Chapter II: Act II: Scene I

A room in the Privy Counsellor's, furnished in the
modern stile.

REISSMAN, LEWIS.

_Lew._ I shall have the honour to let the Privy Counsellor know, that the Aulic Counsellor Reissman waits. (Steps into a closet, out of which the Privy Counsellor immediately comes, and Lewis sometime after.)

_Reiss._ I fly to congratulate you on your well-merited elevation.

_P. Coun._ I thank you with all my heart. I shall never forget that I am indebted to you for it.

_Reiss._ I beg,--nay, I entreat--

_P. Coun._ Your advice.

_Reiss._ Too much modesty.

_P. Coun._ Your self-denial. For you yourself had the justest claims to all the honours, with which you permitted me to be invested.

_Reiss._ _Audaces fortuna._--I am too old. Now you should enjoy life, my friend. The merchant will endeavour to get a hundred per cent. if he can; why should the statesman sell his labour to the state at three? Away with the silly prejudice, and the retail-trade of your conscientious precepts; carry on your business wholesale, on the sacred principle of self-preservation.

_P. Coun._ I partly do so, but my father--

_Reiss._ I have paid the old honest man a visit.

_P. Coun._ Very kind of you! very kind of you indeed!

_Reiss._ He persists in his determination of setting the will aside.

_P. Coun._ Ridiculous!

_Reiss._ He will not suffer the children to go to the hospital, because the institution is intended for old and decayed people.

_P. Coun._ Mere formalities, attached to old age!

_Reiss._ As for the rest, he appeared pleased with your proposed union with my daughter.

_P. Coun._ Was he!

_Reiss._ He said many handsome things of the girl.

_P. Coun._ Too much cannot be said in her praise. She is an angel.

_Reiss._ I humbly thank you.--But he will not accept the office of mayor on any account.

_P. Coun._ I thought so;--but he must.

_Reiss._ Oh, yes! I must request you to carry that point, for--

_P. Coun._ Without doubt.

_Reiss._ For, however pleased I may be with your connection, I could not possibly think of giving my daughter to a man whose father earned his bread as a mechanic.

_P. Coun._ Leave me alone for that. His whole mode of life will be changed. Nay, this change has in some measure taken place already.

_Reiss._ Bravo, bravo!

_P. Coun._ His mansion--

_Reiss._ Right, right!

_P. Coun._ His dress--

_Reiss._ Very necessary.

_P. Coun._ Those pitiful caps of my sister--

_Reiss._ Oh, nice! Oh! there you remove a heavy weight from my mind. And then the chief object, that law-suit--

_P. Coun._ You cannot lose it. The will--?

_Reiss._ I will stick to that, as if rivetted to it with iron.

_P. Coun._ It speaks in your favour in all its forms.

_Reiss._ But he is so obstinate in pursuit of the cause, and will--

_P. Coun._ He cannot gain it.

_Reiss._ I think so. But then he has engaged that old foolish lawyer Wellenberg, that--

_P. Coun._ A fool, and a pedant.

_Reiss._ True! But then he is such a conscientious fellow; and, besides, you know he is called the champion of the poor and the guardian of orphans.

_P. Coun._ I have his opinion in my study. Mere declamation! nothing else. Your answer is sound, legal, and argumentative, and then the testamentary disposition is so plain that it cannot be set aside. If you were inclined to make the plaintiff a present--

_Reiss._ O yes, O yes! notwithstanding I am very economical; for all that I acquire is solely intended for my child, and when it shall please heaven to call me, it will devolve to you, my dear Sir.

_P. Coun._ Very kind;--but--

Enter LEWIS.

_Lew._ The widow Rieder--

_P. Coun._ Some other time.

_Lew._ And Counsellor Wellenberg--

_P. Coun._ The day after to-morrow, at two o'clock.

_Lew._ Then there is old Schwartz--

_P. Coun._ I cannot be troubled with him now. [Exit Lewis.

_Reiss._ Always plagued, always tormented.--

_P. Coun._ Oh! there is no end of it!

_Reiss._ Why! But wealth and honours are very welcome things too. But chiefly mind wealth; wealth is the word. High stations are exposed to storms, like lofty trees in a forest. But, if you have wealth, then come what will. A trunk filled with good bonds is soon packed up. The rest of your moveables may be left to the commissaries, just as you would throw a few bones to the dogs; then retire and go. I am your servant. (Going.) [Privy Counsellor attends him to the door.

_Reiss._ No ceremony; the morning-hour yields a hundred per cent. [Exit.

SCENE II.

PRIVY COUNSELLOR, LEWIS, MASTER CLARENBACH.

_Lew._ I will first see.

_Clar._ Why, I heard my son's voice!--

_P. Coun._ Ah! is it my father?--

_Clar._ Yes! (reaches him his hand.) God bless you, Jack!

_P. Coun._ (to Lewis.) Leave us to ourselves. [Lewis exit.

_Clar._ Halloo!--I say, Monsieur, stop a little, stay a little!--I mean to speak ill of you.

_Lew._ So?

_P. Coun._ How so?

_Clar._ Only think, dear Jack, all the people you have refused to see, this fellow has been snarling at. (To Lewis.) You must know those people in the hall are all as good as myself, and my son has been what I am, and in short we are all--men. Whilst the people know that my son has not forgot that his rank and titles are pure gold, they will pass at the highest course of exchange; but, as soon as they discover he has forgot what he has been, then his rank and titles will appear counterfeit. (To the Privy Counsellor.) They are all in the hall yet, except the old lawyer, who has business elsewhere; I have told them Monsieur Lewis had behaved very unmannerly, that I would let you know, and that you would come out to them.

_P. Coun._ But--

_Clar._ And that you may remain in currency and value, be so good, Jack, and go to them. [Privy Coun. after a pause, leaves the room.

SCENE III.

MASTER CLARENBACH, LEWIS.

_Lew._ I do not understand Master Clarenbach's behaviour to me.

_Clar._ I dare say you do not. But, do you see, I think you ought to mend, or my son ought to send you about your business. To hear people, to say either yes or no, is the least my son can do. If you should attempt to hinder him from doing so, you are a rogue.

_Lew._ There is such constant intrusion.

_Clar._ Hem! and a great deal of distress too, and-- [Exit Lewis.

SCENE IV.

Enter PRIVY COUNSELLOR.

_P. Coun._ Well, what should it be? Petitions, memorials, poverty, and faint hopes of relief.

_Clar._ Why, if you cannot relieve, mercy on us!

_P. Coun._ They are repeated so often, and I have so much business--

_Clar._ Now that you have been made a Privy Counsellor, I fear it will still be worse! Well, heaven grant you health, and may you act as you ought, and all may be well yet.

_P. Coun._ Why, father, did you return the money I sent?--

_Clar._ Because, thank God! I do not want it. What is the use of having more than is necessary, to supply the wants of life?--I think you have more.

_P. Coun._ There is no great harm in that.

_Clar._ But I think there is! People will have strange ideas, and do strange things, when they have too much. If I must tell you my mind, son, I am not altogether pleased to see you raised so high of a sudden, Our plain citizens are not altogether satisfied with you and your elevation. They think the other gentlemen shove you near the fire to get the roasted chesnuts out of the coals for themselves, and that you are a good cat's paw. Such, for instance, is that bequest to old Counsellor Reissman.

_P. Coun._ Pray, tell me, father, what induces you to oppose that will, which is legal, though I must own it bears hard on the children.

_Clar._ Jack, you know your father long, though for some time since you have made a stranger of yourself.--What would you think of me, if I had not commenced the suit?

_P. Coun._ The claim rests on a will.

_Clar._ Which has been obtained, by the old Counsellor, by undue influence; is not that your opinion?

_P. Coun._ Can that be proved?--

_Clar._ We must see--

_P. Coun._ If you cannot prove it, the Counsellor will recover.

_Clar._ He certainly will, and therefore you must assist me to combat him.

_P. Coun._ Who, I? How came you to think so? Well, we will leave the cause to take its due course, and so should you.--

_Clar._ Ay, ay, Jack.

_P. Coun._ Besides, I must tell you, Reissman proposes to give me his daughter.

_Clar._ So I hear. The lady has all my best wishes. Heaven prosper your union! But sure you would not begin it by an act of injustice!

_P. Coun._ No, certainly not! But why would you, suppose even though Reissman were wrong,--why would you, for the sake of strangers, destroy my happiness?

_Clar._ Can poor, injured, unhappy children, in any situation, be _strangers_ to me? And have wards, intrusted to my care, fewer titles to my assistance than my own children? And have not you, in the name of the magistrates, appointed me one of their guardians?

_P. Coun._ That, as they are unfortunate, I might see them in good hands.

_Clar._ Why, they are in good hands. I am come to request you to see the business speedily executed. Of the verdict itself I will make no mention. You will act as an honest man, or else I must despise you, and look for redress elsewhere. Meanwhile, I tell you, the children shall not go to the hospital, because that is impracticable.

_P. Coun._ Father, I Have given my word.

_Clar._ You must recall it.

_P. Coun._ How can I?

_Clar._ Say you did not understand the matter. It is upon my word better than to expose your name to shame or ridicule, and to fill your mind with inquietude.

_P. Coun._ Father, I love you dearly, but pray do not interfere with my business.

_Clar._ Very well; then you act as Privy Counsellor, as you think proper; and I, as trustee of the hospital and guardian of the children, will do the same.

_P. Coun._ Cannot we talk of more agreeable things, and drop that question. I wish you so well, but you reject all I propose.

_Clar._ You make me presents in money, and, I am told, you want to make me mayor of the town. Jack, make me no presents! do good to town and country; and, if you can, come after your business is done. I do not care if it be but once or twice every three months; come to me in my timber-yard. Then we will close the doors, seat ourselves in the little bower, where, when a boy, you used to sit so industriously about your tasks; there we will spend an hour in happy converse, and drink a glass of old wine that you shall send me; then I will thank God for my dear boy, who has continued to be a good son, and, when you leave me again to repair to your desk, I will give you my blessing, and look after you, till you are quite out of sight! Do you see, Jack, I ask no more;--I have no occasion for more; but this I earnestly request of you. Give me your hand, that you will do it. That is the way I wish you to honour and to please me.

_P. Coun._ I shall do more, father. Pray accept it, and--

_Clar._ All your other honours are of little estimation in my sight; these grey hairs, blanched with care and toil, shall never be covered with a long bushy wig; look at these hands, rough with labour; look on your father, as you know his ways; you also know that he is neither to be drawn nor driven out of them; Master Clarenbach, even in the office of Mayor, would not suit your fine apartments and your fine company. What, to remain at home, as motionless as an old statue, scarce permitted to speak to an old friend, lest it should lessen his dignity, or break in on his gravity! What, to remain in such a situation, and see people work and move before his window! Jack, that will not do. Pray, as I never found fault with you for being too high, do not find fault with me for being too low; it is best suited to my age and inclinations.

_P. Coun._ Certainly not; but Mr. Reissman insists on it, as a principal condition.

_Clar._ I hope you know that there is a wide difference betwixt your father and Mr. Reissman. My axe, since I could raise it, has been employed in raising houses for the industrious, and his pen, since he could handle it, in pulling them down again.

_P. Coun._ This is the only service you can render me now father; is it not unkind to refuse me then?

_Clar._ The only service I can render you now? What, if the cares and inquietudes of rank and office should lay you on a sick bed, who would attend you with so much tenderness and affection as your old father? What if your house should take fire, I would be the first to ascend through the flames; but I will not climb into office and rank, I tell you that.

_P. Coun._ You must give way, father.--

_Clar._ You now stand on high; may you so stand respected by your fellow citizens and approved by your own conscience is the sincerest wish of your old father! Therefore, I prefer my complaints to you against a man; his name is Grobman, an ironmonger. This wretch wanted to persuade me, that you had taken two thousand dollars from another, to let him have the monopoly. He offered me two hundred dollars, if I would gain you over to his interest. Arrest the vile slanderer.

_P. Coun._ That fellow is an ideot.

_Clar._ God forbid! he is much worse. I have told him I would inform against him, and so I have to a few of my acquaintances.

_P. Coun._ Why so?

_Clar._ That you should make an example of him.

_P. Coun._ What is all this fuss? Why do you interfere with my concerns?

_Clar._ Concerns? I am as anxious for your honour as I am for your life! Do not you bear my name, which has always been as good as the best bond, in this place, time out of mind? Are not you my son? Are not you the representative of our sovereign? Is not the least stain visible on your ermine? Is it, or is it not true, Jack?--No, no, I say; it is impossible, it cannot be true!

_P. Coun._ It is possible; it is so, but done in a manner which cannot--

_Clar._ Do not speak, I will not know it. I---I--cannot (going from him) look on you. Is that your wisdom! your honour! your integrity! Have I, therefore,--well,--if matters are so with you, then do as you like; enquire no more after me, come no more to see me; you ought to be ashamed of yourself, in the presence of your honest father. Farewell, Jack; repent and amend. I will visit you no more, till you have altered your ways, and divided your cursed mammon among the poor. Live on your honest earnings; then come to me, tender me a clean hand, and I will bless you. (Exit.)

SCENE V.

PRIVY COUNSELLOR, (alone.)

_P. Coun._ Whimsical, honest man!--Whoever is forced up to the giddy summit, must hold as fast as he can, and by what he can.

SCENE IV.

Enter Counsellor SELLING.

_P. Coun._ What part of the world have you come from Selling?

_Sell._ From Miss Frederica.

_P. Coun._ From my sister? how is she? Has the new furniture been carried home?

_Sell._ Beautiful, splendid! thanks to your care! Old papa will open all his eyes when he comes home. All the old furniture has been carried off, and the room looks very elegant with all the new things you have sent.

_P. Coun._ And Frederica?--

_Sell._ She was so uneasy, she did not know what to do with herself. She fixed her eyes on every article as it was carried off, as if she took leave of an old friend. But the large easy chair still remains; she grasped it with both hands, and would not suffer it to be removed.

_P. Coun._ These people must be metamorphosed; we must see how they reconcile themselves to it.

_Sell._ But, what a man you are! What a noble heart, to be thus attached to your family!

_P. Coun._ Very natural. I am indebted to my father for so many things;--and Frederica is a good-natured creature.

_Sell._ More than that. I know none of her sex that strives so anxiously to cultivate her understanding, and to exalt her faculties to an extraordinary height.

_P. Coun._ (gives him his hand.) I am glad you find her so.

_Sell._ With your permission, Frederica will now assume a different dress, better suited to the furniture you have sent.

_P. Coun._ I have to thank you for this attention.

_Sell._ By your direction I do all that lies in my power to fan the girl's ambition. If that Mr. Gernau only--

_P. Coun._ That fool! He shall be removed. All has been prepared, and is now determined on; He goes to Friethal. His patent is in hand.

_Sell._ It is too lenient for his stubborn opposition. This indulgence on your side will gain you every heart.

_P. Coun._ Do you think I am rather popular?

_Sell._ Popular? People venerate you with enthusiasm! And what have you not done to acquire this popularity? The formation of the new roads, under your wise regulation, without any burthen to the individual! the increase of commerce--

_P. Coun._ I have done a great deal; I think I may claim some merit.

_Sell._ The abolition of beggary; the institution for the support of the indigent--

_P. Coun._ Oh! there are so many things to be done yet!

_Sell._ And you have so much power in your hand. What do you say to my last performance?

_P. Coun._ I have perused it. To be candid, you must apply yourself more to solid knowledge. There are glaring faults in it.--

_Sell._ Under your inspection--

_P. Coun._ With all my heart. But you must do more, and then the faults in orthography are too numerous. Call in the assistance of a good grammarian.

_Sell._ I will endeavour--

_P. Coun._ Your motion in the court-house of yesterday, that the foot-passenger should be prohibited to walk in the middle of the street, has provoked some laughter.

_Sell._ I wanted to propose something in my turn too.

_P. Coun._ It is too trifling. Wait for the motions of the senior barristers, and--

_Sell._ I wanted to give myself a little air of consequence by a motion of my own, hence--

_P. Coun._ No, no. If you have nothing of greater consequence to propose, you had better walk like the rest in the middle of the street. (They retire to the closet.)

SCENE VII.

Master CLARENBACH's house.

Instead of the furniture which appeared in the first act, a modern writing-desk and handsome chairs.

Enter FREDERICA, followed by a servant with a large band-box.

_Fred._ My name is Frederica; what do you want with me?

_Serv._ To take these things, madam.

_Fred._ I will take nothing.

_Serv._ And I will take back nothing.

_Fred._ Who has sent you to me?

_Serv._ Somebody that has a right, I suppose. (Puts down the band-box, and retires.)

_Fred._ (alone.) It may remain there, I will not touch it; I will not look at it. (Going from the band-box.) Sure, there are some articles of dress for me in it. It is odd that they will not leave us as we wish, to our own wishes. (Draws a step nearer.) It may not be for me perhaps. (Reads the direction at a distance.) To Miss Frederica Clarenbach; but it is addressed to me, I see! If any person,--if Gernau should happen to come in, I must remove the box. (Takes hold of it.) Quite light! as light as a feather! What does it contain? What is that to me? (Takes it up, and walks a few paces.) If Gernau should now meet me, it would look as if I wanted to conceal something. Dear me! (Places it at some distance on the floor,) my brother must have sent it! Somebody that has a right to do so, the fellow said; that must be my brother, and so I may look at it. Besides, my father will certainly send back the furniture, and then this may bear the rest company. Now, if I should not even look at it, it would seem as if I despised my brother. No, I will open and look at the things; but certainly I will keep none. (Kneels down, cuts the strings, opens the lid, and starts up in surprise.) Ay dear! how pretty! (Kneels down again.) A cloak! O what beautiful lace! hem! why, a cloak is not too gay for tradesfolks; I think it is part of their dress; I may keep it. (Puts it on.) As if it had been made for me! (Kneels down again.) A hat! a very pretty one indeed!--but a feather,--no, God forbid! (Pause.) All but that feather,--I might wear it without a feather. A new hat, I wonder how I look in it! (Puts it on, and then steps up to the glass.) Pretty well;--and the cap under the hat,--that looks like the picture of the handsome English lady at my brother's. (Returns to the box.) What is that red stuff? (Takes out a gown.) Rose-Colour! (Astonished, calls out aloud.) Satin! (The gown drops on the floor?) Satin! God forbid I should wear satin! That is too gaudy, too glossy, too shewy; it would draw all the neighbours to their windows. (Takes up the gown.) I hope I have spoiled nothing. (Hangs it over a chair, kneels down, and continues to examine the box.)

SCENE VIII.

Enter SOPHIA REISSMAN.

Sophia knocks. Frederica screams, and covers her face with her hands.

_Soph._ (comes in.) Any good people in this house? (Fred. rises and curtesies, her eyes cast down.) They must be all dead, as no one is to be found.

_Fred._ I am quite alone in the house, madam.

_Soph._ Do you know me, sweet girl?

_Fred._ You are, Miss--yes--but--

_Soph._ Reissman. The Aulic Counsellor Reissman's daughter.

_Fred._ So; I am glad; I know it well enough; but pray do me the favour to be seated.

_Soph._ My visit will be but short. I am come to form an acquaintance with the sister of a gentleman who is not indifferent to me, as you may know perhaps.

_Fred._ We have been told, that he is to have the honour--

_Soph._ And then I wish to put a question to you, in whose praise I have heard so much, and for whom I entertain great esteem. I expect you will answer it candidly.

_Fred._ You do me an honour.

_Soph._ Nothing of that. We are going to be nearer,--nay, very nearly connected with one another. My happiness is concerned in that question; and so I had rather hear you say, that the confidence I repose in you gives you pleasure, if it really does so.

_Fred._ Pardon my surprise. I am not myself in this moment. I am masqued in a dress that is not suited to my condition in life. My brother has sent it to me. I mean to return the whole. Now I have told you so, I am more easy; and I am now ready to answer every question you may ask with candour.

_Soph._ Well then, I will candidly own, that I love and esteem your brother for what he is, for what he yet may become, and for what, I hope, he will yet be willing to become. In one respect only I am quite a stranger to him, and in this respect I must remain so, if--and therefore I have applied to you. Upon what footing, pray, are you with him, you and your father?

_Fred._ We? Upon a good footing! (After a pause with affected vivacity.) Oh, upon a very good footing!

_Soph._ I say no.

_Fred._ We are, indeed.

_Soph._ And again I say no. His silence made me suspect him. And you, my good girl, if you were quite satisfied with his conduct, quite so, as a sister would be with a good brother, you would, in answer to my question, have told me all that love, gratitude, and benevolence, can inspire in one continued strain. You, therefore, are not, at least not particularly so, upon good terms. Whose fault can that be? I am sure not your good father's: report contradicts that; and, I think, I have partly convinced myself of it. Consequently, it is your brother's fault; and that I do not like.

_Fred._ Your suppositions crowd so upon me--

_Soph._ Not my suppositions, but truth. Had you satisfactory truth to return, you would not hesitate so much.

_Fred._ It may be easily conceived, that the difference of rank between him and us will occasion many trifling differences, for which we blame my brother more than we ought perhaps.

_Soph._ It may be so partly;--but then it should be no more than trifling, and as such ought always to be removed by him who has the advantage.

SCENE IX.

Enter GERNAU.

Gernau, startled at Frederica's dress, discovers the satin gown;--steps forward; once more looks at Frederica, bows politely to Sophia, and is going to withdraw.

_Fred._ Stay, if you please.--

_Gern._ I do not wish to intrude.

_Soph._ No ceremonies; our conversation is at an end. It is not the last we shall have, I hope. In that case it has been of use, if not to us all, most certainly to me.

Frederica is greatly embarrassed, while Gernau, unable to conceal his chagrin, and to keep his countenance, examines the satin.

_Soph._ (observing both.) If I mistake not, Sir, you have a particular interest that every dress should become this amiable girl;--you certainly are of my opinion, that all the pretty things her brother has just now sent her cannot add to her charms. (Curtesies to him and to Frederica.) Good bye. (Goes.)

(Fred. attends her.)

_Soph._ (turns quick round.) If my visit has proved agreeable, I beg you will not attend me; and you, Sir, may meanwhile confirm, that I am right in my opinion of my young friend. (Exit quickly.)

SCENE X.

FREDERICA, GERNAU.

_Fred._ I shall stay then, dear Friend. What do you think of me? (Takes off her cloak and hat.)

_Gern._ I think I find you quite in the modern stile.

_Fred._ All sent by my brother.

_Gern._ Very gallant! and then the furniture, all is strange to me.

_Fred._ All from my brother.

_Gern._ What is meant? Perhaps in honour of my departure?

_Fred._ Departure!--

_Gern._ I am going to be removed from this place.

_Fred._ Where to?

_Gern._ To Freethal.

_Fred._ Gernau!

_Gern._ Yes, yes! your brother, I see, has great views concerning this house. O Frederica, I came in such a melancholy mood!--Your gaudy dress, and all this superb furniture, cast such a gloom over my mind.

_Fred._ You removed? And, when he robs my heart of all that is dear to it, he sends me satin and tinsel, and hopes by that to bribe me. What a mean opinion he must entertain of me! and how I dislike him!

_Gern._ Frederica, what is to become of me! When we shall be at so great a distance from each other; when, in obedience to my official duties, I must fly over hill and valley, your picture in my mind, and my heart beating only for you, the image of the poor huntsman will soon be effaced by the splendid objects with which you are going to be dazzled.

_Fred._ No! and away with the first temptation they have prepared for me; help me to pack up these things; they shall be returned this minute. (Takes the satin, Gernau helps her to fold it up, and they carry it to the box; she kneels down to put the gown in, whilst he holds the other end; he stoops and looks in the box, and then says,)

_Gern._ What is that?

_Fred._ (holding up the gown?) What?

_Gern._ A pocket-book!

_Fred._ Put it down. All shall go. I will keep nothing.

_Gern._ What paper is that, that sticks out there?

_Fred._ Take it.

_Gern._ (Pulls out a note.) That is not your brother's hand.

_Fred._ I have not yet seen that pocket-book.

_Gern._ Oh, very likely! (Reads.) "These dresses are destined to envelope the angel I adore; accept them as a small token of my sincere affections. _Selling._"--Take, for my last adieu, contempt, thou faithless perfidious girl! (Throws the pocket-book at her feet, and flies off.)

_Fred._ Gernau!

SCENE XI.

Enter Master CLARENBACH.

_Clar._ What is the matter here?

_Fred._ Stop him!

_Gern._ Leave me!--

_Clar._ (lays hold of him.) Well, stop a moment! What is it? What, (looks round,) good heaven, what is all this!

_Fred._ My brother!--

_Gern._ (shoving the box towards him.) Counsellor Selling!

_Clar._ Where is my furniture? who had the impudence? who has permitted it? Girl, daughter, Frederica! where was you when all this was done? where is my furniture, my furniture? What are your intentions, people? (looking at the box.) What is that, what is it?

_Gern._ Counsellor Selling's livery.

_Fred._ An incomprehensible present for me.

_Clar._ Pack up; lay hold; each of you a piece; carry it into the passage! Ere night all shall be packed up, and packed off too. (All take a piece of furniture, Gernau takes the band-box.) Stop, stop! each two pieces! take up--(whilst they are each taking two pieces, he discovers the easy chair, and shoves it into the middle of the room.) So thou art here yet, old friend! that is right! (lifts up both his arms.) You are the capital of my rank in life; (giving a knock against the chair,) and thou art the land-mark to point out how far I should extend the use of that capital. Away with the rest! away, I say! (They carry off the furniture.)