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THE

NEPHEWS:

A PLAY,

IN FIVE ACTS.

* * * * *

FREELY TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF

WILLIAM AUGUSTUS IFFLAND,

BY

HANNIBAL EVANS LLOYD, ESQ.

* * * * *

LONDON:

PRINTED BY W. AND C. SPILSBURY, SNOWHILL;

AND SOLD BY G. G. AND J. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER-ROW; CADELL AND DAVIES, STRAND; J. DEBRETT, PICCADILLY; AND J. BELL, OXFORD-STREET.

M.DCC.XCIX.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

CHANCELLOR FLEFFEL.

COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL, his Son.

MR. DRAVE, a Merchant, Guardian to the two BROOKS.

LEWIS BROOK, \ > Brothers PHILIP BROOK, /

MR. ROSE, a Banker.

Clerk to the Chancellor.

Old Man.

FREDERICK DRAVE's Servant.

MRS. DRAVE.

AUGUSTA.

THE NEPHEWS.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

At the Chancellor's House.

COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL, LEWIS BROOK, at Breakfast.

Enter a Servant.

Counsellor (to the Servant).

Take away. But, no—let it stand; my father may chuse some: is he returned?

Servant. I'll enquire, Sir. [Exit Servant.

Counsellor [rising and viewing himself]. We've made a long breakfast.

Lewis. But you have eaten nothing.

Counsellor. Why, my dear friend, I'm quite uneasy about my growing so fat.

Lewis [ironically]. Oh, certainly; All the affecting graces of a pining love-sick swain will be destroyed: you'll lose all your credit with the ladies.—Apropos of ladies, how do you stand with Miss Drave?

Counsellor. Ill enough. Your worthy guardian and the whole family are so intolerably stiff.

Lewis. Don't say I told you; but you certainly are the happy man.

Counsellor. I?—No indeed; it is rather you.

Lewis. You have nothing to fear from me. You know my passion for your sister. But for that grave, melancholy gentleman, my dear brother, I'd have you beware of him.

Counsellor [laughs] Excellent! As if such a sour misanthrope could please any one, particularly a young girl.

Lewis. Tastes are different; and besides, my serious guardian is his friend.

Counsellor. So much the worse for you.

Lewis. No matter.

Counsellor. How! Believe me, this excellent brother of yours is continually defaming you.

Lewis. I know it very well.

Counsellor. And he is now striving——

Lewis. I know what you would say; to enforce the clause of my father's will.

Counsellor. Tell me, how is this clause worded?

Lewis. If one of his sons should turn out a prodigal, the other is declared his tutor.

Counsellor. It is a shocking clause.

Lewis. It is indeed. Yet, should they attempt it—by heavens!—But to the purpose—your father is still willing to give me your sister?

Counsellor. Certainly.

Lewis. But take care then I have some of the ready with her.

Counsellor. Oh, you may depend upon that.

Lewis. Not any of your father's own; only my share of the fortune of old Crack-brains.

Counsellor. Old Crack-brains! What do you mean?

Lewis. As if you did not know! Why my old uncle, to whom you have prescribed a little wholesome confinement, by way of cure for his pretended madness.

Counsellor. Oh! that old man! So, so.

Lewis. Exactly. You always seem wonderfully at a loss when that point is touch'd.

Counsellor. But—I was going to observe—yes—it might be done, had he not escaped—but now it is uncertain whether he is alive, or what is become of him.

Lewis. I say he is dead.

Counsellor. But we have not heard.

Lewis. He shall be dead.

Counsellor. But——

Lewis. Why a live man is as easily declared to be dead, as a man in his senses to be mad; and if he should make his appearance, you can secure him again.

Counsellor. No! who would do that?

Lewis. Zounds! what a tender conscience! If my uncle could be declared mad, by your good-nature, that you might shew your Christian charity, in managing his estate, I am sure your noble heart would have no scruple to advance a part of the inheritance to the lawful heir.

Counsellor. My dear friend, your expressions are so harsh—so——

Lewis. His madness was not so very clear. The old fellow was reasonable enough at times.

Counsellor. Quite out of his senses, I assure you: mad as a March hare.

Lewis I don't know how—but indeed, I sometimes pity him.

Counsellor. It was the will of God.

Lewis. Oh, I have nothing to do with that: 'tis a subject too deep for me. But beware of my brother: he suspects foul play, and has spies drawn up every where.

Enter CHANCELLOR FLEFFEL.

Counsellor. Good morning, dear father.

Lewis [bowing]. My Lord!

Chancellor. Good morning, my son,—your most obedient, Sir.

Lewis. Engaged so early?

Chancellor. Can I avoid it, my dear Sir?

Lewis. The State is much indebted to you.

Chancellor. Yet my zeal is frequently overlooked—no attention paid. [To his son] No news, Samuel?

Counsellor. No, father.

Chancellor. I feel quite tired.

Counsellor. You have had no breakfast.

Chancellor. No; and the cold marble floor of the Palace has quite chilled me. What have you here? [Seats himself at the breakfast table.] Our most excellent Prince has been heaping new favours upon me. You have heard, no doubt, [to Lewis] of the bustle there has been. An underclerk of the Treasury, a man of no extraction, accused me of a fraud, in executing the late regulations for the distribution of corn to the poor.

Lewis. So I have been informed—and what is our Prince's pleasure?

Chancellor. As the man could bring no evidence whatever, his Serene Highness, for the reparation of my honour, has been graciously pleased to punish him.

Lewis. And in what manner?

Chancellor. The warrant was signed yesterday, [drinks]—To be cashiered and banished.

Lewis. He is pretty well rewarded.

Chancellor. I have supplicated, my dear Sir, for a mitigation of the sentence—but in vain——Samuel, cut me a wing of that fowl——I have sent another letter, on your account, to Mr. Drave.

Lewis. Too kind, my Lord.

Chancellor. I long to see his answer. To my last he sent an absolute refusal.

Lewis. Is it possible? Can he dare?

Chancellor [rising]. He has not gathered roses by it, my dear Sir—No, no, [laughs] £.4000, which I had in his hands, I withdrew instantly.—Your good father was wrong to put such promising sons under this man's guardianship.

Lewis. I agree with you; but some of his best friends advised him.

Chancellor [taking snuff]. Has Drave ever given any account of his guardianship?

Lewis. Not yet.

Chancellor. Note that, Samuel. He shall give it—I have hinted it in Court already—You must not lose your fortune, my dear Sir.

Lewis. I do not think there is any danger.

Chancellor. Well, but have you drawn up a statement of your property, as you promised?

Lewis [gives him a paper]. Here it is.

Chancellor [looking over it]. So, so; a very good fortune! [muttering] £.10,000 in the hands of Rose—Which Rose is that?

Lewis. John Frederick.

Chancellor. Samuel, give me the red ink.—[Writes.] So, so—£.10,000, at John Frederick Rose's.

Lewis. May I ask why that name strikes you so much?

Chancellor. For important reasons.

Lewis. You think——

Chancellor. That your property is not in the best hands, my dear Sir. Rose is rather in a ticklish situation just now.

Lewis. I may lose it then!

Chancellor. Not you exactly, but your worthy tutor might suffer. [Looks at the back of the paper.] Aye, aye; many drawbacks too—you are not the best manager, my good friend.

Lewis. I know it, my Lord.

Chancellor. Overcharged besides by your honest guardian now and then. I am a plain, sincere man. Speak freely—the valuable furniture—the plate—is there any regular inventory?

Lewis. No, my Lord. It was in the will.

Chancellor. You must apply to the Court then.

Lewis. Yes—But—

Chancellor. Only for form sake—you just sign a little paper—a mere form, I assure you. You are too good-natured—give so easily away—must not be.—Come, we will go to my room, and examine your affairs more closely. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Apartment in Drave's House.

Mr. DRAVE writing.—Mrs. DRAVE enters.

Mrs. D. Good morning, my dear—you have not come down.

Mr. D. [gives her his hand, without looking up]. Good morning.

Mrs. D. You are busy.

Mr. D. I shall have done in a moment.

Mrs. D. I'll leave you.

Mr. D. [rising]. It is done now.

Mrs. D. You seem angry.

Mr. D. No wonder—that man——

Mrs. D. Who?

Mr. D. My hopeful ward Lewis—as I am not always ready to pay his debts, he sets the Chancellor upon me.

Mrs. D. Again? Very strange.

Mr. D. I am continually pestered with applications for the payment.

Mrs. D. And you——

Mr. D. With all due respect for these applications, I'll not pay.

Mrs. D. Very well: but——

Mr. D. And now this Chancellor sends me a letter, desiring me to bring him my accounts, as guardian to Lewis this afternoon that he may overlook them. I'll not do it. [Takes a letter off the table, and gives it to Mrs. Drave—walks angrily up and down while she reads it—takes it back]. What do you think of it?

Mrs. D. It is unpleasant—but why send a positive refusal?

Mr. D. And why not?

Mrs. D. The Chancellor is a very powerful man.

Mr. D. I do not fear him.

Mrs. D. He takes every opportunity to injure us; his hatred is implacable. What can you oppose to his base intrigues?

Mr. D. My heart, and plain dealing.

Mrs. D. Do not offend him so sensibly: rather send the accounts.

Mr. D. Never! The very sum he now troubles me for is to pay himself. He lent it to Lewis, through a third person, upon exorbitant interest.

Mrs. D. Base enough. But, I repeat it, he is powerful, and will revenge himself.

[Mr. D. seals the letter, rings the bell.—Enter
a Servant.]

Mrs. D. You will have it so. I wish all may be well.

Mr. D. [giving the letter to the Servant]. To the Chancellor's. [Exit Servant.

Mrs. D. Had you only done it in a better manner—You may remember 'twas for your rashness he withdrew the £.4000.

Mr. D. For my rashness? Oh, no.—To place it out at higher interest somewhere else.—At such an unseasonable time too—there again—thus to undermine good houses, that he may have full scope for his unfair practices.

Mrs. D. It may be so—But in regard to Lewis—I wish your behaviour were different: it may have such unpleasant consequences—for I must inform you, he seems to have an attachment to Augusta.

Mr. D. [surprised]. So?—and Augusta?

Mrs. D. She loves him.

Mr. D. Merciful God!

Mrs. D. What is it you mean?

Mr. D. Too well have I feared—too well have I guessed at such things. Hence it is that Augusta looks always as if oppressed by conscious guilt—hence her reserve towards me.—Has not this unhappy guardianship given me uneasiness enough? Has not my life been sufficiently embittered? Have I not sacrificed enough of my peace? must I also sacrifice my only child?

Mrs. D. I do not see why.

Mr. D. No, no, you do not see—if you did, you would not stand there so calmly.

Mrs. D. And why are you so terrified? That he is lively—sometimes wild? He is young.

Mr. D. Lively? wild? young? No, no.—Immoral, dissolute, hypocritical; that is the character of Lewis Brook.—And shall he the husband of my Augusta? When I quit the world, shall I leave to him the child of my heart? To him? Oh, you have brought me bad news!

Mrs. D. You see every thing in such gloomy colours! I agree he is inconsiderate—very inconsiderate; and certainly while he remains as he is, I shall not think of marriage: but love will bring him back.

Mr. D. What can you hope from such levity?

Mrs. D. More than from the insensibility of his brother.

Mr. D. Do you speak of my good Philip thus? Oh, had you told me that she loved him—whatever I could spare—my whole fortune—yes, she should have had it all—Then we had been the happiest of parents.

Mrs. D. I see no happiness, in our daughter's being shut up with such an eternal grumbler.

Mr. D. Oh! but his heart is noble!

Mrs. D. An inconsiderate mind is better than such sour virtue, if indeed it deserves the name.

Mr. D. I own I am disappointed in both of them.

Mrs. D. I fear, my dear Drave, your mode of education has contributed to make them hate each other.

Mr. D. Hate? Philip hate?—Never.——If Lewis does, I am sorry.

Mrs. D. He cannot love such sour behaviour—he does not hate—but he is cold—they have not spoken to each other these three months.

Mr. D. We must put an end to this. They must see each other, come to an explanation, and all will be well. Lewis esteems you—prevail on him to meet his brother with kindness.

Mrs. D. Willingly.—And now concerning Augusta—what will you do?

Mr. D. [thoughtfully]. Now I see clearly—now I can account for many strange things: it is too true—her passion is too deeply rooted to be overcome. I will never force her inclination—but I must first be certain that Lewis really loves her.

Mrs. D. I hope to satisfy you in that point. His declarations are sufficiently explicit.

Mr. D. Suppose what you tell me to be true, the young Counsellor's visits must be declined.

Mrs. D. Why so?

Mr. D. For a thousand reasons. I must beg you to comply with my wishes in this respect.—The company of a fool can never do any good, though his impertinences may do mischief.—I have now some engagements abroad, and cannot speak to Augusta, till after I return. Prepare her for it—tell her that her happiness is dearer to me than my life—she is still the child of my heart, and her choice shall be mine.—Adieu. [Exeunt on different sides.]

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

AUGUSTA laying down a book, and wiping her eyes.

Mrs. DRAVE entering.

Mrs. D. At your books, and in tears again, Augusta?

Augusta. No, dear mother.

Mrs. D. Your eyes betray you. You must not be so melancholy. One impediment is remov'd—I have acquainted your father with your attachment.

Augusta. Good God! what have you done!

Mrs. D. What we ought to have done long long ago; he loves you so tenderly.

Augusta. But why should I not try to overcome this unhappy passion, knowing——

Mrs. D. Overcome? Can you do that? I know your heart too well. But be cheerful now—dream not of impediments that will never arise. Your father consents to whatever can tend to make you happy.

Augusta. What! my dear father will permit——

Mrs. D. He will proceed without precipitation; which is what I would advise you to do. If Lewis loves you sincerely, you may trust your father's heart.

Augusta. If? Oh, my dear mother, my doubts about him, occasion me continual uneasiness.—Could he deceive my affection——he seems of no fixed character.

Mrs. D. It must be owned he is unsteady.

Augusta. His way of life, indeed, displays such a character; but his heart is good.

Mrs. D. I believe it.

Augusta. He does a great deal of good in private.

Mrs. D. I know he does.

Augusta. And always with such a good will, without any ostentation.

Mrs. D. That is true.

Augusta. A man cannot be so tender as we are; but he certainly has feeling.——I am sorry he is not upon good terms with his brother.

Mrs. D. There I absolve him. Who can bear his churlish temper?

Augusta. And yet how deeply he was concerned about his brother's last illness! how attentive to make him comfortable! He cannot be bad.

Mrs. D. Very possibly; but think, my Augusta, if he were——

Augusta. If he were not good towards me, then—I am very unhappy! I love him so much, even to his faults, for they arise from unsuspicious goodness of heart.

Enter COUNSELLOR FLEFFEL.

Counsellor. Good day to you, fair ladies; your most obedient servant.

Mrs. D. You honour us with your company sooner than we expected.

Counsellor. I was impatient, absolutely beside myself, upon my honour, till fashion allowed me to fly hither; I am always so happy in your charming company!

PHILIP BROOK entering.

Philip. Good morning to you, Madam [bows to Augusta.] Pray, is Mr. Drave at home? [To the Counsellor] Good morning, Sir.

Mrs. D. No, Sir, he is just gone out. [They converse together. The Counsellor talks to Augusta].

Counsellor. Miss Drave, we will have some sport.

Augusta. How so?

Counsellor. We'll make him look quite silly, by pretending to compliment him.

Augusta. I must decline taking any part, Sir.

Counsellor [to Philip]. Mr. Brook, I have the honour to pay you my best compliments.

Philip [turning quickly towards him]. On what account?

Counsellor. What account? Why—why—on having the happiness to see you.

Philip. Then, you must pay them to yourself.

Counsellor. But, as I have the honour to be upon terms of strict friendship with your——

Philip. Strict!

Counsellor. Very strict.

Philip. This is the first time I have heard of my brother's strictness.

Counsellor. But, Mr. Brook, you are seldom to be seen; why is this?

Philip. That I may not be seen too often.

Counsellor. But, you lock yourself up like a hermit; 'tis quite inconsistent with your age and station in life.

Philip. You think so?

Counsellor. It does not require much thinking, it is self-evident.

Philip. Indeed?

Counsellor. For instance—you live quite secluded from your friends.

Philip [stepping back]. I distinguish between friends and acquaintance.

Counsellor. And you neglect the favour and protection of the great.

Philip. Do not flatter me to my face.

Counsellor. With your fortune, I wonder you do not buy an office and title.

Philip. Because——but your question answers itself.

Counsellor. How so?

Philip. Because they are to be bought.

Counsellor [with an affected laugh].—A fine reason; an excellent one, indeed! Plain Mr. Brook! it sounds very well [laughing]. Don't you think so, ladies? plain Mr. Brook!

Philip. Yet, in one respect I find that a bought office may be very useful.

Counsellor [laughing]. See, ladies, he yields—he submits.

Philip. A bought office may be of use to a fool, who has no other means of recommending himself.

Counsellor [at a loss]. That is indeed true, very true——

Philip. And a title—you will certainly agree—is often an excellent protection for a knave. Excuse me, Sir!——This dry conversation— [Going.

Counsellor [detaining him]. Bravo, bravo, Mr. Ecclesiasticus!

Philip. Are you acquainted with his book?

Counsellor. Certainly.

Philip. And read it?

Counsellor. Oh, often, very often [laughing]; and I fancy I hear him now.

Philip. Yet, you have forgotten one of his best sayings.

Counsellor. Which?

Philip. A wife man smiles—a fool, a fool, Mr. Counsellor, laughs aloud. [Exit.

Counsellor. It is a pity he is gone; the best part of the jest was to come.

Mrs. D. But the laugh was not entirely on your side.

Counsellor. Why, I kept my best things to the last—but we will certainly christen him Mr. Ecclesiasticus [laughs]. When I tell his brother, he will enjoy it heartily.

Enter Mr. DRAVE.

Mr. D. Good morning, Sir!

Counsellor. Your most obedient, my dear Mr. Drave: I am happy to see you in health; I was much afflicted by your late indisposition.

Mr. D. I am obliged to you. [To Mrs. D.] Will you be so good as to go down awhile with Augusta?

Mrs. D. [aside to Mr. D.] But keep your temper. [Exeunt Mrs. D. and Augusta.

Counsellor [is going after them]. Give me leave, Sir.

Mr. D. I will thank you for a few minutes conversation.

Counsellor. With all my heart. What do you wish?

Mr. D. Sir, you have honoured my family with your visits.

Counsellor. Pray, Sir—too kind—the pleasure of your company——

Mr. D. It is time to come to an explanation: therefore, Sir—without farther preface, my daughter, I think, is the object of your visits?

Counsellor. She is, Sir.

Mr. D. You wish, doubtless, to marry her?

Counsellor. Yes—yes—if—to be sure, for my part—I——

Mr. D. [earnestly]. You certainly can mean nothing else. You will permit me to say, that my daughter cannot comply with your wishes; and therefore, as marriage is out of the question,—[mildly] I must entreat you, Sir, for the sake of her reputation, to forbear your visits for the future.

Counsellor. How? I am astonished! Mr. Drave—

Mr. D. Forgive me, Sir! regard for Augusta forced me to this unpleasant conversation.

Counsellor. But what objection can you have? If a marriage cannot take place, must I for that reason avoid your house?

Mr. D. I fear my daughter might forget the duties of a wife, in listening to the flatteries of a lover.

Counsellor. Vain excuses, Mr. Drave; mere pretexts to palliate your hatred.

Mr. D. I have no hatred against you, Sir.

Counsellor. Oh, but I see very clearly you have: but I warrant you——

Mr. D. You are not to my mind—you see I do not attempt to conceal it.

Counsellor. Well, of my passion for Miss Drave I will speak no more—but I am now obliged in honour to frequent your house.

Mr. D. Say you were tired of our company; I give you my word never to contradict you.

Counsellor. It would be much to the credit of your house, and your daughter.

Mr. D. [smiling]. I know what I venture.

Counsellor. You are insupportable—but take warning; remember, Sir, to whom you speak!

Mr. D. [earnestly]. I remember but too well!

Counsellor. You may repent, Sir—you may repent very soon!

Mr. D. God forbid!

Counsellor. Sir, I give you one hour's time to atone for this insolence, or I can shew you——

Mr. D. [angrily]. And I, Sir, give you one minute to leave my house! or—[recollecting himself, and taking a key out of his socket, which he lays upon a chair] here is the key; when you leave the room, be so good as to lock the door. [Going.

Counsellor. Nay! I go, Sir! I go—but by heavens, Sir, you shall pay for this. [Exit.

Mrs. DRAVE enters hastily.

Mrs. D. Good God! Drave, what have you done? the Counsellor flew down stairs in such a fury——

Mr. D. A fool! I kept my temper long enough.

Mrs. D. [in a tone of reproach]. This is one of your usual passions.

Mr. D. What you call passion in me, is too often necessary to correct the faults you fall into through supineness.