ! here he comes ! 
 
 SCENE V. Enter Count von der mulde. 
 
 Count. Ah, hon jour mon colonel ! Dear young lady, 
 I kifs your hand. (Amelia curtjies.) 
 
 Baron. Good morrow ! good morrow ! Why, count, 
 it is almoft noon. In the country one is ufed to rife 
 earlier. 
 
 Count. *Pardonnez, mon colonel I I have been up 
 ever fince fix o'clock ; but my homme de cbambre has 
 been guilty of a betife, which has quite driven me to 
 defpair a lofs which pour le moment cannot be repaired. 
 
 Baron. Aye I aye ! 1 am forry indeed for that. (Amelia 
 ejfers htm tea.) 
 
 Count, (taking it) I am your moft humble flave! Is 
 it Hebe herfelf, or Venus in la place of Hebe ? [Amelia 
 looks at him farcajlically.) 
 
 Baron, (rather peevijhiy) Neither Venus, nor Hebe, 
 but Amelia Wi'denhain with your permiffion. But 
 may I be informed of your lofs ? 
 
 Count. Oh, my God ! help me to banifh the trifle 
 remembrance, I am envelope in a maze of perplexities. 
 I am afraid I muft even be obliged to write a letter upon 
 the occafion. 
 
 Baron. What ? Is the misfortune really fo great ? 
 
 Count, (fipping his tea) 'Tis abfolute nectar, moft 
 divine young lady! but could it be otherwife from your 
 fair hands ? 
 
 Baron. Indeed this nectar was fold to me for plain 
 congou tea. 
 
 Amelia. But, my good count, you do not tell us what 
 you have loft ? * 
 
 Baron, (ajide) His understanding ! 
 
 Count. You command your flave obeys. But in 
 doing this you tear open wounds, which even the fight 
 
 * The reader fhould underftand, that fine gentlemen in Ger- 
 many as in England, afiect to introduce phrafes of bad French 
 into familiar conversation. T. 
 
 of
 
 A PLAY. 25 
 
 f you had fcarcely healed. My homme de chambre 
 the vaut-rien ! Oh the man is a mauvais fujet. As he 
 was packing up my things the day before yefterday, I 
 faid to him, " Henri " faid I, " Yonder, on that win- 
 dow ftands a little pot of pommade" You underftand 
 me, moft charming lady, I faid to him mod emphatically, 
 M forget it not upon any confideration, let it be packed 
 up." I rq?eated it three times, nay, I believe, four 
 times " You know, Henri" I faid, " that I am 
 undone without this po?nmade" for you will underftand, 
 madam, they cannot make pornmadc here in Germany, 
 they know not how to give it Fodeur it is incomparable. 
 I can allure you, madam, it comes tout droit from Paris, 
 the author is parfumeur du roi. More than once, when 
 I have been dejour * at her highnefs the princefs Adelaide, 
 me has afked, where I could get mypommade, " for count," 
 fhe faid, " the whole chambre is par fume when you 
 are with me dejour. Now only imagine, moft charming- 
 lady, et vous mon colonel, the fellow totally forgot the 
 pommade, there it ftands upon the window full, as I am 
 a true cavalier. 
 
 Amelia. (f?7iiling) Dreadful indeed ! 
 
 Baron. Unlefs the mice mould have feafted upon it. 
 
 Count. Et voila encore, mon colonel, another raifon which 
 drives me to defperation. Would you believe it, this 
 fellow, this Henri, has been thirty years in our fervice ! 
 For thirty years has he been provided in our family with 
 every thing for which a man of his extraclion can have oc- 
 cafion, and what does he now in return ?- forgets my 
 pommade leaves it {landing on the window as i am a 
 vrai cavalier*. O del! and the German mice will 
 perhaps gormandize upon the moft delicate parfum that 
 all France can produce. But it was impoffible to reftrain 
 mon indignation ; I inftantly difcharged him. 
 
 Baron, (throwing himfelf back) A fervant who had 
 lived with you thirty years ! 
 
 Count. Oh be not uneafy ! I have another in petto an 
 excellent fervant indeed! he drefles hair like a deity. 
 
 Amelia. And poor Henri mult be turned away for fuch 
 a trifle ! 
 
 * Dejour fignifies the cuftom which prevailed in France, of 
 ladies being attended by gentlemen at their toilets. T. 
 
 E Count.
 
 , s*6 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Count. What fay you, charming lady ? a Bagatelle? 
 Amelia. Deprive a poor man of his bread ! 
 Count. My God, how can I do lefs ? Has he not 
 deprived me of my pommade f 
 
 Amelia. May I not plead for him ? 
 Count. Your fentiments tranfport me ! but your good- 
 nefs muft not be abufe. The man has quantite of chil- 
 dren, who in the courfe of time, when they are arrived 
 at an age mur will be able to maintain their blockhead of 
 a father. 
 
 Amelia. And has he a family too ? Oh, I entreat you 
 moft earneftly, count, not to difcharge him ! 
 
 Count. Vous etes aimable, divine creature ! tres aim- 
 able! You command, your flave obeys. Henri fhall 
 come and kifs the fkirt of your garment. 
 
 Baron, (ajide, rubbing his hands impatiently) No ! that 
 is not to be borne ! away with the coxcomb ! {to the 
 count) What fay you, count, to taking an hour's {hoot- 
 ing before dinner ? 
 
 Count, (kijjing the ends of his fingers) Bravo ! mon 
 colonel ! a charmant thought \ I accept the party with 
 pleafure. Madame, you will then have a fight of my 
 elegant fhooting-drefs. You will find it in the very 
 neweft tafte. I had it made up on purpofe pour cette 
 occajion. And my gun, monfieur le colonel, the flock is 
 fet with mother-of-pearl, you never faw any thing 
 finifhed with fuperior gout ; my arms are carved upon 
 it. 
 
 Baron (drily) Can you fhoot ? 
 
 Count. I never was out a (hooting but once in my life*, 
 and I cannot fay then that I had the fortune to attraper 
 any thing. 
 
 Baron. My gun is but an old and dull looking one to 
 he fure but it brings down every bird at which 'tis aim'd. 
 
 Enter a Servant.. The paftor attends^ fir. 
 
 Baron. Well then, haften, count, and put on your 
 elegant fhooting-drefs, I will be with you quickly. 
 
 Count. I fly. My deareft lady, it is unfacrifice due to 
 your father, thus to tear myfelfaway for a while from 
 his aimable daughter. (Exit.) 
 
 Baron. Hear me, Amelia ! It is fcarcely neceflary 
 
 that I mould talk with the paftor, and he afterwards talk 
 
 with you. But ftill, as he is here, leave us together 
 
 5 I have
 
 A P L A Y. 27 
 
 X have other matters on which I wifti to confer with 
 him. 
 
 Amelia, {going) Dear father, I do not think I ever 
 fhall love the count. 
 
 Baron. As you pleafe. 
 
 Amelia {meeting the paftor with a complacent fmile) Good 
 morrow! good morrow! dear fir. {Exit.) 
 
 SCENE VI. The Baron, the Pastor. 
 
 Paftor. I wait your lordfhip's commands. 
 
 Baron. Excufe me if I have fent for you at an incon- 
 venient time, a few words will comprize my bufinefs 
 I yefterday received a miferable tranflation from the 
 French, which came from the prefs about twenty years 
 ago. I myfelf poflefs a very elegant German original, 
 of which, it is no vanity to fay, that I am the author. 
 Now I am folicited to ftrike my name out of the original, 
 and bind it up together with this contemptible tranflation 
 and I wifli to afk you, as corretor of my work, your 
 opinion upon the fubjet. 
 
 Paftor. Indeed, my lord, I do not underftand yo.ur 
 allegory. 
 
 Baron. No I 1 am forry for that, I thought I had 
 
 framed it fo dexteroufly but in fhort then, the young 
 Count von der Mulde is here, and would fain marry 
 my daughter. 
 
 Pa/lor. (ftarts but foon recovers himfelf) Indeed! 
 
 Baron. He is a gentleman of the privy-chamber--- 
 but nothing elfe upon God's earth. He is he is in 
 fhort, I like him not. 
 
 Paftor. (rather eagerly) And your daughter ? 
 
 Baron, (imitating her) As you command if you com- 
 mand what you command Well, well, but I think 
 you know me fufficiently to believe, that on fuch an oc- 
 cafion I would not lay any commands yet, if the man's 
 head were not fo totally empty, and his heart were right, 
 I mould have no objection ; for his father is my old 
 friend, and the match in other refpedls advantageous. 
 
 Paftor. In other refpedts, my Lord ? what then re- 
 mains to one, whofe head and heart are good for no- 
 thing. 
 
 E 2 Barov t
 
 28 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Baron. I only mean with refpeft to rank and for- 
 tune. My friend, I will explain to you my ideas upon 
 this fubie&. If Amelia loved another, I fhould not 
 wafte a Tyllable upon the fubject, I would only afk who 
 he is ? is all right here? (pointing to his heart). If the 
 anfwers were fatisfactory, in God's name they mould 
 have my blefling. But Amelia does not love any other 
 man, which circumftance alters the cafe entirely. 
 
 Paftor. And never will love another. 
 
 Baron. Truly that is a different queftion. But un- 
 derftand me. I dp not mean to perfift in this, I would 
 only do what is incumbent on me not to offend the old 
 Count von der Mulde, by refufing to honour the bill of 
 exchange, which he has drawn for my daughter ; for I 
 have already received the value in friendihip from him ; 
 therefore I wifh you to talk with my child, and explain 
 to her the duties of the marriage ftate, and this done, afk 
 her, whether flie be inclined to take upon herfelf thofe 
 duties as the wife of the young Count : if {lie anfwer in 
 the negative, 'tis enough fhe mail be urged no farther. 
 What think you of this ? 
 
 Paftor. I- yes certainly. J underftand you well 
 I will talk with the young lady. 
 
 Baron. Yes, yes, do fo ! (he fetches a deep figh.) Ah ! 
 one weight is now removed from my mind, but another 
 hangs more heavily upon it, and opprefles it more 
 grievoufiy. You underftand me No fuccefs yet, my 
 friend? ftill no intelligence? 
 
 Paftor. I have fought it with all diligence, but hi- 
 therto in vain. 
 
 Baron. Believe me, this has occafioned me many a 
 fleeplefs night. How often is a man guilty of errors in 
 his youth, which in age he would give all he pof- 
 fefTes, could they be obliterated. How does he thus lay 
 up a ftore of mifery to corrode the happinefs of his fu- 
 ture life, fince the retrofpecr. of the paft, and the hopes 
 and profpec~f.s of the future are infeparably linked toge- 
 ther. Is the view behind us darken'd o'er with clouds, 
 fo furely mufl we encounter ftorms as we proceed on- 
 wards in our courfe. Well, well, we will hope the 
 beft. Farewell, my friend, I am going a mooting. In 
 the mean time make your experiment, and remember to 
 {fjne with me. [Exit^ 
 
 Paftor.
 
 A PLAY. 2 9 
 
 Paftor. (alone) What a commiffion ! to me ? (looking 
 anxiou/ly around) If I mould meet with her directly ! , 
 No, I muft firft colledT: myfelf prepare myfelf for the 
 interview at prefent it is impoflible to encounter it. 
 A walk in the fields, and a devout prayer to heaven 
 then will I return but ah, the inJlruSior alone muft 
 come hither, the man I muft leave at home. [Exit. 
 
 $ND OF THE SECOND ACT. 
 
 ACT
 
 3 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 SCENE I. An open Country, 
 
 Enter Frederick alone, holding fame Pieces of Money 
 in the Palm of his Hand. 
 
 RETURN with thefe few pieces? Return to fee 
 my mother die ? No, no, rather plunge into the 
 water at once rather run on to the end of the world. 
 Ah, my feet feem clogged I cannot advance I can- 
 not recede the fight of yonder ftraw-roofed cottage, 
 where refts my fuffering mother ! why muft I always 
 turn my eyes that way ? am I not furrounded by ver- 
 dant fields and fmiling meadows ? why muft my looks 
 be ftill drawn irrefiftibly towards that cot which contains 
 all my joys, all my forrows ! (looks with anguijh at the 
 money) Man ! man ! is this your bounty ? this piece 
 was given me by the rider of a ftately horfe followed by 
 a fervant, whole livery glittered with filver; this, by 
 a fentimental lady who had alighted from her carriage to 
 gaze at the country, defcribe it, and print her defcrip- 
 tion. " Yon cottage," faid I to her, while my tears in- 
 terrupted me " It is very pi&urefque" {he anfwered, 
 and fkipped into her carriage. This was given me by 
 a fat prieft, enveloped in a large bufliy wig, who, at the 
 fame time, reviled me as an ialer, a vagabond, and thus 
 took away the merit of his gift. This Dreyer (ex- 
 tremely affeSted) a beggar gave me unafked j he fhared 
 with me his mite, and, at the fame time, gave me God's 
 bleffing. Oh! at the awful day of retribution, how many 
 fold will this dreyer be repaid by the all-righteous Judge ! 
 (He paufes and looks again at the money) what can I 
 purchafe with this paltry fum ? Hardly will it pay for the 
 nails of my poor mother's CQifin.~4carcely buy a rope 
 
 to
 
 A PLAY. 31 
 
 to hang myfelf ! (He cajls a wijbful look towards the dif- 
 tant country) There infultingly rife the ftately towers 
 of the prince's refidence ; fhall I go thither ? there im- 
 plore pity ? Oh no ! flie dwells not in cities the cot- 
 tage of the poor is her palace -the heart of the poor her 
 Temple. Well then, mould a recruiting officer pafs by, 
 for five rix-dollars paid on the fpot, he fhall have a flout 
 and vigorous recruit. Five rix-dollars ! Oh what a fum ! 
 yet on how many a card may fuch a fum be flaked, even 
 at this moment ! (wipes the fweat from his forehead) Fa- 
 ther ! Father ! on thee fall thefe drops of anguifh ! on 
 thee the defpair of a fellow creature, and all its dreadful 
 confequences ! yet God forbid that thou fhouldft languifh 
 in vain for pardon in another world, as my wretched mo- 
 ther languimes in this for a drop of wine, (a hunting 
 horn is heard at a dijlance, a gun is fired, -fucceeded by 
 the " Halloo, Halloo" to the hounds ; feveral dogs run 
 ever the ft age, Frederick looks around) Hunters ! Noble- 
 men probably! Well then, now to beg once more! to 
 beg for my mother ! Oh God ! God ! grant that I may 
 meet with companionate hearts ! 
 
 SCENE II. Enter the Baron and the Count. 
 
 Baron. (Waiting a few moments for the Count who fol- 
 lows him out of breath) Quick, quick, Count ! Ha, 
 ha ! that was a curfed blunder indeed the hounds have 
 loft the fcent now and won't recover it again. 
 
 Count, (panting for breath) Tant mieux, tant mieux f 
 man colonel ! then one may take a little breath, {fup- 
 ports himfelf on his gun. The Baron retires into the back 
 ground and looks after the hounds ; Frederick advances 
 with hefitatibn to the Count. ) 
 
 Fred. Noble Sir! I entreat alms of you! 
 
 Count, {eyeing him from head to foot) Comment mon ami? 
 you are a damned impertinent fellow, you have limbs 
 like Hercule, your moulders are equal to the Cretan 
 Milo's j I'll lay a wager you have ftrength enough to 
 carry an Ox. 
 
 Fred. If your Iordfhip would permit me to make the 
 experiment. 
 
 Count. Our police is not careful enough of idlers and 
 vagabonds. 
 
 Fred,
 
 32 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Fred, [with a Jignificant look) So it appears to me ! 
 [turns to the Baron who comes forward) Noble Sir, have 
 compaffion on a wretched fori who begs for a fick mo- 
 ther ! 
 
 Baron, (puts his hand into his pocket and gives him a 
 irijie) It would be more proper, young man, to work for 
 your fick mother. 
 
 Fred. Willingly, willingly, would I work for her, 
 but at thi moment the neceflity is too urgent Pardon 
 me, noble Sir, but what you have given me is not 
 iufficient ? 
 
 Baron, (furprized and miling) Not fufKcient ? 
 
 Fred. By God it is not ! 
 
 Baron. This is fingular ! however, I fhall give n 
 more. 
 Fred. If you have any humanity give me a florin. 
 
 Baron. This is the firft time that I ever heard a beg- 
 gar prefcribe what I mould give him. 
 
 Fred. Oh, for heaven^s fake, noble Sir, give me a florin ! 
 you will refcue a fellow-creature from deipair ! 
 
 Baron. You are befide yourfelf, my friend. Come 
 along Count. 
 
 Count. Allons, mon Colonel! 
 
 Fred. For the love of God, my Lord, give a florin ! 
 You will fave the lives of two unhappy wretches ! (as he 
 fees the Baron moving ojf he kneels to him) a florin, noble 
 Sir ! you can never purchafe the falvation of a man at a 
 cheaper rate. (The Baron moves onward^ Frederick rujhcs 
 wildly with his drawn fword upon the Baron y and feizes 
 him by the collar.) Your money or your life. 
 
 Baron, (agitated) How! what! halloo! help! help! 
 thieves ! (feveral huntfmen rujh in and difarm Frederick 
 the Count running off.) 
 
 Fred. Oh God ! what have I done ! 
 
 Baron. Bear him away ! take heed of him ! confine 
 him in the tower! I fhall follow immediately. 
 
 Fred, (kneeling) Only grant me one petition my Lord \ 
 I have forfeited my life, do with me what you will, but 
 oh aflift, I entreat you aflift, my poor mother ! fhe 
 languifhes for want in yonder cottage fend thither and 
 learn the truth ! 'twas for my mother I drew my fword, 
 for her would I fhed every drop of my blood. 
 
 Baron.
 
 A PLAY. 33 
 
 Baron. Away with him to the tower ! keep him on 
 bread and water. 
 
 Fred, (as he is borne off by the buntfmen) Accurfed be 
 my father that he ever gave me exiftence ! [Exeunt. 
 
 Baron, (to another huntfman)) Francis haften to the 
 village If in the firft, the fecond, or the third houfe, 
 you find a poor fick woman, give her this purfe. 
 
 Huntfrn. Very well, my Lord. [Exit. 
 
 Baron. Upon my foul this is a raoft extraordinary ad- 
 venture ! there is fomething noble in the young fellow's 
 
 countenance mould it prove true that he begged for 
 
 his mother for his mother's fake robbed upon the high- 
 way ! Well, well, we muft investigate the matter this 
 would indeed be a fubjecT: for one of Meiffner's (ketches. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 SCENE III. A Room in the Baron's Caftle. 
 
 Amelia, (alone) Why am I thus reftlefs ? What can 
 be the matter with me ? I did not mean to come into 
 this room I meant to go into the garden. (Jhe is 
 goings but immediately returns.) No, I will not go- 
 Yes, but I think I will I will fee whether my 
 auriculas are yet in flower, or whether the apple- 
 kernels which our paftor lately fowed are come up. 
 Oh, they muft be come up! [returning again) "Then 
 if any body mould come to fpeak with me, I fhall not 
 be in the way, but muft be called and fought for. No, 
 better remain, here yet the time will feem very tedi- 
 ous, (Jhe pulls a nofegay to pieces) Hark ! did I not hear 
 the houfe-door open ? No, it was only the wind r 
 will look at my canary-birds. But fuppofe any body 
 fhould come, and not find me in the vifiting room ? Yet 
 who is likely to come? What makes my cheeks burn 
 thus. (She paufcs and begins to weep) What have I to 
 complain of? (fobbing) why then fhould I weep? 
 
 SCENE IV. Enter the Pastor. 
 
 Amelia, [cheers up and wipes her eyes) Ah ! good 
 morning, dear Tutor ! Paftor 1 would fay but you 
 will pardon me, I have been fo accuftomed to call you 
 Tutor. 
 
 F Paftor.
 
 34 THE NATURAL SON ; ' , 
 
 Pajior. Call me fo ftill, dear madam, I (hall always 
 hear it with pleafure from your mouth. 
 
 Amelia. Indeed ! 
 
 Pajior. Yes, indeed ! Am I miftaken ? or have you 
 not been weeping ? 
 
 Amelia. Oh, 'tis nothing a few tears only. 
 
 Pajior. Yet they are tears may one afk what can 
 have called them forth ? 
 
 Amelia. I know not. 
 
 Pajior. Perhaps thinking of your deceafed mother ? 
 
 Amelia. I might fay yes but 
 
 Pajior. A fecret, perhaps I would not be intrufive. 
 Pardon me, madam, that I come hither at fo unufual 
 an hour I am commiflioned by your Father. 
 
 Amelia., You are welcome to me at all times. 
 
 Pajior, Indeed ! am I really fo ? Oh, Amelia 
 
 Amelia. My father teaches me, that he who forms 
 the heart and mind, is more one's benefactor, than he 
 who merely gives one life (cajling dozvn her eyes) my 
 father fays fo, and my heart feels it. 
 
 Pajior. How fweetly does this moment repay me for 
 eight years exertion. 
 
 Amelia. 1 was a wild girl often have I feverely tried 
 your patience it is no more than juft that I mould love 
 you in return. 
 
 Pajior. (ajide) Oh God! (in a faultering, hefitating 
 manner) I I come from my Lord, your father- with 
 a commiffion will you fit down ? 
 
 Amelia, (fetches him a chair hajlily) Sit down yourfelf 
 I had rather ftand. 
 
 Pajior. (pujhing back the chair) Count von der Mulde 
 is come hither 
 
 Amelia. Yes. 
 
 Pajior. Do you know with what intention ? 
 
 Amelia. To marry me. 
 
 Pajior. That is indeed his wifh (very earncjily) But, 
 believe me, madam, your father would on no account 
 conftrain you no, he would by no means ufe compulfion. 
 
 Amelia. Ah, I know that well 
 
 Pa/tor. But he wifhes he defires to afcertain your 
 inclination I come to confult your inclination 
 
 Amelia. Towards the Count r 
 
 Pa/tor.
 
 A P L A Y. 35 
 
 Pa/tor. Yes no rather on the fubjecl: of matrimo- 
 ny in general. 
 
 Amelia. What I am ignorant of, muff be indifferent 
 to me I know nothing- of the marriage ftate. 
 
 Pa/tor. For that very reafon I wait upon you, ma- 
 dam, it is the fubjedr. of my commiflion from your fa- 
 ther. He wifhes me to lay before you the agreeable and 
 difagreeable fides of fuch a condition. 
 
 Amelia. Begin then with the difagreeable, the beft 
 fhall be referved to the laft. 
 
 Pa/tor. With the difagreeable ? Oh, madam, when 
 two affectionate congenial hearts unite; the marriage 
 ftate has then no difagreeable fide. Hand in hand the 
 happy pair journey through life. Where they find their 
 path occafionally ftrewed o'er with thorns, diligently 
 and cheerfully they clear their way. If a ftream crofs 
 their fteps, the ftronger bears the weaker over : or if a 
 rock is to be climbed, the ftronger takes the weaker by 
 the hand : patience and love are their companions. 
 What would be impracticable to one, to their united ef- 
 forts proves but fport and when they have reached 
 
 the fummit, the weaker wipes the fweat from the brows 
 of her more vigorous partner. Their joys their pains 
 are never divided guefts, nor can one ever experience 
 a pang of forrow while tranfport warms the bofom of 
 the other. A fmile illumines the countenance of both j 
 or tears diftil from both their eyes. But their raptures are 
 more lively and exftatic than fingle unparticipated joy; 
 their forrow lefs corroding than folitary woe : for par- 
 ticipation enhances the one, and alleviates the other. 
 Thus their whole life refembles a beautiful fummer's 
 day ; beautiful, eyen though a tranfient fhower may in- 
 tervene : for fhowers rerrefh the face of nature, anci 
 the fun appears with added luftre when it breaks out anew. 
 And when the evening of their day draws on, it finds 
 them furrounded with flowers, which they themfelves 
 hv planted and reared, patiently awaiting the approach 
 
 of night. Then, then, indeed for night will come 
 
 the one takes the lead and firft lies down to fleep, 
 
 and happy that one, to whofe lot it falls : the fur- 
 
 vivor wanders in melancholy folitude weeping at not 
 
 being allowed to fleep alfo. And this is the only dif* 
 
 agreeable feature of fuch a marriage. 
 
 F 2 Amelia.
 
 36 THE NATURAL SON ; 
 
 Amelia. Oh, I will marry ! 
 
 Paftor. Right, madam, this picture is alluring, but 
 recoiled: that 'tis a picture for which two affectionate, 
 congenial hearts fat as the models. But if motives of 
 mere convenience (what the world generally terms pru- 
 dence) if parental authority, rafhnefs or caprice, tie the 
 bonds of hymen, then, alas ! the ftate of matrimony 
 has no agreeable fide. No longer free and unfhackled 
 man and woman walk with light and airy fteps, but vic- 
 tims of a late repentance drag along their galling chains. 
 Satiety is depicted on each brow. Images of loft hap- 
 pirfefs, painted in ftronger colours by imagination's de- 
 lufive hand, and more tempting in proportion as they 
 are unattainable. Sanguine and romantic hopes, which 
 haply might never have been realized if this marriage 
 had not taken place, but the practicability of which the 
 mind holds certain, if the parties were not fettered 
 by wedlock. Thefe ideas inceflantly harafs the foul, 
 and condemn them to actual fuffering, where otherwife 
 patience Only would have been called into exertion. 
 Gradually they accuftom themfelves to contemplate their 
 irkfome companion as the hateful caufe of all the evils 
 which befal them. Gall infufes itfelf into their converfa- 
 tion, coldnefs into their carefTes. To none are they more 
 captious, from none more apt to take offence, than from their 
 wedded partner : and what would yield them delight in a 
 itranger is viewed with apathy in the perfon of their neareft 
 connection. In this manner, with averted face and down-, 
 caft eyes, the haplefs pair drag on through life, till at length 
 
 one lies down to fleep : then exultingly the furvivor 
 
 lifts the head and triumphantly exclaims, u Liberty ! 
 Liberty !" And this forms the only pleafmg feature in 
 fuch a marriage. 
 
 Amelia. I will not marry ! 
 
 Paftor. That is in other words to fay I will not love. 
 
 Amelia. Ha ! yes I will marry for I will love^ I 
 love already. 
 
 Paftor. [extremely confufed) Indeed !- You love the 
 Count von der Mulde ? 
 
 Amelia. Oh no ! no ! away With the fool (taking 
 both his hands with the moft cordial familiarity) I love 
 you. 
 
 Paftor. Madam, for God's fake ! 
 
 Amelia.
 
 A PLAY. 37 
 
 Amelia. And you will I marry. 
 
 P after. Me ! 
 
 Amelia . Yes, you, dear tutor. 
 
 Paftor. Amelia! you forget 
 
 Amelia. What do I forget ? 
 
 Paftor. That you are of noble extraction* 
 
 Amelia. What fignifies that ? 
 
 Pajlor. Oh, Heavens! No, that cannot be. 
 
 Amelia. If you have an affection for me ? 
 
 Pajlor. I love you as my life. 
 
 Amelia. Well, then, marry me. 
 
 Pajlor. Oh, fpare me, Amelia ! I am a minifter of 
 religion, 'tis true that gives me much fortitude but 
 ftill I am a man. 
 
 Amelia. You have yourfelf exhibited to me fo alluring 
 a picture of the marriage ftate! But I am not, then, the 
 woman with whom you could go hand in hand, with 
 whom you could fhare all your joys, all your forrows ? 
 
 Pajlor. Were it in my choice, you only fhould be the 
 perfon. Did we live in the golden days of which poets 
 dream, when all ranks were equal, I would have you 
 alone. But 'tis not for us to alter the cuftoms of the 
 world j and as the world is now conftituted, you muft 
 
 marry a man of rank. Whether you would be happy 
 
 or not with the humble paftor, is not the queftion. 
 
 Oh, God ! I have already faid too much ! 
 
 Amelia. Others, perhaps, may not make that a quef- 
 tion, but it muft be one with me. Have you not often 
 told me that the heart alone ennobles us. (She places her 
 hand upon his heart) Oh, truly, I fhall marry a noble- 
 man. 
 
 Paftor. Madam ! let me entreat you to call in reafon 
 to your aid. A thoufand objections lie againft fuch an 
 union but, at this moment, Heaven knows, not one 
 occurs to me. 
 
 Amelia. Becaufe in truth there are none. 
 
 Pa/lor. Yet, yet but my heart is fo full my heart 
 would plead but that it ihall not, muft not. Think 
 only of the fneers of your relations how they will 
 fhun you, afhamed of the new connection you have 
 brought among them on thofe folemn days when all 
 the family mould be collected together, omitting to 
 invite you ? ftiaking their heads when your name is men- 
 tioned,
 
 38 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 tioned, whifpering your ftory, forbidding their children 
 to play with yours, or even to accoft them with fami- 
 liarity embroidering their arms upon their liveries, 
 
 painting them upon their carriages, while you muft ride 
 in one humble and unornamented fcarcely recollecting 
 you, fliould they meet you at a third place or, if they 
 ihould condefcend to favour you with a word, addreffing 
 you not as a lady of rank, but with fcornful counte- 
 nances, as the parfon's wife. 
 
 Amelia. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Is that fo very terrible ? 
 
 Pajlor. You laugh ? 
 
 Amelia. Yes ; you muft pardon me, dear tutor. For 
 eight years was I under your inftruction, but in all that 
 time never were any of your precepts advanced upon 
 iuch fhallow reafonings as thofe you have now uttered. 
 
 Pajlor. I am forry for that extremely forry, indeed ! 
 for-^ 
 
 Amelia. It rejoices me extremely for 
 
 Pajlor. (much embarrajfed) For 
 
 Amelia. For you muft marry me. 
 
 Pa/tor. Never ! 
 
 Amelia. You know me well you know that I am not 
 untraceable, and from a conftant intercourfe with you, 
 I fhall daily improve. I will take all poffible pains to 
 make you happy or rather, it fhall coft me no pains to 
 make you fo. Together we will live, happy, truly 
 happy in each other, till one of us lie down to fleep, and 
 then the other fhall weep, indeed ; but that time be 
 yet far diftant. Well, then, confent, elfe fhall I think 
 you have no regard for me. 
 
 Pa/tor. Oh ! it is glorious to maintain the chara&er 
 of a man of honour ; but the talk is often hard. Madam, 
 
 did you but know how much you torture me ! No, 
 
 no, this muft not, cannot be ! I fhould fink into the 
 earth at the moment, were I to attempt to make fuch a 
 propofal to your father. 
 
 Amelia. I will make it myfelf. 
 
 Pa/tor. For Heaven's fake, forbear! To his liberality 
 I owe my prefent comfortable fituation to his friendship 
 the happieft hours of my life and fhall I, ungrateful 
 
 wretch ! miflead his daughter, his only child ! Oh, 
 
 God ! Oh, God ! thou feeft the purity of my intentions ! 
 fupport me in this conflict ! 
 
 Amelia.
 
 A PLAY. 39 
 
 Amelia. My father wifhes me to marry he wifhes to 
 fee me happy. Well then, I will marry. I will be 
 happy but with you only. Thus will I tell my father, 
 and what will be his anfwer. At the firft moment he will 
 ftart, and fay, " Girl, art thou mad !" but foon he will 
 recollect himfelf, and, fmiling, add, " Well, well, in 
 God's name be it fo." Then will I kifs his hand, fkip 
 away from him, and fly into your arms. It fhall be told 
 about that I am betrothed ; the country people, with their 
 wives, from the whole village, will come and wifh me 
 joy, and afk God's blefling upon us both and God will 
 
 blefs us. Certainly, certainly, he will blefs us. Ah ! 
 
 ever fince my father returned hither, I have not known 
 what it was fo opprefled my heart, but I know it now 
 k is now lightened, (taking his hand.) 
 
 Paftor. [withdrawing his hand.) Oh! you have al- 
 moft deprived me of my fenfes and of more, of my 
 peace of mind. 
 
 Amelia. No, no. But I hear fome one on the flairs 
 I have yet many things to fay to you. 
 
 SCENE V. Enter Christian the Butler , an old 
 Servant in the Houfe. 
 
 Amelia, (peevijhly.) Ah! is it you? 
 
 Chrift. Without vanity be it fpoken, Chriftian Le- 
 brecht Goldmann has purfued his way hither the moment 
 the happy news reached his ears. 
 
 Amelia, (embarrajfed) What news ? 
 
 Paftor. (confufed) He has overheard us ! 
 
 Chrift. A faithful, old fervant, young lady, who has 
 often carried the lady vour mother in his arms, and, 
 without vanity be it fpoken, has received from her many 
 a box on the ear, hath, on this joyful day, flown hither 
 
 to prefent his humble gratulations. Sing, Oh, Mufe \ 
 
 on the happy occafion ftrike up thy notes, Oh Lyre ! 
 
 Amelia. My good Chriftian, I have no inclination at 
 prefent to attend to your mufe or to your lyre. And 
 what is the matter now ? 
 
 Chrift. Ah ! my noble, blefled young lady 
 To-day I cannot filent be, 
 But hither muft command to flee 
 
 Trumpet,
 
 40 THE NATURAL SON 5 
 
 Trumpet, violin, and drum, 
 As faft as ever they can come ; 
 And bid my verfes foftly flow, 
 As waters through the meadows go. 
 Hitherto has no birth-day, or wedding-day, or chriften- 
 ing-day, or their anniverfaries, been folemnized in the 
 moft noble Baron's family, which has not been celebrated 
 by an offering from my ever-ready and obedient mufe. 
 In the courfe of fix-and- forty years, no lefs than three 
 hundred ninety and feven congratulatory efFufions have 
 flowed from my pen. To-day, the three hundred ninety 
 and eighth {hall echo around. Who knows how foon a fo- 
 lemn marriage affiance in Chrift may furnifti an opportu- 
 nity for a three hundred ninety and ninth ! and then, 
 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! in another year will come the four hun- 
 dredth. 
 
 Amelia. To-day is Friday that is the only thing re- 
 markable in it, that I can recollect. 
 
 Chrift. Yes, indeed, it is Friday; but more in the 
 firft place, Heaven has been pleafed to refcue our noble 
 lord the Baron from an imminent danger and in the fe- 
 cond place, it is therefore a day of rejoicing. 
 
 Amelia. Refcued my father from danger ! What do 
 you mean ? 
 
 Chrift. This very moment has the huntfman Frank 
 arrived in hafte, and advertifed the congregated houfe- 
 hold of his lordfhip of apiece of villainy, which the lateft 
 pofterity, without vanity be it fpoken, never {hall read 
 without the ftrorfgeft emotions of horror. 
 
 Amelia, (anxioujly) Oh ! tell it me quickly. 
 
 Chrift. Our moft noble Baron, and the foreign Count 
 of the Holy Roman Empire, had fcarcely 
 
 One half hour trodden the unbeaten way, 
 To feek the nimble-footed hare to flay. 
 
 Amelia. For heavens fake tell it me in profe ! 
 
 Chrift. My Lord Baron had already fhot one hare 
 for I myfelf have had the honour of feeing it j the left 
 fore foot was quite torn to pieces. 
 
 Amelia, {impatiently) Well, well, but my father! 
 
 Chrift. A fecond hare was already ftarted, and the 
 
 hounds purfued her with due activity, particularly Spa- 
 
 dillio, he more than any other diftinguiftied himfelf, 
 
 when fuddenly his honourable Lordftiip was met in the 
 
 5 midft
 
 A PLAY. 41 
 
 midft of the field by a foldier who demanded alms. 
 Frank, the huntfman himfelf, faw how the molt noble 
 Baron with inexpreflible kindnefs felt in his pocket, 
 drew out a piece of money, and gave it to the beggar. 
 But the ungrateful, audacious, high-way robber, fud- 
 denly drew hisfword, fell, without vanity be it fpoken, 
 like a mad dog upon his honourable Lordfnip, and had 
 not our active huntfmen haftened in a moment to his 
 afiiftance, I, poor old man, mould have- been under the 
 mournful neceffity of compofing a funeral elegy, and an 
 epitaph in commemoration of his melancholy exit. 
 
 Amelia, [terrified) My God ! 
 
 Pa/tor. A highway-robber ! in broad day-light ! 
 that is extraordinary ! 
 
 Cbrift. I muft form it into a ballad after the manner of 
 Burger. 
 
 Paftor. Is not the man taken up ? 
 
 Chrift. Yes, indeed he is. The moft noble Baron 
 has commanded, that till further orcers, he be confined 
 in the old Tower. Frank fays he will be here imme- 
 diately : (he fteps to the window) I believe, indeed the 
 fun blinds me a little they are coming already Sing 
 Oh mufe, ftrike up thy notes Oh lyre! (he runs out> the 
 others go to the window). 
 
 Amelia. Never in my life did I fee a highway robber ! 
 he muft doubtlefs have a terrifying phyfiognomy. 
 
 Paftor. Did you never fee the Female Parricide in 
 Lavater's Fragments ? 
 
 Amelia. A female Parricide ! Can fuch a monfter 
 exift in the world ? But look the young foldier ap- 
 proaches an interefting figure indeed ! a noble coun- 
 tenance ! yet it is full of farrow ! the poor man ex- 
 cites my compaflion. No, no ; he cannot be a highway 
 robber! Oh, fye, fye! fee how the huntfmen thruft 
 him into the Tower ! hard-hearted wretches ! now 
 they lock the door and now he is in total darknefs 
 what muft be the feelings of the unhappy creature ! 
 
 Paftor. (aftde) They can fcarcely be more poignant 
 than mine. 
 
 G SCENE
 
 4-2 THE NATURAL SON j 
 
 SCENE VI. Enter the Baron. 
 
 Amelia, [running up to him) A thoufand congratula- 
 tions to you, dear father ! 
 
 Baron. For God's fake fpare me ! Old Chriftian has 
 been pouring out his congratulations in Alexandrines 
 all the way up ftairs. 
 
 Paftor. The ftory then is true ? indeed, as related 
 by the talkative old Butler, it appeared wholly in- 
 credible. 
 
 Amelia. The young man with the interefting counte- 
 nance was, indeed, a highway robber ? 
 
 Baron. 'Tis true ; yet am I almoft convinced that he 
 was fo for the firft and laft time in his life. My friend, 
 
 {to the paftor) it was a moft lingular accident. He 
 
 begged of me for his mother. I gave him a trifle 
 I might, perhaps, have given him more, but the hares 
 were running in my head, and the cry of the hounds 
 filled my ears. You know well, that when a man pur- 
 fues his pleafure, he has no feeling for the afflictions of his 
 brethren. In fhort, he wanted more defpair was in his 
 whole manner, yet I turned my back upon him ; loft to 
 himfelf he drew his fword, but I would wager my life 
 againft Amelia's head-drefs, that highway-robbing is not 
 his trade. 
 
 Amelia. Certainly not. 
 
 Baron. He trembled as he held me by the breaft, a 
 child might have knocked him down. Oh, it was a 
 fhame that I did not fufFer the poor wretch to efcape. 
 My fport may perhaps coft him his life, and I might 
 have faved it faved the life of a man for a florin only. 
 Ah, that he had not been feen by my people ! but the 
 bad example ! come with me to my clofet, good Pallor, 
 we muff, contrive how we can beft fave the culprit ; for 
 fhould he be configned over to the arm of juftice, adieu 
 to all hopes of deliverance, (going.) 
 
 Amelia. Dear father, I have had much converfation 
 with the Paftor. 
 
 Baron. Have you ? and on the fubject of the holy 
 marriage ftate ? 
 
 Amelia. Yes ; I have told him 
 
 Paftor. {extremely embarrajfed) In confequence of my 
 
 commiffion 
 
 1 Amelia.
 
 A PLAY. 43 
 
 Amelia. He will not believe me 
 
 Paftor. I have explained to the young lady- 
 
 Amelia. And indeed I fpoke from my heart 
 
 Paftor. (pointing to the clofet) May I requeft 
 
 Amelia. But his diffidence 
 
 Paftor. The refult of our converfation mall be related 
 in your clofet 
 
 Baron. What the devil is the matter now ; you 
 interrupt each other, fo that neither can go on. Amelia, 
 have you entirely forgotten all the rules of politenefs ? 
 
 Amelia. Oh, no, dear father ! but is it not true that 
 you faid you would let me marry whom I mould chufe ? 
 
 Baron. AfTuredly! 
 
 Amelia. Hear you not, dear Tutor ? 
 
 Paftor. [takes out his handkerchief in hafte, and holds 
 it to his fice) I beg your pardon, my Lord, I am not 
 well. [Exit. 
 
 Baron, (calls after him) I mall expect you! (Going.) 
 
 Amelia. Stop a moment, dear father ! I have raoft im- 
 portant things to communicate. 
 
 Baron, (J mi ling) Important things ! I fuppofe you 
 want me to buy you a new fan. [Exit. 
 
 Amelia, [alone) A fan ' indeed I think I am in want 
 of a fan, (flie fans herfelf with her pocket-handkerchief) 
 my cheeks burn fo; but this will not relieve me! Ah 
 my God how my heart beats ! I do, indeed I do, rnonr 
 dearly love the Paftor; how unfortunate that he mould 
 be taken ill juft now ; No, the Count fcarcely deferves 
 the name of man. When I contemplate my father or 
 the Paftor, I feel a fort of reverence ; but the Count I 
 feel only difpofed to ridicule. (Jhe goes to the windovj) 
 The tower is ftill locked. Oh how terrible muft be 
 fuch confinement ! I wonder whether the poor man has 
 any thing to eat and drink ! (Jhe beckons and calls) Chris- 
 tian ! Chriftian ! come hither directly ! the young man 
 interefts me I know not why, but he does intereft me : 
 he has hazarded his life for his mother, that does not be- 
 fpeak a bad heart. 
 
 SCENE
 
 44 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 SCENE VII. Enter Christian. 
 
 Amelia. Ah, good Chriftian, tell me, have you car- 
 ried the prifoner any thing to eat? 
 
 Chrijl. Yes, my moft benevolent young lady ! 
 
 Amelia. What have you carried him ? 
 
 Chrijl. Good black bread, and fine clear water. 
 
 Amelia. Oh fye ! are you not afhamed ? haften in- 
 ftantly into the kitchen and get fome meat from the cook, 
 then fetch a bottle of wine from the cellar, and carry 
 them to him immediately. 
 
 Chrijl. Moft gladly would I fulfil the will of my moft 
 benevolent young lady, but atprefent he muft be content 
 with bread and water, for the moft noble lord baron nath 
 exprefsly commanded 
 
 Amelia. Ah, my father only did that in t..e firft mo- 
 ments of paflion. 
 
 Chrift. What our noble mafters command in paflion, 
 'tis the duty of a faithful old fervant, without vanity be 
 it fpoken, to obey in cold blood. 
 
 Amelia. You are a great oaf! fo old, and have not 
 yet learnt that 'tis your duty to comfort the unfortunate. 
 Give me the key of the cellar, I will go mjfelf. 
 
 Chrift I folemnly proteft moft blefTed Lady - 
 
 Amelia. Give it to me, I command you. 
 
 Chrift. (gives her the key) I muft go immediately, ana 
 exculpate myfelf to his honourable Lordfhip. 
 
 Amelia. You may do that with all my heart. 
 
 [Exrtbaftily* 
 
 Chrift. (after a paufe, and fhaking his head.) 
 
 In woe and anguifh, 
 
 Each day to languifh, 
 
 Is right affecting 
 
 And dejecting. 
 
 Is then the youthful mind 
 
 To follow good inclin'd ; 
 
 Let him ftill in memory keep 
 
 'I he good old proverb, look before you leap. 
 
 [Exit, 
 
 END OF THE THIRD ACT.
 
 A PLAY. , 45 
 
 ACT JV* 
 
 SCENE I. APrifon in an old Tower in the Caftle of 
 Wildenhain. 
 
 Frederick [alone). 
 
 JlJlOW can a few moments of anguifli one hour of 
 devouring mifery fwallow up all the paft happinefs of a 
 man's life ! When I left the inn this morning, the fun was 
 juft rifing, I fang my morning fong, and oh how cheer- 
 ful, how happy was I ! In thought I banqueted at the 
 table of joy, I dreamt with tranfport of the firrt re-union 
 with my mother ! I meant to fteal along the road towards 
 the fpot where fhe once dwelt; thought how I fhould 
 creep clofe by the wall, that fhe might not from the win- 
 dow efpy my approach ; and when arrived at the houfe- 
 door, how 1 mould foftly, foftly pull the bell. Then in 
 idea, I faw her lay afide her work, rife up, and come 
 down, I thought how my heart would beat, when I fhould 
 hear her fteps upon the flairs, how (he would open the door 
 to me, and I fhould throw myfelf into her arms. But oh, 
 farewell, ye air-built caftles, ye beauteous variegated bub- 
 bles, feen through hope's prifmatic glafs ! I returned to my 
 native land, and the firft object which met my eyes was my 
 dying mother, my flrft habitation is a prifon, and my firit 
 going forth will be to the place of execution. Oh righteous 
 God ' have I deferved this fate ? or muft the fon anfwer for 
 the crimes of a father ! But be {till, my heart I entangle 
 myfelf in a labyrinth! To fuffer without murmuring, to 
 forrow and be iilent ! Such is the leflbn taught me by my 
 mother, and fhe hath fuffered much ! Thou, oh God, 
 thou art juft ! [looks towards Heaven with uplifted hands) 
 
 SCENE II. Enter Amelia with a plate of proviftons 
 and a bottle of wine. 
 
 Fred, [turning round at the noife) Who's there ? 
 
 G Auielia .
 
 4& THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Amelia. My good friend, I bring you fome refrefh- 
 uient you may perhaps be hungry or thirfty. 
 
 Fred. Alas no ! I feel neither hunger nor thirft. 
 
 Amelia. Here is a bottle of old wine, and fome meat. 
 
 Fred, {eagerly) Old wine ' really, good old wine? 
 
 Amelia. I do not underftand much of wine myfelf, but 
 I have often heard my father fay this wine is a true cor- 
 dial. 
 
 Fred. Ten thoufand, thoufand thanks, lovely, amiable, 
 Unknown ! You make me a coftly prefent indeed, in this 
 bottle of wine. Oh haften, haften then, moft benevolent 
 tender-hearted maiden, let it be inftantly difpatched to the 
 neighbouring village; clofe by the public-houfe Hands a 
 little cottage, where will be found a poor, fick woman ra 
 fainting woman, whom, if fhe yet live, this wine may re- 
 vive ! {he takes the bottle from Amelia's hand^ and raifes it 
 up towards heaven) Oh God ! blefs this liquor ! why can 
 I not myfelf? [gives back the bottle to Amelia) but no 
 haften, haften then with it, moft amiable of your fcx ! fave 
 v\y mother, and you will be my guardian angel. 
 
 Amelia, (much ajfeEled) Worthy creature ! Oh I am 
 right, he cannot be a villain, a murderer ! 
 
 Fred. God be thanked, that I ftill deferve to he no- 
 ticed by fo noble a foul ! 
 
 Amelia. I will go myfelf immediately. But let me 
 leave this bottle of wine here; I will fetch another for 
 your poor mother. {Jhe Jets down the bottle and is going) 
 
 Fred. Yet one word more, Let me know, fweet maid- 
 en, who you are, that in my prayers to heaven, your name 
 maybe remembered. 
 
 Amelia. My father is Baron Wildenhain, the poflefTar 
 of this eftate. 
 
 Fred. Merciful God ! ! ! 
 
 Amelia. What is the matter ? 
 
 Fred. ( Jhuddering) And the man, againft whom I this 
 day drew my fword ! 
 
 Amelia. Was my father ? 
 
 Fred. My father ! I ! 
 
 Amelia. I feel agitated in his prefejice. {She runs out.) 
 
 SCENE III. Frederick. (Alone.) 
 
 (He repeats the wirds with agony.) Was my father ! 
 
 Eternal
 
 A PLAY. 47 
 
 < Eternal juftice thou flumbereft not ! The man againft 
 Whom I drew my fword this day was my father ! A 
 Few moments more, and I had been a parricide! 
 Oh h h ! an icy coldnefs freezes all my limbs my 
 hair ftands an end a mill floats before my fight Oh for 
 breath ! for breath ! {he finks down on his feat a long 
 paufe.) What a tumult does this idea raife in my brain ! 
 how the horrid images flit before my eyes as clouds 
 and vapours, which every moment change their forms. 
 And if fate had deftined him thus to be facrificed ! had 
 my arm confummated the dreadful ilroke ! Great Judge 
 of all things, whofe had been the guilt ? VRpuld not 
 thyfelf have armed the hand of the fon, to averige a mo- 
 ther's wrongs on an unnatural father? * Oh Zadig ! 
 Zadig! [he is loji for fome minutes in deep refielion) 
 but this maiden this amiable, lovely, inexpreflibly lovely 
 creature, who has juft left me, who has awakened a 
 new and moft tranfporting fenfation in my breafl, this 
 lovely creature is my filler ! And the filly being, the cox- 
 comb, who accompanied my father, was he then my 
 brother ? an ill-educated boy, who as it appears to me, 
 from his youth confidered as the only heir, has been 
 taught to regard nothing but his wealth, his rank, and is 
 thus inflated with his own confequence, while I, his bro- 
 ther, and my dear mother, fuller want. 
 
 SCENE IV. Enter Pastor. 
 
 Pajior. God preferve you, my friend ! 
 
 Fred. And you too, Sir. Judging by your appearance, 
 you are of the church; therefore a meffenger of peace. 
 You are truly welcome to me. 
 
 Pajior. I wifh to bring peace and tranquillity to your 
 foul. Reproaches I fhall fpare, for your own confeience 
 muft upbraid you more loudly than the preacher's voice. 
 
 Fred. Oh, you are right ! And, where confeience 
 
 then is filent, are you not of opinion, that the crime at leafi: 
 is doubtful ? 
 
 Pa/ior. Or mufl have been perpetrated by a wicked 
 and obdurate heart indeed. 
 
 * Referring to Voltaire's well-known novel of " Zad'g, or the 
 EookofFate." T. 
 
 Fred.
 
 4 8 THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 Fred. That is not my cafe. I really would not change 
 this heart for that of any prince no, nor any prieft. 
 Pardon me, Sir, that was not aimed at you. 
 
 Pajior. And if it was, mildnefs is the character of the 
 religion, I teach. 
 
 Fred. I only mean to fay that my heart is not obdu- 
 rate, yet my confcience does not reproach me with a 
 crime. 
 
 Pa/tor. Does it not deceive you ? Self-love fometimes 
 ufurps the place of confcience. 
 
 Fred. No ! no ! Oh, tis a pity that I am not more 
 endued with learning, that I underftand not in what way 
 properly to arrange my ideas, that I can only feel that 
 I cannot demonstrate ! Yet, let me afk you, Sir, what 
 was my crime ? that I would have robbed ! Oh, 
 for a few moments put your felf in my place: have you 
 any parents ? 
 
 Pajior. No, I was early left an orphan. 
 
 Fred. Pity ! pity indeed! then you cannot fairly judge 
 me. Yet will I defcribe my cafe as well as I am able. I 
 think, when one looks around, and fees how nature every 
 where exuberantly pours forth her ample ftores; when one 
 obferves this fpe&acle, and beholds at the fame time a dying 
 mother by one's fide, who with parched tongue faints 
 for a drop of wine if then one rich, and blefTed with 
 abundance, fhould pafs by, and mould deny the defpairing 
 wretch a florin, becaufe becaufe it would interrupt his 
 fport then fuddenly the feelings of the equality of all man- 
 kind fhould be awakened in the fufferer's foul, and feeing 
 himfelf neglected by fortune, he fhould determine to refume 
 his rights rights authorized by nature, who is not un- 
 juft to any of her children; and fhould inftindtively grafp 
 at a fmall fhare of thofe bounties which fhe prefents to all 
 Such a man does not plunder, he rightly takes his own. 
 
 Pajior, My friend, were thefe principles univerfal, 
 they would cut afunder every tie that binds fociety, and 
 change us foon into Arabian hordes. 
 
 Fred. 'Tis poffible ! and 'tis alfo poiTible, that we 
 fhould not be more unhappy. Among the hofpitable 
 Arabs my Mother would not have been fuffered to ftarve 
 on the highway ! 
 
 Pajior. (Mtich fitrprifed) Young man, you appear to 
 have had an education above vour rank. 
 
 Fred.
 
 A PLAY. 49 
 
 Fred. That is foreign to the purpofe for what I am, 
 I am indebted to my mother. I would only reprefent to 
 you, why my confcience does not accufe me. The judge 
 pronounces fentence according to the letter of the law, 
 the Divine fhould judge not merely the deed itfelf, but the 
 motive which prompted it. The Judge might then con- 
 demn me, but you, oh Sir, would inftantly pronounce my 
 pardon. That the glutton, who picks even the laft mor- 
 fel from his pheafant's bones, fhould leave unmolefted his 
 neighbour's black bread, can be no merit. 
 
 Pajior. Well, young man ! fuppofe I grant your fophifm ; 
 grant, that perhaps your peculiar fituation allowed you 
 to take, what you could not obtain by felicitation, does 
 that alfo exculpate murder, which you meditated. 
 
 Fred. Murder ! no, it does not exculpate that. Still I 
 was but the inftrument of a higher power. In this advent 
 tu re, you only behold one folitary link of a mighty chain, held 
 by an invifible hand, On this fubjecl: I cannot explain, 
 cannot juftify myfelf. Yet, (hall L appear with ferenity 
 before my judge, with calmnefsmeet my death, convinced 
 that an all-powerful hand intends by my blood, the ac- 
 complishment of fome great purpofe in the career of fate. 
 
 Pajior. It is well worth fome pains, mofl extraordinary 
 young man, to be better acquainted with you, and per- 
 haps to give a different complexion to many of your ideas. 
 If it be poffible, continue with me for fome weeks, and 
 give me your confidence. Your fick mother I will alfo 
 take to my houfe. 
 
 Fred, (embraces him) A thoufand thanks for my poor 
 mother's fake. As for myfelf, you know that I am a pri- 
 foner, in expectation of receiving fentence of death. The 
 refpite which the forms of jufticemay afford, ufe at your 
 pleafure. 
 
 Pajior. You are miftaken. You are in the hands of a 
 noble-minded man, who honours your filial love, com- 
 paffionates your unhappy fituation, and heartily forgives 
 you what has this day happened. You arc free He fent 
 me hither to announce to you your liberty, and with a 
 paternal exhortation, a brotherly admonition, to refeafe 
 you from your prifon. 
 
 Fred. And the name of this generous man ? 
 
 Pajior, Is the Baron von Wildfinhain. 
 
 Fred.
 
 S* THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Fred. Von Wildenhain ! (as if he was recollecting hint' 
 felf) Did he not live formerly in Franconia* ? 
 
 Pajlor. You are right. But at the death of his Lad y$ 
 a few weeks fince$ he returned to this, his paternal eftate. 
 
 Fred. His wife then is dead? and that amiable girl. 
 Who was here juft before your arrival, is his daughter ? 
 
 Pajlor. Yes, he is his daughter* the Lady Amelia. 
 
 Fred. And the perfumed young man is his fon , ? 
 
 Pajlor. He has no fon. 
 
 Fred, (eagerly) Yes he has ! (recollecling himfelf) 1 
 mean the young man who was fporting with him to-day* 
 
 Pajlor. No, he is not his fon. 
 
 Fred, (a fide) God be thanked ! 
 
 Pajlor. Only a vifitor from town. 
 
 Fred. I thank you for this information; it is highly in- 
 terefting to me. I alfo thank you for the kind trouble 
 you have taken, the philanthropy you have fhewn. It 
 grieves me that I cannot offer you my friendfhip were 
 we equals it might be of fome value- 
 
 Pajlor. Has not friendfhip this property in common 
 with love, that it equalizes all ranks ? 
 
 Fred. No, kind Parlor, this enchantment is peculiar to 
 love alone ! Yet I have one more requeft to make 
 Conduct me to the Baron von Wildenhain, and procure 
 me, if it be in your power, a few minutes converfation 
 with him in private ; I wifh to thank him for his benevo- 
 lence, but if any one be with him, I fhould be confufed, 
 and could not fpeak with fo much confidence. 
 
 Pajlor. Follow me. [Exeunt* 
 
 SCENE V. A room in the Cajlle. 
 
 If he Baron feated on a chair, and fmoking his pipe . 
 Amelia in converfation with him The Count upon 
 the Sopha y one moment taking fnuff, another holding a 
 fmeUing-bcttle to his nofe. 
 
 Baron. No, no, my child, let it alone at prefent to- 
 
 * In the performance, Alface and France, are throughout ufed 
 inftead of Franconia j no reafon for this appears. It was probably' 
 a miftake arifing from the fubftantive Franken, i. e. Franconia, be- 
 ing applied in modern language to French as an adjective, inftead of 
 Frattzofen. T. 
 
 wards
 
 A PLAY. 51 
 
 wjtrds evening, when it grows cool, we may take a walk 
 that way. 
 
 Amelia. It is fo delightful to do a good action ! why 
 then fliould one depute it to a fervant ? To confer a 
 kindnefs is a real joy, and no one is of too high rank for 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Baron. Simpleton, who fpoke of rank ? That was a 
 filly remark which almoft makes me angry. I tell you I 
 have fent to the cottage myfelf, the woman is better ; and 
 in the evening we will take a walk thither together. The 
 faftor fhall conduct us. 
 
 Amelia, (tolerably fatisfied) Well, as you pleafe. (Jhe 
 fits down and takes out her work) 
 
 Baron, (to the Sount) It will be a great pleafure to you 
 al fo, Count. 
 
 Count. "Je n'en doute pas, mon Colonel, the douceur and 
 the bonte d'ame of Mademoifelle will charm me. But what 
 if the good woman fhould have gotten fome epidemical 
 difeafe ? However I have a 'uinaigre incomparable againft 
 the plague,- we will at leaft be prepared with that. 
 
 Baron. As you pleafe, Count. I do not know any bet- 
 ter prefervative to offer you againft ennui, than fuch a 
 cordial. 
 
 Count. Ennui, oh mon Colonel! Who can think of en- 
 nui in the fame houfe with Mademoifelle? 
 
 Baron. Very gallantly fpoken ! Amelia, don't you 
 thank the Count ? 
 
 Amelia. I thank him, truly, (the Count makes a compli- 
 mentary bow). 
 
 Baron. Tell me, Count, did you refide long in France? 
 
 Count. Oh talk not to me of France, I entreat you, 
 mon Colonel you rend my heart. My father, le barbare, 
 had the fottife to refufe me a thoufand Louis-d'ors which I 
 had dejtine for that purpofe. It is true I was there fome 
 months I have indeed feen that dear place replete with 
 charms, and, fpite of le barbare de pere, I had perhaps 
 been there ftill, but for a moft unpleafant occurrence. 
 
 Baron, (fneeringly) Probably une affaire d'honheur. 
 
 Count. Point du tout but it was no longer a place in 
 which a vrai Cavalier could remain with credit to himfelf. 
 You have heard of the Revolution ? Oh yes, you muft 
 have heard of it, for it is the converfation of all Europe. 
 ^Eh bien I imagine* vous ! I was at Paris, I went into 
 
 the
 
 St THE NATURAL SON j 
 
 the Palais Royal^ I knew nothing at all of what was paf- 
 fing tout d'un coup I perceived myfelf furrounded by a 
 crowd of dirty raggamuffins, one kicked me on one fide, 
 another pufhed me on the other fide, another thruft his fifts 
 in my face. I afked what was the meaning of all this ? 
 They abufed me, and cried that I had no cockade in my 
 hat you underftand me, no national cockade. I fcreamed 
 out that I was Comte du Saint Empire. What did they 
 do ? they abfolutely caned mefoi d'honnete homrne they 
 caned me, and a dirty Paiffarde gave me a filip on the 
 nofe ; indeed there were even fbme who would have had 
 me a la lanterne.-^-Whzt fay you to this ? what would you 
 have done a ma place ? I threw myfelf with all poflible 
 expedition into my poft-chaife, and haftened away with 
 all poflible fpeed. voila tout ! it is indeed une hijloire 
 fqcheufe, but neverthelefs I muft ever regret the moments 
 ' delicieufes which I have tailed in that capitale du monde, 
 and this I muft fay, this muft every one perceive, that 
 though indeed, I pafl'ed but a few months there, monfavoir 
 vivre, monfortnation^zndjleplie, which is obferved in me, 
 are perfectly Franfoife, perfectly Pariften. 
 
 Baron. Of that I am no judge, but your language does 
 not appear to me German. 
 
 Count. Ah, mon Colonel^ you pay me a high compliment. 
 
 Baron. I am glad you take it as fuch. 
 
 Count. Then all my Joins have happily not been taken a 
 fure perte. For five years paft have I made every poflible 
 effort totally and completely to forget German. What 
 fay you, Madam, is not the German language entirely 
 devoid of grace, and at beft, only fuppor table in fo lovely 
 a rnouth as yours. That eternal guggling and rattling in 
 the throat a tout moment one reels one ftumbles it 
 does not flow, roll, fmoothly on as par exemple^ one 
 would make a declaration d'amour, one wifhes it to be a 
 chef d' aeuvre d' 'eloquence. Well, one ftudies it, but, kclas, 
 fcarcely has one gone through a douzaine of words, but 
 the tongue hitches now here, now there ; thrufts itfelf 
 firft one way, then the other > the teeth run pile mile 
 againft one another; the throat quarrels with the roof 
 of the mouth, and if one did not throw in a few French 
 words to fet all to rights again, one fhould run the haz- 
 ard of lofing, irrecoverably, the faculties of fpeech. Et 
 ttmvcnoT, votts a cela MademoiJtlle y that this cannot be 
 
 otherwifiy
 
 A PLAY. 53 
 
 otherwile for why ? we have no genles celebres, whofe 
 tafte is properly refined. I know, indeed, that at prefent 
 the Germans pique themfelves much, fur la gout, la lec- 
 ture, les belles lettres. There is a certain Monfieur Wie- 
 land, who has gained fome rentmmee*, by tranflating fome 
 tales from the Mille et une nuits, but mon dieu, ftill the 
 original is French. 
 
 Baron. But what the devil is the matter, Count, that 
 you are every moment muffing up your tabac, or holding 
 your fmelling-bottle to your nofe, and drenching your 
 clothes and my fopha with Eau de Lavande, and making 
 the air in my room fo fade, that it is like the fhop of a 
 French Marchand des modes. 
 
 Count. Pardonnez, mon Colonel, but it muft be con- 
 felled that the fmoke of your tobacco is altogether infup- 
 portable my nerves are moft fenfibly affected with it 
 my clothes muft be hung a month at leaft in the open air 
 to purify them and I allure you, mon Colonel, it even 
 gives a taint to the hair. It is a vile cuftom, which in- 
 deed one muft pardon in Mefftetirs du Militaire, becaufe 
 en campagne, they have no opportunity of mixing with 
 the beau monde, and acquiring the manners of ton. But 
 at prefent, there is no poffibility of enduring this horrible 
 fmell any longer. Vous m'excuferez, mon Colonel but 
 I muft go and, breathe a little frefh air, and change my 
 clothes. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE VI. The Baron and Amelia. 
 
 Baron. Bravo, my young gentleman ! I know, now, 
 however, a means of getting rid of you, when I am tired 
 of your twatcling. 
 
 Amelia. Dear father, I cannot take him for a hufband. 
 
 Baron. Dear child, I cannot take him for a fon. * 
 
 Amelia. (fVho appears to have fomething on her mind.') 
 I cannot endure him. 
 
 Baron. Nor I neither. 
 
 Amelia. What can one do, if one cannot b:ar the 
 man ? 
 
 Baron. Nothing at all. 
 
 Amelia. Love comes and goes unfolicited. 
 
 Baron. It docs fo indeed. 
 
 Amelia. It is often fcarceiy poffible to give a reafon 
 why oae loves or hates. 
 
 *H Baron.
 
 54 THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 Baron. That may be the cafe. 
 
 Amelia. Yet there are cafes in which one's inclination, 
 or averfion, are founded upon good grounds. 
 Baron. Undoubtedly. 
 
 Amelia. For example, my averfion to the Count. 
 Baron. Certainly. 
 
 Amelia. And my inclination towards the Paftor. 
 Baron. Yes, (Both paufe.) 
 Amelia. Probably I may marry. 
 
 Baron. And you ought to marry. {Both paufe again.) 
 Amelia. Why does not out Paftor marry ? 
 Baron. That you muft afk him himfelf. [Paufe again.) 
 Amelia. {She keeps her eyes conjlantly on her work, at 
 which Jhe is very bujily employed.) He feems to have a 
 great regard for me. 
 
 Baron. I am glad to hear it. 
 Amelia. And I have alfo a great regard for him. 
 Baron. That is but juft. {Another paufe.) 
 Amelia. I believe if you were to offer him ray hand, 
 he would not refufe it. 
 
 Baron. \ believe fo myfelf. 
 Amelia. And I would readily obey you. 
 Baron. (With particular attention.) Indeed! Are you 
 ferious ? 
 
 Amelia. Oh yes ! 
 
 Baron. Ha ! ha ! ha ! well we mall fee ! 
 Amelia. {Looking up more cheerfully.) Are you really 
 ferious, dear Father I 
 Baron. Oh no ! 
 
 Amelia. {Dejedledly again.) No ? 
 Baron. No, Amelia that will not do to play fuch a 
 pretty romance, like Abelard and Heloife, or St. Preux 
 and Julie does not accord with our rank, and the Paftor 
 himfelf is too honourable to think of fuch a thing. 
 Amelia. You are his benefactor. 
 Baron. At leaft he thinks me fo. 
 
 Amelia. And can any thing be more honourable than to 
 make the daughter of his benefactor happy ? 
 
 Baron. But if this daughter be a child, and has childifh 
 fancies, and wifhes to day to poflefs a toy, which perhaps 
 to-morrow fhe may throw away in fpleen? 
 Amelia. Oh no, I am not fuch a child ! 
 
 Baron*
 
 A PLAY. 55 
 
 Baron. Liften to me, Amelia ! A hundred Fathers 
 would fay to you, you are of rank yourfeJf, you muft 
 marry a man of rank. But I do not fay fo my child 
 ihall not be facrificed to prejudice a woman never can 
 obtain rank by merit, therefore never has reafon to b 
 proud of it. 
 
 Amelia. And therefore 
 
 Baron. Therefore I fay, in God's name, marry the 
 Pallor, if you do not find among our young men of rank, 
 one, who for perfon and endowments of heart and mind, 
 correiponds with your ideas. There may, however, be 
 many of this defcription many, perhaps but as yet you 
 know too little of men in general, to have formed your judg- 
 ment upon this point. -Wait till the enfuing winter -we 
 will fpend it in town -we will frequent balls and affem- 
 blies, perhaps you mav then think differently. 
 
 Amelia. Oh no ! I muft firft know a man well) and 
 may even then be deceived in him. But with our Paftor 
 I have been {q long, fo intimately acquainted, that I 
 can read his heart as plainly as my catechifm. 
 
 Baron. Amelia, you have never loved. The Paftor 
 educated you, and you, ignorant of what loVe really is, 
 miftake your ardent gratitude for love. 
 
 Amelia. You explained the fubjec~t to me this morning. 
 
 Baron. Did I fo? Well, and my queftians ? 
 
 Amelia. All applied to the Paftor, as if you had pene- 
 trated the inmoft recefles of my heart. 
 
 Baron. Reallv ! Humph ! Humph ! 
 
 Amelia. Yes, dear Father, I love, and am alfo beloved. 
 
 Baron. Are alfo beloved ! Has he told you fo ? 
 
 Amelia. Yes. 
 
 Baron. Fye ! fye! that was not right in him. 
 
 Amelia. Oh if you knew how 1 took him by furprife ? 
 
 Baron. You took him by furprife? 
 
 Amelia. He came, by your defire, to fpeak to me in be- 
 half of the Count, and I told him I never would marry 
 the Count. 
 
 Baron. But would marry him ? 
 
 Amelia. Yes, him. 
 
 Baron. Very frank, by my foul ? and what anfvvered 
 he? 
 
 Amelia. He talked to me about my rank, my family, 
 my uncles and aunts of his 4twy to you and, in fhort, 
 
 would
 
 56 THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 would have perfuaded me to think no more of this. But 
 my heart could not fuffer itfelf to be rjprfuaded. 
 
 Baron. That was honourable in him And he will 
 not fpcak to me on this fubject ? 
 
 Amelia. No, he faid that was impoflible ! 
 
 Baron. So much the better then I may be fuppofed 
 ignorant of the whole affair. 
 
 Amelia. But I aflured him that I would fpeak myfelf. 
 
 Baron. So much the worfe that embarrafles me ex- 
 ceedingly. 
 
 Amelia. And now I have done as I faid I would. 
 
 Baron. Truly you have. 
 
 Amelia* Dear Father! 
 
 Baron. Dear Child! 
 
 Amelia. See the tears will come into my eyes. 
 
 Baron. {Turning from her.) Reprefs them! [Both 
 paufe ; Amelia rifes from her feat, and bends downwards^ 
 as if 'looking for fotne thing.) What do you look for ? 
 
 Amelia. I have loft my needle. 
 
 Baron. (Pujhes back his feat and bends forwards to affijl 
 her.) It cannot be gone fo far. 
 
 Amelia. {Approaches and falls tenderly on his neck.) My 
 dear Father ! 
 
 Baron. Well, and what now ? 
 
 Amelia. This one requeft! 
 
 Baron. Let me go ! You make my cheeks wet with 
 your tears! 
 
 Amelia. I never can love any other never can be 
 happy with any other. 
 
 Baron. Buffoonery, Amelia! Childifhnefs ! be a 
 good girl ! [heflroaks her cheeks.) Sit down again ! we 
 will talk more of this another time it is not a matter 
 that needs fuch great hafte there is no occafion for an 
 extra-poft upon the fubjecT:. The knot that binds you 
 together is tied in a moment the ftate of wedlock en- 
 dures for years. Many a girl fheds one tear, becaufe fhe 
 thinks (he cannot have her lover, and if {he attain him at 
 laft, perhaps, fheds tears in torrents that fhe can never be 
 releafed from him. Thou haft relieved thy heart of its 
 oppreffive burden, and thy Father now bears it in his 
 bears it for thee, for his dear Amelia. So fmall a wound 
 time will foon heal, or if it do not, then thou may'ft 
 chufe thy phyfician. 
 
 Amelia.
 
 A PLAY. 57 
 
 Amelia. My dear, kind Father ! 
 
 Baron. Aye truly, had thy Mother been alive, thou 
 wouldeft not have efcaped To eafily (he would have 
 clung to the fixteen noble generations, which flic num- 
 bered as her anceftors. 
 
 SCENE VII. Enter the Pastor. 
 
 Baron. You are come opportunely. 
 
 Pajior. In confequence of your order, my Lord, I 
 have releafed the young man from his priibn He is in 
 the anti-chamber, and wifhes to return you his thank* 
 in perfon. 
 
 Baron. \ am pleafed to hear it I mud not fuffer him 
 to depart empty-handed, I would not confer benefits by 
 halves. 
 
 Pajior. He intreats a few words with you in private. 
 
 Baron. In private Wherefore? 
 
 Pa (lor. He pleaded his confufion in the prefence of" 
 witnefles. Perhaps he has fome difcovery to make, of 
 which he wifhes to relieve his heart. 
 
 Baron. Well, be it fo ! Retire Amelia, remain in 
 the anti-chamber with the Paftor. I wifh afterwards for 
 fome converfation with you both. {Amelia withdraws the 
 Pajior opens the door, introduces Frederick, and retires.) 
 
 SCENE VIII. Baron and Frederick. 
 
 Baron. {Approaching Frederick.) Depart with God's 
 bleffing, my friend, you are free. I have fent to your mo- 
 ther, fhe is better, for her fake 1 pardon you, but beware 
 of a repetition of your offence ; highway-robbing is a bad 
 trade. There is a Louis-d'or feek fome creditable em- 
 ployment, and if I hear that you are diligent and orderly 
 in your behaviour, my doors and my purfe fhall always 
 be open to affifl you. Go, my friend, and heaven fupport 
 you! 
 
 Fred. [Taking the Louis-d'or.) You are a liberal 
 man, free in parting with your money not ("paring of 
 your good advice. But I have a flili greater favour to 
 entreat of you. You are a rich man, a man of influence, 
 affifr. me to obtain juftice againft an unnatural Father! 
 
 Baron. How ! who is your Father? 
 
 Fred. {JVith anguijh.) A man of :ank, lord of muck 
 land, and over many tenants efteemed at court ho- 
 noured
 
 58 THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 noured in the ftate beloved by his peafants benevo- 
 lent, noble-hearted, generous 
 
 Baron. And yet differs his Son to want ? 
 
 Fred. Yet fuffers his Son to want ! 
 
 Baron. Doubtlefs not without reafon. You were per- 
 haps a wild young fellow, libertine in your principles 
 and practices, gamed, kept a miftrefs, and your Father 
 therefore thought that following the drum for a few years 
 might have a good effect in correcting fuch irregularities. 
 And if this be really the cafe, I cannot think your Father 
 has done wrong. 
 
 Fred. You miftake, Sir, my Father knows me not 
 never has feen me-^-he caft me off even before my birth. 
 
 Baron. How ! 
 
 Fred. The tears of my Mother are all the inheritance 
 I ever received from my Father. Never has he enquired 
 after me, never concerned himfelf whether I had exift- 
 ence. 
 
 Baron. That is bad ! {much confuted) very bad indeed ! 
 
 Fred. I am the unhappy offspring of a ftolen amour. 
 My poor feduced Mother has educated me amidftfighs and 
 anguifh with the labour of her hands fhe gained a fuffi- 
 ciency to enable her, in fome degree, to cultivate my 
 heart and mind and I think I am, through her care, be- 
 come a man, who might be a fource of joy to any father. 
 But mine, willingly foregoes this pleafure, and his con- 
 icience leaves him at eafe refpecting the fate of his unhap- 
 py child. 
 
 Baron. At eafe ! Oh if his confcience can be at eafe 
 under fuch circumftances, he muft be a hardened villain 
 indeed ! 
 
 Fred. As I grew up, and wifiied no longer to be a 
 burthen upon my indigent mother, I had no refourcc 
 but to affume thefe garments, and I entered into the fer- 
 vice of a volunteer corps for one illegally born cannot 
 be received as an apprentice by any tradefman or artift. 
 
 Baron. Unfortunate young man ! 
 
 Fred. Thus, amidft turmoils, patted the early years of 
 my life To the thoughtlefs youth nature generally 
 gives pleafure as his companion, and through enjoyment 
 itrengthens the mind againft thofe cares and forrows 
 which are the inevitable lot of the maturer man; but the 
 nlyjoys of my youth were coarfe harfii bread, with pure 
 
 water,
 
 A PLAY. 59 
 
 water, and ftripes from the ferjeant's hand. Yet, what, 
 fignifies that to my Father ? his table is fplendidly fet. 
 oat^ and to the laches of confcience he is infenfible. 
 Baron. (Jfide) This young man wrings my heart ! 
 Fred. After a feparation of five years from my Mother, 
 I this day returned home, full of love for the country 
 which contained that dear parent full of the fweeteft 
 dreams of the moft pleafing pictures imagination could 
 form. I found my poor mother fick reduced to beggary 
 not having eaten for two days no bundle of ftraw on 
 which to lay her head no fhelter againft rain or florins 
 no compaffionate heart to clofe her eyes no fpot whereon 
 to die in peace. But what does that concern my father ? 
 He has*a fine caftle, fleeps on foft beds of down, and when 
 he dies, the minifter of religion will in a pompous funeral 
 fermon, hand down topofterity his many chriftian virtues. 
 Baron. (Jhuddering .) Young man, what is thy father's. 
 name ? 
 
 Fred. That he abufed the weaknefsof aguiltlefs maiden, 
 deceived her through falfe oaths that he gave exiftence 
 to an unhappy wretch, who muft curfe him for the fatal gift 
 that he has driven his only fon almoft to parricide Oh 
 thefe are trifles and when the day of reckoning comes, 
 may all be paid for by a piece of gold? [throivs the Louis- 
 d'or at the Baron's feet.) 
 
 Baron. {Half dijlracled.) Young man, tell me thy 
 father'6 name ! 
 
 Fred. Baron Wildenhain! (The Baron Jlrikes his forehead 
 with both hands, and remains fixed to the fpot where 'be 
 {lands. Frederick proceeds with violent emotion.') Ye:-;, 
 in this houfe, in this very room, perhaps, was my mother 
 beguiled of her virtue, and I was begotten for the fwordof 
 the executioner. And now, my Lord, I am not free 
 I am your prifoner 1 will not be free. I am a high* ay- 
 robber loudly do I accufe myfelf as fuch you fhall 
 confign me over to the hand of juftice fhall .conduct 
 me to the place of execution you fhall hear how the 
 prieft feeks in vain to calm my mind (hall hear ho w 
 in defpair I curfe my father fhall (land by me as the 
 head falls from the trunk and my blood your own 
 blood fhall fprinkle your garments. 
 Baron. Oh hold! hold! 
 
 'Fred. And when you turn from this fcen?, and defcend 
 
 from
 
 6 THE NATURAL SON. 
 
 from the fcaffbld there at its foot fhall you find my mo- 
 ther, even at the moment that (he draws her laft breath . 
 fighs out her foul in anguifh! 
 
 Baron. Inhuman ! hold ! 
 
 [The Pastor rujhes in ha/lily.] 
 
 Pa/lor. Heaven's what is the matter? I hear impaf- 
 iianed words ! what has been pafling here ? young man, 
 I hope you have not attempted 
 
 Fred. Yes, fir, I have attempted to take your office 
 from your hands I have made a finner tremble ! {point- 
 ing to the Baron.) See there thus after a lapfe of one 
 and twenty years, the injuries arifing from inordinate paf- 
 ilons, are avenged. I am a murderer I am a high- 
 way-robber but what I feel in this moment is tranfport, 
 is blifs, compared with the thorns which lacerate his 
 hrcaft, I go to furrender myfelf up to juftice, and then 
 at the throne of heaven will I appear a bloody witnefs 
 againft this man. [Exit. 
 
 SCENE IX. 7he Baron the Pastor. 
 
 Pajlor. For heaven's fake what is the matter ? I can- 
 not underfland. 
 
 Baron. Oh he is my fon ! he is my fon ! away, my 
 friend, advife me afiift me, haflen to the poor fick 
 woman in the village Frank will {hew you the way > 
 haften ! oh haften ! 
 
 Pajlor. But what am I to do ? 
 
 Baron. Oh God ! -your ov/n heart muft inftrut. you ! 
 (Exit the Pajlor the Baron proceeds with great emotion 
 holding his head with both his hands.) Am I in my 
 fenfes ? or are thefe only vifions of fancy ? I have a 
 /on, a brave, a noble youth, and I have not yet clafped 
 him in my arms, have not prefled him to my heart 
 (calls) Rodolph ! (Enter a Hunt/man.) Where is he? 
 
 Huntfman. Who, my Lord ? the highway-robber ? 
 
 Baron. Sluggard ! the young man who even now went 
 hence ! 
 
 Huntfman. He is going before the juftice we have 
 fent after the conftable. 
 
 Baron. Let the conftable be kicked down flairs when he 
 eomes let no one dare to lay hands upon the young man. 
 
 Huntfman. (furprifed.) Very well, my Lord, (going.) 
 
 Baron. Stay, Rodolph ! 
 
 ffuntfman. Moft noble Lord ! 
 
 Baron.
 
 A PLAY, 61 
 
 Baron. Conduct the young foldier into the green-room 
 hy the dining-hall, and attend upon him as his fervant. 
 
 Hunt/mart. The count von der Mulde lodges there, my 
 Lord. 
 
 Baron. Let him be kicked out, and fent to the devil.- 
 (The Huntfman Jiands perplexed, not knowing what he 
 Jhoulddo, the Baron walks eagerly backwards and forwards.) 
 I want no 'fon-in-law ! I have a fon *a fon who fhali 
 continue my name, and inherit my eftates a fon in 
 
 whofe arms I will die. Yes, I will atone to him 
 
 for all J will fuffer no falfe fhame to reftrain me ! ; A11 
 my tenants, all my fervants, (hall know it ; ^know that I 
 could forget my child but that I am not hardened in my 
 guilt. Rodolph ! 
 
 Huntfman. My Lord ! 
 
 Baron. Conduct him hither ! entreat him to come in, 
 and let all who are in the anti-chamber come with him. 
 [Rodolph goes out.) Oh, my heart ! 'What is it thus 
 makes my blood rufti through my veins, that from the 
 crown of my head even to the fole of my foot, I am 
 pulfationall oVer ! 'Tis joy ! joy ! *joy !joy wholly 
 unmerited by me. {Frederick enters, furrounded by a 
 number of fervants, the Baron ru/bes towards him.) He 
 
 comes! Oh let me clafp thee to this heart! [He 
 
 throws himfelf upon Frederick's neck, and clafps him in his 
 arms.) My fon I ! ! 
 
 nd of Act IV. 
 
 ACT
 
 &z THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 A C T V. 
 
 SCENE I. The Cottager's room, as in the fecond Aft. 
 WlLHELMINA, //^COTTAGER, and his WlFE. 
 
 WlLHELMINA. 
 
 GOOD Father, go out once more, and fee 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 fee nobody. 
 
 Wife. Only have a little patience who knows whither 
 he may be gone. 
 
 Cottager . Yes, indeed, he may be ftraggled into the 
 town. 
 
 Wife. True, hufband ! 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 foon come now. 
 
 Cottager. Dire&ly ! to oblige you ! [Exit. 
 
 Wife. If your fon did but know what God has been 
 pleafed to fend in his abfence, he'd have been here long 
 ago. 
 
 Wilhel. I am fo anxious. 
 
 Wife. How ! anxious ! One who has fuch a purfe 
 full of money cannot be anxious in mind j that is to fay, 
 if (he come by it honeftly. 
 Wilhel. Where can he ftay fo long ? He has been 
 
 gone already four hours. Some misfortune muft have 
 
 happened to him. 
 
 Wife. No, no ! What misfortune fhould happen ? 
 It is ftill broad day-light. Be cheery, and take heart ; 
 
 we'll have a good fupper at night. Oh, you may live 
 
 a long time upon that money, and do whatever you pleafe. 
 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 fo fecret. 
 
 Wilhel. (Halfafide.) Does he then know me? It 
 
 muft be fo, elfe he would not have been fo very liberal. 
 
 Wife,
 
 A PLAY. 63 
 
 Wife, I do'nt think that follows ! Our good Baron is 
 kind both to thofe he knows, and to ftrangers. 
 
 (The Cottager re-enters, fcratching his head.) 
 
 Wilhel. (as foon as foe fees him) Well! ftill no tidings? 
 
 Cottager. One might gape till one was blind, and not 
 fee him at laft. 
 
 Wilhel. Ah, God ! what can come of this ! 
 
 Cottager. I faw our good Paftor coming round the 
 corner there. 
 
 Wilhel. Coming hither? 
 
 Csttager. Who knows ? he commonly comes once in 
 
 three or four weeks, to enquire after us. 
 
 Wife. Yes, he is very attentive in vifiting all his parifhi<- 
 oners, and then he afks how we go on with our employ- 
 ments, and how we live among each other. If there's 
 any quarrels or difcontents among us, he makes them up ; 
 
 if any poor man is in great want he affifts him. 
 
 You know, hufband, how lately he fent one of his cows to 
 the lame Michael. 
 
 Cottager. Yes, he feqt him the beft milch-cow, out of 
 his yard. God blefs him for it I 
 
 Wife. God blefs him ! 
 
 SCENE II. Enter the Pastor. 
 
 Paflor. God blefs you, my children ! 
 
 Cottager and Wife. Thank you kindly, Sir ! 
 
 Cottager. You are kindly welcome to us indeed. 
 
 Wife, (reaches a chair , which Jhe wipes with her 
 apron) Pray fit down ! 
 
 Cottager. The weather is warm, let me fetch you a 
 glafs of beer. 
 
 Wife. Or fome nice juicy pears. 
 
 Paftor. I thank you, good people, but I am not thirfty. 
 You appear to have a vifitor. 
 
 Cottager. Ah ! dear Sir, (he is a poor woman, very 
 fick and weak we took her in here from the road. 
 
 Paflor. God will reward your goodnefs. 
 
 Cottager. He has rewarded it already. We are as happy 
 and joyful to day, as if we were going to the wake to- 
 morrow an't we Bet ? (holds out his hand to his wife.) 
 
 Wife. Yes hufband ! (Jhe takes his hand and fhakes it 
 heartily.) 
 
 Pa/tor. (to Wilhelmina.) Who are you, good woman ? 
 
 Wilhel,
 
 64 THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 Wilhel I ! Ah, Sir ! (in a halfwhifper) Oh that we 
 Were alone ! 
 
 Pajlor (to the Cottager) Be fo kind, John, as to leave 
 me alone with this woman for a few minutes I wifli for 
 fome private converfation with her. 
 
 Cottager. Do you hear, Bet ! come 2long. [Exeunt. 
 
 SCENE III. The Pastor WWjlhelmina. 
 
 Pajlor. Well, my good woman, we are alone. 
 
 Wilhel. Before I tell you what I was, and who I am, 
 allow me to afk you fome queftions. Are you a native of 
 this country? 
 
 Pallor. No, I came from Franconia. 
 
 Wilhel. Did you know the worthy old Paftor, your 
 predeceffor ? 
 
 Pajlor. No, 
 
 Wilhel. (inquisitively) You really then do not know 
 any particulars of my unhappy ltory, and it was merely 
 chance that brought you hither? 
 
 Pajlor. If you are, indeed, the perfon I fuppofe you, 
 and whom I have fo long fought, your ftory is not wholly 
 unknown to me. 
 
 Wilhel. Whom you fuppofe ? and whom you have 
 fo long fought? who then gave you fuch a com- 
 miffion ? 
 
 Pajlor. A man who interelts himfelf deeply in your 
 fate. 
 
 Wilhel. Indeed Oh quickly tell me then whom dq 
 you fuppofe me to be ? 
 - Pa/lor-. Wjlhelmina Boettcher. 
 
 Wilhel. Yes, I am the unfortunate, feduced Wilhel- 
 mina! and the man who takes fo deep an intereft in my 
 fate I fuppofe is Baron Wildenhain he who robbed me 
 of my innocence the murderer of my father who for 
 twenty years has confined me and his child to mifery, and 
 who now hopes to atone for all, by a defpicable purfe of 
 gold. (Draws out the purfe fent her ly the Baron.) I 
 know not with what view you may now come hither, 
 whether to reproach, or to confole me, or whether to 
 banifli me from thefe borders, that my prefence may not 
 be a repronch to the voluptuary but one requeft I have 
 earneftly to make you ! carry back this purfe to the man 
 who has ruined me tell him, that my virtue was not to 
 
 be
 
 A PLAY. 65 
 
 he bartered for gold that gold cannot repay me for my 
 loft peace of mind, nor can the curfe of an aged parent be 
 redeemed by gold. Tell him, that the poor ftarving Wil- 
 helmina, though clothed in beggar's rags, is ftill too proud 
 in fpirit to receive benefits from her feducer. We have 
 no- feelings now in common with each other he defpifed 
 my heart with equal contempt I fpurn his gold ! he has 
 trampled me under foot I trample under foot his gold. 
 (She throws the pur fe difdainfully upon the ground.) But 
 he fhall be left to his repofe wholly to his repofe he 
 ihall live as hitherto, in mirth and cheerfulnefs, nor fhall 
 the fight of Wilhelmina imbitter his pleafures. As 
 foon as I have fomewhat recovered my ftrength, 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 Fran- 
 conia, knew not that he was fo near me ! Allure him 
 earneftly of this, or he may believe that I came hither in 
 fearch of him. Oh he muft not believe that !- And now, 
 Sir, you fee that your prefence, the objeclt of your vifit, 
 have exhaufted my little ftrength. I know not how to 
 fay more I know not what more he who fent you can 
 require of me, (with indignation.) Yet one thing farther 
 perhaps phe Baron has recollected, that he once promifed 
 me marriage that on his knees before me, he called on 
 God to witnefs his vows, and pledged his honour for their 
 performancebut teil him not to be uneafy on that ac- 
 count, for the remembrance has long fince been banifhed 
 from my bofom. 
 
 Pa/tor. I have liftened to you with patient attention^ 
 that I might learn your whole fentiments of the Baron, and 
 your own peculiar ways of thinking. In this unprepared 
 moment, when your full heart overflowed, you doubt- 
 lefs have not difTembled, and I rejoice to find you a wo- 
 man of the nobleft fentiments, worthy of the higheft 
 atonement that a man of honour a man of ftrit honour 
 can make you. -With what fatisfaclion therefore, can 
 I correct an error, which, has perhaps, occafioned 
 much of the bitternefs you have expreffed againft the 
 Baron. Had he known that the fick woman in this cot- 
 tage was Wilhelmina Boettcher, and had fent to her this 
 purfe, he had deferved that his own fon fhould be his 
 murderer! but no! believe me, no! this has he not 
 done. Look me in the face, my profefHon demands con- 
 fidence,,
 
 66 THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 fidence, but, independently of that, you furely would 
 believe me incapable of a falfhood and I molt folemnly 
 allure you, that it was chance alone, made you the objecT: 
 of his bounty, which he believed was exercifed towards 
 an entire ftranger. 
 
 Wllhel. How, Sir ! Would you perfuade me, that 
 Inch a prefent as this was the effect: of chance ? To a 
 ftranger one fends a florin, a dollar, but not a purfe of 
 gold. 
 
 Pajlor. I grant it is extraordinary but the occafion 
 was extraordinary. Your fon 
 
 Wilhel What! my Son? 
 
 Pajlor. Becalm. An affectionate Son begged for his 
 Mother that .affected the Baron. 
 
 Wilhel. Begged of the Baron ! of his Father \ 
 
 Pa/lor, Even fo ! but underftand, that neither knew 
 the other and that the mother received this prefent for 
 the fake of the fon. 
 
 Wilhel. Knew not each other! And where is my 
 fon ? 
 
 Pajlor. At the caftle. 
 
 Wilhel. And ft ill are they unknown to each other ? 
 
 Pajlor. No all is now revealed, and I am fent hither 
 by the Baron, not to an unknown fick-woman, but to 
 Wilhelmina lioettcher, not with money, but with acom- 
 miflion to act as my own heart fhall dictate. 
 
 Wilhel. Your heart ! oh, Sir, pledge not your 
 feelings for thofe of this obdurate man ! Yet will the 
 woman forget, what fhehas fufferedforhis fake, if he only 
 v/ill atone for it to the mother the woman will pardon 
 him, jf be deferve the Mother's thanks. In what ftate 
 then is my Frederick how has the baron received him? 
 
 Pajlor. I left him overcome by violent emotions it 
 was eyen then the moment of difcoyery nothing was 
 yet decided yet, doubtlefs, at this inftant the fon is 
 clafped 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 fuddenly changed ? for twenty 
 years deaf to the voice of nature 
 
 Paftor. You do him injuftice ! hear before you judge 
 him. Many errors appear to us at the firft view deteita- 
 bje when if we knew all that led to them, all the inter- 
 vening
 
 A PLAY. 67 
 
 vening cifcumftances which infenfibly prompted to the 
 deed, all the trifles whofe iufluence is fo imperceptible, 
 and yet fo great, how might our opinions be altered. 
 Could we have accompanied the offender ftep by ftep, in- 
 ftead of, as now, feeing only the firft, the tenth, and the 
 twentieth, often indeed, mould we exculpate, where 
 we at prefent condemn. Far be it from me to defend the 
 Baron's mifcondudt, but this I dare aflert, that even a good 
 man may once in his life be guilty of a lapfe, with- 
 out deferving to forfeit entirely his character for good- 
 uefs. Where is the demi-god, who can dare to vaunt, 
 that his confcience is clear, pure as falling fnow ! and if 
 fuch a boafter live, for God's-iake trull him not, he 
 is far more dangerous than a repentant finner. Pardon 
 my difFufenefs in a few words you mall now have the 
 Baron's ftory fince your feparation. At that time he 
 loved you moft fmcerely, but the fear of his rigid mother 
 prevented the fulfilment of his vows. The war recalled 
 him to the field, where he was feverely wounded, made 
 a prifoner, and for a whole year was confined to his bed, 
 unable to write to you, or to obtain any information con- 
 cerning you Then did your image firft begin to grow 
 fainter in his mind. In confequence of his dangerous 
 wounds, he was carried from the field of battle to a 
 neighbouring manfion, the owner of which was a man 
 of rank and benevolence, pofiefied of a large eftate, 
 and the father of a beautiful daughter. The maiden 
 was particularly pleafed with the young man, fcarcely 
 ever left his bed-fide, nurfed him like a filter, and filed 
 tears for his fufferings, to which the Baron's heart could 
 not be infenfible. Philanthropy and gratitude knit the 
 bands, which death tore alunder but a few weeks fince. 
 Thus was the remembrance of you entirely obliterated. He 
 exchanged his native country for a noble refidence in Fran- 
 conia ; he became a hufband, a father, and employed 
 himfelf in the improvement of his eftates no object 
 that he beheld reminded him of you, nor could any 
 thing revive your image in his heart, till his life be- 
 came imbittered by domcftic feuds. Too late he dis- 
 covered in his wife a proud, imperious woman, a 
 fpoiled child poflefiing a fpirit of contradiction, and per- 
 tinak>ufly adhering to her own opinions. She feemed to 
 have refcued him from death, merely to torment him to 
 
 death
 
 68 THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 death herfelf. Chance at that time conducted me to his 
 houfe I gained his friendfhip J became the inftru&or 
 of his only daughter, and was foon admitted to his con- 
 fidence. Oh how often has he with anguifti of heart, faid, 
 " This woman revenges on me the wrongs of my 
 Wilhelmina." How often has he curfed the wealth 
 which his wife brought him, and in fancy enjoyed a lefs 
 brilliant, but more happy lot, in your arms. When at 
 length this living became vacant, and he offered me the 
 cure, the firft words with which he accompanied the 
 propofal 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 !" Thefe letters 
 are now in my pofleffion you may fee them. I never 
 was able to difcover the place of your abode fate pre- 
 vented it having in its view this more important day. 
 
 Wilhel. You have afFedted me much and the emotions 
 which I feel prefs conviction to my heart. How will all 
 this end ? What now is to become of me ? 
 
 Pajlor. The Baron did not indeed fignify to me his 
 intentions fhould v you be found, but your wrongs de- 
 mand atonement, and I know but of one way in which it 
 can be made. Exalted woman I If your flrength will 
 permit you to accompany me my carriage waits the 
 road is fhort and eafy. 
 
 Wilhel. I go with you ? Go before the Baron in thefe 
 rags ? 
 
 Pajlor. And wherefore not ? 
 
 Wilhel. Will they not reproach him ? 
 
 Pajlor. Noble-minded woman ! come with rue then ; 
 we will flop at my houfe ; my filler will quickly furnifl* 
 you with clothes. 
 
 Wilhel. But fhall I find my Frederick at the caftle ? 
 
 Pajlor. Moft certainly ! 
 
 Wilhel. {rifing.) Well! for his fake I will fub- 
 mit to this arduous tafk ! He is the only branch on 
 which my hopes ftill bloiTom the reft are all withered, 
 dead ! But where are my good Hofl and Hoftefs, that I 
 may take my leave, and thank them ? 
 
 Pajlor. [takes up the pur fe, goes to the door and calls.) 
 Here, Neighbour ! John f 
 
 SCENE IV,
 
 A PLAY. 69 
 
 SCENE IV. Enter Cottager and his Wife. 
 
 Cottager. Here I am ! 
 
 Wife . Thank God, (he is upon her legs once more ! 
 1 am heartily glad of it. 
 
 Pajior. My good friends, I will take this woman with 
 me fhe will have better accommodations. 
 
 Cottager. Yes, indeed ! fhe is but badly off here\ 
 
 "Wife. We were glad to do the beft we could for her, 
 but we could do but lbrrily after all. 
 
 Pajior. You have ated like worthy people -take that 
 as a reward for your kindnefs ! [Offers thepurfe to the Cot- 
 tager, who puts his hands before him, plays with his fingers 
 in his waijicoat, looks at the money , and [hakes his head.) 
 Will you not take it? {Offers it to the wife ; Jhe plays 
 with her apron, looks at it with half-averted eyes, and 
 /hakes her head.) What is your objection? 
 
 Cottager. Pray don't take it amifs, good Sir 9 I can't 
 think of being paid for doing my duty. 
 
 Wife, {looking up to heaven) There we look for our' 
 reward. 
 
 Pajior. [laying a hand on the Jhoulder of each, much 
 affecled) And there you will be rewarded Heaven blefs 
 you both ! 
 
 Wilhel. You will not refufe my thanks? 
 
 Cottager. You are kindly welcome. 
 
 Wife. Yes, you are heartily welcome. 
 
 Wilhel. Farewell, kind people ! (She Jhakes them both 
 by the hand.) 
 
 Cottager. Farewell, farewell! I hope you'll foon be 
 better. 
 
 Wife. And if you ever come this way, pray call in: 
 
 Pajior. God preferve you ! {Offers his arm to Wilhel- 
 mina, who takes hold of it, wipes the tears from her eyes, 
 and fupports herfelfby a flick in the other hand.) 
 
 Cottager. Adieu, good Paftor ! [Pulls off his hat, and 
 makes many f craping s with his foot.) 
 
 Wife. And I thank you kindly for this vifit. 
 
 Both. And we hope you'll come again foon. (They go 
 to the door with the Pajior and Wilhelmina.) 
 
 Cottager, (taking his wife by the hand) Well, Bet, 
 what think you ? How fhall we fleep to-night ? 
 
 Wife, [prejfing his hand) As found as tops. [Exeunt. 
 
 K SCENE
 
 7 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 SCENE V. A Room in the Cajlle. 
 The Baron fits on afofha, exhaujied by various emotions: 
 Frederick. Jiands by, bending over him, and prejfing 
 ane of the Baron 's hands between his. 
 
 Baron. So, you have really feen fervice fmelt gun- 
 powder I'd lay my life, young man, that as Frederick von 
 Wildenhain, you had been fpoiled both by father and mo- 
 ther j but as Frederick Boettcher, you are grown to be a 
 brave fellow. Thou haft hitherto been expofed to hardfhips 
 and dangers thy youthful path has not been ftrewed 
 with rofes ! Well, well, Frederick, it fhall be otherwife 
 now the future fhall reward thee for the paft. The 
 opprobium of thy birth fhall be removed Indeed it fhall. 
 I will publicly acknowledge thee as>my only fon, and as 
 heir to my eftates ! What fay'ft thou to this ? 
 
 Fred. And my mother ? 
 
 Baron. Oh, fear not that fhe fhall ftarve! Thou 
 
 can'ft not fuppofe thy father will do things by halves. 
 Knoweft thou not that Wildenhain is one of the beft 
 eftates in this country, and only a mile from hence lies 
 Wellendorf, alio a little eftate of mine ? Befides, through 
 my wife, God reft her foul ! I have three large manors 
 in Franconia. 
 
 Fred. But my mother ? 
 
 Baron. I was going to fay, that your mother fhall 
 have her choice of an abode. If fhe does not like Fran- 
 conia, fhe may remain at Wellendorf. T here is a neat 
 houfe, neither too large nor too fmall a pretty garden, 
 and in a delightful country in fliort, a paradife in mi- 
 niature. There fhall fhe want for nothing there fhall 
 a happy old age fmooth the furrows which a youth of 
 forrow has made in her cheeks. 
 
 Fred. [Jiarting back) How! 
 
 Baron. Yes, indeed ! And you know, Frederick, as 
 the diftance is not great, in the morning, fhould we be 
 inclined to make your mother a vifit, 'tis only to faddle 
 the horfes, and we can be there in an hour. 
 
 Fred. Indeed ! And by what name fhall my mother 
 fee called ? 
 
 Baron, (corifufed) How ? 
 Fred. Is fhe to be considered as your houfekeeper, or 
 your miftrefs ? 
 
 Baron.
 
 A PLAY. ?i 
 
 Baron. Fool! 
 
 Fred. I underftand you ! and will withdraw myfelF, 
 my father, that you may have time to confider of your 
 refolution ; only I allure you, by all that is moft dear, moft 
 facred to me, (nor can any thing make my determination) 
 that my fate is infeparably united to my mother's it muft. 
 be Wilhelmina von Wiidenhain, and Frederick von 
 Wildenhain, or Wilhelmina Boettcher and Frederick 
 Boettcher. [Exit, 
 
 Baron. So! What would he then? Surely he does 
 not mean thatl mould marry his mother ? Young man ! 
 young man ! thou muft not prefume to prefcribe laws to 
 thy father ! I thought I had arranged every thing ad- 
 mirably well I was as happy as a king I had relieved 
 my conicience of a burden, and was recovering my breath, 
 then comes this fellow and rolls another great ftone in the 
 path over which I muft ftumble. Well, well, friend Con- 
 fcience, God be thanked, thou and I are friends again. 
 Hey ! how's this ? What am I to underftand ? Thou art 
 ftlent or rather feemeft to murmur a little ! 
 
 SCENE VI. Enter the Pastor. 
 
 Baron. You are come in happy time, my friend ; my 
 confcience and I have commenced a fuit, and fuch fuits 
 properly belong to your jurifdiclion. 
 
 Pajior. Your confcience is in the right. 
 
 Baron. Hey, hey, Mr. Judge, not fo partial if you 
 pleafe ! you know not yet what the queftion is. 
 
 Pajior. Confcience is always in the right, for it never 
 fpeaks but when it is in the right. 
 
 Baron. Well, but I am not yet certain whether it 
 fpeaks, or is filent, only in fuch cafes perfons of your 
 profeffion have quicker ears than ght own. Liften then, 
 a few words will ftate the cafe. I have found my fon, 
 (Clapping bis hand on his Jhsulder) a fine, noble youth, 
 good Paftor! full of fire as a Frenchman, proud as an 
 
 Englifhman, and full of honour as a German. Be this 
 
 as it may, I mean to remove the opprobrium of his ille- 
 gitimacy. Am I not right in this ? 
 
 Paftor. Perfectly right ' 
 
 Baron. And his mother {hall, in her old age, lead an afflu- 
 ent and happy life. I will give htr my eftate of Wellen- 
 florf, the . u ay fJbc live, form it according to her tafte, 
 K 2 grow
 
 72 THE NATURAL SON. 
 
 grow young again in her fon, revive in her grand- 
 children. -Am I not right in this? 
 Pq/ior. No. 
 
 Baron. {Starting back.) No ! What then fhould I do ? 
 Pajior. Marry her ! 
 Baron. How ! Marry her ? 
 
 Pajior. Baron Wildenhain is a man who never a&s 
 without fufficient reafon. 1 ftand here as the advocate of 
 your confcience, and requeft to know upon what grounds 
 you now proceed Then (hall you hear what I hare to fay. 
 Baron. Would you have me marry a beggar ? 
 Pajior. {after a paufe) Is that all I 
 Baron, {confujed) No, I have further grounds : 
 much further f 
 Pajior. May I requeft to know them ? 
 Baron, (/till much confufed) I am a Nobleman. 
 Pajior. What more I 
 Baron. People will point their fingers at me. 
 
 Pajior. Proceed. 
 
 Baron. My relations will look afkance at me. 
 
 Pajior. Well. 
 
 Baron. And -and- {very haji'ily) plague take it, I can 
 recollect nothing more ! 
 
 Pajior. Now, then, it is my turn to fpeak. But before I 
 begin, let me put a few queftions to you : Did Wilhelmina, 
 through levity or coquetry, lay berfelf open to feduction. 
 Baron. No, no, fhe was always a modeft, prudent girl. 
 Pajior. Did it coft you much trouble to fubdue her 
 virtue. 
 
 Baron. {Jhortly) Yes. 
 
 Pajior. Did you notpromife her marriage ? {the Baron 
 hefitates^ the Pajior ajks again more earnejily) Did you 
 not promife her marriage ? 
 Baron. Yes ! 
 
 Pajior. And called God to witnefs your promife ? 
 Baron. Yes ! 
 
 Pajior. And pledged your honour for its performance ? 
 Baron, {impatiently) The devil ! Yes ! 
 Pajior ; Well then, my Lord, God was your witnefs 
 God, who faw you at that moment, and who fees you 
 now. Your honour was your pledge, which you muft 
 redeem, if you ate indeed a man of honour. I now ftand 
 before you. imprefTed with the dignity of my fublime vocation^ 
 and dare fpeak to you as to the loweft of your peafants ; 
 
 my
 
 A PLAY. 73 
 
 Kiy duty requires it, and I will fulfil my duty, even at the 
 hazard of your friendfhip. Did you, as a thoughtlefs 
 youth, who lives only for the prefent moment, feduce an 
 innocent girl without thinking on the confequences ; but, 
 in maturer years, repenting of your youthful follies, have 
 you to the utmoft of your power repaired your faults, 
 then are you indeed a man deferving the efteem of the ho- 
 neft and the virtuous. But---has the voluptuous youth, 
 through wicked fnares, involved a guiltlefs creature in mi- 
 fery, and deprived a maiden of her virtue, her happinefs, to 
 fatisfy the paflion of a moment ? did he pledge his word 
 of honour in intoxication, and offer up his confeience as 
 a facrifice to his deilres, and believes he that all is to 
 be atoned by a handful of gold, of which chance alone 
 makes him the poffeffor. Oh, does not fuch an one 
 deferve Pardon my warmth, my lord ! it might in- 
 jure a good caufe, were it not here moft. natural. Fare- 
 well the good old days of chivalry. The virtues of our 
 anceftors, their high fenfe of honour, their reverence for 
 female delicacy, are buried in one common grave ; no- 
 thing now remains but the moft trivial or the woiff part, of 
 thofe times, their titles, and their lingle combats. A victory 
 over innocence is, in thefe days, confidered as a de-:d of he- 
 roifm, of which the conqueror vaunts over his bottle, while 
 the poor object of feduction, drowned in her tears, curfes the 
 deftroyer of her honour and peace of mind, and perhaps 
 harbours the horrid thought of being: herfelf'the murderer 
 of the infant fhe bears. 1 repeat, then, my Lord, that you 
 ought to keep your word, even though vou were a prince ! 
 A prince may indeed be releafed by the flate from its 
 performance, but never can be acquitted by his own 
 confeience ! Have you not reafon then to thank God, 
 that you are not a prince ? that it is in your power to 
 purchafe repofe of heart, that higheft of ail treafures, at 
 fo cheap a price ? The refolution to marry Wiihel- 
 mina is not even a merit, for this union will increafe your 
 own happinefs. 'Tis pity indeed that it coifs you no 
 facrifice, that your whole fortune is not at ftake ; then 
 might you well come forth, and fay, do I not act nobly? 
 2 marry Wilhelmina ! But now, fince Wilhelmina 
 brings you fuch a dowry, greater than any princefs could 
 beftow repofe to your confeience, and a fon (o worthy 
 pf your affection. Now may you well exclaim Willi 
 ine joy, my friend ! I marry Wilhelmina ! 
 
 Baron,
 
 74 THE NATURAL SON; 
 
 Baron. [During this f pee ch he has appeared extremely 
 agitated, now walking backwards and forwards, then 
 faufing one moment tejlifying indignation, the next the 
 mojl affecling emotions at length when the Pajior has 
 done /peaking, he approaches him with open ar?ns, preJJ'es 
 him to his bofom, and exclaims) My Friend ! wifh me 
 joy, I marry Wilhelmina ! ! ! 
 
 Pajior. [returning his embrace.) I moft fincerely wifh 
 you joy ! 
 
 Baron. Where is fhe ? have you feen her ? 
 
 Pajior. She is in your ftudy. To avoid obfervation I 
 conducted her in through the garden. 
 
 Baron. Well then, this mail be the wedding day ! 
 You, my Friend, fhall give us your blefling this very 
 evening. 
 
 Pajior. Oh no ! not fo haftily not fo privately. The 
 whole village was witnefs to Wilhelmina's fname it 
 muft alfo be witnefs to the reftoration of her honour. 
 Three Sundays fucceffively muft the banns be publifhed j 
 toe you content that it mail be fo ? 
 
 Baron. I am content. 
 
 Pajior. And then will we folemnize a happy nuptial 
 feaft, and the whole village mail unite in jubilee on the 
 occafion. Are you fatisfied ? 
 
 Baron. Perfectly ! 
 
 Pa/lor. Is the fuit now decided ? is your confeience 
 eafy ? 
 
 Baron. Completely fo I wifh only that the firft inter- 
 view were over. I feel the fame {hame in appearing be- 
 fore her whom I have injured, as a thief before the man 
 he has robbed. 
 
 Pa/lor. Becalm! Wilhelmina's heart is your judge. 
 
 Baron. And then Wherefore mould I not confefs it? 
 prejudices are like old Wounds ! when the weather 
 changes they ftill fmart. I I cannot help feeling fome- 
 what afhamed when I think that all muft be known to my 
 daughter to the count to all my domeftics. I would 
 it were already over till it is, 1 will not fee Wilhel- 
 mina, that when we meet, nothing may remain but joy 
 but tranfport ! Frank ! [calls to a Hunt/man who en- 
 ters) Where are my daughter and the count ? 
 
 Huntfman. In the dining-room, my Lord. 
 
 Baron. Defire them to come hither. [Exit Huntjman, 
 Remain here with me, good Paftor ! that the Coxccmb 
 with his privy-chamber airs, may not difconcert me. I 
 
 {hall
 
 A PLAY. 7S 
 
 (hall fpeak my mind to him clearly and concifely, and 
 when that is done, let his horfes be put to the carriage, 
 and he may go with his pommade to the devil. 
 
 SCENE VII. Enter Amelia and the Count. 
 
 Count. Nous voila a vos ordres y mon Colonel! we have 
 taken a mod delicieufe promenade. Wildenhain is an 
 earthly Paradife, and pofTefles an Eve, who refembles the 
 Mother of all mankind only il manquoit un Adam who* 
 might take with extafies from her hand even the Apple of 
 death itfelf! But now he is found, cet Adam! he is 
 found ! 
 
 Baron. Who is found ? Frederick, but not Adam! 
 
 Count. Frederick ! Who is this Frederick I 
 
 Baron. My fon ! my only Son ! 
 
 Count. Comment? your Lord/hip's fon ? Mon Pere 
 informed me that you had only this daughter. 
 
 Baron. Your Pere could not know that I had a fon, for 
 I knew it myfelf but a few minutes ago. 
 
 Count. Vou% parlez des enigmes. 
 
 Baron. In fhort, the young man who attacked us on 
 the highway to day You may remember it well, as you 
 ran away fo faft. 
 
 Count. I have aconfufed remembrance of it. But 
 
 Baron. Well, he is my fon ! 
 
 Count. He? how is it peilible to believe this? 
 
 Baron. Yes, he ! [afide to the P aft or) Speak for me, 
 I am afhamed before that coxcomb. 
 
 Paftor. A man like you abafhed before fuch an animal ) 
 
 Baron. He is my natural fon.- But what of that be- 
 fore the expiration of many weeks, I mall marry his mo- 
 ther, and whoever fhall dare to fneer at it, fhail be properly 
 chaftifed. 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 afk the name of his Mother ? - 
 Is fhe of Family ? 
 
 Baron. She is- good Paftor, tell him what fhe is! 
 
 Paftor. A beggar. 
 
 Count, [laughing) Vouz badinez ! 
 
 Paftor. Her name, if you wifh to know it, Wilhelmina 
 Boettcher. 
 
 Count. Von Boettcher ? I never heard of the family. 
 
 Baron.
 
 7* THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 Baron. She belongs to the family of honeft people, and 
 that is a damn'd fmall one. 
 
 Count. Quite a Mefalliance then ? 
 
 Pa/lor. Generofity and integrity, unite tbemfelves with 
 love and conftancy. Call that a Mefalliance if you pleafe. 
 
 Count. It muft be acknowledged, that one ought to be 
 un CEdipe, in order to develope all thefe riddles. Un fils 
 nature!! a la bonne heure^ mon Colonel! Why I have 
 two. There muft be moments in a man's life, when if a 
 pretty girl fall in his way fuch things happen every 
 day. But mon dieu! one never troubles one's head with 
 fuch beings unlefs to put them to fome trade perhaps, 
 and fo make them ufeful in the world. Mine are both 
 to be mzdefrifeurs. 
 
 Baron. And mine mall be a nobleman and inherit the 
 eftates of Wildenhain and Wellendorf. 
 
 Count. Me voila ftupefait ! Moft charming young 
 lady, I muft plead your cauie they are au point de vous 
 ecrafer. 
 
 Amelia. Do not give yourfelf that trouble. 
 
 Count. La fille unique I -JJ unique heritiere. 
 
 Amelia. 11 ?ne refte P amour de mon pere ! 
 
 Baron. Bravo, Amelia! bravo! Come hither, and 
 let me give you a kifs ! {Amelia files into his arms) Count, 
 you will do me a favour, if you will take yourfelf away. 
 A fcene may, perhaps, pafs here, from which you will 
 derive no fatisfation. 
 
 Count. De tout mon cosur! At prefent, if I miftake 
 not, we have clair de lune y and I (hall be enabled this 
 very evening to return into the town. 
 
 Baron. As you pleafe. 
 
 Count. A dire vrai, men Colonel! I came not hither to 
 feek avoleur de grand chemin as my brother-in-law, nor a 
 Gueufe as my ftep-mother. Henri! Henri! [Skips out. 
 
 SCENE VIII. The Baron, Amelia, and the Pastor. 
 
 Baron, [ftill clafping 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 lapfe 
 feduced a poor girl, and gave exiftence to a child, who 
 till this day has wandered about the world in meannefs 
 and poverty. The circumftance has prelled upon my 
 mind like a rock of granite You may remember how 
 many an evening I have fpent in gloom and deep de- 
 jection
 
 A PLAY. 77 
 
 je&ion ^with my eyes fixed as I fat iri my arm-chair 
 fmoking my pipe not hearing you when you fpoke, not 
 fmiling when you carefled me then was it that my con- 
 fidence upbraided methat all my wealth, my rank, nor 
 even you, my child, could procure me the repofe which 
 a fpotlefs mind alone can feel. Now I have found both wife 
 and fonj and this worthy man, (pointing to the Paftor) 
 as well as this, (pointing to bis heart) both tell me 'tis my 
 duty publicly to acknowledge them as fuch. What think 
 you ? 
 Amelia, (carejfing him.) My Father need not afk tkat. 
 
 Baron . Will not the lofs you muft experience, coft you 
 ne figh ? Will a father's repofe pay you for all? 
 
 Amelia. What lofs ? 
 
 Baron. You were confidered as my only heirefs. 
 
 Amelia, (tenderly reproving him.) Oh my Father ! 
 
 Baron. You lofe two fine eftates. 
 
 Amelia. But a Brother's love will amply repay them. 
 
 Baron. And mine! (prejfing her eagerly to his bofom.) 
 
 Pajlor. (turning a fide.) Oh why not mine alfo ! 
 
 Baron, (to the Pajlor.) My friend, for a victory over 
 one prejudice, I have to thank you ! for a victory over a 
 fecond, 1 muft thank myfelf! A man like you, the 
 teacher, and the image of virtue, raifes his profeffion to 
 one of the nobleft that the world can boaft. Were all 
 your brethren like yourfelf, chriftianity 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 fhall be indebted for the change. I am in- 
 deed very much your debtor Amelia, will you pay for 
 me ? ( Amelia looks at her Father doubtfully for a few mo- 
 ments, then lets fall her hands, turns to the Pajlor, and 
 flies into his arms.) 
 
 Pajlor. (in the utmoft ajloni foment.) My God! my 
 Lord Baron. 
 
 Baron. Silence, filence ! Not a word. 
 
 Amelia, (kijfmg him) Silence, filence! You, indeed, 
 love me ! ( The Pa/lor loo-fens himfelffrom her arms, bur/Is 
 into tears, attempts to fpeak, but is unable he goes up to 
 the Baron, takes his hand, and is about prejfing it to his 
 month, when the Baron withdraws it, find prejjes him in 
 his arms.) 
 
 Amelia. Oh. I am fo happy ! 
 
 L Baron.
 
 78 THE NATURAL SON: 
 
 Baron, {withdrazving his arms from the Pajior)* 
 Enough, enough ! Oh, I could cry like a child ! Suffer 
 me, fuffer me to compofe myfelf for a few moments I 
 have yet another fcene to come, more heart-affedting than 
 even this. Now, deareft Frederick, in a few minutes 
 all fhall be accomplifhed, and the laft rays of the declining 
 fun mail beam upon the happieft group in Nature's wide- 
 extended kingdom. Where is Wilhelmina? 
 
 Pajior. I will fetch her. 
 
 Baron. Stop! my mind is agitated! my heart f 
 throbs ! one moment to recover myfelf. {He walks 
 backwards and forwards , breathes with difficulty r , and cajis 
 his eyes frequently towards the door of the adjoining room.) 
 That way will me come that was my mother's cham- 
 ber thence have I often feen her come have feafted on 
 her fweet fmile how can I bear now to fee her darkened 
 forrow-worn countenance ? Frederick muft plead for me 
 -Where is my Frederick I {calls) Frank! [Hunt/man 
 enters) Where is my fon? 
 
 Huntfman. In his room. 
 
 Baron. Defire him to come hither! {to the Pajior) 
 Now ! my heart beats eagerly ! Hafte ! Hafte! conduct 
 her in ! ( The Pajior goes out at the fide-door- the Baron 
 turns towards it, but Jl arts back fomejieps, luhile all his fea- 
 tures betray the greateji agitation). 
 
 SCENE IX. Enter the Pastor, conducing in Wil- 
 helmina the Baron catches her fpcechlefs in his 
 armsJhe almoji faints. The Baron and Pastor 
 place her in a chair \ the Baron kneels before her, with 
 one arm round her waiji, and her handprefj'ed in the other. 
 
 Baron. Wilhelmina ! know you not my voice ? 
 
 Wilhel. {tenderly and faintly) Wildenhain! 
 
 Baron. Can you forgive me ? 
 
 Wilhel. I forgive you freely ! 
 
 Fred, {enters haftily) My mother's voice! Oh, mo- 
 ther! father! {He throws himfelf on his knees by tie 
 0t her fide of his mother jhe bends tenderly over both the 
 Paftor ftands with his eyes gratefully turned towards 
 heaven Amelia leans on his Jhoulder, and wipes the tears 
 from her eyes). 
 
 The curtain falls. 
 
 END OF THE PLAY.
 
 SKETCH 
 
 OF THE 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 KOTZEBUE; 
 
 Extracted principally from a Paper in the Monthly 
 
 Magazine of Augujl lafl. 
 
 By Dr. WILLICH, Pbyfician to the Saxon Embajfy. 
 
 K.OTZEBUE ftands equally high in the lift of Ger- 
 man literati, confidered both as a dramatic writer, and as 
 a writer of novels and romances. In the former line he 
 is juftly allowed to rank among the moft celebrated names 
 which the prefent times can boaft, and not to be inferior 
 in excellence to Schiller, Schroder, Wieland, or Klop- 
 ftock. 
 
 He is a native of Weimar in Saxony, a fmall but 
 highly-polifhed city, which has frequently been called 
 '* Paris in miniature" He was educated under the care 
 and tuition of the late profeflbr Mufaeus * of Weimar, of 
 whom he foon became a favourite pupil, and from whom 
 he imbibed an early attachment to the Mufes. This tafte 
 he farther cultivated by his unremitting attention to the 
 dramatic performances at his native town, which were 
 then in great repute on account of the refined tafte and 
 correct judgment of the actors and audience. Kotze 
 BUe's decided predilection for the drama, in theory as 
 
 * The name of Musteus is never mentioned in Germany 
 but with pleafure and refpeft. His " Popular Tales of the 
 Germans" were tranflated into Englifh, about feven or eight 
 years fince; and although the fimplicity and humour of Mu- 
 iaeus's fpirit are not fully transfufed into the tranflation, yet 
 every candid reader muft allow that the work poffeffes uncom- 
 mon merit, and will confider it as an ample teftimony of the 
 author's talents and ingenuity.
 
 80 Sketch of the Life and Writings of Kotzebue. 
 
 well as in practice, is obvious from feveral paflages aUud T 
 ing to this fubje& in his own works : yet it is certain that 
 he never performed on any public ftage, but that all his 
 attempts as an actor were confined to private theatres 
 eftablifhed among feleit parties of literary friends. Thus 
 he gained the double advantage of at once gratifying his 
 inclinations by indulging himfelf in his favourite amufe- 
 ment, and at the fame time of exhibiting his dramatic 
 compofitions to a contracted circle of candid and difcerning 
 critics, and thereby obtaining a juft decifion on their me- 
 rits before he ventured to prefent them to the public. 
 
 Kotzebue was educated for the law, which he prac- 
 tifed for a fucceffion of years in various eminent ftations, 
 till he was appointed president of the high college of 
 juftice in the Ruffian province of Livonia. While in 
 this fituation, he appears, in conjunction with other 
 friends, to have eftablifhed a private theatre at Revel, in 
 which fome of his pieces were firft performed ; that be- 
 fore us being one of the number. The majority of his 
 dramatic works were, indeed, written during the time 
 of his refidence in Livonia, as well as many of his mif- 
 cellaneous compofitions in the department of the Belles- 
 Let tres. 
 
 That his writings fliould be fo multifarious is the more 
 furprizing, as his Teifure time muft till latterly have been 
 very inconfiderable ; fince, during the period that he held 
 the diftinguifhed office above-mentioned, the variety and 
 importance of his other avocations muft have required 
 nearly the whole of his attention. Fortunately, how- 
 ever, for the Mufes, and particularly thofe of the Ger- 
 man ftage, he met with a number of invidious opponents 
 in Livonia, who magnified every trifling foible of his 
 private conduct into a crime of the firft magnitude, and 
 perfecuted him with fuch unrelenting malignity, that he 
 thought proper to retire from his fpiendid office of ftate, 
 and devote the remainder of his life to a more grateful 
 public. Hence he betook himfelf entirely to literary 
 purfuits ; and, having quitted the Ruffian dominions, he 
 repaired to the court of Vienna, where he very foon ob- 
 tained the appointment of Poet-laureat to the Emperor^ 
 and Drama tifi to the Imperial Theatre ; in which fituation 
 his merits and talents now meet with their juft reward, in 
 the very high degree of public efteem in which they are 
 held, and which they fo amply deferve.
 
 Sketch of the Life and IPritings of Kotzebue. 8 1 
 
 It is unneceflary here to detail the complicated intrigues 
 carried on under the late Emprefs of Ruffia in every pro, 
 vince of her extenfive empire, and the frequent perfec- 
 tions which foreigners promoted to office fuftained from 
 the femi-barbarous natives. Let it fuffice to obferve, that 
 they too often fucceeded in their nefarious defigns againft . 
 thofe aliens whom they hated, both on account of the fu- 
 periority of their talents, and their abhorrence of Ruffian 
 floth and drunkennefs. Kotzebue was one of the 
 many objects of perfecution in Ruffia, although his moral 
 character may fairly be concluded to have been unex- 
 ceptionable, as it is fcarcely credible that the Emperor of 
 Germany would otherwife have conferred upon him fuch 
 diftinguifhed marks of his favour. It is probable that one 
 principal caufe of his being obliged to leave the Ruffian 
 dominions, was the difapprobation he drew upon hirnfelf 
 on account of his celebrated work, called " Count Ben- 
 jowjky, or the Confpiracy of Kamfckatka" which contains 
 many private anecdotes relative to the cruelties pra&ifed 
 by order of the Czarina towards her opprefled and en- 
 flaved fubje<Sls. 
 
 The merits of our author in the wide field of the 
 drama are now much known, and begin to be duly ap- 
 preciated in this country, through thofe of his productions 
 which have already been tranflated into the Englifh lan- 
 guage. It is to be regretted, however, that German 
 tranflations often appear in a very mutilated and meta- 
 morphofed ftate before the Englifh public ; fince, on this 
 account, it is not very eafy juftly to afcertain the due and 
 relative merits of either the author or tranflator. Of 
 about thirty dramatic pieces, of various merit, publifhed 
 by Kotzebue, four had appeared in an Englifh drefs 
 prior to the work now before us : " Mifantbropy and 
 Repentance" " 2 he Negro Slaves''- Count Benjowjky" 
 and " The Indians in England*." The firft of thefe, 
 under the title of " The Stranger" was performed with 
 great applaufe (though with very great alterations) at 
 Drury-Lane theatre laft winter, and for a confiderable 
 part of the feafon attracted brilliant and crouded audi- 
 
 * Since the firft edition of the prefent work was publifhed, 
 a tranflation of another of Kotzebue's plays, " Adelaide <von 
 Wulfingen" by Mr. Thomson, the tranflator of " The 
 $tr anger " has been advertifed. 
 
 fnces,
 
 $2 Sketch of the Life and Writings of Kotzebue. 
 
 ences. " The Natural Son" under the title of " Lovers 9 
 Vows" promifes to be an equally great favourite at 
 Covent-Garden theatre during the enfuing winter. 
 
 The fuccefs of thefe pieces holds forth great encourage- 
 ment to tranflate others of Kotzeeue's dramatic works, 
 which would doubtlefs prove equally interefting to an 
 Englifh audience. That more of thefe admirable pro- 
 ductions have not hitherto been brought forwards to 
 public notice, may be afcribed partly to the great dif- 
 ference which has been fuppofed to fubfift between the 
 national tafte and manners of the Englifh and thofe of 
 the Germans, particularly with regard to their dramatic 
 compofitions ; and partly to a certain marked peculiarity 
 in whatever comes from the pen of Kotzebue, which 
 charadterifes and diftinguifhes his productions from thofe 
 of all other modern writers. But the experiment has 
 been made, and the event has proved this idea to be un- 
 founded. 
 
 All Kotzebue 's writings fpeak a liberal and en- 
 larged mind, full of benevolence and philanthropy. His 
 knowledge of the human heart and its fecret meanders is 
 unqueftionably great: he has not only made the prevail- 
 ing manners, oddities, and vices of the age, but alfo man 
 himfelf, as influenced by a variety of ardent paflions, the 
 fubjecl of his minuteft refearch. Few perfons have ever 
 attained to his excellence in delineating whimfical and 
 impaflioned characters ; and in fcenes drawn from private 
 and domeftic life, he eminently excels his cotemporary 
 rivals both in the unaffected delicacy of the fentiments he 
 conveys, and the freedom and precilion with which he in- 
 troduces them. His language, if not remarkably brilliant, 
 is yet generally correct, and dignified ; his comic fcenes 
 abound with genuine wit and humour, untinctured with 
 the vulgarity into which writers in that line are too apt 
 to deviate; and his pathetic fcenes are no lefsdiftinguifhed 
 for thofe delicate touches of nature which appeal in the 
 moft forcible manner to the heart. His plans are formed 
 with great art, and developed for the moft part in an un-* 
 expected, yet probable and fuccefsful manner. 
 
 To the morality of the work now before us, as well as 
 to that of " Mifanthropy and Repentance" objections have 
 been made as not prefenting fufficient discouragement 
 againft a lapfe from virtue in the female fex; fince, in 
 both jnftances, the heroines, notwithstanding their paft 
 
 tranf-
 
 Sketch of the Life and Writings of ' Kot&ebue. 83 
 
 tranfgreffions, are finally reftored to their ftation in fo- 
 ciety. But this objection does not feem well-founded, 
 and to be made rather from taking only a fuperficial glance 
 over the furface of the fubjer, than from diving into its 
 inmoft receffes. Surely in neither cafe is the fate of the 
 offender fo alluring as to offer any attraction to others 
 to follow their fteps ; on the contrary, the fufferings en- 
 dured by both in confequence of their refpetive faults, 
 hold out a forcible warning to beware of the errors which 
 led to fuch mifery. Neither does their reftoration at 
 laft feem a violation of that ftridT: juftice which their 
 offences demanded, fince to teach the tranfgreffor that no 
 length of fuffering, and feverity of repentance, can atone 
 for fuch a lapfe, muft tend to difcourage every attempt t 
 reformation, inftead of exciting to all poffible endeavours 
 for its attainment. The great caufe of virtue feems beft 
 fupported by painting, in forcible colours, the inevitable 
 mifery attendant upon guilt, yet at the fame time holding 
 out every encouragement that can be offered, to thofe 
 who have unfortunately fwerved from their duty, to feek 
 by the moft ftrenuous efforts to regain the height they 
 have loft. In this point of view the morality of thefe 
 pieces will appear unexceptionable ; or, if any objection 
 is to be made againft it, it mould rather feem to be on a 
 different ground. That the fufferings ofWiLHELMiNA 
 in " The Natural Son" are more fevere and more pro- 
 tracted than thofe of Eulalia in " Mifanthropy and 
 Repentance " whereas the crime of the latter, as a mar- 
 ried woman deferting her hufband and children for an- 
 other man, is beyond comparifon greater than that of the 
 former. 
 
 Only one of Kotzebue's romances, it is believed, 
 has yet appeared in an Englifh garb, " Ildegerte Queen 
 of Norway " tranflated alfo by Mr. Thomson. In this 
 the author entirely quits the path of nature, in tracing the 
 meanders of which he is fo eminently fuccefsful, and de- 
 viates into that of extravagant imagination where he does 
 not appear equally happy. Still this romance, if not pof- 
 fefling a like degree of interefl: with fome other of his 
 works, as a memorial of the extent and variety of his 
 talents, is well worthy of notice. His more fimple tales, 
 however, claim, and would probably find, a much greater 
 degree of public attention and admiration. 
 
 FINIS.
 
 trxxjmi'AZs Y to the 
 CULRT of the EMPEROR of CHIN A, in the Years 
 1 794 and 1795; (subsequent to that of the Earl of Ma- 
 cartney.) Containing a Description of several Parts of 
 the Chinese Empire, unknown to Europeans ; taken 
 fVcm the Journal of Andre Everard Van Braam, 
 Chief in the Direction of that Company, and Second in 
 the Embassy. Translated from the original of M. L. E. 
 Moreau De Saint Mery ; with a'correct Chart of 
 the Route. 
 
 On the First cf hlov ember was published, 
 To be continued Monthly, Price is. 6d. each. 
 
 Accurate Representations of the 
 
 Fashions of London and Paris, 
 
 In three beautifully coloured Copper Plates : 
 Containing several Figures in the actually prevailing 
 Dresses of each Month; expressly designed for the Use 
 of Milliners, Dreffers, and Private Families. 
 
 On the l$th Day of November will be fniblijhed) 
 In one large Volume Octavo, Price 8s. 6d. in Boards, 
 
 Public Characters of 1798 : 
 
 Confifting of copious and interefling biographical Anec- 
 dotes of about -one" Hundred of the moft diftin- 
 guifhed public Characters of the prcient Period, Natives 
 of Great Britain and Ireland, written with Accuracy 
 and Candour, and in a Spirit equally remote from 
 Calumny or Panegyric. 
 
 A NEW AND- IMPORTANT' SCHOOL BOOK. 
 On Dec. \ft <vcill be published, in l zmo. Price \s. 6d. bound. 
 
 The Britijh Nepos, or ToulFs Mirror. 
 
 Being feledl: Lives of all the illuftrious Britons who have 
 been diltinguifhed for their Talents, Virtues, or 
 remarkable Progrefs in Life, written purpofely for the 
 Ufe of Schools, and carefully adapted to the Capa- 
 cities and Situations of Britifii Youth. 
 
 By WILLIAM MAVOR, LL. D. 
 
 Vicar of Hurley,, in Berkfhire, and Chaplain to the Right 
 
 Hon. the Earl of Dumfries. 
 
 * # * Specimen Sheets of this Worfc may be had of any Bookfelier.
 
 L 006 311 956 4 
 
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 niversity of Califor 
 
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